Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Parable: That Most Glorious Party or, It Is Never Enough

In my ministry, I speak mostly to younger people. Much of them have been soaking in Christian culture for most of their lives. Because of this, they often drift into daydreams when the Bible is read, claiming they've "heard it all before." One morning, when I was looking at the way Jesus taught his young disciples (they weren't older than 17) who grew up in a culture soaked in Scripture, I changed my ways. Instead of preaching with tons of texts, I read and studied much but took what I learned and put it all into stories, as Jesus did, paraphrasing certain scriptures and stories in order to illuminate biblical truth. Jesus called these short fiction stories parables. Then, at the end, he would often, but not always quote a small piece of Scripture that would tie it all together. In my attempt to do this, I've written several parables to illuminate the gospel to young people who seem bored with Scripture. Here's one of them...

There was a rich man who lived in the hills outside of the city. He had a house like an ancient castle. The large house sat gloriously within a neighborhood that was surrounded by gates.

Every year, the gated neighborhood would hold their annual party. There would be dancing, singing, and the best foods. Many people who did not live in the neighborhood knew about it, however most also knew that they themselves could not get in.

One year, a poor man was walking by the gated neighborhood and saw someone entering the neighborhood during the party. Confused, the poor man decided to work the whole year and save in order to purchase nice clothes and fine meats so he could enter in.

That whole year he worked and worked, and when the day of the yearly party came, he bought the nicest clothes he could buy. He came to the gate and presented himself clean and in his new clothing. Smiling, the poor man said, "I have worked very hard all year and am here to join your party for those who work hard." The rich man looked at the poor man dressed in his finest and said, "I'm sorry, but you are not allowed in."

The poor man went away sad, but decided that next year he would work even harder in order to get in to that most glorious party.

He worked that whole year, harder than the last. On the day of the party, he bought even nicer clothes and also bought an expensive bottle of wine. He cleaned himself and combed his hair nicely.

He walked confidently to the gates and met the rich man at the edge of the gated neighborhood. Smiling, the poor man said, "I have worked very hard all year and am here to join your party for those who work hard." But again, the rich man looked at the poor man who was dressed nicely and holding a bottle of wine and said unto him, "I'm sorry, but you are not allowed in."

The poor man went away said, again, but decided that over the next year he would work even harder in order to get in to that most glorious party.

That next year, he worked even harder than any year before. He brought in more money and became what he thought to be a rich man. Buying the best clothes and bringing now a whole meal he approached the gates of the gated neighborhood on the day of the annual party.

He walked most confidently to the gates and met the rich man at the edge of the neighborhood. Smiling, the poor man said, "I have worked very hard all year and am here to join your party for those who work hard." But once again, the rich man looked at the poor man who dressed nicely and holding a bottle of wine and said unto him, "I'm sorry, but you are not allowed in."

In anguish, the poor man could no longer take the rejection. He fell to his knees, tore his clothing and cried aloud, "What must I do to enter this party? I was born a poor beggar, with nothing but my addictions and sins. I did all I could to make as much as I could out of what I had! I worked and worked year after year in order to look and give my best just to enjoy what looks to be the greatest neighborhood one could dream of, but alas you have rejected me again! And I suppose for good reason, for I am just what I am, poor and faulted." He threw the meal he had brought to the ground and wept at the feet of the rich man, who stood still on the other side of the gate.

At this, the gates opened and the rich man helped the poor man up to his feet. The rich man took the poor man's torn clothing and threw it out and adorned him in much finer clothes, and he left the poor man's meal on the ground outside the neighborhood and gave to him the most perfect meat and a deep glass of red wine. In all his working and buying, he had never even seen what the rich man was putting on him, nor had he ever smelled anything like the food the rich man gave him.

The poor man entered the party and looked around seeing that everyone was wearing the same thing; they were all wearing the rich man's clothes.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

You Got Three Hours of Sleep Because You Saw the New Harry Potter Movie; I Got Three Hours of Sleep Because I Met Dave Chappelle.

You decide if it was worth it.

Here are some videos of my little experience of hunting down Dave Chappelle. It was definitely one of the stranger nights I've ever had seeing as I arrived to the square at 11:15, didn't SEE Dave until 1 and didn't HEAR him at all until we caught up with him at the Heatheman Hotel at about 2:15am. Throw in some of Portland's regular shenanigans and you've got my Tuesday night. And also seeing as in all of that time I saw some things that this blog should not repeat (Keep Portland Weird AM I RIGHT?!).

This OregonLive! video does the night justice I think....too bad Dave thought he was a loser.

Dave Chappelle in Portland



Dave Chappelle at Pioneer Square

Monday, July 13, 2009

Something You Should Know

A lot of people who read this blog have no idea what I do. I'm sure there are plenty of assumptions, both true and false. And while some aspects of my work as a pastor are tough and not exactly "fun," my job is truly a blessing and I love it.

I think I love it so much because I have a lot of freedom at Rolling Hills and I do take advantage of that. I would like for you to take a look at this video, because it'll give you a picture of what I'm involved in on the ground level (instead of all that pie in the sky spirituality that I often blog about). The people in this video are people I both know very well and care deeply for, they are people who work along side me in trying to find God's Kingdom on earth. The video is worth your time.



Transitional Youth in a not-for-profit organization which works to help the street youth of Portland, who are not just lacking food as I have found out, but lacking true, deep relationships. If this video stirs you in any way, definitely leave me a comment or send me an email about getting involved.

chris.nye@rollinghills.org
www.transitionalyouth.org

EPIC

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Parable: The Child in Winter's First Snow

In my ministry, I speak mostly to younger people. Much of them have been soaking in Christian culture for most of their lives. Because of this, they often drift into daydreams when the Bible is read, claiming they've "heard it all before." One morning, when I was looking at the way Jesus taught his young disciples (they weren't older than 17) who grew up in a culture soaked in Scripture, I changed my ways. Instead of preaching with tons of texts, I read and studied much but took what I learned and put it all into stories, as Jesus did. Jesus called these short fiction stories parables, and mostly told them to illuminate eternal truth. Then, at the end, he would often quote a small piece of Scripture that would tie it all together. In my attempt to do this, I've written several parables to illuminate the gospel to young people who seem bored with Scripture. Here's one of them...

The Gospel of Jesus is like a small child out to play in winter's first snow. The little one begs his father for the permission to play in the front yard, but his father says, "No, my son, it is still winter's first snow and the ground is wet and muddy, you will be too filthy to come back in to my house. It would not be for your best." The boy asks again and again but the father declines his ernest request each time saying, "It would not be for your best."

After a number of tries, the small child simply breaks from his father's reach, runs out the door, and falls on his back attempting to make winter's first snow angel. But the ground had not yet frozen, and most of the snow was melting after hitting the ground. The child stands up to look at his work, but he quickly realize he has not made winter's first snow angel, but earth's all too often mud angel.

The small child is now covered in the dirt his father warned him about. He stands in a kind of awe or surprise that his father was right in telling him to stay in His house.

But he can solve this problem, he thinks to himself - it's just a little mud, who needs dad for just a little mud? He lifts his right arm to his left and begins trying to clear the mud off of his arms, but it's no use. The small child then tries to wipe off his legs, but it's just getting worse. With every attempt to make himself clean of the dirt he got himself into, he just gets dirtier - more and more filthy he becomes.

After realizing his mistake of disobeying his most trusted father and his inability to clean himself off, the boy does what only boys know how to do in this particular situation: he cries for his father. He sees him through the window, clean and warm in the house, and yells for his Father. He longs for that warmth and cleanliness right now, something he took for granted when he was standing by his father but one minute ago. The boy becomes cold, and is unable to figure out how to wash himself clean.

Seeing his cry, the father is already on his way out of the house, towels in hand, approaching the filthy child.

"I'm sorry," the little child says as his clean and strong father wipes away the mud off his brow. He puts his hand softly on his child's head.

"Allow me," says the Father.

The father's cleanliness allows the dirt of the child to become cleaned again. The boy runs inside clean, as the father follows, carrying the clothes and mud that once adorned his child. Only clean things can cleanse the dirty things.

No wonder the Scripture put us as the passive agent saying, "you were washed, you were sanctified in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the Holy Spirit."

Thursday, July 9, 2009

When I Heard Michael Jackson Had Died

Fresh Pot coffee on N Mississippi, Portland, OR at 3:12pm.

A large black woman, ragged and seemingly disturbed, jaunts in through the main entrance, stops to look around, and boisterously states,

"Michael Jackson's deead."

Everyone looked her way.

"He dead," she reemphasized.

A small "oh my god" is released from the corner and the barista lets out a, "no way, google it." I look over to discover that the barista is commanding me to hit that google. I do, and it is confirmed that he is in the hospital, but nothing else. I report my findings immediately to the coffeehouse. No confirmation that he is dead.

"Bull snakes!" the woman yells, "he dead."

After poking around a little more on the internet I find that this is all true. The cardiac arrest, the hospital, and the death is a reality. The coffee shop sits in an awkward silence for a few seconds, except for the large black woman, who is outside stopping strangers on the street and saying, "Michael Jackson's dead...he dead."

A barista behind the counter simply moves down the bar toward the end, by the computer. She clicks once or twice and the room is hit with the intro to "Thriller." The room goes back to work, satisfied, and the woman slowly walks out nodding her head.

"He dead now," she says.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

All I Wanted To Do Was Check My Email

It was a simple morning.

I had to be at Mitch's house by 10am and I was just dropping off Ali at work around 8:30am. So after she got to work, I went to a coffee shop to check/answer email that had collected over the night.

It was after I had read the first couple of emails that I heard the woman next to me begin yelling on her cell phone. Okay, she wasn't yelling, but her voice was way louder than it should have been. Kind of like a child, you know? Children have no idea how inappropriate their volume is. The only difference between a child and this woman is the fact that she is not a child. But, you wouldn't know it because she was acting like a child. I guess you had to be there.

Or not. Because after some babbling that I didn't hear, I did hear this:

"I think I'm just gonna shove those little brownies down her throat and tell her goodnight."

How do you type after that?

That's all.