It's Just So Logically Inconsistent I Could Puke!

Thomas Friedman is a smart man. He wrote a book called The World Is Flat and proposed a great thesis within his writing. This is what he had to say:

"Uploading is, without doubt, becoming one of the most revolutionary forms of collaboration in the flat world. More than ever, we can all now be producers, not just consumers."

In case you're dumb, when I transfer what I have written in a little white box to this blog and push "publish," it is called "uploading," just so we're clear. And in the wake of everyone on planet earth becoming a producer, I feel like I must contribute when something this poopy has happened.

Oprah talking about God.

I'd just like to tell you that my problem with her is not the normal evangelical problem. Some evangelicals are complaining about how she's leading people astray with her crazy witch magic. My complaint is that she's stupid.

Ok, I guess I should take that back right away. She's brilliant. I mean, any one who can make as much money and have as much influence as her is smart. I don't know if people with her magnitude happen by accident, but philosophically and theologically, she is retarded. Let me prove it to you.


If you need a quote from Oprah that proves she holds on the the logic I'm about to lay out, just read what she writes or listen to her talk about God.

Oprah doesn't believe that there can be one way to God. I don't know why, but that is what she claims. And many people claim this. One way to God? How can a loving God do that? It seems inconsistent with the idea that he loves us. Exclusivity is a large piece of the Christian doctrine. Jesus, as you've heard it said, is the way the truth and the life, and no one gets to God without placing faith in Him. This is true. I would totally agree with this. Christianity is exclusive, and I'm totally willing to admit that.

What needs to be understood is that Oprah is even more exclusive than me and Jesus. Oprah says that many people can get to God through different ways. You can get to him through Buddah, Vishnu, yourself, and definitely Jesus. But Jesus can't be the only way...that's too exclusive. How can I claim that? How can God claim that?

Her belief is summed up well in this old Buddhist parable I've heard. There's a bunch on blind men and they all approach an elephant. One of them is touching the leg and says, "The elephant is thick and round." And the other is touching the side and says, "The elephant is flat and large." And the last one is touching the trunk and says, "The elephant is long and slender." The message is that they all have different angles and perceptions on the animal, but they all know it's an elephant.

There is a huge problem with this illustrations, and it actually backfires on its users. The whole story and angle is told from a person who is not blind, inferring that the storyteller is enlightened in some special way. How can you know that all the blind men see only a part of the animal unless the mighty all-powerful, all-seeing YOU can claim to be able to see the entire elephant?

"How could you possibly know that no religion can see the whole truth unless you yourself have the superior, comprehensive knowledge of spiritual reality you just claimed that non of the religions have?"

Thank you Tim Keller, from your book The Reason for God.

So don't follow Oprah. Please. Or don't claim that each religion sees part of spiritual truth, but none can see the whole truth. A lot of people do, but in doing so you claim to know everything, being even more exclusive than when I talk about Jesus. At least I tell you I'm exclusive.

God bless America huh?

Hard to Please

I work at this place called the Swamp. It’s this little house on the edge of the church property, down a small hill on the east side of the massive parking lot. All of the Student Ministry pastors, directors, and interns are shoved away from the real church business. We also drafted our Men’s Ministry Pastor and his secretary, and her dogs. The house is full of things for jr. high and high school students, things like a Wii, an Xbox, or just tons of Frisbees. The Swamp house is encased in old shrubbery and sits on the edge of…well, a swamp. Legend has it that it used to be a pond, and sometimes when I stare at it out my window while I should be working, I think about it having a better time in its existence. Maybe a time when small children could jump in and play without the fear of coming out legless. It was most likely a happy place once. But now that it has been destroyed, youth interns and pastors have been throwing things in it and daring kids to jump in after their parents have signed a waver. The existence of the swamp has created mounds more fun. All things considered, work is normally pretty exciting. There’s always something happening it seems. Whether there’s a game of Wii tennis in the living room or just a fat pup turd on the floor in the basement, something always seems to be glowing at the Swamp.

The problem is I am incredibly bored right now. Why? is a great question. How come I am so bored? Why can’t I try to beat the Wii bowling record? Why don’t I hit oranges in to the swamp? How come I’m not playing “Will it Float?” with kids? Or, why would I not be over-feeding the dog just to see if he actually lays a dirt dragon in the boss’s office? So many options…why am I not satisfied?

Because it’s totally empty around here. Everyone went to high school camp and is either riding the Indiana Jones ride for the fourth time or trying to find the kid who went on it a fifth time. They’re gone, and I couldn’t go all because I’m launching Rolling Hills’s new young adult ministry. Timing was bad, and it sucks I couldn’t go, but I didn’t think it would be this bad. The Swamp lays quiet and I’m getting all of my work done. This isn’t what ministry is about – especially at the Swamp.

That, and a Pair

"What makes a man?" he asked me.

I didn't know it was me. I was at a table - he was sitting in a large chair, but the question seemed to be pointed to me, or perhaps just a general question for the room to stab at.

When the group at the coffee shop seemed to silently agree to ignore the man, he thought we just couldn't hear him. Louder, then...

"WHAT MAKES A MAN?" he asked again.

My body got warm and my mind rushed to the possibility that he would have some type of weapon and threaten me, pleading with me to give him the answer. I decided I would leave if he asked again and let one of the other sorry patrons answer the complex conundrum.

He decided to think about it a little more with his eyes closed. It was over. The area became calm again and I stopped just pretending I was reading and actually got a couple of pages out of the way.

It wasn't fifteen minutes later when my whole body flinched at the sound of that familiar, questioning voice:

"WHAT MAKES A MAN?"

Someone had to answer him. This guy didn't seem like the type to open a conversation of manhood, it just seemed like he wanted another opinion on the subject. In my thinking, I really couldn't sum up manhood in a nice one-liner. Something like, "A bear fight!" or, "A good beard!" went through my head but I thought I would be ostracized by the community in that back room if something like that came from a specimen like me. I had nothing, what makes a man? I can't answer it, there's far too much pressure right now. I told myself I would leave after this and now I'm simply tra-

"WHAT MAKES A FRICKIN' MAN?"

Finally a petite brunette shoved in a corner quickly said, "Sexual intercourse, now shut up."

She didn't yell it, but there was a forceful tone. That's cleaver...why couldn't I think of that one? I totally get it and its great. I took a fast look at our questioner and he seemed quite satisfied. He was asleep again, but I knew he took the answer to heart. That brunette saved us all and maybe now I could read something, anything really. I'm just glad that she took the honor, I don't know if I could ha-

"WHAT MAKES A MAN?"

Goodbye.

Children

From Powell's:

As Long As We're Being Honest Here

I have this constant fear that one day, when I am least expecting it, I will be hit by a Prius. Those things are so freaking quiet. In the city, there's always noise coming from some construction site or some hooker. I just know I'll be turning the corner and the soft, high-pitched whisper of the Prius will be the last sound I hear before the doctor is asking me my name.

***

Why "doctor," Chris? Wouldn't this cute factoid about yourself be more satisfying to the reader had you died at the summation of the narrative?

No, pretentious snob, because I'm a realist and a Prius could never kill a man, DUH...not even one of my size thank you very much.