ten things i've learned during christmas vacation

1. comair sucks. when they delayed our flights the day before christmas eve and so forced us to fly into the wal-mart airport instead of tulsa, i found myself saying, "comair, i have a feeling your whole family is going down."

2. only an idiot offers to eat a stick of butter for $15. the wise man holds out for $35.

3. my michael jackson jokes are always a hit!

4. similarly, people love to hear about my father's inability to pronounce peanu(t)s.

5. if you are underage and trying to sneak a bud light at a family function, always use the ubiquitous red cup.

6. scrubbing the dishes atones for a score of sins.

7. always tie the chainsaw to the ladder.

8. morticians use less make-up on a corpse than most southern women use on themselves.

9. there is a providential correlation between one's growing love for family and the increasing complications one's family provides.

10. elmo is a fiery demon straight from the pits of hell. if any of you buy an elmo doll that sings his name to the tune of ymca or any other noise producing toy for my future brood, i will curse you for life...right after i return the annoying garbage to fortress wal-mart.

on a more serious note, if your heart has been rent by the tragic tsunami that has devastated the asian rim and sri lanka, consider making a contribution to serve life's relief fund. i think that providing financial assistance will be at the top of sinners and saints' agenda when we gather once again.

reader/response

Prov. 19:11--"a man's wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook an offense."

my beautiful wife is a bit forgetful. put her in an office and she will quickly andd efficiently systematize the files, balance the books and even help you maintain a sustainable schedule. but her personal life is a bit more scattered. if you've ever tried to call her cell phone, you can bear witness to this truth. during the weekdays her cell phone often resides on our dresser and throughout the weekend its is safely locked in an office drawer.

usually i find her forgetfulness quite funny, especially since her cell phone disability has turned into an ongoing joke. however, occasionally her forgetfulness will frustrate me to the point that i say something snide. of course, these snide comments are best kept to myself, for i have found that my failure to overlook an offense usually comes back to bite me in the ass.

for instance: last july, after carrying a good deal of furniture and innumerable boxes down the labyrinthine stairs that lead to our basement, kellie and i, along with our friend mark, decided to call it quits for the evening. since we had worked quite hard and we wanted to thank mark for his work, we headed down to a thai restaurant on the corner for dinner. before we headed out the door i told kellie that i did not have my wallet on me and asked if she had her purse with her. she asserted that she did, so we shuffled our exhausted asses down to the thai joint.

after dinner our attentive waitress brought over our bill and kellie opened her wallet to get the debit card. unfortunately, the card wasn't there. she told me she had simply misplaced it. when i asked her where she might have left it she told me that she didn't know, but it could be in a target sack. needless to say, i found the idea of anyone from the cart boy to the waste disposal man having access to our account quite nauseating, so i muttered something snide and condescending before instructing kellie to stay at the restaurant while mark and i went back to our condo for my card. i couldn't believe that she misplaced that (*&^% card, i thought! anyone could have access to that card and we're going to need every penny to pay our first mortgage bill.

in a short time, mark and i returned to the restaurant and i paid the attentive waitress immediately. immediately thereafter we went back the condo, mark headed home and kellie and i collapsed due to both mutual exhaustion and frustration. the next afternoon, after shopping at a local furniture store, kellie and i went to subway for lunch. when we reached the cash register at the end of the bar i pulled out my wallet and reached for my debit card, only to find that it wasn't there. again, my heart raced with the irregular beat that financial quandries so readily produce and i panicked. where was the debit card? had i left it one the dresser? was in it in the front pockets of the dirty jeans that i threw into a corner? did i leave it on the kitchen table? after freaking out for a moment, i realized where the card resided: the thai restaurant on the corner. so, after using kellie's debit card to pay for the meal, we went straight to the restaurant, where the attentive waitress was only too happy to give me back my debit card. needless to say, my tail was between my legs.

on account of this experience i learned that it is not only man's glory, but also a reflection of his wisdom to overlook an offense. for if he fails to do so, especially in marriage, it will undoubtedly bite him in the ass.

i remembered this lesson the other day when, somewhere between the car and the dingy aisles of bell market, kellie lost her brand-new stocking cap. after retracing her steps and getting on my knees to stare under the snow covered belly of the car to look for the cap, i was quite angry and ready to fire a snide solvo in her direction. but, mindful of the reciprocity that accompanies such incidents, i kept my comments to myself.

the beverly blot of the week

friday, december 10

7:43 p.m.--police received a report from a bartlett street resident that a 'dog outside was barking in the rain.'

reader/response

“we declare to the world that what has been declared to be ‘real,’ or ‘the way things are,’ or ‘common sense,’ is in fact no such thing. Instead, the church declares that the kingdom of God is most ‘real,’ that ‘the way things are’ is another name for rebellion, and that the wisdom of God revealed in a crucified Christ is the new common sense. The scandal of the Christ’s incarnation remains in the body of Christ, the church” (lee camp, mere discipleship, pg. 108.

i do not regret my rebellion, but i do regret the way it has been expressed. up to this point, the intention of my rebellion has been to sarcastically eschew ‘common sense,’ identify the danger of being consumed by unchecked consumerism and point out the inherent pride that is always intertwined with personal or corporate power.

but, in all honesty, my rebellion against consumerism has not led me towards a life of simplicity, i continue to find it difficult to exchange the common sense of the world for the disturbing truth of revelation and i have not countered the prideful presumption of power by living a life of death. thus, my rebellion has been a construct of words instead of a reflection of my actions. of this i am ashamed.

Lord God, i know that you (re)created me in order to rebel against the powers and principalities of this world. through the power of your grace and the guidance of your Holy Spirit, enable me to join the rebellion that our Son initiated by shouldering my cross. amen.

brushback pitch

the cardinals finally found a top of the rotation starter. cue the hallelujah chorus!

fortunately unlike the red sox (clement) and the mets (who single-handedly inflated the pitching market with those ridiculous benson and martinez deals) they didn't have to break the bank to do so. i admit that mulder ain't hudson and he definitely isn't rj, but he's nothing to sneeze at either. kudos walt. kudos.

the lynnfield blotter

when my co-worker and copywriter Christine Kimball read the beverly blotter post, she told me that lynnfield blotter was even better. so she took it upon herself to send me a few of the best entries from the last two weeks.

is the lynnfield blotter a cut above the beverly blotter? you be the judge!

November 29

12:52 p.m. A Lynnfield resident called police to report being a victim of a scam. The scam occurred in Nigeria.


December 4

5:24 a.m. Assisted resident with squirrel in house, Orchard Lane.

7:03 p.m. Report of a past assault on Salem Street. Police investigated and found that male and female parties are accusing each other of assault and batter after a dispute over property lines, “black magic,” and the placement and use of mirrors intended to deflect that magic.


December 11

6:28 p.m. A North Hill Drive resident reported leaving for New Hampshire with two candles burning inside the house. Police extinguished the candles.


December 12

2:59 p.m. A Salem Street resident complained that his ex-wife was performing witchcraft. Police found the complaint was unfounded.

happy haiku friday: christmas edition!

frosty the snowman

rudolph the red-nosed reindeer

may they burn in hell

on ragamuffins and sacraments

i believe that the grace of God holds us togheter. and i believe that the sacraments are the conduits of grace. as a young catholic schoolie, i was taught that there were seven sacraments, the names of which i learned by rote. during my lincoln years the number was trimmed down to two, one soaked your shorts and the other was merely a symbol.

as the years have passed, i've begun to see and receive sacraments everywhere. a consoling embrace, a pa pa's love and the eyes of a child are just a few of the sacraments that have held me together. i am thankful for the diversity of God's sacraments and pray for the eyes to see and receive more.

all of that to say, that the music of rich mullins is a sacrament that helps hold me together. i never met rich, never heard him play live and never listened to him until he died just up the road from lincoln christian. but i can honestly say that without his songs, i would be a holy mess. here are a few of the lyrics that have sustained me throughout the years. if you've been sustained by his work, i'd love to hear from you as well.

"here in your room where nobody can see, the voices are loud but seldom clear. underneath the confusion that's running so deep, there is a promise you must hear. the love that seems so far away is standing so very near." ~the verge of a miracle

"jacob she loved rachel and rachel she loved him, and leah was just there for dramatic effect. well it's right there in the Bible, so it must not be a sin, but is sure does seem like an awful dirty trick." ~jacob and 2 women

"surrender don't come natural to me. i'd rather fight you for something i don't really want, than take what you give and i need. and i've beat my head against so many walls, now i'm falling down, falling down on my knees. and the salvation army band is playing this hymn. and your grace rings out so deep, it makes my resistance seem so thin." ~hold me jesus

"if you make me laugh, i know i could make you like me. 'cause when i laugh i can be a lot of fun. but when we can't do that i know that it is frightening. what i don't know is why we can't hold on. can't hold on..." ~we are not as strong as we think we are

"if i could make it work in life, like it works on paper. if the love that i describe, could be anything but words. if i could Then I would wipe my eyes, I'd dry this ink, I'd trade my pen in on a pair of wings. And I would, I would fly If I could only make it work in life" ~if i could make it work

"when my body lies in the ruins of the lies that nearly ruined me. will you pick up the pieces that were pure and true and breathe your life into them, and set them free? when you blast this cosmos to kingdom come. when those jagged edge mountains we love are gone. when the skies are filled with the tears of a thousand falling suns as they crash into the sea. can i be with you? can i be with you?" ~be with you

"Somewhere
Beyond these reasons and feelings
Somewhere
Beyond the passion and fatigue
I know You're there
And that Your Spirit is leading me
Somewhere
Beyond all this ~somewhere

unsolicited opinions, spiritual reflections and your daily serving of sarcasm: my last running diary of the season

2:07 p.m.--after arriving, admittedly a little late, for my last shift in customer service, my first call started like this:

"thank you for calling CBD this is Jeff. how can i help you?"

customer: "HELLO? hello. hello-o..."

"this is CBD, how can we help?"

customer: "beeeep." i think her cheek crunched the #4 on her receiver.

"this is jeff, how can i help you?"

customer: "HELLO."

"this is CBD."

customer: "oh...hi...i was...uh...wondering.

"if...you...could...uh...check one of my...uh...orders."

"sure. what is your order number?"

customer: "let...me...see. it is...uh....."

at that moment, i was reminded of the wisdom of sir randal. "i could do without the customers in the video store," he said. "which ones?" dante queried. "all of them."

2:27 p.m.--on friday night i found myself huddled under the doorway of city hall, furtively smoking a bummed cigarette. as a cold mist began to blot out the street light and seep into my government-subsidized shelter i felt a wave of melancholy coming on. hold fast, i exhorted myself, but i felt certain that a night of moping, and a page littered with bad, anguished poetry was inevitable.

it was at that point, just then, that i realized what a moody, internal, narcissistic little bastard i can be. fifty feet away was a coffeehouse in which sat my beautiful pixie of a wife, a master of unintentional comedy who is also a member of our church and a dozen other people that i desire to more fully know and love. yet, there i was, smoking a cut-rate cigarette and licking my wounds. i couldn't help but laugh.

2:31 p.m.--i pick up the phone only to hear a lady who is way too focused on her family. because of her love for her "beautiful boys" she decided to let them flip the pages of the catalog to the items she was interested in and pick out a few of their own while we were speaking. this led to some priceless statements like: "oh, jeff, you should see their eyes. it's like they are opening christmas presents already!" when i asked her about which shipping method she wanted to use, she replied, "hold on. i need to ask my beautiful boys."

go ahead, lady. shoot me in the head.

3:27 p.m.--the lady who played mike myers' mom in so i married an axe murderer just called. her accent was even deeper than it was in the movie. guess she wasn't focused on simplifying her speech for the movie-going audience.

in all seriousness, it took me five minutes and twenty-nine seconds to correctly record this lady's address. talk about painstaking. if she wasn't so sweet, she probably would have left me with a throbbing melon.

3:41 p.m.--a customer just called to let us know that we shipped incorrect items to him on an order he placed in june. he said he did not call sooner because he was in a coma. no kidding.

the funny thing is, i believed him. i replaced the incorrect items and even stepped up the shipping so that he could enjoy his Bible studies before Christmas.

of course, five minutes after i got off the phone with him, another rep walked over. coma man was on the line again. now he wanted to order another book from us, but he wanted us to comp the shipping. in short, he was looking for a coma-induced discount. no dice, my friend. no dice.

4:01 p.m.--just received third straight call from a customer who is trying to add an item onto a previous order. dear friend, if you ever order from l.l. bean, cbd, ikea or any other catalog company, save the customer service slaves some sanity by GIVING YOUR COMPLETE ORDER THE FIRST TIME YOU CALL.

4:05 p.m.--while listening to anne lamott's traveling mercies on cassette, stumbled across this gem:

"Families are definitely the training ground for forgiveness. At some point you pardon you family for being stuck together in all this weirdness. And when you do that you can learn to pardon anyone. Even yourself, eventually."

i think that's a good word from all of us, as we head home to visit those whom we love the most deeply and with whom we tend to fight the most fiercely.

4:15 p.m.--i am currently sitting in someone else's cubicle in the customer service department. i've always found cubicles to be interesting little habitats. sometimes, the clutter in the cube can tell you a little bit about the person it enslaves.

assuming the latter assumption is true, here is what this cube tells me about its occupant. the glut of personal pictures suggests that she might be as obsessed as i am with self. she seems particularly predisposed towards pictures of herself in brightly colored, strapless prom dresses. that would lead one to guess that she fancies herself a princess. sure enough, taped to the back of her cubes are pictures of the idealized, annoying, platonic ideas that preceded lady di: sleeping beauty and snow white (which reminds me...is there any way to truly distinguish those two stories? they are prime examples of one of my most deeply held assumptions: that all disney movies are basically the same. but that's another post, if not a doctoral thesis). the only remarkable difference between the ideas and the form in this instance is that the cube occupant doesn't wear shoulder pads that measure three feet in diameter. in fact, since her dresses are strapless, she has no such pads at all. finally, the books in her cube suggest the struggle between virtue and vanity that struggle within us all, for right below a book entitled how to be a lady is a prodigious stack of us weekly and star magazines. should this young lady be shaped by fundamentalist ideas about femininity or us weekly articles about j lo? that, my friends, is the question.

the cube...can one conceive of a more intriguing habitat for humanity?

4:40 p.m.--20 minutes until emancipation.

4:41 p.m.--repeat sermon about completing your order here...

4:51 p.m.--"Now here is my secret: I tell it to you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again....My secret is that I talk loud. I talk loud and then the other customer service reps leave me alone. I need God to help me control my volume, because I no longer seem to be capable of speaking softly; to help me with intonation, as my voice is often off pitch; to help me listen, as I seem beyond being able to listen to those I loathe."

5:04 p.m.--i'm out like elton.

memorandum from captain random

this weekend we attending the wedding of angela ebersole and joe mcmanus. i have worked beside angela at beverly bootstraps for the past two years and joe was a member of sinners and saints 1.0, so it was one of the few weddings that i was eager to attend (for the record: in order for me to attend a wedding, the couple must meet at least two of the following three standards: (a) the bride and/or groom is a close friend at the time of their wedding (b) the wedding is going to be held in new england (c) there will be an open bar at the reception. if at least two of these standards are not met, best of luck to ya, but i won't be attending). anyway, as expected, the wedding was a delight. the service was personal, the home-cooked reception dinner was savory and the other guests at our table were either close friends or intriguing unknowns (including dr. robert coleman of the master plan of evangelism).

that being said, every wedding has its peculiarities. the most peculiar element of this wedding was the presiding pastor's verbal tic. the pastor is a passionate, charismatic man whose ministry i deeply respect, praise Jesus, who has planted a thriving church in salem, amen. much to everyone's surprise, and to God's glory, his services, which have the look, sound and feel of a pentecostal revival, have really connected with the people of salem, you follow? from the moment he began to speak i was tempted to tally his verbal tics, do you hear me?, but kellie stayed my hand, praise Jesus. don't get me wrong, i am really thankful for this man and the ministry he leads, praise Jesus, but can't help chuckling about and reproducing his tics myself, amen. i hope that he realizes that imitation is the supreme form of flattery, you follow?, and hope that my humor does not offend, amen.

fear not...

little children, for the dark hours have passed. the moon hath faded and the day is here.

ruminating

last night we heard the gospel of great reversal

one day...
the lame will walk
the poor will be rich
and justice will unseat oppression

last night we heard the gospel of great reversal

sweet Jesus i want to believe
help me in my unbelief

"just because we serve you, doesn't mean we like you." yet another running diary

11:21 a.m.--we are experiencing a deluge of down home customers who are scrambling out to their pickup trucks to get their credit cards, dialing 1.800.CRISTI (we just throw in the AN in our adds to sound more sacrosanct) with flaming fingers, asking us moronic questions and wanting their packages delivered yesterday. so i don't know how interesting this is going to be.

11:30 a.m.--i just had a caller from two trailers, arkansas. her locale reminded me of one of my favorite jokes.

What's the most seductive line you can utter in Arkansas?

Sis...you still awake?

11:33 a.m.--off to lunch. mmm, trader joe's burritos, of you i never tire!

11:57 a.m.--three minutes left until my entry into hell. by what slight of hand can i keep you entertained?

ok...got it. in our catalogs, all products are proceeded by two letter catalog prefix. these prefix's help us to figure out which catalog you are using, so that we can fill your mailbox with similar product offers in about a week's time. with that background, i would like to suggest that the worst two prefix's ever are...drumroll...KY and FU. the first doesn't help me to think about "whatever is pure, holy, praiseworthy, etc." and the second prefix expresses my attitude towards customers much too clearly.

the most ridiculous question a customer has ever asked me. "you sound sooo sweet? would you like to date my cousin?" my response: "um, probably not. i'm incredibly picky and probably wouldn't like her."

12:15pm--i just completed the most annoying call of the season. the customer, who obviously had nothing better to do, asked me to perform the most generalized searches in the history of man. i have included a part of the transcript below.

customer: do you have any leather bibles under $20?
  gentry: i am sure that we do. is there a particular translation that you are interested in?
customer: somethin' that is readable. not the kjv.
  gentry: like the niv?
customer: yes. do you have a niv leather bible for under $20?
  gentry: i am sure that we do. let me search for you. while i'm waiting for the results of the search i would like to encourage you to search on christianbook.com. on our site you can search for any kind of bible you would be interested in and we have a special bargain center as well!
customer: i don't have time for that. what are you finding?
  gentry: we have an niv pocket bible in leather for $19.99.
customer: no, don't want no pocket bible.
  gentry: ok. unfortunately most leather bibles cost more than $20, but i'll continue to look.

*********call eclipses the five minute mark

  gentry: actually, we do have a niv collegiate bible for $12.99. these are designed for college students, so they are not available in traditional colors. for instance, we have orange, crimson red and purple.
customer: do you have black?
  gentry: no, unfortunately it only comes in college colors.
customer: that's all you have for under $20? for real?
  gentry: ma'am, most leather bibles are more expensive than $20.
customer: i guess if that's all you have, i'll take the first one.
  gentry: ok, the niv pocket bible is the one you're intersted in.
customer: no! i want the college bible. it's for a man. what colors do you have again?
  gentry: we have orange, crimson red and purple.
customer: i'll take purple.
customer: do you have any study bibles?
  gentry: yes, we have thousands. what kind of study bible did you have in mind?
customer: an niv one. for under $20...

*********call eclipses the ten minute mark

customer: so if i ordered those, when would i be charged?
  gentry: ma'am, you would be charged as soon as we could process your credit card and start packaging your order.
customer: can you hold the order till tomorrow?
  gentry: (in his head: quit using your freaking credit card up to the limit, lady!) no, unfortunately we cannot. orders are charged almost immediately.
customer: ok, then, ok. can i have an order number?
  gentry: ma'am, you can use the stock numbers that i provided you when you call to order tomorrow.
customer: you mean i have to call again to order?
  gentry: unfortunately, we cannot place an order without a form of payment. and without placing an order, i cannot provide you with an order number.
customer: i was just thinking that they could hold my order.
  gentry: unfortunately, ma'am, we cannot. our system was not designed to hold orders, but to get them out the door as soon as possible.

************call eclipses the fifteen minute mark.

customer: do y'all have any bookmarks?

12:49: a caller rings through and when i greet her she responds with obvious contempt. i can almost hear her thinking, "i can't believe i have to deal with people in order to place a friggin order!" i think about suggesting that she use the website for quicker service, but stop myself when i realize that they probably haven't run electricity to her mississippi town just yet. i ask her for her customer number and she rattles it off as quickly as possible. i ask for her credit card number, and she does the same thing, hoping that her speed will baffle me, proving, once and for all, what an incompentent, button-pushing monkey i really am.

but i type in the numbers as quick as she says them. "humph..." she replies. she then offers me her first stock number. it is a book simply entitled, Heaven. she is lucky that judgment belongs to the Lord, i muse. then my computer locks up, so i quickly put her on hold. as she listens to the first minute of a bad contemporary christian version of a christmas carol, i know that she burns. as the second minute of the carol begins, she realizes that she's been bested. the rest of the call proceeds without a glitch.

1:08 p.m.-1:48 p.m.--between call book reviews!

i am currently reading three books. i have provided capsule reviews below:

joe dimaggio: a hero's life by Richard Ben Cramer. in the introduction to the fourth chapter, cramer explained DiMag in the following way: "he had that quiet in the bottom of himself--like an absence more than anything they could name--that made him a zero, and a sure bet. they knew joe was going to take care of business because that's all joe did."

after reading that statement i was hooked. with such a solitude of heart, it is little wonder that people were drawn to joe. they weren't attracted by a nebulous characteristic such as mystique; rather, they were attracted to a man who knew himself and was able to act out of his center. i think we all want this solitude of heart and this ability to live out of the center. that's why we are all attracted to people like joe, jesus and the buddha.

i deeply desire such solitude of heart. unfortunately, the bottom of my heart isn't quiet. it is filled with loud, obnoxious, drunken monkeys.

girl meets God by lauren winner. i found a first edition copy of winner's book in the returns barrell yesterday morning. i cracked it open this morning and was immediately attracted to her prose. within three pages, she made me long for the spanish moss and unpretentious intellectualism of oxford, mississippi, thirst for a finger of maker's mark and want to recite an ode while standing before william faulkner's headstone. i doubt that the rest of the book will disappoint.

dark night of the soul by saint john of the cross. these are deep waters. too deep to speak of here.

1:52 p.m.--i am constantly amazed by the number of people who do not know their zip code. this baffles me almost as much as people's tendency to store their credit cards in their pickup trucks.

1:55 p.m.--i'm out like ellen!

the beverly blotter

on saturday night our karoke queen and condo-mate anita brought down the the beverly citizen. the citizen is a weekly paper that reads like it was written by twelve year olds. thus, it is a constant source of entertainment.

this week we found the police blotter particularly entertaining. thus, following in the tradition of my favorite doctor, i am providing my own top five.

Top Five Entries in the Beverly Blotter:

1. Monday, November 22. "2:36 a.m. Police received a report that a person was sitting in a vehicle for 30 minutes on Essex Street."

2. "8:30 p.m. Youths reported near a Brimbal Avenue fence."

3. Tuesday, November 23. "11:17 p.m. A Thompson Road resident reported that he thought someone was in his home."

4. Wednesday, November 24. "11:16 p.m. A juvenile was throwing furniture on Kernwood Avenue."

5. Thursday, November 25. "12:59 a.m. An unknown vehicle reportedly pulled into a driveway on Trask Street."

Honorable Mention:

Friday, November 26. "3:26 p.m. Police received a report that a man with a gun shot a rat on Park Street."

"8:43 p.m. A Littleton resident reported that she lost a black fanny pack."

an advent prayer

i want you more than a cigarette
      but can't toss this pack quite yet
i don't want to trade the physical
      for the ethereal

so come ye closer
      than the smoke that's in my lungs
calm my shaky fingers
      be the heat upon my tongue

i want to act justly, love mercy, walk in humility
      but abstractions just don't do it for me.

      please come closer.

monday morning inspiration

"man is born broken. he lives by mending. the grace of God is glue."

~Eugene O'Neill, as quoted by Anne Lamott in traveling mercies

happy haiku friday!

the child's eyes brighten

revealing innate wonder

his head hits the floor

dreaming of the day when we are all more optimistic than jaded

"But darling, I wish you well
On your way to the wishing well
Swinging off of those gates of hell
But I can tell how hard you're trying
Just have that secret hope
Sometimes all we do is cope
Somewhere on the steepest slope
There'll be an endless rope and nobody crying.
~Patty Griffin, Nobody Crying

"Well I wish that you could see me when I'm flying in my dreams
The way I laugh there way up high
The way I look when I fly
The way I live...
The way I fly..."
~Patty Griffin, Chief

"And you can't run away from the nagging dark. You carry it everywhere in your heart. It finishes everything that you start. You can't run away from the nagging dark.

How far can you see? Will you ever be free? Through the blackest night, aw you still hold on tight. Hope is your finest work. It's your finest work. Hope is your finest work of all."
~John Hiatt, The Nagging Dark

many thanks to patty and john for providing an unexpected serving of lectio devina. what are some of the sacred readings that drag you through dark days?

little black books

yesterday morning was a revelation. as alex and i winged our way over cape ann, our eyes focused upon the rhythmic surf and sharp, resolute shoreline of new england, i could not help but think of my father.

i was raised in a cradle of aviation. my father recovered airplanes in our two car garage, my brother and i treated the fuselages in the backyard like playground equipment and dad often strapped the my brother and i into one of the two small seats in our aeronica chief and took us buzzing about the oklahoma countryside.

a couple of summers ago, while digging around in my dad's closet for a long-lost first baseman's mitt, i found my dad's log book. on its small pages dad had recorded every hour he had flown and, occasionally, jotted a few notes about the flights. unsurprisingly, my brother and i were his passengers for a number of those flights. beside our names, in his carefully messy script, my dad had written things like "took the boys flying today and they loved it!" and "jeff took the stick today and did quite well." these simple notations pierced my heart. for some reason, reading the notes in my dad's log book made his love more tangible than ever. in that cluttered closet i realized that my father's heart was so full of love for his boys that it overflowed into every part of his life, including his little black log book.

in much the same way, i believe that God's love for us is scribbled, in his servant's carefully messy script, all over scripture. i just wish the pages of scripture pierced my heart like the pages of that logbook did.

a thanksgiving first

after our delicious dinner kellie and bonnie suggested that we watch a movie. the men in the house knew that this was a brazen ploy to distract our attention from halo 2, but we acquiesced anyway. after a bit of half-hearted deliberation, we decided to watch when harry met sally.

immediately following the infamous delicatessen scene, mikey, who is the king of non-sequiturs, looked directly at kellie and said, "kellie, have you ever faked an orgasm?"

happy haiku friday!

the fallow fields

are re-enchanted by spring

drink equal exchange

the wonders of pixie dust and the prince of peace

when i walked out the front door of cbd last tuesday i was delighted to see my friend elijah stick his head out of a waiting car's window and offer me one of the sweetest smiles known to man. "mr. gentry! mr. gentry!" he repeated excitedly as i stuck my head in the window and asked for a kiss. after i greeted his mother elijah looked at me with instigating eyes and said, "is it time for wildboys?" then he started clapping and jumping up and down in the front seat until he cracked his forehead on the front windshield. i busted up immediately. due to his love for hockey, which results in multiple "body checks" every five minutes, and his irregular gait, which bears a striking resemblance to the sauntering of captain jack sparrow, elijah is well accustomed to sustaining such a hit. thus, he quickly laughed as well.

weekend before last, kevin and amy clark made their first visit to new england. i met k & a when i was a senior and college and kevin was a first year seminarian. after nine months together in lincoln geography tried its damnedest to divide us, but has constantly failed to succeed. thanks in large part to non-revenue tickets on AA and amy's parents' limitless hospitality our friendship has continued to deepen throughout the years. anyway, when k & a told me they were going to visit, i told them that they best bring new pictures of mayzie james, their one and a half year old daughter. otherwise, i threatened, their tour of new england might be limited to t.f. green airport. fortunately, they did better than that. they brought a video shot especially for us! on the video we got to watch our suddenly mop headed, precocious, pseudo-niece mimic the sound of animals. most of the animals were of the standard variety, but she also dealt us a wildcard. on kevin's cue, mayzie ran around the living room, flitting in and out of camera range, while hissing like a little snake.

all of this to say that i love children. for this reason, among others, i was awestruck by finding neverland. the ability of j.m. barrie to not only to recognize, but also accentuate the wild-eyed wonder of a child, reminded me of Jesus' amazing revelation that "unless you become like little children you will not see the Kingdom of God." thanks to barrie, i once again realize that i need Christ to whisper a new word into my life that reminds me that existence is both more beautiful and terrible as well as more whimsical and unexpectedly orderly than i ever imagined. i need him to widen the narrow focus and task orientation that i have defined as "maturity" and reveal to me yet again that the world is indeed enchanted. when Christ chooses to whisper, i think his word might sound something like this:

"here is your life. you might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. here is the world. beautiful and terrible things will happen. don't be afraid. I am with you. nothing can ever separate us. it's for you I created the universe. I love you." ~buechner, the alphabet of grace

to sum up: finding neverland. yeah, i kind of liked that movie.

the requisite sappy, sentimental thanksgiving post

even in this season of drought i have a number of reasons to be thankful. currently, i am thankful for:

1. my wife. i wish i could count the number of times that i catch myself staring at kellie and asking myself why a woman of such penetrating intellect, subversive beauty and enduring, earthy faith would choose to join her life with mine. my love for her knows few bounds. you heard it right, few...i will never love the learning channel or queer eye for the straight guy and no amount of stickiness or filth will ever compel me to clean the ceramic tiles in the kitchen with a toothbrush.

2. my family. my grandfather is not only a man above reproach, he is my best friend. i am not the only one who thinks so highly of him. in twenty-seven years the only negative thing i have ever heard about him concerns his driving, which is, admittedly, hurtling towards the danger zone. my practical genius father and sacrificial servant mother provided me with an ozzie and harriet environment to grow up in (too bad they were saddled with an R-rated eddie haskell for a son), provided every educational opportunity that i could ever need and continue to be my best advocates. my brother is a bastard. but then again, so am i. he is one of the most creative and endearingly quirky people i have ever met. i could go on about my grandmother who is the most gentle, accepting person i have ever met and my cousins that i love dearly (yes, including chris and my cousin-once-removed brian). i also love my dog kate. who stood proudly beside me, between kellie and i and on the couch during our first wedding (we had two since i feared the first "didn't take"). tomorrow will be my first thanksgiving away from my aunt beth's wassail, my uncle's smoked turkey and (thankfully) a smorgasbord of dallas cowboy's football.

3. let go by the "frou frou's." this song is a sacrament that is reminding me of the value and the beauty of carrying around in my body the death of Jesus (2 cor. 4:10). thanks to you, "frou frous" i am being reminded that the way up is down and there is indeed "beauty in the breakdown."

4. my strong, multi-faceted community. i once told a close friend that i often felt like a loose cannon. i had plenty of firepower and quite a bit of kick, but my shots were as unpredictable as they were dangerous. fortunately, over the past several years i have been bolted down by my beloved sinners and saints, my longsuffering sister regina, the comic troupe known as the clarks, my rufus lusting sidekick mark, my unparalleled spiritual director, blogging buddies all around the country and, though their threads should have been stripped by now, my loving wife and family. i thank God that i am no longer a loose cannon. now, if i could only get my barrel rebored...

5. my job. it isn't challenging, requires healthy doses of hypocrisy and often makes me want to curse, but it also pays for my bills, enables me to work among friends, provides remarkable scheduling and includes a boss that is willing to put up with my shit.

of course i have a number of additional reasons to be thankful, but this will do for now.

brushback pitches: hot-stove edition

now that i've burdened you with my spiritual struggles, let us turn to a discussion of my second religion: baseball (insert sound clip from the team america anthem here). these are just a few thoughts that are ricocheting through my mind right now.

• shame on major league baseball for naming the washington team "the nationals." they had the option to name the team after the washington "grays" of the negro league, thereby honoring a cherished past of baseball history and building the legend of josh gibson, but they chose instead to ride the wave of nationalistic frenzy that currently characterizes usamerica. hey, at least their colors aren't red, white and blue. wait a second... shame on you mlb, shame on you!


• speaking of mlb...one of the only upsides of a second bush term is that he won't have the opportunity to seek the commissioner's seat. here's a guy who by most accounts wasn't allowed to fiddle with the day to day operations of the texas rangers. and he wants to be commissioner of our national pastime? right. i'll continue to do my best to quench my criticism of bush's presidency, but if he ever attains the commissioner's seat, the gloves are coming off.


• i am glad that fans are finally realizing that sammy sosa is a childish whiner and all around mal-content. if a star player has problems with dusty baker, the prototypical player's manager, you know something is seriously wrong. i hope that he either rots in chicago's six hole or is shipped to flushing this winter. the new york post is probably one of the only organizations that is advocating the mets acquisition of sosa. think of the fodder.
  
• speaking of whiny dominicans, if the sox end up falling for this transparent steinbrenner/pedro ploy and guarantee him three years at 40 million, they're nuts. they would be much better served by spending the same money on pavano and a three man like radke/milton/lieber. count me among those who would be thrilled to see pedro go to the yankees. then we could unabashedly root for him to blow his cuff. (sidenote: if pedro includes the services of his dominican midget in his contract negotiations, my opinion might change).


• espn reports that the cardinals are not sure that they will be able to land rj so they are going hard after eric milton. i find this news more than mildly disturbing. if they can't get rj they should offer calero/haren/ankiel for hudson. assuming, of course, that they can get huddy to sign a contract extension before coming over. if our "big pickup" this off-season is milton, we are going to be left with a #2 guy, three #3 starters and a warm body in the #5 hole. that rotations will win a lot of games, but won't take the series.


• scott boras is one of the worst things to ever happen to baseball.


• if someone can get alou to sign a 2 year/12 million kind of deal or even a 2/16 they are going to get one hell of a bargain. expect him to go to the giants, where he could provide adequate protection for #25.

i am an unbeliever

i believe that you sent your Son among us, that he was born of a virgin, crucified for purposes both religious and political, and rose victorious three days later. i also believe that His death was the perfect sacrifice for our sin and a powerful invitation to enter the Kingdom that is now and not yet.

but i don't believe that you are calling me to a cross. i don't "always carry around in my body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus might be revealed in my body" (ii cor. 4:10). so, instead of responding to your call and picking up the cross i pour my energy into trivial pursuits and set aside the cross in order to enjoy yet another hour of leisure.

i realize that it is meaningless to confess Christ with my tongue if i refuse to incarnate that confession. and i realize that a life of incarnation demands that i carry the cross.

Lord God, i want to believe in the call of Jesus. help me in my unbelief. through the agency of your Spirit, enable me to incarnate the confession i often repeat by choosing to pick up the cross. teach me how to carry the death of Jesus in my body so that he might be truly revealed in my life and in the life of my community. Jesus died so that others might live. please lead me down a similar path.

an unexpected harvest

i am barren. the field of my heart, which once produced a sustainable, if not bountiful, crop now lies completely fallow.

due to the dearth of production i am tempted to despair. i regularly find myself standing on the edge of the field where i smoke camel lights, occasionally piss on the soil and try to discern what went wrong. has the acidity of disobedience tainted my soil for good? has the salt water of sin, which courses through my heart and steadily drips from my tongue rendered the field useless? or is the field merely awaiting the sharp blade of another plowman who can furrow deeper and plant more fertile seed?

answers are allusive. so, as my eyes well up with tears, i strike another match and light another camel. i realize that on the solitary fringe of my heart there is little solace to be found. yet, i am neither completely famished nor devoid of hope. for, during this barren period, i am able to subsist on the fruit of a larger field, of which i am merely a tenant. fortunately, the oddly misshapen and bruised fruit of that field has not failed to provide the sustenance that i need.

thank God for the misshapen, and wholly unexpected, produce of the larger field. after years of living solely off the fruit of my field, i am finally realizing that i am dependant upon other resources to survive.

happy haiku friday!

confined in a cube

a monkey pushes buttons

then throws shit at rhys


note to the easily offended: i didn't actually say shit. i merely spelled it.

link-a-matic

last night, after reading the sports guy's links page more carefully, i realized that gary wayne rodgers committed suicide about a week ago. it is one thing to laugh at the living, but another to desecrate the memory of the dead. thus, this link has been removed.

for more quirky links, visit the sports guy page.

to go, or not to go. that is the question

last week kevin and amy clark, two of my favorite people, came out to visit. between conversations that fluctuated from the absurd (including their tale of naughty middle schoolers who have been nicknamed "the fondeleros") to the significant (including discussions of how our sociological and ecclesiological place influences our interpretation of the gospel as well as the particular method that my Dr. used to assess the state of my prostate) amy mentioned that she had recently attended her ten year high school reunion. i condescendingly asked her if she was joking and she assured me that she was not. apparently, she even geared up for this shindig by visiting that snotty little republic and sharpening her, already formidable, claws in preparation for engagements with long-time adversaries. i punctuated her story by teasing her about attending such a meaningless affair until kevin rose to her defense. apparently he is going to attend his reunion as well.

in an attempt to both empathize with their decisions and to develop an appropriate response to the reunion invitation that i will undoubtedly receive this spring, i have decided to weigh the pros and cons of attending the ten-year reunion of Bishop Kelley's class of 1995.

first, since i am ever the optimist, i will consider the pros:

1. attending the reunion would provide an opportunity to key the h2s, lexus suvs and bmw3 series that the trust fund babies received from their parents.

2. after locating another marginalized, jaded soul we could play a game of plastic surgery "i spy." i can picture the joy of this competition in my head..."i spy a rhinoplasty." "i spy a britney job." "i spy a bo-tox injection!"

3. the freshman baseball team from 1992 could gather together and tell inappropriate jokes about our pedophilia stained baseball skipper and baptist deacon, coach webber. my first joke, due to unexpected pangs of conscience, has been edited.

4. i could finally discover whether paul finally came all the way out of the closet and wrote the script for "angels in america" under an assumed name.

5. i could drink alcohol with my classmates without receiving an m.i.p. (minor in possession) and smoke within 50 feet of school grounds without being fined $100. however, using the lingering incense in the school chapel to cloak the meeting of the 420 club would probably still be prohibited.

now, and you knew they were coming, the cons:

1. most of my friends in high school weren't in my class. in fact, most of them lived in canada...you wouldn't know them.

2. i could avoid conversations about my vocation without being interrupted by comments like "you became a pastor?" "what is it like? some kind of cult?" to which my response would be that (1) God has a sense of humor and (2) the boston church of christ congregation i lead is not a cult. just kidding...God doesn't have a sense of humor.

3. i don't have a pink oxford shirt of pair of navy blue dockers in my wardrobe. furthermore, while i thought cowboy boots with slacks were the "bomb" in 1995, i wouldn't be caught dead "duding up" now.

4. my failure to make the varsity baseball team is up near the top of my list of regrets. i can live without conversations about how i drilled fritz with 3 out of 5 batting practice pitches or about the time i got tossed out of edison field for using one of my favorite words.

5. i cannot endure another night of Bishop Kelley girls killing me softly with the blight on humanity that is known as karaoke. even if alcohol is involved...

at this point, i'm thinking that the cons outweigh the pros. but only time will tell how i will respond to that eagerly awaited invitation.

"There are two kinds of people in this world: Those that enter a room and turn the television set on, and those that enter a room and turn the television set off." ~Raymond Shaw in the original Manchurian Candidate

unfortunately, i am one of the latter. baseball tonight and back-to-back-to-back episodes of law and order are my kryptonite.

listening with a lump in my throat

as i settled into my cube this morning i instinctively reached for my pile of scratched cds. recently i have been relying on audiobooks to help wisk me through the day, but after a bad experience with 'sense and sensibility' (i know it's considered a classic, but my disdain for 20th century chick-lit apparently extends well into the 19th) i quickly returned to the tunes.

anyway, as i shuffled through the cds in a vain attempt to locate ben folds' rockin' the suburbs (i have been singing gone in my head all weekend), i ran across indelible grace, a cd that i lifted from a friends wallet sometime ago. indelible grace is a beautiful collection of reframed hymns (same lyrics with a new americana sound) that was crafted by the numerous musicians at Christ Community Church in jesusland, tennessee.

after the third track, entitled "i need thee every hour," brought tears to my eyes, i realized that, on this day, indelible grace was a sacrament i needed to receive. uncle buechner has always encouraged me to be aware of the times that i have a lump in my throat or a tear in my eye, for those are probably times that God is working. since the third track on the album inspired both a lump and the aforementioned tears, i listened to it again and again.

i thought you might find the lyrics of this old baptist hymn beneficial. then again, you might not.

i need thee every hour

I need Thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like Thine
Can peace afford.

Refrain:
I need Thee, O I need Thee;
Every hour I need Thee;
O bless me now, my Saviour,
I come to Thee.

I need Thee every hour,
Stay Thou near by;
Temptations lose their power
When Thou art nigh.

I need Thee every hour,
In joy or pain;
Come quickly and abide,
Or life is vain.

I need Thee every hour;
Teach me Thy will;
And Thy rich promises
In me fulfill.

I need Thee every hour,
Most Holy One;
O make me Thine indeed,
Thou blessed Son!
~Annie Sherwood Hawks, 1835-1918

may God grant us the courage to repent of our independent streaks so that we can grow into a deeper dependence upon Him and a deeper interdependence with one another.

well slap my ass and call me sally

mrs. howland always said that we deserved it. between lectures on the phallic symbolism in candide and chastizing us for improper use of the thesaurus, she reasoned that if she had to settle in the stirrup chair at least once a year, then men should have to deal with the magic fingers as well.

we always laughed at her. she was always talking to us about such things, which perched on the edge of sexuality without actually taking the leap, and we loved her for it. she was nearing forty and had a five year old son as well as a bespectacled, c.p.a. husband, but to us she was lady godiva. we openly proposed that she leave her husband and shack up with us. she laughed at us before taunting us with yet another explication of the sexual tension in ibsen.

she wasn't kidding about the pain of the magic fingers though. we should have seen the lust for revenge in her eyes. today the doctor had me drop my shorts, lay on the examination table, pull my knees up to my chest and put a quarter in the magic fingers machine. the result wasn't pretty.

damn you mrs. howland! after all that talk all you put out was a cold dish of revenge.

"sir, it's mega-maid. she's gone from suck to blow!"

insert rant about your meaningless job here.

draw a parallel between your professional life and that of Joe (who eventually mustered the courage to take on the volcano).

finally, speak melodramatically about the way that your outdated, piece of shit terminal is sucking your will to live.

once you have completed template, hit "publish" four or five times (unsurprisingly, the damn server isn't working again).

and there you have it. your mid-week, vocational lament is complete.

opening a vein

i decided not to preach last weekend. the first sunday of every month you can find me at hill memorial baptist in allston, massachusetts. at hill memorial i preach a twenty-five minute sermon, preside over communion, drink a couple cups of colon-cleansing coffee, listen empathetically to a couple of stories and collect a $100 check (which is subsequently applied to my comcast bill). the congregation is filled with lonely middle aged and elderly women who seem to enjoy my company and have found a way to endure my idiosyncratic preaching. as far as supply preaching goes, hill memorial is easy pickin'.

i usually look forward to my two hours at hill memorial, but last week, i avoided its approach like the plague. after failing to frame a sermon out of wood that was long since hewn, i put out an anxious s.o.s. to the other prospective preachers at cbd. i carefully sculpted my e-mail to make the preaching slot sound like a wonderful opportunity. but, as one of my friends realized after lightly scratching my surface, i was absolutely desperate for relief.

being vulnerable in the pulpit is unquestionably valuable. but, as my old prof would be quick to remind me, bleeding all over the pulpit is another thing entirely. sunday would have been an exercise in the latter. right now, my heart is a cracked desert, my mind looks and sounds like a snowy television screen and my eyes are threatening to reach flood stage.

why am i telling you all this? i am asking myself the same question. i guess the most basic reason is to remind us both that even depression is a sacrament that we need to receive. as saint john of the cross, henri nouwen and others would remind us, depression is not a detour from the spiritual life, but a road that we must all endure. so, by God's grace, i pray that we begin to view depression not as an opportunity to retreat into the fetal position, but as an opportunity to deepen our faith. furthermore, i hope that the cliche that "the darkest hour is always before dawn" is indeed true. finally, instead of falling into the self-destruction of sin during these times or relying on our silly, external crutches (such as my cigarettes), i hope that these dark times lead us into a deeper dependence upon our Savior, who in the midst of the greatest depression found the strength to submit to God's will and a more tangible interdependence upon one another. friends, this is a road that we all walk. but there is no reason to walk it alone.

happy haiku friday

oh rabbit angstrom!

literate theology

sex as sacrament

enjoy

every once in a while someone sends me an article or a link that i find entertaining. here are a couple that i think are worth sharing:

a different take on those damned massachusetts liberals

the flying lawnmower

please note: the inclusion of these links is not a request for more forwards or unsolicited email. i get enough junk already.

receiving the sacrament

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and the pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." ~Frederick Buechner

I've read this paragraph innumerable times, hoping that the nutrients within will sink down to the roots of my soul. today, this pregnant phrase, which is one of the most precious clues i have found to the great treasure hunt called life, is suggesting that every experience of life has the potential to become a sacrament.


for this reason, i believe that i can receive kerry's loss as a sacrament that is calling me to both identify my political idolatries as well as my trust in the 'chariots and horses' of the world in order that i can take one more step towards believing in, and living as a generative citizen of, the Kingdom of God. as i receive this sacrament, gracious God, i repent of my allegiance to the city of man and, begging the help of your Spirit, seek to live more fully within the sphere of your sovereign rule.

moreover, i am beginning to realize that the role of internet product editor at christianbook.com is a sacrament as well. by this means of grace you are teaching me the virtue of perseverance, as i deal with the fact that i push buttons for a living, leading me towards a more nuanced understanding of providence, as i struggle to believe that you can work through the life of someone who openly commodifies the gospel in order to preach and live a non-commodified gospel, and the value of solidarity, as i begrudgingly start to identify with my brothers and sisters around the world whose work seems to be devoid of any apparent meaning.

Lord God, thank you for the gift of life. please help me to realize that all moments are key moments and to receive such as a means of grace.

thank you for calling initech. just a moment

when you dressed up for career day in elementary school or talked to your high school guidance counselor did you have any idea that you would end up in your current job? me neither.

this question arose in my mind after i came back from a (thanks to my prostate far too frequent!) pit stop only to find my co-workers eagerly exhibiting their flexibility. apparently Art is double jointed, Christine, our middle-aged copywriter still has the flexibility of a freshman cheerleader and Dr. James is more pliable than your average yogi (bear).

don't get me wrong...i don't have anything against such exhibitions. i just find the office environment increasingly odd.

failed reality show pilots

on the border: cameras record the pitfalls and pratfalls of mexican immigrants as they struggle to make it to america. the show's host is chuck norris, fresh from walker, texas ranger and the tagline is "america the beautiful! are you in or are you out?"

the emergent makeover: viewers watch as graduates from evangelical seminaries try to establish emergent ministries in traditional churches. segments include:

• fashion: contestants decide what color to dye their hair, struggle to grow goatees and agonize over which body part to pierce


• theology: contestants try to find the one t.v. show, movie or music artist that will serve as a perfect illustration of the gospel. by the end of the show each contestant must publish a relevant book that is entitled: the gospel according to _______. as viewers quickly realize, filling in the blank is more difficult than it looks.


• liturgy: contestants struggle to develop the most creative worship experience. will they rent laser tag equipment and turn the gymnasium of generic community church into an arena for a lesson on spiritual warfare? will a skydiving adventure take 'trust falls' to an entirely new level? in order to teach compassion will the members of the community live on the front lawn of generic community church for a whole week with nothing but refrigerator boxes to call home?

have you heard of any intriguing, reality show pilots that didn't make the cut? if so, feel free to share.

happy haiku friday!

burnt orange autumn sky

pie chart speaks of time gone by

what is the result?

the cardinals are done. i can see it in their eyes. well done, boys, well done. not too bad for a team that had third place written all over them.

and congratulations to the red sox. i love being a sojourner in their nation and am glad that they are finally hurtling towards destiny. i only have one request for the sox: have buckner throw out the first pitch of the year next season. it would be a nice touch.

also, i would encourage you to read the sports guy as often as possible over the next couple of days. no one can explain the passion of red sox nation, or the measurements of lindsay lohan for that matter, quite like him.

i have reached catharsis. now, it's time for another cigarette.

alex just called to tell me that last night he saw a church marquee that read:

"Jesus reversed the curse. against sin!"

that is my favorite marquee of the year. last year's best:

"warning: weapon of mass salvation found inside."

the deconstruction of a cardinals fan

10:26 p.m.: calero just walked pedro martinez. first, he loses game one for us. second, he walks a freaking american league pitcher. kiko, you stupid bitch.

10:48 p.m.: at this point, i am so glad that i did not have enough money to go out to st. louis. i would probably be kicked out of a good, clean midwestern park on a night like tonight. i am such a hard hearted bastard. at this point, i'm just glad that the sox won't have the opportunity to clinch in boston.

10:58 p.m.: as rick just noted, the red sox feel so confident that they just dropped ortiz in favor of mienal;skjq3w4ei. that's just depressing. it was good to commiserate with a fellow cardinals fan though. we moped together for 45 minutes. come on reggie! can't you give us a meaningless homer here?

11:06 p.m.: if larussa leaves the cardinals i would like jocketty to interview the following candidates: larry dierker, jim leyland, terry pendelton and sweet lou.

11:09 p.m.: least favorite product placements in the world series. tom hanks pitching polar express, jimmy fallon pitching fever pitch (which promises to be the worst nick hornby adaptation yet), thousands of unwitting fans popularizing 'slama-lama-ding-dong,' and a farcical 'interview' with 'leon' of budweiser fame.

11:32 p.m.: at least we won't be shut out. thank you mr. walker.

11:35 p.m.: i would like to thank the red sox for the beating and wilco for the theme song. my heart is broken.

yet another narcissistic running diary

a number of you have emailed or called me, wondering about my thoughts concerning this god-awful world series. well, tonight i hope to provide some answers along with a side dish of sarcasm and other unconstructive thoughts.

before i start, please note that i fully realize that: (a) running diaries are even more narcissistic than blogs (if you think the latter aren't an example of narcissism, at least to some degree, you're kidding yourself and (b) that this format is a complete rip-off of the sports guy's work (i, along with Jesus, consider imitation to be the supreme form of flattery).

8:08 p.m.: i realize that equality requires that we have women sportscasters. i even appreciate the work of, um...thinking, at least one such sportswriter (jackie macmullen of the boston globe) i can't think of one female sportscaster who's even remotely watchable. in short, i think hannah storm is awful. not only does she spout out meaningless drivel, she isn't even that hot. note to the networks: if you're going to sell us on the idea of female sportscasters, select ones that look like reese witherspoon, keira knightley, or, if they're a little older, frances mcdormand.

8:14 p.m.: for everyone who's tried to encourage me by speaking of this situation as a "win/win" for me. let me provide one point of clarification: you're off your freaking rocker. i was literally raised at busch stadium. at different points in my life i have had extended conversations with enos slaughter (whose 1946 mojo we could use a lot of tonight) and lou brock and have met almost every living cardinal great you can think of. i will never, ever root against the cardinals nor will i delight in their demise. whether by curse, scratch hits or, god-forbid, adequate pitching performances, i hope that the cardinals crush the collective heart of red sox nation.

8:22 p.m.: hearing the anheiser-busch anthem played at a world series game reminds me of the pre-game in the 1987 series when one of the budweiser clydesdale's took a giant dump on the artificial turf. instead of dispatching one of the groundskeepers to go clean it up with a shovel and a bucket, they sent out the artificial turf vacuum cleaner to clean it up. bad decision. as a result there was a 15 foot shit stain in right field for the rest of the evening.

8:32 p.m.--it's funny. due to their cardinal credentials, mccarver was a member of the 1967 cardinals who bested the red sox in 7 games, and buck is the son of the cardinals legend, you would think that i would love this broadcasting team. but nothing could be further from the truth. when mccarver isn't kissing yankee ass, he's making some kind of insightful comment that i made 30 seconds earlier and buck has been completely co-opted by the fox mission of providing less substance and more style. announcers i would rather hear this evening: jon miller, uecker, vin scully, al leiter, mike shannon, hell, i'd even take the understandably biased rem-dawg over these guys.

8:43 p.m.: i think i just threw up. somebody woke up manny ramirez.

8:46 p.m.: while i'm nervously trying avoid the t.v. let me offer one thought. as a former pitcher and a fan of pitching duels i think the armadillo size elbow pads that hitters (i.e. bonds, ortiz, varitek and pujols) are wearing need to be illegal. these pads are basically another offensive weapon that encourages hitters to dive out over the plate and drive the ball. it also makes them less vulnerable to the inside pitch. so, that's commissioner gentry's decision. elbow pads are verboten! either that or we raise the pitcher's mound back to its pre-gibson height of 16 inches. hitters, you decide!

8:55 p.m.: there is one out, walker is on first, pujols is down 0-2 and i am rocking back and forth like an autistic child.

whew, runners on first and second. one out. please, please, please stay out of the double play!

9:00 p.m.: pedro walked the bases loaded. now, edmonds, our one lefty who loves high fastballs is coming to the plate. please, please, please make a mistake. unfortunately, or fortunately considering your perspective, the world series came smack dab in the middle of one of my holidays from alcohol. on the dark side, it's also leading me to pick up smoking again. of course, i could buy a pack of chewlie's gum.

9:02 p.m.: when did jose oquendo turn into dale sveum? i cannot believe we ran ourselves out of that f*cking inning.

what are the odds of us winning if we go down 3-0? how about 1-237.

9:16 p.m.: you know you are idolatrizing baseball when:

1. you snap at your coworkers. i left an anonymous note on a double pahhked ford expedition today in the cbd lot today. the note read: "learn to park your suburban assault vehicle." i also almost killed an employee earlier in the week when he called me a "traitor" for supporting the cardinals. i have had to avoid other co-workers all week in order to stave off an outburst.

2. you begin to think your team is cursed. i can empathize with the pain of elderly or middle aged red sox fans, i really can. but when i hear red sox fans my age, especially those who are non-natives, talk with pathos about red sox woes it makes me want to wretch. yeah, they had '86. but i've dealt with a blown call in '85 that ruined a series, two game seven blow-outs and three flame outs in the NLCS. you want to see my scars? i'll show 'em to ya! on the bright side, i've been thinking about spinning the tarp incident into the genesis of a "cardinal curse." i could write a book about it, build a career as a post-dispatch sportswriter and send my kids to college on the royalties.

3. your wife threatens to leave you. fortunately that hasn't happened, yet.

9:36: at least suppan didn't spike himself. 2 outs between third and home before the fourth inning. we're going to give this game away. this is the worst fundamental baseball the cardinals have played all year.

9:59 p.m.: wow, where did the last inning and a half go? answer: a smashed fist against our faux wood paneling followed by a trip to the Hess for cigarettes and a trip to the bathroom that saved my pants.

10:03 p.m.: first and third and no outs. can we say 4-0? this has all the makings of a blow-out. time for another cigarette.

the mad mission of patty griffin

it started out simple enough. after our saturday morning guy's group had finished a greasy breakfast and spent some time in prayer we headed over to the thrift store that is located in the musty basement of the episcopal church. after we descended the stairs and turned the corner into the small, cinder block room that houses the thrift store, i was immediately startled, for right there in front of me was an ex-girlfriend who i often refer to as "o'hare." as she alternately glared and ignored me, i tried to find something, anything, that would attract my undivided attention.

i found just what i was looking for on the cluttered south wall, which boasted one of the most eclectic music sections i have ever seen. on the cd shelf a brand new, unwrapped copy of r.e.m.'s out of time was located right beneath a worn copy of please hammer don't hurt 'em. on the other end of the shelf was an album by the artist who sexually stimulated millions of evangelical boys with her breathy hit "baby, baby," and an album by two dread-locked men who shuffled their way to an undeserved grammy. however, since my not-so-secret infatuation has moved from a Christian pop singer to a certain, unnamed middle-aged actress and if i want to celebrate lip syncing i can always watch ashlee simpson, i was more interested in the cassette tape section. it was there that i found, underneath a copy of the breakfast club soundtrack, a number of mix tapes that were worth purchasing. so it was that for seventy-five cents i picked up unauthorized copies of shawn colvin's cover girl, albums mark cohn and bruce cockburn that i have yet to digest and living with ghosts, an album by one of the first ladies of contemporary americana, patty griffin.

i was so excited about finding the patty griffin tape that i wasn't even bothered when i had to squeeze by "o'hare," whose vibe was unsurprisingly dissonant, to drop my 75 cents on the counter and make my merry way out of the store. later on saturday afternoon, while cleaning the toilet that the recently departed bastard defiled, i heard "mad mission" for the first time. this song rent my heart as quickly as the tracks on hiatt's meet the family. this song spoke, simply and eloquently, about the beating heart of the missional life and the ever-allusive beauty that is often found therein. when i realized that the song clarified the deepest intentions of my heart, i felt a lump in my throat. furthermore, as i listened to it time and again i was reminded of one mission (read: my relationship with o'hare) that i am glad i aborted.

all of this by way of introduction...here are the lyrics:

mad mission

We were drinking like the Irish
But we were drinking scotch
Bartender turned on a movie
Everybody turned to watch
And every single eye was gleaming
As he reached the final scene
Well, at least mine did
Here's lookin' at you, kid

It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up

I think I've seen the look before,yes,
it's kind of non-commital
It says come hither, baby, but then he's hard wood to whittle
it says it don't mean a thing, but still, somebody does
He'd like you to join the club that likes to say
there's no such thing as love and

It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up

Sometimes you find yourself
flying low at night
Flying blind and looking for
Any sign of light
You're cold and scared, and all alone
You'd do anything just to make it home

It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up

Sign me up

happy haiku friday!

sitting in my cube

cracking jokes about calvin

cute cat, what's its name?

a love letter

when telling a story, establishing the setting is essential. although i often forget the content or 'message' of a story, i can always remember details about the setting. for instance, i can still see the immense, riverbed rocks that Henri collected for the abbey of genesee's new chapel. likewise i can see the misshapen roof in ted cole's squash court and can hear the wind rustling through the corn fields that framed the ball fields of the iowa baseball confederacy. all of this to say that i love our current setting. if you'll indulge me for a moment, i would like to share a few things i love about our setting.

• i love living in the little, unfinished condo at the top of the hill that is judson street. i love that i cannot look around the house without seeing the handiwork of the defranza's and my father. i love that when i look out my screen door i see the ancient brick of the majestic, marquee laden cabot cinema. i love that most of my friends live within walking distance (i also love making fun of my friends when they are too lazy to walk).


• i love that when a plane touches down at logan international, i feel like i'm at home. if i land at any other airport, including manchester, new hampshire but excluding tulsa, ok, i do not feel as comfortable, nor exhale a sigh of relief. there is nothing better than landing at logan in the summer. coming over the harbor, which is accented by little white sails, looking over at our unique clock tower and the pru, straining to catch a glimpse of the citgo sign...there's nothing like it.


• i love that massachusetts is a book lover's paradise. from the palatial boston public library, which has a reading room that takes your breath away, to the independent booksellers like jabberwocky's in newburyport, the boston area does books right.


• i love the gravity and solemnity that characterizes the new england shoreline. our beaches are the perfect setting for long walks, writing poor, melancholic poetry and engaging in trenchant, uncensored prayer. even on the hottest summer days you don't get the dirty, MTV spring break feeling when you go to the beach. there are no hordes of multi-colored beach balls, drunken, half-naked coeds of half-hearted volleyball games to be seen. our beaches are too serene, and almost too serious, to invite such trifling pursuits


• i love that i live in the best baseball town in america. i'm a cardinal fan, so for a long time that truth was hard to admit, but there is nothing like following the red sox in the boston area. for instance, these fans are so passionate that while they're uncontrollably ecstatic about the sox vanquishing the yankees (which prompted a gentle edict from our management, reminding us that work is a good thing), they're still level-headed enough to realize that after the seventh-inning pedro debacle francona should be fired. i've never been surrounded by more intelligent, passionate and critical baseball fans in my life. i absolutely love it!

i am beginning to realize that if i did not live in this setting, i might have trouble understanding who i am. that's enough romantic sentiment for now. ignoring work because of blogging will not be taken as lightly as ignoring it on account of the sox.

overheard

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and the pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace."

~Frederick Buechner, Now and Then

"someone has a case of the mondays”…my first running diary

9:28pm—the red sox are fighting for their lives in the tenth inning. the cardinals are knotted at zero in the fifth and most important game of the nlcs. wilco’s "i am trying to break your heart is running through my head." and tonight i inherited a demon possessed cat. i think i’m going to throw up.

9:33pm—the red sox just squandered another scoring opportunity. the longer they go without closing the deal the less likely they are to score. trust me, dude. i know from experience.

the cat, which is named pounces (a rather unfortunate name), attacks everything that moves. the latter include fingers on the keyboard, images on the television and, especially, kellie.

9:36—have they ever had a caucasian model for those dancing i-pod commercials? yeah, i didn’t think so. so why is u2 performing on the new ads? did they suddenly get some street cred?

9:42pm—did I mention that the cat has fleas? did i mention that i hate cats? did i say that the cat was as possessed as a neighborhood church in a peretti novel? not good times.

9:54pm—the cat just cut the yarn that was attached to the jingle ball that kellie bought him at the store. the little yarn and ball device has kept him occupied for 15 minutes. but no longer. he has already attacked the keyboard twice and my bowl of peanut shells once. that little bastard.

the red sox are still holding on, but with every passing inning, well, you don’t need me to tell you what I think will happen. suffice it to say that wakefield is warming up in the pen.

the cardinals have yet to get a baserunner and i am typing with one hand while fending off a demon with the other. even rick types faster than this…

10:09pm—-i just tried to imprison the cat in a laundry basket, but had no such luck. little bastard.

10:15pm—alex just got home and was subsequently attacked. screw "pounce." the cat’s new name is bastard. the cat is now officially imprisoned.

10:30—2 on, 2 out, pujols at bat. and he pops out. insert curse word here: .

that carmen electra/gym coach commercial would be a lot more horrifying if the hybrid wo-man didn’t look like one of my ex-girlfriends. of course, the latter was less attractive.

10:34pm—-pujols just made a spectacular play on beltran. consider the sin atoned for.

10:40pm—the cardinals are still knotted at zero and the sox are still playing, 5.5 hours after their official start. will someone tell me why I’m not drinking?

10:54—two out, two on, Ortiz at bat. could he possibly do it two nights in a row? holy shit! the sox are headed back to new york!

in the midst of our celebration, the bastard bit alex.

11:25pm—trying to break my heart indeed. time to put the bastard in his cage and try to get a little sleep.

just thinking...

this past weekend, i began to realize that the 'second generation' of sinners and saints has a perspective on the christian journey that is quite distinct from that of the first generation. the former has very little christian background. thus, they do not have to struggle to extricate 'the gospel' from the encrusted fossil bed of christian culture. they never encountered 'the gospel glove,' wet their bed after watching an end-times movie or felt the need to testify to their faith in three-minutes or less. for this reason, when the first generation excitedly discusses the beauty, goodness and truth we have discovered as we've learned to live the gospel in community, the second generation either looks at us with blank stares, or, as was the case on saturday morning, falls asleep. they were not presented with the gospel as a principle, nor have they ever been lead down the romans road. hence, the gospel has always been as much a lived experience for them as it has been a theological truth.

moreover, the second generation never grew up attending weekly 'worship services,' looking forward to dawson mcallister conferences or spinning 'passion' cds in their discmans. thus, while the first generation looks forward to the possibility of large group worship settings in which we can belt out erotic worship tunes like 'hungry' and connect with other groups of believers, the second generation couldn't care less about the lack of large group settings. for instance, last night, mikey, who is one of our newer members went with us to a joint worship service in salem. the church that hosted the evening is a quirky little emergent group known as 'the gathering.' since they come out of the charismatic tradition, it was not surprising that the beating heart of the service was musical worship. as the rest of us sang the heart of worship, vineyard standbys such as find me in the river and even a campfire tune or two, mikey couldn't sit still. one moment he was going next door to get coffee, the next he was pacing in the back of the room and, somewhere in the midst, he also found the time to field a phone call or two. at first i was a little annoyed by mikey's behavior (especially by his lack of cell phone etiquette, a topic that deserves full treatment in any postmodern catechism), but, after thinking about it for a bit, i realized that he simply doesn't connect with this style of worship. mikey doesn't know the songs in the evangelical cannon, is more accustomed to interactive than passive worship and simply wasn't designed to sit still. as a result, the actual 'service' did little for him. that isn't to say that mikey didn't worship. he took full advantage when the floor was open, went out of his way to spend what little money he had to buy a fellow worshipper a cup of decaf coffee and engaged in lengthy discussions both before and after. however, i don't think mikey will be itching to buy tickets to the sixth 'one-day' conference anytime soon.

all of this to say that i am so thankful that God is moving the church in new directions. although alex never shook the gospel glove, he is one of the most vibrant, engaging disciples i have ever met. he rarely speaks openly about his faith, but co-workers and friends are asking him if they can come to church. moreover, while mikey has never prayed the sinners prayer and has a pentagram tatooed on his shoulder, he told me last night that he is 'leaning' towards following Christ more than he follows wicca.

in this moment i realize that his mercies are indeed new every morning. now, if you'll excuse me, i have some marketing to do.

happy haiku friday!

christmas, christmas time

is near. time for joy and time

for credit card debt.

do you ever get stuck on a song?

from the first note you feel a lump in your throat. as you listen to the song you realize that somehow, in this moment and by God's grace, this song has become a sacrament. so you partake of the song not just once, but time and again. once that song is lifted up and transubstantiated, you can never listen to it in quite the same way again.

allow me to share with you a few songs that have become, for me, sacramental:

have a little faith by john hiatt
faith my eyes by derek webb
we are not as strong as we think we are by rich mullins
freddie freeloader by miles davis
big country by bela fleck and the flecktones
come thou fount
a mighty fortress is our God by martin luther

imitating terry gross

i'm not crazy about my job. i hate rotating featured products like a virtual bookwhore, constructing a feature page for the way of the master products and counting myself among those who make their living off the commodification of christianity.

however, from time to time i am able to interview an author i am actually interested in. these brief conversations (almost) make my job worthwhile. so, as a means of career therapy, i have provided links to a few of these interviews on the right. i intend for these links to serve as a constant reminder that, occasionally, my job is palatable. if you happen to find the interviews interesting, that's an added bonus.

gratitude

on friday evening i took advantage of a commercial break to go into the kitchen and turn on the kettle. in the fraction of a second between turning the knob to 'light' and seeing the blue flame scorch the bottom of the kettle, i realized that this was our stove. this appliance as well as the cold gray tile under my bare feet was entrusted to us by God and the DeFranzas. the latter commissioned us to 'use the house for Jesus.' we are incredibly grateful for the opportunity they have given us to do so.

today i give thanks to God and the DeFranzas for the home they have given us. i pray that kellie and i will never take our home for granted, but will remember that it is sacrament of God given for the people of God.

"there is a difference between being vulnerable and bleeding all over the pulpit"

he said. i couldn't agree with him more. and yet, when i stand behind this pulpit that we call a 'post' i almost always feel the need to bleed. as i strike the keys the voice of my mentors ring in my ears. "that which is most personal is most universal" henri gently reminds me. likewise, quoting the tempest, buechner constantly beckons me to realize that "the weight of these sad times we must obey, and speak what we feel, not what we ought to say."

i've rarely felt the need to bleed as strongly as i do today. however, i also realize that this blood needs to gush out of the wound called repentance. thus, these drops should be shed in the closet instead of this pulpit.

that being said, i could use your prayers though as i slog through this process. repentance is damn hard work.

clogged up and confused

today there is more flem in my throat than mirth in my heart. i started struggling with allergies over a month ago when the wilcoxs took us camping up in the white mountains. i haven't really enjoyed a full day of health since. the doctor prescribed claritin as well as flonase and promised that 'hope is on the way,' but i'm beginning to doubt.

i started to write a longer post, but, due in large part to my flem infused brain, it reads like ninth-graders essay on a separate peace. i'll keep working on it with the hope of posting later.

go cards, go cards, go cards.

hhf you, hhf you, you're cool, hhf you, i'm out...

dour thoughts on the mind

melodrama all the time

talkin' about memphis

welcome to Oklahoma!

where cowpie throwing contests and civil war reenactments are verbotten, but cockfighting is still legal. did we tell you about our 3.2% beer? the state legislature has long said it is non-intoxicating.

altogether y'all, let's hear it: "you're doin' fine Oklahoma, Oklahoma, O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A, Oklahoma, OK!"

is this heaven?

it's 2:27pm on a school day. the cardinals are up 6-0, i'm drinking a beer, lounging on my leather couch and looking forward to seeing schilling and santana tonight. i live for this.

even joe morgan can't soil this afternoon.

11 games to glory

a hung over grover cleveland alexander ambling out of the bullpen and striking out tony lazzeri to save the '26 series.

enos slaughter's 'mad dash' that unraveled the red sox.

gibson ensuring that boston's impossible dream was just that.

whitey's rats scampering around the carpet and dismantling harvey's wallbangers in 7 games.

i live for this.

confession

although i would like to say otherwise, my cynicism is a choice. cynicism is not a necessary result of my environment nor a certain consequence of my sin. i choose cynicism and so eschew hope. i confess that this choice is, in itself, sinful and must be remedied.

Spirit, with your assistance, i would like to work through my cynicism, so that i might become more enamored with, and subsequently colored by, the living hope of the gospel.

things i know now that i wish i knew then:

• ray miller's preaching mantra: throw strikes, change speeds, work fast


• that baseball was willing to teach me one of life's most important lessons: how to fail


• nashville country isn't good for you, but cash, haggard, jennings and nelson nourish the soul


• religious people who warm up too quickly are not to be trusted


• one should not bypass an opportunity to see braveheart on the big screen in order to watch the bridges of madison county. especially if the girl accompanying you to the latter is not easily persuaded


• with regard to women: if you think you can live without her, do


• the citadel is not the best place for students with a past history of insubordination


• one should not scale nine-foot, barbed wire topped fences in order to collect aluminum cans. even if the proceeds are going to charity


• spiritual formation is vastly more important than spiritual information. thus, i should have shunned gordon-conwell for l'arche


• although you might enjoy dumping a girl at an airport, it's probably best not to tell others about it

if you would like to share a piece of your accumulated wisdom, feel free.

remembering one of my best days

around 3 p.m. i quit practicing. you can only run through a liturgy so many times before your voice begins to sound stilted and your humorous asides shopworn. there was nothing left to do but get dressed and wait.

two hours later i was clothed in a sharp new ck suit that i bought with macy's credit and a fifty dollar tie that belonged to the impeccably dressed father of the groom. while jon and i waited in the small parish kitchen, we were both visibly anxious, which was unsurprising since this was our first time. his anxiety was betrayed by eager chirping about this and that. though i said little, mine was betrayed by trembling hands and one too many visits to a water closet that was small enough to merit the name.

finally, after fifteen minutes that anxiety compressed to five, we walked up the narrow stairs and out of the vestry door. we positioned ourselves in front of the altar, smiled for the cameras and waited for the sound of the organ. my hands were still shaking so i gripped my little black binder and held it in front of my package, just as i had been taught to hold the musical score in eighth grade choir. though his tongue was still, jon's eyes darted over the faces of family and friends as if to ask them if this event was really happening. then the organist struck the note. the doors quickly opened and jon's new land, his jerusalem, approached as if from above. with blue eyes and light blond hair, jenny was made to wear white. in response to her revelation, jon's eyes focused and my hands stood still.

at that moment, i realized what a wonderful privilege it was to be a part of jon and jenny's life. my role in solidifying their covenant was not the result of a title i held nor a mere function of an ordination which i have yet to seek. rather, my role grew out of a relationship that was grounded in hours of worship, distraught tears over tea and a liberal dose of good natured taunting and teasing. on that beautiful saturday evening, i shared in the sacrament of jon and jenny's marriage. i am a better man for having done so.

jon and jenny, i love you more than most. thank you for allowing me to share in the sacrament that is your marriage. happy anniversary.