my long awaited review of fever pitch part 1

the primary problem with fever pitch is that it does not work on any level.

first, it does not work as a baseball movie. as most of us have experienced personally, and even more of us vicariously, a baseball field is a beautiful and often magical place. if you ask any true baseball fan, they can tell you about the first time they exited the tunnel at yankee stadium and saw the deep green expanse of left center, walked up to bush stadium and viewed the arch inspired facade or wound their way up to the upper deck of royals stadium, where they were greeted with a magnificent view of the fountains (not to mention I-40 I-70. thanks uncle cade!). unfortunately the cinematography of fever pitch fails to convey either the physical beauty of the field or the lyrical beauty of a perfect wind-up or the sweet moves of a short stop turning two. the stock footage of the games is decent enough, but the shots that the farrelly's directed were horrible. i'm convinced that the blind imbecile who willingly purchased petey the bird could have made more of those shots. in true fenway fashion i would have to say, cinematographer, cinamatographhhher, cinamatogrepherrrrrrrrrrrrr....you suck! furthermore, the portrayals of the fenway faithful were utterly unbelievable. i've been to fenway and have sat close to where the quirky, irrepressible fans sit, so i can assure you that their dialogue is not pg-13 material. i have heard profanities at fenway that i never knew existed and the hometown faithful have made me blush more times than i can count. fans at fenway do not fail to use the f-bomb, they do not talk about "the curse" (they leave such ignorant talk to mindless muckrakers such as Shaughnessy) and they do not fail to discuss subtle nuances of the game, such as whether a one out sacrifice is mathematically sensible or whether lefty-lefty pitching substitutions make an ounce of sense. the fans at fenway, and i'm talking about the real fans--not the beachball pounding, wave joining, blathering idiots who populate the dunkin dugout environs of the bleachers--know baseball better than any fans in the world. when i am there, i am proud to be one of them. turning them into jibber-jabbing, non-cursing, conga-line dancing idiots is reprehensible. on second thought, its worse that that...it's filthy! finally, it does not work as a baseball movie because the narrative ark of the season is never in doubt (hence, no suspense whatsoever) and the filmmakers profane the game by subliminating the story of the season to an idiotic, insipid romance. if you're going to make a baseball movie, make a baseball movie. the narrative arc of the baseball season can sustain a love story here and there (think jake taylor and his sexy librarian, crash and his nun of the "church of baseball"), but do not subliminate the baseball to some player or fan's affection for some broad. okay, i need to get to work. more to come...

finding solace on the smoking porch

around noon on a saturday afternoon, i tried to find solace in a warm cup of coffee, a warm spring breeze and the four thousand incendiary ingredients in my cigarette. but alas, i felt almost crushed by the weight of monotonous work, ministerial responsibility and academic drudgery. but then, whispering through the soft northern breeze i heard the voice of my Savior, "come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and i will give you rest. take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for i am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest in your souls."

in that moment, i collapsed into Christ, wherein i found rest from:

pastoral responsibility
the accusations of conscience
the persistent, piercing voice of self-rejection
the futility of punching buttons
my failure to be present to those i love
the consequences of past sin
my fear of commodifying Christ
the parable that i am to pen for homiletics class
my barely submerged longing for home
my failure to listen and speak life into those i love
my increasing fear of death
the pervasive doubt that consistently counters my faith
and the list goes on.

dear God, i am so thankful for this momentary experience of the rest that both is and is to come. send your Spirit to guide me towards a deeper understanding and experience of the rest that is available in Christ.

my prayer for you, sinners and saints, friends and foes, commenters and lurkers, is that you too will collapse into Christ and so find rest for your weary and burdened souls.

an existential car ride

my occupation arrested my vocation, he admits,
suspended between sentimentality and hope.

what once brought me pleasure
now renders me fat and tired.

the place i called home
has turned into a hospice

i've moved beyond becoming
in order to struggle with being

it is time for the past to impregnate the future
for becoming to issue forth from being.

happy haiku friday!

torn weezer t-shirt

tucked into brand-new gap jeans

past kisses present

memorandum from captain random:

kellie is going to make me see fever pitch. go ahead, laugh, i can handle it. i figure that submission in this instance will save me from later trips to see meaningless drivel like mona lisa smile and murder-in-law. i've heard that holli-brooke is hot to see the later. perhaps they can go together.

at least we won't have to pay for this abusive adaptation of nick hornby's work. we got free tickets for enduring sound problems during the previews for the upside of anger. i would give the latter three stars. fine performances, horrible plot twists. regarding the latter, let me be the first to say only southern children get stuck in abandoned wells.

while we were driving back from his grandfather's interment, josh told us that the receptionist at the mortuary had died unexpectedly the day before. he then said that "apparently, she was the life of the place." we about died.

funniest line of the week: "you had me at blood and semen." ~peter la fleur in dodgeball. is there any end to the entertaining mutations of line?

if you are a fan of crash davis, you'll love ball four by jim bouton. i hope that ron sheldon kicked some royalties bouton's way. otherwise, sheldon is a shameless plagarist.

i've been surprised to find myself returning to a number of christian practices, such as morning devotions, that i once rejected. i think that there is a lot of value in the faith of our evangelical mothers and fathers (pronunciation note: evangelical, pronounced eh-van-gel-i-cal is code for acceptable, Evangelical, pronounced EEE-van-gel-i-cal, often with a southern twang, is code for unacceptable) passed down to us. once we deconstruct the guilt and manipulation with which such practices were foisted upon us, i think that many of us will return to them. a positive, corporate, illustration of this assertion is the way that evangelical, but not Evangelical, churches have been rediscovering the beauty of christian liturgy.

there's twenty of them!

the way up is down

the moment i heard of his grandfather's death, i knew i needed to attend. so after speaking with crummy, i called a couple of friends and we decided to trip together. we planned to leave at 2 a.m. on tuesday morning and arrive home sometime before wednesday. i knew that a day trip of a thousand miles would shred me for the rest of the week, since i am much closer to thirty than i am to spring break at daytona beach, but suspected that the trip would be worth it. i was right.

i am honored to call crummy my friend. after scoring in the 99th percentile on the LSATs and matriculating at george washington, josh decided to go to seminary. at the seminary he struggled through the doubt, cynicism and damn-near despair that few students escape, but he kept at his studies and graduated within three and a half years. after completing seminary, josh had a decision to make. he could begin candidating (seminary-ese for applying) for pulpits or he could go home to carlisle, pennsylvania and provide home care for his grandfather, who was slowly dying of a brain tumor. josh made the right decision.

for the last six months josh has lived in his grandfather's home, overseen his grandfather's affairs and served his grandfather in every which way (up to and including changing his adult diapers). he also took an overnight inventory clerk at target so that he could start paying off his student loans. josh sacrificed the opportunity to work his way into a wealthy firm in order to serve God and His people. he then chose to sacrifice the christian ladder of success in order to serve his dying grandfather. his reward? serving his grandfather during his dying days and letting his grandfather die in loving, familiar arms. josh said he wouldn't exchange the last six months for anything. i am inclined to believe him.

i was so proud to sit in an aluminum sided assembly of God just of I-83 in carlisle, pennsylvania and hear my friend eulogize his grandfather. my intent was to honor my friend for eschewing the good in order to do the best. the tears in his eyes and the strength of his embrace suggested that my intent was correctly interpreted.

there are some people of whom you can truly say, "with friends like those, who needs enemies." i know such people, because i was once one of them. but in the years since i chose to stumble towards Christ and try to serve His church, i have been surrounded by friends who enable me to love and serve not only those who love me, but also my enemies. i am surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses. for this i am so grateful.

overheard...a good word for my fellow bloggers (not to mention myself)

"one of the arguments we often use for not writing is this: 'i have nothing original to say. whatever i might say, someone else has already said it, and better than i will ever be able to.' this, however, is not a good argument for not writing. each human being is unique and original, and nobody has lived what we have lived. furthermore, what we have lived, we have lived not just for ourselves but for others as well. writing can be a creative and invigorating way to make our lives available to ourselves and to others.

we have to trust that our stories deserve to be told. we may discover that the better we tell our stories the better we will want to live them."

~henri nouwen, bread for the journey, entry for april 29th

consider this an invitation to Reverend Billy's Church of Stop Shopping

pastor rick, i just received a vision of God's higher calling on your life. this spectacular vision simply appeared on boston.com. i would encourage you, along with all you other sinners and saints, to check this out!

overheard

alan creech of the vine and branches community has written an insightful piece concerning the individual and communal expectations that confront those who participate in communities like sinners and saints. if you are involved in this type of community or are interested in being a part of one, i would encourage you to read it.

please continue to pray for John Paul, our brother.

for Christ's sake

Please pray for Pope John Paul II as he participates in "the fellowship of sharing in Christ's sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attain the resurrection from the dead (Phil. 3:10)." John Paul has often said that teaching Christians how to suffer is an important part of his mission. Ask God, through the ministry of his Holy Spirit, to enable John Paul to bring this teaching to a good and holy conclusion.

"just easin' the tension, baby. just easin' the tension!



is there a particular piece of jesus junk that you find especially reprehensible? if so, feel free to share!


please note: the purpose of this piece is not to disrespect Jesus Christ, but to ridicule a piece of jesus junk that i find particularly reprehensible and irreverent.

overheard

i think i'm growing prematurely sentimental. recently i have awoken from a dream only to find myself sitting in a wicker backed roller chair in my grandparents living room, the vestry at bishop kelley or, more disturbingly, on the quad at the citadel during hell night. anyway, these unexpected travels made the following passage from uncle freddy all the more potent.

"the words time and tide trace their ancestry back to a common indo-european root, and part of what they still have in common after going their separate ways all these years is the sense of ebbing and flowing. time, like the receding waters of the ocean, bears all of us who are time's children farther and farther away from the near shore and closer and closer to the mysterious depths where we will finally come to our time's end...but the tide that carries us farther and farther away from our beginning in time is also the tide that turns and carries us back again. in other words, it is true what they say: the older we grow, the more we find ourselves returning to the days when we were young. more vividly than ever before, i think, we find ourselves remembering the particular house that was our childhood home. we remember the books we read there. we remember the people we love there." ~a longing for home, pgs. 1-2.

john irving wrote the the prayer for owen meany in the late eighties. yet this passage, which wryly comments on the gary hart scandal that took place during the 1988 democratic primaries, could have been written about many politicians before and since. read this passage and tell me that you couldn't hear dr. james saying something like this.

"what do americans know about morality? they don't want their presidents to have penises but they don't mind if their presidents covertly arrange to support the nicaraguan rebel forces after congress restricted such aid; they don't want their presidents to deceive their wives but they don't mind if their presidents deceive congress--lie to the people and violate the people's constitution! what mr. hart should have said was that nothing unusually immoral had occurred, or that what happened was only typically immoral; or that he was testing his abilities to deceive the american people by deceiving his wife first--and that he hoped the people would see by his example that he was immoral enough to be good presidential material!" pg. 269.

i've also heard a few encouraging words from a lurker known as becky. she's probably been reading your blog for a good while so be sure to stop by hers and say hello. i would also like to encourage the aforementioned lurker to join the conversation by commenting here and there.

finally, for all of you emergenty types, i stumbled across a blog that you might like. anthony smith is an african-american disciple who has blessed us by adding his voice to the conversation. you can find him at postmodernegro.blogspot.com.

on a wednesday morning

the light appears earlier
the days are getting longer

the whispers more frequent
the prayers a bit stronger

often i ignored you
whenever i heard your sound

but now there's no denyin'
what was lost has been found

"what's lost is nothing compared to what's found, and all the death that ever was, set next to life, would scarcely fill a cup." ~uncle freddy

lump in the throat, yet loathing

my research started with a lump in the throat. i thought that was a good sign. as i meandered through the basement of the goddard library, i was overwhelmed with the smell of decomposing journals, the generative hum of florescent lights and the sight of my old study carrel. it was in this basement that i spent so many hours learning to parse hebrew verbs, exploring the antinomy of divine sovereignty and human responsibility and deconstructing the seeker church. as i walked through the stacks i remembered the encouraging solidarity of working beside april during my second year and the conversations i had with jen about her stalker during my third. then, when i stumbled upon the imaginative yet kitschy carrel of dawn richardson, i almost lost it. i don't know why. perhaps i was overwhelmed with a sense of longing for those who have moved on or, wonder of wonders, God really did bring some good out of those years spent in the library basement.

anyway, after i collected myself, i made my way over to the copier, where i planned to copy two commentator's thoughts on philemon. i began by pulling out my wallet, putting a $5 in the slot and was greeted with an immediate response on the LED: "Exact Change Needed."

no problem, i thought, i will go to the other end of the basement and use the second copier. once i got there i put the five spot in the slot and received another immediate response: "Maximum Credit $4."

i took a deep breath. okay, i don't have any singles since i needed $4.60 worth of copies, but i can go upstairs to the front counter and get change. "can i get five singles," i asked the j crew model at the desk. "uh, i don't know if we have change," she said to the floor and made her way to the drawer. once we were over there, she rustled through a drawer while i looked at the snowy screen that displayed the security camera feed. "that's a nice view," i quipped. "uh-huh," she responded. at that moment i realized she reminded me of the freshman year ice-queen that neither i nor anyone else was ever able to thaw. so i shut my mouth and extended my hand as she gave me five singles.

i then made my way down to the photocopier in the basement and slid a single into the slot. there was no response from the slot and no message on the screen. no problem, i thought, george is just wrinkly. i took out another crisp single and put it into the slot. absolutely nothing. "damnit!" i thought to myself, but didn't say it, since there was a studious and probably sanctimonious student sitting behind me. besides, i am trying to curb my cussing.

once again, i made my way up to the desk. can i get five dollars in change, i asked. "uh, i don't know if we have it," the ice queen replied. "can you look?" i asked with a little (christian) edge in my voice. she made her way over to the drawer and slowly, methodically, carefully counted out five dollars in change. "thanks, i said," and went back to the copier.

once i arrived i plugged my quarters into the machine and began to make copies. the first one was washed out, but i was fairly non-plussed. i simply darkened the image and continued my copies. "page eleven, twelve, thirteen" i counted to myself. "page sixteen, page....what? tray 2 needs paper. what the..." but of course, i kept such thoughts to myself. i opened tray 1 to find paper, and was sorely disappointed.

so, once again, i made my laborious way up to the first floor where i stole copy paper out of another printer and stomped my way back downstairs. "page seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty." once done, i exhaled and exchanged the word biblical commentary volume for the new international greek new testament commentary.

page one didn't capture both pages of the commentary so i adjusted the setting. after adjusting the setting i pushed start and another botched copy came out. finally, while adjusting the setting again, i accidentally hit start and the machine made a copy of nothing. "shit!" i finally said, kicking the copy machine for good measure. in response i heard the student sitting at the desk turn towards me, undoubtedly in an attempt to shoot a little conviction my way. if he had only known what was going on inside, i thought, as one of dennis leary's lines crept into my mind: "fuck! i know fuck is a bad word, but you're fucking making me say it!"

so it was, with only half my research done, i stormed out of the library.

Proper Apparel for the Pimp-Driven Life



Additional apparel can be found at BustedTees.com.

a (wretch-free) book recommendation: real sex: the naked truth about chastity, by lauren f. winner

Finally, a Christian consideration of sex that is (almost) as delightful as the act itself! With exegetical acumen, historical awareness, pastoral sensibility and surprising wit Lauren Winner exposes the half-truths the church and the world have told us about sex. She then proceeds to help us develop a Christian understanding of sex that is biblical, communal and God-honoring. Real Sex is an invaluable resource for college students whose queries cannot be answered by "True Love Waits," Christian communities that desperately long for a return to sexual fidelity and pastors who want to speak a good word about sex into this postmodern context. A remarkable resource!

happy haiku friday!

on the day you died

you forgave their ignorance

will you forgive mine?

maundy thursday

"could you not wait with me for one hour?" the Lord asks, after the t.v. transformed me into a drone and i have drifted off to sleep. "watch and pray, so that you will not fall prey to temptation" of the american dream, apathy and your own small, self-centered expectations, i quickly add. "for the Spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." weak in what way, i wonder, for it seems perfectly capable cultivating the lusts of my heart and maintaining the wall of pride that surrounds it. maybe Jesus isn't talking to me, i surmise, for it is the Spirit not the flesh that feels weak within me. if, indeed, He is within me at all.

so, rent with contradiction i remain in the garden, for it is to this place of darkness, suffering and self-doubt that the one i hesitantly call Lord has called me to go. i sit in the silence, i try to pray, i wonder whether i am the betrayer, and i fall asleep.

welcome to the garden. though i cover my face on account of failure, i am glad you are with me. please pinch me when i am tempted to slumber. please help me to watch and pray.

overheard

"there is no downside to winning. it feels forever fabulous. but there is no teacher more discriminating or transforming than loss. the great secret of athletics is that you can learn more from losing than winning. no coach can afford to preach such a doctrine, but our losing season served as both a model and template of how a life of how a life can go wrong and fall apart in even the most inconceivable places. losing prepares you for the heartbreak, setback and tragedy that you will encounter in the world more than winning ever can. by licking your wounds, you learn how to avoid getting wounded the next time."
~pat conroy, my losing season

"one secret of life is that the reason life works at all is that not everyone in your tribe is nuts on the same day. another secret is that laughter is carbonated holiness."
~anne lamott, in plan b: further reflections on faith

mid-morning time wasters

in honor of dr. james' post and my own digust at having lived the pimp-driven life, i am proud to present the first annual purpose driven makeover contest! the purpose of this game is to find parking, er, i mean, to carefully examine the photos below and clearly identify the five components of pastor rick's purpose-driven makeover. the winner of the contest will receive a sparkling, slightly damaged, copy of pastor warren's aptly named what on earth am i here for? good luck!

mid-morning time wasters

if you find yourself searching for a little levity this morning, i would encourage you to surf on over to the following sites.

DateJesus (if you're not easily scandalized, feel free to click on the "bathe" link as well)


Wait Wear


i was so inspired by the second site, that i sent the creators an encouraging email. if you would like to read the aforementioned email, check out my comments.

early afternoon time wasters

pray tell, when you meditate upon this image divine what line from happy gilmore comes to mind?

hell hath officially frozen over

krista has a blog. i'm so happy i could shit! seriously.

gratitude

i live in a world of great reversals
    a few of which i'm awake enough to see
i've seen sinners become saints
combatants become friends
the handicapped unveil the holy and hidden heart of me.

all these reversals, these sacred surprises
    continue to startle and overwhelm me
a bastard buoyed by family
an enemy among friends
a shepherd led by sheep

i live in a world of great reversals
    a few of which i've been able to see.

happy haiku friday

pastor never-nude

pitches for the razorbacks

how i love rem sleep

and now for something altogether different

if you read this blog (poor soul) and live within shoutin' distance, feel invited to sinners and saints' 3rd annual saint patrick's day party. we're going to be drinking da green beer and bumping and grinding at the wilcox's place from 7-12 tonight. if you need directions, feel free to shoot me an email at jeffkelliegentry@yahoo.com.

suck my white ass blogger!

on my way to the library

cabot street is becoming my via dolorosa. it is upon this way that i live and, i suspect, it is upon this way that i will die.

my first stop along the way is the cinema, where i hope to connect with Ken the wunderkind magician. over the past several months we've shared snippets of conversation about dogs, accounting and running off to join the circus. though i'm no marco the magi, i suspect that one day our roads will converge. he's out for the evening, so i leave an invite to our patrick party and forget to mutter a prayer.

immediately thereafter i make my way across the walk. an impatient yuppie, vigilantly indifferent to state law, honks and i raise my silver mug in a mock toast. as i pass the italian restaraunt renowned for its peas, mikey (or is it mickey?) appears and compels my second, altogether unexpected, stop. i remind him of our plan to ferry drunks and he promises to join us. as i continue to make my way to the library he chooses to hobble along beside. he reminds me of his shredded tendon and i call him a cripple. after addressing me in the same manner that i address dizzy, he tells me that he has an interview tomorrow at the family dollar. as soon as i break into a smile and offer him a pat on the back he tells me that he has also retained a lawyer. apparently mikey is planning to sue the commonwealth for services that shouldn't be rendered. i shake my head. one step forward, one step back. in the midst of such inertia the only thing i know to do is pray, so i lay my hands upon mikey's grubby sweatshirt, petition God to open a door at the family dollar and leave the other stone in the stream unturned. after "amen" i embrace this bear of a man and realize, in that very moment, that i love him in ways not only ideal but real. he hobbles off and i finally make my way into the library.

but i don't get through the lobby before running into a recently shorn "moppy." he bemoans the sad state of affairs that is bennett street, speaks longingly of past interactions and forwards his blessings as well as his phone number to the tockeys. for my part i confess that sexual sobriety is one of the constraints of Christ that i actually appreciate and remind him that though the coffee has gone cold (quite literally by this point, damnit!) i will still be around. after all, i am landed gentry who works in the area and helps lead a local christian community. upon mentioning the latter i look for any hint of interest, but am unsurprised to see none. with that i fold his number into my wallet, pick up my cold cylinder of coffee and make my way up to the quiet area.

where i now sit, avoiding the work to be done while still doing something that is undeniably important. God, i do not have the energy to walk this road nor the discipline needed to take it step by step. i need your energizing Spirit to keep my feet moving, your incarnate Son to continue revealing the way and your faithfulness to underwrite my faithlessness as i stumble down this via dolorosa.

memorandum from captain random:

if the scourge of prostatitus has truly passed, why do i feel like i'm sitting on a golf ball?

books on tape are a panacea to dull workdays (recently completed: confederates in the attic and be cool. in answer to your question concerning the latter, yes. currently residing in the ghetto blaster: the hundred days by patrick o'brian).

leanne has been haunting our hood lately and, to be honest, i don't mind. this is a bold statement coming from a man who does not like to open the circle of trust or expand his sidebar. but i get the feeling i might be doing both at some point in the near future.

dizzy is a mouthy little bitch. that's all i got to say about that.

marrying an elf is the best thing i ever did. aragorn has yet to lead me astray.

you guys can have your "march madness" if you want, but please...keep your sweaty, gym rat shit out of april (the month in which they finally open the gates to the elysian fields).

i preached in class today. i've preached in front of bible college students and seminarians for six years and it still scares the shit out of me.

after i stopped trembling, i found a way to slip in a little narrative about the pimp-driven life into my sermon. how 'bout them apples?

i've been reading a lot of richard russo lately. can't get enough of him. ditto lauren winner and stanley grenz.

congressional hearings on steriods?! in the midst of making sense of a budget that completely omits war spending, debating the future of social security, and considering whether or not to piss on the senate's long standing tradition of honoring dissent through filibuster, they are going to spend hour upon hour discussing which syringe punctured who's ass in what major league locker room! unbelievable. if you want to press criminal charges, empower the f.b.i. if you want to regulate baseball, lean on the owners. if you want to do govern well, do some real frickin' work! yes, this means you, john mccain. okay, inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. phew.

happy haiku friday!

piercing wind precedes

a layer of pregnant clouds

clarity not found

my literary doppelgangers

godric from uncle freddy’s book of the same name. godric is a wonderful mix of the sacred and the profane. he pursues maidens and God with equal vigor. when his hagiographer tries to exalt him, he humbles himself by creating a new etymology for his name. godric, he tells the bright eyed gospel groupie, means “God’s wreck.” though i have not done the research, my guess is that the etymological roots of gentry are quite similar.

the whisky priest from graham greene’s the power and the glory. if you pushed him, uncle freddy would probably admit that godric is a reflection of this man. the whisky priest is painfully aware of his own sin, yet still fosters a reluctant belief in the God he professes. though he despairs of his ability to become an incarnation of God’s sacrificial love, somehow God makes him just that. he is as obsessed with the sacrament as he is with getting soused. in short, he’s my kind of guy.

rob gordon from nick hornby’s high fidelity and the american movie of the same name. i know this identity is completely devoid of originality, since with rob hornby may have created the archetypal postmodern man. however, i must confess that i can really relate with his existential struggles with women, as is characterized in his admission that he’s been “thinking with his gut since i was sixteen" and is "convinced that my guts have shit for brains!,” his occupational inertia (“i’m not even sure i want to be an architect”) and his penchant for bad break-ups (say it together now: “charlie, you f*cking b*tch! let’s work this out!).

eddie o’hare from irving’s widow for one year. while i have never summered on long island and would be unable to write a book like sixty times, i see a lot of myself in eddie. as a writer he is passable, but not proficient. he has a depth of feeling that he is completely unable to convey. and, though weighed down by a persistent melancholy, he’s never quite able to surrender hope.

i’d love to hear about your doppelgangers. yes…even yours sybil.

the killing floor

stack of bills before me, ashtray on the side,
patty griffin preachin' through the radio,
helpin' me solve the riddles of life.

i keep trying to remind myself of what happened last time,
when, under duress, i set equal exchange aside.
though i fretted about betraying vocation in the service of occupation,
things turned out just fine.

but still, i sit here moping, asking God why
he has the gall to provide me with full benefits,
three weeks floating vacation
and a more secure bottom line.

"not everyone gets to do what they want" she says,
to which i answer, "fine."
God can fail to sponsor other's vocation,
but he better not fuck with mine.

underneath the static, i can hear him whisperin',
"i'm sanctifying you in the midst of routine maintenance,
tea time and every new product description.

why do you insist on separating sacred from secular,
when, in the end, there is no such line?
step into you cubicle, jeffrey.
sit down, receive the sacrament one more time."

Description of the Day: Beanie Baby Stories for the Heart Edited by Susan Osborn and Sandra Jensen

We endured the never-ending drive through lanes at McDonald's, staged pre-emptive strikes on our neighborhood Hallmark stores and scrounged all over the internet in order to complete our collections. Now, in Beanie Baby Stories for the Heart you will hear dozens of stories of how these adorable little toys were ambassadors of hope and love to millions of Americans. If you, or someone you love, is a certifiable "beaniac," this is one bargain you can't pass up!

memorandum from captain random:

apparently i have a (not so) secret admirer. after years of longing for my sweet love m.s. laird has finally made her affection public. if i only wasn't married, sweet mary sue, if only i wasn't married. mary sue opens her heart at iheartjeff.blogspot.com.

ever since i equated the current tumult at calvary church in charlotte (where my good friend and s & s alumnus jon wise works) with an inquisition, scenes and songs from mel brooks' history of the world, part I have been rattling 'round in my head. if you know it, sing along with me, "the inquisition, isn't it exciting?" (by the way, if any of the inquisitors from calvary have migrated over to this blog, please know that i am prone to say fuck, shit, damn, asshole, hell, postmodern, westwinds, paul allen and emergent. moreover, i am not interested in exalting rational argumentation, i like to speak of inspiration instead of innerancy, i am a rabid supporter of the separation between church and state and i don't read norman geisler's books. thus, i am completely unclean and will make sure that the next time i visit calvary i vocally identify myself as such. i wouldn't want any of y'all to get infected with what i have).

if you're wondering "how much is that doggie in the window," let me assure you that she is completely free. if you loved "pound puppies" and don't mind finding shit on the floor, dizzy may be the dog for you! please, serious inquiries only.

yet another running diary

on saturday i, along with a number of my associates, served at our large, consumer-driven Christian company's warehouse sale. the following is a (unfortunately truncated) running diary of my experiences. please note: the running diary format is a blatant rip-off of the work of bill simmons, aka "the sports guy," who works for espn page 2. thus, the form of this post is admittedly unoriginal.

7:30 a.m.: well, it's seven-thirty a.m., i have a raging sinus infection and i'm sitting next to a forty foot tall air filter in a musty warehouse. it must be time for our spectacular showroom sale! in the hours that follow you will undoubtedly be introduced to inane seminarians, miserly saints and hostile homeschool moms. are you ready? i thought so!

7:39 a.m.: i just finished with my first customer. he didn't know his zip code, which is surprisingly common, and he perked me up by offering a lame joke about his method of payment. "mr. adams, what method of payment would you like to use today," i asked. "credit card," he quickly responded. "can i see your card please," i continued. "here it is" he said, holding it above my head, yet well within my light of sight, "isn't it pretty?"

this job would be great if it wasn't for the f(*&^%^$ customers!

7:55 a.m.: have yet to service another customer. over the past four years i have found that customers are remarkably hesitant to approach cashiers who refuse to make eye contact. who knew?

i've been passing the time by snapping co-workers with my scarf.

8:14 a.m.: i just had a customer who hailed from montauk. however, i suppressed the urge to whisper in her ear, "meet me in montauk," since she was old and somewhat grisly and i seriously doubted whether i would have a good time.

8:29 a.m.: it's freezing cold in here and i feel like shit. maybe if it continues to be slow, or i cough on some poor, unsuspecting pastor's kid, they'll let me go early.

8:47 a.m.: the young engineering student manning the terminal beside me just glanced over and said, "hey, i know you! you're the one who popped the beach ball at the red sox game!" during the yearly visit to fenway i may or may not have spoiled the bleacher idiots' fun by bursting their contraband beach ball with my trusty G-2 pen. i freely admit that i'm a baseball fundamentalist who has no tolerance for the casual fan. shoot me.

9:07 a.m.: just had my first garage sale shopper of the day. she tried to get me to lower the sale price of a bible, and i politely refused. she then tried to tell me that a box of Christmas cards was not $1.59, like our system suggested, but $1.29. no dice. so she left our sale huffy and empty handed. what a shame.

9:49 a.m.: i just had a customer who sounded southern, so i asked her where she was from. she said she hailed from houston and came up specifically for the sale. i was floored. i offered her a discount if eh would make me a chicken fried steak with fried okra dinner, but she declined since her flight left in three hours. so i made her pay full price. lovely woman though.

9:58 a.m.: a rather homely mennonite woman, clothed in homespun regalia and properly covered with a little white bonnet just waddled up to my desk. after she opened her hand-made wicker basket and put her purchases on my desk, i asked her what method of payment she would be using. i expected cash, check or (perhaps) barter, so you can imagine my surprise when she said "discover card." is this legal? shouldn't she have paid me with buffalo nickels or offered homemade products for trade? "how about a bale of hay for the kjv study bible" she should have queried. and surely would have accepted a pound of goat cheese for the purpose driven life. but a discover card? really.

10:22 a.m.: my friend christine just emancipated me. now i'm at "sku lookup" where we look up warehouse locations for people who are too technologically inept or lazy to look them up on the two dozen web terminals we have provided. that being said, sku is to checkout as the rst is to the quick stop. life is better over here.

10:53 a.m.: just saw a former seminary professor we lovingly called "the tin man." since my friend josh and i are horrible at names, we gave everyone handles of our own design. pear-ass, foot-eater, glassy, pixie-stick, periwinkle, admiral ackbar and periwinkle were a few of our favorites. although he encouraged my pessimism and subtly corrupted my doctrine of humanity, i miss joshie.

11:26 a.m.: just when you think you've seen everything, a nun, in traditional habit, walks by and greedily grabs a handful of the prayer of jabez for teens.

Once again, Pope John Paul II is teaching the world how to suffer. His stated intent is to point people towards the suffering Christ. Eventually, much like Cardinal Bernadin, John Paul will teach us how to die well. Please offer prayers to the Lord on behalf of our brother.

description of the day: savage nation by michael savage

While foreign terrorists and freedom hating countries are working to destroy American from without, liberal politicians, with their wholehearted faith in pluralism and their insipid "political correctness," are threatening to destroy her from within. Fortunately, in these dire times, there are a few faithful men who are willing to take a stand. In Savage Nation you will learn how Michael Savage is subverting the liberal media by boldly proclaiming the good news of patriotism, family and traditional American values. This son of immigrants loves his freedom and is willing to launch "savage" attacks on any country, person or ideology that threatens it. This thought provoking, patriotic book is now available for such a low price that you can afford to buy a copy for yourself, your friends and anyone else who needs to be confronted with the truth!

“where do i begin? where do i venture in?”

a couple of days ago i mentioned that there are a few artists, such as frederick buechner, who I cannot critique and (generally) consider above reproach. these men have found the courage to open a vein, and the infusion of their blood has blessed me with life. for the record, you can add bill mallonee to that list.

on monday afternoon, after a morning of swimming, and damn near drowning, in details, the good doctor and i sped our way towards the hawthorne hotel. after a few moments of wandering around the lobby i found bill, flannel clad and sporting a dingy pair of shit-kickers, at the corner of the bar. although i found him first, i was hesitant to introduce myself. so i went and found the doc, who was just about to go look for him in the parking lot, and made him do the honors. twenty hours later, when bill followed us out of the parking lot, i wondered why i was hesitant to introduce myself. though admittedly introverted, i’m not a particularly shy person. i’ve conversed quite easily with politicians, celebrity pastors and hall of famers in the past. so why was i so hesitant to talk to this little five foot eight fella who was chatting amicably with others at the bar? perhaps a few snapshots of my experience will help answer the question.

within five minutes of meeting bill, we shot past the conversational morass of movies and music and headed straight for the heart. he spoke passionately about his love for his family as well as a pressing conflict back home and i let him peek into a couple of pieces of my internal baggage as well. of course i had already seen bill bleed on album after album, but i was shocked by how open and vulnerable he was in person. bill is not only a confessional songwriter, he is a confessional person who truly believes that “what is most personal, is most universal” and is willing to let other members of the body of Christ bind his wounds. a good friend has told me time and again that honesty is my greatest gift and my greatest weakness. perhaps he’s right. but if honesty is one of my greatest gifts, than i am one greedy bastard, for instead of entrusting my wife, my community and even strangers in hotel bars to hear my honest truth and bind my wounds, i quickly scrawl the truth on an internal memo that is filed in subconscious folder 13. although i will probably never find the strength to sew my heart onto my sleeve, i need to trust those i love to listen to and bind my wounds. i also need listen to and bind the wounds of others. paradoxically, i think that it is only after we take the time to listen to and bind the wounds of others that we find personal healing.

after the show we headed over to the yuppie-ish tavern on the green to have a few drinks and spin a few stories. after everyone migrated from the bar to our table bill and i started to talk about our interests. as mentioned before, buechner rends my heart like no other. as it turns out, the same is true of bill. bill also mentioned that he is in the process of becoming a third order franciscan. this intrigued me since i have long been intrigued by francis and have considered joining the order of ecumenical franciscans (the only order that would accept me) as well. from there our conversation branched out into other authors such as henri nouwen and thomas merton. after bill spoke glowingly of merton i confessed that while i traversed the seven story mountain to the top and loved conjectures of a guilty bystander i often find merton’s journals and other works too dense. instead of providing a hermeneutic for merton or suggesting less complicated titles that a bloke like me could understand, bill admitted that he found merton’s writings on saint john of the cross absolutely impenetrable. after spending so many years at bible college and seminary, where students and, at times, professors, speak passionately about what they have yet to comprehend, argue abstractions that they have yet to particularize and carefully hide any shred of their ignorance, i found such honesty refreshing. i realized that bill not only stretched my understanding, he also was more than willing to identify with and share my ignorance. it was a great comfort to connect with someone who is willing to tolerate and even identify my ignorance. i think it is important to connect with others not only on the basis of what is known, but what is unknown. Lord grant me the humility i needed to tolerate and identify with the ignorance of others. more importantly, give me the courage to bring my ignorance into the light of day.

finally, bill's willingness to face his own darkness, which in the end is the darkness we all share, and speak hope into despair, is beautiful and a bit overwhelming. somewhere in the new testament paul talks about carrying the death of Christ around in his body everywhere he goes. i think bill has chosen the same road. he has allowed the truth of Christ's gospel to penetrate his darkness, is being transformed by God's beautiful truth and is inviting others to join him on the journey. through his music and ministry bill is pleading with us to "go where you will under the sign of the cross." though he cannot walk our personal via delorosa for us, the intent of his music and ministry is to give us strength for the journey.

in the end, i was hesitant to introduce myself to bill because something within me identified him as a holy man. encounters with holy men and women are always a bit unpredictable and are bound to point you towards change. and so it was.

listening to life and letting you in on a few secrets

just a few moments ago, while reading andy crouch's unexpectedly engaging article about jerry b. jenkins, the christian writer's guild and the calvin festival of faith and writing, a lump arose in my throat and tears filled my eyes. in moments like these, uncle buechner often intones, you are very near to either the truth or something like it. thus, in honor of my physical reaction to this piece of non-fiction, i would like to enter the booth and offer confession. please take a moment to listen.

i confess:

that there are a few authors i cannot critique. indeed, i hold the life and work of these authors so close to my heart that they have gradually become gatekeepers. senior among these are henri nouwen and frederick buechner. i know it would be more pious to give Luke, Paul or the preacher of Ecclesiastes pride of place, but i might as well be honest. years ago, when someone critiqued nouwen's exegetical approach in professor windham's senior seminar class, i almost broke into tears. nouwen was the only one who dared to speak into my loneliness. he was also the pastor who taught me that upon the narrow road, the way up is down. finally, uncle henri lead me to L'arche, where, for a moment, my life became a fusion of faith and action. L'Arche was the context wherein i was able to be the Christ-follower i had always wanted to be, and want to be still. Buechner, well, he rends me in ways i cannot describe. in fact, crouch's mere description of how buechner came "onstage looking like a bemused hound dog" is what brought me to this place. over the past three years i have not had a more trusted guide than uncle freddy. well, that's not exactly true. there is another. but some cards are meant to be played close to the chest.

on friday i have an interview with the good folks at the beverly bootstraps food pantry. i know, i know, the name sucks, but they are the most influential social service organization in beverly. i have been volunteering with 'straps for the past two and a half years and have recently been working part-time with them in hopes that that they will be misguided enough to hire me. i am well aware, as my wife has often reminded me, that not everyone has the opportunity to line up their occupation with their vocation. but when that opportunity arises, i think you have to take the chance.

speaking of my vocation, i once expected more clarity in that area. when they taught us in leadership class that we could boil down our life mission to a short sentence or simple paragraph, i took them at their word. but i do so no longer. i am beginning to realize that my vocation is not only more complex than i originally imagined, it is also evolving as i move from age to age. if someone unexpectedly violated my personal space (read: my cube. yes, rhys, i am fulfilling your uncanny foreshadowing) and inquired about my vocation, this is how i might respond (in a stream of consciousness style). "i feel called to: love God and listen carefully to what he says; incarnate Christ's compassion among the poor; help Christ's body grow up into its head; sacrificially love my wife; share my story through writing; educate the young; be a trusted companion of the old; follow my Pa Pa's lead; seek out wisdom and invest it wisely; watch the cardinals win their tenth world series; learn how to listen to and relate with those i love more than others, and those i love less; let my story unfold within the boundaries of beverly; run a marathon; proclaim the promise of reconciliation; read a library full of books; and die well." i think that's a good place to start.

that when i'm in a public place, and see someone i know before they see me, i will most likely leave before stopping to say hello or calling attention to my presence.

that you can "take the boy out of the country, but can't take the country out of the boy." a couple of times a week, i can still hear oklahoma in my voice.

that i still kind of miss monological, expository, stand behind the pulpit and pound-on-the-wood-for-emphasis preaching.

that i will always love katy more than dizzy (especially since the latter just interrupted me by pissing on the floor). i do love the latter dog, but have never felt compelled to love all friends, family members and animals equally.

that the farther removed i am from my time at soybean bible college, the more i appreciate it.

that i haven't read a serious theological book in over a year and am completely unrepentant.

that i was once a rabid republican.

that i once had a confederate flag bumper sticker on my car.

that's enough for now. may you experience Christ's peace, and receive a good dose of r & r this weekend.

happy haiku friday!

beautiful and lythe

the snake glides through the short grass

coming to kill you

somehow

last night a group of rain-soaked pilgrims gathered. with hushed tones and downcast eyes we discussed malignant sex and consequences intended and not. with brutal honesty we confessed that both as a band and as individuals we are fucked up. death has danced before our hastily averted eyes. intonations of malice have filled whispers that we chose not to hear. we have sinned by what we have said and, more often, by what we have left unsaid. everything about the gathering bespoke desperation.

then, unexpectedly, the faint scent of the gospel drifted into our midst, minor keys of hope began to be played and rumors of healing were whispered. it was only then that we began to realize that in this context of desperation, wherein sin seems so vivacious, seductive and liberating, we need to stake our lives upon identifying this faint scent, moving in rhythm to these minor keys and, somehow, believing the rumors to be true.

memorandum from captain random

concerning bill

"she told her friends i'd come to her on some noble steed, ah but it wasn't anything like that. maybe empty handed and full of need, but at least i'm good for a laugh." ~bill mallonee, sweetness and light

if you read this blog, or if i comment on yours, you know that i have a deep appreciation for people who are willing to "open a vein" or share their lifeblood with others. bill's willingness to open a vein has forced me to reckon with the falleness of my being and listen to the God who calls me his beloved. i have little doubt that his music will provoke you as well. if you live in the area, please take the time to come listen to this musical provocateur.

bill mallonee will be playing "the cave" (located in the museum place mall) on february 21 in salem, massachusetts. the show starts at 6:30 pm and the cover is only 3 bucks.

As of now two opening acts are scheduled for 6:30pm Asher Melodic and Elijah Wyman. Bill will begin at 8pm.

A map and driving directions are included below. Hope to see you there!

For Driving Directions to the Museum Place Mall (where "The Cave" is located) click Here

if you have questions about the show, feel free to comment or shoot me an email at jeffkelliegentry@yahoo.com.

culled from the wreckage of christianitytoday.com
lately i've been working on a project that has required me to spend an inordinate amount of time researching the archives of christianitytoday.com. although i've run across a lot of schlock about christians having sex in the kitchen and have seen far too many pieces that are little more than thinly veiled propaganda for the republican party, once in a while i have run across something worth reading. this classic interview with henri nouwen and richard foster is definitely worth a read.

lenten resources
just in case you were confused, the people that were wearing ashes on their forhead last wednesday weren't trying to make a fashion statement, but were celebrating the beginning of lent. lent is not only a season in which christians not only forego coffee, alcohol and watermelon, it is also a season in which we commit ourselves to diligently reading, reflecting and meditating upon God's Word. if you find the scriptures difficult to read or are a visual learner, you might find the BrickTestament to be a helpful resource. furthermore, if, due to inordinate amounts of alcohol or midnight movies, you find it difficult to attend the church of your choice, feel free to worship online at the Abston Church of Christ.

in case you were wondering, with the final post I do not intend to be either snide or sacrilegious. rather, the simple intent is to compel laughter.

not quite what saint valentine had in mind

"i'm a dog and you're a cat," she said. what she said was true, on so many levels.

it was the fall of 2000. i had just moved to massachusetts and was, admittedly, on the rebound. over the past two months i had fallen in love with the L'Arche Daybreak Community in Toronto. at L'Arche i learned the spirituality of cleaning toilets, the beauty of clothing the body of Christ and the overwhelming importance of being an incarnation of Christ. while my time at Soybean Bible taught me about my faith, it was my time at L'Arche that empowered me to embody such faith. spending my free time eating borscht and lounging at the beach with a beautiful ukranian woman wasn't half-bad either.

about a month after i arrived in massachusetts, while i was readjusting to the abstractions of seminary and realizing that long-distance relationships with foreign women weren't all that plausible, i met another girl. on the surface, she intrigued me. her father was an english professor at a well-known college, she was an aspiring children's author and she had found a beautiful way to integrate the Jewish faith of her youth with the confessing life that she had embraced as a young adult. as we talked about books, listened to jazz and savored micro-brews at seaside pubs she began to grow on me. in fact, i enjoyed spending time with her so much that i thought it would be interesting to see how she interacted with my family. so, against the advice of a close friend and the limitations of my checking account, i bought her a ticket to tulsa so she could join us for thanksgiving.

by late october i was beginning to suspect that these plans were a mistake, but did not know how to disinvite her. since breaking off the relationship after the trip seemed to be the path of least resistance, it was the one that i chose. so when thanksgiving arrived, we boarded a plane for tulsa, i subtly flirted with the boston university student sitting behind us the whole way there and then cringed when we encountered my family at the arrivals gate. as we made our way home, my prayer was that the weekend would at least be bearable. as it turned out, it was far from.

the first day we were in tulsa, she sat on my father's lap. now let it be said that my father is not a shy man, he is the type that wears a flashing red rudolph nose into candle-light christmas eve services, moreover, as a long-time elementary school santa claus, he is not unfamiliar with strange people sitting on his lap. however, when a strange yankee that he just met hopped on his lap and called him "daddy jim" you should have seen him squirm. that was strike one.

the second day, while we half-heartedly watched the macy's parade and prepared for the noon meal, she tried to win over the other woman in my life, my dog Katy, by French kissing her. needless to say, that was a shiver-inducing strike two.

then, on the third day, at my great aunt and uncle's fiftieth anniversary party no-less, she had not one, nor two but three glasses of champagne. now i have been known to have a drink or two myself, so i had no problem with the drinks. however, after she sat down on my eighteen year old cousin's lap and tried to answer his unease by saying, "don't worry, jealous is not a jeff kind of guy," we had to ban her from the bar from the rest of the evening. steeeeriiiiike three. she was out. i knew it, my family knew it, hell, even kate, the unwitting object of same-sex attraction, knew it. the night before we left, while she was sleeping in the next room, my dad looked at me and said, "the girl?" and i responded immediately. "oh yeah, she's yesterday's news."

to get back to boston we had to connect through o'hare. since we had a little time to kill before our flight, we stopped at the starbucks that is nestled between the k and j terminals and i overpaid for a couple of cups of coffee. as we were sitting around a little two-top and looking out the window at a couple of large men who were fueling a 737 and doing their best to damage passenger's luggage, i had a stunning realization: airports are a perfect metaphor for transition. this, coupled with the fact that this cat did not want to be leashed to that dog when my feet touched massachusetts soil, led me break it off right there at the starbucks between gates k and j.

as i look back on that relationship i am ashamed that i dated her and abhor the fact that my family and friends incessantly tease me about her to this day. however, i can attest that even this relationship bore good fruit, for it left me with one hell of a story to tell.

happy valentine's day!

concerning the integrity of Christian retail

Go Daddy.com chief: From Bibles to Breasts

props to ted olsen of christianitytoday.com for pointing this one out.

lyrically speaking

as rob taught us, "the making of a good compilation tape post is a very subtle art." Unfortunately, subtlety is not my spiritual gift.

"I got things in this suitcase, I'm carryin'.
I got things, some of them you can see.
Yeah and the others, let's pretend they're of no consequence.
Yeah i've always had this black cloud o'er me."
~Bill Mallonee, Black Cloud O'er Me

"All these lies are only wishes. I know that I would die if I could come back new." ~Wilco, Ashes of American Flags

"In a coffee shop in a city
Which is every coffee shop in every city
On a day which is every day
I picked up a magazine
Which is every magazine
Read a story, and then forgot it right away"
~Ani DiFranco, Little Plastic Castle

"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 Cryin'

happy haiku friday!

underneath the flag

the dog squats and takes a shit

divided it falls

8:21 thursday morning

on a thursday that feels like a friday he settles into his cube and recalls the scent of death.

hours before he sat weeping as divine mystery, cloaked in word and ritual, enveloped him.

the word provoked repentance and promised death.

the ritual imposed a sign of death and dispensed a taste of salvation.

longing for the sacrament received, he ignores the sacrament set before him.

memorandum from captain random:

oooh! navy seals! earlier today our middle-aged courier walked right by rhys' today and brought a fed-x package to me. as i signed for the package, i cautioned myself not to get too excited since the book would probably be another copy of broken on the back pew by sandi patty or the christian spirituality of the smurfs. thus, you can imagine my surprise when i found a pre-publication copy of brian mclaren's the last word and the word after that inside. i guess even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes.

wondering… what denomination dizzy will affiliate with. on two of our three daily walks we play a little game that i like to call shit on the church sidewalk. the point of the game is to determine which denomination dizzy will affiliate with. at this point we are well into our third week of competition and we have determined that dizzy is not a unitarian, since she shits in front of their church frequently, nor is she a catholic, since she loves to shit in front of saint mary star of the sea's elementary school (much to the delight of the children). thus, she has reduced her options to the following denominations: american baptist, presbyterian church u.s.a. or the conservative congregational conference. i'm betting on the baptists and am terribly excited to see her decide which parlor in heaven she will frequent.

listening… to patty griffin and ani difranco, whom have recently partnered with frances mcdormand to form the trinity of famous women to whom I am attracted. weird, huh?

there are always sirens

she invited me to join her at "the good life." needless to say, her invitation was attractive.

at the time i was drowning in the sea of abstraction and she offered the beautiful solace of particulars. while i spent my solitary days parsing greek, she spread her impressions across a canvas. by night i punched buttons and received lonely visions from God while she slung drinks and charmed sailors out of their change. she was the bathing beauty for whom a king abdicated responsibility. and she was singing me to shipwreck.

so when she offered me "the good life" i wanted to accept. but, after inquiring about the destination and plotting the course, had my mate secure me to the mast. though "the good life" promised respite from the sea of abstraction, i suspected that it would be my death.

after the night of our scheduled rendezvous passed, i spent the next day in the lower galley. instead of reveling in "the good life" of grog and good friends, i found myself sweeping up rat shit in the company of strangers. i cursed myself under my breath, knowing full well that the previous night i had sailed past solace only to find myself in this sickening circumstance. i suspected that this work in the hold would make me sick for weeks. as it turned out, i wasn't far from wrong.

when my arms tired of bailing and the stench of feces made it damn near impossible to breathe, i retreated to the deck, where i could get a draught of fresh air and perhaps roll a smoke. after i sat on the deck and rolled my cigarette, i glanced across the inlet...and couldn't believe my eyes. there, a mere 5 fathoms away, was "the good life." though her docks were closed and lights dim, she had not lost her allure. she promised a life lubricated by fine ale, focused on an exotic woman and mercifully free from abstraction. yet, in that moment, i realized that my life was not waiting across the inlet, but down in the galley. so it was to the galley that i returned.

though the work down here is hard and the galley still smells like shit, the company of strangers have become mates and, though at times i find it hard to believe, life in the galley is good.

under the rocks. just around the bend.

"eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. the river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. on some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. i am haunted by waters."

so ends norman maclean's classic, a river runs through it. over the past twenty-four hours i have been haunted not by waters, but by words which lie partially submerged in my consciousness and just around the bend of my heart. last night i was so desperate to uncover a few of these words that, ignoring traffic and the curious sounds emitted by a dog in a seatbelt, i read aloud while kellie drove. this morning, sitting alone in my ratty brown chair, more of these words surfaced. if you don't mind, i would like to share a few of these words with you.

"we like to make a distinction between our private and public lives and say, 'whatever i do in my private life is nobody else's business.' but anyone trying to live a spiritual life will soon discover that the most personal is the most universal, the most hidden is the most public, and the most solitary is the most communal." ~henri nouwen, bread for the journey, february 23.

"if i were called upon to state in a few words the essence of everything i was trying to say both as a novelist and as a preacher, it would be something like this: listen to your life. see it for the fathomless mystery that it is. in the boredom and 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

"religions start, as frost said poems do, with a lump in the throat...to put it mildly...or with a bush going up in flames, a rain of flowers, a dove coming down out of the sky. 'i have seen things,' aquinas told a friend, 'that make all my writings seem like straw.' most people have seen such things. through some moment of beauty or pain, some sudden turning of their lives, most of them have caught glimmers at least of what the saints were blinded by. only then, unlike the saints, they tend to go on as though nothing has happened." ~frederick buechner, "mysticism" in wishful thinking

"we must pray that God will teach us to love those we do not like and then to like those he is teaching us to love." ~jean vanier, community and growth, pg. 40

"now, here is my secret:
i tell it to you with the openness of heart that i doubt i shall ever achieve again, so i pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. my secret is that i need God--that i am sick and can no longer make it alone. i need God to help me give, because i no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as i no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as i seem beyond being able to love." ~douglas coupland, life after god, pg. 273

thank you for walking with me.

what I'm...

reading: kevin rains' blog. in his most recent post kevin briefly speaks about the disturbing results of a survey conducted by Fuller Seminary's department of psychology. my immediate response to this survey was to thank God that I have yet to become a statistic and to pray for my friends and colleagues who are in danger of becoming one. the post also made me wonder whether a survey of simple/relational/home church leaders would produce similar results.

i am trying to get my hands on the complete findings of the survey. if/when i find them, i'll make them available.

wondering: when is "anonymous" krista going to start a blog?

moving beyond name, class and major

On Monday morning at 8 a.m. we gathered for the first time. After the professor made an inane joke about our ability to locate the classroom and provided a brief synopsis of the course, we began the ritual introductions. “my name is bobby” the smiling Korean-American student sitting two seats to the right announced. “last year I completed my MDIV at Gordon-Conwell and am now close to completing my Th. M in preaching. My beautiful wife Claire is a third-grade teacher and our heart’s desire is to do church planting in Japan. As soon as we raise three-quarters of our funds, which we hope to do by next September, we should be on our way!” After bobby stopped speaking, the professor accentuated the student’s curriculum vitae by telling us that bobby was also a bar-certified lawyer in the state of California.

“My name is john,” the student on my right admitted. “I am a third year MDIV student who, Lord-willing, will graduate this May. My wife Wendy and I live in New Hampshire and we serve as youth pastors for a small church in North Union, Maine.” After another ill-fated attempt at humor the professor asked john what his life’s passion was. “My wife and I would eventually like to develop a residential community in which foster children and troubled youths from the ages of 18-22 could make a more effective transition into adulthood.” My ears perked up at the mention of incarnational ministry and I made a personal note to connect with John during the break. His desire to pursue this type of ministry suggested that he could be a useful ally throughout this spring campaign.

After the professor made a remark about the “fascinating” group that had gathered for this class, he glanced in my direction. At that moment, I had a decision to make. Was I going to provide the class with my less than impressive curriculum vitae or was I going to split the curtain and give them a brief glimpse of my heart. 99 times out of 100, when faced with this conundrum, I choose the former option. For some reason, last Monday, I chose the latter.

“My name is Jeff Gentry,” I began. “I am beginning my third, third year of seminary, I lead a home church in Beverly that is known as the Sinners and Saints Christian Community and I make a living mass-marketing The Purpose-Driven Life. Although I sell hundreds of copies of the Purpose-Driven Life a week, I deplore the work.” At this point I knew it was time to lay the cards on the table. “In all honesty, I think that coming to Seminary was a mistake. During the summer between my graduation from Bible college and my matriculation at Gordon-Conwell, I worked with the L’Arche Daybreak Community in Toronto, Canada. You may have heard about this community because Henri Nouwen was pastor there for a number of years. However, I never met him since he died four years prior to my arrival. At L’Arche I was learned more about loving people, the vitality of faith and beauty of community than I could have learned in a hundred years of either Bible college or seminary. However, in the midst of practicing the spirituality of cleaning toilets and assisting the poor I was offered a fifty-percent scholarship to Gordon-Conwell. Since I realized that I would probably never be able to attend Seminary without this scholarship I made the move from L’Arche. Although this move was clearly a mistake, God has redeemed the time by enabling me to take root in this community and attempt to fuse my passions for proclamation and compassion. Recently I have been offered a part-time job with Beverly Bootstraps, which is the leading social service organization in Beverly. I hope that this part-time job blossoms into a full-time position, so that I can have an occupation that lines up with my vocation and put the Purpose-Driven job behind me. I also hope to remain faithful to the little community that God has enabled me to be a part of.” With that, I shut my mouth.

When I began this post, I wanted to tell you a little about the significance of my L’Arche experience. However, I don’t think I am ready to reduce that experience to words or, quite honestly, share that with you. That being said, I think that recounting my introduction is a good first step.

happy haiku friday

relentless traffic

a dog refuses to shit

better than the cube

Breaking News from the Christian Booksellers Association Expo!

Tino Wallenda got Expo visitors to lift their sights literally and figuratively when he performed a highwire walk under the roof of the Opryland Convention Center. Some 70 feet above the hotel's food-court island, he crossed without a safety net, stopping on the traverse to kneel, complete a headstand and share his faith in Christ with the crowd below.

Speaking by lapel microphone as he held his balancing bar, the veteran member of the famous Flying Wallendas spoke about his dangerous act, which he said reminded people "how fragile life is." Pausing on the wire before stepping to safety on the far side, Wallenda invited watchers to "make a new step into eternity, simply by acknowledging we have all missed the mark," inviting them to pray to receive Christ there and then.

Back down to earth, Wallenda appeared at the Bridge-Logos booth in the Expo hall to promote his new book, Walking the Straight and Narrow: Lessons in Faith from the Highwire.


talk about extreme evangelism! our good friend bill will be so proud!

odd encounter of the week

on monday i shuffled up to the short urinal, dropped the fly and prepared to go about my business. i casually noticed that the office extrovert was standing in the slot next to me, but didn't pay him much attention. i realize that some people cannot help but communicate while relieving themselves or dropping a deuce, but i'm not one of them. from my perspective, those moments are slivers of solitude which are not to be interrupted.

of course, the extrovert thought differently. instead of respecting my solitude by keeping his eyes front and center or slightly pointed towards the ceiling, he interrupted my moment with manic eyes and said, "i can't believe that in five weeks i'm going to be a daddy!" though i mumbled some consonant of affirmation, in my mind i was thinking, "what do you want me to do fella? shake your hand?"

walking with Habbakuk

how long, O Lord, will you ignore our cries for justice?

the wicked openly prey upon the weak.

the victims have surrendered all hope

and identify more readily with the victimizers than with you.

the protectors are eager to punish but loathe to prevent all kinds of evil.

how long, O Lord, will you ignore such wickedness?

will the work of the righteous be for naught?

are you unable to respond?

keep on, keepin' on

at the genesis we were flush with idealism. finally free from impersonal programs, happy-go-lucky worship and cliché riddled sermons. we were excited to set a different course. our conversations were liberally sprinkled with adjectives like relational and missional, we promised ourselves that we would be as committed to compassion as we were to proclamation and, let's face it, we thought that thursday night worship and emancipation from program would place fewer demands on both our time and our lives.

i am glad to report that our ideals haven't changed, but they are no longer mere abstractions. relational ministry no longer means a freedom from depersonalizing programs, rather, it means a panic stricken knock on your door at 10 pm on a school night, a lifelong drunk attempting to make you responsible for her welfare and dutifully shouldering the cynicism of a friend. moreover, missional not only means working for compassion in our neighborhood but also inviting those who need compassion into our living room where they unload their crises and offend our bourgeoisie sensibilities. likewise, Christ's mission has required us to realize that just because someone can teach, play three cords or write encouraging letters doesn't mean that they need to use these gifts to meet the needs of the institution. rather, it often requires us to release those we love to do ministry in megachurches (of all places), university science labs and the scores of coffee shops in seattle. learning to incarnate our ideals has been messy, but we have persevered.

i know the proverbial shit has hit the fan, ye sinners and saints, but we have persevered. we are doing the work of the church. we are incarnating Christ's compassion and are faithfully proclaiming his promised reconciliation. we are learning to love the least, our enemies and, as difficult as it often is, one another. i have confidence that, by God's grace, we will continue upon this road. we will not be among those who shrink back and so are destroyed, but will be among those who stand firm and so are saved.

description of the day: the gospel according to tony soprano by chris seay

For some The Sopranos is just another forbidden fruit of cable television. However, others have tasted the sweetness of the gospel story within The Sopranos and have pronounced it good. In this delectable little book pastor and certifiable 'wiseguy' Chris Seay clearly explains how even a dark story such as The Sopranos can help us to understand the consequences of our sin, embrace the promise of redemption and, eventually, pledge allegiance to our real "God-Father."

happy haiku friday!

gull circles above

brown squirrel darts up a tree

how i loathe snow

back by popular demand: name that title

first our women cut their hair, then children were allowed unfettered access to the TV and now ministers of God throughout the land are regularly filling their sermons with clips from secular movies. my friends, immoral decisions such as these have led us down the slippery, slippery slope to a sex-obsessed, lewd form of christianity.

the clearest evidence of the pitiful state we are in, which i like to refer to as sex-vangelicalism, is the way our own publishing houses are using nudity to sell christian books. please take a look at this list of sex-vangelical titles that have been published in the last year. to show you how difficult it is to separate the wheat from the chaff, i, along with the board of deacons have inserted three titles that have yet to be published. see if you can separate the unpublished wheat from the sex-vangelical chaff!

don't date naked
naked fruit: getting honest about the fruit of the spirit
buck naked faith: a brutally honest look at stunted spirituality
naked and not ashamed
adventures in naked faith
naked worship: dancing before the Lord like King David
generation sex: exposing the full frontal assault on american innocence
praying naked
naked parish priest
get naked: honest and authentic worship
naked christian: taking off religion to find true relationship
naked date: 10 evenings that will fan the flame of your marriage

please have your answers in before tomorrow night's tent revival. people who use google, christianconsumer.com or amazon'thewhoreofbabylon'.com to find answers will be considered both communists and liberals.

"hey kellie, check this out: dizzy is boning me again!"

dizzy is unique and special (just like everybody else). one of her more peculiar traits is her tendency to place her rawhide, bone or chew-toy against my body before thoroughly gnashing it. she usually places the object against my leg, which is acceptable, if a little odd (in the moment, i often find myself thinking, "so this is what it would feel like to have a ravenous dog chew on a paralyzed leg"). there are other areas, such as my crotch and my ass, that i refuse to let her place her bone. of course, that hasn't stopped her from trying.

another character added to the drama

kellie and i adopted a dog on saturday, right before our region was scheduled to be pounded by 24-36 inches of snow. how's that for rationality?

the dog's name is dizzy dean. you can read more about her previous life here. when we met her at the shelter, they told us her name was despy which different members of the shelter's courteous and professional staff pronounced 'depsy,' 'despi' and 'de, de, how do you say her name again?' this led us to believe a name change was in order. after toying around with the name 'dispy,' which would be both short for dispensationalist and a creative way of ridiculing fundamentalists, we settled on her current name.

since dizzy hails from a workin' breed (cattle dogs are unaccustomed to the 'g' in 'ing' participles being pronounced) she has a reservoir of energy that needs to be drained on regular occasion. knowing this, i took her out this morning for a walk, which will heretofore be known as the walk from hell.

would you like to hear about the walk from hell? i thought you might...

since beverly received at least 30 inches of snow over the weekend, our routes were rather restricted. we could either walk up to cabot street and contend with a steady stream of cars or we could walk down the steepest hill in town, which also doubles as our street. since dizzy desires to herd anything that moves, she voted for the former. since i do not desire either dizzy or myself to be hit by a car or snowplow, i chose the latter. since i'm the alpha dog at 4 judson, my vote ruled the day. i made a bad decision.

as soon as we headed down the hill dizzy did her best imitation of an iditarod champion. as a result she forced me to ski down judson street. although dr. james would have enjoyed the experience, i found it quite harrowing.

once we made it to the bottom of the hill, a ninety-pound bullmastiff peeked out from behind a stalled car. the dog seemed friendly, wagging her tail and slobbering her way towards us. however, since kate, my other dog whom i am now cheating on with dizzy, pulls this same trick right before she pummels other dogs, i made sure we kept our distance. so there i was, dragging my cattle dog away from the possum playing mastiff and using my best t.j. mackey impersonation ("phil, I will drop kick those fuckin' dogs if they come near me") to keep the mastiff at bay. then, after the mastiff found another patsy to work his magic on, i dragged dizzy up the hill she had just forced me to ski down.

after we made it up the hill, i conceded to dizzy's wisdom and attempted to walk her down cabot street. another bad idea. we made it as far as the hess station before i realized that there was nowhere to walk except in the street. moreover, the drivers (and i do use that term loosely) on the aforementioned street were acting like snow was a performance enhancer for their automobiles. thus, dizzy and i made our way back to the condo. as we were walking down the street i saw a red f-150 with a snowplow ramming snow deeper and deeper into the american legion parking slot. as he pulled back to make another viscous run he waved to let me know that he was aware of us and then throttled back into the slot. confident that the plowman knew that we were on the street, i allowed dizzy to drag me towards home. then, as suddenly as he had rammed into the slot the plowman came barreling out. i raised my leash free hand to remind him that we were there, but he kept coming. and kept coming. and, you get the picture, the next thing i knew, the gate of the truck bumped into me, i slammed my fist into the gate and hit the ground. fortunately, the rear wheel finally came to a stop.

while valiantly suppressing the filth-flarn-filth that i wanted to say, i got up out of the snow, brushed myself off and began to walk towards the condo. at this point the plowman finally saw me and asked if i was ok. i told him i was fine and made some conciliatory comment about the tight quarters on our street. at that point he noticed the American Airlines patch on the flight line jacket i swiped from my dad several years back. "hey, do you work for american airlines," he asked (and in so doing became the 1,000,000 stranger to ask that question). no, i muttered, my dad does. "do you think they're open today?" he asked. "i dunno," i muttered. "the airport says that only one runway is operating. things are probably messy." with that, i edged around the truck and headed towards the condo.

thus ended the walk from hell.

happy haiku friday!

climb every mountain

forge every stream and follow

people magazine

no rhyme or reason

dr. dobson, let's focus on this fact: only heteros use the the sponge.

and, tat for tit, it's also idiotic that another segment of the populace assumes that spongebob is gay simply because he regularly holds hands with patrick. based on that logic, nearly every woman i laid eyes on in europe is a lesbian.

description of the day: inauguration edition

Persecution by David Limbaugh

Under the guise of the first amendment the liberal left is removing prayer from schools, the mere mention of Christ from elementary school "holiday" pageants and the very foundation of our law from the Alabama Supreme Court House. In "Persecution" David Limbaugh shines the light on the darkness that is the liberal left and commands Christians to reclaim their first Amendment rights. If Christians fail to return this country to her godly foundations and the faith of her fathers, the sham of political correctness will pale in comparison to the "Persecution" that will follow.

for Nita on her eightieth birthday

last night i dreamed of hominy
fake redwood porches
cement statuary and satellite t.v.

last night i dreamed of hominy
the bright lights of cleveland
the city pool and and the pull of wal-mart

last night i dreamed of hominy
asphalt drives resulting in broken hips
a pearl-handled .357 and a cowgirl

last night i dreamed of hominy
reflected on a life well-lived
a reservoir of grace, hospitality and industry

last night i dreamed of hominy
but my heart was set on Juanita
a woman that i love

a tale of two deliveries

everyone loves mail. whether you’re an eight year old waiting for a hot (birthday) check from grandma or you're compulsively stalking the campus mail room to see if your criterion edition of the royal tennenbaums has finally arrived from amazon, you've got to love the sight of a full mailbox, the request to sign for a delivery and the inexplicable joy of bubble wrap.

i only mention this because earlier today a member of our mail team interrupted my work to have me sign for a package. over the past couple of days i have seen rhys sign for packages that held scintillating titles like jonathan edwards: a life, God's politics and calvinism in the las vegas airport, so i as my eager fingers ripped open the manilla envelope i was awash with expectation.

the eagerly awaited result: a pre-publication copy of christian wisdom of the jedi masters. although i know that according to the code a jedi is not to show emotion, I was pissed.

today we're offering guidance divine, for the deeply discounted price of $9.99!

Why am I here? That's a good question pastor Rick! Thank you for delivering me from a life punctuated with questions and frustrations by providing the answer for $1.49!

What is my purpose? I thought that my sole purpose is to love both God and my neighbor sacrificially. But maybe I've misunderstood. Thanks to pastor Rick, for just $9.99 and forty days of my life I can fill in the gaps.

What's God's plan? Apparently his plan is for our church to buy the forty days of purpose program. Then we can: hang those cool banners in the Wilcox's living room, exchange the tedious task of studying the text of Habbakuk for a handful of pre-fabricated sermon outlines and craig, art and james can trade in their guitars for an accompaniment track full of awesome songs!

In all seriousness, what is my purpose? I don't know. But my hunch is that it's not to mass-market Christian programs in order to sustain my ministry with sinners and saints. I can't continue to proclaim a holistic gospel while living this compartmentalized life.

question one of the heidelberg catechism

"what is your only comfort in life and in death?"

"that i am not my own, but belong, body and soul, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ."

while i readily assent to this answer it is only rarely evident in my life. i long to incarnate this answer more faithfully in the coming year.

so when...

i have a mind for leisure, but there is ministry left to do, i will find comfort in the service of others.

there is opportunity to expose my brother or sister's offense, i will take comfort in Christ's atonement and find the strength to forgive seventy times seven.

my pessimism and/or hypochondria encourages a fear of death i will take comfort in the promised resurrection.

the church succeeds i will credit Christ. when we fail i will take comfort in Christ's promise that the gates of hell will not prevail.

i am tempted to mindlessly insert my opinion i will take comfort in being quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.

simply stated, my prayer is that my assensus will flower forth into fidelitas.