a moment of clarity in the midst of obfuscation

"in my head and my body there's this race between life and death going on. but then isn't that the case for everybody who's ever lived, forever and always? isn't that the nature of being alive?" -douglas coupland in eleanor rigby, pg. 247.

two and a half years ago, i took a seminary exegesis class that focused on matthew. although the lectures were a little bit stiff and the professor was suffering from the power-point plague, it was good stuff.

at least i think it was good stuff. instead of reading the commentaries, interacting in exegetical conversations ("it's a subjective genitive? that's fascinating!") and honoring the prof with my attention ,i re-read the novels of douglas coupland. i found myself wrapped up in the apocalyptic visions of girlfriend in a coma, i participated in virtual picnics in the palm springs desert and i wondered why the european girls i met during my travels never showed up on my front porch sporting hot pink cowboy hats and unholstered cap guns. i read the coupland corpus in dr. ciampa's class and i felt guilty.

but i shouldn't have. i think that christians would be a lot better off and the church a bit more healthy if we were as attentive to the everyday revelations that we stumble across in novels, music, conversations and coincidences as we are to the scriptures. i fear that we will never be able to fully hear the poetic proclamations of the ancient prophets or respond to their summons until we are willing to listen to and live among the prophets in our midst.

that is all. krista, thanks for the long-term loan.

always out of context

"i've got reservations.
about so many things, but not about you." -wilco, reservations

"who would you rather bone? harriet miers or condoleezza rice?" -jamie simkins

"when we speak of our virtues we are competitors, when we confess our sins we become brothers." -karl barth

"i write down good reasons to freeze to death
in my spiral notebook,
but in the long tresses of your hair
i am a babbling brook." -the mountain goats, broom people

"held under these smothering waves
by your strong and thick veined hands,
but one of these days i'm gonna wriggle up on dry land." -the mountain goats, has thou considered the tetrapod

"george bush is the smartest man i've ever met." -harriet miers, current supreme court nominee and two-time runner up for miss washington

musings from the media center

last week i read mark winegardner's crooked river burning. this novel sets the love story of david zielinsky, the son of a connected union organizer and a small town starlet, and anne o'connor, who's family is to cleveland what the daley's are to chicago, against the social, political and athletic history of cleveland. throughout the novel david and anne attend the ill-fated coronation ball of allen freed, the self-proclaimed progenitor of rock and roll, participate in the golden era of indians baseball and browns football, the scenes that featured satchel page were at the center of my emotional experience of the novel, and find themselves in the midst the race riots, racketering, economic shifts that comprise rust-belt era politics. the story of anne and david's on and off again, at turns naive and adulterous, relationship provides a strong enough plot. however, it is the detailed descriptions of their individual attempts to form and maintain their identity within the city limits of cleveland that i found most compelling. i was especially drawn to david, who throughout his journey from a bright-eyed and ambitious politician to a middle-aged man whose ideals were broken by city hall and busted by the electorate, always retained a vestige of his initial hope. through david, winegardner is reminding us that we will all be exposed to the subtleties of evil and will, at some point, find ourselves playing life from both sides. however, although he has deep sympathy for the situations and circumstances we will ultimately find ourselves in, winegardner still believes that a conversion to corruption or an embrace of a thoroughgoing hermeneutic of suspicion is still the result of a choice. in essence, even in the midst of the most despairing realities, winegardner believes that we can choose hope.

in the end, as other readers far wiser than i have noted, winegardner reminds us that by telling one story well, even a story that is set among the unexpected twists and turns of the cuyahoga, a writer can tell the story of us all.

he spoke…and it was good

just a moment ago i had my feet propped on my plastic trashcan, cheez-its in my mouth and an excerpt of brother campbell in my hands. as i savored the saltiness of both the crackers and the clipping, a hesitant, high-pitched voice said “how are you doing?”

at that moment, tears unexpectedly sprung. the voice faded as quickly as it came, but in that moment i remembered.

i remembered God’s pronouncement of the imago and recalled why i chose to follow jesus in the first place. i had the ears to hear the image and a desperate longing to see it fulfilled in myself as well as in the pock-marked, beyond plump, half-hearted goth of a boy who finally dared to offer a greeting.

i tell you this not to be overly sentimental or spiritual, but because i need you to remind me. remind me to pay attention to these rare moments when tears unexpectedly spring and a lump arises. remind me to listen and long for the voice who spoke of the image initially and the high-pitched voice which betrayed it today.

as i continue upon this road i am beginning to suspect that it is these unexpected encounters and remedial revelations, rather than our systematic theologies and well-constructed liturgies, which will enable us to persevere. and to persevere, from my perspective, seems to be the point.

while we debate the degree of miers' orthodoxy

n.p.r. reports

seven point six, thousands dead

how i hate mother

wondering through the warehouse

let me preface this poorly rendered reflection by admitting that i had a spectacular time at soybean bible college. although at first i felt “kind of cool, you know, and kind of weird. like something you would see on David Letterman,” i quickly adjusted to campus culture. to wit: within mere hours of my arrival i was drinking lukewarm coffee in the warehouse, desalinating my tongue and thinking that “shane and shane” might not be as queer as i first thought.

anyway, after sitting through an old professor’s class and responded to his introduction with a slightly suggestive joke that the students either didn’t understand or appreciate, the aforementioned scholar and i sat down to talk about ourselves and size one another up.

after the scholar reported that his doctoral studies went well and i ragged him a bit about his pacific coast tan lines, i began to tell him a bit about my ministry. i prefaced my comments with a warning that i was not an apologist for, but a friend of emergent (which seems to be the new willow creek whipping boy for soybean scholars) i told him that i had never felt more personally centered and integrated into the kingdom than i do at present.

much to my surprise, my scholarly friend responded to my story fairly sharply. he suggested that non-institutional forms of church were strains of a virus that sucked vitality out of and were completely dependent upon its institutional host and he openly wondered whether my investment in our community was hindering the Community of which many of us are a part. i mentioned that similar strategies were employed by Jesus and he responded by replacing WWJD with WWJWMTDT (which stands for “what would Jesus want me to do today?”). I told him his acronym was much too complicated and would never catch on (unlike my Forever Under Christ the King logo, but that’s another story altogether). when i admitted that i found the worldview focus at the alma mater to be fairly troubling, since such frames seems to be overly-reductionistic at best and a potential matrix of judgment at worst, he told me that it was a pity that i would not be endowed with the ability to dust the frames and replace them when necessary. confounded by my friend’s lack of affirmation i sought refuge in my coffee and promptly ingested the foreign object (a baby roach. oh soybean, some things never change. which reminds me: current students, don’t let the ultra-modern sheen of the cafeteria fool you. the septic system backs up through the drain in the kitchen when there is barely a threat of rain) found within.

i hope that you hear what i am saying as well as what i am not. as for the latter, do not doubt my love for my friend or assume that i question his intentions. he is not only on the road of incarnation and redemption that i wander, but is one of the only reasons i am there at all. however, i do question his elevation of the mega over the micro and am confused by his numeric metric of success. he clearly believes that i am called to great things. i wonder whether i have settled for less.

rest assured that i do not think so either. but it is not wise to quickly cast aside the words of one’s advisor.

you know what’s worse than elementary poetry and middle school prose? being in the middle of a post and realizing it is a mix of both.


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i would like to thank those that made my time at soybean so enjoyable. neal, thanks for the hospitality and the ongoing conversation. i never expected you to speak with me at length, much less serve as my spiritual director. thank miriam for allowing this arrested adolescent to stay in your home and eat at your table. toad, thanks for blowing off work to catch up with me. jackaway, thank you for keeping me company, constantly pushing our conversations from the level of abstraction to one of application and not being too sore that i couldn’t take you to the bar. such connections between alumni and students are strictly forbidden. besides, i didn’t want to spoil your “week of e” pub crawl. tracy thank you for accompanying me to the crack house. conversations just seem to have more clarity in those environs. aaron, i’m glad that you have seen the light concerning sam adams. now we won’t have to bar your light-beer drinking ass from our beloved commonwealth. unnamed scholar, thank you for the conversation. your friendship and guidance mean more to me than i can explain. katie, i’m sorry that we did not get to connect. i loved being your youth pastor and am sure that you’re making your parents and rgcc proud. intro to the bible students, you should have laughed at my quip. rest assured that i learned all of my sexual humor from the Bible. rest assured that it is ok to laugh and even, occasionally, swear in the warehouse. in the latter matter, let jackaway serve as your shining example.

in case you're still wondering. i have since reverted to my original opinion about "shane and shane."

nothing like a train to take you far away

just this side of the horizon a combine is storing soybeans in the bin and fouling the air with dust and husks. God how i hated this place. up in the choir room that has long served as a lecture hall, Brian Johnson is speaking to freshmen about God's fidelity and Israel's infidelity. i half-expect him to recount his take on the judges cycle that he taught me so long ago. God how i love him.

i feel like an alien, an unwanted stranger sitting in front of the raucous, cinder block hell of a dorm that i once called home. i wish i could describing my time at soybean bible more accurately. at one moment it feels like a wilderness in which i am being tested and at another moment it seems to be a spiritually gedi, where my wounds are being salved and i am once again finding strength for the journey.

the dirty gold cornstalks in front of me are reverberating with old prayers, some of which were answered and others which apparently ricocheted off the cinderblock ceiling of titus 217. occasionally, as the cornstalks sway, i am reminded of ambitions that have been fulfilled and others which were unrealized.

God how i hated this place. but fortunately this place, this mis-shaped square of uninspired utilitarian architecture, gracious yet unsettling professors and post-pubescent students who are filled with libido, a love of God and ambitions not unlike my own, has never hated me.

God, thank you for this black, fertile soil in which i died and have been born again. thank you for the hands which cultivated and occasionally pruned my heart. although this is the time of harvest, i hope my fallow field is once again suitable for sowing.

stuff that has been making me laugh

over the past two weeks massachusetts has celebrated the birth of two evacuee babies. the name of the first baby was, predictably, katrina. her parents said that they thought the name was "kind of cool, you know, and kind of weird. like something you would see on david letterman." the second baby has been christened cape cod in honor of the region that has so generously welcomed and served the evacuees over the past three weeks. i have no quarrel with people naming their children after natural disasters, hurricanes, major civil war battles or even tropical fruit (yesterday npr featured an interview with a woman named chiquita). however, i do not consider such names exempt from ridicule.

a humble request

i am planning to visit friends and make merry in lincoln illinois next monday and tuesday (10.3 - 10.4). if you (a) live in lincoln (b) read this blog and (c) would be willing to let me crash on your floor on monday night please let me know. i would prefer to stay on campus, where i can interact with the students and perhaps subvert a few minds, but am well aware that beggars can't be choosers.

if you are willing to briefly house this jaded optimist please drop a comment or send an email to jeffkelliegentry@yahoo.com. your assistance in this matter is greatly appreciated.

sunday morning

sitting in my chair, wise candle lit.
crumbs on my shirt, taste of coffee in my mouth.
i am overwhelmed with love.

convinced of my creator's beneficence
overwhelmed by his presence
my eyes well up
my heart breaks
for those who walk in, out and around my life
shining like the sun.

thank God for these fleeting moments
in which we enter the holy and hidden heart of it all.

memorandum from captain random:

nepotism provides the paper on which many an evangelical publishing contract is writ. not only james, but shirley, ryan and danae now ply the focus on the family shit. for another case, you needn't look far, billy has anointed franklin, ruth and anne as his literary arms. since these fuckers are setting up franchises i've decided to get in the game, from now on jeff dobson graham warren is my name. so let's sign that contract mr. tyndale, miss multnomah, let's publish more of the same, don't question my capabilities, just look at my motherfucking name.

this afternoon i'm listening to sufjan stevens and he's surprising me with his rythmic, contextualized truth. on illinoise sufjan provides a compelling apologetic for listening to life within your particular context (isn't particularity an essential component of art? what is a painting without a frame or a photo without a subject?). his music won't simply please your ear, it will suggest straight paths for your soul. four stars, sufjan, four stars.

i think everyone has a totem they love to touch or something they smell that reminds them of home. my totems are two misshapen black rocks, one stays on the nightstand, the other on an ontario shore. the smell is musty yet warm, it proceeds from the glove my papa once wore.

sufjan, what's up with this half-assed poetry you provoke? i think it's safer to stick to prose.

yet another reason i love sinners and saints: this afternoon i was talking to brooke about an old “okie” friend that i would like to beat some sense into. this friend continues to make rather poor decisions and does not seem to be willing or able to face the consequences of his actions. although i know that my pastoral counseling professors would question my treatment plan, i am convinced of its possible efficacy. fortunately, brooke told me that my convictions were for shit and suggested a wiser, more loving approach. i cannot imagine leading a community by myself. the shared leadership structure of s & s doesn’t ensure that we’ll never misread a particular situation, rend a relationship or do any number of additional ignorant things, but it does make such fuck ups far less common. that Jesus was up to something when he sent the disciples out two by two. moreover, st. paul might have been wrong-headed about women, but he got the plural leadership thing right.

musing...

i am beginning to think that one of the reasons the authors of scripture espoused and exalted an eschatological perspective is because it is quite difficult to keep people looking and moving forward.

i am a perfect example.

although i have yet to crack thirty, i already find myself constantly doubling back on the past. i cannot seem to finish a day without remembering how superior i felt as kerrie sat beside me on the elementary school swings, looking into the cracked mirror that produced ms. simmons' "portraits of monkeys" or smelling the grease at the rex's chicken on 21st and mingo. i also find myself wondering what happened to the more obscure characters in my play. i wonder whether gabe, my handicapped friend from fifth grade is still living with his parents or whether he is in a group home and i wonder whether rhett's intellectual acumen eventually enabled him to escape the poverty and familial dysfunction that always found a way to entangle him. for some reason i find it difficult to remember the characters in the last novel that i read, but i never find it difficult to drudge up memories of hell night at the citadel or how it felt like to hit adam buker in the face.

i'm not unthankful for these memories, but i am afraid of getting trapped.

i need to weave these strands of story together so that they will support me as i scramble up the mountains and dredge through the valleys that lie before me. these stories contain the whispered wisdom and crucial questions that will help me find my way. even more importantly, these stories bind me to those without whom i would be bereft and utterly alone.
but i cannot let these stories, sentimental and important though they might be, keep me from moving forward. these strands of support cannot become ties that bind me to who i was, lest i fail to continue becoming.

Jesus once said that "no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God." i think this is kind-of what he was getting at.

reason #9836 that we're taking her to the kill shelter. fucking douche.

happy haiku friday

surrender to rain

let it soak right through your skin

find refuge with them

bad teeth work for hugh grant. i wish they would work for me

i am the reason that dentists commit suicide. i flinch when they stick me with a needle, i wince at the sound of a drill and i jump out of my skin when their metal hook catches one of my (many) fillings and delivers that unique, metal to metal shock.

i am the reason that dentists commit suicide. for this reason my former dentists have indulged me with the beautiful, bubby hygienists who aren't at the top of their trade, but can keep a male mind occupied. moreover, while they encourage more stalwart types like dr. james to do it sans novocain, they drug me to the nth degree and occasionally indulge me with a snort of nitrous.

i am the reason that dentists commit suicide. unfortunately, for that reason, dr. a has taken the gloves off. instead of indulging me and perhaps inadvertently nurturing my fears, she has decided to show me tough love. so she removed the bubbly hygienist with the brilliant personality, barred me from the bland hygienist who isn't much to look at but is easy on the ole gums and has forever banned me from the quirky-cute african-american girl in the front room. instead, she has put me in the hands of the pissed-off armenian. before today i had dealt with the pissed off armenian once before, so i knew about her lectures on holy dental hygiene, her ability to use the suction stick like a cattle prod and her tendency to transfer her hatred for the turks onto my sensitive teeth. after the last time she made me bleed and nearly brought me to tears i asked the receptionist to steer me away from her little suite of pain in the future. she said that wouldn't be a problem.

the bitch lied.

today, when i stepped into the office around 7:45 a.m. i was somewhat confident and almost non-chalant about my visit. i figured that i would draw the bubble, she'd clean the chicklets in forty-five to an hour and i'd be on my merry way. so you can imagine how my stomach dropped with the receptionist parted her nicotine stained teeth, gave me a cruel little smile and said "jeff gentry? armenian, around the corner." on my way to the corner suite, i steadied myself by remembering my desire not to prejudge, after all - the day of my last visit might have coincided with the anniversary of a divorce or death, and wrangled up a bit of courage by reminding myself that i would only be subjected to her fury for one hour.

i should have stuck to my judgmental guns.

the armenian began by numbing the right side of my mouth. after about six minutes of swabbing a bitter substance in my mouth she matter-of-factly told me that she was numbing the incorrect side. after all, i had already had scaling (a deep form of cleaning that is required for those of us who struggle with minor gum disease. don't ask for details) on the right side of my mouth. "didn't you rememeber" she asked accusingly. "you're the one with the chart, bitch," i thought to myself, but did not say, since she is the one with the sharp, probing instruments at her disposal. instead i feebly shrugged my shoulders and admitted that the fact had "slipped my mind." she then proceed to numb the left side of my mouth with strokes that betrayed her fury. as she set up her instruments and began to pull back my gums so that she could scrape the recently concealed roots of my teeth i could not think that this woman would make a hell of a dominatrix. unfortunately this seedy little thought was completely without joy, for in this particular instance i was stuck in the role of the gimp and the damn zipper was open.

the rest of the visit was filled with fun experiences such as the co-mingling of mucus and blood in my mouth and the fun, fresh feel of metal probing metal in my mouth. i don't know why i shared this story other than to warn you that if your dentist is not particularly prone to suicide you should not ignore your dental hygiene or piss off the doc in any other way. although chances are small that your dentist has an amoral armenian working for her, she has other ways of getting to you. trust me, you don't want your friendly dental healthcare professional to go medieval on your ass.

do you have any dental horror stories to share? if you do, please drop a comment below. the best story of the bunch will win you a limited-edition three pack of ryan dobson 2 live 4 stickers. these stickers have been generously donated by the good folks at lightway christian stores. no purchase necessary. void where prohibited. no, this was not edited.

happy haiku friday!

mountain of kleenex

pulsating river of phlegm

fall, my long lost friend

memorandum from captain random:

today i am compensating myself for the eight hours i am working this weekend by taking the day off. i am planning on reading moby dick, contemplating the divine conspiracy and cleaning the kitchen. throughout the day i might drop a line here and there or i might not. we'll see.

when you get a moment, check out this coupland-esque report from the apocalypse coupland-esque report from the apocalypse. i've always had a barely subliminated fear of living through the postmodern apocalypse that was foretold in girlfriend in a coma. perhaps that is why the ongoing struggles of the remnant in new orleans have hit so close to home. this is one of the finest newspaper pieces i have read in years.

"It was not my intention to do this in front of you. For that I'm sorry. But you can take my word for it, your mother had it comin'. When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, I'll be waiting." ~the bride in qt's kill bill, vol. I

i still feel raw about it. though i doubt either God or you have been waiting for me to wrap words around my pain, that's what i am going to try to do. i have a need to bleed. i hope that these lines serve as a leech.
i don't know what to do with tragedies like katrina. i've heard others suggest that it is a man made disaster, since everyone except for fema was aware of the fragility of the french quarter and its surrounding environs, and i have even heard that it is an outworking of God's judgment, which was reportedly being brought to bear because of a homosexual convention that was scheduled for this week. rationalizations like the former make sense to me, while those like the latter tempt me to disembowel the false prophets who confound their rambling with the revelation of God. i've listened to their rationalizations and i've struggled to shape a few of my own, but at the end of the day, i don't have an interpretation to offer and am unwilling to explain or make an apology for God. here are the facts friends: the poor were shit on yet again. the homeless were evicted from their harried street corners, those without resources were being ignored while the rich calculated their flood insurance and rachel's screaming lament was heard 24/7 on CNN. there rachel sat, screaming for her children and it shook us to the very core of our soul. however, her wavering voice will probably not compel privileged folk like you and me to set aside our comfortable lives, so that we can set out on a quest to destroy the structures of poverty that pervade our land and shatter the motherfucking silence that perpetuates this rotten state.

i will not explain God's actions, nor will i defend him. he says that he is a friend to the fatherless and a protector of widows. he said that the poor were blessed and supposedly he even lived among them for a while. if this is true, then i trust his mercy will prevail. if this is true, i expect him and his people to act justly, shower mercy and walk humbly among the poor. i'm still raw God and i believe you are waiting. answer me through the actions of your people, the rumored still, small voice that is so rarely heard and any other method you have available.

i still feel so fucking raw, but i think that not all is not lost. there are signs that suggest healing. of course my interpretation is only as trustworthy as the asshole who equated new orleans with sodom, but these signs are my only lifelines, so i'm holding on.

in the midst of this horror, i have been surrounded by a community that did not ask for answers and did not shudder when i accused God. they listened to my struggles, shared my potentially blasphemous prayers and showed themselves to be a tiny, atomistic incarnation of God's justice.

moreover, a little neglected piece of me believes that this tragedy will tear the roof off of southern poverty in the same furious way that katrina unclothed the superdome. for years we've been trying to pull off our hastily fashioned band-aids one millimeter at a time. now the whole fucking thing has been ripped off in one violent motion. i hope that we muster the courage to endure the pain of this wound and set out to seek treatment. may God curse us if we allow things to return to the status quo. may God curse me if i continue to live in the frame of luxury while others are being boxed in by mere necessity. make no mistake, i realize that the change starts with me.

i still feel raw about it and i have no doubt that you're waiting. i pray that you move us all towards a reckoning.

winds whip, levees break

you say “blessed are the poor”

i want to believe

unexpected sacrament

"Let's write a story of a tidal wave
We run out of luck, we run out of days
We run out of gas a hundred miles away from a station
There's a war and a plague, smoke and disaster
Lions in the coliseum, screams of laughter
Motherless children, a witness and a bible
Nothing but rain ahead and no chance for our survival

Just before the flood comes
Just before the night falls
Just before the blood runs
Into the valley...
Just before my eyes go
Just before we can't go no further
Love throws a line to you and me

Love throw a line..." ~love throw a line by sister patty griffin

"this stage is a confessional, you kneel and then begin. oh you cross yourself those three times, and step into this skin"

i can't sleep. i don't want to say that God woke me up because it sounds crazy, but it is the truth all the same. so here i am, feet on the windowsill, full glass of wine, hoping that this exercise in disclosure will solidify this unsettled mind. the ying in me says that i shouldn't be blogging at such times, but the yang argues otherwise. let's drink to the yang.

a half-hour or so ago, a piece of my life seemed to fall into place. somewhere in the midst of my dreams, which were troubled by katrina's horrific scenes as well as one another of kellie's simple yet brilliant schemes, my vocation seemed to come into focus. the feverish, half-baked revelation is this: i am a community organizer, not a preacher.

i realize that many of you who are close to me probably already realize this, but i'm just beginning to understand, so bear with me.

i think that this means that i am called to equip the saints for ministry rather than try to shape them with my ideas. God has not called me to simply be a conduit of sanctified information, but to help people incarnate the truth they find in Scripture and follow the path the Spirit of God has stretched out before them. i said earlier in the week that i feel more like an accompanier than a leader. that is part of it. my greatest joy comes from not simply helping people understand the gospel, but rather helping people be the gospel to others. all joking aside, when i see alex setting aside two hours to listen to mikey, loving him enough to hope for a better life for him and believing God enough to think that such a catalytic event is possible, i am much more satisfied than i am after preaching the most powerful sermon. moreover, when i read about becky's absolutely ingenious attempts to invite high school students to fall into God's story, i feel more satisfied than i have ever felt after completing an outline for a teaching or an agenda for a meeting. since accompaniment is the way that i can most effectively equip the saints for ministry, i am deeply committed to it. i am deeply indebted to jean vanier for this understanding of ministry. for more on this approach check out community and growth.

a couple of weeks ago i lamented the fact that i am behind the times in regards to understanding the catastrophic social injustices that currently blight the globe. although i am interested in increasing my knowledge in this area, i am also strangely warmed by the fact that i have helped give birth to a community full of people who are passionate about a number of these issues and are currently advocating and acting on behalf of the poor. for instance, i am overwhelmed by the fact that craig is enabling our community to invest in the university education of a young Ugandan man. moreover, i am so thankful that james and brooke have been trying to teach me for years that my consumption patterns can either bless or blight the people of the world. on a more personal note, i have been overwhelmed by kellie's suggestion that when we begin to work through the process of adopting (as an adopted kid, i think that it is important to pass on the blessing) we should explore the possibility of adopting a handicapped child. as difficult as that commitment would be, it would provide me with an opportunity to continue living out a love for the disabled that stretches back to my youth and would, in a sense, be a continuation of the experience that first bound kellie and i together. in the end, i think right now i need to stop looking for a new issue to embrace or a cause to commend, so that i can walk and work with my brothers and sisters as we seek to address the issues God has placed upon their hearts.

i know that as one who once was considered and considered himself a preacher, i am supposed to offer you another point and a poem. but that's all i can unravel at this point. as i turn my attention to my half-full glass of wine (yes, dr. james, this glass is gentry-sized) and set out to pursue the best way that our community can participate in the ongoing hurricane relief (rick, et. al, if you have any ideas here, let me know), i would like to affirm that my heart is full and i am incredibly honored to help lead a community of God. peace be with you.

somewhere between intuition and cognition the school of life is still in session

a couple of days ago a close friend asked an interesting question concerning vocation. he wanted to know whether most Christ followers had a definitive understanding of how and where they were to serve Christ or whether
understanding was more partial in scope. furthermore, he wanted to know whether their understanding of their vocation was revealed to them in a single experience or whether their understanding developed over a longer period of time. i think it is almost impossible to answer such questions in an objective way, since our personal experience always impinges upon our understanding of what vocation actually is and how it shapes our lives. for instance, i would have a hard time believing that one's vocation is revealed in an ecstatic experience, since mine has clearly evolved throughout my life (i.e., as a young child our preacher told my grandmother she had to "watch out" or i would become a preacher, yet both my adolescent years as well as some of my current behavior and thought patterns seemed to suggest otherwise). frederick buechner once quipped that your vocation is where "your gifts and the worlds greatest needs intersect." since my understanding and use of my gifts is always evolving and i live in a world that, from all appearances, is constantly changing as well, my lack of definitive understanding in this area does not surprise me.

that is a long and poorly thought out way to introduce a post that consists of half-baked, poorly formulated ideas. all i wanted to do was to tell you what i have been learning lately. now that i have told you what i am going to tell you and told you that i am going to tell you, so i guess that it is time for me to finally tell you. ugh.

lately i have been wondering whether God has wired me to be a leader or an accompanier. I know that this is poor, bi-polar thinking (since Kellie has already hinted as much), but that hasn't stopped me from wondering. i don't think that my greatest gift is fashioning a vision of what our community is going to be or laying out the strategic steps that will lead us to the aforementioned, indeterminate future. rather, i think that my calling is to walk with, or accompany, people as together we seek to love God, live the gospel and incarnate his compassion in this particular place. i don't deny that i serve as a leader of this community, but to merely identify my understanding of my particular strengths.

i have also been learning what it means for a leader to be lead by his people. i have posted before about how others are revitalizing my passion for social justice and leading me into leading a more holistic life (i even think that this latter part will some day require that i give a damn about what i eat and what kind of java i drink, but please keep that part between us). henri taught me long ago that my leadership would eventually give way to being led by God and by His community. however, i didn't think that this reversal would take place this early in my life (sidenote: this might sound like a ringing endorsement of the intelligence, generosity and compassion that characterizes our community as well as the individuals who are a part of our community. that is exactly what it is).

i have also been exploring ways in which i can reinvest myself in my ecclesiological tradition. although i grew up in the a Christian Churches/Churches of Christ congregation and studied at their finest bible college, i have not had a strong connection with one of our churches, nor have i had an interest to be involved in their efforts in new england for several years. initially my indifference was fueled by my thoughts of swapping denominations (for the record: i still think i am either a displaced episcopalian or non-celibate franciscan friar at heart) and my unhealthy anger towards some...okay one...of the ministry leaders in our area. however, after years of hearing neal windham's admonitions to "study and experience broadly but always come home," i finally decided to heed his advice. so although i had little interest in either working in a traditional setting or being a part of one of their church plants, i began looking and praying for opportunities to reconnect with my tradition. fortunately that is one prayer that has been answered. within the past two weeks i found out that aaron and tracy monts were moving to the area to be a part of new church plant tentatively titled "the boston project" (let's pray for a new name), kellie and i had dinner with tim hawkins and his beautiful family who have recently moved to the area in order to work with impact campus ministries and in the lunch room at lifeway i ran into landis brown, who went to a Christian church bible college and has worked with Christian churches in the area (one of which was a home church!). so, landis and his family have now become a part of sinners and saints, i am looking forward to working beside tim and his team as they plant the campus ministry and am excited about working with aaron and tracy when they move out here next summer. i don't think church unity rose or set in alexander campbell's mind, i am not crazy about a church that often adorns itself with an oxymoronic title (every now and again they'll...er, we'll...refer to ourselves as the independent Christian Churches and Churches of Christ.) and when the winds of doctrinal inquiry blow i lean more towards a reformed than an arminian theology. but that being said, i am quite grateful for this new development in my life.

i have been learning that it is foolish, if not abjectly sinful, to underutilize the gifts that i have been given. i don't have anything more to say about that, but would like to thank craig for the admonition.

i have been utterly overwhelmed by how judgmental i am and how much work i have to do in this area. for a wonderful example of my short-sited judgmentalism, read my previous post about how short-sighted the evange-teens are in their pursuit of sexual morality and then read anna broadway's perceptive post from august 26th. i'm not taking back everything i said, by any means, but rest assured, dear reader that the truth is always more complex than i am able or willing to admit. more on the judgment issue to follow (maybe. someday. if i'm feeling really honest).

i have been constantly reminded of what a beautiful, life-sustaining partner i have in kellie. she has helped me become a more centered and passionate person. moreover, with her by my side, i think i will be able to persevere upon this windy road that i am currently walking. i thank God for her.
i know that many of you are not interested in a lot of the stuff i talked about in this post. if you've read this far, i'd like to thank you for listening anyway. if you get a chance, say a prayer for New Orleans and the surrounding environs tonight. it sounds like they are in for one hell of a tempest.

”excuse me while I whip this out.”

last friday morning, around 7:15, i read an article entitled the young and the sexless in rolling stone (props to pastor rick for the recommendation). the article focuses on a group of tragically hip evange-kids in new york city who are smart, sensual and sexless.

after reading the article i flew into an absolute rage that produced a couple of bad haikus and carried me far into the afternoon. i didn't know whether i was angry at the author, who at times seems to eschew any measure of objectivity (i.e., somehow i do not think that this particular group of evange-kids is reading john hagee), or the masturband (the livestrong inspired tool that indicates one's ability to master auto-eroticism) wearing evange-kids, who seemed to be utterly enthralled with the idea of displaying their acts of righteousness before men. although i found a number of things about the article troubling, i'll only clue you into a few.

the evange-kids commitment to virginity was so extreme that their interest in all things sexual seemed to border on obsession. these kids talk sex, blog sex, eschew and scrutinize sex to such a degree that sex seems to overwhelm their horizon. i found it particularly troubling when one of the evange-kids in the article insisted on referring to sex as "communion." while there is a intimate, communal element of sex, his linguistic choice seemed to confound sex with the one of the highest ordinances (in baptist language) or sacraments in the Christian tradition. while i appreciate the reverence with which he treats the act, i fear that he is setting sex on a far too lofty pedestal from which it cannot help but fall. although the Bible has a good deal to say about sex (no unsuspecting calves, brothers!), it does not obsess upon sex to such a degree. in fact, such an obsession seems to have more in common with canaanite and greek mystery religions.

second, if i walked into a church and saw dozens of twenty-somethings giving one another "chaste side hugs," i would hit the exit quicker than you can say hot karl. in my opinion, such practices do not help one properly order sex so much as it enflames our scantly repressed desires. legalistic practices such as these remind me of paul's teaching about the purpose of the law. the law does not restrain sin, paul tells us, but it illustrates the remarkable extent of our brokenness and prepares us to receive God's grace. as horrible as it sounds, i almost found myself wishing that these kids would just do the deed, so that they could come to terms with their brokenness, set aside their virginal pride and allow grace to reshape their developing sexuality.

third, i felt like a couple of the evange-kids who were interviewed were being less than honest with themselves. one of the boys confessed that a year or two before his girlfriend gave him a blow job and he felt absolutely horrible the whole time it was happening. i don't want to judge, but i have an extremely difficult time believing that (in fact, my original response was "liar. liar. liar."). i have little doubt that a shitload of guilt followed the experience, but in the moment i think that he felt a little more ecstatic than he was willing to admit. at some point, evangelicals need to come to terms with the fact that disordered sex and many other forms of sin are quite fun. we may choose to abstain from such practices for very good reasons, but to misrepresent the experience itself seems a bit dishonest.

fourth, the brief discussion about evange-kids infiltrating liberal organizations at u.c. berkley so that they could proselytize more proficiently made me want to puke. maybe its just because i'm a flaming liberal, but i do not think our calling is infiltrate and deconstruct the structures of this world so much as it is to actively incarnate the love and compassion of Christ and call people towards a more beautiful, good and true way of life.

okay, so i've bitched enough. i would love it if you would read the article and then do what i have failed to do here. namely, suggest healthier ways that Christians can maintain the sexual practices that are set out for us in Scripture and affirmed by the overwhelming majority of our traditions, without setting legalistic standards, becoming sexual isolationists and teetering towards damndable self-righteousness. basically, i want to think through this more clearly and eventually espouse a more holistic and healthy response. in order to do so, i could use your help.

i've also been reading a lot of articles on killing the buddha lately. i think this site is absolutely spectacular and would like to contribute something meaningful to them at some point in the future. if you only read one article, read a slut for faith. if i worked in a more traditional church, i would have every unknown couple who asked me to sanctify their secular contract read this article before proceeding. i think you'll love this site.

that's it for now. i need to strap on the masturband and get to work. er, i mean i need to wax my rocket. no, i meant...

i never claimed to be a promise keeper

unfortunately i have yet to write the review of doug pagitt's preaching re-imagined that i promised. however, i found a fairly interesting interview with doug that was posted at christianbook.com.

please note: neither i, the management of musings, nor lifeway endorse the consumer-driven, subtly liberal, crypto-communist website that this interview was posted on. peruse this site at your own risk.

happy haiku friday!

i spent the morning

lamenting hypocrisy

while chewing a pen



while we serenade

God's love and Christ's compassion

He responds with rage

undone

yesterday, in the midst of categorizing a stack of books, i stumbled across the reprint edition of the faces of Jesus by frederick buechner. after reading the copy on the front jacket flap i flipped the pages en masse so that i could see if there was an author photo featured on the back.

fortunately there was a photo. upon seeing it i was almost undone. buechner has always been incredibly photogenic, as the covers of his little autobiographies attest, but this photo pierced me so deeply that i almost wept. in this photograph, buechner looks old and bemused. his h-frame mouth is open just enough to offer a sympathetic smile and his eyes bear witness to a lifetime full of tightly clinched, discerning squints that were occasionally overwhelmed by wide-eyed wonder. as i scrutinized uncle freddy’s liver spots and last wisps of hair, i realized how grateful i am that my life has overlapped with this liberal, literary prophet and how utterly afraid i am of the day that he finally departs.

so many of uncle freddy’s words have opened my heart to the Word and his constant reminders to “listen to your life” have helped me salvage a few remnants of sense from this shipwrecked, chaotic world. as odd as it sounds, i hold him as close as i hold family and, as pagan as it sounds, i pray that when he passes God will grant me a portion of his spirit.

is there an author that simultaneously helps hold you together and enables you to hold out hope for the future? if so, i’d love to hear about it.

“look kids! It’s a…it’s a…it’s a rocket ship!”

i haven’t been there yet, but i would still be willing to bet that hell is a lot like bolivar, missouri. it was there, on the unsuspecting stage of baptist bible college, that i revealed my adolescent indulgences to three hundred, hormone-driven teens.

we had been doing hand motions for three days, i was ready to kill one of the other sponsors and was dying for a cigarette. so to say i was sick of c.i.y. was an understatement. on wednesday afternoon, killing time before the alternative alleluia band was supposed to play kevin greer decided to stage a mid-afternoon timewaster. as he began to hand-select the objects of his ridicule from the crowd, i began to feel sick. he was going to pick me. i knew he was going to pick me and all of my self-determined denials wouldn’t do me a damn bit of good. i was right.

as i made my way backstage, barely bottling my rage, the stage manager directed me to a sound-proof green room where i received my assignment. “when you get on stage,” the pimple popping ozark intern told me, “make-believe that you are taking off in a rocket ship.” “is that all you have to tell me,” i asked. “oh yeah, one more thing,” he said, “there’ll be a black chair on stage that you can use however you want.” so there i sat, cursing my fate and awaiting my fifteen seconds. although i couldn’t hear kevin from the green room, i could hear the crowd roaring. in that moment, i knew i was being set up. i was right.

when my moment came, i swept the curtain aside as inconspicuously as possible, tried not to look at the six hundred eager eyes that were staring at me and made my way to the chair. i immediately tipped the chair so that its back was resting on the stage, sat down in the chair so that my back and legs were parallel with the stage, clasped my hands together and put them right below my crotch. then, at the word “go” i trembled violently, made thundering rocket ship noises and rapidly adjusted the imaginary yoke between my legs.

after fifteen seconds of my antics, i was overwhelmed by the roar of the crowd. when i stood up, straightened my shirt and looked in kevin’s eyes, i could see that they were filled with tears. when i looked out at the crowd, i saw my youth minister on his knees laughing. i immediately began to panic.

after i made my way off the stage, flush red in the face, i asked my youth minister what the set up was. he told me in a rushed, hyper-ventilating voice that i was mimicking “what i did in the bathroom.”

that was the last time i waxed my rocket ship in a public setting. and that, my friends, is yet another reason that i am not a youth minister.

amidst the atmospheric “pop”

after diagnosing spiritual schizophrenia
he said

prayer is the prescription
the community provides counseling

why do i feel so fragmented
if i was created to be whole?

amidst the firing synapses
is there room enough for soul?

perhaps this is the result
of exchanging absolutes for ambiguity

and getting a quarter on the dollar

or rather an expression of humility
of contemplation outstripping capability

let us pray for the latter

memorandum from captain random

it's 9:37p.m. i'm drinking my second cup of reheated coffee, seriously considering a glass of wine and committed to defraging my spirit for the next sixty minutes. i thought for some odd reason you might enjoy seeing my blue screen incrementally overtaken by the little white boxes of underdeveloped thoughts.

9:42 p.m. - regardless of how this series unfolds, i am incredibly proud of the way the cardinals have played over the last six weeks. since the all-star break four of our regulars (molina, walker, rolen and sanders) have been injured and they have gone 16-10. i had hoped they could play .525 ball during this stretch, so obviously they have surpassed my expectations. if we can just treat water until mid-september, get molina/walker/sanders (rolen appears to be d-u-n) on track and perhaps get some bullpen smoke out of reyes, we might be able to make a strong run in october.

9:45 p.m. - life lessons i have learned from baseball:

• slow the game down


• play a hard nine


• replicate your mechanics


• candlesticks always make a nice gift

9:54 p.m. - the cardinals are showing some life, mark prior does not appear to be the god i once thought he was and i would like to recommend a superb cardinals blog to you. it's called viva el birdos, which i think is spanish for the cardinals are the shiz-nite, and the author's attention to detail and analysis are excellent. even a summary perusal of the posts will show you why i am not a full-time baseball blogger (i.e., i have neither the time nor the statistical ability to develop such sophisticated proposals).

10:00 p.m. - if the cardinals had as much organizational talent as the cubs and did as little with it, i would be on psychotropics by now. over the past three years i have been constantly mystified by their inability to dominate the central.

10:04 p.m. - that is the nicest thing you will ever hear me say about the cubs. speaking of that glass of wine, i would like to thank alex for providing me with such a generous portion. i wish he was here to enjoy it with me.

10:06 p.m. - several years ago, i thought of myself as mr. social justice. i challenged apparent evangelical indifference towards the urban poor, parroted jim wallis and spent my vacations serving with the l'arche community in downtown toronto. now, although i am actively engaged in social concerns on the local level, i am remarkably ignorant about darfur, the developing famine in niger and a million additional concerns i am unaware of. the upside of my current situation is that i have a number of friends, especially dr. james, rick and craig that are constantly reminding me of these concerns. in this area i set out to be a leader, but am now being led. i think i'm ok with that.

10:16 p.m. - i have been reading moby dick over the past couple of days in an attempt to reintroduce myself to american classics and start preparing for the secondary ed. prep exam that i'll be taking next spring. anyway, i have found melville's sense of humor striking and his religious thought unexpectedly progressive. would you like to hear a few quotes? i thought you might...

• "heaven have mercy on us all - presbyterians and pagans alike - for we are all somehow directly cracked about the head, and sadly need mending" (pg. 90).


• "i know what he is - a good man - not a pious good man, like bildad, but a swearing good man - something like me..." (88-89)


• "if we obey God, we must disobey ourselves, and it is in disobeying ourselves, wherein the hardness of obeying God consists" (48)


• "yes, the world's a ship on its passage out, and not a voyage complete; and the pulpit is its prow" (45. wonderful quote, eh? too bad i don't believe it)
• "better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken christian" (26. yeah, it's a bit reductionistic and derivative, but i like it)


• "what of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks? what does that indignity amount to, weighed, i mean, in the scales of the new testament?...who ain't a slave? tell me that" (6)

10:32 p.m. - over the past week or so another new character has been given a reoccurring role on the gentry show. his name is ken and he's a twenty year old magician, student and all around nice guy. ken grew up in colorado springs, where he was turned off by megachurches, humored by evangelicals who would approach his mohawked brother in restaurants only to say things like "god is right there in your hands" and briefly employed by focus on the family as an extra in a movie who's plot he described as "non-christian teenage parties are bad, christian teenage parties are good." anyway, for reasons both obvious and unknown, ken is not committed to living in the way of Jesus. however, our conversations this weekend have touched on the church more often than not. why the rambling narrative, you ask, good question...here's the rub. ken is obviously interested in our church or at least continuing to be a part of our community, but i have yet to directly ask him to "come to church." early this afternoon he asked me what time we met (the fact that i spent all day sitting on my ass reading tipped him off to the fact that we didn't read on sunday) and when he stopped by for dinner this evening he asked what a regular service was like, but i still did not invite him.

i've invited him to join us before, but he seemed uninterested. now, i'm going to leave him to his own initiative. i hope this intuitive approach is wise.

10:45 p.m. - so i've broke the sixty minute mark. sue me. you're the one who is bored enough to read this shit. as the allusion in the previous snippet was intended to suggest, i've been reading nick hornby this weekend. if you enjoy his rapacious wit, have been charmed by his humorous, humane novels and/or prefer to read about reading literature rather than actually reading it yourself, you'll love polysyllabic spree.

10:55 p.m. - i think the crumbling discus thrower anti-steroid ads would be much more effective if they provided virile young men with an image of how steroids de-values the family jewels. i don't think that the demise of their calves is going to weigh on the future "physical education" and "recreation science" majors of america. but irreversible shrinkage? that'll keep a few of 'em up late at night.


11:00 p.m. - i just heard that tracy "tickner" monts, one of my favorite people in bible college, and her husband aaron are moving to boston next summer. from what i've heard so far, it appears that they are planning on staying and serving with a new church plant for a defined amount of time. however, i am already hoping that they decide to stay in the area of become a part of our community after their enlistment in the boston project is up. a boy can hope.

11:05 p.m. - this is the sound of me spell-checking. good night!

wearing out the gospel glove

with sweat on his brow and calf-skin bible in hand, the free-will baptist preacher stoked the hell fire that was most assuredly awaitin' us. he needn't have bothered. i was already in the front pew, begging God's forgiveness.

after the youth minister contrasted the conquering King of Glory on the white horse with the dastardly one riding the pale horse, my feet stumbled down the risers and i waded into the sea of recommittals.

following a particularly penetrating sermon on our proclivity towards judgment, i fixed my eyes on the orange carpet and walked forward to confess. i had sinned against my brothers and sisters by what i had said and left unsaid. instead of awaiting the sifting of the white seat of judgment i had seared my community with my white hot sarcasm and condemnation. i hoped that my words laid the foundation for a long labor of love.

i once detested this apparent desire to participate in every experience of conversion ever created and questioned the authenticity of my catalytically converted heart. in the warmest tones, they had told me time and again that the initial immersion was more than enough. others whispered that once i was saved, my ticket was non-refundable. but their affirmations, well-intended though they were, have never squared with my experience of faith. i have always felt that conversion is not so much a punctiliar as it is a progressive experience. i constantly feel the need to "recommit" my life to Christ and if i dwelt in an altar call environment my ass would be quite familiar with the front pew. so strap on the gospel glove and encourage the accompanist to play her favorite conversion tune. this boy is comin' home.

musing

hello world. sorry that i've been on the lam for a bit. i've been listening to your voices and reading a good bit, but i haven't had time to transcribe my thoughts, fears and feelings. i don't have a ton of time today either, since it is 7:43 a.m. and i need to turn my attention to commodifying Christ. but here are a few of my recent thoughts about my reading and this reality that i find so hard to interpret.

i've found another literary mentor. his name is preacher will and he is a subversive southern baptist preacher from mississippi. in his heartrending biography, titled brother to a dragonfly, will recounts the story of his conversion, his calling to the ministry and the significant role that he played in the civil rights movement of the fifties and sixties. however, as significant as these experiences and events were, they pale in comparison to will's commitment to his brother joe. although will has a number of incredible stories to tell, one gets the feeling that these stories wouldn't be worth a damn if he had failed to be faithful to his brother joe. for some reason that fact tore me to pieces. i think there is far too much media focused upon star crossed lovers and not enough focused on strengthening and stretching the ties that bind. brother to a dragonfly is a notable exception. you can count on me is another.

i stumbled across a quote from vanier this morning. it unmasked my delusions of grandeur and called me to the gritty work of faith. i thought you might like to hear it: "a community is only being created when its members accept that they are not going to achieve great things, that they are not going to be heroes, but simply live each day with new hope, like children, in wonderment as the sun rises and thanksgiving as it sets...the beauty of people is in this fidelity to the wonder of each day" (Community and Growth, pg. 109).

i took mark to see ben folds and rufus wainwright in concert on friday night. it was a beautiful evening on the water and ben folds did not disappoint. however, much to my surprise, i found that i am not much of a rufus fan. like i said on jamie's blog i think he intones like randy travis and his diction is deplorable. all things equal, i'd rather see randy travis.

when i was in high school i told one of my history teachers, who turned out to be a dirty pedophile by the way, that "one day he would work for me." that might have been a little arrogant of me, especially since i am now quite interested in pursuing my teaching certification. i think i would like to teach high school english. in my mind, a successful high school english teacher needs to have a love of language, a desire walk with adolescents through the perilous process of identification and a studied disregard of authority and convention. assuming that this is true, i think i would make a decent teach. if all goes well, i will take my qualifying exams in the spring and start classes next summer.

in case you hadn't heard, on sunday david eckstein hit a walk-off grand slam in the ninth inning to propel the cardinals to victory. the last time that happened was on april 18, 1987, when my family decided to beat traffic by leaving the game a little bit early. that was a lesson learned.

happy haiku friday

take these bi-products

and stuff the fucking sausage

grind out redemption

stuff that has been making me laugh:



caption reads: "Does this mean you're not ready to accept Christ as your personal Savior?"

i also received a bulk email from a loyal citizen of ghana who wanted me to "plant small seed" in his country so that i could "reap large fruit." he told me that his mother, his country's prime minister and the wrongfully deposed king would be forever grateful if i worked with him on this initiative. the solicitor's name: johnson asore. i shit you not. he received my name from a local pastor though, so he must be trustworthy.

musing

on wednesday night i had the privilege of attending a wake for leanne's grandmother. as we stood in the spectacularly clean, softly lit viewing room, i was amazed by how many friends and family members had come to pay their respects, say a prayer and speak a kind word to leanne's family. there were so many people there that the funeral directors had removed a divider to accommodate more people. apparently, even that did not provide enough space for the visitors for people were scattered throughout the entire building, laughing and sharing, embracing and consoling one another. i was incredibly moved by the experience, for it was a living illustration of the beauty of a large, loving, deeply committed extended family.

though a bastard, God blessed me with the same type of family. i have had the privilege of being raised not only by my parents, but by two sets of grandparents and three sets of aunts and uncles. moreover, i don't have eight cousins so much as i have eight friends who i grew up fighting with, loving and protecting. i have also been blessed with a number of close family friends who i would not hesitate to lay my life down for and have little doubt that they would do the same for me. have i mentioned that i have a brother who i love so much that it hurts? have i mentioned that i grew up in a church that was full of people that believed in me when i did not believe in myself, loved me when i was by all accounts unlovable and pointed me towards my vocation when i was totally ignorant of God's call?

so on wednesday night, while i stood in that clean room that was lit by the love and warmth of family that I was reminded of the sacrifice that i have made. because the God of blessing has called me to be an instrument of His blessing to all people, i have left the warm, centrifugal center of my family and have been flung out to this far corner of the country to shed God's grace and Christ's compassion upon these people and the world. i am glad that i have responded to God's call, but i am not unaware of the cost.

i am not unaware of the cost. because i have sacrificed so much to be in new england, i better make my life count. initially, this line of reflection led me to focus on the desire to make a name for myself and adorn myself with individual accomplishments. but that is not what God is calling me to. instead, he is calling me to make my life count by being a part of a redemptive community that is incarnating His love and extending his compassion to the people in this particular place. at the end of my life i do not want to be known for something i have accomplished, but i want to be known as a part of the redemptive community that God has created in this place. life does not consist in the abundance of riches, Jesus teaches us, and i don't think life consists of lists of individual accomplishments either. rather, i think life is characterized by the goodness, beauty and truth of God that has been planted within us and the beautiful harvest of the field in which we have been planted.

overheard

“i use these words pretty loosely...
there's so much more to life than words” ~OTR, latter days

“tell mr. man with impossible plans to just leave me alone
in the place where i make no mistakes
in the place where i have what it takes” ~elliott smith, waltz #2

"there are two kinds of people:
sinners who think they are saints
and saints who know they are sinners" ~pascal, pensees

a long overdue confession

dear readers, i must make a confession. i am a calculating, undercover agent of the customer (secret) service. to my co-workers i am simply a comrade in arms, a simple customer service representative who longs to fulfill lifeway's mission of salvation by softcover. however, to my controller, i am a confidant and source of information, a Christ-centered, corporate killer who can scarcely conceal his sinister ambition.

although evidence of my true identity abounds, the lemmings that languish in the cubicles next to me remain quite clueless. thus, they do not know when they are chastised by the controller for excessive chattiness, that i was her primary source of information. further, they are unaware that the reason i am unexpectedly released from monotonous projects is so that i can engage in phone center surveillance and counter-surveillance. finally, when apparently composing salvific spam, my "comrades" do not know that i am encoding messages (often utilizing keywords like pearl, penetrate and purpose) that will reveal their blatant inefficiencies and illegal access of company facilities to my controller.

i am a cube dweller with connections. i am the customer (secret) service. do not fuck with me.

you can't force comedy

somewhere past lost creek, but a bit short of nutter fort, a couple of friends traversed I-79. their caffeine fueled, kerouac infused journey felt less like a relocation than an epic, for somehow, in the midst of this dissonance, dreams that had died bled onto sheets of new desire. as a result, neither new birth nor death seemed remote.

as they passed nutter fort two roads diverged, two pills were offered, two doors stood open. i could clarify the options and speak of conclusions foregone and forgotten, but wonder whether it would matter. the roads diverged and the stories unraveled, producing some episodes that were manic and others that were morose. so the story went and so it goes.

my only hope, indeed my half-hearted prayer, is that the stories unravel to the beat of burroughs and the storyteller is indeed sympathetic.

somewhere between memory and mirage, half-submerged in the stream-of-consciousness

propelled by the current and the contents of our cans we moved forward, but made little progress. for the first half of the trip i had a secure place in the center of the canoe. chris manned the bow, steve manned the keel, i manned the cooler. the early summer heat and our indifferent attitude towards lunch made the day seem more like a mirage than a concrete experience. looking back i remember images, emotions and snippets of conversation, but i have little feel for where the real story ends and personal myth begins. yet, as muddled as it may be, i am compelled to tell the story.

so, as i said, we were moving forward, but making little progress. our stated purpose was not progress but diversion. and diversion we found a plenty. every quarter mile or so we scratched the hull on another makeshift island and crashed a party. though we knew each other as outcasts, we chose not to let the strangers in on such secrets. so when they invited us to share our beer, smoke their weed, sample the texture and taste of their bodies, we did so. some of us more than others. if memory serves, i was one of the former. i think it was for that reason that i lost my privileged place in the boat and was left alone with a life jacket, dependent upon the current to make my way. i was so thankful that my six was buoyant.

at some point near the end of our excursion our case of key vanished. fortunately a couple of beautiful bodies floated by and graciously endowed us with additional supplies. flush with our good fortune we set our sights on the cliffs. once we landed steve and i scrambled up the side with sufficient supplies. our stated plan was to empty our hands before plunging into the waters below. while steve shotgunned i sought an angle that would enable me to douche our dear friend in the canoe below.

somewhere between a piss and my second can, i heard something pull up behind us. expecting more good fortune, of which this day seemed to be full, i turned my head expectantly...and was immediately disappointed. immediately deducing our plan the ranger informed us of impending danger. he then began with the questions. when he asked if i was of age i answered the affirmative. when he asked for evidence i took a draught of courage, shook my head and laughed. the officer asked, indeed he assumed, that i had seen such circumstances before. when i validated his assumption he had to question, "why don't you stop drinking?" i shrugged my shoulders indifferently and countered "why don't they change the law?" he laughed heartily and handed over the ticket almost remorsefully, promising that if i paid the fine the punishment would not have to match the crime.

it was in that moment, between my encounter with the half-hearted ranger and the adrenaline deficient plunge, that something within me clicked. a transition took place and i knew i would never be the same.

so i burned my bridges, abandoned those i had called friends and eventually repented while shanking shots at the driving range. i honestly think that i chose to follow Jesus not so much because of conviction or belief, but simply because the road was different. i figured that the narrow road could not be more meaningless than the broad, so i set out upon it.

that was almost nine years ago. since that time, i've moved forward, but made little progress. my eyes are still open to diversion and that anti-authoritarian son of a bitch that told off the trooper still emerges from time to time. nevertheless i am so thankful that something within me clicked. for as meaningless and random as the journey sometime seems, i think it is more substantial than the one that preceded it. every once in a while, the present moment definitely excluded, life seems less like a mirage and more like a concrete experience. for this i am thankful.

i have a sneaking suspicion that...

somewhere along the road i sacrificed excellence on the altar of mediocrity

there is such a thing as godly ambition, but cooperation still trumps competition

there are some wounds that do not heal

npr is going to drive me fund-drive crazy with non-stop reporting on john roberts. the morning nyt email featured a quote from robert's eighth grade teacher. i only wish i was kidding

bush will spin the rove affair more effectively than clinton spun the blow job

i am being sustained not only by Christ, but by His body

i am going to work at lifeway for longer than i initially intended. so i might as well make the best of it

the pre-publication galley copy of doug pagitt's preaching re-imagined is going to arrive today

that the (very) few of you that are interested in preaching are going to be treated to an interview and short review that will be posted on this site

it is time to open the indulgence box and go to work

memorandum from captain random

here are a few ideas, opinions and impressions that have been ricocheting through my small skull. although i would like to shoot a single, well aimed bullet, today i must rely on the buckshot approach.

when i entered my cube this morning a book was sitting next to my keyboard. the title was conquering insecurity. is some passive aggressive little shit trying to tell me something?

recently devoured: nick hornby's a long way down and j.k. rowling's harry potter and the half-blood prince. one of my goals for this site is to provide 50-100 reviews for every word i read. unfortunately, i don't have time to provide those right now, so i'll have to satisfy for a couple of quick hits. first, i read hornby because he has a deep, abiding interest in the humanity of his characters and he describes the movement from independence to interdependence better than any fiction writer i have read. i am happy to say that in this new novel he does not disappoint. moreover, i read rowling because i enjoy her masterful characterizations, her ability to provoke a sense of wonder and her unexpected plot twists. her latest effort is an excellent illustration of her skill. as a side note, i really enjoyed the conversation i had with art about the new novel. in the midst of our conversation he revealed his rather impressive interpretive skill. thanks brutha! now...the rest of you need to finish the novel so that we can discuss it (via email of course...we wouldn't want to ruin the reading of others).

wendy williams from newton presbyterian called me on monday to connect. wendy is deeply intrigued by the emerging church conversation and is interested in entering into our ongoing conversation. welcome to the conversation wendy! i hope that you feel at home in our little virtual community and will look forward to your thoughts/reflections/opinions. a side note here as well...i have been truly blessed by those i have connected with (including jamie, erik, becky, leanne, wendy, etc.) on account of this blog. i never knew that a medium such as this could be so generative.

one of the things i like best about serving with sinners and saints is that it is an exercise not only in leading, but in being led. currently inquiring minds such as dr. james, craig and fletch are leading me towards a deeper immersion in the discipline of theological discourse. i am glad that my theological inquiry is being compelled by the ongoing development of God's community instead of the demands of academia. this renewed interest has encouraged me to delve into stanley grenz's theology of the community of God, which i hope will ground me in Trinitarian theology and (if warranted) help me move beyond a foundationalist approach and mark noll's the rise of evangelicalism, which i hope will help me understand the way that leaders like edwards and wesley pursued holistic ministry in their particular contexts.

i am kicking around the idea of starting an emergent cohort in our area. the purpose of this group would be to discuss the ways that God is calling us to incarnate His gospel and Christ's compassion in our particular contexts. we would read and discuss pieces by intriguing theologians and practitioners that would help us incarnate the gospel in our area and would fight to move our conversations beyond the level of abstraction. sound interesting? if so, shoot me an email at jeffkelliegentry@yahoo.com. you can find more information about emergent cohorts here. if a number of you are interested we could either join an existing group in boston (which appears inactive) or start a new one.

not that it matters to you

first it was rob neyer, whose columns i read religiously. then it was buster olney, who had me at last night of the yankee dynasty. now espn.com has made peter gammons, the commissioner!, an insider columnist. well fuck this fucking game!

happy haiku friday!

in the warm waters

a tempest begins to spin

the fool ventures in

musing...

last weekend, in an aside unrelated to an ongoing conversation, i told kellie that i had failed a friend.

this friend was a key component of the twenty-something small group i led for several years. she is a beautiful, free-thinking woman who did not hesitate to introduce wiccans to our small community of Christians and taught me, as well as the small circle that reads the boston globe, how to put a human face on homelessness. she has been homeless and has studied at harvard, she has written for spare change (a local newspaper written by the homeless) and spoken at universities throughout the country. she is truly a remarkable woman.

of course, she is also a magnet for trouble and tragedy. after enduring three car wrecks in a sixteen month period, none of which she was liable for, she was diagnosed with brain injury. this degenerative condition rendered her susceptible to seizures and spinal meningitis and made it impossible for her to work. since her home state has very few social services, she found herself living on the streets of boston and constantly navigating the swamps and switchbacks of mass health. did i mention that her family rejected her when she decided b.j.u. (that's bob jones university. stop laughing) wasn't the ideal environment for her education? did i mention that people from her fundamentalist youth constantly call to berate her and draw direct parallels between her refusal to wave the flag of the five fundamentals and her constantly declining health? did i mention that i, one of her last connections to the faith, failed her by scrupulously maintaining my distance lest she inhibit the forward motion of my ministry?

so i guess it is confession time. i failed her because i was afraid. i didn't know how to solve her problems. i couldn't help her navigate a social health system that she knows better than me, i couldn't treat a single one of her ever-increasing number of maladies, i couldn't be bothered by a phone call a day. so i let our connection unravel. and i've felt like shit about it ever since.

after admitting my failure to kellie, i promised myself that i would call her this week. i knew she had been in the hospital for some time and i wanted to check on her health and maybe plan a visit.

she beat me to the punch. yesterday afternoon, i was shaken out of a well-studied stupor by a phone call from my friend. i took the call and was immediately greeted by a twinge of anxiety in her voice. people had been calling her cell phone and asking for me. we didn't know why this was happening, unless....unless it had to do with the t-mobile contract that i co-signed with her almost two years ago. by the way that she recounted the situation, it sounded like the calls were from a collection agency. and so they were.

after calling the agency, and dealing with some customer servant pissant who thought he could push me around, my first thought was, "this figures. if you stand my a magnet like her, the shit is going to hit you as well." fortunately, in that moment, i was reminded of my master's words to not be anxious. furthermore, i began to suspect that walking with my friend through shit like this, instead of keeping my distance lest the smell taint my "ministry," is what following Jesus is all about.

so i've made plans to see her this weekend in order to look through the details of that contract and simply connect. i have this sneaking suspicion that there is a direct, causal correlation between my love for her and my love for God. if i want to move deeper into the latter, i need to walk forward with the former.

post scriptum: friend, if you're reading this, please know that i love you. keep on keepin' on.

overheard…

“jesus was a lover. He had a fire in his eyes that could burn away excuses, cremate your alibis. He had a gaze that would expose to you all the subtle lies, that you soul permits your heart to tell concerning all that it denies…”
~don chaffer, against the windowpane

“those who believe they believe in God but without passion in the heart, without anguish of the mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God, and not in God himself.”
~madeleine l’engle as quoted in matthew paul turner’s provocative faith

“solitude is the furnace of transformation.”
~uncle henri, the way of the heart

“i intend to go anywhere, sponsored by anybody, to preach the gospel of Christ, if there are no strings attached to my message. the one badge of christian discipleship is not orthodoxy but love. christians are not limited to any church. the only question is: are you committed to Christ?"
~billy graham, responding to the charges of fundamentalists who charged him with heresy for treating mainline protestant pastors as his brothers and sisters in Christ. i thought about this passage time and again, when i read articles like this
(http://worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=45083)* that condemned billy for treating bill and hillary clinton, at least one of whom is a confessing Christian, with respect. i never thought i would find the position of fundamentalists more acceptable than that of many evangelicals. at least the former drew their lines along doctrinal, instead of political, lines.

“y’all don’t know what it’s like, being male, middle-class and white.”
~ben folds, rockin’ the suburbs

*please excuse the lack of a link. blogger can suck my white ass!

a prayer for sinners and saints

becky tucker, a liturgical poet and alumnus of sinners and saints, penned this remarkable prayer for our little community. since it says things about s & s that i could not say and observes realities that i often cannot see, i thought i would post it for you.

"jeff, i pray immeasurable blessings for you and for the community at sinners and saints as you lead in a journey where the community - the transformation of individuals into a cohesive, interdependent, kingdom residing and kingdom seeking family - replaces self-change as focus.

this is where "recovering evangelical" seem so appropriate. for myself and my community, taking eyes off self and replacing the unspiritual discipline of navel gazing with the spiritual discipline of intentional community is a stretch so painful, i often feel unconfident that it will not break us-or atlest me.

God is active in the entity that sinners and saints has become and, though increasingly cynical about most things, i am hopefully confident that your growth and leadership will be a fruitful seed for a breath-taking work of communal art!!!!"