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!
Monday, February 14, 2005
Saturday, February 12, 2005
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.
Go Daddy.com chief: From Bibles to Breasts
props to ted olsen of christianitytoday.com for pointing this one out.
Friday, February 11, 2005
lyrically speaking
as rob taught us, "the making of a good compilationtape 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'
as rob taught us, "the making of a good compilation
"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'
Thursday, February 10, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
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?
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
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.
"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.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
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?
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.
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.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Thursday, February 03, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
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?"
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?"
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
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?
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?
Saturday, January 29, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, January 28, 2005
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."
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."
Thursday, January 27, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
"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.
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.
Monday, January 24, 2005
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.
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.
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