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.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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...