memorandum from captain random:

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

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

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

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

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

musing...

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

i am a perfect example.

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

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

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

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

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

happy haiku friday

surrender to rain

let it soak right through your skin

find refuge with them

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

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

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

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

the bitch lied.

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

i should have stuck to my judgmental guns.

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

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

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

happy haiku friday!

mountain of kleenex

pulsating river of phlegm

fall, my long lost friend

memorandum from captain random:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

winds whip, levees break

you say “blessed are the poor”

i want to believe

unexpected sacrament

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”excuse me while I whip this out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i never claimed to be a promise keeper

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

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

happy haiku friday!

i spent the morning

lamenting hypocrisy

while chewing a pen



while we serenade

God's love and Christ's compassion

He responds with rage

undone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

amidst the atmospheric “pop”

after diagnosing spiritual schizophrenia
he said

prayer is the prescription
the community provides counseling

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

amidst the firing synapses
is there room enough for soul?

perhaps this is the result
of exchanging absolutes for ambiguity

and getting a quarter on the dollar

or rather an expression of humility
of contemplation outstripping capability

let us pray for the latter

memorandum from captain random

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

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

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

• slow the game down


• play a hard nine


• replicate your mechanics


• candlesticks always make a nice gift

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

wearing out the gospel glove

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

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

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

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