overheard on aaron's blog

"Whenever I meet a Buddhist leader, I meet a holy man. Whenever I meet a Christian leader, I meet a manager." ~ Os Guiness, quoting a Japanese businessman

my life as a bishop kelley butt pirate

if you know me well, you’re aware that i don’t dance, deplore karaoke and absolutely refuse to dress up for halloween. i don’t hate people who participate in these activities, but have little interest in sharing such experiences. i figure that i make enough of an ass out of myself by constantly interjecting opinions and liberally spewing sarcastic commentary. i don’t need to further offend the world with yet another piss poor rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody.

but, on occasion, i have participated in incredibly foolish, exhibitionist activities such as drunken skinny dipping in the seminary pool and participating in the last ride of the bishop kelley butt pirates. i remember the former experience fondly and do not harbor any regrets. but I count the latter experience was one of the finest of my high school years.

on a warm, may afternoon in the year 1995 i stripped down to BVDs, wrapped a black patch around my left eye, picked up a super soaker filled with various ingredients and mounted my eight year old huffy. in the moments before the raid on sunny, rain soaked bishop kelley campus, i trembled with fear. but when blaine, our swash buckling, g-string swaddled, fearless leader, lifted his sword i eagerly joined in the charge.

over the next five glorious minutes i upended unwitting freshmen as well as their books, was violently dismounted by a burly, neolithic junior and, in a moment of daring and bravado that is still eagerly recounted by the pirates who have followed, completely douched brother richard by skidding my bike and hurtling my body into a full, foul puddle of water. our last ride was so dashing, daring and hopelessly homoerotic that i am finding it hard to reduce it to words.

last night, adrift in a sea of sleep, i recounted our glorious ride. i reflected fondly upon torturing freshman, spraying the school debutantes with my own piss and briefly dethroning brother richard. when i awoke, i was filled with pride concerning the butt pirate’s last ride and felt emboldened to make a fool of myself once again.

but on second thought, maybe not.

musing…

so i’ve really been in the shit lately. occupational angst and transitions in my personal life have left me in a precarious and uncertain place. i’m constantly fumbling with questions such as:

why can’t you find contentment in serving Christ at the SS? is massaging your own ego keeping you from appreciating God’s provision?

what’s keeping you from investing your days in something more meaningful? is education your hindrance or insecurity?
will this wound i received from a former mentor and friend ever heal?

but the question that’s really cooked my noodle is “why don’t you stop trying to build an institution and start truly following Jesus?” of course, this question has led to a host of additional questions about whether my inclination to build a church is really, at some subtle level, an attempt to evade some of the more stringent demands of discipleship. for instance, i find it far easier to sit and muse about the mission of our church and how we can support and share the mission of other churches than i find it to listen carefully to, and thereby love, my difficult co-worker. in addition, i suspect that setting my sights on and sometimes lusting for ministerial success is a means of reducing the exceedingly, abundantly incredible demands of Jesus (“be ye perfect,” anyone?) to a more manageable size.

so that’s where i’m at. i’m not begging for tea and sympathy, much less inquiring for answers. i just wanted to let you know where i’m at.

now you’ve scene it! with rear-entry gentry and kevin smith clark

gentry's take...

while out on vacation kellie and I had the pleasure of watching grizzly man with kevin and amy clark. grizzly man recounts the journeys of tim treadwell, a burned out hippie, failed actor and erstwhile medieval times character who fell in love with alaskan grizzly bears and so spent the last fourteen years of his life living among these magnificent creatures and advocating on their behalf.

i was transfixed by timothy’s passionate idealism, for in a way he reminded me a little of saint francis, the self proclaimed “jongleur de dieu” or juggler of God who was not afraid to make a fool of himself as he fulfilled his purpose in life. as foolish as some of timothy’s decisions were – i.e., walking among and talking to ferocious bears he personified with nicknames like “mr. chocolate” and “baubles” – I could not help but respect his willingness to pursue his passion at all costs. fortunately, i was also transfixed by timothy’s ability to scale the heights of unintentional comedy. The autobiographical videos he left behind record such comedic jewels as: his musings on why life would have been so much easier if I was gay (actual excerpt: “I've always wished I was gay, it would have been a lot easier. You know, it's just Bing! Bing! Bing! - gay guys, no problem. They go to restrooms and truck stops and perform sex, it's like so easy for them and stuff.”), his weeping over the beauty of a red fox and blubbering “you, you are the star of all the children!,” his passionate exploration of a pile of bear shit (at which time he said something like “it’s so warm! Look at it! it was just inside mr. chocolate!”) and his profound theological musings (actual text: “I want rain. I want, if there's a God, to kick some ass down here. Let's have some water! Jesus boy! Let's have some water! Christ man or Allah or Hindu floaty thing! Let's have some fucking water for these animals!”).

i recall that on one occasion during preaching class, dr. sackett said that “if you’re not an interesting person, you will never be an interesting preacher.” well, timothy was an interesting, passionate person and a world class unintentional comedian. i think you will find grizzly man oddly fascinating, overwhelmingly funny and unexpectedly touching.

clark's take

As I get older, my appreciation for documentaries increases. From the heart-wrenching (Sound and Fury) to the bizarre (Dancing Outlaw), I've found several that I would view multiple times before entertaining any more feel-good dreck from Ron Howard (especially A Beautiful Mind...which is just a step above dogshit). I found another gem in Grizzly Man. I agree with my brother, Jeff, about its ability to make you laugh ("Downy is hungry! Tabitha is hungry! Melissa is eating her babies!!"), wince, and marvel at one man's passion.

I asked myself, "Where is the line between passion and madness?" Treadwell had a geniune love for these animals, and I think he thought he was doing the right thing. But, through Herzog's presentation, he was unable to function outside of this environment. He would complain about his lovelife, but failed to notice that few women would be attracted to this dangerous lifestyle. And the one that was (Amy) lost her life as well.

Bottom line: there's a reason man should not interact with bears the way Treadwell did. I disagree with Herzog, who said that the underlying current to the universe is chaos. It's very much rooted in order, the way it was designed. Though these bears would sniff at Treadwell in a curious sense, there's always the chance they would snap/attack/defend. Even domestic animals, like dogs, will snap and attack, sometimes kill, humans. We weren't designed to have fellowship with bears, nor they with us. I can't lament Treadwell for his choices. I, like Jeff, can appreciate his passion, but I cannot and will not condone his behavior. He's not a humanitarian. He's not Dianne Fossey. He's not Jacques Cousteau. Hell, he's not even Steve Zissou. He's a man who proved what these bears have been trying to communicate for a long time: leave us alone.

It's a fascinating watch, and a reminder that though we are first among His creation, we are not exempt from the laws He set to govern it.

and now, for the denouement

we enthusiastically give grizzly man two thumbs up, way up (the ass).

But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you

Last night I felt what I thought was the prompting of your Spirit. As a result, I spoke in a manner that appeared to be prophetic, proclaimed that you were leading our friends out of bondage and spoke of you as a cloud by day and a fire by night and implored the community to follow you and refuse to fear those who had driven them out. My word was equal parts encouragement and condemnation. I called our friends to look up towards your presence and boasted that our enemies should look out.

Then Rennie spoke.

She urged us not to harden our hearts in hatred and prayed for those who persecuted her community. She implored you to grant wisdom and guidance to those who have gone so ridiculously astray and as a result have deeply wounded many.

I tried to emulate the prophets, expounding upon your glory and denouncing those whose works appear to blight it.

But Rennie emulated Jesus. She incarnated his command to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. She steered clear of judgment, which belongs to you alone, by choosing to act in love.

I hope that my friends follow Rennie and take my presumptuous “prophecy” with a grain of salt. I am constantly amazed by how often those who seek to lead in this upside down Kingdom of yours are those who most desperately need to be led.

tonight, on a very special episode of musings...

pastor phil wyman of the gathering, which is a sister community of sinners and saints and was, until the recent inquisition, a four square gospel church, would like to share a few words.

Krishna, Hospital Visits, Preachers, and Dictionaries for France

I don't like places which have too many things happening at the same time. It makes my brain slow down. When my brain goes slow, my body goes slow too. What is even worse is when I am in a place with too many things, and big words I don't understand. When that happens it is like when my wife asks me to do more than one thing at the same time. I have to ask her to put it on a list, because a list is just one thing, and I can do a list, because it is one thing.

Last week my son went to the hospital. His name is Elijah, and I don't have any other sons - or daughters either. Some people have more than one, but like God I only have one.

I don't like hospitals when someone in my family is in them, because they are busy, and in hospitals people say things I don't understand. Then my brain goes slow, and so does my body. Somebody should do something to make
hospitals easier. I think that there should be a hospital dictionary, like the dictionaries for people who go on vacation to France.

This is how Elijah got to the hospital: Elijah's left eye became blurry in the peripheral vision, over the course of a day or two. The peripheral vision is that place on the side which you can't really look at, because once you try to look at it, it isn't on the side any more. Apparently, when your peripheral vision gets blurry suddenly your eye is telling you that something is wrong,
like when the airplane on the way to France makes a strange new noise.

Elijah called his friend Jim Trick. Jim is a another musician, a preacher, and an optometrist. That's a lot of different things to be. I wonder if Jim goes slow in a hospital like I do. I don't think so, because he can do all those smart things. Elijah is a musician too, but he's not a preacher, or an optometrist. I am a musician, and a preacher too, but I'm not an optometrist either. Maybe
if I was an optometrist I'd like hospitals better, because they would make sense to me, and I would be someone who could do many things at once.

Being a musician and a preacher is not really very different. They both get up in front of people and talk, and sing about stuff. The musician can sing about any kind of stuff, but the preacher only has to talk about God stuff, so he
doesn't have to be as smart. He only talks about one thing. Then again God is a big thing to talk about, so maybe we have to be a little smart about one big thing.

Jim Trick sent Elijah to a Doctor. The Doctor was very nice, and saw Elijah that same day even though he was busy. He looked at Elijah's eyes. He said that Elijah needed to go to the emergency room at the hospital.

The Doctor's name is Krishna Gaddipati. He is Indian - from India, not from a reservation in America. He is an opthamologist. Opthamologists go to school for a long time to learn to look at eyes. So he is smart, and probably doesn't go slow in hospitals, because he does surgery on people's eyes, and he probably doesn't need a dictionary for the words. He probably knows
them all by heart.

Elijah went to the emergency room, just like Dr. Krishna said. They checked his blood pressure. They told Elijah's wife Rhonda to fill out the paperwork for him, and they took Elijah back into the emergency ward.

Elijah did not have to wait to be helped by the doctors. No waiting is usually good, but now I know that it's not always good at the emergency ward.

Elijah's blood pressure was 209 over 125. People have strokes when their blood pressure is 209 over 125. When they write out the blood pressure it looks like this... 209/125 mmHg. MmHg is millimeters of mercury. The hospital used to use a machine called a sphygmomanometer, but that was a long time ago. Mercury would rise by millimeters in a long thin tube to tell
how strong someone's blood pressure was. Today they use electronic devices and blood pressure cuffs with no long, thin mercury tubes. But I had to read about that after the visit to the hospital.

Elijah was sitting in a little room with three walls, and a curtain for another wall, but the curtain was open. Doctors and nurses came in and went out. There were needles, and Elijah got shots. There were IVs in his right arm. IVs are intravenous tubes which medicine is sent through. Little things called sensors were placed all over his chest. The little sensors were connected to
the machine which said "beep, beep, beep...," and made the wavy lines which tell you if your heart is beating properly. There were doctors saying they were very concerned. They said that young men Elijah's age should not be having problems like this, especially if they don't smoke, drink too much alcohol, or take drugs. Elijah is 21, and he doesn't do those things, so they didn't know what was wrong.

It is not good when the Doctors don't know what is wrong.

Elijah did not know what was happening. Rhonda not did understand what was happening either. So Rhonda called Bev on the phone. Bev is my wife. Bev is a Dental Hygienist. Bev is like Jim Trick. She can do a lot of things. She can play the flute, preach, and do Dental Hygiene too. Playing the flute is not like preaching, because you don't talk, or sing when you do it, and Dental Hygiene is like a hospital kind of thing, except you never have to stay for five days to get it done, but you do have to know big hospital words. So I think that Bev is more comfortable in a hospital than I am. Bev told Rhonda, "I don't clean people's teeth when their blood pressure is 209 over 125." Rhonda cried.

Rhonda cried because she began to understand a little bit. Elijah was not doing well. He was very sick, and this was strange. It was strange, because Elijah looked and acted healthy. The only things wrong were that he had headaches, and blurry vision in the part of his left eye which you can't see when you are trying to look straight at it, and his blood pressure was 209/125 mmHg.

209 is the systolic pressure. Systole is when the left ventricle of the heart pumps and makes the most pressure on the blood vessels. The word systolic comes from systole. A ventricle is one of the little rooms in the heart, but it is not one of the rooms which preachers talk about when they say that we try to keep God from certain rooms in our hearts. The ventricle is just a place for the blood to go in, and then to get pumped back out, and I don't think that we can pump God out. The left ventricle pushed hard enough to rupture some blood vessels in Elijah's eyes, and that's why Dr. Krishna sent Elijah to the hospital. Dr. Krishna knew something was wrong with Elijah's blood pressure. He knew that Elijah could have lost his eyesight permanently, or
had a stroke, or any number of other bad things which happen when your blood pressure is 209/125 mmHg.

Rhonda filled out paperwork while Elijah had needles, and IVs put in has arm. The hospital was a new place to Rhonda. But not a new exciting place. Some new places are fun. This was not one of those fun, new places. It didn't have a dictionary.

We came to see Rhonda a little bit after Elijah went back into the emergency ward. The hospital was not an exciting new place to us either.

It took a long time for the doctors to bring Elijah's blood pressure down. It was three days later, and then the blood pressure was 120/55 mmHg. That is a normal level, but it only stayed normal when Elijah took pills for his blood pressure. We prayed really hard on the day it went down to 120 over 55. Maybe Jesus heard us, and helped the doctors. Doctors need help from Jesus.

They don't always know what is wrong, but Jesus always knows those things. Maybe Doctors have slow brains in the hospital sometimes too, and that's why preachers like me need to go to the hospital and pray for them.

After five days Elijah was able to go home. That was two days ago. The doctors still don't know what is wrong with Elijah. There will be more tests, and more needles.

In a couple days I think that I'll be better, but right now I'm still going slow in my head. I don't think that I will need needles, or IVs, and that is good, because I think that would make my brain go even slower. My brain should go back to normal on its own.

We are all very thankful for Dr. Krishna, but it is funny that his name is Krishna. I am a Christian, and I believe in Jesus. I don't believe in Krishna. Krishna is a Hindu god, and I am not a Hindu, but the doctor's name is Krishna, and he is not the Hindu god. He is just a good doctor who helped save my son, and only his name is Krishna.

A few months ago I sat in a room with other preachers. They told me that I was not being a good preacher. They said things which were not true, and said that I was aberrant. Aberrant is what someone calls you if they think that your teachings about Christianity are wrong, but they didn't know my teachings. They were only guessing, and they made things up about me. I
still don't know why they made things up, and so my brain went slow for a little while then too.

That meeting was like the hospital. It was not a fun, new place, and people were saying things which I didn't understand. I didn't need a dictionary like the ones which people get when they go to France, because I understood the words, but I did not understand why they said the words they were saying, because I thought that preachers were supposed to say true words, and they were not saying true words about me.

I think that these same people might not understand when I say that Krishna saved my son's life. They might think that I am a Hindu, but I am not a Hindu. I am a Christian, and I know that Jesus saved my son's life, but Jesus used a Doctor named Krishna to help.

I think that it is funny that a Doctor named Krishna helped save my son, but I know that there are some people who aren't funny people, and they wouldn't understand. Maybe they need a dictionary to learn how to be funny, like the dictionaries which people get when they go to France. Maybe someday I'll write a dictionary to help people learn to be funny, but that will have to wait till my brain gets back to normal, and I am not thinking so slow.

overheard

"compassion is the physical movement into the presence of suffering and the spiritual movement into the void created by the sense of abandonment that suffering brings."

~david hansen in loving the church you lead, pg. 73.

gentry’s book blurbs

Howard Bryant’s Juicing the Game

“Juicing the Game is the quintessential examination of MLB’s steroids (or should we say Selig?) era. Howard’s careful, comprehensive analysis provides us with a comprehensive examination of the pharmacological, sociological, economic and architectural causes of baseball’s “Big Bang” decade. This compelling, Schlosser-esque narrative uncovers Barry Bond’s Game of Shadows and indicts an institution that was on the juice.”

Memorandum from Captain Random

Sorry that I’ve been so distant lately. Kellie and I just returned from a short swing through the upper Midwest, we’ve been spending a fair amount of time supporting one of our sister churches that just got screwed by their denomination and our community is entering into one of our most activity heavy times of the year. I don’t have much time to write now, but would like to offer some ill-considered and free associated thoughts for you.

During our time in the Midwest, we celebrated holy week at St. Paul’s, the Episcopalian parish that our brother-in-law serves, and spent a lovely evening reconnecting with the good folks at Xenos. as always, my time in and around St. Paul’s fed my love for liturgy and the sacraments as well as my bent towards a more inclusivistic theology. In contrast, my time at Xenos fed my passion for seeing: the gospel of Jesus clearly proclaimed, the path of discipleship clearly demarcated and the church community living out the compassion and truth of the gospel. Like I mentioned to my comrade and fellow co-hort leader kid positive last night, sometimes I wish I could cultivate that “one pure and holy passion” we longed for and sang about in years hence. Since I cannot seem to integrate my progressive sensibilities and approach to ministry with my evangelical passion for proclamation, I wish that I could fully embrace and energetically pursue one of these passions with my whole heart. But I fear that elevating one tendency at the expense of the other would lead to a form of spiritual schizophrenia and suspect that I need to continue to hold onto both these passions whether or not integration that I hope for ever comes.

I think the boston co-hort, which had it’s initial meeting last night, is a good place to work through these struggles with others. I like to think of our co-hort as “a good place to discuss dangerous theology.” If you live in the area and are interested in joining us, please visit the site I linked above or contact me directly. Our next meeting will be on May 23 at Bukowski’s pub in downtown Boston.

Shit…now that I’ve made that shameless pitch, I need to get to work. Hopefully I’ll be able to free-associate again later in the day.

The SS may or may not do business with an organization officially known as "Went Fruity Inc."

T-minus 265 minutes until I get to eject from my cube, head down to the big city and catch a Red Sox game with my Dad. Our tickets are about 10 rows behind the Sox dugout.

The customer service department of the SS is currently choosing a departmental mission statement. Our new Fuhrer has asked for submissions and I'm going to suggest the following.

1. SS Customer Service: The buck stops over there!

2. SS Customer Service: German attitude, American efficiency.

3. And the old standby - SS Customer Service: Just because we serve you doesn't mean we like you.

Which mission statement do you prefer? Have any creative ideas that I can claim as my own?

so i went to the doctor yesterday…

on account of my tingling left arm, they told me i might have a torn rotator cuff. i threw baseballs for years and did absolutely no damage to my arm. now, after carrying a couple of buckets of waste veggie into the basement and off-loading a couple of cartons of catalogs at work i might have to see a physical therapist or have surgery.

that figures.

i’m twenty-eight years old, have a torn rotator cuff and a prostate the size of a national league baseball. perhaps i can find a way to contract tennis toe, psoriasis or gingivitis. Then my list of small, strange yet nagging injuries would be complete!

on second thought, let’s scratch the gingivitis. i don’t want to face the armenian warrior who works at the dentist’s office any more than i absolutely have to.

off the shelf

frederick buechner once said that “to truly tell the story of anything well is to tell the story of everything.” that quote always arrests me. it makes me think about the great stories i’ve heard, the stories of those i know and love who have lived well and it really makes me think about the story that is mine to tell. but since i don’t feel up to musing about such deep things this morning, i’d like to tell you a little bit about a story i’ve been reading over the past couple of days.

on saturday afternoon i was mired in a funk and seeking solace in the library. every time i walk into our local library, which providentially sits only a block and a half from the house, i always check out their used book cart for another volume that can establish residence on my shelf and likely go unread. this particular saturday, i was surprised to stumble across a yellowed but usable copy of bill bryson’s a walk in the woods. i’d heard great things about this book, so for the reasonable price of two quarters, i decided to give it a shot.

although i had planned to polish off the history of the negro leagues i’ve been reading, i decided to read bryson’s introduction first. after the first few pages i was hooked. now bryson’s book is on the shelf and the negro leagues book is sitting precariously in my half finished pile.

if you haven’t read any of bryson’s work before, i think that a walk in the woods is a wonderful place to start. throughout these pages bryson records his, and his reformed-alcoholic, overweight, lovable imbecile of a friend katz’s ,attempt to walk the appalachian trail. as these lovably crotchety guys drag their middle-age asses up mountains, struggle to find sleep on rat infested sleeping pallets and wrestle with the ever-present temptation to take the nearest highway to the greasy spoon (where katz may or may not find yet another endomorphic woman of his dreams), bryson provides an oral history of such diverse subjects as the AT, the coal mining industry in pennsylvania, the forest service and the mortality rate on mount washington. i fear that i’ve made the book sound like a boor, so you’ll have to trust me that it is far from. it is one of the most engaging, witty and insightful pieces of travel/adventure writing that i have read in a long time.

here are a few excerpts that i found funny.

whilst reflecting on bear attacks: their causes and avoidance a book that kept bryson keyed up and “saucer eyed” late into many nights, bryson confesses: “what on earth would i do if four bears came into my camp? why, i would die, of course. Literally shit myself lifeless. i would blow my sphincter out my backside like one of those unrolling paper streamers you get at children’s parties – i daresay it would even give a merry toot – and bleed to a messy death in my sleeping bag” (pg. 19. and to answer your question, yep, that’s for you james the girl).

when bryson and katz sat down for dinner at shaw’s, a well known hostel in monson, maine, they were joined by “two others, a sweetly hesitant and wholesome-looking young couple, both tanned and fit and also very clean.” after the guys are caught unawares by the couple’s extended dinner prayer, bryson tries to make conversation. the following is a record of what ensues:

“so you’ve nearly done it, huh?” i (bryson) said, a trifle inanely but just trying to make conversation.”

“yes,” said the girl. she said it slowly, as two syllables, as if it hadn’t previously occurred to her. there was something serenely mindless in her manner.

“did you ever feel like giving up?”
the girl thought for a moment. “no,” she said simply.
“really?” i found this amazing. “did you never think, ‘jeez, this is too much. i don’t know if i want to go through with this?’”

she thought again, with an air of encroaching panic. these were obviously questions that had never penetrated her skull.
her partner came to her rescue. “we have a couple of low moments in the early phases,” he said, “but we put our faith in the Lord and His will prevailed.”
“praise Jesus,” whispered the girl, almost inaudibly.
“ah,” I said, and made a mental note to lock my door when i went to bed.
“and God bless Allah for the mashed potatoes!” said katz happily and reached for the bowl for the third time” (pgs. 249-250).

a severe storm watch is in effect

i once trembled
as the sky turned green
calm conquered the wind
sirens sounded in the distance

while others set up camp
camcorders at the ready
seemingly eager for calamity
i cowered in a ceramic corner

but the stream of years
has eroded such anxieties
now I listen for cataclysmic thunder
and almost hope to spot a hook in the sky

but as seconds tick by
with secret hopes unfulfilled
and the years assault
the levies of opportunity

i still tremble

yet another reason i will never visit branson (again).



i would give my left...earlobe...to be on deck this friday though. regis is going to be there!

light the fire again!

has your church attendance been down?

are the walls of the baptistry looking moldy?

do you have more parking than you know what to do with?

is the starbucks in the lobby bearly breaking even?

if you've answered yes to any or all of these questions, then we have the answer for you!



sneak a peek at kirk's "glamour shot," hear a snippet of his evangelistic message and shop for other inspirational speakers at outreach speakers.com!

i may or may not be

committed to giving customers “the pickle”

sitting on an enflamed prostate

bereft of any significant thought

hiding two red sox, field box tickets in my satchel

a committed vegetarian

a future graduate of the South Hamilton Institute of Theology

the president of a non-profit corporation

squeezed into a new pair of exciting, and enhancing, jockey briefs

concerned that our i.t. manager just spied this post as well as the espn real time scoreboard up on my screen

planning to ignore my evening responsibilities to watch and worship baseball

what about you? do you have anything to say for yourself?

put it where it doesn't belong

there's no other way to say it, my day at the SS has been a fucking mess. i'm brutally bored, my blood is up and i'm on the verge of blowing my promising career in giftware to smithereens.

fortunately this furrow browed, death inducing day has not been without humor. five minutes ago, while i was puzzling over a stack of long-ignored invoices, i heard patty smith, my sweet, slot machine lovin', 65 year old co-worker, matter-of-factly repeating the following titles to a customer:

"want a whipping?

clean clothes, dirty mind.

want to get lucky?

thanks for making me stretch.

you and wine are best drunk."

after she completed her list, i about shit. i had no idea that we had decided to carry the "hustler home accents" line.

overheard

over the past few weeks, i've been coming back to this entry from uncle henri's the inner voice of love time and again. so i thought you might find it intriguing as well.

keep trusting God's call

"as you come to realize that God is beckoning you to a greater hiddenness, do not be afraid of that invitation. over the years you have allowed the voices that call you to action and great visibility to dominate your inner life. you still think, even against your own best intuitions, that you need to do things and be seen in order to follow your vocation. but you are now discovering that God's voice is saying, "stay home, and trust that your life will be fruitful even when hidden."

it is not going to be easy to listen to God's call. your insecurity, your self-doubt, and your great need for affirmation make you lose trust in your inner voice and run away from yourself. but you know that God speaks to you through your inner voice and that you will find joy and peace only if you follow it. yes, your spirit is willing to follow, but your flesh is weak.

you have friends who know that your inner voice speaks the truth and can affirm what it says. they offer you the safe space where you can let that voice become clearer and louder. there will be people who will tell you that you are wasting your time and talents, that you are fleeing from true responsibility, that you fail to use the influence you have. but don't let yourself be misled. they do not speak in God's name. trust the few who know your inner journey and want you to be faithful to it. they will help you stay faithful to God's call."

i hear you uncle henri. by God's grace, i'll continue upon this road of descent.

sometimes i wish…

that i was one of those gracious people who made every person they spoke with feel like they were the most important person in the world. i’m sure you’ve encountered these magnanimous individuals, who listen carefully to your every word, find a way to relate to every experience and are able to encourage people with wise words instead of unreflective opinions.

i wish i was that way, but i’m not. when i don’t want to talk to someone, by body physically recoils. when an uninvited individual invades my space, i quickly re-establish boundaries. and in those rare moments where i physically force myself to slap my empathetic face on and receive people well, anyone who looks in my eyes knows that i’m being false.

there’s a guy at my work who is as extroverted as i am intro and his love for small talk is almost as great as my hatred for it. but i constantly slap my empathetic face on in an attempt to be the person that i wish i was and - truth be told – in order to score a few of his red sox tickets.

i am jack's self-loathing.

An Open Invitation

Hey friends,

Boston's emergent co-hort will be meeting for the first time on Tuesday, April 18th at 7 p.m. at Bukowski's in downtown Boston. Bukowski's is located at 50 Dalton St., Boston, MA 02115. I'd provide more detailed directions, but trust that you can use google maps and read T maps as effectively and efficiently as I can.

Craig Lewiston and I will help facilitate the first gathering, but we really want this co-hort to be a shared venture. So come ready to introduce yourself, share your idea of what the co-hort should/could be, laugh a good deal and drink a pint or two. Maybe, if things get really crazy, we'll tromp over to the Christian Science Center which is located near Bukowski's for an ad hoc educational tour.

Ok, maybe not.

I hope that you can take the time to connect with us. I'll don some Saint Louis Cardinals gear so we'll be easy to locate and I'll be sure to share the four spiritual laws with the surrounding patrons before we meet, so that we won't feel guilty about failing to fulfill the Great Commission between 7 and 9 p.m. on that particular night.

If you have any questions about our gathering, or would like to hear 15 reasons why the Chicago Cubs are the most pathetic team in professional sports, feel free to shoot me an e-mail or give me a call.

Peace of Christ,

Jeff Gentry

One more thing - Craig is in the process of securing a domain name and setting up an interactive Word Press blog for our co-hort's use. I'll let you know when the site is up and running and will clue you into the first topic of conversation (Right now, I'm leaning towards "How our co-hort can intentionally inflate the sales of Brian McLaren's books," but such thoughts are always subject to change).

And again... - Feel free to invite anyone and everyone who is interested in dialogue - and/or has a distinguished record of "picking up the tab" - to join us.

Lord have mercy

In my experience, death washes over us in waves. Fortunately, I have enjoyed many seasons of drought, when death is so absent that I almost forget its omni-presence. However, I have also weathered a season or two when death has been at high tide and the grief and difficulty of accompanying those I love through the deluge has been almost overwhelming.

For many that I love, this appears to be one of the latter seasons. Kevin Rains and his remarkable community at Vineyard Central in Cincinatti have suffered through the death of two of their church leaders, Mark Palmer and Chad Canipe, in a one-month period. Both of these men had a passionate love for God, were innovative church leaders who invited many into God’s community and, perhaps most importantly, left behind wives and children. Please join me as I pray the Vineyard Central community through this difficult time.

Furthermore, Becky's church is enduring the tragic shooting death of one of the young men in their community. Having been a part of a church that endured a school shooting, I can tell you that the shock and the grief that follows these sudden events is often overwhelming. Please a moment to support this community in prayer.

Finally, another friend and her family is enduring through the despairing death of her uncle. Pray God’s mercy upon those who are crushed by the broken machinations of this busted world. Ask the Spirit to provide their family with solace during this time.

Like I’ve said before, I don’t think our Judeo-Christian tradition provides us with many answers about suffering. However, the fathers and mothers of our faith who struggled forward before us as well as our suffering servant of a Lord have labored to show us how, even in the darkest of nights, to hold out hope for the dawn. Let us pull upon the riches of our tradition as we pray, serve and accompany our beloved ones through this season of grief.