Swearingen – the Outlaw Priest

Jim gave up his comfortable, suburban life to live in the inner city to serve the poor — a white man in a black man’s world! He loves the people he serves, and they love him. Jim was a bad boy once, who played a major role in corrupting yours truly, and we both served time in “juvie” for our antics. But ironically, when I found Christ, God got His revenge, because Jim was one of the first people I led to Christ. Satan’s kingdom lost a prodigious worker that day, but God’s Kingdom won an Outlaw-Saint with tremendous energy and pull.

Two degenerates from the past: Jim Swearingen (left) and Bill Hall at 30th H.S. Reunion

Those of you in town, be sure to drop by Kent State at Bowman Hall on Saturday at 6 pm to hear from Jim.

Sourced from: Yes, I Am Keith

Tammy Faye immediately popped into mind when I saw this so-called “Outlaw” and “Whiskey Preacher” guy I described in The Emerging Emergents. Consider the visual similarities:

Certainly both carry shocking visual theatrics, even if the details differ by 30 years. (Phil is the one without makeup.) Now, far be it from me to jeer at anyone’s appearance, because we all know I am no male model!

Which one is Keith? It's hard to tell, at times.

I would also like to point out that both Tammy Faye and Phil take better care of their appearance than I do. My garb is largely gathered from clearance sales (or Salvation Army trash bins), because I largely rely on my rugged handsomeness for sex appeal.

But Tammy Faye and Phil also share common ground in their Christian views, because both are firmly rooted in emotional goo. I call it the Tammy Faye Effect. If you saw Tammy Faye on PTL, you were guaranteed a treatment of great, sobbing tears over just about anything, and then she would sing a solo to settle everything down. Everything she touched was gooey and sticky with emotions as her mascara ran down her face in rivulets of tears. It made for great theatrics, but her shtick had little to do with biblical Christianity. I was amazed that PTL ever drew such a following. I was equally amazed that I was watching it at 3 a.m. when afflicted with insomnia.

Three decades later, the Emerging Emergents are using the same sticky, gooey emotions to replace sound, biblical teaching:

Jesus took it a step farther and said to love yourself as much as your neighbor…for us to learn to love God and our neighbor, we have to learn to love ourselves.

Obviously he reversed what Jesus actually taught, and the difference is not small. Old Doc Ankenman said you don’t have to teach kids to love themselves—they do that quite well. The hard part of parenting is to teach your kids sacrificial love: “Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)

“We have to learn to love ourselves” has tremendous emotional appeal, and Phil uses the theology of self-love to filter out parts of the Bible that contradict, while retaining whatever supports his view. For example:

If we are truly a creation of the Creator, and if we are made a good creation, why should we have to think we are pieces of shit?

Obviously Genesis 1 says God did create “a good creation,” but he ignores the fact that God also cursed the creation in Genesis 3:

We are made a good creation, and the text [Genesis] never recants that.

Someone trained in a Baptist Seminary like this guy knows the “good creation” in Genesis 1 was, in fact, “recanted” by God in Genesis 3:14-19. (Did he skip class that day, or is he deliberately misleading?)

Therefore he rejects the Bible’s teachings about hell, like other Emergent Church leaders, because it does not fit his Theology of Self-Love and “good creation”. He is quite slippery about his denial of hell, however:

I do believe in Satan and a literal hell, I just don’t believe people go there. I think it was created for Satan and fallen angels, or however you want to say it.

Most people don’t like the Bible’s teaching about hell, which is understandable, but most people have the decency to admit they aren’t Bible-believing Christians. I can respect someone who I disagree with, but I cannot respect religious hypocrisy. Can you? When Phil pretends to be a Bible teacher and a Christian Evangelical, the hypocrisy is quite pronounced.

What Phil and the Emergents teach has always been known as Universalism, advocated by the Universalist church. When these clowns retain the “Christian Evangelical” nomenclature, they become obnoxious and disingenuous. Why not simply agree to disagree instead of lying and hiding the disagreement?

A merciful, loving God will not send Adolph Hitler or Stalin or Charles Manson to hell, since “I just don’t believe people go there,” Phil says. Think about that. It means God is responsible for those men’s crimes, if He doesn’t hold them responsible. Does that sound like a merciful, loving God?

Emerging Baptist Emergents?

The result? An eclectic mixture of pro-gay “fundy” (his own label) mixed with a singing worship service, spiced with “alternative worship events” (liturgical labyrinths?)… He was groomed at Solomon’s Porch, starring Emergent Village luminaries like Tony Jones and Doug Pagitt. It seems rather tragic that disenfranchised fundies can only find such banal alternatives to their tribal Christian upbringing, because reaching the lost for Christ is certainly not on the agenda. Together with a Youngstown pastor, they trash the Atonement in this podcast (near the end) as a doctrine of “The Cosmic Pacifier”, so they dance around the crucifixion in a lively display of amorphous thought.

One wonders what will emerge from the Emerging Emergents?

The opening scene is a grey-brown winter day on a New England estate, a mom and kids running across the lawn, while the cameras zoom into the English Tudor mansion towering in the background…through the window, the rooms, and on grey face in the shadows. It’s a recognizable actor, the dirty cop in Scarface. He cost a pretty penny, it’s not low-budget, I think.

He comes out of the dark shadows and looks out the window at his wife and kids, waves and smiles, then blows his brains. They didn’t pay too much for that appearance.

 
They killed him in the first few minutes

It gets more paranoid. “Not every conspiracy is a theory,” is the slogan. What gives it an edge is the loneliness of the main character. His wife and child were killed in 9/11. He works in a nameless spy agency, against unknown enemies, and his only friend dies in a train wreck, but it maybe it was a murder, who knows?

It strikes me these writers understand the loneliness that runs so deep inside, and the fears, anger, worries, memories we cannot share.

We forget how widespread the loneliness is. The nightmare of it is in dealing with the paranoia alone.

The name is paranoid. The Rubicon is a river near Rome marking a boundary no Roman legions could pass without Senate approval. It was the Senate’s safeguard against a coupe by ambitious generals, like Julius Caesar, the general who did cross the river and named himself Rome’s first Emperor. In their infinite wisdom, the Senate did not anticipate that someone might just lead his legions across the river anyway, and who could arrest him?

"But nobody has crossed the Rubicon for a thousand years!" a startled Senator exclaimed. They trusted the mysterious power of tradition to control minds, which usually works, until a Caesar appears. What is that power traditions hold?

Jesus Christ did the same thing, but different. He too rejected the religious traditions that lock people’s minds, but Jesus actually won against the guardians of tradition. Julius lost.

The Senators secretly drafted a new resolution to close the Rubicon loophole by stabbing him in the back (30 times) as he entered the Senate chambers—without his legions. They can always get you, if not this way, then that. It sounds paranoid, but not once you meet someone like Brutus, the mind behind the conspiracy. 

Julius never saw it coming.  "E tu Brute?" were his last words. Every first-year Latin student knows it means, "You too, Brutus?" Despite his brilliance and courage as Rome’s greatest conqueror, who could out-think, out-maneuver and destroy the best armies in Gaul, he could not see betrayal in the heart of his best friend.

When traditions are challenged, people like Brutus get terrified beyond reason. He jettisoned his loyalty to Julius because he was more loyal to Roman tradition, so he assassinated his friend.

Funerals make great paranoid events.

Jesus faced the same fanatic traditionalists, and they too conspired to murder him in an illegal “trial” held secretly at night, breaking many traditions to preserve the traditions Jesus threatened. Yes, it is inconsistent, but it worked—for a few days. In their infinite wisdom, the Sanhedrin did not anticipate the resurrection, like the Senate did not anticipate the Rubicon loophole, but how can anyone anticipate a resurrection? (Well, they did have Isaiah’s prophecies from centuries earlier.)

Jesus won against the Titans of tradition through his love, whereas all the legions and fear commanded by Julius could not hold the loyalty of Brutus and the Senate. The disciples of Jesus remained faithful and they loved him and died for him. They lost all the security of their Jewish identity when Gentiles swarmed in the Jesus Movement, and they were rejected by countrymen, neighbors, sometimes families and friends. Jesus bred an amazing loyalty that even surpassed the security of cherished traditions.

This is how to win against conspiracies and enemies of all kinds:

I no longer call you slaves, because a master doesn’t confide in his slaves. Now you are my friends, since I have told you everything the Father told me. John 15:15 (NLT)

…He had loved his disciples during his ministry on earth, and now he loved them to the very end. John 13:1 (NLT)

It’s the paranoia. The writers of Rubicon touched the paranoid thing deep inside everyone, whether we know it or not. Paranoia creates the rabid fanatics of tradition, like Brutus and the Senators who would assassinate Rome’s best general to preserve tradition. People cling to dead, institutional religions because they feel safe, although bored to death. People keep working dead-end jobs because they feel safe, and people tolerate gross sexual abuse in families because they fear losing the security of a family, despite the abuse.

Paranoia is everywhere, in everyone, and Hollywood makes good money with Slasher films and dramas capitalizing on it. Madison Avenue markets paranoia, like the fear of bad breath, rejection, new car safety features, and they create a host of new fears that now rule the modern mind.

The Rubicon writers nailed it: “not every conspiracy is a theory.” Conspiracies surround us, everywhere. Friends talking behind friends backs, parents who plot how to catch their kid doing something, the whispers between kids, and even at school and work the administrators conspire how to control their underlings. The motivation for our Constitutional freedoms of the press and speech is the defense against conspiracies.

Paranoia is everywhere

Loneliness intensifies paranoia. In a loveless world, paranoia rules. In God’s world, love rules. That’s the difference between the worlds of Julius Caesar and Jesus Christ.

1. It is not a four-letter-word;
2. it is not a real word (it is a compound of two words);
3. the embedded cussword is spelled with two “m’s”, not “mn”.

Is this not silly? Such are the mental gymnastics the Cuss Police must hurdle in the quest for cuss-free perfection. Although Jeremiah wrote an excellent article about this issue at the NeoZine, I’ve come to understand the real struggle is between the Cussword Canon and the Urban Dictionary.

“Allow Me to Introduce Myself”

Allow me to pierce my own ego publicly before proceeding with this dirty-word business by acknowledging my own legalism and self-righteousness. I have dragged Christians away from their faith; I have committed shameful and even criminal acts; I have actively campaigned against the One who saved me, stumbled Christians, abused my good parents, and the list goes on.

With such a history, I know what it’s like to play the self-righteous Christian, condemning others with vitriolic rage for sins far-less damaging. I cannot assign all that dirt to “my misguided youth”, because it was God’s grace that rescued me from folly, not the so-called wisdom of age.

With that in mind, please understand there is no ground for me to claim superiority over the Cuss Police, my fellow-Saints. My own hypocrisy enables me to see others struggling with it. I was given a piece of freedom, so I freely offer to pass along the liberty of God to any Saints burdened with Cuss Police responsibilities.

This week at the Xenos Summer Institute, certain young provocateurs wore shirts declaring, “CUSSING IS NOT A SIN!” Clearly they were baiting the Cuss Police, but not to antagonize or insult—if cusswords covered their shirts, they would be antagonizing, yes.

Their shirts stated a doctrinal position, just as other shirts at XSI carried slogans and causes ranging from poverty relief to women’s rights. The discussions triggered by their pro-cussing-cause seemed friendly enough. Their willingness to listen was evident.

Kay Arthur took the bait, a keynote speaker. My son Kyle was wearing that shirt, and Kay grabbed his arm and quoted scripture, “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” This 76-year-old saint was kind and relational, and allowed Kyle to explain he was not advocating taking the Lord’s name in vain. (There is a difference between swearing and cussing.) Her intentions were good and her efforts to understand were honorable, even if she was baffled.

“I felt he needed to know what he was actually doing,” Kay told me later. I thanked her for this highly-justified cause (he does need to know what he’s doing).

Later, in her teaching, Kay said, “I don’t give a damn!” (Someone claimed she said “bitch”, which I don’t know.) Interestingly, her slip-up escaped Cuss Police censure because it was an appropriate and judicious use of cussing. It seemed like natural speech.

The Cussing Conundrum

Here is the cussing conundrum: if Kay Arthur cussed, if the Cuss Police didn’t notice, and if we all employ an “appropriate and judicious use of cussing” at times (do we not?), why is it still a big bugaboo? The shirts worn by those provocateurs seemed strident at XSI only because Christian ethics are woefully culture-bound to the 1950s and out of touch with the changing world, and I can prove it.

BUT FIRST, please be advised: language can be devastating and cruel when it takes the forms described in Ephesians 4:32 and 5:2, where it says our speech should not be degrading. (See Jeremiah’s article for details.) Loving Christians must be differentiated from the unloving world in their speech.  Christians should be the last people on earth to degrade God or Jesus by treating their names like trash. And any language—cusswords, gossip or railing judgments—which degrades the loving Christian witness is foul stuff.

Hopefully these caveats make it clear we should never advocate the indiscriminate use of violent, degrading, or sexually-abusive language. Christians cannot act like drunken sailors looking for a fight (apologies to any navy people, like you, dad, if you’re reading this—it’s just an expression).

What escapes the notice of culture-bound Christians are the changes in English since the 60s. I am old enough to remember when cusswords were used for pugnacious reasons by violent people. Today cusswords are also used as friendly slang words, and not abusive words. (A polite example might be, “Hey, Mo Fo!” But please don’t use that indiscriminately…it can result in a black eye, depending on the recipient.)

Canonized Cusswords?

[Note: for those unfamiliar with church-words, 'canon' means 'church rule', or 'church standard'. 'Canon Law" refers to the body of decrees and papal bulls made by Institutionalized Christianity through the ages. 'Canonized' means some church council made some rule about something, somewhere, at some time, and it's supposed to carry a pompous, implicit threat. ]

All cusswords are vernacular, meaning they are slang, and not part of formal English. Slang words in all forms are inappropriate in educated, cultured discourse or public speaking venues, (nobody says, “Hey, y’all!” in a public speech)  and this truly confuses Christians who normally speak in cultured discourse, and therefore believe any cussing is inappropriate.

But Christians overlook the online Urban Dictionary, used by the profane (non-religious) world. It carved a popular niche untouched by the Oxford English Dictionary, the usual friend of Christian parlance.  The Urban Dictionary defines vernacular, and because slang changes so often, this Internet dictionary keeps pace.  So the Urban Dictionary is the place to understand the cussing world, not the Oxford dictionary, which can only standardize English, and avoids slang.

Since cusswords are vernacular, by definition, the vernacular can turn cusswords into non-cusswords.

It is that simple.

There is simply no biblical list of cusswords, period. This is not a doctrinal debate, people. The frustration for the Cuss Police is the complete absence of any authoritative list of violent, abusive, foul, or obscene words. As soon as such a list is produced it will become quickly outdated as slang changes. Not all the words change their meanings quickly, but the list itself is a moving target. This is the absurdity of canonized cusswords.

Rather than lists of “dirty” words, God gives us principles of loving intercourse (cultured minds understand the clear meaning here–use the Oxford dictionary). Since loving intercourse is “the goal of our instruction,” the Bible says (again, using the Oxford dictionary).

What those friendly provocateurs should have written on their shirts was this:

“CUSSING IS NOT A SIN,
USE LOVING INTERCOURSE INSTEAD!”

Now that slogan would provoke far more interesting conversations, because the Cuss Police would get confused about which dictionary or cussword-canon defines intercourse! (Do you know?)

Weightier Portions

Christians stuck with a cussword canon are probably not doing a good job of interacting with the changing world, because the culture has no such canon. It is understandable when really old Christians like Kay Arthur, my mother, and others from the WWII generation fall behind in the changing world. They may never appreciate the fine use of slang (although Kay is making remarkable strides).

But for those of us highly-engaged with the contemporary world, cuss-phobia is clearly addressed by the Bible:

When I am with the Gentiles who do not follow the Jewish law, I too live apart from that law so I can bring them to Christ. But I do not ignore the law of God; I obey the law of Christ. 1 Corinthians 9:21 (NLT)

It means drop the religious lingo around non-Christians. It is bad enough when Christians carry a cussword canon from the 1950s, but quite another thing to impose the outdated canon on non-Christians. Not only does it guarantee alienation, it is a clear violation of scripture.

Some Christians think cuss-phobia is a testimony for Jesus, which is ironic, if not tragic.  In reality, non-Christians chuckle about cuss-phobic Christians.  Christians get teased when they “slip” and cuss not because their witness was blown, but because they deserve to get ribbed for excessive pickiness and cuss-phobias.

When reaching out to non-Christians, we do not act lawlessly, but “I obey the law of Christ,” Paul says. It means we stand firmly on God’s definition of love, and maintain a loving, relational disposition as our witness. Imposing outdated vernacular standards on non-Christians is neither loving or relational.

Christianity Today recently published an article about the “Lord’s name in vain” issue, where the writer makes the profound point this injunction concerns not merely using His name in expletives, but the need to honor His name:

As with all commandments, we keep them not just by avoiding certain behaviors but also by doing good works. So we are reminded to pray, praise, and verbally give thanks to God for his goodness and to call out to him in times of trouble. We must work to ensure proper teaching and employ God’s name in defense of truth and goodness. Hemmingway, Vainly Naming the Name

Being Different

The power of the Christian voice is evidenced by our divergence from the surrounding culture. This is repeated often in the Bible, but I love the original version of this concept:

Leviticus 11:44 (NASB) ‘For I am the Lord your God. Consecrate yourselves therefore, and be holy, for I am holy. And you shall not make yourselves unclean with any of the swarming things that swarm on the earth.

“Consecrate” and “holy” simply mean “different.” This is so cool: stay away from “the swarming things that swarm…” He sure knows how to picture it!

There is a godly and ungodly way to “be different” from “the swarming things.” The Godly difference should be attractive, “the aroma of Christ,” where, “They will know you are my disciples by your love.” Non-Christians are drawn away from “the swarming things,” so degrading and oppressive. We cannot add to their burdens Christian cultural stigmas wrapped in the pretense of cleanliness.

The ungodly Christian difference is poisoned with hypocrisy, and non-Christians are both confused and repelled by it. Christians must repudiate this reputation for hypocrisy and petty morality, so “you shall not make yourselves unclean.”

Paul offers tremendous insight to this issue:

Likewise urge the younger men to control themselves.  Show yourself in all respects a model of good deeds, and in your teaching show integrity, gravity, and sound speech that cannot be censured, so that an opponent may be put to shame, having nothing evil to say of us.”

Radical stuff!

No, I’m not kidding (very much).

Bow Wow Beach - the crime scene

Bow Wow beach is a little fishing pond in Stow which was recently opened up for pooches to poop on the sandy beach and frolic in the water scaring the fish. It seems  innocuous enough, but beware! Lurking beneath this doggie haven are the simmering tempers of crazy pet-owners waiting to burst against innocent fishermen (and boys).

The last time I went there with Connor, my 14-year-old son, we were trounced-upon by five red-faced, livid dog owners shrieking at us for endangering the lives of their dogs! Their rage went from non-existent to mob violence in a flash.

It started with a livid (BIG overweight) grit striding quickly towards Connor and I with his (BIG overweight) wife and white poodle in-tow:

“Are you crazy? What do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know fishing is not allowed here?” he was shouting at us as he approached.  “I am on the Parks and Recreation board, and you can’t fish here!”

“But it was the Parks and Recs people who told me I could fish here,” I said, holding a worm in mid-air, frozen by the sudden outburst.

“That’s a lie! Who told you that?” he yelled. (By now he was in front of me.)

“Brian Kelly…” I started to say, but the man’s (BIG) wife suddenly put her face about 12 inches away from mine (not exaggerating) and yelled, “ARE YOU GOING TO LEAVE OR DO WE HAVE TO CALL THE POLICE?”

Then another HUGE grit (about 6′ 5″, 350 lbs) suddenly appeared from behind: “Who do you think you are? You can’t fish here! It’s posted ‘No Fishing’ here!”

“There’s really no reason to get angry, I’m not trying to cause any trouble here,” I said, trying to calm these imposing figures down. Connor was shell-shocked, his mouth was open.

“Call the police,” the fat man said to his fat wife.

“I’m calling the police,” she said as she pulled out her phone.

“You’re endangering these dog’s lives,” the biggest gallute said. “Wonder if one of your hooks hooked our dog?”

“But that’s why I’m fishing away from the dogs,” I said (they had approached me, keep in mind).

“Are you going to leave or do I have to break that pole?” the biggest, fattest grit of all said as he lunged at my son to grab his pole. Connor ducked and ran to me.

“Connor, let’s get out of here,” I said, packing up our stuff.

Another man (not fat) appeared from behind me, “You can’t fish here!” he said. I noticed another woman (thankfully, thin and smallish, the only one I could probably survive a blow from) appeared behind the line of fat, big grits. She was showing her support by nodding her head quite energetically.

“It’s not illegal to fish here, and it’s not posted ‘no fishing,’” I said as we were walking away.

“I’ve called the police,” the fat woman said.

“Good! I hope they get here quick!” I said, and took Connor’s hand, leaving the park.

But amazingly, they all followed us out of the park with their dogs! By now I thought we were possibly not going to make it to the car. This was a mob action underway. I though of African-Americans who once lived in fear of lynch mobs just like this. I could see how mob action can get crazy without any provocation at all. I was a little surprised to see it from a “pooch mob.”

When the cops showed up, they interrogated me, ran checks on my license and car, sternly forbade me from smoking my pipe (we were standing in an open parking lot), and finally told me to leave immediately. Even though I explained the insane scenario, the violence, and asked for police protection, they continued to harass me and said little to the mob waiting in the background (lawbreakers–all of them–without leashes on their dogs,  I might add).

I told the cops fishing wasn’t against the rules. “The rules are posted right over there,” I said.

Guess what they said?  “You go online and find where it says you can fish here.”

I was flummoxed. “But, you’re allowed to fish iunless it’s posted otherwise,” I said. “Right?” (And, of course, it was not posted “No Fishing” at Bow Wow Beach).

“You need to go on the Parks and Rec site to find out if you’re allowed to fish here,” the cop said.

“But how can I find a rule that doesn’t exist?” I asked. “Aren’t we allowed to do things unless the law says otherwise?” Not according to this cop. He was grabbing his billy club by now, so I just thanked him and left.

But now I know better: having talked with my Parks & Rec connections, we are allowed to fish. So fish I must. And at Bow Wow Beach, too!

“But why fish there?” It’s a good question. The answer is simple: it’s stocked regularly, but nobody dares to fish there because of the pooch owners, and this is probably the best fishing spot in all northeast Ohio! Normally I don’t reveal my secret fishing holes, but in this case I think my chances for survival will increase if more fishermen show up at Bow Wow Beach.

So if I disappear, or if my body is found swinging at the end of a rope at Bow Wow beach, let it be known beforehand: I am a victim of Bow Wow Beach pooch violence.

Go read about Bow Wow Beach at their Web site here.

We don’t need silly Facebook to see this super-RSS feed, of course. It’s available at www.go.neoxenos.org/keith.rss .

So Mr. Kyle (not Kyle, my son) pointed me to the Social RSS on Facebook application which does the Facebook part.¹ Speaking of Kyle my son (not Mr. Kyle), did you notice his facebook page is www.facebook.com/biblestudy ? That address seems rife with potential…

Hey NeoBloggers! You all have RSS feeds at your blog:

• the RSS feed for your articles is http://yourblog.neoblogs.org/feed/
• the RSS feed for your comments are at http://yourblog.neoblogs.org/comments/feed/

Just replace “yourblog” with…guess!

And finally, here is the prodigious output from it:

[neo-rss template=default items=5]http://go.neoxenos.org/keith.rss[/neo-rss]

1. Technical note: I used Yahoo pipes to collate, sort, and massage the RSS feeds.

http://picasaweb.google.com/mccallumk/SantaCruz

Kyle goes up to receive his award

Christians aren’t supposed to be big braggarts, or so they say, but can I make a big hullabaloo about my son Kyle’s scholarship and award ceremony? I certainly never received any scholarships or award ceremonies throughout my academic career, and neither did my scurrilous brothers, so maybe I can cheer up old grandpa & grandma this way – there’s still hope for the McCallums after all! (Darelene was High School valedictorian, so the Termans probably consider this normative.)

Carries himself with aplomb.

Much like his mother, Kyle carried himself with respect and decorum throughout the 90-minute ordeal while chiding the old man occasionally for disruptive behavior.

A disruptive old man.

He won a Michael Taylor Public Relations scholarship based on academic achievements, his portfolio, and an essay they read to the crowd. I couldn’t help but hear, “I grew up in a home that valued communication…” Maybe that line didn’t win the scholarship, but it sure won a place in his old man’s heart!

With fellow-recipients, the blonde immediately drew a broad Kyle-smile!

]]> http://remonstrance.neoblogs.org/675/feed/ 6