CJ's Blog

Merry Christmas From Suite 213A

2011-12-24T12:42:00.000-07:00

Merry Christmas to you and yours from my perch atop the mighty skyscraper known as the Graden Mercantile Building in downtown Durango, Colorado. Yes, I am at the very top, in Suite 213A, pounding out a few thoughts as we close 2011. (Note: We are a two story skyscraper – being at an altitude of 6,500 feet, we need not play ostentatious with our architectural projections inasmuch as we are already scraping the sky by merely walking around).

I have no big theme upon which to build that requires of the reader an expenditure of effort to track my nubile thoughts; no, rather, I will dispense with a few odds and ends, Herb Caen style.

Let’s start with that one: Who was Herb Caen? He was one of my favorite columnists I read while attending graduate school in San Francisco. After dreary lectures on Greek and Hebrew syntax, supra verses infra lapsarianism, sacerdotalism, philosophical axioms, hermeneutics, teaching pedagogues, etc. – I would retreat to the library and get my chuckles from the free copy of the San Francisco Chronicle. His column was a series of one paragraph insights of gossip, local happenings, political punditry and regional anecdotes. It was never hostile or ill-willed but always brilliant. When he passed away in 1997, his funeral was the best attended in San Francisco history.

So, here we go…No man enjoys Christmas shopping. My father-in-law, O.D. may have set the bar so high that no mortal man will ever reach his stature. It seems that his wife, Betty, was heading into town a couple of days ago to pick up my wife, Jan, to do a little Christmas shopping. As Betty was leaving, O.D. grabbed his coat in what appeared to be an uncharacteristic eagerness to join in the shopping venture. As they got in the car, O.D. said, “Why don’t you drop me off at the E.R. while you and Jan run your errands.” It seems that my father-in-law was manifesting the symptoms of a heart attack. A few hours later, with two new stints in his heart, he has become an iconic figure for all men to emulate. “O.D. – We are not worthy! We are not worthy…”

We plan to spend a little more time at the hospital this Christmas season. My lovely daughter, Molly, timing the event of her first child with that of the Blessed Virgin, is due any moment with she and husband Erick’s first child. Every time my phone rings I jump a bit thinking that the moment has arrived. Molly herself is a Christmas baby. Our oldest son was born December 27^th. Our anniversary is on the 29^th. Please send money…

My daughter can now join that large sorority of “sistas” whose compassion and empathy for men’s whiny complaints effectively registers at the non-pulse state. From now on, her trump card shall always be: “Yes, yes…that looks painful…but I had a baby.” As a good friend of mine noted, he could walk into the house with a screw-driver hanging from his eye and his wife would say: “Yep, I bet that smarts…but I had a baby.”

Thus, it was with cool, unfeeling precision that my wife – who, by the way, had three babies – ordered me up a “procedure” that will take place over the holidays. While everyone else is gorging and feasting, I will be downing a lemony drink that will make me all shiny on the inside – from top to “literal” bottom. Nothing says “I love you” like a colonoscopy. By golly, she put the Merry in my Christmas. I guess I ain’t been “nuttin’ but bad.” Think of me – actually, scratch that…don’t - as I begin my lonely vigil. I will be reading A Tale(!) of Two Cities which begins with the famous line, “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times…” Indeed.

On the other hand, what a fantastic way to begin my New Year’s resolutions – which always has something to do with losing weight. This should help.

____

Years ago I was the head counselor at a small Christian camp. During evening devotions, I asked one of the high school leaders to read something from the Bible to wind down our evening. He chose a passage from the Book of Psalms, which he pronounced, “Palms.” He asked everyone to turn to the book of Palms. It still makes me smile. He was the original Palm reader. Perhaps we could gin up a little business in this downtown office if we hung out a sign that said, “Psalms read here! Get your free Psalm reading!” Who knows?

Anyway, back to the original sentiment…Merry Christmas! A little over two thousand years ago a few blue-collar workers attending to the night shift, pulling sheep-duty, were treated to a heavenly host of angels busting out the praise of the newborn King. According to Scripture, that number could have reflected a number as high as 100 million angels. I am not really sure who was more surprised, the angels or the shepherds. If I was an angel, I probably would have expected to show up to some famous earth location and sing for a King or an Emperor. They could have rocked the Colosseum . At the very least – the angels could have expected a booking at the temple in Jerusalem. After all, it was one of God's venues. Instead, they were directed to a lonely field where a few good old boys were passing around the wine-skin on a quiet evening.

The great Oxford scholar, Alfred Edersheim, tells us that these particular shepherds, because of their geographical location, were most likely watching the sheep meant to be sold as ritual sacrificial lambs to folks who traveled to Jerusalem and didn’t own a pick-up to transport a homegrown animal. In other words, these were not just any sheep. They were sacrificial lambs. He goes on to note that although the sheep were considered holy, for ceremonial purposes, the shepherds themselves were considered unclean and thus banned from the religious life of the Jewish people. So, who gets the good news first??? I am not lying here – God is a class act.

Last Sunday our little Celtic band played the praise of the King at the Irish Embassy Pub for the third straight year as we put on, once again, A Celtic Christmas. The fragrance and majesty of that first Christmas sorted itself out through our instruments and voices to the modern day shepherds - to those who, for good reasons or not, have found themselves on the outskirts of religion…who don’t quite fit in …who, might feel unclean in the presence of our modern portrayal of Christianity. To you dear hearts I say: “Fear not…for I bring to you good news today which shall be for all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”

Labels, Part 2 "INFP vs. ESTJ"

2011-07-21T15:55:00.003-06:00

I was chatting with an old friend this morning over a cup of coffee. It was one of those wonderful “accidents” that God is so generous to arrange. My young friend, who I met when he was a college student, happened to be passing through town.

He is now a college minister and I am so very proud of him. Looking back on our relationship, I marveled at the growth that had taken place in his life. A lot of it has to do of course with the natural process of maturing. And, the fact that he married a lovely, bright, and talented woman has not at all hurt his drift toward refinement. She is definitely sanding off the rough edges of her husband as is the common task of all lovely, bright and talented wives - which describes pretty much all wives by my book! (Shameless pandering, but it increases Blog-traffic). Their job is to “de-Neanderthal-ize” us nose-picking, knuckle-draggers.

As we chatted, he told me that a part of his leadership training that had been especially meaningful to him had been to work through the Myers-Briggs profiling test. This test is commonly used in the business world to help people better understand one another and to build group dynamics...allegedly. (More on that in a moment). I use this tool in pre-marital counseling quite often, thus, I had already formed a few educated guesses in regard to my friend's profile. Allow me a moment to recount a few memories…

When I first met my friend, he was a football player at Fort Lewis College. When we would get together to chat, he almost always had some topic, or someone, with which he was taking “serious” issue. Being an ESFJ (the J standing for Judging), he excelled nicely with the “J” portion. In other words, he suffered no fools, and the world, in his mind, was chock-full of them.

I remember many times that I sat and listened, slowly drumming my fingers on the table, wishing I had brought along just a fragment of duct-tape. Two or three inches of the magic adhesive would have come in quite handy. But, I did what my profile (INFP) does rather easily – I listened and sympathized. My “P” (perceiving) as opposed to his “J” (judging) offered him another way of looking at the people or the situations. I am not at all saying that my personality type is better than his. I, in fact, often put a lot of trust in people – especially in their unrealized potential – while overlooking the present realities of a person’s journey. That has bitten me on more than one occasion. The disappointment always circled back to my projection of what a person could be that was frequently at odds with who they really were. It is both an encouraging gift to many people and yet at times was wrought with wrongful expectations on my part. It took me awhile to figure this out.

What is my point? I am speaking here again, as I did in the previous blog, about labels. I hate them. I really do. Yet we seem to be incurably driven to find a place in our minds to categorize people: He is a banker; She is an accountant; He is a Baptist; She is a Homemaker; He is a jerk; She is a flake. On and on the labels go. We unfairly summarize an entire person’s life with meager amounts of data and impressions gathered by fleeting moments in their presence.

It is terribly unfair but also unsurprising. Psychologists tell us that our brains need a way to resolve what they call cognitive dissonance in our minds; thus, we merrily and unconsciously go about cataloging people as: friend, enemy, weirdo, attractive, not so much, etc. When I was in my doctoral studies, I had a professor describe cognitive dissonance as a bunch of untethered strings floating around in our brain. Categorizing people and subjects help tie these thoughts down and bring us a measure of peace.

It is right here where we can go off the tracks and where we can find help with the Christian celebration of the word “grace”. The word in the Greek: “charis”, when tracked down to its effectual usage in the Scriptures, means: “God’s empowering presence.” I have heard other definitions, but this one seems to work in all circumstances, so it is the one I prefer. Grace is God’s active goodness, influence and participation in our lives. Grace is God becoming a man, a human being, and experiencing the dust and disappointment of earth. Grace is the effort given to understanding every temptation and shortcoming and weakness common to the human race and enduring it all. Grace is placing oneself on a cross as a substitute to take the blame for all of our naughtiness. And grace is seeing within each human being the potential of what they might someday be. Yes, I like to fancy that God is a bit of an INFP Himself! But, that would be overly flattering to my profile type and it is simply less than honest. He is all of the personality types noted by the Myer-Briggs profilers and much more. His character is one of: holiness, mercy, kindness, matchless beauty, mystery, self-revelation, justice and judgment, downy-soft tenderness, transcendence and imminence. Try labeling God into one category and you will come away with a tiny, manageable God – but you will be missing the real thing. In a sense, Deity defies labels.

And this is the big point I wish to make…grace, when freely received, never allows us to remain the same. It is transforming. It is metamorphosing. But there is more…grace freely received is meant to be freely given. It is a pass-through gift. It is a river, not a reservoir.

Here is where we come to the limitations of personality profiling. I once worked through a Myers-Brigg facilitator to help me resolve some conflicts with a few business partners. Actually, I was in the middle of the conflict – a tormented peace-maker of sorts. The Myers-Briggs actually mapped it out quite accurately. One guy was in the upper right hand corner, a driver, and a controller. The other partner was down in the lower left corner – a very easy-going, “collie” type. My personality was in between the two. As our facilitator shared with us our personality types, the controlling fellow lit up and got excited. He said, “Yes, this is me!” And…then he used his newfound knowledge to define and defend his nastiness to the other guy. “This is me! This is me! This is me! You have to adjust to it because…This is me!” As retreats went, it wasn’t one of my more successful ones. He used his personality type as a sledge-hammer.

Grace never leaves us that way. Grace would never attempt to bend the entire universe to one’s own will and personality. Rather, grace fuels a love of others that cures such things – even if very slowly. Grace is always about the business of changing us from the inside out into something more beautiful. And, as it changes us, it makes us extremely sympathetic to other people’s struggles. We become the change we would hope for in other people.

Thanks for hanging out and completing this marathon of a blog. May God’s grace be yours in abundance…

-CJ

Labels

2011-07-12T13:23:00.000-06:00

    The other day, I asked my wife to pick up some Fish Oil for me while she was out shopping. Fish oil is supposed to be good for the heart. So is garlic. It seems that everything that is good for the heart stinks. Everything that is bad for the heart smells savory.
    Now, for some time, the chemists that produce these supplements have heard the cry of fussy people with highly developed olfactory senses and have managed to remove the offensive smells that come with healthful choices. Yay! So, imagine my surprise when I went to open my little bottle of heart health and wrapped proudly around the lid were these words: “Formerly Odorless.”
    Hmm…I wasn’t sure what they were trying to say. Could it have been a labeling mistake? Did they mean: “Formerly Odorous?” Or perhaps someone complained about the lack of odor and wondered if popping these pills did any good, sans dead fish stench. So, maybe they meant this: “The stink is back!” Curious, I opened the little jar and found the pills to be odor-free. So, yep, someone definitely screwed up the label. Their bad…
    I am always pimping life for some real-life scenario to help throw some light on a great spiritual truth and this one seemed as good as any. The great spiritual truth has to do with labels. The word Christian was not a self-proclaiming label marketed by the first generation of the church. No, the outside world, observing the behavior of believers, gave them the label, “Christ-like”, or “Christian.” It was a stunning recognition of the simple fact that these humble, first century followers of Christ were behaving in a fashion similar to the man who had recently been crucified. They prayed for people and they got better. They were ridiculously generous. They were fair. They were impartial in regard to the sex or ethnicity of a person. And, they were turning a brutal world right-side up with their gentle, Christ-like ways. In this instance, the label matched the product perfectly.
    Fast forward a few centuries to today. How is that label thing working out? I was chatting with a friend the other day who doesn’t claim to be a Christian but who, nevertheless, chooses to try to live her life according to the teachings of Christ. She called me from work and shared with me a story that I hear all too often, at least in spirit. It seemed that some Christian at work got extremely upset with her for borrowing a bowl to warm up some soup. It rocked her world because this angry Christian had often made a show of reading the Scriptures in the work room and was fairly vocal about her faith. However, her faith didn’t quite reach as far her personal soup bowl. I was saddened as my friend asked me this sweet, simple question: “Would Jesus care if I borrowed a soup bowl?” My response was this: “No, in fact, I think Jesus would have given you his soup bowl.”
    After that exchange, the obvious thing to do was to go and buy the best soup bowl I could find in order to show my friend how Jesus felt about soup bowls. Within minutes, my trustee assistant and I crossed Main Street of Durango and found the perfect soup bowl, the perfect card, and the perfect spoon. We signed the card: “From Jesus! – Bon Appétit!”, or something like that.
    Here’s the deal…the message of Jesus is still as relevant and as powerful today as it was when it was first launched into the world. He is still the most attractive person I know – and I have studied them all. I cannot get over His kindness and His mercy and His generous ways. He has wrecked me in a good way. I will never be just like Him and thus, I am not sure if I have even earned the moniker of “Christian.” Yet, He joyfully calls me His own even with my deeply flawed ways. But, having made these humble, self-deprecating admissions, I do know this – He cares more about precious souls than He does about an ordinary soup bowl! I have at least THAT much revelation!
    We live in a time where the labels are mightily screwed up. Some who proudly call themselves Christians are often the least Christ-like people to be around. Many are full of greed, avarice, pettiness, anger, and judgment. They are, to borrow my earlier example, still full of stink! While I am a little angry about that – God forgive me – I am mostly just sad. I am sad because these poorly labeled folks obscure the gospel of Jesus Christ. Rightfully so, a person outside of the Christian faith can look at us and say, “Well, if that is what it means to be a Christian, then no thanks!” The message has gotten lost in the hands and lives of the messenger. And you know what – “Christians” – we have absolutely no right to complain about their passivity to the Christian message. If the medicine has done us so little good, why would they be interested in taking it? They have too much regard for their own reputation to become like us!
    Here is my solution to the times in which we live…it is time for Christians to pipe-down. I know that doesn’t sound very Jesus-like and I am okay with that. I am okay with it because it is outstanding advice. Until our lives catch up to our theology, we have nothing to offer. The old English word for “belief” actually meant, “by-life.” It is time for the church to reacquaint itself with the marriage of belief and life. A quote often attributed to St. Francis, but not known for certain if it was his, goes like this: "Preach the Gospel always: When necessary, use words. The Apostle Peter said it this way: "Keep your behavior excellent among the unbelievers, so that in the thing in which they slander you as evildoers, they may, on account of your good deeds, as they observe them, glorify God in the day of visitation." I Peter 2: 12 And, also, Jesus words in Matthew 5:16 "Let your light shine before men that they might see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven." One without the other is a sham. And, the world is much too clever in these days to sacrifice or change their lives to run with a bunch of grumpy, soup-bowl Nazis.

A New Christian Holiday Brought To You By Patrick Crossing!

2011-03-24T13:26:00.000-06:00

Throughout a significant portion of Christendom, a couple of weeks ago marked the beginning of the Lenten Season with the starting point being, of course, Ash Wednesday. It is a tradition both rich in history, significance and not a little abuse - the most notable of the latter being the wild day of debauchery immediately preceding known as Fat Tuesday. While Ash Wednesday is supposed to replicate a period of forty days of spiritual reflection, fasting, repentance and sacrifice - Fat Tuesday is more like a bachelor party.

The term Fat Tuesday is the anglicized translation of the French words, Marti Gras. So...is anyone surprised that getting glassy-eyed, drooly plastered and indulging in as much lewdness, leering, lust, lechery, lasciviousness, and leeching as possible – carries with it a French connection? "Oui! I am about to embark on zee season of fasting, prayer, Almsgiving, and deep reflection regarding zee Passion of zee Christ. Come; let us get skunk-faced!"

Lest you think I am being overly harsh on the French, I will humbly acknowledge that just eight days after the beginning of the Lenten Season, when we are supposed to be thinking seriously about our personal wretchedness, the Irish offer us a Lenten "time-out" known as St. Patrick's Day. Last year, as our Celtic Band played at the local pub for St. Paddy’s, I felt as though I were sitting in the midst of the “end o’day” scene from the movie, The Matrix. It was sweaty, pulsating, malodorous, loud and confusing. I had to crowd surf to get to the bathroom. This year I decided to not wear my kilt. (Please contact me on Facebook for a list of reasons). St. Paddy’s Day has become Fat Tuesday on crack.

There was a paucity of religious observances in the tradition in which I was raised. We said a few words about Christmas and Easter; but otherwise we were markedly, "low church". We had no affinity for such high church traditions as Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Pentecost Sunday, Advent and such. And, we sure the heck didn’t acknowledge any Saints, except for the St. Louis Cardinals.

We really didn’t need a special season to feel bad about ourselves. Our preachers pretty much took up that issue every Sunday. As a child, I was raised with bromides. (Note: Bromides: The term "bromide" derives from the antiquated use of certain bromide salts in medicine - usually sodium bromide but also potassium bromide - as a mild tranquilizer or sedative). Brother Bill, as we called him, from a church in our area, loved to thunder: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” It was his favorite aphorism, which, because of consistent overuse, became a bromide. After awhile, it lost its ability to trouble, much less terrify. It made us sleepy.

Most of the sermons could be broken down into three basic categories: “You don’t come enough! You don’t do enough! You don’t give enough!” If it was a really long sermon, the preacher could easily cover all three. At one revival meeting I attended, the Preacher shouted: “John was called the Baptist! He baptized Jesus! Therefore - Jesus was a Baptist!” (It would be years later that I would become enamored of the discipline of philosophy where I studied, among other things, the area of logic. Within that broad category is the sub-category of deductive reasoning. A decent example of good deductive reason would go like this: 1) All birds sing 2) A Robin is a bird 3) Therefore, Robins sing. A flawed example of deductive reasoning would go something like this: 1) All birds sing 2) My daughter Molly sings 3) Molly is a bird. Or, see above: Jesus was a Baptist).

Sadly, in the past, I have tried to motivate people, congregations, my wife and my kids through guilt. It only works until they are out of site. It also causes resentment. There are three things I have learned about by trying to motivate people in this way: 1) Guilt-tripping is too much work – you always have to raise the bar. 2) It carries within itself the seeds of its own destruction – eventually people will flee because they already feel pretty poorly about themselves absent my input; and, 3) Guilty Christians are an oxymoron and therefore unattractive. Proselytizing becomes a non-issue – why would a stranger to the faith exchange one misery that they are accustomed to for one which requires missing pre-game during the football season?

The announcement of strict religious observance seems instinctively to set off a rebellion of panic within most people. Whether it is a seasonal thing like Lent, or a steady dose such as I received in my formative years - there is a yin and yang, a good and an evil, a Luke & a Darth wandering about and at war within all of us. We can only take so much of rules, regulations, and sacrifices, before we explode. Every Ash Wednesday seems to demand its Fat Tuesday.

But, is that point of Christianity – causing people to explode – or to always feel like exploding? Are we promoting a schizophrenic religion that pushes for seasons of sorrow that is preceded by, interrupted and followed by Athenian decadence? Is that a good plan? I think not. You see, I do not feel any particular loyalty to either increased depravity or augmented religiosity. They can both be traps that leave us alienated from our true purpose.

Jesus stared down this dichotomy in response to His critics with these words…

For John [the Baptist] came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved right by her deeds.” Matthew 11:18,10

Do you get that? John the Baptist lived the life of Lent – every day of his life. And, without meaning to sound at all blasphemous or disrespectful of Jesus - the rap coming from his critics seemed to suggest that He represented a version of Fat Tuesday every day of His life.

The larger point to be made is that neither life – one that appeared outwardly austere or one that appeared outwardly free, could please the expectations of established, organized religion. Why? - Because the rules always change and the goalposts are always on the move. One man’s spirituality is another man’s burden. One man’s freedom is another man’s sin.

For the Christian – for the one who truly understands the freedom we have in Christ – the freedom for which it was His purpose to live and to die – every day is, if you would, both Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday. It is "Fat Ash" if you would...

Now, do we pay attention to holiness and goodness? Sure, but Jesus told us not to make a show of it. Do we celebrate freedom from rules and endless regulations? Yes, but we are not to make a show of that either. You see, for the Christian who is “getting it” – neither freedom nor holiness is calculated, nor are they separate issues. Freedom and holiness are cut from the same cloth. We are free because we are holy. We are holy because we have been made free. It is a beautiful spontaneity. “Planning” to be holy – to get your “holy on” say…next Wednesday…simply stirs the pot of rebellion in one’s own heart. It is the religious antithesis of the Fat Tuesday phrase: “Let’s go get wasted.” Both are dangerous. The first can make you feel spiritually superior – a very bad thing. The second usually fills you with some sort of regret – also a bad thing. Both are less than what Jesus has in mind for us.

The last part of the above Scriptures has Jesus saying this: “But wisdom is proved right by her deeds.” In reference to John the Baptist, his wisdom was proven by His austerity. John needed to behave the way he did in order to outduel the religious, judgmental elites of his day. In other words – no one could claim to “out-holy” John. Thus, you find even the Pharisees lining up to get baptized. With Jesus, it was just the opposite. Was He holy? - Absolutely. But where do we find Jesus? He is constantly hanging out with the wrong crowd – the I.R.S. agents, the whores, the hounds and the misfits.

His first miracle was making about 300 gallons of wine. When a significant portion of your disciples are sailors, wine depletion can be a major problem. Was that a necessary miracle? Yes, especially if you’re out to prove that the popular conception of God has become all twisted up by organized religion. A sermon I heard as a youth which declared that Jesus had actually made up big vats of grape-juice at the wedding do not take into account the astonishment and pleasure of the Jewish Maitre’d who announced that the best wine had been saved for last. Who is to question a Jewish wine expert?

The point is this – being a Christian is not so much pre-planned, as it is simply, lived. Jesus signed up to walk out and work through this life with us, side by side. He makes it up as He goes. Yes, there are some things that are wrong that will always be wrong. There are such things as absolutes and propositional truths. I get that. But there also is a wide-field of freedom where Jesus will take us where we somehow sustain the path of holiness and freedom in the midst of a dark and hurting world. When we once step into that freedom, we will find two things: 1) We will never – EVER – want to go back; and, 2) We will gain a lot of critics – just like Jesus and just like John. But that won’t really matter. We are designed, as believers, to please only One. Life is good when that becomes our standard. As Jesus said, “Wisdom is proved right (over time) by her deeds.’

So, with that freedom in mind, let me be the first to announce that our ministry, Patrick Crossing, is declaring a brand new observance for the liturgical calendar. I am going to borrow an insight from a few paragraphs ago and announce the commencement of: “Fat Ash Day.” I like it. It blends the spontaneity of freedom and the responsibility of holiness. Be sure and tell all your friends so this thing can go viral.

Be well blessed…

-CJ

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-17T19:13:00.017-07:00

I was driving around town the other day trying to knock off a number of errands prior to the arrival of holiday guests. Before the day came to an end, I would run fourteen errands. With that much windshield time it was perhaps inevitable that a few things would cross my field of vision that would make it into your inbox.

I have a friend I call fairly regularly with my Durango traffic reports. Basically, these are nothing more than giving eyewitness updates regarding the bumper stickers I am reading while stuck in traffic. I only call with the best. For example, the other day I was following an 80’s era Ford Ranger that was happily belching out its emissions with the following pasted on its bumper: "Fossil Fuels Are Dead." Feel free to supply your own commentary. Normally, I do not swing at such softballs lobbed in my direction.

Yesterday had me reaching for my phone as I sat behind a car that was a rolling display of self-declaration. In the center at the top of the back window was a happy "Save The Whales" picture. Below that and to the left was a sticker that coldly announced: "I hate people!" On the left side of the bumper (where I suppose "bumper" stickers are meant to go) was this gem: "This is what an angry feminist looks like." And, finally - amazing for its endurance - was an old, raggedy "Kerry-Edwards" presidential campaign sticker.

My mind began to engage with each bumper sticker. I was wondering why anyone would care to announce that they were an angry feminist. One would probably figure that out pretty quick without the bumper sticker. And, one would also be wise not to mention it. "Oh...NOW I get it. YOU are one of those ANGRY feminists! That explains a lot!" (Obit: His friends called him C.J. He was 51 years old. He enjoyed cinnamon toast with lots of butter. He is survived by...Services will be held at...etc.)

And this - being a trained philosopher in the Socratic tradition, I wondered what the antithesis of an angry feminist might be? - a happy masculinist??? Hey, count me in. Order me a bumper sticker.

I like whales. And I do agree - people can be very trying, although I try not to hate them. But...with that much driving I also experienced a road-rage incident yesterday that temporarily lured me toward the "hate people" consideration - if only for a moment. Let me set it up for you. One of my errands yesterday was to get our ancient, decomposing old Pug, Moe over to the good folks at Puppy Love whose love for animals is truly St. Francis-like - the man who happily preached the gospel to small woodland creatures. (Perhaps he didn't like people either. We'll never know). Those nice ladies gave Moe a good Christmas bath and adorned his fat little neck with a dashing holiday scarf. As I was waiting at the intersection on my Moe pick-up run, I was happy to be in the front of the line awaiting the green light - a small grace. When it turned green, I eased out into the intersection, heading straight, matching the speed of traffic that was turning left. Evidently, because I didn't lay rubber when the light turned green, the crazed demoniac in the pick-up behind me became undone. I heard a loud, prolonged braying of his truck horn and noticed that both of his hands were off of his steering wheel. Both of those hands were going through the universal signage of displeased driver angst. I have witnessed this in every country in which I have had the pleasure of driving. It is a sign that my wife once scolded me for when we were driving in the Dominican Republic and I had no way of expressing my feelings fast enough in Spanish. It seemed to me an appropriate, short-handed (finger actually) lingua franca. And yes, my sign language WAS understood - no Spanish required. Jan really hates to be wrong.

Anyway...I proceeded through the intersection, giving the gesticulating fellow who was now riding my bumper (and still honking - now, little staccato beeps) the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he had an emergency. I held fast to that thought for about three seconds. I held it up to the very moment I saw him leave my train and take a hard, fast turn right into the liquor store that I had just passed. Evidently, "beer-thirty" had struck and I can only assume he was anxious they might sell out before he got there.

Yes - I like whales. On that I agree with the earlier mentioned driver - the angry feminist. I have gone whale-watching many times. In fact, Jan and I, along with my daughter Molly and son-in-law Erick, have gone sea-kayaking and paddled right above a mama whale and her calf. They were wonderful. I have never been flipped-off by a whale - at least not that I'm aware. Although I do remember once seeing a humpback whale, with its long pectoral fins, roll over and sort of wave at a boat I was on. Perhaps we were getting "the fin." I wouldn't have blamed him. Many folks were standing aft, leaning over the back rail and steadily depositing their previously consumed breakfast into the whale's living room.

I do have a point - a Merry Christmas point - with all of this verbal sauntering. Christmas is a reminder that God created everything and called it good - whales and all. According to the narrative, mankind screwed everything up because the word "no" in relation to just one freaking tree was too much. The whales didn't jump out of the ocean and take the forbidden fruit, nor did a mouse or an orangutan. It was us. Scripture tells us in Romans that all of creation "groans" for a restoration to occur that would bring all of creation back to Edenic beauty. The animal kingdom and all of nature suffers because of us. If a whale had a bumper sticker, I doubt that it would say anything all that flattering about mankind. God - at Christmas - began the process of changing it all back.

So - am I saying that God agrees with my angry feminist? Well, yes, at least the whale part. I wouldn't presume to comment regarding God's view of the Kerrey-Edwards ticket, or the angry feminist stuff - but I can guarantee you that God digs saving whales.

And, God digs saving people too. That is where He and the angry feminist would part company. Although, I would venture to guess that He could very well sympathize with that opinion - we being what we are. However, He doesn't hate us. In fact, the Bible tells us this: "But God demonstrated His love toward us, in that, while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8.

Christmas is the beginning of the story that ends in Christ's death for us on the cross. That is God's mysterious plan that He has undertaken to "Save The Humans." That is His favorite bumper sticker.

I grew up a child of the sixties. While my parents tried their best to blunt the influence of drugs, sex, rock-n-roll, and all of that - it didn't mean for a second that it abated my curiosity. I always felt like I was missing out on something. One of the things I do remember - I think it was from a Coke commercial that ran during that era - was the that sense of a global, hand-holding community of people. Everyone from every nation was holding hands singing along with a beautiful hippie woman these words:

I'd like to build the world a home/and furnish it with love/grow apple trees and honey bees and snow white turtle doves...I'd like to teach the world to sing/in perfect harmony/I'd like to hold it in my arms and keep it company...

Then amazingly, the whole world starts singing in harmony about buying the world a Coke. That was before Coke became evil. Back then, that sugary product managed to bring the world together in a warm moment.

That's the world the world loves: One that is holding hands, singing in harmony, drinking Cokes and raising honey-bees. But that is not the world we live in and we all know it. We live in a world where the desperate need for a six-pack causes one driver to flip off another driver because, what - 7 seconds have been wasted? That's much closer to reality.

Yet, the hippie 60's image, the utopian moment captured in a song of mankind all holding hands is alluring. THAT image of mankind would, for even my angry feminist friend, transform the bumper sticker into "I love people." And some people pull this off - kind of. They are lovers of mankind. They love humanity. But so often - I would say most of the time - they can't lift a finger to help their neighbor. Or better, they will gladly lift a finger if their neighbor doesn't move fast enough through an intersection.

The point is this: God does both. He loves mankind. And, He loves you. You - in all of your craziness, inconsistency, hypocrisy, (Yes, even you are hypocrite! - Me too!) sin, self-centeredness - He loves you through it all. Read this - 700 hundred years....700 hundred years before Christmas, a man by the name of Isaiah was given a prophecy about Jesus that was so accurate it is breathtaking. I quote at length:

Isaiah 53

¹ Who believes what we've heard and seen? Who would have thought God's saving power would look like this? ^2-6The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling, a scrubby plant in a parched field. There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum. But the fact is, it was our pains he carried— our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us. We thought he brought it on himself, that God was punishing him for his own failures. But it was our sins that did that to him, that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins! He took the punishment, and that made us whole. Through his bruises we get healed. We're all like sheep who've wandered off and gotten lost. We've all done our own thing, gone our own way. And God has piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him, on him.^7-9He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn't say a word. Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered and like a sheep being sheared, he took it all in silence. Justice miscarried, and he was led off— and did anyone really know what was happening? He died without a thought for his own welfare, beaten bloody for the sins of my people. They buried him with the wicked, threw him in a grave with a rich man, even though he'd never hurt a soul or said one word that wasn't true. ¹⁰Still, it's what God had in mind all along, to crush him with pain. The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin so that he'd see life come from it—life, life, and more life. And God's plan will deeply prosper through him. ^11-12Out of that terrible travail of soul, he'll see that it's worth it and be glad he did it. Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant, will make many "righteous ones," as he himself carries the burden of their sins. Therefore I'll reward him extravagantly— the best of everything, the highest honors—Because he looked death in the face and didn't flinch, because he embraced the company of the lowest. He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many, he took up the cause of all the black sheep. "

And that's it - that is the Christmas message. You are loved. You were worth a visit from heaven. You were worth suffering and dying for. Hold that close to your heart, embrace it, revel in it - and your life will change forever.

Much Love & Merry Christmas,

Rest Up

2010-11-01T14:21:00.010-06:00

I was having a quiet moment the other day seated by the fireplace and enjoying the shelter from what turned out to be a very blustery day. As the wind whipped and yelped outside I noticed a flock of leaves moving purposefully in the air toward my neighbor's yard. That made me very happy. Evidently God had better ideas for the use of my time than raking and bagging the deciduous remains from our row of ancient Cottonwood trees.

I have always lobbied pretty hard against raking. I think I read somewhere that someone said something about leaves providing a pleasant mulch for your yard. And because I have such a strong respect for the authority of the anonymous and ubiquitous "They said" folks, I have attached my natural disdain for this annual autumnal task to the wisdom represented by "them". I thus have a scientific botanical platform from which to form my non-raking philosophy. God firing up His leaf-blower seemed like an affirmation.

I also have made my peace with dandelions. Leaf -raking is the final task of yard chores for the summer. Dandelions are, for many people, the first business of spring - except for me. Rather than spreading poison, or worse yet, getting down on my knees with a little dandelion fork and digging them up - I treat dandelions with the gentle respect and admiration they deserve. These little yellow-headed prognosticators announce that the long winter has passed and that all shall be well. They summon the honey-bees. Nature is re-born once again.

I have a neighbor whose yard looks like astro-turf. It is a family sickness. The whole lot of them go to war each year with dandelion forks, rakes, pesticides and such. They even bag their lawn-clippings. For a brief period in my life I experienced "lawn-envy." I got past it. I like our yard. I like watching my wife bring to life crazy flower gardens that bespeak Edenic beauty. I like our Aspen trees that have stood up to both blizzards and hungry deer and which carry the scars of their desperate ravaging. I like to imagine that my neighbors say bad things about the guy who allows dandelions to grow unfettered and disgorge thousands - perhaps millions - of their tiny offspring to find temporary shelter in their overly manicured yards.

For the cynical reader, you might be saying right now, "He has just given us four paragraphs to justify not raking leaves and not tending to the eradication of dandelions. He is just lazy." Perhaps. But, on the other hand, I prefer to think of it as a sign of spiritual growth that reflects the helpful platitude: "Don't sweat the small things."

For many years and over many issues I did sweat the small things. I am not even sure where the Obsessive-Compulsive behavior originated. All I know is that I have spent many hours of my life making sure: that every drawer in the house was pushed all the way in; that all the dishes were clean and put away before bedtime; that my work-space was immaculate; that any drinking glass that was set down anywhere in the house was "out of place" and needed to be whisked away to the dishwasher, etc. (The glass thing REALLY annoyed my family and friends who would turn around to reach for their refreshment and find it unceremoniously dumped and ready for a ride in the dishwasher). When my family and I watched the movie "As Good As It Gets", where Jack Nicholson played the role of a guy with OCD, I heard them snickering and pointing at me. From my point of view, carrying one's own eating utensils to a restaurant didn't seem that over the top to me. I have seen the help and could well imagine the multitudinous and nefarious tongues that had passed over the silverware prior to it being placed beside my plate.

Without the help of Sigmund Freud or Carl Rogers, God slowly but gently pulled me to a place where I began to reflect upon this constant buzz within me to set the world in order. What was it about? Was it shame? Was it fear? Was it control? God didn't seem all that interested in leading me to that sort of in-depth analysis. His purpose was more direct and more simple: "Son, learn to rest. Learn my rhythms. Learn of me."

He reminded me of the sister Martha that he loved so dearly but for whom He had a gentle word of correction, "Martha, Martha - you are concerned about so many trivial things - but you have missed the point. I am the point. Take a load off and settle down like your sister Mary here and hang out with me for a bit."

Wow. That kind of advice would cost you $150 per hour from a trained psychiatrist. Jesus gave it to us for free. "Calm down. Relax. You are not God. Ultimately - you cannot control anything. Let it go. Enter my rest, my yoke. My burden is easy. I've got the raking covered. I dig dandelions. They look so lovely against the green grass. I'll be God and you be you. Trust me - it works."

-CJ

My Good Friend...Dr. Vernon Grounds

2010-09-30T22:06:00.001-06:00

I received word a few days ago that my dear friend; mentor; counselor; and confessor - Dr. Vernon Grounds - passed peacefully from this earth and awoke at the place of his heart's desire. My little offering is but a widow's mite in respect to the rich volume of sentiment that has been expressed around the world the past couple of weeks. But, add to it I will because of the wisdom, kindness and grace imparted to me by this beloved man.

Dr. Grounds served for over sixty years at Denver Seminary. He was a professor, a president and finally Chancellor Emeritus. That last title sounds really important and dignified. If anyone earned such adulation from mere man - he certainly did. I first met Dr. Grounds several years ago while taking a doctoral class at Talbot Seminary in La Mirada, California. At the beginning of the class, the director of the program asked if any of us students would be willing to transport Dr. Grounds to and from his hotel each day. My brother, who was also taking this class, looked at me, smiled, and we both said, "Yes!" at the same time. Dr. Grounds was already somewhat of a legend by then and we felt incredibly honored to be able to squeeze in a little extra time with him. Before the week was over, he was referring affectionately to my older brother, Chris, as "Big Brother" and me as "Little Brother." When he would call on me in class he would say, "Tell me, Little Brother, what do you think of that?" I loved it. Taking a class from Dr. Grounds was, in a word, breathtaking. Does that sound hyperbolic? Perhaps. But to take a class from a man who never used a note, who could recite philosophers, Shakespeare, the ancient texts of Scripture and other notable authors from memory was...well...breathtaking.

But it wasn't just the style points that enamored me - it was also the content of his character. He was a tiny man with a very big heart, coupled with the grace of humility so rarely witnessed by leaders in our day - church or otherwise. Many times throughout his life he had been tempted to take strong polemic stands in order to exhibit the "purity of his faith" to some of the firebrands who supported the seminary. He rarely, if ever, took the bait. His view of education was liberal in the old sense of the word - not that battered, anemic and so easily offended demonstration of it we see today. He would say, "If you want to be taught what to think, go to (unnamed seminary). If you want to be taught how to think, come to Denver Seminary." Even with such obvious pimping of his beloved school, he would say it with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face. If the man ever actually despised anything - and that is up for debate - it would have been the sloppy moralizing and the intellectual laziness of Christians. He also cured me of the tired habit of speaking platitudes into the tragedies that I would shepherd as a minister. In other words - he taught me the grace of keeping my mouth shut and my hands busy in the company of grief.

I would be the negative recipient of that last grace a few years after my initial encounter with Dr. Grounds. For reasons I still do not understand; or, at best - can only offer opinion in regard to - "Big Brother" decided to end his life. I was mowed over by the well-meaning "platitudinous." It felt as though a host of well-meaning people were standing in line reading from a Hallmark card - really bad ones in some cases.

After the God-empowered adrenaline given me to share at my brother's funeral, I began to experience the crash. That's one of the things I have learned about grief...we each have to work through it. It is why counselors call it "grief work" because it is both of those things. One day, many weeks after the sad event, my phone rang. I said "Hello." I could hear on the other end a heavy sigh and these words, "Oh...Little Brother...ohhhh...." and then...quiet. I started weeping and the wonderful thing about Dr. Grounds was that he was totally comfortable being silent, not offering one ill-chosen, ill-timed word or platitude. It was beautiful then. It is a beautiful memory now. As I sit writing this I am weeping again at the minimalist and understated art that is true grace.

Dr. Grounds was known as somewhat of a mystic. He believed very strongly in practicing the classic disciplines of the Christian faith such as meditation and prayer. I have tried, very feebly, to follow his lead. It is difficult. Sometimes, it is quite boring and seemingly unproductive. To this feeling, common to all who attempt to develop the interior world of the spirit, Dr. Grounds preached a wonderful sermon where he gave a very helpful platitude (they are not all bad!). He said this: "The ruts of routine, over time, become the grooves of grace." One of the grooves of grace that Dr. Grounds imparted to me was the steady pursuit and impartation to others, of joy. Many Christians are angry. I chose a few years ago to leave them to ply their trade if they felt that was their calling. It struck me that they seemed to have enough anger, angst and judgment in them to cover my shift. My little contribution to repairing the image of Christ in this world is to carry the joy that so consumed Dr. Grounds. I have learned this: Joy is the present awareness of His presence - the moment, by moment, by moment, by moment sense of awe that He really is "Emmanuel", God with us. Such wonder, once embraced, can sustain us in our busyness and our anxieties at a deep and subconscious level. Embrace the thought, early in the morning that, "God is with me" and your spirit will rise, capture that truth, and keep it burning throughout the day like a pilot light. When the bitter wind of adversity, fear, self-doubt, or despair blow on you, know this - the pilot light will hold steady, ready to ignite the bigger flame of faith once more...at a moment's notice.

I have always been of the school that fancied the notion that God gives dearly departed loved ones a chance for one last peek. I have amassed too many stories where the lines between eternity and time get blurred during times of grief to believe otherwise. If that is so, let me say this: "Enjoy your reward Dr. Grounds. Give my Savior and "Big Brother" a kiss from me. See you on the other side...Love, Little Brother."

-CJ

Scraps

2010-07-27T12:49:00.003-06:00

Let’s see…where were we? Doesn’t matter. I am still alive and am very much committed to blogging the arbitrary thoughts that flood my brain. I see that my last official blog was sometime back in February. How sad. It is not as though I have been sitting still. A lot has happened since then. But finding that right moment to slow the mind down and get all wise and erudite has escaped me. I needed a reason to slow down and write, and thus, came up with a really good one – my birthday.

Yes, August 3rd marks my 51st trip around the sun. My wife celebrated her 50th very quietly earlier this summer. While women complain a lot about how society allows a man to age gracefully, how the touch of gray around the temple is considered dignified and handsome – I can guarantee you that on my 50th I was not allowed “quiet.” And, I can also guarantee you that my wife didn’t receive 50th “non-dignified” birthday greetings adorned with Doctors with rubber gloves, wheelchairs, oxygen tanks, etc. The way I see it, it all evens out. Women are allowed to celebrate (?) their milestones quietly. Men are savaged.

51 is not a milestone year. The milestone years, except for 18, end in a 0 or a 5. I have four humdrum birthdates coming up until the 55th. That will be a weird one. I remember the Jimmy Carter years when the President who taught us the word “malaise” mandated that the top speed across the country would be 55. That came at an unfortunate time in my life. I was just beginning my driving career and I lived in the Midwest. Our scenery consisted of…corn. How phenomenally boring to putt across the prairie in an 8 cylinder Ford Galaxy 500, with bench seats that would comfortably seat: 8 people, a senator, and a small herd of goats. The trunk was so large that it would create echoes if I sang into it. I was stuck going 55. I wonder if turning 55 will feel that way four years from now? I’ll keep you posted.

On July 17th we married off our last child, Riley, to a beautiful young lady, Kristy. She is Irish looking enough that I am quite pleased. So far, the empty nest thing is not a tortured affair of padding aimlessly about the house, mumbling, and looking at old pictures of the family. I am enjoying it. It is not that I do not love my children. They would each report that I am a doting father, but…hey, it is nice to see a clean kitchen and not worry about running out of toilet paper. The peace that these modest pleasures afford cannot be measured.

Our ancient and regal Chinese Pug, Moe, is quickly drifting off to his dotage. I affectionately refer to him as “Moe the Worship Dog” because he always seats himself prominently in front of the musicians when we lead worship at Simple Church. One of his great pleasures seems to be to watch the audience sing. I find that interesting because he is stone deaf. You can shout out his name from 12 inches away and he doesn’t budge. He is also blind in his right eye. If you toss him a scrap of food toward his right eye, it bounces off his face. He still catches well if you toss to his good side. He no longer hears but he can feel vibrations. If a car comes up the drive he still shows up to his station on the second step and dutifully woofs. Sometimes he will do a two-second staccato woof for 30 minutes or so – like a record that is stuck. The vibrations have long ceased but I am sure that the woofing makes him feel useful and stirs fond memories of his young dog days.

The good report is that, at 51, I feel great. I do not sit around mindlessly woofing and I still feel as though the best days lie ahead. I pray the same for you.

Be abundantly blessed…
-CJ

How Is Your Dream Life? Part Three

2010-02-08T15:23:00.009-07:00

There will come a day for each of us when we will be spoken of in the past-tense. What we have made or not made of our lives will be declared. The quality or lack thereof of the person that we were will be known to all. If your life were to wind down this week, what do you suppose would be your legacy? How would you be described in the past-tense?

Would it go something like this: “She rented really great movies and always watched each one to the very end.” Or, “McDonald’s is really going to miss that guy – He was one faithful customer… Man, what he could do with a Big Mac!” Or how about: “Yep, that dude could fool around on his computer for hours. I think he had like 500 “friends” on Facebook.” “He was gifted when it came to taking a nap.” Or even, “If you ever wanted to know the scoop on someone, she was the person to go to. She was always so incredibly generous with her gossip.’

These past-tense testimonials are horrifying to consider. Such undersized lives, where the person needed little more than a brain-stem to get by, is a very depressing thought. Go with that for a moment. Be depressed. Drink it deep. I am shooting for wholesale dissatisfaction from the get-go.

Have you ever mulled over the words disillusioned or disenchanted? We tend to think of both of these as negative terms. I actually see them as liberating words. Why? It all has to do with the prefix, “dis.” Generally speaking, the meaning of this prefix is: “lack of, the opposite of, or away.” Any one of them will do for the point I would like to make. To “lack” illusion is not a bad thing. To be a person who is, “the opposite of” enchanted seems pretty good as well. What seems untenable is to walk around in a perpetual state of illusion and enchantment. That sounds a whole lot like black magic.

When a person asks one or more of the following questions, he or she is taking a step toward liberation. The questions go as follows: “Is this all there is to life?” “Why I am I taking up space on this planet?” “Am I created for something more than movie night, Big Macs, naps, Facebook and gossip?” “What is my purpose?”

If you have a pulse, you have had one of those thoughts. Chances are, you didn’t linger too long on any one of them because they appear so dark and foreboding. In our culture, the nearest TV remote, computer, bottle of hooch, newspaper, romance novel, restaurant, or vacation can temporarily cure us of the blues associated with these searching questions. In other words, the drift back into enchantment and illusion are within easy reach. And reach we do…much as a drug-addict reaches for a fix.

It was not always so. Previous cultures, (and many cultures today, as we shall see in future blogs) lived without the anesthetizing temptations available to us. They were less trusting of and dependent on mundane pastimes and amusements to get them through. They in fact found purposeful lives because they stayed focused on the big questions of: “Why am I here?” “What is my purpose?”

When we ask the question, “Why am I here?” there is a metaphysical component to it. The question belies an unspoken understanding that we are, in fact, created. Or, at the very least, we are pro-created. Either way, we recognize that somehow, in the words of Tony Campolo, we are that: “one sperm out of millions that made it.” We cannot escape the thought that we are special, that we are destined, and that we are unique. Our fingerprints bear witness of that unassailable fact. (Go ahead; take a moment right this second and just stare at your fingertips. Better yet – use a magnifying glass. I predict a holy shudder). And, when we linger on that thought for even a moment, we gain an enormous sense of stewardship, some inkling that the universe is anxiously waiting for us to take a step toward our created purpose.

If you believe, as I do, that we are each created by a Creator who intimately knows us, then these questions become less rhetorical. We find - if we can clear our head and hands of lesser pursuits - first a hint, then a whisper, then a sketch, and ultimately, a life that is full of wild possibility and creativity. The Creator has made us to be co-creators of His good purposes. It is a standing invitation with a shelf-life that lasts until we each draw our final breath.

What hinders us from pursuing our purpose? One of the most universally agreed upon culprits is fear. We like predictability. We are risk averse. We do not like someone rearranging the furniture of our lives and messing with our carefully constructed sanctuaries of banality. Now, I could go on for some time about fear, but I think it pales in comparison to the biggest villain of all. Pardon for a moment this theological scamper, but I believe, etymologically and philosophically that our biggest problem is sin.

SIN? Are you kidding me? Nope. The Greek word used to describe “sin” in the New Testament is: “hamartano”, an archery term that means: “to miss the mark and not share in the prize.” It gets better (or worse depending on your point of view). As so often happens with Greek words, they are built from an antecedent word which gives us even greater insight. Such is the case with this word. “Harmartano” goes back to the word, “meros” which means: “share, allotment, section of land, coast, unique craft, or portion.”

When I first mentioned sin as our principal problem, most of you probably thought I was referencing things that are considered “naughty.” Yes, sin is no doubt naughty. The list of things we should and shouldn’t do is daunting. We all have a sin problem. But, what I find really striking is that the word used to describe sin speaks mostly about a life that just flat misses out on the issue of purpose. According to the etymology of the words themselves, sin means that we have missed the target, our share, our allotment, our section of land, our unique craft, or our portion. The biggest sin of all turns out to be when we fail to see the answer to the big, metaphysical question raised earlier: “Why am I here?” And, the reason we often hesitate to linger on that question is because it exposes our sin problem.

If you have read this far, you are either nodding in agreement or you are kicking the dog. (I.e., I thought I was going to get a nice Norman Vincent Peale message and instead he went all Billy Graham on me). Either way, I will risk one more thought before closing.

One thing you need to know about God and sin is this: He cares MORE about sin and LESS about sins than we do. One thing you need to know about you and me is this: We care MORE about sins and LESS about sin than God does. I am not being pedantic or clever. “Sins” plural are nearly intractable. They include: lying, cheating, slander, gossip, lust, blasphemy, apathy, greed, pride, envy, etc., etc., ad. infinitum, ad nauseam. All of these are just broad headings that do not yet broach the more subjective and personal narrative that includes “me” and how.” In other words, how have I been prideful, envious, lustful, apathetic, etc.? An honest answer creates even more new and copious lists with nearly endless subheadings. We are truly a mess.

It is right here that the difference between God and us becomes most apparent. We humans make great hay out of anyone who gets caught committing such sins. The entire media, print and broadcast industry would dry up were it not for this human craving to sensationalize other people’s sins. In an honest moment, we realize that such crowing over people’s failures is a dangerous game. Often what separates their public humiliation from ours is the simple fact that they got caught. The story of the woman discovered in adultery is telling as the raucous crowd of self-righteous prigs scream for Jesus to allow them to stone the poor woman to death. Jesus, kneeling in the dirt, simply says, “Whoever is without sin among you, go first – fling away.” It is not lost on the reader of this remarkable encounter that the first people to drop their rocks and shuffle off are the old guys. They have lived long enough to realize that no one gets through this life without a skeleton or two in his closet.

But God sees it differently. He realizes that sins, in the plural, are not our real problem. Our real problem is sin in the singular. We commit sins because our nature, our bent, our trajectory cannot do otherwise. We have a sin nature that…sins. In that sense God cares less about individual sins than He does about sin – that entrenched, rebellious DNA which we all share.

Listen carefully to how the Apostle Paul describes the cure:

“You were dead because of your sins and because your sinful nature (my emphasis) was not yet cut away. Then God made you alive with Christ, for He forgave all our sins. He cancelled the record of the wrongs against us and took it away by nailing it to the cross…Since you have been raised to a new life (new nature) in Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand…For you died to this life and your real life (new nature) is hidden with Christ in God. And when Christ, who is your life, is revealed to the whole world, you will share in his glory.” (Colossians 2:13,14 & 3:1,3,4)

The Christian message offers us a way out of a life that has been, up to this point, misspent and without purpose. We need not carry one moment longer the baggage of shame, regret, fear, self-recrimination or a life without purpose. Not only does God lay on the table the offer of forgiving our sins, He also offers us a new nature – Christ Himself as a replacement for the sin nature that makes us sin. As we learn to work with that new nature, we will find flowing within us a river of beauty and creativity. God himself, the Creator and forever the Creative One, will be working through us from the inside-out. We will no longer be missing the mark of why we have been placed on this earth. The future “past-tense” testimony of our life will be as unique and remarkable as our fingerprint…

-CJ
Note: Feel free to linger over this prayer and form it with your own lips to God. If you find the prayer helpful, please drop me a line at: patrickcrossing@gmail.com.

“Dear God, I am not sure I get all of this, but I do know that my life seems to be missing the mark. I feel like I am meant for so much more. I know that I have made mistakes – things you call sins. I would like to ask that you remove these from my life and, as those verses from the above-mentioned Scripture promise – nail them to the cross of Christ. I don’t want to feel guilty any longer over the past. I do not want to live with regret. Please take it all away. I don’t want to be that person any longer and I do not want to make those same choices. And, give me that new nature – the new nature that is Christ Jesus. I can’t be Jesus. I need Jesus to be Jesus. I need Him to somehow live inside of me, to take up residence and to help me make better decisions, to be a better person and to live as a forgiven and free person. I also need His guidance toward what my “big thing” in life is all about. Sort out these prayers and know that I make them with them with humility and hopefulness. Thanks…”

How Is Your Dream Life? Part Two

2009-12-31T16:34:00.008-07:00

(Note: You might find it helpful to go back and read the blog from Oct. 13th, 2009. It forms the seminal thinking of this series on which we are about to journey).

Let’s get right to it shall we? Are you a creative person? Have you ever toyed with the idea of an invention or a business or a career change? When asked the mental candy questions: “If time and money were not an issue, what would you be doing with your life right now?” My answer to that question would go something like: 1) Professional waterfall photographer; or, 2) Professional puppy petter. Hey, I dig waterfalls and puppies. They still my soul.

Most of us shut down pretty fast when asked such a question. Why? - Because the responsibilities of life howl at us, not like a sweet puppy, but like a rabid dog. There are bills to pay, yards to mow, snow to shovel, food for which to shop, food to cook, houses to be cleaned, taxes to be prepared, taxes to be paid – and on and on it goes. The list is endless. To entreat our cluttered lives and minds with the “time and money” question seems a pointless exercise, or at best, a mental ride on a carousel that – though a momentary thrill – deposits us unceremoniously right back to where we started. We can almost hear our internal carnival carny shouting at us, “Okay, off you go – the ride’s over.”

I am going to make a strong case this year that an entrepreneurial spirit and the spirit of invention and creativity are God-things. The truths we will examine are going to be rooted deep in creation theology and in the covenantal promises given to the Hebrew people. By the way, those covenantal promises are still in effect today as we shall see in future blogs.

But, let’s go back for a moment to the issue of you and your own creative and entrepreneurial spirit. Do you have one? My guess is that yes, you do. And that is especially so for those who lay claim to a relationship with God – who sometimes goes by the moniker of: “The Creator. “ You may think I am wrong in my guess. My point throughout this year is to prove you wrong and myself right. Doesn’t that sound like fun?

The creative spirit begins with seeing things from a slightly different perspective and allowing that perspective to raise both questions and possibilities. This year we will meet a billionaire who made his fortune by putting women’s hosiery in an egg shaped container and marketing them as “L’eggs.” We will meet some drop-out of society rock-climbers and kayakers, each who founded multi-million dollar outdoor clothing and gear lines. In doing so, we will discover that some ideas are so obvious that we slap ourselves and say, “Why didn’t I think of that?” The short answer will be: “Because you never gave it a thought!”

When we live our lives never “giving it a thought” we are not only living lives of resignation, we are shutting off pathways for God to eventually bless the world. Thus, a subtext to all of what we will be learning together is a greater understanding of the concept of generosity. It is a big deal to God. It is a big deal to eternity. It is a big deal to the poor and helpless and downtrodden of the world. It will all tie together.

Let me wrap up this end of the year blog with a few amusing stories of really smart people who, for a moment in time, resigned themselves to the present realities surrounding them and became blind to different possibilities…

(I quote at length from a Wall Street Journal article written by L. Gordon Crovitz entitled: “Technology Predictions Are Mostly Bunk.”)

“Inventions have long since reached their limit, and I see no hope for further development.” – Julius Sextus, Roman Engineer, 10 A.D.

“Everything that can be invented has already been invented.” - Charles Duell, U.S. Patent Office, 1899

“The Americans have need of the telephone, but we do not. We have plenty of messenger boys.” - Sir William Preece, British Post Office, 1878

“Who wants to hear actors talk?” –H.M. Warner, Warner Brothers, 1927 (Personal note: I still think that one might be a very good question.)

“I think there is a world market for maybe five computers.” – Thomas Watson, Chairman of IBM, 1943

“Television won’t be able to hold on to any market it captures after the first six months. People will soon get tired of staring at a plywood box every night.”
– Darryl Zanuck, 20th Century Fox, 1946

“The world potential for copying machines is 5,000 at most.” - IBM Executives to the future founders of Xerox, 1959

“There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home.” – Ken Olsen, founder of Digital Equipment Corp., 1977

“No one will need more than 637kb of memory for a personal computer.” – Bill Gates, Microsoft, 1981

And, my favorite…

“Next Christmas the i-Pod will be dead, finished, gone, kaput.” – Sir Allen Sugar, British Entrepreneur, 2005

Each quote is an example of a person growing a nasty case of myopia. My prayers for this year is that all who share in this blog and in the Simple Church ministry of Patrick Crossing will be cured of this unnecessary ailment. May 2010 be the best year you have ever experienced…

-CJ
New Year’s Eve, 2009

Merry Christmas 2009

2009-12-27T13:18:00.004-07:00

CJ & Jan - 30 years, December 29, 2009

Beloved C.J. Blog Readers,

I have been out of sync for the past few weeks recovering from a back injury - two marvelously herniated discs. I have completed a lot of floor time and have not had quite enough energy, enthusiasm or focus to really put together my normal Christmas letter. My apologies for that. (Although it might have been quite entertaining to see what I would have had to say with the admixture of Holy Spirit, Oydcodone & Valium. Sadly, we will never know). I do have a backload of blogs that I have been sketching out and will begin 2010 trying to coordinate them with what I will be teaching at our Simple Church gatherings. So...stay tuned.

I am doing much, much better. Through this ordeal, I have gained a new found compassion for people who are suffering from chronic pain. The Scriptures teach that faith operates through love and I believe that compassion and love are synonymous. Many times, as a set-up for Jesus healing a person of a particular affliction, the Scripture begins with this phrase: "And, moved with compassion, He..." You know the rest. He healed them. Hopefully my prayers for people in 2010 will be of a better quality as I am now stripped of the base alloy of feigned compassion. I get it now.

So...Merry Christmas! It is a big deal - this God stepping out of eternity into time and entering our atmosphere through the portal of a Palestinian shed. God became a man and dwelt among us - so says the gospel writer, John. It is mind-bending. How could God be here and still be "there?" That question - actually that reality - was demonstrated by physics in the famous "Bucky-ball" experiment in Germany. Scientists witnessed for the first time a single electron appearing in two dimensions at the same moment in time. It was, and is, freakish. But, Scripture pre-dated that experiment by 2,000 years. God became a man and dwelt among us. I can't quite get my mind around that and I can't quite get over it. A brief meditation on the wonder of that event still moves me at the deepest level...

...And even more so because we humans are so puny and so transient. In our galaxy, the largest star known to exist goes by the name of VY Canis Majoris (Big Dog). It is referred to as a Red Hyper-Giant. There is some debate about its size, but some estimates say that the circumference of this star is over 5 billion miles. It would take an object traveling at light speed, 8 hours + to navigate the circumference. For our own sun, the light speed trip would take only 14.8 seconds. 7 quadrillion of our earths would be necessary to fill up the Big Dog. And that is just one star in the 100 plus billion stars in our galaxy. And...there are at least 100 billion galaxies in the universe. I read somewhere that there are more stars in the universe than there are grains of sand on the earth. Crazy - ridiculous - awesome - amazing and....humbling.

Christmas humbles me because I believe that God created the whole thing. I really do. And, it seems that He did His creating with extravagant excess. Even on this earth, the variety of trees, fruits, plants, dogs, people, insects, climates, fish, etc. boggles the mind. Why? Why so much variety? Why such a big universe? When I measure it all against the advent of the Christ-child - this special intervention from heaven for this mere speck in the universe overloads my emotions. Why this planet? Why are we so special? One errant asteroid could remove this headache of a planet peopled with a maddened human race set on its own destruction. But no - God decided to insert Himself onto the scene as "one of us." He got to experience for the very first time what it was like to see, smell, hear, taste, sweat, be thirsty, be tempted and to suffer - just like all of us "blokes down under." This planet - this one grain of sand in the vast wilderness of the universe gained the affection of the Creator.

But more mind-bending than that is the fact that He didn’t live and then die for mankind, as such…He lived and died and rose again for individuals – for people with real names, real birthdates, and with unique finger-prints. He died for me. He died for you. The Creator of all this excessive majesty came to this earth to establish contact with one person at a time.

If there wasn’t something truthful and real surrounding this event 2,000 years ago – it would have long ago dissipated from the memory of man. But, somehow, this child has repeated this “Bethlehem” – this great invasion - time and time again throughout these many centuries - being born anew into the willing hearts of men, women and children. He who was born, who lived, who suffered on the cross for our sins, and who rose again – lives on in believers from the inside out. A couple of billion people today who claim this mysterious relationship will pause and remember this great truth, that: “God became a man and dwelt among us…” The story never grows old because the story continues to skip from heart to heart and from generation to generation in its marvelous, organic iridescence. Wherever there is a needy heart that humbly cries out for help; for deliverance; for salvation; a Bethlehem occurs.

Be well blessed,

Christmas Day, 2009 A.D.

How Is Your Dream Life? Part One

2009-10-13T11:27:00.011-06:00

Please take 30 minutes to read this by yourself & with those in your family. It is really important stuff…really…for sure. -CJ

The Bible speaks very clearly about the issue of faith. Without it we are cooked - literally. With it, we please the heart of God in ways unimaginable. A simple way that I have come to understand how to live by faith is to merely try and expose and relate every experience I have throughout the day – even the mundane and routine ones – to God. Faith then becomes an invitation for the Father to fragrance, inform and empower every area of my life.

The reason that faith is so critical to our spiritual vitality is that it carries with it the life-flow of heaven. Without a vibrant, moment by moment faith exchange with the Father, we are left to see things and experience circumstances with the meager resources of our own flesh. And when we do that, we almost always fail. Faith is counterintuitive to much of life. The real evidence of our faith is not witnessed by what we can regurgitate to one another in the safe confines of church – it is measured rather by those unexpected “reactive” moments that we each encounter throughout the day. When Jesus said to turn the other cheek when struck, it was assumed that none of us woke up that day and placed on our to-do list: “Get struck on right cheek at 11:31 a.m….Be ready.” If we had a bit of advanced warning, we might just pull off the correct reaction. But that is not how life happens nor is it in the enemy’s playbook to play fair. Stuff happens in the blink of an eye and our reaction to the suddenness belies either a moment by moment attachment to God or “the best our flesh can offer.” What we do in the unexpected reveals our true north.

This moment by moment apprenticeship is not easy. We will each fail many times. Yet, even in the failure, our Lord stands ready to pick us up again and take the next step – bruised and bloody though we may be. And, it is right here that a lot of us make our next mistake. We often think the Lord abandons us when we fail. He does not. He cannot. He has signed a covenant – a marriage covenant of sorts that is with us even when our reaction to circumstances is unheavenly. Because of the guilt poured on from the enemy and from our own self-recriminating hearts, we assume that Jesus pouts and puffs and rejects people who fail “just like we would do.” That is a big, fat, audacious lie. He is not like us. He is perfect in His justice and in his mercy. He knows that we are fighting our way out of a flesh-suit controlled by our weaknesses and by a world system stacked against us. Just tell Him you’re sorry and get up and have another go at it. It is all he asks. To try to beat yourself up as an act of contrition is not necessary. He already bore our own sins in His body on the tree. He was already bruised for our transgressions. The price has been paid. Quit trying to pick up the check.

Now, believe it or not, all of what I have just said has everything to do with how you perceive and find radical success in regard to your purpose in life. So many Christians I have met and counseled with over the years have been in a self-imposed wasteland in regards to this singularly unbiblical question: “What is God’s purpose for my life?” The problem with that question is that it betrays a lack of understanding and a practice of the above-mentioned life. In other words – follow the logic here – how can one miss God’s plan for one’s life if that life is in constant contact with the One referred to as: “The author and finisher of our faith.” The Bible also uses the word picture that we are “yoked” to Him. How can we go where He is not? How can He go somewhere where we cannot go? I find that those who ask this question are often unskilled in releasing the mundane to Jesus on a moment by moment basis. And, because of the reactive nature of our flesh, many opportunities are stillborn, never to be recovered because heaven was not allowed to fragrance, inform and empower the mundane. (E.g. We actually have the audacity to think that we can drive to work without His help and companionship – knowing full well our ability and our sad, repetitive & predictable experience of cursing – rather than blessing – our fellow commuters).

Lives lived under this sort of on/off switch of intimacy with and dependency upon God drift towards lives lived out on the defense. In other words, we are always trying to preserve what little spiritual gains we have made rather than dreaming what I believe are God-sized dreams for more. The parable referred to as: “The Parable Of The Loaned Money” illustrates this principle very well. The short version goes like this: Jesus tells a parable about a rich man getting ready to go away on travels. Before he leaves, he lines up three servants and entrusts them sequentially with: five bags of silver, 2 bags of silver and one bag of silver. The first two servants put the money to work and when the master returns each of these servants have doubled their master’s investment. They played offense with what they had been given. Please note that. The last servant, the defensive specialist, says this: “Master, I knew you were a harsh man, harvesting crops you did not plant and gathering crops you didn’t cultivate. I was afraid I would lose your money, so I hid it in the earth. Look, here is your money back.” The master’s response is quick and to the point: “You wicked and lazy servant! If you knew I harvested crops I didn’t plant and gathered crops I didn’t cultivate, why didn’t you deposit my money in the bank? At least I could have had some interest on it.” Jesus sums up the teaching of this parable with these words: “To those who use well what they have been given, even more will be given, and they will have an abundance. But from those who do nothing, even what little they have will be taken away.” (Matthew 25: selected)

Here’s the deal…God wants us to play offense. Guilt, fear, shame, regret and a host of other things nullify the grace of God and cause us to play defense. God has told us to storm the very gates of hell; to go to the entire world with the good news of the kingdom; and, to be the head and not the tail. Why are so many of us wagging?

Let’s pause for a good story…The following comes from the book entitled: “Wild Goose Chase.” The wild goose is the Celtic representative of the Holy Spirit. The Celts could think of no better representation of the Spirit than this particular bird – being, I suppose, a bit thin on they type of dove that landed on Jesus at his baptism. I like the word picture.

The author, Mark Batterson, tells a very moving story about a good friend of his by the name of Ted Leonsis:

Ted Leonsis is a prominent Washingtonian who made his fortune as an executive with AOL...It was a near death experience that put him on the offensive. In 1983, 25 year old Ted was on an Eastern Airlines flight that lost the ability to use its wing flaps and landing gear. As flight attendants prepared the cabin for a crash-landing, Ted began thinking about what he would do if he survived. “I promised myself that if I didn’t die,” he reported later, “I’d play offense for the rest of my life.” Leonsis survived the landing and made good on his promise. He compiled a list of 101 life goals. To date, Leonsis has checked seventy-four off his original list. And these are not your garden variety goals. They are big, hairy audacious goals. Here are some of the goals Ted Leonsis has already accomplished:

v Create the world’s largest media company.

v Own a jet.

v Give 1 million to Georgetown University.

v Start a family foundation.

v Own a sports franchise.

v Hold elective office.

v Have a net worth of 100 million after taxes.

C.S. Lewis once said it this way: “We sin not because our desires are too strong, but because they are too weak.” The Bible says it this way: “Where there is no vision, the people perish.” Proverbs 29:18. As Batterson points out: “The word ‘perish’ refers to fruit that is past its prime. It is no longer ripening; it is rotting. A God ordained vision is a supernatural preservative. It doesn’t just keep us young, it keeps us on the offensive…I think vision is the cure for sin.”

I agree. Most Christians get off-track not because they are lascivious, materialistic self-centered perverts – it is simply because they become bored. You see, everything in life needs a God-sized vision – our vocations, our avocations, our marriages, our parenting…our life. Too many times we live our lives knowing – really knowing down deep – that we were created for something big, something significant - but we settle instead for a downsized version of the middle-class American Dream. You know the dream I am talking about: go out to eat a few times a month, rent a few movies, sip a few lattes, take a vacation, drive a decent car, live in a decent house, have a little left over at the end of the month, and generally be left alone to pursue these humble pleasures. I’m not knocking it as such – but what I am asking is this: “Were we created for such modest lives?’ Can you imagine standing before God at the end of days and giving this accounting of your life: “So tell me, Bob, how did you manage the investment I placed in your life? What did you do with my coins?” And Bob answers, “Well, I became a collector of all of the old Seinfeld, Everybody Loves Raymond, 24, and Andy Griffith episodes. I regularly maintained my cars. I paid my bills on time. I made sure all my animals were spayed. I was nice to the people who served me my latte everyday. I pretty much went through life trying not to make trouble for anyone.” I will not venture here the temerity to respond as if I were God. But, I think the above-mentioned parable might offer a clue.

So - what do you suppose would happen if God were to partner with your vision? Seriously…what would happen if the Creator of the universe sat down with you with a yellow legal pad and wrote out with you a “101 Things I Want To Accomplish Before I Die” sort of “bucket list?” Could we safely assume that it would have an air of the “big, hairy and audacious” about it? That, my friend is a safe bet – a sure thing. And, down deep, I am just guessing that that excites you just a little.

So, stay with me. I am going to be expressing some things in the next few posts that deal with some of the hindrances to vision and how to create the stamina for dreaming God-sized visions for your life. Our sad, hurting world needs visionaries who set sail with the winds of heaven at their backs. The world needs you…dreaming.

Humor Me - Part 10, The Ironic Grumbler

2009-07-02T11:01:00.004-06:00

Here we go again. I haven’t had time lately to be profound – hopefully profundity is just around the corner. So, once more, we will have to survive on the thinner gruel of humor. The subject at hand is a word or two about my imminent arrival at the big “five-oh.”

I was born August 3^rd, 1959. I was a large baby – right at 9 pounds. My mom likes to remind me that I nearly killed her when I came screaming, gasping and grasping into this world...........She remembers seeing Jesus.

Even then I preferred to be left to myself in confined spaces – a trait that would prove useful to the future student, teacher & scholar I would become. I create private library annexes wherever I go – a living room, a closet, the bathroom…someone else’s bathroom – and I still do not like to be disturbed. When the “bother” of labor came knocking, mom tells me that I tried to grab a kidney on the way out. She had to undergo emergency surgery to reattach that which I had dislodged. I no longer go for kidneys, but I do grumble when someone knocks on the bathroom door.

And grumbling is something you just find yourself doing the older you get – a sort of: “You kids- get off my lawn!” mentality. I loved the movie “Gran Torino” not so much for its stellar acting, but for the grumbling. Clint Eastwood may be one dimensional in his acting, but the man can grumble. He has made an entire career of it – all the way back to “Dirty Harry.” I am just getting the hang of it. My wife would like everyone to know that I am making good progress.

I have practiced my grumbling recently over the following e-mails: “Would you like to meet hot, single, senior women in your area?’ “The AARP wants you!” And, “Make an appointment now to plan your funeral.”

I believe that there are two kinds of grumblers. One type of grumbler is humorless, mean-spirited and toxic. The other is what I would call an “ironic” grumbler. An ironic grumbler has lived long enough to see the short shelf life of trends, tastes, fads, fashions, political stars, “big ideas” and such. With wry grin, twinkle of eye and subtly lifted eyebrow he chuckles at the human condition – and at himself. I am firmly in the camp of the latter. “Vanity, vanity – all is vanity” observed Solomon from his kingly perch. The ironic grumbler says: “Hear, hear…harrumph, harrumph…guffaw, chuckle.”

One of the great mistakes we make is to relate chronological age with either wisdom or maturity. I have met wise and mature people who were in their teens. I have met people in their 60’s & 70’s who were terribly immature and unwise. But, one of the other great mistakes we make is to assume that those who laugh easily are immature - that somehow, a grave countenance signals maturity. Hogwash! (Grumble)… According to Scripture, Solomon was one of the wisest persons ever to walk the planet. He said this: “A merry heart makes a happy face…” Proverbs 15:13a; and this, “…for the merry heart, life is a continual feast.” Proverbs 15:15b; and also this: “A merry heart is good medicine…” Proverbs 17:22a. I like to think that Solomon wrote this after riding around in his chariot and saying to one of his buddies, “Hey, get a load of that…”

And this is really encouraging to me -a neophyte, ironic grumbler. For those who study comedy – irony is considered the highest form of humor because of its observational and subtle quality. (On the same comedy scale, the pun is considered the lowest form of humor, but I think that was before anyone saw a Carrot –Top routine).

And finally this - there is just the “guy thing” as it relates to humor. I have not broached this subject yet in any of these writings because of some fear of being considered crass or immature. But you know, now that I am approaching 50 – I just don’t care. A fart is just as funny to me now as it was at the age of five. A man who cannot appreciate a good blast, to him I say: “Good day sir! I said, ‘GOOD DAY.’ We have nothing in common.”

Grumble, grumble…

Humor Me, Part 9 (I can't stop)!

2009-05-12T12:10:00.003-06:00

So…I have decided that no matter the subject on which I am blogging, I will continue to add “product” to the “Humor Me” posts – out of sync though they might be - because I cannot help myself. I am consistently amused. A good friend of mine, former NBA player and now author, Jay Carty, once said to me, “I use humor as an anesthetic to allow the scalpel of truth to cut deep.” Let’s go with that…

I was praying with a group of people some time ago and was struck once again by how we often use pre-prayer warm-ups – known as “sharing time” - to hammer someone not in the room. I just heard yesterday about a study conducted by a hearing aide company that found people’s hearing ability becomes more acute when listening to gossip. In the control group, gossip focused their attention and their auditory abilities like nothing else. It is perhaps one of the most overlooked, well-received, and readily excused and justified sins – inside and outside of the church. Although Scripture ranks gossip right up there with infidelity and murder – we tend to assume that it is talking about someone else. Our own sun-burned tongue is just sharing helpful bits of “truth” about a situation or individual.

As I was turning this over in my mind, I began to wonder what would happen if we replaced the word “gospel” with “gossip.” This is how an A.D.D. minister sometimes amuses himself in prayer meetings. I got to thinking how skilled we are at one (gossip) and how anemic we are at the other (sharing the gospel) – that perhaps we had misheard or misinterpreted the great commission. Let’s have a go at it shall we?

THE GREAT COMMISION
“Go into the entire world and preach the gossip…”
CHURCH BILLBOARDS
“We are a gossip preaching church…”
“Our church is a member of the Full Gossip Association…”
CHRISTIAN-EZE SPEAK
“Dude, I had an awesome time at the coffee shop sharing the gossip with a guy who had never heard the gossip.”
“The gossip changed my life!”
PAULINE QUOTES REDACTED
“I am not ashamed of the gossip…”
“I thank God for your fellowship in the gossip…”
“All the churches praise him as a preacher of the gossip…”

You get the point? The word “gospel” simply means “good news.” Gossip, generally speaking, infers “bad news” – and about someone else. When we measure our lives and the river of words that flow forth from our pie-holes, we need to self-examine and ask ourselves this question: which comes more easily to us – speaking the gospel or speaking the gossip?

Hey everyone – eternity awaits us and Jesus said something very noteworthy in this regard: “And I tell you this, you must give an account on judgment day for every idle word you speak. The words you say will either acquit you or condemn you.” Matthew 12:36, 37

The Psalmist David once prayed that God would set a guard over the door of his lips. We should pray no less…

Be well blessed,
-CJ

Solid, Part One

2009-05-06T14:22:00.003-06:00

Truth always carries with it an “about.” And, we live in an “about” culture. There are experts who can tell us the truth “about”: clothes; shoes; watches; organic gardening; climate change; mufflers; fair trade coffee beans; birds; astronomy; journalism; the Rolling Stones; the Buddha; video-gaming; sunscreen; almonds; tidal waves; Mars; the Second Coming of Christ; marriage; fine wines; education, and Jessica Alba; – you name it. In the past few years, nearly any question that I have had in regard to a car repair, how to record my old vinyl records to CD, or, “What is the difference between an age-spot and melanoma?” have been answered with a few clicks of my mouse and a search of the internet.

Truth “about” subjects and objects necessarily grows exponentially, concentrically and tangentially. That is a rather complicated way of saying: the more you know, the less you know. When we accept that as a premise – and I will show you why we should - then it also follows that: the less we know because of knowing more, the more there is to know. Confused? Let me give you a simple analogy from the ancient philosophers.

Once there was a farmer who had a son. The farmer never once ventured beyond a two mile circle of his farm. Within the confines of this circle, he knew every tree, every bush, every rise and every fall of the land. As his son grew, his father passed this knowledge about “everything” on to his son. One day, the son decided to see what, if anything lay beyond the circle. As he tenuously ventured out he expanded his knowledge another 2 miles. Over his lifetime, he became an expert in regard to this four mile circle. But, he also had a son who ventured out…

This analogy demonstrates the humbling nature of the pursuit of “about”. The more we discover about the universe, whether it is through a microscope or a telescope, in a spaceship or a submarine – the more we realize that our newfound knowledge has simply placed us at the very foot of a newly unscaled mountain - and the mountains never end, nor do the inside of those mountains, nor what lies beneath them, ad. inf. According to scientists, the corpus of human knowledge doubles every 18 months. That means, by the time you finish reading this blog, you will be measurably more ignorant than when you began – as will I after having written it.

One of two things can happen to a culture that is living during a time of exponential “about” increase. We can become more humble, or, we can become enamored of our own little circle of knowledge and grow increasingly narrow and arrogant. In previous cultures, the philosophers and the prophets were honored - at least posthumously - for the very fact that they kept us humble, or at least attempted to do so with stories about farmers and circles and such. But we do not live in a time where prophets and philosophers capture either the heart, the imagination or the affection of popular culture. Things are moving too fast to slow down and consider that which we do not know. We are a culture of drive-by intellectuals.

This cultural arrogance has the unpleasant effect of creating many experts in all things trivial. To know all of the truth “about”, say… the Stick’em notepad on my desk (vis. - who invented them, how many are produced each year, the various colors in which they come) is fascinating and helpful only to a person suffering from Savant Syndrome. (Savant Syndrome, sometimes abbreviated as Savantism, is defined as a rare condition in which persons with developmental disorders - including autism spectrum disorders - have one or more areas of expertise, ability or brilliance that are in contrast with the individual's overall limitations. -Wiki) I have met both expert educators and expert drug dealers who could only seem to speak about their respective areas of expertise. Each knew the truth of their craft. Each appeared to me one dimensional in her or his own way. While one contributed to society and one fractured society – from a philosophical standpoint – both were impoverished. Their lives were defined by a mere speck of the earthbound.

I apologize for all of the heavy wading thus far, but it is important that we lay a foundation for what is ahead. One of the problems we can run into with all of this truth specialization is the “non-metaphysical” nature of it all. The main point I wish to drive home is that each of us runs the risk of defining our reality, our reason for existence, and our sense of identity, by our mastery of a tiny slice of truth. It bespeaks a culture that may have lost its imaginative stamina to search for ultimate meaning in regard to the classic philosophical question: “What is truth?” Even that question carries with it an “about.” The question actually implies: “What is the truth about truth?”

So, what of the person who sets out to find the truth about the truth? That is another matter entirely because the search itself suggests the possibility of an end reality - a solid, or form - to use the language of philosophy. However, the hope of grasping a solid begins with a metaphysical leap into the unknown. Anyone who sincerely and honestly – and most importantly, humbly – asks the question: “What is truth?” senses implicitly the metaphysical, “beyond-ness” of the question. Somehow we know that the answer will not be found merely in things we touch, taste and see. At best, these things are shadows or suggestions of the ultimate.

To find the truth about truth - which everyone from scientists to theologians seek - will be the substance and the pursuit of where we are going in this series. It is a question that brings us to the very point of ultimate concern, humility, and from the Christian faith – a unique solid. Much more to come…

Be well blessed…
-CJ

Humor Me, Part 8

2009-04-07T12:54:00.007-06:00

“Baby, I’m alive…” - Jackson Browne, Lyrics from song, “I’m Alive.” Yes, the blogger C.J. still exists. After a mind-bendingly busy month or so, I promise now to wrap up these humble thoughts on humor. Here we go…

Foxe’s Book of Martyrs seems an odd place, perhaps a blasphemous place, to dig around for humorous things to write about – but “gallows humor” is a well-documented phenomenon. And, as I go about lifting some passages from this celebrated book of antiquity, I find myself encouraged by the good cheer these heroes of the faith demonstrated in their resolve unto death.

We begin with a chap by the name of Dr. Rowland Taylor. Dr. Taylor was an Anglican Bishop and a scholar who became the third “auto-de-fe” enacted by Queen Mary of England during her participation in what was known as the counter-reformation. An auto-de-fe (act of faith) was an actual service prescribed during the inquisition and involved the saying of the Catholic Mass; a prayer; a reading of the sentence against the purported heretic; a parade, with the condemned being marched through the streets; followed by a public execution – usually a burning at the stake. I will quote the account with a few updated words and commentary.

As Dr. Taylor is being led by horse through the town on his way to his execution, the Sheriff is pleading with him to repent of his heretical (Protestant) views, when Dr. Taylor appears to concede by saying: “Master Sheriff, and my masters all, I heartily thank you for your good-will: I have hearkened to your words, and marked well your counsels. And to be plain with you, I do perceive that I have been deceived myself, and am like to deceive a great many of Hadley of their expectations.” A great excitement ensues because the Sheriff and the Queen’s minions all believe that this great man of God is about to recant his faith. The sheriff asks if this is indeed his intent by saying, “Good master Doctor, tell it to us plainly.” To which Dr. Taylor replied, “I will tell you how I have been deceived, and, as I think, I shall deceive a great many. I am, as you see, a man that has a very great carcass, (the dude was fat), which I thought should have been buried in the Hadley churchyard cemetery. If I had died in my bed, as I well hoped I should have done – but herein I see I was deceived - there are a great number of worms in Hadley churchyard, which should have had jolly feeding upon this carrion (my dead, obese body) – which they have looked forward to for many days. But now I know we are both deceived, both I and the worms; for this carcass will be burnt to ashes and they shall lose their bait and feeding that they looked forward to.” Fox goes on to write this: “When the sheriff and his company heard him say so, they were amazed, and looked at one another, and marveled at the man’s constant mind that without any fear, made but a jest at the cruel torment and death now at hand prepared for him.”

Another story involves the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer. Cranmer was the first to compile the first two versions of the Book of Common Prayer – still in use today after many revisions. As Thomas stood before the Pope to answer charges of heresy, he still had the presence of mind to record this humorous incident. (I will have to supply a lot of editing for this old English to make sense). “When the time came that they should declare the cause of their [visit], the Pope, sitting on high in his rich apparel, offered his foot to be kissed…The Earl of Wiltshire, (a companion of Cranmer) disdaining this offer, stood still, and made no motion to the offer – so that all the rest of our company kept themselves from this idolatry. [Yet], one thing is not to be omitted, which when then chanced (came), a spaniel (dog) that belonged to the Earl of Wiltshire. He stood directly between the Earl and the Bishop of Rome. When the Bishop had set forth his foot to be kissed, the spaniel went straightway to the Pope’s feet and not only licked the same unmannerly, but took fast with his mouth the great toe of the Pope, so that in haste, the Pope pulled in his feet: our men smiling in their sleeves.” You gotta love that – you’re getting ready to be sentenced by the Pope as a heretic and: your faithful dog sucks the Pope’s toe. The soon to be condemned shove their heads into their long sleeved robes and bust out laughing like a bunch of school boys and the entire scene is recorded for posterity. Nice. If I am ever martyred for the faith, I am sure I will record something amusing as well. Cranmer’s life ends with a kind of spiritual hokey-pokey – literally. As he is condemned to be burned as a heretic, Cranmer decides to have another look at the Catholicism that he has rejected. To the surprise of everyone, he recants his Protestant faith and says, “Sign me up.” The Catholic bishops rejoice and basically say, “Welcome back brother! But you know, since we have gone to all of this trouble of booking a burning and all – we hate to disappoint, so what the heck – we’ll go ahead with our plans.” Cranmer, then being highly annoyed with himself, recants again and in effect says, “Psych! I was only kidding.” This really angers the clerics and the burning is commenced with gusto. In a last bit of irony – which is a form of humor – Cranmer offers his right hand to the fire first and lets it cook in order to demonstrate his sorrow and his repentance at having used this hand to sign the first document of recantation.

There are numerous such portraits offered in Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. One man, while already having been burned to a crisp, raises his hands in praise and begins clapping. Another preaches joyful and loving forgiveness as he is being consumed. One martyr kisses the pole on which he is to be chained and then roasted. A woman martyr smiles and notes that she is being martyred on the very day of her wedding anniversary and welcomes the flames as her second wedding ceremony as she is now about to be joined to her true bridegroom, Jesus Christ. If one can get past the macabre scenes of barrels of pitch, chains, beatings and flames – not a simple task mind you – what emerges is a consistent theme of joy and even playful jest. Each martyr has for so long meditated on the hope of heaven that the immediate prospect of suffering gives way to the joyful reality that is within minutes of consummation.

What is it we can conclude from all of these chats about humor? I can think of several things. Let’s take a last walk through on this topic…

In the ancient world, the word humor was used by physicians to describe either good blood or bad bile. If one was in “good humors”, it simply meant one was healthy. If one was in “bad humors”, it meant one was full of bile. It is easy to see how the physical root of the word humor morphed into the sense of one’s attitude toward life. A person with a good sense of humor – even at death’s door – appears healthy. While a seemingly physically healthy person – who has lost his or her sense of humor – is seen as unhealthy. As so often happens, medicine bends back on itself and our own chronological snobbery finds itself once more listening and learning from the ancients. That is especially so in regard to humor. Doctors have noted the following benefits of laughter: a good hearty laugh can help; reduce stress, lower blood pressure, elevate mood, boost immune system, improve brain functioning, protect the heart, connect you to others, foster instant relaxation, and, make you feel good.

C.S. Lewis once said that, “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” As believers, we are called upon to pray heaven down to earth. A joyless Christian is a common, but unfortunate – and might I say sinful – anomaly. We are called to bring forth the good news of forgiveness, of restoration with our Creator-Father, of a relationship with God that begins here and lasts forever, of a hope of living in eternal dance, of an attitude toward enemies that is loving and forgiving, of praying for the sick with expectations of restored health, of a God who answers prayers for the most mundane circumstances of life – and on and on it goes. As the Psalmist says of God, “[He] who daily loads us up with benefits…” (Psalm 68:19 AV) The reason many Christians are so sad and so stifled in their witness is their own ignorance, their own lack of imagination and discipline in sitting down to meditate on and pray through these great promises. It is sort of like having a great job with a month’s paid vacation, 100% health & dental coverage; a guaranteed retirement income; college tuition pre-paid by your company for you and all your family members; and then, grumbling all day about the office coffee and your parking spot. Yes, that is a picture of a joyless, humorless Christian. It is an abomination of the most heinous sort.

And this – a sort of recapitulation of some previous thoughts left incomplete. Humor is joy’s dance partner. It is the outer expression of an internal reality. Humor makes light of what this world has to offer by way of lures and loads. We KNOW that is all temporary and thus a mirage that attempts to mask reality. Paul, after referencing the many abuses he received as an Apostle of Jesus, which included: beatings, stonings, imprisonments, 5 times the victim of the cat of nine tails (39 lashes with an iron embedded leather strip), shipwrecks at sea, thefts; etc…he breezily refers to all of this as: “…these momentary light afflictions.” Hah! The point? Humor gives perspective. Humor helps our spirits take flight far above the lie that sonorously says, “This present darkness will last forever.”

I end with that joyful anthem of joy by the aged Apostle, Paul…”What can we say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son (that’s how much He loves us!) but delivered Him up for us all, how will He not freely give us all things?...For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels or demons, nor things present, nor the things to come (all the crap we worry about), nor powers, nor heights or depths, nor any created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:31,32 38,39 If that didn’t make you at least smile, pull over – stop EVERYTHING you’re thinking and doing right now - and read it again, and again, and again until you get it. I promise – you soon be filled with “good humors.”

Much Love & Be Well Blessed…
-CJ
P.S. My next Blog series is called: “Solid.” I won’t give anything away just yet – but pray that it flows well…and soon! See you around & keep laughing.

Humor Me, Part 7 (A Mere Rant)

2009-01-28T10:45:00.004-07:00

Alrighty then…a rant I shall give. A little over a year ago I began to hear a certain word used to describe pretty much everything. Within the space of a couple of minutes, a young person with whom I was conversing mentioned something about the “amazing “cookie she was eating. After that, she said that a class she was taking was equally “amazing.” In short order, some person she had met was, you guessed it…”amazing.” I thought to myself that either this person was easily amazed or, poor dear, she had a very limited supply of adjectives.

It was actually much worse than either of those. This lovely young college student had contracted a nasty case of “tired word” disease. Whether she was the host, the “Typhoid Mary” as it were of a new contagion, or if this was an isolated case, I had no way of knowing. But my suspicion turned out to be correct. Before too long, “amazing” became the super adjective – infecting an entire nation.

I received an e-mail just the other day that began with: “Hello Amazing Pastors…” and it went on to describe the “amazing” ecumenical prayer meeting in which we had recently participated. The recent inauguration was filled with “amazing” declarations as well; to wit: “It is an amazing day for America;” “The scene at the Mall is amazing;” “Michelle Obama looks amazing;” “Aretha Franklin was just …amazing;” “As has already been mentioned, Barak is an amazing dancer.”

Yes, I have been following the ubiquitous outbreak of “amazing” like a crazed scientist at the National Center for Disease Control tracking an outbreak of Ebola. But the analogy breaks down. Ebola just kills people. A tired word makes life tedious and not worth living.

Alright, that was hyperbolic. But seriously, am I the only one who feels a little bile in the back of the throat when it comes to overused, trendy expressions? My wife is a school teacher. On her blackboard she has written a series of words with the heading: TIRED WORDS. These include, but are not limited to the following: “awesome, cool, amazing, nice, good, & sweet.” She corrects the students if they happen to use them in conversation or in a paper. The whole class is allowed to shout out, “Tired word! Tired word!” In my mind this is a proper use of scorn. We must begin early or one of these children might grow up to become a broadcaster for MSNBC.

C.S. Lewis once said, “Verbicide, the murder of a word, happens in many ways. Inflation is one of the commonest…” Studies In Words, chapter 1, pg.7 I couldn’t agree more. How many people really know the etymology of the word: “amazing?” The original meaning of the word lies right before our eyes if we will simply break apart the strong intensive prefix “a” from the second part, “maze.” A “maze” comes from the Old English word, amaison, which meant: “to stupefy, to bewilder, or to make crazy.” This was the common usage of the word in the 13th century, 1230 to be exact. Its more common meaning in today’s vernacular of: “great beyond expectation” didn’t show up until 1704. So, for a little over 400 hundred years, an “amazing cookie” was one you probably would not want to eat. To be described as an “amazing dancer” would make sense only if you saw ME dancing.

As I was warming up to the idea of writing this blog, a good friend of mine (and yes, he is “good”) asked what I would make of the song: “Amazing Grace.” I considered that pedantic meddling on his part. Growing up in the buckle of the Bible Belt, the song “Amazing Grace” was like the Baptist National Anthem. Here I was – about to launch a righteous tirade against a tired word, and my “good” friend presents me with a moral dilemma. Was I now to downgrade this most beloved song because of my own pet peeve?

But then I began to think that maybe, the author of this great song, John Newton, knew what he was up to. He wrote the lyrics to this song and presented each verse as an outline for a sermon he gave on New Year’s Day in 1775. The very first verse makes a strong argument for the original meaning:

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…”

To John Newton, and to me, grace is “stupefying & bewildering.” It doesn't make sense. Is it also “beyond expectation?” Sure. I am big enough to grant that meaning. But…doesn’t the original meaning of the word give the whole concept of grace just a little more gas? God’s grace in my life does "stupefy and bewilder" a wretch like me. I don’t deserve it. He gives it freely. And, from what I can report thus far in my journey, this grace is never ending.

That is truly amazing.

(As a bonus to this blog, please enjoy the following link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMVxzEueJ6A)

Be well blessed...

-CJ

Humor Me, Part 6

2009-01-19T13:00:00.007-07:00

This is a “tweener” post. I am still dealing with humor, but not yet ready to crack the code in regard to the surprisingly humor-filled book known as Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. Perhaps I will get to that later this week. No, I wanted to pass along this story while it is still fresh. Funny stuff happens and it sometimes gives us a glimpse into the Father’s heart. Perhaps this story will bring a smile and some encouragement to your day.

I woke up this morning in a foul mood. I am not sure why – exactly. Just one of those, “Stay out of my way…I need to go fester, fester, fester all by myself” kind of funks. I hope you can relate.

I decided to go hit the gym. Jan and I gave gym memberships to each other for Christmas. A gift of love – almost as good as the vacuum cleaner I bought Jan for Valentine’s Day when I was a poor seminary student. For some reason she enjoys telling that story to roomfuls of women. The story has made her much happier than did the vacuum cleaner.

The gym has been great for foul moods. At least being sore gives one an excuse for foulness. For the first time in my life I had 200 pounds well within my reach – especially following the holidays. The only exercise I had been getting was the primal scream therapy each morning as I passed by the mirror - thinking a dumpy, naked man had entered my bathroom. I weighed 135 when Jan and I got married. She used to refer to me as her “Skinny Little Husband.” It has been some time since she has used that endearing phrase. I have suspected a new moniker has already formed in her nimble brain, but because she is fine Christian woman, she has held back.

Anyway…I began my morning routine on a cardio machine - a treadmill. The old ones were really boring. This one is spiced up quite a bit to help pass the time while walking in place. It has a TV monitor and an iPod docking station. I usually use the iPod.

Now, to get the iPod going you have to start the work-out program. It begins at a snail’s pace while you fiddle with your settings. Here is where a crisis of pride sets in. I have owned an iPod for 2 years and have just started messing with it. I have had other people load up songs on it for me. Being a “Rev.” people would assume I would want a few gigs of worshipful music. Not so. I find a lot (not all) of Christian music predictable and sometimes boring. I would say that 2/3 of my iPod music is merrily agnostic. Anyway…the pride thing sets in by how long you sense you are allowed to fiddle with your iPod before your work-out begins. Being the paranoid type, I assume people are timing me and rolling their eyes while I take one laborious step after another and squint and poke at the little buttons and arrows.

To speed things up, I have just hit the go/all button and have been treated each and every time to the tormented life of Alanis Morissette’s first and best album, “Jagged Little Pill.” A lot of the words would make a sailor blush. For those familiar with the album, I end my cardio cool down with the song, “Ironic.” (Chorus: “It’s like rain on your wedding day. It’s a free ride when you’ve already paid. It’s the good advice that you just didn’t take. And who would have thought it? It figures.”). It is angry music - but strangely playful. It has served me well the first few weeks of working out.

This morning, there was no one around. I thought to myself, “I have time to fuss with this because the last thing I need is Morissette angst.” For once, I noticed the shuffle option. Somewhere in my deep heart of hearts I prayed, “Go God.” “Go God” is my default prayer when I don’t really feel like praying. It is similar to the wind and finger method of Bible study: “God, if you want me to hear from you – open the Bible where you want and reveal to me Your mighty wisdom.” (I was encouraged to hear that Jonathan Wesley actually did this from time to time). As I touched the shuffle mode on my iPod, I said the “Go God” thing.

Here’s what happened: God possessed my iPod and bombarded me with songs from the brethren: Dave Crowder; Steve Bell, Michael W. Smith, and Paul Baloche – each singing their joyful salutes to the Lord of hosts. But, it gets better. I hate the treadmill and am very particular about ending after 20 minutes so I can do all the fun, grunty stuff that men like to do in gyms. I hit the cool down button where you just shuffle along for about four minutes. Guess what song came on at exactly the moment I pressed the cool down button?-Ironic, by Alanis Morissette – my old “ending” tune. That’s God just showing off.

The word, ironic, is defined as: “incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.” I sort of expected God to be in the same mood as me. If I woke up foul, then I was pretty sure He was in a smiting mood. (I wonder how many sermons have gone all Cotton Mather because a particular preacher had a bad week). I know that we tend to do this with people. Somehow, when we are in a ratty mood, we project the black ooze within us onto everyone else. In spite of what we have heard, misery really does NOT “love company.” Misery despises company and pushes them down the stairs.

God pulled some irony on me today. God is not unlike a parent who takes a child, who is pitching a hellish fit, and attempts to re-direct his or her angst with humor. He is, after all, a Father. And we, even the best of us, are still infants. Of the hundreds and hundreds of songs in my iPod, God sent me four as a sort of “I dare you not to smile.” – A bit of Divine incongruity between what I expected and what actually occurred. Ironic, huh?

Humor Me, Part 5

2009-01-13T14:25:00.003-07:00

Humor is, as I have mentioned, a gift from God. Humor can take almost any situation and somehow blunt the horror or the sadness of an event with a prescient & witty observation. We call our friends to cheer us up, to lighten our day, to make us laugh. We don't call them with the hope of hearing tales of woe and burning worlds. I have heard incredibly funny stuff at the bedside of a terminally ill, bed-ridden cancer patient - from the patient himself. I have experienced the joy and the relief of laughter at a funeral. Now, no one in the room was so calloused that they denied the physical and emotional torment of the moment – but humor did somehow expose this great truth – that the suffering was a moment.

Humor reminds us that suffering is not the norm. Tragedy invades us, and as one writer said, “surprises us.” The very reason that suffering seems invasive and surprising is due to the fact that our God is a good God who desires good for His creation. When it doesn’t play out that way, we are, naturally, surprised. Humor nudges us back to the truth that suffering is irregular & temporal – thus ultimately less powerful than joy. (Joy is eternal humor – the best kind to shoot for).

My dad relayed a wonderful story to me recently that involved a roomful of my Irish Aunties and my Irish Granny. All of them have long departed this earth – sad – right? But, somehow the anecdotes from their life lessen the loss I feel for each of them. They still somehow live through the gift of humor. Here goes the story…

The Riley sisters were gathered in Chicago at the home of Aunt Maude. My grandmother, Juanita (Note: Here is something funny - Grandma wouldn’t allow anyone to pronounce this beautiful Spanish name the way it was supposed to be pronounced. She insisted that it be pronounced: juh–night-uh!) had made the trek up to Chicago from her farm in Northeast Missouri. Also in the room was my Aunt Virgie. Aunt Virgie had gone totally Chicago –gladly betraying her humble rural origins. I saw pictures of her from the roaring twenties. She was a genuine “flapper.” Aunt Maude, who also lived in Chicago, had settled into the “Archie Bunker”, working class, section of Chicago. My Grandma remained unchanged throughout her life. She was a single mom who had raised her only child (my mom) and somehow kept the family farm solvent while going through the Great Depression and the death of her husband. To get these three together always provided ample opportunity for the most outrageous conversations.

My parents happened to be there on the day the sisters were gathered. Unfortunately, my dad was suffering from a nasty headache and had retired to a couch while the sisters visited. As he lay there suffering, he listened in as the three sisters carried on what seemed to be three different conversations at the same time. Finally someone brought up a name that all the sisters knew. This brought unity and focus to the conversation. Gossip always does. I will share with you the conversation as my dad relayed it to me…

Aunt Maude: “Well, you know...she has to shave now. (Long pause) She has a mustache…” (Another long pause)
Aunt Virgie: “That’s because of those 'harmones' (sic)…”
Grandma: “ Harmones HELL…She’s FRENCH!”

In spite of the splitting headache, my dad began to convulse in laughter – as did I when I heard the story. The funeral for my beloved, feisty, quirky, Irish granny was a moment in time. This story transcends time.

One of the most consistent themes in the voluminous writings of CS Lewis was the issue of joy. It was he who said this: “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” (Letters To Malcom: Chiefly on Prayer, p.93) Lewis never dismissed the notion of suffering. In fact, he wrote about it extensively. But, he never believed in the notion of suffering as a natural antecedent to joy. He spoke of it more in terms of a temporary vapor that would not withstand the light of day. Joy is eternal. Suffering is ephemeral.

The gospel of Jesus Christ is called “the good news.” It is referred to prophetically as the “glad tidings which bring great joy.” If joy is the serious business of heaven, Jesus is the poster child of that great enterprise. “…Because of the joy awaiting Him, he endured the cross, despising the shame.” Hebrews 12:2 Followers of Him take note…

Of all the people in the world who should be the least depressed and the least sidetracked by the vagaries of this life – it should be the person who not only has placed his or her faith in the glad tidings – but who is now internally & eternally connected with that source. Being a Christian is not the mental ascent to a preferred set of beliefs or values. It is not even really about trying hard to be good. Being a Christian means that you have allowed yourself to become inhabited by joy itself. A persistently “depressed believer” is an oxymoron. We’ve neither the commission nor even the right to carry such a burden. Our only commission is to carry Him.

Be Well Blessed…
-CJ

(Note: The next Blog on Humor – Part 6 – will examine that super hilarious book: Foxe’s Book Of Martyrs)

Humor Me, Part 4

2008-12-10T10:10:00.006-07:00

When I was a youngster, my pop stepped forward and volunteered to coach my baseball team. He didn’t go off the clock for the next eight or nine years. Year after year, when spring rolled around, we would go down to Beavers Farm Implement where all the baseball equipment was stored for the winter and load up my dad’s truck. After that, we would load up a bunch of boys and drive to a local park for practice – and more practice. We ended up with two city championships for my little league team, the Farrier Construction Mets, and two for my Babe Ruth league team, the Kiwanis Club.

Youth baseball is a pure sport without much attention paid to specialization. It is a pastime of generalists who just enjoy the sport. During any given game, a kid who started out on the pitching mound might end up catching. A catcher might toss off his gear and be re-deployed to third base. A third baseman might make a move to the outfield. In other words, one person can serve many functions. In the majors, a person who can play many positions is called a utility player. You don’t see them too much anymore, but when I was a kid, the baseball cards I collected often said “utility player” underneath the player’s name. I loved those guys. They could play any position – just like us little leaguers. One summer, I had a real streak going with a guy named “Ducky Schofield – Utility Player.” It seemed as though every Topps baseball card I bought - which included that little flat, tasteless sheet of stiff bubble gum – there was my friend, “Ducky.” Ducky didn’t make it into the hall of fame, but he became a short-lived, common-man, hero of mine.

There are certain words that I have come across that play the roll of utility player. Because words evolve over time in their usage, they can mean one thing to one generation and something quite different to another. Allow me to illustrate…

I am used to reading old guy stuff, i.e. guys who have been dead awhile. Once you get into the rhythm and the vernacular of a different era, you can manage quite well. However, the sometimes jarring disconnects between their antiquated language usage and ours is occasionally brought back to me through questions asked by new readers of old stuff. I was chatting with a young fellow the other day who was reading, at my recommendation, a 19th Century preacher who was considered “the prince of the pulpit.” The title of the sermon that he read went something like: “The Importance of Ejaculatory Prayer.” My young friend was troubled. I suggested replacing that “e” word with “enthusiastic” every time he came across it and all would be well. You get that sort of thing when you read the old guys.

Now, there is one word that has managed to straddle two ages and whose meaning is clearly defined by context. The word is “wit.” Originally, the word “wit”, which came from the Old English word “witan”, meant: “To know.” It is closely associated with the Germanic word “wissen”, which means: “To see.”

We witness these variations in such colloquial usages as: “I am at my wit’s end”; “That was a witty invention”; and “It was a stressful situation, but he kept his wits about him.” All of these infer a sense of knowledge and perception.

The word “wit” in our day has also grown to mean funny or humorous. To be a “witty” person is a high compliment because from one’s lips or actions, something is expected that will bring amusement.

I will now venture some conjecture. How is it that knowledge, perception and humor have grown from the same soil? Is it one of those etymological accidents, or is there some great truth to be discovered? Well, of course, I believe the latter…

Humor, or wit, primarily derives its strength from the power of observation. Likewise, to keep one’s wits in a stressful situation means that you are able to see options – again through the power of observation. To be witty or to keep one’s wits – there is an ability to not allow a given circumstance to define one’s reality. Read that last sentence again. It is huge.

I have a witty friend – in both senses of the word – named James Lane. James is an engineer, a musician, a rancher, an inventor, a writer, and a mechanic. It is the last one that has made an impression on me time and again. Although I can work on cars when a gun is put to my head – I do not like it. As any good mechanic will tell you, fixing a car isn’t the hard part – diagnosing the problem is where the challenge lies. Checker Auto has been the happy recipient of many disgruntled (Pointless Note: Disgruntled, verb, 1) a pig who has lost his oink) visits from me as I have gone wholesale, buying part after part after part thinking that I had made the right purchase - only to be disappointed that the new part didn't fix the problem. (And being all honked up at myself for having just replaced a perfectly good part that didn’t need replacing). James doesn’t experience these trials. He usually can diagnose and fix a mechanical problem in one smooth motion. I have also witnessed him pulling a Macgyver. (Note: Urban Dictionary definition of “pulling a Macgyver”: Macgyver, verb, 1) To create or fix anything with something totally outrageous and unrelated. 2) Someone who can jump start a car with a cactus. 3) The ability to use a Dorito, a paper clip and duct tape to build a time machine. Example: Guy 1: “Dude, my car broke down on the highway.” Guy 2: “What did you do , dude?” Guy1: “I totally macgyvered that sucker with a shoe string, belly button lint and a leftover Budweiser can.” Guy 2: “Cool…dude.”)

The point is this: Most people, when faced with an automotive crisis on the side of a highway, allow the moment to define them. Their options narrow because they can no longer think beyond the circumstance. Not so with James. I have been with him on motorcycle rides where one of us has broken down. James smiles and gets busy and starts shouting directions: “Here, bring me that piece of wire off that fence over there, scrape up that piece of gum and grab that dried earthworm. That should do the trick.”

Humor plays the exact same roll in our lives. Stressful situations roll in on us and the humorless are overwhelmed. The mechanism by which a person keeps his or her wits to creatively fix a situation is the same employed by the person who can ferret out humor in the ordinary affairs of life.

And there is this - these two types of wit find an apex of agreement in the antonym: "dull". A dull person is neither funny nor terribly creative. Language usage tells a tale. Somehow the connection between “wit” as “knowledge or perception” and “wit” as “humor” has produced a marriage between the two. Over time people began to see, based upon experience – that, well, witty people are witty – and vice versa! :)

Now allow me to pull a Kierkegaard, he, of “leap of faith” fame. Just as the two definitions of wit have an apex of agreement in the antonym “dull”, so too I believe, they have an apex of agreement in what I will risk as a synonym with the word “faith.” Faith is knowledge, perception and yes – humor - all rolled into one. Faith does not allow circumstance to define what it sees. Faith always perceives better options and preferred futures – always. Faith rejoices (joy is holy humor) in all things because it knows how the story will ultimately end.

For those caught up in the dull dreariness of a faithless life – I offer you Jesus. Take just one snapshot from His life and you can begin to see the story of a Savior who kept His wits about Him.

In the book of Mark chapter 4, you have Jesus taking a boat ride with His disciples to catch a little R & R. As the boat moves out across the Sea of Galilee, a storm arises. The boat begins to take on water and Jesus just snoozes away. The disciples – trapped by a lack of perception, and seeing a watery grave as their only option, begin shrieking. It should be noted that there were many fisherman aboard who should have manned up to the situation – but as it so often goes with unbelief – it became a fast-spreading contagion. More than likely, Matthew the tax collector was the first melt-down, but that didn’t matter. It soon became a chorus.

The disciples poked Jesus and informed Him of their dire situation. And, being Jesus, He exercised His option by simply telling the wind to hush up – and it did. And then, He in effect told the disciples to “hush-up” by saying: “Why are you so timid? Where’s you faith?” In so many words Jesus was asking them why they had chosen this one option , fear, when they had so many others from which to choose – options which faith would have revealed. (Of course, waking up Jesus turned out to be a pretty good option – it always is).

The story doesn’t end there. As they debark from the boat, we are given the account of a horrific greeting party. It is the middle of the night, they have just survived a terrific storm, and where do they guide the boat? - To a graveyard. That is troubling enough. But, this graveyard happens to be the home of a guy who Mark tells us was filled to the brim with demonic guests – a thousand or so. So, get the picture: The disciples have not even had a chance to dry their togas from the passage across the sea when they land their boat in a graveyard and are met by Hannibal Lecter, naked and in chains.

What would you do in this situation? Some obvious options would be to: run, scream, cower, or hide – or all of the above. Fear is the opposite of faith, and thus the opposite of wit. Fear paralyzes and narrows possibilities. Faith and wit frees and releases possibilities. They help you to play loose. Jesus exercised faith. He kept His wits about Him and reached for the very best option and healed the man.

How is it with you? Are you at your wits end? Has a circumstance overwhelmed your mind and your heart to the extent that your options have narrowed to the thin gruel of worry, fixation, and fear? Listen up -we serve a God who is never, NEVER surprised or vexed by our circumstances. While we may be overwhelmed, He is not. Faith, wit, is the ability – and even the responsibility – we have of: “…casting our cares upon Him, because He cares for us.” I Peter 5:7 Just as fear is contagious, so is faith. As we place our faith in Him, He will pour His faith into us. He who “rides above the heavens” will give us a Divine perspective on things. He has made it pretty easy for us – the only thing that we need to remember when trying to keep our wits about us is...Him. He really doesn’t mind being bothered in the midst of the storm.

Thanksgiving

2008-11-26T13:43:00.008-07:00

Most of the news sweeping our country – and indeed, our world - is troubling. It is difficult to get our minds around words like “depression” and "economic fixes" that reach into the trillions of dollars. To try and find something to feel good about as it relates to economic health and well-being seems a lost cause. Along with that, we still have young men and women serving in harms way in nations that have grown increasingly hostile and unthankful as it relates to their efforts. We are a nation that is broke and at war.

And yet, here we are at Thanksgiving – a time when we as a nation pause to say "thank-you." Most of us know that our first Thanksgiving was celebrated in 1691 by our forefathers to commemorate the harvest reaped by the Plymouth Colony. It was not an “official” holiday as such. It was more a spontaneous outpouring of thanks to God for His provision.

President George Washington was the first President to declare Thanksgiving a holiday in 1789. If you have never taken the time to read this declaration, please take a moment to do so. I would even encourage you to read this with those whom you share Thanksgiving. It almost qualifies as a devotional…

The Thanksgiving Proclamation
New York, 3 October 1789

By the President of the United States of America: a Proclamation. Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor--and whereas both Houses of Congress have by their joint Committee requested me `to recommend to the People of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.' Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be -- That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks -- for his kind care and protection of the People of this Country previous to their becoming a Nation--for the signal and manifold mercies, and the favorable interpositions of his Providence which we experienced in the tranquility, union, and plenty, which we have since enjoyed--for the peaceable and rational manner, in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national One now lately instituted -- for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed; and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and in general for all the great and various favors which he hath been pleased to confer upon us. And also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions--to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually -- to render our national government a blessing to all the people, by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed--to protect and guide all Sovereigns and Nations (especially such as have shewn kindness onto us) and to bless them with good government, peace, and concord -- To promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and us -- and generally to grant unto all Mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as he alone knows to be best. Given under my hand at the City of New-York the third day of October in the year of our Lord 1789.
George Washington

Seventy-four years later, a tortured President in the midst of a national struggle and a nation awash in the blood of its youth, would codify Thanksgiving as not “a” holiday, but as a “national holiday.” In an attempt to unify our fractured nation, Abraham Lincoln made this declaration:

Abraham Lincoln's Thanksgiving Declaration:
"The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added which are of so extraordinary a nature that they can not fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God.

In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign states to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere, except in the theater of military conflict, while that theater has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense have not arrested the plow, the shuttle, or the ship; the ax has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well as the iron and coal as of our precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege, and the battlefield, and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the imposition of the Almighty hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the divine purpose, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility, and union.

In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed. Done at the city of Washington, this 3d day of October, A.D. 1863, and of the Independence of the United States the eighty-eighth.

It is fitting to remember that Lincoln made this proclamation during a very depressing, eventful and hopeless time in our nation’s history. Let me give you a brief timeline…

May 3, 1863 Abraham Lincoln and congress institute the draft. Every able man from age 20-45 is called upon to shore up the Union forces.

May 1-4, 1863 The Union Army is soundly defeated at Chancellorsville under “Fighting” Joe Hooker. The Union Army losses are 17,000. The South loses 13,000.

May 10, 1863 The South suffers a huge blow as Stonewall Jackson is accidently felled by one of his own sentries.

July 1-3, 1863 One of the most memorable and epic battles of the Civil War takes place at Gettysburg. What began as a skirmish ended up involving over 160,000 soldiers. The Union loses 23,000 men while the Confederates lose 28,000.

July 13-16 Upon returning from the smoking battlefields of Gettysburg, the tired soldiers are called upon to quell anti-draft riots in New York City. 120 citizens would die along with property damage estimated at 2 million dollars. (about $70,000,000 in our current economy).

August 21, 1863 Out west, the notorious pro-slavery guerilla leader, William Quantrill, leads a massacre that fells 182 men and boys in Lawrence, Kansas.

Those are just a few of the highlights that offer the backdrop to a sad and tired President announcing that Thanksgiving would become, now, a national holiday. It seems counter-intuitive does it not? And yet, it was exactly the right thing to do at that moment.

Thanksgiving is one of those commands of Scripture that requires some grit on our part in order to obey. The command is monolithic in its sweep: “…in everything give thanks, for this is God’s will concerning you in Christ Jesus.” I Thessalonians 5:18 The command just sits there – cold and unfeeling - without any particular concern for our particular circumstances. The word “everything” really means everything. It is one of the least practiced commands that I can name. Many commands of Scripture are peculiar to a given circumstance of temptation. “Do not steal…” merits practice on those occasions when we might have an opportunity to actually help ourselves to something that is not ours to take. That is true of many of the commands – they are situational and opportunistic in nature.

But – this positive command to walk through life as a “thanker” [sic] – requires a wholesale rewiring of the defective units that we are. We are born complainers, whiners, dark-siders, foreboders, critics, nay-sayers and nit-picks. Thankfulness and gratefulness are neither inborn gifts nor are they natural inclinations. Thankfulness is an intentional, willful and sweaty discipline.

I have found that it is best to remain elemental in the practice of this discipline. In other words, I begin with those things that I am able to do each morning. Because I have had friends over the years who were paralyzed, I begin by thanking God that I can shower, dress, and feed myself each day. That is a big deal.

As I tool about my house, I thank God for all the “stuff” that makes my life richer than a medieval king. I have cold food in the fridge and freezer. I have a magic flame that appears when I merely turn a handle that will cook my food. If I am really in a hurry, I have an enchanted box that will enhance the speed of cooking to a mere minute or two. The only reason I have to burn candles is if I want a nice fragrance in my house – not in order to see. I get into my mode of transportation and my beast of burden carries me safely back and forth to work –with heated or with cooled air depending on the season - and I only have to feed it two or three times a month. Most of my work is done in the confines of an office. I can access the entire database of man’s knowledge with the press of a finger. I can write and make mistakes and not have to use white-out.

My point is this – there is an endless list of categories given to us to explore that could easily invoke a steady stream of thanksgiving from our hearts and lips. The command to be thankful at all times is not all that difficult to do. We just have to remember to do it.

And here is the thing that I have found – the practice of thanksgiving is transformative. Becoming a thankful person changes our perspective from one of narrow-minded pessimist to possibility-filled optimist. An ungrateful heart sees lack, limit and disappointment. A thankful heart sees millions of “colleagues” in the host of good things that have graced his or her day. Having taken note of these heretofore unseen graces, the thankful heart can lay a sure bet that there will be more good things to come – at just the right moment and in the right amount.

Which person would you rather be?

Humor Me, Part 3

2008-11-18T15:59:00.008-07:00

Segue – It is more than an odd form of unsuccessful transportation used by Google employees - which they spell "Segway." Segue is a smooth transition from one set of thoughts, scenes, rhythms or scales to another. Sometimes the segue is seamless. Sometimes it is abrupt and offensive. You be the judge as to the relative skill I exhibit in pulling off, in this blog, a smooth segue. Your vote counts!

…But not so much – if you voted Republican. Alas, the man with the beloved Celtic “Mc” in his name was shot down for the second time in his life. Fortunately, there were no angry Viet-Cong waiting to torture him – just a host of finger-wagging Republicans. “Ah, Mac, we barely knew ye.”

My personal props to President-elect Obama - I pray God’s best for you and your family. Your success is our success. May the wisdom that transformed Illinois’ former favorite son – old Honest Abe – be yours in double portions.

To Governor Palin – the woman who can “bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan” (and field dress it when necessary) – take good care of that crude oil up there in the land of Seward’s folly. You might consider hosting a hunting party with some of your media detractors who could think of nothing more important to talk about than your clothing budget. Be sure and invite Dick Cheney. Up to this point, he has only shot his friends. He might jump at the chance to “wing” a left-winger.

And Vice President Biden - what joy you will bring the disenfranchised party for the next four years. As Katie Couric nodded in agreement, you reminded us that President Roosevelt went on national TV during the great stock market crash of 1929 to comfort the nation. (Never mind that President Roosevelt wasn’t inaugurated for his first term until 1933 and that television was in its infancy in 1929.

(See: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NTBZHf6WyG0&feature=related).

But, no worries Joe, I’ll send you an MP3 file of the Gettysburg address I downloaded from YouTube. Man, Lincoln rocked at that one!

Oh, and one more…President Bush. Near history is almost always unkind to departing Presidents. Perhaps one day historians will be amazed that you were able to keep another 9-11 from happening for seven years. I read that, last week, one of your dogs bit a White House reporter. Was that one last pre-emptive strike?

Let’s see….where were we? I believe that before the elections and all of that brew-ha-ha, I had set my heart on talking about humor. I need it and our nation needs it. So, let us be done with the wearisome ways of politics, crashing stock-markets, “prop” this and “prop” that, and return to some decent mirth.

And with that, let me just say: sniglets are cool. A sniglet is a word that doesn’t appear in the dictionary, but should. Let me share a few examples…

Nagivator: a spouse who sits by and criticizes the driving or his or her spouse.

Cheedle: the orange residue left on your fingers after eating cheese-puffs.

Bo'zone: the atmosphere surrounding stupid people that will not allow bright ideas to penetrate.

Cashtration: the act of a young couple buying a house, new cars and amassing credit card debt to the extent they become financially impotent.

Hipatitis: terminal coolness.

Reintarnation: coming back to life as a hillbilly.

Arachnoleptic Fit: that crazy dance you do when you walk into a spider web.

Now that you have the hang of it, I thought I would take a crack at a few church sniglets – having logged several decades in and around the brethren. I will offer a brief narrative set-up for each. Here we go…

Potential sniglet combo: Organ + Spasm…I once dated a German Lutheran girl back in my early college days. One Sunday, she invited me to her German Lutheran Church to hear her play the organ. Growing up a low-church Baptist, I was expecting to hear her wail away on a Hammond B3. Much to my alarm, I saw her seated on high, a mere speck in a choir robe, encircled by a monstrosity of an instrument complete with ginormous pipes that ran from floor to ceiling. The music was, to this young lad, somewhat sonorous and depressing. The congregation mumbled along with none of the Baptist zip to which I was accustomed. But the thing that I was totally unprepared for was the ear-shattering burst that took place when the organist put the petal all the way to the floor to signal the congregation that it was time for them to join in with the melody of doom. It nearly shot me out of my chair, this boisterous: organ-asm.

Potential sniglet combo: Spiritual + Stifle…I readily admit that I found church quite boring as a young boy. My eyes were forever casting about to find something interesting or amusing to get me through the service. Highly attuned to the little sinner that I was, I found myself parked snugly between my father and mother each Sunday. My mom always made certain she had her pearl ring turned upside down in order to whack my little butch-waxed head should I momentarily lose control. As I grew older and my parents released me to sit wherever I wanted in church, I found that the little boy in me remained. Because of my powers of observation, I had noticed that a person’s face, in the moment of some deep spiritual revelation, contorted in a way that was remarkably similar to a person attempting to stifle a laugh; i.e. tightly shut eyes, little tears trickling down the cheek, and bent over, shoulder-shaking convulsions. Thus, one Sunday, when in a “Selah” moment of the church service, an elderly gent released a rather garish discharge of gas, I was immediately able to employ the: spifle posture. I was spifling. Many were impressed at the sincerity – and the frequency - of my deep spiritual contortions and thought that I was surely destined for ministry.

Potential sniglet combo: Hippopotamus + Hypocrite…And, I was frequently reminded of those things I should not be doing, thinking, or thinking about doing. It was a lot to remember. In fact, I spent a great portion of my life trying so hard not to do things, I forgot to DO things. Many of the sermons on self-control were delivered by gents who apparently felt that gluttony was sacrosanct to the issue at hand. As they maneuvered their colossal bellies around the pulpit and shouted at the elect to knock it off, I could think of but one word: hippotocrite.

Potential sniglet combo: Prayer + Snooze…Returning for a moment to my incredible powers of observation, this one has come in quite handy over the years. But, alas, it has been a sword that has sliced both ways. During a church service, thoughtful, meditative prayer is always an accepted option. But, it is amazing how quickly prayer can degenerate into a selfish nap. I must admit, I have enjoyed a few refreshing moments myself with the pleasant “white noise” of a dull sermon humming in the background. I have, however, not been so pleased when I have been the speaker and have caught a congregant in the act of: proozing.

Potential sniglet combo: Deacon + Terminator…In the church in which I grew up, the fellowship hall was located in the basement directly under the sanctuary. The flooring of our sanctuary was a hard-wood floor. When I was about eight years old, a friend of mine and I escaped from the church potluck and wandered off to explore the rest of the building – to see what it looked like and felt like without big people around. We went up to the second story and rifled around a bit. We investigated the Pastor’s office. Finally, bored – again- we decided on a game of tag and began tearing around the sanctuary in our little hard-heeled church shoes. The wooden pews, we found, offered a great challenge as we leapt from pew to pew. The waxed wood floor provided a surface like that of an ice-skating rink. It was then that Deacon Grigg appeared. His face was a color similar to that of the purplish red beets which were the customary accoutrement to a Baptist feed. He was doing some heavy breathing from having sprinted up two flights of stairs. It was at that moment that my friend and I experienced the apocalyptic wrath of the: deaconator.

It has been an odd journey to be a churchman these many years; and, moreover, to be one who is so easily and so sophomorically amused. I was rebuked once by a man who I never once saw smile, let alone laugh, that I needed to be more sober – like him. I found the prospect dreadful. I was trying earnestly NOT to be like him. Yet, there have been times when I have prayed with great urgency and fervency that God would help me to hold it together – whether preaching or listening. So far, that prayer remains unanswered. The human condition – mine included – is a never-ending source for material that moves at light speed from observed act to funny bone – with nothing in between. I was born without a buffer. I blame both my parents. They remain in their golden years notorious inappropriate laughers.

Yet, even as I have chuckled and laughed my way through life, it has not been without its costs. I have a permanent callous on the inside of my right lower lip where I have bit down hard while in the act of spifling – hoping that the pain would somehow tame the mirth. It did not. It has not. And, I would not be surprised to find that I may have sacrificed a few blood vessels in my brain, and destroyed a few synapses trying to hold in an incautious and ill-timed guffaw. The pressure of restrained laughter really does hurt. It should be discouraged.

No…I recommend laughing and asking for forgiveness later. Laughter heals us. It is a gift from God. It helps us not to take ourselves all that seriously. That is a good thing. Self-deprecating humor is close kin to humility and God says that we need that to both love Him and to move His hand on our behalf. He is not interested in the proud, and by extension – the humorless.

Be well blessed…
-CJ

Cultural Conditioners & The Etymology Of Conservatism

2008-11-05T18:45:00.007-07:00

Election Day + One, 2008
By CJ Alderton

Note: I take a break from writing about humor in order to do a sort of self-exorcism in regard to politics and the season we each have just endured. I am so looking forward to hearing once more about the virtues of Viagra, Preparation H and local car commercials. Anything - ANYTHING besides one more universe ending, back-stabbing political drone. Bear with me this brief rant. This should hold me for about 48 months. I hope to be funny again soon. :) Here we go...

_______

I have said little during this overheated, hyperbolic political season regarding my views -save to family and a few friends. There is a natural bias against encouraging the clergy to become too politically engaged. Add to that bias my own advanced talent in regard to conflict avoidance, and you have the perfect ingredients for what appears an apathetic sideliner. I am anything but…What follows is my reflective apercu at some sort of resolution regarding the seismic shifts that have occurred in the last few months. This is also my own humble plea for a return to conservatism – rightly defined. Let’s begin there… (If you consider yourself more liberal in your persuasions, please don’t abandon my project just yet. I believe that we may be “good friends well met” before we’re finished).

The etymology of the word conservatism is found in its verbal root: “to conserve.” The dictionary definition says this: “the disposition to retain what is established and to practice a policy of gradualism rather than abrupt change.” A true conservative conserves that which is good and elemental in a society, in a family, a church, a business or even a baseball team. And, a true conservative understands that any change carries the risk of unseen consequences; thus, it is wise to move toward change in a thoughtful and measured fashion. Because of the advanced pace of change in the past few decades, the late William F. Buckley, that erudite conservative voice for over a half century, described his task as standing astride culture and yelling, “Stop.” This conservative sensibility is not, nor should it be the exclusive domain of either the Republicans or the Democrats. To the extent that one is comfortable with the etymology of the word conservative, a “liberal” could be called a conservative. (A good read of history proves this to be true. In some countries, liberal actually means conservative).

Operational definitions are important. That is why we should leave the definitions of words in the hands of those who give us our dictionaries. Unfortunately, the word “conservative” has picked up a few barnacles the past few years, losing - as has so many words - its original meaning. It has come to signify: mean-spirited; selfish; greedy; bigoted and far-right. By its etymology, it is not that.

On a practical note, most of us live out the day to day affairs of life as conservatives. Conservatism in our daily lives means that we are pursuing a kind of peaceful & predictable equilibrium. There are things in life – many things - that we like to have “stay put.” We like them the way we are. We work hard; we pay our bills, fix up our house and mess around in our yards so that we can establish a place that is comfortable and predictable. We frequent a certain coffee shop or restaurant – not because of its novelty – but because of its predictability. If someone were to drive around and do donuts in our yard and re-arrange our house – and if our coffee shop began serving watered down drinks – we would be upset. Why? Because something peaceful and predictable – something that works – has been disturbed. That is conservatism.

So, let’s return to the definition of the word conservative for a moment: “the disposition to retain what is established and to practice a policy of gradualism rather than abrupt change.” Please note the last word of the definition – the word, “change.” That little word has been the catchphrase of one side of the political combatants this political season. It has been, to a lesser degree, employed by the other side as well.

When our founding fathers gathered to do their own version of blogging, viz. diaries, and books, The Constitution and such – they were doing so with a very cosmopolitan world view as a backdrop. They were men who had witnessed the devastation and tyranny of a government system that had become incredibly domineering. These were men of letters. Many were fluent in several languages. Nearly all were entrepreneurial in character. As they formed up their new union they tried their very best to codify a system of government that would safeguard liberties which would allow future citizens to advance in life as far as their own talents and energies allowed them. Their understanding of a good government was one which preserved the right to follow after life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness with as few restrictions as possible.

It was the over-reach of the British government that helped foment the rebellion. There were simply too many rules, too many demands, and too many affronts to personal liberties that oppressed the human spirit. In addition, our founders became highly suspicious of a government that would try to curry favor from the people by promising to do for them those things they were capable of doing for themselves. They feared, as they wrote our founding documents, that there would come a day when the people of the United States would, one by one, weaken and surrender their liberties in exchange for more government solutions and hand-outs. In a prophetic look down the road, Thomas Jefferson expressed these fears by saying :

“Nor should [a legislative body] be deluded by the integrity of their own purposes and conclude that… unlimited powers will never be abused because [they] themselves are not disposed to abuse them. They should look forward to a time, and that not a distant one, when corruption in this, as in the country from which we derive our origin, will have seized the heads of government and be spread by them through the body of the people, when they will purchase the voices of the people and make them pay the price. Human nature is the same on every side of the Atlantic, and will be alike influenced by the same causes.” - Thomas Jefferson: Notes on Virginia Q.XIII, 1782. ME 2:164

Our nation has grown to almost three hundred million people. Yet, much of our lives are determined by the few hundred people who make up the legislative, judicial, and executive branches of government. As a nation, we have gone the way of other failed cultures by asking for more and more government involvement in our lives – just as Jefferson had feared. There is a predictable result to all of this: The more government we ask for, the more we are governed.

Pick any issue that you can think of and I can guarantee that there is a warehouse full of career bureaucrats wheedling away at policies who will eagerly rush in to: constrict, restrict, plan, fine, complicate, hinder, disallow, and tax that enterprise. Government, i.e., governing others, is a tumor that can only grow. It knows no other function. This governmental creep has often been compared to a pig. But perhaps a better analogy is a sheep. A sheep has no natural mechanism for signaling to its brain that it is full. It will literally eat itself to death. To save the sheep, the farmer has to “stick” it by cutting open its belly and pulling out the fermenting gorge. (Although somewhat tempted, I will not chase that analogy any further).

I have no political home these days because both parties have proven themselves ravenous sheep. Granted, one sheep seems to be further skilled in its gluttony – but that is merely a matter of degree – not intent. Both of their compasses are pointed at the “all you can eat” buffet. Why do I say this? -Because this political gluttony is endemic to both Republicans and Democrats. Each side promises those things which will perpetuate until death political careers. And we, the people, continue to leave the gate open for our particular favorite sheep.

Let me speak plainly. The old maxim: “All politics are local” underscores this point. We might loathe a political hack such as Republican Senator Ted Stevens who, while convicted of seven felonies, brazenly chose to defend his long-held seat in the senate. Or, we may de-cry the boorish behavior of Senate Majority Leader, Democrat Harry Reid, who has lined his pockets with favorable land deals but has managed to avoid any investigations because of the power he wields. Yet, there is little we can do about them unless we happen to live in their state. And they, skilled at bringing home to their own constituency a few pieces of political pork, continue to get re-elected, ad infinitum. We who have asked for our little piece of the pork find ourselves incrementally more dependent on and obligated to our pet sheep. We despise another state’s sheep. Another state hates our sheep. Because we are not able to vote out another’s sheep (which would be a grand idea!) we become more and more governed. Now and then the electorate rises up to vote in a President who plays the conservative card to remedy this frustration – but the conservatives elected to the highest office invariably turn out to be poorly named.

What is distressing about the past few months is that the checks and balances meant to impede government overreach have been blurred beyond distinction. A supposedly conservative President Bush has, on his watch, brought the country to a place where nationalization of our economic sectors is not only seen as necessary, but good. In the past, when a tin-pot dictator in another country has nationalized his countries energy supplies and infrastructure – and in so doing has booted out American companies who had made massive capital investments – both Republicans and Democrats have decried such actions with great alacrity. Hugo Chavez of Venezuela is the most recent example. To have heard Democratic Senator Chuck Schumer – a dependable Bush-basher - defend President Bush a couple of years ago against the rants of Chavez was refreshing…and rare.

But here we are: a nation of failed banks, strapped hedge funds, and tightened credit markets - a stock market that has shed trillions of dollars of people’s retirements - and what we are promised is more government. The very people who led us into this swamp are now asking us to trust them again. And congress, right on cue, reacted in a predictable fashion to the 700 billion dollar bailout plan. With all of that money in play the sheep lined up for the buffet. At one point there were 2000 proposed earmarks attached to the bailout. An earmark is a barnacle that is added to a piece of legislation by a local politician that…brings home money…to his or her constituents…so that he or she can get re-elected…and; ad. inf., ad naus.

The most disquieting thing about this election is that we have had presidential candidates promising to act like congress, i.e., to act like sheep. Both candidates promised more government help and more government solutions. This isn’t change. It is the old buffet system on steroids. One of the reasons that only two Senators had ever been elected President in our nation’s history was the wise understanding within the electorate that these Senators were too accustomed to standing in line at the buffet table. With the Senatorial halls being peopled with folks who had little experience or appreciation of restraint, the good judgment of the American people leaned more toward governors. Governors, it was thought, had at least some skill at operating a brake pedal. We have had no such choice in this election. Senators we have been given.

Moreover, neither has owned a business or have had to worry about making a payroll. And, I am sure neither of them has read the 18th Century classic by Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations. Had they done so, they would understand that prosperity flows from liberty and that liberty produces liberality, i.e. more jobs for more people. Government cannot create jobs that produce. Government can only create tax-supported bureaucracies that consume. But, government can play an important role by getting out of the way. The current electorate seems anxious for just the opposite. I was watching the news the other night and heard a supporter of President-elect Obama say this: “When Barak is elected, I won’t have to worry about putting gas in my car or paying my mortgage. If I help him, he is going to help me.” Oh really? She has inadvertently stated the quid pro quo - perfectly.

As I mentioned earlier – I am done with political parties. If I could bring back the Whigs, I would do so. They believed in the genius and energy of the common person to solve his or her own problems and to create wealth for all by hard work and ingenuity. They were resistant to a large, intrusive government that would propose to dictate every facet of life and to involve itself in every challenge. That is a foreign idea in our present political climate to both the elected and the electorate. Professional politicians have a vested interest in sustained dependence. As that dependence grows, the political machinery can mold the willing recipients of the bread-crumbs thus cast into whatever they wish.

C.S Lewis foresaw this in his remarkable series of lectures to a somewhat hostile audience in England, and later published in the book: The Abolition of Man. Few people have read that book these days – even Christians. They find it too difficult. (A more humorous version of these thoughts is found in Lewis’ work: That Hideous Strength). That is a shame because in it, Lewis presciently describes our current situation with these words:

“But the mind-molders of the new age will be armed with the powers of an omnicompetent state and an irresistible technique: we shall get at last a race of conditioners who can cut all posterity in what shape they please. "

–CS Lewis The Abolition of Man

Have we crossed into that moment in history where we are now unwitting subjects to the cultural conditioners? I would say yes. As the political parties dole back to us a fraction of the money and sweat they take from us – those political gifts will come with conditions – the quid pro quo will be enacted. Nothing will be off limits to the future corrosion of liberties – food, drink, transportation, industries, allowable speech, values, morals, risks, income – all will be moved in a direction to please the faceless, hum-drum cultural conditioners who work their craft in and through elected officials. Thomas Jefferson warned against this as well…

[A very capital defect in a constitution is when] all the powers of government, legislative, executive and judiciary result [go] to the legislative body. The concentrating these in the same hands is precisely the definition of despotic government. It will be no alleviation [relief] that these powers will be exercised by a plurality of hands, and not by a single one. One hundred and seventy-three despots [congress] would surely be as oppressive as one. - Thomas Jefferson: Note on Virginia Q.XIII, 1782. ME 2:162

If you sense a strong libertarian streak in what I am saying, you might be right. Be that as it may, my appeal for true change in the form of smaller government along with neutered and spayed politicians has a recent historical precursor in my beloved Ireland. Having for centuries been the impoverished step-sister of Europe and Great Britain, a few years ago the Celts decided to try something different. They decided to abolish the practice of taxing individuals and corporations in a confiscatory way and to reduce their nanny state chain of rules and procedures to a minimum. In addition, they decided to invest in education in such a way that it moved their young people toward marketable, high-tech skills. Businesses flocked to Ireland. The result has become one of the greatest stories of financial prosperity in the history of Europe. It is known as the “Celtic Tiger” and has moved the Republic of Ireland to the top of the heap. It is a model for what could happen here if the people – you and me – actually rose up and demanded less.

So there – I have given you my political rant – unasked for and perhaps unwelcome. I realize that I run the risk of being pigeon-holed within the ranks of those old men who sit around in their tweeds, sipping brandy, smoking their pipes and saying: “Harrrumph, Harrrumph.” To this accusation I would cheerfully reply: “Hear, Hear.”

Be well blessed…
-CJ

P.S. My treat – other great political quotes for you to enjoy…

“If you don’t read the newspaper you are uninformed; if you do read the newspaper you are misinformed.” - Mark Twain

“I contend that for a nation to try to tax itself into prosperity is like a man standing in a bucket and trying to lift himself up by the handle.” - Winston Churchill

“A government which robs Peter to pay Paul can always depend on the support of Paul.”

- George Bernard Shaw

“A liberal is someone who feels a great debt to his fellow man, which debt he proposes to pay off with your money.” - G. Gordon Liddy

“Democracy must be something more than two wolves and a sheep voting on what to have for dinner.” - James Bovard, Civil Libertarian (1994)

“Foreign aid might be defined as a transfer of money from poor people in rich countries to rich people in poor countries.” - Douglas Casey, (Classmate of Bill Clinton at Georgetown University)

“Government is the great fiction, through which everybody endeavors to live at the expense of everybody else.” - Frederic Bastiat, French Economist (1801-1850)

“If you think health care is expensive now, wait until you see what it costs when it’s free!”
- P.J. O’Rourke

“In general, the art of government consists of taking as much money as possible from one party of the citizens to give to the other.” - Voltaire (1764)

“Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all those other forms that have been tried.” -Winston Churchill

“The statesman [politician] who should attempt to direct private people in what matter they employ their capital would…assume an authority which could safely be trusted to no single person, to no council or senate whatever, and which would nowhere be so dangerous as in the hands of a man who had folly and presumption enough to exercise it…To prohibit great people from making all that they can of every part of their own produce…in the way that they judge most advantageous to themselves, is a manifest violation of the most sacred rights of mankind…” –Adam Smith

“We the people are the rightful masters of both Congress and the courts, not to overthrow the
Constitution, but to overthrow the men who pervert the Constitution.” - Abraham Lincoln

Humor Me, Part 2

2008-10-07T15:22:00.007-06:00

In Matthew 24:12, Jesus looks into the future and makes this prophetic observation: “Because lawlessness (evil) will be multiplied, the love of many will grow cold.” It appears an odd pairing. Lawlessness is always in need of love. It would seem that the more there is of evil, the more opportunities there are for love; thus, more love in the world. That is simple, linear math.

Jesus says just the opposite. The more that lawlessness increases in the world the more it wears down and eventually wears out love. Lawlessness becomes a 360 enclosure that snuffs and suffocates. What He is almost saying is that evil will triumph over love. Darth Vader will be Lord of the Universe. The “Overman” from the novel, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, by Friedrich Nietzsche, will finally triumph. It is sobering. It is an uncharacteristically defeatist statement from the lips of the One whose stated purpose was to come save the world.

The next statement by Jesus does little to improve the dismal mood: “But the one who endures to the end will be delivered.” Because Jesus has already marked out the diminishing supply of love in the previous verse, we can only assume that the chief characteristic of those who endure to the end are those who still manage to practice love – in spite of whatever manner of evil they happen to encounter.

So let’s dial it forward. Do we live in evil and lawless times? Yes. Are the present evil/lawless times more pronounced than other times in history? It is hard to say. But what we can all agree upon is that, in our day, we are exposed to an exponential amount of evil/lawlessness every time we sit in front of a blinking cursor. The age of information – the ability to see almost every part of our world in real time – exposes us to massive doses of “the lesser angels” of this world each second. It is, in Jesus’ words, “An increase in lawlessness.” And it does put a strain on our ability to love. At least it does mine.

Let’s talk politics for just a moment. I am not out to parse any particular political philosophy for its endemic wickedness. For the record, I am weary of them all. (Has my love grown cold)? I just wish to raise this question: Have you noticed how angry everyone seems to be? Objective truths about how we arrived at our current financial crisis are thrown into the ditch because objectivity is not a useful tool. The tools that are wielded - which have a more immediate sound-bite advantage than the droll recitation of facts - are: histrionics, hyperbole, and outright whoppers of lies. For all practical purposes we function under a two-party system, with the Green Party, the Libertarian Party, and the Communist Party being statistical non-entities. Because we “practically” have only the two choices, most of us lean slightly or lean hard one way or another. But what does a good Republican make of the fact that our government's reach and debt has grown more under a Republican administration than all of the New Dealers combined? And what does an honest Democrat make of the fact that “the facts” surrounding the subprime mortgage crisis was due to Democratic leadership being cozied up to and benefitting from major Wall Street fat-cats? (Even Saturday Night Live pointed out this anomaly in their skit entitled Fannie/Freddie – much to the chagrin of George Soros). Everyone lies. And it seems everyone lies about lying. And, the world’s economy is going down in flames while everyone tells more lies. Lawlessness is indeed increased – and on a global scale. Bank accounts are not the only thing being drained; so too our deposits of love.

I have only mentioned politics. I could wax on and on about other manifestations of evil: terrorism; mass starvation; blood diamonds; globalization; the resurgent Dallas Cowboys, McDonald’s “Gourmet” coffee – you name it. Each could produce a lifetime of wrathful rants. But, let’s move on…

Unless you’re dead or truly demented, you probably noticed a shift in my tone three sentences ago. In spelling out examples of increases in evil/lawlessness, I mentioned McDonalds “Gourmet” coffee and the resurgent Dallas Cowboys. Why? - To slow you down…to make you smile…to open a relief valve.

Humor is, I believe, a gift from God. And, I also believe that it is a handmaiden to love. Humor can be misused. Much that is purported to be humor on the Comedy Channel is little more than grown men acting out ribald, junior high, locker room refuse. It is a form of humor lower than the lowly pun. That, and bitter sarcasm are the preferred methods of comedic relief employed by popular culture. It is not uplifting, it is debasing.

No, what I am talking about is much different. The humor that God injects for the benefit of humanity and expressed through the human instrument is diffusive in nature. Through humor, God deconstructs tough circumstances and puts them into a kingdom perspective.

One day, Jesus was approached by a group of religious big-shots who were trying to get Jesus into trouble. Their question was well thought-out. “Is it lawful (for us Jews) to pay taxes to Caesar or not?” If He answered one way, it would bring down the wrath of the people who were beginning to follow His teaching. They despised the oppressive, occupational government. If He answered it another way, He would be found guilty of insurrection by the Roman occupiers. Either way, He was cooked. It was similar in kind to the old joke line asked to an innocent man by a clever divorce attorney: “So, are you still beating your wife?”

We are so used to reading this story that we miss the drama and the humor. Jesus asks for a coin. They bring Him a Roman issued denarius. He looks at the coin and says: “Hmmm…uh…nice…So, whose picture is on this coin? “ The big-shots answer. Jesus responds, “Well I guess it belongs to this guy then. If he wants it back, I guess he can have it. Oh, and by the way – whose image is stamped on you?” “Rumble, rumble…we are made in God’s image!’” “Alrighty then – God wants what is His – so give it to Him.” Beautiful.

The kingdom of which Jesus spoke is a kingdom of light. Light is not only a contrast to darkness, light is a contrast to heaviness. If something is light it is neither dark nor heavy. As kingdom people, our hearts should be light. Our hope is not in the kingdoms of this world. As they have been, so shall they always be; vis a vis, a major disappointment. Our call is higher, holier, and to be honest – more fun – to bring “to light” and "to the light" the heaviness of our day.

Humor Me, Part 1

2008-09-25T06:41:00.007-06:00

C.J’s Journal...Wednesday, September 24, 2008, "Somewhere in my yard..."

The daily report...So, after locking my keys in my office and having to track down a spare set of keys from my assistant - I was beat. I had been working pretty much since 5 a.m. that morning. I was now debating whether to go to the grocery store and grab some stuff for the weekly Patrick Crossing meal or just go home and crash. I finally decided that I would just do it and get it over with. So, I bought the groceries for Patrick Crossing along with some nice, fresh chicken for the grill to cook up for the family that night.

When I got home, I noticed fresh mole hills all over my yard. I groaned. I have a mutant version of moles. They thrive on poison, fire, flooding, ammonia and smoke bombs. Recently, I had purchased several boxes of the little smoke bombs that you light and drop down into the holes. Excited the next morning to see whether or not this newest tactic had worked, I strolled down the yard to the place of the worst infestation. I was chagrined not only to see a fresh pile of dirt, but one of the smoke bombs pushed to the top of the hill and perched like a birthday candle. It was like they were hoisting their thin, wispy limbs and giving me the paw. They are like Pharaoh of the Old Testament. No matter what plague I throw at them, they continue to harden their hearts. I have stood in my yard when no one was around (after dark) and in my best Charlton Hesston voice have solemnly cried out, "Let my yard goooooo."

They are now moving from spot to spot. It seems that I am herding them. I long to whack these blind, buck-toothed demons over the head – like that old arcade game – but these cowards refuse to pop their heads up as I greedily stand above their holes with my 9 iron. I am now trying the smoke bombs along with something called, "Uncle Ian's Mole Repellent." (Ingredients: 89% dried blood - no joke). I discovered something about smoke bombs. They actually explode. But I am getting ahead of myself. Before I went out on my nightly mole reconnaissance, I lit the grill and threw the chicken on....

Back to the moles.......So, I am bent over a hole trying a new technique - light two bombs at the same time and drop them in different holes - kind of a Nazi panzer/pincer strategy. The first bomb goes down nicely. I quickly drop the second bomb and it gets stuck. A cloud of toxic smoke is now swirling about my head. I shove real hard on the non-business end of the eight inch incendiary device and... "boom!" The mole bomb blows up in my hand. I am now missing all of the hair on my right forefinger and black scorch marks are trailing up my arm.

But now.....what's that? I smell smoke - an odd smelling smoke - and hear a commotion in the house. I trot back in to wash off the putrid smell of burnt flesh and finger hair stubble and see my family all closing windows and chatting about the smoke. ("Boy that is some smoke. That is really smoky smoke...Smoke, Smoke, Smoke, Smoke...bad smoke.") No one has checked the grill because they think I am outside attending it. I grumble and fly past them to go see about the smoke. As I round the corner, I see flames shooting up the side of my house - three of the logs on my freshly stained log house are seriously blackened and smoking. There is also a dangling, dripping melted cable from my satellite dish - completely fried. I dive in under the flames, grab the grill and pull it away from the house, torching up my fingers, all the while yelling for water.

For whatever inexplicable, boneheaded reason, I decide that I need to check on the chicken. I grab the handle, scream in pain, and am greeted by the fires of hell thirstily switching directions toward this massive new inflow of fresh air. More hair is singed off. Sadly - when the flames die down - I see what appear to be 10 charcoal briquettes resting on the grill. A few minutes ago these were fresh chicken thighs with great potential - now, nothing but charred remains of a once well-intentioned meal.

Martin Luther, he of Protestant fame, spoke often about laughter in the midst of the annoying and painful trials of life. He said this: “The best way to drive out the devil, if he will not yield to the texts of Scripture, is to jeer and flout him, for he cannot bear scorn.” His thought was that laughter is a form of spiritual warfare - that it brings great disappointment and even discouragement to the forces of hell. I like that thought...

Some people - a lot of people - are way too serious and, take themselves too seriously. That seriousness becomes a relational repellent. But beyond that, those who walk through life by taking themselves and the various trials of life way too seriously are – to put it bluntly – liars. They are people who see a molehill and tell you it is a mountain...

(We will be hanging around the subject of humor for awhile...See you soon.)