Story-Time

Listen up, young'uns. Grandpa Jasdye is gonna tell ya some stories. They're not particularly great stories, nor particularly well-told. For that, you may want to check out Timi and Gabi's blogs. But, since you're here, this is what you get:

I volunteered to help a church that we sometimes attend (don't worry, steeplechasers. It's on Saturday nights. And I take along a group of teenagers. It's not infidelity. I stopped dating the church a long time ago.) run a concert on the block a few weeks ago. Got several of my youth (I'm a youth ministries director, kind of like a youth pastor without the skateboards I suppose.) to volunteer alongside. We were at a preliminary meeting for the volunteers when Pastor Phil warned us to be on our toes, because when the church is doing something right, the devil will pound. (Yes, I believe in demons. Not D&D type stuff. And I don't believe in them like I believe in God, but I believe that they're active, but not in some silly Stephen King way.)

He offered an example of when he had a speaking engagement at a church and the speakers blew out so he had to speak through a monitor. "And they had some ladies in the back," he ad-libs, "making cookies in an Easy-Bake oven."

"'Hold on! They'll be ready in just a minute. Mmmmh...' Baking by a light bulb."

(See, Destiny? It works better vocally, with the physical cues and all. Now I made all these people upset with me. Ahh, nothing new there.)

I'll edit in the rest of the story later.
Edit!

So, on the day of the concert we come to help in the morning and things are pretty cool. The teens enjoy being a part of the whole process and one of them has their first leading-to-Jesus moment that she was really excited about. Some punks made me upset by constantly hitting on a couple of the girls, but they did a good job of keeping them at bay. It's at times like those, though, that I wish that urban youth would just man-up, and I could just give them a thumping and they wouldn't need to cry to their gangs about it. But, over all, it was good stuff.

We took our break, picked up and dropped-off some other teens and when we arrived, there was a dude with a megaphone yelling about how nobody wants to hear about a white Jesus. Being one of the only non-Blacks in attendance, I wanted to ask who presented this white Jesus that everyone is supposed to be worshiping. Apparently, some others were wondering the same thing too. "Why is he so racist? What's wrong with him?"

"The real Jesus wouldn't want us to die and go to jail!" Amen, although I recognized that as a flip on the old stand-by, "Jesus don't want you to die and go to hell!" So, again, who is positing this false gospel?

"They are kicking us out of the neighborhood to make room for the whites to move in." Huh? The expressway is at least two miles away. Downtown is a drive and a half. Bus service is, at best, shaky. There's no other whites around there. Who wants to move to Lawndale? And since when did Lawndale Community Church or any of its ministries work against the neighborhood and its residents? I know of few other churches so actively involved in their community.

And the kicker,

"How many of y'all got jobs?" A dozen or so hands go up, most of the others being youth or children. "Put your hands down! You're lying, 'cuz y'all ain't White and y'all ain't Mexican."

I dropped my jaw.

Why do I feel like I already wrote this story?

By the way, this qualifies as my upsetting reply moment. And you'd probably have to be me in order to understand why I was so upset. He meant well, I'm sure:

I don't know what's so bad about mega churches. Jesus attended a mega church in Jerusalem, didn't he? And then he met with his small group.

I don't attend a mega church (ours averages around 500), but I don't see how a church that's alive and gets people excited, and provides tons of ministry opportunities, and connects people in meaningful ways through small groups, can be bad!

Churches become big because they come up with ways that actually reaches people and touches them and if that draws them closer to Christ then that's just flat-out awesome.

And my reply:

First... I want to thank you for stopping by my little ego-drive today and for leaving a comment.

I appreciate your sincerity and judging by a quick glance at your blog, I can tell that that is what you are about, bringing God into the public, so-called "secular," arena.

I also agree, as I did in my post and as I do in my thought processes, that the good things (people getting connected to God and each other) that happen within the mega-church movement are in fact, good things. However, I also believe it's paramount to not confuse good results with good, Biblical, Spirit-filled processes.

First, on a historical note, the temple that Jesus attended in the early 1st Century was not by any means a Mega-Church. It was THE Temple. The only temple (cf. John 4:20-22). There was no market-driven strategy. There was no competition. People came simply because the Temple in Jerusalem was the Only place to worship the Only God. To suggest, however, that the Twelve were Christs' small group is to trivialize the awesome transformation and revolution happening in the relationships between Jesus, the masses, and his committed followers. Again, nothing against small groups; they are great and often life-transforming. But Jesus wasn't just meeting some guys over tea and fritos.

The times, however, are a-changing. And no one should negate that. When the times change, the Church should recognize its role in the environment. It should never lose a hold of its vision or purpose (Mtt. 28:18-20), to restore sight to the blind, give hope to the hopeless, shelter the homeless, protect the innocent, the fatherless, the widows, etc, but in the love of and from Jesus with an eye on eternity.

I'm not saying that mega-churches do not do that, but the focus is taken off Jesus and these commands and put onto the consummer. The seeker is the consummer and we must do whatever is necessary to get their attention, even if it means compromising the Gospel message and that which is considered offensive (picture a senior pastor of a mega-church getting up and saying that all congregants must drink this blood and eat this flesh to get into heaven. Not gonna happen in a consummer-driven church). Jesus knew he was going to be a stumbling block, that when he calls us, he calls us to die with him.

I cannot see Joel Osteen (OK, so I named one, and an easy target, but he is setting up a dangerous pattern) saying to all that would follow him that, "Foxes have holes and birds have nests in which to rest, but I don't even have a pillow or a box spring. I'm homeless." Or to another would-be attender who wants eternal life, "Sell everything you have to the poor and follow me." Or how about, "Hey, people are gonna hate me, what'd'ya know? I'm gonna die. And if you want any piece of what I'm about, you're gonna die too. So, yeah, come follow me."

The more I follow the life and teachings of Jesus, of course, the more I realize how short I fall on EVERY single issue. I have to look at my own complacency and laziness and definitely the fact that I want people to like me; I fear man more than God. But that shouldn't stop anyone for calling the Church to question.

And, just because a church is active and even theologically correct does not mean it is alive (cf. Rev. 2:1-7).

Hey, don't be a stranger,
Peace,
jason

So, yeah, you could tell I was itching for a fight. He didn't bring it, though.

The Collective begins... Now!

It's not complete yet. The design, as of this writing, is about as blase as can be. But the collective is riding.

Yes, this image was in the Shameless Plug post. But I doubt you'd know that, because nobody read it.

We've baptized it Further Up and Further In. It's a statement that C. S. Lewis penned some years ago in the Last Battle, the finale of the Chronicles of Narnia, of which The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe was the first written and released (Note: for further, I had already deposited a ton of links here - they're hidden in the lyrics). The quote is a call by Aslan to explore the infinite of heaven, to enter into and enjoy the fullness of paradise.

My first post is up, today (but it's under Adam's photo, which was put up the other day), as well as the funniest inaugural post I've ever read, done by mad-skills Adam. Although you may have to be versed in the evangelical subculture to understand it. And you may have to be versed in a whole mess of other stuff to grasp mine (like borderline insanity). But read it, people!

Anyway, I'll be posting there once a week, updating frequently, but always looking for critical feedback. Honestly, tell me what you think. I want to be able to publish (as in, print) some of this stuff.

Further,
j.

My plans for world peace have once again been thwarted.

Arrrrgghhhh! Hulk angry!

Ever get that feeling that the world was at your fingertips, just ready to comply to your most secret, most base desires, especially if your desire was to see Celine Dion (the Queen of Pretentiousness) perform "Bad" by Michael Jackson (the Queen of Preteens).

The filthy part of this dream is that I can not, the raison d'etre has slipped through my grasp. I do not have the capabilities here at work to watch it. Quicktime is not downloaded here and it would be so much trouble trying to download it. But, if you have it and you watched that piece of cosmic genius and now you are just getting off your high, you might be able to - depending on the feasibility and expediency of lawyers - check out downloads from Live 8.

Thanks to lookingcloser.blogspot.com for nothing. For me. If you get 'em and love 'em, send 'em a note. Tell 'em I sent ya. And answer this question:

Who's bad?

Singles

You're looking for a born-again, water-baptized, never-married, church-going, tithe-giving, Bible-reading virgin to marry. Right — and there's life on Mars.

Anyway, that reminds me of the second question that I wanted to ask last post: What is the most ridiculous and /or funny pick-up line you ever heard or used? (Extra points to the lames who've used them.) Now, please be reminded that I've heard all the stand-bys (Too many gay bars around these parts!), so "Did it hurt...," "I must be dead...," and "I've lost my phone number, can I have yours," were at one time funny, but not anymore. I need new funny. Give us new funny!

A cleaned-up example my 'son' gave me the other day (I'm not known for being PC, but I am an educator and I'm trying to watch my mouth [er, fingers], so I gotta take it easy.): Both of your parents must be LD, because you sure are special.

Ok, it's funnier in the original, what can I say? The winner gets the first annual Barney Rubble's Daughter-In-Law Award.

Have a gay old time!

We thought it would be funny...

Ok, that's the last time we'll channel Alan Funt in this blog. But I make no such promises concerning the royal 'we'.

But considering that this blog gets so few hits - besides those Sociology Ph.D. candidates researching the infamous and nefarious 'No hollerback, girrrrrrrrrl/Bananas' song (Yet what they really got was a bad joke. Shhh, don't tell nobody!) - I thought that this might be a safe place for this assignment. I'm looking for the stupidest - read, funniest or most inane (or at least upsetting) - comment left on your blog. If you don't have a blog, you can quote from someone else's, but in either case, I need to see a tag, we need to be able to see your source. Let me explain this just a bit: By funny, I do not mean an inside joke. We all laugh at the inside jokes on our blogs and often at the inside jokes of someone else's conversations, but 1) there are too many, 2) they are not transferable. Two, if you need to, provide some context. Remember, a joke is all about deliverance on context. Set-up, pop. But if the said comment just irritated the mess out of you, we should also know why.

And in saying 'we', we are merely speaking of our readers and - mostly - ourselves.

The winner will be announced by this Friday and will receive 1) notoriety, 2) the Bananas Award via the ever-efficient and extraordinary USPS. (Please don't let it be Christine. Why, oh why do you have to live in another country?)

Get to it people, It's clobbering time!

Poems Post

Ok, no poem of the week. Sorry. I'm into some heavy reading and thinking, so hopefully, my young ones. Soon. Very soon.

But, some archives:

One Day We Shall All Be Free. One of my first spoken words. And the first of its type to be performed.

Constructs. Ahh, for b-ball and bbq.

Phoenix. A little more typical one.

Mom I Need My Two Dollars! Speaks for itself, don't it?

Where We May Find the Space of Doubt was accidentally the beginning of Poetry Week.

More posts later. Keep warm. You are loved.

Childhood Meme(nto)

Thanks a lot, Ms. Revolt(ing).

Ok, this is probably the easiest meme I've ever seen, in terms of questions. Answers? Now, that may be a different story. Unless you cheat.

Name your 5 favorite childhood memories:

1) Tasty Freeze
Ahhh, ice cream in the summer. When I think of how poor we were and cheap my father was (more on that later), I can't believe we ever went to Tasty Freeze (Actually, I don't remember if we did. Maybe I just went with my youth pastor in 6th grade.), let alone bought Breyers most the time. A tradition I continue to this day.

2) Chuck E. Cheese
We never went for my birthday, and I was too old to enjoy the ball room, but pizza & video games? All in the same place? Toy Story almost made me want to cry, watching it again.

3) 'Look at these.' (The punch-line of a girls' joke that i didn't understand was a girls' joke until much later.)
And, years later, I confound innocents the world over. Just not in the same way.

4) (You knew I was gonna say this one) Government cheese.
We honestly were dirt poor. In terms of strict economics, we were dirt farm poor. Thank God for WIC and government cheese and peanut butter. And coupons, lots and lots of 'em that my dad spent half his waking life saving, storing, counting and using. The devil gets the credit for powdered milk, though.

5) Michael Jackson. (I just deleted a joke, cuz it was too nasty and there's no way of doin' it w/o being nasty. But he was a hero, until that less-than-magical night when I went to camp Neverland and he....) 'Nuff said. No, I grew up loving pop music. All sorts of sentimental, schloppy, goofy, Tiffany, NKotB, Debbie Gibson, Madonna, Elvis, Beatles (early stuff), Chuck Berry, Lionel Richie, Little Richard, Prince, that song, "Lady in Red." Oh, and thanks for reminding, Timi, Bon Jovi. And Stryper. I spent an entire summer dropping quarters into 1944, The Battle Over Midway while Jackson's "The Way You Make Me Feel" played in the background at the Pizza Hut. Never grew tired of that song. It was my soundtrack.

As far as who's next:
Pikachoo, I choose you!
Whoever switched over from www.lookingcloser.blogspot.com.
Whoever switched over from Micah's World.
Whoever switched over from the collective (Cee barnes, A-damm!, Ga-bee-NO, and !Timi-huh?!)
And last but not least (because she's the only real person) Destiny.
Hey, I see y'all! Don't try to hide. Ain't nowhere to hide, I'll track you down.

It'll be a yellow and black attack.

Honestly.

Roots, pt. 1

Together with my assistant pastor's wife, I dug up old, useless ground and weeds in early April, tilled the soil - which was very, very rich and dark - and watered the ground in anticipation of new sod. When it arrived in the late morning, we remarked at how lovely and green and strong it was. And we laid it down. Ms. D - as we call her, not caring much for calling anyone by two whole names around these parts, even the pastors get the initials - carefully laid the sod and attached the pieces to each other while I merely kept things wet as the sun approached its pinnacle on top of the sky.


And we expected great things. For once in recent memory, the short parcel of land directly in front of the church would be green, and lush. We would have to mow it twice a week, it'd grow so large and lush and wonderfully green. We would match with many of the other properties in our respectable, residential neighborhood. We could begin working on that awful red metal box to the north of our converted office building, the old train box car that functions as both our weight room and eye-blight.

But, a remarkable thing happened. Or rather, didn't happen. Someone dropped the ball. I don't know who, I'm not sure why. The lawn was watered, but not often enough, and not long enough. All things may have worked out fine if we had received rains in early May. Or late May. Or June.

Total accumulation reached nary an inch, though.

By late June, early July, nearly all area grass is an ugly shade of brown. The local high school, which usually caresses a large parcel of land (by Chicago standards) in greenery, has been abdicated by Mother Nature. All that remains is a very shoddy of hay. I started having nightmares of Arizona. This afternoon I went to my brother's for the first time since March. I noted the lawn, which, for the most part, was green. He watered the lawn in front and back every day (at least every day they were in town), sometimes twice. But still, there were those patches of light brown dryness.

What I learned through this, however, is that the deeper the roots are, the more alive the plant is, the more of a chance it has to survive - for it can draw from more resources. I've learned that the work of rooting is hard and consistent work, but it is not fully dependent on the worker, it needs the help of the full environment. I've also learned that if those roots aren't in place, it can be easily lifted.

Obviously, I'm not just talking about sod here.

I've always felt separate. My auntie is full-blooded Puerto Rican, but she was raised in the US, in an English-speaking household. She never learned Spanish. But because she's so dark, when I was a child, I thought she was black. I also thought it a common thing. I figured that every family had people of different colors in their household, such as my dark brown grandma. My Korean and Turkish neighbors, my Greek and African-American and Jordanian and Mexican and Indian and Eastern Virginian and Guatemalan ("Watermelon?" I innocently asked.) classmates and playmates were all part of the cultural and colorful mix. I didn't understand why people were looking strangely at me as I walked with my disheveled, curly head (looking a good five inches larger than it should be) and white skin bedrocked by freckles to the right of Yvonne and her oblivious nervousness (an ordinary trait of hers). I just figured they were jealous.

I sometimes wonder if that's not the case. My exoticness is a license, I guess, to act a bit different, to be looked at and treated differently. It's only natural, though. A twitch of sorts in contemporary society, something of which everyone, including myself, is somewhat guilty of - self-consciously or not. And, although I don't feel exploited or treated wrong, general comments leave me feeling askew, whether they originate from a friend or no. I'm in or not because I'm not, or because I am.

But I think more often, I'm not.

Armaggedeon Countdown Begins...

The Garbage Pail Kids Movie is coming out on DVD.

It's been nearly twenty years since those of us with so little taste that we hung up their stickers all over our rooms, doors, garbage cans, clothes, folders, school work, little kin, etc. were actually reviled by the supreme lameness of the movie. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles the Movie was Orson Welles compared to this mess.

Nijas in a half-shell. Turtle Power.

Now, the next time y'all tease me about Michelle Williams, there's more where that came from.

Trivia: Corey Feldman played the voice of Donatello in 2/3rds of the TMNT film trifecta.

cooties

things i can't understand,
freeness, newness, ampersand
the way of a woman with a man

the way she touches the hands
the sweat drips brow, and
puruses fingertips to tend the land

finds merely solely the chasm
warm undue, warm too fast
rome's raided, sword in hand

Ok, It's a semi-joke. In that, this poem's definitely not done. It's in pre-production. But it is fairly real and true.

If Destiny's Child officially breaks up...

...Does that mean that if I swoop in for Michelle Williams, I'll be the rebound guy?

Because I could live without that.

Just bide my time. Just bide my time.

New York Duplicitous

Earlier, I had reported about a funny exchange between a clueless Times reporter and one of his interview subjects. James, as Barbara Nicolosi would call him (and luckily, as is his first name), was searching hard for a story, a story linking conservative think tanks in D.C. with conservative Christian filmmakers in Hollywood. In keeping with traditional Red state/Blue state rhetoric, James does not seem to understand differences between political, cultural, fiscal and theological conservatives. Or how non-for-profits work, for that matter.

But he does make for a funny read. And what is more hilarious, the New York Times, heretofore the most prestigious daily in the US, is reduced to producing such inocuous and unprovable statements as:

According to two people who have worked with him and who spoke anonymously to protect their industry relationships, Mr. McEveety, [edit., McEveety recently left Icon Productions. Yes, Mel Gibson's company. The guys who produced that conservative juggernaut, The Passion.] who declined to be interviewed, controls a $100 million fund devoted to making and promoting family-oriented movies. (Mr. McEveety did note in an e-mail message that his criterion for making films is whether "my kids would be able to see them," not politics.) He is collaborating with Mr. Bannon, 51, on two new Catholic-themed documentaries, one on cloning, and another on Pope Benedict XVI, which is budgeted at about $1 million.

And, as if making movies with such outlandish budgets about someone as trivial as the new pope is not crazy enough, get a load of this:

The two men have also participated in discreet, religiously based outreach and financing initiatives, including gatherings arranged by the Wilberforce Forum, the Virginia-based evangelical public policy group whose chairman is the former Watergate figure Chuck Colson and which has a mission to "shape culture from a biblical perspective," according to its Web site, wilberforce.org.

Now, just in case you missed that, Wilberforce is a branch of Colson's Prison Fellowship ministry. And although no one would argue that Colson is a liberal, he does tend toward the compassionate side of that fence. Another truth is that it is, according to the website, their goal is to be roaring lambs, to use Bob Briner's (God rest his soul) phrase. In other words, Christians need to engage culture. If Wilberforce is deciding, like its abolitionist namesake, to engage in culture and make some difference, to help in some way, people of like-mind in the arts and entertainments, how is this wrong? When it becomes a conspiracy? Lunacy.

But to her credit, with few pitfalls (What the heck is a Catholic activist, anyway? If someone called me an Evangelical activist, I'd give 'em a slice of mah fist, left cheek be danged.), Barbara Nicolosi was able to engage James and give him some levity. Though he somehow tied her into the the vast Wilberforce conspiracy.

To clear the record, Barbara is very much a conservative in terms of Catholic theology, especially vociferous in regards to life, especially dealing with euthanasia (she hated Million Dollar Baby for the obvious reason) and abortion. And she's an unapologetic Catholic. In shorthand, of course, she's a Catholic activist.

the second floor facade

pushed out forward,

like a box some kid, anxious
kicked from his
hoover-town fortress

while sihlouettes always in back
and tableux progress in regression

where does action become inert

and the subject become a lesson

what grabs us
pulls us to push?
what forces us
the forward thrust?
what relieves us to
lend out to trust?

- believe -

"It was self-defense...," he says. not quite sure if he cares
that i don't or do believe,

"Not what they say...," voice trailing in and out like morphine,

"...It was self defense..."

explains


"... I was a soldier in 'Nam..."

Shameless Plug

Always better than a shameless pug. Haha! Ugly dogs are funny.

This is both a nod in the direction of my peeps Gabi & Timi, both of whom decided to name their latest post as the same above (Vast Christian conspiracy? You decide.) and an affirmation of the fact that I really don't have much to say - yet.

I added a site counter to this blog. I wasn't able to get the feature - yet - where they tell you where people came in from. Because javascript, just like everything else in computer lingo, scares me. But it'll be nice to see how many dozens and dozens of people are visiting this blog on a weekly basis. Right now, it's 1/12th.

A group of fine writers and I are trying to hook up on the greatest collaborative effort since the Traveling Wilburys. Stay tuned for more on that. I don't wanna give out too much now. Don't wanna stinx it. (I don't believe in jinxes. Yet.)

Now, that's a sexy group of men.

There's Good News and then there's Bad News

And in that order:

There's hope for Africa in debt relief. Real, genuine hope. Here's one article I found while blogging around about Senegal's development of the $77 million they have been forgiven of their debts so far. Hopefully, hopefully...

Speaking of hope: There has been a group of suburban middle school / junior high youth staying at the church where I work and worship at for the entire week. One of the leaders was talking to one of my friends in the office this morning. My friend is originally from the suburbs also. The lady leader is starting up some small talk with my friend ('L') when she finds out that L's husband works at the local high school. She's a bit taken back by that. And, sans awareness, goes into a bit about how the kids that she has been working with - for the whole week, she stresses, again obliviously - seem so hopeless. At this point, I take L's lovely baby and try to focus on her, rather than yelling at the ignorant leader out of sheer rage. L tries to explain things to the leader. That, for example, in no way are the youth or children or inner city inhabitants without hope. That it's not such a necessary thing to lock your car doors all the time. That we shouldn't live in fear, etc., etc. I don't know if the leader (Which role she plays in the youth group is unclear, but she is not the director / pastor. I thank God for that.) was actually in a place to learn anything. It seemed to me, from my experience being near and with missionaries, that she was going through some major culture shock. And it's often extremely depressing and alienating. Maybe she'll learn more as she reflects. I know if she had talked to me like that... o help us please. Good thing L, although quite sensitive and obviously hurt by this lady's remarks, is more patient and could see where she was coming from.

Maybe she'll also learn something as the youth start reflecting also. Younger folk have a way of more easily identifying, even as they - much like us adults - aren't quite sure what to do with their preconceptions and misconceptions. And they got a chance to spend some quality time with kids - and some adults - from all over Chicago.

Speaking of preconceptions: Tonight I did a little labor, ripping and cutting pages of coloring books because there aren't enough to go around. It's for crafts time that some peeps in my church are going to lead in Haiti during the summer. I was talking to one of the leaders of this short term mission (STM. No jokes.) trip. Since he was the only one there who had actually gone to Haiti, let alone the region they are going to, I asked him some questions about the general standard of living, education, etc. I don't consider myself an ignoramus. But of course I am. He told me of genocide. Of the impossibly high unemployment rates. Of the I've spent a total of three days out of the grand old U.S. of A. Everybody always says that I should travel more. At this moment, I only see two reasons to travel. One of them involves my mama and some resting, some getting away. The other one, well, it has nothing to do with the Eiffel Tower or the L'Ouvre. I need to see real need. I need to cry.

I'm praying that our team (which will include a couple of my youth) will be broken of any pre- and mis-conceptions while they are there. I pray for as easy a transition as possible, including knocking any misgivings out of their minds now. Any feelings of superiority, of patronizing or paternalizing may leave now. I thank God for their movement, for their preparation, for their willing hearts up to this moment. For their willingness to raise much of their own money, open up and speak before the church (and trust me, there's a group of ladies going on this trip that are overcoming in just speaking to any group, let alone a congregation of 100-150), pray, fast. They are nearly complete in raising the money they need. Much more so if pledges come through. (Don't tell anybody that, though. It's just between us at this moment.)

I was reading some disparaging news on STM's this week. Apparently, most STMers do not fastidiously hold on to their initial excitement for long once they return to life-as-is. They fail to maintain relationships they promised to. They generally do not become life-long missionaries. They tend to be a drain on the existing churches (This we here can speak well of. Not in a mean sense, but logistically.). And the rates of giving do not have a large, sustainable increase. The question is posed: what does this mean and how should we respond?

And finally: Tonight the youth of the Haiti group went and spoke, along with our associate pastor, of the STM. Many of the visiting STMers, who were going on a little R&R to Navy Pier gave freely of their spending money. And they gave well, too. Not just for having heard of it, or not just because it wasn't their people, their friends, their church heading out. They gave well. Bless their hearts. Maybe they've learned even before they left.

Untitleds

I didn't have a poem of the week last week. Me so sorry. However, I promise to make it up to you by putting two down this week.

One of them I had just wrote less than half an hour ago and the other one I had an earlier version of a few weeks ago. Neither of them are complete, hence neither get titles yet (Although my faithful readers may know that titles and me sometimes... eh, we fight. I wrestle 'em like Jacob.).

But the version 2.1:

What our knowledge does for us
forcing us to rent space in the back of the bus
burying new skins in old soil of a naked nation
rent in two by reluctant emerging emancipation

Mileage in the shotgun

revolving to cause a Become

As old as a whore
As American as Ford's

Given all we could piece,
Nature, she wants more

Releasing the hounds
Civility in bonds
raging, making less with itself
than we could live without
For we have been in need
of all sons living freed
and prized in sheols we dug too deep

Knowing nothing but the hope
it won't be this time
Immersion in mercy
bathed in rouge liquid life

And Numero 2:

Amused by the disputed
turns and terms
spectacled images
spectator churns
the objects are clearer
but the focus is blurred

yes, detroit lost

But they lost to the best team in the world. One with hardly any chinks in the chain.

That's what a defense-oriented team looks for. That's why Detroit so handily beat the lazy Lakers last year. They had chinks the size of their egos. San An didn't. But to hear the networks tell it, nobody was watching the series, save myself, my roommates and the Spurs fans just below us (Typical sports fans, cursing and hollering at their tv's, much as we were doing at the NCAA Illini/N.C game at my church a couple months ago. I'm kidding. We're non-denominationals. We weren't hollering.).

That's too bad. The Spurs and the Pistons were firing on all cylinders and putting on basketball clinics for the whole nation. ABC - which flippin' owns ESPN - doesn't seem to know what to do with such a precious commodity. So they give it to their play-by-play football guy and Andy Warhol. The only thing missing from their coverage was Tiger Woods and Madden. Oh, and some life.

Oh, and to the detractors, where on earth was Phoenix, Miami and Houston during this series? Thank you.

Why that test is so wrong

(Note: This is a continuation of the post two down, Paging Rev. Lovejoy.)

To try to obtain someone's worldview by having them take a bubble test is, well, ludicrous. Especially if the questions are tricky or just written by an amateur. But that wouldn't keep me from taking it, twice, and writing two separate pieces on it. No, far stupider people have succumbed to my rants (take that, Kurt Carr).

The test is favored on a sliding scale of agreeableness with a certain point / question presumably tied with a specific theological position in mind. Whichever position gets the most on the +/- slide wins. It's that easy. Or is it?

Consider some of the questions:

53 Preaching the word is more important than worship.

Worship how? Worship as in singing and lifting hands? What we nowadays refer simply to praise and/or worship? With good/bad songs with good/bad/non-existent theology sung/performed well/adequately/holding-your-ears-bad while hands/arms/chalices are held-high/slung-low/firmly-to-the-side/uncomfortably-situated-somewhere-in-between? Isn't preaching the Word an acknowledgment of worship? Isn't it a part of the grander scheme of bowing to the greatness, the other-ness of God? Preaching isn't more important than worship, it's a part of worship, properly understood.

49 There is little or no human element in the Bible, it is a divine book.

Yeah, it's divine. So was Jesus. It was written by humans. It contains the books of Psalms, Ecclesiastes, Job, Song of Songs, Esther... I mean, even John the Apostle wrote the book of the Apocalypse largely in the way he did because he's a man, trying to write the divine that was happening before him.

3 The person of Christ, rather than the Bible, is the central focus of God's self-revelation.

Um, yeah, and the person of Christ is revealed through, what, again?

2 Justification by faith is the most important part of the Gospel

Of the Gospel message? Or of receiving and understanding the Gospel? Personally, I believe that the fact that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life is probably the most important part of the Gospel. But maybe that's several parts. Maybe I'm supposed to dissect the whole Gospel message into bite-sized pieces and discern which morsel is most essential to the whole. Hmmm... Jesus dying or Jesus raising? Hmmm... Justification by faith alone or Sanctification by faith alone? Is one more essential than the other? If Jesus merely saved me from the ultimate consequence of sin, but not from it's day-to-day slave system, wouldn't I just be off as bad, if not worse? Listen, just because Luther rediscovered justification by faith and made it central to his tenets doesn't mean that it's the most important part of the Gospel message.

52 Bishop Spong is an important theologian who should be taken seriously.

Is Bishop Sponge the guy who invented Liberation Theology? Or did he fight against the Catholic Church in regards to birth-control? (Ba-Dump!)

57 Academic knowledge is not as important as being 'on fire for God.'

What is meant by 'Academic knowledge'? Is that shorthand for biblical or theological knowledge? If it is, than it is more important than being 'on fire for God.' Because fires die out, quickly, overnight. Theological knowledge gives us a grounding to the great personhood of the Godhead. It gives us a form for our relationship, through thick and thin, long past when the fire is muted.

If, however, 'Academic knowledge' means being trapped under the weight of the heavy books and never experiencing the fullness of God, then 'no.' It becomes just another mask to try to hide our inadequacies from a God who knows us too well.

35 Social action is important, but not as important as saving lost souls.

"Saving souls"? I'm an Evangelical. A conservative Evangelical. And I'm offended by that title. Not because it's politically incorrect. Not because someone may get offended by my proselytizing. But because it's theologically incorrect. I can't save a soul. That's God's job. I can only preach. I'm not about to try to 'win' someone over or 'sell' them something. I'm going to preach truth and live love and point people to Christ, not a marketing gimmick. Please, win souls. And social action is important, because I have been made free in Christ.

By the way, this time I was a card-carrying Calvinist. Yeah, baby!

Wondering Where the Lions Are

This would be a big plug for The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Or, at least I'm sure Aslan would be proud (if you don't know what either of those are, I refer you to the music post a couple down).

The story goes that some men were abducting this child somewhere in Africa. True story. This little ten, eleven year old girl was going to be sold as some a**'s wife. As she was whimpering and crying for help, she received it- in the form of a group of lions. No kidding. They came out of nowhere and ambushed the ambushers, till they all fled. And then the great cats stood by the girl on watch until the police arrived. At which point the guardians dispersed.

A little bit of Tarzan, a little bit of Sheena, a little bit of Second-Hand Lions, or the Jungle Book, or even Aqua Man (who has super-powers, Timi). But really I'm thinking two things:

1) The Christological (that means, it represents the figure of Jesus Christ, but not literally) Aslan.

2) Bruce Cockburn's (pronounced, Coa-bern, like James) "Wondering Where the Lions Are." Which was the song that the radio station played after that news bit.

Because I do, sometimes, wonder where the lions are.

Paging Rev. Lovejoy

Apparently, I'm a Methodist and not a Calvinist. Ohhh, I've been living a confused life for so long. Better start a bake sale.

Well, at least that's what this quiz informed me of.

I'll take it again. But, dang it, I was pretty sure I was a Calvinist.

This sounds suspiciously like rock and / or roll.