No Words

There are no words for this
To effectively articulate this feeling of complete bliss
To try seems vain
For the answer remains the same
It simply can't be done

How do you describe the sun to the blind
Especially when they've never felt it's warmth
Or the grey of the moon as it lights the blackened sky
Shining as a mere reflection of something more majestic

The road to my redemption began some 9 years ago today
It's been progressively subversive at the very least, I say
It's been 9 years that have passed like an eternity
It's been 9 years that have passed like a day

So I sit and stare and try to capture the essence
Wonder and awe in light of her presence
She knows me like no other
She's my wife, my friend, my lover

She lifts me high and steals my pain away
Makes me long for just 1 more day
I say this risking idolatry, but with total honesty
She's ever more like Christ to me

From Golgotha to Hank

Don't know if you've seen them, but I'd advise you to stay away. They seem clever up front, but in the end just point to a more ironic reason for our failure. I'm talking about the series of studies based around the Beverly Hillbillies & Andy Griffith.

I used to like both of these shows, much akin to my affections for the 3 stooges & little rascals, but using them to equate the gospel to today's folk is much like giving a kid an atari when all he knows/wants is ps2. The picture of a round peg & square hole comes to mind. Our churches today seem to have this same mentality.

"Well, it was a morally good show even if it hasn't aired originally in over 30 years, so, why not? It still ought to work, right?"

This brings me to my new favorite series of all time. Many may find this to be offensive or unsuitable for kids, but I can't get enough of The King of the Hill. I know that I'm late to the game, but thankfully for me I can get a healthy diet of Hank through syndication monday thru friday 5:30-7pm.


Last nite's show reminded me so much of the gospel story that I couldn't help but smile. I don't know if anyone else would've gotten the same message (unintended I'm sure), but it was there. The Message was there, hidden within the idiocy of Hank & his crew and has to be relevant to someone.

The episode was based on the Olympic Torch coming to town on it's way to Salt Lake City for the now past winter games. Hank is chosen as Arlen's most prized citizen to carry said torch for the city, which drudges up issues with Hank. He is a pretty stoic character, as far as cartoon characters go, and strives to stick to the rules that leads to his own moral purity.

As Hank prepares for his leg of the Torch run, his pal Dale can't help but light a cigarette off the flame. This piece of the story seems innocuous enough, but plays a vital role later. Hank finally gets on his way with the torch to much fan fare and when he seems to finally turn the corner, the impossible happens.

The Torch is dropped and extinguished. All hope seems to be lost. Peggy (Hank's wife) comes along & convinces Hank to re-light the Torch from another source & that no one will know the difference. Hank appears to relent, but before he passes this new flame on to the next runner, he stops and puts it out himself. No one else may know that this was not the original, but Hank does, and refuses to propagate a lie. There is just no substitute for the originally intended way, even if no one else buys it.

This is the point where Bobby, (Hank's son) steps up and delivers. He recalls the lit cigarette that contains the spark of the original fire within it and wrests it from Dale to re-light the Torch anew. In a totally unthinkable way, the Olympic Spirit is redeemed by the son through a cigarette of all things.

I'm not for throwing out the bible for a study of cable tv, but we just might be able to learn a bit here. Hank (the Father), realizes that there is a price to be paid for the purity of Origin. Peggy (a daughter of Eve), seems to see nothing wrong with circumventing said purity for improvisation and not to mention, saving face. Dale (the devil...?...see they both start with d...conincidence?...I think not) appears to control the fate of the original intent of the flame, but that is fleeting and wrested away from him. Bobby (the Son), comes along and redeems the day by an act so asinine (as Hank would put it), that it doesn't seem plausible, but in the end is the only remedy for the current state of affairs.

You may be sitting here finding all of this a stretch, but I'm reminded of Romans:

19But the basic reality of God is plain enough. Open your eyes and there it is! 20By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes as such can't see: eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his divine being. So nobody has a good excuse.

We give God credit for creating nature, so why not King of the Hill? Only seems right, since He was/is/ever will be our King of the hill & hopefully our heart...

Just a thought...yep

Sensitized

I wasn't so sure that I'd heard him right...he pays to watch beheadings? John Piper...pastor, author, theologian, role model...searchs out the net for what? He claims it is to keep him sensitized to pain & suffering that is so prevalent in our world. He even went so far as to urge others in the room there that nite to do the same.

"I've got the site to go to if you want it..."

J.P. blew me away that nite...this pic blew me away this nite...

My heart breaks over this devastation...my prayer is that yours does as well.



Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum.
Bring out the coffins, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message they are Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves.
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

Each were someone's North, South, East and West.
Their working week and Sunday rest.
Their noon, their midnight, their talk, their song;
We thought that love would last forever: we were wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Funeral Blues by WH Auden...adapted by me

The Vision

So this guy comes up to me and says,
"What's the vision? What's the big idea?"

I open my mouth, and the words come out like this...

The vision?
The vision is Jesus: obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.
The vision is an army of young people.
You see bones?
I see an army.

And they are free from materialism--
they laugh at 9-5 little prisons.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on
Tuesday they wouldn't even notice.
They know the meaning of the Matrix,
the way the West was won.

They are mobile like the wind,
they belong to to the nations,
they need no passport.
People write their strange existence.
They are free
yet they are slaves
of the hurting and dirty and dying.

What is the vision?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes.
It makes children laugh and adults angry.
It gave up the game of minimum integrity
long ago to reach for the stars.
It scorns the good and strains for the best.
It is dangerously pure.

Light flickers
from every secret motive,
every private conversation.
It loves people away from their suicide leaps,
their Satan games.

This is an army
that would lay down its life for the cause.
A million times a day
its soldiers choose to lose
that they might one day win the great
"Well done" of faithful sons and daughters.

Such heroes are as radical
on Monday morning as Sunday night.

They don't need fame from names.
Instead they grin quietly upwards
and hear the crowds chanting again and again:
"COME ON!"

And this is the sound of the underground,
the whisper of history in the making,
foundations shaking,
revolutionaries dreaming once again.
Mystery is scheming in whispers,
conspiracy is breathing...
This is the sound of the underground.

And the army is discipl(in)ed--
young people who beat their bodies into
submission.

Every soldier would take a
bullet for his comrade at arms.
The tattoo on their back boasts
"for me to live is Christ and to die is gain."

Sacrifice fuels the fire
of victory in their upward eyes.
Winners.
Martyrs.
Who can stop them?
Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed?
Can fear scare them or death kill them?

And the generation prays
like a dying man with groans beyond talking,
with warrior cries,
sulphuric tears and
great barrow loads of laughter!

Waiting.
Watching:
24-7-365.

Whatever it takes they will give:
Breaking the rules,
shaking mediocrity from its cozy little hide,
laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs,
laughing at labels,
fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mold them.
Hollywood cannot hold them.
Peer=pressure is powerless
to shake their resolve
at late-night parties
before the cockerel cries.

They are incredibly cool,
dangerously attractive )on the inside).
On the outside? They hardly care!
They wear clothes like costumes:
to communicate and celebrate
but never to hide.

Would they surrender their image or their
popularity?
They would lay down their very lives,
swap seats with the man on death row,
guilty as hell: a throne for an electric chair.

With blood sweat and many tears,
with sleepless nights and fruitless days,
they pray as if it all depends on God
and live as if it all depends on them.

Their DNA chooses Jesus
(He breathes out, they breathe in).
Their subconscious sings.
They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.

Their words make demons scream
in shopping malls.
Don't you hear them coming?

Herald the weirdoes!
Summon the losers and the freaks.
Here come the frightened and forgotten
with fire in their eyes!
They walk tall and trees applaud,
skyscrapers bow,
mountains are dwarfed
by these children of another dimension.

Their prayers summon the Hound of Heaven
and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.

And this vision will be.
It will come to pass;
it will come easily;
it will come soon.

How do I know?
Because this is the longing of creation itself,
the groaning of the Spirit,
the very dream of God.

My tomorrow is His today.
My distant hope is His 3-D.
And my feeble, whispered,
faithless prayer
invokes a thunderous,
resounding,
bone-shaking
great "Amen!"
from countless angels,
from heroes of the faith,
from Christ Himself.

And He is the original dreamer,
the ultimate winner.
Guaranteed.

--Pete Grieg

Understand

UNDERSTAND THE DREAM IS OVER by brett detar

Here is my new disposition. You're about to understand. Our theory is only obvious to the skeptical, and at the bitter end. You're staring at a white page and the print is plain to see. Now turn the page and read what's written. It's your history. Do you understand? The dream is over. You haven't slept in years. Don't be looking for answers. You're better following trails. You're staring at a black screen. Your body starts to tense. When two plus two is five or less it's time to question common sense. Silence is a secret, a weapon in disguise. Listen to the silence. Open up your eyes. Do you decide what you hear and believe? Tell me who makes your mind up for you. Do you believe what you see to be true? Can you tell me who owns the truth? Who bought the truth? What is your disposition? Here is my new disposition. You're about to understand. Our theory is only obvious to the skeptical and at the bitter end.

Bandage

You ever wonder why the removal of a bandage is often times more painful than the actual wound or the healing process. As a dealer I often times put in morphine orders for use prior to bandage changes or treatments for burn victims and the like @ the hospital and think that I can identify with the pain by grimacing over the removal of a band-aide from a hairy arm. I guess this is why we often would defer to leave the wraps in place?

My one wish for the Bride for the new year is that she would be further exposed. I pray for the revealing of naked wounds laid bare and the guts of leadership to not wish for the morphine to dull the pain or for the bandages never to be removed in the 1st place. Our wounds not only need the healing touch of open air, but need to fulfill purpose of reality within our body corporate.

We extend open arms to the broken, wounded and beaten down and offer safe haven for their recovery. These that would, hobble to our abode deserve our absolute honesty that is revealed through the raw healing power of redemption and restoration that is in progress. None of us have arrived or are even close, so why make nice and embrace those through the prosthesis of pseudo-arms unmarked by life?

Grant us the guts to be laid bare. Allow us to heal through our brokenness and in spite of it. Let us focus on the healing of the open air, instead of the comfort of the bandage.

Immeasurable

Well, the time is nigh. I sit and reflect in the living room of my parents and gaze at a tree dwarfed by the presents beneath it. My little ones will surely squeal with glee as they tear through their gifts in the nite time hours to come.

My mom has constantly hit me with questions as to what I want for x-mas this year, as every year, and I still find it hard to come up with something material that she could get for me. You see, this year has been like no other for me and I've already been gifted beyond what I could ever have imagined. The mere fact that I sit and type now, is testament to this glorious gift.

This gift continues to give and has nothing to do with how well or how poor you perceive the construction of this text. This gift is the gift of constant discovery and exploration of a side of me that lay dormant and ignorant for too long. It is a side that lays within you as well, and I would implore you to set it free.

The one gift that I long for this year is not found in any store or available on the net. It is for a continuous exponential growing of this insatiable appetite for Truth and how He would have me be. My very existence and identity is defined by Him and I pray that I be more like He would have me than ever.

I pray that my gift would be yours also. May you be gifted with the addiction that kills. Through your own murder you will be set free...from guilt, greed, pride, envy, worry, or whatever would enslave you now...free from death.

May this addiction have your heart smolder within you. I would that you not sleep peacefully, endure worship, or bible study without the overwhelming desire to provide an outlet for this fire burning within. Pursue this outlet which is the outer manifestation of your faith with great zeal.

May the Lord grant you a peace that is made apparent in your passionate, persistent pursuit of His pleasure for your life. Rage to the death against your own physical indifference. Long for the insatiable infatuation of the Incarnate that annihilates inactivity.

This gift is immeasurable...

Calling All DGD's

We played the flute for you,
and you did not dance;
we sang a dirge,
and you did not mourn.

What label would you be more comfortable with? Would you like to be called a demon, a drunk or a glutton? Would you like to be called a friend to iv drug users and queers? Are you now? Should you be?

I've had to defend the statements of some to my local flock about how they dared of a walk that would make people question their Christianity. This is so Jesus, that I'm surprised and saddened that most would miss it. The man-God himself had those that questioned Him and His lifestyle, so how could we even be so bold as to think that others couldn't/wouldn't/shouldn't question ours?

I'm almost of the mind that if others aren't questioning, then maybe we should be. Maybe we're too comfortable, too complacent and too self-centered in our religion to be accused of anything. I'd rather risk reaching out in a way that garners disdain, than appease those still trapped in tradition, made comatose by custom or lethargic in their liturgy.

Seek the Christ at all cost, I beg you. Once you find Him, follow Him with everything that is within you. Become the demonic, gluttonous drunk that He longs for you to be.

But wisdom is proved right by her actions.

Pearl Birth

Today was not a good day. To put it bluntly it sucked, BIG TIME. Maybe spending 7 hours on the road with 3 little ones, getting a ticket or suffering from a massive headache had a little to do with it.

I kept looking over at my better half and remarking how these weren't turning out to be the pleasant x-mas memories that they should be and that I just wanted to forget that this day ever took place. The ticket weighed heavy on my mind and regardless of how I tried to tell myself that it was just a stupid mistake and to forget about it, I couldn't. The ticket just served as a reminder of all the idiocy of my past and traveling back to the scene of the crime didn't help any.

I've often heard how people look back over their lives without any regrets and how they wouldn't change a thing, but I've never been able to approach this place in my own existence. I've always had regret and the ever present manifestations of past mistakes and this ticket is the very epitome of both. I try to focus as we continue to journey, but it is very difficult.

We approach the Louisiana state line and irony the size of a road sign smacks me right between the eyes. We've crossed this bridge several times in the past, but it's this time that I take special notice of the name of the river. It's very name conjures ideations of the beauty born through much struggle and irritation. The name of the river is Pearl.

I'm reminded of a bible study I led on Revelation some years back and how entrance is gained through one of the gates called Pearl. I proclaim how our entry through this gate is ironic due to the very nature of the pearl and the formation of something very beautiful begins with such an irritant. Traversing the bridge this day brings me full circle in realizing the redemption of something that I continue to struggle with in my own life...my past.

I've trusted the Lord with everything, at least I thought. He's the master of my present and I most definitely trust Him with my future, but I fear that I've neglected letting Him rule in my past. This is not to say that I can go back in time and place Him where He should have been, but I can trust in Him to redeem those irritating failures that embody my past and allow Him to present it to me as blessings now.

Entering into my past is still hard at times, but I know that one day I'll return to find the pearl that He's forming there. This pearl does nothing but cover a multitude of regret and fuels my longing for tomorrow. This longing is not to distance myself from the irritation of yesterday, but to see the pearl birth of tomorrow.

Pass the P's

I can't help but wonder if her knowing edified her endurance. I wonder if her realization, however partial it was, helped steel her resolve. Did her determination derive from designation for deliverance of Deity?

I'm awakened early this morn to ponder the mystery.

As this teen endured the leering gossip of her people, was she comforted by her knowing? As the stretch marks made their way to her waist line, did she envision salvation? Did the growth of her belly bring about ideas of the birth and spiritual growth of a nation and ultimately an enumerable throng? As her belly button disappeared, did she think of the disappearance of guilt, shame and sin?

As she rode the back of that ass, feeling every downstep and bump along the way, was her ride made bearable by His eminence? Upon arrival and grasping her taut midsection, did she accept her temporary pain as the pathway to His ultimate passion? As the blood and water flowed, I can't help but think of the irony, while those present could just see the wonder of the moment.

So, how about us? Are we able to proceed through pain by grace with this seed of eternity planted deeply within us? Is our salvation likened to this glorious gestation by which we see in part now, only to see in full at the end and through our own birthing experience? Are we too caught up in our own outer manifestations of the growth within to truly realize the work of Majesty conceived inside?

Please ponder your own pregnancy as the Prince is pleased by the perception of His passion within your person...

Country + Rap = Crap?

I was oh so close to turning the channel on the radio. A song started to play that is comprised of 2 very different artists of 2 very different genres of which I like or listen to neither. Amy said that she hadn't heard it and expressed interest, so I relented.

I let the song play and a very strange thing happened. As I listened to the lyrics of a broken man who just can't stop loving the one who's leaving him it happened. This was the very epitome of our conversation this morning of culling truth from culture regardless of where it is found.

We had just left bible study where we were putting the finishing touches on the minor prophets of the Old Testament, and as this song played the words of Hosea resonated in my soul. This man of God was called to marry a whore and serve as a very practical example of God and his relentless pursuit of us. Regardless of how we leave Him, He 'just can't stop loving' us.

He loves us when we love Him and He still loves us when we don't. He loves us for eternity when we accept Him into our lives and He still loves us when we reject Him. Sadly for us though, He loves us so much that He honors our request in continuing our desires to live without Him throughout eternity.

I'm left wondering about Him and His boundless, unconditional love. If He is love and is unlimited in this regard, is He capable of an unlimited amount of grief? It would almost seem so, due to how we often walk out on Him.

I'm so glad that I listened and didn't turn the radio this nite. I found the God that I wasn't looking for, but who loves me beyond my own belief. He loves me over and over again and I just can't take it, I just can't shake it, no...

Just Exist

I'm tired. Don't have much to say. I sometimes have to fight the urge to feel obligated to say stuff. After all, that's what this is all about, isn't it?

Wrong.

I often times forget that I just need to be. That's it...just exist. My existence alone is ample evidence of my Father. He doesn't need my words, He longs for my heart.

Beautiful Drowning

You done God any favors lately? Have you graced Him with your idolatry laden diatribe that you so piously call prayer? Have you graced Him with your illuminate presence at His house? Have you abhorrently shunned all evil, perceived or otherwise, with your zeal for His appeasement? Please, stop kidding yourself and get real.

Romans 12:3 (The Message)

I'm speaking to you out of deep gratitude for all
that God has given me, and especially as I have responsibilities in relation to
you. Living then, as every one of you does, in pure grace, it's important that
you not misinterpret yourselves as people who are bringing this goodness to God.
No, God brings it all to you. The only accurate way to understand ourselves is
by what God is and by what he does for us, not by what we are and what we do for
him.

Pure grace, what a novel concept.

Pure (pyoor) a. free from all extraneous matter; untainted; spotless; blameless; unsullied; chaste; innocent; absolute; theoretical, not applied.

The very unfortunate thing about Webster's definition is that it contains God's version and ours in the entry. It almost seems unjustified this way. We want to love and extend grace to our fellow man and His creation, but on our terms AND with strings attached. I don't think that strings come to mind when picturing something that is free from all extraneous matter. We have a head knowledge of this pure grace, but I'm afraid that our heart believes it's merely theoretical only and is not practical for application.

This is something that has laid heavy on me this week as I've read The Son of a Preacher Man by Jay Bakker. Yep, that's Jim and Tammy Faye's boy that had to endure the blazing firestorm that was the demise of the PTL in the late 80's. He's seen the ugly underbelly of a church (corporate) that believes whole heartedly in a God of pure grace, redemption and restoration as far as He relates to them, but it's not for practical application when called to extend that to His creation.

Don't dilute yourselves friends. We bring nothing that even resembles goodness to God. We do Him no favors through our shallow prayers, our presence in selfish worship and especially in our dismissal of those things or people who we judge to be under His punishment for their atrocities or their apparent unrighteousness.

Love absolutely, attempting to grant grace that is free, stringless and untainted. Do it because you were first granted this pure grace and not for any other reason. No other reason is valid.

Allow others to drown in His goodness on display through you, not by you and especially in spite of you. Allow others to experience this holy water in their lungs as you once did. This beautiful drowning...

Joy of Another Color

I'm usually a pretty jovial person. This has it's good and bad points. I would think that the good points would be pretty obvious and go with out mentioning much, safe for the most important fact that it points to spiritual fruit that brings to bare the earned opportunity to explain this ever pervading expression. The bad points about being a zealously joyful person are usually surmised by the ever cumbersome answering of pointed questions as to ones apparent lack of thier usually all encompassing joy.

An example may be in order to further clarify myself in this regard. It just so happens that I've got one from my recent history that I'll now try to share for further illuminesence on the subject. It began last nite as I was shuttling the kids to church for their x-mas party.

Cam was telling me how much he liked x-mas, because he liked baby Jesus. My response was in like kind to him and I couldn't help but ask if he realized that this baby Jesus was the same man Jesus who, at the same age as his dad is now, went to the cross for us. He said that he knew that and I was comforted by his ability to make the connection.

While the knowledge that Cam 'gets it', brings me great joy, the conversation led me down a path to a joy of another color. I realize that this should be a very joyous time of year, but I don't think that I'll be able to express the same joy that most would associate with the season. You see, I've now got this mental image in my mind that almost brings me to tears now as I begin to type.

When I asked Cam if he knew the same Babe that lay in that manager was destined for the cross, I'm not so sure that I had given it much thought. I pondered this all nite and still wrestle with this weight as my fingers stumble across this keyboard. I gaze at my babies, in all their innocence, and as the tears well, try to image that in the time that it takes for their lives to progress to where mine is now, the reason for all seasons allowed Himself to be crushed.

My mind cannot shed this imagery. Every time I think of the Babe to whom all should adore, I see the man He would become and the Bread that would be broken. Every circumstance that brings remembrance, I think of the One through which all things were made and are sustained and how He bore it all to redeem those things.

If you see me and I don't seem to be my usual joyous self, please bare with me. I'm spending this season with One who was crushed, so that I could be consecrated. I'm pondering how He was reviled to redeem me and establish relationship.

I'll never look at another baby the same again...

Overhead

I work in the basement. Not much happens here. Well, not much compared to the action overhead. Overhead is life. Overhead is death. Overhead is pain. Overhead is pleasure.

I can't help but feel the weight of the sorrow from overhead. Lately, souls have slipped into eternity at a pretty hectic rate, overhead. I hear the code being called for the 17 year old, who just hours earlier was riding with friends. I can almost feel his soul exit the building as his family grasps for anything to hold on to. As tragic as this is, I can't help but think back to 1 who left us last rotation I worked.

She traveled the wide road as she left her earthly tent. She didn't have to. She was only 42. She didn't have to go. She had an issue with blood.

I got the call from a nurse bud of mine. He shared her faith. He inquired of a new product not yet available. It was to be a substitute. It may be their only hope.

I got the info for him. The product is polyheme and is feted to have excellent oxygen carrying capacity. The study shows promise, but as I read further I sadly knew that this 'other way' was going to bring them back to the reality that rings true in the physical as well as the spiritual.

Polyheme is a synthetic, but it's derivation brings us back to the same old problem. You see, plolyheme is derived from the same substance to which these would try to live with out, the blood. A spiritual reality was made manifest in the physical realm that day and it is this. There is no hope with out the blood.

She was still clinging to this reality as I left that morning, but I knew that she was destined to be pried into eternity unless she relented. I came back later that nite for my shift and heard what I knew was to come. With a hemoglobin of 2 and refusing to take the blood, she left this existence. I was quickened to my core as I knew that she not only rejected the blood in a very physical sense, but her rejection of His blood granted her her wish.

He loves us all to death...His death, and He longs for our death too. A death to self, pride, lust, greed and a million other things that long to keep us from Him. As much as He loves us, He honors us and our wishes. If we wish not to immerse ourselves in the blood that keeps us and saves us from this wide way, we get what we've shown that we wanted in this life.

We are pretty smart folks and continue to be innovative beyond imagination, but there still is no substitute. There is no other way besides The Way. There is no other truth besides The Truth. There is no other life besides The Life. There remains no other synthetic substitutes by which we may truly live.

I would beg you to die. Feast on His flesh and imbibe on His blood and truly live. You don't want to be found overhead without it.

Awakenings

I feel like there is no need for conversation
Some questions are better left without reason
And I would rather reveal myself than my situation
Now and then I consider, my hesitation

You ever consider the pricelessness of consistency? Does it go without saying? How's your consistency?

I wonder if the things I did were just to be different
To spare myself of the constant shame of my existence
And I would surely redeem myself in my desperation
Here and now I'll express, my situation

What motivates you or do you drown in apathy? Do you dare to make a difference or does comfort befriend and stifle your kinetics? Do you worship at the sanctuary of stationary?

There's nothing ever wrong but nothing's ever right
Such a cruel contradiction
I know I cross the lines its not easy to define
I'm born to indecision
There's always something new some path I'm supposed to choose
With no particular rhyme or reason

I feel the vastness of my being is capable of numerous contradiction...unfortunately. Could indecision have led to original sin? Maybe there is something to be said about the path least traveled.

The more the light shines through me
I pretend to close my eyes
The more the dark consumes me
I pretend I'm burning, burning bright

Nothing like the imaginary to leave us with a false sense of ourselves. The more I pretend, the more I procrastinate and perpetuate a pseudo-self. Oh for great awakenings...

Aspiration

Wow. This is really weird. I was literally moments away from logging on and posting about something when the phone rang. The voice on the other end brought words that stirred the very epitome of my future, now present, and as you are reading it, past post.

I had been going through the application process at work to be considered for promotion to the soon to be vacant director's position. At first it was on a whim, but it was always something that I took serious. I said all along that I had a snowballs chance of getting the thing, but that that didn't matter. I said this enough times that I thought I would have believed myself by now, but I apparently didn't buy it.

As the caller told me that she was putting an end to my interview process, I couldn't help but feel both relieved and disappointed. The relief comes from the fact that I now realize that this position was one that I really didn't want or need to have in the first place and the disappointment is something that I really didn't expect. I shrugged my shoulders and said that it's cool, but deep down I can't help but question myself.

What's the hell wrong with me? I got the answer that I knew was coming and knew was right for me and I still harbor disappointment? Suddenly I'm no longer comfortable in my skin. Who the hell am I?

Funny thing is that this comes on the heels of our latest incarnation of Saturday Nite worship at the ole' WBC, where I was oddly enough equally pleased and pissed off. My head seems to know, but for some reason my heart hasn't got the memo yet. Just like with the job app, I knew what to expect and how I was to react, but for some reason this dusty old tent continues to flap in the breeze.

All that I can say for the good, is that at least these feelings are from the fringe and aren't the dominant over tones in the music that is my life and my walk. But why? Why do they have to be there at all? Does anybody know...'cause I'm dying for an answer...

I long to tread no more...

beautiful drowning
this beautiful drowning
this holy water
this holy water is in my lungs
and i am overcome
i am overcome
i am overcome
i am overcome

Overcome---Live V

WARNING: Offensive Material

Do maturity and humility go hand in hand or are they mutually exclusive? Have you ever thought about it? Do you even care to now?

I must still be yearning to be breast fed, because I never have equated the depth of my relationship or spirituality with the ability to be offended by seemingly or quite obviously worldly things. Does this mean that I'm oblivious to things that should be offensive...NO, definitely not. I would just like for it to mean that I'm willingly to endure unpleasantness to be able to identify with a culture.

Does this make me a sell out? Nope! It makes me a willing ambassador for the One who endured much on my behalf. I take great interest in these things so that I may be better equipped to contextualize a gospel message that is tethered in the rock solid foundation of absolute truth.

I can't erase from my mind the Falling Up interview where Tom proclaimed that as christians we are to overlook offenses. Do you think you can effectively witness to someone who you view as offensive? Well, I hate to tell you this news flash, but you'd be wrong...dead wrong. You willing to risk that? You might when you consider that it's not your death.

Christ died to cleanse us from these offenses as well as the offenders. He endured much to redeem what you consider offensive. Don't strife to be more spiritual than the Savior. He endured much for that offense too.

Wee Ones

As the door opened between the two universes and immediately closed behind Him, the murmuring began. "He certainly loves the wee ones doesn't He?" said one. "Why yes!" said another and went on to elaborate on the matter. "He even displayed this soft spot for them down there, and used them often in parables to teach the older ones how to come to Him. No one knows what He does once He closes the door behind Him, but most think that He reveals Himself in full to them, only for them to forget it as they grow after they are sent down. Some think it to be a waste of His time, but others see the grand scope of it all, and how many return to Him by faith in the long run."

"Once they get down there, they often act as little messengers. I always thought that we were better used in that role, but when the older ones will allow them to speak in their seeming unintelligible babblings and act out with the flailing of their tiny limbs, they can speak volumes. Even through their deaths and sufferings they are able to raise such a depth of questioning and emotion that is unparalleled by anything that we could do. It's quite amazing really."

"Let me show you. Let's descend for a time and I'll show you what I mean. See this blue truck that travels now to and fro running errands with 3 in the back? Let's just sit in and listen to see what happens, and you'll see what I mean."

"Daddy?" said Cam.

"Yes son?" I reply as one who has replied to this
request only 1.2 million or so times today, and it's not even noon.

"I miss Nana. I miss Paw." Cam exclaims.
"And...

I reply with an I know and we'll see them in a couple
of weeks, cutting him off in the process.

Cam continues "...and I miss Jesus."

I sit silent for a bit not really knowing how to
respond. "I didn't know that you've met Him Cam."

"Yep." he responds as frankly as you may met your
neighbor or mailman or whatever..."and I can't wait to go see Him
again."

Now I know what to say and say it. "Yeah Cam, I
know. That'd be pretty cool, actually."

I can't help but wonder if He's actually met Him before
He came to us. You know, face to face and is here to relay an example of
how we're to relate to Him now as the older ones. I can't help but
wonder if Cam met Him behind the door that leads to the Mall of Unborn
Destinies and is declaring His majesty as splendidly as any herald and
shows as a mighty example as 2 hover above our traveling blue
avalanche.

"Let us make our leave. I think that he knows."

"It's of no matter. You've proved your point. I don't think that even if he saw us right now, it could compare to the illuminesence that this little herald is providing ever since He put him there."

"Good reason to love the wee ones, hunh?"

Nigger Lover

What's your Jesus look like? Is He the heroic, blond-haired, blue-eyed majestic prince that rides in triumphantly and makes everything daisies and cotton candy? Is He the dour-faced wimp of the artistry of the middle ages? Or is He something worse...someone who looks like you? I beg that my Southern brothers bear with me for a bit on this and approach the following with an open mind and more importantly, a pure heart.

It was undoubtedly one of the most dramatic sermons ever delivered at Eastern College. "Jesus was a nigger," began the visiting Black theologian, shocking his student audience into attention. Not that Jesus necessarily had black skin, he continued, for being a nigger had to do with what you were in the eyes of the world. The word refers to the downtrodden, he explained, the spat upon, the cursed, the humiliated, the rejected, the despised. This was the sense--the very real sense--in which Jesus was a nigger.

"There's no way you can read chapter 53 of Isaiah and not come to this conclusion," he said. That prophet writes that the Messiah would be despised and rejected, spat upon and cursed--and then we would hide our faces from him."

"You want to be like Christ?" He leaned into the lectern and spoke quietly. "Then you must become a nigger, too. You must be ready to empty yourself of the wealth, status, power that has marked you life. Because in the end, only niggers can be saved."

--ADVENTURES IN MISSING THE POINT: Theology by Tony Campolo

Let me just say that I hate that word, but I think that this makes a powerful point. The Lord of creation became accursed for me. If I were the only one, His decision would have been the same. A lot of people believe in a lot of different things...I believe in this nigger. Wouldn't you like to be a nigger too?

Headlights

articulate (ar tik' yoo lat) - to connect by a joint; to utter clearly-defined sounds

Culture interests me a great deal. I believe that it also is of paramount importance to my Father too. It was once pristine, but fell quite some time ago. The state of it is still in disarray. Truth lies side by side the world and it's fallen worth in every culture.

Our fear of the appearance of worldliness has kept us from pointing the oblivious to the Truth found in culture. Why? Why do we stand frozen as deer in the headlights of culture as it heads over the cliff of eternity?

Are we afraid of what the other deer will think? Are we too oblivious ourselves? Are we too busy playing rein deer games?

If we're not here to connect a disjointed culture to Truth, what are we here for? The thing is, with the truth in culture, it's not always readily discernible to those headed for the cliff.

Let us with eyes wide utter clearly in pointing the way. The Father cared enough to have His own beaten, broken and belittled. Articulation is the least that we can do...