Red-faced

Jesus, welcome to earth
red-faced and wearing
a frail human body
your own, now.

You are not trapped here, no,
leaving is something.
Just say it, something like
I'm Done With You, Kids.

If you want to stay, run.
Swiftly south.
You are a wanted child, and someday, baby Jesus
they will finally find you.

Cry, but don't sweat it.
This isn't your life,
nor your plan.
Cry, but don't let it get to you, child.

What's next is in your Father's hands
and these next few years you will know Him well
and someday you will say with otherworldly confidence:
if you know me, you know Him.

But they'll call you a drunkard and a glutton
a friend of sinners and tax collectors.
Oh, well,
can't please them all.

Someday,
your friend Peter will hear you ask him to, "Feed my sheep"
knowing full well that
you have always done just that.

Jesus, let it all go, everything not from the Father
because it's all about Him now
and you will give your life for these children of his,
these sheep.

Baby, baby,
you're free to live for yourself
or to give it all away.
Welcome to earth.

How to talk to an ornery OTR truck driver who's just about lost his marbles trying to jackknife his rig into the dock

There ain’t no class A minus

So stop all your whining.

Everyone else can do it, so

Put her in gear and move it.

Chock when you’re done,

Bathrooms at the front.

And, DUDE, you could really use some home time

For a shower yourself.

I was there, too

I was there when He put together this thing in my life called the Kingdom, the unshakeable thing called Love. I was there when it happened, and yet I still fail to understand the gravity of what exactly is happening. It's not skepticism that elicits this confusion; it's realizing that I'm living the greatest mystery every conceived: God as Christ in man, for the glory of the Father. This is it. This is my life, just another day, just another chance to live this mystery. I've been commanded to "Walk by faith and not by sight," and I'll do just that today.

I would write you a sonnet

But that would be trying too hard. What am about to say is me, revealed through a keyboard, and published through electrons flying through some silicon circuits. If that isn't enough, you already know what I'm writing as I write, so there's no need to publish. Still, we go forward.

Jesus, I admire you, man. You really did it all. You lived a good life, with a job and maybe some friends to show for it all. You didn't have a wife or kids. Maybe, they wondered about that, but it didn't seem to bother them. I think they liked you, Jesus. I wouldn't say you were popular because I don't know, but I honestly believe you were a friend to many people before you started your public ministry.

And then, your mom came and tapped you on the shoulder, and you didn't want to start yet. But you did, anyway. Jesus, are you a mama's boy? I think that you are. That's not a bad thing; I am, too.

And then, you began pouring yourself out, Jesus. Every day you did. Why, sometimes, I can barely believe the stuff you put up with! Sinful people, unbelieving hearts, a rebellious generation. You just took it in stride; you knew you were here to serve. You didn't worry about yourself; you poured yourself out.

And here I am, Jesus, barely able to contain my love for you. I just suck at loving you. I feel that most days, when Holy Spirit fire doesn't burn a path from my car into the receiving dock where I punch the clock and pray for civility until I can go back home and wonder why I didn't do more for you.

And here I am, Jesus, barely able to contain my excitement for you. Jesus, your wedding is coming soon. You so deserve it, man! I can't wait to see you in your suit, the one you picked out just for the occasion. What will you wear? I'm sure you'll look awesome!

Sometimes, Jesus, I feel you're near and that the world is well. Actually, that's not true. You're near, but the world is not well. The world is swiftly going berserk. I promise you it is, Jesus. There's nothing good about the news that we see; it's all the same empty promises from politicians and no real hope for the future apart from you. Obama who? He's just a dude from Chicago; he's not going to save the whole world unless someone much bigger than him intervenes. Right?

Jesus, you've taught me so much in my short life. You instructed me about your Father's Law, and then you showed me how you would fulfill it. You fulfilled it in me. That's what I'm talking about, man! You really did it! Good job, Jesus! I love the works you've done. They are like fresh water in the mouth of a desert wanderer. Your works all add up to good!

Take these prayers, Jesus, and really think about them, because you deserve praise. No one deserves praise but you. I hope that, today, you see and hear and smell a whole host of people worshipping you in Spirit and in Truth. You deserve it.

Love,

Andrew

This is what you get

I'll tell you what I'll tell you, I'll tell it, and then I'll tell you what I told you.

God is faithful.

Many of the Christ follower's struggles come from wrong perceptions or beliefs about the character of God. Simply, we do not believe he is who he says he is. This lack of faith is unbelief, and unbelief is a sin. It's a crippling sin, too, because faith is what the ancients were commended for. Without faith, it is impossible to please God. No faith, no commendation, but if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us.

God is faithful.

My prayer: That I might rise up from the decay of mediocrity into the truth of Christ, the Word and the Son of God. Christ is Lord over all things. I submit to his purposes. I think not of myself, in the end, but of Him and his calling. Presently, there is nothing I want more than to find myself on the receiving end of this prayer. Until then, God is faithful.

Together Again ... Newly

Dear God,

I make a bad show of following you, I really do. Because my life feels like a rollercoaster, and not the smooth kind with sexy inversions and air brakes that hiss pleasingly as the kids' screaming fades to laughter and smiles.

My roller coaster is the Chiropractor's Special, that 4:59 minute ride that jars every bone in your body at least ten times. My roller coaster is wooden, a bit mysterious and only ridden often by the kids who are too lazy to wait in lines.

I feel this way, I really do, like my attempts to follow you take me down the iron track of a vicious wooden monster. And so, to cope with the roller coaster, I turn to God. And back to God. And back to God again.

But what about the Gospel I know and believe? What about that? What does the Gospel have to do with the roller coaster? Well, not much, because the Gospel is about sin and salvation of the entire human race, not one person's struggle for significance and inner peace in his or her day-to-day life.

And I've struggled, for some time, with thoughts of selfishness when I know I ought to be selfless. I ought to give all I am for this Gospel, but instead I am inside my head. I'm perfectly content with who I am, I suppose. I'm a good and moral person; I lack in some ways. But there's this Gospel there, that calls me to follow Christ and spread the good news in ways that are unbelievable. Dead shall be raised. Blind shall see. Faith like a child shall rule the day.

I feel like a pile of crap because my brothers and sisters around the world are just fighting for bread, for freedom and for their lost countrymen. I so want to join in the fight, but I feel to rich, spoiled and selfish to even know where to start.

I suppose I shouldn't start with me or what I bring. For if I bring $1 million or $1, I bring me, all of me. That's all I can bring. I bring my love, my respect, my kindness, my ability to persevere, my sense of duty and significance, my wisdom, my hope, my peace, my joy. I bring all these things, by the grace of God.

I bring myself, just as I am. And that is always enough.

This time around, I bring myself, but it's not about me. I choose to go forward.

But I can't. Because I've been riding this coaster for a couple weeks now, and all I know is I want to get off. I don't know how. God will have to take me off. God will have to help me. I could keep writing, or I could start praying. The choice is entirely mine.

I choose the latter.

Love,
Andrew, your human/perfectionist son

p.s. Maybe this prayer/letter is too personal for a blog, but nobody reads this anyway!

Evil days

Positively, wherever you go, there you will be
But if you are asked to leave that place,
Don't hesitate.
Don't wait.
Run.
Fly.
GO!

Deity

a poem by John F. Deane

Unholy we sang this morning, and prayed
as if we were not broken, crooked
the Christ-figure hung, splayed
on bloodied beams above us;
devious God, dweller in shadows,
mercy on us;
immortal, cross-shattered Christ--
your gentling grace down upon us.

Side story: The 2009 Tour de France

I don't keep photo albums, but occasionally I file away a memorable image. Something like the above pic has staying power for me. It's two brothers and a Spanish guy who climbs like a mountain goat that's been puffing meth.

A caption might read: "With the hopes of Team Saxo Bank on the line, Andy Schleck pulls brother Frank (Saxo Bank) and archrival Contador (Astana)."

By scheduling the gnarliest climb stage 'till the second to last day, the 2009 Tour de France organizers saved the best action for last, assuring better TV ratings and more overall interest. By delaying the fireworks, the best riders would save their most brilliant moves for last, as the final stage in Paris is more-or-less a parade on the Champs d'Elysse.

On that penultimate day, Spanish prodigy Alberto Contador, already winner of the 2006 TdF by default [American Floyd Landis was DQed for doping], held several minutes over Andy Shleck in the general classification. Seven-time Tour winner Lance Armstrong, whose gray hairs now peek out from under his cycling cap, held third at the age of 37. Britain's Brad Wiggins, new to the Tour after winning a gold medal in track cycling in Beijing, was a nice surprise in fourth, especially for Garmin Slipstream fans like this blogger. Wiggins had a minute and change over Frank, the elder Schleck, who rounded out the top 5.

The Schlecks promised they would attack on the penultimate day. They would lose Lance and Wiggins. They would weaken Contador. They would carry out their plan to disrupt Astana's dominance.

So, the Top 5, in review: two Astanas (1 and 3), two Saxo Banks (2 and 5) and a British guy riding for an American team and hanging on for dear life!

The scene of the shootout? Perfectly horrid.

"It's more like the moon than a mountain," Lance Armstrong once said of it, and with its lack of vegetation, abundance of rocks and desolate, intimidating atmosphere, it's an apt description.

It's been the scene of meltdowns, breakdowns and even death.

Britain's Tom Simpson, the first Anglo Saxon to lead the race, died there in 1967 on a 43-degree day. -ABC Sport

So, Andy saved all his guile and vengeance for Ventoux.

He delivered. Ventoux is a bald mountain that kills people, and Shleck was riding it like a rented horse. At 24 years of age, his thin arms guiding his Specialized S3 up the windswept mountain, Andy's aggressive attacks shredded the entire field.

Only two riders on a long breakaway escaped Shleck's briliance: Spaniard Manuel Garate (Rabo Bank) and German Tony Martin (Columbia-HTC). Garate won the stage, but look for the latter rider in GC contention someday-- what a ride from the 24-year old.

Despite his brilliance on Ventoux, at no point did Andy Shleck appear to test Contador's otherwordly climbing abilities. Contador matched every attack, his yellow shoes dancing on the pedals of his Trek Madone. Contador made Ventoux look easy.

In the end, despite repeated attacks, Team Schleck failed to unseat Astana. Contador lost no time, Lance held onto 3rd, and Garmin Slipstream rider Wiggins somehow squeezed by Frank Schleck with three seconds in the GC.

Frank looked flat; he never dropped Armstrong, despite Andy's repeated attempts to open a hole.

Combine Contador's newfound skill in the time trials (he won the final TT), and you have a crystal clear picture of why any rider, let alone the confident Schleck, may not dethrone Contador for some time.

I saw three quarters of the TdF coverage, and I saw Contador grimace-- once. He made the rest of the mind-bending Tour looked easy, even his dash up Ventoux. In fact, Contador said that, with the internal tension between he and teammate Lance Armstrong, he had more trouble in the hotel than the road. I believe it.

Today, Contador finally spoke candidly about his strained relationship with Armstrong. The truth comes out, and it sounds ugly.

My advice to Contador: work on your English some, so you can talk to the media in the world's second language of choice; join Spanish squad Caisse D'Epargne, where it's rumored you'll go to ride with your buddy Luis Leon Sanchez; and don't cross Armstrong.

Everything 80s American cycling legend Greg LeMond was-- that chip-shouldered Yank with legs to back the mouth-- I think Lance is more. And he's riding next year, at 38 years of age, with his Blackberry chirping today with texts from riders interested in riding with his new team, backed by Fort Worth, Tex.-based Radio Shack.

It's too early to say whether Lance can attract enough talent to take on Garmin Slipstream (now officially as hot as the red sauce at Chipotle) or Saxo Bank (Swiss time trial champ Fabian Cancellara + Schlecks), but one thing is certain: Lance would love to take a yellow from Contador.

Enjoy your splendid victory, Alberto. You were bulletproof this Tour, but remember that someday you'll be Lance, 37 and legs aching all the way up the bald mountain of death.

Quote of the Day (7/25/09)

"The real question you have to ask yourself is, 'Are you willing to exist or are you willing to be special'? And special is not what someone else thinks of you but what you think of yourself." -Malcolm Bricklin

Nowhere to be

University of Minnesota's Dinkytown, intersection of cultures. You're never far from someone

Studying.

Walking.

Running.

She dressed in black, some working garb. Nervous, glancing over her shoulder.

He was also dressed in black, some street garb.

She sat in my booth and asked for sanctuary, and he (the hassling man) was gone.

A handshake. She warmed.

Her English. Okay.

My Mandarin. I squeezed my fingers together to make the universal symbol for "None."

She laughed. We chatted. My Bible was open.

Her heart was open. It's funny. In two days, I'll be meeting an old college buddy, Jim Tilus. He's ministering to Chinese students at the UofM. Small world.

Dinkytown, nowhere to be. Be where you are; watch what happens.

-ADB

Quote of the Day (7/20/09)

"It was in the back of the bus in Guatemala, sitting with six people from Solomon's Porch, that it became clear to me. All of us were under age 35 (most under 28), and all of us quite versed in debt management and living off of "barely enough." Here we were, in a terribly poor part of a poor country, building houses for the poorest people, talking about how hard it is to live on what we all make. We were college graduates and teachers, and building contractors, and we concluded that we didn't make enough money. I began to see it clearly: we were all stuck in a consumerist mindset. Our coffee shop and restaurant expenses alone would build housing for the people of this village, if we simply lived on less."

-Doug Pagitt /Founding pastor of Solomon's Porch / Minneapolis, Minn. "The Consumer Trap" Leadership Journal, Fall 2002

How high is your ceiling?

"Twilight on the Prairie" by Gayle Hartman

I am a big picture thinker. I am a big ideas thinker. I'm happiest in the "a-ha" moments of life, when thunderous ideas strike me down to size and fill me with energy.

So, I find of great interest this 2007 study showing that ceiling height impacts thinking. When indoors, a high ceiling induces big picture thinking and creativity. A low ceiling, on the other hand, allows one to pay attention to concrete details.

It's yet more evidence that place matters. In the office, you'll process details with precision and speed. In the coffee shop, where ceilings are usually higher, you'll be inspired to think big and outside the proverbial box, even indoors.

And what of the outdoors, the night sky? If tall ceilings provoke creativity and short ceilings lend themselves to details, what of the 15,000 foot ceiling?

What about the clear, blue night sky?

Perhaps, we ought to spend more time outdoors, our human fragility exposed but our minds buzzing with possibility. I have long maintained that we U.S. Americans are descendants of a frontier people, a campfire crowd, our optimism always on display. It's what makes us who we are, for better or worse.

Aspirational metaphors aside, how high is your ceiling?

St. Ignatius' General Examination of Conscience

Inigo Lopez de Loyola, who later took the name Ignatius, was a Spanish (Basque) soldier of noble birth born in the 15th Century. Wounded in defense of a Spanish fort against the French, his captors were impressed by his courage and took mercy on him. They carried him away from the rubble, to France.

During his healing process in Paris, he began to lead a small band of friends in extended prayer and meditation. Then later the Society of Jesus. Today, those who follow these teachings are known as Jesuits. Three thousands Jesuits live and serve in the United States.

Ignatius' General Examination of Conscience seems to me a wonderful way of examining the "soul aches" or "sins" that can become unresolved sources of guilt.

1. Give thanks to God our Lord for the favors received
2. Ask for the grace to know your sins
3. Examine how you have lived this day
4. Ask forgiveness for any faults
5. Resolve to amend with the grace of God

According to the Jesuits' website,

It may be done at the end of each day, though it can be done more frequently as the person feels drawn. The more frequently performed, however, the more natural it becomes and more a way of growing into an ever-closer relationship with God. It can take anywhere between five and fifteen minutes, although it does not matter how long one spends. The important thing is to open oneself to recognizing and responding to God’s movement in your heart.

The story of Ignatius is a reminder that although growth in prayer is a regular discipline, sometimes a new setting and new challenges can make all the difference between acceptance of a mediocre lifestyle and a new awakening of passion for Jesus.

As I pray, the Holy Spirit challenges me to enjoy to prayer and to deal with my "soul aches," whatever they may be. I feel him leading me to perfect peace and emotional health more than any mystical connection. I'm more aware of God's tender love and mercy for me, and he also gives me "tough love" because I need that, too. I'd rather be honest and open than pray "neutered prayers" that don't lead me any closer to the Truth, so that is how I pray, raw and real.

New look

My old blog, for all that it was, looked like crap. I hope people enjoy this new take. It's warm and rich but still a bit mysterious, as if history and future are aligned for a second under the streetlights.

I'll let a quote launch the new look.

"We must get beyond textbooks, go out into the bypaths... and tell the world the glories of our journey." -John Hope Franklin, Duke Law School

Enjoy.

Everything in blue is Love

As an unpaid intern who sometimes fetched pizza and sometimes wrote press releases, I had been working with the Venture Expeditions guys for six months, promoting a 3,172 mile bicycle tour designed to raise money and awareness for Blood:Water Mission.

Venture granted me a few days riding from LA-SD with the team and a US Airways ticket back to MSP. This trip was my reward for my service. It was also the first time I met Mr. Pelttari, a principal's assistant most recently from Woodstock, Ill.

Without a doubt, Erik Pelttari is the gentlest spirit I have ever met who can rock a mohawk-- like a biker clad in leather-- or in this case a Ride:Well Tour jersey.

He's the real deal, a guy who really loves people. You can't fake that.

After few guys on the Ride:Well team shaved mohawks, Erik, their faithful small group leader, showed solidarity by carving out a swath of his short hair. Combined with a fabulous (and surprisingly "uncreepy") moustache worthy of a 1970s era middle reliever, Erik won the ironic hair contest hands-down.

The day we left Long Beach, Erik and I sat in Sunday school together and listened to a teaching I doubt resonated very much with either of us. By the time we left the class, I was frustrated. Sometimes, people can be right and entirely miss the point. Of everything.

Another rider, Bethany, was sitting on my right, and Erik on my left. Bethany comes from a stream outside the Assemblies of God (AG). Since were launching that day from an AG church, the AG topic came up. Myself student of an accredited AG institute of higher learning, I filled in Bethany on what I thought about the history and direction of the movement. You might call my briefing an informed critique.

Admittedly, I am egalitarian and pragmatic to a fault. I often say I'm "allergic" to the endless hierarchies and structures of religion. For me, the cumulative effects of living in "the club" without a real encounter with the living God (and each other) is as effective as replacing my daily Gatorade rations with watered down lye. It kills my soul and spirit. I check out.

At some point during the sermon that morning, Erik opened his Bible to the book of 1st John. "Everything in blue is Love," he told me before handing me the Bible. I pored over the highlighted pages.

Erik had used a blue highlighter to call attention to what we both understood to be a defining theme of the book. In fact, everything hinges on love: Johannine lit, Pauline lit, the New Testament, the Old Testament, the story of God, the world, the cosmos. It all rests on love, whatever Love is.

Erik noted that the ink had bled through the pages, as if he had somehow ruined the text. Yet, Erik's Bible still in my hands, I was beside myself. It was as if the emotions of months of the cumulative passion of the Ride:Well Tour has been combined into a few seconds. I felt the joy of new discovery and the rare feeling knowing someone else really understood.

If the entire universe hinges on this thing called Love, perhaps it's worth studying a bit? The willing crucifixion of Jesus Christ is regarded to be the greatest act of love in history, but what does it mean for my life? Today, I'm looking for something a bit deeper.

So, I'm going to knock on the door of a Danish existentialist named Søren Kierkegaard. Perhaps, his treatise "Works of Love" will unlock for me an additional layer of meaning. I've been in "Works of Love" before, but I didn't need to be. The encounter was cold. Now that I'm in this place, I expect a totally different reading of the text. Sometimes, you have to be ready ...

Sticky love

It's been a long day. Against my better judgment, I've been trading sleeping time for reading and writing time. Tonight's reading is theophiliacs, which calls itself "the most prestigious post-evangelical tea party in the Twin Cities." A friend from the college newspaper days is a regular contributor. I can't tell if they're a big deal or not. Who cares? This blog is rocking.

The type of conversation at theophiliacs is akin to the "behind closed doors" discussions you might hear in a seminary library-- deconstructing culture and faith to its most ancient roots, no matter what "sacred cow" must be slaughtered on the way. Idealistic, of course, and a little pragmatic. I did enjoy the post "10 Things Christianity Must Do." It's a wish list for a Church we may never see. Yet, we must hope.

As I drifted off to sleep, another writer began to take the stage. This time, the writings of Paul washed over my mind. Tonight, the Apostle's words provoked in me a certain dissonance. I felt the familiar and disconcerting sensation of being so close to the Truth yet missing the essence, the takeaway.

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity." Col 3:12-14

And I ask myself, what is this Love, this adhesive which skillfully binds these virtuous elements?
I tossed and turned, because I had lost the point. And then I remembered his words "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." Jn 15:13

Sacrifice is a virtue, no doubt. Yet, this verse is missing the essence of Jesus' sacrifice. Paul clarifies the matter in Romans.

"Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Rom 5:7-8

So, Jesus had a good idea that his sacrifice would be accepted by many, as his prayer in the same chapter of John indicates. Yet, the Romans passage tells us that he also knew that some would not accept the message.

It's not love for love's sake but love for Christ' sake. Maybe, Jesus is saying, "I laid down my life for you in hopes that you would do the same for me someday." It's not that our sacrifice would justify us before God, but perhaps our sacrifice would endear us to our Creator?

So, as I drift off to sleep, I will imagine what empathy I could show to God, if anything. It seems like he has been trying to help me understand how he feels, and that scares me. If God does have feelings, I might need to do things differently.

I think the god I made, the god without feelings, is sick. I think he's really sick. I can feel him dying inside me right now.

He who remains is alive, gleaming like the sun, ready to receive me now. It's taken all night to kill the god of my own creation, but he's dead now. So I can sleep.

Massive he remains. Smaller I shrink.

Big God. Big Love.

Dog days of summer

The past two days, I have devoted my leisure time to breaking in my Vibram Five Fingers. I like this life. It keeps me healthy, wealthy and wise. Today, I took Sofia and Oliver, the Shepherd/Lab mix puppies, for another swim-- their second in as many days.

Sofia is a loveable dog because she is different. She was conceived when her father, a 100+ pound white German Shepherd, dug under a fence to declare his love for Mom, a smaller-sized Yellow lab. From their forbidden love, beautiful blonde puppies were born, and we picked her, the one who shyed away from the strangers. To this day, she still regards all strangers with painful suspicion.

While I haven't met Sofia's parents, she seems to take after Dad's breed, the German Shepherd. She is anxious-- always on the lookout for "hostiles" who want to hurt the pack. She diligently guards the entry and monitors traffic flow, both vehicular and pedestrian, through the cul-de-sac. With maniacal barking and occasional panic yelping, she alerts of any unusual activity, which in her mind means "all activity." She lives on pins and needles, and I think it makes her tired.

Yet, Sofia is faithful. She has been a protective and fun-loving outdoors companion since she was barely strong enough to walk. I vividly remember her soft furry body struggling through puddles twice her size, never missing a beat. Those who know her love her, even though she has a strange and obsessive personality. "It's not her fault she's weird," we say.

Besides her talents in running and security detail, Sofia also loves swimming. If you ever get the chance, observe her technique, her long legs stroking the water, her brown snout cutting just above the brown river water. She is graceful.

Today, I called Sofia and her brother out to the middle of the river, where I was floating a few few feet above the river bottom. With a kick and a splash, the dogs began treading furiously towards their pack leader.

Sofia, the better swimmer (and also the better listener), reached me first. Her paw found a solid place on my leg, and seeing her panting, I grabbed her in my arms and floated her along, the current streaming over my back as I began to move us upstream.

I hoped Sofia would come along and rest her heaving chest, but rather pathetically, she began to move her paws again. She thought she was the one moving us along! Seeing the futility of carrying her, I released her like a fish off the hook and pushed her butt towards shore. Sofia paddled back to the muddy bank and waited for her human to finish his soak.

During prayer tonight, I realized I have been Sofia. How can I rest if I won't stop swimming, and how can I move upstream without the Master? God isn't asking much of me-- only a few moments. Too often, I fail to oblige him, because I remain dutifully confident in my own abilities. I think this is sad.

God, you are my portion. Your word declares that they who wait on you will surely renew their strength. Help me to rest in your arms of love, before I grow weary. Help me to to release the externalities that drive my thoughts away from your grace so I may truly enjoy our rest. And if the current should ever prove too strong, carry me. I give you this day; it is all I have. If I see tomorrow, I pray I remember the day I learned to rest. Amen.

The sea

I am born of the sea. In the innards of a swaying passenger liner, my ancestors imagined a new life for themselves, and now I am living it. I am descended from these, who took to the ocean to find new opportunity in a faraway land. And yet, what do I know of the sea which brought them here?

What do I know of the sea, which ebbs and flows with the changing of the moon?

What do I know of the sea, which churns in fury until all but the strongest are lost?

What do I know of the sea, which hides the secrets of time under miles of blackness?

What do I know of the sea, which jovially propels surfers in harmony with the waves?

What do I know of the sea, which orders the climates of entire regions?

What do I know of the sea, which can be sailed from port to port with a sail and a dream?

What do I know of the sea, which sends the rain across the continent and gives life to the land?

I know nothing of this sea. I was born of water, and it continues to give me life, but I know it not.

And what do I know of God? I was born of the water and the Spirit, and although I find great pleasure in following Christ, do I know Him?

Sometimes, I must ask myself what I am doing here before I can do it. I ask these questions today. This walk cannot decay to monotony, because we are a seafaring people.

We serve the One who, with a word, subdued the wind and the waves, who napped through a storm that threatened experienced fishermen into praying for their lives.

We serve the One who walked on water, not for magic's sake, but to show himself to his friends.

We serve the One who pulled a coin from a fish's mouth, who filled nets to overflowing and who rose from the dead, only to eat more fish.

Despite the Messiah's waterborne mastery, I have heard the Hebrews were terrified of the sea, and so are we. We do not wish to raise sail, because we do not trust the Captain. I, for one, have been chiefest of these cowards.

But today, I see a breeze. I feel in my Spirit an opportunity to sail away from the ordinary.

The truth is that when you are preparing to sail, you notice the details. "Red sky in the morning" the old rhyme goes, and as a sailor you're obsessed with the weather.

But can we see further and better than the Captain? We fear what we do not know, and we do not know Who we ought. But we must change.

For we a seafaring people, unfazed by wind and waves, our eyes fixed on the prize. This I know.

(Christian) Ecumenism is not a dirty word

פ ר ש נ ו
ר ע ב ת ן
ש ב ד ב ש
נ ת ב ע ר
ו נ ש ר ף

Orthodox
Catholic
Evangelical
Pentecostal

4 traditions, all with something to say.

But who's listening?

I remember hearing the story of how the Orthodoxes and the Catholicals got in a shoving match in Jerusalem.

Sad.

The path is Narrow. Narrow Catholics, narrow Orthodox, narrow Pentecostals, narrow Catholics.

Someday, we will be one-- all the mere Christians who chose Christ.

No shoving. Hugs all around.

Utopian future?

Better.

A response to "Why I had to abandon the Bible and pick up a book about puppies"

From Gods of Advertising, May 11, 2009:

"Why I had to abandon the Bible and pick up a book about puppies."

In The Happy Soul Industry, God reasons the Bible too old fashioned and violent, which inspires Her (in my novel God is a She) to seek out an advertising agency ostensibly for new copy. That, more or less, is the premise of The Happy Soul Industry. It was odd, then, to experience my own children recoiling from the Bible. The God in my novel is right! The Old Testament is archaic. If God and Heaven are to be considered by new generations then a new campaign is in order.

My response:

A sage CD [creative director] will tell you that advertising and marketing have concerned themselves with discovering new ways to tell the same stories, so that “nothing is new under the sun.” The same is true of the 66-book compilation we call the Bible.

The bloody narratives, the rape and incest and everything else point towards authenticity– after all, could a historian ever write “secular” history without a certain serving of evil? But who is evil– God or us?

J.B. Phillips wrote, after translating and paraphrasing the Gospels, “I have read, in Greek and Latin, scores of myths, but I did not find the slightest flavour of myth here…. No man could have set down such artless and vulnerable accounts as these unless some real Event lay behind them.”

Increasingly, people put more pressure on the Christians to change their message, to “tone it down,” but we cannot, because the Law and the Prophets were good enough for Jesus. So they must work for us as well.

He responds: Wonderful and insightful comments. I love the argument that only the truth could be so blunt and bloody. I’d never thought of it that way.

Of course, I'm only parroting any number of critical historians and emerging leaders. Most recently, CT Today expounded the story of Billy Graham's grandson, Tullian Tchividjian. I highly recommend this story.

Just another angle in the fight to "KEEP IT REAL"!

All
the
best
to you,
Andy

gRAMMAR wARS

THE ALLCAPS CLUB WERE A BRASH AND ICONIC INTRUSION INTO THE LIVES OF THE VENERABLE Proper Puncs AND THE RUTHLESS lowercase family.

WE FLEW SO HIGH, BUT WE WENT TOO FAR, TOO LOUD.

WE SHOUTED OUR WAY INTO OBLIVION, LIKE THE MILKMAN, OR COOKING WITH LARD, OR DRESSING TO THE NINES FOR A HOP ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.

A FAILED EXPERIMENT IN NONCONFORMITY, WE'RE REFORMED NOW, BUT EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE, WE STILL CAP.

Doogie really was a genius

It's after 0200, and by 0800 I've got copy due for a website redesign. I'm taking a break from my fun to share a productivity hack I discovered in the grind of journalism school, where writing and editing well, at strange hours, with little or no sleep, was kind of a big deal.

Disclaimer: Yes, I ripped this off Doogie. Yes, it does work.

Step #1: Change your background color! It cuts down on eye fatigue, and it's retro enough to give your right brain a good massaging. If you ever struggle with "creativity-on-demand," you must try this.

Step #2: You'll have to invert your font color for easier reading. Fan that I am of preteen physician phenoms, I prefer Doogie's white/blue combo. Also, blue is a soothing color, and the white page can a psychological hurdle.

Step #3: Before you print, don't forget to revert to white screen and black text!

Andy
Copy slave trying to stay on deadline
Follow me

Ecumenism is not a dirty word

Why the first few moments in heaven may be awkward silence ...

More to come ...

Who's on trial here?

This blog was supposed to be another counterattack against stupidity; instead, it is an admission that, if not for the grace of God, I would be living in my own, personally-selected version of utter stupidity.

God forgive me for my sense of entitlement. I have been forgiven for so much. Please take all of my heart, and teach me your ways.

How did I get here?

Read this ...

Because every fire breathing robot deserves its own soundtrack ...

Because every fire-breathing robot deserves its own soundtrack, here's One Month Off (Filthy Dukes Remix) by Bloc Party. Kele and the boys from Bloc Party played First Ave on Monday. Yep, this is the same band Noel Gallagher said sounded like a "band off University Challenge."

"A 7.2-meter (23.6 foot) tall aluminum made robot 'Giant Torayan' blows fire into the air during a rehearsal of the 'Roppongi Art Night' special art event at Roppongi Hills in Tokyo, Japan, Friday, March 27, 2009. The robot, created by Japanese artist Kenji Yanobe, is one of main art installations for the event that aims to transform the entire area of Roppongi for one night from Saturday, March 28 to Sunday with art of all types under the theme of 'Encounters.' (AP Photo/Katsumi Kasahara)"

Words gone awry

I've been thinking about this, and at the risk of sounding like a complete moron, I'd like to share it with you:

How do you feel about reclaiming the semantic nuances of the Christian faith? First matter of agenda: "We're going to church" should be replaced with something that bears even a minute resemblance to what a "church" actually is. Remove indefinite article "a" and replace with "the", and capitalize said object in most instances, because individual streams or expressions can barely comprise an such an ancient and venerable network of bodies.

Progressive pastor here in the Cities calls his Sunday services "seminars". Get my drift?

Am I way out of line here?

Power Distance (A primer for passion)

Social media are shrinking to new lows the power distance-- the extent to which the less powerful members of institutions and organizations expect and accept that power is distributed unequally.

Examples:

• Both the Pope and the President of the United States have YouTube pages.
• Doritos allows user-submitted content to appear as a Super Bowl commercial.
• My local newspaper features user comments as high as the byline.
• Mothers angry about a Motrin campaign Tweeted the ads right off the air.
• You can read the Bible in any language-- free online.
  

I can hear the Schoolhouse Rock song as I write: "The shot heard around the world was the start of the revolution."

Power distance is low . . . time to respond!

How, you ask?

1. Get your cause right.
2. Figure out who wants to hear it.
3. Fire.
4. Aim.
5. Fire again.

If you hit something, you'll know. People are naturally passionate; even apathy is a passion, ya know . . . your job is to find out where their passion lies and how to harness it in practical ways.

CAUTION: Using the old rules of broadcast media do not work with social media-- a noted cult of generosity. To get, ya gotta give. A lot. This is what we call "value-based offerings."

I have noticed the Facebook chatter begin to build as:
1) More users join. Opening the "Book" to non-university students catapulted FB into a clear #1.
2) Applications add functionality.
3) Causes mobilize the bourgeois to movement.

How do you cut through the clutter? Give! Recognize people are naturally selfish, and give them what they want.

That's all for today. Shalom, my revolutionary brethren.

Color-coded

One way I've changed in the past few months is my level of organization.  For a long time, it was convenient to say, "I'm not organized," and then outsource all my comings, goings and doings to someone else more "Type A".

But then, people asked of me things I hadn't been asked before.  In other words, people were outsourcing to me.

"Manage this."

"Research this."

"Call these people."

"Get Job A done with Persons 1 & 2"

"Show up at Point A at this Time X, and be ready"

So, I established systems of organization to supplement the limited amount of Random-Access Memory in my brain.  I wrote things down.  I referred to lists.  I color-coded and organized my life.

And I feel a lot better!  I get more done, and I have more context for where I am, at every step of the way.  I wouldn't call myself "organized" now, but I definitely am developing systems to keep myself in the game.

1. Write your goals down

2. Write action items to accomplish those goals

3. Highlight when you're done

Write organization blog.  Check.

A bitter end to a promising beginning

With a sad heart, I closed my Bible. Over the past month, I had read the stories written in 1 & 2 Kings. I read the stories of Israel's greatest kings, David and Solomon. I saw Yahweh raise a nation of slaves with broken backs into a nation of wealthy and wise cultural elites. Jerusalem was a boom town of boom towns.

I saw unspeakable riches flow through the Holy City. I saw sailing ships sailing and traders trading. I saw a religiopolitical system that seemed to work, even though the monarchy was never Yahweh's ideal.

I saw a beautiful beginning. The covenant was honored. God smiled down on his people.

It was a rocky road, yes, but David was always a survivor. He sinned, but he repented. The author of 1 & 2 Kings never glosses over David's sins, but in history, but we also know that few have pleased the heart of Yahweh like David. No matter what new and astonishingly evil king took the throne, Yahweh remembered David. Eventually, the sins of Judah became so great that Yahweh's anger could not be stopped. Josiah was a great reformer, but he died from wounds sustained fighting Pharaoh Neco of Egypt.

Josiah will stand and say, someday, that from the House of Judah, one greater than the rest emerged. He is Jesus Christ. He is why I'm here, a Gentile in a foreign land, trying to wrap my mind around the story of God's chosen people.

Today, I feel God's call to remember the stories that have been told, to brush off the dust of antiquity and let them deal with me in a profound way. In the Books of 1 & 2 Kings, I see stories of love, family, redemption, anger, evil and hate.

The author spares us no details. We see mighty kings reduced to vassals, or worse-- palace dogs whom the Babylonian ruler took pity on and showed kindness to. Could David or Solomon ever have imagined such an end?

My pastor says, "Do not doubt in the light what God did in the darkness." In a culture of perpetual obsolescence, do we value the stories of old? Have we made the wisdom of the ancients, their lengthy genealogies and centuries of oral tradition, into a reference book?

In my tradition, I see this tendency. We are very good at living in the moment, and dreaming about the future, but we forget that nothing is new under the sun. That's the message of wisdom, and that's what 1 & 2 Kings speaks to me.

We must remember the ancient wisdom. We must not allow our heart to grow cold to the teachings of the fathers. No matter how scary it is, we must let these historical books work us over, through and through.

The message of 1 & 2 Kings is harsh, but still it holds hope for tomorrow. One thing that God showed me at my youth camp is that we can have a better future. Through our economy may fail, our strength must not.

As people of prayer, we must move God's heart so deeply and so purely that, if ever our church is reduced to evil and rubble, something in God's heart will remember our faithfulness. The system of temple worship may be corrupt and so far from its original intent, but God will raise up among us people of great faith, like Elijah and Elisha. He will uphold his promises, no matter what Joe Stupid or Tom Dumb is doing in positions of leadership.

God is no respecter of persons, but he does remember those who move his heart. If a thousand years is like a day to the Lord, we can imagine how the stories of the great men of our past still move the heart of the Lord.

I'm compelled to be that kind of person! I don't want anything this world has to offer me; I just want to please the Lord. It's time to live in that mode, that my life would be a sweet sacrifice to the Lord. Only then, can I rest.