Same Guy!

Get Ready for Funtime!

See this bad boy? Roger and Linda have something like this (not sure it's this large), and it's about to cart me and Didi on the highways (and byways!) of America's autumn. Does spending 9 days with your wife and parents in an 8'x25' space sound like fun to you? It does to me!

What will be great is that, knowing my dad, we'll stop at every flea market and tomato stand that looks half-interesting, as well as hitting the planned places (Jack Nichlaus museum @ OSU, NFL Hall of Fame, Gettysburg Battlefield). I love that we could be sitting down playing Mexican Train, then 5 minutes later be looking at the birthplace of Eli Whitney or somesuch. or such as.

Anyhow, talk among yourselves for a while, because after that, I go diRECly to Egypt for a conference. I'll be back in the saddle Nov 15. Till then, happy halloween, cowboys, and when you see the red and yellow leaves blow over the asphalt, think of the Kid, out there on the road somewhere, eating a fried pie.

This woman is consternated at the warm deliciousness of her pastries. She is, however, a Cowboys fan, so there's that.

Introducing Our First Guest Poster... Jiff!

Jif worked for Second Church Place Cityname for 2 1/2 years. He was
asked to come in and start up a Funky Brand Worship Service that would
reach out to people who have decided that Traditional Brand Worship
Services just don't appeal to them. He was given money and limited
resources to do so. And, so he did.

But, his relationship with Mr. Management was rocky from the start.
Mr. Management loved (LOVED) to control. Nothing slipped through Mr.
Management's hands, without him placing fingerprints all over it. So,
if Jif made a decision, Mr. Management scrutinized it, and then
printed out 3 page lists of things to fix.

(Keep in mind Mr. Management had tried running a similar service a few
years prior, on his own, and no one came.)

Jif and Mr. Management butted heads, often. Jif was told to "push
back" when he disagreed with what he was being told. When Jif did, he
was "frozen out" (a common term used around Second Church Place
Cityname describing this phenomenon) and referred to as "not a team
player." This wore on Jif, bigtime.

The final pinch points came as Second Church Place Cityname started
telling Jif that the people who came to the Funky Service he ran
needed to be more "Second Church Place Cityname"-type people ---
coming to the various functions, becoming members, "serving the
church," and tithing. This was all pretty crazy to Jif, because he
knew the folks who came to Second Church Place Cityname were either a)
already doing lots ot make Second Church Place Cityname run (i.e.
volunteering in the youth program, or they were on staff with Second
Church Place Cityname) or b) so burned, in their past, by being used
to make the Big Machine Run that they were just plain not interested.

These folks wanted God. But they didn't want "His" institution. They
just liked coming to sing, hear some talking, and then going out and
living it out.

After consistently terrible annual reviews, Jif knew that the fit was
terrible. But, he wanted to wait to hear God say, "NOW, get out."
But, He didn't get that message. Kept waiting, but no message.

His immediate boss (Mr. Jr. Management) kept after Jif, telling him
how bad a fit the whole thing was. He was pretty explicit saying Jif
wasn't the guy for the job. Jif told Mr. Jr. Management, "Just tell
me what to do, and I'll do it," and Mr. Jr. Management did, and Jif
did it, and a couple weeks later Mr. Jr. Management would come back
and say (again) what a bad fit Jif was.

Finally, a week ago Monday, Jif was at a committee meeting that he had
to be at. Someone there was from the People Who Work at Second Church
Place Cityname Oversight Committee and said that they had big goings
on at their next meeting. Something in Jif said, "I wonder if that's
about me? About firing me?" Jif tried to blow it off, but to no
avail.

Jif set up a meeting with Mr. Jr. Management for two days later.

Two days later, Jif went into Mr. Jr. Management's office. He said,
"Am I being paranoid? I heard She-She from the People Who Work at
Second Church Place Cityname Oversight Committee say that big things
are going on soon and, well, am I going to come in and find out I'm
fired next week? I'm wrong, right?"

(Long silence from Mr. Jr. Management.) Then, "Yeah, probably."

Then, Jif and Mr. Jr. Management went at it. Jif was upset that Mr.
Jr. Management had not telegraphed him the FIRING was possible. But,
after seeing that conveying how strange that was to Mr. Jr. Management
was about as likely as pissing all the way up a rope, Jif relented.

Then, a weird peace came over Jif.

Jif got 3 months severance (for choosing "resignation" rather than "firing").

Originally, Jif was supposed to just slip out and not really say
anything -- to be moved out of his office in a day and a half.

But, then, Mr. Jr. Management came back and said, "Why don't you speak
at Funky Service on Sunday night and you can do your last hurrah and
tell people that you and your wife are just heading in a new
direction."

So, Jif did that. And it all came to a close.

WHAT JIF LEARNED...

These institution places EXIST TO EXIST. They love to get people
involved so that they can get the people to service the insitution.
"How else are we supposed to run?!" they scream, when you question
that philosophy.

The tail wags the dog.

Ezekiel 34 talks about people using the sheep to accomplish their purposes.

That sums up the Insitution to Jif.

Jif feels a spiritual release. Jif feels like something is "off" of
him. Jif thinks that, because he had chosen to submit to something
bad-otherworldly, he was under constant peck-peck-pecking by something
Bad. Once Jif said, "I'm out," he felt free.

Really free.

Strangely free.

So, now Jif is unemployed, but he really thinks that it's easier (less
taxing and unencumbering) to function in the Kingdom outside the
Institution Machine than inside it.


An addendum... a friend of mine works for a Popular Youth-Oriented
Ministry Machine that helped lots of people came to know the Lord in
high school. She, though, works for that Popular Youth-Oriented
Ministry Machine's "college ministry" branch. It's a great outfit --
they basically help disciple college kids who ain't interested in the
Institution Machine, but have some familiarity with this Popular
Youth-Oriented Ministry Machine brand.

But, here's the rub... she says from September to December, her job is
a dream. Disciple, love on, and lead college students. But, then...

The Spring brings an Institution Crush. She's told (explicitly), "You
know that Popular Youth-Oriented Ministry Machine's main focus is high
school kids. And, so, we need you to take those college kids you've
been working on from September through December, and turn them into
leaders for Popular Youth-Oriented Ministry Machine for next school
year. You've got one semester. And we're all counting on you. GO!"

And this woman finds that, in the spring, she hates her job because
her authentic and deep relationships with college students has turned
into a sales ploy. Bait and switch. "You've received from us... now
what can you DO for us?"

And that's how the Institution Machine operates.

Dat's de shiz

If you read deep into the comments of the last post, you saw that Ben and I spent time with and prayed with a guy late into last night at my pad. Well, here's his account of the whole deal. I thought it was quite provocative and, depending on your stance, pretty inspiring...

--------

I grew up in a small Baptist community. I never accepted the concept of "gifts of the Spirit" or gave credit to people's experiences with God (outside of the Bible and prayer). In college, I came to a point where I believed God has the ability to do what he wants (give dreams, tongues, visions etc.) but still was doubtful. Lately, I've come to believe that God truly works through these…gifts. I now want to tell you about a dream, a horrible night and an experience that broke me wide open.

Sometime last spring or early this summer I had a vision. I was lying in bed and felt I was between sleep and consciousness. I tried to breathe, but my mouth was shut. I couldn’t open my mouth; I struggled to breathe. Suddenly, I saw God come down in front of me. He put his lips on mine and blew into my mouth. I immediately was filled with breath. I gasped and breathed. I woke up.

For the last 2 weeks I would be alternately emotionlly high, then crashing. It wasn't drugs, but the drug of self-fulfillment. There's a lot of stuff I found freedom from by self-gratification, (anything to take my mind off life, anything to distract, anything to give me a rush.) and self-mutilation. (Pain has always given me an endorphin rush) –

I take 3 pills a day for depression and yesterday I took 5. I believe the crash of the medicine and the lack of being able to find comfort in the things I tried to find solace in threw me into my darkest hour to date. I stayed late after work. I was supposed to go to my friend Chris’ house, but didn’t want to bring my terrible state on him. I finally chose to go see him as he is, after all, a friend. During the 20-minute drive to Chris’ house, I cut myself up and down my arm. I got to Chris’ and made a desperation call (because I realized I was out of control and couldn’t stop) to Ben, who offered to pick me up. I said no. He said he wanted to call Steven and meet as a group. I said to call Steven and hung up. I let Chris in on a little and Chris prayed for me... later, I made it to Ben’s house and started crying with him. I was completely at the end of my rope. We drove to Steven’s house and was greeted by a caring but strangely-cheery Steven.

After much struggle (and irrational conversation on my part), Ben and Steven started talking about being baptized in the Holy Spirit. I fought my religious background and desperately held on to my one experience with having a vision and seeing a power that was beyond me. Ben talked a lot about Peace. I wanted that. I've wanted that for 28 years. I knew Jesus as my Savior but never knew peace through the authority given in the Holy Spirit. Steven told of his experience being baptized in the Spirit. His attitude was, "Why not? If I can have more of Jesus then I want it." That triggered my desire to give in. I wanted that. I'll give it a try. I was scared. Weirded out. I was desperate. Then God started to work.

As Steven talked, I got anxious because I didn’t want to listen…I wanted to ask for forgiveness, be done with my past, and do this on my own, in my strength (like I always have). But, at this point, there was no more me: I was at the end of my physical life and my spiritual life. I wanted to restart, I wanted to be filled with 100% Jesus and his authority and this was perfect because there was nothing left of me at this point. I layed down on the floor and spread out in a posture of nothingness. I prayed for forgiveness. Then I forced the words to come out and asked for what I didn’t have but wanted. “I want your Spirit.” You have to realize, I’m not too rational at this point, because I'm literally crying out to God. I was, however, able to wonder what would happen. I kept praying. Ben started praying in tongues. (sounded like Hebrew to me) The guys had their hands on me and Steven had his hand on my back. [2 days earlier my wife scratched my back and, suddenly, I felt her hand kind of turn into the hand that wrote on Nebuchadnezzar’s wall. I figured it was God but resisted. My irrational self resisted God and ignored it.] Suddenly it felt like Steven became detached from his hand and the hand on my lower back was God’s hands. The hand of God was on me, that's all I can say. At this point, I realized that God was showing me something so I fell into…the Spirit. This time I let God touch me. (I guess, basically, I just went with it and tried just to be aware and present.) I tell Ben and Steven about the hand. Ben and Steven then start praying in tongues…it gets crazy, weird here! When they prayed in tongues, I saw two creatures at their sides. I was scared. I felt like throwing up. I was really scared. Ben’s hands felt like they were poking me. The 2 creatures were accusing my innermost soul. (The creature to Steven’s side took on the white aspect of his sweatshirt. It looked more like a scorpion. Ben’s guy took on the black aspect of his shirt and looked more like a spider/crab.) I was so scared. I told the guys there was warfare to my sides and God’s hand was on my back…and soon Steven was singing Psalm 23. Like exhaling, peace fell over me. When I started I didn’t know how this would end but the peace was clear. What can I say... the demons were gone. I stood up and it felt natural to say that it was over. It was clear. Steven played some worship songs, we sang, I sat there stunned. Then ben took me home.

Dora (who had been upstairs the whole time) later told Steven that she swore she heard the front door open and shut while we were singing. Scott later interpreted that as the accusing demons leaving. So long sucka’s.

yeah, crazy. Awesome. If you think this is weird, that is ok. I even think it sounds crazy. This isn’t everyday but if you think God doesn’t move like this I would suggest getting on your stomach, having no expectations, and crying out to God to show himself to you.

If you didn't know already, I'm OUT

Gotta say no to that Christianity.

Once again, I recently heard Jesus described as the "founder of Christianity." Really? Does that most reliable of texts, the Bible, really back that up? Jesus did say that he would build his church, but can we really look at the Biblical definitions of his church and even stretch our minds into believing that what he came to establish was the mutibillion-dollar industry that squats over the West on its gigantic, self-righteous haunches and calls itself the Kingdom of God? Really? We're talking about the Jesus who hung out with hookers and talked about drinking blood and one kernel of wheat dying and being the slave of the whole world? The guy who didn't really own anything? The guy who had a grand total of about 15 people who believed in him after 3+ years of teaching and doing miracles? That guy?

My pal Sam told me this morning that he grew up in a Christian church. I didn't understand what he meant, until he told me that there's an actual denomination called the Christian Church. Oh okay. Awesome. So "we're THE Christian Church" would be a totally common statement around those parts. No problem. Just like I went to an elemenary school that was Church of Christ. Oh, so YOU guys are THE Church of Christ. Wow, bold claim. Except, what about the Christian Church? Who's right? If you're both what you claim to be, shouldn't you be... the same organization? "Oh no, we don't believe what those bastards believe. They believe in post-trib, TULIP, one-baptism, transubstantiation. They are perverted idiots. We believe in pre-trib, Armenian, 3-baptism, dispensationalism." And for their calling the bride of Christ a slut, I want to beat them with a nail-studded 2x4. And on the other hand, I just want to walk away. (And on the other hand, i want to love them and forgive them, but that is sometimes a tiny, palsied hand, like Paul Reubens had in that hilarious 30 Rock episode.)

The great Allen Stickney, in one of our first conversations, told me "you know what the greatest enemy to the spread of gospel is, at least in America? The little red brick church-house on the corner." That challenged me at the time, but it's fairly difficult to refute. That group of organizations (there are over 30,000 denominations, if you didn't know, and the very fact that we have a word -denomination- for the institutionalization of our bitterness and arrogance is offensive in itself), if we judge them as a whole, has done no more practical loving of the world and healing of God's children that the rotary club or (gulp) the Masons. That's a sick thing to say, but there it is. We know of more people hurt by their involvement with these organizations that we've EVER known to have been led to Jesus by them. We have a friend who was raped on church property by her minister as an adolescent. We have friends who've been rejected and emotionally blackmailed by being employees of these organizations. We have friends (and I would include myself in this group) who're STILL trying to get over the mind-jobbing their religious education produced in them, toward God and their fellow man. Did you know that the Catholic church (one of my favorite man-worshipping, magic-practicing, Jesus-demeaning, power-craving demoninations) has admitted to killing over 25 million people through history for what they thought were heresies and "crimes against the church"? (And by 'church' they mean, of course, themselves.) AND that that number is miniscule compared to reality, as over 3/4 of all Catholic records have been lost? And what of the Christian publishing and entertainment empires? Is there anything even remotely comparable in the Hindu or Muslim worlds? It's like Rosemary's baby: What IS that thing? It's 'Christian'? "Of Christ"? HOW, exactly? Oh, all the profits go the the poor? Oh, okay, well that makes some... oh, the profits go into the stage outfits and the grade of tile in the agents' bathrooms, and the LED screen on the producer's refrigerator? Well, gee, that's different, then...

I was in a religious building this past weekend (admittedly, creepy) in which they'd fabricated these ornate colored glass window renditions of Bibley scenes (David with sheep, Jesus putting his hands on somebody's eyes, the disciples listening to Jesus -who was lily white, by the way). [You know, there's that one commandment that Moses brought down from Sinai, that God wrote onto a piece of rock wth his own finger, about having no graven images... but who cares about those old laws, right? Let's forget about that for the minute and just let that slide for now...] Well, right beside these Bibley images, there were pictures of Bible subjects doing things that are never talked about in the Bible! Mary creating the world? Wait, that doesn't seem right... Jesus standing on TOP of planet earth with a peace sign? What is that, exactly? Peter receiving a literal key from Jesus (did that happen?) and then wearing a huge hat and holding a weird staff in his hand? Where's our record of that? Then there's the All-Seeing Eye of the Illuminati incorporated into this confusing religious stew. What is this, anyway? And what must people have thought who couldn't read, and this was their only access to the scriptures, this pictures (the organization made sure of that, you know, by not having the Bible in a known language)? The organizational, institutional history of this religion called Christianity, that jesus had NOTHING to do with, is perverse and blood-stained and stands in direct opposition to Jesus' words about love, forgiveness, unity, and lowliness.

Now, what do i do with that?

Mitt Romney's wife, Ann, is very articulate and likable. She parrots the Mormon maxim that "polygamy is part of our past, it hasn't been around for 120 years" or whatever. Though we know that statement to be false by doing nothing more than reading the newspaper, let's take it at face value. I would say to Ann "YOUR RELIGION WAS FOUNDED ON THIS PREMISE. YOUR FOUNDER WAS A POLYGAMIST. You can redact his words all you want, you can change your practice of the religion that he made up, but THAT'S YOUR RELIGION, AT ITS CORE. YOU are the oddball, historically; the Mormon polygamist is NOT. YOU'RE DOING YOUR RELIGION WRONG IF YOU'RE NOT INTO POLYGAMY." So it's fallen, it's corrupt. PERIOD. There's no persuading me otherwise.

Likewise, the religion called Christianity is superduperscrewedup. The shafts of light that have escaped its vortex have been more from men who've quietly rebelled against its trappings than those who've been a party to them. Anybody with a 'church' background knows that instictively. Sam told me that, in high school, he loved sharing his faith and being a source of love to his unbelieving friends but, in spite of his 'youth minister''s guilt-laced prodding, "I didn't want to take them to my [organizational meetings]. I didn't think it would help them along in their faith or help them know Jesus more." And here we are at one of the base problems with the system we see:

Introducing people to Jesus is not a viable profit center.

So good luck or whatever, Christianity. You borrow the equity of Jesus' good name (as much of it as is left, anyway, after your filthy fingerprints have marred his image to the world) and think of yourselves as the bastion of his words and values, while opposing them with your actions at every turn. And, you know, we do need Jesus... We just don't need you. You're like an old cocoon that the butterfly couldn't wait to jettison. I guess you'll go on doing what you're doing, because the flesh of man is always going to be open to shrewd marketing, but I've tasted the good stuff. You can blow up your cheeks and you can stick out your chest, but you're not going to fool me. You're pathetic and corrupt, just like the Mormons, or maybe worse, I don't know.

Whatever. I am NOT a Christian. I just follow Jesus. Christianity?-- out.

Low Rider

It's a festival of new hair! All you dudes are invited!

Same Guy!

We Need More Of This Downtown!

Took this photo this morning; it's city council time around here. But... I'm not even going to take a stab at pronouncing this name, nor am I going to make any jokes about it. As Jef said on our visit to Lake Mead, "insert your own dam joke."

Somebody's Gonna Be Popping Proper Soon

StinkoManuel!

You can't read it, but I cut and pasted my way to glory on HamStray! Don't worry about the not reading part, it's not really funny. More odd.

Having Said That

I can't TELL you how pleased I am at my new purchase from ebay: the Air Jordan II. I was never in a position to acquire these shoes when they were released back in... wait for it... 1986. '86!! I was in 8th grade. Anyway, I need some shoes and I have the wherewithal to procure these now... slightly used, anyway. If the thought of wearing used basketball shoes grosses you out, well, I don't know what to tell you, execpt that you obviously didn't think of Jordan the way I did when you were 14.

Money!

When Cool Dies, What Happens?

I’ve written recently about the subject of fame and cool, and how that temptation plagues the current-events-conscious American. It’s just part of our lives. Cool means that I don’t volunteer reasons for you to not like me, and that I stay up on the trends, so that people who’re into judging cool might also approve of me. Of course, being deemed Acceptable by a human court is still having been judged by them, and the same poison gets into you whether you were condemned or affirmed. Either way, it’s a fallen, demonic system.

I made a trip to San Diego a couple of weeks ago, and stories were recounted to me of the Jesus Movement and guys like Lonnie Frisbee. That generation, at that time in history, was like nothing we’ve ever seen. HOARDES of people would congregate at a beach then, moved by a speech, all be baptized. Entire groups of people got knocked over by unseen winds that they regarded at the Spirit of God, and everyone “felt God’s presence”. I’m not here to say what any of that means, I just know that these people were, if I may paint with a sidewalk-sized brush, NOT cool. They wore their hearts on their sleeves (and many of them still do); they weren’t trying to massage anything for P.R. purposes. They didn’t look like the airbrushed ads of the time; they were OUT OF STEP with culture. They made silly jokes (have you heard any recordings from that time? For that matter, have you heard Jason Upton speak extemporaneously?), wept in public, and were just plain Ready To Believe. Let me put an even finer point on it: they were more gullible than we are. We Know What We Believe, and have it all figured out. They were living on a wing and a prayer. We Strategize, and they looked like they were flung to and fro by the wind. They were even, and watch out now, because it’s gonna get tense… cheesy. They were cheesy. They had cheesy clothes and cheesy hair and cheesy music and cheesy statements about a cheesy, simply belief in God and the Bible and the Eternal Truth of it all. I mean, come on. They act(ed) like they didn’t even know there was a standard of cool. What are you, stupid?

I have a friend who grew up on a hippy commune in Canada (defectors), and Damien is one of the most pun-ready goobs I know. He could possibly compete with Totila in this area. But MAN is he easy to talk to and be with (again, Totila). No judgments from Damien. No quick evaluations and summaries from him. Nope: though he’s a believer, Damien asks (aloud, in groups) some of the most basic, problematic questions (Why don’t people get healed when we pray for them? IS God playing hard to get, at least sometimes?)... and actually waits for the discussion to ensue. Interesting guy. Damien, for what it’s worth, is the manager at a Red Squirrel, which is a diner downtown. He’s incredibly intelligent and articulate, and socializes with corporate brass, but he’s really into serving people, and putting good food on their tables is a really gratifying way for him to do that. Now where did that ethic come from? The commune? I dunno; his sister’s in marketing for some huge corporation. But I see things in Damien that remind me of the Jesus Movement—and I like it.

Maybe the last vestiges of the religious spirit’s pummeling of me are 1) that enduring nag to act in such a way that I feel I justify myself before God, and 2) the reflex to judge/evaluate/criticize. I think a little less Beck irony/self-awareness and a little more Keith Green openness and cheese would be a good prescription, at least for me.

Ps- I know that there was definitely a 'look' for those people, but I never see judgment from these people for anybody who looks different (even people who're branded or buttoned-down). That's all I'm saying.
AND I know that there were plenty of problems with all that stuff. But I'm not talking about that. I'm just talking about cool and cheese. Keith Green once yelled at the devil for being a 'creep' in a recording. Wow. Not cool.

Come Clean, Soaps of the World!

Worst smelling hand soap?

Dial is unacceptable because it smells mildewed and old. It seems like it should be in an underfunded elementary school's BOYS room. Or something wildcatters use to cut through the oil and grease on their hands. I don't need this. I'm a creative; I'm white collar. I want to enjoy cleansing.


Best smelling hand soap?

Jergans is wonderful because it smells like almond extract. If there was a Jergans cake I would eat it without icing. And it's so rich and lathery! COME ON!

I didn't ask which soaps are aimed at my demographic, and I didn't ask which soaps are cool. I'm going for scent and enjoyment in the hand wash, that is all. Not cool packagaing (which isn't lost on me, by the way), not hip ads or marketing. And if you have Dial in your home right now, I am sorry.

The Thousand Acre Goods!

Have I talked about my Pooh Theory before? I hope not.

I love Pooh and have a theory dating back to 1996: I think that AA Milne was trying to portray the world's people groups and their travails at living together. To wit:

Pooh, the happy Latino: he naps, he bums food to fill his chubby tummy, he's harmless.
Piglet, the nervous Asian: he frets, his insecurity leads to overwork and, because of his size, he only feels comfortable when surrounded by friends.
Eeyore, the sullen Slav: he's big and slow and depressing. All he needs is a kerchief.
Rabbit, the frantic Jew: he strains at amassing goods, demands control, and doesn't trust his friends.
Owl, the pompous westerner: thinks he knows everything, thinks the English language belongs to him, and doesn't help worth a crap.
Tigger, the thoughtless African: he's silly and loves dancing and joking and pranks. Outrageously athletic.
Kanga, the confident Australian: she doesn't seem to want a husband. She's helpful and positive and doesn't wear a bra.

These groups (horrible, horrible stereotypes here, I know. But if I don't tell the truth about what Milne purposed, who will?) try to get along in a cosmic struggle (1000 nations, more like), and do their darndest to solve problems, create together, meet one another's needs, etc. They do so-so. But they really don't know too much about the real world. Their logic is flawed, and their character is questionable. Who do they call on when they're completely flummoxed? Who is the one who comes from OUTSIDE THEIR WORLD and steps in like a god-man to confidently, but with sympathy, set things aright? Is it not CHRISTopher Robin, he of the smock and patent sandals? It is.

I tell you, as sure as Milne was a repressed Englishman, he wrote the tales of the tribes of our globe into his son's fantasies, as sordid and laughable as they all are. And he taught us that in Christ(opher) is all the help we need.

Who's with me on this theory? Eh?

Christ, appealing to the scriptures, just like you thought he would. That's an acronym for Jesus Animated is Me.

Let Me Show You My Package

Eat it up, fans. This is a joke we made about 3 years ago.