Here's what you get when you sell out

Peepee Gooseman ("the Junkyard Swan") forwarded this bizarre chart to me. What it says, basically, is that if you're 'religious' (and that's defined by people reporting, in a relatively small study, that 'religion is important to them', and not much else), you're going to end up poor. Now, this could be seen as "poor people turn to religion in their need", which is sociologically viable, but it could also be seen as "getting into bed with religion somehow goes hand in hand with getting into bed with poverty", and that's what I'd like to discuss. Even if the chart is bunk (and I'm not putting a ton of stock in it), it piqued my thoughts. Maybe I've communicated what's below before, but it bears repeating:

When in Nigeria (the most religious place I HAVE EVER SEEN, if you don't remember my writing about it last summer), I came across a guy who told me very matter-of-fact that the reason Nigeria was such a poor country was because of its religious context. My ears immediately perked up and I asked him (the man's name is Jarlot) what he meant. "It's right there in the Bible," he said.

"Psalm 133 clearly states that when the brothers dwell together in unity, God likes and sends a blessing. And we know that one of the goals of religion is division on massive scales. So where there is religion, division comes. Where there is division, there is no unity. God's blessing is revoked: poverty." He said it like it was single-digit addition.

Also, according to this chart, America clearly has a religious hangover from the last "great awakening".

In Time, All Things Change

if this proves anything, it's this: with paciencia, everyone's beard will eventually fill out. " Just wait, my comrades, only wait."

The Thrown Out and The Never Should Have Possessed

I have often freely, and without provocation, dispensed marriage advice. This is ENGAGEMENT advice, because it could never apply to a sane married person. This is for free, and this is fo real: DON'T EVER GIVE IN TO THE IMAGINED PRESSURE TO INCLUDE A 'SALAD SHOOTER' IN YOUR GIFT REGISTRY. This is the most insane possible use of your well-wishers' goodwill. I don't believe we ever used our Salad Shooter, once, and I don't know of anybody who's ever used one. We simply acquire them and store them with the maddening melange of tupperware-related plastic storage. (Man, do I hate THAT cabinet.) The design demons at OXO (their products are so alluring! So form-meets-function! So grippy!) will pull the wool over your eyes at some point in the Wedding Registry process; there's no escaping that. But don't let them play you on the salad tip. Consider this... your last warning.

Also, is it wrong that I just threw out my The Call's Greatest Hits CD?

E'erbody...

Go read Peb's new comment on "Why Christianity Hates the Gospel." It's goooooooood.

The Mayor of Goobtown!

Racquetball is the gap-toothed stepson of the Health Club Movement from the 80s: two otherwise normal people gear up (gear can be cool, like when you put on a fireman's uniform, and it can be Completely Ridiculous, like when you put on knee pads and sport goggles for racquetball), lock themselves in a tiny room, and flail at a bouncy ball for an hour. Health clubs featured this 'sport' because their overhead was low (required of the clubs: a room), and it looked good on the floorplan. Variations were created (we played Wallyball in college, which was volleyball where ricochets off the wall were allowed; this was fun), but it's the straight racquetball that's endured.

I took racquetball in college. Cool factor 10. Trust me.

And I've played weekly with my friend Johnathan Thornberry (Kentucky) for the past 3+ years. It's easy to accomplish, and I end up sweaty at the end, so there you go.

While playing with Shane/musrat 2 weeks ago, though, I realized an astounding fact. Now, you have to know that I am dependent on the drop shot. The feebly hit ball to the corner, which then dies, leaving my opponents no recourse, is a friend of mine. I need it. I use it. This is a regular part of my game. Left corner, right corner, whatever it takes. I'll be there.

What I realized while playing with Shane was that I have had VERY strange connotations for those 'kill corners' (my term) over the past few years. My brain has developed ways of thinking about those corners, but I've never articulated it, or even admitted it to myself. My brain would simply make a comment if I, for instance, used the right corner, then I would let that thought pass without examination, and go on. I was stunned when I brought those connotations out into the light and admitted them to Shane. We were both amazed: I have developed a consideration for the right corner as "blueberry" and the left corner as "mango/pina colada/tropical flavors".

I have NO CLUE what this means except that I have done the impossible by increasing the Nerd Factor of racquetball. Color me ambitious.

Public Notice

If anyone's interested in the following items:

Tom Hanks is Forrest Gump (VHS)

Steven Spielburg's Biography (dubbed, with commercials, from A&E, circa '97) (VHS)

Mansfield Park (VHS) (Can't really tell you about this film. It's Girl Art, so I never really ventured out there.)

Late For Dinner (VHS) Now THIS is a gem! A young Peter Berg co-stars as Marcia Hardin's mentally handicapped brother in this romantic sci-fi drama set in the 60s/90s! What a wild ride!

Sting's All This Time (VHS) Watch Sting look smug. Again!

24, Season 1 (DVD) What were any of us thinking? Had we forgotten MacGyver so easily?


they can be easily retrieved from the large green trash can at 2720 Hyde Park Ave.
Cleaning ALWAYS puts a smile on my face. Cleaning out old art is a parTICular joy.

Why Christianity Hates the Gospel

A friend, in reaction to my Emmaus Chafing, posed me this query:

Regis, I grew up in an area where many of my peers found their way into crime and various perversions. Because of my involvement in Church World (the PRS to you and me), I tried to be a Good Guy, and stayed out of that stuff. I picked up some unhealthy religious stuff along the way, maybe, but can you at least concede that I was better off than my friends who ended up strung out or in jail?

Because my simply saying no would be so artless, I'll let Jesus answer the question (he's SO GOOD at questions).

Speaking to the religious, he said, "I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you."

Here's a story from the Bible: Jesus meets a guy who's on death row. I don't know what he's done, but it's bad. Think murder, rape, this sort of thing. The criminal says, "Look Jesus, I know you're perfect and sinless. I, obviously, am not. So when you get your due in heaven, would you remember me? I'm just a screwed-up sonofabitch." Jesus goes, "I can do you one better than that, friend. I'm going to put you on my back and take you to paradise."

Here's an altogether different story from the Bible: Jesus has all these seminary graduates together and he says, "You guys will be all right, just keep following me. I'll set you free from all the slavery you're trapped in." They snapped at that idea. "Uh, we're the good guys, Jesus. You know, the JEWS? We're not slaves that need to be freed of anything."
"Look guys, I know you sin. If you sin you're slaves to sin. If you were free you'd listen to me and be saved by me. As it is, you guys are stuck trying to defend yourselves. *sigh* Good luck, fellas."

So here's the thing: peddling a misshapen image of God to people is the worst possible lie that can be perpetrated. It bars them from entering heaven, as Jesus said, because they believe a lie about how God receives them, and on what basis, and robs words like Jesus, faith, grace, salvation, church, and love of their meaning. It's a terrible, damnable lie that gets passed around, and under guise of the Gospel at that! The work-yourself-saved pseudo-gospel is the most successful deception ever pulled off, and it's driven the masses into the mouth of hell, because THE GOSPEL ISN'T ABOUT ME SHAPING UP FOR GOD'S SAKE. If you believe that, like I once did, repent of it, for your soul's sake, and let Jesus start you over. Really. So who's better off, the guy on skid row who'd jump at true grace if he ever heard it, or the religious guy who lived clean and approaches God based on his relative sinlessness? Jesus already answered the question, but it's such an important question. THIS is why I get my undies knotted up at the pitiful sham that was the Walk to Emmaus--IT'S THE LIE OF THE AGES!

While I'm at it: there were guys there who did not know Jesus. They went because they were open and wanted to hear about him (bless them! I love that attitude of openness and need!). What they got wasn't the gospel of grace, it was the perverted gospel of performance. At the end of the weekend, one of these guys stood up and said "What I've learned here is that, no matter what I'm doing or how hard I'm trying, there's always more that can be done. And I recommit to give myself to God's work..." the place erupted in applause. Meanwhile, Wii-style dirt clouds swirled over my head. I wanted to strangle the devil. And here's the thing: when I tried talking to that guy during the weekend, he looked askance at me, because the "clergy" had so underlined to him that "WE know what we're talking about. YOU GUYS don't. You've taken no tests. What WE say goes." that he was hesitant and suspicious when I challenged what the guys in suits had said. "This GOD loves you stuff is a little suspect," he seemed to say. "The Official Guys say that I have to work hard, and that's what 'grace' means." At that point, I was sidelined. I couldn't compete with what he'd received from the law wonks. Does that make sense?

Benny has a buddy who feels trapped in homosexuality. He was raised in religion, so tries very hard to overcome his sin, even paying for it in his own acts of penance. Benny has told him point blank that he's to give up on efforting his way out of this mess and cry out to the Spirit of God, who will save him. In response to this, he flatly says no. "I'm not ready for that."

No crying out to God in simple neediness? Okay, good luck, then.

A few years ago, I had a friend who'd been severely messed over by religious people. I told him that religion had its tenterhooks in him as well (which is why he judged them) and that he should repent of religion, crying out to God to save him. He went nuts on me, screaming (literally) that he'd never been religious and had nothing to repent of, that THOSE SORRY BASTARDS IN MY PAST were the ones who should be repenting. Wow. No crying out to God in simple neediness?

Jesus still speaks to the religious:

"Look guys, I know you sin. And if you sin you're slaves to sin. If you were free you'd listen to me and be saved by me. As it is, you guys are stuck trying to defend yourselves. *sigh* Good luck, fellas."

Who are these men?

Are they:

1) all victims of terrible facial scaring, who've found the same solution?
2) members of Band of Horses?
3) guys who've never been in my kitchen?

If you said 'guys who've never been in my kitchen', you're WRONG! (Hamster has graced my fridge for years.) In truth, any of these gentlemen could effortlessly take up stage space with Band of Horses, the oddly-titled musical group I saw tonight in Newport, KY's stanky Southgate House.

My thoughts on this band were typified by their rather strange audience: not a lot of college kids, kind of a nerdy NPR-loving look about them, and more beards than I've seen in one place since somebody sent me that Kenny Rogers lookalike website. I was bemused that the intelligent-looking (? What does THAT mean?) concert-goers were fans of some of the most un-intelligent music I've ever heard. SO simple. One and Four chords, mostly. As Benny pointed out to me, they're there because they want the FEELING. And BoH feels, all told, like POSITIVE music. Their sound's core is slow, big drums, and a non-stop organ under loud, static guitars (there is NO ART to the guitar work, folks. Their 'lead guitarist' ONLY strummed, and maybe played something other than open chords five times. While we're on the subject, the guys favored open tuning on most of their guitars, and lead singer Ben Bridwell has a different guitar for every capo placement. What I'm saying is, there's nobody named Liszt in the group). But they have lyrics like:

The world is just a wonderful place
la- de- da- da

And people like to bob their heads slowly. The strength of their best music isn't the songwriting (these guys have precious little to say, or can't express it well), it's the uplifting mood created by all those guitars (at one point, there were 5 being played onstage). I will say that Bridwell's voice is intriguing to me, and there's something endearing about the farmland getups that bring Creedance or Eagles to mind. In the end, I like a little more meat on my bones, both sonically and lyrically (Benny noted that "I realize I don't often listen to their records front-to-back; when you string them together like this, they all start to sound the same"). But the toking crowd had a great time at Southgate House's underground lair of Throwing Off the Constraints, and Benny and I had a fun Sunday night together.



No seriously: this is a promo photo.

This post in memory of Mark Douglass, once-great blogger. He loved "Funeral".

Poor Old Needy, Helpless, Flabby God (?)

I've heard a troubling amount recently about Making A Difference For Christ. The assumptions are always that:

1) God has a very big job to do (the most important job in the history of the universe: the conversion of every man, woman, and child; teaching them everything about the Bible; making sure that they're all discipled and in churches; the eradication of poverty, crime, and alcohol; the sending forth of a zillion missionaries and seminary-trained ministers; and the total destruction of all sin and the Democratic party. I guess it's a compilation of jobs, actually.)

2) God cannot do this job. Simply can't. He requires a large amount of assistance. He's desperate, actually.

Case in point: the fine people at Walk to Emmaus actually print on their literature (and on the commemorative necklace pendant I received upon my graduation) "CHRIST IS DEPENDING ON YOU." Really? Is God that hard up? Is his power or effectiveness contingent upon my cooperation?

I really, as you may have guessed, don't believe in this. I was told a story in Egypt that I loved, loved, loved. It was on the news in 2007 that, in Algeria, everyone in a certain village had the same dream on the same night: Jesus appeared to them all. He told them Who He was and what He did and how He felt about them. In an evangelistic windfall (this guy's good), the entire village came to Christ that night. Yup, that village went to bed Muslims, and all woke up love-lost followers of Jesus from Nazareth. That happened in the last 12 months. It was on the news in Egypt, reported as a tragedy, something to be guarded against in that Islam-captive nation. What I see in that and other stories (many of them in the Bible, which is a book I really like) is that Jesus is really NOT in need of our assistance. In fact, he has hordes of angels who, historically, have been fully capable of ministering in his name. They, like Jesus, are very, very good at their jobs.

What I see is that he invites us into what he does so that we may know him better, not because he needs us to accomplish something. It is a foregone conclusion that poverty will never end (Mark 14:7), crime will increase in the last days (Mt 24:12, II Tim 3:1-4, 13), political systems will oppose Jesus more and more vehemently (Dan 7:19-27), and only the slightest percentage of people will actually come to Christ to be saved (Mt 24:10-12). So the effectiveness/getting the job done/helping out Jesus campaign isn't really compelling to me. None of that stuff going to work out. I have zero hope in changing American policy, zero hope in 'making a difference in my world.' This world is going to be destroyed. Sounds fatalistic, but it doesn't feel that way. It IS absolute, I'm sure of that.

Instead of trying to be a hero on such things (and remember that "unless your righteousness exceeds that of the Pharisees" or, 'if you can't do as much for debt relief and the AIDS epidemic as Bono', "you will all surely perish")[ps-click on title above], I desire to meet Christ every day. He is capable of reaching out to the homeless, feeding the hungry, etc. and yes, he will most likely do that through us, his children. But I don't think he's fretting anything. I don't think Jesus is biting his fingernails looking at the Father's Countdown Clock, hoping he can get it all done in time. What I think is that he gives his children a million opportunities (like feeding the poor, clothing the naked, helping the hurting, speaking kindly to the cashier, picking up the trash, considering stories of his character in the Bible and in life, etc.) to stare at him, to see him, to BE him, and to know him. He wants to generate his own likeness in us, which is our undeniable destiny. (Rom 8:29) You have to submit to that power and to the grinder of suffering, to that compassionate pain, in order to come out looking like the Lamb Slain For Sin. [And it's my belief that if you avoid that on earth, you will spend a little more time at the dreadful White Throne while all that fear and pride gets burned out of you.]

That was a little bit of a tangent, but I'm allowed those. My point is that God knows where his Kingdom is headed a lot better than his bride does. And he's fully capable of speaking to her (to those members of her that listen) so that she's right on time in all those mercy areas. But is Jesus the heavenly Avon Lady, hoping to get a pyramid of workers under him so that more and more spiritual profits will rise up to him and he'll be real satisfied at all the work we're getting done? Uh, no. Has he entrusted his Kingdom to sad sacks like you and me, so that we can execute his justice and love? Yes. But is he DEPENDING on us, crossing his fingers in hopes that we'll get it all done just the right way at just the right time? No.

What a relief. Because I've been trying to do this God stuff for almost 30 years now. And it's too much for a man. Only Jesus, the God/man, could pull it off. So I'm going to just have to continue to depend on his kind grace, and let him work it out in me, trusting that he'll do the same in all my brothers across the globe (some of that, even, through me!). And when it's all said and done, and he turns in his final report to the Father, God will be pleased at him, and we'll all look at Jesus and say "I don't know how you did it. We mostly didn't even know WHAT you were doing. All glory belongs to YOU."


Discuss.

Tall and tasteless

My friends, I am not proud of my prejudices. But I publish them to you for the sake of disclosure, which I'm sure is a good and helpful thing for us all. Today's Shunning Target is this young woman:


Here is my problem. This woman is long and thin, I would even say gangly. This reveals personal taste, I grant you, but I am not fond of the lengthy torso. I'm just not. I know that some of you out there have 6'2" wives, and I apologize to them. If any of your gigantic wives were to meet me in public, I will only be courteous and demure, i assure you. What sets this woman apart from the many sweet, and sometimes pretty, basketball players I've known in my life (particularly at Texas A&M--anybody remember that Carol girl? I'm sure musrat can help me out here), is that she dresses as if she's petite and/or easy on the eyes. She is NOT EASY ON THE EYES. "Put that body away, Miss Williams," I want to say. But she will not. She dresses scantily, does bikini photo shoots, and generally disgraces the erstwhile professionalism of women's tennis, not to mention her Nigerian heritage (I'm just sayin). She reminds me of another long-and-leaner who knew no shame: the 80s poster child for 15 Minutes of Fame, Grace Slick.


I know I tread on thin ice as a white man criticizing a black woman so, lest you think that this issue is racial, let me assure you it's not. We've seen gangly-wanna-be-sexy in many skin tones, and I'll give you another example, in another shade:


And that is why Venus winds me up. She is high profile, and never stops to think if *I* want her shirt *that* tight, or those buns shrink-wrapped in that spandex. I do not, Venus. I do not. Just one man's opinion. That's why I have my own page.

Same Guy

More than anything, it's the distance between his nose and upper lip, I've decided. Is this racist against Samoans? I don't think so. The Rock, for instance, does NOT look like Chim-Chim. Did you know that most Samoan-Americans are Mormons?

Christian Event Primer 101

If you're a Christ follower, and maybe belong to a group that assembles regularly and shares meals, and prays for one another, and ministers health and healing and co-teaching and loves on the lowly together, you've got a real good thing going. You live in a community of believers! You're growing in your knowledge of the Words and Ways of God, and are understanding more and more how to hear His voice and experience his life-changing love.

That's all well and good, but did you know there are some electives that you could make use of? There are! Christians like to assemble in special-event form, holding non-regular meetings in various ways. You may go to a retreat, or to a conference, one of many, many camps, music festivals, or to what we in Texas refer to as Disciple Nows. There are many options open to you, even to the point of paralyzation, but either way, your Christ-based scene need not be limited to simply relationships. Christian event-planning organizations are more than happy to accommodate you at their functions and rallies (for a price. This is different than your home-based meetings, so watch out for that). And if you choose to attend one of these mass get-togethers, you'll need to know what to expect. That's where I come in. I will help you navigate this unfamiliar terrain, so that you come off like a seasoned pro!

Let's start the lesson. If you've never been to a Jesus-BRAND con-fab, they share some commonalities. Including:

*Logos! Christians love logos! Your special event will have a fun, upbeat logo that inspires your further involvement in it. Maybe you want to volunteer for next [regular period of time]'s event? The name itself will probably be clever, inspiring, and give you reason to consider, for just a moment, the perfect appropriateness of it. "That's it!" you'll say. "It all comes down to this!" Get ready for this kind of epiphany. That name and logo will greet you at every turn. You will never forget the name of the event, for as long as you're there.

*Impactful Speakers. These guys are funny, 'edgy' (not sure what that means but they're all over it. I think it means "could easily have been a radio DJ 10-15 years ago and watches a lot of movies"), and full of passion. Plus, they bank. if you ever see the main speaker around the public (you probably won't), just watch them from a distance. Learn about what charisma really is. You'll wish you'd learned this stuff in high school.

*Lanyards! Christians love lanyards! Something decorative and faith-affirming will feature the name of the event (they love those names and logos, as we've already covered) and give you access to all the benefits of the conference/special weekend. Think of the lanyards (or, if the event is lo-budge, nametags) as a statement saying, "hey! I've paid my $150. I'm part of this thing. I may be the part that pays to sit here passively, but IT'S MY THING, TOO!" Grab that sentiment by the horns! It's yours! Also, depending on the disposition of the organization, the nametags may be Required At All Times Upon Pain of Death. Do not trifle with this practice, I warn you.

*Mass hand-raising/voluntary standing. This happens during music times. I don't know what to say about it, just watch for it. It'll happen (and you'll be ready for it!)


*Candles and other religious tschotkes. Most of these will be for sale (retail is a massive part of this field, and advertisements will accessorize many 'talks'), but some will be used to inspire you, and remind you that what's going on is Deep or Serene or Mystical. Expect a lot of crosses. Purple is popular as a color choice. Gold is on its way out, but still holding on in some states.

*Lingo! My stars, the lingo! Over time, each organization develops a series of in-jokes, abbreviations, magic phrases (look for these from the music director, see below) and aspirational words that serve as cues to the regulars that you not only know what's going on, but your heart is in the right place. I can't tell you what these words are, as they vary wildly from group to group, only know that they're important and powerful. If you hear any unusual words or phrases repeated more than once from the main stage, begin using them chronically. You will be accepted and possibly lauded in the group. Ironically, you should also be wary of anyone who uses the lingo very much at all.


*Leadership! This is so important! There will be a very tightly-defined pecking order of all staffers (alternately called "volunteers", "servants", "ministers", or "God's very own messengers sent from his bosom to your event") and the more familiar you are with this canon, the better. (You are at the bottom.) This point deserves elaboration. There are leadership archetypes that you will often find, and need to anticipate. Here, a guide:

- The Hard-Nosed Program Director: This guy doesn't participate in the spirit of the event, and doesn't really enjoy personal interactions or relational mumbo-jumbo. Really isn't what you'd call a 'spiritual' guy. He only wants to get through the schedule. Secretly, he feels the event would go smoother with no participants to foul it up. Robots would be perfect campers/retreatants, to him. My advice: steer clear of this guy. Give him a cupcake when you see him. It will confuse him.

- The Incredibly Happy Staffer: This person is seemingly not all here on planet earth but is delighted with all things, including all aspects of the event. If the honchos told this person "these next 6 hours will be devoted to underwater head-standing" he/she'd be all in. Thinks this is the greatest thing in the world. My advice: buddy up with one or two of these, if for no other reason than they make it all more pleasant. ps- they've either had incredible pain in their past, or have somehow dodged all discomfort completely.


- The Older Sweet Guy. This man asks no questions of the leadership or organization. He's permanently sympathetic, wants to hug and encourage everyone, and regularly has the most menial jobs (look for him emptying garbage cans). He had a good experience with one of the honchos about 15 years ago and will give them loyalty for the rest of his life. He's like a mascot for the event. My advice: hello! Free hugs! He's great. Just don't talk to him about the organization or event.

- The Fussy Underling. This is a staffer who hopes to someday inherit this event, which he sees as a diamond-in-the-rough. He's sure that if HE runs this thing, it'll be better. At the very least, he'll get more glory. Because he has a lot of dream time invested in this event, he's blindly adherent to all rules and mores. He intends to ruthlessly enforce all rules and traditions, not because he hates people, but just because he loves the organization and its accouterments more than people. Generally, he is nerdy. My advice: this guy is dynamite. Avoid him unless you can think of a way to butter him up for your own gain. He is best surrounded by The Hard-Nosed Program Director, who he idolizes and envies, and unthinking attendees who he can lead as a rehearsal for his eventual dictator, er, directorship. Loathes the Incredibly Happy Staffer, thinks of them as morons.

- The Nearly Manic Entertainer (typically, leading music). This person can be disturbing because of how much they love what they're doing. They're fun, yes, and good at their jobs, but the thought of them being this charged up outside of this context can be unsettling, even debilitating. A parallel to this is the music leader who is overly syrupy or full of groaning and melodrama towards all things God. Either way, you wonder if they're being genuine. If they ARE being genuine, and this is what their life looks like, you've got a highly unstable person on your hands. My advice: enjoy these people. Take them for what they're worth and, if providence ever puts you next to them in the lunch line, engage them. They like that and are affable and full of good stories (unless they're of the morose, super-spiritual strain. In that case STEER CLEAR). This person, by the way, tolerates the Program Guy and the Fussy Underling. LOVES the Incredibly Happy Staffer. They may very well be dating.

And that's enough to get you started. So, while the Christian Event may at first be foreign, in no time you'll be able to understand the signals, speak the lingo, and exchange Encouraging Emails with those in-the-know. And don't worry about your spiritual life. You'll weather whatever bull is foisted on you in these environments--just stay plugged into those house-based church groups of honest, down-to-earth believers. You'll be fine!

Ye Walk

Some of you who wrote me wonderful (WONDERFUL!) letters of encouragement last weekend know that I was part of a 3-day spiritual retreat known as the Walk to Emmaus. It's been around since the 50s, and it's a tradition that the Methodists co-opted from the Catholics, who originally got jazzed up about Santiago de Compostela (where our friends the Hellmanns actually served as missionaries) in Spain, and wanted to take time out of normal life to focus on their relationship with God. It's a huge 'movement', I discovered: there's a chapter in every state, and people are absolutely fanatical about it once they've experienced it.

Well, I've experienced it, now.

I went on this thing because taking 3 days to just sit with Jesus and have a DTR with him sounds great. "Tell me how we're doing, God. Tell me where I need to change, and what's good. Tell me where our romance is working, and where it's become mechanical. Tell me what you miss, or what you'd like added, or about that time we had last year that was terrific so we can do that again." It sounds great. But if you're going to be led by an organization that wants to help you with your relationship with God, you need to know what they think a Relationship With God IS. Sound familiar? Yeah, that sentence could be applied to anybody that gets anywhere near a church house, or enrolls in a discipleship program, or takes classes at a Bible College, or gets involved in any religious organization.

I was so simple, friends. I didn't even THINK about the ramifications of going near the PRS (Present Religious System), hadn't done the math that "these guys will likely think that relationship with the system is the SAME THING as relationship with God." I don't know why I was so dull. But in I went, thinking I would be led by some mystics who just wanted me to get alone to commune with God and rest in him.

No such luck.

I hate to come against an entire organization with one little post, but I do know that everything they do is geared around these weekends, and the schedule for the weekends is written in stone--it's the same weekend all over the world. It looks like this: you sit in table groups and listen to FIFTEEN lectures over the course of 3 days. You discuss these lectures, each of them, with your table group. And that's pretty much it. No alone time, no contemplative time. So it went:

*Small talk with people whose names I know, but don't really know
*Sing somewhat religious songs led by a fun songleader (these songs included, but were not limited to, "Pharoah, Pharoah")
*Light a candle
*Scripted prayer. (Literally, a written prayer that nobody understands. That's not a joke. I had several questions about the prayer we read about 20 times, and I asked my table leader about it. "Man, I don't really know what that means." was his reply. He's been doing this stuff for FIFTEEN YEARS.)
*Sermon from a guy wearing a suit and tie (even if that guy has been with us all weekend wearing sweats. He 'suits up' for the pulpit. Classic.)
*Discuss with others about what was said, but never question it or compare it to scriptures (I did both of those things a couple of times and it didn't go that great. My table leader thought I was a foolish rebel).
*Break for small talk
*Repeat

Sound like anything you've ever seen or heard of before? Sound like a... church service?! Yeah! That's it! This weekend was NOT a retreat to be with the Lover of my Soul; it was an extended Men's Prayer Breakfast. And it was grueling.

It wasn't just the schedule, as I may lead you to believe. More than anything, it was the collective sense of what it would mean for us men to be true Disciples of Jesus. It would mean, in short, doing all the things a disciple's supposed to do. It would mean 3 hours of study a day. It would mean days punctuated by prayer times. It would mean strategizing ways to help the poor and needy. It would mean sharing our 'faith' (i.e. our organization-based belief system) with co-workers daily. It would mean more discipline, more observance of the sacraments, more meditation, more mentoring, less sinning, and generally better overall citizenship. After one of the talks, I started the discussion at my table. "Guys, I just have to say that I don't think I can live up to this. I don't think I can do all the things we're talking about. I want Jesus to do all these things in me, because they all sound great, but I just think I need Jesus. If these are the ways to find him, I want to do them, but if Jesus is depending on me to do this stuff [and that was the CLEAR message we were being given], I just can't. I've tried for almost 30 years to do this stuff, and it doesn't work. I can't jump through all these hoops. I may be gifted and capable and even anointed, but more than anything else, I need Jesus. I don't know what else to say." Their collective reaction was concern and sympathy for me.

Messed up t-shirt.

More to say about this retreat, but thought I'd start by giving you guys an overall feel for the whole thing. Wow.

And to those of you who wrote me letters (this was a 'secret' treat planned for me by my sponsor for the weekend and my wife), I just can't think you enough. They were really wonderful.

Starlog: 1.6.8

There will be nothing spectacular here: this will be purely record-keeping as the need to put SOMETHING above light-saber dork has reached a critical mass (can a NEED reach a MASS? Probably not, but you get me).

I left Cincinnati on December 15. I drove to Texas and had a great experience with Cajun food along the way (my Achafalaya adventure may or may not be recorded here later).







I visited Peepee and Hamster and rk in College Station, which was great. (Look at this photo: it's young Blythe Douglass and her father's discarded PBR. Nice.) Then I flew to NYC where Dora's siblings and their families gathered for Christmas.












If it's a NY cliche, we did it: skating in Central Park, Christmas with the Rockettes, Macy's,-the-largest-store-in-the-world, shopping bags in SoHo, Judah Friedlander at Caroline's, etc. etc. Then I came back to Houston, where I saw Jiff. Then I drove to Dallas, where I met Didi, and we stationed with her Second Family for about a week. I saw Mr. moljer, Cardzen, Peb, my sister, Havard, Josh Patterson, and others. Now we're on drive back home. This is where our story begins.

In fabulous Malvern, Arkansas ("A bad place to catch an unusual disease"), my '99 Saab wagon went ssssss-*boink*. Then my power steering went away, my a/c died, and the smell of sulphur filled the cabin. This happened on a Saturday around noon. EVERYTHING closes at noon on Saturday in Malvern, Arkansas, the same with its high-falutin' neighbor, Hot Springs (only 15 miles away). Eventually, we found an about-to-close U-Haul place, which rented us a Towing Dolly (this is the contraption onto which you drive your front wheels and it pulls you, piggyback style. We were caravaning with Didi's younger sister (who lives in Nashville), so she pulled my car to Memphis, some 3+ hrs down the causeway. We dumped the Saab at a dealership, dumped the dolly at a U-Haul place, and let sister go on her way. Exhausted and excruciated, we found a hotel, knowing that we'd be stuck in The Birthplace of the Blues at least until Monday, when the dealership would look at the little guy. THIS is where our story really begins.

So Didi and I are now stuck with hotel time we'd not budgeted for, and time in a generally unattractive city with an amazing history. Like the make-do traveller I am, I hit the pavement Sunday morning, and we saw this Memphis. Now, my experience with Memphis is mostly limited to the fact that it's a substantial signpost on the way to Nashville from Houston (a trip I made a few times when schooling at Belmont U), and about halfway between Cincinnati and Dallas. It's a place to find a La Quinta or what have you. It has a bad racial history, from what I understand (not that Cincy's too great in that department), has an industrial feel that competes with Cleveland for Most Drab, and was the starting point for TONS of musicians, including (are you ready for this?) Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, B. B. King, Aretha Franklin, Carl Perkins, John Lee Hooker, Justin Timberlake, Howlin' Wolf, Jerry Lee Lewis, Bobby "Blue" Bland, Charlie Rich, Lucero, Al Green, Muddy Waters, Tina Turner, Roy Orbison, Sam Cooke, Booker T. and the MGs, Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes (recently featured on this page for his bald-with-beard look), Sam and Dave, and let's not forget the amazing Three 6 Mafia. Oh yeah, Memphis was recently declared the Most Sedentary City in America. People who live here are called Memphians. We did this:

-Visited the Rock and Soul Museum, which is put on by the Smithsonian folks. It was very informative and inspiring, I must say. The sharecropping background of people like Johnny Cash is a huge part of our nation's musical history, and all that stuff was reviewed here. The importance of Sun Records, Stax Records, and Hi Records were also cataloged, along with all the major artists of their respective eras. I loved it. Made me want to write and sing some old-fashioned songs.

-Took in Gibson's Manufacturing plant. Here, right across from Beale Street, Gibson creates its incredible guitars. A tour lets you see every step of the process, and even look in on the dudes who're making guitars right in front of yo eyes. neato.

-Genuflected at the Civil Rights Museum. There are some places, like the Pyramids in Cairo, that I really don't feel I deserve to see. This fits in that category. In a stroke of genius, some good souls bought the Lorraine Motel, where MLK Jr. was murdered. It has been rebuilt from the inside to accommodate the museum, which chronicles a short history of slavery, important figures in early American anti-slavery, and on into lunch counter sit-ins, Rosa Parks, Montgomery bus boycotts, Little Rock integration, Freedom Rides, Birmingham, and the March on Washington. Finally, you turn a corner and you're IN room 306 of the Lorraine Motel, looking out at the balcony. Spooky, man.

-Walked down to Sun Studios. Sam Phillips opened this tiny "recording service" in 1950, and Ike Turner made it explode with his "Rocket '88" hit. Elvis and Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins and Roy Orbison followed. Tiny place, but because U2 recorded part of Rattle and Hum there, it was a must for me. Rock history, baby.

-Stopped in on Pau Gasol and the middling Grizzlies. Pau, Rudy Gay, and the unflappable Mike Conley, Jr. took on Ricky Davis, Dwyane Wade, Shaquille O'Neal, and the rest of the miserable Miami Heat in a Sunday afternoon match. Didi and I found a hard luck scalper (who wants to see two terrible teams play in a blue-collar town?) and got in for $15 a piece. A fun dalliance. Consternating as it is to say, Wade and Davis (and, in flashed, Conley) were the only players in the building. The rest were Guys Born Tall or Good Shooters.

-Gave Beale Street a once-over. Like Austin's 6th street or N'Orleans' Bourbon Street. Bar-after-bar-featuring-spangling-neon isn't really my idea of a good time. Like seeing the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, you come into proximity with the gawkers, get a general sense of it, then move on. B.B. King's Blues Club? Check. Let's move along...

On tap for today, auto service pending:

-The Duck Parade. Apparently, a red carpet is rolled out daily at 11am and 5pm as a parade of ducks makes its way through the lobby of the 5-star Peabody Hotel. Okay.

-Graceland. Duh. Didi's never seen this hillbilly's Life Trophy. If you've never seen it, either, then let me just say that if you chew tobacco and gave camo Crocs for Christmas, you probably think heaven looks a lot like Graceland. Garish, silly, and sophomoric, it's everything I don't want to be. I guess you could say it embodies America in a lot of ways. Am I interested in seeing it again? Absolutely.

-More time at the Civil Rights Museum. Our tickets are good for 2 days!! Suckers!

And that's it. I'm not sure what those crazy Catholics are up to with their belief about Limbo, but it's got to be a lot like being stuck in Memphis until your car gets repaired. And that's the news, folks!

Awesomely romantic.

This, thanks to TH's recommendation of oomsa.com

What was all the Hot Fuss about? A look back.

I remember it like it was yest'dy: My Chemical Romance was mySpace's poster child, the Brazil's tiny Obvio! was tempting us with petrol savings, and I had a real, paystub-issuing job. The year was 2007, and Arcade Fire's Neon Bible was the talk.

I looked back on the spring this week, by popping in Neon Bible. And what I found intrigued me.

I'm not that good at liking stuff that everybody's liking and telling me that I, too, should wholeheartedly enjoy. It's too much pressure. I back out. That's what happened with this record. I saw the lederhosen and clogs, or whatever they wear, saw the religious angst (which both repelled and attracted me), and saw the hurdy-gurdy on stage, or whatever they play, and thought "okay, I like the deconstruction, but is all that hopelessness really necessary?" or something. I listened just enough to have a qualified opinion, and moved on.

But on further listen, with everyone having moved on to the Motion City Soundtrack, or whatever, my thoughts had changed. For starters, I'm AMAZED, really amazed, at how dated this music sounds. This record absolutely will NOT age well. It sounds like it was made in 1988, and not the cool 1988. I mean like Flock of Seagulls 1998. I was in the gym this week, also, and Tonight, Tonight, Tonight came on, and I thought "Mullet-y Phil actually sounds more relevant than the record Arcade Fire gave us 9 months ago. Is that bizarre or what?" The irony is that AFire's throwback gear and sound would lead you to believe it will transcend the age. But kids, it won't.

I also had an impatience for what I perceive to be Win Butler's mania. He has a desperation about him, and not the kind, like John Baptist's, that you want to follow to Kingdom Come. Win sounds beyond all hope and reconciliation. Like Thom Yorke, I suppose that's a reasonable place to be in our world... but, like Thom Yorke, I just don't want to spend my discretionary time staring at it. Win seems to think that the more rabid he sounds, the more he'll get me to listen. But no. The more I want to marginalize him, is more like it. I do like the artiness of it all, though: I like that AFire exists, and that they do what they do in such unorthodox ways. Speaking of unorthodox, did anybody ever listen to the White Stripes' Icky Thump? Now that was some FUN wheels-off bang.

The other thing that struck me, that I haven't really thought since Wake Up, is how much I like Win's voice. It sounds terrific to me, like a hybrid of David Byrne and James' Tim Booth. I really dig it.

Lastly, I always expect to cheerlead people who want to dismantle religion. But what I find is that, when people are aware enough to want to dismantle it, they're usually clever enough to come up with something else in its place. And that's what they (rightfully) spend their time on, and that's what I usually disagree with. So I'll agree with Win's analysis of the problem, but that's only about 20% of what he has to say. He spends 80% of his time going to Apocalypse and all the terrible mutations, which doesn't help me or attract me. So I'll hug him if I see him--I believe we've been bitten by the same snake--but I might not sign my name to his declarations.

And, if I drive you to the record at all, please spend some time on No Cars Go, a hopeful and exuberant song that Win didn't write. "Women and children! Little babies! Old folks! ...let's go!!!"

On Hearing God's Voice

Making a Difference

Islam in Egypt

I woke up that first night, exhausted and jet-lagged and ready for about 18 hours of sleep, by the loud moans and whines of Muslim prayers. I later learned that there is a system of loudspeakers (situated in the towers of mosques that have to be no more than a mile away from one another) which BLANKETS the nation. Five times a day, the nation is terrorized by the sound of these grunts and whinnys. it's very 1984. And was disconcerting to me that night.

I started to talk to God about it, because it felt weird. "What is this?" I got the mental image of a twisted man, flashlight to chin, telling scary stories around a campfire. He wants the children intimidated and fearful, so that his influence over them will be greater. I became disgusted at that image. Then I started to hear voices. Or, I should say, I began to experience thoughts. Strange, non-Steven thoughts: "You are completely alone here." "You are so far away from Didi; you might never see her again. You certainly can't see her now." "You are unwanted here; you are foreign to this culture and you don't understand it." "You have nothing to give these people and they know you don't belong" etc. Pretty heavy conversation for 4am. I decided to pray against these voices, telling them where to get off and that I wouldn't listen to the garbage triggered by Moaning Prayer Dude.

That had the effect of a peanut against the Hoover Dam.

It felt to be a completely pointless stand. I imagined a gigantic spirit, hunched over the nation, with a slow grin covering his face as it dawned on me that a quick, desperate prayer wouldn't exactly jar this centuries-entrenched beast. I was still agitated, and still anxious. So I just worshipped, and reveled in God's shepherding fatherhood over me. That did bring relief, just focusing on him. I fell back to sleep.

That was my introduction to the spiritual state of Egypt. I later learned:

*the religious spirit, and certainly the spirit of Islam, always attacks the feminine. Women, you see, prophesy to the world about what it's like to be the Bride, the holy Object of God's affections. Through women, we learn how to submit and yet be strong, how to revel in sensitivity, and to explore creativity and the depth of relationship. And the enemy attacks them. I saw even pastors' wives used as pack animals and portable babysitters, and I was ashamed. And those women who wear the full on cover-me-up burkas? The clear message they receive is, "You need to be put away. You are human in shape, but not in position or in expression. You will carry a hole with you and you will reside inside that hole. You are to come out only when commanded to do so." It's terrible, and I'm attributing it to the controlling spirit of religion.


*Egyptian government recognizes officially-sanctioned places of "Christian worship". That is to say, you are allowed to meet in your official building and they'll keep their hands off. But if you get nutso and meet in homes, or in a public, non-sanctioned place, THEY WILL FIND YOU. Fascinating, no? The Egyptian powers that be say, "Have a meeting in a third-party building no problem! But meet in a home and you're TOAST." Why? Are they suggesting that non-institutional meetings are more powerful somehow? Weird. Also interesting is that the Egyptians we met with (all following the laws of the land, w/re: not sharing your faith, only meeting in recognized locales, etc.) reported that there's "really no persecution" in Egypt, save maybe getting passed over for jobs, visa restrictions, etc. Voice of the Martyrs, however, calls Egypt a persecution hotbed, and currently has 21 articles online to back it up. Isn't it weird that the people who follow the evangelism- and community-restricting laws, the ones that confine you to building-based Christianity, don't seem to face those hardships?

*One of the most disturbing things I saw in Egypt was the tattoo that ALL believers wear: it's a cross on their wrists or their hands. They say this helps them know if they're talking to a 'true believer' and can speak freely in public, rather than be guarded and halting in their words. I have many problems and questions with this:
-Could the Holy Spirit tell us with whom we're to speak freely, and with whom we need to be shrewdly silent?
-Is this at all synonymous with Paul's argument that no fleshly marking (like circumcision) could denote God's sons?
-Couldn't a Saul-type, out to destroy the believers, easily get a tattoo and infiltrate the ranks?
-Couldn't a well-wishing person get this tattoo, believe they're now 'marked' as a believer, but never know Jesus?
I know that I don't understand their culture or their background or their society, but boy do I not like this practice.

*At the gates of our retreat center, there were always 2 guards with big guns. This didn't bother me much; lots of guards use guns in South Africa, for instance. We all assumed that the retreat center (which is a Christian-owned business) had hired these guys. We only found out at the end of our stay, though, that these men were actually paid by the police to spy on the goings-on and report them. Ugh. Sinking feeling.

So, what I'm saying it, it's not good. Our believing friends admit that Egyptian culture=Muslim culture, and that constricting snake weaves through the countryside even more deftly than the great Nile, on which the nation was built.

Chew Presents: Literature Corner

HUGE day of Home Maintenance. Getting ready to move Didi into her new home office, and what a job THAT is. But it's meant the streamlining of STUFF, particularly regarding the storage of books in our home--and I love throwing out old crap!! I now have about 250lbs of books in my car. I could not bench press these books. Should I give them to my local library, which I adore? Should I get $17 for the $1800 worth of books from Half Price Books? Dunno, dunno.

I was amazed at some of the junk we've kept on our married/mixed shelves (A Separate Peace? Really? The Collected Works of Smith Wigglesworth? Do I need ALL that?), and I also came across some old friends--books I've not cracked for years. They just got boxed up every 18 months and moved to my new residence. I will now regale you all with a wonderful passage from Thomas Dubay's The Evidential Power of Beauty. I used to kind of be into the philosophical stuff, and I am still into the subject of beauty, as many of you know. Here we go:

Because elegant music is profoundly mysterious, moving, and delightful, it invites special attention... Plato conceived the purpose of music to be the love of beauty. While this comment is an incomplete account of the matter, there is much to be said in its favor. Everyone with a moderate education and a degree of culture recognizes the lofty relationship between the best of classical music and the elevation of the human spirit, not to mention the experience of exquisite delight. Biologist Lewis Thomas made the provocative remark that professional musicologists, for whom he professes "the greatest respect, haven't a ghost of an idea about what music is, or why we make it and cannot be human without it, or even--and this is the telling point--how the human mind makes music on its own before it is written down and played". Thomas adds that "the biologists are no help here, nor the psychologists, nor the physicists, nor the philosophers, wherever they are these days. Nobody can explain it. It is a mystery, and thank goodness for that."

There is no doubt that music is deeply baffling, and that no one can tell us much about the mystery of it, but it is not quite the case that no one can throw some light on its reality and on why its beuty can so thrill the human mind and heart. Yes, any genuine melody is profoundly mysterious. It is a mathematical and yet a flowing reality, appearing and then immediately disappearing--but with lingering effects. It can leave behind a flowing delight, even at times an exaltation. If I may coin a word, it can musify a perceptive listener capable of appreciating its splendor.

Melody and harmony lie at the border of the material and immaterial. On the one hand sound waves are picked up by our sense of hearing, and yet on the other there is in music a strong intellectual and spiritual element, both in the composer and in the listener. Edward Oakes comments that "music is first and above all an ideal reality--as we know from Beethoven's own life, who wrote (and conducted!) his Ninth Symphony when he was completely deaf."

I dig it.

Tales from Joan, Warrior Princess.

yes, there's much more to say about Egypt than tales of gumbo spackle. Quote me on that phrase, by the way.

I will tell you about this woman. her name is Joan. She lives in Seattle. She just happened to be part of this same trip that Peb and I went on. (If you're interested, there was a sort of retreat/conference for a couple of religious organizations and Peb and I both went as teacher/seminar-leader-types.) Joan is not used to joining up with organizations; she believes that the Church is really a network of relationships that spans the globe. She and her friends meet in homes with glad and sincere hearts, break bread and generally yuk it up while sharing about Jesus. She and her husband have felt a pull toward Peru, and have made lots of trips there, establishing some orphanages along the way. [aside: don't you love it when people just GET OUT THERE and execute their calling, not waiting on some organization to bless or anoint their effort? There was no "go establish orphanages in Peru" mailer that came to Joan's house. She just went out there and made it happen.] And she has some TALES FROM PERU, which I'll share with you now. HOLD ONTO YOUR HATS.

*ITEM! Joan was driving in a car on a Peruvian mountain road (they got those Andes out there), when Some Mysterious Force smashed into the car, throwing them off the road and TUMBLING DOWN THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN. Yes. Joan's car. Rolling down the mountainside. Joan cries out to God. In the next moment, the car is BACK ON THE ROAD, and they're traveling along, right where they got knocked off. Everybody in the car says "what do YOU think just happened? I thought we just got knocked down the mountain..." There wasn't a scratch on the car. When they arrived at the village, their contact said "we know that you had great trouble in coming here. The LORD has shown us the four evil spirits who camp around our village and make war on us. He showed us that those spirits left their post here to destroy you on your way. They didn't want you to come. But we've been praying for you, and we praise God that you've arrived to us safely."

*ITEM! Joan was diagnosed with a brain tumor 3 days before a trip to Peru. She wouldn't have surgery; she was committed to the trip. She had people helping her, as her balance was shot, half of her body was paralyzed, and her vision was going. She arrived at a new town, meeting a new contact for the first time. A man was greeting everybody, but when he saw Joan, his face lit up. "You're FINALLY HERE!!" Joan goes "um, I don't think I know you." "Yeah, but I know you! Three years ago, God showed you to me in a vision. You were coming to my village in need of healing. I thought God gave me a responsibility through that vision, so I've been praying for you for these last 3 years. And three days ago, God showed me that you were here in my country. We were so excited that all the believers in this village have been praying and fasting for you since then. We can't wait to pray for your healing!" So yep, Joan was completely healed that day. She went on a mountain climb that very day and had more strength and energy than all the locals (of course, they'd been fasting for 3 days)...

*ITEM! Joan was at a meeting of the church (which she understands to be a network of relationships that spans the globe) in a Peruvian village when she and her team just thought that God was there and wanted to heal people that night. So they just invited anybody who wanted to come forward to come receive. A little girl with a cleft palette came up in faith, hoping God would heal her. They laid their hands on this girl and prayed and, according to Joan, THE GIRL'S FACE WAS RESHAPED BEFORE THEIR VERY EYES. "Okay," they thought to themselves, "God really IS in the house and wants to help people." So they said again, "Anybody that wants healing should come right up here where we are. We believe that God is willing to heal anybody that will ask..." Just then [get ready for it] a dog walked in the room from outside, and walked right up to the team. It was a 3-legged dog. It just waited at their feet.



























Okay, you tell me what you do in that situation.



























The team looks at one another and says, "Why can't we lay hands on this dog? God likes all kinds of healing, right?" So they do. And... I know it's nuts, but... THE DOG GROWS A FOURTH LEG. Then it trots back out the door.

These are Joan's stories. Peb, tell these gentlemen that this is, indeed, accurate to the stories Joan told us at the tikka cafe. Go on, Peb, tell em.