tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58253592011-11-14T20:47:34.089-08:00Author: Curt Mortimer Interests: Biblical Theology, Poetry, Front Page Bible Studies, Post modernism, Philosophy, GeneaologyCurtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.comBlogger311100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-24092475689260421432011-05-04T10:31:00.001-07:002011-05-04T10:31:16.786-07:00

Announcement: I have added Windows Live Writer to see how this little baby might help me be more timely with Blog entries.

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-6037252533873158142009-06-07T14:13:00.000-07:002009-06-07T14:31:57.317-07:00

I think I'll hide this poem here. No one will see it and I won't have to be embarassed.The Chamber PotWhen I was just a little ladMy mama had me use the chamber pot.My little point of departureGot just above the lipAnd I had to be put up to itAnd balanced,To undergo the grunting kindOften euphed as "making mud."Now mind, chamber pots are called so, In order that the sensitivities be soothedMy

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-75293038692977048532009-02-14T16:29:00.000-08:002009-02-14T16:46:40.908-08:00

The tricks of men and women to live the good life are many and varied. First we do not know what the good life is; a good, meaning moral life or a good; meaning high financial life. The trick is to seem good meaning moral, while grasping the good meanng money. We find many ways to wear the mask. Mostly as in the following poem we search not for real morality but for excusabillity.Eben AdamsEben

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-13741268467092622852009-02-01T13:31:00.001-08:002009-02-01T13:31:56.385-08:00

Sorry For GodToday I felt sorry for GodSad that He can't wonderSoon as He see's something interestingA catalog data base kicks inAnd omnicience knows allAbout everythingMust be awful boringHe knows all the reasonsA baby raises his tiny fistWondering "what is this?"God knows to His everlasting ennuiBut there's one thingGets God goingMakes His metaphorical blood raceQuizical look of wonderOn His

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-40143705400511592402009-02-01T13:27:00.000-08:002009-02-01T13:28:39.246-08:00

Wendell BerryOh how my whole being loves your Sabbath, WendellAn act of worship to walk those forest trailsHow close you seem to the God of creationImmersed in what He madeBut I have a questionDoes God require the absence of humanityBefore He will be seen?In my forest grow concrete and steel trees,Straight as arrows, full of people.Is there any possibility of seeing God in Chicago?And, Oh, just

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-36017520810484157062009-01-28T15:00:00.000-08:002009-01-28T15:01:57.505-08:00

In the sermon below I made reference to the two tablets of the ten commandments. The first tablet relates man's relationship to God and the second tablet, mans relationship to man. In Matthew 19 the young man comes to Jesus to ask how to do what is good, to attain eternal life. Jesus answered, "'Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not give false testimony, 19 honor your

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-71533928582779731652009-01-21T12:50:00.000-08:002009-01-21T13:32:38.243-08:00

I had the privilege of giving the sermon at Jesus People USA last Sunday. It contains the poems, Understanding Life, Computer Adam, and I'm going to scare you to death. What's It All About?May I share with you a story poemabout a fellow named Melvin.It is the story of his life,Of all our liveshow we achieve a comfortable placeby avoiding the dangers that lurk,and then as we grow olderWe begin to

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-42499569067592745872009-01-12T13:11:00.000-08:002009-01-12T13:20:44.163-08:00

The Old PassionYou have to be old,To be old enough to knowThat old peopleDon't really get oldInside they are excited about lifeLike when they were youngOh, they have changed, grownStill are growing, changingAnd they ageLike a lion gets used to its cageDiscerning the limits of his freedomIn the human zooBut the old passion paces insideThe same and alivePausing to sniff at the lockWaiting out the

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-14321277724934324932009-01-11T14:06:00.000-08:002009-01-11T14:14:47.693-08:00

Children PlaySome say children come from heavenAs in The "Creation of Adam"See their little souls surroundingThe presence of GodWhen they come here,They are given baby bodiesSome better than othersThat is this fallen world's wayBut the soul is sent from heavenCarried here in the embrace of GodAnd it takes a lot longerThan gestation and deliveryTo really get them hereThey come slow.Takes days,

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-81927789476969752372009-01-05T14:31:00.000-08:002009-01-11T14:56:22.705-08:00

I BelieveTerrible things happen on this earthThings we do not talk aboutPeople gathered in cattle carsLined up against brick wallsExperiments on how many might fallWith one bulletChildren dashed against concreteWe can believe in that dayWhen the blood will riseTo the bridles if the horsesSome say hell is on earthSome have seen it hereEven saints have sufferedBut the architect of hell knowsEarth

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-78089312673816378382009-01-04T14:22:00.000-08:002009-01-11T14:27:38.473-08:00

Jackie JohnJackie John, he not no saintGod knows he ain'tGod knows he ain'tBut he didn't do what the noose was forAn that's fer shoreThat's what he sworeAin't no matter what he sayJackie paySee how he payHe ain't no Jesus, who paid for somethingHe died for nothingHe died for nothingThe sheriff conjured up a stormWhile Jackie's body still was warmAn the peoples knewThat they'd been warnedThe law

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-27470297386741842962009-01-02T14:04:00.000-08:002009-01-11T14:17:57.926-08:00

Bless the ChildDeep inside my sweetheartDwells a little herConcentrated, distilled, pureExactly as she came offThe finger of GodSometimes she comes out to playA splash of laughterA kiss for just nothingA dance around the roomShe comes from deep insideTo bask in a moment of safetyJesus, bless the childFor though sheCannot be cut by swordsShe is so easily slain by words.Just me learning to be

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-91355532972760080302009-01-01T13:57:00.000-08:002009-01-11T14:18:43.875-08:00

AlmostElectricity buzzesSixty cycles per secondLike an angry waspflying round my headNo, in my headWasps, dangerousMove my hands. . . can't.Swat this buzzingSomeone. . . that's me screamingLegs and feet, wetCan't stepCan't make it stopHot wire bright red to whiteSnap, like a fuse, fall awayOn all foursRight calf cramped like a rockJerking like a Shaker Holy Spirit fullPraying like a repentent

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-46639419520758346182008-08-01T14:02:00.000-07:002008-08-01T14:10:42.163-07:00

The Sin EaterHe came down from the mountainsideThis was his calling; his pathIf people saw him,he would not see them.Children were hushed indoorsWhile he passed by.It wasn't leprosy.He was the sin eater.It was a ceremony of bread and beerHeld over the warm body of the dead.The sin eater enteredHated and feared but invited.A wooden bowl of beer would bePassed over the body.He would drink and say,"

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-60261080160693908122008-07-29T11:23:00.000-07:002009-01-11T14:19:45.534-08:00

On Reading Darshan SinghFaith is a madnessThat reason has no reasons for.Logic keeps God laughing,Though it gets us through the day.The day God died,we livedThen died againBy making sense out of it,Not knowing there wasNo sense in it,Outside of PresenseFaith is nonsense.Faith is not sense.Faith is not seeing,Or seeing without eyesFaith is a blind man's caneTap, tap, tapping on God's doorWhile He

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-53468434250887838472008-07-27T08:31:00.000-07:002009-01-11T14:20:56.233-08:00

PenielThe Angel of the Lord is down by the river.Also there, the candidates –The would-be men and women of God,Contesting for the blessing.Look not for the one who returnsWith church bell voiceThat pierces to your gut.Nor the one with shining faceThat makes you feel faint.Look, look for the one who limps,For there is no other way to returnFrom wresting with God.CurtMortimerJacob is the original

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1086547136589618412004-06-06T11:38:00.000-07:002004-06-06T11:55:24.033-07:00

Here is the promised whatever it is. (It is back in the archives but I do not know how to link that way yet.) Whoee -- Maybe I do - click on "it" above and scroll down. Nevermind my childish exhuberance, just read it below: A History of the New Religious Middle (How to find the Right party without being Left out in the cold.) It was the time before time. Well, that may be a bit too dramatic

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1086547037264796592004-06-05T11:35:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:36:04.937-08:00

We are back in Chicago for a few days. We have been working on blogability for Bushnell office so it should be possible to blog from there when we get back. I do go blotto over work sometimes so it is not surprising to miss a month of blogs, like last month but check back, sanity always returns.I have been thinking a lot about adjusting the gospel presentation to communicate to our changing

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1086461671282866892004-05-01T11:51:00.000-07:002004-06-05T11:57:19.960-07:00

We are on the road today. Going from Chicago to Bushnell. We are working on several books, both editing and writing. These are books to be published by Cornerstone Press, Chicago. We're editing a couple books by Glenn Kaiser http://gkaiser.blogspot.com/ and http://www.glennkaiser.com/of Resurrection Band and one by Chris Ramsey about his work at Cornerstone Community Outreach shelter.

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083363027711999732004-04-30T15:10:00.000-07:002004-04-30T15:14:32.436-07:00

It is nice to imagine that I was post modern before post modern was cool but was it just adolescent rebellion? Let the buyer beware. Written back in the late 1960s: The Lost Stone Speaker 1: (Sadly) The Stone Which the builders rejected, The Stone, Which became the head of the corner, The Stone, Upon which His church would be built Is lost! Speaker 2: (Confidently) Lost?

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083362869215092132004-04-29T15:06:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:38:11.611-08:00

It seems to me that the post modern antipathy toward authoritative proclamation is simply a plea for good solid reasons, rather than "Thus saith the authority." There is a difference between saying, Hold it, stop right there." and "Hold it, you're one step from fresh concrete." I can understand the speaker's panic in the first statement. I think there is a similar commendable panic in some

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083266233848673552004-04-28T12:17:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:39:53.747-08:00

I’ve been wondering why the homeless have such a penchant for feeding the pigeons in the city. One day I saw a big bag left on the sidewalk, the kind of bag the shelter gets filled with bread donations. Aha, Dr. Watson, someone has been feeding pigeons with shelter bread. Penelope the Pigeon GodEven the Mayor had her numberThis enemy of the cityThis corruptor of the alleyways.A long history,The

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083266076423012852004-04-27T12:14:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:42:25.305-08:00

I have been studying Post Modernism and it's effect on culture in general and on Christianity in particular. The study has been like taking a small tiger cub into my life, finding it fun and playful especially for what it does to the old modernist armchair (its upholstery is torn to shreds.). I like that, I always hated that armchair anyway, never sat in it. But I look in the eyes of my new

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083265964115228002004-04-11T12:12:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:43:58.998-08:00

Love in the Ruins I was so young at fiftyWhen we talked about infatuation and love.Poor girl; she didn't know what she was getting,A mime loverWho could flail his armsAnd churn his legsAnd make his face be whatever was called forIn a pantomime danceAnd the answer wasI love you like a tigerWith a roar that makes the jungle muteBut I can't find your language . . .yet!And you can't guess my

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083265847602870592004-04-10T02:05:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:47:03.676-08:00

I wanted to get in to the attic of the world..(A dream)It was a snowy field down a gentle slope. A bright sunny dayI need to tame the beast, I said to my companion; the wolf who has been the antagonist of my youthful, dreams, The chaser. Many times I have escaped his snapping jaws in a mad rush through the forest leaping just in time up to the back porch of home.I was a man in a child's body. I

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083265156991097272004-04-09T11:59:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:48:59.810-08:00

I'm not very well taught in love so don't listen to me. Just skip over this to tomorrow - things will get better. That is not to say I am incapable of love. I love fiercely, like a tiger; I love dramatically, like a torrid novel; Love bursts in me like molten lava, like Old Faithful, like Mount Saint Helens. It just don't get out very well. "In me," did you catch that - in me! Inside of me,

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083264713720995482004-04-02T11:51:00.000-08:002009-02-01T13:50:22.394-08:00

I've been thinking that one of the reasons I like journaling is a family thing. My dad left a lot of writing type things behind him when he died. I liked that. It helped me understand myself to come to understand him better. I realize that one of my goals in journaling is to give that kind of a gift to my children. That also is one of the reasons I don't like a rambling type journal. I want to

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1083264630962090972004-04-01T11:49:00.000-08:002009-02-01T13:51:21.361-08:00

I'm starting up this journal again after reading about the value of journaling from Rick Warren's book, The Purpose Driven Life. I've started many journals and they all lasted only a short time - Either I run out of ideas or time or brain memory cells. Probably most of my ideas are too intricate. I do that a lot - make a plan that crosses all the t's and then it is to complicated and time

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1063920274421860892003-09-18T14:24:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:54:57.879-08:00

Love Once when I was in contemplation of a possible object of affection. I feel a bit embarrassed at this task I have set for myself. The subject pleads for poetry but I long ago vowed I would write no such lines, The Poet's Hex I the poet would write of love As something flowing from above, But in this world of blatant sex The poet's task is under hex. I write of curls and skin so fair,

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1063916004871934602003-09-18T13:13:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:55:49.681-08:00

Sitruc Learns to Sing Gather around children. I want to tell you the story of Sitruc.He was a mean little kid until he was eleven. For years he had heard the Holy Spirit calling "Sitruc, come to me and let me have your spirit." Then one hot summer night while everybody was singing "Just as I Am" he wept his way to the altar rail down front. The Holy Spirit answered his sobs and said, "Thank

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825359.post-1063826136567078922003-09-17T12:15:00.000-07:002009-02-01T13:56:41.538-08:00

A History of the New Religious Middle(How to find the Right party without being Left out in the cold.) It was the time before time. Well, that may be a bit too dramatic but it has all the catch of "it was the winter of our discontent." Say, come to think of it that was it; The Winter of Our Discontent. On the other hand that phrase is one of those that used once exhausts its power so I decided

Curtiss Lynn Mortimerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14163902108257513129noreply@blogger.com0