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. CCOlife.org. Chris is bloggless and computer challenged but he knows his shelter men and women.
By the way, it strikes me that no one reading this blog knows my "we." It is Dawn and me. She is my sweetheart of ten years. She is the object of my Tiger love. She is the "dawn" of my life, subject of the Mime lover poem. I, of course am the mime lover. There are lots of other poems also - maybe some day.
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Friday, April 30, 2004
The Original PoMo
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? My son you have not been to Our church.
We have a succession line,
Transcending back through time,
Peter's line of ordination,
Precious line of the Lord's creation.
Speaker 1: (Sadly)
But the stone is lost . . . the ordination different from the ordinator.
Speaker 3: (Argumentatively)
Lost? Young radical, you have not been to Our church!
We have the truth - a clear bell tone,
Man can be saved by faith alone,
Luther's theses we still hold,
We have here your Stone of old.
Speaker 1: (Sadly)
But the Stone is lost . . . the person different from His truth.
Speaker 4: (In preacher tone)
Lost? Seeker, you have not been to Our church.
The word of God is where we look,
There are no mistakes in God's own book,
A strong foundation - never weak,
Here you'll find the Stone you seek.
Speaker 1: (Sadly)
But the Stone is lost . . . the path different from its destination.
Speaker 5: (Liltingly)
Lost? Friend, you have not been to Our church.
There we speak with other tongues,
Praising God from out our lungs,
We can show you how to speak,
Limber up, now don't be meek.
Speaker (Sadly)
But the stone is lost . . . the gift different from the giver.
Come search with me brothers,
We seek only one Stone,
Come search with me brothers,
I'll not find it alone
We'll look under your Church,
We'll look under mine,
We'll know when we find it,
The same through all time.
No false combinations,
Our brotherhood true,
We'll understand unity,
when we are through.
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? My son you have not been to Our church.
We have a succession line,
Transcending back through time,
Peter's line of ordination,
Precious line of the Lord's creation.
Speaker 1: (Sadly)
But the stone is lost . . . the ordination different from the ordinator.
Speaker 3: (Argumentatively)
Lost? Young radical, you have not been to Our church!
We have the truth - a clear bell tone,
Man can be saved by faith alone,
Luther's theses we still hold,
We have here your Stone of old.
Speaker 1: (Sadly)
But the Stone is lost . . . the person different from His truth.
Speaker 4: (In preacher tone)
Lost? Seeker, you have not been to Our church.
The word of God is where we look,
There are no mistakes in God's own book,
A strong foundation - never weak,
Here you'll find the Stone you seek.
Speaker 1: (Sadly)
But the Stone is lost . . . the path different from its destination.
Speaker 5: (Liltingly)
Lost? Friend, you have not been to Our church.
There we speak with other tongues,
Praising God from out our lungs,
We can show you how to speak,
Limber up, now don't be meek.
Speaker (Sadly)
But the stone is lost . . . the gift different from the giver.
Come search with me brothers,
We seek only one Stone,
Come search with me brothers,
I'll not find it alone
We'll look under your Church,
We'll look under mine,
We'll know when we find it,
The same through all time.
No false combinations,
Our brotherhood true,
We'll understand unity,
when we are through.
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Authority
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 gospel proclaimers too. They are honestly afraid if their hearer doesn't act quickly there is danger ahead. But I can also understand why someone will be more apt to respond to the second statement. It not only communicates the speaker's sense of danger but also gives the hearer the right to make his own judgment as to the danger. If he wants to walk in wet cement he may.
I am 60 years old. I have been intrigued with the post modern critique of Christianity largely because it echoes some of the problems I have had with the church since a young man. I referred to some of the problem in my last sermon at Jesus People USA.: "I was saved in the 5th grade - The songs we sang pictured my experience, “There’s been a Great change since I been born.” 'The things I usta would love - I don’t love no more.' So I was devoted to Jesus - Then someone told me: If you love Jesus, you will not be ashamed of Him - you’ll go out witnessing !
Oh dread - I was shy - scared to speak in public. I was the little kid peering out from behind his mama’s skirts. But I loved Jesus nevertheless. It wasn't really true that I couldn't love Jesus without rudely blaring the gospel out to people who I didn't know" I know this runs counter to some modern evangelistic paradigms but now, because of the post modern antipathy toward authoritative proclamation I can ease my imputed guilt.
One of my first poems written back in 1959.
Worship Service
The hour has come,
For us to sit,
And stand and sit,
And stand and sit.
We do this to be
Spiritually fit.
Things run smooth,
As smooth can be,
Everything's planned,
For eternity,
We do this because,
We've been set free.
The brass plates flash,
Down every row,
Our hare-earned coins,
And dollars flow,
Our love for God,
These things do show.
Now for a while,
We sit in awe,
The man arises,
Who has "the call,"
His words - raindrops,
Of honey fall
So when the winds
Of life are bleak,
We sit and stand
And give each week
Our spiritual house,
Will never creak.
I am 60 years old. I have been intrigued with the post modern critique of Christianity largely because it echoes some of the problems I have had with the church since a young man. I referred to some of the problem in my last sermon at Jesus People USA.: "I was saved in the 5th grade - The songs we sang pictured my experience, “There’s been a Great change since I been born.” 'The things I usta would love - I don’t love no more.' So I was devoted to Jesus - Then someone told me: If you love Jesus, you will not be ashamed of Him - you’ll go out witnessing !
Oh dread - I was shy - scared to speak in public. I was the little kid peering out from behind his mama’s skirts. But I loved Jesus nevertheless. It wasn't really true that I couldn't love Jesus without rudely blaring the gospel out to people who I didn't know" I know this runs counter to some modern evangelistic paradigms but now, because of the post modern antipathy toward authoritative proclamation I can ease my imputed guilt.
One of my first poems written back in 1959.
Worship Service
The hour has come,
For us to sit,
And stand and sit,
And stand and sit.
We do this to be
Spiritually fit.
Things run smooth,
As smooth can be,
Everything's planned,
For eternity,
We do this because,
We've been set free.
The brass plates flash,
Down every row,
Our hare-earned coins,
And dollars flow,
Our love for God,
These things do show.
Now for a while,
We sit in awe,
The man arises,
Who has "the call,"
His words - raindrops,
Of honey fall
So when the winds
Of life are bleak,
We sit and stand
And give each week
Our spiritual house,
Will never creak.
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Penelope the Pigeon God
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 God
Even the Mayor had her number
This enemy of the city
This corruptor of the alleyways.
A long history,
The signs!
Don’t feed the pigeons
Under statute number
117c(547p, amended)
The police patrol
Couldn’t catch her in the act
And the remains were everywhere
Because they didn’t give the birds
Unstructured time to eat.
Where does she get all that bread,
The Mayor said.
Detectives were directed.
Forensic evidence,
Showed donated homeless shelter bread
They said, She’s stealing
From the Homeless Shelter
Sirens to the shelter came
Fred, the Homeless Shelter
Inside man said,
No, she’s living here
It’s her bread, said Fred
The sirens swooped
The mayor had his (old wo-) man!
Bright lights, hot beams
Her diminutive form
Took up half the interrogation chair
Hands folded in her lap
And then, the confession,
Of Penelope the pigeon god
“The birds love me,
To them I am like God,
They come at my coo and call
That makes me feel better,
To be on top for once,
And so, I feed them.
What kind of a God is she
Who doesn’t answer pigeon pleas?
Penelope the Pigeon God
Even the Mayor had her number
This enemy of the city
This corruptor of the alleyways.
A long history,
The signs!
Don’t feed the pigeons
Under statute number
117c(547p, amended)
The police patrol
Couldn’t catch her in the act
And the remains were everywhere
Because they didn’t give the birds
Unstructured time to eat.
Where does she get all that bread,
The Mayor said.
Detectives were directed.
Forensic evidence,
Showed donated homeless shelter bread
They said, She’s stealing
From the Homeless Shelter
Sirens to the shelter came
Fred, the Homeless Shelter
Inside man said,
No, she’s living here
It’s her bread, said Fred
The sirens swooped
The mayor had his (old wo-) man!
Bright lights, hot beams
Her diminutive form
Took up half the interrogation chair
Hands folded in her lap
And then, the confession,
Of Penelope the pigeon god
“The birds love me,
To them I am like God,
They come at my coo and call
That makes me feel better,
To be on top for once,
And so, I feed them.
What kind of a God is she
Who doesn’t answer pigeon pleas?
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Post Modernism and Christianity
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 little pet and ask "What exactly does your DNA require you to become?" I am increasingly wondering what it will grow up to be. I went to a conference last week where Brian McLaren presented a paper that gave me a glimpse of what was touted by the responding paper (by Dr Duane Litfin, president of Wheaton College) to be a very toothy grown up tiger. Brian had said, "I have put my eggs in the basket that suggests we need to rethink our understanding of the gospel -- both for the sake of faithfulness to Holy Scripture, and for the sake of mission in the emerging postmodern culture." Dr. Litfin objected pointing out that Paul had clearly stated the gospel in, I Cor. 15:1-8
1Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand; 2By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain. 3For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; 4And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures: 5And that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve: 6After that, he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remain unto this present, but some are fallen asleep. 7After that, he was seen of James; then of all the apostles. 8And last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time.
Duane was actually in good post modern form in that the gospel turned out to be a story, a story that needs interpretation to get at its real meaning. In many other places Paul does interpret the meaning of the story. What exactly is Brian's point? It seems simply that we as the church may have misinterpreted the story, or may have misunderstood Paul's interpretation. That seems simple enough, and possible.
I still like this little fella. Listen to him purr.
1Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand; 2By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain. 3For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; 4And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures: 5And that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve: 6After that, he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remain unto this present, but some are fallen asleep. 7After that, he was seen of James; then of all the apostles. 8And last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time.
Duane was actually in good post modern form in that the gospel turned out to be a story, a story that needs interpretation to get at its real meaning. In many other places Paul does interpret the meaning of the story. What exactly is Brian's point? It seems simply that we as the church may have misinterpreted the story, or may have misunderstood Paul's interpretation. That seems simple enough, and possible.
I still like this little fella. Listen to him purr.
Sunday, April 11, 2004
Love in the Ruins
Love in the Ruins
I was so young at fifty
When we talked about infatuation and love.
Poor girl; she didn't know what she was getting,
A mime lover
Who could flail his arms
And churn his legs
And make his face be whatever was called for
In a pantomime dance
And the answer was
I love you like a tiger
With a roar that makes the jungle mute
But I can't find your language . . .yet!
And you can't guess my pantomime.
(With apology to Walker Percy)
I was so young at fifty
When we talked about infatuation and love.
Poor girl; she didn't know what she was getting,
A mime lover
Who could flail his arms
And churn his legs
And make his face be whatever was called for
In a pantomime dance
And the answer was
I love you like a tiger
With a roar that makes the jungle mute
But I can't find your language . . .yet!
And you can't guess my pantomime.
(With apology to Walker Percy)
Saturday, April 10, 2004
the Attic of the World (a dream)
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 day
I 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 said to my pal, I want to have the wolf as a friend, my dog, my pet, to play and scamper with. And then I looked and behold the wolf chasing a prey, not me this time, thank God.
Let's get him, I said, at the same time recoiling at the task. My comrade rushed ahead. We were both calling to the beast. I thought, he is too caught up in he chase. He will never stop, but my buddy caught him by the fur. There was no fight, no rending of flesh. And as the wolf came panting up to me and licked my fingers I saw his essence appear under my caressing hand. The wolf was just a manifestation of another beast, a bull with long horns and massive, rippling muscles. The long, long horns were the last of the vision to merge back into the fur, teeth and paws of the now dog friendly wolf.
I looked at our troupe, a team set for adventure; I, the wolf and she who caught the wolf for me.
We traveled on, across the snow, up and up to where the sky began. And right there I could see that only thin board separated between me and the attic of the world.
I began to tear away at the barrier. This was my task that I could do for my companions. Some of the boards came easily. Others, I had to snap and break. I was afraid to make noise because the adults would make me stop and not let me go in to the attic. I stopped for a moment peering through the hole I had made. I could see the rafters and roofing boards. I knew there would be no decorating there, no painted or plastered walls. This was liebenstraum, a place for us where we could always be together. Somehow I knew it was populated only by children. There, we could peek out upon the world.
And now I am falling asleep, writing this, but back then, I woke up and knew it was all just a dream. But some day, some night, I'll just crawl right on in and watch all you through the slits and cracks. . . you children in your awkward, earth-prohibited adult bodies. Can you hear the children laugh?
(A dream)
It was a snowy field down a gentle slope. A bright sunny day
I 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 said to my pal, I want to have the wolf as a friend, my dog, my pet, to play and scamper with. And then I looked and behold the wolf chasing a prey, not me this time, thank God.
Let's get him, I said, at the same time recoiling at the task. My comrade rushed ahead. We were both calling to the beast. I thought, he is too caught up in he chase. He will never stop, but my buddy caught him by the fur. There was no fight, no rending of flesh. And as the wolf came panting up to me and licked my fingers I saw his essence appear under my caressing hand. The wolf was just a manifestation of another beast, a bull with long horns and massive, rippling muscles. The long, long horns were the last of the vision to merge back into the fur, teeth and paws of the now dog friendly wolf.
I looked at our troupe, a team set for adventure; I, the wolf and she who caught the wolf for me.
We traveled on, across the snow, up and up to where the sky began. And right there I could see that only thin board separated between me and the attic of the world.
I began to tear away at the barrier. This was my task that I could do for my companions. Some of the boards came easily. Others, I had to snap and break. I was afraid to make noise because the adults would make me stop and not let me go in to the attic. I stopped for a moment peering through the hole I had made. I could see the rafters and roofing boards. I knew there would be no decorating there, no painted or plastered walls. This was liebenstraum, a place for us where we could always be together. Somehow I knew it was populated only by children. There, we could peek out upon the world.
And now I am falling asleep, writing this, but back then, I woke up and knew it was all just a dream. But some day, some night, I'll just crawl right on in and watch all you through the slits and cracks. . . you children in your awkward, earth-prohibited adult bodies. Can you hear the children laugh?
Friday, April 09, 2004
Tiger Love
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, that means, like a tiger caged, like a torrid novel unread, like Old Faithful, capped! In me. Inside of me. . .
Don't you dare say I do not love. I have had that knife nick my ribs till marrow bled. And it hurt a lot, and that tiger eventually died.
But now the tiger lives again and feels more alive than ever before!
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, that means, like a tiger caged, like a torrid novel unread, like Old Faithful, capped! In me. Inside of me. . .
Don't you dare say I do not love. I have had that knife nick my ribs till marrow bled. And it hurt a lot, and that tiger eventually died.
But now the tiger lives again and feels more alive than ever before!
Friday, April 02, 2004
For My Children
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 cut to the useful meat of the matters so as not to waste other peoples time with the mundane side of my life.
I visited everyone in Eau Claire, Wis. last week. Had a chance to do some work on daughter, Bethany's house. It was a great time. I didn't get to do all the things with the grandchildren that I wanted but we had some fun times. I love being with my family. They always make me feel welcome. I was also very glad to get back to JPUSA. That doesn't mean I do not value my family enough or love JPUSA more. I wrote in a poem once that in the midst of my children - there's the real me. On the other hand being amongst a people who have taken me in, in the midst of turmoil in my life, who have given me a place of ministry alongside them, I love them too. Do I love my children because they are perfect? No. Do I love my brothers and sisters at JPUSA because they are perfect? No. It is all relationship.
I visited everyone in Eau Claire, Wis. last week. Had a chance to do some work on daughter, Bethany's house. It was a great time. I didn't get to do all the things with the grandchildren that I wanted but we had some fun times. I love being with my family. They always make me feel welcome. I was also very glad to get back to JPUSA. That doesn't mean I do not value my family enough or love JPUSA more. I wrote in a poem once that in the midst of my children - there's the real me. On the other hand being amongst a people who have taken me in, in the midst of turmoil in my life, who have given me a place of ministry alongside them, I love them too. Do I love my children because they are perfect? No. Do I love my brothers and sisters at JPUSA because they are perfect? No. It is all relationship.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
Journaling
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 consuming to maintain. I'm going to start at a lower level here - just write something on as many days as I can.
My turn for Sunday's sermon I am thinking of using Mary's anointing of Jesus. She was criticized for how she exercised her devotion. The point will be - Others may not agree with our kind of devotion to God but that doesn't make it wrong. There are a few tests for real devotion/Christianity. 1. Devotion must be toward Jesus. 2. Devotion must recognize who He is. 3. It may be expensive or it may be a mite. I'll see if I can extract any more from the passage.
My turn for Sunday's sermon I am thinking of using Mary's anointing of Jesus. She was criticized for how she exercised her devotion. The point will be - Others may not agree with our kind of devotion to God but that doesn't make it wrong. There are a few tests for real devotion/Christianity. 1. Devotion must be toward Jesus. 2. Devotion must recognize who He is. 3. It may be expensive or it may be a mite. I'll see if I can extract any more from the passage.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Love Gyrations
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,
The reader's already stripped her bare.
I write of walking through the glen,
The reader's got her classed at ten.
I write of a secret, stolen kiss,
And he dreams of the Frenchman's bliss,
And even Browning's red, red rose,
Lost her virginity, everyone knows.
So love and making love are one,
And having sex is innocent fun,
And I will write no poetry,
About such ugly ribaldry.
So it is in the pedantry of prose that I write about love. Already I have broken the first law of love by using the first person personal pronoun six times. Love is supposed to be "other' centered. Oh woe is me. Oops. Seven!
We get the concept of other centeredness from the Bible which sets agape love as a high goal, the kind of love God expressed when He sent His son to live amongst His devil wrecked creation. As a Christian I accept for myself that high goal... eight, nine!
Enough, already! OK, I'll admit it. I don't want to write about love. I want to be loved!
(Long pause.). . . . . . .
(Fire does not fall from heaven). . . . . . .
Is it alright to want to be loved? It does not change my wanting to love selflessly. And it makes sense. If all of us love others as the Scriptures say we should then, when we are "others", get loved also. No? Sho nuff!
So here I go two paragraphs below: How I want to be loved. Oh, that sounds too grossly self-centered!......(Be patient I got to get this thing off my chest) But then again, is not that yearning for God in the heart of every man really a yearning to be loved? Perhaps a greater pride lies in the opposite direction: to be one who loves without ever needing to be loved, the tough cowboy type who kisses his horse and rides off into the sunset., What a hero! Godly? Not really. God Himself wants to be loved. In the prophets He is often presented as a rejected lover who loved unconditionally but who remains unloved and weeps because of it. So we have a need to be loved by God and He has a desire to be loved by us. It is impossible to love without having someone to love so it is the object that makes possible the act and tonight I am an object.
So try some more, paragraph four. The first thing you think about when asking to be loved is that you will receive in return some of that sloppy, sickly, do nice things for him, behavior that makes you want to vomit. The do nice things is a natural fruit of love but when it is bourne on a tree of "ought or "sympathy" it is rotten before it is ripe. I want none of that. I'll give none of that. But I suppose loving behavior is in the end what I am after for how shall I otherwise recognize love. The behavior though, must arise out of emotion and free choice or the feigned love will be a worse rejection than hate.
A second thought that comes to mind is that to be loved you must love. Strange as it may seem love develops much like fights do. One kid taps another on the shoulder. The other returns a little harder to the chest. Back to the stomach. The face. The nose. Soon it is a whirlwind of fists, feet, teeth and dust. Ain't love grand? In love though, the hardest thing is the first punch.
Questions
When you have a question,
And you care deeply
That the answer be "yes,"
Then you ask only questions,
That have no answers.
The more you care the harder it is to go first. If you get a love punch hard up the side of your face, beware - - the puncher really doesn't care. But watch out those little taps from trembling hands. There hide the lovers.
Did you ever have a conversation with a guy who seemed to read the text for his part off the shiny tops of his wingtipped shoes? He is afraid. And did you ever watch a gal make the social rounds in a room but she carefully avoids one particular guy. Her fear of him shows that she either loves him or she hates him. Fear is a component of both love and hate. Perhaps that is why rejected love snaps so easily to hate. It is hard to relate fear to love. The fumbling teenager who is afraid of the little red haired girl is a common experience to us Charley Browns of this world. Another place fear and love touch is in our relationship to God. He is our King to be feared and He is our Papa to be loved. Then the Bible goes and says that perfect love casts out all fear.
I remember a big mouth state fair hawker selling spot remover. He loaded a glass of water with ink, grape juice, blood and every other stain that life doles out. Then he added the most audacious miracle wonder spot remover and lo, the deep mud red turned to clear water. Applause, Oooos. Ahhhhhs. Maybe love is like that, almost all fear to begin with but then changes over time and experience to become only love, a trusting papa kind of love, a perfect love that casts out fear. The essence of romantic drama is a process of watching the shades of love change color. They fall in love. Then the behavior of one , seemingly inconsistent with love causes the other to shade toward red fear. Will they end as black hate verses blue melancholy love or will it be red fear begging black hate to come back home? Is it only in the fairy tales that clear, pure love finds clear, pure love with never the smallest tint of fear? Tune in next week.
Trembling love! That's it.
Scared? Yes, for sure.
Ahhh, ahem, errrrr, (tap, tap) Xcuse me, Dawn. . . . . . (Louder) DAWN! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I guess you didn't feel my tap on your shoulder.
Sooooo, have you any plans, . . . .well, I'm sure you have plans, . . . . I mean, all of us kind of decide what we're going to do before we do it. Ha. Ha.....But I mean, plans like an appointment or something, . . . . Uh, for Saturday night . . . . I love scary movies . . . but documentaries are good too . . . errrrr even Friday is OK. Sooooo, wasn't that a fine sermon last Sunday?
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,
The reader's already stripped her bare.
I write of walking through the glen,
The reader's got her classed at ten.
I write of a secret, stolen kiss,
And he dreams of the Frenchman's bliss,
And even Browning's red, red rose,
Lost her virginity, everyone knows.
So love and making love are one,
And having sex is innocent fun,
And I will write no poetry,
About such ugly ribaldry.
So it is in the pedantry of prose that I write about love. Already I have broken the first law of love by using the first person personal pronoun six times. Love is supposed to be "other' centered. Oh woe is me. Oops. Seven!
We get the concept of other centeredness from the Bible which sets agape love as a high goal, the kind of love God expressed when He sent His son to live amongst His devil wrecked creation. As a Christian I accept for myself that high goal... eight, nine!
Enough, already! OK, I'll admit it. I don't want to write about love. I want to be loved!
(Long pause.). . . . . . .
(Fire does not fall from heaven). . . . . . .
Is it alright to want to be loved? It does not change my wanting to love selflessly. And it makes sense. If all of us love others as the Scriptures say we should then, when we are "others", get loved also. No? Sho nuff!
So here I go two paragraphs below: How I want to be loved. Oh, that sounds too grossly self-centered!......(Be patient I got to get this thing off my chest) But then again, is not that yearning for God in the heart of every man really a yearning to be loved? Perhaps a greater pride lies in the opposite direction: to be one who loves without ever needing to be loved, the tough cowboy type who kisses his horse and rides off into the sunset., What a hero! Godly? Not really. God Himself wants to be loved. In the prophets He is often presented as a rejected lover who loved unconditionally but who remains unloved and weeps because of it. So we have a need to be loved by God and He has a desire to be loved by us. It is impossible to love without having someone to love so it is the object that makes possible the act and tonight I am an object.
So try some more, paragraph four. The first thing you think about when asking to be loved is that you will receive in return some of that sloppy, sickly, do nice things for him, behavior that makes you want to vomit. The do nice things is a natural fruit of love but when it is bourne on a tree of "ought or "sympathy" it is rotten before it is ripe. I want none of that. I'll give none of that. But I suppose loving behavior is in the end what I am after for how shall I otherwise recognize love. The behavior though, must arise out of emotion and free choice or the feigned love will be a worse rejection than hate.
A second thought that comes to mind is that to be loved you must love. Strange as it may seem love develops much like fights do. One kid taps another on the shoulder. The other returns a little harder to the chest. Back to the stomach. The face. The nose. Soon it is a whirlwind of fists, feet, teeth and dust. Ain't love grand? In love though, the hardest thing is the first punch.
Questions
When you have a question,
And you care deeply
That the answer be "yes,"
Then you ask only questions,
That have no answers.
The more you care the harder it is to go first. If you get a love punch hard up the side of your face, beware - - the puncher really doesn't care. But watch out those little taps from trembling hands. There hide the lovers.
Did you ever have a conversation with a guy who seemed to read the text for his part off the shiny tops of his wingtipped shoes? He is afraid. And did you ever watch a gal make the social rounds in a room but she carefully avoids one particular guy. Her fear of him shows that she either loves him or she hates him. Fear is a component of both love and hate. Perhaps that is why rejected love snaps so easily to hate. It is hard to relate fear to love. The fumbling teenager who is afraid of the little red haired girl is a common experience to us Charley Browns of this world. Another place fear and love touch is in our relationship to God. He is our King to be feared and He is our Papa to be loved. Then the Bible goes and says that perfect love casts out all fear.
I remember a big mouth state fair hawker selling spot remover. He loaded a glass of water with ink, grape juice, blood and every other stain that life doles out. Then he added the most audacious miracle wonder spot remover and lo, the deep mud red turned to clear water. Applause, Oooos. Ahhhhhs. Maybe love is like that, almost all fear to begin with but then changes over time and experience to become only love, a trusting papa kind of love, a perfect love that casts out fear. The essence of romantic drama is a process of watching the shades of love change color. They fall in love. Then the behavior of one , seemingly inconsistent with love causes the other to shade toward red fear. Will they end as black hate verses blue melancholy love or will it be red fear begging black hate to come back home? Is it only in the fairy tales that clear, pure love finds clear, pure love with never the smallest tint of fear? Tune in next week.
Trembling love! That's it.
Scared? Yes, for sure.
Ahhh, ahem, errrrr, (tap, tap) Xcuse me, Dawn. . . . . . (Louder) DAWN! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I guess you didn't feel my tap on your shoulder.
Sooooo, have you any plans, . . . .well, I'm sure you have plans, . . . . I mean, all of us kind of decide what we're going to do before we do it. Ha. Ha.....But I mean, plans like an appointment or something, . . . . Uh, for Saturday night . . . . I love scary movies . . . but documentaries are good too . . . errrrr even Friday is OK. Sooooo, wasn't that a fine sermon last Sunday?
Sitruc Learns to Sing
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 you Sitruc, I'm here, in you and you are here, in me." And a song was born in Sitruc that strangely he was afraid to sing out loud. Here's how it went:
In my spirit, In my spirit,
The Holy One sings of your glory
I will worship, With my spirit
Worship you thou mighty prince of glory.
That was the first night of a week of revival meetings in the little church on Chauncy Street whee the preaching was as hot as the summer night on which the meetings were held. Joy was awakening in Sitruc. The preacher haranged about hell and joy bubbled in Sitruc. The preacher shouted about sin and joy sizzled in Sitruc. Sitruc's soul was blessing the Lord. The Holy Spirit gave him a second song but he could not sing it either. It was like the songs were too holy, or maybe too precious to lay out there for anyone to hear. So he hid it away in his heart. It went like this:
In my soul, In my soul,
The song breaks forth in holy laughter
Joy is bubbling, In my soul
A river flowing ever after
Over the years the song of his spirit never ceased. The song of his soul however was often silent. Especially when the cold winds of worry blew. Then one day he went to another meeting. The summer night was hot and the preaching sizzled but one thing was different. They were singing his songs. Out loud! He was so embarrassed. They celebrated his spirit song. They raised their hands for his soul song. He even saw one lady dance! And one old man knealt down right in the aisle. Sitruc didn't know what to think. The kingdom was supposed to be invisable. Worship was to be internal. These people acted as if King Jesus were really there. Really there? He was really there! Sitruc then began to sing out loud in worship of the King who was really there. That's when the Holy Spirit finished his song,
With my body, with my body
I sing and clap and raise my hands,
And I bow down, with my body,
For you have loosed me from my bands.
You are my king, you are my Lord,
I kiss the hem of your garment
And you raise me, To look on your face
My love answers love that you have sent.
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 you Sitruc, I'm here, in you and you are here, in me." And a song was born in Sitruc that strangely he was afraid to sing out loud. Here's how it went:
In my spirit, In my spirit,
The Holy One sings of your glory
I will worship, With my spirit
Worship you thou mighty prince of glory.
That was the first night of a week of revival meetings in the little church on Chauncy Street whee the preaching was as hot as the summer night on which the meetings were held. Joy was awakening in Sitruc. The preacher haranged about hell and joy bubbled in Sitruc. The preacher shouted about sin and joy sizzled in Sitruc. Sitruc's soul was blessing the Lord. The Holy Spirit gave him a second song but he could not sing it either. It was like the songs were too holy, or maybe too precious to lay out there for anyone to hear. So he hid it away in his heart. It went like this:
In my soul, In my soul,
The song breaks forth in holy laughter
Joy is bubbling, In my soul
A river flowing ever after
Over the years the song of his spirit never ceased. The song of his soul however was often silent. Especially when the cold winds of worry blew. Then one day he went to another meeting. The summer night was hot and the preaching sizzled but one thing was different. They were singing his songs. Out loud! He was so embarrassed. They celebrated his spirit song. They raised their hands for his soul song. He even saw one lady dance! And one old man knealt down right in the aisle. Sitruc didn't know what to think. The kingdom was supposed to be invisable. Worship was to be internal. These people acted as if King Jesus were really there. Really there? He was really there! Sitruc then began to sing out loud in worship of the King who was really there. That's when the Holy Spirit finished his song,
With my body, with my body
I sing and clap and raise my hands,
And I bow down, with my body,
For you have loosed me from my bands.
You are my king, you are my Lord,
I kiss the hem of your garment
And you raise me, To look on your face
My love answers love that you have sent.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
A History of the New Religious Middle
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 not to open this piece with it which as the reader will note I did not although I have pretty sneakily tossed it in so now I've effectively rammed this whole introduction about six feet under. So as I said, It was the time before time.
We wanted to start a whole new political concept. The old continuum from liberal to conservative was too uncomfortable, like being in a shooting war as an enemy and an ally of both sides. We tried for years to carry on the battle from between the armies in no man's land but got awfully tired of fighting the flack shot by both sides. It was like being caught in the center of a Chicago street with two rival gangs trying to even a score neither side could really add up.
We held to values that in a two party system seemed mutually exclusive. We believed there were absolutes; principles that would never change. To us there was such a thing as unchanging truth. Absolutes made sense because we all believed in God who revealed that He would never change. When He said love was good it would always be good. When He said I Am, He would always be I Am, the God who is, present tense, forever. So when we entered the public forum we always found ourselves saying conservative sounding things like, "We hold these truths to be self evident that all men were created equal..." And then we found that it was a pretty Liberal stance in its original context. Some of us were a little more blunt about our conservative values: "My Bible says that God will judge a people who oppress the poor!" And then, lo and behold as we espoused our conservative absolutes (like caring for the poor) we discovered that all of them fit over on this century's liberal side. Consternation and confusion!
Ah but then over time we realized a mediating principle: We were to be always calling the nation back to the faith of our fathers but not necessarily to the ways of our fathers. We denied the post-modern conclusion that truth is relative to the times but espoused their observation that the interpretations and applications of truth are tied to time. The eternal, absolute principles were to be fresh to us every morning. They never changed but the way they applied to each new culture changed. Over time the Lords Table became the altar rail, became the anxious bench, became the arena floor became the side prayer room, became the "would you like to pray?" after the Four Spiritual Laws. The principle that a man needs to have a face to face hand-shaking kind of experience of God is an absolute that has never changed. But different cultures, denominations, personalities, revivals of religion, have found the experience in different ways. So then we were often like the Right, valuing the old values, looking backward for our definitions of right and wrong, believing that they did not change. And we were also often like the Left, calling for new ways, new applications recognizing that many behaviors could cover one Truth, and that one Truth could have many applications even in one society.
So, there we were. What to do? Suddenly we saw the answer on the computer screen before us. Just a small adjustment and the whole political world as we knew it would change. We took the center of the Liberal - Conservative spectrum about twenty rows straight down (on the PC) to a safer spot. There was a collective sigh from the group around the terminal. The artists loved the triangularity, and the theologians thought it looked so . . . trinitarian. As usual the apologists reserved their praise noting a certain cabalistic element in the design. It was a "contrinuum," or a "spectrime" if you please. The "two's company" ole buddy days of "right" and "left" were over. All hailed the stability of the third leg. And then somebody said, "How are we going to let the other two legs know we're here?"
A name! That's it, a name. Something pithy that says it all.
So here we are still needing some help. We have boiled our ideas down into five names that might fit. (There were five of us in the discussion.) Here they are: the Versatile Immobile Party, the Protean Permanence Party, the Evolutionary Immutablity Party, The Quicksilver Stability Party and the Chameleon Leopard Party.
What do you think?
(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 not to open this piece with it which as the reader will note I did not although I have pretty sneakily tossed it in so now I've effectively rammed this whole introduction about six feet under. So as I said, It was the time before time.
We wanted to start a whole new political concept. The old continuum from liberal to conservative was too uncomfortable, like being in a shooting war as an enemy and an ally of both sides. We tried for years to carry on the battle from between the armies in no man's land but got awfully tired of fighting the flack shot by both sides. It was like being caught in the center of a Chicago street with two rival gangs trying to even a score neither side could really add up.
We held to values that in a two party system seemed mutually exclusive. We believed there were absolutes; principles that would never change. To us there was such a thing as unchanging truth. Absolutes made sense because we all believed in God who revealed that He would never change. When He said love was good it would always be good. When He said I Am, He would always be I Am, the God who is, present tense, forever. So when we entered the public forum we always found ourselves saying conservative sounding things like, "We hold these truths to be self evident that all men were created equal..." And then we found that it was a pretty Liberal stance in its original context. Some of us were a little more blunt about our conservative values: "My Bible says that God will judge a people who oppress the poor!" And then, lo and behold as we espoused our conservative absolutes (like caring for the poor) we discovered that all of them fit over on this century's liberal side. Consternation and confusion!
Ah but then over time we realized a mediating principle: We were to be always calling the nation back to the faith of our fathers but not necessarily to the ways of our fathers. We denied the post-modern conclusion that truth is relative to the times but espoused their observation that the interpretations and applications of truth are tied to time. The eternal, absolute principles were to be fresh to us every morning. They never changed but the way they applied to each new culture changed. Over time the Lords Table became the altar rail, became the anxious bench, became the arena floor became the side prayer room, became the "would you like to pray?" after the Four Spiritual Laws. The principle that a man needs to have a face to face hand-shaking kind of experience of God is an absolute that has never changed. But different cultures, denominations, personalities, revivals of religion, have found the experience in different ways. So then we were often like the Right, valuing the old values, looking backward for our definitions of right and wrong, believing that they did not change. And we were also often like the Left, calling for new ways, new applications recognizing that many behaviors could cover one Truth, and that one Truth could have many applications even in one society.
So, there we were. What to do? Suddenly we saw the answer on the computer screen before us. Just a small adjustment and the whole political world as we knew it would change. We took the center of the Liberal - Conservative spectrum about twenty rows straight down (on the PC) to a safer spot. There was a collective sigh from the group around the terminal. The artists loved the triangularity, and the theologians thought it looked so . . . trinitarian. As usual the apologists reserved their praise noting a certain cabalistic element in the design. It was a "contrinuum," or a "spectrime" if you please. The "two's company" ole buddy days of "right" and "left" were over. All hailed the stability of the third leg. And then somebody said, "How are we going to let the other two legs know we're here?"
A name! That's it, a name. Something pithy that says it all.
So here we are still needing some help. We have boiled our ideas down into five names that might fit. (There were five of us in the discussion.) Here they are: the Versatile Immobile Party, the Protean Permanence Party, the Evolutionary Immutablity Party, The Quicksilver Stability Party and the Chameleon Leopard Party.
What do you think?
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