...or is the Academy totally wacko? I'll begin by saying that I am not a film aficionado. I see maybe four movies a year. I went to sleep last night before the major Oscars were presented. It's 10:00 the night after and I still don't know who won best picture, best actor, best actress, etc. And that doesn't bother me.
But...I did see the award for best documentary. Just going by the brief clips that were shown, Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth was conspicuously amateurish. He looked like "Mr. Policeman" in a preachy sixth grade safety movie. So how did that film win the Oscar?
Monday, February 26, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Body Wars
She first gained recognition for her body. Light reflected by that body, captured by a lens and focused on a strip of photographic film rendered an image that was then converted into millions of tiny multicolored ink droplets on the glossy pages of a magazine. Millions of men looked at the resulting likeness of her and said, "I want her body." Women looked at her pictures and wished they could have a body like hers.
She lived in a society that idolizes bodily beauty, and she parlayed that idolatry into glamor, wealth and notoriety. She became "Playmate of the Month, May, 1992," making her a member of the elite pantheon of her body-worshipping world. That led to a sham of a marriage to an aged millionaire and the expectation that his riches would soon be hers.
Worship quickly turned to ridicule as her body ballooned to, shall we say, more generous proportions. Every late-night television comic had a field day making fun of her. Then, she starved her body back to a semblance of her former self. But few of her worshipers returned. She was yesterday's hot topic. Yes, a diet food company signed her up as a spokesperson, and the press took fleeting notice of her weight loss. But still she was more a joke than a goddess. She was a curiosity, relegated to the carnival side show while newer, more intriguing bodies took center stage. We now know that she kept her body going with chemical assistance, and that her body suffered greatly for it.
And now, Anna Nicole Smith is dead. And what of value is left for family and frinds to fight over? Her body!
She lived in a society that idolizes bodily beauty, and she parlayed that idolatry into glamor, wealth and notoriety. She became "Playmate of the Month, May, 1992," making her a member of the elite pantheon of her body-worshipping world. That led to a sham of a marriage to an aged millionaire and the expectation that his riches would soon be hers.
Worship quickly turned to ridicule as her body ballooned to, shall we say, more generous proportions. Every late-night television comic had a field day making fun of her. Then, she starved her body back to a semblance of her former self. But few of her worshipers returned. She was yesterday's hot topic. Yes, a diet food company signed her up as a spokesperson, and the press took fleeting notice of her weight loss. But still she was more a joke than a goddess. She was a curiosity, relegated to the carnival side show while newer, more intriguing bodies took center stage. We now know that she kept her body going with chemical assistance, and that her body suffered greatly for it.
And now, Anna Nicole Smith is dead. And what of value is left for family and frinds to fight over? Her body!
Smart Cars
My in-laws are staying with us temporarily. While they're here, I sometimes drive their Cadillac, which is a very smart car. My car, a '93 Olds Cutlass, is by contrast as dumb as a sock full of chick peas. There are two keys to the Caddy, and it knows which one you have inserted. When I use my father-in-law's key, the car adjusts the seats and mirrors for him. He's a big guy, so I have to readjust the seat so I can reach the pedals. On the other hand, when I use my mother-in-law's key, I immediately feel like I'm in the trash compacter scene from Star Wars. It doesn't matter what controls you push, that seat is going to keep inching forward until it crushes you against the steering wheel. Only then will it return control to you so you can give yourself a little breathing space.
Does anyone else have a car that's too smart for its own good? Do you have any mechanical or electronic device that's "smart" in a dumb sort of way? Share some stories!
Does anyone else have a car that's too smart for its own good? Do you have any mechanical or electronic device that's "smart" in a dumb sort of way? Share some stories!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Roger and Me
I'm at Winterfest, a gathering of 12,000 teens and adult sponsors from churches of Christ across the country. In this morning's session, Jeff Walling interviewed Roger Crouch, a Shuttle astronaut. Like many kids of his generation, Roger wanted to be a fighter pilot, then an astronaut. But he was disqualified from both because he was colorblind. Undeterred, he kept knocking at NASA's door for seventeen years before he was finally accepted as a mission specialist--responsible for managing zero-gravity science experiements on board. Roger's first space flight came at the age of fifty-six. Although his two Shuttle missions were a decade ago, he kept the kids' attention with his folksy humor and unassuming style. Roger's comment on his first mission, which was cut short by a fuel cell malfunction (the same problem that doomed Apollo 13): "We lost one of our three fuel cells. If you should happen to lose another one, they make a movie about your life, so we decided to come on home." On the solid-rocket boosters that launch the Shuttle into orbit: "You just pray that the rocket scientists knew which way was up that day, because those things are going to take you somewhere real quick until they burn out."
I felt an immediate kinship with Roger, because I too had ambitions of being a fighter pilot and astronaut, and I too am colorblind. (And, not that it counts greatly in the coincidence department, I am currently fifty-six.) Roger achieved his dream of flight by pursuing a Ph.D. in science and working on projects in which NASA was interested. I achieved my dreams in a much more mundane way when I earned my private pilot certificate ten years ago.
Roger Crouch is a humble man with a servant spirit. He voluntarily stayed around after his presentation for an hour or so to sign autographs and to have his picture taken with a long line of space-travel junkies like me. He's a true American hero and a genuine follower of Jesus.
Monday, January 29, 2007
You're Welcome, Uh-Huh
WARNING! GEEZER ALERT! The following rant was written by a geezer who pines for the good old days when things were done right. If you are under the age of 35 and/or have the misguided notion that the good old days were just days and probably not all that good, read no further.
Otherwise...
Whatever happened to the words, "you're welcome"? I still say "thank you." But something has happened to the polite response, "you're welcome." It's been replaced with "uh-huh." That's if you're lucky. If not, your thanks will be met with a barely audible "mm-hmm" or a dismissive "yep." Yep?!! What's up with that?
You don't believe me? Go through a day saying "thank you" to as many people as possible. Then tell me how many "you're welcomes" you get in return. They're as scarce as hen's teeth, I tell you!
For those of you still reading, I thank you listening to my petty little tirade.
Otherwise...
Whatever happened to the words, "you're welcome"? I still say "thank you." But something has happened to the polite response, "you're welcome." It's been replaced with "uh-huh." That's if you're lucky. If not, your thanks will be met with a barely audible "mm-hmm" or a dismissive "yep." Yep?!! What's up with that?
You don't believe me? Go through a day saying "thank you" to as many people as possible. Then tell me how many "you're welcomes" you get in return. They're as scarce as hen's teeth, I tell you!
For those of you still reading, I thank you listening to my petty little tirade.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
The Vine
The assignment was simple: go for a walk outside; ask God to reveal a lie about yourself that you have believed; then find a stick that is symbolic of that lie. The exercise was part of a Pastors of Excellence retreat in Ashland, Ohio.
Dutifully, I ventured into the great frozen outdoors to find my stick. But my heart wasn't in it. This was the third such exercise of the day. Each one involved asking God to reveal something and then listening for his response. If you share my background in the churches of Christ, you know that listening for God's voice "separate and apart" from studying the Bible is not one of my strong suits. I had put my heart into the exercises, but not much was happening and I was exhasted. All I wanted was to find a stupid stick and get back inside where it was warm.
"God," I prayed, without much conviction, "You and I both know lots of lies that I've believed about myself. Just pick one." And he did. A thought formed in my mind: "I believe that I have to receive positive reactions from other people in order to be loved." In other words, I'm a people pleaser. My identity as a worthwhile person is wrapped up in my ability to make others like me. Now this was no news flash to me; I've long been aware of this people-pleasing pathology. But God seemed to be saying that now was his chosen moment to address this particular lie.
"Fine," I thought, "but what kind of stick symbolizes that, and where am I going to find it?" Just then, I passed a tree. Like all trees in Ohio in January, it had no leaves. But growing up the side of the trunk was a vine, probably some kind of ivy. The vine sported bright green, heart-shaped leaves. With considerable effort, I pulled loose a foot-long section and broke it off. "This will do," I thought. At my people-pleasing worst, I felt I had to latch onto others and conform myself to their shape in order to be worthwhile. Right down to the heart-shaped leaves, the vine perfectly symbolized my lie about clinging to others in order to feel loved. Or so I thought.
Then I looked again. The green hearts on the vine were the only leaves to be found in the drab winter landscape. If anything, the vine was a symbol of life in all its resilient vitality. Then God spoke the truth to me, one reminiscent of my Bible reading from the day before. (It was Jesus' teaching about the vine and the branches in John 15.) "The vine doesn't derive life from the tree," I thought. "It receives life from the root. But it does need the support of the tree."
The little vine didn't illustrate a lie at all; it taught God's truth. The lie I had believed was a reversal of the vine's message. My life does not derive from the people to whom I tend to cling. My life comes from the root--my relationship with Jesus. I do need other people around me for support. When I draw life from Jesus and receive loving support from others, I flourish. But when I reverse the order--trying to draw life from other people while seeking a little support from Jesus--I live by a lie, a lie that can yield only barenness.
I'm keeping the vine. I need it to remind me that while I need the support of other people, real life only comes from being rooted in Jesus Christ.
Dutifully, I ventured into the great frozen outdoors to find my stick. But my heart wasn't in it. This was the third such exercise of the day. Each one involved asking God to reveal something and then listening for his response. If you share my background in the churches of Christ, you know that listening for God's voice "separate and apart" from studying the Bible is not one of my strong suits. I had put my heart into the exercises, but not much was happening and I was exhasted. All I wanted was to find a stupid stick and get back inside where it was warm.
"God," I prayed, without much conviction, "You and I both know lots of lies that I've believed about myself. Just pick one." And he did. A thought formed in my mind: "I believe that I have to receive positive reactions from other people in order to be loved." In other words, I'm a people pleaser. My identity as a worthwhile person is wrapped up in my ability to make others like me. Now this was no news flash to me; I've long been aware of this people-pleasing pathology. But God seemed to be saying that now was his chosen moment to address this particular lie.
"Fine," I thought, "but what kind of stick symbolizes that, and where am I going to find it?" Just then, I passed a tree. Like all trees in Ohio in January, it had no leaves. But growing up the side of the trunk was a vine, probably some kind of ivy. The vine sported bright green, heart-shaped leaves. With considerable effort, I pulled loose a foot-long section and broke it off. "This will do," I thought. At my people-pleasing worst, I felt I had to latch onto others and conform myself to their shape in order to be worthwhile. Right down to the heart-shaped leaves, the vine perfectly symbolized my lie about clinging to others in order to feel loved. Or so I thought.
Then I looked again. The green hearts on the vine were the only leaves to be found in the drab winter landscape. If anything, the vine was a symbol of life in all its resilient vitality. Then God spoke the truth to me, one reminiscent of my Bible reading from the day before. (It was Jesus' teaching about the vine and the branches in John 15.) "The vine doesn't derive life from the tree," I thought. "It receives life from the root. But it does need the support of the tree."
The little vine didn't illustrate a lie at all; it taught God's truth. The lie I had believed was a reversal of the vine's message. My life does not derive from the people to whom I tend to cling. My life comes from the root--my relationship with Jesus. I do need other people around me for support. When I draw life from Jesus and receive loving support from others, I flourish. But when I reverse the order--trying to draw life from other people while seeking a little support from Jesus--I live by a lie, a lie that can yield only barenness.
I'm keeping the vine. I need it to remind me that while I need the support of other people, real life only comes from being rooted in Jesus Christ.
Monday, January 15, 2007
The Penny Must Die!
A recent tour of the United States Mint in Denver served to harden a conviction I've long held: the penny should be abolished. The Mint makes more pennies each year than all other coins combined! It costs 1.23 cents to make a penny. Then they are sold to banks for, um, one cent each. We make almost 8 billion of them a year, representing an $18 million burden on the taxpayer. Two-thirds of each year's production winds up in mayonnaisse jars, coffee cans, or the trash. Many others are tossed into "Give a Penny/Take a Penny" cups at checkout counters. They are no longer taken seriously as a medium of exchange. When asked why the Mint continues to produce pennies, our tour guide answered, "Congress has mandated it." I think it's time we un-mandated it. So, what do you think? A nickel for your thoughts...
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Lullabies
My Mom sang Rock-a-bye baby to us, but I was always troubled by the bough breaking and the cradle falling with the baby in it. So I never sang that one very much to our babies. Why unnecessarily traumatize them if you can avoid it?
When my grandfather walked the floor with fussy babies, he sang a song from his childhood about a heroic railroad engineer, Casey Jones. Although he remembered the tune, he had evidently forgotten most of the words, so he replaced them with nonsense syllables. So his lullaby went thus:
Casey Jones, badoodle doodle doodle.
Casey Jones, badoodle doodle doo.
Casey Jones, badoodle doodle doodle.
And a hi-de-hiddle and a hi-de-ho.
So what difference do babies know anyway? (The real lyrics are here.) When my children were babies, I sang Casey Jones to them, using my grandfather's lyrics, of course. With my daughter, I interspersed a song that I composed:
Daddy's precious girl, Daddy's precious girl,
Daddy's precious girl, yes her is.
Daddy's precious girl, Daddy's precious girl,
Daddy's precious girl her is, be-dooba-de-boop.
My wife hated it, because she's a school teacher and the song is grammatically incorrect. (My daughter has a degree in journalism and is a professional copywriter who uses flawless grammar, so I don't suppose my lullaby scarred her too badly).
When my granddaughter Maizie was born, I tried singing Casey Jones to her, but it just didn't sound right. And morphing Daddy's Precious Girl to Papa's Precious Girl didn't feel right either. So I composed a new song for Maizie:
Papa loves his baby girl friend.
Papa loves his baby girl.
He's plum crazy about his Maizie,
'Cause she's the cutest one in all the world.
Papa loves his baby girl friend.
Papa loves his baby girl.
There could never be another one like she,
Papa loves his Maizie girl!
Bad grammar seems to be a theme with my lullabies. My daughter likes this one, except after I've sung it 20+ times in a row. Maizie loves it--even when repeated ad nauseum--except for the one time I sang it for the video camera. She was screaming her head off by the time I reached the end of the song.
What about you? What songs do you sing to your little ones? What songs were sung to you? Have you made up any lullabies? If you have, would you share the words with us?
When my grandfather walked the floor with fussy babies, he sang a song from his childhood about a heroic railroad engineer, Casey Jones. Although he remembered the tune, he had evidently forgotten most of the words, so he replaced them with nonsense syllables. So his lullaby went thus:
Casey Jones, badoodle doodle doodle.
Casey Jones, badoodle doodle doo.
Casey Jones, badoodle doodle doodle.
And a hi-de-hiddle and a hi-de-ho.
So what difference do babies know anyway? (The real lyrics are here.) When my children were babies, I sang Casey Jones to them, using my grandfather's lyrics, of course. With my daughter, I interspersed a song that I composed:
Daddy's precious girl, Daddy's precious girl,
Daddy's precious girl, yes her is.
Daddy's precious girl, Daddy's precious girl,
Daddy's precious girl her is, be-dooba-de-boop.
My wife hated it, because she's a school teacher and the song is grammatically incorrect. (My daughter has a degree in journalism and is a professional copywriter who uses flawless grammar, so I don't suppose my lullaby scarred her too badly).
When my granddaughter Maizie was born, I tried singing Casey Jones to her, but it just didn't sound right. And morphing Daddy's Precious Girl to Papa's Precious Girl didn't feel right either. So I composed a new song for Maizie:
Papa loves his baby girl friend.
Papa loves his baby girl.
He's plum crazy about his Maizie,
'Cause she's the cutest one in all the world.
Papa loves his baby girl friend.
Papa loves his baby girl.
There could never be another one like she,
Papa loves his Maizie girl!
Bad grammar seems to be a theme with my lullabies. My daughter likes this one, except after I've sung it 20+ times in a row. Maizie loves it--even when repeated ad nauseum--except for the one time I sang it for the video camera. She was screaming her head off by the time I reached the end of the song.
What about you? What songs do you sing to your little ones? What songs were sung to you? Have you made up any lullabies? If you have, would you share the words with us?
Thursday, January 04, 2007
The Lord's Supper
Francisco is a brother in the Lord who lives in Recife, Brazil.1 We met him on a mission trip several years ago. He was working as a custodian for the downtown church in Recife. Despite meager pay and an hour-long daily commute on hot, overcrowded buses, it was obvious that Francisco loved his job. And it was clear that he loved his job because he loved God and God's people.
Francisco went out of his way to welcome us and to attend to our needs. We were pretty naïve about the danger of theft (even in a church building), so when Chico (a common Brazilian nickname for "Francisco") saw an unattended bag, camera, or even a Bible, he would lock it away in a closet. Whenever we couldn't find our stuff, we would call out, "Chico, chave!" (chave is Portuguese for "key") and he would come running to retrieve it for us. Chico had learned a little English and he loved practicing it on us. Mostly, he just loved being around us. And we loved him back.
One Wednesday evening, our mission team visited the congregation nearest to Chico's house. He insisted that we come to his house after Bible class. We were worn out and must have shown some hesitation, but Chico insisted. "I live very close; you can walk there," he urged. "Just come for a few minutes." We couldn't say no, so off we went, following Chico down narrow, dimly lit, dusty streets.
It turns out that Chico's definition of "close" was somewhat different than ours. My guess is that we walked nearly a mile. Upon arriving at Chico's house, we were faced with a reality we had chosen to ignore: Chico was poor! Even by Brazilian standards, he lived in poverty. His apartment was just a couple of rooms with bare walls and naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. What little furniture he had was rickety and threadbare. But he beamed with pride as fifteen of us crowded into his sparse flat.
Chico squeezed into his tiny kitchen, past the mass of standing-room-only Americans. There, he opened a small 1950s-vintage refrigerator. He pulled out some small rolls, each about half the length of a hot dog bun, and began placing a half a slice of American cheese on each. He served us the cheese sandwiches along with small paper cups of orange soda. Mike Pruitt, our missionary in Recife, told us that Chico had been saving money for weeks in order to pay for this extravagance. When all the sandwiches and soda had been distributed, Chico got our attention and said, "This is the happiest day of my life, because today my brothers and sisters from America have come to my house."
When I was growing up, we studied hard to understand the requirements for the Lord's Supper. Only "authorized" elements were allowed. We argued that since Jesus, by his example, authorized unleavened bread and fruit of the vine, it would be sinful to substitute hamburgers and Coke at the Lord's table. We further argued that the first day of the week was the only day on which we had divine authority for partaking of the Supper.
But on that Wednesday night in Brazil, I realized how thoroughly we had dissected the form while missing the function of the Lord's Supper. For on that night, Chico's sacrificial provision of cheese sandwiches and orange soda clearly reflected Christ's sacrifice for us. And it was there, in Chico's tiny apartment that we all, as one Body, truly ate the Lord's Supper.
____________________
1 I recently told this story in impromptu fashion at our church's Christmas Eve service. In that telling, a faulty memory caused me to identify Francisco as living in Honduras instead of Brazil. I've been to Honduras on mission trips also, and had some wonderful experiences with brothers named Francisco in both places. For those who heard me Christmas Eve, my apologies for the mistake.
Francisco went out of his way to welcome us and to attend to our needs. We were pretty naïve about the danger of theft (even in a church building), so when Chico (a common Brazilian nickname for "Francisco") saw an unattended bag, camera, or even a Bible, he would lock it away in a closet. Whenever we couldn't find our stuff, we would call out, "Chico, chave!" (chave is Portuguese for "key") and he would come running to retrieve it for us. Chico had learned a little English and he loved practicing it on us. Mostly, he just loved being around us. And we loved him back.
One Wednesday evening, our mission team visited the congregation nearest to Chico's house. He insisted that we come to his house after Bible class. We were worn out and must have shown some hesitation, but Chico insisted. "I live very close; you can walk there," he urged. "Just come for a few minutes." We couldn't say no, so off we went, following Chico down narrow, dimly lit, dusty streets.
It turns out that Chico's definition of "close" was somewhat different than ours. My guess is that we walked nearly a mile. Upon arriving at Chico's house, we were faced with a reality we had chosen to ignore: Chico was poor! Even by Brazilian standards, he lived in poverty. His apartment was just a couple of rooms with bare walls and naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. What little furniture he had was rickety and threadbare. But he beamed with pride as fifteen of us crowded into his sparse flat.
Chico squeezed into his tiny kitchen, past the mass of standing-room-only Americans. There, he opened a small 1950s-vintage refrigerator. He pulled out some small rolls, each about half the length of a hot dog bun, and began placing a half a slice of American cheese on each. He served us the cheese sandwiches along with small paper cups of orange soda. Mike Pruitt, our missionary in Recife, told us that Chico had been saving money for weeks in order to pay for this extravagance. When all the sandwiches and soda had been distributed, Chico got our attention and said, "This is the happiest day of my life, because today my brothers and sisters from America have come to my house."
When I was growing up, we studied hard to understand the requirements for the Lord's Supper. Only "authorized" elements were allowed. We argued that since Jesus, by his example, authorized unleavened bread and fruit of the vine, it would be sinful to substitute hamburgers and Coke at the Lord's table. We further argued that the first day of the week was the only day on which we had divine authority for partaking of the Supper.
But on that Wednesday night in Brazil, I realized how thoroughly we had dissected the form while missing the function of the Lord's Supper. For on that night, Chico's sacrificial provision of cheese sandwiches and orange soda clearly reflected Christ's sacrifice for us. And it was there, in Chico's tiny apartment that we all, as one Body, truly ate the Lord's Supper.
____________________
1 I recently told this story in impromptu fashion at our church's Christmas Eve service. In that telling, a faulty memory caused me to identify Francisco as living in Honduras instead of Brazil. I've been to Honduras on mission trips also, and had some wonderful experiences with brothers named Francisco in both places. For those who heard me Christmas Eve, my apologies for the mistake.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Merry Christmas
To all my loyal readers: I wish you a very Merry Christmas. And for those of you who occasionally wander by who or came here by mistake, or Googled your way here, or clicked a link without knowing what it would get you, or who just got here through random blog-surfing: I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas, too!
The family will be assembling soon. Both my children will be spending Christmas Day with their in-laws, then coming here afterward. Cheryl's parents and her sister are already here. Her brother and his family arrive Tuesday; Caren and Maizie [without Jason :-( ] will arrive Wednesday; Alan and Sheila will come in Thursday. Saturday will be the family Christmas. In all, we expect 14 houseguests. With this being Maizie's first Christmas and with Maizie being the first grandchild, I anticipate some heated arguments about who is going to hold her during the ten minutes or so that I don't want to.
Whenever your family celebrates, I hope you have a wonderful time and make many happy memories.
The family will be assembling soon. Both my children will be spending Christmas Day with their in-laws, then coming here afterward. Cheryl's parents and her sister are already here. Her brother and his family arrive Tuesday; Caren and Maizie [without Jason :-( ] will arrive Wednesday; Alan and Sheila will come in Thursday. Saturday will be the family Christmas. In all, we expect 14 houseguests. With this being Maizie's first Christmas and with Maizie being the first grandchild, I anticipate some heated arguments about who is going to hold her during the ten minutes or so that I don't want to.
Whenever your family celebrates, I hope you have a wonderful time and make many happy memories.
Friday, December 22, 2006
All Googley-Eyed
Google search terms that have brought people to this blog recently:
1. Looney Brownstown Michigan
2. Letter to Daughter in Law
3. Corn crazed ducks
4. Mark Frost (go figure!)
5. Wedding vowel renewal
1. Looney Brownstown Michigan
2. Letter to Daughter in Law
3. Corn crazed ducks
4. Mark Frost (go figure!)
5. Wedding vowel renewal
Denver
I have several readers who live in the Denver area. According to my Site Meter, they've been visiting this blog (and presumably others as well) a bit more frequently in the last couple of days. So what do you do when you're snowed in? Put an extra log in the fireplace, grab a cup of hot chocolate, curl up and visit your favorite blogs.
And how much did it snow in Denver? More inches than my granddaughter is tall!
And how much did it snow in Denver? More inches than my granddaughter is tall!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
In My Lifetime...
...I have witnessed a huge shift in the relationship between the church's morality and public morality. I can identify three distinct stages:
1. The church as moral compass to society. Most people, even those who were unbelievers and irreligious, believed that the morality taught by the church was right. They believed that when and if they got their act together, they would adopt something close to the church's moral vision.
2. The church as irrelevant to society. In this stage, people looked at the church's morality as a harmless anachronism. The church's morals were certainly OK for those who chose to abide by them, but they laid no realistic claim on the lives of secular, "enlightened" people.
3. The church as the sponsor and perpetuator of immorality. Increasingly, I hear secular people who see the church as a danger to good moral values. The accusation is that the church promotes narrow-mindedness and bigotry, oppression of minorities, and infringement of important rights like free speech. There is also widespread suspicion that in addition to being bigots, most church people are also hypocrites who secretly practice the very things they condemn.
If my observation is even partly right, how should this shift in thinking change the way churches exist and function in the world?
1. The church as moral compass to society. Most people, even those who were unbelievers and irreligious, believed that the morality taught by the church was right. They believed that when and if they got their act together, they would adopt something close to the church's moral vision.
2. The church as irrelevant to society. In this stage, people looked at the church's morality as a harmless anachronism. The church's morals were certainly OK for those who chose to abide by them, but they laid no realistic claim on the lives of secular, "enlightened" people.
3. The church as the sponsor and perpetuator of immorality. Increasingly, I hear secular people who see the church as a danger to good moral values. The accusation is that the church promotes narrow-mindedness and bigotry, oppression of minorities, and infringement of important rights like free speech. There is also widespread suspicion that in addition to being bigots, most church people are also hypocrites who secretly practice the very things they condemn.
If my observation is even partly right, how should this shift in thinking change the way churches exist and function in the world?
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Corn-Crazed Ducks
The gas station next to our church sells the Woods-N-Water News, which calls itself "Michigan's Premier Outdoor Publication." Like most magazines, its cover is filled with teaser headlines intended to persuade browsers fork over $3 for the whole issue. I resisted the temptation, even with teasers like (and I am not making these up) "The Estrous Doe," and "The Timing of the Rut." But the December issue got me with "Corn Crazed Ducks." Yep, I'm $3 poorer now.
I opened the News in eager anticipation of learning that corn is some kind of duck aphrodisiac, or at least duck cocaine. I had visions of ducks hopped up on corn knocking over their local 7-11s at 3 a.m., or pulling loony antics that would make that AFLAC character look lame. At the very least, I envisioned a circle of ducks sitting around late at night in a dorm room, eating popcorn, telling stupid jokes, and just quacking up.
No such luck. Turns out, the headline writers for the News are significantly more creative than their article writers. I read the whole corn and duck article, waking up periodically to check the date. The simple truth is that ducks are attracted to flooded corn fields (although "stubble corn ranks very high too"). Corn doesn't make ducks crazy, except in the sense of inviting them to hang out in a place where the readers of Michigan's Premier Outdoor Publication can end their sad little duck lives.
This is not to say that I'm disappointed in my $3 investment. There were plenty of other fascinating articles, such as "Pre-Ice Holiday Crappie." I'd really never thought of it before, but y'know, nothing says, "Happy Holidays" quite like pre-ice crappie. And there were convicting, consciousness-raising peices like, "Must we bait to achieve an adequate deer harvest?" There was a well-reasoned article that showed how getting separated from your boat without a life jacket can lead to death. Right now, I'm guffawing my way through "More Hilarious U.P. Stories." Just an excerpt: "One local old-timer quipped, 'I think those bucks unscrewed their horns after the first day and hid them under a stump. All I see is does!'" (I think the humor here is that the word "does," in addition to being the plural form of the term for female deer, is also the present active particulate gerrymander of the verb, "to do." Example: "I does see does.")
So, will I continue to purchase the Woods-N-Water News? Probably not, but if anyone wants to give me a gift subscription for Christmas, that would just be ducky.
I opened the News in eager anticipation of learning that corn is some kind of duck aphrodisiac, or at least duck cocaine. I had visions of ducks hopped up on corn knocking over their local 7-11s at 3 a.m., or pulling loony antics that would make that AFLAC character look lame. At the very least, I envisioned a circle of ducks sitting around late at night in a dorm room, eating popcorn, telling stupid jokes, and just quacking up.
No such luck. Turns out, the headline writers for the News are significantly more creative than their article writers. I read the whole corn and duck article, waking up periodically to check the date. The simple truth is that ducks are attracted to flooded corn fields (although "stubble corn ranks very high too"). Corn doesn't make ducks crazy, except in the sense of inviting them to hang out in a place where the readers of Michigan's Premier Outdoor Publication can end their sad little duck lives.
This is not to say that I'm disappointed in my $3 investment. There were plenty of other fascinating articles, such as "Pre-Ice Holiday Crappie." I'd really never thought of it before, but y'know, nothing says, "Happy Holidays" quite like pre-ice crappie. And there were convicting, consciousness-raising peices like, "Must we bait to achieve an adequate deer harvest?" There was a well-reasoned article that showed how getting separated from your boat without a life jacket can lead to death. Right now, I'm guffawing my way through "More Hilarious U.P. Stories." Just an excerpt: "One local old-timer quipped, 'I think those bucks unscrewed their horns after the first day and hid them under a stump. All I see is does!'" (I think the humor here is that the word "does," in addition to being the plural form of the term for female deer, is also the present active particulate gerrymander of the verb, "to do." Example: "I does see does.")
So, will I continue to purchase the Woods-N-Water News? Probably not, but if anyone wants to give me a gift subscription for Christmas, that would just be ducky.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Tired of Preachers
A snippet of a real conversation with two married couples, of which all four individuals are PKs (preacher's kids):
"I'm so tired of listening to preachers. It seems that they're just talking because they're supposed to and because they're good at it. It would be different if I really felt that they had spent a lot of time praying about their message and seeking a word from God. Of course, I can't judge whether they do or not, but most of the time, it just doesn't sound like they do."
You too?
"I'm so tired of listening to preachers. It seems that they're just talking because they're supposed to and because they're good at it. It would be different if I really felt that they had spent a lot of time praying about their message and seeking a word from God. Of course, I can't judge whether they do or not, but most of the time, it just doesn't sound like they do."
You too?
Monday, December 11, 2006
Forgive me!
Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last post. I have no excuses except:
1. Moving into a new house.
2. Getting old condo ready to rent (painting, repairing, cleaning).
3. Trying to sell an airplane.
4. Figuring out how to get furniture from Texas and Arkansas to the new house.
5. A couple of crises involving people I love dearly.
6. Brother-in-law with cancer.
7. Sister-in-law with cancer.
8. Mother-in-law with leukemia, requiring wife to be in Lansing more than she's at home.
9. Mother-in-law and father-in-law moving in with us soon.
10. All above-mentioned relatives coming for Christmas, along with assorted other relatives.
Really, I don't mean to whine. If any of you are left reading this blog, I do have some posts forming in my brain. Stay tuned; as soon as I can, I'll get around to important topics like:
1. Corn crazed ducks.
2. Loss, grief and healing.
3. The church and public morality.
4. How when you're too busy to blog, you're also too busy to exercise and your weight balloons up to unheard-of levels and it's almost Christmas and people will be shoving sweets in front of you and you'll try to be social and your weight will continue to balloon and then your clothes won't fit, not that I'm whining.
5. Depression.
6. Did I mention corn crazed ducks?
1. Moving into a new house.
2. Getting old condo ready to rent (painting, repairing, cleaning).
3. Trying to sell an airplane.
4. Figuring out how to get furniture from Texas and Arkansas to the new house.
5. A couple of crises involving people I love dearly.
6. Brother-in-law with cancer.
7. Sister-in-law with cancer.
8. Mother-in-law with leukemia, requiring wife to be in Lansing more than she's at home.
9. Mother-in-law and father-in-law moving in with us soon.
10. All above-mentioned relatives coming for Christmas, along with assorted other relatives.
Really, I don't mean to whine. If any of you are left reading this blog, I do have some posts forming in my brain. Stay tuned; as soon as I can, I'll get around to important topics like:
1. Corn crazed ducks.
2. Loss, grief and healing.
3. The church and public morality.
4. How when you're too busy to blog, you're also too busy to exercise and your weight balloons up to unheard-of levels and it's almost Christmas and people will be shoving sweets in front of you and you'll try to be social and your weight will continue to balloon and then your clothes won't fit, not that I'm whining.
5. Depression.
6. Did I mention corn crazed ducks?
Friday, November 17, 2006
A Very Special Day!
Sunday, November 19, 2006, is WORLD TOILET DAY, so decreed by the World Toilet Organization (no, really). For those of you who do not instinctively recognize the need for this special day, here's a nugget from the WTO website:So, let's all get ready to practice that restroom etiquette and celebrate the most wonderful day of the year! It makes me proud to be a member of the restroom community-at-large.The purpose of having this day is to have people in all countries to take action, increase awareness of toilet user’s right to a better toilet environment, and to demand for it from toilet owners. As such, it is also the toilet user’s duty to contribute towards its maintenance, cleanliness and hygiene. The public marks the day to practice toilet etiquette, the restroom community-at-large celebrates with a new declaration for the forthcoming year.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Quick Update
Haven't posted in quite a while. Some of you have noticed and have been bugging me. Glad you missed my posts. I'll write something witty, deep, and challenging later. For now...
We bought a new house (at right). The condo was too small to be a "grandma house." Moving in Saturday.
Evidently my body scheduled a couple of days off without giving me advance notice. Spent a couple of nights in the hospital last week with rapid heart beat (atrial flutter, for you medical junkies). I'm better now.
The plane is for sale. Why? See house (above). It comes complete with a whopping mortgage. Grandbaby trumps hobby.
Haven't posted in quite a while. Some of you have noticed and have been bugging me. Glad you missed my posts. I'll write something witty, deep, and challenging later. For now...
We bought a new house (at right). The condo was too small to be a "grandma house." Moving in Saturday.Evidently my body scheduled a couple of days off without giving me advance notice. Spent a couple of nights in the hospital last week with rapid heart beat (atrial flutter, for you medical junkies). I'm better now.
The plane is for sale. Why? See house (above). It comes complete with a whopping mortgage. Grandbaby trumps hobby.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Good News at Lakewood
One of the joys of traveling is getting to visit other churches. Sunday, we attended the Lakewood Church of Christ. Lakewood is the Denver suburb where my daughter and son-in-law live. They are members of the Littleton Church, which is a wonderful congregation. But, with daughter and granddaughter in the hospital following the latter's birth, we decided to go someplace close.
We were uplifted and encouraged by our experience at Lakewood. Currently, they are doing a 40X40 prayer project. They have purchased the names and addresses of individuals who live in their area. Church members have committed themselves to pray for 40 people they do not know for 40 days straight. Each week, there is a different theme for the prayers that are being said. This week, it is "healing;" Reg Cox, the minister of the Word, delivered a wonderful message on praying for healing. Lakewood members will be praying for the physical, emotional, and spiritual healing of strangers who live in their community. At the end of the 40 days, each member will write a letter of encouragement to the 40 people for whom he or she has been praying. I believe God will provide some amazing (and humbling) answers to these prayers.
The teens at Lakewood set up a wonderful prayer room for members to use during the 40 days. It has various stations with appropriate decor to help people experience the various moods of prayer. They have posted hours through the week for people to come in and use the prayer room. It's great to see teens leading a congregation in spiritual disciplines.
Worshiping with the Lakewood church was a tremendous encouragement to me. My mind is full of ministry ideas and insights from just one short visit. May God bless the Lakewood church!
One of the joys of traveling is getting to visit other churches. Sunday, we attended the Lakewood Church of Christ. Lakewood is the Denver suburb where my daughter and son-in-law live. They are members of the Littleton Church, which is a wonderful congregation. But, with daughter and granddaughter in the hospital following the latter's birth, we decided to go someplace close.
We were uplifted and encouraged by our experience at Lakewood. Currently, they are doing a 40X40 prayer project. They have purchased the names and addresses of individuals who live in their area. Church members have committed themselves to pray for 40 people they do not know for 40 days straight. Each week, there is a different theme for the prayers that are being said. This week, it is "healing;" Reg Cox, the minister of the Word, delivered a wonderful message on praying for healing. Lakewood members will be praying for the physical, emotional, and spiritual healing of strangers who live in their community. At the end of the 40 days, each member will write a letter of encouragement to the 40 people for whom he or she has been praying. I believe God will provide some amazing (and humbling) answers to these prayers.
The teens at Lakewood set up a wonderful prayer room for members to use during the 40 days. It has various stations with appropriate decor to help people experience the various moods of prayer. They have posted hours through the week for people to come in and use the prayer room. It's great to see teens leading a congregation in spiritual disciplines.
Worshiping with the Lakewood church was a tremendous encouragement to me. My mind is full of ministry ideas and insights from just one short visit. May God bless the Lakewood church!
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