sin in general: be saved from this perverse generation

This weekend, I had an interesting conversation with a friend. We were discussing, in a geriatric style, the issues that face kids today versus other generations.

My friend said it’s all the same because it’s all “sin in general.” I told him that I think the issues facing our youth are much more difficult than in the past. To his surprise, I was not talking about drugs, sex, or alcohol. In fact, when I tried to explain that the tough issues facing our youth are much more though than the traditional problems he called “sin in general,” he seemed to completely ignore my response. It didn’t begin to marinate in his mind that other issues are more detrimental to an entire generation. Compassionately and passionately, I reminded him of global poverty and the AIDS pandemic. He clearly had no understanding of that meant. I threw out a stunning number: 18 million – the number of AIDS orphans expected by 2010. I further explained that, by 2010, it is expected that AIDS orphans could hold hands and circle the globe five times.

His response?

“What is that? I always hear stuff like that, you know, “these people could hold hands and go to the moon and back…[caloused and cynical laugh] it doesn’t mean anything.”

Sure, sure, maybe it is a little less meaningful than we might desire – at first. Then, imagine the faces – imagine them one by one until you’ve imagined 18 million sorrowful faces. Imagine their eyes – 36 million eyes - heavy with loss and fear, their hands, tired from caring for younger siblings, their ears, ringing from waling, their foreheads, un-kissed and naked to the trial of living amidst the greatest plague in human history. Then, suddenly, they all disappear as an American Evangelical announces, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Sin in general. Sin in general….what does that mean? I don’t want to say it means sex, drugs, alcohol etc. I don’t want to say it means high crimes or even commercialism. I also don’t want to say, “it doesn’t mean anything.”

Maybe the toughest issue facing adolescents today is a “sin in general.” Maybe it is apathy and the removal of the image of God from the faces of the global suffering – especially children. Is this not the worst of all murders? Is murder not far worse that alcohol, sex, or drugs? Is apathy not a even greater and more destructive pandemic than AIDS?

Daily, we encounter verbal fornicators, ravaged by the disease of apathy and spreading it. I want to put a protective condom over my heart and require an apathy test of all that share intimate moments with me…and yet, that’s not right.

In Africa, there is a horrid rumor: if you have sex with a virgin, you can get rid of the disease.

Maybe, here, that is true. Maybe the cure for the apathy pandemic is deep and unique intimacy with those few resistant souls who press through cynicism to hold hope. Can hope and compassion be the cures to cynicism – which is, of course, the virus that turns to deadly apathy?

So, to this, I say, save me from “sin in general.” And to my beloved readers, in the words of Peter, I pray and urge, “Be saved from this perverse generation.” (Acts 2:40)

out of context again

here i sit, back in Dan's class, and with this return to Monday night disruption comes the triumphal re-entry of quotes out of context:

"the pink, the blue, and the yellow packets are not only carsonogenic, they are made by the devil. In people over 50 they are guaranteed to increase impotence, forgetfulness, and the ill effects of syphilis. well, i love spenda. in fact, i could eat it raw."

"All meat is good."

"It is impossible to scream and retain ellogance. i want you to hear, one cannot look good and yell."

"I'm fine with quiet times; I'm fine with noisey times; I'm fine with flannel graph."

"The nuclear family is crazy."

"You've got 2.2 this, and 2.2 that and the right kind of dog your particular culture says is acceptable."

"Please take out your check books and write a check to the Dan Allender yatch fund."

"I never go to a movie with out a book. I never go to a movie without a pen light to read my book. And I do it why? It infuriates my wife."

"Look, I don't like the Bible."

"Conversation between a man and a woman is never good. NEEEVVVEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRR!!!!!"

"I am willing to mess with you for literally years and years and years and..."

"I don't know what to do with my wife, she doesn't know what to do with me; the tv works."

desperately single amidst despairing divorce

pining, pining
rocking in a chair
like on a wave
come near, come near
leave me
not
alone

not alone

dining, dining
rocking in your arms
like on a wave
stay near, stay near
leave me
not
alone

not alone

dreaming, dreaming
rocking in my head
like on a wave
come here, come cheer
leave me
not
alone

not alone

scheming, scheming
rocking in my heart
like on a wave
come hear, come hear
leave me
not
alone

not alone

screaming, screaming
rocking in my own arms
like on a wave
come fear, come fear
leave me
now
alone

now alone

rocking on gentle waves
rocking in the high sea
wishing for peace

standing on placid oceans
stranded on currentless waters
wishing for some movement

woo and destroy
marry and divorce
wax and wane
it's all the same
it's all insane

and we're all
not
alone

not alone

so i stand, on the placid sea
i pray to be rocked
and grow nauseous at the thought of waves

The next film I watch will be: Gumnaam

"Billed in its outlandish trailer as "India's First Horror Thriller," Gumnaam follows the common Bollywood tradition of adapting a familiar convention or story into a psychedelic feast of music and mind-warping genre collisions. Up on the chopping block this time is Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians, first filmed as And Then There Were None, which is followed with surprising faithfulness despite the frequent detours along the way.

A planeload of random passengers is forced into an emergency landing on a very large island with only one spooky house offering refuge from the torrential rain. Representing a cross section of society, the bewildered guests include a doctor (Madan Puri), a perpetually happy dancer (Nanda), studly would-be heartthrob Anand ('60s singer and director Manoj Kumar), and most memorably, a drunken showgirl named Miss Kitty (Bollywood favorite Helen). Inside the house they see a shrouded body which turns out to be the prankster butler/cook (Mehmood, with an odd Hitler moustache), who indicates he has been expecting them all to arrive and shows them into the dining room. There they find a book indicating that each person has committed murder at some point in their lives but escaped conviction, so their mysterious host has now decided to dole out punishment. One by one the visitors die over the following two evenings, but that doesn't stop them from indulging in a little beach party, a drunken duet, and an elaborate MGM-style dance fantasia in between all of the screaming and dead bodies. Christie fans, of course, shouldn't be remotely surprised by the way it all turns out."

Description from "www.mondo-digital.com/gumnaam.html"

crafting transformational moments and transforming fear

Did I hyperventalate? Not quite - but almost.

For months (okay, a month and a half), I've been dreading the arrival of a class: crafting transformational moments. When I read the title, excitement filled my naive mind. To top it off, the professor is from - or spent time in - IRELAND! I was nearly beyond my capacity for excitement.

Then, one deflating night, I talked with my dear friend Emily about the upcoming semester. I asked her what courses she was taking, "Crafting something or something like that - but it's really preaching."

"Shit." I said in my now anything but excited mind. It was not a "shit" of resignation, ambivilance, defeat etc. It was a deeply birthed cry of pain. Fear replaced my excitement and overcame my capacity even for fear. My mind and pulse raced as I attempted to make some peace with the fact that I would be in a preaching course. I never achieved that goal - at best, I achieved moments of denial and purposeful forgetfulness.

So, finally, today I went to class - with dread in hand and soul.

Several times, I breathed deep, and fearful sighs, but, over all was amazed at the gentle man who filled the threatening role of homeletics professor. In the midst of my phobia, I felt cared for. I sensed his desire to lead us as a group as we struggle to find voice for proclaimation in a post-Christian world.

Still I'm scared. Still I might hyperventalate - that may remain a possibility every Thursday throughout the semester. But, Hadden Robinson is miles away - along with his cold and frieghening critique. In his stead sits someone who is honest about struggle, gentle with fear, encouraging, collaborative, and so many other things I never dreamed a preaching prof to be.

Again, I am taken by the extravagent blessing of being a student at MHGS.

welcome back "Adventure," my friend and foe

the return of mars hill hit me tonight.

i was enjoying a quiet drive home from an eveing with jen, caleb, jaguar, and ocean - who proclaimed many many times "i don't want to see becky either!" sure, he's barely three, and therefore still acts as though he's two, missed his nap, and was overdue for bedtime - but it still hurts. anyway, i was driving home in my quiet (my cd player broke) car when questions of grief, presence, hope, story etc. invaded my head without warning.

"ahhh" i said to myself, "and so ends vacation. so many things to think about. so much disruption. so little time."

i journaled briefly in my car, having parked but not gone into my house yet, cataloguing the many stories and questions that met me, announcing the beginning of spring semester. then, i boldly though haggardly stepped out of my car and into my home (ok, there were some steps between the two as i do not park literally one step from my door).

the odd thing is, i had a soft and somewhat confident smile on my face. to quote bill murray, "this is an adventure." to the adventure i say, "welcome back - can't say i missed you much, but i'm glad you're here and will follow you wherever you lead."

stubbornly driven - pleading for freedom

"God leads; Satan drives."
Good words from Lisa Domke, my happily former (for her sake - meaning I am infinately glad she made her freeing exodus from my church) associate pastor.

I have been hoping and planning to leave my church as early as Easter and as late as August. I want to start a house church and begin working (probably volunteer to start) with street/at risk youth. This dream began to re-awaken hope, passion, vision etc.

Then, one of the congregants of my church decides to start a rumor that I won't stay longer than spring.

Crap. So, do I leave? Do I let him be right and continue his destructive way of being? Or, do I follow my heart?

I find myself revisiting Lisa's words and praying for less stubborness and more freedom.

a farewell to dearly loved SAM: why i am in deep depression today

sad, sad, deeply grieving news as the construction blight spreads:

I was all ready to go to SAM today - a bit sad that Louis Comfort Tiffany was no longer there, but still stoked for free Thursday (the first thursday of the month). Then...my roommate knocked on my door and, from the darkness, in an ominous voice, she bayed: "Starting today, SAM is closed for a year." By the time I got to my door, she had returned to her room, so that it was as though a ghost had come to speak doom then slink back into the depressing underworld.


Not only is my church plagued with construction that is at least six months behind, has left the church freezing cold with no heat, has pushed the youth from three different rooms and put two used toilets in temp youth room #3 during a lock-in - construction has not claimed another, more glorious, more joyously life-giving victum:
Seattle Art Museum is closed for a year - for construction -

so, it's everywhere.
okay, maybe that is a gross generalizaton - but
construction seems to disrupt many lives and much beauty.

So, goodbye dear SAM. I wish I would have known you were leaving. Why didn't you have a going away party? Every time I drive past the working man, I'll shed a tear for your absence - until we are gladly re-united.

To quote Michael W. Smith:
Packing up the dreams God planted
In the fertile soil of you
Can’t believe the hopes he’s granted
Means a chapter in your life is through
But we’ll keep you close as always
It won’t even seem you’ve gone
’cause our hearts in big and small ways
Will keep the love that keeps us strong
...Though it's hard to let you go
In the Father's hands we know
That a life time's not too long
(no a life time's not too long)
A life time's not too long


To live as

Friends