have fun storming the castle

farewell blogspot

2007-06-21T22:51:00.000-07:00

this blog has been a ghost town this year and i'm having trouble with the formatting of the new blogspot anyway, so i've moved.

please visit my new blog and if you have a link to this blog, update it to the new blog

the crescendo: www.thecrescendo.wordpress.com

coming soon...

2007-01-19T10:14:00.000-08:00

now that mars hill graduate school has moved into the heart of the city, this small school with a relational emphasis is getting a chance to test it's high wishes of relationality with the other. As the students and professors are leaving their cars and climbing aboard busses, a few of us will be starting a new blog called "riding the bus." It will have stories, reflections, frustrations, questions, pictures, etc. from the riding the bus. Look for it in the next week.
Note: If you are a MHGS student interested in contributing, let me know. Or if you don't want to join the blog but have a thought, a poem, a question, a picture etc. that you want posted, email it to me and I can post it for you.

Here's my first thoughts:

And the Beat Pounds On

Day two on the bus.
I am listening to Damien Jurado.
And the dancing guitar passes time
One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-one-and…
I don’t need you anymore
I’m independent there is nothing to say

A girl sits next to me
The aisle divides us like the Great Wall of China
Men were killed – built into the wall
Slowly starving and suffocating in isolation
One-and-two-and-three-and-four…
I don’t need you anymore
I’m independent there is nothing to say

Her eyes are wide and her hello kitty boots are pink
And warm and small and holy
She watches me typing on my computer
Gently bobbing my head to the music playing in my own world
One-and-two-and-three-and-four…
I don’t need you anymore
I’m independent there is nothing to say

The song ends
A new one begins
One-two-and-three-and-one…
She thinks I don’t see her as she mimics my gentle head bobbing
The gentle waltzing rhythm and its earmuff like bearers separate us

I read a sign
It preaches the ten commandments of the bus:
“Respect other passengers’ privacy.”
It’s not an unwritten rule – it is a written
Written,
Printed on shining, colorful, appeasing paper
Cut from a 300 year old tree, recycled, recycled, recycled and finally static
Resting isolated, silent, like the rest of us
Its shrill silence preaches next to the burnt-out prophet
A picture of a doll eating a dead rat and the words,
“Kissing a smoker is just as gross.”

I stop to listen to Damien:
His voice is old and comforting
He reminds me of the days when
He and I rode solo in my car and I
Sang along as thought the world ended
At my broken windows and bumper-sticker ridden tail
The map of my world – of my tightly confined reality
Reads “Monsters lie here”
Now I, like Ferdinand Magellan stepped off the edge of the safe world
And my first mate sings: “I play the movies in my head.”
And the beat
Goes
On
One-and-two-and-three-and-one

I play the movie in my head.
I am on the bus. and
One
The music plays. and
Two
The music builds. and
Three
The music drives. and
One-and
My deep thoughts or voiced-over angst speaks
In beat and in turn
With the music.

With the music.

With the music.

And I’m not even listening as Damien strains his gentle voice.
The movie presses on
The screen pans to show thirty people
Raptured in the most uncreative and maddening aspect of film: montage
We all sit, bobbing our ignorant, inhuman heads
Each to the same beat
Each to the same fucking song
Each to the same bullshit imaginary movie
One-and-two-and-three-and-one-and
In this moment we are “we” fucking twisted as it is
The guitar strums pound more like death metal than folk
ONE-and-TWO-and-
The soundtrack is maddening.

I scream at the top of my lungs
But like in a dream when you are sure you woke up
And you tried to eat breakfast and
Brush your fuzzy teeth still rancid with the night before
And comb the entanglement from your hair
And shower off the memory of your unwanted dream
Only to realize you have not moved at all
All that comes from my valiant scream is
“ding”
And the lighted sign behind the bus driver sings:
“Stop requested.”

love your enemies eh?

2007-01-07T14:02:00.000-08:00

You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.'
But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you
may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and
the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those
who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing
that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others?
Do not even pagans do that?

i've been thinking a lot about yesterday and about my post.

i don't know the answer to this question and i really don't even want to ask it....but...

what would it look like to love that man? to not be drawn into his violent, angry world, but to somehow love him with the same creativity and passion that the art show shows for invisible children?

i found myself saying - outloud to my mom [who was there]: "this is why i never leave the city anymore." dogmatism. othering. us and them. NOT LOVE.

is it reasonable to ask me to love that man - in that sacred space i worked so hard to bring about and placed so much hope in? no. not reasonable - but right anyway.

not so much fun storming the castle.

2007-01-06T17:19:00.000-08:00

The Pitiful American god

If they were American?
What would you do?
What would you give?
Where would you protest?
What polititian would you write hounding letters too?

If he were your son?
If he were Jesus?
If your
salvation
depended
on it?

But, they aren't American.
He's not your son.
He's not Jesus. [1]
And salvation is a free gift.

So you greedily take it
You say, "pitty" and

Become an irreligious goat [2]
With a dead faith, [3]
In a starving, dehydrated, naked, homeless, and lonely God [4]
Whose arms refuse to take Guns from the hands of children. [5]

Manger art re-opened today. There's nothing like doing some good in the world to bring out the hateful people.

A man walked in with his pre-teen daughter. Looked at all the art, and seemed receptive enough. So, I engaged him:

Me: Hi. How are you doing today?
Man: Fine. Are you a newe shop?
Me: No; we're just here for a stay trying to raise money for Invisible Children. Have you heard of Invisible Children?
Man: No. [Interested look on his face]
Me: Well, it's a charity that works with kids affected by the war in Northern Uganda. There are kids forced to fight and...
Man: So you're raising money to help them to fight?
Me: No. [bewildered] No. Invisible Children helps to keep kids safe, get them PTS counseling, offers schooling...
Man: So, you're raising money to train child soldiers?
Me: No. To keep kids from being soldiers and help kids that have been rescued from being soldiers...
Man: [Again interrupting] So what about the kids in America?
Me: Well, there is a lot of need in the worl...
Man: The kids that hang out at the court house all day dealing and doing crack
Me: Well, there certainly is a lot of need and we don't deny that, but this charity is one that our hearts are heavey fo...
Man: So you don't care about American kids?
Me: No! [Firmly, angrily - though hiding the anger thus far] It's just tragic that 5-year-olds are given guns and...
Man: But you don't care about 12-year-olds with crack.
Me: No sir. It is not that we don't care it is just that...
Man: You'd choose African kids as opposed to American kids.
Me: No! [Finally gritting my teeth and losing my grip on the anger rising] No! not opposed to anything.
Man: I'm just being devils advocate.

He stoppped, looked around and announced: "Well, this art is all pretty violent and unimaginative. Only one piece struck me as remotely interesting." He motioned for me to follow him over to a piece Ed Traub has on display entitled "Passover." Assuming he knew what the painting is about and revealing why he maybe thought all the art was "violent," he asked if Ed had ever seen blood and bone scraped across the pavement like that or if it was from something he saw in a movie. I told him that, as the peice was called "Passover," I didn't know if that's what it was supposed to be.

His jaw dropping and conversation ending response:
"Ahh, the Jews. They were the first terrorists you know, back in 1946. They're good at terrorism. Yeah, those Jews are really good at it."

If my life were an episode of scrubs, my head would have exploded, I and my body started running around like crazy only to finally rest with my hands on his neck. Then the scene would cut back to reality as I stood blankly though politely next to the man and said, "Hmm. Well, thank you for stopping by."

What can I say? So much. Soooo much. There are simply no words. And every once in a while, I begin to believe this brand of thinking is extinct. And if it is extinct, then maybe the Kingdom is coming. And if the Kingdom is coming then nothing is in vain...

So I sat for 6 hours today. Sold nothing. Had my heart trampled - and my hope with it. Was it in vain? Was it/is it worth it? Why can't I have the answers to these questions? Why can't my illusion that the world is changing be true? Why is it not Americans that suffer for American ignorance - at least there would be some justice-ish substance in the world?

I need the will and strength to go on - but I suppose I know I can't live ignorantly anymore. So, I storm the castle despite my disbelief that "true love" will win this one.

1. Matthew 25:40
2. Matthew 25:32-33
3. James 2:26
4.Matthew 25:31ff
5. 1 Corinthians 12:27

a sparkly wig and no blank canvasses

2007-01-02T21:18:00.000-08:00

cleaning my room - cleaning the clutter, the old mail, the ticket stubs, random notes, cards, and old pictures, i came across some pictures from my childhood.

i was passionate. i dressed like punky brewster and insisted on wearing this sparkley wig my parents bought me at the fair. i walked into rooms of squabbeling children and sought peace. i marveled at the world. i was going to be the first woman president...and the first person to go their whole life without a singe cavity (although, i think that's probably been done before). i laughed. i played. i trusted that my friends would be my friends tomorrow and never wondered if they would betray or abandon me. when i was sad, i cried. when i wanted solitude, i curled up in my closet and talked to God. i was going to change the world---though, i didn't really know what needed to be changed yet - except that girls at private school shouldn't be forced to wear dresses to school, since they made the monkey bars impossible.

children are amazing. they aren't blank canvasses. they are complicated and complex people with stories and personalities in progress from day one. why do we treat them like blank canvasses? why do we try to paint mona lisa over punk brewster? why do we quiet their passion with rules? why do we attempt to worship without them? why are they in sunday morning classrooms to teach them how to worship when they already worship all the time and more whole-heartedly than most? why do we tythe 10% of our money without bringing 10% of the best coloring sheets children have done and dried out play dough teddy bears to the alter?

if i could only wear that sparkly wig today. if i could only trust my friends. if i could only fight for a better tomorrow regardless of how much i loved tolday. where did i go?

and forbid it, sweet saving Lord, that i ever stumble one of these little ones into becoming something other than the beatiful, worshippers and world-changers they are born to be.

2007-01-02T03:24:00.000-08:00

i was cleaning out my car (for my brother's road trip) and i found my long lost reading glasses!

the world is new! (which sadly means that my eye sight is deteriorating as i never really needed them before - they were only for those days that i read over 300 pages in a day)

it makes me think about how rediscovering old things and trying them on can sometimes open a new way of seeing things...or, in this case, at least make things a bit clearer.

to jake

2007-01-01T15:30:00.000-08:00

i just watched the princess bride with my mom. she'd never seen it before. how that happened, since it was a key part of my childhood, i don't know.

also, my brother got into a car accident and totalled his car. i offered him mine to take on a vacation he's been planning and desperately needs after a riduculously aweful quarter of school and life in general. my mom said i was sweet to do that. she seemed to marvel at how i would want to help my brother. it seemed almost as though she thought i was doing her a favor by loving her son.

i wasn't.

there's something different about a sibling. i am now and always will be closer to my brother than to anyone else in my family. he's the one that laughs with me when a preacher stands up and says, "mawage, mawage is what bwings us togevaw today." he's the one that knows why my blog is called have fun storming the castle. jake understands why i leave the room when the albino comes on - because my friends and i used to think that his mole was a pile of dried buggers and, to this day, it grosses me out.

further, jake knows what it is like to have the television raise you while your dad reads a book and your mom works 10 hour days with other people's children. he knows what it is like to go to the Christian schools we atteneded, to go through over 10 youth ministers in your jh/hs career. he knows what it is like to have your dad lose his job and your mom be diagnosed with cancer in the same two week period.

he was and is my war buddie from dangerous trenches and my fishing buddie from many unsuccessful fishing trips. he was my partner in many crimes, occasionally my mortal enemy, and often the person with whom i laughed and laugh at some ironic uber inside joke until the laughter hurts both internally and soulfully.

jake only does myspace (a point we agree to disagree on) so he'll never read this, but all the same, i wanted to take the time to reflect on my little bro and all we have meant to each other.

my brother the migragory goose and me, the hibernating seattlite with my hand on the snooze button

2006-12-31T16:20:00.000-08:00

"i know i suck, i just can't hear it." my tone deaf brother said these words to me about his singing ability - or lack there of. he know's he's bad and in truth, he is aweful. he takes "bad" to new soaring heights. still, he can't hear what he knows to be true.

i laughed at my brother. it is a silly plight and something that doesn't matter all that much. but, i laughed so lightly in part because we are now members of different worshipping communities. i no longer have to attempt to sing a chorus or hymn while standing next to him. God love the boy, no matter how bad he is, he always belts out some off key (and off melody and off rhythm) tune. i can hear it and hear, in his heart, that "sweet sweet sound" he squawks his request for God to hear. however, the pain comes in my inability to sing. standing next to jake, suddenly, he is so aweful that i have a difficult time trying to stay of key (or rhythm, or melody - or even harmony for that matter). i can laugh lightly with him now, but a few years ago, i would have said, "yep. yep, you really can't hear yourself." and would have ground my teeth thinking, "so maybe you should just sing a quieter so no one else has to hear you either!"

but now, i laugh.

this seems to speak to community. when a member of a community cannot hold a tune - it is not the single member who sings off key - it is everyone. so then, what do we do with our ears that hear what our community members cannot? do we wish they would stop, or do we play the role of a gentle tuning fork?

further, the truth is that none of us have perfect pitch. we're all belting out off-key tones saying, "i think it's this." together we sound like a flock of migratory geese heralding the morning before it's actually arrived. we are annoying. we are painful to hear. others deeply desire to end our misery...but, in truth, it's not misery. we herald the breaking dawn - whether it's broken or not - it will come. whether we are on key or have any rhythm at all, the world looks and listens. people roll over in bed and prepare for the first of many snooze-button taps before they are finally roused.

in short, though my brother sounds like a dying goose and though christian community is annoying and appears crazy to the world around us, we both worship and praise the coming dawn of a world where our squawking becomes melodious and where the bright light of the broken dawn thaws the harsh, frozen, barren, wintery world.

sing on jake - and pardon me if i keep hitting the snooze button. i'll sing with you again some great day! then we will hurt the ears of th world as we joyfully struggle toward the right key.

merry tristmas to all

2006-12-24T12:09:00.001-08:00

i think that evangelicalism might just be palitable if it didn't enlist us in such a strict world of us versus them. it's tempting to say that fundamentalism's downfall is it's legalistic moralism - something to be confronted for sure - but legalistic moralism often looks at life and sees that we are all in danger of falling into some irreversible sin. legalistic moralism sees the danger for all people. it's not about categorizing and labeling so that "we" are safe here and "they" are across some line of judgment.

i remember a christmas story i was told at sunday school:

there once was a rich man named tristian. tristian decided that every year on his birthday, he'd invite a new person to share in his wealth. each year, he did just that. and each year, he invited everyone who had come before as they celebrated a day that became known as "tristmas." everyone who had been invited to this great celebration was called a "tristian" and all tristians were invited every year.

after time, the population became jealous and began celebrating the day themselves. the malls became crowded with people buying gifts - people who had never even met Tristian.

one day, a tristian stopped a woman at the mall, who he did not recognize as a fellow tristian. he said to the woman, "why are you celebrating tristmas if you are not a tristian?"

that's where the story ended.

the man was a hero. the woman was a fool. the alegory was violently obvious, as we were the lucky tristians. the rest of the world was just jealous because they had not been invited.

really? is this really what was born 2000 years ago in a stable? is this the great hope of the world? is this the legacy of the jesus who wept over the world? maybe the story should continue:

just then, Tristian himself walked by. with unparalleled love, he looked deep into the eyes of the shamed woman and said to her, "merry Tristmas friend." he then looked at the puffed up tristian and said, "look, the world has seen and recieved my love and generosity without even meeting me - yet you claim my name, you dine with me every year, you have been lavished upon - and you have not love for others?" as Tristian looked at the man, he didn't judge him - he was only sad. he knew, his loving, generous experiment was not working.

that year, at the Tristmas feast, he announced: "you are all Tristians. you have all been generously blessed. i love each of you - but the love and generosity i have given you here in this room is a pale shadow to what i wish for you, and for all the people of the world.

"look at the world around you. they are celebrating Tristmas. they are giving and recieving. they are feasting together. they are finding hope and joy in this day - even if they have not ever met me, seen my wealth, or felt the hospitible welcome of my mansion.

"for a time - for some unsaid number of years - we will no longer meet here every year. i want for all of you to join your fellow-humanity in the generosity and blessing of the day. join them and further invite them into this generosity. see them all as tristians, touched by my generosity and giving in response. love them and learn from them as you also are loved and taught by them.

"in time, you will all recieve your invitations back to my mansion and we - as well as all those you have dined with and all those who know my generosity - will join together to feast at Tristmas."

a confused woman said, "but, if we treat everyone who celebrates your generosity as a Tristian, we won't be special anymore. everyone will become a tristian. this is our special day in the year - can't we keep it set apart from the rest of the world?"

a man spoke up as well, "your mansion, big as it is, cannot fit that many. it's not meant for everyone, only a select few!"

Tristian stood tall, compassionate, yet firm as his voice strongly rebuked the prideful two. first he spoke to the woman: "sister, this day is indeed special. it is like no other. does it not become all the more special when even those who have not met me feel some seed of incontainable generosity in their hearts? are such people not worthy to be one of us?"

Tristian then spoke to the man, "brother, how little you know my mansion after all these years. have you explored its every room, every garden, every table? there is ceaseless room in my mansion. it may look limited, but when love and charity knock, the walls ever expand - extending hospitality to each one that seeks to join the feast.

"brothers and sisters," he continued, opening his large, loving arms to all his festivly gathered friends, "as i said before, beautiful as this yearly feast here in my home is, it is a pale shadow of all that i wish. i wish for the you to all give and recieve as freely as i have with you. moreover, i wish for the whole world to give and recieve in that way, and for you, as my friends and ambassadors, to invite the world into this way of giving on this joyous day.

"now raise your glasses with me and let us drink, sweet friends, to the tristmas feast - here in this room, next door, in the homeless shelter, in the widow's lonely studio apartment and in every space that it is celebrated."

like in the story of the grinch, seeing their mentor's love to liberally spread throughout the room and even beyond it's boundaries, the closed-hearted tristians' hearts all grew three sizes, bursting with new generosity. finally seeing what Tristmas really was, they all heartily raised their glasses and exclaimed, "TO TRISTMAS!"

art show

2006-12-19T00:56:00.000-08:00

brief update:
The art show opening was well attended. the poetry and music were beautiful. too many people thought that asking for admission was asking too much - those people kind of made me mad...but, such is american privialged life. we made about $1,000 for invisible children.

2 of jen's photos sold
2 or bryan's sold
1 of tucker's pieces - the one he made specially for the show sold

a number of other pieces are being mulled over and will probably sell at some point during the 3 month stay.

random people from mountlake terrace and from the conservative church where the show is taking place keep happening in for a peak and come away with a new experience of art and a knew knowledge about the world...a very encouraging result!

we're planning to have another show like saturday's, with poetry and music, near valentine's day.

don't forget that our special closing event will be hosted by invisible children and will take place on march 10th.

the down side of things:
spending a day in the church that i used to intern at - the place that was my spiritual home - the place i pined after when i moved away - rotted my stomach. that church lives staunchly in the us/them world. many many times in the last week i fought back tears in the face of such close minded lack of compassion.

how do i have compassion for them?
how do i not end up in a different us/them world?
how do i walk with them toward compassion?
what does it look like to be curious about their lack of curiosity?
am i ready to walk back into this world that hurt me so much, or is this a premature stent?

i am beginning my month vacation with a ton of inner questioning and uncertainty.

SIDS, judgement, and a bad day

2006-12-17T20:23:00.000-08:00

Tears that fall like winter rain in Seattle
Slow
Bitter
Constant –
Making you turn frigid and brittle in their soul-draining shadow
Of grey clouds and impenetrable blankets
Smothering a small child who just wishes she could breath
But has not the power to free herself
She slowly suffocates and is claimed by SIDS –
Like too many infants who
May have shined one day – who
May have danced – who
May have changed the world and made it into something

Bright.

Such tears are void to hope
To stretch
To create a world – In which
You and I sit together - In which
You and I share a meal – In which
I could dare to bring myself
To you
In which you might strain to truly see me

You report her sinful world
You report your anger
You report her – beautiful her –
Broken honesty as
Sin
Full

It is indeed dark and no child can breathe
Beneath the shadow of your heavy world
Beneath your misplaced anger
Beneath your – stifling your –
Broken hiding as
Sin
Less

art show

2006-12-15T22:18:00.000-08:00

Remember to come to the art show!!!!!

also, here's a treat:

more on manger art

2006-12-03T02:03:00.000-08:00

thanks to generous artists such as phil nellis, tucker fitzgerald, jen grabarczyk, jessi knippel, scott erickson, john powless, byran nixon and a host of others who are either not confirmed or not my particular contacts, this year's art show should be really amazing!!! i am truly blown away by the artwork we've gotten in the last few days.

i strongly encourage you all to attend the opening and bring your check book and Christmas buying list! invite friends ! it is looking to be a great event!

Praise the miraculous God of recolcilliation!

2006-12-02T09:33:00.000-08:00

The controversial mars hill protest has been called off. for the most happy of reasons: reconcilliation!

Mark Driscoll and several local pastors met and had an open, honest dialogue. Apparently, Mark even humbly listened and recieved from female pastors!

Anyway, here's two links: mark's blog, and paul's post. Read these and join me in utter amazement, worship, and awe of our reconciling God!

Note: Mark's change in language does not change my fear of his leadership in Seattle. It was not the diminuitive words he used that caused friends at SPU to consider dropping out because they were "wasting [their] future husband's money" when they weren't even yet acquainted with whoever this future husband might be. It was not Mark's strong language alone that cause a close friend of mine to leave Mars Hill with a fear and hesitancy towad church. It was not the words he chooses that made this same friend stunned when, for the first time in two years of attendence, she heard a sermon about grace and realized that she hadn't for years.

Mark's theology is still dangerous to women and in general - so long as women are not given space and encouragement to explore fully, and to appreciate as beautiful, who God has made them to be and until grace is the heart of every sermon and the hinge of Mars Hill's existence, I will continue in fervent prayer for Mark's heart and theology to be changed or for his platform here in Seattle to be removed entirely.

announcing manger art '06

2006-12-01T00:58:00.000-08:00

Host:	Work of Art Ministries: Changing the world can only be a Work of Art
Location:	The Levi Room (Next to Post Office) 23302 56TH Ave W, Mountlake Ter, WA View Map
When:	Saturday, December 16, 6:00pm
Phone:	(206) 359-5723
Remember the story of kings following a single star to find a new king? Remember the extravagent gifts they brought? Remember what they hoped for in that king, in that baby named Jesus? It is again the time of year when we contemplate their trek, when we wonder what this king meant, who he was, what hope he represents. It is the time of the year that we sit by a warm fire and sing "Jesus Christ is born today!" But, what does it mean to say or sing, "Jesus Christ is born today"? It is a celebratory, hopeful thing to say or sing. Whether you believe Jesus to be God, the Savior of the world, a prophet, or a character who believed in love, healing the sick, feeding the poor, and longing, dreaming for a new world, to say "Jesus Christ is born today" means something more than Christmas trees, nativity sets, Santa Claus and cookies. Work of Art Ministries, in line with the full meaning of this phrase, invites you to celebrate the season with hope, and work towards a different world of health and peace! Manger Art is an annual Art Show to benefit the two-thirds world. This year the exhibit will be up and for sale for three months (December 16-March 10). We will be opening the exhibit with a gala event including live music from Deb Montgomery and Hollis Brown as well as live poetry including one of Seattle's top slam poets, Ryler Dustin and others from Bellingham's Lobster Manor Poetry Night. The suggested $6 donation, as well as all proceeds of items sold will go to benefit Invisible Children. There will be paintings, photography, mixed media, and quality artwork gifts (perfect for Christmas gifts!) to view, contemplate, and hopefully pruchase! We hope that you will join us for this chance to celebrate Christmas, the world, and the hope for peace, health, and happieness across the world that the baby Jesus came to transform and save!

a note to the boys of greenwood glen

2006-11-26T01:33:00.000-08:00

a rant:

if you want to be a cheesey folk band with schtick and white snake-skin cowboy boots, that's ok. do your thing. i'm ok; you're ok; we're all ok. to each his own. etc. right?

just don't call yourself an "irish band" when your version of "that's another reason why i left Old Skibbereen" sounds like a stupid song from "a mighty wind." you are more a christopher guest than a chieftan.

on disappointment:
i've been told that i am a person who is often disappointed. i never let anyone know that they have disappointed me. i don't know why. i think it has something to do with them, then, having power over me. i really don't know.

when i am disappointed, though, i can't let go of the dream that has been dashed.

i was going to see an irish band tonight. i've known and looked to and counted on that fact all week. they would probably play the irish rover and get to heaven half an hour before the devil knows you are dead. i would sing along. maybe they would even sing wild rover and we would all wave our glasses in the air as we sang along and i dreampt that i was actually in ireland - in a place where life will be better - a place i dream of nearly every night - a place i've hidden many lonely or disappointing nights. i would eat clam chowder and have a bailey's coffee.

what happened? the band was not irish. they just weren't. they were infuriatingly un-irish. the bailey's coffee was horrible. there was no chowder. the fish and chips i ordered ended up making me feel sick. i could not picture being in ireland. nothing felt like home. it was not a dream.

but i clung. as my friends told me how miserable i looked, i clung: "maybe they will play the irish rover. even they can't make that un-irish." but they could and they would have if i didn't finally allow the dream to end and leave me unsatisfied and, once again, disappointed.

similarly, i just got an invitation to my 5 year college reunion. i'm a nanny and a failed youth minister. i have one graduate degree, but its nearly useless to me. i'm in school, and not doing much. i was going to graduate seminary at 23 and be in the mission field (ireland) for two years. i would be married and adopting my first child within a year. i have failed my dreams. more disappointment. always disappointment.

what will it mean to learn to live in disappointment? will i still have hope? will i cling to dying dreams? will i find something other than disappointment in a present that is nothing like the future i had dreamed it would be? will find fulfillment in being a nanny? will i be satisfied in my roles of friend, pastor, god-mother, unofficial aunt (the girl i nanny calls me "aunt becky"), social activist, dreamer, unpublished author, student, and yearning revolutionary?

tonight i am disappointed in the boys of greenwood glen and am finding fellowship and love with my friends...little lost and much gained.

correction

2006-11-16T18:43:00.000-08:00

there are some things happening in Seattle, however, they have a local AIDS bent rather than a focus on the global pandemic. So...check these out and see what fits best.

I still hope to see you all (in the Seattle area) at Golden Gardens.

world aids day, seattle, 2006

2006-11-16T12:23:00.000-08:00

so, what has broken my nearly 2 months of unintentional blog fasting? at this moment, i do not heart seattle. i am infact, based on a preliminary search for an AIDS day event to involve my church in, ashamed of her.

As far as I have been able to discover, there is nothing - no great out cry - no vigil - no demonstration - nothing!!! happening for World AIDS Day in Seattle. Two days later, there is a protest of Mars Hill Church, but nothing for AIDS Day.

I'm going to do something. Get a red candle - or two - and meet me at Golden Gardens at 7pm on Friday, December 1st. Invite friends, family, church member, ANYONE! EVERYONE!!! It won't be anything big, just a time for prayer, meditation, and hopefully sharing some information on what we, the people of my beloved city, can do.

This is not just some cause. It is the cause of our generation. If you think extreme poverty is the problem, you are wrong because you cannot treat extreme poverty without treating AIDS. Young farmers who could produce the food needed to feed their families are dying. Poverty cannot end amidst the AIDS pandemic.

In 2005, there were 2.8 million deaths resulting from AIDS. Of this 2.8 million, 2 million were in sub-saharan Africa. In sub-saharan Africa, 2.7 million children were newly affected with AIDS.

Every week, as many people die of AIDS as there were American casualties in the Vietnam War.

Women are in particular danger as they often do not have the right to decide whether or not to have sex and whom to have it with.

Stop for a minute, count: one-mississippi, two-mississippi, three-mississippi, four-mississippi, five-mississippi, six-mississippi, seven - stop. one person has been infected with AIDS.

6,000 children are orphaned by AIDS every day. 15.2 million children world wide have lost parents to AIDS and less than 10% are recieving aid from their governments.

Visit World Vision Austrailia's cite for some information on how AIDS affects sub-saharan Africa.
Take the World Vision AIDS test.
Contact the White House.
Become a World Vision AIDS prayer partner.
Take one minute and use your cell phone to sign a petition:
Just follow these simple text message instructions to "Make Your Mark for Children" affected by AIDS:

Create a new text message with only the word “CHILD” in the message.
Send that message to the number 77812.
World Vision will confirm your petition signature and allow you to opt-in to periodic mobile alerts on World Vision HIV/AIDS relief efforts.
If you are having trouble with the mobile petition, please add your signature to the online petition instead.

We cannot stand by.

2006-11-14T16:36:00.000-08:00

so, i'm working on a new template, but blogspot is pissing me off...

hopefully there will be a new template by the end of the week.

killer coke

2006-10-12T19:33:00.000-07:00

These are pictures from a protest of Coca-Cola in India.
Please check out Killer Coke and, please, please let your life be radically for the poor at least enough to choose a different soft drink!

Police Attack Coca-Cola Protest in Mehdiganj, India; Over 350 Arrested
"Towards the end of the rally, the marchers decided to march to the factory gates, about a hundred meters from the site of the rally. The armed police reacted violently and swiftly, with no warnings. The armed police launched a vicious lathi (baton) charge on all the marchers, and many women, in particular, became the target of male police officers who beat them incessantly. The police also chased after community members in the surrounding fields to beat them, many of whom were escaping the site of the violent police action. A Budhist monk was also attacked by the police, who showed no regard whatsoever for any one present in the area. The police attacks were ordered by Mr. Tahir Iqbal, ADM of police in Varanasi."
-Killer Coke's report on the protest

introducing bonhoeffer jr. (nickname: bono baby)

2006-10-05T18:50:00.000-07:00

finally! i have a scooter!

dual relationships

2006-10-03T10:19:00.000-07:00

Sitting at Green Lake Bar and Grill over Sunday Brunch, I talked with one of my friends about how strange it is that many of my relationships are gaining a new layer as I am taking on the role of pastor. True, my two closest friends who are a part of the church have already told me that I am pastor to them whether or not I am leading the church community they currently belong to – still, there is something new being born. I told her that one person is going to be my roommate, a member of my trinity of best friends, and a member of my church. “Woah, woah, woah! Way too many dual relationships there,” my alarmed friend frantically and authoritatively cautioned me, “You need to figure out a way to make that less of a dual relationship.” She proceeded to tell me that this is a dangerous relationship – that it is not nearly as safe as a counseling relationship. Isn’t this the goal though? Isn’t life much more dangerous than an hour in the office of your counselor? Isn’t a truly reciprocal relationship much more scary, often harmful, and always redemptive than one where one person is clearly set aside solely for the care of another?

Yet, there is another layer here. When you are pastor, it is one – very difficult – thing to not only care but be cared for in your suffering, sin, woundedness etc. It is another – from my vantage point – to be cared for in your suffering and woundedness for the people who call you pastor. How did Peter look into Jesus’ eyes? How did Peter receive his pain? How can Peter care for Jesus’ woundedness or even hear of it without being shamed for having hurt the one who care for and loved him – who guides him in his spiritual growth.

And it is the dual relationship that saves Jesus. Peter cannot not know that he has hurt Jesus. He cannot not know Jesus’ wounds. Peter cannot not know that Jesus has seen him, deeply, fully, and in all aspects of life – on good and bad days – in decisions for life and for death. In that dual relationship, when Jesus responds to Peter’s confession and broken heart, the fact that Jesus calls him Peter and not Simon begins to heal the shame already; the cowardly man is still the rock; he is still who he was created to be and called by Jesus to be. Jesus then asks the question to which he knows the answer: “Do you love me?” He asks it three times – one for every sign of lovelessness Peter sent Jesus’ way. Each time, he responds – “You, the one who I named Peter, who lived with and loved me, who denied me in my darkest hour, and who loves me deeply – you who are neither pristine nor shameful but who is one who lives abundantly and who can live abundantly with others – you, feed my sheep.” He says to him, “I know you – your light and your darkness – your struggle and your journeying. Knowing all this, I know you love me and I give to you the interdependent care of my precious children.”

And, as I am the penitant Peter - failing, denying, cowardly, passionately flailing and hitting others as I do - yet I am asked "feed my lambs." thus, feeble failing i when pricked to bleed, invite others into this gifted place at the feet and in the love of Jesus.

2006-10-02T23:35:00.000-07:00

i know many of you have been coming here to look for an update on how sunday went. it was amazing and hopeful.

it was also painful and terrifying. i have so much emotion and fear and brokeness and exhaustion tied up in the hope and thrill of the experience that i just don't have words.

hopefully i will return to you with more. i feel the need for a retreat but lack the time.

out of town and out of context

2006-09-25T08:07:00.000-07:00

first:
thanks to one and all (excepting gruber) for comments of encouragement in the face of myspace! we can take solice in knowing that one day all evil empires like myspace will end! (joking - but also not. i know of at least one marriage that had ended violently because of myspace and cannot imagine the number of lives of young women that have lost so much glory to sexualization at ages 10, 11, 12, 13 - so, it really is sort of evil)

second:
anyway, i'm off to a conference today, but had to leave you with these new quotes brought to you by trusty spies, bryan nixon and carin taylor.

"I've always wanted to be a bobble-head."
"Have you ever been thrown out of a bar? I have."
- From Sexual Disorders

"Especially at the beginning of the day, you don't know what pants I'm wearing."
"The Trotskyites wouldn't even take me."
"You've got cooties."
"Have you ever lusted and wanted to kill people? 'Uh-huh (yes).' Then we want you as our candidate."
"Anarchy, but no pink."
"I'm just going to wear bold shirts and marry someone who lives in a trailer."
"I would've had far more integrity and joy if I had picked up the whole doughnut."
"I was like, 'You have to take a test to get into law school? Bummer.'"
"I get to hallucinate on your behalf."
"I don't care about being incontinent."
"You might as well just have a hologram up here."
"You shouldn't be drinking cheap beer. There will be no cheap beer in the kingdom of God. Just get over Pabst Blue Ribbon."
"Frankly, I don't like God."
"I don't like anything I teach, and I know most of it's not true."
"I know people on crack who are happy."
"It's like putting me in a tutu. Does that help?"
- From Faith Hope and Love

Thanks Carin and Bryan - until next semester, this is the end of quotes out of context! Blessings as you spend the rest of the semester digesting and unpacking the depht that accompanied them - their context, if you will.

for the record:

2006-09-21T20:35:00.000-07:00

i really really hate HATE myspace.

i invited my brother to my birthday by way of evite.

he doesn't do email anymore - just myspace.

so...if i want to communicate with him, i have to get a myspace.

i will not!

sometimes you give in, others you stand up and fight!

the seedling

2006-09-16T01:13:00.000-07:00

as many of you know, my friend and neighbor, jen, and i are beginning a church/community on october 1st. actually, i'd say it's already started. i think it started for me on the night we gathered to pray for annie. regardless, check out the church cite.

i am a jeremiah...

2006-09-14T19:40:00.000-07:00

I am a Jeremiah
Without the courage
To speak what I see
And the fire that keeps burning
Within my bones
Is slowly tearing you from me
And I’m caught between
Denying the message that keeps me weeping
And my hope
As I dream dreams for people
And show them what we can all live without
-Restoration Project

the previous post on my blog waas birthed in the frustration of answering the question: in what biblical narrative do i find what it has been for me to lead as a woman?

i wrote my answer - sort of but not really - today and thought I should share it with you:

These 400-500 words are heavey. Their process has been long, lonely, and tear-filled. They birthed a ranting blog entry before coming here to this page. My attempt to find the bridge from the questions to my place and my heart has left me sort of not answering the questions - but I'm as close as I can reach, maybe standing with my feet in the cold river I can't bare to cross as the icey water seems to penetrate my flesh and touch my bones with its icey fingers, letting me only sustain its current just long enough to get these rough 400-500, heavey words out - whether or not they meet the questions. So, here it is:
When I survey the long, arching stage of the biblical narrative, there is diversity of leadership. There is struggle; there is peace; there is pride; there is humility. There are those that I find myself in, those I admire, and some that I don't even really enjoy. When I stand before the stage, holding auditions for what narrative I find my leadership reflect in, few get call-backs and most of these come from the latter half of the Hebrew Bible. From this group of twelve or maybe fourteen, I have to choose just one. The decision is easy though: Jeremiah. Granted, this choice means that I am lonely, struggling, chastised, dreaming of a world where the poor and orphans are cared for, but quite certian this will not happen and that my search for a radical life will ultimately lead to radical isolation. Still, in Jeremiah, I have found my compatriot.
Then, another criteria is added: I am now looking for someone who reflects what it has been for me to lead as a woman. Here, everyone who made it to call back in this audition is sent home, not meeting the qualifications. I have to start auditions over and invite all those narratives of women leading back to the stage. As they come, the stage looks rather empty. I look deep into the faces and characters I see the faces of women who have seen Jesus resurrected but no one believes them. I can find myself in that, but something is missing. I see one woman who led through hospitality, serving her husband the king and leading to the salvation of her people. I look up to her and enjoy hospitality, but it's not a match. I see the Samaritan woman, the first missionary, and am absolutely inspired by the beautiful face of her narrative, but don't see myself. I see an unmarried, pregnant teen who brought forth and raised the very son of God. I weep as Iook into her worn but glad eyes, but this is not my story. As I come to the end of the line of auditioners, I begin to ask, where is the stuggling prophetess? Where is the female version of Jeremiah - surely, she must be even more lonely than he, but she must be here, somewhere. Then I realize that she is not here. She was never recorded in the seemingly diverse biblical narrative aresenal. I realize then and there that that encredibly lonely woman was me. Here I stand, as the coldness of the river begins to remind me that I cannot bare to remain in this question, realizing that the lonely call to a radical, prophetic life of loving the poor and subverting the Roman Empire we call America, is not only lonely as what it is, but it is lonely as a woman called to lead.
Quickly, I step out of the icey river and towell my ankles off. I put on three or four pairs of wool socks by watching the video my roommate rented last night and watched without me as I attempted to answer these questions, to regain some sense of heat. I step away and struggle to forget the cold of the river and the loneliness of that empty stage and under-attended audition, but as tears continue to pelt my cold cheeks, I know I will never forget that cold or that loneliness because this is the cold and loneliness that God has called me to and all I have left to hope is that God will be enough company, that I can find myself, as a woman, in God, and that just maybe, I'll find someone else to stand in these cold waters with me.
In the end, these heavy words are actually near 800 (I apologize for my verbosity). These 800 miss the question, but they are still the only answer I have to give. Maybe some day I'll find the question they match, but for now, I leave them with you to take as you will.

what i would write if i knew how...

2006-09-13T16:50:00.000-07:00

i am, and have been, sitting at my computer, staring at it. i don't know where to start, but i know that i need to post something.

i want to tell you, readers, how costly it is to lead as a woman. i want to show you my scars and tears. i want to reveal how much shame i feel with regard to my call, how much anger i have for that shame, how much shame i have for that shame.

i want to tell you how fear floods my heart everytime someone asks what i'm studying and how angry i am that men never have to fear that.

i want to tell you how i wanted to end my journey toward starting a church when our lone man in leadership felt a call away from the church, how i didn't want to engage the fact that two women are starting a church and how i both envied and hated two well-lovede friends who are men starting a church and who surely never stumbled over the question, "we're two men - can we start a church? where could we find a woman to start it with us? will anyone come to a church headed by men? what will my brother think? how do i tell my extended family that i'm a man pastoring a church without a woman over me?"

i want you to see that, when asked to write about a narrative that reflects what leadership is like for me as a woman, i broke down in tears because the biblical narrative stage is desolate when it comes to leading women. women lead by washing feet and by being prostitutes harboring spies and by following their mother-in-law and marrying a kinsman redeemer, and by beaing beautiful and making dinner for the king - her husband. i identify with jeremiah, but there is no great, tortured prophetess.

i want you to know how afraid i am to write this blog entry - how i'm afraid of your reaction, afriad that you will think i am overly emotional about the subject, afraid you will voice support and live nothing in response, afraid that i'll reach out only to be left even more alone - which is, with few variations, how the story goes.

i want to tell you the story of the first time i admitted my call to someone - after harboring it for four years - on a youth group retreat - on my 16th birthday - only to be left weeping, knowing that my calling, unless it was to marry a pastor and not to be one, was from the devil and not from God. i want you to see the roses my dad sent me for my birthday wilting as they are pelted with the salt-water of my flowing tears. i want you to know the jovial smile of late night adolescent-girl goofing off that was lost in the violence of the church against women.

i want you to know that, at the very same church, my brother's call was celebrated - and that i had to watch that and that i couldn't be happy for him - only envious that he was celebrated as i was chastised.

i want you to be with me in the moment that i saw a twenty-something white american christian man walk down the hall as though he owned the world and, in that second, hated all white american christian men because they all own the world and and they don't see the cost - they don't see my tears - they voice their support then go on living on the oppression of women.

i want you to know how ashamed i am for feeling oppressed and for the moment i saw men that way.

i want you to know how deeply i wish i could just get married and be an at-home mom and abandon my calling. i want you to know that i have tried to. i want you to cry with me over the fact that i have tried to abandon a call simply because i am a woman.

but how do i tell you these things eloquently, so that they are all in one piece and so that you will read this and think better of me? how do i begin to hope that you might see me and grieve with me? where are the words i so often weild to bring you on a journey with me? in my rawness and desperation, they seem to have disappeared leaving only these broken fragments of a life-time of being shamed.

back by popular demand: dan lincoln

2006-09-12T10:11:00.000-07:00

quotes of out context via a first year spy, carin taylor:

"I'm not suggesting that you hit your clients."

"You are a baboon and I am not."

"...shake it like Shake n' Bake."

"We want these little pagan animals not to create havoc in our 3rd grade classrooms."

"Americans are honest. We didn't steal the land from anybody."

"He went (fell) down like music teachers are apt to do."

"I am a poor Rafiki."

"'You are going to participate in cannibalism with my body.'"

"So you've learned to run against horsemen. Let's see how you do against horses."

"You're going to watch Law and Order or read the Bible. Most of the time, I would say watch Law and Order."

"It's not that I have a language, but I just have to talk. With words."

"You think I read my books?"

"Somebody needs to come to the side of you with one sweet whack and say 'you're a jackass.'"

"If you have a car you've kept for 200-300,000 miles, you are doing harm to this nation."

"You are a fool. You look like a fool and you smell like a fool."

"Don't slaughter the cow on their plate and expect them to dig in."

"If you're going to be that drunk, keep trying to mount the horse."

"Don't cross me, because I'll shoot you like a stray dog in an alley."

"How do you love when you're a killer? It's a problem."

"What changes the heart? A Jimi Hendrix offeratory."

"You are a scary dude or dudette."

to the victims of 911 and of the US government

2006-09-11T07:59:00.000-07:00

above is a picture of a palestinian woman sitting in the rubble of her home, demolished by the israelis on september 11th, 2001.

i know many of you have been awaiting a promised new edition of quotes out of context. tomorrow, your hunger will be satiated with the quotes collected by a first year faith hope and love spy. today however, i want to direct your attention to a beautiful call to mourn from one of the leaders of the house church i was a part of in boston.

please visit dr. james' blog and join him (and now I) in his holistic, reverent and beautifully patriotic mourning.

Consumerism is the opiat of the people.

2006-09-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

Bill Mahr claims that religion is the thing that stops people from thinking.
Neitze said that religion is the opiate of the people.
They are both wrong.

Commercialism stops people from thinking.
And, consumerism is the opiate of the people.

We think this gihad is between Christian faith and Islamic faith. It is not.
It is between American consumer-driven, self-protective, money grubbing religion and Islamic faith.
Do you believe that our scantily dressed women would offend the Islamic world as much as it does if we were people who lived and loved like Christ - caring for the marginalized and caring for the orphans and widows rather than as global litterers, treating people and countries as our trash cans as we attempt to keep our small park of the world clean from any unpleasentries and allow our ambition and self-seeking lust for wealth drive us? Do you think our lives would be so sexually driven if our hearts were compassionately living?

It is not religion, but religions all-too-easy submission to the love of money - religion's deep sleep in the lullabye of the American deam - blind to the rest of the world - that stops thinking and births this war of terror.

the long, arduous journey to say "get well"

2006-09-07T14:32:00.000-07:00

a close friend of mine is in the hospital across the country (please pray for her).

i wanted to send her flowers, so i called the hospital (located in the south) to find out her room number. the conversation that follows is no exaggeration. only her name has been changed.

automated voice: thank you for calling southern general hospital. to continue in english say one.
me: one.
automated voice: i'm sorry, to continue in english, say one.
me: ONE!
automated voice: i think i understood. did you say "one"?
me: yes.
automated voice: alright, please listen carefully to our new automated system.
- automated system list of numbers to push goes on and on -
automated voice: for patient and visitor information, say "eight."
me: eight.
automated voice: I'm sorry, did you say "pound star"?
me: no. (then i moved the phone away from my mouth and said to a friend, "i said eight and the thing thought i said "pound star."
automated voice: I think i heard you that time. Did you say "R-E-P-E-A-T"?
me: no!
automated voice: I'm sorry, i did not understand you.
me: eight.
automated voice: I think you said "eight"
me: YES!!!!!!!!
automated voice: Alright, let me transfer you.

- long time on hold -

operator #1: Patient visitor relations, how can i help you?
me: hi, i'd like to order some flowers for my friend Jane Doe, and i'll need her room number
operator: let me transfer you.

operator #2: hello, patient information, how can i help you?
me: i need the room number for my friend Jane Doe, that's Jane D-O-
operator #2: Wait, is that first letter O or R?
me: D
operator #2: R?
me: D
Operator #2: N! or R!?
me: D!
Operator #2: N!?!
me: D as in dog
Operator #2: N.
me: no, D
Operator #2: ok
me: ok, so it's D, as in dog, O as in operator,
Operator #2: so i have 2 Os?
me: No, i don't think you are understanding: D-as-in-dog followed by O-as-in-operator, E-as-
Operator #2: O, E
Me: No, the letter D, as in dog! the letter O, as in operator! the letter E as in early!
Operator #2: Ok, let me just check here. She's not in here.
Me: Um, yes, yes she is.
Operator #2: No. Either than or you are spelling it wrong.
Me: No, I'm spelling it right and she is there. Would it be possible for me to speak to someone else?
Operator #2: No. It's just me. You're going to have to call me back after you get the spelling.
Me: That is the right spelling. Thanks, bye.
-hang up - call Jane to get her room number - no answer - decide to try the hospital again

Operator #1: Patient visitor relations, how can i help you?
Me: I called a minute ago and you transfered me to patient information and the man over there didn't understand me and kept telling me that my friend isn't there or that I'm spelling her name wrong, but she is there and i am spelling her name right.
Operator #1: let me look that up for you. i am sorry about that.
Me: Thanks, her name is Jane Doe. J-A-N-E last name D-O-E.
Operator #1: Jane Doe. No problem. And, how old is your son?
Me: (thinking, how backward is the south when someone names a son Jane?) SHE is my friend, and SHE is 25.
Operator #1:Ok, her room number is 7708
Me: Thank you so much.

By the time i finished, it had taken an hour to order flowers.

happy new year!

2006-09-06T08:19:00.000-07:00

september is like new years to me. i was born in september. school, which i've been in for almost two decades, starts in september. my mom's a teacher, so the rhythm of summer has always been unpredictable, like my friends, ben, patricia, and hawkeye's band, beats per minute. they called themselves this for irony's sake as there was no rhythm at all, only lots of fun things that make noise. meanwhile, september is a return to friends, patterns, familiarity, and a steady rhythmic life. thus, on my equivalent of new years eve, the night before school started, i found myself as excited as a kindergartener the night before school started. i woke up wanting to scream, "Happy New Year!"

this summer carried with it clarity and new vision. this year has the potential to be one of great formation and academic stretching, as i believe i have found the question that will gestate either into a book or into a phd thesis.

so, for all of you who read my blog, happy new year, and i look forward to journeying with you this year.

also, is this a season of new year for you? how do you mark it? is there a pattern to this month? are there favorite rituals (like the cashing of student loan checks :))?

for me, my birthday followed (i say followed because i no longer have a birthday only the anniversary of my 24th birthday) the start of the new year, making the gathering of those i love an important part of the start of things. this year i had thought of not having a party, but as school started and i felt familiar rhythms, i realized that this is a part of my calendar...so there will be a party - an anniversary party - but a party none-the-less. do any of you have similar events or traditions that make life feel like home?

out of context retrospective

2006-09-03T00:58:00.000-07:00

i am inerrupting my blog break to introduce my blog's face lift and to reflect on last year.

i hear that the new students have a faith hope and love intensive this week so...in remembrance of last year, here is the best of quotes out of context.

new students, any of you who read this and decided to take notes on the funny stuff dan says this week, please email direct, accurate, but out of context quotes to eyeheartseattle@gmail.com.

“Go back to 8th grade and be weird. Just be on the edge and wear fringe.”
“You will likely be stoned often.”
“I was paying $50 a day for the privilege of having my child abused by someone else.”
“Jeremiah has just discovered his penis.”
"Look, I don't like the Bible."
"Please take out your check books and write a check to the Dan Allender yatch fund."
“The absolute most logical question [for me to ask] was ‘Am I pregnant?’”
“People in this church will say things that hurt you, that do you harm, and you will need batteries.”
"[There is] too much libido in chocolate chips."
“Do you love the way thorns and thistles feel as you weed your garden? If the answer is yes then we are in the realm of sexual disorders.”
“Sit here and watch Jerry Springer with me.”
“The task of a woman is to be a nuisance to her children.”
"I got into a 15-minute discussion with a fellow urinator."
"Odd and deleterious things are coming out of [my] nose and mouth."
"You shouldn’t be afraid of death. You should be afraid of me."
"I can smell your breath."
“If you could do four jumping jacks, it would be clear.”
"That’s the problem with parenting, its that it takes an extraordinary amount of time."
"Actually, I am a holograph tonight."
"If there is a way that you can come to eat one less shoe, you will have done well."
“Watching Dr. Phil and Oprah together [is pornography].”

and my all time favorite:

“bray like an ass but bring some excrement so we can see what we might grow.”

(no) summer break

2006-08-23T10:27:00.000-07:00

so i only have two weeks off school and i work those two weeks. no vacation this year at all. so...i'm taking these two school-free weeks to abandon the computer (except for my search for a permanent job - my current position ends when school starts). i will return to blogging on september 5th.

3 am conversion

2006-08-17T16:51:00.000-07:00

Some thoughts I had this week amid an all-nighter:

Can I be a grade addicted, over-driven student and meet God? Can all nighters be a place of holiness?

I am sitting at my kitchen table. It is pitch black, three hours until sunrise. I will meet the sun before I meet my bed this night. The lights are turned off and I am surrounded by candles as I listen to music of the kingdom and sit with a text on mysticism, the life of a prophet and social justice. I have Seattle’s favorite sacrament, coffee, as my companion and exhortation in a hand-made mug as I slowly study for a paper. Is this not a sacrament? Is this not sacred. One minute I am entrenched in thoughts of what grade I might get, but the next I am brought to tears as I listen for God’s plan for my small life and petty soul.

And I know, Jesus sits with me this night at this table. I will not rest until Friday night, when all the work is done. Then too, Jesus will Sabbath with me. We will sleep in together. We will wander Greenlake together. Could I ask more of a sacred life?

spiritual discipline for love

2006-08-16T11:09:00.000-07:00

A friend needs me today. What, then, have I done with my day? Is it really possible that I am a pastor, a shepherd in love with her sheep? I have sanctified my day on her behalf. I am praying with every breath: inhaling shalom and exhaling love. I am listening to the Breastplate of Saint Patrick on repeat, seeking to internalize the prayer that Christ be everything to her this day. I am praying that her friends and family be roused to prayer and that our prayers be mingled as one beautiful choir, inspired by the beauty God has painted in her face and brought to tears through God’s tears for her.

Is this shepherding? Is this being blessed to be a blessing? Is this the beautiful calling God gives us? Is it my pleasure and my responsibility to sanctify my day, my thoughts, my every breath for the benefit of those I love?

Praise the God who calls us to a life of prayer, sanctity, community, grief, and with-ness. Praise the God who breaks my heart on behalf of another.

desire, ET, and a tragically forgetful bride

2006-08-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

where do you hide a scary alien?
what would a chaste bride do on her wedding night if she didn't realize it was her wedding night?
what does out culture do with desire?

in an attempt to hide the extra-terrestial her brother coaxed into her room, young drew barrymoore covered the odd looking stranger with odd looking stuffed animals. maybe if he is hidden in excess, he will not be seen.

isn't this what we do with desire in our consumeristic culture? there is one true desire: God. for whatever fallen reason, we flee and fear this desire. we hide it behind a plethora of substitute desire and lust thinking, maybe we'll stop seeing it. we step back and look at our collage of desire and squit our eyes? is it still there? of course it is. and so our collection of lusts grows exponentially, always seeking new highs. we are addicted. finally, we have it so hidden that it is like that 90's fad - magic eye. if we work really hard and stare long enough, and if we really want to see it, then we can find our desire amist the camoflaging army of cheaper, satiable desires - but only if we want. then, finally, it's lost completely, and if ever we could stop and find an approximation of rest in our frenzy to satiate the myriad of sirens enticing us to fulfill our million desires - if we could rest, then we would rest easy, knowing that we have made our desire utterly lost.

what would happen if a chaste bride waited for the wedding night then, with uncontainable passion and anticipation, somehow forgot that the wedding had happened - somehow forgot that tonight was the wedding night?
maybe she would run around in an increasingly tattered and dirtied wedding dress finding lovers, like a whore rather than a bride.

is this not also what we do with our desire? our desire is for consumation, only we don't know that it is here. we may intellectually say "the kingdom has come," but, we have no real knowledge that the kingdom has come - that the wedding night is here. so, longing for comsumation, we simply consume.

Lord, that we could know that the kingdom has come! That we would see you as our husband.

So what is ministry? What is it to awaken life in those around us?

the desire for God is a living thing, something that will not settle to be hidden amidst dusty, lifeless stuffed animals. God is a jealous and loving husband who will not sit by as his hungry wife seeks to placate her desire with lesser lovers. the desire for God will be seen. as ministers, we speak the words and live the lives and pray the prayers that invite desire to step out of cultural camoflauge. we live our lives hoping to realize, ourselves, that the wedding night has come and our true love longs for us and, as we realize that ourselves, we invite others into the consumation of the kingdom.

maybe ministry can be seen as living in our own desire and calling forth and highlighting desire in those we serve?

what would this mean to a vein of faith that has systematically repressed desire?

what would it be to not hide, but embrace that desire that we still desperately fear?

study break out of context

2006-07-29T23:47:00.000-07:00

"I'm going to kill you sometime....I'm going to find something to kill you with."

-Jen Grabarczyk

evil, suffering, God

2006-07-28T13:12:00.000-07:00

studying for a modern philosophy final, when i stopped by the mars hill webpage, it seemed appropriate for me to click the link for "evil, suffering, God." surely, studying modern philosophy is evil and suffering...and i like God so...

anyway, i was met with a picture of myself. in the immediate split seconds following, i asked myself, "does mars hill think i'm evil, suffering or God?" then i realized, it was my article. so, click away, read, comment etc.

rest and compassion - friends or foes?

2006-07-24T11:15:00.000-07:00

where do compassion and rest meet?
where do doing and being intersect?
where does kindness to self turn to seeking the kingdom and where does seeking the kingdom bring kindness to self?

mark 6:33ff makes me yearn for some approximation of an answer to these question

I used to read it and say, "see, God tells you when to rest. the disciples thought they were tired, but there was work to be done. there is always work to be done in the kingdom."

hmm...is God an American-style workaholic? Does God want to feed my workaholism, my doing for rather than being with? Do I believe that God is a God of rest? He healed on the Sabbath. Does this mean that there is no more rest with Christ? Did we recieve the Holy Spirit so that we could work over-time?

The disciples, though, didn't ask for rest - Jesus invited them to it.

Then, compassion came. The Greek word means to be moved to the guts. Jesus' heart was stirred and broken and the result was teaching, feeding, and healing - beautiful, but exhausting - nothing near the retreat he had teased his disciples with.

So, holding to a God who gives rest, and loving a God of compassion, I'm left truly asking and wondering, where do compassion and rest meet?

2006-07-10T14:19:00.000-07:00

sunday bloody sunday rx2008

i saw this and thought it would be funny. then, as i saw and heard these compassionate words from the president's mouth, i began to wonder...what if we had a president who says "many lost but tell me who has won?" and "i won't heed the battle call."

so if arnold can campaign, can bono?

how would the world change? dare we hope, in 2008, for a president who spends more time fighting global AIDS and loving orphans than relaxing on a ranch in texas?

amos of tekoa, a prophet to the american mindset I

2006-07-09T21:20:00.000-07:00

how do we make scriptures something more than beautiful language? how can the words of the prophets bite us as they would have the original hearers? how can the word become living? translation.

here's a translation of Amos' message...for the israelites, it was too late. is it too late for us? is it ever too late after Christ? even if there is no pending destruction, can we mourn how american wealth at the cost of the global poor as tarnished the Lord's name? can we mourn that the holiness of Yahweh's is washed with the blood of the oppressed? more to come when my paper is turned in...

anyway, here's the translation/introduction:

I had a dream of you, reader. You were living the American Dream. I saw you lounging in a over-stuffed IKEA couch, feeling lush fabric beneath you and drinking an ice-cold Coca-Cola on an unusually hot Seattle summer day, whose temperature and skin-toning UV rays were brought to you by way of your Hummer, sitting in your garage with better accommodations than the homes of the people who made that couch on which you perched. You were watching American Idol, and feeling quite confident that American Idol means Global Idol, since America is number one.

Then, the haunting music preceding a FOX special report interrupted Simon’s reaming of the latest reject. As you heard the sound, terror gripped your heart, like the roar of a lion in an ancient near eastern village. The voice of a right-slanted FOX news anchor followed the foreboding music and your lackadaisical evening came to a halt as he brought this message: God is going to destroy American Christianity. For you, there is no hope. Christ’s cross and resurrection are no longer applicable to your transgressions. Your businesses will be laid waste. The stock market will crash. America will no longer be number one, but will be destroyed. The lush lives you have gained at the expense of global poor will be wiped like a tear from the face of the Earth. The end has come and Jesus, the Lord God of hosts will uphold his name through your destruction.

lost

2006-07-09T01:58:00.000-07:00

where did you go my friend?
you left to travel the country
to meet strangers
and possibly to meet yourself
i miss you
and pine for the day you meet me

where did you go my friend?
you left to find employment
to save children
and possibly to save yourself
i miss you
and pine for the day you save me

where did you go my friend?
you exit more ambiguous
will you meet yourself the stranger?
will you save yourself the child?
will you kill me in your search?
did you find war?
i miss you
and pine for the day you called me friend

and where have i gone?
my exit most ambiguous
has pacifism been
ripped
out
of
my
cold
dead
hands?
has the resurrected child been so easily slain?
has the once-lost soul wandered so quickly?
i pine
for peace
for quiet
for play
for love
for the day i am found in your willingness to see

more prayer please

2006-07-05T23:34:00.000-07:00

now i have an impacted wisdom tooth and swollen gland and no dental insurance and no money to be able to take time off work and a major paper due....

prayer request

2006-07-03T15:12:00.000-07:00

so, my ankle is really not healing - a month later. i woke up this morning and it hurt as bad as it did two weeks ago. if you could pray for it to heal, it would be greatly appreciated.

philosophy out of context

2006-06-30T10:16:00.000-07:00

Top Ten (in no particular order) Quotes:
You’ve got to mention diarrhea if you want to get an A on this.

Maybe some bear in the San juan islands has an ape iron t-shirt they wear these days.

I stink therefore I am.

We know that the CIA is making doubles of us all the time.

I realized I was an I when I pooped in my pants.

Santa Clause can fly. And Santa Clause leaves me presents. That’s why I leave him cookies.

This is good for your life as a postmodern pastoral hipster.

It's on your TV, so you have to learn it.

I don’t like the fact that you’re from New Jersey. I hate all people from New Jersey. I’m going to flunk you because you are from New Jersey

Once you get beyond pooh-pooh pants, that’s really about as infinite as you can get.

Other context-less voices:
The women in your neighborhood will set their clocks by when you take a dump. – Phil
Maybe feces is the essence of being. – Steve
Because I have nipples I exist. – John
Show us your nipples so that we know you are real. - John
Does prolegomena mean masturbation? Does anyone know? - Zadok

Why I Don't Dance...

2006-06-26T10:31:00.000-07:00

"why can't i dance?" after downing 3 beers - the taste of which i could not handle, so i was plugging my nose and making an absolutely disgusted, almost cartoonish face after each giant gulp, i assumed that finally, i could bring myself to dance amidst a crowd of people where i knew no one and wanted to impress everyone around me. still, beer was not enough. i tried. i tried so hard. i stood in the crowd. i finally, per the coaxing of a friend who was probably embarassed to be the one who invited me, i got my feet to move ever so slightly. then began the conversation with my arms:
Me: Arms, do something.
Arms: What do you want us to do?
Me: I don't know. Dance?
Arms: How?
Me: I don't know. I don't really dance. At least MOVE!
Arms: But we don't know what to do.
Me: JUST MOVE ALREADY!
Arms: No. We'll look stupid.
Me: You already do and now you're making me look stupid.
Arms: Well, we don't know what to do.
Me: (to my friend who I was supposedly dancing with) Well, I have to go to church in the morning so, bye.

I couldn't leave yet because of the beer, so I walked around outside inwardly shouting at myself for not being able to dance.

So, the new question is similar, "Why can't I dance...relationally?"

A friend had hurt me by not seeing my odd depression in the re-birth of my freedom now that I am post-youth ministry position. I knew that I needed to talk to her. I knew she didn't mean to hurt me. So, I sat at the top of the stairs of my house and had a conversation with my legs:
Me: Stand-up and go downstairs so that I can talk to her.
Legs: Well, what are you going to say?
Me: I don't know yet. I'll figure it out when I get there.
Legs: You know you're going to hurt her if you say what you're feeling. You know she's already hurting. So, you should at least know exactly what you're going to say.
Me: Ok, maybe I'll say (insert onfidential imagined conversation)
Legs: Ouch. That's going to hurt both of you.
Me: Well, it needs to be said though and it seems kind.
Legs: Sure, it's kind, but I'm not taking you there to say it. It's dangerous. What if she doesn't recieve it well?
Me: JUST MOVE!
Legs: But...
Me: SHUT UP AND FUCKING MOVE! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM! WHAT IS MY PROBLEM! WHY CAN'T I JUST FUCKING DO THIS!?!

Then I cried.

The next day, everything exploded - and it ended up being soooo beautiful. But, one thing my friend said to me is that she didn't see my pain - meaning that I didn't make it seen. I told her (actually shouted at her) "I tried. I tried really hard. I'm sorry that I coudln't do better. It was t he best I could do!"

She was beyond amazing in that, but it leads to the question:

Why can't we dance?

Why can't I more explicitly invite those that love me into my pain? Why can't people around me see my pain? Why won't they? Why can't I tell people when I am let down by them? Why is trying to be seen so trying? Why is not being seen so painful? Why do I then recoil?

Why can't I dance!?!

The next day, in a conversation about community, a friend wanted to know how we will deal with disappointing each other and I said, "By further disappointing each other."

As much as I wanted to dance that night, I couldn't bring myself to.
As much as I want to deal well with my pain and with my friend, I couldn't bring myself to.
As much as I want to hope for things to change, they may not.
But it's not that I don't dance. By being in a relationship, it doesn't matter if I sit at the top of the stairs and silently yell at my inactivity. By having a relationship with someone, even in absense, I am dancing - clumsily as it may be.
The tragedy is not the proverbial stepping on feet. The tragedy is not standing on the dance floor and having your arms refuse to move. The tragedy would be leaving the dance floor.

Ultimately, the tradegy does not come in disappointing another. Glory comes there. Glory is present even in a clumsy dance of broken hearts and disappointment. Tragedy comes in isolation. Praise God that isolation is never possible in a world filled with God's relational image bearers and with God's very Spirit.

So life is dance lessons and maybe one day, I'll start dancing without making a fool of myself and my friends. In the mean time, I want to be like that old gay guy in four weddings and a funeral. He looked like an idiot. I laughed soooo hard at him. He died dancing and, his dancing was sooo bad that I originally thought his death was an extreme dance move.

I will fail and be a fool...but I can, and do, and cannot not dance.

happy birthday mom

2006-06-21T23:31:00.000-07:00

my mom's birthday and father's day come one after the other.

every year it is an opportunity to be a let down, to see myself as daughter and feel a failure there. each year it is a chance to center my being around their joy and feel as though there is something meaningless in me because they do not feel joy. every year, i try buy fail miserably.

this year, i thought i would feel better about it. if mars hill teaches you one thing, it is that your mom hates you and your dad abuses you in some way. armed with this knowledge, i assumed things would be different.

today, on my mom's birthday, i have failed her and am tempted to say i am, therefore, a failure. this is the subjective i to her thou. on the anniverssary of the following poem, i am reminded of the important truth that i am not, in my essence, subjective to thou - or if i am, i am truly and ultimately only subjective to God's Thou.

now, a poem i orignally posted a year ago today:

A Winding World of Seeming Subjectivity

You pound down the stairs, eyes glued to the floor
You enter my soft silent morning with penniless words
I am a cold, quick daughter running for the door
Not quick enough
You peer over my shoulder with unwanted unedited commentary
Your gaze is a bullet aimed past the plank to my busy speck
I am a hurting, lost daughter running for a door I thought was opened but know is closed

You are a mist in the air an accidental memory
You enter my young hopeful morning with a theiving recollection
I am a resiliant, lonely three year old behind a baracaded door
Not strong enough
You peer past my humanity with unloving, unsavory contact
Your affect is a lingering, often forgotten bullet imbedded for 20 years
I am an angry, protective older sister of a girl too long lost behind a door blocked with hatred

You raise your gaze to meet mine, eyes begin to well
You enter my red shouting morning with penniless hope
I am a kind, trying daughter standing in the door
Too quick
You peer past my wishfulness with unsatisfying unsatisfied brokenness
Your gaze is a bullet aimed away but penetrating an already bleeding heart
I am a disappointing, hard working daughter standing in a door that swings too slowly shut

You invite me to your bank terminal
You enter my rushed important morning with pennies
I am a nice, smiling no-one running round a revolving door

Your voice reaches my ear through airwaves, ear glued to the phone
You enter my winding hopeful morning with willingness
I am a weary, immature approximation of a boss fainting through a door way and on to the floor

You rush your fingers across keys and tap a button
You are absent in my lost over-used morning with penniless un-expectation
I am a caffeinated, disappointed approximation of a friend standing miles from a doorway

You look past me answering phone call upon phone call
You enter my filled unfulfilled morning with absent stare
I am a worn, un-encountered unknown stepping in and out of a heavy door

The morning ends as I am careless and heavy
I run you over
Your insides come out
Your tiny feathers and now crushed legs and beak
Break
My
Heart
And draw my tears
I feel sick and want the morning back
or erased

either will do

There is evening and there is morning
A new day beacons on the horizon
You’ve entered each morning though I gaze past you into abyss
I am an ever-blessed beloved
I am a forgiven, for giving daughter
I am a protected, beloved child
I am a valued, created someone
I am a faith-given, faith filling servant
I am a sought after, intimate friend
I am a rejuvenated, known continual encounter
Never truly subjective – simply seeming so
Or maybe subjective only to your great light-filled presence

recipe for a perfect day

2006-06-17T10:33:00.000-07:00

1 ladro's triple tall soy medici

2 friends joining you in the commute to school

1 friend who likes driving so you don't have to

2 u2 albums on the way to class

1 lunch break with your best friend and favorite neighbor

2 kids that smile when you come near

1 3.5 year old child who, suddenly, wants to be right next to you all the time

1 amazing opportunity to bother said child's mother by encouraging him to stick not one, but two fingers up his nose

1 old testament class getting out early

1 ride to safeco stadium with an extravagently kind and blessing friend

3 or 4 missed turns due to rapturing conversation which causes inattentiveness to the road

a dash of not caring that you've missed turns and may visit tacoma before arriving at safeco

2 small meals at fx mc rory's

a heaping teaspoon of patience and relational priority from a sports-enthused companion as you wait at will call and miss ichiro's first at bat, first batter, first pitch homer

1 barry bonds homer

5 m's runs

1 half hour in line to get two bottled alcoholic drinks

1 shiskaberry

1 lap around safeco whilest looking for the team store

three strikes for berry bonds to end the game

1.5 cups of ben and jerry

1 m's t-shirt down from $35 to $7

and garnish with amazing conversation until way after you should have been in bed

serve chilled with child-like joy and a life-time of mariners memories

serves 2

hosea + gomer = undying love?

2006-06-16T09:31:00.000-07:00

all the time
you were burning my letters
you were only acting the part
you think without me
you'll get on much better
but you dont even
know your own heart

come home, darling
come home quickly
come home, darling
all is forgiven,

but your still playing
for a love you'll never find
outside of these arms of mine

the whole town
is one step behind you
with the hang man on call
they've got the judge
and you're convicted without a plea
darling, they will listen to me

-pedro the lion

i have come with one purpose
to capture for myself a bride
by my life she is lovely
by my death she's justified
i have always been her husband
though many lovers she has known
so with water i will wash her
and by my word alone
-the church by derek webb

money cannot buy
a husband’s jealous eye
when you have knowingly deceived his wife
-wedding dress by derek webb

in the wake of being murdered by the church, may we, as God, direct our eyes to that which knowingly decieves her and our undying love to the church - harlot though she may be.

and as we do that for the church, who we are ourselves, can we love the harlot in ourselves, as God does, with undying love - harlots though we truly are?

can we see beyond the erosion of hers and our beautiful face to see the beloved? and will we fight for that beauty?

leaving lake city

2006-06-15T10:01:00.000-07:00

today i leave my charge
today i am greeted
by failure and freedom locked incestually together
by soul-shaking solitude and the hope of communal afershock perichoretically joined
do i join the dance
am i lost in that dance

like a 3/4 time waltz of nausiating hope and disappointment
can i step into this swirling world

once i took waltz lessons
for the wedding of a friend
her father-in-law scared me
i wore a new dress and comfortable shoes
one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three and on
on your toes then back to the ground
smoothly turn without looking down
you circle and circle and how long can it last
one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three
the beat picks up pace
onetwothree, onetwothree,onetwothree
nausia increases and perichoresis gives way to dreams of flight
nausiagrowsmonserousandperichoresisdisappearsinthequakeoftremblingfear
onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree
stop

zach morris walks in and freezes frame long enough to ask the question
do i want off the swirling merry-go-round?
do i want out of the dance?
in this moment, i see a vision of a burnt-out and meaningless life of chores
waiting and watching dancing with the stars on syndicated television from a lazy boy
the distant pulse continues without me
onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree
stop

let me on

today, i do not leave my charge
today i am greeted
by failure and faith locked incestually together
by soul-shaking solitude and the hope of communal afershock perichoretically joined
i join the dance
and there i
am lost

parting words

2006-06-12T09:09:00.000-07:00

this is the sermon i preached yesterday - my last sunday at my church:

Luke 17:20-21
Once, having been asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, Jesus replied, "The kingdom of God does not come with your careful observation, 21nor will people say, 'Here it is,' or 'There it is,' because the kingdom of God is within you."

Commercials are pretty annoying – though creative. But, their entire point is to get you to want something you didn’t want before. Somehow, a 30 second commercial makes you thirst for something you didn’t even know existed before.

Have you watched many pharmaceutical commercials? They are the worst. They aggravate me. You see the perfect family with the perfect house playing in a perfect yard with perfect children on a perfect day. Then, watching television either by yourself or with your family, you look around your small apartment or cluttered house; you see the grey sky and eternal rain outside the window. If you’re a parent, your kids aren’t giggling, they are crying or fighting and your spouse is passed out on the couch. If you aren’t a parent or if you are a parent whose nest is empty, the laughter of the children in the commercial is haunting. There’s this sense of longing that is awakened in you. You think, “I want this drug.”

At the end of the commercial, they tell you the name of the drug but not what it’s for. You find yourself fighting the impulse to rush to the phone and call your doctor for a prescription. The drug might turn out to be for the arthritis you don’t have or for insomnia when you actually suffer from narcolepsy, but you have to have the drug.

Somehow, without even knowing what the drug does, we get a glimpse of the life it’s supposed to give us and we cannot live without it.

Still, this commercial doesn’t exactly hit home for me. My dream commercial starts here at LCPC. Close your eyes and imagine it. The new fellowship hall is filled with smiling people of divergent ages, ethnicities, and socio-economic statuses. They are eating together and praising God. Then the commercial pans to the adult education room where a session meeting ends in under an hour and there are tears of joy and love in each elder’s eyes as they embrace and go out to proclaim God’s love to the congregation. Did I mention this took less than an hour!?! If you’ve been an elder, you know what I’m talking about.

The commercial then pans to the greater Lake City area. The homeless people that congregate by 125th street would still congregate, but for a feast. They’d be laughing and in their right minds. They’d be joined by the richest citizens of Lake City, by the youngest and oldest, by every ethnicity and every age group.

Eventually, the commercial, shattering records for the longest commercial ever, shows sweat shops closing, AIDS orphans being held, droughts ending, AIDS being cured in Africa, governmental corruption ending and capitalistic demands being replaced with two commandments, love God and love others. War ends. Soldiers put down their weapons and run across enemy lines to embrace their once enemies. Murder ends. Suffering ends. The whole world is consumed with love. We are all made one.

Finally, the commercial ends by returning to a smaller level, showing homes in every nation with mothers and fathers together and in-love, children cared for and adored as beautiful gifts from heaven, neighbors welcomed as though they were family.

Then, in a short breath, the commercial shows a bottle of pills with some long but catchy title like chlorahappymediloveinol and has some sort of cheesy phrase like “because we all like to be happy and we all have trouble loving.” Then quickly a voice says, “Consult your doctor before consuming Chlorahappymedaloveinol. Side effects include but are not limited to patience, kindness, lack of envy, pride, and rudeness, disinterest in usual sinful activities such as self-seeking, recording wrongs, and delighting in evil. May also cause rejoicing in truth, trusting, hoping, perseverance and even faith. The greatest side effect is a high propensity to love God with all of your heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love your neighbor as yourself. Warning: Chlorahappymedaloveinol is for everyone and its effects are highly contagious.

Do you want to buy this drug? How much are you willing to pay for it?
What if I promised you that it actually works? How much would it be worth to you?

One of the events I was blessed to go to with the youth this year was an AIDS walk with World Vision. They simulated the real lives of five children in Africa. One of them was named Timothy. The first time I went, I was Timothy. I remember taking my first step into his story and being overwhelmed by the beauty of his smile. I wanted to freeze time and just stare at his smile until I was lost in it. I peaked around the corner, though, and saw a gravestone. I knew the next step involved death and longed to just cling to the moment, but the recorded story moved me along. Timothy’s father died of AIDS. Later, his mother died of AIDS. Finally, Timothy finds out that he has AIDS. He got it from, at age 6, working in the fields until his hands were cracked then, with those cracked hands, caring for his HIV-positive mother’s wounds. I wanted to scream and cry and I did, later, weep over this true story.

If a pharmaceutical commercial promised me that Timothy would have a family and that he wouldn’t die of AIDS, I would sell everything I own to buy that drug. I would scour behind every couch cushion in my house for change. Actually, I’d scour behind the couch cushions of my neighbors and of my friends and I might just sneak into some other houses. I’d take out every penny of loan money I could and apply for endless credit cards to buy that drug.

So, going back to my question, how much would you give? Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God is like that prescription drug. He tells us about a man who finds a pearl and sells everything he owns to buy it. This, Jesus says, is the Kingdom of God.

Jesus tells us that this kingdom belongs to the poor in spirit and to the meek. He tells us that if we seek this kingdom first, everything else we could possibly need will be given to us. In this kingdom, there is no need to worry – ever. It’s like a high class, extravagant banquet that everyone is invited to. The kingdom is about forgiveness. In the kingdom, we are born a new – into a new life, where righteousness shines like the sun and children playfully lead. The kingdom comes with power and will never end. In the kingdom, disease is healed and children are greeted as though they were Christ himself. There, the least are the greatest. In the Kingdom, we will truly know God – like a son or daughter knows her father, like a wife knows her husband. In the kingdom, life is eternal.

So, how much do you want this kingdom?

Now that you are longing for the kingdom, here’s the good news and bad news: the kingdom of God is in you.

It’s obvious how this is good news, but I’m sure you are wondering how this is bad news.

Scripture tells us that the kingdom does not come with careful observation – or rule following. The kingdom does not come in policies or a book of order. The kingdom does not come in liturgy or tradition. It does not come in spell-checking a bulletin. The kingdom will not become brighter or more present if kids sit quietly in pews for a worship service. It does not flourish because events go well. It will not shine more brilliantly or dimly if youth day goes off without a hitch.

None of these things are bad. These things have their place in the kingdom. But, in so much as we are pre-occupied with them, we miss Jesus’ message and become Pharisees.

Jesus says, further, that no one can say the kingdom is here or the kingdom is there. The kingdom is not in the new fellowship hall or it’s beautiful kitchen. I was driving to Federal Way with my roommate once and we passed World Vision. I told him the World Vision is the capitol of the kingdom. He corrected me: the capitol of the kingdom is the hearts of the children World Vision serves.

We have put so much energy into our remodel. It has paid off. It is beautiful and will, no doubt, hold many holy moments – but it’s not the kingdom. In fact, it won’t even house the kingdom unless our hearts do. In field of dreams, the voice says, “If you build it, they will come.” This is not true for the kingdom. In the kingdom, we say, “If you love, they will come.” We can make all the beautiful architectural space in the world – but unless we make beautiful space in our hearts, our physical space will be spiritually empty.

This is the bad news. But, it’s not all that bad because Jesus goes on to say that the Kingdom of God that does not come with rules and that is not here or there is in you. It is in each of us, and more importantly, it is in us as we come together as the body of Christ.

So, where is the Kingdom of God – it is in each person in this room. It is in our conversations – in the space that exists between us. More aptly for today, it is in the youth at LCPC.

Do you remember the construction process? Do you remember how every step was exciting? Do you remember peering through windows to see every new advance? Do you remember your first step into the nursery? I remember a youth spilling soda pop in there and getting lectured on how this beautiful space should be preserved. Do you remember the first time you stepped into the new fellowship hall? Do you remember the awe that struck you the first time you saw the kitchen?

Can you imagine having that same dedication to every person in this room and to the community we can have if we become one? Can you imagine having this same dedication to our youth specifically? Can you imagine being as protective of them as of the new carpet in the nursery? Can you imagine that the slightest stain on the wounded hearts of our youth threw you into panic and sent you flying to the store to buy a professional carpet cleaning syrum? Can you imagine looking into each face in this room and seeing God’s beautiful architecture in their eyes with the same awe you held for the marble counter tops in the new kitchen? Can you imagine looking at each of these youth so that your breath is literally stolen away at their beauty? I can. I have had my breath stolen by them. As my time here ends, I have to thank you all for inviting me into their lives. The blessing of knowing them has been and will continue to be a treasure – a pearl – that I would sell everything to own – it has been the kingdom of God.

So, that commercial for that medicine that you would sell everything for? That commercial is the person sitting next to you. Today, especially, it is the youth you have been introduced to. Please, as we go out to celebrate the youth, track them down and listen to the melody of the kingdom in their voices. See the art of God in their eyes. Hear God’s mercy in their laughter. Please know that the Kingdom is in you.

Before we conclude, I’m going to ask you to do something that will probably be very uncomfortable, but sooooo holy. Turn and look at someone sitting next to you -preferably someone you don’t know too well. Look into their eyes and study their faces. Know that they are created in the image of God. We’ll do this in silence for 120 seconds. Fight the uncomfortability and pray for God’s presence.

Prayer:
Lord God, King – Great King, your kingdom has been given to us. As you say, it is in us. Lord, as we pray, your kingdom come, make us believe it. Make us seek it. Make us see it in each other. King Jesus, take our lives and make them your kingdom.

Amen

Blessing:
A portion of a poem by my brother, Jake Tucker

It's a shift in focus

From changing to waiting

Christ taught us to pray

"Thy Kingdom come"

Instead of bringing it

I wait for it to come

In lethargy I have great patience

Heaven is supposed to come down

Descend to earth

Heaven is not someplace far away

Someplace to go when we die

Heaven is near,

it is knocking

It is availible

NOW

It will start to come in me

Heaven will come

When I see people as what they are

Art

Created in the image of God

Each made with divinity dripping from every pour

Each the pinnacle of creation

Each made with more care

detail, attention,

and love

Than I can fathom

Each one the Creator took a step back from

To get a better look

Decided

With tears welling up

from the bottom of him

That it was good

it was very good

Heaven will come when every tear is dried from tired eyes

When every head is lifted

When pain and mourning cease

When hope dawns

When love finally conquers

once and for all

So, lord haste the day

when my faith shall be sight

the clouds be rolled back as a scoll

the trump shall resound

The lord descend

and Dancers will dance upon injustice

As you leave, as the art of the Father, re-created in the Son, and re-creating through the Spirit, today, you do not go. You do not leave. The Kingdom is in you. May you see and embrace God’s art. May you sell everything for the Kingdom.

someday?

2006-06-07T07:38:00.000-07:00

I once knew a girl
In the years of my youth
With eyes like the summer
All beauty and truth
In the morning I fled
Left a note and it read
Someday you will be loved.

I cannot pretend that I felt any regret
Cause each broken heart will eventually mend
As the blood runs red down the needle and thread
Someday you will be loved

You'll be loved you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved

You may feel alone when you're falling asleep
And everytime tears roll down your cheeks
But I know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet
Someday you will be loved

You'll be loved you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved

-death cab for cutie

but when our parents, friends, dates, and even our dreams have not loved us
try though they have
if even we have not loved ourselves
when i have never tasted love apart from the God i push away and never really see
how am i supposed to believe i will be loved?
how dare i tell others they will be loved?

and even if we someday see God
even if i cease to run from God's loving gaze
even if God's embrace became as real as the quickly passing sunset
would my cynicism change?

on this earth, we are meant to long for love
we are meant to long for the other
and even if the other tries to love me
will he?
will he meet wild success?
can i dare to dream there's even something worth loving?

someday will i be loved?
will these loveless days and tear-filled nights seem like bad dreams?

i don't know.
the song is pretty.
i want it to be true.
but is it?

2006-06-07T02:04:00.000-07:00

check out my house's blog.

to benny with love and thanks: as promised, more on pat robertson and his supposed tsunami

2006-06-02T13:46:00.000-07:00

at first, when i heard about pat robertson's prophecy, i was angry. i was fumingly, bitterly angry.
in time, i asked myself what was behind that anger. the answer: fear.
what if he's right?
what if God is going to punish us?
what if everything that's new and refreshing about my faith is actually heresy, as i've been told?
mars hill is moving to the pier. maybe seattle wouldn't get sacked by a tsunami, but the pier? what if God is not moving here, but judging here?

irrational fears. faithless fears. i found footing in those three words tattooed on my shoulder blade: faith, hope, love. ok.

then, i read this.

benny is an amazing artist. he is someone who knows something about life and encounter. he is a philosopher and a blessing to fremont. now, this supposed progressive and hippy area has kicked him out - citing "safety" more accurately, annoyance.

faith, hope, and love.

where are these?
who are we?
is seattle really who i dream her to be?
are we burnt out sell outs who like to buy expensive organic food and pretend we care about the world and about art?

so, will a tsunami destroy us?
if it does, is it deserved?
are we a fat and happy people who have learned to treat other people not as people?

if a tsunami destroys seattle, it will not be God's punative work. that much i know.

however, if i were God and if i could put aside my rose-stained glasses through which i stand at kerry park and pristinely, though not closely, examine my city - if i could see her as she is, as this event reveals she is, i think i might just send a tsunami.

good thing neither pat robertson nor i are God.

may God give us grace for our mistreatment of God's brilliant work of art:
benny the rock guy.

holy transference batman!

2006-06-01T15:43:00.000-07:00

finally, we had our break. after an hour and a half lecture on covenental theology, which dr. neihaus had already pounded into my head years ago, i got a break. i went to the office to attempt to find out about why my scholarship has not gone through yet (a month into the semester). Molly (the secretary) said, matter of factly, when you have a minute, i need to talk with you. hmm...felt a bit like that fateful day at gcts. i thought calm thoughts and lowered my blood pressure with ignorance.

as i walked back to chat with her, she said, just wait there. we'll talk in dan's (the school's president's) office. ok. now it was unavoidable. i felt all the intensity of that day at gcts when i was accused of many ridiculous things and treated with disdain and eyes unwilling to truly see me. i was scared to death. i began to prepare my heart for some great slap across the face anxoisly asked, "is something wrong?" she said no, but , in honesty, i didn't believer her.

i sat down.
she sat down.
i was filled with fear.

i heard her say, "i'm concerned...i talked with paul (the chaplain)..we want to."
in my transference, all i could pick up was those words. so i filled them with what is familiar: i am concerned about your conduct as a student of our school. i talked with paul about what course of action is wise. we want to ask you to either leave the school or seek counseling regarding your conduct."

i began to fall apart before my mind stopped me and revealed the rest of Molly's words: I'm concerned about your ankle. I talked with Paul about it, and we want to make sure that you get to a doctor, so we are willing to pay for a doctor's visit up to $100-200."

i simply don't know what to do with this brilliant disappointment of my expectations.

wounded (healer)

2006-06-01T09:03:00.000-07:00

last night, i really thought i was all that. mike and i moved a chest that my dad and brother could not move. i thought, "maybe i'm not weak." so then, we were moving things into the new house. i was sooo going to show everyone how strong i was.

then, carrying my roommate's desk, i fell off of the back of mike's truck and badly twisted my ankle. it was sprained. i sat and cussed and lamented for a while. what was about to ensue:

mike would carry me into the house
i wouldn't be able to walk
someone would bring me ice
i would be absoluetely dependant
and, the worst of all, i would not be able to wear cool shoes for possibly a month

apart from the last one, the things i was lamenting were all about people caring for me. so, i decided that there was not much i could do, so i let go and let it all happen. even amidst the pain, i was happy - enjoying the care of those i often work to care for and refuse care from.

there was one moment, when the pain was so much that, though emily was trying to distract me with her amazing sense of humor, i could not hear a word she was saying. i could not see her past my pain. this reminded me of a friend who usually sees and cares well for others. lately, she has not done this. she is in pain. her pain is so much that she cannot often see well.

as i thought of her, i began to wonder about the wounded healer. healers will always be wounded, but are there times when the wounded cannot be healers, when there is grace for their aching eyes that cannot see, when i can speak to my friend, "it is okay that you do not see past your pain. you will come through it. in this moment, it is all you can see. please rest in that. rest, my wounded friend and past and future healer."

mismeeting

2006-05-30T00:55:00.000-07:00

i called you to ask about your day
i assumed you'd ask about mine -
faned interest as it may be
i left you feeling sad and unseen
alone

i met with you later in the day
i assumed i'd get high on memories -
distant and dead
i left you feeling sad and lost
alone

i sat with all of you tonight
i assumed i'd be seen and engaged -
not myself as i had been
i left you feeling sad and unnoticed
alone

is there anything more lonely than disappearing in a room full of people
is there anything more lonely

is there anything more sad than being seen only to vanish
is there anything i'd hide from you if only you saw
me

then came the deep of night
i sat, weeping inwardly, at your feet
i assumed i'd run to your company -
a father's welcoming arms
i left you, sulking to be unseen
alone

i left you though your hand stretched out
i hid though your eyes searched

is there anything more sad than your longing, unmet eyes
and my running, unseen heart?

2006-05-28T01:53:00.000-07:00

pat robertson believes that a tsunami will crash into my beloved pacific northwest this year. he believes that God told him this.

i'm too angry to know what to write now...more later.

death cab for dreaming

2006-05-24T15:00:00.000-07:00

the death of a dream can be kind or it can be cruel. the pain feels the same. the loss feels the same. the disappointment devastates the same. death is death.

what happens in the wake of death? is there denial? is there hope for resurrection? is there mourning? do all exist, conjuring a whirlwind of ambivilance and even more pain?

does resurrection really come? from the dark night can one really anticipate the sunrise? would that dreams ran on as regular a schedule as the sun.

so, today is dark. it doesn't feel like anything but darkness. i'll let it be that.

2006-05-19T10:03:00.000-07:00

last night i told the youth at my church that i am leaving.
last week, i said good bye to my best and oldest friend.
this month, i've been saying good bye to the dreams i had for my job at the church.

right now, all i can say is that shakespear was severly uninformed if he thought there was any sweetness in the sorrow of parting.

home - where the heart is

2006-05-10T01:01:00.000-07:00

this morning, i forgot you.

i walked with a friend - a cherished sister. i was on top of the world. my neighborhood was heaven. my life was the kingdom. the coffee tasted of eternity. our conversation turned to encounter. i laughed. i enjoyed. my heart was home - and i knew, at 24, i am lucky to know so well my home.

i sang her a sad song, knowing she's leaving. the sorrow of her leaving could not touch the beauty of her face as she wept over the song. i was home - and i knew, at 24, i am rich to know such a full home.

i left that world to meet a kingdom seeker. we left our tasks to be raptured in eternity in the dark wall of a practicum room. my passion danced with hers. i was home - and i knew, at 24, i am blessed to know such a peopled home.

from there i met my friend and her gorgeous children. they danced and sang with me. they ran to me and laughed with glee. i was home - and i knew, at 24, i am loved to know such a gleeful home.

this evening, i remembered you.
i felt trapped.
i felt shame.
i felt unable to remember my beauty.
i felt my joy swallowed by your pain.
i was frustrated.
i was angry.
i was sad and depressed.
i was not home -

and i wondered, at 24, will i ever know home?

tonight i remembered you - in your place.
i laughed.
i encountered beauty.
i joked.
i cried.
i dreamed.
i was home -
and i knew, at 24, i am wise to know such a paradoxical home.

waiting for a miracle

2006-05-04T14:56:00.000-07:00

i have a quick mind. i think a lot. my brother has, for at least a decade, been telling me to be like him and think less. there is little i don't think about. there is little i don't think to death. for me to spend months and months not thinking about something is an unparralleled accomplishment.

that accomplishment can be broken down like a great dam...
the slightest hole and it is either immediately patched or else the flood ensues.

i have a cynical heart. i doubt a lot. for at least a decade, i have been hardening my heart to the light of hope. there is little i'm not cynical about. there is little i don't eventually despair about. for me to risk hope after devastation is an unparralleled accomplishment.

that accomplishment can grow like a mustard seed...
the slightest soil and scantest water and sprinkling of sun and a great tree emerges.

what would happen if the flood collided with the tree?
nurture?
more life?
would it be knocked by the intensity?
would the beauty of the seedling tree be lost in the waves?

or, could a miracle be born?

so, do i patch the hole and remove the seed?
do i patch the hole and leave the seed?
or do i wait for a miracle?

eschatology abounds

2006-05-01T00:23:00.000-07:00

my job

spring semester

my celebrated mini-eschatons.

2006-04-30T13:14:00.000-07:00

i quit
i quit
i quit

i quit mr. white.

do you want to healing?

2006-04-29T18:37:00.000-07:00

do you want healing?
do you want sight?
do you want grief?

tears
excrutiating pain
as though you were dying and numb
as though you were wounded and never knew
the stranger comes and heals you
excrutiating pain
tears

leprosy leaves
feeling returns
you remember ----

i am wounded

do you want healing?
do you want sight?
do you want grief?

your eyes open.
the light burns your eyes.
the darkness surprises you.

you now see violence.
you now see abuse.

excrutiating pain.
tears.

tears.
endless tears.

do you want healing?
do you want sight?
do you want grief?

and the kingdom comes.
and the light reveals.
and healing brings pain.
leprosy leaves

leaves you to feel the pain.

and in that pain -- there is hope
excrutiating.
tears.

tears.

tears.

tears.

and will there really be a day
a beautiful day
a far off day

will there really be a land
a beautiful land
a new earth

where tears will be no more?

in your pain
in the wake of leprous numbness
you feel the stranger's touch
he is not a stranger
she is your friend

in the pain
in the wake of new seen evil
your eyes meet the stranger's eyes
she is not a stranger
he is your lover
excrutiating joy

and will there really be a day
a beautiful day
a far off day

will there really be a land
a beautiful land
a new earth

where love and not loeposy will end
your
excrutiating pain

hope.

hope.

hope.

tears.

tears.

tears.

endless hope.

Kindness or Kingdom - can we hope for both?

2006-04-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

"To the one to whom much has been given, much is required."

'Mars Hill doesn't look like the kingdom at all really. It looks like a lot of hip people who like Buber."

"God's kingdom is like a treasure hidden in a field for years and then accidently found by a trespasser. The finder is ecstatic--what a find!-and proceeds to sell everything he owns to raise money and buy that field. Or, God's kingdom is like a jewel merchant on the hunt for excellent pearls. Finding one that is flawless, he immediately sells everything and buys it."

How do we weave being kind to ourselves with sacrifice?

How do we imagine that we are relational if we do not sacrifice for our relationships?

How do we postulate about mission when we can only be friends with people who speak Mars Hill-ese?

I fear that if Mars Hill, as a community, does not learn to break free of narcissism in order to reach out for the tough, TOUGH call to mision dei (the mission of God), then the re-invented seminary and re-imagined church will just be a re-gurgitation of phariseeism.

Friends, take a moment of encounter with God and ask what you are giving up for the Kingdom of God? Ask God what you must give up for God's kingdom.

Are we willing to "sell everything?"

If not, there is no condemnation; there is no judgement.

Sadly, though, we are missing the Kingdom - which is worth so much more than any kindness we afford ourselves.

2006-04-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

the article is finished!

locked in the ivory tower

2006-04-25T23:57:00.000-07:00

i am almost finished with my grenz article. i read part of it to a friend i deeply respect and who is extremely intelligent - much more than she sees, admits, or is willing to hear.

she didn't understand what it meant. she told me that i'm the person to write the article. i know the terms. i understand the concepts.

what this means, though, is that i have forgotten how to communicate what matters in a way that can be recieved. what this means is that i have, after all, climbed the ivory tower. i just want to shout, FUCK! what good is study if i can't communicate it? what good is a quick mind if i can't bring other to the places my mind flys to? FUCK!

i don't even want to finish the article. it won't mean anything. it won't help anyone. it won't contribute anything more than another convoluted voice to pile of unapproachable and non-transformational voices of the inhabitants of the ivory tower.

the worst part is that i'm not positive that i didn't climb the tower on purpose at some point - to impress people - to impress or prove myself. now, i feel worthless.

what's in a word?

2006-04-25T12:41:00.000-07:00

i am working on my stan grenz article right now. it's going to be an application of his last work, the named god and the question of being: a trinitarian onto-theology. it's title is the named god and the question of evil: a trinitarian re-imagination of theodicy in ministry.

i'll post a link to it when it gets published (next month?)

anyway, i was just thinking about writing - about writing papers, blog entries, articles etc. does anyone really read my blog? is anyone really impacted by my words - other than a chuckle at dan lincoln and the odd things he says? when i write 10 papers in one day and tire myself out over them, is anyone changed by them? am i? would i be changed if i never sat down to write the words? would they still crowd my head? would it just be crowding?

why do i write a blog?

why am i writing an article?

does anyone care?

does it matter if anyone cares?

is writing truly relational? is it trinitarian? do i write trinitarianly? or do i write for the sake of monologue?

how does/will the interaction of author (me) text (this) and reader (you) play out? what are you subjectively doing with my words? how are you using them to interpret me? what meaning is left after we all (author, text, and reader) thow our thoughts, bias, points of view, etc. into the mix?

what is in a word?

The Kingdom in the Face of a Child

2006-04-19T11:01:00.000-07:00

Mars Hill does not have courses on ministry to children. This is a deficit. What seems worse than this educational deficit is the deficit of appreciation and delight. More than a theology of ministry which we can apply to interaction with children, more than a theology of spiritual formation, we need a theology of childhood – of play, of silliness, of giggling, of dancing so unassumingly in the presence of God.

A church without children is a sad and mournful place. The emergent church, who often cul-de-sacs with college and graduate students should not settle for this. We should not seek out parents and accept children – we must seek out children and accept their parents.

How brilliant is the face of God in the face of a child!

the final edition of quotes out of context

2006-04-18T11:01:00.000-07:00

Today marks the end of a journey. My time in class with Dan Allender has ended. It has been life-changing, heart breaking, hope birthing and, at times, hilarious. So, today we have the final edition of quotes out of context.

Obviously, I thought I was not here. I won’t take a vote for you, but I believe that I am here.
I have bricks in my heart.
You want my head on a platter.
[I will tell you] what it is like to be a 52-year-old man being undressed by a 26-year-old man.
You become the referee.
I want you to have that deep deep sense you’re not doing good work.
You are taking a long long walk in a lightening storm with a long pole. If you think you are Benjamin Franklin, try it.
I am messing with dynamite.
You will be blown up.
They will eat you; there is no point to be cannibalized.
Um [knock knock knock] you’re sexualizing your child ma’am.
My task is to stand in your way.
My only job in life [is] to create amvibilancs
Manip, mmm mmmm mm mm mmm m mmmm menos.
You are hearing a photograph.
You have a balloon that you have put a face on.
Do you understand the process of squared? Do you understand the processes of exonentiality?
I might be bluffing.
My task is to make havoc.
Invite me to sin because even then it would be righteous.
You are dealing with hyenas, and that’s another word for children.
It is very important that my children learn to speak.
Your sister is bleeding…it is not spontaneous pious bleeding.
That’s the problem with parenting, its that it takes an extraordinary amount of time.
What did you think when you went to the door and heard the dog barking?
I am wanting to get very small.
You can’t wait to dress your eighteen-month-old daughter in new clothes. She’s a living Barbie doll.
Have you started to read music?

also, he said "ju ju" a lot.

Dreams

2006-04-13T02:55:00.000-07:00

My "interdisciplinary" interpretation paper:

There is something so common to the thread of life that the same scenes play out across cultures – if only in dreams. In Dreams, Akira Kurosawa takes his audience through eight of his own dreams. As he does so, he reveals not only something of his own heart, fears, and understanding of the world – he reveals something of human experience. Thus, coming from a Buddhist worldview, speckles of an apocalyptic end of the world, earned through sinful, greedy living, can be found in this work. As it does not come from a highly Christianized, Western worldview, this connection is both more difficult to find and more rewarding once uncovered.

Before we reach the apocalyptic element of Dreams, we first examine the very form of the film. “I saw at night.” A dream: so begins the eight visions of Zechariah, rich in imagery and potent in meaning. They are instructive and invite Israel into a new way of spiritually being. “A Dream.” So begins Kurosawa’s prophetic work. It seems, at first glance, to be nothing more than an artistic portrayal of those inescapable images dreams leaves us. Digging deeper, it is a poetic autobiography from Kurosawa, feeling his time running out. However, looking more deeply, this is more than a collection of dreams, it is a collection of dreams forming a prophetic work.

Moving on, we look at the visions leading up to the apocalyptic dreams. The first, Sunshine Through Rain, has edenic qualities. A boy, in an innocent world, is warned not to venture out in sunshine and rain, as the foxes have their weddings on these days. He disobeys and is caught watching the foxes. As a result, his mother locks him out, telling him to seek their forgiveness. “They do not usually forgive;” she says, “you should be prepared to die.” With this, the innocence nature, respected, and untouched, is lost. From this point, in the dream, nature is not comforting and humanity and nature struggle with each other.
The second through fourth dreams develop this theme of the sins of humanity and enmity between humanity and nature. Finally, the fifth dream is a hinge. In Crows, an older man walks into a Van Gogh painting. Van Gogh is fighting against time and has a task at hand. He must finish his work before it is too late: before the crows come. After this, Kurosawa’s work takes a different, more instructive and even rushed tone. The first four visions set the stage and the fifth announced the urgency. Now, the prophecy comes.

Mt. Fuji in Red is the first of the two apocalyptic dreams. The mountain is glowing as though erupting. However, it glows because, behind it, nuclear power plants are exploding. The nuclear waste destroys everything and everyone. The same older man as in the last dream is now a tourist, caught up in this storm of people and runs with them as they flee to the sea. When he reaches the sea, there is nowhere else to run. Here he engages in dialogue. In the end, it is revealed that this desperate end is justified punishment for the sins of humanity, for human pride and disbelief that humanity will ever be brought to mourn in such a way.

This dialogue echoes Revelation 18:7:
To the degree that she glorified herself and lived sensuously, to the same degree give her torment and mourning; for she says in her heart, 'I sit as a queen and I am not a widow, and will never see mourning.'

If the sixth dream is apocalyptic, the seventh, The Weeping Demon, is post-apocalyptic: where there was no mourning, the suffering brought for transgressions has now brought weeping. The older man finds himself, again, as a tourist. He is climbing a dark mountain and finds a mourning man. He looks more closely at the man and asks, “Are you a demon?” The man affirms, “I suppose I am.” He continues, “Once was human,” but now he and all those whose greed led to a nuclear apocalypse are punished with eternal life and suffering. Where they feasted at the expense of nature and of the poor, now they hunger and have nothing to eat but each other. There is real sense of drinking double from the cup they poured. Finally, the demon-man turns of the traveler and, again, the viewer craves escape.

Village of the Watermills, the final vision offers exactly that, a sense of escape. The tourist is now walking through a bright, breathtaking, simple town, adorned with spring flowers. He comes upon a man who is working a watermill. The two discuss. In a fairly preachy way, the conclusion is brought: this simple way of life is the alternative to the death and destruction he has seen. The invitation is, in essence, to return to the boy of the first dream and keep him from engaging in that original sin that tore humanity and nature apart, or at least to live as though it hadn’t happened.

Obviously, these are very Buddhist ideals. The first, obvious, thing a Christian can receive from this film is a picture of sin and purity in an Eastern mindset. Through this, we see Kurosawa’s lens and interpretation – not so much of Christian scriptures or even of his dreams, but more his dreams’ interpretation of life, of the common human fear of a cataclysmic and deserved end of life, and the longing for something different – something I would describe as worship.

Through this film, we see common threads of human life that are reflected in Christian scriptures as well as in the dreams of Kurosawa. We find that our faith tells the story of fallen beings created in the image of God and that the struggles and even fear and thoughts of a catastrophic but just and hyperbolically punitive end to the world runs in the veins of humanity.
A person of faith can engage this film by calling for something more than a retreat to simplicity. Retreat, as Revelation reveals, is not the way to restoration – judgment brings restoration. More importantly, the judgment does not return us to Eden. To the contrary, it takes us to a new city. Given how sinful cities are this seems too impossible. Can the whore of Babylon be destroyed? Can a city come that does not prey upon the poor? The answer is worship. A city built on worship, will worship as God has called – through justice.

Finally, I’d like us to return to that word worship. At the beginning of Revelation 18, God calls God’s people out. Like God called God’s people out of Egypt to worship, in Revelation 18, the call is the same. Do not be caught in her sin – in her pride and abuse – instead, worship. Kurosawa’s first seven dreams paint a picture. His eighth dream pens an invitation, “Come out of this, my people, do not participate in the modern world’s abuse of nature and ridiculous pride in the face of nuclear weaponry and power. Instead, come to a worshipful, simple way of living.” The difference we must highlight and praise is that Revelation calls for worship of a triumphant God who redeems God’s people and destroys the city who has spilled their blood (metaphorically as it may be). The call is not to worship or restore peace with a passive world that we must care for, but to bow in jubilant worship of the God who reigns and redeems.

Ravenna: 5 bdrm craftsman - no vacancy!

2006-04-12T11:23:00.000-07:00

the location of sinners and saints seattle is now official!

we got the ravenna house!

to emily, jen, and mary, our new neighbors: i hope you know how much we love you and how much ass we will kick at mars hill tag!

i am excited for what the next year will bring in our community!

quotes out of context - holy week edition

2006-04-11T00:11:00.000-07:00

Actually, I am a holograph tonight.
Take your shoes off.
Can I have ice cream tonight?
You are on the phone and you talk too much.
There’s not really that much difference between [gangs and church youth groups].
If there is a way that you can come to eat one less shoe, you will have done well.
You have created a nightmare.
You little miserable worm of a sinner!
Get on the ground and give me a hundred push-ups.
Watch the TV show called “nanny something.”
Birth order sucks.
There are rules and you will bow to them, sucker.
You had your own horse.
If you weren’t [the black sheep] you probably would have gone to Fuller.
You go to movies. You actually read fiction.
Count to four hundred and forty-four.
You go to school with dirty clothes.
You go to school smelling like a pigsty.
Parents for the most part are dumb.
I want food now.
I won’t let you have contact with me.

Also...Mike Biers:
"Armpits are always the best."

a broken heart love's cradle is

2006-04-09T21:56:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last day re-connecting with my beautiful baby (my twelve string guitar). Together, we have really dove into the following song. As one who has come to know something about communal mourning, let me invite you into a week of mourning "our lord is crucified." please read the lyrics and let them take sorriful root in your soul - so that this sunday will be all the sweeter - and the eschatological sunday all the more longed for.

O come and mourn with me awhile,
O come ye to the Savior’s side
O come, together let us mourn,
Jesus our Lord is crucified.

Seven times He spake seven words of love;
And all three hours His silence cried
For mercy on the souls of men;
Jesus our Lord is crucified.

O love of God! O sin of man!
In this dread act Your strength is tried;
And victory remains with love;
Jesus our Lord is crucified!

O break, O break, hard heart of mine!
Thy weak self-love and guilty pride
His Pilate and His Judas were:
Jesus our Lord is crucified.

A broken heart, a fount of tears,
Ask, and they will not be denied;
A broken heart love’s cradle is:
Jesus our Lord is crucified.

baseball and eschatology: when the mariner's bullpin comes out, start praying "come quickly lord!"

2006-04-08T09:59:00.000-07:00

there we sat, 30 rows from the field and half way between home plate and first base. the pitching from the other team was awe-inspiring...from our team, awful. two boys sitting next to us shouted excitedly for every batter. jeremy reed really isn't a baseball player's name - there's nothing to shout. still, one boy shouted "JER-EM-Y!" and the other tagged, "REED!" their refusal to see the game for what it was, a total disappointment - after a high-scoring season, birthed great respect for thses pre-pubescent sports enthusiasts.

at one point, we left our awesome seats to get dinner. two sandwihes and two soft drinks. and your total is: $27.50. ,i could hear the boys chanting for the triumphant tyrant who had claimed such a prize for two sad sad sandwiches and pepsi brand soft drinks: "let's go" "price gaugers!" "let's go" "price gaugers!" or "extra extra" "read all about it" "you got taken" "no doubt about it!" "gooooooooo capitolistically over-financed mariner's owners! yeah!"

in the middle of the game, i found out why my uncle had invited me: "your parents told me you've had a lot of stress in your life." i don't know why, but i was surprised by that statement. "oh, you mean the death"

a bewildered look overtook my uncle's face. death? the capitol hill thing? did you know someone there?

i explainded the connection and was too weary and too aware that we were in excellent seats at a mariner's game to be present to it or to recieve sympathy.
"it wasn't one of the really young ones was it?"
"he was 21"
"oh, good, you know - at least he was an adult. i was worried when i first herad about it that it might be my friend's daughter....blah blah blah....i'm not going to see you in this...blah blah blah....you know?"
"yeah, i totally agree....blah blah blah...that's fine - i'm tired anyway and quite used to not being seen...blah blah blah...so, yeah, it's good that your friend's daughter doesn't go to raves in seattle."

- long pause before it hits me -

"what did my parent's say i'm stressed out about?"
"well, you aren't going to be able to go to ireland this summer and your cousin's wedding is stressing you out."

my indifference turned quickly to rage - HAS MY COUSIN'S NARCISSISM INFECTED MY PARENTS TOO! DO THEY NOT SEE THERE IS SOMETHING ELSE GOING ON HERE!? DO THEY NOT UNDERSTAND THAT THE VERY REASON MY COUSIN'S NARCISSISM IS STRESSING ME OUT IS BECAUSE SHE REFUSED TO SEE HOW CHRIS' DEATH WAS AFFECTING ME!?!

i explained to my uncle WHY my cousin's wedding was stressing me out. he said, "wow," stared off into space then noted, "they're finally warming up the bullpin - hopefully things will change."

things didn'tchange. the bullpin made things worse (an utterly familiar feeling for mariner's fans). why did he flee a difficult present to a knowingly hopeless and inconsequential future? the same reason the church runs to the doctrine of soveriegnty in the face of evil. God's soveriegnty doesn't make pain like that inflicted by the massacre go away. it never, this side of eternity, seems to make sense either - unless we force it to - like a puzzle piece that just doesn't fit. can't we sit in the evil of this world and see it as that without running to something pretty - or an excuse for something pretty - ie a mariner's relief pitcher?

sometimes the only solace at a mariner's game is that this game will end. the suffering of no hits and shitty pitching will come to an end and we'll all leave this stadium, where we are so proud of our status, where we cheer for something we have no control over, as though it gave us control, where they bring a clown dressed as a moose out to cheer us up, and make us care about a game that's depressing us and is not of ultimate value. the fact we learn is that there is inexplicable suffering at safeco stadium. we don't try to say the coach is soveriegn when he leaves a dying pitcher in. we just, in our wise moments, sigh, realizing we are not in control, and turn to - rather than away from - that eschatological moment when this suffering will end, and we will trudge through traffic to our homes where warm beds, freinds/family, exquisite food, and possibly even a roaring fire (in the fire place) waits to welcome us into reality.

2006-04-06T02:21:00.000-07:00

i just completed and turned in quite literally the worst paper i have ever written. it was an exegesis paper. gcts would be embarassed. me, i'm tired and long for bed, so that's where i'm going.

the return of quotes out of context

2006-04-03T17:21:00.000-07:00

Last Week:
“I will make you suffer.”
“A woman can take chemicals to keep her from having menses.”
“It’s night and you must go to bed.”
“Don’t you want to go get ice cream with Daddy?”
“The living room will be the mark of Hell for your child.”
“Thursday evening is when my best three TV shows are.”
“[The Left Behind Series] is theological pornography.”
“Watching Dr. Phil and Oprah together [is pornography].”
“I knew enough to know that she was and is whacked.”
“You will sweat.”
“I’m pretty sure…that I could shoot you.”
"I am a mercurial and difficult man who might explode and shoot you in this field.”
“You don’t matter that much for me to shoot you in this field.”
“I have friends…I have one friend.”
“You can find joy by being a big fish, or by being a relatively good sized fish.”
“We all want many more courses for programs particularly because we want you to stay for 15, 20 years.”
“There will be little enjoyment if they have sex.”

This Week:
“Marriage counseling is mud wrestling.”
“You will be in a mess.”
“Don’t ever find yourself in a position of being a referee.”
“How old are you?”
“I will enter a buzz saw.”
“Are you going to take me on?”
“How are you at being hated?”
“I went to Jones Junior High School.”
“Don’t ever start a graduate school.”
“They are looking at your shoe.”
“Is your grip firm or too firm?”
“Consider everything you’ve just said useless.”
“You are a good narcissist.”
“Yes my mother was crazy.”
“You will not say ‘Hello’ well.”
“Your failure is cherished.”
“You are the murderer.”
“You are one of the greatest murderers on the face of the earth. I don’t know if there has ever been a greater murderer…than you.”
“Do triage to keep the couples from killing each other.”

One not our of context and to beautiful not to share:
“Empathy is the radical, absurd entry of God into this world. It is the radical, absurd entry of one soul into another.”

Also Paul Steinke:
“We’re not going to kiss you at this point.”
"I can identify with the desire to be drunk."
"I will pursue you in this."

cover me with shit and watch me grow!

2006-04-02T17:19:00.000-07:00

when you plant flowers, you have to cover them in shit in order for them to grow.

my brother and I came to see this through a tough spot in our family story.

i'd rather not, here, get into a philosophical discussion of "did God put this week's manure on the flowers or does he simply use the manure evil heaped on us to grow us? if God is all powerful, isn't God responsible for all manure?" that question will be discussed in exhausting circles for ages to come.

today, i just want to say that this has definately been the week from hell. it literally began when evil came from hell to that blue house on capitol hill and continued as tough ciricumstances arose in my life and in the lives of everyone around me.

today, one week after i heard about the shooting, i am amazed at who i have been and become this week. specifically, as i have seen and felt narcissism in ugly places, as i have been cared for others only to recieve surpassing care and felt, therefore, more able to give even more and more extravagent care, i have become exceedingly excited for my house church - to be a missional place truning narcissism into mutuality and raggedness into a ravenous appetite to seek the kingdom of God.

this has been a shitty way to grow - but, like i said, you have to cover flowers with shit in order for them to grow.
when they do grow, they forge through the manure to turn their faces in exquisite praise of God!
may we all do the same.

a slow migration toward glory

2006-03-31T16:28:00.000-08:00

Have you ever looked at the sky on a day when the clouds more than blanket the eart - when they seem to create a luminescent ceiling for the earth? Have you noticed their slow, methodic movement - like an ancient migration? As you speed down i-5 maybe you feel like you are moving faster than the clouds, but their slow movement is so great that, paced as it is, it moves as though you were standing still. You know, something much much bigger than what i see or what i am is moving.

times like these, i remember God moves in much bigger ways that i can ever speed to keep up with or even fathom - God is simply there and moving.

Yesterday, i saw such clouds in my life. they were dark, but comforting. though they hid the brilliance of the sun (of course there is the hideous pun here "son"), the told me that the kingdom of God is moving beyond my understanding.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

at 1pm, the first funeral guests arrived. they greeted me with love and community
"hey, where's your black hoodie? deacon always wore back hoodie. you should have too. oh well. do they really let you work here with facial piercings? a tattoo too? wow. have you ever been a camp counselor? i go to camp to ride the horses. my name is peaches, but my real name is felicia. we have to let people know our real names. we have to stick together."

"hi, i'm trinidad, but really my name is josh. i want people to know that now. i'm not wearing any candy because deacon never did. it's in his memory."

at 2, the funeral started. around 2:30, the mic was opened for anyone to share a story about "deacon"

raver after raver after raver came to the mic. their words were holy. the experience was as vivid an experience as i've ever had of the kingdom of God.

at 3:30 (ish) my pastor stepped in to end the endless line of articulate mourners. he informed us that "deacon" was the one who held the door shut. he died saving the lives of many.

he then talked about how Chris' rave name was "deacon." He was a deacon at the church. he pledged an oath to serve the church and community with energy, intelligence, creativity and love. through the stories we heard, we knew he took this vow seriously. and so he is remembered as "deacon."

________________________________________________________________________________________

none of it makes sense yet - but i see the clouds moving. i know God is working, slowly, tenderly, mightily and presently.

here is to waiting and watching as the clouds give way to a glorious painting in t he sky.

thank you

2006-03-30T19:23:00.000-08:00

i came home from the funeral - trudging through traffic.

i fell onto the couch and watched the news coverage of the event i'd just seen.

realizing i had an hour to get back to church and traffic was bad, i went to my room to change clothes.

while in my room, i decided to check my email. nothing. all day on a day i needed others and there was nothing. i thought to myself, "some day Becky, you'll realize no one's going to email you. no one's going to care what your day is like. no one is in your corner." melodramatic? yes. but i'd just returned from the funeral of a 21 year old killed in a massacre so, i'm allowed melodramaitc if it's what i feel.

a part of me still held some stupid hope that at least one friend would care. i hit refresh and was overwhelmed by what i saw - message after message of support and care - largely from people i've never even met - thank you annie!

i just burst into tears.

thank you all so much. there are no words. just thank you.

2006-03-30T09:16:00.000-08:00

the funeral is today at my church at 2pm.

please pray for all who come - and those who decide not to.

Remember God is Using You

2006-03-30T00:18:00.000-08:00

This post is for you my friend - you know I would never quote a Christian song on my blog except for you!

There is no pain. Jesus can't feel.
No hurt he can not heal.
All things work,
according to his perfect will.
No matter what,
your going through.
Remember God is using you.
For the battle is not yours.
It's the Lords.

There is no sadness.
Jesus can't heal
and there is no sorrow
Jesus can't feel.
All things work according to
the Masters Holy Will.
For the battle is not yours.
It's the Lords

(It's the Lords)

It's the Lords.
It is the Lords.
Hold your head up high.
Don't you cry [this part is total bullshit! cry! lots!]. It's the Lords.
No matter what. Your going through
remember God is using you.
For the battle is not yours. It's the Lords
-Yolanda Adams

no moment of transformation, of encounter, of redeeming love, of birthing hope amidst dispair comes without God orchestrating it.

i found this to be true tonight as my compassion for a treasured friend drove me to the grocery store to get her a boquet of flowers.

"hmmm....roses? spring flowers? how much money do i have? can i get her both? oh...i have more money than i thought.
hmmm...wouldn't it be awesome if it was overwhelming? i'll get tons of flowers.
oh and candles! lots of candles.
you know what i'll do, i set the candles up outside - oh and some rose petals! yeah! then she can come in and see the rest of the flowers!

by the time i left safeway, a simple flower arrangement had morphed into an elaborate set up. as my friend met this surprise, it was, to her, a prophetic and hope-giving experience that i could never have planned or known. only God could have given her that gift.

how great it is and was to playfully, whole-heartedly live into loving a friend only to find that God orchestrated my heart into God's exquisite painting for my friend.

we interrupt your regularly scheduled blog post for a piece of broken news

2006-03-28T14:34:00.000-08:00

no quotes of context today. the context of this week leaves no space for it.

today I organized a youth event.
whirley ball?
movie night?
the spring retreat?
no. a youth group trip to a memorial service.
this should not be. this must not be.
someone told me recently, "no one is equipped to handle death. we were not designed to handle death."
this is true - but fuck, there it is. so, what now?
i become angry at God.

why couldn't the police officer happen by fifteen minutes earlier and stopped him before rather than after?
why the face?
why did he go to that rave to give people his phone number...i have his phone number in my phone - i have a dead man's phone number in my phone.
no - i'm not designed to handle this. and here it is, for me to handle.
so, i need God. where is and who is God?

i see myself like a little girl in her father's arms. she is angry and pounding his large, sturdy chest with her small, weak fists.

"I hate you! Don't hug me. Leave me alone. You did this. You did this. Why didn't you stop him!?!"
My fists slow and the intense embrace of my father grows tighter. I continue as the intensity of my voice dies.

"Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you stop it in the fucking garden? Why didn't you protect him? Why didn't you protect me? You didn't protect me. I'm scared because you didn't protect me.

My fists come to a stop, nestled in his chest as his arms clamp even tighter around me. Yelling turns to sobbing as my tears pound him with the same smallness and weakness of my fists.

"I'm scared. I'm scared Daddy. It's so dark. It's so evil. They shot him in the face - the face Daddy. I'm scared. I'm alone and scared."

My fists release their grip and I gently push my father away enough to see his face. He is crying. His tears intertwine with the residue of mine. His large, powerful hands grip my small arms as he pulls me close again. My arms rap around him and his encircle me. Together we cry.

He says to me:
"It is dark out there. It is evil. They shot him in the face. They shot my baby in the face I made for him - the face I put myself in and my thumbprint on. You are scared. You are not alone. Hope is here. Redemption will come...but today, let's cry together.

He rests his weighty head gently on mine as his tears annoint my head like a calling, like a balm, like cleasinig water. I am baptized in his grief. He holds my hand - so small in his that I hold only his index finger, like a baby learning to walk. Together, we sob and walk into the lives of others, so desperate not to be alone in the darkness, the evil, the fear.

And so is my calling - to lead as a child - to grieve and wail and to invite all God's children to be bathed in God's tears and clothed in his embrace.

___________________________________________________________

This reminds me of a poem I wrote last August:
flying away
from the work you've given
into the rest you've invited
my eyes accidentally meet yours
majestically burning, washing, and watching above the world you redeem

my mind rushes to accusation and projection
my heart tosses in a sea of question and distrust
my soul is drawn in and repulsed in a nausiating instant
my strength is gone and so does nothing

our heads are hung and our eyes are weepy
as we stand in a moment of tense experience

you speak silently:
you stand in a shadow of disappointment
of things waited for
the dark, loveless, graceless shadow
in whose darkness you hide
it is not my shadow
it is not the shadow of who i wait for
it is the shadow of the you that you are tired of waiting for.

do not create me in your image

i look again,
you stand regally over the world
with open hands
your weepy eyes weep
not with exhaustion....as mine do
not with disappointment...as mine do
not with pity...as mine do

they weep with perfect and present love
i see you
i adress you
i am adressed by you

encounter

how long have you been there
waiting for me
to peer honestly into your fire and ocean eyes
to be in present love

de-humanization

2006-03-26T17:02:00.000-08:00

today in church, the children's story was Judas' Kiss. It wasn't the betrayal or the swords and clubs - it wasn't the hord of enemies he brought in tow - it wasn't really even the kiss. it was the intimacy, the coming near, the lips touching skin and saliva annointing the face of another that brought me to tears this morning.

i thought to myself, this is not what a kiss is for.

today in church, the first story i heard was death. one of the youth (now 21 - who has not been in the youth group while i've been there - but who has come many times) from my church was killed in the zombie massacre saturday. his mom was at church saturday night when she found out. she didn't find out until late because it took the police all day to identify the victims. it took the police all day to identift the victims because they were shot in the face.

again, tears - sobbing.

i thought to myself, this is not what a face is for.

_______________________________________________________________________

after church, i heard one woman - who i always struggle with - laughing and saying, "you have to trust that God is soveriegn in this."

do you? today?
do you have to laugh? today?
does life have to go on? today?

the story of Jesus does go on. but today, i grieve the kiss.
life, will go on. today, i grieve the death - i grieve the de-facing - i grieve the de-humanization of those i love, who were created in God's image and deserve so much more than a betraying kiss and a violent death.

ladner out of context

2006-03-25T10:48:00.000-08:00

Liz: last night Jesus was in my dream.
Annie: Oh (tilts head as she sighs like a little girl over a puppy dog or a pre-teen over a heart throb), was he as ugly as the Bible says he is?

Five months and counting...

2006-03-24T15:38:00.000-08:00

I have four and a half months - or less - left at my current job.

It seems a good time to start imagining what Sinners and Saints Seattle will look like.

Questions swarming my mind as a procrastinate on an exegesis paper:

Where will we be located? Missionally, I'd love to live in White Center - practically, none of my friends do.

Will we be connected with a denomination? Mennonite?

What will our connection with Sinners and Saints look like?

Who will be a part of the community?

Will we have children?

Will we have a diversity of age?

What will we teach first? How will we teach? Will we teach?

What social service organization can we be attached to?

What high-needs community members will we be blessed with?

How will we care for eachother?

What kinds of art will be birthed from our engagement?

As I thnk of September, I find myself praying for the family members I'll find and for the beginning of our weaving as a family in Christ.

to honor the multitude with mourning

2006-03-23T15:57:00.000-08:00

29,000 die of hunger every day. That’s 29,000 faces that reflected God’s face. That’s 29,000 portions of the image of God. That’s 29,000 stories God wrote that are lost to us this side of Heaven. That’s 29,000 of God’s children. 29,000 of God’s friends. 29,000 of Christ’s brothers and sisters. 29,000 of God’s paintings. 29,000 of God’s gifts to us.

Will we seek their stories? Will we do everything in our power to save their lives? Will we remember them? Will we mourn their souls, their eyes, their finger prints, their unique DNA, their laughter, their faces? Will we treasure them?

In the kingdom of God, does a sparrow fall so idly? Does a human being fall idly? Do 29,000? Daily?

I want to invite the community around me to a week of mourning – wearing black, not wearing makeup, not celebrating, only painful laughter – a week of holding the 20 lives lost every minute in our minds every minute that passes.

Anyone who would want to join me in mourning, I invite you to comment on suggestions of a week and what that might look like – meeting every night to watch films or hear voices of the ongoing tragedy? A community blog? Service?

where my tax return will go

2006-03-21T15:00:00.000-08:00

quotes out of context, season two episode 8

2006-03-21T09:32:00.000-08:00

My glasses are the problem.

Now listen idiot. Listen you little jackass recently graduated with an MA in what? from where? I will eat your flesh.

I will let people know what an idiot you are.

You shouldn’t be afraid of death. You should be afraid of me.

I can smell your breath.

Will you now go and get a cold glass of water?

I am the man.

Additional quotes out of context:
"I love shame."
Nick Sagnibene

"The Princess Bride is the Christian sub-culture's Star Wars."
-Emily Thomas

shit

2006-03-20T01:29:00.000-08:00

i've said "shit" many times tonight.

shit i have a lot of work to do

shit my cousin's mad at me because i'm not helping with the wedding too much

shit there's nothing vegetarian on this menu

shit how do i write this tough paper about my family

but then came the painful one

shit

my parent's don't care about me

they don't love me

they use me

they, in fact, hate me

shit.

biers out of context

2006-03-15T21:19:00.000-08:00

"washing people's feet in the dark? that's not good. that's like havin sex in the dark."

"suing is one of the greatest things we can do."

out of context -- and out of print.

2006-03-14T00:42:00.000-08:00

the quotes tonight were irresistable...but....so irresistable that they are better not put on the internet...

so, here's a photo out of context (courtesy of eagle and child) in their stead.

okay - here's the g rated quotes:

“You are desperately young and that is not your fault.”

“You are old compared to a fourth grader.”

“If you could do four jumping jacks, it would be clear.”

“Don’t pirate CDs. That’s a public service announcement brought to you by Mars Hill.”
-Misty Anne

congrats to my roomie on her handsome nephew!

2006-03-09T19:37:00.000-08:00

Requiem

2006-03-08T19:25:00.000-08:00

Today could be your burial
Rain pounds the ground like too many unshed tears
Umbrella up, narrowly protecting me as I stand
Still drenched as heaven wails
My high heals sink into the deeply dampened ground
Now your home
And I never knew you
I never heard your story

Today could be your funeral
The pastor’s face sags as though he knew, loved, and lost you
Boredom like a wall barely protects my hardened heart
Still broken as heaven mourns
My hands artificially raise, pointing beyond vaulted ceilings to heaven
Now your home
And I never knew you
I never heard your story

And you were
And I wish I was
And we’re all supposed to be
More and more
Human

I heard of your death like everyone’s
On cheap newsprint
Their pictures
Their stories
Their grieving families
And charities in lieu of flowers

No picture
No story
No grieving family
Just a number: one in 29,000
And a charity anesthetic for the pain

And you are
And I wish I was
And we’re all supposed to be

Supposed to...

But you left
And I wish I could
And we all tend to be
Less and less
Human

to be (un)told

2006-03-08T12:06:00.000-08:00

i'm looking for stories of the lives of african, southeast asian, and south american children.

i've been looking for three hours.

i've found 4.

what i've found hundreds of are children's stories from these areas.

apparently, a story written by J. Smith about a playful Monkey is a story "to be told," and a life lost to hunger - 29,000/day - is not to be told.

those stories that i have found are one paragraph of information on the child's life before x charity came and offered hope. this is beautiful, but seriously, what about the other 28,999 children? couldn't there something beautiful in telling stories of children - even if it doesn't end up helping them? sure, that's not enough. it is grossly not enough. but, still, simply to tell a person's story in honor of that person - this seems an upholding of the imago dei in children whose lives have not been celebrated.

mars hill students: what if we planned a trip to aftica either in january or next summer with the purpose of setting up a website that honors the stories of african children? would anyone be interested in that?

will the real Jesus please stand up?

2006-03-06T11:59:00.000-08:00

every year for 30 years my church has gone to othello, wa to work with migrant farm workers' children. the children are mainly from mexico and guatamala.

every year for 30 years, my church has used flannelgraph to tell these children bible stories.

every year for 30 years, my church has used WHITE flannelgraph characters, with every angel being blonde with blue eyes to invite these latino children into the community of faith.

enter me.

i can't live with that. so....

yesterday i made the suggestion - ok, maybe sternly stated that we need change - that we use either jewish looking flannelgrpah characters or latino ones.

the response: an enraged glare and near-shouting proclamation "latino characters would be highly inappropriate because we are talking about jewish culture here!"

my response: "well, a white jesus is highly inappropriate too, but we've used that for years."

the leader who spoke up sat outraged, rolling his eyes and fuming in the corner for the rest of the meeting.

no amount of explatives can express how i feel. i want to give up, but it's not my church i'm fighting for here, it is young children who need to be able to see themselves in the biblical stories.

how do we make it clear: Jesus is not white!

Image, Community, Christ, and Gender

2006-03-04T23:57:00.000-08:00

what is the weight of our understanding of humanity and of the image of God? how could re-visiting and highlighting this subject dramatically alter our lives?

given the Barthian understanding of the imago dei as the potential of i/thou relationship, and actually taking that a step further via the two great commandments, it seems obvious that the imago dei is in the potential for i/thou relationship with God and with humanity - and, actually, that the imago dei is untwisted from the fall in mutually loving relationhips between i/thou and i/divine thou - (wow this is getting to be a long and confusing intro to the question i want to ask - and sincerely hope you will comment on!) - we can conclude that to be imago dei - which is to be human - is to be communal.

we can, then, further conclude that no single human being can be "human". rather, a communal collection of beings become human as they are relating.

given this, as we look at the necessity of Jesus' humanity, the question becomes, can Jesus be human without the community of those around him? can we conclude that God, genuinely needed certian human beings in order to become fully human? did Jeus need the disciples (12 apostles and other - including women) in order to be a human and thereby redeem humanity?

ruminating further on the imago dei, genesis 1 makes it crystal clear that female and male are communally needed for the fullness of the imago dei, and therefore for humanness.

what does this mean for the humanity of Jesus? does his gestational community with Mary become key in his humanity? do the women who follow and love Jesus provide fuller humanity to Jesus? does their remaining at the cross play a role in Jesus' being human at the moment of crucifixion?

more applicably, does this, then, mean that when we make ministry an entirely male vocation, do we de-humanize leadership in the church? do we de-humanize our leaders? does becoming Christlike mean becoming human? and, if so, does this, then mean engaging more and more perichoretically with gender until our perichoresis mirror's God's and, in our humanness male and female and co-existing in loving community?

the obvious, though distateful from my unmarried point of view, is that we are most human in sexual encounters when the diversity of male and female work together to bring about mutual pleasure for the glory of God (or love).

what does that mean for ministry? male and female ministerial partenering? the importance, and even utter centrality of a theology of sex? what does this speak to the issue of homosexuality? modes of preaching? the theological texts we pick and choose to read from? who seminaries hire to instruct in ministry?

if male and femaleness are so utterly necessary to reflect - and thereby glorify - God, how does this change our theology? what life does it invite us to live? what becomes our catechesis?

so...there's some theological vomitting for you to sort through and begin to reflect on. please, please discuss this!