Today, I told over 3000 people how to interpret the Bible, how to raise children and how to honor parents. In preparation, I prayed, sought wisdom and studied, but in the end, the words were mine alone and I am responsible for them. Sometimes that frightens me.
I know that I worship a beautiful and merciful God, but it humbles me to think of the incredible responsibility it is to step into that pulpit. We teach people to study the Bible on their own and we trust that the Spirit leads each one, but the pastor still shepherds and guides an entire flock and it should sometimes cause him to lose sleep....
I'll post the message once the file's ready, but the slides are on the right (Andy, take a peek).
Update: the sermon's up and it's in mp3 now. You can get the real audio stream from here. Sorry, no podcast!
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Sunday, November 13, 2005
A Well-Spent Sunday
I knew today would be different from the moment we got to Tom Thumb. We were already running late for church and no one was fighting about it. 30 minutes later we drove past Bent Tree, doomed to enter the service almost a full half-hour late. Since there are four of us who nudge our way to a seat "excuse me" style, we considered that a bit too late, and we went on to Starbucks where I saw at least four other Bent Tree folks. I bought three kid's size hot chocolates and had a wonderful talk with a breast cancer survivor that opened to a discussion about faith, and then my family went to my office to down the cocoa.
At the office, my daughters had a great time playing with the remote control flatulence machine (I can't bring myself to say "fart") and the Whoopie Cushion that had been left in my chair. Then Maddie spilled it all over herself and Mom rushed her to the van for a clean shirt (Wendy has those kinds of things in the van) and on to class and for Deersnake's debut lesson. For lunch, we decided to grab some sandwiches and some store-bought cokes and head to the Arbor Creek park for a picnic. It sounded wonderful.
I grew up in the country and I'm pretty accustomed to bees, but I've never had so much trouble with honey bees. I don't like to kill honey bees, but some bees bother you in ways that are sure to get a child stung, like flying near an armpit, so I began to strike. After I killed 13, we decided to eat our cookies while walking on the trail. I'm pretty sure that a couple were following me. Perhaps I had picked up a pheromone or something--Madison thinks I might be made of sugar. Bee 16 stung me while I squeezed him thoroughly (it was getting intense), and upon killing bee number 17 (honest, we were counting), we got in the car. Then Megan shook her Sprite to drink the bubbles and spewed it all over her pants! We taught her how to close the lid when that happens.
Back at the office, we changed a wet pair of undies (from the Sprite) and Mackenzie fell in the toilet, which put a damper on her otherwise nearly-complete potty training. And something embarrassing happened to Wendy that I promised not to write down. Then we passed time until Wendy's meeting (which is why we stayed in Carrollton all day), had a sing-a-long with Seth, watched Mike's Hootenanny video and things got quiet for awhile. After the meeting, the girls came over to my class until they were bored and Mackenzie had a poo-poo accident because the earlier trauma had kept her from using the bathroom.
We got home about seven and rushed to eat the incorrect order we picked up at Long John Silvers so Megan and I could finish the Cherokee Indian house we were making for her class tomorrow. As we ate, we narrated the events of the day and began to see the necessity of writing this down. Once in the garage, Megan and I realized we didn't have time for her to change clothes--if she went back inside Mom would make her get ready for bed and we'd lose the moment. So, Meg shucked her extra clothing and put on my apron and we mudded the roof of her Cherokee mud and wattle house. Then the kids went to bed and Wendy and I talked through Gray's Anatomy without worrying about Greek this week.
Today's Cost:
1 missed worship service
1 trip to Tom Thumb to make a kindergarten class special (reimbursed!)
3 small hot chocolates that make little girls smile at Dad ($3)
1 inspiring conversation with a breast cancer survivor
1 dirty shirt
5 students who hung out during our missed service
1 chance for Deersnake to teach for the pure joy of teaching the Bible
1 hastily eaten lunch from Baker Bros (too much $; back to McAllister's)
3 large drinks from a quick mart ($3.50)
17 dead honey bees (really, I don't lie about bees)
1 well deserved bee sting
1 botched picnic
1 sing-a-long
1 funny video that they didn't get but made them feel like big kids
1 lesson on carbonation
1 game of air hockey with a poker chip
2 pairs of small underwear
1 potty setback
3 girls who like Whoopie Cushions: 1 lady who doesn't
1 wrong order from LJS that tasted the same anyway ($17.50)
1 Cherokee dwelling replica completed in an apron.
1 long and relaxing talk with Wendy
1 letter for our new friend Maria
Total: one of the best days of my life.
At the office, my daughters had a great time playing with the remote control flatulence machine (I can't bring myself to say "fart") and the Whoopie Cushion that had been left in my chair. Then Maddie spilled it all over herself and Mom rushed her to the van for a clean shirt (Wendy has those kinds of things in the van) and on to class and for Deersnake's debut lesson. For lunch, we decided to grab some sandwiches and some store-bought cokes and head to the Arbor Creek park for a picnic. It sounded wonderful.
I grew up in the country and I'm pretty accustomed to bees, but I've never had so much trouble with honey bees. I don't like to kill honey bees, but some bees bother you in ways that are sure to get a child stung, like flying near an armpit, so I began to strike. After I killed 13, we decided to eat our cookies while walking on the trail. I'm pretty sure that a couple were following me. Perhaps I had picked up a pheromone or something--Madison thinks I might be made of sugar. Bee 16 stung me while I squeezed him thoroughly (it was getting intense), and upon killing bee number 17 (honest, we were counting), we got in the car. Then Megan shook her Sprite to drink the bubbles and spewed it all over her pants! We taught her how to close the lid when that happens.
Back at the office, we changed a wet pair of undies (from the Sprite) and Mackenzie fell in the toilet, which put a damper on her otherwise nearly-complete potty training. And something embarrassing happened to Wendy that I promised not to write down. Then we passed time until Wendy's meeting (which is why we stayed in Carrollton all day), had a sing-a-long with Seth, watched Mike's Hootenanny video and things got quiet for awhile. After the meeting, the girls came over to my class until they were bored and Mackenzie had a poo-poo accident because the earlier trauma had kept her from using the bathroom.
We got home about seven and rushed to eat the incorrect order we picked up at Long John Silvers so Megan and I could finish the Cherokee Indian house we were making for her class tomorrow. As we ate, we narrated the events of the day and began to see the necessity of writing this down. Once in the garage, Megan and I realized we didn't have time for her to change clothes--if she went back inside Mom would make her get ready for bed and we'd lose the moment. So, Meg shucked her extra clothing and put on my apron and we mudded the roof of her Cherokee mud and wattle house. Then the kids went to bed and Wendy and I talked through Gray's Anatomy without worrying about Greek this week.
Today's Cost:
1 missed worship service
1 trip to Tom Thumb to make a kindergarten class special (reimbursed!)
3 small hot chocolates that make little girls smile at Dad ($3)
1 inspiring conversation with a breast cancer survivor
1 dirty shirt
5 students who hung out during our missed service
1 chance for Deersnake to teach for the pure joy of teaching the Bible
1 hastily eaten lunch from Baker Bros (too much $; back to McAllister's)
3 large drinks from a quick mart ($3.50)
17 dead honey bees (really, I don't lie about bees)
1 well deserved bee sting
1 botched picnic
1 sing-a-long
1 funny video that they didn't get but made them feel like big kids
1 lesson on carbonation
1 game of air hockey with a poker chip
2 pairs of small underwear
1 potty setback
3 girls who like Whoopie Cushions: 1 lady who doesn't
1 wrong order from LJS that tasted the same anyway ($17.50)
1 Cherokee dwelling replica completed in an apron.
1 long and relaxing talk with Wendy
1 letter for our new friend Maria
Total: one of the best days of my life.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Rolling with Stones
Wendy just got back from the doctor and it looks like she's got a lot more fun to look forward to with her kidneys. There are multiple small "stones" present and more tests ahead to determine a course (either to halt their growth or to attack them). So, one x-ray down and now one to come every six months (and a deductible to meet in the meantime). You can read about our first kidney stone experience here.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Reminiscence
Okay, I'm always embarassed to admit that I actually write poetry--I fear it damages my manly image... Anyway, I wrote this the other night, in reference to Robbie Oyler in particular, but to suicide in general. Don't worry, I'm not suicidal, just melancholy lately. Richard Cory is a character from 1890-1897 created by Edwin Arlington Robinson. You can read his poem here.
Reminiscence
Richard Cory was my friend
and all of us in love with him
were smitten on the third week's end:
he flew away like dust in wind.
Eyes that spoke of peace denied
and emptiness where hope should hide
and grace alone could not abide
the many, many nights he died.
Curse the year and curse the day
of birth and snakes and Adam's way
and all who look behind and say,
"What if?" "Why me?" or, "Let us pray."
Tears were made to bless the eye;
prayer was made to bless the sky.
Weep and sing and laugh and cry--
it's appointed unto man to die.
Despair's the price of Eden's pride
or if a sovereign Will presides,
pain's as deep as blame is wide,
reminiscing suicide....
(c) Steve Pruitt 2005
11-9-2005
12:58 am
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Loss and Lingering
I apologize to those of you who don't want to be reminded of June 18, 2005, but it's been five months and I find that I am still struggling with my own thoughts and feelings. Robbie Oyler's death marked the third student I am aware of: James Norwood in 2002, Patrick Owen right before Robbie. For the past several days, I've been listening to Lifehouse's "Come Back Down" over and over in the car. I will forever associate it with Rob. In my own efforts to process and support Robbie's many friends and their own struggles, I fear that I have yet to really talk about it. I've yet to reconnect with the Sarwins or read the letters or visit the park in order to satisfy my own morbid need to tie off the loose ends.
Many of you were at the funeral and experienced that remarkable moment of both weeping and worship as Todd led us in singing "We Fall Down." It will remain a signature moment in my life--a sincere expression of hope, joy, pain and misery all in one instant. We have all wondered about the experience of sorrow once we enter the eternal Kingdom and I think we glimpsed the possibliity that joy and mourning can co-exist.
Some of you know my past and know my own struggle with depression, or at least the version I have shared with you. Others of you know the experience personally and you know the permanent changes that enter your life once you have ever opened the door to suicide. You know its lingering persistence and the frequent reminder that it exists and you know the resolve you have found to ignore it. Such is life, but it's been five months and I find it difficult to push aside and Robbie remains an ever-present memory.
Robbie took on significance in my life that was almost symbolic. Surely, he was one of my first students, but he never went away. Robbie's trips to college were always followed with time where we could reconnect and an ongoing knowedge of what his life was like. I can trace his story simply through the pictures I collected with him since he was in 6th or 7th grade. We were together in Atlanta, Colorado, Kentucky, Peru and Puerto Rico. I watched him grow in ways that I have never gotten to see--the journey of many years that I now experience only as a father--and I grew up right alongside him. In many ways, he shaped me.
Texas has been a season of difficulty and struggle and loneliness for me personally. His death was almost too much for us. Wendy and I had gone out for our anniversary to an Art Cafe in Plano with a gift certificate we won. It was the kind of place Robbie would have liked but would have made fun of--I am often surprised by how frequently I weigh my surroundings by what Rob would have thought. Tim called during dinner and we began the journey that his sickness has forced many of us to undertake. In numbness, we went on to the theater to see Batman Begins. Wendy needed to talk about it, but I needed a dark place to sit without speaking, a place to cry. Robbie would have liked that movie.
Pieces came together later. I understand why he didn't tell me he was in Dallas, but I still grieve the serendipitous conversation we had just a few months prior. I was testing new messaging software and Robbie was cleaning up a computer when we stumbled onto each other online. We talked a long time--I wish I had thought to save the transcript. He talked about coming to Dallas, getting a new start. He talked about the struggle he was having since the breakup, but I truly had no idea the real scope his depression had reached.
I wish so deeply I had known him these past two years, but I looked at a stranger in those recent pictures at the funeral. And yet, there was something so familiar. I remember those empty eyes and that vacant stare from my own life and I continue to mourn the loss of hope he was experiencing and the comfort he found in despair. God led me out of that place. Robbie didn't come out. It's so easy to trace a path of regret and wishes and to weigh our role in his life, but I know better. Depression is a bitter friend. It blinds you and deafens you and dulls you and sometimes it wins.
So, five months later, I'm continuing to unpack the emotion of that event and the place Robbie held inside me. Sometimes I feel that I have no claim for that kind of sorrow--Robbie had closer friends and stronger ties, but I cannot help what he had come to mean for me. Now I move forward, plagued by that sense of failure and loss, searching to find my own heart again. If the other events of our life in Texas were not so trying, I would say that we bask in the opportunities of seminary, but that's simply not true. It's been hard and I needed to get that all onto paper, or whatever this is. Superchick says it really well in "Beauty from Pain:"
Thanks for listening.
Many of you were at the funeral and experienced that remarkable moment of both weeping and worship as Todd led us in singing "We Fall Down." It will remain a signature moment in my life--a sincere expression of hope, joy, pain and misery all in one instant. We have all wondered about the experience of sorrow once we enter the eternal Kingdom and I think we glimpsed the possibliity that joy and mourning can co-exist.
Some of you know my past and know my own struggle with depression, or at least the version I have shared with you. Others of you know the experience personally and you know the permanent changes that enter your life once you have ever opened the door to suicide. You know its lingering persistence and the frequent reminder that it exists and you know the resolve you have found to ignore it. Such is life, but it's been five months and I find it difficult to push aside and Robbie remains an ever-present memory.
Robbie took on significance in my life that was almost symbolic. Surely, he was one of my first students, but he never went away. Robbie's trips to college were always followed with time where we could reconnect and an ongoing knowedge of what his life was like. I can trace his story simply through the pictures I collected with him since he was in 6th or 7th grade. We were together in Atlanta, Colorado, Kentucky, Peru and Puerto Rico. I watched him grow in ways that I have never gotten to see--the journey of many years that I now experience only as a father--and I grew up right alongside him. In many ways, he shaped me.
Texas has been a season of difficulty and struggle and loneliness for me personally. His death was almost too much for us. Wendy and I had gone out for our anniversary to an Art Cafe in Plano with a gift certificate we won. It was the kind of place Robbie would have liked but would have made fun of--I am often surprised by how frequently I weigh my surroundings by what Rob would have thought. Tim called during dinner and we began the journey that his sickness has forced many of us to undertake. In numbness, we went on to the theater to see Batman Begins. Wendy needed to talk about it, but I needed a dark place to sit without speaking, a place to cry. Robbie would have liked that movie.
Pieces came together later. I understand why he didn't tell me he was in Dallas, but I still grieve the serendipitous conversation we had just a few months prior. I was testing new messaging software and Robbie was cleaning up a computer when we stumbled onto each other online. We talked a long time--I wish I had thought to save the transcript. He talked about coming to Dallas, getting a new start. He talked about the struggle he was having since the breakup, but I truly had no idea the real scope his depression had reached.
I wish so deeply I had known him these past two years, but I looked at a stranger in those recent pictures at the funeral. And yet, there was something so familiar. I remember those empty eyes and that vacant stare from my own life and I continue to mourn the loss of hope he was experiencing and the comfort he found in despair. God led me out of that place. Robbie didn't come out. It's so easy to trace a path of regret and wishes and to weigh our role in his life, but I know better. Depression is a bitter friend. It blinds you and deafens you and dulls you and sometimes it wins.
So, five months later, I'm continuing to unpack the emotion of that event and the place Robbie held inside me. Sometimes I feel that I have no claim for that kind of sorrow--Robbie had closer friends and stronger ties, but I cannot help what he had come to mean for me. Now I move forward, plagued by that sense of failure and loss, searching to find my own heart again. If the other events of our life in Texas were not so trying, I would say that we bask in the opportunities of seminary, but that's simply not true. It's been hard and I needed to get that all onto paper, or whatever this is. Superchick says it really well in "Beauty from Pain:"
I know it won't be today, but someday I'll hope again.
Thanks for listening.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
A Day Without Expectations
Today, we ate lunch at a deli in Plano before making the trek home. The deli had allowed a very large group to reserve several tables and 3-4 families were forced to eat outside. We ended up with the only umbrella (I requested it since I saw it earlier) and it was pretty nice, but two of the other families weren't very happy and they let it be known. From the way they were dressed and the fact that one circled up to pray, it was obvious they had just come from church, so their complaints really stood out. Mind you, it wasn't the complaints that were awkward, it was the way they were made and the tone that was used--these were people who expected to be treated better than that and they spoke with condescension.
Perhaps a complaint was in order--it was unusual to reserve so many tables for such a small deli, but that's irrelevant to my point: what expectations cause problems for us as believers? What are we allowed to expect out of life?
I remember a staff prayer time back in August where Becky asked us to pray for her dental surgery and mentioned that she didn't have any expectations on the outcome of her procedure. That really struck me and I've been rolling it around in my head ever since. As an American, I expect to be treated a certain way. As a white man, I expect to be treated a certain way. As a working man, I expect to be treated a certain way. Those expectations are the source of much disappointment and anger in my life and I'm afraid that most of them are nestled down in some kind of pride and sin. Somewhere deep down, I think I deserve to be treated a certain way and I am angered when it doesn't happen. I wonder how much of it is just sin, straight out? As a believer, what expectations should I really have? Doesn't my Bible teach me that every good and perfect gift comes form the Father? Doesn't it teach me to be content? Doesn't it teach me to rejoice in hardship?
One thing it never teaches me is to expect things from people. It never teaches me to assume that I will be treated as special or noteworthy or even worthy. I think that realization is part of what makes the light of the gospel so bright--we shouldn't have expectations on life, it's been cursed. So, when God steps into the scene and offers to adopt me, it's a big deal. Really, what would it be like to live a day without expectations (ok, you need to expect bridges to hold you and stuff, but not expect others to meet your needs or standards)?
Perhaps a complaint was in order--it was unusual to reserve so many tables for such a small deli, but that's irrelevant to my point: what expectations cause problems for us as believers? What are we allowed to expect out of life?
I remember a staff prayer time back in August where Becky asked us to pray for her dental surgery and mentioned that she didn't have any expectations on the outcome of her procedure. That really struck me and I've been rolling it around in my head ever since. As an American, I expect to be treated a certain way. As a white man, I expect to be treated a certain way. As a working man, I expect to be treated a certain way. Those expectations are the source of much disappointment and anger in my life and I'm afraid that most of them are nestled down in some kind of pride and sin. Somewhere deep down, I think I deserve to be treated a certain way and I am angered when it doesn't happen. I wonder how much of it is just sin, straight out? As a believer, what expectations should I really have? Doesn't my Bible teach me that every good and perfect gift comes form the Father? Doesn't it teach me to be content? Doesn't it teach me to rejoice in hardship?
One thing it never teaches me is to expect things from people. It never teaches me to assume that I will be treated as special or noteworthy or even worthy. I think that realization is part of what makes the light of the gospel so bright--we shouldn't have expectations on life, it's been cursed. So, when God steps into the scene and offers to adopt me, it's a big deal. Really, what would it be like to live a day without expectations (ok, you need to expect bridges to hold you and stuff, but not expect others to meet your needs or standards)?
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Mourning in Waco
Jonathan tipped me to this link on his blog. It's an interview with Kyle Lake, the pastor of University Baptist Church in Waco who died this weekend. For those who don't know, University Baptist is where Dave Crowder worships--it's a church with a heart for our generation and it has lost its shepherd. Pray for them and their dependence on the other Shepherd as they seek to find their way.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Pumpkin Party
It's one of the few traditions we've managed to create, but we're really proud of it! This year, Mackenzie outsourced her design through Megan, but Madison and Megan drew their own (the tongue was Meg's idea too). Madison did some cutting and Megan actually cut out those eyes (I used a drill for the freckles; yes I know I'm a redneck). Can you identify them by personality (hint: they picked their own pumpkins)? They go (clockwise from left): Madison, Mackenzie, Megan.
Compare to last year's crop (clockwise from left): Madison's self-drawn, Megan's self-cut and Mackenzie's dad-did-it special.
Compare to last year's crop (clockwise from left): Madison's self-drawn, Megan's self-cut and Mackenzie's dad-did-it special.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Mr. Beaver
I've been reading Job. Actually, I've been listening to it on CD, but that counts I think, especially since that how the first several millennia of God's people would have accessed the book. It's remarkable to hear it aloud--things fit together in whole new ways. Anyway, Ron Allen thinks the goal of the book is to demonstrate that God is free. He does as he wills. The wicked suffer, yet so do the righteous and both are sometimes blessed. "Why" isn't answered. I'm not sure it can be. God chooses, that seems to be all we're given, except for the ever-important caveat so well understood by Mr. Beaver: He is good.
I've been thinking a lot about this lately--this idea of sovereignty and the way my impression of it has changed quite a bit. After all, God claims outright in his words to Moses in Exodus 4 that it is he who makes man deaf or mute or seeing or blind. He tells us in Job 38 that the lightning reports to him. We don't really believe this. We work really hard to understand a hurricane in the Gulf or an earthquake in Kashmir. We want to believe God would judge with one but not the other. We want to believe he had nothing to do with it. We'll accept his hand if we can see a reason. But we don't get a reason. The lightning reports to him. He doesn't owe us a reason.
Do you remember a coach or teacher or leader who ever pushed you past your breaking point? Do you recall a time when you could take no more and then you took more and you were angry and even a little bitter. But, you looked back later and saw that not only did you not break, you excelled? Suddenly, months later, you noticed that you don't get tired after the first mile or you understand more than you ever realized or you accomplished something you hadn't imagined? Then, that person became your favorite coach, your favorite teacher.
How come we get so bent out of shape when God does exactly that and he spends much of his Word telling us that he's going to do it? We whine every time, only we don't get over it so easy. We may not ever see the result. Practice doesn't end. Class doesn't dismiss. Life is practice. Only when it ends will we finally understand. Maybe the bitterness will last until then, but it will someday go away. Someday, this ends and He will become our favorite teacher. Maybe He is already...
I've been thinking a lot about this lately--this idea of sovereignty and the way my impression of it has changed quite a bit. After all, God claims outright in his words to Moses in Exodus 4 that it is he who makes man deaf or mute or seeing or blind. He tells us in Job 38 that the lightning reports to him. We don't really believe this. We work really hard to understand a hurricane in the Gulf or an earthquake in Kashmir. We want to believe God would judge with one but not the other. We want to believe he had nothing to do with it. We'll accept his hand if we can see a reason. But we don't get a reason. The lightning reports to him. He doesn't owe us a reason.
Do you remember a coach or teacher or leader who ever pushed you past your breaking point? Do you recall a time when you could take no more and then you took more and you were angry and even a little bitter. But, you looked back later and saw that not only did you not break, you excelled? Suddenly, months later, you noticed that you don't get tired after the first mile or you understand more than you ever realized or you accomplished something you hadn't imagined? Then, that person became your favorite coach, your favorite teacher.
How come we get so bent out of shape when God does exactly that and he spends much of his Word telling us that he's going to do it? We whine every time, only we don't get over it so easy. We may not ever see the result. Practice doesn't end. Class doesn't dismiss. Life is practice. Only when it ends will we finally understand. Maybe the bitterness will last until then, but it will someday go away. Someday, this ends and He will become our favorite teacher. Maybe He is already...
Monday, October 24, 2005
Emergent or Divergent?
Christianity Today has a review of D. A. Carson's book on the Emerging Church. This weekend, I spent some time digging around and fear they are on shaky ground theologically. I think parts of the movement are asking important questions (I really enjoyed Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller), but the core seems to be the same folks who brought out the labyrinths 5 years ago--I think they may focus so much on new spiritual experience that experience is placed above revealed truth. Pete used Colossians 2:18 to address a similar issue this Sunday. I can't fully defend that yet, but I'll work on it.
I got halfway through Nehemiah today. It contains the account of an entire nation re-forming itself out of the ruins of the past. As they progressed, they made decisions based on what they assumed to be true. As the priests began to study the Law, they were sometimes shocked to learn the truth found therein and they had to radically alter their decisions. God doesn't always flow out of the kind and well-intentioned logic of those who think they understand him. We don't learn him simply from the traditions or assumptions of the past. First, we take him at his Word, then we seek the past to help us understand it. Sometimes, that's divisive, but it can't be the other way around. Faith seeking understanding.
I got halfway through Nehemiah today. It contains the account of an entire nation re-forming itself out of the ruins of the past. As they progressed, they made decisions based on what they assumed to be true. As the priests began to study the Law, they were sometimes shocked to learn the truth found therein and they had to radically alter their decisions. God doesn't always flow out of the kind and well-intentioned logic of those who think they understand him. We don't learn him simply from the traditions or assumptions of the past. First, we take him at his Word, then we seek the past to help us understand it. Sometimes, that's divisive, but it can't be the other way around. Faith seeking understanding.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Revolution
I just found this about Barna's new book from Matt Payne's blog. I've been thinking a lot lately about the difference between generations as we're used to them and the shift toward a new post-modern culture. I think this may be what Barna is touching. Let me know if anyone gets the book. Someone needs to read it. ;-) The article is here.
I keep asking, "If we make a shift toward small communities of small groups and people are finding worship, teaching, care and impact in those communities, then why will they continue to come out on Sunday mornings?" I know there are some answers, but I haven't heard great ones. Barna might suggest that there are two distinct groups emerging--those who will use Sunday to be a family and those who will come to church as a family. There may be a true divergence of thought and need emerging. I'm intrigued.
I keep asking, "If we make a shift toward small communities of small groups and people are finding worship, teaching, care and impact in those communities, then why will they continue to come out on Sunday mornings?" I know there are some answers, but I haven't heard great ones. Barna might suggest that there are two distinct groups emerging--those who will use Sunday to be a family and those who will come to church as a family. There may be a true divergence of thought and need emerging. I'm intrigued.
The Blogging Community
Thanks to my new friend Stuart Cohen, you can enter your email to the right and be emailed anytime I post on this site. That way you don't ever have to check here to see if anything changed. Put in your email and then reply to the email you get from Feedblitz and you're all set.
On Tuesday, Mike and I took Stuart to lunch at Cheddars in Irving. I can honestly say he's the first person I've met on the internet and everything went great. Wendy was pretty concerned about me meeting with someone I met online, but I reassurred her based on the content of his blog and the great resouce his links are. Then I told her something bad happened when I met him, but I explained I was lying and that he was a really neat guy. You can actually read about our lunch on his blog.
However, the best thing about Stuart is the community that he represents. He is one of many Christians with great technical aptitude and a heart for the local church and he shares it freely on his site, but he's also committed to using those gifts well and not helping churches jump from tech guy to tech guy on an endless pursuit of someone's newest favorite program. Check out his links.
There are a lot of us out here who are finding a genuine sense of Christian community with believers in other time zones. I know it's hard to believe community can happen that way and it certainly helped to meet Stuart in person, but I already knew him before we met. He even asked me how my dad was doing--my non-web friends don't even ask me that. Let that little piece of post-modern culture sink in and tell me what you think.
On Tuesday, Mike and I took Stuart to lunch at Cheddars in Irving. I can honestly say he's the first person I've met on the internet and everything went great. Wendy was pretty concerned about me meeting with someone I met online, but I reassurred her based on the content of his blog and the great resouce his links are. Then I told her something bad happened when I met him, but I explained I was lying and that he was a really neat guy. You can actually read about our lunch on his blog.
However, the best thing about Stuart is the community that he represents. He is one of many Christians with great technical aptitude and a heart for the local church and he shares it freely on his site, but he's also committed to using those gifts well and not helping churches jump from tech guy to tech guy on an endless pursuit of someone's newest favorite program. Check out his links.
There are a lot of us out here who are finding a genuine sense of Christian community with believers in other time zones. I know it's hard to believe community can happen that way and it certainly helped to meet Stuart in person, but I already knew him before we met. He even asked me how my dad was doing--my non-web friends don't even ask me that. Let that little piece of post-modern culture sink in and tell me what you think.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Serious Journalism
This clip aired on the Today Show on Friday. Let it soak in. Apparently even her colleagues couldn't hold back their laughter during the live broadcast. All of us sometimes try to cast the best light on things, but it sure is funny when someone gets caught. She defends it by saying she had been in rougher water earlier and the network was afraid she would get hurt... ("It's not like we were trying to pass it off as something it wasn't," spokeswoman Lauren Kapp said.)
Download Clip (originally posted on Newsbusters.com).
It does make you think, though. How often do we retell an incident by adding new information? I mean, she had been in deep water, she just wasn't any longer; but she was trying to make us believe otherwise. Some might say this is not dishonest because the conditions had been true but could not be safely reported. So, she construed a new truth and sought to replicate an old one. I wonder how often that's done in journalism? I know Bush got a lot of flak for something similar which seems to have been misreported, but had it been true it bothered us. We want to believe that journalists in dire conditions really are in dire conditions, but I wonder how much is staged--an effort to re-create truth, but nevertheless, false. If this happens on the Today Show, how much is added to print media? Information from one source that seems to come from multiple sources or events that occurred quickly seeming to have taken months. Our God deals with this directly. He says "I am that I am." I've always understood that to be an assertion of his self-existence, but maybe it's also an assertion of his nature--he is as he is. There is nothing false in there. I can trust that.
Download Clip (originally posted on Newsbusters.com).
It does make you think, though. How often do we retell an incident by adding new information? I mean, she had been in deep water, she just wasn't any longer; but she was trying to make us believe otherwise. Some might say this is not dishonest because the conditions had been true but could not be safely reported. So, she construed a new truth and sought to replicate an old one. I wonder how often that's done in journalism? I know Bush got a lot of flak for something similar which seems to have been misreported, but had it been true it bothered us. We want to believe that journalists in dire conditions really are in dire conditions, but I wonder how much is staged--an effort to re-create truth, but nevertheless, false. If this happens on the Today Show, how much is added to print media? Information from one source that seems to come from multiple sources or events that occurred quickly seeming to have taken months. Our God deals with this directly. He says "I am that I am." I've always understood that to be an assertion of his self-existence, but maybe it's also an assertion of his nature--he is as he is. There is nothing false in there. I can trust that.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Thoughts for Tamar and Blue Like Jazz
We were away for camp (retreat) this weekend. Late Saturday night, I walked out into the woods alone with my flashlight off. I didn't last long without the light (an armadillo gave me a bit of a scare), but I pressed on to the clearing at the lake and lay on the picnic table and stared at the northern cross and spoke to God in the darkenss--completely at ease and yet fully aware of my fear. I walked all the way back without the light. My soul really needed it.
I read Blue Like Jazz this summer (our whole student team did), and I pushed Luke to read it and have promised to send one to Mary Ann. I think the conversation the book creates is really important. I think he's right in a lot of things and he's right not to ditch the church--the church just has to be willing to keep asking these questions all the time. We tend to forget that ministry to a group of people 3 years ago may be nothing at all like what we need now and we have to force ourselves to keep asking what it means to follow Christ today, not yesterday. Many leaders in the church share this burden, it just gets hard--but God is faithul to raise up new voices to remind us if we'll listen.
I know many of my and your generation who find the book especially significant and we can't exactly explain why it's not just speaking of a new trend or a new "movement." It's about a new culture and a sense of longing. I don't have answers here, yet, but I think the book moves us past the borders of American evangelicalism and back into the fold of world-wide Christianity. We live in a religious culture that has made Christianity about us, and that's a mistake. I no longer teach people that "God has a wonderful plan for your life." Now I say, "God has a wonderful plan for the redemption of humanity and he wants you to be part of it." It's subtle, but the perspective shift is important and it puts the emphais back on Him and not me.
I read Blue Like Jazz this summer (our whole student team did), and I pushed Luke to read it and have promised to send one to Mary Ann. I think the conversation the book creates is really important. I think he's right in a lot of things and he's right not to ditch the church--the church just has to be willing to keep asking these questions all the time. We tend to forget that ministry to a group of people 3 years ago may be nothing at all like what we need now and we have to force ourselves to keep asking what it means to follow Christ today, not yesterday. Many leaders in the church share this burden, it just gets hard--but God is faithul to raise up new voices to remind us if we'll listen.
I know many of my and your generation who find the book especially significant and we can't exactly explain why it's not just speaking of a new trend or a new "movement." It's about a new culture and a sense of longing. I don't have answers here, yet, but I think the book moves us past the borders of American evangelicalism and back into the fold of world-wide Christianity. We live in a religious culture that has made Christianity about us, and that's a mistake. I no longer teach people that "God has a wonderful plan for your life." Now I say, "God has a wonderful plan for the redemption of humanity and he wants you to be part of it." It's subtle, but the perspective shift is important and it puts the emphais back on Him and not me.
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