Beef Jerky!!

Sometimes you just see something that makes you "sad/happy". That's the feeling you get when your heart aches to the point of tears, but you also want to belly laugh at the same time. This strange blend of emotions doesn't occur often, but when it does it's quite a sensation.

I recently experienced sad/happiness at the sight of a wretched animal in Mexico. I didn't recognize this vile beast until it was almost too late, but when he made a full appearance, sad/happiness is the only way I can describe my emotional response. I was pushing a small Ford car backward down a crusty dirt road when one of the ladies in our group shouted "Watch out for that dog!" "He'll move" I replied, but I never saw any movement, and it appeared that whatever was taking refuge from the heat under that Ford may not have been alive. Suddenly a black 4 legged creature appeared from under the car. This... thing... scurried off into the distance, and it looked like gristle with legs. I swear I've seen charbroiled meat that looked more alive than this thing.

We affectionalely named the beast "Beef Jerky", and joked that he was under that car stroking a ring, whispering "My precious". He was Gollum meets charcoal, and he made me sad/happy. I was sad that we were witnessing an animal that was so beaten down and void of love that he was literally wasting away, and I was happy that I got to see something that was so ugly any description wouldn't do it justice. I know it sounds cruel of me to ever be happy about something like that, but c'mon, how many times in your life do you get to see creatures that are the things of myths and legends?

I'm obviously not a card-carrying member of PETA, but my heart really went out to this dog. He was a microcosm of his community; poor, hungry and in desperate need of help. That was the most tragic thing about Beef Jerky... he needed more help than we could give him... just like the community from whence he came.

Praise for "Hallelujah"

I'm a big fan of the song "Hallelujah", originally written and performed by Leonard Cohen, the Canadian writer/musician. This song has been covered and re-covered, but my favorite version has to be Jeff Buckley's haunting rendition on his 1996 release "Grace". The song is a bit depressing, but there's not a better sit-in-your-car-after-a-long-day-and-look-at-the-moon-and-drive song, ever. You've got to listen to it when you're in the right mood or else you'll miss the greatness.

Anyway, here's a link to a vast collection of "Hallelujah" with renditions by Buckley, Sheryl Crow, Imogen Heap, Bono and Bob Dylan, just to name a few. Check it out and enjoy!!

Special thanks to my man Keith and www.bagofnothing.com for the list. You the man, Keith (and you have one of the funniest and most interesting sites I've seen in a while)!!

The Upside of Primitive

I'm still digging rocks out of my shoes and nursing blisters on my hands from a trip I recently took to Mexico with 11 college students. We participated in a vacation Bible school for Mexican children, poured a concrete floor in a small church (Power and Victory Church in Acuna, Mexico), built a latrine for the church and cleared the land around the church of those pesky mesquite bushes. I feel like a zombie today in large part due to the hard work we did all week, but there is something else gnawing at me like a Mexican street dog on a rare scrap of food.

Everything we did in Mexico was as primitive as it gets. We mixed concrete in the dirt, leveled the floor with a 2x4 and dug the latrine with a pick axe and a large rock-crushing steel wedge. The VBS was nothing special, just a few crafts, some games and a puppet show. It was not even comparable with the mega-entertaining VBS's that many churches pull off for thousands of kids each summer. This thing was dirty, gritty and hot. Most of us clean, suburban parents wouldn't have allowed our kids to attend for fear of dehydration. So, with all the poverty we witnessed, the heat we endured and the dirty little kids we hugged and kissed, this might have been my favorite trip ever. And that's where this thing starts gnawing at me.

Why in the world do we think we have to be so sophisticated to get the most out of life? In our culture we constantly hear that without an education, or money or some level of luxury, we can't really be a part of the "American Dream." Well, if being a part of that dream means that we can't find meaning in the primitive aspect of serving each other, the dream is more like a nightmare. Since when did our culture begin to value the almighty dollar over the kind of riches that can only be found in sweating to the point of dehydration for someone else's benefit? When did we start to place more weight on entrepreneurialism than charity? When did the primitive things that taught us things like hard work, community and helping your neighbor get replaced by the sophisticated things that showed us that the bottom line means more than the least of these, efficiency matters more than the process and rugged individualism is better than community support? How could we have been so stupid as to buy into this junk?

Here's how... after all I've shared with you in the lines above, I'd still rather live in my suburban home, chock full of comfy furniture and amenities, than live in a Mexican hut in a bario community. As long as I/we value comfort over community, we're doomed to sleep in the shallow beds we've made for ourselves. When will we begin to see through all the stuff and get to the heart of the matter, which, for that matter, is the heart. How would our culture look different if we got more primitive and actually cared about things that mattered more than things that materialized? In other words, what would happen if we loved each other more than our stuff? Personally, I think we'd be much better off... or do I? Question: If I really felt that way, why wouldn't I live every day like my trip to Mexico? Answer: Because I'm too comfortable living with things just as they are.

Ever get the feeling life would be much better if we were more primitive?

Corporate Church?

OK, I had this funny thought last night (it doesn't happen often, so when it does, I have to write it down). We were talking about church building projects, and somebody said that it's always better if a church can find an investor to front a large portion of the money needed for a new building. That got me thinking that we're not far from acquiring corporate church sponsorships.

Say hello to your new church staff!

Think of that picture: The pastor stands at the "Interstate Batteries" podium in a three piece suit with patches on the lapel and sleeves reflecting the logos of sponsors like "Slim Jim" or "Yahoo", or - heaven forbid - "Viagra". Before delivering the sermon the worship pastor, wearing a suit adorned with logos of hair care products like "Paul Mitchell" would ask everyone to turn to hymn #44 in their "Black and Decker" Hymnals. The pastor would then stand and thank all the sponsors for making the service possible, while opening a bottle of "Coke" only a few inches from his face.

It was just a funny thought, that's all. Shoot, I wouldn't put it past some of these guys in the church growth movement to go to any lengths to get that nice, shiny new auditorium. Let's just all pray that we don't go the way of major league baseball by having corporate sponsorship for our churches.

"I'd like to welcome you all this morning to Ameriquest Sanctuary at First Baptist Church." Sheesh!

A Restless Tale

I am very restless lately. I kind of have that same feeling I had in college when only the slightest amount of down time promted a spontaneous road trip. That phrase - "road trip" - was really a tangible expression of the concept of freedom, a chance to leave it all behind and throw caution to the wind. If I'm honest, the thought of spontaneous freedom still tugs at me like mid-day hunger pains.

It's silly, I know, to still think in those terms. After all, I've been happily married for nearly ten years, have 4 kids, work a full-time job and live in suburbia. When am I ever going to grow up? If, after all these years, I haven't learned to quench the restlessness of my soul, what's it going to take? Of course another question might be, if all the road trips I've taken never quenched my restless soul, is there anything that could?

I've always looked at this restlessness as a bad thing, something that should be despised and curtailed. Now I'm wondering if restlessness is just as natural in this life as traffic and mysterious itchiness (you know, like when your back itches for no apparent reason?). Maybe it's just selfishness of the highest order, or maybe it's the sting of living a small life in a big world. G.K. Chesterton, the great British writer, said "With every step of our lives we enter into the middle of some story which we are certain to misunderstand." Chesterton may not have stated it strongly enough. These days it's more like we are so sick of misunderstanding the story that we no longer embrace the story, but the misunderstanding. We're left with grave uncertainty and empty restlessness, and it seems there's not much of a cure for either.

The only time I feel alive and free is when I connect the dots to this great masterpiece in which we live. When I see the great story at work, when my heart is awakened by an element of nature or art or relationship, and I see God's great story unfold. Only then - if just for a moment - does freedom infiltrate this world and fill my heart with hope. As Frederick Buechner writes,

"It is a world of magic and mystery, of deep darkness and flickering starlight. It is a world where terrible things happen and wonderful things too. It is a world where good is pitted against evil, love against hate, order against chaos, in a great struggle where often it is hard to be sure who belongs to which side because appearances are endlessly deceptive. Yet for all its confusion and wildness, it is a world where the battle goes ultimately to the good, who live happily ever after, and where in the long run everybody, good and evil alike, becomes known by his true name... That is the fairy tale of the Gospel with, of course, one crucial difference from all other fairy tales, which is that it is true, that it not only happened once upon a time but has kept on happening since and is happening still." (Telling the Truth)

I am restless, but I believe. I believe because this story has been written and continues to play itself out in my life and the lives of those around me. Sometimes it's just not as glamerous as Buechner makes it sound. But there are those occasions where it is that exciting and noble and adventuresome. If you've ever had those times, you probably want to take a road trip with me right now. Maybe restlessness isn't all bad.

Soccer A Flop

OK, I gave it a shot. I really did. I tried my best to give World Cup Soccer a chance, but I'm sorry to say I didn't find it satisfying. There was only one game that really intrigued me, and that was the Germany vs. Italy match. All I got to see of this game was the extra time minutes, and there was some fantastic action. Aside from that, I found the matches to be slow-paced, boring and full of some of the worst fake injuries I've ever seen.

Take for instance the guy from Italy who was head-butted by the guy from France in the finals (I'm so into this sport that I refer to its top athletes as "the guy"). Now, the guy from France is trained to head balls all over the field, and that makes his head a weapon of sorts, but it literally looked like the guy from Italy was hit at point blank range by a civil war cannon ball. I've never seen anyone that damaged in my life! To be honest, that was one of the more legitimate flops in the World Cup. Guys were flailing around all over the field, as if a sniper on the roof had just nailed them with an assault rifle, at the mere thought of a collision. It was ridiculous.

While on the subject, I'd like to know more about those stretchers that they used to carry "injured" players off the field. Were they made from the Shroud of Turin? There was obviously something supernatural about them because each time they'd carry an injured player off on one of those things, he'd return to the game only moments later with no signs of injury. After writhing on the ground for five minutes, and being hauled to the locker room on a stretcher, these guys would lolly-gag right back into the game and take off after the ball like a cheetah after a gazelle. So much for the life-threatening injury they seemed to have attained.

Look, I'm a sports nut. I love competition, but I just can't seem to make the leap from great games like football, basketball, baseball and hockey... to soccer. If you love the game, I mean you no disrespect. You probably hate football or some other sport that I adore. I'm not offended by that thought at all. I might give your game a second try if they stop all the ridiculous flopping. This is sports after all, not the Academy Awards.

My Brother Wrote a Book!

My brother just published a book called "All Things New: A very basic training on the End Times". Rusty has always been an achiever, but I can't imagine the kind of discipline it takes to put together such a work. Congratulations, Russ, on your first book. It won't surprise me at all to see another one come along soon.

Rusty has been generous enough to donate a large sum of the proceeds of this book to Project Pierce, my autistic son's educational fund. Thanks a bunch, big bro!!

An Eye Opening Experience (Warning: not for the faint of heart)

OK, this probably falls under the "too much information" category, but I went to the doctor today, and got more than I bargained for. Most of you know that I've had quite the struggle with anxiety, and the thought of going to the doctor is definitely not what the doctor ordered for those of us who get nervous at the thought of sharp needles (don't even bring up the dreaded rubber glove).

Well, needless to say, my doctor is very thorough. He asked me a few questions, and insulted my home town ("I'm surprised I can understand you. I've been to Lake Charles, and I have no idea what those Louisiana people are saying"), and then he directed me like a cow at a meat processing plant. I just blindly followed his every instruction! It's hard to remember the last time I was so completely under the spell of an authority figure. You'd have thought I was six years old again, following the instructions of my first grade teacher.

Not only did I get a shot, but I also had to go through the light-headed misery that comes when a person with General Anxiety Disorder gets their blood drawn by some lifeless, soul-less phlebotomist with no bedside manner. I swear this woman had shark eyes. Nothing's more creepy than shark eyes.

The worst part of the visit came when the doctor calmly asked me to drop my pants, and lean on that sanitized prefabricated cushion with the tissue paper draped across it like a coffee table runner. I swallowed hard, dropped my drawers, and listened carefully for the latex glove to pop against his clammy wrist. Then it happened. It's difficult to go into any detail here, but let's just say lubrication was involved, kind of like when you use liquid soap to get a ring off of your finger, except not like that at all.

Anyway, even though my appointment was at 7:30AM, I was certainly not sleepy when I left. I managed to get out of there with updated shots and records, but I also lost something pretty important. Noticeably missing from my person when I left was my dignity. Oh well, I guess it's better to lose your dignity for a day than to find out you've got prostate cancer. I think I'll take that trade any time.

No spiritual message here. I just thought I'd share with you the kind of stuff you go through when your doctor decides to get serious about your health. It's a pretty eye opening experience!

When Church Becomes State

I'm sure I'd disagree with this guy on many issues of faith and politics, but he got it right in his journal entry entitled "Red, White and Blue Idolatry & Why I Walked out of Sunday Morning Service". I've often felt this same sentiment as I sat in church and watched the service turn into a 4th of July celebration. I love America with the best of them, but church exists to give worshipers an opportunity to pledge their allegiance to much more than the stars and stripes.

When churches equate nationalism with divine faith, they head down a dangerous path. Ask Nazi Germany how all that worked out. Maybe it's time that churches adopted a "Separation of state and church" clause. It's toatlly appropriate to thank God for the blessing of living in a place that embraces freedom, but it couldn't be less appropriate to dedicate a service to the blessing rather than the blesser. That's the highest form of idolatry.

Warning: Product Endorsement

OK, I never do this, but I am going to promote a product on my blog. In this day and age of rampant commercialism, I am very reluctant to do this, but this product is just too good for me not to share it with you.

Boulder, CO based "Crocs" are the best shoes I've ever worn. They're extremely light (6 ounces), really soft, bacteria and odor resistant (when your feet smell like mine, that's a huge selling point), and extremely comfortable. I can't bring myself to wear anything else. If you get a chance, buy yourself a pair of Crocs. Your feet will thank you!

Oh yeah, and rumor has it that Crocs are made of edible plastic. That's right, if you're lost in the middle of nowhere, you can eat your Crocs to stay alive!

Noonan!!

Peggy Noonan does it again with a funny new piece entitled "Stop Spinning: Contrarian thoughts on Hillary, flag-burning, the Times and 'The View'". Man, this is a smart lady, and her mix of wit, cynicism and common sense makes her my favorite "political" talking head. This is one person who manages to see through all the crap.

These days I'm less conservative, more (gulp) liberal, but very cynical about both of those classifications. I guess you could call me a "conservaliberal", or maybe just an independant. Either way you want to classify me, I like Peggy Noonan. It's almost like she's reading my mind. Stop it, Peggy, or I'm going to have to start charging you royalties.

Trouble for The Times

The New York Times has come under quite a bit of scrutiny lately for its decision to publish an article that apparently used classified information to detail how American forces use finances to track terrorist groups. Lt. Tom Cotton had a few harsh words for The Times in in a recent letter. This is pretty interesting stuff.

I think what we're starting to see here is that those who strongly disagree with the war are starting to let their hatred of George Bush get in the way of their message. As a result, they find themselves compromising the same kind of ethical standards that they continually accuse the Bush administration of compromising. Irony bites.

Beautiful Messes

How do you think they would’ve felt if we would have screamed and yelled at them because they were covered in mud? When I first saw them out there, practically naked, playing in the mud, I was mortified. I thought I was going to blow a gasket. They were going to bring all that stuff into the house and make a huge mess of the place, and I’d have to clean it all up. What in the heck was the matter with those boys?

Then my wife came to the rescue. She ran outside with the camera and started taking pictures of the kids. She was telling them to throw more mud at each other so that she could get some “action shots”. What was her problem? Instead of yelling at those little dirt daubers, she was encouraging this mess! I curtly shouted Kim’s name, and gave her that look that parents give each other when they don’t want to say in front of the kids, “What in the name of mud bugs are you doing?” She looked back, rolled her eyes, and said “Don’t look at the mud, honey, look at the kids.”

So I did. I looked at my naked boys, drenched in a muddy stew, and then I looked past the mud. It was like a Magic Eye poster where you stare and stare at some random design, and then a delightful image suddenly appears just beyond the surface. This delightful image was comprised of smiling mouths and gleaming eyes. It was a picture of joy and freedom, and I soon found myself grabbing the camera from my wife and joining in this beautiful mess.

John Burke, in his book No Perfect People Allowed, writes about the feeling you might have if you found an original Rembrandt covered in mud. He writes:

“Your primary concern would not be the mud at all – though it would need to be removed. You’d be ecstatic to have something so valuable in your care. But if you tried to clean it up by yourself, you might damage it. So you would carefully bring this work of art to a master who could guide you and help you restore it to the condition originally intended. When people begin treating each other as God’s masterpiece waiting to be revealed, God’s grace grows in their lives and cleanses them.” – pg.97

Burke’s basic question is “Do you see the mud or the masterpiece?”

What kind of person am I? Do I look for the mud in the lives of others, or do I patiently perceive, Magic Eye style, the masterpiece’s around me? I’m afraid I usually don’t take the time to look for the beautiful messes of life. Instead, I walk around soured by this dirty world. I use my faith like a bottle of weed killer. In so doing, I kill the good plants with the weeds. Rather than allowing God to convict and change peoples lives, I feel the need to relieve Him so that he can take a lunch break, and I can be the boss.

Well, I’m not the boss (thank God), and it’s not really my job to clean people up. All I can do is accept them for who they are and point them toward the one with the ability to change them. What happens next isn’t up to me. If it were, I’d probably be looking for cleaner people. Unfortunately, I think we’ve all had our fair share of mud baths.

"Pocket Guide" Better than Pocket Lint

Not long ago I read a hilarious little book called "The Pocket Guide to The Apocalypse" by Jason Boyett. This book was sheer joy. Finally something on the end times that didn't take itself so seriously! At last a book about eschatology that made me laugh out loud! Any book that has within its pages an "apocalyptionary" that defines end times terminology, and a list of possible anti-Christ candidates (repute with Hitler, Reagan, and Clinton, among others) is a must read. I'm telling you, if you haven't read this little gem, buy it today.

Well, Mr. Boyett is at it again with his "Pocket Guide to The Bible." He was recently interviewed by noted Caedmon's Call drummer and really cool guy, Todd Bragg, for the Common Grounds blog. I've linked the article for your perusal here. Check out this taste of the interview and enjoy the read! It's one of the funniest interviews I've ever read.

Bragg: What sort of impact would you like to see the Pocket Guide to the Bible make on the reader, or culture at large?

Boyett:I'd like the individual reader to buy the book, enjoy the process of reading it, and find themselves intrigued enough by the Bible to, upon finishing my book, crack open the source material. If my book were to be considered a biblical appetizer, I'd be thrilled.

As for the culture-at-large, I'd like it to have the same impact as The Da Vinci Code, which is to say, I want it to be so powerful it makes Tom Hanks grow his hair weird. That's not overly ambitious, is it? Am I aiming too high?

Bragg: Have you thought of making a Pocket Guide that actually fits in your pocket?

Boyett: Have you thought about buying pants with bigger pockets? It's time to scrap those dungarees, Todd, and graduate to cargo pants.

Funny stuff!!

Land, Ponds and Freedom

Roughly twenty five years ago there were ten or so kids who threw down their bb guns in the middle of a cow pasture in order to jump into a small pond for a swim. These kids threw mud at each other, splashed each other in the face and frantically screamed as imaginary snakes attacked. It was dirty, raw fun, and although there were no Gameboys or Playstations, there was some serious entertainment.

Last weekend I watched as my children and their cousins swam in the same pond my siblings, cousins and I enjoyed so many years ago. They threw the same mud, splashed each other in the face with the same water and frantically screamed at the same imaginary snakes that so wonderfully terrorized us a quarter of a century back. That old pond still sits nearly 150 yards from my grandparents house, and as we watched the kids I could almost see Nana shaking out the rug on the front porch as Paw paw sorted through his tackle box for just the right bait for a trip to the pond that afternoon. It was a flood of simple yet delightful memories.

My Father used to call that land his "therapy", and he said a few days at the 7HR ranch (the name my grandfather gave to his land) was better than any phsychologist he knew. My uncle, whose grave now rests a mere twenty feet from the pond, spent every free hour of his adult life working the land of that ranch. He successfully raised cattle and built a small empire on the west side of the land. His wife and children still live there today. As a child, I remember every important person in my life gathering at the ranch for a nice meal, some great family time and a few moments in the country where the hum of the interstate couldn't be heard, and every star in the sky looked as bright a well decorated Christmas roof.

Those were the simple times of freedom and rest. There was no worry that a deadline wouldn't be met, no stress about an overdue project. We listened to old country music (the real stuff), and ate like kings. We'd tell ghost stories and put grass between our teeth, and there was nothing like the acres and acres of freedom that was found in that remote setting.

As I looked at my kids swimming in that pond I felt free for the first time in a long time. I was reminded of the kind of freedom that Paul talks about in Romans 6-8. The kind of freedom that you know you have, but find difficult to attain. The freedom that comes with knowing Christ, but is hidden by the hopeless cycles of life. As I looked on, I prayed that God would set me free to embrace the freedom that Christ has already given me. Just like that old pond, God's freedom is always there. Sometimes we just need to forget about all the "stuff" and just play in it.

Leadership the Hard Way

I've learned a ton about leadership this year. It's been a very successful year in many respects, but I've definitely had my share of failures. The year has taught me vital lessons about what it means to lead. Ultimately I've found that leadership is very hard work, and is not for the faint of heart.

This year I've had to fire an employee, confront several people who suffer from various mental disorders and deal with my own personal demons along the way.
Leadership lesson #1: It's a mixed bag. There are so many wonderful people whom I have the pleasure of knowing as a result of my priviledged position as a pastor. There are also many relationships that are challenging, and some that are downright unpleasant. Leadership is a door with hinges that swing in two directions toward two separate rooms. One room is warm and wondrous. The other is cold and cruel. Both rooms, however, lie under the same leadership roof.

Another aspect of leadership that I've encountered is the principle of overactivity.
Leadership lesson #2: People will gladly bite off more than they can chew. Most folks are terrible at knowing their limits. Unfortunately our current leadership culture takes advantage of people's good sense, and we make them feel guilty if they're not doing enough, and guilty if they're doing too much. As a result we have a huge throng of people who have either dropped the leadership ball altogether or are pants-on-fire busy with various projects they have no business getting involved with. There is no middle ground these days, but the majority of people I know have a very hard time limiting themselves to the core aspects of their effectiveness.

My final leadership lesson is one that I've always known, but have never truly experienced until this year.
Leadership lesson #3: Be transparent about your own struggles. Effective leadership is not ivory tower, untouchable leadership that never honestly expresses the true nature. Real leadership is broken about personal and corporate struggles. It is these struggles that make leaders approachable and tolerable, while building loyalty from those who follow.

My greatest leadership successes this year have come as a result of quite possibly the biggest shortcoming I've ever experienced. Shortly after my diagnosis of General Anxiety Disorder, I wrote an article for our church magazine entitled "Too Sick to Pray." In it I detailed how this struggle had taken hold of my life in a very serious way, and how shocking it was to experience my own limitations. That honesty has resutled in greater impact on others, and deeper loyalty from others. People have responded to this struggle with open arms, and they've taken me more - not less - seriously because of my honesty.

Leadership is an industry these days. Everywhere I look there is a new leadership best seller. It is often over-analyzed, and definitely over financed, but it feeds people's desire to feel important. Hopefully these few lessons I've learned will demonstrate that leadership isn't always about getting ahead. Sometimes it's about getting hurt, humbled and haggard. One thing's for sure: you'll learn a lot more about leadership from leading than from reading a book about leading.

Abortion Makes My Head Hurt

My Good Friend, Dr. Denny Burk, wrote this post on his blog, and I couldn't help but use it here. I'm going to post it in its entirety because it makes some fantastic points about abortion. I still, for the life of me, can't understand how so many peace-loving Americans can buy in to such barbarism. I'm truly baffled by the abortion debate... or even that there is a debate at all.

Here's Dr. Burk's post:

In today’s Wall Street Journal, Peter Berkowitz reviews Ramesh Ponnuru’s anti-abortion tour de force The Party of Death. In this critical review, Berkowitz puts forth the same pro-abortion arguments that have been refuted time and again by pro-lifers. He writes:

Invisible to the naked eye, lacking body or brain, feeling neither pleasure nor pain, radically dependent for life support, the early embryo, though surely part of the human family, is distant and different enough from a flesh-and-blood newborn that when the early embryo’s life comes into conflict with other precious human goods or claims, the embryo’s life may need to give way (source).

The problem with Berkowitz’s critique is that none of the deficiencies he lists make a human a human. His argument is essentially this: “Since the unborn are really small, since they are not fully developed, since they are after all invisible to us in their mother’s womb, and since they are dependent upon another for life support, they therefore do not have a right to life as other persons do.”

Is this really what Berkowitz believes? Do we treat small people as less human than bigger people? Do we treat one-year olds as less human than fourteen year olds because the one-year olds aren’t fully developed yet? Do we treat the person who depends on insulin or kidney dialysis as less than human because of the degree of their dependency on another for life? Of course not. We don’t treat such people as less than human because we all know that personhood is not dependent upon size, level of development, environment, or degree of dependency.

Berkowitz really misses the point here, and his critique of Ponnuru rings really hollow precisely for this reason.

DaVinci Mayhem and Hilarity

A recent article by Gordon Keith, a Dallas radio personality, made me laugh so hard I almost wet myself. Keep in mind that this guy is not writing from a religious perspective, and this is not in a Christian magazine. It does the best job I've seen of painting The DaVinci Code in the proper light. I'm so sick of DaVinci stuff, but this is too good to pass up.

Click and enjoy

Politics Part II

Peggy Noonan's latest column makes a lot of sense to me. In it she writes,

"The oddest thing about Republicans and Democrats in power is that they always know the technical facts, always know about fund raising, always know what the national committee is saying about getting turnout. But so often they don't know the message or even have a message. Which is funny, because they're in the message business. They're like shoemakers who make pretty shoeboxes but forget to make the shoes."

Finally someone succinctly describes the way I feel about our current political climate. Thank you, Peggy, for summarizing my thoughts.

Building Bridges

My last post about politics created a lot of conversation, and that's a good thing. We can't build bridges if we never put on our hard hats, strap on a tool belt and get to work. In this case "work" means conversations. We have to be able to talk to each other if we're ever going to appreciate and understand each other.

Special thanks to my cousin, Doug, for being willing to enter the conversation. It's no surprise to Doug and me that we won't always find common ground. He's a liberal from the North, and I'm a conservative from the South. I tend to see things more exclusively, and he has more of a pluralistic outlook. I just about can't bear to watch anything political these days, and Doug doesn't go a night without watching the pundits. We're from different worlds, and we see things in different ways.

I used to think that was bad, and it appeared that Doug and I would never really be close. We were too far apart, and us dumb Southerners (a title more felt than stated) could never really be taken seriously by our Yankee relatives. At the same time, our secular Northern intillectual family never felt tolerated by their Bible toting, evangelical cousins. Doug and I have never talked openly about these feelings, but we didn't have to. These thoughts were like that t-shirt you thought was a good purchase, but now only takes up space in your drawer. You never talk about it, but it's always there.

I think deep down Doug and I never really bought in to all of those feelings. We always knew we liked each other, but weren't sure how to overcome the unstated junk that kept us apart. We have always been kindred spirits, but have never had the time or opportunity to explore a true relationship. I think those days are over.

Last month Doug flew into Dallas for business, and we met up and had dinner at a local tex-mex. It was the first time I didn't feel threatened by Doug's extremely well-spoken wit and intellect. We had a wonderful time, and my wife and I felt cared for and listened to, and there was a mutual respect and admiration that has been awkward to achieve in the past. We followed up that visit with a spirited conversation about politics right here on this blog. That same respect and admiration was present in our conversation.

Maybe we're just older and wiser, and maybe we are tired of feeling like we have something to defend. We are who we are, and that's ok. It's good to know that we don't have to change each other to enjoy each other. Thanks for the visit, Doug, and I look forward to building more bridges with you in the future.

Hey You... Get in Here!!

My political post was starting to burn a hole in my blog, so I decided to post something fun to add a little levity. Take a peak at this little gem from "Get In Here Ministries." Johnny Lang and Chachi Laruso will change your life if you let them. Make sure you scroll down the page and watch their interview. These guys remind me of some of my former youth pastors. Enjoy!

My, uhm, thoughts on politics... I think.

I have been very hesitant to throw my political opinions around these days because I'm not sure I can come up with a concise statement that sums up my thoughts. I know that I'm not happy with the way things are going... gas prices through the roof, death tolls in Iraq still rising, genocide in Sudan, etc, etc. These are difficult times, and I don't envy any politician who has to weed through the media, special interest groups and a polarized and divided country.

Having said that, I am disturbed by what seems to be a lack of understanding among Americans about the history of the Middle East and the conflict we are currently engaged in. Islamo-fascism is an insidious religious philosophy akin to that of Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini. In my opinion, it's even worse because it uses religion to justify its violence and oppression. The situation in Sudan, Africa is a prime example.

If you'll recall, Khartoum, Sudan, the capital of the country, is the place where the events of 9-11 were planned by Osama bin Laden and others. It has long been a hot bed of terrorist activity. Sudan is currently the location of the first genocide of the new millennium. As it stands, more than 300,000 people have been slaughtered, and more than 2 million are displaced from their homes. All of these events are being carried out by Islamic fundamentalists bent on world domination. Ironically, these are the same Islamic fundamentalists who dominate Middle Eastern culture.

All of this makes me wonder what might have happened if we had intervened earlier when Hitler was killing the Jews? What if we could have squeaked into Central Europe and helped change the culture before it was too late?

In many ways it seems to me that we are doing exactly that in Iraq. We're trying to import a philosophy of democracy and freedom into a world that has been infiltrated by the most insidious religious dogma in the history of the world (you'll forgive me if I rank it even higher than Constantine's wrong-headed Christianity that led to the crusades). It's amazing to me that Christianity is still paying for the crusades, yet we never seem to hear word one from Bush-bashing musicians and actors about Islamo-fascism. Where's the outrage?

I will admit that I have a hard time with George W. Bush. He's a terrible public speaker, and seems lost at times in front of the media. I think I'd probably really enjoy a sit down with him at his Crawford, TX ranch, but he's hard for me to take seriously in a public forum. I honestly felt the same way about President Clinton, but for different reasons.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that, although I'm concerned about the direction of our country, I am not going to sit here and bash President Bush for the conflict in Iraq. Something must be done to slow the spread of Islamo-fascism. Is this the right way to do it? I don't know. What I do know is that I would have preferred that my country took measures to change the culture of Nazi Germany before so many innocents had to die. I would still prefer that we take action, regardless of our initial intent, to stop the spread of fundamentalist Islam before it's too late.

Those are my hot political opinions. I struggle with this... I really do. I don't want to be one of those blind Christians who think that Jesus was a Republican, but I don't want to be lumped in with the cocaine and boob-job Hollywood crowd either. I love Jesus, but aside from that I'm not always sure where I stand. Lord, help me get it right.

DaVinci Debate

There is great anticipation and trepidation regarding the release of Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code onto the big screen. I read the book and was riveted by the action and suspense, but nauseated by the fallacious representation of historical Christianity. Regardless of how you feel about it, you should enjoy this spirited debate between Bart Ehrman and Richard Hays that occured at Duke Divinity School.

Click here to listen to the debate.

King of the Hill Church

OK, I couldn't help but post this excerpt from the TV show King of the Hill. It's about finding a new church, and the commentary it makes on mega-churches in particular is priceless. As a pastor, I couldn't agree more with this hillarious spoof. Click here to check it out.

Just Another Conference?

I was about as excited to attend the National Conference on Preaching as I would've been to mow a football field with a push mower. I don't like conferences, especially the ones targeted toward middle aged pastors wearing Sans-a-belt's and shiny golf shirts who like to mill around in the hallways between sessions touting their church's gaudy attendance numbers. Not to mention the fact that I don't do a lot of preaching, making it all the more strange that I would attend a conference geared to help preachers craft their art.

I must say, however, that this conference was one of the best I've attended since surrendering to Christian ministry in 1996. The highlight was a message by Haddon Robinson, the great professor of homiletics at Gordon Conwell Seminary in Boston, MA. Robinson is not a pretty man. He has a face made for radio, but his presence is unmistakable. He spoke about using your imagination while preaching. His contention: most pastors forsake any use of imagination and creativity when addressing the Bible.

Robinson became my new hero when he shared about Jephtha, the mighty warrior mentioned in Judges 11. Jephtha's mother was a prostitute, and Robinson challenged us to see life from his perspective. Always being reminded by his peers that his mom was a dirty whore. Never being able to forget that he was a bastard. It was a shocking display.

Anyone who can preach a successful sermon to a group of stiff pastors and use the terms "whore" and "bastard" is worthy of recognition! I loved Robinson's boldness, and his delivery was captivating. Sign me up for next year's National Conference on Preaching. I may even buy a pair of Sans-a-belt's!!

What if you could stop the Holocaust?

A recent article in World Magazine entitled "Spectator to Genocide" tells of the unthinkable atrocities going on in the Darfur region of Sudan, Africa. Maybe one day we will stop sitting and watching as murderers bent on world domination slaughter entire races of innocent people under our noses. Many will read this and wonder, "What can I do? How can I make a difference?" Perhaps the first place to start is to be aware of the problem. It's hard to read something like this and not be stirred to action.

Please sign this postcard that will be sent to President Bush. It may not seem like much, but it's better than sitting on the couch, drinking a coke, and thinking "Boy, that's really terrible. Where's the remote?"

Special thanks to Denny Burk for making me aware of this article.

Louisiana Thoughts

There is truly no place like Louisiana. The rich history, one of a kind food and down home hospitality make going home a nostalgic and wonderful experience. Kim, the kids and I made the 7 hour drive to the Lake Charles area for the Easter holiday, and I'd like to share a few thoughts from our trip.

Crazy Cajun Preacher

My cousin, Keith Fontenot, gave me a book about my Great Grandfather, Reverend Dallas Hayes. I can't believe this book! There is one story in it about how Reverend Hayes was called to Cow Creek, TX, because there was a cowboy named Blackwell who had already run off five preachers. They thought maybe Reverend Hayes could do something about the cowboy due to his reputation as a tough old cajun. They called the right man.

Reverend Hayes spoke one night to an overflow crowd, and it was rumored that cowboy Blackwell was going to be on hand to try to run the old preacher off. As soon as Hayes started preaching, Blackwell stood up in the back of the church and started cussing and making fun of the cajun preacher. Reverend Hayes closed his Bible and asked the cowboy to get quiet. Blackwell continued his mocking, and Reverend Hayes continued to ask him to pipe down. Finally, Reverend Hayes stepped away from the pulpit, walked to the back of the church, and grabbed Blackwell by the neck. He took Blackwell outside and began beating his head against the wall of the tabernacle until his knees buckled. Needless to say there was much singing and praising the Lord that night, and nobody ever heard from that old cowboy again!

Man, how cool is that! I always knew my brother and I got that wild, crazy streek from someone. It's funny because I have secretly wished that a similar situation would happen to me. I always thought it would be kind of cool to beat somebody down in church. I know it's not a popular thought, but maybe the problem with church today is that nobody thinks the preacher could whip them!

Easter Services
My family attended Easter services at Trinity Baptist Church of Lake Charles, LA. This is the same church where Kim and I were married, and we always enjoy seeing old friends and family each time we come back to Trinity. The Pastor, Steve James, shared a good message, and one thing he said in particular impacted me greatly.

When speaking about the resurrection, Pastor James shared about the two women who first heard the news of Jesus' rising again. He shared that the Bible says that these women "ran" to tell the others. His point was that "Good news doesn't walk, it runs!"

I immediately thought of my kids hunting Easter eggs the day before. Every time they found a treat in their eggs, they would run - not walk - to me and tell me the good news. I thought of the many times I had run in the house to tell my wife some type of wonderful thing that had happened that day. Good news makes us eager, and there is no way you can walk when you have wonderful news to share.

What better news to run and share than the truth of the resurrection of Christ?!

Good News doesn't walk, it runs!!

Restoration
While in Louisiana, we stayed with my In-laws. Their home was damaged badly as a result of hurricane Rita, and they are still in the rebuilding process. The living room still doesn't have flooring down, and the front and back yards are clear, but not back to normal. There are holes where grass once grew, and the entire terrain has lost many of its greatest treasures: those wonderful Southwest Louisiana trees.

There are still tarps on roofs, and every other house has a damaged fence. Even though the hurricane did its damage several months ago, the clean up process is a slow one, and the area is like a strung out junkie trying to pick up the pieces of his life in a rehab center.

Restoration must be a patient process, or the faint of heart will lose faith and give up. My In-laws, though beaten by this bully of a storm, have persevered and are making so much progress. They have the prettiest yard in the neigborhood, and their house will be close to normal once the floors are installed later this week. They have a new roof, and their fence, destroyed by a thirty foot tall pine tree, is back in place and better than ever. Pop (my Father-in-law) has been working tirelessly to put things back in order, and the results are clear and amazing. The place looks great, considering all they've been through, and I'm so proud to know that they haven't given up or given in.

I see a greater story in all of this. When I think of the restoration they are striving for, I'm reminded of the restoration that will come for those who believe in Jesus, and patiently endure till the end. I'm reminded of the resurrection, which secures our hope. We may be broken and damaged now, but restoration awaits!

Emerge-ency?

I have a tendancy to write a lot about myself and my family, and although there is certainly nothing wrong with that, I also want this to be a place where information is shared and "big picture" issues are discussed. In light of that, I thought I'd share with you some information about a new movement within the church known as "The Emerging Movement." As a pastor the church is pretty consuming to me, but The Emerging Movement has been particularly fascinating, and I hope you leave this blog more informed after sinking your teeth into this entry.

Throughout history the church has been transforming its methodology (and sometimes its beliefs) based on the changes that have occured in the culture at large. One wonders whether The Reformation would have even been a blip on the map had the printing press not been invented within the same time frame. Had the writings of Calvin and Luther been hidden from the masses, would the movement have changed the face of the church? Would the contemporary churches of the late eighties and nineties have made such a mark without the advent of broadcast media (television)? Does the digital age that we are entering have any implications for the church, and if so, what are they?

These are questions for every generation, but they are particularly poignant in light of our rapidly changing, technologically advanced culture. We have entered a new world, and although the gospel of Jesus Christ is as true as ever, the methods by which we communicate that truth are as broad as ever. This is where The Emerging Movement (EM) comes in.

Scot McKnight, a professor in religious studies at North Park University in Chicago, has recently written an article on EM, and offers much insight into this oft misunderstood movement. In it he writes, "(EM) is a conversation about the future direction of the evangelical church in a postmodern world; it's a reaction and a protest against traditional evangelical churches; and it's a conversation focused less on theological niceties and more on 'performing' the gospel in a local setting." In other words, EM could be best described by three main characteristics:

• EM seeks impact in a radically changing culture
• EM is frustrated by traditional approaches to ministry
• EM is missional

Some clarification needs to be made on the second of these characteristics. From what I've read and discussed, EM does not seek to trash traditional methods of "doing church" as much as it despises traditions that highlight methodology over and above true Christian practice. This reaction comes from a long history within the church of majoring on things like building projects, hymns and Sunday attire to the exclusion of concepts like grace, freedom and service. Leaders of the EM would never argue that traditional churches aren't necessary to the universal church. On the contrary, EM leaders would be more prone to seek convergence with these churches in order to work together toward a greater call, that of the gospel.

There is another aspect of EM that is causing a lot of controversy these days. Many have contested that EM is not simply a discussion of methodologies and missiologies, but of doctrine and theology. There have certainly been many EM leaders who have voiced questions about the orthodox docrtines of the faith. Brian McLaren, one of Time magazines most influential Evangelicals, is a leader in the EM and has raised questions on doctrines such as the Trinity and the virgin birth. He has also failed to take any sort of hard stance on other traditionally important issues such as homosexuality. This has been troubling to many who tend to define EM as a fringe, theologically liberal movement.

Mark Driscoll, a pastor in Seattle, WA, is one of the key voices in the EM. He is theologically conservative, but refers to himself as "the cussing pastor." Obviously he's not your Father's preacher. In a recent article in the Criswell Theological Journal, Driscoll writes,

"As a pastor I find the entire conversation encouraging, stimulating, and frightening. What I find encouraging is the groundswell of interest among Christians who do not want to separate from culture like fundamentalists, or simply baptize culture like liberals, but want to earnestly wrestle over the nature of the gospel and how can it be most faithfully contextualized in culture. What I find stimulating is the growing focus on docrine and the way it forces people to consider their docrinal positions and dig more deeply since pat answers to tough questions are no longer sufficient. But, what I find frightening is the trend among some to drift from what I consider to be faithful conservative evangelical theological convictions in favor of a less distictively Christian spirituality. The relust is a trip around the same cul-de-sac of false doctrine that a previous generation spent their life driving around while touting their progress."

I couldn't agree more with Driscoll's assessment, and I look forward, with nervous anticipation, to the conversations to come. It's a very exciting time to be part of the church!

Trent's First Blog

My oldest son, Trent, has been keeping a journal now for a few weeks. I thought that was a pretty big deal for a six year old, so I asked him if he'd like to post one of his journal entries on my blog. He was excited, and has accepted my offer.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Trent's first ever blog entry!

_______________________________________________

Yesterday I played baseball on a real field (The Dr. Pepper ballpark at Ameriquest Field in Arlington, TX). It was very cool to play on a real field! I also got to go with my friend ,Caden, to a party for his Mimi's birthday. I was very good and nice there, and after that I went to Caden's house to spend the night and I had a really fun time! We watched Star Wars for a little while, and we talked about how King Kong has stinky arm pits.

The Nastiest Dude Ever!!

In the midst of my second year at Louisiana College in Pineville, LA, I met a friend, Danny Hoychick, who would quickly become like a brother to me. Even that doesn't quite do our relationship justice. We weren't really "like" brothers, we sensed that somewhere, somehow, we might actually have the same blood flowing through our veins.

I know it sounds crazy, but we were so alike, so closely connected, that it didn't seem like that far of a leap. And then we met Doc Savage.

Doc Savage is a pulp fiction (not the movie, but the genre of literature) character who came on the scene in a series of graphic novels that began in 1933. It was Lester Dent who crafted the character, known as "The Man of Bronze", into the superman that he became. Dent, who wrote most of the adventures, described his hero - Clark "Doc" Savage Jr. - as a cross between “Sherlock Holmes with his deducting ability, Tarzan of the Apes with his towering physique and muscular ability, Craig Kennedy with his scientific knowledge, and Abraham Lincoln with his Christliness.” But the thing that drew Danny and me to Doc Savage was a puzzle that Danny's uncle had hidden in his attic.

For some reason that puzzle - a picture of raw toughness - appealed to our sense of adventure, masculinity, and sheer stupidity. We just thought Doc Savage, with his torn shirt, raging pectorals, and clinched fists, was the nastiest dude we had ever seen. And there was something about the look in his eyes that called to something deep within our souls. It was as if we were Luke Skywalker in the final scene of The Empire Strikes back, and Doc was Darth Vader. If we listened closely, we could almost hear Doc whisper "Boys, I am your Father."

I don't know if it was our need for a mentor or what, but Doc Savage became the inspiration for everything we did. We tore our shirts, framed the puzzle and hung it on our wall, and even reminisced about how Doc had led us in and out of certain situations in our lives, even though we didn't even know he existed. It was like life suddenly made better sense now that we had uncovered this hidden heritage. We were part of a greater story, the story of Doc Savage, and there was a strange pride and connection between us as a result.

Danny and I have been out of touch now for somewhere around 10 years. About two weeks ago, Danny emailed me. We spoke on the phone that night, and it was clear that we had both changed quite a bit. Those days of drinking until we couldn't remember our names are distant memories, but our connection remains as close as ever. This time around, though, our connection isn't centered around Doc Savage (although we still know that Doc is our daddy). Our main topic of conversation these days is Jesus Christ.

So, after all these years, Danny and I still find ourselves reminiscing about being led along on an adventure greater than ourselves. We are still drawn to a bigger story with a vast heritage. We're as close as ever to the one who says in a still, small voice, "I am your Father." We have a new hero, and our friendship has never been better!

Suffocating for a Year

Last April my best friend, Mike Spratt, suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack. Mike was 33 years old, and his wife, Shauna, was seven months pregnant with their first child. I'll never forget the phone call I recieved from my Mom telling me of Mike's untimely death. It was approximately 1am, and I was asleep on the couch. Kim and the kids were visiting her parent's in Louisiana, and I was home alone. I answered the phone in a daze, and was awakened in the most rude fashion possible.

In the first moments after I was informed of Mike's death, it was like I had been held underwater until panic set in, and I struggled to the surface for a breath. My eyes burned with the onset of immediate tears, and I felt stunned, like a prize fighter after a devestating power punch to the nose. Staggered and suffocated, my mind raced through all the memories we shared.

Growing up, Mike and I spent at least four days a week together from the time we were four years old through our high school years. We threw passes in the field behind his house, played video games til all hours of the night, and developed our own version of the Olympics in the Spratt's living room. We used to wake up early on Saturday mornings to watch our favorite cartoons, and we developed quite a home video collection, replete with fake commercials, "man on the street" interviews, and snow skiing highlights.

Mike was as good a friend as anyone could ask for. He was as loyal as a German Shepherd, as noble as a knight, and as humble as a George Shultz cartoon. I was at my best when Mike and I were together, and I miss his friendship terribly.

There are times in our lives when we lose touch with the things we grew up with. It's an unfortunate right of passage that is part of growing up and growing out. Mike and I experienced this season of our friendship, and were beginning to enter a new phase, marked by a renewed interest in each others lives. Unfortunately, this new season was cut tragically short.

There's really no point to this except to say that I miss Mike. He saw each of my children before they came home from the hospital. I saw his daughter, Ladan, before she left the hospital. She looked a lot like Mike. I sure wish we could have raised our kids together.

It's been a year, and I'm still suffocating at the thought of it. I just wish I could come up for air.

Check out the Mike's charity golf tournament at http://www.helives.com/mikeSpratt/

Dashboard Confessional

I watched tearfully today as a single Mom timidly drove out of the church parking lot in a 1992 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. No, I wasn't crying because somebody actually had to get behind the wheel of that doomed make and model. Normally I wouldn't wish that upon my worst enemy. I was moved because this precious woman caught a much needed break in a life marked by heartache and hardship. Her car, you see, was a donation, a gift of love by a person who had never had the priveledge of meeting the woman they so generously blessed.

This year alone Irving Bible Church has given away a staggering 40 cars to folks of varying ages, genders, and life situations. Most have fallen upon some seriously hard times, and a car represents a clean slate with which to spark an upward trend. All are grateful, especially those of us priveledged enough to take part in the give-a-way process.

I'll never forget the time we gave a manual transmission Jeep Cherokee away to a man who had never driven a stick before. I nearly slipped a disk trying to teach this guy how to drive. Sitting in the passengers seat that afternoon felt more like riding shotgun in a horse drawn buggy down a rocky slope than a driving lesson, but we kept at it. We screeched around the parking lot for an hour before deciding to drive him home so that his brother-in-law could continue his lessons until he was safe on the roads. When we dropped him off, this smiling young man yelled "I'm going to learn how to drive this car, I promise you that!"

I'm pretty sure he kept his promise.

Most of the cars we give away aren't going to win any beauty pageants. Many are well worn with high mileage and splotched paint. Occasionally we'll get something in which your kids wouldn't be embarrased to be dropped off at school. Regardless, for those looking to make life work "for" instead of against them, beauty is not a high priority. They just want what I like to call an "A to B" car. That's the kind of vehicle that serves one purpose and one purpose only: to get you from "A to B" in one piece.

In working with this wonderful ministry I've learned to cherish my 1994 Nissan Maxima. Although it has a whopping 170,000 miles on it, I am able to make it from "A to B" whenever need be. It's paid for, and it's one of two vehicles that inhabit my driveway (a driveway which, by the way, is attached to my house - yet another reason to be thankful!). I have it so much better than most, and the car ministry keeps me mindful of that valuable perspective.

So the next time you think you might be better off without that clunker, think about the person who might see your lemon as the apple of her eye, and consider donating your vehicle to the cause. We'll make sure it's running, and we'll find someone who will be happy to set sail in your castaway... even if they have to learn how to drive it first!

For more information on the car minstry of Irving Bible Church, click here

All in a Day's Work

There are many things one can easily accomplish in a day. I have a friend who runs long distances, and he ran 26 miles in one day. My wife somehow manages to drive our youngest son about 120 miles back and forth from therapy each day. On Wall Street, brokers buy, sell, and trade stocks at a frantic pace, and millions of dollars change hands all in the course of a day. A lot can happen in a day.

Something happened to me yesterday that might be the greatest accomplishment I've ever achieved in a day. I read a book. That's right, cover to cover in one day. The book, Ellie Wiesel's classicly heartbreaking holocaust chronicle, Night, is a thin book, but a book none-the-less.

The contents of this book sit locked in my mind like some terrible secret gnawing at my soul. It's one of those books that make you feel like you've done something wrong for knowing things like this happened and not doing anything about them. I still can't believe something like the holocaust actually happened. Genocide is quite possibly the most evil and shameful invention of man, and the Nazi's own the patent. They were methodical machines of torture, murder, and shame, and it's so painfully tragic to read the plight of those who were the objects of their insidious regime.

I'm glad I read this book. It made me feel literally sick, but there was something so pure about it, like the look in the eyes of a child when they've cut their finger. I needed to see that my life was so charmed and easy that I have absolutely no reason to complain... ever. I also think it's important for Christians to see that humanity is capable of the most horrendous evil. We must be reminded, especially in these days, that Satan is at work in the hearts and minds of those who are "by nature children of wrath" (Eph. 2:3). Acknowledging the presence of evil also helps us long for the hope of the resurrection.

A lot can happen in a day!

FINAL FOUR!!

How about those LSU Tigers!! Big Baby and the Tigers were just too much for the Texas Longhorns in the Elite Eight, and they now advance to the Final Four for the first time since 1986!

This team is so fun to watch, and they look like they have even more fun off the court. Big Baby (Glen Davis) said "I have a tapeworm. I'm still hungry for more!" I've never seen a kid that big with a tapeworm. He looks like a brisket with legs.

I officially have March Madness!!

On another note, check out my son, Cale, in his tee ball duds. I think he and Big Baby resemble each other. I had no clue he'd be playing for the Tigers. Geez, life is good!


And one last thought for you: when LSU knocked off Texas Saturday afternoon, they completed the clean sweep of the flagship universities of the state of Texas. That's right, Louisiana - 2, Texas - 0. So what if they beat us in every other national statistic? This is basketball for crying out loud!!

Tiger Bait!

LSU absolutely manhandled the Duke Blue Devils Thursday night in Atlanta to reach the Elite 8 round of the NCAA tournament. Big Baby, Tyrus Thomas, and Co. made Duke look more soft than a middle school kid getting his lunch money taken by the block bully. Thomas was swatting away shots at will, and Davis was splitting double teams and filling up the lane with his bear-like frame. It was a beautiful sight!

Nobody believed me, but I told everybody who would listen that LSU was going to shock the world and beat the Dookies.

GEAUX TIGERS!!!

Sinus Surgery Notes (Not for the faint of heart)

Surgery wasn't as bad as I thought. I was more frightened than Bevo at an Aggie pep rally, but my fears were, as usual, misplaced. Who would've thought that getting the "Full Monty" on my sinuses would turn out to be a relatively easy procedure? Well, it was, and now all I can do is pray that this turns out to be the remedy I've been needing to feel better.

I will tell you that Monday afternoon was a little bit miserable. I can't have you guys thinking that I didn't suffer at least a little bit through this process! After arriving home at about 2pm, I collapsed into bed like a tranquilized bear. I was out of it! In my stupor, I kept noticing something that didn't quite feel right, but I couldn't tell if it was real or just a morphine induced dream.

I'd fall asleep, and then wake up suddenly coughing. Apparently I was choking on my own blood, and it eventually caused me to stumble out of bed and head toward the bathroom. I leaned my head over the sink, and experienced something I can only refer to as "blood faucet". That's the phenomenon that occurs when blood so rapidly flows from your nose and mouth that it looks like an open faucet. It was kind of like Psycho meets Raging Bull, but there was also something kind of cool about it, in a gross sort of way.

Anyway, I experience blood faucet at least twice a day when I "flush" my sinuses (a proceedure whereby I spray a generous amount of saline up my nose until, that's right, the faucet turns on). In a wierd kind of way, this disgusting process has been a good one. With each flush I sense that I'm healing and becoming free of this problem. In a wierd way I'm reminded of how the blood of Christ heals me and sets me free. I know, it's a gross way to get a point across, but sometimes you can't really heal until you've gone through the gross stuff.

Big Baby!

LSU's Glen Davis, aka Big Baby, makes me happy. This guy is 6 feet 9 inches, 305 lbs., and he's seriously one of the largest people I've ever seen. Davis, the SEC's player of the year, is a beast. Nobody's been able to stop him all season, and now that it's NCAA tournament time, Big Baby is delivering big time!

There are two big reasons why I like this guy so much: 1) He wears the number "0", and 2) He's got a great sense of humor. I just think it's so cool that a guy that big, who has shoulders that look like Atlas could stand on them as he picks up the earth, would wear a big zero on his chest. Fact is, Davis is far from a zero. He played for team USA this summer, dominated the Southeaster Conference, and is garnering lots of attention from drooling NBA scouts who would love to lure him away from LSU in hopes of a lucrative deal in the pro's.

But Big Baby is all about the fun. This guy loves to laugh, truly enjoys the game, and lives up to his nickname (he put the "Gentle" in Gentle Giant). Davis reminds me of the wonderful people of the great state of Louisiana. He obviously loves to eat, he works hard, and he adds a spice to life that is unmistakable.

What's more, he and the Tigers just gave me bragging rights with all the Texas A&M folks that surround me! Thanks Big Baby!!

Geaux Tigers!!

There are Worse Things Than Dying

Irving Bible Church is participating in a Day of Service on Saturday, March 25. We will be building 5 homes for Habitat for Humanity, and doing clean up projects at Cornerstone Mission in downtown Dallas and Sam Houston Middle School in Irving. We'll also be renovating 3 buildings for Brighter Tomorrows, a battered women's shelter. Now, with all of these wonderful opportunities to serve, you'd think there would be no controversy on the part of our congregation. Well, you'd be wrong. Controversy is stirring.

You see, on the weekend of this Day of Service we have decided to cancel all of our Bible Studies. We have 25 classes that will not meet that Sunday, even though the service project is on the Saturday before. Apparently many of our class leaders think this is a bad idea, and have expressed their frustration early and often regarding this issue. We have listened, but we aren't going to budge. I couldn't be more disheartened by this controversy.

IBC is a large facility with ample classroom space. We meet in a lecture hall for all 4 services on Sunday, and we have countless Bible study opportunities throughout the week. But on one weekend per quarter - that's right, 4 weeks out of the year - we ask our people to cancel their classes and participate in a wonderful service event. It's our chance to not simply "do" church, but "be" the church. Instead of being praised for this awesome chance to serve the community, we are bombarded by emails and phone calls from sour parishioners who see this as lowering the priority of their precious class time in favor of a service event that won't attract even a fraction of the people who attend Bible classes.

They're right. This Day of Service won't be near the draw that our classes are. We'll only get 1/4 of our congregation to participate. Most will stay home for various reasons, many of which are legitemate. Others will only be angry that the class time they normally enjoy won't be available to them for a week.

How is it that, in a building of constantly booked classrooms and lecture halls we find that people question our commitment to Bible study? If there's anything we prioritize over and above all else it's Bible study. The thing that gets lost in the fray is service. Service is the fruit of our Bible studies, yet we only seem to get resistance when we implement out-of-the-box ideas to help encourage it. I really don't understand.

Let me give you an example of the two kinds of mentalities that prevail among our Bible studies. I have one class of about 12-15 people who meet on Sunday mornings. They were enthusiastic about the projects and decided to participate with Brighter Tomorrows. They loved the idea of meeting off campus for a time that would, no doubt, strengthen their bond with each other and give them an opportunity to be Christ to the residents of this battered women's shelter. Every person in their class signed up to help, and they did it with joy in their hearts.

I have another class that averages 80 people each week. This class is known for its quality teaching and friendly environment. Most people would call it a great class, yet they only signed up a whopping 5 people to help with the Day of Service. Predictably, they have griped and moaned about the decision to cancel their class in lieu of the service projects.

My hope with canceling these classes is that they will know that they missed something that day. It simply won't do for me to know that 75 people who couldn't lift a finger to help might mosey on in to class that weekend and feel that they are in God's will and haven't missed a thing. It won't fly with me to know that they had a wonderful Bible study but never realized that they missed out on the most important part, the application of the Word of God. To me, their faith without works is worse than dead, it's apathetic. Even death isn't worse than not caring.

Kevin Costner, in the movie "Open Range" says a line that cuts right to the heart of our fat American churches. He looks at a man and his two sons who are scared they might be killed if they do the right thing and says, "There are worse things that can happen to a man than dying." There are worse things for the church as well. When we fail to serve and place a higher priority on learning than doing we are worse than dead. We are under the illusion that we are alive when in fact we are ineffective and without power. We are only window dressing. We look good, but we're useless.

I'm not sure there's anything worse we can be guilty of than that.

Let me also say that IBC is, in general, one of the most amazing service organizations that I've ever been a part of. We are not, however, immune to having problems and being selfish. We're full of people (and I'm one of them) and wherever we are, issues like this will arise. I think we do it better than most, and I'm so blessed to be a part of this wonderful church. Maybe that's why this is so upsetting.

Please know that these are my personal views and do not necessarily represent those of Irving Bible Church (although I'm sure the powers that be at IBC are right there with me!).

The Autism Equation

Dealing with Autism is like trudging through one of those long, unsolvable word problems on a standardized test. No matter how many different ways you try to solve it, you never really know if you're getting it right. Even if you do - by sheer dumb luck - happen to make the proper calculations, the confidence that normally accompanies a correct conclusion is completely absent. Without said confidence you feel like an overrated sports team who wins the game but can't truly celebrate the victory because of the underwhelming manner in which it was attained.

I sat on the couch tonight with my Autistic son, Pierce, and we navigated through my itunes library together. I say we did it together, but the fact of the matter is that I'm not sure if Pierce ever truly does anything "together." We were in close proximity, and we observed the same computer screen, but there were times, I'm sure, when Pierce hardly knew I was in the same house. He sat entranced by the computer and only seemed to notice me when I was obstructing his view. But who knows, maybe I've miscalculated again and this was a real bonding experience between father and son.

I honestly enjoyed my time with Pierce tonight. The computer screen caused his face to shine like a calm blue lake under a full white moon. His bright eyes and full lips looked especially innocent in the ambient glow. He is such a beautiful child that there are moments where his quirky disorder seems like an implausable scenario. I hate to say it, but it's nice every now and then to imagine, if just for a moment, that he's normal.

When it all comes down, the reason that this Autism is so difficult is because it's supposed to be. One of the areas of balance that I'm trying to give myself permisson to explore is the fact that not only is this an opportunity to love my child and fight for his future, but it is also a crisis worthy of grief and struggle. I love Pierce as deeply as I've ever loved anything in my life, but he breaks me to pieces with a pain that is unmatched in my experience.

One thing I can say about Pierce is that he is the best of both worlds. He's the most precious child I've ever been around, and I've never seen a kid with so many fans. He's also very strange. So much so that he is good at being wierd. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Pierce seems to be at home with who he is, even if the rest of us couldn't feel less secure if we were Danish cartoonists in a Mosque.

I don't know what all of this means, and I'm not even going to try to figure it out. That would be way too easy. Pierce is like a sloppily wrapped Christmas gift with untucked edges and ripped wrapping paper. He's definitely special, but he's also too messy to ignore. All we can do is try our best to open him up and enjoy him, even though there are times when we may want to take him to customer service and get an exchange.

On second thought, why would we ever want to do that? I'm sure the one who gave him to us knew what he was doing. We'll see if we can't make him fit.

For more information on Pierce and his struggle with Autism, go to the Project Pierce website.

Pierce is also featured in a video companion to Erwin McManus's new book, "Chasing Daylight." Check it out!

No Resolution Here

So my wife and I had this argument last night, and it became clear to me that the truth is a hard thing. She gave her opinion, and I gave my opinion, and when it was all said and done, we went to bed angry. As I write this I'm foggy on the details of the whole thing, but I do remember that she was right and I was right, and she was wrong and I was wrong, and in the end, it didn't really matter who was right because we felt all wrong.

Why do we do that to each other? Why can't we just say "You're right", and go back to enjoying a love that defies argument? What is it that makes us gnaw and jab at each other like dueling trial attorneys trading objections in a tension filled hearing? Shouldn't we, after nearly ten years of marriage, be fully aware that we're not always going to agree and leave it at that? If only it were so easy.

The fact of the matter is that, because we love each other, we want to agree and be agreed with. The other fact of the matter is that, because we love ourselves, we want to disagree and be disagreeable. Sometimes the self just wins out and all we're left with is the empty sense of false justification. It's like our emotions skipped a meal... or ate too much. Either way we're uncomfortable and probably a little unstable. I hate that feeling, and I have the sinking sense that she does too.

I love my wife. We have a good marriage, and we rarely argue. When we do, we fight pretty fair, and by mid-morning we're back on track, but I really wish we would never have an argument again. Ever. We have enough to fight through these days without the occasional battle of opinions. I'm sure it's healthy to disagree, but what I'm feeling now doesn't seem healthy. When I see how my self ran roughshod over her self, and vice-versa, I just feel sick.

No resolution here, just a few frustrating thoughts. All I can say is that I was much more wrong than my wife last night. As usual, she was more pure-hearted than I, and rather than celebrating that, I tried to exploit it and tug her into my less than pure pit. My self won, but me lost, and she lost too.

I can't wait till mid-morning.

Coldplay and Nachos

I recently attended the Coldplay concert at the American Airlines Center in Dallas, TX. I scored tickets from one of the guys at church, and decided to take our worship pastor, Russ Ware, along for the ride. The show was very cool, even though I wouldn't rank Coldplay atop my listening hierarchy. They're good and all, but if their songs were shirts in a closet, they'd all look pretty much the same. Not a whole lot of variety with this bunch.

Before the start of the first song, Russ decided to step out for a bit of a pit stop. Honestly, I had to pee too, but I didn't want to risk missing the kickoff number while standing at the stall. The lights dimmed, signaling that the show would soon begin, and still no sign of Russ. What could have happened to him? Did he fall in? Did #1 turn into #2? Where in the world was Russ?

As the back of the stage lit up with rapidly counting white numbers on a black screen, Coldplay suddenly appeared, accompanied by a blast of white light. Lost in the moment, I glanced to my right just in time to catch Russ lumbering down the aisle with an arm full of treats from... the concession stand. The smell of corndogs and cheese somehow made its way through the equally stong smell of a certain herb that permeated the arena. It seemed for a moment that Russ had forgotten he was at a concert for one of the biggest bands in the world, and mistook this event for halftime of a Mavericks game.

I must say that the nachos really enhanced the concert experience, and who knows if I'll ever go to a concert again without a hankering for some good old cheesy nachos from the concession stand? You know you're getting old when your favorite thing about the Coldplay concert is the nachos!

Click here to see pictures from the Coldplay concert.

The Following Takes Place Between...

And so begins another stirring episode of the frantically paced action thriller "24". Uber covert super guy, Jack Bauer (Kiefer Sutherland), is the gravel voiced counter terrorism agent who saves the world each year in roughly a full day. With twists-a-plenty and trust in short supply, Bauer must navigate through the bad guys and the even badder guys on his way to a heart pounding climax where humanity is spared by the microscopic diameter of a gnat hair. And I love every stupid minute of it!

One of the great things about this show is how it packs so much important stuff into one day. I mean when was the last day the president was assasinated, weaponized biochemicals were released on the public, and the entire free world was on the brink of nuclear destruction? The Army used to claim that they did more by 9am than most people did all day. Jack Bauer could easily claim that he does more by 9am than James Bond, Rambo and the Army do all day... every day. Face it, folks, Jack Bauer is this generation's greatest action hero, and one can only hope there will be many "days" to come.

While pondering the latest episode of "24" I was struck by a suprising revelation. Most of our churches view Easter like a season of "24". We tend to look at this holiest of days like the Christian's Superbowl Sunday, but we fail to see the amazing story that leads up to the big game. Jesus wasn't some supernatural Jack Bauer who saved the world in a day. He was the God/Man who was born among us, lived in our culture, and ministered to the poor and oppressed before he ever saved the world. Instead of taking the time to really contemplate the Easter season, we tend to relegate it to a one day event marked by spiffy outfits and cheesy church dramas. We jump wildly from the incarnation to the resurrection as if Christ simply went from womb to empty tomb with no stops in between.

That's why I've decided to observe the season of Lent this year. Lent is a forty day time of sacrifice and remembrance. It marks Christ's 40 day wilderness temptation, and begs us to identify with Jesus by sacrificing objects or activities that may help us focus more deeply on the darkness that Christ endured on our behalf. I'm convinced that this observance enriches life and allows us to view Easter more as "24/7" than simply "24".