So I've been freer recently...what with school out, and all...and yet strangely more busy. An empty space of time is luck a sucking vacuum and all manner of new commitments will inexplicably fall in. For instance, though I had 3 days free last week, I spent them all at school cleaning and organizing my new classroom (yes, I did inherit a room for next year. Also of interest, as it stands now I will be teaching 1 section of AP Art History, 2 sections of Electronic Media, and 3 sections of Draw II. This is significant because unless it changes, I'll not be teaching any Art I...meaning I will teach 3 classes I've never taught before.).

Anyway, I posted previously showing the pear on the far left (below), which is terrible. Recently I "finished" the one on the right (not totally complete, but as it got close Jon scraped it off and we started something new). If you're curious, the top middle pear is a 10 minute demo completed by Jon. The blue pear is a value and warmth relationship exercise I completed with Jon watching, and the pear on the right is a slightly more finished painting, taking several hours.

There is obvious improvement, as you might notice comparing the old pear with the new (detail, below). Still, it is like pulling teeth adjusting to a more colorful palette as well as still learning brush control and manipulating paint.

So here's to hoping I can force myself to paint more in coming days. I set a very ambitious goal of completing a new painting this week, but I've already had several obstacles pop up. I'll post progress photos as I can. Also, maybe some more musings and thoughts will come soon. "So much time, so little to do....wait! Strike that. Reverse it."

The Emptiest Day

Mitch: Alright Ed, your best day, what was it? Twins in a trapeze, what?

Ed: No, I don't wanna play.

Mitch: C'mon, we did it.

Ed: I don't feel like it.

Mitch: Uh, okay.

[Ed pauses, then begins to speak]

Ed: I'm fourteen and my mother and father are fighting again. Y'know, because she caught him again. Caught him!? This time the girl drove by the house to pick him up. And I finally realized, he wasn't just cheating on my mother, he was cheating us. So I told him; I said "You're bad to us. We don't love you. I'll take care of my mother and my sister. We don't need you any more." And he made like he was gonna hit me, but I didn't budge. And he turned around and he left. He never bothered us again. Well, I took care of my mother and my sister from that day on. That's my best day.

Phil: What was your worst day?

Ed: [brief pause] Same day.

Do we dare to believe God enough that the comfort we receive from him is comfort we can then turn around and pour out on others (2 Cor. 1:3-7)?

I can't remember my worst day. I mean, I remember what it was, but I don't remember it. I can't recall the feeling in my stomach, the numbness in my brain, the bleakness of life. Imagine a lizard losing a foot, but as it is able to regenerate the missing limb, in time if you ask what it was like to be without it the answer would be very difficult for the poor lizard to generate. Having my life re-filled in the vacuum of the worst day makes recollection tough. Even more, the brutal pain of the day makes it hard to want to return.

But I must remember. The worst day was my best day. It was the prelude to the re-filling. It was the doorway to my redefining. Death. Resurrection.

That was my worst day. What was my best day? Same day.



(And JK...ruhamah.)

(They) Will Delight Your Soul

I experienced Proverbs 29:17 this weekend. While Aydan and Brennan were playing with their little cousin Noah they were complimented on what a great job they were doing by their Aunt Jenny. She thanked them for playing with him, to which Brennan responded, "Why shouldn't we play with him? He's our cousin!" It was one moment of sweetness amidst a day of them saying and doing everything right. It was utterly delightful.

All of this family interaction was going on due to Kyle and Leah's wedding this weekend. Here's a shot of the fam in our duds.

If You Can Dodge a Wrench, You Can Dodge a Ball

On Thursday, the CHS Spark Plugs (a campus Spirit group) hosted the second annual dodgeball tournament. Although my teacher-comprised team, The Staff Infection, made it to the semi-finals, we were eliminated by the ultimate champions, The Bush League Ballas (the baseball team). Still, we had a great time, and the Spark Plugs raised money for future events, as well as a local charity. Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure.

Organizer/DJ--Matt "Sparky" Nolen

Camera Crew/Cheering Section/Disturbingly Weird--Kaitlyn the Great and Laura Paige

Theatrical Master/"Staff Infection" teammate: Bobby "The Fro" Malone


Ready for action

A blur of white, ready to strike.

Of course, in the end I was professionally recruited.

Artwork/Artist

In case you wanted to see what I've been doing lately. These are all pictures of recently completed oil paintings (well...the pair isn't complete....). Sorry the photos are bad--taken in near dark with no tripod.

Here's one of me, just for kicks.

A Series of Events for the Left Hand

The short story had just concluded playing over the car's radio. A short silence was quickly broken.
"Dad, my stomach hurts."
"What did you have for lunch, Brennan?"
A normal course was described, and so I began to conclude that perhaps my son was just hungry for dinner. That was before the vomiting began.
"Brennan, no!" Aydan yelled.
"Aydan, stop. He's just sick."
"Brennan, NO!"
"Aydan, he's just throwing up, he's not doing anything to you!"
"BRENNAN, NO!!"
"AYDAN! STOP YELLING AT HIM!"
"But I don't want him to die!"
A conversation immediately came back to me, in which I recalled telling my wife that I could not remember the last time either boy was sick. Good health is definitely a blessing, but in this case Aydan's unfamiliarity with illness led him to a touching, if not somewhat humorous, conclusion.

After the boys completed a bath, it was off to the store to buy some Resolve to clean up the mess Brennan had left in the backseat. I dashed in and out of the store, and by the time I returned Brennan had fallen asleep. Aydan and I talked as we rode home, and when we arrived I tossed my keys next to the groceries and Brennan in the backseat, planning to pick them up when I collected everything after exiting the vehicle. Meanwhile, Aydan hopped out of the front passenger seat--again a place of some unfamiliarity to him--and in so doing pressed his hand down on the arm rest, built into the door handle.
Bringing in the groceries...and Brennan...proved to be slightly more difficult than I planned.
The doors were locked.
It was an accident of course, but it was a continuation of a series of comical happenings. The happenings continued. Heather was at work, so there were no spare keys to open the door. The simple solution would have been to wake Brennan and have him open his door from within. We yelled. We pounded. We rocked the car to and fro. Brennan slept on. Finally, I realized we would have to call OnStar and have them remotely unlock the doors. Only my cell phone was also locked in the car. The first neighbor friend we visited wasn't at home, but finally our luck changed and we were able to call and have the doors opened.

A ridiculous comedy of errors, but a funny way to spend an evening.

iPun

iWatched a million iChurch, Churchgoer vs. Christian, Christian vs. Christ-Follower videos on Youtube, and iSay that Christian culture continues to be a lame copy-cat riding whatever iPun they can grab onto.

iMade a video today for my church. It was another one of said iParodies. Mac vs. PC is funny. iSpoofs are...not so much. What makes me even more repentant/recalcitrant about my participation in todays shooting? iFeel that iCan't fully support a building campaign (which is what the video was intending to do). iHad a lapse in judgment.

iSuck.

April, Come She Will

I got home from youth group tonight, and it's too late to paint (and subsequently clean up), so I'm posting yet again. And Dad, Eric and Misty, please know that it is your commenting/encouragement/still caring enough to read that has made me want to write again so soon.

I really don't know why "April, Come She Will" is not on Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits album. Along with "The Only Living Boy in New York" it is one of my favorites they did. And I sing that song a lot these days, because I think April in Texas is just about the most perfect time of year.

Nothing can revive my soul like a good rainstorm. April has brought some beauties this year. Not so many as last year, so that bag worms and flooding are issues, but enough to make the world verdant and resplendent; enough to force me inside and get cozy, or wander around in the rain and relish it.

Blossoming life smells amazing. When I drive (yes...physical ailments continue to keep me from biking) past Bear Creek, windows open and wind swirling, I am overwhelmed by the most amazing scent. I can't describe or label it--I don't know the name of the plant that makes the odor, nor do I have some comparison that I could use to conjure up the same smell in your head. It just smells awesome. I feel woefully inarticulate saying that, but it's the truth.

Days of sunshine feel glorious, because they are accompanied by cool breezes and shady, swaying trees. They are what sunshine is meant to feel like. These days hold nothing of the murderous, sweat-springing, life-sapping summers.

And so the mourning in my tune today is not for a fleeting summer that will soon turn cold. If only! No, I weep for the passing of April, and her handmaiden May who will soon join her is the death of the past, only to yield to that oppressive shrew of the south: Summer, who will dwell with us far, far too long.

Vicious, Dog-Eating Monster

I almost forgot about this little incident, but I'm glad I remembered it today. It made me smile.

I was walking Lulu the other morning. We always take the same loop through Bear Creek Park. Since we're up early, and it's usually still dark, I let her off her leash and she has free reign of the park. Occasionally there have been other dogs, joggers, or even squirrels, and I usually hear the tell-tale jingle of her collar long before I'm ever able to make out her jet black silhouette racing toward her new "friend." At times, her speed and size have frightened people as she emerges from the darkness, but there has never been any problem. She is just friendly and curious.

Well yesterday as we rounded the back turn and began heading for home, Lulu was a bit behind me when a shriek broke the morning calm. "AAAAIEEEEE!!! Scooter! No! (presumably a dog was leaving the yard to greet Lulu) NO!! NO!!! SCOOTER!! THAT DOG WILL EAT YOU!!!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! Get in the house!" At one point Lulu looked as if she was going to bolt toward the dog, which I'm sure would have made the frantic woman's fragile heart explode, but I told her no, and she came along calmly.

It was fairly uneventful. The retelling makes it seem mundane. But the panic and hysteria in this woman's voice cannot be adequately expressed here. I have no doubt she feared her diminuitive dog was in mortal peril. Really, "that dog will eat you"? Really? Canine cannibalism is fairly rare, I think. Anyway, it made me laugh.

Blessing and a Curse, Jesus Looks Like Jason, and Things I Never Wanted to Become

I have been asked to teach AP Art History next year. It will be a fun class, full of interesting, good students (many of whom I know from this year), but it will be a TON of work. I get to attend a week long training free of charge in June, but these dates conflict with the summer missions trip the youth group is taking. The class for next year is shaping up to be larger than the minimum 15 students required, so it is good the class will make; but more students mean more essays to grade. This large class size is due in great part to my personal recruiting of students, and due in part to one girl enlisting several of her friends to be in the same class with her. This is the blessing and the curse of popularity and social arrangements.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I met with my friend Jason this Thursday morning, as is now becoming our weekly pattern. We talk about Jesus, about being godly men, fathers, husbands, our goals and plans and how to achieve them. He's a writer, I'm a painter. He teaches high school English at Keller, I teach high school art at Central. We are very similar in many ways, and I really appreciate his friendship. I also appreciate his challenges to live a pure, God-honoring life. And so when I find myself struggling during the week with issues we have discussed previously, it is not the Aryan, long-flowing beard and hair pseduo-Jesus I see encouraging me to overcome. It is Jason. One evening, I literally imagined his head shaking and finger wagging, and I thought, "Jason wouldn't like this."
This may seem blasphemous, but I see it as the fulfillment of God's divine purpose. To say that God is great does not even put me in the right area; he is beyond great. Any word, any conception, any name or significance I attach to God is too small, too pale, too weak. To fight this, God contextualized himself as Jesus, walked among us, carried our load, promised to be with us...and then left. That is not a slam, it's just the truth. He is with us, but in the sense that he has given us "Another Helper" (paraclete, the Holy Spirit). So while it was all well and good for Peter and John and Thaddeus, it didn't have the same effect for me. I still haven't seen God. But, back to God's divine purpose, I can see the Jesus in another person (as Bonhoeffer speaks about). The picture I have of Jesus is shrouded in the Jasons, the Nates, the Jeffs, the Asps, and all the other believers in my life. It's beautiful really. The unseen displayed through the seen. I just never thought Jesus would look like Jason.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I think most people say they never want to grow up to be their parents. I don't think I ever could have wished for more. And so it thrills me a great deal to find that in many ways I am growing up to be just like my dad. Still, there are things I never wanted to become.
1) A sellout
2) A fat old man
2) A teacher who does art on the side
3) An American Christian
Now a sellout in my mind is one who abandons self to chase meaninglessness. I never wanted to become rich, to have this amazing career, to be powerful. Reading Proverbs lately has reminded me that wealth pales in comparison to wisdom. And so with some thankfulness I can still say I've chosen to stay true to my passions of simplicity, beauty, creativity, and being influential (very different from powerful). Likewise, I still play basketball, volleyball, bike to work, and have footraces with students, so I am not lazy and obese as I approach 30 (although my right Achilles tendon has been hurting so I've been somewhat inactive this week).
But 3 and 4 are knocking on my door. With Art History becoming a reality, I have serious concerns that I will be overwhelmed with grading, planning and work in general so that I'm left with little studio time. You can't be a painter if you don't paint. And when I joined the teaching profession it was (in part) with the intention of having a good schedule conducive to art production (summers off is perhaps the greatest blessing in the world). See, that's what jobs are supposed to do: support your life, allow your life. They should not BE your life. But now work is encroaching more and more on what I want to do. And I feel I am a short step away from joining the ranks of those art teachers who abandon doing art to just talk about it. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, but to me it's just sad. Like the guy who mailed PostSecret the card stating, "Income from teaching creative writing: $38, 201. Income from creative writing: $0." I just don't want to be that guy.
And even worse, I find myself struggling to abandon myself to God. I've spent YEARS wandering through desserts, trudging in wastelands, and--let's be honest--throwing myself into pits of muck, so that now I forget the thrill that used to come with being with God. I've tasted brief moments of it in recent days. But by and large I've become complacent, selfish, and comfortable. I have purged from the mind the broken, the hurting, the lost; the slave girl lying on the brothel floor, praying for deliverance; the missionary dying for the gospel, and his family boldly and fearlessly continuing the work when he's gone; the dying house where those who suffer are comforted; the ghetto where the complexities of oppression leave generations bound to poverty, ignorance, and self-destruction; the addict on the streets, needing a meal, a hug, and a new life. And when these things are thrust back into my face, they overwhelm me, reducing me to tears. "How could I have let myself become like this?! How could I care only about myself when there is a world in need?!"

"The girl in the alley kneels from exhaustion,
she's guarded by some skinny guy who limps from some infection,
behind a veil of bleached, thin hair her eyes tell a story
like a photo of Berlin, December 1944,
She's looking for a handout she's been high for several weeks now
She's too far gone for whoring and the money just ran out.

And her heart still beats inside, and the blood runs in her veins,
a remnant of life remains, and her heart still beats inside.

The thought it comes to my mind to somehow intervene,
but it could bring me trouble and what could I do anyway?
It's hard to be effective when it happens so often
To see a life unraveling through drawn Venetian blinds
I'm sickened by compassion, I frightened by my limitations
anesthetic apathy come take the pain away.

And my heart still beats inside, and the blood runs through my veins,
a remnant of life remains, and my heart still beats inside.

Oh God we need you here! We're sinking fast and we don't care
The evidence is all around me, on both sides of my door
Our hearts beat..."

Jesus, don't let me become this thing.

HEADLINE! HEADLINE! READ ALL ABOUT IT!!

Check out who made front page news in Keller today.

"Once," Twice, and Many Times More

My beautiful and brilliant wife picked up an incredible movie at Blockbuster the other night. If you have not seen "Once" be prepared for some awesome music. Not a musical, though the songs overpower the story, "Once" features the music of Glen Hansard, front-man for the Irish band The Frames. We have already purchased the soundtrack from iTunes and have listened to it several times since last night. The passionate explosion at the end of "Say it To Me Now," the blissful glissando of "Gold," the sweet Casio (effect) keyboard on "Fallen from the Sky," the aching, heartrending melody of "If You Want Me" and the greatness of "Falling Slowly" are just a few of the highlights from the album. Highlights! Every song is fantastic. I almost feel bad not mentioning "When You're Mind's Made Up" and "The Hill." Seriously...it's that good. And I just found out (while trying to find how to play several songs on guitar) that "Falling Slowly" is nominated for an Academy Award this year. Check out the film. Immediately buy the soundtrack. Bathe in the ecstasy that is musical genius.

Jealousy

I had an interesting thought today while checking blogs. I know that God's love is called a jealous love. I was extremely jealous today, but didn't feel it was entirely sinful. Perhaps I could explain.

I read Eric's blog today and was jealous of his friends. It's weird, but they all seem so trendy and hip and cool. They live a free-flowing, urban, bilingual lifestyle. There's a photographer, who must have some influence on Eric's growing photographic ability. Typically, we say jealousy is bad--that we shouldn't want what other people want. But I had this sense that I wasn't really envious of what he has, but that I have deep longings--longings for community, and creativity, and fellowship, and beauty. When I checked the photographer's blog, I saw Ireland, Italy, France, Switzerland, and I was jealous of his travels to such beautiful, far-away (though not for him) places. But I didn't really want what he has, or want to be him; I just wanted to be a part of it all, to have the same experiences.

Maybe I'm romanticizing my own sinfulness. I don't feel discontent with what I have, who I am, who I know, where I am, etc. But there are times when I want to be a part of other things...of everything.

In Case You Care

I read Eric's blog, and loved to hear what he's reading. So I thought I'd share what I've been reading lately, just in case you are interested.

Alfonse Mucha, "Materworks"--a design master
John Singer Sargent, "The Early Years"--amazing painter
"PostSecret"--Funny, heartrending, thought-provoking. Find out more at www.postsecret.com (**VIEW WITH CAUTION! just checked the hyperlink and the first one is, of course, inappropriate. They're not all great, but all together they're interesting).
"1001 Paintings You Must See Before You Die"

And as I wrote in my journal several nights ago, this post confirms that even though I am nearly 30 years old, all my favorite books are picture books.

Decapitation Looks Easier in the Movies

I need to preface all the following content with the Dave-Berry-esque, "I swear I am not making this up." That being said...

We went to the movies today. Driving in we noticed a carcass on the side of the road, but this one was unusual, as it was a dead beaver. Aydan and I were quite excited to look at the beaver (I told him they had huge, orange teeth), but we contained ourselves until after the film. As we left the theater, the sun was getting low in the sky, and the boys and I raced across the road to view this fairly rare sight. Oh...and did I mention we convinced my wife that we should take the skull?

Now, skull extraction/preservation is not new to us. We thought a beaver skull would look great alongside our raccoon. So we raced home, grabbed a shovel, plastic bags, a utility knife, an ax, a flashlight, donned some ski-masks, dark clothes and disguises, and we set off on our covert operation. Imagine our surprise...our horror, even...when we arrived to find no beaver awaiting us.

I will take a brief digression here to tell a story about Halloween. We were on our way to meet friends to trick-or-treat, but before we left the neighborhood, we noticed 2 nice-looking bookshelves sitting by the roadside (and yes, you do see a pattern forming; I'm quite prone to taking interesting/useful things off the side of the road). I told HM that we should get them, but we both decided to just pick them up when we came back because we were running late (I like to tease that she didn't let me go back, get the truck, and then meet her after picking them up, but that's not entirely true). In my heart, I knew they would be gone later, because they were nice bookshelves. Heather has still not lived down the fact that my premonition came true, and as a result of her cruelty, my studio still has books lying on the floor, waiting for a shelf to call home.

Upon reaching the spot where the beaver should have been, I became furious. "If only she'd let me put the entire beaver in the back of the Trailblazer, this wouldn't have happened!!" I thought (which is a ludicrous notion, I know). Even more ridiculous was my paranoia that made me fume at myself for drawing attention when we first inspected the beaver which must have, logically, inspired someone else to carry off the dead beast before we could. But then I came to my senses. Having been dark for only 30 minutes or so, it dawned on me that not someONE but someTHING may have dragged the beaver into the adjoining field/woods. So we walked into the field, "just to see" I told the boys. As we did, I noticed a shadowy form retreat and stand at the edge of a line of trees. I was able to make out the form of a coyote fleeing the field. In front of us, where the coyote had just been, was the body of the beaver, which was previously intact but was now more...how to put it?....disemboweled.

After chasing off the coyote to claim our prize, it came time to separate the beaver's head from it's body. Because, come on: it's crazy to carry off a dead beaver, right? I mean, that thing was 3 or 4 feet long, probably weighing 75 pounds. Plus, only a crazy person picks up roadkill (and yes, for those of you who know V.H. and see some similarity in my actions and hers, which I had previously mocked, the irony was not lost on me). So being the sane person that I am, I had to cut off the deceased's head. After 2 or 3 whacks with my ax, which turned out to be fairly dull and fell with muffled, heavy thuds, I was forced to cut through fur, skin, fat, muscle and connective tissue with a utility knife. Fun. The coup de gras was the ax smashing through the bone of the spinal column with a moist crack. Surprisingly, I was not all that grossed out by the proceedings. It was a bit unsettling to see the beaver's slightly opened eyes staring at me while I worked, and slightly unnerving to finally see the head wobble loose and roll onto the turf, but I managed okay.

In the end, the boys and I returned home with a plastic Walmart bag full of enormous rodent cranium. Which, by the way, is currently rotting in the back of my pickup. Um, yeah...better go take care of that.

Rumblings

Recent Film Diet:
Sicko (Michael Moore)
Amazing Grace

Current Mental Soundtrack:
Alone Without You (Nightwatchmen)
Oppression (Ben Harper)

Most Recent Google Search:
"How to start a revolution" (Thanks to wikiHow for the helpful info)

If health care and college tuition, etc. are such a problem in America, how do we fix them? If we are a democratic society, how do "we the people" make the choices, instead of feeling manipulated by non-representative representatives and their special interest groups?
So how do we get democratic reform?
How do we get people to care for people?
How do we increase community?
How do we reform national values?
How do we make less more? (Does that make sense?)

How do we start the revolution?
And if the battle can't be fought....?
If not, Eric, clear a space in your apartment, 'cause we're coming to Amsterdam!

Regrettably, the Historian was On Vacation

I've often wished for a tiny person, preferably backpack sized, which I could tote around with me to have him (or her) on hand should I need a moment memorialized by a photograph. This would be particularly helpful on wilderness outings with my wife, where there is no one around for miles to capture a shot of us in the glory and grandeur of nature.

November has been quite the productive month, as I have finished my Athena drawing, and while in between projects, have completed several tangential undertakings. Regrettably, the pocket-sized historian was on vacation, and so the job was left to me to document the goings-on. At times I get caught up it the process, so there are lapses between stages of completion, but I post here, for your viewing pleasure, the "Rocky You've Met Your Match: The Preservation of the Raccoon Skull" and "The Creation of An Artist's Palette: A Rite of Passage to True Apprenticeship."



















(I can't get Picasa to stop repeating the beginning of the progression. Sorry.)

Coming Home

It's Homecoming Week at Central High School. And while the weather was beautiful for the parade today (a balmy 55 degrees), I am very excited to be, in fact, going home this weekend. So the glory of the thing is that I'll teach three days, enjoy the best that Texas has to offer, fall-weather-wise, and then sojourn back to Minnesota for some real weather. I'm giddy with excitement.

Somehow I got roped into driving for the "Freshman Favorites" in the parade today, which basically required me to drive to a car dealership, borrow a behemoth of a truck, and cruise slowly through suburban streets with wild teenagers all around. What made this event truly enjoyable, however, was the presence of my two sons. We had planned to go watch the parade, but I'm sure they loved riding in it even more. They loved yelling out the windows (something they always want to do, but are told not to) and being in the thick of things. My favorite part was a conversation that occurred on the ride home. It went something like this:

Brennan--4 yrs. old: (out of nowhere) "The air has gravity."
Me: "Are you sure?"
Aydan--7 yrs. old: "No, the ground has gravity."
Me: "Wel...(a brief, elementary explanation of gravity)."
Aydan: "It's like magnets. Picture it like this: the earth is the refrigerator, and we're magnets. So even when the world turns, and we go upside down, we don't fall off; just like magnets don't fall off when you tip the fridge over." (actual words)

Pure genius.

Freak Flag Fly

"Almost cut my hair; it happened just the other day..."

Transcripts from Central High School:

"You are the coolest teacher ever!" (Said in response to the fact that I ride my bike to school)

"You go to Central? (Response in the negative) Oh, I was gonna say, you look like you're thirty or something." (Said in response to recognizing a student outside of school hours. Of particular note was the way "thirty" was said, as if it were near death.)

"You work out, right?" (Said in response to a polo shirt that showed my arms)

"snicker" (Said in response to just about anything I am/do)

"Here's a tag for Aydan, and one for Dad...or, is it brother? Dad?" (Said in response to me checking my oldest child into childcare at church)

It is possible to feel very hip and with it one moment, and the very next instant realize that hip is momentary. It's nice when kids think I'm in shape, it's funny when adults think I'm a kid. It just goes to show that it's all perspective. The young think I'm old. The old think I'm young. Any I'm so tired today I don't know which I am. I did almost cut my hair today; I'm just so disgusted with it. But as I'm overly tired and overly agitated by everything, I think I'll hold off and see how I feel tomorrow.

Pointless

I was joking with a friend recently who told me she had a weak mind. She said she would read a book, like one she had just finished about an impending terrorist attack on the shores of a slumbering America, and be filled with wild notions influenced by the text.

"You weak-minded fool. He's using an old Jedi mind trick!"

I am not at all unlike this. I don't think anyone is very different. After all, Don Quixote read book upon book, filled with chivalry and fanciful notions, and so brooded and brooded until his brains dried up. In my case, I entertained the notion that all religions have the same stories. Seeking an answer for this, I returned to a person of interest I had heard of years before: Joseph Campbell. The man is brilliant. I plunged into comparative mythology. It was genius! I read further on the compelling claims of atheists ("unintelligent design" being the most memorable argument I read). They made good points!! I don't know how near I came, but I was on the verge of embracing the notion that everyone WAS right. We all had our own take on the universal, cosmic ideal. And it was precisely at this point that I noticed something.

No prayer.
All my reading excluded the Bible.

As Father Zossima relates in "Brothers Karamazov," "I carried (the Bible) ever with me, indeed I was afraid to go out without it, but I never read it. I did not know then that I had it, 'For the day, for the hour; for the month, for the season.'"

And so I entered "The Year of the Raisin." I wasn't sure in January why I titled my journal this. I emblazoned the cover with a raisin looking up at a grapevine, with the severed end of a vine in hand, saying, "Fancy that." Was the year of the raisin to be my return from shriveled life without Jesus? I hoped it would, and so I endeavored to journal daily, reading my Bible and praying.

My atrophy started years ago. There were moral lapses. There were lapses in judgment. There were new thoughts swirling in my head. I remember thinking of a scene in "Tommy Boy." He's trying to sell auto parts, and when people refused he politely, happily replied, "Super!" and bounced on his way. I was like that with Jesus. I didn't want to talk to people about Jesus. I didn't care if they said no. I didn't want to push him. I didn't want to be a salesman, peddling Christ.

This notion, one becoming more and more prevalent in Christian circles, is a nice and friendly idea. It sounds noble to not want to force Jesus on people. It sounds noble to live in peace and harmony with all people, regardless of class, color or creed. What am I saying, "It sounds..."? IT IS!! That's the trick: the ideas aren't bad. But what happens when the tension is lost?

I just had a vision of my son's bike chain slipping off the gears. Without tension in the chain, the bike goes nowhere, regardless how hard or fast you pedal. I'm sorry if that sounds like a cheesy sermon illustration, but it literally just came in my head as I was typing that last bit. What I had intended to move on to was the passage in Ecclesiastes where it says, "Don't be super wicked, but don't be super righteous either. The righteous avoid extremes". The biggest issue in all of life is balance. The Chinese got it right when they thought about yin/yang. Balance is central to life. What always occurs when extremes are taken is that a counterpoint will be raised with equal or greater vehemence, perpetuating further extremes. The issue I'm referring to above became prominent in church history at the turn of the 20th century. The Social Gospel people thought that most Christians were a bunch of lazy, good-for-nothings sitting around and waiting for the rapture. So they basically said, "Get up off your duff and do something!" What they did was good: seeking to eliminate poverty and injustice. Now the establishment reacted to this by claiming a lot of heresy (a lot was based on the pre-millenial/post-millenial debate) and saying, "Don't do too much! You have to hold to sound doctrine. Study and wait upon the Lord." Good things!! But pretty soon battle lines were drawn. Pretty soon each side thought the other side was composed of idiot heretics and would have nothing to do with each other. The gap widened. The extremes were more polarized. Along came WWI, and the New Deal. Social Gospel people said, "Let's get on board with FDR! He's got a good thing going." Establishment Christians watched and prayed, and served in the church.

The parallels between then and our current situation should not be subtle. The similarities between a century-old battle and a present-day discussion should be obvious. We didn't really learn our lesson, and so, forgetting, we repeat it. The issues today have more to do with tolerance, with global connectivity, but things are pretty close. Today, ideas like the one I mentioned, like the salesman pitching Christ, are gaining momentum. They are not original ideas. They are responsive ideas. Previously, within my own lifetime, we handed out tracts, we memorized the four spiritual laws (though now I can only remember, "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life." Talk about sales pitch!) and we made the hard sell ("If you were to die tonight, where would you go? Are you ready to accept Jesus NOW?"). There are some obvious drawbacks to such an approach.

So the response is swinging to the side of leaving people alone. The idea is to love people without an agenda. The idea is to let people approach the ideals of Jesus in whatever context they choose. If they live out the message of Jesus, regardless of beliefs, they serve God, the Lord Jesus Christ. The biblical approach is to look at all the places where Jesus hung out with the drunks, sinners, the culturally diverse, the foreigners and "pagans" and admire how he loved them without pushing anything on them. Some nice ideas are tucked away there. It's not wrong to love people just to love them.

But recently I have been unable to leave it here. My "current events" reading is now overshadowed by the weight of what I find in the Bible. I've been reading only Luke. Looking at the life of Jesus. Trying to find what he was really all about. All Luke. Only Luke. Looking for Jesus. Ready for the shocker?

Jesus had an agenda.

I don't say he loved people to slip in his agenda. But he did have one. Take one beautiful example: Jesus is hanging out with messed up people, and the "religious" didn't like it. He was loving people and wasn't making them convert, or turn to him for salvation, and the religious leaders were pissed because they wanted them to give up Draco and Caesar and Shiva, etc. PLUS kick the booze, the pot, the whoring, etc. Only that's a modern day understanding. Yes, he hung out with people because he loved them, but he never stopped saying ONE thing:

Repent.

Ol' Uncle Bucky used to talk about the confusion of many seminarians asked to define the Gospel. Most launch into Jesus, Christ crucified, raised, your belief, etc. Nope. Repent. That's what Jesus wanted people to know about the Kingdom of Heaven. Check it out for yourself. That's what he says over and over: "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is here."

So back to the example. The religious people are mad. They complain. So in Luke 15, Jesus drops some knowledge on them. Far be if from me to put words into the mouth of Jesus, but it's as if he's saying, "I want you to get this. I'm going to tell you 3 stories. They all say the same thing. This is what Heaven (the heart of God) is all about. Now, don't miss it." You'll see that the 3 stories are the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son. What does Jesus care about? What is on the heart and mind of God? Some people are lost. He want them to return home to him. The found ones don't factor in as much, because they're found. It's not about them anymore. So, real simple like, here it is: Lost, God wants them, Found aren't the main thing.

Now we could play games with what being lost and found looks like. "You could be a lost Buddhist who acts like a jerk but when you stop acting like a jerk and act like a real Buddhist, you're found." If we look at Jesus, he says, "Repent. Come home." If we explore repentance and being found by Jesus, it's hard to come to that conclusion. Many are doing it, so it's not impossible, but it's hard.

So finally I get to the point of "Pointless." We don't love people because it's the right thing to do. We don't love people because it feels good. We don't love people because it gives us (and them) meaning and comfort. All great things. But we love people because God loves people. It's not about us anymore. If people matter to God, they ought to matter to us. If you remove God's love for a person from the equation, if you take away the "agenda" of Jesus seeking the lost and calling for repentance, you swing to a frivolous extreme. I know it sounds bad to say loving people just to love them is frivolous, but neither can we say that Jesus loved people without agenda. Repentance was all he talked about. We must live in the balance, the tension between extremes. We must love people AND we must allow people to meet Jesus--the one from whom they're missing. If Jesus isn't all that important, we shouldn't follow him. If he's not absolutely essential--but, gee, his ideas are fantastic--then live up to the ideas and drop him. To live in a world with Jesus and not care, not act, not love is pointless. To live in a world, loving and caring and act, but going without Jesus, is pointless.