pray naked experience
slapping the face of the days to come.
monday, march 31
in the moment got into a photshop fit over the weekend. likely I'll post all my goofy artistic renderings of staid digital photographic subjects in the near future.
meanwhile, I resurrected some old community posts in the unguarded moments section.
notes to self: 1. write that follow-up essay on "why church is still a viable commodity in society" 2. fix the database 3. post photoflop collage 4. resuscitate the different kind of light section
wander lust I bought this pretty gem last week. after our last snowstorm, giving us a total accumulation of 3-4 feet of snow for the season, I had had enough. my little honda is a fine automobile, but I am homebound with it in inclement weather.
so I went to my mechanic who bought me mrs. macker's windstar at a nearby auction. instead of going and picking out an explorer for me, he offered me his wife's. he bought it off lease two years ago, barely two years old at the time. it didn't even have 30k miles on it when I took possession.
I am so.in.love. driving hasn't been this much fun since my 1968 buick skylark with the 350 and a preferred crusing speed of 85 mph.
spring is finally here, so this morning I relived a moment of my college days and popped in an 80's ccm synth / pop cheese masterpiece, michael w. smith's big picture. sunroof open, jamming to lamu, sun shining ... ruler of all I survey. this is the life. all I needed was some jovan musk for men to complete the retro moment.
I remember the first time I played this tape in college for my friend terry, pastor's brother, now worship pastor for our church. we were more ... legalistic ... back then, and so the thought of contemporary Christian music with no explicit lyrical mention of Jesus was just a little too novel of a thought. still, it had a good beat and you could dance to it. so we spent the day installing carpet, and at one point terry turned to me, reached out his hand, fingers extended, in a motion as if to say mr. smith was grasping at straws, so futile was his attempt to make the case that this was a gospel album.
fast forward five years or so. grunge is all the rage; kurt cobain is a neo-deity. I arrive at the pastor's house to find his and his brother's (terry's) teenage kids hanging around their car, grooving to soundgarden. being the spiritual, mature young college graduate that I am, I immediately confront their father. tell the truth in love, and all that. "dude, wtf? when I played music by a Jesus freak, you judged it as too worldly. what's up with your kids listening to suicidal freaks?"
I got a blank stare, and probably a helpless shrug of the shoulders. the look of a bewildered parent of teens who had lived under and subsequently cast off the legalistic yoke of a church still waiting to receive its full measure of grace.
most of the kids mentioned are serving God today, each with varying degrees of devotion or demonstrable fruit. certainly there are any number of stories that can come from the results of such church bondage, and most of the subsequent stories above are, by comparison, relatively inocuous. when the church went through a "shepherding" phase in the early 80's, many were exposed to the suffocating clench of pastoral guidance and intrusion on individual family life. some 20 years later, we have taken such a hands-off approach that we have little or no relevance to our youth. except for maybe the pomo and emerging church movements that intentionally target young people as part of the culture we hope to influence, most churches I have had contact with remain fairly clueless about how to be inclusive to kids. and so they travel this mortal life free of restraint, desperately seeking to fill their spiritual void with all manner of (ig)noble purpose, conciously avoiding anything resembling a church along the way.
I think the main reason, at this point, that I am as active as I am in my own church is because I have a lifetime investment in it. it has finally paid off, if you will, in natural terms: a key influencer in my own right, I have the liberty to breeze in and out, be as involved or not as I care to, and also affect others' lives for Christ.
it is a sobering thought to be a spiritual role model, and I do not mean to suggest I wear the mantle of spiritual leader lightly. I readily plead guilty to the charges of irreverent, subersive and intolerant of shallow thought, but never disrespectful, heavy-handed, or otherwise legally intrusive into the lives of my charges in ways that are not my liberty to employ. what keeps me doing what I do is knowing I cast a longer shadow than many others, and to start over anywhere else would not only cause me to start again from scratch, it would render me ineffective for a time. at worst, it would be defeatest of me to seek to pull up my tentstakes and find something else. in a weak I might even suggest we're one of the better games in town.
and still there are moments where I wonder ... what if we were to sit under t.d. jakes for a season? what must it be like to attend ed young or andy stanley's megachurch on a regular basis? what if I were to pack up the family and pursue a doctoral degree at dallas theological seminary? why didn't I ever take up paul on his offer to serve in nashua?
such are the thoughts I ponder when the wind is at my back. although I am truly content where I am, doing what I do, on days like today I could cruise the highway until the wheels fall off my testament to opulence, singing my freedom all the way.
so I preached / taught / riffed at chuch this weekend. general consensus is, I did alright. the topic was "raise the roof - lifting the lid on your biblical creativity." the scripture I keyed off of was mark 2, where Jesus heals a paralytic who has himself lowered through the roof.
the powerpoint is pretty bare until I add my handwritten notes to it. but much more fun, and worth the time, are the video clips we developed to accompany the message. it's a 50mb quicktime file (we're all mac's at the church; whatever); total runtime: 10 min.
major props to elliot for making me look good. or at least, making the videos presentable in spite of my presence in them.
catherine is a bestselling author, columnist, poet and artist just waiting to be commercially "discovered." not that she craves the attention, likely far from it. I suspect she would do well with herself in a cabin in the far north (she is in canada, but they tell me there are urban centers up there ... somewhere), with some good books and music. somehow I would not be surprised to see her taking pulls from a pipe as she ruminates on life and love and world politics.
I have been blessed and honored to get to know her over the past couple of years, through mutually turbulent -- and yet, to me, joyous -- times. joyous, because a small band of people became much closer through the trials. some were lost, some were found, none were left untouched.
and catherine was at the epicenter. the hub on a wheel of change. a journey I neither asked for nor anticipated, but for which I am a richer man, having travelled with her.
welcome back to the web, seajay. you honor us by writing once again. you humble me to call me a friend.
a week into war, it seems a fitting time to remember to breathe deep the breath of God.
Politicians, morticians, Philistines, homophobes Skinheads, Dead heads, tax evaders, street kids Alcoholics, workaholics, wise guys, dim wits Blue collars, white collars, war mongers, peace nicks
Chorus Breathe deep Breathe deep the Breath of God Breathe deep Breathe deep the Breath of God
Suicidals, rock idols, shut-ins, drop outs Friendless, homeless, penniless and depressed Presidents, residents, foreigners and aliens Dissidents, feminists, xenophobes and chauvinists
Evolutionists, creationists, perverts, slum lords Dead-beats, athletes, Protestants and Catholics Housewives, neophytes, pro-choice, pro-life Misogynists, monogamists, philanthropists, blacks and whites
Police, obese, lawyers, and government Sex offenders, tax collectors, war vets, rejects Atheists, Scientists, racists, sadists Biographers, photographers, artists, pornographers
Gays and lesbians, demagogues and thespians The disabled, preachers, doctors and teachers Meat eaters, wife beaters, judges and jurys Long hair, no hair, everybody everywhere!
paul encouraged us not to let the world squeeze us into its mold, and that is exactly what we do on a daily basis. negative, judgemental thought is habitual to the point of going unnoticed in us. the routine of crushing, killing, stomping out or otherwise destroying others' ideas will do that to a person, because we are so used to having our own novel thoughts crushed, killed, stomped out or otherwise destroyed.
but the downward spiral can be broken. what if we were to routinely withhold judgement of another's bad idea or our own stupid thought? imagine if we habitually graced others with our silence when we have no business speaking ...
I remember being at church the night the first gulf war began, and the announcement that we had commenced military action came down just as we started the prayer time.
all we could do was pray. and pray some more. probably the most somber, heartfelt, real church service I have ever attended.
I had a very good friend in high school and college who is pakistani. a devout muslim. went home to pakistan to secure a bride. I remember one year he did my taxes, and when I went with him to his room, he had "allah is King!" posters and stickers all over the walls. he was not at all vocal about his faith, nor was I about mine. maybe he did it for his parents ... he was also a very devoted rock fanatic who shared his rush and van halen and def leppard albums with me.
it was not until we were in college together that we talked about anything remotely resembling religious affiliations. it was when the ayatollah proclaimed a death sentence on salman rushdie, and junaid (jooh-nayd) instructed me on some of the finer points of the koran regarding death and martyrdom. I wrote a great essay on the conversation for the school newspaper. the editor would not run it though, for fear of controversy. I did get to talk to an imam as a result; wish I had gone and visited his mosque and discuss the topic further, but grace, the editor, insisted I do some background checking on the piece -- an op-ed!!! -- before running it. funny what you remember about people.
then there was a boy named raid (rah-yeed) came to our school when I was in second grade. his father was a doctor, and they had just moved to new york from iraq. he was a good athlete, as most of my friends were then. he was also probably the only non-caucasian in the school. it didn't matter to anyone; the litmus test for friendship then was how well you could play dodgeball. raid could move around pretty fast, and by whatever standards we judged in 2nd grade, he became popular in his own right.
I remembered junaid and raid shortly after we went to war in 1991, and wondered what they thought about the war. I have not spoken to junaid in almost 10 years, and I lost contact with raid shortly after he moved to town when I moved away. junaid was always a pragmatic kind of guy; I think deep down he was ok with the war, especially because he was no fan of saddam hussein. occasionally I wonder about both, in light of 9|11, and I can't help but wonder, with all the talk then of middle eastern sleeper cells ... was there more meaning to junaid and raid's family emigrations than even they possibly knew?
as if it matters. junaid is a friend, and always will be. I owe him a phone call; whether he approves or not, he is no less unmoved by death and destruction. when we prayed that fateful night in 1991, my thoughts went to junaid. they return to him now: how does he cope with the potential tension of conflicting loyalties?
+++
I am currently listening to scott blackwell's hip hop version of my king ... I had no pretense to playing it just now, but it seems so very fitting:
he's indescribable. he's incomprehensible. he's invincible. he's irresistable. you can't get him out of your mind. you can't get him off of your head. you can't outlive him, and you can't live without him. the pharisees couldn't stand him. but they found out, they couldn't stop him. pilate couldn't find any fault in him. the witnesses couldn't get their testimony to agree. herod couldn't kill him. death couldn't have him. and the grave couldn't hold him.
that's my king.
for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever. and ever. and ever. and ever. and ever. how long is that? and ever. and ever.
and when you get through all the "forever's", then amen.
how did you score? if you responded harshly to at least three of them, congratulations! most likely you too have strongly engrained thoughts on each of the men above.
how long did you stop to think about your response to the names, and how long did you consider why you responded the way you did? was there any concious thought process at all? or was it a knee-jerk reaction?
prejudice is a beguiling mistress. we tend not to think about our preconceived notion of How Things Ought To Be, our bigotry, or our habitual lack of grace, insight or perspective. we just do it. which is why the question of hate crimes is so sticky: what if your thoughts could be judged as a crime? how well would you have fared just now in court, based on your private remarks on rev. falwell?
the sad truth is, president bush will never do enough to convince any number of people that he is doing what he believes is right before God. whether it is right is for us all to decide in our own hearts and minds. ideally, americans will stand behind his actions regardless. still, his motives will continue to be questioned, and even if there is no war and hussein is ousted in a bloodless coup, many will believe we were wrong to even threaten to take up arms.
we are all free to arrive at our own conclusions. it is in our nature. the ability to think for ourselves is a quality of the Creator, given to us as part of His image and likeness in us. and with that gift comes the danger of trading principled thought for emotional rhetoric. passion must never outstrip logic, but rather be channelled in such a way as to prove the logic itself. where deferral of judgement is lacking, there too creativity and innovation, the building blocks of change, is in short supply. and to be unable to subject our most closely-held beliefs up to the scrutiny of another paradigm is an indictment on our very ability to conceive rational, cogent thought.
were I to do a bit of judging of my own, I would tell you that I have little patience for those who are unwilling to consider a topic from another perspective, or to contemplate an ideology from a belief system considered anathema to their own, if only to indulge it as an exercise in the hypothetical. and this because they cannot be bothered with thinking in a divergent manner. where there is such a judgemental spirit present there too you will find grace is lacking. and there I will not abide, not even when that spirit is my own.
the ability to publish our thoughts and dreams, our art and our lives, for the masses to view at a whim, is marvelous. to bring the press to the people in such fashion as the internet is an achievement our forebears could never have comprehended. it is a dream come true beyond their wildest imaginations. it is a gift, this weapon of change.
like our tongue, and the brain God gave us to use it properly, we ought wield it according to the gravity and respect that such instruments demand.
at the time, the "cool" dj`s were those who played classic rock. in the late 80`s stations like wnew-fm were trendsetting, and classic rock was the bomb. scott muni of the dozen-packs-of-marlboro`s-a-day was a god. john was one such disc jockey cut from the cutting edge cloth. he had the whole rebel/bad boy/long hair thing going on, and I admired him for his rebellious act. behind the "look" I knew him to be a thoughtful, thought-provoking kind of guy. part of his persona was intentional -- to tweak people. part of it was, it just didn`t fit the norm, and he preferred it that way.
playing ccm makes it really easy to strike up conversations on religious and spiritual themes, and back in the day, I was no stranger to sharing my faith story. how much easier could it have been, really?
anyone on campus: "what do you do on campus?" me: "I`m a dj for the radio station." them: "oh yeah? what music do you play?" me: "contemporary christian. the show is called tunes of the times." them: "contemporary what?" me: "well, I`m a born-again christian, see, and ..."
one day in the station lounge, john and I were talking about my show, his perception of my "religion", and me countering with my "faith." he told me stories of what phillip yancey calls ungrace -- self-righteous, legalistic and/or graceless christians who believe their salvation is more works-based than it is faith in God`s unending love. he told me stories all too familiar: of "christians" who put him down, belittled, made him feel unworthy of human love and compassion, much less the unearned gift of an eternal life of perfection with a holy God.
finally, he asked me how I could call myself a born-again christian. it was as though he were astonished by my profession of faith. I didn`t understand his frustration, and so I asked him what he meant.
"you`re not like any of them. you can`t be one of them. you wear jeans."
this thought has stuck with me for some 14 years; how can I be real with people if I refuse to admit I am just like everyone else? I am human. frail. I have a wandering eye (sometimes wondering, too). I anger easily; much more easily than I ought.
what then is it about my "conversion" that makes me feel superior?
Jesus said the first in his kingdom would be last, and those who wished to be great for him would be the servant of all. when did we as Christ followers let this most basic truth of God's upside down kingdom slip away? when did we buy into this notion that the `heathen masses` of the world were somehow morally inferior?
more pointedly, what had I done to make john feel we were equal, if philosophically separate?
this is all I know of our friendship: it continues, a dozen-plus years hence. though he is more apt to call me than I him, it is testament to our mutual love and respect, in spite of our differences on spirituality, faith, and the afterlife. truth be told, we are much closer than he would have cared to admit back in the day; but the pain of past rejection continues to run deep.
and so it does too with my fellow Christ followers: there are past hurts that do not heal easily. or quickly. and the pain and emotional scarring that caused them to turn away from church comes back to the surface when they encounter those who should openly embrace them. instead, they hear words of judgement and intolerance -- even of our own -- and the past throbs in their hearts and spirits.
we all ache for a welcome touch, a knowing smile, a compassionate tone of voice. when we encounter ugly, unkind, bitter words of the graceless, we cringe inside. we shrink back, hide, bury the soft places of our hearts and let the wounds fester. or worse, callous ourselves to the point where feeling is lost and we are no more gracious in our thoughts and actions than those who hurt us.
it is a vicious cycle, if we wrap our hearts in the clothing of ungrace.
I do not know what made me special to john, but I know we found in each other a respect that has not diminished over the years. we are not especially close, but john knows of me, as I know of him, that we are friends. we do not believe the same, we do not profess all the same values, we do not necessarily even believe the same things. but we are kinsmen.
Jesus did not look down on those who needed him most. He did not judge them for their unbelief, their ignorance of Him or their lowly circumstances or station in society. He loved them, as His Father loves us.
it wasn`t really the jeans that made john think me different from others who professed a freakdom in Jesus. it was the unspoken recognition that we were in the same boat: sinners saved by grace, if we chose to accept it. and if we choose to accept it, we are duty-bound to wield that grace as a weapon of love.
I chose to accept john for all his human frailty, just as he chose to accept me for mine.
praise house - a love story terry is my church's worship pastor. he's also a good friend of almost 20 years. on those rare occasions we sit together at church, we are as giggly as school children. it is sad and funny and at the same time. mostly funny.
last summer terry and the 11am worship band recorded a cd of entirely new music. the process so badly ground down his creative spirits he wondered if he would ever write another song. "praise house" is what came after a lifelong dream was birthed and subsequently burned him out.
terry saw a photograph of a civl war-era slave church, the only place slaves were allowed to have sunday go to meeting. the picture he showed me has a wrinkled old man next to the structure (it's really little more than a shack), with the words "praise house" scrawled over the threshold.
the moment he saw the picture, sitting at his piano, terry says the words just came out as he strummed a melody. "I want to find my place in the very front row ... I want to find my seat in the praise house ..."
it was the easiest song he ever wrote.
praise house is a metaphor; it started out as a bright, joyous melody that he imagined the slaves felt in their hearts on sundays as they were able to gather and sing praise to the Lord ... but it is more than that for terry. and now for me too.
the praise house is that special place we go to in our hearts and minds -- and spirits -- where only the Lord can find us. where it is safe, and warm, and bright. where the words are as simple as the shack in which they are uttered, because there is pure, simple joy there. uncomplicated, unfettered joy, beyond description in His presence. there is no worry, no fear, no bondage.
there is only freedom in the praise house.
I wanna find my place in the very front row I wanna find my seat in the praise house
I wanna run right in and let the noise begin I'm gonna use my voice in the praise house
yeah, yeah yeah
I'm gonna use my hands to lift my heart I'm gonna offer them in the praise house
I know I'll meet you there 'cause when you hear this sound you won't stay away from the praise house
yeah, yeah yeah
chorus you call me, Lord I hear your voice inviting me to come real close
to leave my normal things behind and come inside and come inside the praise house
so here I am with you my God enjoying you in the praise house
my hands up high my heart open wide you know I love you Lord in the praise house
yeah, yeah yeah
bridge close the doors behind me we're together in this place and my purpose is to meet with you to sing and shout your name
to sing and shout your name to sing and shout your name
few talk the talk. fewer walk it. few talk or walk their beliefs -- whatever they may be -- in a manner that shows they understand the depth, the sincerity, even the foolish wisdom of what they say. loyalty to and integrity of belief are hard to come by these days. it is far easier to stand up to what we are against than it is to stand up in support of something.
the preacher is one of those rare folk who walk the walk, talk the talk, and voice the doubt that goes with the uncertainty of, well, knowing for certain. it is precisely this vulnerability that draws me to people, and it is the quality I most aspire to demonstrate in my own life: the notion that one can be wholly devoted to a belief, clinging to it as if my life depended upon it and still have questions and doubts, tenacity to believe in spite of them, all the while being real with others.
there is a fine line between truly passionate devotion to a belief or a cause and being a zealot. I believe it is the ability to be real with people that defines the line.
in my limited reading, the preacher show the delicate balance between being true to self and being selfless; we would all do well to follow his example.
Live as if God will give you all the time you need to accomplish everything He wants you to do, and especially, whom He wants you to BE! You have to be able to enjoy what you are doing as well!
words I must learn to cling to like a life preserver in very choppy waters. this stuff should be fun, but only when I don't wrest control from God's hands. or worse, when I disqualify myself by my own shoddy work ethic. I am guilty of both lately. for more than 30 years, I have gotten by on some bizarre mix of charm, sweet talk, genuine mercy and grace, and / or special talent. there is no limit to my innovation when crunch time is upon me.
but it's not enough. discussing leadership competencies today, I could so identify some of the derailment factors that inhibit career growth; most notable was follow through. not a strength of mine, by any stretch. oh sure, when I make myself bring things to closure, it usually goes very well. it is a focus issue, and I have always embodied the scripture, "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak." I'm sure Jesus had me in mind when He said that.
trouble is, I don't sit and think, don't process what I learn and make it part of me. only since I have begun this journey of studying leadership and creativity -- not three years ago -- have I begun to actually process the things I read and make them part of who I am. even then, it is a function of repetition that causes me to internalize, rather than truly think through the myriad of information constantly churning in my head: the array of lateral thoughts that fill my mind, each touched upon only lightly as a leaf caught in a brief updraft, threatens at times to overwhelm me.
ever just want to shut your brain off? to stop the incessant processing?
there is much at work here of which I can only see a glimpse. what I recognize is the essence of doug's advice: pray as if everything depends on God (the circumstances, though not coincidental, are not mine to control), work as if everything depends on me (bring s**t to closure!!!!), and rest. enjoy the ride. if God is for us, who can be against us?
to this point, the coursework has not been difficult. challenging, but not insurmountable. and truly fun. this course, in contrast, threatens to be just dry enough, and have just steep enough of a learning curve, to be dangerous to my cumulative average.
perhaps that is vain; it is a goal I set out to achieve as part of the process. it is also a carrot at the end of the stick that requires me to study; to pry open the 500-page text and grasp the material.
but what I truly wish to achieve is an understanding of the creative field of study, and to become one of its lifetime students and practitioners. these are not easy endeavors. the mountain may surely be mental, but it is a climb of equal proportion to those who scale everest, denali and k2.
I seek to understand, to know, because it is there. for me, to master a topic so fully as to be considered an expert in the field is an undiscovered country. and having discovered it, to learn its culture, meet those who reside there, share in the quaintness and dynamism.
one day next summer, all the study, all the grants and all the learning will add up to a real graduate degree; I will do what my grandmothers could not, and so projected the hope onto me: I will earn a master's degree.
thank you, grandma's c and a. you inspired me, from the earliest age, to be something more than your respective families were able to do for themselves until my generation: become the owner of a graduate degree.
blogs4Cool so mean dean figured out just how cool the macker is. glad you all could come and see for yourself.
we haven't had this much traffic since ... well, the last time wasn't pretty. please allow us to tidy up the place while you look around. make yourselves at home.
actually, f'im irthy-thive (35). me bat thas mit ay (be that as it may), very little has changed. that is to say, I am as fickle now as I was then.
case in point: whether to buy myself a 1999 eddie bauer ford explorer. the sucker is loaded. it is what I always wanted in a vehicle of my own, and then some.
except for the white exterior. and the extra $3k. dear God, but I'm so wishy-washy.
