Puritan Panic

The magic deck of cards was my most prized possession, right up until my dad threw it into our fireplace as a sacrifice to the gods of temperance.

If I shuffled them one way they looked like a normal deck. When I shuffled them another way all you would see was the four of hearts. Cut them one way, and I’d come up with any one of 52 different cards. Cut them again and- you guessed it- the four of hearts would come up every time.

The fact that each simple trick could be explained by my 13 year old education was lost on my father in his moment of puritan panic. Apparently these were they workings of the devil, spawned in the fires of hell. And thus, after one glorious afternoon of peering into the nether regions of the universe, I watched as each card became an ashen parachute and floated up our chimney flue.

Something changed in me that day. I was no longer content to sit under the tutelage of my elders and absorb their half-baked, inherited notions of how the universe worked. I began to question things.

Why was rock music evil, but country music good?

If bad people went to bars, why did we keep brandy in the house?

Why did only the nasty evolutionists talk about dinosaurs?

The only thing I didn’t question was why a money grabbing evangelist was on the same television setting as a porn show. That discrepancy didn’t bother me one bit- some things just were, and you couldn’t do anything about them.

In the conservative circles I run in, sometimes asking questions can lead to being labeled as postmodern. And being postmodern is akin to being a heretic. It implies you have no compass for truth or morality. Post-modernity is seen as the great enemy that threatens the church.

I say ka-ka. Ultimately, nothing threatens the church. The only thing that post-modernity threatens is the pompous idea that the world needs to swallow the medicine we’re selling without reading the label.

By the way, what sounds more ridiculous to you? That a beaten, crucified man comes back from the dead or that the same man comes back from the dead and then runs in fear from a reporter from CNN?

Elephant in the Room, Skeletons in the Closet

I've been bothered for awhile now at the way much of the church treats homosexuals. In view of that, I wrote this little skit. It involves an anonymous man trying to talk to Jesus about his (straight) friends. All the while Jesus ignores him, focusing instead on the task of opening a closet door.

___________________________________

"My buddy Fred still struggles, Lord,
when his eyes begin to roam.
But at least it's girlie mags he buys,

and not men he's bringing home."

[Jesus kneels down, and looks under a door]

"And Lord, Tom has a shepherd's heart

that would fit a role pastoral.

Sure he drinks and has a temper,

but he isn't homosexual."

[Jesus rummages through toolbox; selects two small tools]

"Jesus, let me pray for Francis too.

Could you help him lose some fat?

'Cuz he doesn't swing for other teams,

when it's his turn at bat."

[Jesus fiddles with lock on door]

"Lord I'm upset now- please look at me!

My friends need you in many ways!

Just ignore the lock on that stupid closet-

it's only filled with gays!"

[Door opens. Another man falls out unconscious. Jesus proceeds with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and CPR]

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Easter Sunday (No Anemic Gods For Me, Thank You Very Much)

Anemic gods become sick and cower
Before the table that showed Jesus’ power.
For He that would govern everything,
First tasted pain and felt death’s sting;
He lay in my grave just to be with me,
Then carried me out and set me free.


The strongest God is One who can walk through our pain with us, and come out breathing on the other side. Our culture teaches us that pain is a bad thing, and is to be avoided at all costs. That's called denial.

Jesus is a realist. He meets us in our pain and brokeness (which is one reason why the unbroken rarely see Him), and takes us through to the other side where there is Life.

Ask Him to take you there today.

Easter Part II: God Came Late

No special honor for the forgotten day
Between the crucifix and Sunday.
Just dreaded surrender to the hand of Fate:
If God came at all He came too late
To save his son, or rescue me.
Life is broken dreams and a bloody tree.


What does your future look like? Is it as rosy as it was 48 hours ago, or does each new day bring a crushing weight? You wake up hoping yesterday was a bad dream, but the sunlight reveals that you are, in fact,
Afraid
Alone
Abandoned.

Sunday isn’t good for anything if we can’t make it through Saturday. And as far as the Easter story goes, the Bible is pretty much silent on what happened Saturday. Maybe it’s because planet Earth was left to fend for itself for a day? It would have served us right, but I don’t think that’s it.

Saturday is, if anything, a day when Heaven is silent. We fill the time as best we can, but sorrow enters with every breath. Every heartbeat echoes in the vault left empty when hope fled away.

If you are there today- suspended between heaven and hell- then all I can say is this:
If there is anybody near you, then grab a hand and HANG ON. If nobody is there, send me a message. Really, I’m not kidding. I’ll hang on with you, and I know some others that will too.

Cuz we gotta get through to Sunday.

Easter Part I: The Last Choking Cry

Exalting in that last choking cry-
What cruelty in the claws of Death
As they squeezed tighter the neck of God!
They offered despair while stealing breath,
And watched the only Life-Giver die.


There are levels of sorrow and despair. Have you felt them? Do you feel them now?
The frustration of a weak cup of coffee
becomes
The depression of unemployment
turns into
The ragged, gaping hole where you heart used to be because ______________.

Good Friday is coming, and I wish I had been there when someone decided to call it good, because it wasn’t.

Or rather, it isn’t.

Right now your life may be day upon day of Good Fridays. Those claws of Death come, and hope hangs suspended and lifeless on the gallows of your circumstances and bad choices. I’ve been there too.

Will you wait there with me my friend? Will you wait with me- just a little while longer -at the foot of the cross? I promise it’s not the end of our story.

Holey Moley, and Other Things I Shouldn't Say

Holey moley. Apparently my blog post Cigars and Jesus smoked out some strong feelings. I appreciate all the comments made; sometimes they are more fun to read than the post itself!

Alas, life isn’t all about fun, and there was one comment that I feel the need to address. One reader, who will remain anonymous (because I have no idea who it was) asserted that my “provocative attitude is doing anything but building for unity in the church of God!” Ouch. Words like that would really sting if I thought they were true.

Here’s the thing: I’m all for unity. But I am fighting for a bigger, deeper, grittier unity than I currently see advertised in some church buildings. I am a profoundly flawed human being. I always have been. I’m not proud of that fact, but it’s the truth. Now, I know our soiled laundry doesn’t need to be made into a dirty little banner, but are we really so close to perfect that covering the holes of our togas with bigger and bigger fig leaves will tip the scales in our favor? If I need to buy into an idea of unity that says I have to part my hair on the side and fall in line before I get smacked with a King James, I’m going to have a lot of bruises.

Anonymous, do you want to hear me say it? Okay. I’ll say it.
I think Jesus IS coming again to judge us. Both of us.
I think He IS worthy of all glory. ‘Cuz He died for losers like me, and not a lot of gods have done that and lived to tell about it.
I think every knee WILL bow. And if I can portray Jesus in such a way as to guarantee that a dirty smoker or crack addict is kneeling in white garments right next to you, I’m going to laugh my freakin’ head off.

Cigars and Jesus

When you think of Jesus, what kind of person do you envision? I grew up in conservative Christian churches, so whether He was carrying a lamb on His shoulders or knocking on somebody’s door in the wee hours of the morning, my Jesus always looked serene. He didn’t smile that often. If He loosened up enough to have a little fun, I believe He really would have been a great poker player, but that wasn’t likely. The perpetual glow on his face must have been from washing with holy water.

Quite frankly, when I was young I understood I needed Jesus in order to get my Heiny-Outta-Hell Card, but I never would’ve chosen to spend any time with him. We had nothing in common. Or so I thought.

Then someone told me something that started to change everything I ever thought I knew: Jesus wanted to be my friend!

Let's talk about friends for a moment. You know you have a genuine friend when he laughs at you, and you don’t mind. My friend Troy is like that. If you ever see me in Tim Horton’s wearing a green face, sipping on peppermint tea, and there’s a guy across the table from me who can’t stop laughing, that’ll be Troy. Let me tell you this little story.

It was a miserable, sleeting spring evening when it all went down. I don’t see Troy too often, so times when we get together we try to make into Macho Hallmark moments. This one happened to be just before my second daughter was born, so we went to The Smoke Shop to purchase a couple prenatal cigars. Now you have to understand- Troy makes everything he does into an art form. You look at him smoking a pipe or cigar, and wonder if the Mona Lisa wouldn’t look better taking a drag on a big Cuban. So I (being a naïve, conservative, Baptist deacon at the time) let him choose the stogies.

Twenty bucks a pop later we were puffing away on my back porch cowering against the house, trying to stay out of the wind and sleet, and generally feeling pretty good about life. The dizziness hit me when there was only about two inches left on my cigar, so I figured it would be no problem to finish the thing. (Note to potential smokers: the dizziness is not ‘the buzz’. The dizziness comes after the buzz, a few minutes before the nausea.)

From there I’m not sure of the timing of everything. I think I was sitting down to keep from falling over when Troy’s giggles started. By the time I had my head facing around the corner and over the railing of the house into the storm to get some fresh air, his belly must’ve been starting to ache from laughing!

I was done, but we weren’t. We still had to do our traditional Tim Horton’s coffee run. Troy was quite considerate and offered to drive. I mostly didn’t want to throw up in his car, so being a good friend I managed to hold it together until the parking lot. I’m glad it wasn’t crowded because it wasn’t too spectacular; just a big heave and a little dribble - pitifully ridiculous.

Ah, good times- sitting in Timmy’s, my pale green head down on the table with Troy talking about the kingdom of God. We’re so spiritual!

This little insight into my friendship with Troy has a point. What I haven’t told you about him is that he is a really busy guy. He has a great ministry with students in the city, and there’s always a fistful of people and events competing for his attention. Troy drove three hours that night to come visit me, because he knew I was at a low point emotionally and spiritually.

Jesus is like Troy. I didn’t need someone that night to tell me to get a grip. I didn’t need someone to tell me life could be worse, or even that it would get better. I needed someone who knew how easily I could make a fool out of myself and want to hang out with me on the back porch anyway. Maybe even someone who was secure enough in our friendship to laugh at me instead of simply tolerating me.

Jesus is like that. Jesus does not tolerate you. Jesus does not condemn you. “John 3:16, 17” I’m grateful that I can tell you that Jesus loves you, and not because He has to! He likes you.

A Matter of Time

It’s just a matter of time
Until a daddy’s drunken rage
No longer makes his little girl cry.
And though tears still fall
As the seconds pass by,
We believe peace reigns
It’s just a matter of time.

It’s just a matter of time
Before our hearts are wide open
To the cries of the orphan children.
Today we may think
Our indifference is hidden,
But justice will come
It’s just a matter of time.

It was a matter of time
When you knelt down in the garden
Knowing they’d come to take your life.
After you shouldered
Our rebellion and strife,
Love and life would win
‘Twas just a matter of time.