Back from the dead

Been awhile. But hey, I just don't like posting daily happenings that often. It's no fun for anybody. But hey, here's an event worth mentioning.



We got a puppy Sunday night. She's an 8 week old Beagle and we named her Cashew. She's hilarious. She's doing well in her new home, and she loves to play. We're crate training her right now, and she's getting used to it quick. She was the runt of a litter, so she probably won't get too big, which is fine by us. So here she is. . .

You just can't resist those sad beagle eyes can you?

Generation Y

A decent article about Generation Y and the effects of choice on religion.

Worth a look.

Whew. . .

Overheard at The Village Church:
Sorry this is a little hard to read, but it's the written version of a spoken message, so it never works quite right.

"The rut of the Pharisees was this. They believed in isolating themselves completely from the society they lived in. Not only did they isolate themselves, but then they took the bible and they didn’t just obey the bible but they added to the bible other things that had to be done to be deemed ‘holy’. And so what they said was in order to be holy, in order to be a man of god, in order to be a Christian you’ve got to look like this, act like this, do this, don’t do this; even outside the bounds of scripture. And so some of the things that they believed in and taught didn’t necessarily come from scripture, but rather they invented for themselves in response to their culture, and said ‘this is what holiness is.’ ‘Is that what the bible says?’ ‘No that’s what I say.” And that was the Pharisees.

And if you don’t think this spirit is alive and well today, you haven’t spent a lot of time in church. Let me show you some of the ways I think it plays out. I think it plays out like this, in some of the worship wars we’ve seen in churches. There’s this great debate over what style of worship should be preached, as if you can find any biblical merit to argue style. In a church that’s young like us it wouldn’t be ‘God can work through a piano and a guitar,” we ere on this side “Well they’re a dead church”, “what do you mean by that” “well they’re traditional.” Well dead and traditional don’t mean the same thing. Don’t say that in front of my grandmother, she’ll choke ya. . . in righteousness. My grandmother loves the lord deeply but she would not like the way we do worship. And that’s ok, but you can’t make that a biblical issue.

Ok, look at me. I’m not trying to be controversial here I’m just pointing out the spirit of the age. Anyone who would teach that in terms of alcohol and smoking that the bible teaches total abstinence has stepped outside of the bounds of scripture and created for themselves a holiness that is not of the bible. For anyone to say ‘for you to drink a beer at dinner, for you to drink a glass of wine with supper, for you to smoke a cigar on your porch is sinful,’ has stepped outside of the bounds of scripture and has said ‘This is holiness.’ Is that what the bible says? “No, that’s what I say!”

Now look at me, because I didn’t just say ‘hey go get a 6 pack’. I’m saying that you can not judge spirituality through beer and cigarettes, and if you do, you’re in the rut of the Pharisees. Now let me save myself some work. If you email me this: “The bible says the body is a temple.” I will send to you so much empirical data that says that the cheeseburger you’re going to eat this week causes more damage than the benefit of a glass of wine or a beer or even the occasional cigarette. So let’s not become the hypocrite. Let’s not pick and choose what we want to pick and choose.

What I’m saying is that if you judge spirituality by drink or smoke than you are in the rut of the Pharisees because you have no biblical support whatsoever. You do against drunkenness. You do against anyone being mastered by anything. And on that point, then, how many of us should be drinking coffee this week? See, we’re hypocrite’s man; hypocrites who have decided what is holy with no submission to the word of God at all."

-Matt Chandler-

I suggest more, and it can be found at sermonaudio.com

Back to life

So my wife is blogging again.

She teaches/coaches at a prep school in Dallas, where tuition is more than I paid for college. She started writing about funny moments with her kids, and they're all hilarious. Trust me, she has lots of material to pick from. I'm not sure I could handle working in her classroom. I'd be to apt to just laugh at the kids and encourage their behavior. So stop by her site and check out the latest happenings from the 7th and 8th grade.

The Skies were Blue

Well it's happened.
It seems my ratio of airplane takeoffs to landings has been officially skewed.

On Monday, my good friend Josh convinced me to jump out of an airplane. He and I were in San Antonio finishing filming for some Glorybound videos, and we had to make a stop at his dropzone to pick up some items we'd need for the filming. While there, he let me know that he had earned a $100 credit at a raffle the previous weekend. My only previous hesitation to skydive was the cost, so Josh offered me his credit, and the rest is history. If I were a rich man, I think I'd have a new passion. The 40 seconds it took me to travel almost 2 miles was unreal, and the 15 minute canopy ride, starting at 4,000 feet, was the most peacefull thing I've ever experienced.

So Josh, I now understand your desire to hurl your body out of a moving airplane. Thanks for the ride. (Also thanks to Aaron, my best friend for 30 minutes.)

3 Strikes

So I have a radio in my bathroom. . . . . . . .
I like to listen to the AM Radio while I take my morning shower. This usually occurs at a time when most of you are already at work, because my job rules. Anyhow. This morning I was shocked to hear a report on the Texas Rangers pre-season game results from the night before. I can't believe it. Baseball is back already. . . . . . . .


Now, don't get me wrong, it's not that I hate baseball; I'd just really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really rather be watching a spelling bee on ESPN then a 15 hour game of overdone stickball. Rick Reilly put it best in his Tivo worshiping article by saying "Tivo allows you to give baseball game all the time it deserves. . . . .15 seconds."

Here's my list of two ways baseball is actually fun:

• If you're playing
• If you're at the park. (And it's not too hot)

Those conditions withstanding, I'd rather be cutting grass.


My biggest beef with baseball is that it dominates the airwaves for soooooooooooooooooooooo long. The season is 11 and a half months long and the games last for half a day. I'm on the front edge of the gen x'ers, and my wife is convinced I'm a classic ADHD case. That being said, I need instant gratification and constant entertainment. (Quite frankly, I'm surprised I've written this much so far without getting distracted.) A baseball game has more slumps and downtime then the LPGA. At least during a golf game the food's probably a little better.

A concern several friends of mine and I have hashed around for a couple years has revolved around the idea that with baseball, you have a 'sport' in which a majority of the actual players never do anything. Hear me out.
Say you play right field. Or any position for that matter. You've got odds that a ball is even hit. Then there's the odds the ball is even hit in your direction. Then there's odds that you're even involved in a play. I don't have the search capabilities, but I'd like to hear about a game in which a player, who started, never actually touched a ball the entire game. It has to have happened a number of times. To me, those kind of odds just don't make for an exciting 'team' sport. Plus, if you're that guy not touching the ball, it also means that what you've done during this time in your professional 'athletic' career is stand in the grass for a couple hours. Kind of reminds me of how we consider bowlers 'athletes'.

I don't hate baseball. . . .I just hate having to watch it, hear about it, see it, see the highlights, see the replay of the highlights, watch baseball tonight do more highlights, hear about who's traded who, and what the standings are in the 3,500 game season.

Just me?

I really don't feel like writing about church. . . .


I wonder if our biggest fear as christians is thinking we're all alone in our dissatisfaction with religion.

Glorybound

So I have this friend Josh. He and I are the hosts for this youth gathering called Glorybound that's happening in November. We were amazed that people asked us to handle the job, seeing as we're pretty much totally irresponsible and lazy with just about every other part of our lives. We put together an intro video that's already on the site. More will be comeing soon. Josh has handled the editing of all our videos so far, and let me say he's done an amazing job. Aside from being a youth director, Josh is also a skydiver who blogs about his jumps here. Actually he hasn't updated in awhile, so hopefully me talking about it will get him back into posting. Skydivers have some pretty wild stories from time to time, and it's fun to read. I mean c'mon, he jumps out of freakin airplanes; he's bound to have some good stories.

Hmmmmm.

Overheard on a christian radio station in Dallas. From Nate Sallie's new tune Whatever it Takes.

Who was to try to live without you
Thinking I could do things my own way
Lord I know that I should never doubt you
I get so lost and lonely when I stray
Now it's time to
Surrender to you
'Cause I'm just a man who believes
And it's you that I need

Whatever it takes
That's what I'll do
I'd give anything to get back to you
I know I was wrong
And I've made some mistakes
But I'm gonna do whatever it takes
Whatever it takes

I'm standin' here 'cause I've got nothing to lose
I lost it all when I walked away from you
This time around
I won't let you down.

Dang, I wonder what Bible he's been reading?
Mine says things a little different.

The Result

Well, the weekend retreat was great. The van rental went smoothly and we even got to meet some new, interesting people.

Earned my Wings

I have now crossed from poser to legit. I am now a true-bonified-100%-pure youth worker. I have walked the line. I have been to the dark side and back. . . .





I have rented a 15 passenger van.

I love Texas

Clint and Pat

Well, with nothing else to say, I'll try and make a semi-humorous story as funny as I can. Here goes nothing. . .

In high school I played lacrosse. That's right. . . .watch out. We had all heard that on the east coast lacrosse was a preppie, v-kneck sweater-wearing sport. Our suspicions were confirmed when reading A Separate Peace in high school, and the richies in the story all played lacrosse. Let me tell you, though, in Texas, lacrosse is a different beast altogether. On the east coast, lacrosse is a game of skill and speed. In Texas, lacrosse is a game of skill, speed, and never-ending beat downs. You take a bunch of rag-tag guys at a 5A high school who don't want to be one of the thousands vying for a linebacker spot, and you get a lacrosse team. We all learned how to use that crazy stick to pass and catch, and the rest was details. In the east they start playing lacrosse as little kids, so when they get to high school passing and catching is second nature. In Texas, we make up for stick skills with our ability to unleash the fury on our opponents. I mean, really, who needs to know how to catch and throw when you can just beat someone until they drop the ball?

Our team didn't have a coach that worked at the school. He was a volunteer who just loved the game and wanted to be involved. I had two coaches during my high school years. The first was insane, the second was a marathoner. The first was a great motivator, with one liners like "Brandon, if that guy cuts around on you again, you fold him in half and send him home in a bag!!" The second was a little more timid, but could outdo us all. Trust me, having a marathoner as a conditioning coach is just asking for trouble. Here was a guy who, not only ran each drill with us, he could go on forever. Nothing sucks more than running two miles after practice and having your coach not break a sweat.

I played defense my last two years of high school. It was fun, mainly because it cut the field in half for me. The longest sprint I would be responsible for now was 55 yards. In a sport where the average player runs 4 miles a game, this was a big deal. Especially for someone as lazy as me. Our defense was made up of myself and a couple other guys who played for nothing more than the opportunity to be an old man and reminisce about the time they actually killed a man during a lacrosse game. One was Clint, the other was Patrick. . .I told you all that so I could tell you this.

Clint was larger than your average '4 miles a game' athlete. He had a mouth like Stern and drank more his senior year than I did all through college. He even played the tuba. . .how freakin perfect is that? Needless to say, Clint was a great guy. Him and I would ride together to away games, and he would always have one of his home speakers rigged into his truck so we could jam out on the way. I kid you not, it was a huge wooden speaker sitting in the middle of two 17 year olds flying down the highway blasting whatever 'motivational' song we could find.

Patrick was skinny, tall, and fast. He started playing lacrosse later than most of us, so his stick skills weren't all that great. But he made up for that with his psychological warfare. At the beginning of every game, he would tell the guy he was defending what a nice body he had, and go from there. I've never laughed so hard in my life. This would go on all game long, and guys would get so wierded out you could tell it affected their play.

All this is to wrap up one semi-funny event that happened at a tournament in College Station. We were staying on the second floor of a hotel where our rival high school was also staying. Bad idea. Long story short, all our scheming and plotting ended when Patrick and Clint ran out of the bathroom with cups full of something, shouting for us to open the door. So to anyone who played lacrosse for westlake high school in 1997, sorry for the cup 'o' crap on your doorstep.

I, Church

"It seems to me that God's richest blessing would be your own financial ruin.
That way you'd know what it means to rely on God alone."
-Matt Chandler-

On my mind lately has been this idea of God's blessing in our lives. The $100-haircut preacher reminds me that God wants me to have more money. . . .if only I'd send in a pledge offering. The best selling books convince me that if I just wait 30 days I'll be given what God has been wanting to give me all along. . . .he was just waiting for me to ask.


I wonder about our fluffy lives in America. We rattle off huge dollar amounts for holiday gifts, while an image of God starves to death. The man himself told us we'd always have the poor with us, but I'm sure he didn't mean that as justification.

Our plague is a nasty vile called sin. And don't get me wrong, sin isn't something you do and it's not something that can be stifled by following a set of rules. It's our disease. We live with it and we live in it. We are racked by how it eats at our consciences. Our thoughts are consumed by it. In some ways we are it. But our theology tells us not to use such words. Often we think we can pack it away and suffocate it by hiding it in a closet. But it eventually oozes out. We try to wash it off by entering a so-called sacred space and dancing for a time. But somewhere in our heads, the disease is just resting. We've tried filling our lives and our time with activities to keep our minds off our plague. But we've grown bored with ourselves. No activity has ever fully pleased, and no amount of pleasure has done anything but mask, for a time, our lonely hearts. And this leads us to our current scenario. Our place in history. . .

Our disease has allowed us to grow callused to a world outside our sterilized view of creation. Our Jesus-words are packaged like a big mac. Ready to be consumed and digested for a quick boost, but never life implicating. We dance on Sunday mornings and forget the steps during the week. This is how we can look upon the dying and feel no sorrow.


What would our lives look like if we began to realize God has not packaged himself into an hour on Sunday. What if we looked at each other and saw a person worth the very death of God? What if we got rid of the dance altogether? What would we become if we became the church?

Which God do you Love?

(As overheard at the Village Church)

-The Policeman God-
You know this God by the way he always has a clear answer for every life-situation. You can easily appease this God by following his rules. He's an easy God to love because he outlines life in a clear manner. We do all the rights and avoid all the wrongs. I'm going to do this this and this, I'm not going to do this this and this. This is a really safe God to love because we should always be able find somebody worse than us. His truths are summed up in neat little doctrines, packaged into clear-cut books with fancy titles like 'The Law of God' and 'Systematic Theology'. Every circumstance comes with a clear answer for what God would do, were he in the same situation, and we tally our answers on a scoresheet.


-The Church God-
This God is appeased through church attendance. He cares nothing for life change or life implication. He just needs butts in the pews on Sunday morning. This God is also easy to appease, as his outpourance of blessing corresponds directly with checks on the attendance sheets.

Keeping Score

So yesterday, at the request of my coaching wife, I ran the clock for a 5th and 6th grade basketball game. She kept appologizing for having to ask me, but I enjoyed it. It gave me a sense of power over the court that I'll never have while actually playing the game.

The best part about my time was having parents ask me over and over about the score. This particular league doesn't keep score, at least, on the scoreboard. They want the kids to focus on playing/learning the game, so they choose not to show the score with the time, yadda yadda yadda. Say what you will about kids and teaching fair play and all that jazz. It didn't bug me. But these parents were amazing. As a dad a few rows back yelled, "how are we supposed to know who wins if we don't keep score?" And the lady sitting directly behind me who was about to pounce on me for not putting her baby's two points on the board at the beginning of the game. I tried to play it off like I didn't know what had happened, just to be funny. (Which tends to happen when I forget that my life isn't a TV show)

Lady: Didn't we just score? (Loud enough to be sure I could hear, but not directed at me. Keep in mind she's sitting 2 feet behind me.)

Me: No response.

Lady: I think our team just scored.

Me: Nothing

Lady: Did anyone else see that? I think we just scored. What's wrong with the scoreboard?

Me: (Slowly turning around) Huh?

Lady: Didn't the visitors just score? I think we scored already.

Me: Oh yeah the visitors scored already. (Turning back to the game)

Lady: Well how come it's not on the scoreboard?

Me: (Turning around again) Well this league doesn't keep score.

Lady: They don't keep score? (With a look on her face like I told her I just ate a live puppy.)

Me: No, they don't. (turning back to the game)

The lady then spreads the news to the crowd, and you can hear the muffled sounds of parents unsure of how this atrocity could be. What's the point if you're not keeping score? Where's the motivation to play if there's no chance of dominating another person? (Say what you will about little kids and learning to win and lose. All that fair play talk. Whatever. I'm not taking a side, just making the observation.)

It reminded me of a camp moment several years ago when I was working with a family doing some group building activities. The Dad had a ring from A&M, and a sweatshirt to match. When our time was up on an activity, which they weren't able to accomplish, the Dad had this to say. (with a smile) "We failed. We didn't accomplish the objective. We failed." I promptly asked what kind of engineer he was, to which he responded with a puzzled look; "Civil. . .how'd you know I was an engineer."

Me: "Lucky guess."

56 Years

I saw 56 years of marriage end on wednesday. . .

I guess it really ended on Saturday evening. But we celebrated the life wednesday. I sat in a pew with 30 other people and heard a persuasive speech about how a woman was in a better place. I saw pictures taken before color was invented.

I barely knew this woman. In fact I’m not sure I had ever talked with her. Nevertheless, she was a part of our community.

Wednesday I saw an old man who lived a life we only read about in history books. His wife has been slowly dying for quite some time now. He was in the pictures. His glasses are as thick as his skin is tough, but his blood pressure rivals most teenagers. He talks of years that most of us only imagine.

A part of me wants my wife to pass before I do so she never has to suffer that kind of loss. . . .but like Willie sings, there’s a jealous side of me that “hopes you outlive me, so I’m never alone.”

Canon A85

Just some pictures from inside our place of worship. Hey, that's what happens when you get a new camera.

NFL

Sarah and I were given Cowboys tickets for Monday Night's game. Let me just say that I love watching football live. Let me also say that the cowboys did not play football on monday night. I usually enjoy professional sports simply because I get to watch things that I can't do. I can't dunk or catch a 45 yard pass in double coverage. I can usually catch punts without dropping them and I can throw a football into the wide open arms of a 250 pound tight end, but apparently on Monday Night, the cowboys could do none of those things. There was some non-intentional humor, though. The guy sitting in front of us at the game was wearing this t-shirt.

A Scandalous Grace

Yasser Arafat has died.

I've got to start by saying that Yasser Arafat was a villain who ushered modern terrorism into our world. He ordered suicide bombers in the form of men, women, and even children. In 1974 he had terrorists take 100 children hostage in a school, where they later murdered 21 of them with grenades and random gunfire. Yasser Arafat has died and the United States, among many other nations, will be sending a diplomat to the funeral. There would be no hangings as with the Nazi leaders. There would be no reminiscing of his crimes as if Osama Bin Laden had died. There will be a funeral and people will mourn. Countries will act political and send condolences.


With that in mind. . . .I stumbled onto this article, posted by Jeff Jacoby, a Boston Globe Columnist on November 11, 2004.

"In a better world, the PLO chief would have met his end on a gallows, hanged for mass murder much as the Nazi chiefs were hanged at Nuremberg. In a better world, the French president would not have paid a visit to the bedside of such a monster. In a better world, George Bush would not have said, on hearing the first reports that Arafat had died, "God bless his soul."God bless his soul? What a grotesque idea! Bless the soul of the man who brought modern terrorism to the world? Who sent his agents to slaughter athletes at the Olympics, blow airliners out of the sky, bomb schools and pizzerias, machine-gun passengers in airline terminals? Who lied, cheated, and stole without compunction? Who inculcated the vilest culture of Jew-hatred since the Third Reich? Human beings might stoop to bless a creature so evil -- as indeed Arafat was blessed, with money, deference, even a Nobel Prize -- but God, I am quite sure, will damn him for eternity."

That last sentence rings in my ears. Mainly because if I take the Bible as actual truth, then I know Yasser Arafat and I are exactly the same. It's not an easy thing to say now is it? It's unfair and unjust for God to look on us all as equals in the pool of sin. But the scandalous truth is just that. When God talks of a covering grace he isn't just talking about the good people. In fact, he's not talking about good people at all. He's talking about the darkest parts of you and me. God sees and knows that part. He's been there. And yet he remains to give pardon and peace.

I'm sure I've mowed over people in my life who are certain that "God....will damn him for eternity." I'm sure those words may have even been spoken aloud about me.
Praise God for scandalous grace.