Everything That Rises

Today is the second Sunday of Advent; the Sunday to reflect on Peace. I thought about how little peace I actually feel during the Advent/Christmas season. In the ministry, December is anything but peaceful: there are special services to plan, the Lottie Moon Christmas offering (for the CP of the SBC), the increased awareness of other people's needs, shopping lists (one stressor I would love to eliminate from my life altogether!), Christmas parties, and all manner of special celebrations to mark the holiday season, and to add fuel to the fire, our congregation will begin the process of searching for new staff replacements. To be sure, this Advent has been anything but peaceful for me. I also thought about how little peace there is in the world as a whole. I say "little" because I don't think the world is completely void of peace. After all, there are those moments when one sees the sun set and watches the horizon crack with all the colors of nature's pallet; t

Right now, this very day, 17 million children do not know where their next meal is going to come from. That's 17 million children who will shut their eyes to go to sleep tonight without the assurance of a meal tomorrow--an assurance folks like me (and no doubt any of you who read this) take foolishly for granted. By the way, those 17 million children don't live in mud huts in sub-Saharan Africa, or rocky caves in the parched climate of the Middle East; they live right here, in the "good ol' U.S. of A," and in case you forgot, that's 17 MILLION CHILDREN. I heard that news as I was headed out the door this morning to church, but as if that news wasn't enough to make me feel like a worthless bastard in my blue suit, holding my mug of coffee, my wife shared a different bit of news with me that troubled me the rest of the day. She said that a fellow teacher in her school once gave some students some books to take home and read. She gave them to them to keep an

Thanksgiving. Where did it go? I mean, the candy from Halloween hasn't even been loosed from its wrapper before I am bombarded with e-mails, T.V. commercials, radio ads, billboards, events, and all manner of media promoting Christmas. Is Thanksgiving the Rodney Dangerfield of holidays? I have grown increasingly annoyed at this apathetic treatment of the holiday (and frankly I am surprised that some right-winged organization hasn't made a big deal about the snubbing of a potentially patriotic holiday). I think the grand commercial shuffle that Christmas has become has a lot to do with the displacement of Thanksgiving; maybe we should move the holiday after Christmas, then there'd be no rush to get up early the next morning, leave your family for the whole day just to buy a trunk load of junk that others will wind up donating to charity anyway! I don't know...I'm just saying. I think I'm most annoyed though with the way that the erasing of Thanksgiving has led to

What does it mean to be blessed? We ask God to bless our food, our country, our efforts... We ask for blessings of health, wealth, and prosperity... We consider others blessed if they have a good family, enough money, and nice things... But what does it really mean to be blessed ? I've thought about this question recently, because someone said to me, "God has blessed me with a wonderful family." I have probably heard that sentence (or one like it) at least a hundred times, but this time it struck a dissonant chord in my mind. Honestly, it made me question the validity of such statements altogether. It has made me ask "What does it mean to be blessed?" Blessing seems to somehow be connected with reward, and if that is the case, then blessing is connected with effort (uh-oh Calvinists!). But if that is the case, then how can God "bless" one with a good family (looks like the Calvinists aren't out yet!)? I'd like to think we're looking at &qu

Note: This is actually a re-post of a note I wrote on Facebook. Please forgive my quasi-laziness. Humor me for a moment would you? Imagine God sitting in a boat on the crystal sea in heaven; the boat has a glass bottom, and He is able to gaze in observance upon His creation. Is He pleased? Perhaps He sees what He always expected to see? Maybe He knew what He would see before He ever peered through the glass. Either way, can you even begin to feel what He must feel? Now, don't some of you get ahead of me and puff out your chest and point your finger to the left and say "it's those liberals causing the world to spin out of control away from God," nor be too quick to cut your eyes to the right and say "it's those damned conservatives and their ancient ignorance." We have all played a fiddle in the devilish tune that causes the darkness to dance. I recently read "Mere Christianity," and in it, Lewis makes a point I find quite suitable for those of

You can tell a lot about someone simply by looking at their hands. I can recall a time, several years ago, when my hands were worn, cracked, and dry from pulling steel wrenches while lying under school buses eight hours a day. I still have a scar on my left hand from helping my dad load some scrap tin onto a ladder rack and having it slice my palm open. There is a bit of a calloused groove worn into the top joint of the middle finger on my right hand from years of note taking and figuring middle school math problems. Embarrassingly, there is a tiny scar on my right thumb from being shot through by a BB gun. There are all manner of scars, lines, and grooves worn by the natural happenings of life. I can remember my maternal grandmother's hands. Ma's hands were especially brown towards the tips of her middle and index fingers from a lifetime of smoking unfiltered cigarettes, but she still liked to wear rings--it even seemed as if she had one for each finger. Some were costume rubi

Momma always said, "Stupid is as stupid does." I think this may be one of the most profound statements ever made by a fictional character (from the movie, not Winston Groom's novel). The more I ponder on "Momma's" saying, the more true it becomes for me. I've seen a bus load of stupid lately, and I have to tell you, stupid is as stupid does, and there is a lot of stupid being done. Stupid is... When people seek their own gain at the detriment of another. Stupid is... the very notion that worth is based on the pigmentation of one's skin. Stupid is... when one person believes he or she is right, yet has never thought about why he or she is right. Stupid is... a crowd of people moving in one direction simply because they are the crowd. Stupid is... putting a gun in the hands of an angry idealist. Stupid is... practicing violence in the name of God. Stupid is... not loving your neighbor because of their choices. Stupid is... not listening. Stupid is.

"Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one's foes will be members of one's own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it." Call me a hippie, but I've been thinking a lot lately about war and peace. I think it has a lot to do with the current political climate in this country, particularly in the Deep South. Each morning I wake up with a cup of coffee and the news of another homicide, violent protest, or casualty of war. Why are we so obsessed with violence? I decided to lead this post with words fro

"Yom Kippur." It's a funny sounding phrase that literally means in Hebrew "Day of Atonement." In the Hebrew Bible it is a day in which the sins of Israel are atoned for through animal sacrifice and the breaching of the Most Holy Place by the High Priest. This past Sunday I preached from Hebrews and how the author of that epistle must have reflected on where Christ fit in the grand priestly machinery of a religious society dominated my temple practices; I also reflected on how we fit into a religious system not that much unlike the temple system of the first and second centuries. I thought it was a fair effort (but what does my opinion matter?). Today, on Yom Kippur, I stop again to reflect on the words of the author of Hebrews, and I stop to ask myself "Where DO I fit in this thing called religion?" After all, religion is a horribly awkward creature that attempts to occupy our lives in a way that binds us to habitual practice rather than relate us to a

It has occurred to me that different folks fold their socks different ways: some folks just fold two socks together and lay them in the drawer, some folks stuff one sock inside the other, and some folks just toss socks in a drawer and find a pair as needed. I fold my socks a rather specific way: I fold them in on themselves so they form some sort of rabbit-eared looking sock-ball. Now I know it seems a bit odd to talk about how one folds his or her socks, but there's one reason why I fold my socks the way I do--that's how my dad taught me. In fact, it is one of my earliest memories. I don't remember how old I was, but I do remember it was just my dad and me, sitting on the old brown-green-gold carpet that covered the floors of every single-wide made in the early 1980s. We were watching Peter Pan (not the Disney animated one, but the live action one with a girl playing Peter), and Dad had a basket of his clothes. I sat there, one eye on the T.V. wondering why Peter Pan look

Hope is a wonderful thing. It pushes us on though life may be tumultuous and depressing. It allows us to live in the present, longing for a better, fuller future. It calls our hearts and minds forward, giving us motivation to change the present. But... Hope can also be a dangerous thing. It keeps us stuck in a rut, unwilling to let go of inevitablity in order to deal with what's here and now. It lets the ideal linger in the midst of a world that is anything but ideal. It keeps us frozen, unwilling to move forward with the rest. Above all though... Hope is a powerful thing. It gives strength to the weak, Health to the sick, Days to the dying, Salvation for the lost, Heaven for the damned. It is indeed a powerful thing, for even though it may be lynched on a cross, it is still alive. Hope, Thy name is Christ. CPT

So my wife and I have been trying to buy a house. I say "trying" because the process has gone on a lot longer than we expected, and we still don't know for sure when (or if) we will close. We're currently living in an old rental house that serves to house more than just husband, wife, and two cats (we have a lot of "little brown tenants"). It's frustrating to have act as executioner to so many little varmints every day, especially when they seem to come out of nowhere and enjoy what the pest control company sprays on the baseboards. But I've lived in slightly worse conditions, and moreover, there are those in this city (nevermind the world!) who would see our rented domicile as a santuary of opulence (complete with central A/C and a dishwasher!). I have to remind myself of that from time-to-time. In a world where my condition would look just shy of average, there are those who would look at me and think I've "got it made"--they're r

This morning I found a dollar in my wallet. That doesn't happen often, because I usually don't carry cash. At first I was sort of happy to find it there, hiding in the folds of worn leather, slightly crumpled and green, but then I remembered something I read recently: a vast majority of people in this world live on less than $2 a week. That means, for most people in the world, half of this weeks pay was found--forgotten--in my back pocket. What does that say about me? What does that say about them? What does that say about a context that asks. "A dollar? What can you do with a single, lousy dollar?" I can remember walking through the grocery store parking lot with my grandma, and she would bend down to pick up a penny, and I would say, "Grandma, it's only a penny." I'll always remember her response: "99 more and I'll have a dollar!" There's another saying I remember hearing a lot when I accepted the call to ministry. People would te

Well, I finally gave in and decided to start a blog. Perhaps it will become a steady outlet in my life in the days ahead. I'd like to be a bit optimistic and thank anyone who may be reading this; you are truly a saint to have the patience to read words that fall from my mind and bang around on the keys of my computer. I want to make the purpose of this blog expressly clear: this is a place for me to set my ideas, thoughts, and reflections down in some sort of visibly tangible format (beats talking to myself). Furthermore, feel free to agree, disagree, or comment with what I post here, but do try to be respectful. After all, it's only a blog. Now, on with the first (real) entry... CPT