Everything That Rises

"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