Artifacts of a Life Once Lived

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Why do we remember some of the things we do? There are certain events, happenings, thoughts, images, or whatever it may be that I remember like I remember my first kiss. At least this is true of myself. For example, Fire In The Sky , an alien abduction movie, is burned into my mind like a brand into the hide of a steer. The year was 1993, I would have been twelve years old at the time. That was sixteen years ago. The movie changed me. Evening after sleepless evening had me seeing visions of aliens descending on my house, opening the window to my bedroom, and transporting my helpless body thousands of miles away for experimentation. It has haunted me to this day. I probably believed in aliens when I was twelve, but I don't any more. I am convinced that the reason I no longer believe in aliens is because I don't want to be abducted. So then, if I believe it isn't true then it can't happen to me, right? Interesting how the mind works. When I was a youth I had weird thought

 

Most Sunday's I find myself drawn to the beautiful sanctuary of one of Dallas' wealthiest PCA churches. We (PCPC and I) have a love/hate relationship. I attend, and am only that - an attender. I am somewhat ashamed, but not really. I assuage that guilt by teaching a bible study for 9th graders at one of Dallas' wealthiest PCUSA churches. I guess I love rich people. The worship at PCPC is formal, yet lacking hollow formalism. The music is passionate, yet lacking the shallow insincere sentimentality of impersonal mega-churches. The teaching is thoughtful, yet heart-driven because of the gospel. The church follows an order of service like most liturgically-minded denominations, yet she is not subject to rigidness's rigidity for the sake of order. For these I love her. Yet, the congregation, when gathered together, might possibly be mistaken for giant designer clothing fashion show; the parked cars would cause a frugal man to pause and simply consider the insurance premiums

 

 

A follow up to yesterday’s post about Seeing Gray . How do I use good judgment and discernment in knowing what I believe? Context : I know my context. We 21 st century Western, American, Evangelical, and Conservatives have been cursed with the baggage of the rationalist-spirit of the enlightenment. “I think therefore I am.” Faith in man’s ability “to know” is our battle cry. Reason, rationalism, certainty, science “will save us” it was declared. But it hasn’t. Nor will it. Faith is a process, not an end. Know thy context. Know thy self.  Faith seeks understanding. Humility : I know this: I am certain of very little. Actually, not much is certain, except death and taxes. I learn to accept that I will never fully understand anything. Because we cannot fully understand, we cannot fully know, however that does not negate discerning and judging what is best based upon a contextual understanding, a community understanding, and understanding Christ. Faith is always humble, and never ce

Gray! It is the new Blue! No, I'm kidding, though Gray and Blue are two of my favorite colors to wear; blue during the summer, and gray during the winter. I have a gray jacket and hoodie I wear all the time. Most think I just pick the colors I wear randomly, but the truth is, every day I pick a shirt appropriate to the initial mood of the day. [not true, there is not a creative bone in this body] Gray and all that this color insinuates has me a bit contemplative right now. I read a book. It read a book about Gray. Justice will not, and cannot, be done in this post to the totality of thought found in Adam Hamilton's " Seeing Gray in a World of Black and White " frankly because, for one, I don't have too much by way of reflection, and secondly, I can offer very few thought provoking criticisms to the whole since I am in some serious Gray water myself. When you're in gray, everything you think seems gray, and you begin to feel that you cannot speak with any genui

It was a dark time indeed, so much so that with the children of Israel it would have been for him better to have withered in a foreign land under the weight of a hard tyranny and oppression. Life was departing. Death seemed more sweet than life. Being seemed frightening, non-being promised freedom. Now look back. How was it that all was not ended? That, like a ship on the horizon, he did not disappear into a vast eternal space? It was grace. The immense and grand grace flowing from Him who is not seen but heard because He is not far off. But, what of today? Still a season of drought, though on the horizon is a cloud and with that a promise. A dry river bed softens at the sound of the coming water and a new vigor. Rain turns to a river of life carving its way freely in a careless and tired land. There is a light, a faint, but enduring light. He can only surmise the healing light belongs to the Spirit of grace who will not leave his own without the burning embers of grace's fires.

A friend of a friend reports on the vigil and passing of Richard John Neuhaus (RJN), a well loved and devout Catholic Theologian, Writer, Editor, and Priest:   The vigil mass for RJN was beautiful. It was at Immaculate Conception on 14th Street which, as you know, was his parish. The church was packed. I got there in time to get inside the sanctuary, but had to stand against the back wall. People were standing all around the inside walls, in the vestibule, and anywhere else they could squeeze themselves in. There were three short eulogies, given by George Weigel, Joseph Bottum, and Robert Louis Wilken. All three included funny anecdotes, including one that made me think of our ADK trips. Joseph Bottum said that every summer RJN would go to his family's camp in Ontario for 2 weeks or so. He would always invite Robert Novak up for a couple of days. Novak said, "I brought the kosher food, Richard brought the liquor and opinions." Joseph Bottum also read a very th

Relaxing at a kitchen table at a new friends house in Austin, TX, somehow we landed on the topic of love and divorce. I think, more accurately, we were talking about psychological disorders since Danielle is a counseling student and Jordan had questions. Depression came up and other emotional traumas. Danielle expressed the pain divorced cause her as a result of her parents recent split and the depression it threw her betrayed mother into. Her dad said he didn't love her mom anymore. My uncle and my aunt don't live together any more. I just found out. I guess they experienced the "empty nest" syndrome and realized they were really only together for the kids, but the kids are gone now. Jordan talked about his friends recent drama of infidelity. We all agreed we were capable of the same things. με γενοιτο. What is Love? Yes, the age old question. We briefly discussed the importance of selflessness in true love. Pure love is unconditional. The problem is humans don't

Oh, not so clear, Ran into you sometime ago, Yet unaware of life - its breath I will share. Alive not feeling, standing but hollow, Now is loves creation - oh have hope to love. Battered and bruised, I saw a glimmer. Out of nothing created - redemption wakes to love, Without love brings despair, Ends in disaster, no wind to care. Now you are there, life created for love. Oh, not so clear, your love is a garland adorning its aging wayward son.

There is really no reason for disappointment. Right? I mean, after all, everyone with a bone of care in his body wishes to be considered nice at times. Don't they? Even the villainous of us all concerns himself with what people think of him, even if it is only his loyal mother. I mean, for instance... tonight some girl backed her Lexus SUV into the glorious front end of my sheik, red 1999 Oldsmobile. She put her car in reverse at a stop sign and gassed the thing! WHAT! Who puts there car in reverse at a stop sign? Beats me, but this girl did (did I mention she was a blonde?). I got out, assessed the damaged, observed. No real harm done, at least nothing to worry about given the immaculate estate of my fine vehicle (sarcasm). I told her not to worry about it. She stood confused, without words. Apparently words are hard for her. I understand, I struggle, too. Whatever sparked in her mind, the only thing that came out was, "Do you want my number?" For what, I don't know,