For the last week I've been shadowing Tricia Lee, our children's director here at Grace Community Church. Tricia is amazing, the epitome of what a children's director should be. She loves her Lord, and loves children (a kid is a baby goat, as she says) and has one of the most encouraging hearts I have ever met. She is like a gushing mother to every person she has met. A typical Tricia Lee hello goes something like this;
"Oh, Lynda! How are you? Great, oh good, good indeed. Here's someone I want you to meet, his name is Blake, now, I know he may look like just a pretty face, but he has been so great to work with and even though I've only known him for a week he's been such a God-send. He has done....and....and he is so good at ....and I know I am embaressing him right now, but he is such a hunk and you should be friends!"
Not kidding, just like that. Everytime. I have never talked to this woman without her spewing out around 4-7 positive things about myself, someone next to me, or someone I had just met. Now THAT is someone to learn from!
Anyways, this weekend (Thursday and Friday) we held our middle school camp (5th-8th grade) called "Off the Deep End" which is held at Peg and John Yelverton's house on the May River (beautiful land, beautiful house, beautiful couple). Every year about thirty kids come up for two days for food, games, fellowship, dock jumping, sun, a couple Bible-based activities and a chance to hear the gospel for many of these kids come from single-parent homes or places where Christ is little more than an archaic symbol they cannot relate too (more on that later).
My job for the weekend? Plan praise and worship for both the staff worship sessions at 8 AM before the campers show up at 9 AM, and then plan worship for all the sessions with the kids. Also she put me in charge of the 7th graders (ALL RIGHT!!!) which meant going through the story of Joseph and Potipher, helping them construct a themed drama, and then preform it with them. Needlesstosay, if you've ever worked with 7th graders (especially boys) you can guess what this entailed.
Example? Ray. Ray was a 7th boy who I would risk my life on guessing he had AD-HD. He was climbing all over the docks, running around during group talks, constantly throwing walnuts at me, being loud and completely irrelevant during group talks, and even saying a couple not-so-Jesus-like words.
I love 7th grade boys. Seriously. I mean, this kid had SO much energy and potential. I can understand where many people would rather be about 90 miles away from this kid (as a couple counselors told me : ) ) but here's the thing; what an oppertunity to show someone with such potential to better the kingdom of God the love of Christ than to be his friend when everyone else was a little...well...perterbed with him. All I can hope is that he got something out of this weekend, then again, it's not about what I hope.
As for the group worship, Danae (a college girl from Lee Univ.) was my lovely and gracious co-capt. of music and what a blessing to have her. She always smiled, always laughed, and was drentched with the pressence of Christ. Together, we even wrote a song specifically about the theme of Off the Deep End (to the tune of 'sunshine go away today' by Johnathan Edwards) Though the kids may not have always enjoyed our worship, we for sure did : ) I was also lucky enough to have her as a co-leader of our smal group, which was a joy.
As for being a witness...two stories. The word for witness in the gospels is martus which is the word we get our english word 'martyr' from. So, what is a witness.
There was someone I saw who wasn't a witness. A Liberty University professor who came to speak about "chronological biblical storytelling" to these middle schoolers, a topic which was important (after all 2/3 of our world is illiterate) but needlesstosay, over the heads and attention spans of many of these kids. Indeed, since many of them were nominal Christians at best, it'd be like trying to teach a 8 year old how to do a 720 BMX rotation when he can barely even ride a bike, much less hit a half-pipe. I watched every kid slouch their heads and slowly fade into apathy, did they really need such a lecture with big words and a topic irrelevant to their lives? I mean, it is important to learn, don't get me wrong, but for someone from an "evangelical" college to think "hey, these kids will become Christ-followers if they can learn to tell academically correct stories!" well...it's one of the reasons i try not to call myself an "evangelical" Christian (I am a Christian who wishes dearly to preach the gospel with my life, but that means love, not academic superiority or moral majority). This man, who tried so hard to be academic and important-looking for these kids, also failed to ever love these kids, to talk with them, to witness Christ to them. He was very good at sitting away from the kids, listening to his ipod, and was VERY good at telling all these kids and parents "Come to Liberty University, where we are raising tomorrow's Christian leaders today" but as an academic lecture, it was an F at best. My favorite quote "Post-modern people hates books." Are you kidding me? While we're on such a postmodern bashing spree, can we remember that 5 minutes early this very man was telling these kids that the Bible should be analyzed how it "appears to them"...a closet post-modern? Also, he obviously did not know how to reach these kids (even though he teaches missions at an evangelical college) because he was so intended to use weighed theological terms and big words that he did not realize his archic language could not reach the fragmented ideology (thanks Nouwen) that all these kids had. It doesn't matter how much we talk about Old Testament sacrifices fortelling Jesus as our sacrifice because these kids have no idea what that means! UGH!
But these are witness to Christ...
-a girl who reached out to the outsiders, swimming with them, talking with them, loving them
-a married couple who took a group of introverted 8th graders, concerned about appearances, and had them entertaining us hilariously by the end of the camp.
-a guy about my age who, during a praise band's preformance, though nothing of dancing and screaming with joy, not caring who saw him praising his Savior, and you know what? Other kids joined in
-A fisherman who gladly took two days off of work in order to counsel, to teach, and to love these kids, even providing a few sharks to dissect he caught early that morning.
-Two women whose love for kids go deep enough where they spent weeks and hours planning this entire weekend, accepting that if God' s plan is merely to plant one seed, then it all is worth it.
-A young woman who, regardless of a fear of heights, jumped off the 12 foot dock into the ocean to make her new found friends happy.
-A company which donated all the food, good food at that...
And so many more! What a bright light that Christ shines thru those who love! It is ALL about love, for who wants to hear a stoic, academic gospel? Not me, for any good news that is not accompanied by love and joy is news that wouldn't seem so good. What a weekend! So pray for Will, an 8th grader who is having problems with his mom, Jordan, a 7th grade girl who may be having trouble fitting in, Ray a 7th grader with energy issues, Rayanna, a girl who began coming out of her shell, and so many more! And most of all, pray for college professors who, even with their degrees and evnagelical blessings, still have no idea how to reach these kids for Christ.
Have a great week, i'm off to the beach!
Love
Blake
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Nothing To Do With Anything Pertaining to Anything
Anyways, buy The Films new album "Oh Scorpio" out 6/23...which happens to be the morning of the 'morrow. So, you should...
A blog post with something more relevant coming soon....stay tuned!
A blog post with something more relevant coming soon....stay tuned!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Just A Quick Story...About Love
In the midst of theology and philosophy, religious jargon and ethics, metaphysics and trinitarian ontology, there is a story. Christianity is primarily a story, a great story, a story unlike any other story. A tale twisting through history, past cultures and peoples, through mountains and valleys, in differnet languages and diallects. It is a narrative, a beautifully woven message of us; people broken, wounded, empty-headed and rebelious. To take the narrative from Christianity in order to reach the theology and religion is like tearing apart a frog in order to see how it works. In the end, it's not the wonder's of the frog's hopping, croaking, and swimming that we see, it is merely the over disected carcass; ceasing to move. Living Scripture is nothing short of this narrative of Christ-followers; and thus the gospel lives not in mere philosophy and complex and intricate termanology and logic, it lives and breaths in the stories of the saints and the undeserved forgiveness of our sorry state by Jesus Christ (after all, if forgiveness was deserved, it would no longer be forgiveness, it would be justice.)
This is a story.
George Matheson had it all. He had a beautiful fianc'e and quickly the young seminarian was become known as one of the most brilliant up-and-coming theologians out of the Scottish countryside in the mid 1800's. He was working on promising theological works and was certain to be a mover-and-shaker for the future Christian generation. And at 20 it hit him.
He went blind.
And so it began. His fianc'e left him, saying there was no possible way a woman of her stature could ever marry a blind man; she packed her bag and left him. His work was halted, for he had no possible ways to read. His theological work showed the strain on his life as many of the reviewers thought it mistake-ridden and flawed. His career as a theologian had hit a roadblock to say the least. So, weary in heart, he became a pastor of a large church. This man, who was to be the Christian leader of Scotland, now humbly preached from the pulpit. The only hope he had was the love of his sister.
It was his sister who read to him, who led him around town and cooked for him. It was his sister who listened to his troubles, who cared and nourtured him. Indeed, he openly admitted many times that without his sister and her tender-mercies and love there was no possible way he could ever do what he did. But before long she fell in love, he proposed, and they were to be married.
Matheson was crushed.
The woman who had helped him, carrying his burdans and reading late in the night, the woman who made all his did possible was leaving; for good. After nearly 15 years of having his dear sister by his side, Matheson had no one. His heart sank, aching him so deeply that he could not even attend her wedding. Moreover, it was this moment that reminded Matheson again of his fianc'e who left him, who abandoned him in his time of need. Blind. Can you imagine, completely and utterly blind. And Matheson mourned.
And the fruit of that mourning? Matheson said that in the darkness of that night, in the midst of his breaking heart came "...the quickest bit of work I had ever done in my life." He felt as if "...an inward voice was dictating to me." as his pen scribbled out his work in a few, short moments;
O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.
O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.
O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.
O love that will not let me go...how great a love!!! Is it possible that in our darkest and most dreer hour, we too may exclaim such love? Take encouragement, my good friends, that never, ever, ever must we worry about being left alone, homeless and hopeless. For we have such a home, a place of rest where in our Father's arms we may truly close our eyes. Be encouraged!!! Love to you all
-Blake
This is a story.
George Matheson had it all. He had a beautiful fianc'e and quickly the young seminarian was become known as one of the most brilliant up-and-coming theologians out of the Scottish countryside in the mid 1800's. He was working on promising theological works and was certain to be a mover-and-shaker for the future Christian generation. And at 20 it hit him.
He went blind.
And so it began. His fianc'e left him, saying there was no possible way a woman of her stature could ever marry a blind man; she packed her bag and left him. His work was halted, for he had no possible ways to read. His theological work showed the strain on his life as many of the reviewers thought it mistake-ridden and flawed. His career as a theologian had hit a roadblock to say the least. So, weary in heart, he became a pastor of a large church. This man, who was to be the Christian leader of Scotland, now humbly preached from the pulpit. The only hope he had was the love of his sister.
It was his sister who read to him, who led him around town and cooked for him. It was his sister who listened to his troubles, who cared and nourtured him. Indeed, he openly admitted many times that without his sister and her tender-mercies and love there was no possible way he could ever do what he did. But before long she fell in love, he proposed, and they were to be married.
Matheson was crushed.
The woman who had helped him, carrying his burdans and reading late in the night, the woman who made all his did possible was leaving; for good. After nearly 15 years of having his dear sister by his side, Matheson had no one. His heart sank, aching him so deeply that he could not even attend her wedding. Moreover, it was this moment that reminded Matheson again of his fianc'e who left him, who abandoned him in his time of need. Blind. Can you imagine, completely and utterly blind. And Matheson mourned.
And the fruit of that mourning? Matheson said that in the darkness of that night, in the midst of his breaking heart came "...the quickest bit of work I had ever done in my life." He felt as if "...an inward voice was dictating to me." as his pen scribbled out his work in a few, short moments;
O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.
O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.
O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.
O love that will not let me go...how great a love!!! Is it possible that in our darkest and most dreer hour, we too may exclaim such love? Take encouragement, my good friends, that never, ever, ever must we worry about being left alone, homeless and hopeless. For we have such a home, a place of rest where in our Father's arms we may truly close our eyes. Be encouraged!!! Love to you all
-Blake
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
What It Means To Be Human
The answer? Wounded. Hurt. Broken in many places. Rejected by many faces. The what was, the what is, and the what could be's are all dwarfed by what really is. Each day scars heal only to be torn open, smiles after a winter of sorrow are erased in the twitch of an eyelash, and for every beautiful sonnet and lavish promise come fifty grief stricken wails and the epic failures and blunders of unfulfiled oratory.
For the last two days, this is all I have seen. For the last two days I have seen how broken man is, not just the men and women we hear in newspaper stories or on the evening news and think "man, I'm glad I'm not one of them", I mean the ones that live among us, the men and women who live with, as Henri Nouwen would call it; wounds which are not meant to heal, scars that never fade, and hearts whose pulse will never be the same.
Who are these people? They are M. and A. who both have been through relationships which ended in their respective spouses cheating on them, leaving them with children and a gap. So, M. and R. find each other, both having previous religious history which was so brutally torn apart by such suffering. So, they move in together, they have sex, they live on until they relize that their relationship with Christ is more important than themselves. So, they sleep in seperate rooms, they abstain from even the slghtest physical, intimate contact, having the one least exhausted from the daily trials and labors sleep on the living room couch while the other takes the bed. And so they come to the church, to get married and embrace Christ in their relationship. He works in worship ministries, she is active in Bible studies. And the church said no, no, no you can't be married in our sanctuary because you have gone against the bidding of God and have not reflected Christ. And how do I fit in? I was at their counseling session, and I saw the hurt, the regret, a feeling of inadequacy among men. Sure, in fact, indeed it was wrong what they did, very wrong, especially to set such a message to their children and to others as they reflect Christ. But yet, to witness their struggle over the last 24 hours as the elders and pastors rediscussed their wedding at this morning's elders meeting, it hurt.
I was asked during that meeting what I thought, what I felt God called us to do. Me. Cruddy, inadequate, 21-year old me. They're getting married in the sanctuary. Praise God.
Who are these people? This is Art. Art is a war veterin, a man who has gone to this church for many years. He is quiet, a short man with graying hair and a gentle demenor. A man who comes in and comes out without a peep. A gentleman.
A man who was opened up yesterday, only to find that his body was fulled of cancer. It was eatting him alive. A man without a body of his own. So he was sown shut and made comfortable. That's it. Pastor Roy went to visit him, here is what he found; a white room devoid of flowers or cards, mementos of concern or tokens of charity. There was no one in the hard hospital seats, nor was there any noise of relatives conversing softly. There was Art, just Art, his two travel bags sitting along side his bed. He had no one except his son, a son who flew in from LA only to leave the next day, to leave Hilton Head and to leave his father; alone. This was a man who couldn't speak, why speak, what's the point when you're alone. To hear such a man of God for so many years return to the office only to say "I hate my job" is enough to wound even the most hardened and unbreakable of hearts. What do you say to such a wounded, lonely soul? How can you show enough love and compassion to erase such lonesomeness?
Who are these people? This is the runner. A good runner, a very good runner. A state champion runner. He came in with his couch, I saw him as I went for lunch and go off to run an errand. I came back and heard it all. This runner was the son of a family trying to make ends meet, a family who has moved 7 times the last two years in order to stay afloat, living on the most meager of means. This is a runner, a runner who has lived out of a suitcase for months. A runner who has a scholorship to run at a college. He also has a girlfriend, a girlfriend who he adores, to the point where he has lied to his family. This has strained his relationship with his dad, this has forced his father to go overboard and become overly protective. This led to the runner punching his hand into the wall in an argument, breaking his hand. This led to the father locking his son out of the hour today, refusing to let him stay any longer. This is a wounded family. A very wounded family.
And this only scratches the surfice. Single moms and dads trying to make ends meet both physically, financially and spiritually with their children. Elderly men and women fading into oblivion as their memory, and those who remember them, slowly shrink away into nothing. Children who have been hurt so deeply by their loved ones, so much so that the wounds dig deep, continually clawing into them like the hawk tearing out daily the liver of Prometheus. The wounds never heal, ever.
And so I have finally learned to pray. For the first time. In the last 30 hours I have prayed more than I have the entire month combined. I have mourned. I have grieved. I have become wounded in such a strange way for people I know so little about, and it hurts.
I care so little for me, I'm very sick of me. I am infinately blessed to know of those who love me so deeply (you may even be loving enough to still be reading this) but please, please, please, love these people more. Today I prayed, and prayed, and prayed for countless wounded brothers and sisters and as I opened my William Barclay I read this, and if you read nothing else here PLEASE READ THIS;
Into every human heart, there are bound to be doubts. It is natural for people with any sensitivity of mind or heart to wonder at times if they really are Christians. John's test is quite simple and far-reaching. IT IS LOVE. If we feel love for our neighbors welling within our hearts, we can be sure that the heart of Christ is in us. John would have said that a so-called heretic whose heart was overflowing with love and whose life had an attractive quality in the service of others was far nearer Christ than someone who was impeccibly orthodox, yet cold and remote from the needs of others. (William BarclayI John 3:19-24)
It was then I wrote someone's name, a name I have been praying for a while now. How great a God who has taken wounded, broken, and morbidably stupid me, with a rebelous heart and a heretic's mind, and has allowed me to love, even if it be ever so slightly. How great then, is the love of our Father that we should so be called Children of God, for That is what we are! (I John 3:1) Moreover, His grace reaches beyond me, to M. and A. and thei wedding, to Art in his hospital bed, to the runner and his broken home. To that name, the name that has been on my mind and heart for such a while.
My brothers and sisters, my friends, please do not be as the average Christian, as Chambers writes, who is "...the most piercingly critical individual known." Love, I beg of you, love. Aren't we all wounded, aren't we all fallen and depraved, rotten to our bowels, cracked at the corners of our lips where our dry and dusty throats can only half whisper a curse wrapped in a hallelujah?
And pray, regardless, pray. For the first time in my life I have fervently learned to do so and now I regret myself not understanding such earlier. I have so much more to say, so little time to say. You are all my friends. You are all my family. Take care of each other. love to you all
-B
For the last two days, this is all I have seen. For the last two days I have seen how broken man is, not just the men and women we hear in newspaper stories or on the evening news and think "man, I'm glad I'm not one of them", I mean the ones that live among us, the men and women who live with, as Henri Nouwen would call it; wounds which are not meant to heal, scars that never fade, and hearts whose pulse will never be the same.
Who are these people? They are M. and A. who both have been through relationships which ended in their respective spouses cheating on them, leaving them with children and a gap. So, M. and R. find each other, both having previous religious history which was so brutally torn apart by such suffering. So, they move in together, they have sex, they live on until they relize that their relationship with Christ is more important than themselves. So, they sleep in seperate rooms, they abstain from even the slghtest physical, intimate contact, having the one least exhausted from the daily trials and labors sleep on the living room couch while the other takes the bed. And so they come to the church, to get married and embrace Christ in their relationship. He works in worship ministries, she is active in Bible studies. And the church said no, no, no you can't be married in our sanctuary because you have gone against the bidding of God and have not reflected Christ. And how do I fit in? I was at their counseling session, and I saw the hurt, the regret, a feeling of inadequacy among men. Sure, in fact, indeed it was wrong what they did, very wrong, especially to set such a message to their children and to others as they reflect Christ. But yet, to witness their struggle over the last 24 hours as the elders and pastors rediscussed their wedding at this morning's elders meeting, it hurt.
I was asked during that meeting what I thought, what I felt God called us to do. Me. Cruddy, inadequate, 21-year old me. They're getting married in the sanctuary. Praise God.
Who are these people? This is Art. Art is a war veterin, a man who has gone to this church for many years. He is quiet, a short man with graying hair and a gentle demenor. A man who comes in and comes out without a peep. A gentleman.
A man who was opened up yesterday, only to find that his body was fulled of cancer. It was eatting him alive. A man without a body of his own. So he was sown shut and made comfortable. That's it. Pastor Roy went to visit him, here is what he found; a white room devoid of flowers or cards, mementos of concern or tokens of charity. There was no one in the hard hospital seats, nor was there any noise of relatives conversing softly. There was Art, just Art, his two travel bags sitting along side his bed. He had no one except his son, a son who flew in from LA only to leave the next day, to leave Hilton Head and to leave his father; alone. This was a man who couldn't speak, why speak, what's the point when you're alone. To hear such a man of God for so many years return to the office only to say "I hate my job" is enough to wound even the most hardened and unbreakable of hearts. What do you say to such a wounded, lonely soul? How can you show enough love and compassion to erase such lonesomeness?
Who are these people? This is the runner. A good runner, a very good runner. A state champion runner. He came in with his couch, I saw him as I went for lunch and go off to run an errand. I came back and heard it all. This runner was the son of a family trying to make ends meet, a family who has moved 7 times the last two years in order to stay afloat, living on the most meager of means. This is a runner, a runner who has lived out of a suitcase for months. A runner who has a scholorship to run at a college. He also has a girlfriend, a girlfriend who he adores, to the point where he has lied to his family. This has strained his relationship with his dad, this has forced his father to go overboard and become overly protective. This led to the runner punching his hand into the wall in an argument, breaking his hand. This led to the father locking his son out of the hour today, refusing to let him stay any longer. This is a wounded family. A very wounded family.
And this only scratches the surfice. Single moms and dads trying to make ends meet both physically, financially and spiritually with their children. Elderly men and women fading into oblivion as their memory, and those who remember them, slowly shrink away into nothing. Children who have been hurt so deeply by their loved ones, so much so that the wounds dig deep, continually clawing into them like the hawk tearing out daily the liver of Prometheus. The wounds never heal, ever.
And so I have finally learned to pray. For the first time. In the last 30 hours I have prayed more than I have the entire month combined. I have mourned. I have grieved. I have become wounded in such a strange way for people I know so little about, and it hurts.
I care so little for me, I'm very sick of me. I am infinately blessed to know of those who love me so deeply (you may even be loving enough to still be reading this) but please, please, please, love these people more. Today I prayed, and prayed, and prayed for countless wounded brothers and sisters and as I opened my William Barclay I read this, and if you read nothing else here PLEASE READ THIS;
Into every human heart, there are bound to be doubts. It is natural for people with any sensitivity of mind or heart to wonder at times if they really are Christians. John's test is quite simple and far-reaching. IT IS LOVE. If we feel love for our neighbors welling within our hearts, we can be sure that the heart of Christ is in us. John would have said that a so-called heretic whose heart was overflowing with love and whose life had an attractive quality in the service of others was far nearer Christ than someone who was impeccibly orthodox, yet cold and remote from the needs of others. (William BarclayI John 3:19-24)
It was then I wrote someone's name, a name I have been praying for a while now. How great a God who has taken wounded, broken, and morbidably stupid me, with a rebelous heart and a heretic's mind, and has allowed me to love, even if it be ever so slightly. How great then, is the love of our Father that we should so be called Children of God, for That is what we are! (I John 3:1) Moreover, His grace reaches beyond me, to M. and A. and thei wedding, to Art in his hospital bed, to the runner and his broken home. To that name, the name that has been on my mind and heart for such a while.
My brothers and sisters, my friends, please do not be as the average Christian, as Chambers writes, who is "...the most piercingly critical individual known." Love, I beg of you, love. Aren't we all wounded, aren't we all fallen and depraved, rotten to our bowels, cracked at the corners of our lips where our dry and dusty throats can only half whisper a curse wrapped in a hallelujah?
And pray, regardless, pray. For the first time in my life I have fervently learned to do so and now I regret myself not understanding such earlier. I have so much more to say, so little time to say. You are all my friends. You are all my family. Take care of each other. love to you all
-B
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Welcome To The Bible Belt!
Ok, first lets work thru what has been going on, and next some reflection about who has been doing that work, and I'll give you a clue, it ain't me...
Starters, I have been gracious in the terminology used for myself around the office coming in, being fine with such loving nomenclatures such as;
-INTERN!!!
-Gopher, as in Go-for ______(fill in the blank with a meaningless task)
-Michigan Kid / guy
-Not the body lotion guy (that's J-E-R-G-E-N-S, not J-U-R-G-E-N-S...sorry for the confusion)
What is interesting is out of all of these, Gopher has been most descriptive of the job so far. Considering I didn't start until a Wednesday, it was hard to find concrete, important, big-boy things to do around church. This meant delegating such tasks as;
-Organizing the chairs in the sanctuary
-painting large boxes
-removing plastic flowers from the cross outside
-hanging banners on large ladders
-cataloging Pastor Roy's library
Yeah, you're sayings "wow Blake, you're really honing those pastor skills right now. Have you thought about a church custodian job as a career?" Well, actually, I'm glad this summer started this way, with my talents in limbo and my time divided between menial labor and tasks, dare I say, "unfit" for a pastor.
Here's the thing though; ministry is in no way about you. The Greek word for ministry is diakonos which is translated in the form of a noun as a 'servent' or 'one who waits at a table'. This is what a pastor is, a deacon, a servent. To minister to someone is in no way about adhering first and foremost to one's preferences, desires, or inklings about themselves. After all, when did Christ on this earth set out his resume, stating clearly that "I don't wash feet, touch lepers, or scrub toilets." Ministers do dirty work; something I feel many of them (myself included) fail to recognize. It is all too easy when, in suit and tie, Bible in hand with extensive vocabulary and graduate education on hand, to forget that Christ came not to merely teach, instruct, or go on an exhaustive book tour across the Judean countryside. No, he came to love, to serve, to offer a hand to the weak, food for the hungry, and hope for the untouchable, the unintelligent, and the just plain annoying (yes, Christ even loves those who get on our nerves). So, what better way to start a new ministry than to serve by scrubing the toilets and washing a multitude of feet as the 'low guy on the totem pole'. After all, this is what I ask for, that this summer, by grace, I am able to serve whole-heartedly to whatever tasks God will's with hope that my specific, God-given gfts and talents might be honed to better serve him. Thus, if the most academically stimulating activity I've done this week is notice that the banner i just hung up is upside down, so be it.
Next, I was blessed enough to join Chuck and Debbe (my host parents for the month) on their boat going thru the intercoastal waterways around Hilto Head Island. What a blessing! So often, evangelical Christians push the importance of the Bible (and it is, don't get me wrong) and in the process fail to ephesis the general revelation that has been graciously given to us; AKA this amazing earth. What a glorious day when a renewed earth arrives, for this broken masterpiece we live in now is fiercely and utterly amazing to say the least. To see dolphins in backflip, seagulls and turns diving for their lunch, and the formation of anvil-shaped storm clouds on the southern horizon was spectacular in the most superlative sense of the word. I know I'm supposed to be 'working' while I'm down here, but what better way to spend a Saturday than to rejoice is His creation.
Finally, today was the first service I spent at Grace. Thoughts? First, I can tell I've entered the Bible belt of the south. The church is gracious, kind, and full of life though numbers are stoic, if not dwindling, in this community. There is life. Personally, I tend to stray from conservative evangelicalism, which in my opinion and from what I have seen, has often greatly harmed the people they have tried to reach, thus I take such evangelicalism with a grain of salt. After all, I want nothing more than to reach others with the gospel, but as St. Francis said "preach the gospel and, if necessary, use words." and that is something I try to live by. It seems so easy in such communities to turn being evangelical into a numbers game; a ministry whose intent is not on the overquality of the lives of those who have been reached, but rather to add to their number. There's nothing wrong with yearning to, as a church, grow with new believers (prostithemi as we see in the New Testament) but I can't help but feel like this overwhelming love for reaching others can so often become little more than a game, a contest, a skill crane which seeks to pull people from the collection of 'heathens' only to forget about the teal stuffed bear once it is thrown into the closet with the other stuffed animals. I am a firm believer that ministry is in no way a numbers game, it is a game about love. I love Tricia, our children's director, for it is obvious she cares little about the numbers, for she is too busy carrying about the people those numbers might represent. Isn't that what matters, fellow Christians out there? Does our faith have to be dilluted to little more than door-to-door sales pitching rather than the hodogetical process of leading our fellow wounded brothers and sister to the only one who can truly offer any sort of healing or acceptance?
Regardless, I am excited for this church; not only what God intends my role to be, but also how he works in those here.
Concluding, today we had a meeting between the 9 and 11 am services for the children's camp happening over the last weekend in June. Such a blessing to work with kids, after all, they know whats going on when us 'big people' get so wrapped up in life that we forget to smile. While planning, there was one lady whose fierce evangelicalism perterbed me a bit. The way she spoke of these kids, stoically presenting her 'Jesus toys' which could be used to draw kids into the church, it annoyed me. Can we not, as Christians, reach others through our joy rather than merely some, dare i say, cheesy gadgets and gizmos? You know what draws me to certain people? It's never the car they drive, the clothes they wear, or what gadget they have. Sure, I may notice it, comment on it, look at it, but in no way do I care about who that person is and what makes them that way. It is the kindness, charity, and goodness of a man (or womans) heart that forces me to stop and say "how is X so joyful, so different than everyone else." Though blantently explicit evangelical ministry has its place, I dearly hope and pray that in my feeble attempts to conform to Christ, it is not merely my theological knowledge (what little I have), any cheap plastic gismos, or the outspoken forcing of the gospel down throats that draw people to notice me (would it be for the right reason if they paid attention?) Rather, I want people to ask me "why do you smile?" "how do you keep going?" "Why did you act in that way" and it is then that, by His grace, explain such a message of love that keeps me going in this messed up world (and beyond that, has led to forgiveness for my cruddy actions and a heavenly home where I fit). I truly see that in many here at Grace Community Church (i live with two of those types, luckily) but for prayer, give me the strength to live in conformity to Christ, preaching with words if necessary, all the while being a living testamony to the gospel rather than a zealous warrior, fighting a mass war for Christ, caring more for the casualties to the faith he or she creates while ignoring the purpose of such armor; to love one another so that your joy may be full.
Thanks for reading. Love to you all. God bless
Starters, I have been gracious in the terminology used for myself around the office coming in, being fine with such loving nomenclatures such as;
-INTERN!!!
-Gopher, as in Go-for ______(fill in the blank with a meaningless task)
-Michigan Kid / guy
-Not the body lotion guy (that's J-E-R-G-E-N-S, not J-U-R-G-E-N-S...sorry for the confusion)
What is interesting is out of all of these, Gopher has been most descriptive of the job so far. Considering I didn't start until a Wednesday, it was hard to find concrete, important, big-boy things to do around church. This meant delegating such tasks as;
-Organizing the chairs in the sanctuary
-painting large boxes
-removing plastic flowers from the cross outside
-hanging banners on large ladders
-cataloging Pastor Roy's library
Yeah, you're sayings "wow Blake, you're really honing those pastor skills right now. Have you thought about a church custodian job as a career?" Well, actually, I'm glad this summer started this way, with my talents in limbo and my time divided between menial labor and tasks, dare I say, "unfit" for a pastor.
Here's the thing though; ministry is in no way about you. The Greek word for ministry is diakonos which is translated in the form of a noun as a 'servent' or 'one who waits at a table'. This is what a pastor is, a deacon, a servent. To minister to someone is in no way about adhering first and foremost to one's preferences, desires, or inklings about themselves. After all, when did Christ on this earth set out his resume, stating clearly that "I don't wash feet, touch lepers, or scrub toilets." Ministers do dirty work; something I feel many of them (myself included) fail to recognize. It is all too easy when, in suit and tie, Bible in hand with extensive vocabulary and graduate education on hand, to forget that Christ came not to merely teach, instruct, or go on an exhaustive book tour across the Judean countryside. No, he came to love, to serve, to offer a hand to the weak, food for the hungry, and hope for the untouchable, the unintelligent, and the just plain annoying (yes, Christ even loves those who get on our nerves). So, what better way to start a new ministry than to serve by scrubing the toilets and washing a multitude of feet as the 'low guy on the totem pole'. After all, this is what I ask for, that this summer, by grace, I am able to serve whole-heartedly to whatever tasks God will's with hope that my specific, God-given gfts and talents might be honed to better serve him. Thus, if the most academically stimulating activity I've done this week is notice that the banner i just hung up is upside down, so be it.
Next, I was blessed enough to join Chuck and Debbe (my host parents for the month) on their boat going thru the intercoastal waterways around Hilto Head Island. What a blessing! So often, evangelical Christians push the importance of the Bible (and it is, don't get me wrong) and in the process fail to ephesis the general revelation that has been graciously given to us; AKA this amazing earth. What a glorious day when a renewed earth arrives, for this broken masterpiece we live in now is fiercely and utterly amazing to say the least. To see dolphins in backflip, seagulls and turns diving for their lunch, and the formation of anvil-shaped storm clouds on the southern horizon was spectacular in the most superlative sense of the word. I know I'm supposed to be 'working' while I'm down here, but what better way to spend a Saturday than to rejoice is His creation.
Finally, today was the first service I spent at Grace. Thoughts? First, I can tell I've entered the Bible belt of the south. The church is gracious, kind, and full of life though numbers are stoic, if not dwindling, in this community. There is life. Personally, I tend to stray from conservative evangelicalism, which in my opinion and from what I have seen, has often greatly harmed the people they have tried to reach, thus I take such evangelicalism with a grain of salt. After all, I want nothing more than to reach others with the gospel, but as St. Francis said "preach the gospel and, if necessary, use words." and that is something I try to live by. It seems so easy in such communities to turn being evangelical into a numbers game; a ministry whose intent is not on the overquality of the lives of those who have been reached, but rather to add to their number. There's nothing wrong with yearning to, as a church, grow with new believers (prostithemi as we see in the New Testament) but I can't help but feel like this overwhelming love for reaching others can so often become little more than a game, a contest, a skill crane which seeks to pull people from the collection of 'heathens' only to forget about the teal stuffed bear once it is thrown into the closet with the other stuffed animals. I am a firm believer that ministry is in no way a numbers game, it is a game about love. I love Tricia, our children's director, for it is obvious she cares little about the numbers, for she is too busy carrying about the people those numbers might represent. Isn't that what matters, fellow Christians out there? Does our faith have to be dilluted to little more than door-to-door sales pitching rather than the hodogetical process of leading our fellow wounded brothers and sister to the only one who can truly offer any sort of healing or acceptance?
Regardless, I am excited for this church; not only what God intends my role to be, but also how he works in those here.
Concluding, today we had a meeting between the 9 and 11 am services for the children's camp happening over the last weekend in June. Such a blessing to work with kids, after all, they know whats going on when us 'big people' get so wrapped up in life that we forget to smile. While planning, there was one lady whose fierce evangelicalism perterbed me a bit. The way she spoke of these kids, stoically presenting her 'Jesus toys' which could be used to draw kids into the church, it annoyed me. Can we not, as Christians, reach others through our joy rather than merely some, dare i say, cheesy gadgets and gizmos? You know what draws me to certain people? It's never the car they drive, the clothes they wear, or what gadget they have. Sure, I may notice it, comment on it, look at it, but in no way do I care about who that person is and what makes them that way. It is the kindness, charity, and goodness of a man (or womans) heart that forces me to stop and say "how is X so joyful, so different than everyone else." Though blantently explicit evangelical ministry has its place, I dearly hope and pray that in my feeble attempts to conform to Christ, it is not merely my theological knowledge (what little I have), any cheap plastic gismos, or the outspoken forcing of the gospel down throats that draw people to notice me (would it be for the right reason if they paid attention?) Rather, I want people to ask me "why do you smile?" "how do you keep going?" "Why did you act in that way" and it is then that, by His grace, explain such a message of love that keeps me going in this messed up world (and beyond that, has led to forgiveness for my cruddy actions and a heavenly home where I fit). I truly see that in many here at Grace Community Church (i live with two of those types, luckily) but for prayer, give me the strength to live in conformity to Christ, preaching with words if necessary, all the while being a living testamony to the gospel rather than a zealous warrior, fighting a mass war for Christ, caring more for the casualties to the faith he or she creates while ignoring the purpose of such armor; to love one another so that your joy may be full.
Thanks for reading. Love to you all. God bless
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
First Days
Ok, let's skip out on the reflection and approach this from a pragmatic standpoint for a second. Some reflections on my first day here at Grace Community Church.
1) Your own office...man, I need to get one of these. What an awesome blessing to have a desk, a box of books and texts and a quiet arena to reflect, translate, and even blog all the while listening to the musical treasure that is City and Colour.
2) A happy work space is a productive one and everyone here carries themselves with smiles and laughter. Work still gets done, but is there any greater task than the work of one's Heavenly Father by means of rejoicing in his creation? I doubt it.
3) Normally I am not a names guy, but for some reason these names are sticking like peanut butter under the tongue of a chocolate lab. Sometimes they say that you need a memorable face to stick a name, and I guess I've met a lot of memorable people because I've got a good storehouse of names, faces, and places so far. Pretty good for a simple Michigander!
4) What an awesome blessing to be here. For the last semester I've been lucky enough to spend my Tuesday evening with 10 fellow believers (and passionate ones at that) and four amazing teachers, both by word and by example (they would ALL make Francis of Asissi very proud!) And to come here and be active, such a blessing. Sure my first day was not exactly the most impactful (at one point involving lifting a big screen TV into a truck) but who ever said that the Christian life was always entertaining and novel? Sometimes it is in the average, the mundane, and the trivial that God works the strongest, for it is in the routes of our everyday routines that we suddenly come to the towering relization that every inch of our life, even the silly, senseless, and stupid, are in conformity to His sacrifice upon the cross, and it is then that we rediscover our purpose in His origin and welcoming arms. Either way, I feel these 70 days will speed by, minus those loved ones homeward bound.
Finally, I was going though John 4 today, translating part of Jesus' interaction with the Samaritan woman, which is one of my favorite incidents of Christ with humanity. Here he is, stretching his arm for his apostle to look around them at the fields, literally discribed in the Greek New Testament as 'luekai' or 'white'. Wavy fields of grain ready to be reaped. It is then that he speaks "Behold, I tell you, open up your eyes and behold the fields, that they are white for harvest" (John 4:35 self-translated). The harvest is obviously ready, but as the disciples look around themselves they fail to notice the crowd coming from the neighboring city of Suchar as a crowd of people follow, having been told by the Samaritan woman of Christ as he spoke to her at the well. Indeed, the harvest is white, ripe, and ready to be harvested, but who is willing to do such?
That's what I hope; not only to harvest, but even to plant or nourish, whatever is needed of me under His perfect will. But, this is day one and many days of work await.
To my fellow Jubilee Fellows, my prayers are with you guys, love to you all and heartfeltly I miss our koinonia and laughter, but thoughts with you all.
As for me, I'm off to the beach hopefully for a warm and sweaty run...Go Wings
1) Your own office...man, I need to get one of these. What an awesome blessing to have a desk, a box of books and texts and a quiet arena to reflect, translate, and even blog all the while listening to the musical treasure that is City and Colour.
2) A happy work space is a productive one and everyone here carries themselves with smiles and laughter. Work still gets done, but is there any greater task than the work of one's Heavenly Father by means of rejoicing in his creation? I doubt it.
3) Normally I am not a names guy, but for some reason these names are sticking like peanut butter under the tongue of a chocolate lab. Sometimes they say that you need a memorable face to stick a name, and I guess I've met a lot of memorable people because I've got a good storehouse of names, faces, and places so far. Pretty good for a simple Michigander!
4) What an awesome blessing to be here. For the last semester I've been lucky enough to spend my Tuesday evening with 10 fellow believers (and passionate ones at that) and four amazing teachers, both by word and by example (they would ALL make Francis of Asissi very proud!) And to come here and be active, such a blessing. Sure my first day was not exactly the most impactful (at one point involving lifting a big screen TV into a truck) but who ever said that the Christian life was always entertaining and novel? Sometimes it is in the average, the mundane, and the trivial that God works the strongest, for it is in the routes of our everyday routines that we suddenly come to the towering relization that every inch of our life, even the silly, senseless, and stupid, are in conformity to His sacrifice upon the cross, and it is then that we rediscover our purpose in His origin and welcoming arms. Either way, I feel these 70 days will speed by, minus those loved ones homeward bound.
Finally, I was going though John 4 today, translating part of Jesus' interaction with the Samaritan woman, which is one of my favorite incidents of Christ with humanity. Here he is, stretching his arm for his apostle to look around them at the fields, literally discribed in the Greek New Testament as 'luekai' or 'white'. Wavy fields of grain ready to be reaped. It is then that he speaks "Behold, I tell you, open up your eyes and behold the fields, that they are white for harvest" (John 4:35 self-translated). The harvest is obviously ready, but as the disciples look around themselves they fail to notice the crowd coming from the neighboring city of Suchar as a crowd of people follow, having been told by the Samaritan woman of Christ as he spoke to her at the well. Indeed, the harvest is white, ripe, and ready to be harvested, but who is willing to do such?
That's what I hope; not only to harvest, but even to plant or nourish, whatever is needed of me under His perfect will. But, this is day one and many days of work await.
To my fellow Jubilee Fellows, my prayers are with you guys, love to you all and heartfeltly I miss our koinonia and laughter, but thoughts with you all.
As for me, I'm off to the beach hopefully for a warm and sweaty run...Go Wings
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
They Looked Like Steady Hands
Murphy's Law promptly states that "if anything can go wrong, it will"...doesn't that seem all too true all the time? Jake Eppinga in one of his Banner anecdotes rolled thru a couple other similar rules of life, such as;
-A shortcut is the longest distance between two points
-If there's no time to do it right, there's time to do it again
-If you want something bad enough, chances are you won't get it
And so on and so forth. When you look at it that way, isn't it amazing that we, as depraved human beings, can get anything right? In a world where signals and words can get crossed (and make people cross) so easily its a wonder we don't enter cataclysmic world wars more often, much less family feuds, neighborhood scuffles, and tifts with what-she-said and what-he-said's. Moreover, in a time where precision matters, doesn't it seem more amazing than not that when it counts, our bodies and minds somehow get it done? Think about it; we're little more than flesh, bones, tissues, electronic pulses and a few liquids sloshing and pulsating around to the rythmic beat of a fist shaped lump and the instructions of a wrinkled ball jammed into our cranium. Yet, it is these pieces of matter that compose beautiful operas and deafinging guitar solos, construct epic skyscrapers and moving memorials, create nuclear fission and bake some of the best Mexican food you've ever tasted.
What awesome hands, heads, feet and minds we have been given to work such complex problems with such accuracy and precision at times. We're not perfect, but for how unperfect I am, I am always amazed how much I can do right (with a little help...and a LOT of grace!)
The point? 17 hours of driving with no accidents, car problems, bathroon issues, directional misfortunes, crazy hitchhikers, emotional breakdowns or dehydration; that's grace there folks, simple as that. To know My heavenly Father knows the number of hairs on my head and wills them to make it in one piece is a comfort no one can truly understand.
Tomorrow is my first day working here, so here's to these hands which may be shaky, rough, uncultured or just plain klutzy, but with the right one moving them for me, I am sure, by prayer and grace and conformaty to the movements of the one guiding; that His will shall be done.
Love you all...Go wings
PS yeah, had to throw the Bayside song title in there. Kudos to those who got that reference : )
-A shortcut is the longest distance between two points
-If there's no time to do it right, there's time to do it again
-If you want something bad enough, chances are you won't get it
And so on and so forth. When you look at it that way, isn't it amazing that we, as depraved human beings, can get anything right? In a world where signals and words can get crossed (and make people cross) so easily its a wonder we don't enter cataclysmic world wars more often, much less family feuds, neighborhood scuffles, and tifts with what-she-said and what-he-said's. Moreover, in a time where precision matters, doesn't it seem more amazing than not that when it counts, our bodies and minds somehow get it done? Think about it; we're little more than flesh, bones, tissues, electronic pulses and a few liquids sloshing and pulsating around to the rythmic beat of a fist shaped lump and the instructions of a wrinkled ball jammed into our cranium. Yet, it is these pieces of matter that compose beautiful operas and deafinging guitar solos, construct epic skyscrapers and moving memorials, create nuclear fission and bake some of the best Mexican food you've ever tasted.
What awesome hands, heads, feet and minds we have been given to work such complex problems with such accuracy and precision at times. We're not perfect, but for how unperfect I am, I am always amazed how much I can do right (with a little help...and a LOT of grace!)
The point? 17 hours of driving with no accidents, car problems, bathroon issues, directional misfortunes, crazy hitchhikers, emotional breakdowns or dehydration; that's grace there folks, simple as that. To know My heavenly Father knows the number of hairs on my head and wills them to make it in one piece is a comfort no one can truly understand.
Tomorrow is my first day working here, so here's to these hands which may be shaky, rough, uncultured or just plain klutzy, but with the right one moving them for me, I am sure, by prayer and grace and conformaty to the movements of the one guiding; that His will shall be done.
Love you all...Go wings
PS yeah, had to throw the Bayside song title in there. Kudos to those who got that reference : )
Monday, June 8, 2009
Of Rocks and Trees
To this day I still love Legos. Seriously. There is no greater activity of relaxation than gathering a rainbow of colored blocks of all shapes and sizes and constructing, well...a spaceship, a pirate hide-out, a two story mountain villa...whatever you want. Such an amazing feeling to create using simple pieces, knowing that mere minutes and hours prior your submersible hovercraft was nothing more than a few individual pieces.
How much great our Heavenly Father, who crafts the woods of Indiana, the blue hills of Kentucky, and the sunset as it glazes the waving and swaying clifts of Tennessee. So often, in the midst of our theology and philosophy, our careers and priorities, our haves and our have-nots, we miss the fingerprints of God upon this earth.
Moreover, it wasn't with Legos, or even Tinkertoys or K'nex, that He built this creation. He used molicule and atoms, protons and neutrons and pieces even smaller than that. With those he created elements and with those elements he created simple compounds, complex compounds, and then, life. From that life came all sorts of creatures, plants, fungus, and all sorts of crazy things. Moreover, how awesome is it that he placed us to enjoy it. Notice, it wasn't the monkeys or the manatees, the spiders or the scorpions, the blue whales or the bats, or any other plant or single celled organism that has been given the gift to enjoy, to bask in the glory of their creator, to smile at the frivolous beauty of it all.
After all, did a sunset have to be such spectrum of colours or did a squirrel have to have such a playful tail? Did a flower truly need such a auromic smell or a pizza such a gastronomically enjoyable texture and flavor? Did a blue whale have so sing so tenderly or a dog have a such a wet and touching kiss? Speaking of kisses, we can explain away how the nerves that conglomerate in one's lips create such a sensation when one presses their's to another's, but why was it ever made that way, and how lucky those whose lips are able to share such.
What a beautiful world indeed! One cannot look upon the sleepy, wooded hills of Norht Carolina, the beaches of Florida, or the towering green towers of Guatemala without singing in their heart;
This is my Father's World
and to my listening ears
all nature sings
and 'round me rings
the music of the spheres
This is my Father's World
I rest me in the thought
of Rocks and Trees
of Skies and Seas
His hand the wonders wrought
Rest. Rest in the comfort of knowing that your Heavenly Father made every sunset, every sparrow, and every cool summer breeze not merely for pure utility or function, but in order to speak to you in a gentle voice with a tender 'i love you" and a smile watching His children frolick in this beautiful world.
Hilton Head tomorrow, Red Wings tomorrow night. Prayer.
God Bless ya all!
How much great our Heavenly Father, who crafts the woods of Indiana, the blue hills of Kentucky, and the sunset as it glazes the waving and swaying clifts of Tennessee. So often, in the midst of our theology and philosophy, our careers and priorities, our haves and our have-nots, we miss the fingerprints of God upon this earth.
Moreover, it wasn't with Legos, or even Tinkertoys or K'nex, that He built this creation. He used molicule and atoms, protons and neutrons and pieces even smaller than that. With those he created elements and with those elements he created simple compounds, complex compounds, and then, life. From that life came all sorts of creatures, plants, fungus, and all sorts of crazy things. Moreover, how awesome is it that he placed us to enjoy it. Notice, it wasn't the monkeys or the manatees, the spiders or the scorpions, the blue whales or the bats, or any other plant or single celled organism that has been given the gift to enjoy, to bask in the glory of their creator, to smile at the frivolous beauty of it all.
After all, did a sunset have to be such spectrum of colours or did a squirrel have to have such a playful tail? Did a flower truly need such a auromic smell or a pizza such a gastronomically enjoyable texture and flavor? Did a blue whale have so sing so tenderly or a dog have a such a wet and touching kiss? Speaking of kisses, we can explain away how the nerves that conglomerate in one's lips create such a sensation when one presses their's to another's, but why was it ever made that way, and how lucky those whose lips are able to share such.
What a beautiful world indeed! One cannot look upon the sleepy, wooded hills of Norht Carolina, the beaches of Florida, or the towering green towers of Guatemala without singing in their heart;
This is my Father's World
and to my listening ears
all nature sings
and 'round me rings
the music of the spheres
This is my Father's World
I rest me in the thought
of Rocks and Trees
of Skies and Seas
His hand the wonders wrought
Rest. Rest in the comfort of knowing that your Heavenly Father made every sunset, every sparrow, and every cool summer breeze not merely for pure utility or function, but in order to speak to you in a gentle voice with a tender 'i love you" and a smile watching His children frolick in this beautiful world.
Hilton Head tomorrow, Red Wings tomorrow night. Prayer.
God Bless ya all!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Elephants Never Forget
Two summers ago I was washing the windows of a Bagel Beanery our on the corner of Michigan and College avenues in downtown Grand Rapids. As a professional window washer it was my duty to suds up, rinse, and squeege each and every window of what seems like eveyr small business in the the downtown area. That's not so bad when its nine inthe morning, the sun slowly rising over the horizon, shiming across the light blue sky as a light breeze floated from the west. However, once one in the afternoon hit, that was a different story. And that afternoon it was hot, hot enough the dry the fluffy soap bubbles off the blakc-tinted winodws before a towel could reach them. It was lame.
So I did my job, wiping beads of sweat off my forehead with my Fish Window Cleaning Hat (a hat I still have...oops) running a dry towel along the sill before happily tossing my bucket and belt into my open trunk. It was in that process, most unfortunately, that I tossed my keys into the truck as I slammed it down. It was that moment I realized the unfortunate consiquences of my mistake; here I am, a good 40 minutes from my nearest spare key, no way to get into my car, no shade from the beating sun, and worse of all, plenty more work to get done before the day was done. So after a couple phone calls, a mom whose benevolence goes beyond all measure, and a spare key I was back on the job in a mere hour and a half. Major bummer.
Elephants may never forget but Blake Jurgens does, a lot. Then again, who doesn't. Even the most brilliant of people are prone to the occasional brain fart. Sir Isaac Newton had an infamous moment where he absent-mindedly shoved his niece's finger into a pipe, then taking a good hour to grease it out. Motzart often dazed off when carving meat at dinner, and after seriously cutting his finger tips multiple times finally allowed his wife to have the honors. Albert Einstein, arguably the greatest mind of this century, was known for his inability to add his grocery bill or do such simple tasks as shut the front door or pay the electric bill. President William Howard Taft had a humorous moment when his judgement failed to realize that his 300+ pound frame would not fit the diminuative White House bathtub and President Reagan towards the end of his term often would leave important documents around his office only to loose them. Speaking of presidents, Joe Biden's mind went on blank during the election when he allegedly asked a war veterin to stand up for an applause; a war veterin who happened to be paralized from the chest down. And of cource we cannot forget the pre-Socratic philosopher Thales who was most known for an incident where the monist, in the midst of contemplating the skies, failed to notice the well which he promptly fell into.
As for animals, goldfish are said to have memories of five seconds (and you thought your memory was bad!) On the other hand, squids (who happen to be my favorite animal) have th mental capabilites to change their pigmented cells to a vast array of colours to reflect their mood and even can flash different patterns and shades on different sides of their mantle. Chimps are able to learn to the level of a three year old child and who hasn't had a dog whose seemed almost human? (Could Henrik the hedgehog be that smart?).
Then there's elephants. I've already written about their memories (check my facebook note) and their ability to remember each other's faces and sounds, even after years apart. Its reasons like this that must be the reason why it's been said that elephants never forget (unless you've seen the Jungle Book).
But what about us? I forget; a lot. I've locked keys in my truck, left books on my shelf, left homework on the kitchen table, lost my car in a mall parking lot, and have had thousands of names and numbers go in one ear and out the other faster than Darren Helm on a breakaway. For how many statistics and stories I could ever remember, three others have faded into oblivion. No matter how smart or wise one could ever be, there will always be moments of brain farts, even for the most brilliant of geniuses.
I forget. Most often I forget the simplest things, where I left my keys, where I left my wallet, where i left my -fill-in-the-blank- but often its the important simple things that pass me by. How often does one hear John 3:16 (for God so loved the world...) and live a life opposing such? How often does one speak of conforming to their Lord and Savior only to place individuality over everything else? How often does one plead their alligance to Christ by word only to minutes later pledge it to some other god of this world in the next?
By one, I mean me. Yeah, me.
So, elephants never forget. But I do, a lot. Bonhoffer lived by the fact that our identity, our origin, is in Christ, and to forget that is to forget who we are, leaving us disunioned from everything that makes us who we are. In 7 days I leave for South Carolina, and my prayer is this;
Lord, may this restless heart find place in you
may it never so forget
the sacrifice that you went through
so I may live again
Amen to that.
Go Wings
So I did my job, wiping beads of sweat off my forehead with my Fish Window Cleaning Hat (a hat I still have...oops) running a dry towel along the sill before happily tossing my bucket and belt into my open trunk. It was in that process, most unfortunately, that I tossed my keys into the truck as I slammed it down. It was that moment I realized the unfortunate consiquences of my mistake; here I am, a good 40 minutes from my nearest spare key, no way to get into my car, no shade from the beating sun, and worse of all, plenty more work to get done before the day was done. So after a couple phone calls, a mom whose benevolence goes beyond all measure, and a spare key I was back on the job in a mere hour and a half. Major bummer.
Elephants may never forget but Blake Jurgens does, a lot. Then again, who doesn't. Even the most brilliant of people are prone to the occasional brain fart. Sir Isaac Newton had an infamous moment where he absent-mindedly shoved his niece's finger into a pipe, then taking a good hour to grease it out. Motzart often dazed off when carving meat at dinner, and after seriously cutting his finger tips multiple times finally allowed his wife to have the honors. Albert Einstein, arguably the greatest mind of this century, was known for his inability to add his grocery bill or do such simple tasks as shut the front door or pay the electric bill. President William Howard Taft had a humorous moment when his judgement failed to realize that his 300+ pound frame would not fit the diminuative White House bathtub and President Reagan towards the end of his term often would leave important documents around his office only to loose them. Speaking of presidents, Joe Biden's mind went on blank during the election when he allegedly asked a war veterin to stand up for an applause; a war veterin who happened to be paralized from the chest down. And of cource we cannot forget the pre-Socratic philosopher Thales who was most known for an incident where the monist, in the midst of contemplating the skies, failed to notice the well which he promptly fell into.
As for animals, goldfish are said to have memories of five seconds (and you thought your memory was bad!) On the other hand, squids (who happen to be my favorite animal) have th mental capabilites to change their pigmented cells to a vast array of colours to reflect their mood and even can flash different patterns and shades on different sides of their mantle. Chimps are able to learn to the level of a three year old child and who hasn't had a dog whose seemed almost human? (Could Henrik the hedgehog be that smart?).
Then there's elephants. I've already written about their memories (check my facebook note) and their ability to remember each other's faces and sounds, even after years apart. Its reasons like this that must be the reason why it's been said that elephants never forget (unless you've seen the Jungle Book).
But what about us? I forget; a lot. I've locked keys in my truck, left books on my shelf, left homework on the kitchen table, lost my car in a mall parking lot, and have had thousands of names and numbers go in one ear and out the other faster than Darren Helm on a breakaway. For how many statistics and stories I could ever remember, three others have faded into oblivion. No matter how smart or wise one could ever be, there will always be moments of brain farts, even for the most brilliant of geniuses.
I forget. Most often I forget the simplest things, where I left my keys, where I left my wallet, where i left my -fill-in-the-blank- but often its the important simple things that pass me by. How often does one hear John 3:16 (for God so loved the world...) and live a life opposing such? How often does one speak of conforming to their Lord and Savior only to place individuality over everything else? How often does one plead their alligance to Christ by word only to minutes later pledge it to some other god of this world in the next?
By one, I mean me. Yeah, me.
So, elephants never forget. But I do, a lot. Bonhoffer lived by the fact that our identity, our origin, is in Christ, and to forget that is to forget who we are, leaving us disunioned from everything that makes us who we are. In 7 days I leave for South Carolina, and my prayer is this;
Lord, may this restless heart find place in you
may it never so forget
the sacrifice that you went through
so I may live again
Amen to that.
Go Wings
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