10 Things to Think About Before Pulling the Plug

The view from the from the 4th floor, originally uploaded by use2blost.

According to the House of Lords Select Committee on Medical Ethics, the precise definition of euthanasia is "a deliberate intervention undertaken with the express intention of ending a life, to relieve intractable suffering".^*

     Well.
     This has become more than  intellectual. The DNR protocols here at the Houston County Medical Center have three levels of `Letting Someone Die"  The questions I am asking are:

1. Is letting someone die all that different from euthanasia?
2. Are one or both of these Okay?  
3. Is this analogous to other moral issues? (for instance, murder is bad, letting a murder occur when you have the power to prevent it is bad as well...They are on the same side of the Good /Evil line. Is euthanasia/DNR like that...both on one side of the morality coin, U.S. law nonwithstanding?)
4. Where are you with all of this Christopher? Whats your opinion, and why?
5. Does scripture speak to this?...More importantly, does God speak to this? (remember...God and scripture are not synonymous. Can you say idolatry?)
6. Is there a  protestant interpretation?
7. Does it differ from the Catholic?
8. Do you give a shit about 6 and 7?
9. What does it mean that you are to determine these things for a retarded person? What defines your responsibility in this situation?  
10. Is this a good reason to have a cigarette ?

     

*wikipedia

Horseless Carriage

Horseless Carriage, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     Well, I've decided against afflicting the blogosphere with another self portrait. Day 6 nicotine free. OMG. THTKMA. (This has totally kicked my ass.) I have ventured out to the Atlanta Bread Company as an experiment. I have gone to a couple social things, small group and such with a 'leave whenever you want' attitude. I went to church this morning which was a first...an event with a beginning and an end, which I intended to endure for the duration. Without my crutch. I even had a conversation with Katie at church while she smoked a cigarette.
     The whole thing.
     I felt like my conversational skills were clumsy, and undiplomatic. It was hard to concentrate. I never forgot about her cigarette for even a second. (I remember talking to a titty dancer at a bachelor party...Patrick's.  It was like that. You never forget they're naked, not for a second.)
     I never forgot about Katie's cigarette, but every time I wanted to interrupt and ask her for one (twenty in all, at least.) I just sat there withdrawing, and taking no action. That worked out so well, I felt up to a test, so I have braved the real world, and came to ABC to begin my reentry into the fledgling decade. To reconnect  with a life of direction and purpose, to see what this day day holds for me, in my new freedom.
    

Update:Evidently this day does not hold long periods of concentration, or productivity. The balancing act of keeping the important nominally prioritized over the urgent brings to bear a feeling of pressure. I need to crank out a paper on Tartuffe. It doesn't have to be profound, it just has to be drafted, proofed, and submitted by Tuesday evening, and today is the window of opportunity. Pressure makes me want to smoke, and that makes me feel pressure. It's better than it was yesterday. Wish me luck. The Gaping Hole in my spirit is less visceral, more mental. The trial by fire is over, I look now to some lifestyle changes, like don't eat something just because it was motionless for a moment.

Byron Methodist

Byron Meth, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     A couple of weeks ago the world record largemouth bass was caught. The interesting thing to me is not the weights involved, but the locations. The old record holder was caught in south Georgia, within a couple hours of here. So this catches my interest, and surfing around trails.com, I notice a icon near Byron, over by my church. Trails says a neighboring church, Byron Methodist is built next to the largest blackjack oak in the world.
     Yup.
     Well I decide to ride to church early and swing by this tree, to get a shot of the hopefully spectacular sunrise over the largest blackjack oak in the world.
      In the world!
The Pastor, who took a break from his preparations and strolled outside, showed me the spot. There wasn't even a stump.

'Bout a year and a half ago, we had to take it down. It was a sad day. It dwarfed the church. It was dying.

     Dissapointed, I told him to get out of the weather (18 degrees F), walked to the van, and drove to Lifepoint

Busy...and getting kinda fat. 4/365

Busy...and getting kinda fat. 4/365, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     This is the SP from a couple days ago. I'm getting jowls. I did not overeat today. Much. I actually, to borrow a phrase from Arod, feel like I could get a pretty good write on...I'm thinking about profanity, what's okay, and what's not, and exactly what the hell is meant by the taking of someone's name in vain. But alas, the voice of wisdom calls from a tub of scalding, sudsy bathwater, saying to read up on the enlightenment before my analysis of Tartuffe. This is good advice. Who said the voices in your head have to be a bad thing? The smoking update: I shall have 72 hours nicotine free at nine in the morning. 72 is the magical number of physical detox, having to do with things like half-life, and metabolic rate, which are not blogworthy at this time. After seventy two  hours the physical addiction is supposedly broken, and it becomes a psychological from that point on. That's not what I feel at the moment, but I won't chase that rabbit. (It's psychological from the beginning.) I have noticed my pants get tighter in the last five days as I have tried to do this...

So, I backslid.

Oops...I left the coffee pot on., originally uploaded by use2blost.

     Yesterday morning and had a cigarette. You can buy singles illegally from certain ethnically managed convenience stores, and (the going rate is .50 a stick.) I had to hook up. I immediately felt shame and remorse, and smoked the (Newport is the only flavor Mr. Patel does. He offered to do Marlboros once, but I declined. I didn't want to make things too attractive.) fag right down to the taste of filter. I cut the filters back on 'Ports anyway, to get more of the good stuff. Anyway, I now have once again detoxed for 36 or so hours.
     I can definitely say that breaking the 24 hour barrier ushers in a special increase in the suck factor. It's exponential. You could say it was SUCKQUARED. Truly. I am not fit company for humans.  I have made no attempt to encourage interaction, though I did drop by Debbie's for a minute or two at some point earlier. I could tell as soon as I was in an environment with other people, that my inner asshole lurked just beneath the surface.
     I split.
     The Craving is intense, and deep, it is accompanied for me, by feelings of anger, loneliness and hopelessness. They come in waves, usually three at a time lasting about three minutes a piece. I have killed a box of Pop-Tarts, and yearn for more, even though full. Coffee is an old dear friend, but detoxing from nicotine, by some cruel twist of fate effectively halves the ex-smokers caffeine tolerance, so my comfort food is denied me. Hopefully, another nights sleep will take some of this edge off.
     I hope this is it.

Freedom

Day two, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     Okay...that is a picture of yours truly... smoking a cigarette 25 something hours ago. He hasn't had one since. He's been here probably 10 times or better. He's a stubborn bastard when it comes to shakin' a bad habit.
     The first 72 hour period is the trial by fire. I have a little program I downloaded. It tells me how long I have been quit, how many cigs I have not  smoked, how much money I have saved, and chronicles the statistical increase in my life span. like this:

Chris - Free and Healing for One Day, 1 Hour and 30 Minutes, while extending my life expectancy 2 Hours, by avoiding the use of 27 nicotine delivery devices that would have cost me $6.38.

     Kinda neat. It helps. This is a terribly lonely endeavor .

Other Worlds Than These

Other Worlds Than These, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     The title is actually a quote from one of the old Dark Tower novels (Stephen King)...Jake spits it at Roland as our hero abandons his friend to fall to his death. Something along the lines of "Go on, then. There are other worlds than these..."
      There are other worlds than these both in a physical sense, and otherwise. IMHO, the spiritual world encompasses our own, this world that activates and stimulates our senses. In some geometry that my feeble math skills cannot analogize, this sphere ( the spiritual one, that is.) surrounds ours in every dimension. This means time, space, beyond the tesseract, even. This view holds no heresy that I know of, to religion or science. The nature or boundaries of this other world(s) are simply speculation, (for me) but as to existence, I have no doubts. Doubts become impossible in the face of memory. I have been spoken to from the distance half a dozen times, and have twice been present at the proper location in time and space to witness when the line of demarcation became blurry and indistinct, between this world and another. Twice I have come across a temporal/ physical point where the fabric of this reality was worn and frayed, like the denim on the knees of incredibly comfortable Levi's. A place  where the warp of reality has been abraded away, and the threadbare weft permits glimpses of  flesh beneath the surface. A place where I perceived stuff I will not post about today.
     Yeah, baby.
     Here be Dragons, demons, and things that go bump.
     The Light of the World is there as well. He is a reality that encompasses all worlds, in every conceivable dimension.
     Believe it.

The 365 pool on flickr is challenging. You are challenged (and not many succeed) to upload 1 self portrait a day, shot on that day. This is yesterdays.... shot at work, post processed in Elements, and Photo-bee. The early light on this jobsite, is interesting... and I am to busy to think, so this is an easier post than any of the theological musing that flit through my awareness, and slip away before I can consider them properly...The idea of taking a self portrait a day for a year arouses very mixed feelings in me. I may explore this in a later post.

Hearing God

pipecutter, originally uploaded by use2blost.

Perhaps we do not hear the voice of God because we do not expect to hear it. Then again, perhaps we do not expect it because we know that we fully intend to run our lives on our own and have never seriously considered anything else.

Dallas Willard, Hearing God, p71.

     I read this after returning from the Tuesday  morning Men's Breakfast, where the host royally pissed me off. The man who has provided my breakfast on most Tuesdays for several years aroused my anger after announcing  that his political opinion and God's were in close parallel (yet again!). I should mention that I had resolved  to quit smoking the afternoon before, about five thirty (yet again!). I am grumpy, and unforgiving. Dallas's book is a reread for me. The last decade has had a kneeling effect on me...like a camel desperate for refreshment. I'm rereading some of my favorites, hoping for fresh insight. My life has seemed dry, in terms of God. I am sharply aware of character deficit, both my own, and society's. It has taken a conscious act of will to maintain my faith, though perhaps what tattered remnants* remain are a divine gift. Conventional Religianity in my neck of the woods, teaches that faith is a gift of God...and that pleasing God is impossible without faith. Hmmm. That sounds like a spiritual protection racket, but I digress.
     I am angry and desperate for a cigarette.
     I go to the store. I get cigarettes.
     Sin. Disobedience. Bondage. Right?
     I've been taught God does not speak to those wallowing in sin. There is that verse in Peter about hindered prayer, after all...
     In spite of this, I am seeking with a greater diligence then usual. (another issue here is the "All your heart" verse...our hearts are pretty screwed up, according to God, so doing anything good with all our hearts is pretty much impossible isn't it? we do things "with all our hearts" for brief shining periods, or (hopefully) briefer periods of depravity, not as an ongoing state of existence.)
     Anyway, I am looking for a tool and pause to read a snatch of theology... this is the drudgery of the attention deficit, a man diagnosed as a retard in childhood, as he shuffles about attempting to function, prior to seven in the morning. He is struggling with nicotine, depression, and a drastically reduced income during a time of life when he must concentrate as never before...My morning 'on task' quotient is less than mediocre today, I suspect.
     The tool I seek is an adjustable assembly of tiny rollers and a little blade, for cutting copper line neatly without crushing it. This is the kind of tool that painter/carpenter may purchase and not need again for years. I know I have one. I am also a little too broke, working a job I underbid, to throw away ten or twenty bucks on a new one. And, for about two years I have been actively angry/dissappointed with God. (Now that I think about it, thats kinda like being a bitchy bride.) This is getting better, but it's still there, so I am talking as I migrate from the kitchen junk drawer to the patio shed. I inform God that finding this tool would be a perfect miracle. Not death-defying enough to rob me of an opportunity for faith, but strong enough to give me a DAMN good reason to see his hand.
Cause I am never gonna find this pipecutter.
      I fix stuff for a living. At your house. When I show up, I am pulling a 10x6 trailer fulla tools, and I have two rooms and an outbuilding of assorted saws, wrenches, levers, rusty junk and odds an ends.
I know I'm not gonna find this six inch tool I've used 4 times in 30 years. Not before I have to show up for psychology at 11. I  am finding a lot of other stuff. In the bottom of a five gallon bucket, I find an ultra tiny crochet needle I got when I was learning make fishnet lingerie ( It's good to have me as a boyfriend). I am amazed. I go so far as to tell God :

This is what I'm talkin' about, Papa. If I prayed about this crochet hook and then found it...that would have been perfect! Why can't you show me where the pipecutter is?

At this point, it occurs to me I used the pipe cutter last summer...fixing my exterior faucet. Then I set it on rough shelving unit that leans against my brick under the kitchen window. Or did I? I have been chain smoking at this this point, and chain smoking after a period of abstinence produces extreme lightheadedness and can be quite disorienting.
     I stumble to the shelves. There is nothing. Okay. Thanks alot, God. (I am childish. When I am pleased, he is Papa, Father, or Lord. When I am disenchanted, he is God. Do y'all do that?)
Something else occurs to me. I gotta dog. Suzie is big, black, and not the brightest puppy in the litter.  
     Literally.
     These shelves are not attached, and frisbees get thrown back here. 55 lbs. of Black hairiness has been known to jostle things. She is a bull in a china shop.
     Proverbially.
     So I start to brush the leaves aside. I get down on my knees. This kneeling, and this brushing are conrete. The substance, if you will... of what I hope for. The evidence of what is not apparent. It's all about the pipecutter. Or is it? I find an old spray can, some bungee. A tiny precision flushcut saw...I should be spanked for leaving out here to rust. No pipecutter.
I give up. Thanks alot, God. As I raise from my kneeling position, I place my hand on the little bricked up well that ventilates my crawlspace. It has a piece of 1/4" wire mesh in a wood frame, to catch leaves and debris. My fingertips dislodge one more large leaf as I push myself to my feet. The pipecutter gleams in the early sunlight.
     Oh, Papa. was that you?

* "The Tattered Remnants" was Larry Underwood's old band in Stephen King's The Stand. They once opened for Zepplin. :)

Imitating My Father.

This Is What I Do In the Bathroom..., originally uploaded by use2blost.     
Bigger

Love. Big, broad topic. Posted on it a few times...I'll try not to do it again for a little bit, so here goes:

     Love.
     The kind  patient thing. More important than the really impressive stuff, like speaking in angelic languages, or foretelling the future. Superior to faith and hope.  1st Corinthians 13 is probably the definitive passage on love. Paul explains it in detail. Paul doesn't mention (in this passage) that it's the only way to imitate God. The only way you can intentionally imitate God is by loving.
     Unless you can walk on water.
     Or sling together a space-time continuum, like our mascot.
     Imitating is not to be confused with resemblance. Imitating is better.  We resemble our Father, we are an image of him. There are things about you that are inexplicably beautiful, for this reason. Looking like Daddy is cute, but it's nothing compared to putting Daddy's hat on or grabbing Daddy's briefcase, and swaggering through the doorway, a tiny little voice intoning dadspeak over the shoulder as baby wanders off. That's even cuter. I guess that's my love angle. Imitating Jesus. Cuz I can do that. Some days I can even do it well.
    Often, I'm sadly lacking patience, kindness, spiritual fruitiness. I'm experienced at keeping track of your screwups, and of the times you've hurt me. Yadda yadda. I sometimes rejoice in injustice or the bad fortune of others...and I'm hoping y'all do too, or I'm even worse than I thought.
     I hope my failure to measure up to the standard I hold is a human condition, not a personal failing.

Perhaps agape sojourned here for 33 years, visiting from another world, the only place it occurs naturally. Perhaps love left a picture. Maybe we are just trying to sketch the photograph we have been given. Perhaps some of us sketch better than others.

    My love is bad. However, I can sometimes for a few moments, on a situational basis, imitate Jesus. I have these occasional episodes of shining excellence. I pull it off and you are amazed, or impressed, or converted. Andy Stanley talks about not having to ask a question, because he knew what his father was going to say, because he knew his father that well. There perhaps is a point where we reach an intuitive understanding of God's character (Only the tip of the iceberg...), and can begin to practice the imitation of God. This is probably where I should concentrate. Not on a bar set impossibly high by myself, my denomination, or the pulpit I sit in front of.
     There are I times when I know what he wants me to do. I can look back and spot these times. Practice lets me recognize them as they occur.Sometimes courage lets me seize the moment, sometimes fear drives me to scurry past it. As always, repetition promotes competency...and that other stuff, the spiritual fruit.

More about love @ Bridget's

About the photo:

I practice my hubris. I flex my chutzpah. This is my first attempt at staging a concept. Since it is the easiest room in the house to convert into a ghetto lighting studio, I do some strange things in the hall bathroom, but this takes the cake. I am hugely surprised...Twelve layers processed in PS elements, and Dynamic Photo. Everything except yours truly is taken from the Hubble website, and nope, I'm not wearing any panties!. I plan to post in a blog carnival thing on love and I've never done it before...the angle I intend to explore is love as an imitation of God....sort of  "in His image..." speculations. Thus, a visual pun.

Big

For the ghetto lighting group...I'm standing in my bathroom perpendicular to the mirror using onboard flash, which was evidently aimed right at my tattoo.

Christmas Reflections

Debbie Shows Love, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     I think on love often. The Character of God. My Savior. Patient, kind, conveniently forgetful of my wrongs, and blindly optimistic about my character. He hopes and believes all things about me. This Friday, Christmas morning, I am thinking about love since I intend to post on it in a day or three... and I am at the Houston County detention center. This is a repeat of  Thanksgiving morning. My girlfriend's youngest son is in jail, visitation is especially important on these days and of course free ranging family and friends must be connected with also. This demanding day makes it a good idea to visit our prisoner first. I'm not even allowed back to see him (I'm not on the list...possibly because I threw the young man out of my house some time ago.)
     Thanksgiving Day I rode down with Debbie, on our way to dinner with her family, and walked around outside the jail and sat in the car as she saw her son through a piece of glass. It was actually not a terrible day for her. Her son had been in for a few days, and the shock had worn off. My Debbie is a coper, a survivor, and this young man has given her a lot of practice...the shock wears off quicker now. Thanksgiving morning everyone also expected Kalan to get out soon, so this was just something that sucked a lot, but we would get have him home for Christmas. It was not as rough as it could have been, for those of us outside. We found out later he would not quite make it home by Christmas, but he would be out by the 29th. That was too bad, and the holiday spirit at Debbie's house got a little more blue.
     My Baby loves with a heart to melt icebergs, and when something like this happens, she shoves the additional pain deeper and tries to be herself for the rest of us... other kids, grandkid, and boyfriend.
     I guess Wednesday, we found out Kalan is scheduled to remain incarcerated for several months, and Debbie's spirits plummeted. Christmas Eve was bad. Debbie has to work 7 to 7 today so I rode to Perry with my littler baby to visit her brother, providing moral support, and the gaining the pleasure of worrying about how she drives on wet pavement.
     It is cold and wet, so I am inside. Thinking about love. This is my first time in the building. The guards did not want me to take pictures, and I've been on the other side of the glass before, so I'm not gonna argue. I’m thinking about love, and wondering if Starbucks is open…Somebody that loves me gave me a 4 day job. I was broke until 4:30 Christmas eve, and would love to get some Starbucks cards for the kids, and nieces that I’ll see in a few hours. Debbie would probably love some Starbucks, later as well. Sometimes, on days like Christmas, the ER can get a little bit sporty. Debbie loves a treat like coffee, about eight hours into her twelve hour shift. I think about love as I notice the traffic, here at the Houston County detention center. Twelve people shortly after nine o’clock. Here to see their prisoner on Christmas morning. I'm thinking about drama, heartbreak and aggravation, I'm remembering Douglas John Hall- "God's problem is not that God is not able to do certain things. God's problem is that God loves. Love complicates the life of God as it complicates every life."
     I'm thinking about love and going to see my Aunt Judy in the nursing home later, and my friend that lost his job Monday because of office politics and a bad economy. I think about the baby to be born any day now... a little girl named Lily, and the puppies I suspect inhabit the womb of my bitch, Suzie. (Gotta love an unexpected litter of puppies. oops.). Love is our benchmark. Boards. The Exam for How Well You Live, or your spiritual development.
      Yes.
      Anytime you want to check your spiritual GPA, you just take the love test. God has left copies of it laying around all over the universe. You can find one. How well do you love? or, since that's none of my business how well do I love? This is what I'm thinking about now, back at the ranch. or back at the split-level, with the 3/4 basement and a moisture problem.
     Mysterious.
     Paradoxical.
     Noun. Verb.
     The Character of God.
     Love. Exactly what the hell is it? Am I any good at it?
     Tonight I will spoon on the couch, with a tired, marvelous, green-eyed blonde, and watch a movie with a hot cup of raspberry zinger, a bag of buttered popcorn on the side. I will think about love and be amazed. I will be warm, full, and lost in a sea of drowsiness and contentment. I may snore a little, from time to time. I have it worse than many, but better than so many more.
     Who am I?
     I think on love often.

     Merry Christmas, and special blessings to those of you who stroke the traffic whore in me, with your pageviews, and the wonderful comments that make me feel honored.  Special thanks as well, to those who visit the prisoners...in cells, beds, and broken lives. Thank you to my brothers and sisters who have brought me a cup of cold water in the name of love incarnate.

     Merry Christmas, and thank you Debbie,
     You are patient, kind, conveniently forgetful of my wrongs, and blindly optimistic about my character. You hope and believe all things about me. You even let me write about your personal stuff. You look kinda like a really hot Jesus. You make an A+ on the Love Test baby, in every way. May your thirst be quenched.

Going to Hell.

Anonymous said...

December 3, 2009 12:06 PM

Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.

(NIV, 1st Corinthians 6:9-11)

Chris, have any thoughts on the "washed" part? I call myself a Christian yet I drink more than my wife thinks I should. Why haven't I been washed of the desire to drink? Greed, I would rather put money in my bank account than give it to a church (don't attend), yet I don't mind sharing with the guy who has the 'will work for food' sign. "...will not inherit the kingdom of God.." does this mean I am going to hell? Didn't Noah dring alot?

     This is a written reprimand against denominations. (my first heresy of the day!) the other stuff is incidental, and I myself will place the words in red before the words of Paul, and I don't believe that ongoing sin causes us to lose favor with God. Ya know, I don't read Greek or Hebrew (I've actually got some curriculum laying around, for when I get caught up...when I got it the first glance was intimidating :D), but your average churchy fella will probably say that this refers to our being "cleansed" of sin. There are lotsa verses people quote. I like "as far as the east is from the west." Quite a few Christians I have talked with teach that God does not even remember our sin (This is total bullshit...as Andy Stanley observes, if this were the case, every sermon that mentioned David nailing Bathsheba would leave God puzzled, and disoriented...divine Alzheimer's.)      Another popular doctrine is that we must ask for forgiveness each time we sin, in spite of the fact that Jesus died for every sin, past present or future. There are a dozen posts just in that concept alone...thanks for the fodder.           God has not removed your desire to drink. I don't know that he ever will. I predict if you continue to drink, the desire will become more entrenched. If we wanna go on a doctrinal acquisition foray through the Gospels, we find an interesting take on what mainstream religianity calls substance abuse.

•       There is a serious party that has run out of the most popular drug of choice for that culture and that time.
• Jesus's  Ma nudges him about this (she must think it's a problem...furthermore, she seems to think he can fix it and his first miracle, according to some, hasn't happened yet)
• Jesus responds with an irritated "so what, Ma...you ain't the boss of me anymore"
• Mary ignores him and tells servants to do whatever he says. ( Have you ever told your Mom you didn't wanna do as she asked, and she just acted like you never spoke? Mary invented this technique. I always forget, as this point in the story, Mary has got to at least  be in her early forties.
• I've been to large weddings. When a large wedding has been drunk dry, their are a few serious buzzes stumbling around.
• In spite of this, Jesus miraculously manufactures between 120 and 180 gallons of wine.
• It's better than anything that has been drank so far that day/evening. (When Jesus makes drugs, he makes 'em good. You would expect no less.)
• This takes us to a spiritual place the average Baptist (or any 'Alcohol Bad!' denominational) cannot bring himself to visit...Jesus has "kept the party going" with over 100 gallons of badass hooch when several people have already got a bellyful. This is recreational drug use.
  

     I get a few unconventional doctrines out of this.

1. Obviously, Alcohol is not a sin.
2. Quite possibly, getting mildly ripped upon occasion is viewed benevolently by God. Let it be so.
3. It's okay to get irritated with your mother. Do what she asks, anyway.

Of course, Alcoholism is real. Will bite your ass. Just ask my ex wife.
     As to greed, IMO greed is not a have/don't have characteristic for most of us. It is a question of how much you got, and what form does it take. If you will give to a homeless guy, you must have a nugget of compassion, or guilt, or something buried in that little heart of yours. :)
    We know Noah got shitfaced at least once, we don't know if Noah drank a lot. I feel safe in assuming he didn't drink enough to be a fuckup.We all have a point where enough alcohol or any recreational drug for that matter, begins to degrade the quality of our life. I assure you that if we have begun to notice it, significant damage has already been done. There are places where "Hell" refers to the Jerusalem town dump, in the red ink, no less. There are references to the "Lake of Fire". Neither is a good spot to aim for, I would imagine. There is no place I know of where Jesus said "This is how to stay out of Hell"
     Religianity will detail things you must do to obtain what they call "The Free Gift Of Grace", which seems a contradiction to me, but I am a heretic. They will list ways you must feel, motives you must have, and even a chant you must utter, as in "repeat after me, to get saved".
     I don't think they quite grasp the reality of unmerited favor. I don't think you are going to hell.

     
Anonymous,
     I would like to mention a couple things.
     More than once, your comments have been sad. You drink. I don't know how much you drink, but drinking and sadness can precipitate a helluva nasty spiral and you know this, though it is easy to forget. If your wife has a problem, You have a problem. Period. Love comes with complications. Also, I've never met a wife who thought her husband drank too much....who was wrong about it. Your wife is afraid. Do something. These things don't go away and they will contribute to your sadness. And we know what sadness will contribute to, in a man who likes to catch a buzz. Be very careful.
    

Cowards

The will to do the right thing, regardless of personal cost. This is the definition of Character given by Andy Stanley in his book, Louder Than Words. Being a Pastor, he adds, "as defined by God."

Character is the will to do what is right as defined by God, regardless of personal cost.

     -Andy Stanley
 
And then there is:

 You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him.

     -James D. Miles

     According to Yahoo! News, Marcelles James Peter, 17 was charged with "rape in concert and sexual penetration with a foreign object." Yeah. Smile for the camera, Peter. The article goes on to inform us:

Peter's aunt, Monica Peter, said before Thursday's hearing that her nephew told her he was only a bystander and didn't participate in the attack. She said he didn't do anything to stop the attack because he feared "he would get his ass kicked."

     The attack lasted +2hours, and was witnessed by as many as 24 people. It was a high school dance. A 15 year old girl went to her homecoming dance and got gang raped. My first read of this this morning, brought forth a caustic, scornful disgust of my gender. Then an attitude of judgment, naturally. I confess to have given a 51% probability of guilt to these young men after the reading of a mass media document. How stupid is that? Of course this is one of those  "Blink" instances that I attribute to the adaptive unconscious. I figure the whole 'penetration with foreign objects' thing kinda eliminates the possibility that Peter was simply standing too close to the action, and a witness got confused. To be honest, that is simply a trackback to support a snap judgment I made. I convicted these boys, and their parents. Uh huh. I gotta deep conviction that if you are willing to gang rape a drunk chick for a couple hours in front of witnesses, you grew up in a shitty family environment. In the South we say "He watn't raised right."
     Now with a couple of cigarettes and some of my world-class coffee under my belt, my Inner Hypocrite is beginning to Hold Forth and I have expanded the list of guilty parties to include You. (OMG).
     Not You, my friend that I love, but You, western society. As a whole, we are not growing in Character.

Look at this. The Bystander Effect

Now look at this. The Milegram experiment

     Please, I'll wait.
     Interesting? Perhaps these are not simply psychological phenomena but fundamental problems with the human condition.
     Defects in the collective level of Character.
     The Heartbreak of God. (Whoah. Where did THAT come from?)
     Maybe these things are our responsibility.  What if we measured the Bystander Effect over generations. What would we see? My own theory is that there is no Status Quo. In physical health, personal development, mental acuity, reaction time, whatever. It all tends to go down hill. Life deteriorates. The Law of Entropy applies to everything. Things tend to diffuse. Not stay together.
     This includes our Shit. As in Getting and Keeping Your Shit together. Shit Creek is one of the deepest philosophical concepts western civilization has developed, and we don't even know who to give credit to.
It's a river. You really can't stay still. If you tread water you go backwards. Ya gotta swim against the current.
     Quit working out, and see what happens. Leave your clubs in the closet for 6 months, and check out your handicap. Take college algebra after a quarter century vacation from math. When we get lazy, things degrade. Social Development is constantly moving backward and forward. I have observed a changing attitude about Hindu Convenience Store Owners, so I know we can change our behavior as a society. LOL you tell me if out attitude toward Hindu shopkeepers is becoming righter or wronger, 'cause I promise it's going one way or the other.
     I just don't know where to begin. I think apathy is the first problem. Remember when Congress voted themselves a pay raise? I was a child, but I felt like there was a bipartisan agreement in the general population that that was bullshit. Was I wrong? I wonder if Congressmen joked in private about getting away with that. They are mostly men still, and I know how men can joke in private about people who they consider dumbasses.  My casual observation is that the Average Bear (including myself) has only a vague notion of how to effect governmental change. We add our name to e mail petitions. I have no idea what that accomplishes, and a growing embarrassment of my ignorance. In Georgia, we have a Regents Exam to make sure you are literate before you can receive a college degree. Isn't that something?
     Well, I didn't mean to get on my soap box...I likes Mile's definition of character better than Stanley's. Mile's standard paints a more flattering picture of me.
    
 

Heresy. Part I

MSR Hubba, Solo backpacker tent, a copycat, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     Just a thought...A lot of Church Doctrine comes from the epistles. In my mind, Scripture should be weighted selectively. First priority, or the heaviest weight should be accorded to the red ink, the speech of Jesus. From there, I tend to give equal credence to the remainder of the Gospels, and the Old testament as a whole. Lastly, The epistles, and Revelation. My reasoning for this is a little convoluted. Jesus endorses the older writings, and he did rise from the dead, after all. That's a big deal.
     Interestingly enough, Jesus tells the blindly religious:

"You have your heads in your Bibles constantly because you think you'll find eternal life there. But you miss the forest for the trees. These Scriptures are all about me!"

John 5:39, The Message

     Jesus places himself above Scripture more than once (Imagine that!). It's funny. As soon a religion overwhelmed relationship, we began to use Scripture to explain Jesus, rather than Jesus to explain Scripture. When we do this, we get funny.
     We burn witches. And Protestants. And Catholics. And Mormons. We persecute homosexuals. If Church leaders are capable of something as asinine as the Crusades, surely they are capable of a couple of theological errors. Paul, Mr. Gung Ho Off the Freaking Chain, speaks to the fact in 1st Corinthians, when he holds forth on what he and God think about marriage and divorce, making it a point to mention that his ideas and God's are separate. What a concept. I have never  heard any mention of this from a pulpit. Another troublesome verse in Acts speaks tellingly to the fact that even Peter and the Jerusalem Apostle's Association don't know where God stands on doctrine. Peter even goes so far as to put this in writing.
     One passage of Acts tells us a story of some new gentile Christians. They have been relaxing in euphoric generosity (Old school Christians would sell their shit and give the money to the Church to parcel out to the needier Christians), because they don't have to go to Hell and Burn Forever. Hell Yeah! (hell, no?) Of course we love Jesus! Have some money, and lets eat together!
     Often,  just as we are thinking how cool Jesus is some religious guy comes over and has to ruin it. God wanted to make sure we knew this has been happening since the very beginning, as we see from Acts of the Apostles. Some ultraspiritual dudes pop up and tell the newbies "Ah, You need to cut off part of your dick to do this Jesus thing, and not go to Hell and Burn Forever."
     There is naturally a stunned silence. (Ya gotta love Luke. His Gospel, and the Book of Acts are fascinating.)
     The Committee Representing Those Who Read the Bible and Know What God Wants continue: "Not all of it. Just part of it. And not even the most important part. We just want you to cut off the skin that keeps the head sensitive. So sex is more fun. Cut that part off. We had to do it. Don't you love Moses? Jesus did this. Jesus loved Moses."
     This seemed like a big step. These new Christians wanted a second opinion. Even the girls. (I'm sure this was the talk of the congregation, even though Luke doesn't explicitly state this).
     They send Paul's Posse to confer with Peter and The Jerusalem Apostle's Association. (This had to really annoy Paul, who thinks he is an Apostle...good stuff, the Bible.) They Have A Meeting. Never known for verbal restraint, Peter begins to preach.   Then they write a letter. A letter where Peter makes clear that apostolic opinion on doctrine is only that. An opinion. This is special. We'll take a look at the letter next week.

Cadillacs...

Jim's Good Side, originally uploaded by use2blost.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Homeless Jim bought me a pack of Cadillacs today. Caddies, refer to premium cigarettes... Newports, Camels, Marlboros and the like. He pitied me in my affluence. My financial circumstances are stressful by my standards, though Jim probably wouldn’t agree. He smelled bad. He called a little squatting spot a place of his own for a week or two, but somehow he lost it. Jim tells me that social security requires a physical address to send a check. A P.O. box is unacceptable. I think Jim’s progress at obtaining disability income runs into a stone wall, here. This hurdle confounds him. Jim needs a lump sum of 300-400 dollars to get his foot in the door and rent some slum property, but he has no slum to send the check to. Hmmm. Direct deposit comes to mind….
I first met Jim last summer, and he has survived the winter. He truly lives Hand to Mouth. I should mention that Jim is dying, I think. The Hole in his face was my first clue. The cancer distorts the whole side of his head, giving it a caved in appearance. One eye twists askew, peering downward and to the outside, oozing pus perpetually. It’s not pretty, and coupled with the smell, it really cuts down on Jim’s attractiveness as an employee. He employs himself, tackling odd jobs, and sometimes gets ripped off. I’m afraid to let Jim know where I live, and this shames me, a little.

Of course Jim panhandles, which I find strange. Here in Warner Robins, my roots go back over thirty years. Growing up as an Air Force Brat on the Base, I never saw panhandling, and I’m pretty sure I never saw it in town. Twenty years ago I saw panhandlers in Little Five Points, when I ran away to Atlanta after flunking out of college. So, I am not shocked (much), but this takes place 5 blocks from my House. Going out for a stroll can bring me across the trail of a homeless guy before I finish a small Hemmingway. It’s kind of new to me.
Anyway, I am favorable disposed toward panhandlers. God is good, and today a home of my own awaits my evening return, but this was not always the case. I remember leaner times, and usually will contribute a buck or two for the Cause when approached. The first night I met Jim I got an inner nudge, a wordless articulation of compassion for this stranger.
I have this little light inside me, you see. It swirls and it twirls. It flits about, focusing on one thing or another. Sometimes it locks in on something like a pit bull, and explodes with brilliance. It terrified me this night. I think it wanted me to take Jim to my house and let him shower, wash his clothes. Spend the night. Have ten hours as a normal American.

Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what it wanted. Instead, I emptied my change into his hands. I had probably broken a hundred for some gasoline, and a carton of smokes. Some Marlboros.

Cadillacs.

Jim probably cleared 15 bucks, plus my last open pack of cigarettes, and a brand new pack from the fresh carton. Oh, Glory. I lavished these gifts casually with a secret shame at my fear, but this windfall made Jim cry. We both went on our way, after a few words on…theology, and economics. I had a hard time thinking of Jim for a day or two, but I got over it. It seems I can do that for a little while.

So Jim and I have engaged in this dance. I am suspicious and freaked out, and I try to catch him in a lie. He is destitute for the most part, and tries to catch me with a few bucks in my pocket. Jim succeeds more often than I do. He has my phone number, and sometimes calls and asks for a ride, or a little money (I have called my buddy Scott and kept him on the phone while dropping money off to Jim… just in case he cut my throat, or popped a cap in my ass.) The hole in his face has to be stopped up with a paste in order for him to swallow properly, and he can’t enjoy anything like coffee or ice cream. Everything must be lukewarm. I guess it’s very painful otherwise.
I will cough up nine bucks and change for his paste prescription or other medication and occasionally get him something to eat. I will also speak to Jim with irritation, if he calls when studies press upon me, or my wallet is empty. The little light inside me can be eclipsed…by a selfish prick, it seems... but I digress.

Today, Jim and I made eye contact across Watson Boulevard. I made a left, waved and then saw Jim turn in my direction. Damn. Looking in the rearview, I became worried that Jim might be able to triangulate my neighborhood location if I continued, so I made a U- turn and waited. I have no money. My financial aid is a month late, I missed my house payment, the water will be shut off Thursday, and my power on the 14th. I’m holding, though. I got one cigarette, my last one.

You would have to be a lifelong smoker to completely understand. As addictions go, smoking is unique. Cigarettes are legal, and the addictive behavior happens in public, it’s easy to forget the strength it has over you. Until you’re broke. (Imagine trying to kick a cocaine habit if you saw crack every time you stopped for a cup of coffee, or walked by a public building, or picked your kids up from school.) I had been starving the monkey on my back for two days. At this point the occasional cigarette I came across simply whetted my appetite; I existed in a state of constant deprivation, and an underlying feeling of piss-off from the steroids they put me on Saturday.
Jim asked me for a cigarette. I declined, and it hurt. I got frustrated. I was embarrassed. I had never denied Jim a cigarette, so he knew something was up. He reluctantly asked for a ride, I agreed, and we headed up town. Jim listened to me bitch, and took the other half of the cigarette. When we arrived at Jim’s destination, his job had been given to a nephew. Too bad, so sad.

We rode back down Watson Boulevard and Jim directed me into a parking lot. He produced a handful of singles, went inside the store, and bought cigarettes. He bought himself some cheap, shitty cigarettes, and he bought me what I smoke. They cost nearly twice as much. He bought me some Caddies.

He bought me some Marlboros.

Jim is homeless. He and I live in totally different economies. Four dollars and eighty-five cents, for me is merely a more pleasant evening, with my legal drug. I can write my paper, study my psychology, be warm and civil to people I bump up against. I’ll spend the whole night without losing my temper. For Jim, four dollars and eighty-five cents is 6 Checker Burgers on Sunday special. Jim gave up a day of eatin’, and I’m afraid to let him come take a shower....

BTW... Check out Mama's writer's workshop.

...

Me and My Co-Pilot

me and my co pilot., originally uploaded by use2blost.

I'm beginning to suspect my Girlfriend has a better eye, steadier hands, and more of that mysterious photographer thing, than I do.
But it's still MY camera :).



I had a "snap out of it" experience after a few weeks of being really overwhelmed with domestic catchup, and a dwindling bank account. The school year was approaching, and my ability to generate income is cut by 80% when class is in session. I was stressing exponentially, and this was aggravated by nicotine withdrawal.
The clincher was returning from a camping trip to find a a hundred + pounds of rotten meat in my freezer. Shit. That costs money.(Did you know "Shit" was in the Bible? I told my ex-wife's daughter one time not exclaim "Jesus Christ" but rather to exclaim "Shit", because if Saint Paul can say it, we all can. There was stunned silence and long eye contact as she searched my face for evidence I was... Shitting her. LOL. Now, this didn't bring about a drastic change in her vocabulary, but she started to read her Bible...)
Oops. There went my attention span.
Anyway, I recruited Debbie's grandson, and we hauled my garbage can to the place where all the trucks go... which was a big hit, BTW.
I had to do this. The inexperienced victim would be amazed at how much of their neighborhood is blanketed with the stench of corruption when a hundred pounds of rotting flesh is pushed out to the curb. If I left it there, one of little old ladies that surround me was gonna commit arson. Small girls waiting for the bus would vomit. I had to do something, and I was afraid to go alone. My right hand man Colin, made it clear that he was there for me. I didn't have to deal with this by myself. He was impressed with the effluvia permeating my property. In all of his four-and- a half years, He'd never come across anything like this, and he is an accomplished adventurer.
He always loves to help me "Do a JOB!, Chris" , so we rose to the occasion and handled it like the virile, standard-setting pictures of masculinity that we are, hooking up the trailer and hauling our cargo down to Transwaste where it belonged. Watching my role-model break the heart of the receptionist was so uplifting, I was reluctant to leave his company, and afterward asked if he could help me cut grandma's grass. The answer a man like Colin gives to such a request goes without saying, and after a day of such hard work, we needed to play just as hard to blow off our steam. Drinking was out of the question. Colin is a Man's Man in all other ways, but he simply can't hold his espresso, and I fear the wrath of Grandma. What to do? Colin and I are like barely domesticated wolves, breathtakingly handsome and friendly, but wild at heart and dangerous. Unable to come up with a better idea, we got in the van and began to wander in a southeasterly direction, with the merciless Georgia sun setting behind us, not knowing what we sought.
Great minds think alike, and we both saw the fire station at the same time...OH, YEAH! As soon as we approached, those boys recognized our kindred spirits. They could sense our deep respect for the legendary bravery of their fellowship, and the hospitality they showed to two dirty, smelly, vagabond princes is a permanent notch in the belt of honor shared by emergency responders all over the world.
Fireman Mike rolled out the red carpet, showed us all their stuff,

and even went so far as to induct Colin into the ranks of his brave brothers and sisters, presenting him with the prized talisman, a Red Helmet! (I felt a twinge of envy). Probably nothing was gonna top this, at least this evening, so we said our goodbyes, and returned to our home territory. I dropped Colin off and limped home, nursing an arthritic hip, eager to upload my pictures before bed.

Love Your Neighbors, Except the Homosexual Ones?

Bug Love, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     Update: This was a piece crafted to encourage the reader to take a hands-off approach to the issue of homosexual matrimony. I no longer feel this way... Today, I believe a follower of Jesus should take an actively encouraging stance toward homosexual equality. I just can't help it. I read my Bible, I think, and I have known too damn many homos with the fruit of the spirit within them. Also... it occurs to me, that Paul never got 'saved'. If we want to be honest, Paul's conversion as documented in Acts was one of duress. Can you freely choose Christ when you've had your ass kicked off your ass (LOL) and been struck blind?
Just sayin...
Chris 6/7/11


Disclaimer:


     Dang, y'all. In the last year, This has become the busiest post on this lil' ol' blog. Whodda thunkit! I'm a little bit nervous, I notice many of you arrive here after Googling Andy Stanley+Homosexual. Hopefully, if he's noticed this (I've seen a hit or three from North Georgia.), he is amused. At no time/place/dream have I ever read/heard/been told about Andy's position on homosexual marriage ect. He is just one of my favorite speakers. I have heard him imply that homosexuality is a sin in an old sermon. This was a critical thinking exercise for an English class, Never met Andy, don't own an Ipod. Been to NPC twice... I like to catch a service on my way home from hiking.
Chris, 2/22/2010

     I have not posted since last year. A couple apparently manageable situations swelled up, grew fangs, and broke free of their restraints, suddenly my daily routine was anything but ... I let a lot of stuff go: blogging, commenting, photography, sleep. This is a paper I was told to write... one where I attempt to persuade the audience to accept my viewpoint (fat chance! :D), and one where passive voice was obsessively avoided, under the red-inked lash of Mrs. Wilcox's correcting pen. This is why it possibly sounds nothing like me, is choppy (I had a space limit), and many of my points are not fleshed out. The issue is interesting, though it seems to only break the headline barrier when election looms on the horizon. Working through my opinions, and the reasons behind them, was an eye-opener for me, and made me remember with embarrassment an earlier time, when I would take words from the pulpit, slap a few out of context verses underneath them as a foundation, and adopt it as my personal doctrine. I practice a LOT more critical thinking now, I hope.


BTW... I found myself completely out of my depth in Mrs. Wilcox's eng 101 class. I could not have explained the difference between active and passive voice to save my life, but passive voice sure does come easier. One of the things we were taught to look for was the use of passive voice signal words, i.e.-


Have, has, had, do, does, did, be, am, is, are, were, being, been, can, could, may, might, must, shall, will, would, ought to. These counted off...16 of them would get you an F. It's really harder than it sounds... you should give it a try.


Also, a few words about Andy Stanely: I've noticed if you google "Andy Stanely and Gay rights" this post is on the fourth page, and someone from south carolina googled " Andy Stanley Homosexual" and this post is the first entry...Go figure.

     

     The opposition of gay rights by Christians undermines Christian credibility and the spreading of the gospel. Popular culture uses the word “marriage” to refer to two different things. The institution ordained by God,[1] and the civil contract, often of short duration, facilitated by secular authorities. Mainstream Christian religion struggles to prevent homosexuals from acquiring the benefits of the civil union, and where that has failed, to fight for a prohibition against using the term marriage to legally define long term cohabitative arrangements between members of the same sex. This hinders the dissemination and acceptance of the gospel, as well as the goodwill of a significant slice of the population that needs to hear it. Additionally, the legitimacy of Christian culture as salt and light suffers a negative impact in a world sorely lacking in clarity and palatable flavor. This mindset also conflicts with the examples of Jesus, and God the Father. The evangelical community best serves the agenda behind the Great Commission (Holy Bible, New International Version "Matthew 22.36") by keeping a healthy distance from a movement espousing political aggression against the homosexual population’s attempt to grasp equality. 
     Sadly, in a society of overwhelming literacy, busyness leaves the typical modern layman relatively unfamiliar with scripture, in contrast to the new testament Jew, who walked in a world where ninety-five to ninety-seven percent of his peers lacked the ability to read or write (Ortberg), but shared a rich oral tradition with his community, and was required to memorize the Pentateuch prior to being granted the privileges of adulthood. This twenty-first century failing effectively handicaps critical thinking in the majority of Church attendees, encouraging a herd mentality/mob rule approach to the selective legislating of morality, targeting the Equal Rights for Gays issue. For a segment of the population with a divorce rate virtually indistinguishable from the rest of western culture, to draw a line in the sand over the sanctity of marriage, while remaining conspicuously silent on the issue of heterosexual cohabitation showcases a terrible arrogance.  
     The critical thinking Christian, a grateful recipient of grace, should rejoice with love that gay people may, through legal commitment, obtain things that a heterosexual partner in marriage takes for granted: A more attractive tax status, the ability to provide affordable family health insurance, public acknowledgement of love for a spouse, and an environment that discourages promiscuous eroticism (Boteach).The ongoing attempts to deny these benefits to homosexuals contradict the doctrine of “love your neighbor as yourself” (Holy Bible, New International Version "Matthew 28.18-20"). It places the participant in the company of bigots and hypocrites, and flies in the face of the example of relational evangelism modeled in scripture by Jesus. In Mark 2:13 Jesus approaches Levi at the tax collection booth, and says simply: 
     “Follow Me.” (Holy Bible, New International Version "Mark 2.14").  
     Today’s reader tends to overlook the significance of this invitation. Israel, at this time a conquered nation, reserved its deepest contempt for the tax collector, a man employed by Roman authorities. This man made the choice to grow rich from the subjugation of his countrymen. The tax collector warranted his own category, demonstrated by the biblical cliché “tax collectors and sinners” (Stanley, Simple "Follow"). Jesus commits the faux pas to end all faux pas, equivalent to inviting a known pedophile to tag along while he goes to pick up the kids. This shows bible readers ( not sermon listeners) the first step in evangelism according to Christ, the establishment of relationship. In the war of personal conflict, there exist two fronts: The battle of the heart, and the disagreement . Lasting peace necessitates harmony in both. Human selfishness tends to prioritize the argument, and having won, will from time to time magnanimously condescend to make overtures toward the vanquished heart. The wisdom of this method remains questionable. Remember, the victor deals with another selfish human, and human hearts can break upon losing an argument. They become scarred, hardened, closed. They begin to malfunction. The loyalty of the defeated seldom manifests itself, and bitter tears provide excellent nourishment for the seeds of future discord. The opportunity for lasting peace withers away, choked out by the weeds of resentment. The issue arises again, and who knows the outcome? Victory in the matter of the disagreement decreases the probability of winning the battle of the heart. By winning the heart first, Jesus neatly sidesteps the problem of acrimony, and opens the door to win the argument, with reason and loving example in the near future.This rationale lies behind his unconditional invitation to “Follow me”. (Stanley, "Life Rules")
     Jesus’ logic follows a precedent, not a radical departure from God’s previous treatment of humanity. After all, he did only the will of the Father. For example, Israel receives the Ten Commandments only after a dramatic rescue and three months divine babysitting during a walk through the desert (Holy Bible, New International Version "Exodus 19.1-8"). Three months after trying God’s patience time and again. Three months after God says: “Follow me.” Three months after God makes an impression. When the Church takes an aggressive stance against gay marriage, it communicates a message diametrically opposed to “Follow me”. It communicates a message that undermines Christian credibility and the spreading of the gospel. It communicates someone else’s message. The critically thinking believer asks himself: 
     “Whose message is that? Why would the average man or women spare the time necessary for aggressive intolerance?”  
     The difficulties of life demand the bulk of the average person’s attention. Western humanity rushes about at a frantic pace, driven to wallow in it’s prosperity, often thoughtless as to the source of the blessings. The Christian that gives credence to scripture understands that a loving God, allows himself to be opposed. God permits the existence of evil for the sake of good, and a desire for voluntary faithfulness. Free will, seldom swayed by power, makes love possible. Phillip Yancy explains this with compelling clarity:

“In a concentration camp, as so many witnesses have told us, the guards possess nearly unlimited power. By applying force, they can make you renounce your God, curse your family, Work without pay, eat human excrement, kill and then bury your closest friend or even your own mother. All this is within their power. Only one thing is not: they cannot force you to love them.

The fact that love does not operate according to the rules of power may help explain why God sometimes seems shy to use his power. He created us to love him, but his most impressive displays of miracle—the kinds we may secretly long for—do nothing to foster that love.”

  Mr. Yancy goes on to quote Douglas John Hall, author of God and Human Suffering: “God’s problem is not that God is not able to do certain things. God’s problem is that God loves. Love complicates the life of God as it complicates every life.” (Yancey)
The questions remain: “Whose message is that? Why would the average man or women spare the time necessary for aggressive intolerance?” 

Seventy years in the past, as God watches from a timeless eternity, people in Germany, a supposedly Christian nation decide the Jews, a minority population that believes the wrong thing threatens the way of life they desire to recapture. Their world falls apart, the different ones the source of their problems. They hear another message, that it’s okay to treat the wrong people the wrong way. It’s okay to give them less than the right people, the good people. Less privileges, less rights, less space, less freedom, less food, and less air. Seventy years spans less than the blink of the divine eye. God watches, with omnipotence held in check, unlimited power in voluntary restraint. He desires the love of humanity, toward himself and each other (Holy Bible, New International Version "Matthew 22.36"), and waits in divine abdication for humanity to get off this familiar path. He waits for his people to exercise the free will bestowed in love, for the sake of love, to foster that love. He waits for the Church to realize that the opposition of gay rights by Christians undermines Christian credibility and the spreading of the gospel. I wish we would hurry up.

Works Cited

Holy Bible, New International Version "Mark 2.14". Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2006.

Holy Bible, New International Version "Matthew 22.36". Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2006.

Holy Bible, New International Version "Matthew 28.18-20". Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2006.

Life rules. By Andy Stanley. Perf. Andy Stanley. Northpoint Community Church, Alpharetta.

Simple "Follow". By Andy Stanley. Perf. Andy Stanley. Northpoint Community Church, Alpharetta .

Yancey, Phillip. Disappointment With God. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1988.

_____________________________________________

[1] God, in this post, refers to Elohim/Yaweh, God the Father. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, acknowledged as the creator of reality by Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. Religion refers to Christianity. Though exceptions exist, Christianity in general, and this author acknowledge in Yeshua, or Jesus Christ, a paradoxically divine nature. One with God, yet separate… different, yet the same.

The original shriners... Memories as milestones

The original shriners, originally uploaded by use2blost.

I noticed early in my experience of community (It began with support groups, and moved into Bible studies, and now has become something more authentic- I have a few intimate friends, and am blessed to be able to engage more deeply as time goes by...) That I was better at talking about my feelings than I was at feeling them. Talking about my emotions in detail became for me, a way of actually escaping the raw emotional turmoil of trajedy, burying it so that It haunted me rather than dealing with it and moving on. It seems to me, that God calls me to a deeper more personal walk alongside him, and lately, I am  alone more than I have been in years. Studies take up a great deal of my time, and though I feel somewhat disconnected, I know that this is only for a season. (It should actually improve in about 4 more weeks.) Grief in the past has been something to run from, cover, or deny in busyness, and though I am busy, It seems that many of the tools I used to avoid the process have been removed. Flitting to and fro in the blogosphere and obsessively photographing nearly anything, has had to take a back seat to matters of greater import, and as a result, I find myself moving through emotions, and seeing a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel. My good friend Kemp lost his father a few days ago, and stopping by to express my condolences evidently stirred up a little emotion. I later found myself at home alone, and came across the cache of old photographs that my Father left behind when He moved on from this world.  It occurs to me that me, and possibly my sister  are the only ones who know the story behind these old black and white photographs. My Father was a photo enthusiast, back in the day when that meant nailing plywood over the guestroom windows so you could develop your own prints. Electronics were huge, filled with vacuum tubes. My Dad's first calculator was 75 dollars and the size of a brick. this was back when when he made less than $275 a month. I can remember that these pictures were already around, before the Casio miracle. If I had to guess, these were taken around 1969. it was a wonderful surprise to stumble across them after He died. These pics are, I think of a place called Niko (not sure about the spelling) it was an area of Japan that was thick with shrines. Like most pictures, it looks better on an uncluttered black background

I emailed the dead yesterday.

Running Out of Daylight., originally uploaded by use2blost.

Is that morbid? If you send an undeliverable message, at least on Yahoo!, you will get a reply from the "Mailer Daemon". I half-expected that to happen, but evidently the account is still taking incoming mail. I missed my Dad so much, and needed so badly to talk to him about the emotional and logistical cataracts and white water that my life has become. It was pretty raw,  I wanted to engage and at some point, in my mind's eye the intended recipient grew blurry, and it was unclear if I was writing an FYI/lamentation to my deceased father, or a prayer of supplication to my Father In Heaven.  it did me a lot of good, get get some things out onto paper, if only the virtual kind. I cannot over-endorse the benefits of writing down thoughts for the severely attention deficit. Hopefully, Dad's widow, Rosemary doesn't check the account, or she may feel the need to send the Men in White Coats, but I figure the probability of that is low. CyberSpace has never had any attraction for her.

Tropical Depression Fay has cramped my style, though I'm not really complaining... much. I need money, and since taking on school full-time (math test tomorrow morning! :D) returning phone calls, giving bids, sleeping, etc. has been hard, and for the last two weeks, the only option I have had work-wise has been an exterior paint job. The class Saturday, from 8:30 to 2:00 leaves me two days a week to work, and they were both rained out. Now, I know I don't live in Florida, like my friend Melissa Drewry, And the bad timing couldn't have come at a better time, I was evidently (considering my E-seance) overdue for a little mental R&R. I even went to church (didja hear that, Chris Taylor?)!

Ol' Joe Has been working through a series on spiritual disciplines, and truly nailed me. This weeks message was on varieties of prayer, and the disciplines of self-denial: fasting, solitude, and such. The "podcast"  is worth checking out. Over the last few years, God has occasionally knocked indiscreetly on my forehead about this very issue. For some time he has patiently and repeatedly brought to my attention that consistent chunks of unstructured time, in silence, solitude and study are the next step for me. I tend to do enough along these lines that I can hold my own in an argument with my conscience but not enough for significantly deeper intimacy with God. Naturally enough, God hasn't been fooled, and I can no longer fool myself.

My! this post has gotten long, and the torrential downpour sounds awfully soothing.

Good night.

Small Goup

I go to three bible studies/small groups. I cannot imagine what state I would be in without those connections. While I have not renounced my faith, there is undeniable repproach in my "personal" relationship with God, who seems so silent, when I want most to hear him, and my prayers/private devotions have been practically non-existant. My Thursday night group is listed on the church calendar as the "misfits" possibly because we are mostly new Christians (I don't know about Bonnie...), but for the first week of my Father's death, I needed a babysitter (for myself!) and Bonnie and Janel especially, stepped right up to the plate, though neither has known me long. Andy Stanley states that spiritual maturity is indicated "not by how much you know-but by how well you love", that familiarity with principles and doctrine are a means to an end, good only insamuch as they improve our knowlege of, and resemblance to, the Character of Jesus Christ. I have made poor choices during episodes of devastating pain more than once. Or twice. Or three times. With their support, I seem to have made it through the first week...They gave me food, company, and money ( I am a very small contractor, and an unplanned week without working, during a divorce and move left me unable to buy so much as a can of coffee). The Misfits, have been for me, a classic example of what Jesus meant when he instructed the knowledgable pharisee to "go and do likewise"

this morning was a little better,

though I still dont sleep well. I went to the men's breakfast, showed my ass a little, and may possibly have convinced some of them that I am a heretic. Feel in the mood to actually write something today, but I gotta go to work.