A Puppy Has Adopted Me

Two Saturdays ago, I had to be at the Front Porch at 8 am to let a friend of ours in, so he could do some work on the interior doors.

We woke up at... 8 am.

So I was a little late. But I did make it there to let our friend in, chit-chatted with him a little, and I was on my way back home at about 8:45.

I made it about one block before I saw the puppy in the photo. She was just running down the sidewalk, in front of the Coffee Ethic. So I pulled over immediately, got out and picked her up. She didn't run or fight or anything. In fact, she seemed eager to be picked up.

If you can't tell, this is a pretty small dog. She can't weigh more than 20 pounds. I assumed she was a black lab puppy, and I carried her into the coffeehouse, and asked around. Nobody recognized her. So I carried her into the adjacent public library, and nobody recognized her. But the librarian did help me by calling the pound. The pound said that the best thing we could do for her was to keep her out of the pound. That's the last I'll say about the pound.

The next thing I had to do was figure out where to take this dog; we had been wanting one, but weren't sure if we were ready. So I was reluctant to just bring her home. Plus, I wasn't looking forward to making a bunch of posters and advertising on Craig's List or something, to find the owner. I put her in my truck as if to take her home while I figured out what to do.

On my way, I drove past City Hall and the Police HQ, so I decided to stop and see if any of them knew what to do with a stray. The Police were no help, so I decided to go across the street to a Scramblers restaurant and ask to borrow their phone book. It turned out the restaurant manager was a lab owner herself, and wanted to help. So she brought out some scraps (which looked good enough to eat myself) and some water, which the dog consumed frighteningly fast. She advised I call the Humane Society, which I did, and I found out that they accept drop-offs from 12-4 pm on Saturdays. So I took her home to wait until noon arrived.

During those few hours, Christina and I fell in love. With the dog. We were already in love with each other. Here was a remarkably well-behaved puppy, who was friendly even to our two dwarf bunnies. We thought about keeping her, but we don't have room for a lab. When we did decide to get a dog, we needed a smaller one. So noon came around, and I took her to the Humane Society.

Although the Humane Society is clearly a better place than the pound, it is nevertheless a bit demoralizing. It's very hokey, and dirty, and noisy. But friendly. Overall, I figured it was worth the $20 they charged me to leave her with them. They looked my puppy over, and decided she was about six months old. That's what I'd figured. But after a second look, they told me she'd had puppies of her own already. I was shocked. Sure, she was a little too well-behaved to be a puppy, but she had this cute-and-silly demeanor that really had me fooled.

So that meant she was full-grown already. And things changed a little in my mind. I made a comment about the way animals are euthanized, referring to the pound. The clerk at the Society exclaimed "Oh no, we don't kill them here!" "I know that," I said. That's why I'm paying to drop her off here."

And I looked at her, happily leaning into me as I held her in my arms, and said, "Your life is worth twenty dollars to me." And I teared up a little. It sounds strange, but I had very little expectation of keeping this dog. Chances are, her owner would come and pick her up during the 7-day holding period, and I would never see her again. "I can't redeem the life of every dog on death row from my own bank account, but I can save you." And in a moment it seemed wrong that this creature should whip into and out of my life so briefly.

I thought about what it must be like to work at the Humane Society. I'm sure that only animal lovers need apply. Imagine the joy for such a person at being completely surrounded by adorable puppies and kittens. But imagine also the horror at seeing these innocent creatures arrive in terrible condition, and caring for those who are not desirable enough to ever be adopted. Imagine the overwhelming desire to take them all home, especially the rejects, and imagine the sadness to admit one's helplessness to do so. The more one's capacity for joy in their job, I thought, the more capacity for sadness.

I think it's similar for those who work in hospitals and doctors' offices. An optometrist is not likely to experience great highs in his line of work, and the lows seem pretty manageable as well. But an OBGYN is privy to many tears of joy as new lives are brought into the world, and also many tears of shock and despair when things go awry.

I realized that we are often confronted with a choice: to open ourselves up to both the highs and the lows, or to remain closed and afraid of our surroundings. Do I want to live a big life, or a small life? Simon and Garfunkel express both desires in two different songs. "I am a rock, I am an island..." contrasts with "I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes I would... if I could."

One junior higher goes out for the ball team, the other stays home for fear of failure. One high schooler asks his crush to the prom, the other never gets up the nerve. One college student dives into marriage, the other avoids it, so as not to end up divorced like his parents. One married couple tries to start a family, the other fears the loss of flexibility and independence.

I want to live a big life, not a small one. For a long time Christina suggested we get a puppy, but I worried about the expense, and the time it would take out of our already very full lives. So I never looked for a puppy. But apparently one puppy was looking for me.

Two days ago, on another Saturday, we made our way back to the Humane Society to finish what we'd started. I had only spent 3 hours with her, 7 days prior, but when we were directed to her cage, we remembered each other instantly. She absolutely freaked out, jumping around and licking my hand through the bars. I realized there was no lock, so I took her out to hold again, and it was obviously right.

I could worry about all the potential heartache that could be in store for me. That's the danger anytime you choose to love someone or something new. But I'd be a hopeless pessimist to ignore all the excitement and fun and sweetness and joy that comes with a new addition to the family.

We picked her up, we brought her home, we named her Abbi. But it's more like she's adopted us.

To Be Part of the Ocean

I'm sitting at the soundboard at the Front Porch, a concert is underway, and I just finished the last pages of Mitch Albom's 1997 book, Tuesdays with Morrie.

It's gotten a lot of acclaim, this book has. Everybody who reads it speaks highly of it, as a heart-wrenching account of an author's renewed relationship with a favorite professor in the midst of his ALS death throes. It's a true story, and it wants us to know that you're not ready to live until you're ready to die.

Personally, until the very end I wasn't that touched. No doubt it's well-written, sensitive, and thoughtful. But I considered putting it away several times before I reached the end, because all its platitudes about life and love and relationships and facing the end seemed a little cliche to me. A little overplayed... lacking poetry, poignancy, or both.

I think there may be a reason. Having spent my whole life in the Church, the subject of death is not entirely uncommon. Even if it's not a pleasant topic, it's nevertheless quite prescient to the church's theology. And for all its failings, somehow the Church did manage to instill in me a strong impression of the importance of love, relationships and living selflessly.

I was forced to consider the perspective of those raised without those insights. Those who may bristle at the raw consideration of death, and who have few opportunities to realign their thoughts to what is eternal. For them, I suppose I'm not surprised that Tuesdays with Morrie would be such an impactful book, and a truly beneficial one at that.

These were my thoughts at the half-point. But like I said, as it reached the end I started to feel differently. One passage that forced me to stop for a moment was a story told by the old professor himself. It was about a wave riding along the surface of the water, enjoying life. Until he notices what's happening to the waves ahead of him, as they crash violently on the shore. When the wave begins to panic, the next wave over comforts him by the notion that he is not a wave at all, he is part of the ocean.

As I said, this made me stop. Does it seem as silly to God for a human to fear the death that lies ahead, as it seems to a human for a wave to fear the shore? I've read a little about Buddhism lately, and their concept of "no-self". It is the process of getting rid of self-thoughts, to understand that "self" is an illusion, and that it is our membership in the universe, in humanity, in family, that really matter.

Don't think I'm buying into all this wholesale, but it is certainly stretching me.

And the whole topic brings me back over and over again to my nearest experience with death. About a year and half ago, just after our third wedding anniversary.

My wife Christina had an uncle who was essentially her father. Andrew Myers was brilliant, and proportionately eccentric for being brilliant. Few people have ever possessed greater potential. He was a doctor, and in his younger years gained a quick reputation in the ER for instant diagnosis. It was almost a shining. He could look at you, and tell what was wrong right away.

Although I never experienced this firsthand. My only hospital experience with Andrew Myers had him on the other end of the stethoscope.

As I said, it was about a year and a half ago. Andy's wife had just passed away six months prior, and he took a long downhill slide as a result. We all worried quite a bit about him... One might expect a bout of depression in his situation, but something else was bringing his health down drastically.

It didn't take long for his doctors to discover the cancer. Lung cancer. Our guess is that he knew he'd had it all along, but wanted nothing less than to be a cancer patient, subjected to wave after wave of destructive radiation. So he did what he could to alleviate the pain, and live his life while he could.

Fast-forward to the hospice room. When he was diagnosed, there was no doubt things would progress quickly, so there were few surprises that led us to this place... Christina and I together at Andy's side, or a fraction of Andy, anyway. The man we knew as a tall, robust individual was now a wisp of a man, with pure white hair and cheeks sunken severely beneath the oxygen tubes.

By many standards, I live a pretty colorful life. But it's also been fairly sheltered. In other words, until this point I'd never really witnessed death. Never really been there in the moment. And honestly, I could not have asked for a more precious introduction to humanity's greatest fear.

Andy had been mostly comatose during his short visit to the hospice, punctuated with short periods of looking around, or eking out a word or two. But in his final day, there was little to speak of. Christina and I stayed nearby, talking to him, holding his hands, and sharing warm conversations with friends and family who stopped in to visit.

The hospice nurse was nothing short of astounding. She was one of the most compassionate, encouraging and informative people I've ever encountered in the health care field. She told us how it would end. And we watched as it all unfolded.

His breathing became slower and slower, degenerating into intermittent gasps. And several other symptoms of passing matched the predictions perfectly.

But one blessing came to us that we didn't expect. Despite Andy's steady and unresponsive descent into darkness, his soul found the strength right before the end to open his eyes, and his mouth, as if he were witnessing something truly amazing. We held his hands a little tighter and smiled sadly to be part of such a breath-taking moment.

Then he closed his eyes again, to finish his breathing. The gasps got more and more sparse, and began to lift his chest as the effort became more and more intense. Then his chest would collapse, his chin would rise, the air would rush in sharply, and his body would rest for five seconds before it happened again. Then it was ten seconds. Despite their intensity, the breaths were thinning, and finally one gasp stopped midway, before Andrew Myers' body descended heavily into his bed. Christina and I squeezed his hands and looked at each other with emotions that don't fit into categories.

The nurse had asked us to inform her the moment he passed away, so I gave my wife a kiss and walked out into the hallway. I didn't have to walk far, because she was right nearby. Like I said, she was a wonderful nurse. She told me that we could take as long as we wanted with him before they began preparing his body for the funeral home. I questioned her about it, and she said some people take hours.

I returned to the room, and Christina and I sat and talked gently about Andy... trying to recall some of our happier moments with him. It seemed strange, mentally, to have casual conversation while a corpse is within arm's reach, but it also felt right in a way. I think we felt his presence more now, than we did when he was alive but comatose.

We prayed, and remarked to each other how relieved we were to know that Andy was with his Savior, whom he'd trusted in life. For although we mourn, we don't mourn like those who have no hope.

As I watched, and absorbed this new experience, and as I sit here to write out the story behind it, I am still a wave on the sea. I am moving, always darting in and out, never losing sight of the rocks ahead of me. But I am also part of the ocean, part of the larger picture that now holds Andrew Myers in the depths of its peace. Sometimes my heart can accept this, and sometimes it feels overwhelmed.

But despite the chaotic, the foreboding, the unknown, I can rest assured that in Christ, no fear is necessary. The sting of death is gone.

Center-City Springfield: East Commercial St.

The second place our photographic tour of Center-City Springfield will take us is East Commercial Street. If you have not read the introduction to this tour, now would be the time for that.

When North Springfield was founded, it was located on this street, around its intersections with Jefferson and Benton Streets, which are on the east side. So this is where we find the greater majority of civic history. One example, which I don't have a picture of, is Rathbone's Ace Hardware, which has been in business continually for over 110 years, under the name Rathbone.
Here is a sidewalk shot of the more historic half of C-Street, with the Citizen's Bank clock directly in front of us. The City of Springfield has actually done a nice job with streetscaping, to make the area more desirable. Here you can see the black street lamps, and wide, fresh-looking sidewalks.

As I said in the previous post, Commercial Street is a major study in contrasts. Here we have C-Street's first fancy restaurant (in ages), called Peabody's, and a book store that's been closed for who knows how long. Peabody's is where I took my wife for Valentine's Day this year.

One thing I have not mentioned yet is C-Street's charity scene. The strip is anchored by two major institutions for the less fortunate: Victory Mission on the west, and the Missouri Hotel (pictured below) on the east. The photo here was intended to highlight the historic detailing on the building.

This is a very controversial issue in Springfield, as it is in many cities. The hub of life for many homeless and vagrant people is either Commercial Street, or Downtown proper... two neighborhoods the city would like desperately to breathe new life into. And it can indeed be difficult to get people to invest venture capital into a place where people are known to have little or no money.

Sadly, many of the city's attempts at a solution involve nothing more than moving these people around, and barring new service agencies from moving in to help. This is unfortunate, but on the other hand, when a city has a cultural and architectural heritage like this, which is wasting away, doesn't it have a responsibility to restore it? And that takes money, right? What do you think?

Another face of C-Street is the flea market/antique store scene. Here's a storefront I particularly like:

And yet another face... a Professional Massage Training Center.

Following is an "aerial" shot of Commercial Street's Farmer's Market. Obviously things have not quite ramped up yet at this point. But last summer, this is where we met the lady who would eventually be our coffee provider at the Front Porch: Julia's Java.

Probably the proudest landmark of Commercial Street history is the Jefferson Avenue Footbridge. Built in 1902, and restored for its 100th birthday, it crosses 13 sets of railroad tracks, for a total span of 562 feet. Commercial Street runs parallel to the railyard, and right up against it. Back when North Springfield was founded, there were no bridges or tunnels for getting across the tracks... everyone had to go straight across. Consequently, when rail traffic was heavy, sometimes it would take hours before passage was possible. This was the arrangement that led to the construction of large, beautiful homes south of the Commercial Street, for the business owners, supervisors, and officials. The only place the common workers could afford to live was on the less convenient north side of the tracks. It was, quite literally, the "wrong side of the tracks", and to this day, the north side of Springfield is known for being poorer than the south side.

Back to the topic: the Jefferson Avenue Footbridge was built to provide a solution to this problem, so that anyone (on foot, anyway) could travel back and forth across this wide and bustling rail terminus.

Next-up: Downtown Proper.

Center-City Springfield: West Commercial St.

The first place our photographic tour of Center-City Springfield will take us is West Commercial Street. If you have not read the introduction to this tour, now would be the time for that.

Here is a street shot from the west end of what you might call "Historic Commercial Street", looking east:

Commercial Street is a funny character. The occupancy rate is still quite low, and there are miserable-looking vacant or neglected historic buildings everywhere. And yet... there are tons of first-class residential lofts, and numerous photography studios, design & marketing firms, art galleries, top-notch office spaces, beautiful streetscaping, and several classy entertainment establishments. Really, the best word to describe it is "weird".

The first thing we'll come to, starting from the west end, is the Belmonte, which is run by Springfield's Vineyard Church. The Belmonte started out right downtown, where it had a slightly larger space, and was known for fairly regular weekly concerts. It was, and still is, a pretty hip place... some say too hip. But they're good people, and they really want to reach out to their generation of skeptics and agnostics through the use of a common, comfortable, creative space. As it is now, I'm still trying to figure out what their goal is for the current facility. But still, I feel like I have more in common with this group than most Christians in Springfield. Here's two shots of the Belmonte:

Next is a dual shot of Lindberg's (left), the oldest continually operating pub in Springfield (over 100 years) and a future photography studio. Although it's had some straggly years along the way, Lindberg's is now beautifully restored, with wads of gorgeous hardwood. It's truly a classic pub. The only drawback is all the smoke, and the too-loud blues jam stuff they like to play live.

On the right is the up-and-coming Freedom Photography, the studio of my cousins, Matt & Heidi Giles. The upstairs is nearly finished, and ready for them to move into with their adopted son, Isaiah. If you go to the website, you'll see some stunning pictures of the work they've done. Downstairs has a little ways to go yet, but you can already tell it'll be a first-class studio space.


Here is an example of what Commercial Street is known for: Flea Markets and Second-Hand Stores... although this is definitely the classiest example: The Style.


One excellent addition to the Commercial Street scene recently, was that of a cozy coffee house. This one is called Big Momma's, and it's got great food and coffee, and is extremely cozy up front, where the coffee bar is. Fortunately, they have a big room in back where there's plenty of space for concerts, dramas, and other events. The Core has even put some thought into establishing a second Worship Gathering here.


To end our tour of West Commercial Street, I'll take you to the Firehouse Courtyard, where our friend Kelly Stevens will be marrying her German fiance, Julius, this September. Apart from all the other things I mentioned, C-Street has several funky open spaces, some elegant like this one, and others



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Center-City Springfield: A Photographic Tour

I love my mission field.

Back when I was 17 and 18 looking for the right place to re-locate and attend college, I was wary about Springfield, Missouri. First, it was too easy. It's the city where both my parents went to school (Evangel and SMSU, now MSU) and the city where most nice little pentecostal kids from my area migrated (due to the presence of Evangel, CBC and AGTS.)

Second, it was too small. I had gotten used to living in substantial metropolitan areas... Kansas City, and Tulsa before that. But Springfield is by all accounts a small city. Perhaps large among the small cities, but still.

Third, the whole city looked like Glenstone to me. For the initiated, let me explain that most of the main thoroughfares in Springfield are lined with strip malls and cluttered with their super-tall road signs. Glenstone is the worst... this description is true for a solid 7 or 8 miles, and people drive on it as if they're trying to read every word on every sign. When I looked at Springfield, I didn't see any of the urban fabric or historic significance that usually draws me to a city: I just saw strip malls and road signs.

Glenstone is also the street where Evangel's campus is located, and Evangel is where I ended up enrolling, to study music. So Glenstone was an ever-present reminder of how Springfield and I were essentially incompatible.

Another feature of Springfield that you may have picked up on already is that it is a veritable mecca of higher education. Word has it there are 11 colleges, and 30-40,000 college students, depending on how you count. This has the very advantageous effect of bringing in bright young minds from around the country, many of whom are determined to leave Springfield upon graduation. But, you know, you meet that special guy or girl, who is graduating one or two years after you... so you graduate, you get a job, find a place, make some friends, establish a routine. And by the time that special someone has graduated it's just a lot easier to stay put. So Springfield manages to hold onto some of those bright minds, and that's no small thing for such a small city.

In addition to that, it turned out the Springfield did actually have some urban fabric after all. It's just that it was torn, stained and at one point it was almost ripped to shreds.

In the 70s and 80s, the city got into its head that many of the historic buildings Downtown were a hazard and/or an eyesore. By the time anybody saw otherwise, the architectural legacy of our Center-City was in danger of fading to black, and the 90s were a time of desolation for what should be the liveliest part of town.

There are two specific districts of Center-City Springfield that are worth mentioning here: Downtown proper, and Commercial Street. The former was established as the city of Springfield in 1838, and the latter as the city of North Springfield in 1871. The two merged as the single city of Springfield in 1887. These are the two most significant historic urban districts of the city, and which I have the most stories about.

So I'm going to take you on a photographic tour over the next several posts, showing you pictures of our mission field, telling the stories behind them, and giving you a sense on the map of the location of each one. To start you off, here are two maps that gives you some perspective on the location of Downtown and Commercial Street in relation to each other, and to Springfield at large. Here is a map of Springfield, with the boundaries of the following map outlined in red:

And here is the map that includes both districts of Downtown and Commercial Street:

And that brings us to the map I'll be using to show you the locations of each image on our little photographic tour. Enjoy!


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Not Alone

Despite the apparent uniqueness of the Front Porch, it is great to see that there are others out there dreaming and doing the Way of Jesus in ways we can relate to.

Back in December I wrote about one example of this located in Hamilton, Ontario, called The Freeway.

And just now I read a post on Kingdom Grace called "My Secret Fantasy" that reminded me again that we are not alone in this vision. There really is a movement afoot, and one that seems to have the stamp of Jesus on it.

It's hard not to become giddy when I read the way this vision takes on myriad variations in every cultural context, and in every impassioned heart to create a space of radical hospitality, and authentic community.

If you're reading this, and you know of any others, please speak up. It's really exciting to see continuity among so many who don't even know each other.

Peace.


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Red Letter Ramblings

One very formidable trend that has developed with Generations X and Y (for lack of better terms) is the desire to be a "Red-Letter Christian".

For the uninitiated, many editions of the Bible print the words of Jesus in red, and the rest of the words in black.

If there are any accountants or finance-types reading this, I have a question for you: Does red ink make Jesus words look better, or worse? Seems like it might be a barrier for those who fear "the red".

Aside from purely cosmetic concerns, I believe this type of thinking can be dangerous. First, whose decision was it initially to put the words of God the Son in red, but not those of God the Father? Is it not disconcerting to anyone else to read about the baptism of Jesus and see the very voice of heaven descending in ink of black? It wouldn't bother me, except in a Red-Letter Edition.

It is a magnificent truth that Christianity is not based on a set of teachings, or on a philosophy, or on a group of people or a historical event. It is based on a person; the person of Jesus. So why shouldn't we let his words stand out?

And that's the way the thinking goes... fair enough. But there's more.

I don't see this simply as a Bible-reading trend, but as a move away from a holistic Christianity, and into one that has a too-narrow focus on the person of Jesus. This has caused many people to believe that Jesus was not so much the agent of the Father here on earth, but rather a rogue liberator attempting to rescue humanity from the wrath of a Crabby Dad. Read more about that here.

A case in point: The 4th of 10 Commandments, in Exodus, commands that we keep the Sabbath day holy, and do no work on that day. In Jesus' time, the Pharisees abused this law (like every other law) and took it to extremes. As we read Jesus' attempts to correct that abuse, we begin to think that he is rescinding the commandment itself. And whatever we read in red letters seems to trump everything else. (As an aside... my trouble with honoring the Sabbath is that I can't find where God said that the Sabbath should roll over to the first day of the week, instead of the last. Still percolating on that one...)

The problem is, this approach to the mission of Christ ignores the following red letters from John 8:28: "I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me." Does this bold assertion leave us any reason at all to lift the words of Jesus above the words of God the Father? Has anyone ever proposed putting all the words of God in red?

Because, in their red letter fervor, some people have even become suspicious of the non-gospel books. Here's my question for them: Do you believe John accurately recorded Jesus' words? Then why not read his three epistles and Revelation just as seriously? Do you believe Luke accurately recorded Jesus' words? Then why not read Acts just as seriously? And if you do, you'll see that Jesus (in red letters) appointed Paul to be an apostle. Then why not read the letters of Paul as divine scripture? And when we read the red letters themselves, we can see how Jesus honored the words of Moses and the Prophets. In our efforts to follow Jesus and be like him, should we not do the same?

We should. Otherwise we risk letting our faith run into the red.

Now Taking Questions...

Last Wednesday our QAF Sessions focused on gathering questions from participants, to be used in future QAFs. Here is the list I took down. If you are plan to participate in the QAF Sessions in the near future, please add a question to the comments. If you can't join us, feel free to add a question anyway, but I will probably be quicker to use questions from participants than non-participants.

I am not a Bible Answer Guru, and I don't know any. So conclusions and right answers are not really the point here, so please don't try to answer them in the comments. The point is that we are able to ask these questions, and able to discuss them openly, with no fear of dirty looks for being honest. So here are the questions that were asked Wednesday night.

• Is there a feminine or female side of God? Does God have a gender at all?
• The Bible seems to imply that we are judged by what we do. How does salvation by grace fit into that?
• Is it wrong to be so content with life that you don't care what happens to you after you die?
• How reliable is Scripture? Have human hands compromised it in the inscription or translation process? How perfect can our translations possibly be?
• Why does Biblical history seem absent from academic history books?
• Is it wrong to focus your education on attaining job security?
• Is it a sin to do what you want if you don't know what God wants you to do?
• Do we have to suffer in order to serve God?
• What is the point of suffering?
• Does God cause disaster, as it seems to say in Isaiah 45:7?
• How do we reckon with some of the disturbing character traits of God?
• How can we say God is good when he instigates massacres like the flood?
• How literally should we read the Bible (i.e. "Bind these words upon your head...)

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Kansas City on Google Street View - Our Story

I've known about Google Street View since they first made it public, with only 4 cities online: New York, Las Vegas, Miami and, um... Denver?

Anyway, I've watched them gradually add more and more cities to the network, and was thrilled when I saw that Kansas City had been added. Not only that, it has thicker coverage than almost any other city on Google Maps!

So that means I can easily show you the places in Kansas City that are important to me. Later I plan to create a post with neat, touristy pictures of my high school hometown, but for now I'll keep it more personal.

Here is the house I lived in with my parents and younger brother from 8th - 12th grade, and that they continued to live in while I was in college:


My wife Christina and I both went to the same high school, but only for a year, since I was class of '97, and she was '98, and she transferred in for her junior year. Sorry there's not a closer view, but you can see the stadium on the left, and part of the building on the right. Shawnee Mission South, everybody:


Although we'd glimpsed each other in the halls at school, both of the times we actually met were at this place, a Messianic Jewish congregation called Or Ha Olam. The reason we met twice is because the first time was when we were 15 or 16, and nothing clicked. But the second time we were 20 and 21, on Friday evening, June 16, 2000, to be precise, and I knew I had to ask her out:


My initial way of asking her out was to invite her to join me and the other college students at Or HaOlam at Steak 'n Shake after the service. This is where we first really hit it off. And the others that were with us said it was obvious:


While we were hitting it off, I asked her what kind of music she listens to, hoping against hope that she didn't say Country. What she said was, "Well, my first love is Jazz." That's it! I was sunk. So I asked her if she wanted to go with me after Steak 'n Shake to an after-hours jazz club I knew about near downtown. She said yes, and hopped in the car (parents' minivan... not exactly a chick magnet) with me, and off we went to the Mutual Musicians' Foundation:


There you can see the front stoop, where we hung out most of the time we were there, talking to some of the younger jazz musicians that stopped by. It was a gorgeous night to be sitting out discussing the deeper things in life at 3 am. And I know that's how late it was, because it was 4 am by the time I dropped her off at her house:




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Rise

into a forgettable space
we enter our feet, our knees
some other parts
feeling rather beige, off-white
like the walls

into a utilitarian space
we bring our raw materials
lugged about throughout the week
the month
don't ask
it's unspoken

there is a layer of shimmering humanity
that hovers close to God
and soaks up his light
refracting it a billion ways
it stands for his honor
and falls for his glory
it shivers with anticipation
at every resounding word

but here we meet
far below
looking up
knowing what could be
frowning at the distance between

so in spite of ourselves
and because of ourselves
we take one step forward
we take one step upward
and rise


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The Zero and the One

I wrote this little allegory in 2001. Enjoy!

Once, there was a Zero. And this particular Zero had a lot of things going for him; a perfectly smooth, round shape, nice clean center, and a long life ahead of him. But unlike the other Zeros he met, he was not at all happy. Certainly he was thankful for his blessings, but he knew for sure that there was something more to life than this. He wanted, more than anything else, to be worth something.

So one day he’d had enough sulking and worthlessness, and he determined to find a way to make his life worthwhile. First he tried rolling around till he was upside down. No one even noticed. He turned around backwards. Same result. Then he thought, “Perhaps if I get enough others like me together, and we work hard and arrange ourselves just right, we can be worth something together! So he sent out an invitation calling all the Zeros he knew together in one place. To his delight, several dozen came, and they stood beside each other, on top of each other, and every which way. But alas, they found that it all came to: Nothing.

Not to be deterred, our hero the Zero decided that what was needed were some tools; some outside implements to give him value. After talking around a bit, he was able to procure a plus, a minus, a multiplier, and a divider. Then he found one of his better friends who wasn’t too turned off by the last attempt, and they went to work with his new tools. They tried Zero plus Zero. Zero. They tried Zero minus Zero. Zero. They tried Zero times Zero. You guessed it. His friend remarked, “What do you even need me for? Get all these new Zeros to help you.” But our Zero pleaded with him to at least try the last tool. He agreed, so they performed Zero divided by Zero. “Undefined?” His friend exclaimed. I’m outta here!

Disappointed, but not dejected, the Zero tried some more tricks over the next few weeks. Powers, Logorithms, Matrices… he even dabbled in some Calculus, but always with the same worthless result.

Just about to throw in the towel, the Zero took a long walk. He walked past a dumpster chock full of all his previous experiments, and it only depressed him more. “Is there no way for a Zero to be worth something?” he cried to the air. He continued walking, out of his little community and into the country, where he’d never been before. He was so sullen, he stared at the ground when he walked, and scarcely looked up. Suddenly, he bumped into something. It looked like a tree, but without branches. Just then, he felt a tremendous sense of value and purpose flow into his empty soul. It was the tree! Or whatever it was. “What are you?” the Zero asked. “I am The One,” it proclaimed with a booming voice. Follow me.

Without hesitation, The One started moving to the left, and the Zero was right behind. As they came back into town, the Zero started shouting out to his friends. “Come here, everybody! I’ve found The One! Follow Him with me!” So many of his friends came behind him. And every zero that joined multiplied the total value by ten. Before long they felt more worth than any of them had ever dreamed of. Sadly, some Zeros were too skeptical of it all to come out and join them. Others tried to walk in front of The One, but added no worth to themselves or anyone else. But those who followed were glad they did.

And so, the Zero, and his friends, found that there was value and purpose to life after all.

THE END

Ticketshyster

At the risk of gloating, I would like to make all of you aware that I am going to the Radiohead concert in St. Louis on May 14.

Tickets went on sale on a Saturday morning in the middle of February, and my wife and I were sitting at the computer, poised to obtain tickets for us and six of our friends so we could all go as a group. I'll spare you the details, but since Ticketmaster's website made it clear that there was a four-ticket-per-person limit, we decided that I would by four, and my wife would buy four.

To be honest, I'm not the only one who was disappointed in the idea of buying Radiohead tickets through Ticketmaster. Radiohead's immense popularity did not come as a result of heavy radio airplay (despite their name) or aggressive marketing. With the exception of providing some music for Baz Luhrmann's immensely popular film rendition of Romeo & Juliet in the mid-90's, Radiohead's rise to prominence has been overwhelmingly grassroots. So it seems antithetical that they would rely on a corporation that so completely exemplifies "the man" to distribute their concert tickets.

Nevertheless, I didn't make a big deal about it, because I figured it was probably a requirement of the venue (a corporately named, and corporately minded, humongous amphitheater) rather than a decision made by Radiohead themselves. Of course, the ideal concert in the minds of most RH fans would be in some dingy gothic theatre, or underground rave. But let's be realistic... a venue that cool would most certainly exclude me (and probably you) from going, if only for its smallness.

So I didn't complain about having to go through Ticketmaster. Until now. Remember I told you about that four-ticket-per-person limit? Well, like I said, I bought four tickets, and then my wife bought four tickets. So we had our two, and although we knew it would take a few weeks for them all to arrive in the mail, we started promising the other six to our friends.

Until we opened our credit card bill today. Because lo and behold, there was a charge for four tickets, another charge for four tickets, and then, three days further down the statement, a credit for the price of four tickets.

It turns out that their policy is not four-per-person, it is four-per-household. Whether it was a typo on their website, or an oversight on our part, they still let the transaction go through, making us think we had eight tickets, and forcing me to call several people today to tell them that we didn't have tickets for them after all. (Try spilling those beans to a h-a-r-d-c-o-r-e Radiohead fan living in the Midwest.)

I argued with customer service about it, to no avail. The usual shpiel... "A website can't be perfect, it let the transactions go through, and then when we discover later that two transactions have the same billing address, we canceled one of them." B.S.

A website can most certainly tell when two transactions come from the same household, when they share a billing address, and especially when they share a credit card number, and a last name.

What bothers me most is not what happened. It's that we had to find out by opening our credit card statement. Imagine going to a store and buying 8 shirts, and taking them home to give to your friends as Christmas presents, then having the clerk from the store sneak into your house that night, take 4 of them back, and credit your card for that amount.

Nonsense, right? Exactly.

Epilogue: After this debacle, I quickly called a friend who had tickets to the show, but only bought two, to see if he could get two more. Contrary to my assumption, the lawn tickets hadn't sold out at all, and he was able to get two more, which was the exact overage of friends to whom we had promised tickets. Whew! God does care about Radiohead concerts. ;-)

Reality Bites

Here's the scoop.

I'm too much of a post-modernist to believe that every question has, or needs, a pat answer. Or that only those with sufficient and acceptable education should have a voice. Or that the arts are nothing more than helpful illustrations in an otherwise serious book.

But I'm too much of a modernist to believe that nothing is really true, or that certainty has no place. Because what I'm about to say is something I will not let go of.

The way I see it (there I go, talking post-modernese) we each have three choices as we attempt to discern the nature of reality:

A) Reality is a shape-shifter that morphs and customizes as it travels from person to person, and from one day to the next. No one has the right to speak with any certainty about it, and by no means does anyone have the right to correct anyone else's perceptions. (This is the one and lonely dogma of post-modernism.) We each define our reality, allowing it to flow to us fresh with each new whim and situation, and we listen to the observations of others like we would read a good novel, or view an abstract painting.

B) Reality is the easiest, most comfortable solution to my particular quandaries. There is indeed a solid floor to stand on, but I know I have not found it until it truly makes me happy. Nevermind that one man's truth is another man's heresy. Nevermind that every last satisfying belief I hold dear makes someone else bristle with irritation. Apparently the universe was shaped and molded to meet my expectations, and help me to sleep soundly every night.

C) Reality is full of hard truths, and hidden truths. There is no need to despair, because hope is present and powerful. But in order to know what is real, we have to be prepared to accept some ideas that seems unfair, or unreasonable, or downright ridiculous. Truth is stranger than fiction, and often harder to swallow, and no one finds it without a substantial dose of humility.

If you know me very well, you may be tired of hearing this stuff, but as I said, I just can't let it go. If you want to accuse me of skewing the choices, go ahead. Feel free to re-write them, or tear them down entirely, in the comments.

But whether you comment or not, at the very least, THINK ABOUT IT.

Untouchable

This morning Charles, one of The Core's leaders, shared about the compassionate miracles of Jesus. Here are some quotes from that, as my memory serves me.

From a theatrical monologue: "I am a leper... and I had not been touched in five years, not by my wife, my children, not even brushed by a stranger in a crowd, until today, when Jesus touched me."

"By touching the unclean he was not merely being uncouth. From a cultural perspective, he was inviting that uncleanness onto himself. He was sacrificing his social acceptability for the sake of compassion."

"When did Jesus' following begin to diminish? It was when he started talking about what was going to happen to him. At first he did miracles, because his disciples weren't ready to hear the ugly truth yet. But eventually he started leveling with them... 'There's a cross at the end of this road for me. And there's a cross for you, too.'"

The Question of Suffering

Yesterday my boss had to take the day off because he pinched his sciatic nerve. Normally he provides the office music from his iTunes, which can include anything from Johnny Cash to the Beastie Boys.

But yesterday was quiet most of the day, so eventually I decided to turn on our local NPR station, and listen to Fresh Air, one of its more popular interview programs.

Although I was only able to listen to snatches of the show, I did catch that Terry Gross was interviewing an author named Bart Ehrman, whose book is called "God's Problem". Ehrman is a former minister and fundamentalist, and his driving point was that Christianity, and religion in general, have not found a satisfactory explanation for human suffering. Here is a quote from the book:

Eventually, though, I felt compelled to leave Christianity altogether. I did not go easily. On the contrary, I left kicking and screaming, wanting desperately to hold on to the faith I had known since childhood and had come to know intimately from my teenaged years onward. But I came to a point where I could no longer believe. It's a very long story, but the short version is this: I realized that I could no longer reconcile the claims of faith with the facts of life. In particular, I could no longer explain how there can be a good and all-powerful God actively involved with this world, given the state of things. For many people who inhabit this planet, life is a cesspool of misery and suffering. I came to a point where I simply could not believe that there is a good and kindly disposed Ruler who is in charge of it.

Knowing that it would be fodder for his detractors, in the interview he specifically referenced the book of Job. He claimed that Job, rather than providing an explanation for suffering, depicts a man who questions his intense suffering, and is reprimanded for it by God himself. Job says "Why? I don't deserve this!" and God says "Be quiet. Did you create the universe?"

Ehrman tears down the traditionally positive view held of Job, and rips into his character, saying that Job, rather than accepting his suffering in faith, constantly complained and defended himself. In response, God then (in Ehrman's view) scolds Job for even asking such questions.

I disagree not only with his view of Job, but with his completely cerebral approach to suffering. Perhaps if I read the book I would feel differently. But I certainly don't want to be guilty of it myself, and fail to recognize the suffering you may be experiencing in your life, even as you read this. Life hurts, and sometimes it's torture. No amount of analysis or exegesis or debate can make a dent in that. If you're suffering right now, the second worst thing I could give you is a rational explanation. But the number one worst thing I could give you is the sense that God doesn't care, and you're not allowed to scream in his face for relief. I'll talk more about that in a minute.

So book knowledge alone just doesn't cut it... even when that book is the Bible. Sometimes it doesn't matter how many chapters or books one has memorized from the Bible, because Ehrman has far more than his share. Memorization does not guarantee absorption, and certainly not relationship.

Because when I read Job, I do not see a God who sends lightning on those who ask why. I see a God who overwhelms Job with the power and awe of God's own presence; to the point where Job might even forget about his own pain for a moment.

Solomon says that man cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. God was reminding Job that he is completely incapable of seeing the big picture, and steering him back to faith, not necessarily away from all doubt, but away from despair.

Humanity is absolutely not wrong to question its own suffering. Look at the Psalms, especially 22 and 69. Here is David, the "man after God's own heart", pounding on the chest of the Almighty, screaming out for answers. And God calls this sacred scripture--something each one of us should read and internalize. And for one reason more than any other... these passages point directly the sufferings of Jesus.

And that, more than anything I can think of, is the fulfillment of the question of suffering. Notice I don't say "the answer to the question" because modernity has convinced us to seek hard-and-fast answers where perhaps there can be none. It is my belief that, in those cases, we should instead seek fulfillment. Relationship. Then what is the fulfillment of the question of the suffering of humanity? I believe it's the suffering of Christ.

He did not promise us answers. He promised us himself. "I will be with you, even to the end of the age."

If we want anything beyond that, we do not want Jesus at all.