Bridge of Wind

I live in Lancaster County and work in York County, and never twain shall meet (to steal a line from Rudyard Kipling). "Oh, East is East and West is West, and never twain shall meet, Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat."

When I work, I work. When I am not at work, I don't want to any in any sense feel as if I am at work. Like run into my students at the supermarket. Or the mall...not that I go to the mall anyway.

I love the bifurcation by bridge of my life. For nearly twenty years I have tried to leave my home burdens on the Lancaster side and my work burdens on the York side like some psychological umbrella. Some might classify this a schizoidal but it works for me on a conscious level. One umbrella is red, the other white, and when I use them, is determined by day or night. The Houses of York and Lancaster....some ancient monarchy issue of where loyalties were, symbolized by a red or white rose.

Subconsciousnessly, I probably am always somewhere on the bridge. It is truly impossible to sever the two sides. I was thinking that as I drove across the Susquehanna Bridge today. It gets really windy out there away from the shoreline protection. Good to know that God is in the wind.

Russians Love Their Grandchildren Too

There is an older couple across the street in little old Mountville who are Russians. I asked the man a couple of years ago why he moved to America and he looked at me, and looked around, and raised his hand in a sweeping gesture. That was enough of an answer...guess it was kind of self-evident. Stupid suburban me, taking it for granted. A more interesting question would be, "Why here?"

I have been praying that I would get to know him better. Somewhat ashamed that I do not know his name after living across from he and his wife for over four years. I cleverly call them the "Russkies." I am quite the coiner.

He often comes outside after I return from my runs. It happens too often to be a coincidence. It almost seems as if he is waiting for me...he walking out of his door and up the driveway holding his little grandson's hand. His little grandson often looks wary of me...a 6'8" sweaty dude panting and doubled-over. Probably gives the little guy nightmares.

In our conversations, we chat about interesting topics, with really no agenda. A couple of days ago we talked about Russian novelists. He thinks Solzhenitsyn is too wordy and dense. Guess writing about Stalin and the Gulags does that. He gave a thumbs up to Dostoevsky but likes Tolstoy the best out of the three. Then he mentioned a fourth Russian author I had never heard of before as his favorite. It was an interesting conversation that was profound in its simplicity. A friendship of sorts is developing.

Made me think of the Sting song....Russians Love Their Children too

This Is It

Watched M. Jackson's This Is It documentary last night on Netflix. The title became in his death more true than anyone could have imagined. Michael was looking for redemption through the show, partially financial it seems, yet more as an artist. The stage for redemption is not London, or New York, or LA. It is Calvary.

My Pale Ale Pal

So, there I am today at our CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farm picking up our copious weekly allotment of vegetables and fruit. I was early birding in that we are not supposed to be there until 4 but I really did not feel like hanging out at work on a Friday afternoon which is close to the CSA in Hellam.

A fellow CSA'er pulls up and we exchange pleasantries. After we get our produce, he comments I look hot. Kind of an obvious statement...it was close to 90 degrees and I was wearing a dress shirt and a tie. I concurred, "Yeah, I am hot." Not exactly deep discernment.

But, it was a set-up of sorts. Out of his trunk, he pulled out a chilled Sierra Nevada Pale Ale from a six pack and gave it to me. I will never turn down a good beer; that would be like a seagull declining to eat a stray French Fry on the beach.

Jesus says that when we give a cold cup of water in his name we are blessed. I think the same blessing transfers when we give away a beer. I know that I was blessed by his gesture of generosity. Every day grace on a hot day.

Let The Healing Begin!

Watched Good Will Hunting tonight for Cinema Spirituality.

Typical...girl (and not so typical) therapist save guy, with some Amadeus thrown in. Still a good film. Loved the line, "Let the healing begin." Think that this will be be my mantra tomorrow in Guidance. Healing is most certainly needed in the broken world of kids.

It is always makes me laugh and sad when kids are lectured about the real world out there after high school. High school is as real as it gets. Cut the kids a break. It is not as easy to find your way as we seem to think now that we are adults.

'nuff said.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

When I get stressed out, I step back and look to see how I can get things organized.

I often need to stop in the middle of the madness and plan before proceeding...otherwise I react impulsively. One of my favorite ways to reset is to get a haircut. There is something about seeing the shagginess depart and fall like snow onto the barber's floor. He squares off the back of my neck from a "V" to a straight line. Best of all, he buzzes my wild eyebrows.

I am not one to go to the barber once a week...I usually appear every five weeks or so. If I weren't so cheap, I think I would like to get a trim every two weeks. Yet, that is not going to happen.

I walk out feeling like a new man...plus I got a grape Tootsie Roll Pop to savor out his jar!

Running Out of Excuses

I aim to run three times a week from our house, to Grubb Lake, back home. It is a four mile route of enough hills to make it hard at any speed, including walking. As a matter of principle, if I am going for a run, I run the entire time. Although, at times, my run is probably slower than a walk.

Beer-drinking is my Doppleganger to my running....although my beer consumption hardly qualifies as sinister. Just a way to burn calories.

I have not run since mid-August. Too many 12 hour work days coupled with some couch-surfing, and it has been about two weeks since I laced up the Nikes. Today, after working until 8:00 last night, I departed soon after the end of school. I came home, took a nap, and awoke after an hour or so refreshed. I looked outside. Beautiful day.

I could not generate a good reason not to run, so I ran. I left the watch behind. I generally am able to do the run in about 40 minutes. Tonight, I knew that was not going to happen. So, like an obese person avoids the scale, I left the watch behind.

Great run, slow as expected. I ran out of excuses. Rather I outran my excuses. Good moral maxim...

Thou Should Not?

Well, mi Madre sent me one of those "inspirational " emails of awesome pictures of nature and then statements from God...some of the statements accorded with the spirit of Scripture, some did not. The one most egregious was a sentence that said "What part of should not don't you understand?"

I suppose it was meant to be a close approximation of "Thou shalt not" of the Ten Commandments, Moses on the Mountain, smoke and storm. Not quite....instead God, the Cosmic Nag...or non-directive counselor. "Y' know, you really should not do this."

Eeeks....Carl Rogers as Deity....really, the question really is, "What part of thou shalt not don't you understand?" We all break the Commandments, we all need Grace. But, don't change the question. Reminds me of the serpent's question in the Garden of Eden, "Did God really say?"

Feeling Like Job

This week I have been feeling a lot like Job.

I had a killer backache all week from lifting weights without good form and started catching a cold yesterday morning. Each one of my almost 47 years on this planet were like bricks on my broken back.

As is my typical response, I ate raw garlic to repel the cold virus invaders. Garlic also ironically has anti-inflammatory properties on aches and pains. It causes a sizable pain but also provides a bigger cure. Yet, it has to be eaten raw...rawer than a 36 degree wet and December morning and scorching as the Saharan sun in the noonday. Terrible and powerful, a paradox indeed. The Jews in the desert clamored for the leeks and garlic of Egypt. There was something both amiss yet understandable in their cry. Garlic is one of nature finest curatives but it is hardly kind.

Although, I overkilled on the garlic and ate too much. I had to spit out the fiery mush and eat it in increments like a baby with pureed peas. The garlic, coupled with too much of my Whup-Ass Hot Sauce the night before, caused great distress in the bowels. I will spare you the play-by-play. All in all yesterday, I was eagerly awaiting some boils, and looked around for some broken shards of pottery to scrape them with as a prep. The cold was killed but it was like chemo with cancer. A lot of collateral damage.

Compared to what Job went through--and others like him over the ages--the comparison shows me to be a wimp. Yet, God knows what we can bear. We often can bear more than we imagine. But only bearing the burdens teaches us this. Chalkboard sayings are mere dust without the exhortation of experience.

I knew it was going to be a challenging week. Every year around this time, my school counselor colleagues and I work on student schedules. In all, it is a laborious process, full of drops and adds, gaps, and rescheduling failed courses. Like making sausage, the process is not pretty. It is harsh and bloody. By the time we have the schedules in their casings, my head and butt both hurt.

Typically it takes about 7-10 days each summer to clean things up. So, when people ask what I do with my summers, assuming that I don't work, I enlighten them about this duty (and others over the summer, like registering new students). People are genuinely surprised that schedules are so difficult to do. They assume that such things come out right the first time. Really, what does? The world is not merely running down, it is crashing...all creation groans awaiting redemption...it is not merely a whimper.

Ignorance and empathy only come from first-hand experience and maybe observation. I do my part to defend my profession...school counselors, the Charlie Brown's of the working world. Perceived as an expendable adjunct until schedules aren't done, suicidal and distraught students are not seen, bewildered parents are consolationless, and collegiate & career advice is missing. A great job for a Christian by the way as it is common for us to feel unappreciated. I do think our students, parents, teachers and administration are much more appreciative at our high school than most...it must be because we are so awesome! ;0)

So, after working 12 hours late into Monday night on schedules, I went home.

On the way home, I noticed I was out of gas in more ways than one. My car was exhausted too. So, I stopped by the Turkey Hill and pumped away. While putting back my wallet in one hand and holding the gas pump in the other hand, my phone rang. About the only phone calls I receive on a regular basis are from my wife Lina. She is in China. I had to pick-up so I put my wallet on top of my car. Bad move...never put something valuable where it is ultimately not supposed to be.

I was afraid that I would miss the call and I don't trust ATT when it tells me that I won't be charged international rates if I were to call her back. I have been misinformed by a cell company before (Verizon) and the contract became a noose that could not be escaped from despite the wrong information. We finally cut the rope down early and paid the ransom early termination fee demanded. Suffocation was near and I needed a better phone and an enhanced service plan. Still wondering if Verizon will ever get the I-Phone.

On the way home, after I pumped the petrol, Lina was regaling me with adventures big and small from China. When I got home and pulled into the garage, I realized that my wallet had gone AWOL. Or, instead, that I had. The wallet was innocent of all malfeasance. I re-drove the four mile route several times from the house to Turkey Hill. I scoured the parking lot of T.H., probably looking like a 6' 8" madman. Suspicious stares emanated from peoples' cars...doors started locking no doubt.

I contemplated dumping out the trashcans, thinking that I might have put the wallet on the side of a can. I did not recall where I had placed it nor which pump I had used. The hapless Turkey Hill clerk rummaged through the lost and found drawers. Nothing. He had just taken over the shift. If I worked at a Turkey Hill with its low wages, I might be tempted to treat a lost wallet turned in as a unexpected financial bonus. I also contemplated that a fellow customer finding a wallet could quietly pocket the wallet and scamper away. I decided that given the time frame both scenarios were unlikely, I knew what I had to do. I drove home, got out a flash light, and commenced on running the route at 11:00 at night.

I had wondered how I was going to have the energy to exercise, after getting home, before losing the wallet. Now I had more than enough. I retrospect, I should have started running from the Turkey Hill first rather than the house. Items like wallets would be more prone to fall off sooner rather than later on a car roof traveling 45 mph. Lesson learned.

So, I ran like Gump. Images of having to cancel and replace all of my credits cards and dealing with the Pa. Driver License hellhole seeking a replacement, slam-danced in my head. I have a ton of schedules to do, I am supposed to be going on family reunion vacation next Monday for a week. Fear, raw fear, of someone taking my cards and ordering a slew of goods on the web also bounced around my pea-brain. Should I call and cancel credit cards now? I was getting desperate. It gave me a new appreciation for the Jesus parables of lost and found. How was I to get cash? I thought that maybe my bank would allow me to cash a check if I could bring an expired ID. It is frightening how devastating losing a wallet can be. I don't have time and energy for this. I ran on.

Sweating profusely, I hit the main drag to the Turkey Hill...462. About halfway up the road to the Turkey Hill, I spotted a five dollar bill. I either thought that this was a booby prize of sorts that I found a little cash of someone else's OR that it was a sign of my wallet nearby. Then, I found a $ 20 on the side of the road like a discarded Marlboro box. I knew that my wallet had to be close! I looked out into the road...there it was, sitting all alone, a vulnerable monetary orphan in danger's path. I spied a huge delivery trucking coming right for it. I surmised that I didn't have time to save it so I could only watch the concussive collision of truck and wallet. Man, a direct hit! Painful to witness.

In the aftermath, the circle of credit cards got exponentially larger in diameter like an IEP explosion. In-between the onrushing cars and trucks, I collected the strewn about Visa, MAC, American Express, Mastercard, and COSTCO cards. Other wallet belongings, like shipwrecked cargo, were also rescued and dredged off of the road. I did a final reconnaissance for cash and found most of what I thought had been in there originally...about $ 60 or so additional bills.

I thought that I had everything, the credit cards and other items were in remarkable good shape. Only my Highmark Blue Shield card was damaged. It was gnarled and broken in two. It had given itself so that the others would not bear to costs of the crash. Quite Christ-like and perhaps a metaphor on Obama-care. Having the federal government run health care should cause us all to be frightened...look what a great job it does with everything else.

Yesterday, I was at Musser's Grocery Store and discovered, at the check-out, that my Musser's savings card, was yet missing. I had not thought of that. So, I went back to the scene and found it sideways in some brush along the side of the road. Any cash remaining, if there had been any, was long gone. The winds had either ushered it away or other hands had hands had found it first. Found cash is fair game in my book if it is not in a wallet. There really is no way to prove ownership unless we see someone drop it. Anyone walking 462 probably needs the cash more than I do.

The whole ordeal reminded me of how worked up I can get about a wallet being lost but how strangely apathetic I am about people being lost, who have left their souls on the automobiles of life and then pulled away in unawareness and sin. I know that I often see consequences as someone's just desserts...you did the deed now take your whupping. How un-Christian. It is not good to go the other direction either...to exonerate the guilty by removing all consequences because all that does is make someone else pay. And not learn the lesson. Grace teaches us that there is a cost in blood for the lost wallets of humanity...we are redeemed by the credit of Christ on the Cross who laid his riches on the road of perdition and got run over for us. We dare damnation when when think such redemption is our due and deserved. Or, worse yet, not even necessary because I am meritorious on my own account.

Well, I have to get back to scheduling...working at home when I would rather be playing, somewhere else on vacation with my family. Someone always has to pay the cost. Oh yeah, my back feels better. Thanks garlic. Thanks God.

Failure is a discipline. As a test of strength and as a test of faith alike it is without a rival. J.B. Lightfoot

Hitchens on Pigs

Hitchens squeals, (sorry I couldn't resist). It is a joke and only a joke...

How is it moral to.....persuade devils to infest the bodies of pigs?

This is actually the hardest question to answer in his litany of complaints about Jesus Christ. There is this issue with two men possessed by demons. The demons plead a job transfer to possess pigs, drown in the sea, and Jesus approves it. The men return to sanity, and the two thousand pigs and devils drown.

General observations:

- God owns the cattle on a thousand hills. He also own two thousand pigs. We are merely stewards of what He gives. If he wants to kill them, so be it.

- Pigs and the sea were symbols of the unclean Gentile world. This is a pig prophesy in part because the Gospel is for the whole world. Where the Curse is found, and the Curser (Satan himself), the Gospel has authority. The Gospel was not just for the observant Jew in Palestine, it is for the whole world.

- Perhaps the pig herders were doing wrong by being swinesters. The area where this miracle happened was not necessarily one where the Mosaic Law had authority. So, that is up for debate.

- People are more important the pigs, even a lot of them. In an era where the Peter Singer's and his type try to argue that all species are equal, Jesus says that we are worth more than many sparrows, or pigs (same idea).

- The Gospel is also worth more than 2,000 pigs. Even if the swine herders received nothing else that day from Jesus, they did get the Gospel.

Hitchens: Heaven and Hell

Hitchens asks in his NY TImes review of the Pullman book:

"How is it moral to claim a monopoly on access to heaven, or to threaten waverers with everlasting fire?"

It is not the claim that is moral or not...it is whether the claim is true or not. The truth of the claim establishes the morality. If true, it would be decidedly immoral not to tell humanity of it.

Sin is like a cancer. If a researcher, a diabolical one at that, invented a cure for cancer, but withheld it because he really like to see others suffer, then he would be a moral monster. Even if it was in his lab where the cure was created and he owns all rights to it legally. He has the credentials, the training, and the trials conducted on cancer victims in a country in the developing world. The cure works 100 percent of the time.

Now, imagine a counter-situation. He has found the cure for cancer and wants to share it but no one believes him. In fact, he is ostracized by the medical community, pharmaceutical companies, and the general public. They think he is a whack-job. He did not go to the right schools, did not come from the right place, and he is a short and balding undistinguished middle-aged and unmarried man...a loser in the world's opinion. In fact, he does not even have a college degree but has always shown a high aptitude for anything he does.

In a desperate attempt to gain attention, the man does all those things that cause cancer...he smokes, lives in a basement with an endless emanation of radon, he breathes in asbestos. In our culture, where the freak show has been finessed to a well-oiled machine, the American people can't resist paying attention to the story. Many want to see him a horrible death.

The man does die clinically of lung cancer. His cure necessitates a total non-functioning of bodily systems. And, it is the worst kind of death imaginable. A long descent to death's door where every step is more painful than the last. It takes months for him to die. He refuses all palliative and hospice care as to not provide the skeptics with any room for argumentation that something else contributed to his coming back to life than his cure. He says he is going through all of this in memory of his mother (and all others) who died as he is, from lung cancer. He seems uninterested in money.

The coroner officially notes the time of death in consultation with the medical specialists. It is done. He's dead. A follower of his, not a medical man, but a garbageman, is permitted to inject the cure into the man's veins. What the hell. There is not much harm that can be done to a dead man but desecration. Soon, his eyes open and he begins to breathe again. Some are convinced, others think that his is still a charlatan.

Now, this tale has some variations to the Jesus Christ story as told in the New Testament, yet essentially it is a story of a cure largely ignored. But ignoring the cure does not cause the cancer to not exist. The cancer is a fact just as sin is a fact. Never has an age been so unwilling to call sin "sin" yet so mired in its deadly hallows. And, our incorrect diagnosis keeps us from the cure. The cure that is Christ. The denial of the disease is indeed deadly, now and forever.

I don't trust a man who thinks he is good, or has the capacity to be good, without Christ.In fact, it is impossible to define good without a transcendent order of ethics. How else is the first researcher who withholds the cure to cancer considered an evil man? Arguments of personal, property, and patent rights (the things we seem so keen on to base our claims of moral legitimacy on in our secular age) offer no solution to the malevolent man. Oh, there is something more universal than his personal beliefs and claims..."your truth and my truth" kind of insipid nonsense? Well, exactly, that is my point.

Just One Hitch with Jefferson

Hitchens in his New York Times book review (go back to the original post) expresses general admiration for Thomas Jefferson. Hitchens seems especially enamored with T.J. taking a razor to the New Testament and literally castrating it of its miracles and supernatural narrative. What was left, according to Jefferson, was the most sublime moral teaching ever.

First things first, Jesus disavowed the "only a teacher" title. He was not only a teacher...instead He was and is God in human flesh....our prophet, priest, and king.

The second piece of my reply to the Jefferson's, Hitchens and their ilk, is that you like to harp on the inconsistencies of Christians to live up to a morality that you don't even believe is true. How odd!

The miracles back-up the morality. It is downright dishonest to write that you have great admiration for Jesus's moral teaching but then either disavow the miracles presented in the Bible or overlook that these supposed supernaturally-laden events are out-and-out fabrications. If only fabrications and lies, Jesus was a pretty bad teacher in every sense of the word because His students were so patently dishonest in telling the "Jesus" story.

Want to know how good a teacher is? Look at the students and what they have learned. Jesus's disciples learned how to lie like the best of them, Lucifer and Co, then Jesus ain't no Messiah. That is a corollary to Lewis's "Lunatic, Liar, or Lord"" argument.

While we are addressing hypocrisy, I find it so odious that Hitchens, a supposedly educated and urbane man, suppresses Jefferson's penning such words as "All Men Are Created Equal" while also being a slave owner. I have been to Monticello. While T.J. was upstairs drinking wine and reading books, his slaves carried on their backs the day-to-day operation of the household.

Choke on that irony. Equivocate all you want...your free-thinking hero was a deeply flawed man, whose best moral instincts directly were often in opposition to his actions in his own beautiful home of hypocrisy.

Jesus knew that men who called him Lord but who would act in a manner that would veto assertions of true faith. He knew what was in the heart of man...lies, hypocrisies, lusts, all sorts of evil-thoughts and desires. That is what He came to die for...He also knows who are truly His. Be assured that He is not fooled by our suppressions. Or, your silly and stupid arguments. The razor cuts both ways.

Ring My Bell

At the beginning of the growing season, I was in K-Mart returning some goods and saw that K-M had some Pepper plants for sale. Well, they were labeled "Bell Peppers"...you know the one's that look like a bell and are a staple at every grocery store in the U.S. That's them.

Turned out that the Bell Peppers are not. Before the actual pepper appears, pepper plants can look sort of the same to the untrained eye. It was cheap...

Instead, they are these long Dr. Seuss-like fingers of royal burn-your-shorts peppers. I guess I should have suspected the K-Mart might screw-up. They are not exactly known for their market-savvy. Yet, it was convenient and I was not in the mood for shopping. When they began to grow, I wasn't sure what I was dealing with...

Instead, I got a Franken-Pepper. We are thinking that the variety was cross-bred between a Jalapeño and a Bell in the jungles of Honduras. Here is the kicker. Originally, I wanted the Bell peppers for salsa as we also have tomatoes growing in the garden. But, these peppers won't work in salsa...the tomatoes will get beat up like the fat kid.

So, I have to make hot sauce...what choice did I have? These peppers, like an Uzi, are good for one thing. Annihilation. So, I modified a recipe that I found on allrecipes and threw in a couple of ingredients not in the recipe and pureed the combo after saute-ing and boiling to release enough of the heat and to get the ingredients to cooperate and play nice with another. Half-Jalapenos, Half-Freak Peppers.

Now, I am on a mission to discover what the name of these peppers are....I am wondering if there is an App for the I-Phone like Shazam where I take a picture and it tells me what it is. Every food in creation is good. This whole incident reminds me of Grace. Unexpected, unanticipated, even not in line with what I thought. Yet, I am so appreciative.

You can ring my bell ell ell, ring my bell. My name for the hot sauce?...Whup Ass.

Hitchens on Thrift

"Give up on thrift and husbandry"

I am not sure what Hitchens is referring to specifically here...my take on it is that he would say, for instance, that Peter leaving his fishing nets to become a fisher of men to be a fool's errand. Hitchens assumes preaching and teaching and ministering the Gospel to be a waste of time (at best), so he of course is going to frown on any transition of this nature.

Peter gave up his fishing nets. Others surely moved in and took his place. The Apostle Paul made tents to pay his and others' bills so as to not give the enemies the Cross any place to stand is judgement of his motives as to why he was a missionary. He was the model of thrift and husbandry. These enemies still did question his motives mind you. It just goes to show that people see what they want to see and assume what they want to assume.

Whose definition of thrift and husbandry is Hitchens using? His own. Clever but presumptive. And wrong. What gives Hitchens the moral authority to make such pronouncements? For such a free thinker who surely endorses the ethos of self-determination, his perspective is contradictory and confusing indeed.

Salvo One: Leaving One's Family Behind

Hitchens writes in the review of Pullman's book:

As an admirer of Jefferson and Renan and a strong nonadmirer of Lewis, I am bound to say that Lewis is more honest here. Absent a direct line to the Almighty and a conviction that the last days are upon us, how is it “moral” to teach people to abandon their families, give up on thrift and husbandry and take to the stony roads? How is it moral to claim a monopoly on access to heaven, or to threaten waverers with everlasting fire, let alone to condemn fig trees and persuade devils to infest the bodies of pigs? Such a person if not divine would be a sorcerer and a fanatic.

Oh, this is much too easy. Does Hitchens really believe that a person unilaterally should never leave his or her family behind? Ever? Are there cases where such leaving is legit? Of course there are. Only an idiot would assert otherwise. Now that I have established that it can be a lawful and moral option to do so, at least the argument is on level ground. The problem with being polemical is that once someone pulls the thread of such a boisterous and bombastic banner, the whole of the cloth unravels. So, Hitchens is wrong. It can be a good thing to leave one's family behind in order to serve in a greater cause in some circumstances (not all). I am not the one making a universal and dogmatic statement. He is. I am just showing that his pronouncements are weak. More to come...

Christopher Hitchens NY Times Review of "The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ"

Christopher Hitchens is the anti-Christian du jour. He is a formidable opponent of the faith.

I plan to address his points in his NY Times review of Phillip Pullman's book in this blog as I have time in the next couple of weeks and months. Christians should not fear intellectual lions like Hitchens. Someone so keen on Christian ineptitude and evil who glosses over the mendacity (that is far to mild a word for these evildoers) of Hitler, Stalin, Mao, and Pol Pot--anti-Christs all--is fundamentally a dishonest person. If the gloves are off, let us truly decide who has done more evil in the A.D. era, the religious or the irreligious.

Here is this review:

Hopefully the NY Times keeps the link accessible for awhile. I will be quoting specific parts of Hitchens essay.

Mowing Over Some Thoughts

No, I am not mulling over some thoughts...I am mowing. Recently my 1982 engine Lawnboy mower had some issues with starting. So, I took it to the shop. I did not realize that it was that old. I had bought it used several years ago. This baby is a classic. Like a DeSoto. I grew up with clunky Sears mowers that died a soon death after three seasons. One of my first lessons on the hidden costs of going cheap.

I always coveted my neighbor's Lawnboy.

While I had the Lb in the shop to have the starter thing attached to the cord replaced (technical jargon, I know), I also asked for the shop to sharpen the blades and replace the oil. Since I can't remember the last time I did either (some attempt at changing the oil by turning the mower upside down and then refilling several years ago...pretty slick), it was time for both. Routine maintenance, every decade I say.

Well, I got the mower back from the shop. It kept stalling. Great, they broke my lawn mower. I had a specific problem before but now it is total mower failure. End of life care. Hospice. So, I strained my back once again and lifted the mower into the trunk of the Honda Civic and took it back to the shop. The repair dude adjusted a few screws and took it for a test mow. All OK. Well, not really. I found, after getting home and straining my back taking the mower out, it starts strong and then fades quick.

I discovered that putting the choke in the lowest revving setting possible surprisingly (the tortoise icon, not the hare, seriously. This is no fable) causes the mower to hum and stabilize. Because the blades have been sharpened and the mower has fresh oil coursing through its veins, it actually cuts the grass fine. And, at a much lower decibel level than before. Probably saves gas, too.

Before the mower would sound like a Harley and I had to wear earplugs so as to not wind up like nearly deaf Peter Townshend from The Who. I still wear earplugs even though it is but a whisper sound now, relatively speaking.

Spiritual analogies abound. When we are sharp spiritually, reading the Word, praying, fellowshipping, witnessing, and seeking the Holy Spirit's anointing (like oil) we run cooler and smoother. So it is quite strange. My mower in many ways is a lite version of it old brawny self. Yet, it cuts the grass better than before. If I crank up the choke, it shuts down. If something revs too high, sometimes it is a sign that it is not in sync.

Something is still not right with the mower but in a real way, it works better. Yes, less is more...less is mow.

Hard Seats Are Good for the Soul

I spent several months chained to my office chair writing my Dissertation for 8-10 hours a day. I made a decision at the beginning that the chair selected should be softer on my Gluteus Maximus rather than harder. Although I did not study Chairology in college, I had a good idea of what would happen. I knew better...

My butt would feel better in the short term, as I was sitting in it. But, over time, it would start to hurt more. Then, sitting in the soft chair would smart 24-7. Of course, my massive amount of driving for my Pa. Brew Tour hardly helped...

A harder chair paradoxically causes less pain over the long-term. Kind of like if you really want to wreck your back and turn it into a twisted pretzel, sleep on a soft mattress. It won't be long until you have scoliosis. A firm mattress, not too hard, not too soft (as in Goldilocks) is what is needed.

Funny how fairy tales contain so much truth. Well, on with my Fanny Tale...

The trials and tribulations of the Ph.D. are now fading as a middle school bully walking away down the school hallway who has finally decided to pick on someone else....the thrill of torment is gone. However, several months later my backside still hurts.

I have pulled out the hard oak chair and am now doing penance of sorts. My butt is slowly staring to recover. It does not feel all comfy to sit in but I know that its hardness is healing. Over time, I will find a better chair after the corrective effects have transpired. Both friendly and firm, if it it appropriate to anthropomorphize the chair.

Warning: Theological Application for your less Spiritual Types:

We want God to gives us soft chairs and easy lives. Instead, He calls us to sit in harder chairs. Life is not to be wasted in ease on soft couches in front of the TV watching corrosive nonsense. Life is a school house, and harder chairs keep us alert and focused to learn. Learning is not always fun...what is? The Sesame Street approach to schooling unfortunately has led to an "entertain" me rather than "educate" me whine. Learning can be fun but sometimes it can hurt because it is hard. Or should be.

Power of His Resurrection

Philippians 3:10

That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, becoming conformed unto his death; (ASV)

On Saturday, Lina and I went to the Allegro Concert. I am not much of a Classical music buff. My parents did not listen to it and didn't compel me to practice the piano after school. Thus, I never really developed an appreciation for it. Or, a lasting hatred. It seems like the reaction can go either extreme way.

I am now mildly ambivalent towards classical music with some historical notes of animosity as I always perceived playing an instrument classically as elitist. This is now tempered with an increased understanding and even undertones of appreciation for classical music because it is complex and requires years of devotion and talent to become proficient in playing an instrument. Call it maturity, I suppose.

Still, about as classic I go with music is Jimi Hendrix....and if I want to get real fancy, maybe throw on some Yes (all classically-trained rock musicians). BTW, Yes, and bands like it, fall under the category of Progressive Rock.

But, a good friend of ours was playing the French Horn at the Allegro Concern in a duet. So, we went. My wife Lina plays the violin so she is more of an insider. However, I do really like Brass, and in particular, the French Horn. Must be the Presbyterian in me. I found this on a web site:

Brass type instruments originally appeared as a crude animal horn cut off at the small end. The first historic record of one comes from the Eastern Civilization. It was the Hebrew instrument Schofar. This was made from a ram's horn. The Schofar is still used today in various Jewish festivals.

Never really thought about why "horns" were called horns. Pretty obvious. The best use of the French Horn in rock music? The intro to the Beach Boys "God Only Knows. "

The audience at the Allegro Concert was decidedly aged and elderly. It is not often these days that I feel like the kid in a group. I am pushing 50. But, in comparison, I was a boy. There was a lot of sweetness to see how the older folks came out together, enjoyed the concert, and walked out slowly together to their cars. One older gentleman was using his walker to hobble away.

It does not bode well for the future of classical music that its audience is passing away. Allegro is trying to make classical music less pretentious and more accessible. But, in an age, where musical mediocrity is mainstream, there is not much of a hope that the waves of time will not erode the structure of such works.

Old age will come to us all...I am well on my way. Yet, in walking to our car, I was reminded on the devastating power of sin upon our frail frames. It is not just physical entropy that cause us to stoop, it is also the spiritual consequences of the moral Fall on man. I am not looking forward necessarily to the descent of my physical functioning, to becoming old. I recognize, at best, that I can prolong health to a degree but that my hands, at some point in the future, will slowly lose their strength to clasp the cliffs of time and I will drop into death.

It is really a comfort, truly the greatest comfort imaginable, to know that the resurrection of Christ is a reality. There are two resurrections noted by Jesus in John. It is both a blessing and a horror to recognize that either the best or worst is to come...eternal life or eternal damnation. Here is site about judgment and the schofar. Whether or not we will like the sounding of these horns hinges on whether we know Jesus.

Fear of God

We had an interesting discussion last night in Small Group about what the "Fear of God" means to us.

Peter advises us that perfect love casts off fear. And if God is Love, how does fear play a role in that love? Is it possible that fear and love are just different sides of the same coin? And if we be wise, best to seek God's face of His grace than the tails of His wrath. The coin is in a strange way, in our court (and I say this as a Calvinist)

When I worked with juvenile delinquents exclusively many years ago at a Reform School (now, as a school counselor, there are always some juvenile delinquents in the mix), there was a saying around the unit called taking "Kindness for Weakness."

That is, a student would interpret an act of kindness as charity from a chump...an individual who could not hold his own, defend his space, enforce his will. For some juvenile delinquents, one could not win with them. If I was punitive they would complain, if I was kind I was a sucker.

All of us are really juvenile delinquents spiritually-speaking, even though we may be adults chronologically. When we start to consider that we deserve grace, we are on some dangerous ground. That is contradictory. We can't deserve grace. Its definition means unmerited favor.

Jesus was always compassionate to the supplicant soul. He was very harsh on those who thought that God favored them because of their sanctity, really self-serving underneath it all.

I think the fear of God is a continuous awareness that we are perpetually dependent on the merits of Christ for any favor from God. When we stop looking to God the Father through Jesus's death on the cross, and instead think that Christ is like some training wheels for our spiritual bike until we learn to ride to God alone, tragedy inevitably follows. Always.

I am Happy that I am Sad?

Matthew 5: 4

"Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted."

Got back yesterday from Minneapolis. While there, Lina and I stopped in at a Dunn Brothers Coffee. If beer and coffee were in a race for my personal favorite, where my devotion would be the sole decider on which would win the race, it would be hard to discern which liquid would take the winner's mug. Let us say, coffee would win for the am, beer would win for the pm. A race at around noon? Too close to call.

I love not just coffee but coffee shops. It is a cool place to hang out and chat. It can also be a place where thoughtful stuff like literary magazines go to find a home and perhaps interested eyes. Kind of like a nice girl trying to avoid bars by going somewhere safe, desperately side-stepping the club where she may get picked because she is lonely. She knows better and tries to act on these thoughts but her heart has hungers not easily satisfied.

Holy words are dismissed these days, images--really idolatry--rules, along with junk words. Ironic inanity is the apex of sophistication, proffered by our stand-up prophetical pundits.

At Dunn Brothers, I read an interview with Benjamin Alire Saenz, a former Catholic priest, who has found his true vocation as a writer. From what I can tell, he has a disarming talent for telling stories encompassing the human condition, particularly issues related to cultural experiences arising from the U.S. and Mexican border. Saenz said something in an interview in the magazine Rain Taxi that has woken me up from the dreary sleepiness of the every day.

"We don't live in a world that that teaches us to say "I'm sorry," a world that encourages us to be humble. For all of our "Christian" posturing, we have, as a nation, totally obliterated the Beatitudes.

I have to find a way to construct something out of all of this. Call this my aesthetic. Call this my art. Living in chaos brings nothing but insanity. I construct a narrative to give life order. I wed words and rhythms and literary strategies with my personal biography, with my Utopian vision of the world, with my knowledge of the cruelties of the streets of where I live. I am so tired of hate. And yet, I can't seem to give up on the world I live in. Finding a response to human damage and arming myself with words--that is why I write. Art arises out of need to create something beautiful or transcendent.

What I desire most is to have an honest and serious dialogue with the complicated and awesome world that I live in. I would be the first to admit that I have often failed miserably. I just don't know how to give up on the world--or on myself."

Knowing the the world and all that is in it is Fallen is the starting point. Knowing that Christ is within the suffering redeeming it, is the great hope of our faith. It is a faith sometimes seemingly on the outs and discarded, even among us who call ourselves Christians. Since we are unaware of our own poverty, we neglect the riches of Christ hidden like gold in the dirt of the rejected, the broken, the hurting. You, me, and everyone else in this world, varying in degree only in human eyes.

More, much more, to follow. I will write when I can. But, write, I must.

Sending Out the Snakes

Matthew 10:16

"Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves."

I have read several commentaries on this verse and most of them say that the serpent is wise in avoiding danger and the dove has a peaceful disposition. We are to combine these attributes. My take on this is different.

The serpent is wise in matters, even cunning. But, it is self-serving and dangerous. His major strategy is to attack first and ask questions later.

The dove has a purity, and even naivete about danger. In a battle between the serpent and the dove, there is little doubt of who would prevail if they were in a cage. The best the dove could do is try to avoid attack. In time, the serpent's hunger would triumph over the dove's retreat.

At my high school's graduation the other day, doves--or what appeared to be doves--were released at the end of the ceremony. Or, maybe they were white pigeon stand-ins, like stuntmen, who had the appearance of being doves. As pigeons, I suppose they could circle back after the ceremony, go back in their cages, and be released again at some other school's Graduation ceremonies.

If really doves, these birds have about as much chance as surviving as a dodo. Even the neighbor's cat could take one of them out. Being raised in captivity and being fed every day, would make them unable to cope with lives outside of the cage yard.

A lot of Graduations are dove-like and they should be, but not solely. "You can do it" kind of stuff with exhortations to give back and live a life of excellence and adventure. Yet, for a lot of students, they have heard this kind of line of thinking their whole lives.

Bill Cosby spoke at my Commencement at Temple University recently. Because of his stature and affection for Temple, he can say things at the podium that almost no other human could at Commencement. He is still quite funny which helps. He is like a crotchety grandpa who will say anything he damn well pleases.

In the midst of the dove speeches, he got up and acted the snake. He said that despite what the students heard, they could not just go out and do anything they wanted to. He spoke specifically to the "C" students, making it quite clear that their prior achievement in school predicted, in all likelihood, less stellar accomplishments in the future. He told them to pay their taxes and their loans, and hug their parents. Wise advice.

Imagine if a school at Commencement activities released serpents as well as doves. Better yet, somehow combine the best qualities of both, the smarts of the serpent with the purity of heart of the dove, while removing the bad, and then released them? Those creatures would make a difference in the world.

Shake the Dust: Anis Mojgani

Pslam 90:2

"Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God."

I am not real certain where Anis Mojgani comes from belief-wise. Cats like him tend to be synchrestic spiritually rather than Christ-centered. Yet, this poem captures the spirit of Jesus. What this poem also needs is grace....we shake off sin and mortality and take on Christ and immortality.

This is for the fat girls
This is for the little brothers

For the former prom queen
And for the milk crate ball players
This is for the school yard wimps
And the childhood bullies that tormented them
Shake the dust.

This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them.
This is for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns
And for the men who have to hold down 3 jobs,

Simply to hold up their children.
For the nighttime schoolers
And for the midnight bike riders trying to fly
Shake the dust.

For the two year olds who cannot be understood
because they speak half English and half god
Shake the dust

For the girl whose brother is going crazy

For the gym class wall flower
And for the 12 year olds that are afraid of taking public showers
For the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his locker
For the girl who loves somebody else
Shake the dust.

This is for the hard men
Who want love, but know that it won't come
For the ones who are forgotten

For the ones whose amendments do not stand up for
For the ones who are told to speak only when they are spoken to
And then are never spoken to
Speak every time you stand
So that you do not forget yourself
Never let a moment go by that doesn't remind you
That your heart beats 100 000 times a day
And that there enough gallons of blood
To make everyone of you an ocean

Do not settle for letting these waves settle
And for the dust to collect in your veins.
This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling

For the poetry teachers
And for the people who go on vacations alone
For the sweat that drips of a Mick Jagger singing lips
And for the shaking skirt on Tina Turners shaking hips
And For the heavens, and for the hells through which Tina has lived

This is for the tired and the dreamers
And for those families that will never be like the Cleavers
With perfectly made dinners, and songs like Wally and the Beaver
This is for the bigots
This is for the sexists
This is for the killers
This one is for the big house jail sentenced cats becoming redeemers
And for the springtime, that somehow always shows up after every single winter

This is, This is for you.

Make sure that by the time the fisherman returns
You are gone
Because just like the days, I burn at both ends
And everytime I write, everytime I open my eyes
I am cutting out a part of myself
Just to give it to you.
So shake the dust and take me with you do

For none of this, has ever been for me
All that pushes and pulls
And pushes and pulls
Pushes for you

So grab the world by its clothes pins
And shake it out again, and again
And jump on top and take it for a spin
And when you hop off, shake it again

For this is yours
Make my words worth something
Make this not just another poem that I write
Make it like its heavy about us all
And walk into it, breathe it in
Let it crash through the halls of your arms
Like the millions of years, of millions of poets
Coursing like blood
Pumping and pushing, making you live

Shaking the dust
So when the world knocks at your front door
Clutch the knob tightly, and open on up
Run forward into its wide spread greeting arms
With your hands before you
Your fingertips trembling
Though they may be

Mike Knott from the old school Christian Band LSU said it well in the below two songs:

Grace

striving for the answer
in fighting for the streets of gold
hope you're not forgotten
you wonder if you've killed your soul
i've heard the words of judgment
but not from the one i know

it falls down on me
it falls down on you
grace falls free
the proud feel the need to work the loom
yet grace falls free

holding up to heaven
the winnings of your plow
look into the poor man
show him what he must do now
you've got all the answers
but he's got a book that shows him how

it falls down on me...

think about the river
how it always flows
they're still digging in the desert
but that's not where this river goes
it's filled with all the living
and quenches every wantin' soul

it falls down on me...

Christ Saves

when a sick man needs a physician
sometimes the healthy come cutting
instead of stitchin'
when he's locked by indecision
the selfish make him more dyin'
than he is livin'
one thing i've learned through my wrong ways
one thing i've found in my day
Christ saves

when a man falls from position
the crusade starts on a mission
to make him feel more damned than he is forgiven
when the righteous come in trippin'
they take your words and they start twistin'

it makes you lose trust in 'em

one thing i've learned
through my wrong ways
one thing i've found in my day
Christ saves

I Am Not Only Here for the Beer

Fascinating to me that in my several years of blogging and the nearly two hundred posts that I have written for Bierkergaard, the collection has garnered less attention in total than just two weeks of my 40/40 Beer Blog. It must because I am using WordPress for 40/40 rather than BlogSpot (Bierkergaard). Dang, I knew it couldn't be me.

Actually, I am fully aware that the topic of beer is of great interest to many people and that explains the attention. Some dude who has decided to do the male version of Julie and Julia, is a compelling story. It pays to select a topic that people pay attention to. The problem then is that there are a trillion other people writing about it. So, one has to come up with a unique proposition, an angle and experience, that differentiates it. By all signs, 40/40 fits the bill.

One ironic thing is that I think drinking beer is fun and fine. But, I hardly see it as a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Some treat drinking microbrews as almost an act of religious devotion and visitations to breweries as pilgrimages. Pun alert, pilsgrimages? Until recently, I would not be able to tell you what a pilsner is; it is a pale lager.

Just because I don't view beer as an object of veneration does not mean that God is not at work on the 40/40 tour. The people that I have met with, and traveled with, have each flavored the experience with a special taste. One skeptic about the faith good-naturedly teased that I was going on a "Biblical Binge." I suppose I am in a way. The God who was at work turning water into wine at Cana is at work in me cruising for a brewsing in Pa.

It is in these interactions, I have seen God move. It would be a push to call what I am doing ministry, if it was I am sure that an acolyte apprenticeship could prove to be popular. Yet, like fermentation, the chemistry of the kingdom is a miracle. I am blessed to be a part of it.

The Importance of Thankless Jobs

I learned something very interesting during the presentation by the Park Ranger at the Memorial Day Service in Valley Forge Park.

She told of the deprivation of the soldiers in food and drink during the winter encampment at Valley Forge during the Revolutionary War. The Continental Army was literally dying of dehydration and starvation. Soldiers would go around the camp screeching like crows, "No Meat" as kind of a macabre joke and cry. Then, the statements got even more dire, "No bread, no soldier." Mass desertion, what the English were counting on as they were comfortably camped in Philadelphia, became more and more a real risk.

The British were counterfeiting the American currency, the Continental, which was not backed by silver or gold. So, an already fledgling monetary system was further damaged by British currency sabotage. The Continental became so devalued, that providers of goods and services would not always accept it as payment. There was a derisive insult back in those days where a person would say, "Not worth a Continental." Further, the states were still issuing their own currency which further caused chaos. Because of this, the Continental Army often would not be able to buy needed supplies.

Into this mess of money and materials, George Washington appointed a man by the name of Major General Nathanael Green to be the Quartermaster General, a position supervising the procurement of supplies. As an accomplished and battle-worthy commander Greene greatly resented and resisted the appointment. A a field officer, he wanted to fight. Only Washington's personal appeal and Greene's personal integrity eventually persuaded him to fight the supply battle that was the basis for the very success or defeat on the battlefield.

The Quartermaster General position was "unremitting, annoying, and thankless labor." The Continental Congress even wanted to stiff him with some of the bills. Greene held on as long as he could in the position until it became untenable. Yet, he had served in a time of desperate need and made a huge difference in turning the tide of the Revolutionary War. How many of us even know his name?

I heard a preacher on the radio recently state, "Everyone wants the glory but no one wants to hear the story." Even with the highly successful, we often miss the details of the story, the difficult and trying times. Instead we see the glory and think that we need some of that, deserve some of that, but put in a Continental-like effort rather than gold-backed effort. Even more dubious, is our lack of appreciation for those who allowed us a degree of glory when mostly all they got was the gritty details of the story.

The Christian application of this is so easy as to almost preclude me from having to even mention it. Jesus' crown on this earth was thorns, a diabolical manifestation of the Garden of Eden post-Fall. There were no jewels in his crown. Let us keep in mind the story behind His glory. Let us also be willing to work behind the glory and in the story to further God's mission on earth. Don't seek applause and commendation and adulation from the fickle crowd. Do the hard and thankless things and God will be pleased.

Get in the Picture

2nd Cor 3:17

"Now the Lord is that Spirit: and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."

With the recent Arizona law aimed at using the police to investigate citizenship, it easy to forget that we are all immigrants. My take is that we have to lessen the complexity of gaining citizenship and also enforce our borders. We have to lower the legitimate wall of immigration and make the illegitimate wall higher.

In our days of rapidly fading prosperity, many Americans would be completely fine with our sealing of the borders against all immigration. We would deny to others what our own descendants were offered: a chance to improve their lives through opportunity. This is wrong. That Americans are now looking to Europe for inspiration, just shows how serious our failure at self-government has become. It is as if we are hopping in the philosophical boat back to our ancestors' former lands.

The American ethos has always been historically one of "can-do." Much of this optimism was grounded in religious faith. As religious faith has declined, our society has likewise declined. There are a lot of reasons for this, the atheistic Left, the Right's proclivity to use religion as a club to beat people with, and much of the great middle of our land who care more about what is on TV than what is in their souls. If we are no longer free, this verse in Corinthians tells us why. It is actually pretty simple: We have forsaken God's ways.

On Memorial Day, I was with a group of people who had come to Valley Forge Park to commemorate the soldiers of the Revolutionary War. Two hundred and thirty-five or so years later, we walked the same steps and paths that they did, under considerably less onerous conditions. We are much more well fed and clothed, but we have lost something that they believed in deeply. Privation must be endured to gain freedom. We would rather have no privation of the body but have starving souls.

There was an Asian couple in the group who had a young daughter of probably eight or nine. As we walked along from statue to statue and heard the Park Ranger give us insight into the encampment at Valley Forge, we had some time to talk. I could tell from the family's accent that the parents were not native born Americans. I thought that they might be visitors from another country. Rather than speculate internally as to their country of origin and citizenship, I just asked.

Turns out that both the mom and dad, probably in their 40's, were both Vietnamese Boat People who had arrived beaten and bedraggled onto our shores in 1980. I could sense that they had a profound sense of the freedom that they had received when they stepped on our shores. At one point the dad wanted to take a picture of both his wife and daughter with the Washington Memorial Chapel behind them in the distance.

Knowing that he would probably not ask, I offered to take the picture, allowing him to be in it. He and his family were very grateful for my small gesture of help. Their daughter, obviously their pride and joy, was also beaming. She, no doubt, was the living hope of her parents' American experience.

As they smiled and I snapped away, the Chapel was the distant motif. Let us never forget that although our Founding Fathers had a profound distrust of putting the state in the hands of religion , they also did not wish to use the hands of the civil authorities to choke religion. For when the Spirit is stifled through both internal inattention and external coercion, freedom is the child that no longer breathes.

Hungry and Thirsty

Psalm 107:5

"Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them."

I spent yesterday morning in Valley Forge National Park walking and memorializing the Revolutionary War soldiers. It was really hot. I felt bad for the Park Ranger who was wearing full-length wool pants and a hat that looked like it would breathe as much as garbage can lid. She was red with heat.

I know more about the encampment in Valley Forge than most because I grew up close to Valley Forge Park and have taken a personal interest in it since my first visit about 40 years ago...a day not unlike yesterday in that it was at the end of the school year and it was hot. I was the new kid, recently moved from West Virginia, and I didn't know anyone. I remember not having much of a good time.

Despite the popular lore, about the winter encampment in Valley Forge in 1777 -1778 being brutally cold, the winter was relatively mild. What killed most of the soldiers was disease, 2500 in all, and the deadliest month was May because of a flu outbreak (the harshest winter was Monmouth, New Jersey, two years later). In Valley Forge, the troops were destitute, hungry and thirsty beyond our imagination.

George Washington wrote, "Naked and starving as they are, we cannot enough admire the incomparable patience and fidelity of the soldiery." That is carved on the Memorial Arch where we wound up yesterday. When a child, I had a telescope where I could see but not read this script on the Arch because it was too far away and my telescope set up in my neighbor's backyard was just not powerful enough.

Today, let us draw close and read these lines anew. In doing so, we honor the dead and those who sacrificed on our behalf.

Ph.D.: It Was Good

Psalm 119:71

"It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes"

I think it significant that the good of adversity is a present tense "is" even if the afflicted is "have been." What was bitter is now sweet.

Tomorrow I make my final trip to Temple University as a student. I had to complete revisions to my Dissertation since Commencement which still made me a student, but a graduated one. It was kind of an odd status but the thinking is that if someone passes his/her Oral Examination Dissertation Defense, that is the decisive battle to be won or lost. Since I won, so to speak, what remained was a cleaning-up operation. Tomorrow I put the mop to rest.

The last 8 years of going to school and working for most of the time has been hard, so hard. I feel a sense of relief but also a strange emptiness of what now? Something that has defined my life for so long is now passing away...I am hoping in a week or two my sore butt recovers from sitting so much for the last several months.

Tomorrow down at Temple, I plan to have a hoagie at the same place I did nearly nine years ago when interviewing for the program. I thank God that He has seen me through. Adversity is a good teacher if we listen to its instruction. The lesson that we are weak and in need of help from God is a posture of humility. God afflicts the comfortable and comforts the afflicted, as it has been said.

Matthew Henry rightly wrote: "The proud are full of the world, and its wealth and pleasures; these make them senseless, secure, and stupid."

Words as Wood

James 1:21

"Wherefore lay apart all filthiness and superfluity of naughtiness, and receive with meekness the engrafted word, which is able to save your soul." KJV, KJV, KJV!!!

Eugene Peterson in his book "Tell It Slant" writes:

"Jesus came to save our souls. He also came to save our words. Word and words are at the very core of God's revelation of himself to us. If the words are damaged through careless or malicious usage, or are left in bad repair....words wear out. We have a responsibility for cleaning them up, scrubbing off the grime." (p. 107).

I edited this...I know, what temerity! One should be cautious when modifying the master's prose, one who has produced his own translation of the Bible. Having an M.A. from Johns Hopkins in Semitic languages gives some cred.

I had a handyman over at the rental property the other day. I basically served one major function that day as he fixed several and assorted problems on the property: Dutifully writing the check at the end of the work, which I executed with precision. What penmanship! I also helped him when he needed an extra set of hands or to have me reach down into his toolbox for something and was gofer-dude to the local hardware store.

I wish I were more mechanical. That is one tool the Lord did not put in my talent toolbox. Or if He did, it was taken out when I was born prematurely and oxygen deprivation caused neurological impairment of my ability to see in three-dimensions and have depth-perception. I have drain bramage. If I didn't know better through experience, I would assume that the world is flat (a la T. Friedman). So I am one more Liberal Arts type of person trying to make a living in a practical world. "Don't live in a town where scholars rule." I read this quote one time in a book with a picture of a broken pillar in view, one half on the ground, the other half upright but faltering.

There was one repair that I did not assign to the handyman: The staining of the back porch. I used to paint house in college which is about as high on the "Trades" mountain that I can climb. I know how to open a can, stir, and roll and brush the wood, which are about the skills needed. So, I declined assigning this duty to him.

Before commencing, I had to wash the porch with this bleach-infused liquid that removed dirt, bird crap, and a mossy green mold that has been slowly covering the porch since the last time the deck was stained a few year ago. The directions on the cleaning liquid label stated that I should wait 48 hours after washing the porch before staining it. The handyman strongly advised me to follow the protocol. Although the wood felt dry on the surface about an hour later, I knew that there was still water deep in the wood. And sealing the moisture in with an oil-based stain would probably rot the boards from within in quick order. So, I decided to wait two days. Painting has taught me much about process, protocol, and patience. The wood suffers otherwise.

48 hours later, Saturday came and the day was bright. Lina was leaving for India. I checked the forecast. There was a possibility for showers. After Lina left for the airport, I decided to head over and stain the deck and take my chances that it would not rain. I figured that the way the summer goes, showers and thunderstorms are a daily possibility and I might never get the porch done (until I had two days straight of no rain forecasted--it also takes two days for the stain to fully dry).

I brought over some plastic sheeting but decided to not lay it on the porch because the stained-wood was sticky and tacky. Plus, I wanted to let the porch breathe. Well, I went off to Wrightsville to meet some friends for food and beer and as I traveled westward, I noticed that it was starting to rain. The further west I went, the heavier the rain got. The patterns of storms in my part of Pa is West to East straight-ahead like a Penn State fullback with beefy blockers. I was hoping the rain would hold off but it did not. Soon, it was raining hard in Wrightsville and I knew that I had to head back home to get the plastic.

I arrived at the porch after a slow ride home behind some Amish-like automobile driver. I know, I should have kept the plastic in my car trunk. My bad. When I got to the porch, after both praying and being profane, I found that in the intervening two hours, the oil had been absorbed deeply into the wood. The water was beading which is always a good sign. I took a towel and wiped off the water and then put the plastic down. I am hoping for the best. There was little scent of the stain on the towel which suggests that most of the stain was already in the wood and not on the surface, even though the time had been short. Once it clears up, sometime in July, if not sooner, I will remove the plastic.

The whole experience/slash pseudo-crisis ordeal reminded me to be mindful of the power of prayer rather than my proclivity towards profane thinking and speaking. When I get down, I need to look up. Seeking God in prayer and having the Holy Spirit come afresh puts oil into my soul, allowing the troubles to bead on the surface rather than inside the wood of my thoughts, words, and deeds. Let me be righteous rather than rotten when the troubling rains fall.

Free in Christ?

Acts 20:35

"Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive."

I have seen a trend in the Church. It is a spirit of expecting resources for free. We will download sermons, read articles on the web about the faith, and etc. We don't give much of a though of who just paid for us to do that. I call it Christian Socialism. It is part of a larger trend of how the internet has really changed the rules.

The demise of the newspapers has been the result of people being able to get the same information elsewhere for free. "Why pay for it?" is a common response. It used to be that the newspaper was one of the few sources of information. That was also back in the day when people probably never traveled more than 100 miles from their house, worked the same job for life, and had no other sources of information than nosey Mildred down the way who made it her business to be in the know of others' lives.

Today, if the newspaper is to be read at all, it has to offer a certain and unique perspective on issues that cannot be attained elsewhere. Since mainstream media is dominated by the Libs who practice group think, there is little insight.

Also, much of the news is same thing, different day. Someone gets shot in the city, a conservative politician in Washington D.C. get outed for adultery by having a staff member perform salacious duties, sometimes even on the clock, and the like. Newspapers let the technological Trojan Horse in behind the walls, with little comprehension how the "free" internet information would create a web-like trap for their business model. So be it.

I pretty sure that newspapers are destined to die like the dinosaur. Too big, too slow. The rules of survival has changed. It is either adapt or get caught in a tar pit. The future is electronic media, perhaps made to look like old media, but under-girded by 21st century technology.

Christians could show that we are truly different be paying up rather than poaching in this new realm of high access without accountability to pay. Let non-Christians and those who cannot afford the resources get them for free. Today, think about where you could send some money. The contribution should be something you can afford. Remember, a little is a lot in the Lord's hands.

Good Old Peter

John 21:18

"Verily, verily, I say unto thee, When thou wast young, thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not."

Before Jesus ascended, he had a breakfast meeting on the beach with Peter and the boys. Then, there was a little 1-1 between Jesus and Peter, Jesus is asking Peter if he loved Jesus. After Peter says three times that he does love Jesus, replacing Peter's three denials, Jesus tells him the statement of the verse above. I love how Peter then points to John, "How about him?" Jesus tells Peter to worry about himself. Good advice in general.

Make no mistake about it, when we fail--Jesus or other people--it is more often than not because of a lack of love. There may be other secondary issues like fear, but the lack of love does much to explain causation. Then, Jesus really zeroes in on what it means for Peter love Him. First, Peter is to love Jesus. Peter emphatically states that he does and this is a true confession. Second, Peter is to love others (feed my sheep). Then, Jesus really takes it to the next level, drilling deep into Peter's soul.

"You know what this love is going to look like, Peter?" As an old man, you are going to be dressed for your death by another and carried away where you would really rather not go." Peter would make a terrible Islamo-terrorist...Jesus let Peter know that he would have no itching desire to die when the time came. He'd rather not. But, he was to submit unto it. I love the King James Bible but felt the need to translate.

As I have gotten older, I see too much of Peter in me. When I was young, I was headstrong, impetuous, and willful. Still am to a degree. I thought I knew the plan. Then, God let me bear enough of the weight of sin that my knee buckled and broke. It didn't take much for God to show how little and fragile my mastery of the world was.

Eight years ago when I started my Ph.D. program, I was 38 years old. Nearly 9 years later, I am pushing 47. In-between, my eyesight has really become much worse and I now need to wear "granny" reading glasses (I only buy the finest pairs, three for 18 bucks at COSTCO). I cannot read texts on my phone, maps, books, or anything else without them. It kind of scares me...I have glasses in my car, upstairs, downstairs, in my study, and in the bedroom. I fear being somewhere in an emergency where I literally will not be read something I need to be able to at the time.

My eyesight has deteriorated through age and probably staring at a stupid computer screen all of the time. I used to pride myself on not needing glasses (my right eye had always been 2o/20, the left eye and brain, has just really never worked). Now, I am like Mr. Magoo, blind as a bat without the radar. Yet, I see some things more clearly than ever: that I don't know that much, that life is short (I went from 38 to 47, the half-time of life is clearly over and I am playing in the second half somewhere), and that God is good. Loving Jesus and people is what it is all about. And, God does not necessarily give us what we want but what we need.

Peter had to learn to let go, a lesson that he needed to keep learning up until the moment he died. The good news...he passed the lesson, died, and entered into eternal life.

Tough and Tears

Luke 7:2

"And a certain centurion's servant, who was dear unto him, was sick, and ready to die."

Mark Driscoll has been preaching a series on the Gospel of Luke. I have no need to repeat most of what he preaches here in his sermon on "Jesus Heals a Centurions Servant."

One thing that did strike me about this sermon was the relational depth among the major actors: the Centurion, Jesus, the Jews who came to Jesus on the Centurion's behalf, and the servant himself. Driscoll does a great job making these personalities three-dimensional in regards to their realities...what they are thinking and feeling. The Centurion is sorrowful over the impending death of his servant. The pathos is real and Driscoll tells of some personal situations with illness, death, and dying, that he is experiencing presently.

We have all seen carboard life-size cut-outs of famous people like Stallone. And tourists pay $$$ to get a picture taken with it. When the picture is developed, it is often difficult to tell if the cut-out is a real person or not. Flat begats flat. I often approach the Bible with no imagination, but I have found putting myself into the story, helps keep the reading of these remarkable tales from becoming routine. How would I feel, what would I be thinking? The Bible in 3-D.

One reality that I thought of further was the powerlessness of the Centurion. Rome was many things but powerless was not one of them. The Centurion was a high ranking soldier in the most formidable army on earth. Weakness was not something Roman soldiers felt as a rule in the execution of their military duties. Several decades later, Rome would burn Jerusalem to the ground, a real whup-ass.

The Centurion stoically did not dismiss his servant to impending death. He felt sorrow and asked for help from the only one who could help...Jesus. It is healthy to acknowledge our weakness as it does really exist. In fact, understanding our weakness and asking Jesus for healing makes us strong in Him.

Love Never Fails

1 Cor. 13:8

Love never fails....

If a young lad or lady were to inquire of me about whether he or she should pursue Ph.D. studies, I would try and ascertain their intellect, their will, and their heart.

To earn a Ph.D. obviously does take a modicum of smarts. It is not all that it takes but it is one solid log to throw on the fire.

The second attribute I would try to assess is how driven the person is; it takes a lot of discipline to earn a Ph.D. I sat in the chair of my study nearly every Saturday for eight long years for 8-10 hours doing school work associated with my doctoral studies. That was the least I would do, some weeks it was often a lot more, while working full-time for the better part of a decade.

When my students whine at school that a class is hard and takes a lot of work, that does not elicit much maternal compassion from me. My equation is hard=good. There is no need to make things harder than they need to be but our proclivity to dodge difficulties just makes us only good at shirking responsibilities. India, China, and other countries, are eating our intellectual lunch...not because they are intrinsically smarter than we are, but they are much hungrier.

The third trait, and most importantly, is that do they love the subject? The origin of the word 'Philosophy" is "lover of wisdom" (that is the "Ph." in Ph.D.). The subject, ontologically, should be in the end, God and man. If the studies do not lead to a betterment of God's world in some manner, then I would steer the person away from pursuing the doctorate. We have enough educated and malevolent people already. Knowledge divorced from love is a sword in a hand of a madman (as someone once said). Or, some studies are so esoteric and useless, the paper the doctorate is printed on would be better used to wrap fish.

Find a high impact topic that will do the most good. Then, prepare to work.