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Showing posts from July, 2009

Grown

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I laugh at fart noises.

I play video games.

I scour YouTube for videos of people getting hit in the groin, or worse.

I collect Jesus action figures.

One of my favorite films is "The Big Lebowski."

I have most of the dialogue from Monty Python's "The Search for the Holy Grail" movie committed to memory.

I am still trying to figure a way to hang my autographed KISS poster on my office wall.

I think I am going to make plans to attend Comic-Con next year.

There's more, but you get the idea. My wife tells me that these are things that a mature, grown man wouldn't do. She's probably right. But then again, I think she kind of digs it that I'm not that grown up... most of the time. I hope.

I often wonder if the day will come when I will suddenly realize that instead of listening to Jimmy Eat World, I have an overwhelming desire to fill my iPod with Frank Sinatra. I ask myself if at a certain age I will lose my desire to play Madden on my XBox, and will take…

Deep Tissue Unification

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There was this old parable told by a Scottish preacher about a meeting that took place between two men that had been healed of their blindness by Jesus. Apparently, the former blind man from the healing story in John chapter 9 met the former blind man from Mark chapter 8 and they began to compare notes. The man from John 9 told his counterpart of the way in which he was healed. "Jesus spit on the ground," he said, "and then he took the mud he made and put them on my eyes. When I washed the mud off, I could see." He went on to assert that this was the only proper way to be healed. The man from Mark 8 pooh-poohed this concept and declared that the only true way to be healed was without mud.

Naturally they argued the point, and parted ways in anger. And naturally two Christian sects were born as a result.

The Muddites and the Non-Muddites.

Funny.

It's funny because it's so like the way things really are.

There's an old hymn that asserts, "They will …

Heresy, Etc.: Reflections on the Poets, Prophets & Preachers Conference

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So, I attended the Poets Prophets and Preachers conference hosted by Rob Bell .

The aim of the conference, as stated by Rob himself, was to "reclaim the art of the sermon" for a whole new generation of preachers. In the first session, Rob declared that as our culture becomes increasingly suspicious of media, government, etc., that the sermon will become more and more necessary.

I filled twelve pages of notes with what followed.

Rob's talk was consistent with his understanding of a "meta-narrative" of the imminence of God, and God's kingdom--with a healthy dose of Resurrection power, I might add. He also generously followed up his introduction with several sessions on sermon craft, planning and general "sermonizing" theory. I particularly enjoyed when he described a sermon as an act of "creating a cathedral that people will walk into and say, 'Ahhhhhh!'." It was a great glimpse into Rob's creative process. A friend of mine w…

Moving.

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I moved this week.

Moving is God's way of meting out justice for all of the bad things we've done in life that we never got caught doing. Moving is a reckoning, in other words. At least that's how I see it. I've got a lot to answer for, apparently. I've moved 13 times in the last 18 years. Two of those have been cross-country moves.

I'm not against the act of moving from one place to another. I actually kind of like it. I thrive on change, to be honest. And I don't like being still for long.

It's just that the process of moving sucks so dang bad. I've been tired for three days. And something meaningful always gets broken in every move. So far we've sacrificed a crystal glass that rounded out a special martini set, and who knows how many other classes, a picture frame and yet to be counted stuff that hasn't been unpacked yet.

There's a positive side to this whole story, though. I am moving into a nicer house than the one I just mov…