Too Many Things Not to Mention, Not to Mention Too Many Things

Our family is being stretched to learn more of the Way of Love and about the inner discretion needed to initiate the rite of adopting others in.

Connor cannot amuse himself endlessly without the undivided attention of adults.

Kiwi kids can.

The Orkney Islands monastic expression also seeks to produce a malty fermented beverage as a way of providing for itself and it's locality.

I hate political scandals - regardless of which slant they take.

Still, I am deeply concerned that there may be some truth to the notion that the "Leader of the Free World" knowingly misled a nation (nay, a coalition) to war.

Even more concerning is that this same said Leader relishes the opportunity to associate himself with Jesus publicly.

"Well, damn this American Empire..." was both familiar and provocative as it was preached from the heart and art of a dear new friend.

Ryan and Holly Sharp were a breath of real air.

A soul friend called, but no words were spoken; only the sounds of an Irish heartbeat confessing from American Airlines Center: "I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

An interesting cast of characters convened at the Abbey, not the least of which is Keith, a fistful of energy and despair, vacillating between belief in God's goodness and disbelief that he could be the benefactor of such love after living a life of heroine abuse that cost him 3 friends' lives.

I just clicked "refresh" and discovered that Kyle Lake is in fact dead. How does God allow a faithful shepherd to be electrocuted and killed while performing the sacrament of baptism?

Bono. Ryan. I'm with you.

Emergent Gathering 2005

As a response to the first 2 Emergent Gatherings (2003, 2004) I felt compelled to write a rather lengthy memoir-blog that would contains hints of the kinds of impressions that were left on me from the experience. Well, now it's been a couple of weeks since returning from the 3rd such pilgrimage and I am still uncertain about what would be good to articulate.

This was the first time my wife got to go with me, and I was delighted to have her free to taste this little glitch of communal kindness for herself. There, too, was one of our housemates, Heather, and one of my deepest soul friends from my previous life as a student minister in South Carolina, Rod.

The number of people in attendance jumped from 60ish last year to 165ish this year. Although this definitely changed the dynamics of the breakout discussions and the availiblity of certain charismatic figures, the overall flavor remained remarkably consistent.

For all the things being said in so many "churchy" circles about the good, bad and ugly associated with the words "emerging" and "emergent," please allow me to simply offer this as my concluding remark about each of the Gatherings thus far:

How many large-scale Christian events have you attended in your life that were utterly characterized by the things each attendant had in common with one another, namely identification with the transforming work of Jesus, rather than the boringly obvious differences? In retrospect, it seems that most of the structured Christianity I have ever witnessed has been defined by what it is NOT (liberal, moderate, Catholic, new age, abstaining from certain social morays, etc.) rather than by what it IS.

Shema! Herein resides a slowly-developing group of people from across all kinds of denominational, theological, political and geographical lines that have embraced one another in true Christian charity, partly because we need each other, and partly because we need to believe that Christian charity still exists. None of us have things figured out and all of us experience increasing isolation from the very monoliths that may have first nurtured us in faith. We have no idea what to do next. We do, however, know precisely Who to be as we navigate through the great continental drift of our age. And we will urgently and faithfully love each other towards this Being who reigns above the chaos and concurrently abides within it with us. Shalom.

Astro-logy

So I got home from work just in time to watch nothing happen for the final two innings last night, resulting in the very first pennant for the Houston Astros. I wish I could say I was elated, but I felt more twilight zone uneasiness than any thing else.

I can still remember the very first professional sporting event I ever attended. 1976. The Pittsburg Pirates at the Houston Astrodome (which was still very much the "8th wonder of the world" at that time). Although the 'Stros were easily defeated, Enos Cabell went deep somewhere around the 5th inning, and I still have boyish amazement recalling the accompanying fireworks and excitement of the digital scoreboard flashing "HOME RUN" and a little sequence of a bull snorting, etc. Did I mention it was bat night? I still have that wonderful yellow bat.

I also have fond memories of listening to the Astros vs. Mets Championship series on earphones during the last 2 hours of school back in 1986. I would race into the living room and turn on the game as fast as I could get my body home. For a week, Mike Scott was something close to a god.

Yeah, the Houston Astros were my team growing up. Which is why, I suppose, the sight of Craig Biggio and Jeff Bagwell in those disappointingly conventional uniforms celebrating their entrance into the World Series seemed so un-real. The team has the same name and city, but it's NOT the same team I loved as a kid.

This is not the team with the jerseys that looked like the Atari game "Breakout." This is not Cesar Cedeno, Jose Cruz and Terry Puhl. This is not J.R. Richard on the mound. And it is certainly not the team that Nolan Ryan made his name striking out and no-hitting the National League for. This isn't even the team that Craig Biggio caught for.

And to add insult to injury there's the Houston FANS. It's very difficult to root for a team and root against their fans all at the same time. The franchise deserves this honor, but the collective urban sprawl known as "Greater Houston" does not. This gas-guzzling, ozone-ruining, toll road-advocating, strip mall-idolizing, Enron-incubating, humidity-sponging tract of asphalt is well, not my favorite place on earth.

So do I pull for the 'Stros versus the Sox? Sure. But only for the sake of the good old days and the hope that Houston fans will actually learn love the game.

Got the itch again

Lot's of irony to the existence of this blog. But first, let me welcome you to the latest in a growing line of web-experiments that seem useful to me for a time, and then eventually get "baleted" as their purposes come to a halt. 'Twill be interesting to see how long the shelf life is on this'un here...

Irony #1 -- I set this blog up back in May, 2004 but never actually created a post until just this moment. I had dreams of a place that wasn't confined to "churchy" talk and "churchy" networks. In fact, the original plan was to try to host a blog without ever telling any of my "churchy" friends about it at all -- to keep it a secret in order to avoid any smackerings of offensiveness or confusion.

Irony #2 -- I semi-retired from blogger well over a year ago because there weren't enough intuitive functions. Well, about 3 weeks after launching a site over at typepad, behold!, blogger added the features I was wanting. Now that I have ended my stint with the nifty typepad folks, I'm back on the ol' blogger with a vengeance. [Believe me, I tried to find an "indie" blogging outfit that could meet my needs, but I couldn't find anything that could touch the google empire.]

Irony #3 -- I stopped blogging about 3 months ago. One of the ways in which I convinced myself that this was right was by channeling the memory of one the peerlings I admire most, Mark Scandrette. On the two previous occassions I had to hear and visit with Mark, he embodied for me the "pure local artist" -- a guy who seemed giddy NOT to conform to the seemingly self-evident fact that anyone who's anyone has a blog. As I finally mustered up the strength to hit the "are you sure you want to delete your blog?" button, I'm sure Mark's smiling psuedo-Bono-shades-laden face was only a synapse away from retrieval. Well, here's the punch line: last week I saw Mark again, and this time he was even giddier than before -- about the power and practicality of the blog and how effective his new blog has been at rallying people together for the most noble of reasons (like meeting to figure out how to sell 1/2 of your possessions and give the proceeds to the poor).

Irony #4 -- For the first time in my life (I'm 35, btw) I am going to attempt integrity, come hell or highwater. What I mean is that this blog will deliberately NOT cater to the greatest temptation to dualism in my life -- the careful apologetic back into the evangelistic church expression from whence I was commissioned to depart and the deeply engaged affirmation of life and love among the not-so-churchy friends that I currently move and breath with. My prayer is that anyone from my past who could never possibly grasp what is going to happen on this space will not have taken the time or energy to keep up with my back-to-back-to-back web changes. But my greater hope is that my quest for wholeness will cause any persons religated to either side of this duality to be pushed towards one another in genuine love and generosity.

To be the same person in three different places is to acheive holiness.