Pop Goes the Easel

Drinking a soda the other day got me to thinking about pop culture (sorry Naddy). And, thinking about pop culture got me to thinking about pop culture in the church. It hit me how, just like the drink in my hand, you can find a fellowship in any flavor. The area I live in is full of churches that have inundated with pop culture. They have the bands, their pastor is professionally good looking, and they have large connectivity groups. Members can go and be entertained, be inspired, and get plugged in. The result that I have seen, though, seems to be socialization, and not fellowship. It becomes a competition of hairdos and shirt styles. You get thousands of Christians all together, and yet communion is still just a personal issue between you and Christ.

But we reformed are so much better. We can hide our shallowness. How tight can we wear our neckties? How somberly can we sing our psalms? In how many parts?

I think one of the greatest problems, for individuals, is that we come to church wondering what we can get out of it. One time a pastor friend of mine through me for a loop when he told me that his session asked prospective members what the they had to offer the church; what gifts did they bring to the table. I was floored. I idea was totally foriegn. But imagine what church would be like if all the members came to it wondering how they could serve. What if we chose our churches based, not on how the worship service made us feel, but on how compatible the congregation is to recieving the gifts we have to offer? That would, of course, mean having time to serve, but I'll leave you to search the scriptures on that one.

All Peoples, Clap Your Hands for Joy, psalm 47

All peoples, clap your hands for joy,
To God in triumph shout;
For awesome is the Lord Most High,
Great King the earth throughout.
He brings the peoples under us
In mastery complete;
And he it is Who nations all
Subdues beneath our feet.

The land of our inheritance
He chooses out for us,
And He to us the glory gives
Of Jacob whom He loves.
God is assembled with a shout,
The Lord with trumpeting.
Sing praises unto God! Sing Praise!
Sing praises to our King!

For God is King of all the earth;
Sing praise with skillfulness.
God rules the nations; God sits on
His throne of holiness.
Assemble men of Abrah'm's God!
Come, people, princes, nigh!
The shields of earth belong to God;
He is exalted High.

You Too?

While the Cinnamon Free Unity Reformed Church consults their moderator (the honorable Dr. Phil), and throw eggs at one another, and the Pakastanian goat herders attend seminars on the effects of paedo-baptism on pre-lapsarian covenental thinking, I sit here wishing for a front porch for the enjoyingment of rest and the Porter in my fridge. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have discovered St. Anne's Public House.

Being Made Real

As I grow older I find that miss one main thing, or envy it, of young people of other times and cultures. Myth. I did not grow up among dryads, fawns, or fairies. All the stories I ever knew were real. Blood ran through the viens of all my heroes. So, too, in time, they all became fallible. They were not big enough. They were real, like me, and so, like me, wer not true. Their virtues were admirable, even attainable. They really climbed the highest peaks, and proved that I need not try. My world got smaller. Then I discovered, among other wonders, elves. Elves are elegant and artistic, and they are craftsmen and warriors. They are immortal, unless they are in battle; they are only vulnerable in acts of bravery or treachoury. Elves are not real, but they are true. I can never fully understand or be an elf, but I can always aspire toward one.

And so I find that there is a constant battle between realism and truth, especially in religion. We find ourselves explaining how Jonah could survive, in not a fish but a whale, for so long. But the point wasn't the realism, it was the truth. Jonah sinned, was cut off, convicted, repented, and used by God. It is not that realism and truth are absolutely opposed. Rather, they are prioritized wrongly. Truth produces reality. If we pursue reality it is like trying to drink an ocean. It is too much for anyone. But to pursue truth is like swimming in the same ocean. You can explore it, be refreshed by it, never exhausting its reachesh, and it will make you real.

Similarly, our faith is one of symbols. Yes, they were and are real, but they are, more importantly, true. There are, in our tale, water, blood,bread, trees, wine, all part of the story of Truth. When we are wasshed in the water, drink the wine, eat the bread, and are faithful to the Truth, we become part of the story. We become part of the Truth. We are made real.

What this looks like fleshed out is always amazing. I have been blessed to know a few men whose lives are flesh and blood testiments to complete dedication to the Truth of Jesus Christ. They are not symbolized by a romantic obsession to some idealism or pragmatic sentimentalism. They are characterized by a whole-hearted, practical dedication to seeing the whole Word of God worked out in their every day lives. The are warriors and poets. They fight dragons by pulling weeds and teaching proberbs to their sons. They woo their fair maidens by dailing laying down their lives, as Christ did for the church, for their wives. They are fiercely ordinary men. They live and die, not for systematics, but for the law of God. It is in their hearts, on their gates, and they teach to their children as they walk in the way. It makes them real.

Running, really, really fast

Sometimes people are induced to do crazy things. And then they love it (even if they fail miserably). And so it is that I joined the CTK softball team. Every monday we valiant few would march bravely onto the diamond, cheered incessantly by our adoring throngs (mostly my sisters). Sure, we could barely catch, and we could barely hit, but that's not the point, is it? Okay, so we got our cute little hinies thrashed, soundly, but we looked good doing it (thank you, exta hold hair gel). I mean... uh... that we had fun. Lots of fun. Plus there was usually lemonade, brownies, gatorade, or watermelon afterwards. I'd spend an hour being utterly humiliated for that, any day. Besides, we won one game (I haven't googled the word "forfeit" yet, but I'll let you know).

On to things I can do. It seems that dancing fever is catching on. I called two dances last month, and I'm getting ready for one next week, all outside my regular social group (church). This next one I'll even be playing some live music (while Donkey Boy calls). I guess I'd better get back to Mel Bay's "First Time Fiddler".

Guess Who's Back

Always one to be on the cutting edge of scandal, I have left you all to wonder for the last months what I have been up to. I have no intentions of enlightening you now. But perhaps I will drop a note here and there to make you all scratch your heads and wonder what goes on inside this little brain of mine.

A day in the life of...

Wow, I haven't blogged in a while. So, while the minion throngs cry for something profound, it may be good to note that while I didn't blog because I didn't have time, now I just don't have much to say.

Reading: Against Christianity by Peter Leithart. Thought provoking. Deals with the heresies involved in the view of Christianity as a strictly religious practice that doesn't effect social or political realms. Essentially, following his arguements, we have lost the "Church" as it should be. I'm in the section, Against Theology, right now. In it he argues for a more "organic" approach to the Christian life (a term I borrow from Doug Wilson). He points out that you cannot find words in theological books like (but not limited to) hair, blood, sweat, entrails, etc. Or, as one friend from church shared, our theologies and creeds should protect our the life within our church, not be that life.

Listening to: James Jordan. What can I say? Better experienced that shared. Good stuff.

Drinking: St. Peter's Creme Stout. Good in two ways. Reminds me of my good buddies up at St. Peter's Pres. Bristol, VA. The other is in the name. If you know what I mean, you know what I mean.

The weather has been marvelous. Last week we textured (uh, trained) six and a half houses (of, uh, pigeons) in five days. I now have a positively scandalous pic of myself one of those days, when the "pigeons'' were particularly, ah, thick. Sorry, probly won't post it. Somethings innocent eyes just shouldn't see. When its hot its hot and you gotta do what you gotta do to get things done.

Go see Pippin The Jedi. He belongs to our new pastor. The whole family's great to have around. Oh,yeah its nice havin' a pastor, too.

Death and Insurrection?

Our good Lord and Savior told us that as the world hated and persecuted Him it would hate and persecute us. Shortly after those whose job it was to protect Him killed Him. There seems to be no little irony in the correspondence between the Easter holiday, and the Federal holiday, Tax Day. There is very little humor. While we prepare to sit and ponder the great gift of God in salvation, we must also ponder the great gift we are to volunarily calculate and donate to the gods of the land. While Uncle Sam probes our pockets, we will sit together and drink of something he can never touch. Eternal life. We can give to Ceasar what is dubiously called his, but he can never touch what our Lord calls His own. One day, perhaps a day you and I may not see, even Uncle Sam will bend his strong arm in adoration and service to the King of kings, presidents, and executioners in suits and ties. Until then we give him a clear example of how it is to be done. We remain faithful to the Lord of the faithful.

For kingship belongs to the LORD, and He rules over the nations.

Finally

For those patient few, who have resisted the temptation to see this same picture at Donkey Boy's blog, here we are the Pella ball.

Mercy Comes Softly

After sorrow, joy.
First the darkness, light.
Mercy comes softly,
Morning proceeds the night;
Wings anticipating flight.

Love, not unrequited,
Sweet sorrow telling,
"My face Will Be Hidden."
Tears, unbidden, welling,
While joy has found a Dwelling.

Covenant colors
Arch across the sky;
Faith unto the faithful,
Blessings upward fly.
Grace found, ever nigh.

Hope, undistaining,
Grief, itself, entombs.
Thriving, love and joy,
Spreading fragrant blooms.
Dispelling fears, mercy softly comes.

Paradise

by George Herbert

I bless thee, Lord, because I grow
Among the trees, which in a row
To thee both fruit and order ow

What open force, or hidden charm
Can blast my fruit, or bring me harm,
While the inclosure is thine arm?

Inclose me still for fear I start;
Be to me rather sharp and tart,
Than let me want they hand and art.

When thou dost greater judgements spare,
And with thy knife but prune and pare,
Even fruitful trees more fruitful are:

Such sharpness shows the sweetest frend,
Such cuttings rather heal than rend,
And such beginnings touch their end.

This poet has so far amazed me with the truthful paradox that shows up in his style. The poem in particular I found inspriring.

Ryme and Rythm

Thanks to Naddy's writings, and the tips from Naddy's Daddy, I've found some great old poetry books. Naturally, I turn right to the bloody, bravery stuff first. Enjoy the enstallment below. Found some great ones by Ben Johnson too, but that's another subject...

For those interested, the Pella ball went marvelously. I will try to post pics eventually. The trip went smoothly. We made some new friends, and found some we already knew. To top it all off we saw America's largest working Dutch windmall, and 2nd smallest Wal-Mart.

Bannockburn

Robert Bruce's Address to His Army
By Robert Burns

Scots, wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled!
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led!
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to glorious victorie!

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower!
See approach proud Edward's power-
Edward! chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Traitor!coward! turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa',
Caledonian! on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall-they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Forward! let us do, or die!

...A Sharp Dressed Man

I got fitted for a tux for my very first time today. It was a first time experience. It is a nice tux, too. It's black. My brothers, Moose and Donkey Boy, also got fitted today. Their tuxedos are also black.
We got them for a dance we are going to be directing in Iowa (yes, the state). So that our partners will be able to tell us apart, we chose vests of different colors, with bow ties that match the vests. My favorite part, though, are the shoes. They are so shiny I can see myself in them. What's not to like?

Freed Will

I work in a mostly christian inviroment, but I am the only "Calvinist." I am quick to point, that indeed I am not Calvinistic, but reformed, thus averting questions on following a man. But how, they want to know, can I justify free will (or human responsibility), with predestination. This can lead to interesting discussions. A lot of people don't get it when I tell them that we are free, and we predestinated. Period.

In thinking about it, I have determined that we are like ships. The law is like a map of the globe, while redemtion is like a rudder. Before the work of redemtion, we are ships with neither maps or rudders. These ships are free, they can hoist sail, or float in the tide, but they cannot know where they are going, nor could they easily persue a course, and they will often beach on a dry, lonely shore. Enter the law, a map, and redemption, a rudder. Now a ship can know where it should be, where it should be going, and it can do something to get there. In this is true freedom. The ship can make voyages, and port for replenishing. It is free to go north, south, east, or west, and to avoid rocky shores. The law, the placement of land and water in the map, is death to a ship with no rudder or redemtion, but it is life and grace to those who have been saved.

Crisis: Averted

Always concerned for the mental health of mankind, I have taken solve one of the world's worst tragedies. Being the philanthropist that I am, I have also undertaken to test all my theories on myself before projecting them on the world at large.

That said, I turned forty last week. No, please hold the congratulations. I'm sure you're familiar with the idea of Double Jeopordy. Its the legal exception where a person cannot be charged with the same crime twice. In a breakthrough in the phsychology world, rivaled only by Pavlov's dogs, I have discovered a naturally occuring Double Jeopordy in human aging. No person can ever be the same age twice. So, my theory is that while I am young, I will use up the so-called mid-life ages, appx. 35-46. Then, when I am in mid-life, I can revert to my unused young ages, appx. 23-34. If my theory is correct, I will have effectively avoided a true mid-life, and, thereby, a mid-life crisis. So far, the hypothosis is working marvelously. Stay tuned for updates, but rest assured, a breakthrough has been achieved.

Valentine's Day... Alone?

Yet another Valentine's day all alone. Or was it?
A lot of people wonder at my singleness. Especially some of my coworkers. Why is such a good looking (and humble) guy not 'involved'? Surely he just hasn't met the right girl yet! Que threats of introduction to all the most beautiful (and perhaps desperate) maidens in the region... It seems to blow many minds that I am waiting until I am prepared to enter into a relationship responsibly, able to persue it to its due and proper end (for those questioning minds: marriage). Egads! a guy who can look beyond the mirror. The very idea that their culture holds no draw on some astounds them.

Sure, I look forward to spending my Valentine's with someone. But I look forward even more to knowing that I hadn't spent it uselessly with anyone else.

Dragon Soup for the Soul

I want to write about the sweetness of fellowship on the Lord's day (again). I would write about how, at the beginning of each week, I am refreshed and renewed, ready to go fight the dragons of the world. But I find, that by Saturday, it is as if I become the dragon I must conquer. I would start a noble Prince Caspian, but I become Eustace. But how much more appropriate can it get? How can I enter into the Lord's tabernacle unless I am ready to be made new? How can I expect to eat at His table, unless I am hungry? Drink of His cup, if I am not thirsty? How sweet is the taste of knowing that I cannot live without Christ living in me!

Oh, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good!
Because His mercy endures forever.

Anxiety laid aside

There have been rumors and rumors of rumors running amuck among the upitty-up in the know, or not so, about the good folks in Bristol, VA. Doug Wilson has something to say that sets things for the curious to rest.

Maturing Without Growing Up

Recently, while walking to the far side of our property and back, I was overtaken by an overwhelming sensation of... nothing. The significance of this non-rise of emotions is that I used to get the biggest kick out of walking in the pasture. I could spend hours in the wood, studying the wildlife, and generally wondering at the glory of God's creation. I derived emmense joy from nature, which I have found to be diminishing.

The same is coming of music. I used to be enthralled with bluegrass and country music. I am not here arguing their qualities, only that they brought me joy. What caused the joy was the simplicity of life they signified, especially the bluegrass, which I one time lovingly described as, “Everyman’s music.” As I have gotten older, I found myself coming away from these joys, seeking instead a sort of kick. I craved different things, yet it seems I was never satisfied. Pursued, it would have been a destructive trail. What I have found, as I have grown older is that I lose the joys I had when I was a boy, and even a young man. I would pursue the new and older, and ‘manlier’ only to find the happiness I sought to have been in what I previously had. Somehow, the joy I sought was in the more innocent pursuits of my earlier childhood. This, in my mind, goes right along with childlike faith that Christ commanded. However, at the same time Paul, inspired by the Holy Spirit of God, talks about becoming a man and putting away the things of a child. This presents a certain dilemma of maturing without growing up. I’m still working on this one, I’m not quite sure of all the workings. It entails responsibilities being fulfilled, but at the same time a playfulness. (I really enjoyed a talk given by Doug Jones on playfulness, which I would be happy to discuss in conversation.)

Interestingly, most of the ‘joys’ that fit this bill, of mature innocence, seem to be fulfilled with the local Church fellowship. Point in hand; this last Sunday many of us brought our musical instruments to church, and after lunch spent the afternoon jamming and playing hymns. There is an innate joy in making music with others, and that joy multiplies as skills mature. It is the same joy, increased with maturity. Yet there is no concrete purpose outside that joy. Granted, there are good applications, like the worship of God in heaven, but the pursuit of music, or any number of the arts, is not productive. It can be mature without being grown-up.

Rythmic Reclamation

You have to read The Polyphonic Poet. This is how the church stays alive. Evangalism invites converts into the culture of our house, but we are too often content leave the walls bare. Steps are being taken to reclaim culture.