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“The parable is given to us, but at the same time its full wealth of meaning will never be fully mined. It is not reducible to some clear, singular, scientific formula but rather gives rise to a multitude of commentaries. In opposition to this, many Christian communities view the stories and parables of the Bible as raw material to be translated into a single, understandable meaning rather than experienced as infinitely rich treasures that can speak to us in a plurality of ways.”

-Peter Rollins

My tone, voice, and content have been heavily influenced by two outside forces.  The first has been my love of fiction, specifically my life-long affair with fantasy and science fiction. I was introduced to the genres when I was 11 and have never looked back. It wasn’t just the stories that caught my attention, but also the truth about humanity, relationships, faith, and existence that these “fake” stories were able to teach a young man from a broken home.

            The other strong influence in my writing is the time I spent in the evangelical, protestant church. I spent my teen and young adult years participating heavily in the church, also to find a path out my very dysfunctional home. Much of that time was spent as a leader, where I helped teach and shepherd programs. It would be a lie to say that all my experiences were positive. In fact, many of them were quite negative and bordered on emotional and spiritual abuse. However, I also came away with many positive experiences and relationships that have been lifelong and edifying.

            These two influences intersect at the humble parable.  The parable is a wonderful type of story that is both fictional but attempts to communicate deep truths. These truths are often not factual but will still show us a path that ultimately guides us to betterment. This being said, I have always struggled against the modern church’s need to codify and systematize parables in an attempt to prove their specific faith as absolute truth. A god that you can solve with a formula is not a god worth worshipping.

            That is why I have re-imagined and modernized the parable of Jesus with the adulteress. The short 10 lines of this parable have always jogged my imagination and given me the most beautiful outline and structure for my faith.  This parable also has many corollaries to how the church reacts and treats those they deem outsiders and “sinners”, offers a better way of how we should view said people.  

            The Pastor’s Dillemma is not only the perfect synthesis of my two strongest influences in writing and life but also offers a way to gently teach and offer readers a simple way to interact and unpack a very delicate and complex idea.

I've Been Thinking About Death Recently.....

******CAUTION!!!!!!DANGER!!!!!PELIGROSO!!!!!****** THIS BLOG POST CONTAINS RELIGIOUS AND RELIGIOUS LIKE SUBSTANCES. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

I felt the need to add that (not) funny disclaimer. But as the title implies. Death is the topic today. (Appropriate on Good Friday......Right....?)

Have you ever started reading a book and been so involved in the story that you had to skip to the last page to find out the end? What happens when you go back to reading the book? Its kind of spoiled right? You totally miss out on the mystery and discovery of an unfolding story.

As people living 2000 years later we have a blessing that, in my opinion, is the greatest blessing we have. We know how the story ends. The tomb is empty, the gates are flung wide open, and Jesus is alive. Death is conquered and the New Covenant is upon us. Let Love and Freedom reign.

But.....What if this isn't a blessing at all? What if its a curse? What if in our understanding of the "whole picture" we have missed out on something important in between because we have "skipped to the end"?

Does "Let Down" even begin to describe the experience of Jesus's execution? After following this man for three years he made promises. He raised expectations. He was going to liberate Israel and kick the Romans out. He was going to make things "Right".

I think about what it would like like and feel like to be there. To have had Jesus teach you that it is okay to be brave enough to hope. To hope for a better world. To hope for better relationships. To hope that things don't have to look the way they do. And then to look at that hope in the lifeless eyes of your teacher, your best friend, your son. What do you feel?

Sorrow?

Anger?

Regret?

If you are Peter what is going through your mind?! Do you feel betrayed yet guilty because you know that you too have betrayed? Do wonder, "Why him?" or "It should have been me."?

What would it have been like in those days between the crucifixion and resurrection? How heavy would your shoulders be? How often would you wonder if everything you believed in was a lie?

Was untrue?

Would you give up? or Carry on?

Why did I follow in the first place?

Story Time:

It has been said that on the day Christ was crucified a group of followers packed their few belongings and set off to find a new home. They were so distraught that they could not bear to stay in the place where Jesus had been executed. So they left, never to return, and after travelling thousands of miles, they set up an isolated village far from civilization. Once settled, they each took an oath to protect the memory of Jesus and live by his teaching.

Then one day, after 300 years of solitude, a small band of Christian missionaries reached the isolated settlement and were amazed to find a community of people living the sacrificial way that Christ had taught, yet who possessed no knowledge of his subsequent resurrection and ascension. Without hesitation the missionaries called the entire community together and taught them what had occurred after the crucifixion.

That evening, there was a great celebration in the camp. Yet, as the night progressed, one of the missionaries noticed that the leader of the community was absent. This bothered the young man and so he set out to look for the community elder, whom he eventually found in a small hut on the fringe of the village, praying and weeping.

‘Why are you in such sorrow?’ asked the missionary in amazement. ‘Today is a day for great celebration!’

‘A day for great celebration and great sorrow,’ replied the elder, who was all the while crouching on the floor. ‘For over 300 years we have followed the ways taught to us by Christ. We followed his ways faithfully, even though it cost us deeply, and we remained resolute despite the fear that death defeated him and would one day defeat us also.’

The elder slowly got to his feet and looked the missionary compassionately in the face.

‘Each day we have forsaken our very lives for him because we judge him wholly worthy of the sacrifice, wholly worthy of our being. But now I am concerned that my children and my children’s children may follow him not because of the implicit value he has, but because of the value that he possesses for them.’

With this the elder left the hut and made his way to the celebration, leaving the missionary to his thoughts. (Peter Rollins)

I admit that I write this entry through the very narrow lens of my own current experiences. And so I find myself asking the question, "Why do I follow Jesus?" Do I follow because of the promises? Because of what I think I may gain through this. Peace of Mind. Heaven. Friends. A place to belong. What happens when those promises shatter? Is it still worth following? Devoting? Dying?

Or, do I follow because....

I close my "spiritual writings" with this verse because I want to remind myself and other people that I don't write things like this because I have "answers" or have things "figured out".

Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.

OH MY GOD! NOOOOO!!!

It came out of nowhere and was on me in a flash. (Okay under me....And....Not really ME per se but my giant gas guzzling SUV.) After a split second of hesitation I swerve hoping to dodge the poor, innocent woodland creature, but alas, it wasn't meant to be. Just as I swerve to miss the possum, it decides, in its boundless wisdom, to run back underneath Nature's Lament.

(The new name of my truck I think.) THUMP! CRACK! ONOMATOPOEIA! And just like that I knew the little fuzzball had met its maker.

The worse was the frozen looks on his face. (Or her face.....Oh Dear God not HER face....Did it have babies!!!!??? What have I done!?) The stunned yet forlorn look on it's face has been burned indelibly on my mind and soul since.

Immediately after, I couldn't help but wonder. Did it die quickly or did it suffer? Should I go back? Why did it run back underneath Nature's Lament? Is there something else I could have done? I wonder what it would be like to suddenly look up at and have two giant orbs bearing down on you as bright as the sun, and the powerlessness you would feel in that split second. (I am going to go with "bad". It would feel "bad".)

At this point in the narrative I feel the overwhelming need to make "a point". I could talk about the fragility of life. (Just thinking about talking on that just seems pretentious.) I could talk about the two glowing orbs as the eyes of God and how sometimes in life we feel like God just "runs us over". But, at this point I can't help but picture God as a giant fat man driving a rusted out pick-truck with a rifle, a can of beer, hunter's vest, and greasy hair that flows majestically from underneath a mesh trucker's hat.* He, of course, is laughing maniacally as he hunts the possum. (Yes I am the possum.) I could even talk about me being the driver and how I have (metaphorically) "ran over" people I care about in my inability to pay close attention to the "road". (You people know who you are.)

Meh. In reality I ran over possum and felt bad. Thought I would share.

*If I offended any trucker's hats I apologize. I recognize and am grateful for your contribution to culture over the years.

Questioning?

So after seeing Adjustment Bureau for the 2nd time tonight I was asked if I liked it. I then said in a short sentence, "I did because I enjoyed the theological questions that the movie raised." I was then promptly scoffed at and that was promptly the end of the conversation. That being said the movie made me think of this parable from Peter Rollins' book, "The Fidelity of Betrayal"

There was once a small town filled with believers who sought to act always in obedience to the voice of God. When faced with difficult situations the leaders of the community would often be found deep in prayer, or searching the Scriptures for guidance and wisdom.

Late one evening, in the middle of winter, a young man from the neighboring city arrived at the gates of the town’s little church seeking refuge. The caretaker immediately let him in and, seeing that he was hungry and cold, provided a meal and some warm clothes. After he had eaten, the young man explained how he had fled the city because the authorities had labeled him a political dissident. It turned out that the man had been critical of both the government and the church in his work as a journalist. The caretaker brought the young man back to his home and allowed him to stay until a plan had been worked out concerning what to do next.

When the priest was informed about what had happened, he called the leaders of the town together in order to work out what ought to be done. After an intense discussion it was agreed that the man should be handed over to the authorities in order to face up to the charges that had been made against him. But the caretaker protested, saying, “This man has committed no crimes, he has merely criticized what he believes to be the injustices perpetrated by authorities in the name of God.”

“What you say may be true,” replied the priest, “but his presence puts the whole of this town in danger. What if the authorities find out where he is and learn that we protected him.”

But the caretaker refused to hand him over to the priest, saying, “He is my guest, and while he is under my roof I will ensure that no harm comes to him. If you take him from me by force then I will publicly attest to having helped him and suffer the same injustice as my guest.”

The caretaker was well loved by the people, and the priest had no intention of letting something happen to him. So the leaders went away again and this time searched the
Scriptures for an answer, for they knew that the caretaker was a man of deep faith. After a whole night of poring over the Scriptures the leaders came back to the caretaker, saying, “We have read the sacred book all through the night seeking guidance and found that it tells us that we must respect the authorities of this land and witness to the truth of faith through submission to them.”

But the caretaker also knew the sacred words of Scripture, and he told them that the Bible also asked that we care for those who suffer and are persecuted. There and then the leaders began to pray fervently. They beseeched God to speak to them, not as a still small voice in their conscience, but rather in the way that he had spoken to Abraham and
Moses. They begged that God would communicate directly to them and to the caretaker so that the issue could finally be resolved. Sure enough, the sky began to darken, and God descended from heaven, saying, “The priest and elders speak the truth, my friend. In order to protect the town this man must be handed over to the authorities.”

The caretaker, a man of deep faith, looked up to heaven and replied, “If you want me to remain faithful to you, my God, then I can do nothing but refuse your advice. For you have already demanded that I look after this man. You have written that I must protect him at all costs. Your words of love have been spelled out by the lines of this man’s face, your text is found in the texture of his flesh. And so, my God, I defy you precisely so as to remain faithful to you.”

With this God smiled and quietly withdrew, confident that the matter had finally been settled.

Hmmm........

I admit that I have been oh so very lazy in my writing over the holidays. Lets call it writer's block. (It sounds better) I know all of you are breathless with anticipation for more of my particular brand of whimsy, but you must wait longer. In the meantime enjoy the words of a man much brighter and more articulate than I can ever hope to be.

"There was once a fiery preacher who possessed a powerful but unusual gift. He found that, from an early age, when he prayed for individuals, they would supernaturally lose all of their religious convictions. They would invariably loose all of their beliefs about the prophets, the sacred Scriptures, and even God. So he learned not to pray for people but instead limited himself to preaching inspiring sermons and doing good works.

However, one day while travelling across the country, the preacher found himself in conversation with a businessman who happened to be going in the same direction. This businessman was a very powerful and ruthless merchant banker, one who was honoured by his collegues and respected by his adversaries.

their conversation began because the businessman, possessing a deep, abiding faith, had noticed the preacher reading from the Bible. He introduced himself to the preacher and they began to talk. As they chatted together this powerful man told the preacher all about his faith in God and his love of Christ. He spoke of how his work di not really define who he was but was simply what he had to do.

"The world of business is a cold one," he confided to the preacher, "and in my line of work I find myself in situations that challenge my Christian convictions. But I try, as much as possible, to remain true to my faith. Indeed, I attend a local church every Sunday, participate in a prayer circle, engage in some youth work, and contribute to a weekly Bible study. These activities help to remind me of who I really am."

After listening carefully to the businessman's story, the preacher began to realize the purpose of his unseemly gift. So he turned to the businessman and said, "Would you allow me to pray a blessing into your life?"

The businessman readily agreed, unaware of what would happen. Sure enough, after the preacher had muttered a simple prayer the man opened his eyes in astonishment.

"What a fool I have been for all these years!" he proclaimed. "It is clear to me now that there is no God above who is looking out for me, and that there are no sacred texts to guide me, and there is no Spirit to inspire and and protect me."

As they parted company the businessman, still confused by what had taken place, returned home. But now that he no longer had any religious beliefs, he began to find it increasingly difficult to continue in his line of work. Faced with the fact that he was now just a hard-nosed businessman working in a corrupt system, rather than a man of God, he began to despise his activity. Within months he had a breakdwon, and soon afterward gave up his line of work completely. Feeling better about himself, he then wnet on to give to the poor all the riches he had accumulated and began to use his considerable managerial expertise to challenge the very system he once participated in, and to help those who had been oppressed by it.

One day, many years later, he happened upon the preacher again while walking thorugh town. He ran over, fell at the preacher's feet, and began to weep with joy. Eventually he looked up at the preacher and smiled, "Thank you, my dear friend, for helping me discover my faith." -Peter Rollins "The Fidelity of Betrayal"

Death By Snu Snu

An Open Letter,

Yup, that's me......Well at least what's left of me. The mating habits of my species are well documented at this point, and everybody knows what happens to the males of my species after copulation. Now I know what everybody is thinking. "WHY!!!!???" or "Control yourself man!" or my personal favorite, "She just isn't worth it." Well I want to know. Who gave you the right to judge?

First, this was my 3rd time. Which may not seem like a lot to you humans, but in mantis land thats forever. (Although forever does become a little relative in my circumstance...) 3 times is like 50 years for you guys, so please don't wag your finger at me.

Also, I have seen the "hoops" that the males of your species jump through to impress your females and make them happy. Talk about painful. Permanently branding your skin with a name or a symbol to show your undying love? Squandering precious resources on a single dinner just to impress? I have even heard that your males have a procedure done to stop the production of offspring. I mean really, isn't the point of this whole thing to propagate? Seems counterintuitive. Stupid humans.(I just know the phrase "snip snip" is often used to describe this "procedure" so I try not to let my imagination run away on me.)

The whole child rearing thing is another obvious example. Who has it easier the guy who is asleep (granted for eternity) or the bozo going to the store at midnight on icy roads to try to find bacon and pickle flavored ice cream? I will never have to sit through that giant red monstrosity called Elmo, or read "Everybody Poops" 893,623 times. (And yes, it still gets smeared on the wall.) None of the, "You don't think I am attractive anymore" and "You won't ever love me again because I am so fat". Woman. You're pregnant, not fat. So I am sure he will love you again when you drop that 10lb. Christmas ham out from between your legs. All that I am saying gentlemen is that death comes in a variety ways.

Which leads me to this. She is worth it. Sure, she may have temper issues. Yes, she has a voracious appetite. (Both sexually and gastronomically) And yes, she is eating me alive as we speak. So, she isn't perfect. Who is? What relationship doesn't need a little tweaking and fine tuning every once in awhile? So, before you point your finger at me, I suggest you look in the mirror and examine your own relationship before you pass judgement on mine. At least I know I have found somebody who loves me for me and will never let go.

Sincerely,

Mr. Mantis

P.S. Seriously, who wouldn't be happy dying while doing what I am doing?

The "Problem" of Pain

I remember moving to Michigan a decade and a half ago and instantly falling in love with the game of hockey. All the kids in my neighborhood played religiously and I knew if I ever wanted to make friends I had to find a pair of skates and a stick.

Now, I was an insecure, chunky 6th grade kid who desperately wanted to make friends. (As opposed to an insecure, slightly less chunky 28 year old who still desperately wants to make friends. I've come a long way.) But learning how to play hockey is HARD. I can't tell you how many times I have fallen flat on my ass in the most embarrassing of ways. Also not helpful to the aforementioned 6th grader. He got made fun of a decent amount for all of his blunders. (Think of "Smalls" from the movie "The Sandlot" but fatter..... and not as smart.) I fell. It hurt.

Learning how to play hockey is quite the endeavor. It requires you to do so many different and disparate things at the same time. Its not always possible to teach or coach the amount of coordination needed to play, so in the end the best way to learn is by doing. The problem with learning by doing is that we fail when we try something new. We fall.

I think life is like hockey. (I know an absolutely brilliant and trenchant insight. I can taste the Pulitzer now.) When we are engaged and living our lives, pain is just unavoidable. We fall. It hurts. Sometimes, badly. I will say it this way, "Life is about getting hurt." We get hurt and then you recover, and then guess what? Odds are pretty damn high you get hurt again. But hopefully, we learn something from it.

For having lived nearly all of my life in the strangling clutches of the monster known as "Suburbatron", I feel like I have seen my fair share of pain in my life, and crap are there a ton of varieties. Its like walking into a Baskin Robbins. (Get it? 31 flavors.)

There is that cold, empty pain of leaving behind the known and stepping into the unknown. (Graduation, new job away from home.) There is the "Tornado Pain" of watching life upend all of my careful and meticulous plans.There are those sharp, stabbing pains that persist when I experience some failures, and their equally evil twin that comes when success doesn't bring me what I hoped. There are also the "Freddy Krueger" pains that come and shred everything I have ever hoped for apart. There is the beautiful pain of finding people I love and who love me and then walking with them and sharing their pain. Empathy.

When I am lucky I even get to experience the searing pain of being in a moment of pure triumph or utter perfection which I know can't possibly last, but will stay with me until the end of time.

You see, I have developed the habit of being down on pain. I want pain to stop. I want to ignore it. I want it to go away. However, in my lamenting I forget a fundamental aspect of pain. Pain lets me know that I am still alive. That I'm not dead. Pain moves me, teaches me, changes me, and reminds me that my heart still beats. Pain is good.

I want to be able embrace pain. I want to remember that pain is good not only in the wake of life's upending moments, but when I am in the throes of those times. I want to be able to trust completely that I am in the loving embrace of God at all times. Even when I hurt the most.

I know that this long winded pontification is incredibly deep, and maybe even changed your life forever. What can I say, I am brilliant. <======(This statement is clearly sarcasm. I know what this post is. Narcissistic claptrap. Like I have any of this figured out.)