Battle of the Bands XXXIII
Moving on is The Same Lump! The next contestants await, from Romans 10.
Bible Discussion — Romans 10
This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter in the book of Romans, Romans 10.
Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
And the book of Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4
Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I) | Ch. 8 (II) | Ch. 9
INTRODUCTION:
David:
Paul continues his dissertation on the Law, explaining that his brethren have to stop trying to fulfill it and realize that Christ has fulfilled it for them. He then declares faith in Christ to be the real goal they should seek.
Connie:
Paul discusses the fruitless ways Israel has tried to achieve the righteousness they so desperately need on their own through the law.
Steve:
Having already addressed the constant sinfulness of man and the universal providence of God, Paul now moves to the logical next step — spreading the news to everyone!
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Erin:
This passage isn’t just about what the message of salvation is, but also about a call to share it.
Steve:
Paul describes Isaiah’s prophecy that God would make appear to those who did not seek Him as “bold.”
Connie:
The requirement of confessing with your mouth precedes believing in your heart. It reminds me of the verse in Luke 9:26 that says we need to not be ashamed of Him before men — then He won’t be ashamed of us before God.
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Steve: Provoke
David: Glad Tidings
Josh: Untrained Zeal; End of Law
Connie: Contrary People
Erin: Confess
Clash of the Titans LVII: Job Tate’s Existence
| In this corner, believing in Job, is Josh! | And in this corner, doubting him, is MC-B! | |
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It is a question that has troubled philosophers throughout the ages. Is Job a real person, or is he merely some sort of literary device — a real man with real adventures or just an allegory, meant to teach us a lesson? This could be simultaneously the hardest and easiest clash I’ve ever had to write. I know Job personally, and have seen him many times (albeit not as many times or places as he would have indicated). So I’m convinced. But for the benefit of the rest of you, let’s consider the evidence before us. First off we have a rather large sampling of writings to reference. While “Job Tate” could conceivably be some kind of pseudonym, the writing has a very distinct style and voice. These writings also mention many places, dates and individuals, seemingly too many details to be faked. Second, we have photographic evidence. While many people on the Internet use phony photos to deceive others, this is usually done to upgrade their attractiveness. I don’t see how that could possibly be the case here. Finally, we have eyewitness accounts. While you may not know Job, you may very well know and trust someone who does. Steve, Tom, Djere, Mike, Connie, and myself are just a sampling of those associated with Bweinh! who could testify to Job’s existence. Of course, even if you remain unconvinced, I think you’ll have to concede that the question of Job’s actual existence is not nearly as important as — nor does it in any way take away from — the truths we can learn from his tale. |
I sometimes wish that I could be happily ignorant, believing with all my heart that somewhere out there in the ether a benevolent Job Tate watches all that goes on at Bweinh.com and smiles, but I cannot. I am too rationally-minded to put my faith in children’s fairy tales any longer. It is said that a thousand monkeys typing at a thousand typewriters would, after a thousand years, reproduce the works of Shakespeare. For the so-called ‘Best of Job’ features, I’d give twenty monkeys a half-hour. In short, the order that we perceive in “Job’s” articles is nothing more than random chance that we choose to find order in. Sorry, Tatists. Of course, there’s also graphical evidence of Job Tate’s existence. If this type of evidence suffices to prove the existence of an entity, then Job exists, as do Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, Homer Simpson, and Erin E-surance. Our pantheon is growing by the day. Finally, there are personal testimonials of what belief in Job has done for people all around the world. Sorry, guys, but anecdotal evidence won’t cause me to put my faith in a concept as ethereal and unreliable as Job Tate. Belief in Job is a panacea that detracts from our ability to solve Bweinh’s problems through our own endeavors. I’m going to say it as clearly as I can: Job does not exist, he does not love you, and he is not returning someday on a white horse to double our readership and make me write articles again. If we desire these things, we must achieve them ourselves. |
Quote of the Day, 10/31/07
“The only way to make a difference is to acquire power.” — H. Clinton
Imagine
Looking through Houghton’s course catalog the other day on a quest to decide my future, I noticed a class called ‘Psychology of Religion,’ which included Sören Kierkegaard in its great theological and psychological thinkers. This was especially interesting to me because I had been hoping to write on the subject of the imagination, and I had thought of that as more of a psychological than theological topic. Kierkegaard tackles the issue of imagination from various perspectives and pseudonyms throughout his writings, but unites theology and psychology in his analysis of the imagination and what it means to humanity. In his work, especially Philosophical Fragments and Fear and Trembling, a possibly preposterous idea arises: that the human being would be incapable of imagination without the existence of God.
Much of Fear and Trembling centers on the story of Abraham and his belief — a prime example of how imagination is feasible only through faith. Commanded to sacrifice Isaac, Abraham dutifully obeyed, believing “on the strength of the absurd” that “through faith [he would not] renounce anything, on the contrary in faith [he would] receive everything.” What makes this belief possible?
Johannes de silentio (Kierkegaard’s pseudonym) details for us the “faith paradox” in which “the single individual as the particular is higher than the universal [: and] stands in absolute relation to the absolute.” In plainer language, a person who chooses for himself to make continual choices for faith in God comes into an appropriate relationship with God (the only real absolute), characterized by a “paradoxical and humble courage.” For this continual choice to be possible, humans must in the first place be able to comprehend something larger than themselves.
In the process of creation God gave to humanity not just a spirit of immediate understanding, but also a perception of God Himself, in whose image humanity was created. This ability to perceive God (but not fully understand Him) is why Abraham could “imagine” that although he fully intended to go through with the sacrifice, God would keep His promise to give him Isaac as well. It’s a logical contradiction, but Abraham’s imagination allowed him to make what Johannes Climacus (a later pseudonym) will call the “leap of faith.”
Making this leap of faith, therefore, is nothing more than humans imagining against logical thought that God will provide or move or manifest His will, then choosing to immerse themselves in the belief that their imagination is the only the beginning of God’s working. It is the choice to believe the imaginative perception God gave to humans.
I am not talking about dreaming crazy situations where God swoops in and, in nothing short of a miracle, saves the day; neither do I mean our usual, modern definition of imagination — that gift required to write a novel or create a beautiful work of art or escape boredom. Though those are manifestations of the ability to imagine, given to humanity by God, the root of all imagination is God’s need for a relationship with man. God gave man the imagination to create scenes or ideas or pictures beyond the immediate, but His love for man requires that this imagination be fulfilled by an absolute belief.
The example of Nicodemus in John 3 is not explicitly given in Philosophical Fragments, but the reference to Nicodemus’ struggle with this very concept was unmistakable, especially considering Kierkegaard’s audience. His chief problem was that he imagined in too literal a sense what Jesus meant by “born again.” His imagination lacked faith’s leap into the absurd and could not process Jesus’ metaphor. Although as a member of the human race he had been given the ability to imagine — the ability to have faith — he was “essentially deceived” into thinking faith was entirely his work. As a teacher of Israel, Nicodemus saw God as one who would “draw the learned up toward himself” because of a careful Pharisaical lifestyle. Instead, as Jesus instructs and Climacus’ writings echo, he must concede the essence of faith is that God “will appear, therefore, as the equal of the lowliest of persons.”
But this is unthinkable! Disrespectful! Unimaginable!
That is exactly is what Johannes Climacus shows: the human mind and its capacity for imagination are totally reliant on a consciousness of something far beyond it, far greater than it, and yet also of something (Someone) who condescended to become equal to it. This condescension overleaps the limits of mere human imagination.
Only once God “poetized himself in the likeness of a human being” could man begin to truly and imaginatively marvel at God’s love, “for love does not have the satisfaction of need outside itself but within [:]” God’s love, completely justified in His being, still needs man’s imaginative, passionate, absurd faith to be complete.
What could be more preposterous — yet absolutely true — than this?
Chick’s Last Will — Revealed
Which of these statements was false??
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If you picked “Later in this tract, we discover that Herbert didn’t get anything,” you’re a winner!!
OOPS! There’s Baphomet again!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
Joke of the Day, 10/30/07
Why did the blonde nurse carry a red pen?
To draw blood.
Boaz Bloom and Tumble-Down Row, Part One
The last from the Best of Job…
So I’m gonna tell you the story about Boaz Bloom and my run-ins with him down on Tumble-Down Row. If you know me, chances are good you’ve heard me tell bits and pieces about that summer, and a few anecdotes about Boaz, but I’ve never written it all down, or shared the entire story with anyone.
Well, there was Laura, that one day on Zuma Beach, but I don’t think she was really listening.
But buyer beware, this story does not house a happy ending. I won’t spring it on you, or try to punch you in the gut, but every time I hear the name “Boaz,” I get a little . . . a little off. But it’s not a name you run into very often, so I think reading this tale is worth the price.
It was 1983 and my Grandmother had died out in Missouri (don’t cry for me…I didn’t know her really). The rest of the family and I went out for the funeral, and during our three days there we proceeded to open a can of worms. Her house had to be sold, but it needed roof work, electrical work, plumbing, and all the things little old ladies learn to cope with. My parents had to get back to New Hampshire and their busy lives post-haste; my two sisters and brother (and their spouses and ratty little children) had come for the free hotel rooms my parents got for them — and I had only been home a week from my sophomore year in college, anxious to work at the ice cream shop again, to make out with Kim under the bleachers at the state fairgrounds, blah blah blah.
None of us wanted to be in Missouri.
My family is like water that boils towards the edges of the pot . . . we stick to a coast somewhere, either end of the union. That was where my Grandmother got abandoned, I guess. She loved Chap, Missouri to death, and she just wouldn’t boil away with the rest of her blood to California, South Carolina or New Hampshire.
“He’s a good Chap,” said her brick in the town hall mural. They were raising money to clean up some oil spill or something, so they auctioned off bricks. I liked her handwriting.
Eyes fell to me. My family is not all that tight, but we’re capable and know each other pretty well, based purely on intelligence. My Dad wasted no time in telling me I would stay in Chap to tidy things up — but he was just as quick to make the deal sweet for me, so I wouldn’t blow my stack. In exchange for serving (and eating) ice cream all summer, giving up the smell of Kim Cord’s hair, and forfeiting long days at the beach, I would receive a brand-new car when I got home — from the proceeds of the sale of my Grandmother’s house.
I was in. Chap, Missouri, God rest her soul, was a hole — but I was in.
—TO BE CONTINUED—
The Council’s Ruling — Most Useless College Major
This and every Monday, the Bweinh!tributors, having convened in secret for hours of reasoned debate and consideration, will issue a brief and binding ruling on an issue of great societal import.
This week’s question — What is the most useless college major?
Steve delivers the ruling of the Council, joined by Connie and MC-B:
Any major that involves a particular gender or ethnic group. These classes amount to indoctrination and prepare you only to spread propaganda yourself.
MC-B concurs in the result, joined by David:
_____-American Studies. Even if you’re going to work with that group in the future, a good deal of the information is presented from the perspective of someone who hasn’t.
Djere concurs in the result, joined by David:
Women’s Studies. I thought cooking, cleaning, laundry, and baby-making was genetic! Who needs college for that?
Chloe dissents, joined by Erin:
Liberal Arts – it’s a non-word! You don’t major in anything! You come away with debt and a hangover! You fool!
Tom dissents, joined by Chloe:
An undergraduate degree in Philosophy leaves one well-equipped only to ponder the futility of majoring in Philosophy.
Mike dissents, joined by Job:
Outdoor rec–everyone knows how to have normal fun, and everyone who knows how to have specialized fun is already an outdoor rec major looking for a job.
Josh dissents:
I have to go with art, since I can’t see much difference between a starving artist and a slightly more knowledgeable starving artist, besides all the tuition debt.
Next week: What was the most effective ad campaign ever?
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Favorite Numbers
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is brought to you by the Bell Curve, determining your (collective) life expectancy, intelligence, and spleen weight since the beginning of time!
Cardinal numbers, one through ten — finally ranked the right way!
| Rank | Number | Points | ||
| 1. | Three | 24 | ||
| 2. | Seven | 20 | ||
| 3. | Two | 10 | ||
| 4. | One | 9 | ||
| 5. | Eight | 8 | ||
| 6. | Nine | 7 | ||
| 7. | Six | 6 | ||
| 8-10 (tie) | Pi; Five; Ten | 5 | ||
| Other | e; Four | 2-4 |
Football Results (Week Eight)
This year, the Bweinh!tributors shall compete each week by proxy on the mighty gridiron!
The eighth week’s results
San Diego def. Houston; Philadelphia def. Minnesota; NY Giants def. Miami
Pittsburgh def. Cincinnati; New Orleans def. San Francisco
| Bweinh!tributor | This Week | Overall | GB | |||
| Mike | 5-0 | 30-10 | — | |||
| Steve; Djere | 4-1 | 30-10 | — | |||
| Josh | 0-0 | 26-9 | 1.5 | |||
| Tom | 3-2 | 27-13 | 3 | |||
| Connie | 3-2 | 26-14 | 4 | |||
| Erin | 3-2 | 16-4 | 4 | |||
| MC-B | 3-2 | 25-15 | 5 | |||
| David | 2-3 | 23-17 | 7 | |||
| Chloe | 4-1 | 16 wins | ||||
| Job | 0-0 | 12 wins |
By category
Avid fans: 98-37 (.726)
Slight fans: 53-27 (.663)
Uninterested: 110-65 (.629)
Quote of the Day, 10/29/07
“Children today are tyrants. They contradict their parents, gobble their food, and tyrannize their teachers.” — Socrates
Why We Believe, Vol. 3.14159265
This and following weekends, we will share the brief salvation testimony of each Bweinh!tributor. Next in line is Tom.
I was recently behind the wheel, in the middle of a two-hour drive, thinking about what I would write for my testimony. I’ve attended a church for as long as I can remember, and have prayed the prayer of salvation a number of times, each in earnest, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember a specific time that could be boiled down into 750 pithy, life-affirming words. I was in a great mood despite it being a rather dreary day weatherwise, but I couldn’t come up with a memory to share that I felt conveyed the importance of having all of my sins forgiven at once. Then, the thought hit – why not this one?
A number of years ago, a fellow giving an altar call at a meeting I attended asked anyone in attendance who had not asked Jesus to forgive their sins and come into their hearts to pray a simple prayer of salvation with him. He then went on to ask anyone who had done so already to pray the same prayer anyway. He told us he took every opportunity to pray that prayer, and if you look at it closely it becomes apparent why. The typical prayer for salvation you see outlined goes something like this:
1. Acknowledge in your heart that Jesus is Lord.
2. Confess that you are a sinner in need of grace.
3. Believe that Jesus died for your sins and was raised three days later.
4. Repent of your sins, and ask for His forgiveness.
Each and every point of this simple prayer is as true for me today as the first time I prayed it. Jesus is still Lord. I am still a sinner in need of grace, even if that grace has been extended to me. I still believe that he died, and was raised again. And I still willingly commit sins for which I need to be forgiven. My salvation isn’t a single event, although it does begin that way. I took that opportunity in my car to pray that prayer, and I believe it as important to my life as any I’ve ever prayed.
A life is a lot like a trip, one that takes a lot longer than two hours, and can sometimes be a lot less pleasant than a rainy, 45 degree day. As we take that walk, it’s important not only to remember the steps that got you where you are today, but to consider and take those steps that will keep you on the path on which you’ve started.
Clash of the Titans LVI: Is Baseball Boring?
| In this corner, calling baseball boring, is David! | And in this corner, disagreeing, is Erin! | |
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Baseball revolves around 18 players, guaranteed a minimum of 3 “at-bats”. These “at-bats” comprise all of the “action” in the game. Upon leaving the “on-deck circle,” the player initiates an “at-bat” by performing a series of rituals, which include spitting, scratching, adjusting his athletic supporter, clearing his nasal passages using either digital extraction or single nostril compression, adjusting the Velcro straps on his batting gloves, rubbing dirt on his gloves, inspecting his bat, and swinging the bat several times to assure it is operating properly (no one wants to get “caught looking” at a third strike because their bat jammed). The manager of the team then uses a series of hand gestures and body contortions to relay his “score” for the rituals to the third base coach. Once at the plate, the player has only seconds to read the score as it is relayed by the third base coach. He can then either accept the score, or call time, step out of the “batter’s box,” and begin the rituals over again in the hope of getting a better score. These ratings can account for up to 65% of his “slugging percentage,” so they are extremely helpful during “arbitration hearings.” Once the score is settled, the “catcher” then calls for the “pitch,” using a combination of hand signals and Morse code. Due to the noise of the snoring crowd, this information is sometimes garbled, requiring a conference where the “catcher” jogs to the “mound,” while the “pitcher” stares in confusion. “What’s a fart ball?” Boring as this is to watch, it often leads to the most exciting play in baseball — “the brawl.” This is not to be confused with a hockey brawl, in which people actually fight — but sometimes while the catcher and pitcher are getting their signals right, the batter falls asleep, and the catcher calls for a “brushback pitch” to wake him. He usually awakens angry and confused, and lurches onto the field, yelling unintelligibly. This awakens the crowd, which in turn awakens the players on the bench, who stumble around, groggy and puzzled, shouting and gesturing in an attempt to find out whether the game is over and, if so, who won. Once order is restored, the batter takes a mandatory 17 pitches, is declared either out or safe, and leaves. The broadcast crew, a team of sociopaths skilled in torture, replay all 17 pitches with a computer, to show the audience what they missed while they were fixing a sandwich. |
All of us have been to a basketball game. They are fast-paced, whirling dervishes of action: high scoring, adrenaline-carried affairs that, wouldn’t you know, capture the attention of millions upon millions of ADHD-leaning Americans. Much of the time, when thinking of baseball, people look instead to a sport such as basketball, and they expect baseball to be roughly the same, except with a square field, a stick and a smaller spherical projectile. But baseball is different. It is slower, more careful, but at the same time, it contains all the enthralling moments that make sport so very addicting. It takes concentration and precision to play, and (horror of horrors!) attention and patience to watch, but these just make it even more enjoyable. I remember the first home run I ever saw. It was at a West Michigan Whitecaps game in their old stadium outside of Grand Rapids, and I think they were playing Ludington. No, I can’t recall the player or the inning or even the final score, but knowing that one person sent the ball flying that far had a magical quality about it that demanded respect for the players and the game. And who can deny the tee-ball culture in which so many of our youths take part — often “encouraged” by a slightly overzealous parent — which keeps them active and out of trouble, teaches them to work and play as a team, shows them to listen to worthy authority, and coaches them to improvise. All of these are parts of baseball. Though calling it “the American pastime” may be a cliché, to some degree it is quite true. So say the children who played tee-ball in their community leagues, their city parks, or their sandlots eventually grow up and become adult baseball fans. They know the calls and the punishments, and they can shout (righteously angered) at an ump who is clearly calling the game in favor of the other team (crooked cheaters!). They can tell when a pitcher is tiring or a shortstop is oblivious or a runner without fail is going to steal third base. In short: the fans love the game. They aren’t fair-weather; they aren’t in it for the adrenaline: they are in it for the team. Baseball is skill. Baseball is style. Baseball is patience. And as long as there are people who eat Cracker Jack, buy nosebleed seats, and take their kids to buy their first real baseball glove, when you flip through the radio channels on hot summer evenings, you will hear: “Steeeeeeeee — rike three! And he’s outta there!“ |
Open Letter to George W. Bush
Dear Mr. President:
You do not know me, and chances are you will never read these words, but there are things that need to be said for posterity’s sake, and now is as good a time as any to say them. Perhaps, as the elderly gentleman who had lost both his sight and his hearing said, when asked why he still attended church, “I just want to make sure everyone knows which side I’m on.”
Thank you.
First of all, thank you for standing up for yourself when the media and liberal forces in this nation attempted to bully you into forfeiting an election you had rightfully won. All of us remember where we were when 9/11 happened, and many of us can recall our first salient thought — “What if George Bush had not taken office?!” Your courage and leadership were indispensable during those days, and I believe now, as I did then, that God had raised you up for “such a time as this” in our nation’s history.
Secondly, thank you for serving, though you knew you would willingly expose yourself and your family to the ridicule and disrespect with which this nation treats its elected officials. I am embarrassed for my nation. To whatever extent I can, I truly apologize. From being fodder for late-night comics and the main target of the liberal media, to being the scapegoat for every natural disaster that hit our shores during your terms in office, you have borne it all with dignity. You have never lashed out at your enemies and have always carried yourself with class. You’ve done nothing to sully the name of Jesus Christ, whom you have publicly acknowledged as your Lord and Savior.
Thirdly, thank you for having the courage of your convictions. I believed you when you said that this war on terrorism was not a war that could be won in a year, or even a decade, but that it was nonetheless a war that must be fought. You never tried to deceive us when you talked about the road ahead and the necessity of fighting terrorism in the breeding grounds of the Middle East and Asia Minor — it’s just that too many have forgotten why we went to war. It’s easy to do in the peaceful surroundings of a secure homeland. I do not believe that it is a coincidence that we have not suffered another 9/11 type event during your watch.
Finally, thank you for allowing yourself to be wounded for the betterment of a nation. I can only imagine the heart-rending decisions you have faced in committing our troops overseas, knowing that not all of them would return. You made painful decisions in the best interests of our country, knowing they would be detrimental to you personally. That is a sacrifice that can only be made by a true statesman; something a mere politician knows nothing about.
Thank you.
Joke of the Day, 10/26/07
The Queen was showing the Archbishop of Canterbury around the royal stables when one of the stallions passed gas so loudly it couldn’t be ignored.
“Oh my heavens,” said the Queen, “how embarrassing. I’m frightfully sorry about that.”
“Quite understandable,” said the Archbishop. He paused. “As a matter of fact, I thought it was the horse!”
Chick’s Last Will and Testament
  
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody). |
Patience and Perspective
As a child, I had a fascination with maps and travel, probably — at least in part — because it was something I so rarely did. My brothers and I spent the vast majority of our youth at home, outside, exploring the fields and forests that surrounded us. For a flavor of the exotic, we called the different woody areas that separated the neighbors’ yard from our own “jungles,” and named them after faraway places. The Amazon. The Budapest.
When I did come inside, I sometimes pored over maps, mostly atlases of the United States, planning out extensive itineraries for journeys I knew my large family would never be able to take. Trips around the entire country, trips around the state, trips to particular destinations — for a time, I had a small bound collection of each, with estimated arrival times at every planned stop. I don’t recall thinking much about the purchase of gasoline, but those were the days it cost $1/gallon anyway. (Yes, the good old days… very soon, I’m going to start wearing my pants at chest-level and leaving my signal light on non-stop.)
I also watched the news frequently, and read the paper, and I knew, or thought I knew, how dangerous Washington, DC was. People, a lot of people, got murdered there. There were gangs and drugs and all manner of horrifying events. And so when my mother mentioned in passing that we might go there for a visit, I was very worried. Naturally I was interested in the trip and the destination, but it was so unsafe, wasn’t it? The murder capital of America! Well, we didn’t end up going for a few years; by that time I had reached age 11 and acquired enough perspective to view the trip with an almost total lack of fear.
Nothing really changed in that city in those few years — in fact, the crime statistics I just found show that DC murders practically doubled, from 225 in 1987 (36 per 100,000) to 443 in 1992 (75 per 100,000). But I changed. I became wiser, more capable of reason and risk calculation. After all, tourists visiting the Smithsonian on a sunny February afternoon are rarely murdered, and our trip wasn’t going to include any midnight trips down to Columbia Heights for an eightball. When I made those connections, the fear dissipated.
To me, the most valuable aspect of passing time — perhaps the only aspect of it I actually enjoy — is the improved perspective it brings. Third graders in a reading class were imposing and threatening to me at age 4. This is (usually) no longer the case. I distinctly remember dreading my tenth birthday for fear that double digits would mean the end of carefree childhood… but I think it was worth it in the end. And I have lived through and triumphed over events and challenges that were unthinkable — until they happened, and I adapted.
My biggest problem in life (correct me if I’m wrong) is getting upset about things that don’t matter at all, like losing my wireless connection or a point in a volleyball game. These are fundamentally problems of perspective, both temporal and eternal. After all, what is patience but a proper understanding of life and its ingredients? When I fume over forgetting my lunch, costing myself an extra ten minutes at the most, I am cowering in the face of third-graders all over again.
I don’t necessarily think the key to happiness is “living in the present.” It might be first realizing how little of the present will matter to the future, then focusing on precisely what means the most. Drive away the distractions. What have we to fear?
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Least Favorite HS Subject
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by Air Transat, the worst airline in the world!
Just listen to what another satisfied traveler had to say:
“[The change in flight] was bad enough but to receive a cold inadequate sandwich and a cookie was not sufficient sustenance . . . The sandwich consisted of an elongated bun, some shredded lettuce and a thin slice of roast beef, probably less than 1 oz. One steward in particular was very unfriendly and rebuked us when we asked for 2 water and 2 coffee stating he only heard one coffee ordered. He was reluctant to give us the other cup of coffee. The staff in general did not have a good attitude on this particular flight.”
But hey, here are the least enjoyable subjects in high school!
| Rank | Subject | Points | ||
| 1. | Math | 20 | ||
| 2. | Algebra | 14 | ||
| 3-4 (tie) | Biology; Physics | 12 | ||
| 5. | Health | 11 | ||
| 6. | English | 9 | ||
| 7-9 (tie) | Art; Geometry; Gym | 7 | ||
| 10. | Trigonometry | 6 | ||
| Other | Keyboarding; Chorus; Economics; Home/Careers; Chemistry; Marching Band; Physical Science; Drivers’ Ed; Free Hour; History | 1-5 |
2007 World Prayer Champion Credits Surgery
-LAS VEGAS, Nevada
Jerry “The Knees” Noble credited his unprecedented fourth consecutive World Prayer Championship to surgery, intercessory sources reported Monday. This marks the first time a WPC champion has singled out surgery — the art, practice, or work of treating diseases, injuries, or deformities through manual or operative procedures — as the key to victory.
“Surgery really brought this victory home for First Pres,” Noble remarked, referring to his sponsor church, First Presbyterian of Greater Houston. “A lot of the young kids came in here praying against natural disasters and for world peace. Not me. Surgery, even dental surgery, is always dangerous — and it’s my bread and butter.”
“It’s like the Protestant rosary,” Noble added, swigging a Gatorade.
Noble’s strategy seemed truly Heaven-sent in a year where great diversity in many contestants’ prayers led to scattered and disjointed petitions, broken up by repeated um’s and Dear Lord God’s — point killers, according to WPC Prayer Pontiff Evan Fielder.
“It’s awfully hard to change your pitches up mid-prayer,” Fielder reported. “We saw a lot of that this weekend, but the true veterans played it close to the vest.”
Surprisingly, this year’s Championship saw an unusually high number of stuttering penalties and “uneasy pauses,” even with an election campaign and two-front war going on.
“They got greedy,” explained Fielder. “Too much speaking in tongues, too many financial prayers and way too much of the Middle East. I understand the lure of the high degree of difficulty, but simple is best. And simple, my friends, is surgery.”
Meanwhile, Noble insists he won’t stop at four championships.
“As long as people keep getting sick and cancer goes uncured, I’ll keep coming back to get another W for my congregation. It’s like shootin’ Jesus fish in a barrel.”
Quote of the Day, 10/25/07
“I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.” — J. Austen
Battle of the Bands XXXII
Moving on are Plan B, Sheep For the Slaughter, and The Pangs!
Here are the next contestants, from Romans 9…
Bible Discussion — Romans 9
This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter in the book of Romans, Romans 9.
Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
And the book of Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3
Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I) | Ch. 8 (II)
INTRODUCTION:
David:
After introducing the concepts of calling, predestination, and election in chapter 8, Paul must now deal with the ramifications of these doctrines on his people, Israel.
Steve:
Paul turns a corner here, going from the exaltation of the last few chapters, to equal depths of anguish as he weeps over the condition of his countrymen, the Israelites.
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Steve:
Paul actually says the Israelite people “are not all Israel.” Much like Esau had the right blood, but the wrong heart, the current descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were focused on genealogy rather than God.
Chloe:
The Gentiles, who did not pursue righteousness, have obtained it by faith. The Jews, because they tried to gain righteousness by works, did not.
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Steve: The Same Lump
Chloe: Cursed and Cut Off
Doomed to Learn
It was a bright and beautiful day when we kicked off. The weather must have been sunny with a high of 75, not a cloud in the blue London sky. The traffic was moderate, only a few people honked at us, and before too long, we were on a train headed to Birmingham.
Two friends (Mike and Matt) and I were biking from Birmingham, England to the coast of Wales, 160 miles total, sleeping on the side of the road, and eating dried fruit and peanut butter and jelly. We had been planning the trip for weeks, everything had gone right, and now we were there, on the train, actually going on this grand adventure.
Birmingham was bigger than we anticipated. We hadn’t done much in the way of city cycling, and we didn’t know Birmingham. As the sun sunk lower, it got colder. We lost each other a couple of times trying to maneuver the rush hour traffic. Then I started shaking. My heart was beating irregularly, my legs were on fire, and I was dizzy. I was falling behind, so I jumped off my bike. Mike and Matt stopped ahead of me and waited for me to catch up. We had only been biking for about four miles. “I don’t think I can do this,” I announced.
They convinced me to try again, arguing that since I wasn’t out of breath, it was probably just the traffic throwing me off. They were sure I could do it.
But ten minutes later I was off my bike again, then again five minutes after that. Only then did they finally accept I simply could not handle this trip. So they went on, and I walked the bike all the way back to the station and caught a train home.
Throughout the next day, I learned that even the fittest person can’t just hop on a bike and go 160 miles in four days — that kind of work uses such specific muscle groups. It would take intensive training to take such a strenuous trip. But my mother didn’t share her similar biking experiences until I got home. My professors didn’t admit how worried they were until I admitted it was impossible. No one said I couldn’t do it. And knowing me, if they had, I would have made a point to prove them wrong.
There are so many lessons in life we must learn the same way. One of the hardest things is keeping your counsel when you know someone else is going through such a trial. But the lessons learned through experience will be lessons they’ll never forget, lessons that will increase their wisdom and make them more whole.
Mike and Matt returned home the next day because of a broken bike. I’m thankful all three of us got home safely. I’m thankful for the experience, for biking around London and Birmingham, for getting to know Mike and Matt better, and for getting to see firsthand how God humbles and protects His children.
And I’m thankful to the people who let me figure it out myself.
Joke of the Day, 10/24/07
A man felt ill, so he went to his doctor for a complete checkup. Afterward, the doctor came out with the results.
“I’m afraid I have some very bad news,” the doctor said. “You’re dying, and you don’t have much time left.”
“Give it to me straight, Doc,” the man said. “How long have I got?”
“Ten,” the doctor said, sadly.
“Ten?” the man yelled. “Ten what? Months? Weeks? What?!”
“Nine… Eight…”
Clash of the Titans LV: Speeding
| In this corner, against speeding, is Connie! | And in this corner, in favor, is Steve! | |
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I have six paragraphs to convince you that speeding is bad. These pesky little vices are difficult to argue. After all, we’re all guilty of them, and we can always find justification for an occasional offense. Gotta get to work, or the doctor’s, or school. But set that aside. I’d like to address the deliberate persistent Christian scofflaw. I don’t think anyone would argue that as Christians, we are called to obey the law, be good examples to our weaker brethren (not stumbling blocks), and not waste the liberty we’ve been given on fruitless pursuits. So I’ll move onto my next point — posted limits are set by the government for reasons of safety and gas consumption. The latest PR campaigns say that for every 5 miles you drive over 55 mph, you pay 10 cents more for that gas in your tank. Why drive all over to save 7 cents a gallon only to waste it by going over the speed limit? To save a few minutes? Just leave earlier! I want to spend the rest of my space on safety, because I believe the only reason Christians deliberately and consistently speed is that they’re ignorant and/or purposefully blind to the facts. Maybe they just need a little information. When speed increases from 40 mph to 60 mph, the energy released in a crash more than doubles (IIHS, 2003). The economic cost of crashes that involved excessive speed were $40.4 billion, representing 18% of total crash costs, and an average cost of $144 for every person in the United States. In states where speed limits were raised to 65 mph in 1987, the higher limits are causing 15-20% more deaths on rural interstates each year. In states that raised rural speed limits, more than 400 lives are lost each year because of higher limits (IIHS, 2003). In 2002, 39% of male teenage drivers in fatal crashes were speeding at the time of the crash. In 2002, 38% of all motorcyclists involved in fatal crashes were speeding. The percentage of speeding involvement in fatal crashes was approximately twice as high for motorcyclists as for drivers of passenger cars or light trucks. When Texas increased its speed limit from 55 mph to 70 mph, the average speed on a sampling of its urban freeways and interstate highways increased substantially. Prior to the increase, 15% of cars on these roads exceeded 70 mph and 4% went over 75 mph. After the increase, 50% were exceeding 70 mph, and 17% were traveling faster than 75 mph. When you speed as a Christian, you compromise your testimony — strike one. When you speed, you waste money, time and resources — strike two. And when you consistently break the law, you put yourself and others in very real danger — strike three. And you’re not just out, you could be dead — or worse, you could have killed the love of your life, or someone else’s. Try living with that. |
I don’t enjoy this. I don’t want to defend breaking the law, even one as soft and pliable as the speed limit. I’m writing this primarily out of duty, but I must admit — I do speed. Not by a lot, but I do. I’m guilty. And you are too. And sometimes it’s okay. First, let’s talk city. I drive about 5 mph over the speed limit on city streets, sometimes lower if no one is around, but often a bit higher when there’s traffic. And that’s the real reason I speed — the flow of traffic demands it. It’s one thing to stubbornly stick to the letter (or number) of the law when you’re Sunday drivin’ down a deserted lane, but driving 30 mph on a busy boulevard will get you tailgated and cursed. Frankly, 38’s safer. And if it’s true in town, it’s even truer on the highway. I drove 700 miles this past weekend — no lie — and 650 of those were on the interstate, where I travel somewhere between 72 and 75 mph. The most dangerous driver I saw was going about 95 mph (again no lie) and weaving in and out of traffic like a maniac. But the second-most dangerous driver I saw was driving 60 and chilling in the right lane of the Thruway. Traffic had backed up behind him for a quarter-mile, leading to dangerous lane changes and sudden surprises for those who came over a hill and encountered the mess. Like it or not, it is not safe to drive the speed limit on an interstate highway. And if you prefer to go 68, or 70, then — like the man told the woman — we’ve already established what you are; now we’re just haggling over the amount. The statistics on safety, quoted by my opponent, are compelling. Some are even accurate. For instance, it is more dangerous to crash at a higher speed. The data, however, suggest that states that have raised their rural interstate speed limits are actually some of the safest places to drive. Deaths in those states have declined drastically over the past ten years, as they have everywhere. You were 37% less likely to be injured in a car crash in 2005 than you were in 1995, when the national 55 mph limit was repealed. The IIHS is a group of insurance companies, whose motives for publishing such a study may not be entirely pure. They raise your rates for speeding tickets, remember? Of course they like low limits. But yes, excessive speed is dangerous. I can’t stand any reckless driving, especially when it endangers lives. Neither can the police. So they pull people over who drive 15 mph over the limit, or pay more attention to their phone than the road, or get behind the wheel when chemically impaired. The point of the law is to deter unsafe driving, and the speed limit is designed to accomplish that — with leeway built into the system. Officers can ticket a reckless 70 mph driver without having to resort to some subjective measurement of danger — but they can also let the safe driver continue at the same speed. So drive safely, at a reasonable speed, avoiding distractions. There’s no deadline — and no text message — worth your life. |
The Chick Tract Answer . . . From Hell
What was in the letter from a friend . . . in hell??
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If you picked “A poem asking why her friend never shared . . . the Gospel!,” you’re a winner!!
OOPS! There’s Baphomet again!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
Quote of the Day, 10/23/07
“The longer I live the more I see that I am never wrong about anything, and that all the pains I have so humbly taken to verify my notions have only wasted my time.” — G.B. Shaw
Cannibal Culture
Best of Job, September 2006.
I read in Smithsonian about a tribe in New Guinea that still practices cannibalism. The writer went deep up a dark river and found them, eventually, living in houses adorned with bones — with a life-expectancy of 31 years, from a cocktail of disease, war and famine.
Tenderly gaining their confidence, he discovered that they eat those they believe are witches or warlocks, whom they blame for slowly eating their loved ones from the inside out. If someone dies slowly, they blame it on the ones who spent the most time around them…
The brain is our tastiest part, I guess.
The most galling thing was how the writer (and the Dutch missionaries downstream, who had decided not to convert them, in order to save their pristine culture) “teared” up because so many of the people were leaving the jungle to seek life elsewhere.
Within 30 years, he stressed, these people’s way of life would be lost forever.
Which is, of course, 30 years too many.
I remember arguing with Dr. Arensen about this in class once. While he was one of my top three favorite teachers of all time, I took exception when he said a certain African culture was “leagues” ahead of the West because they didn’t have a word for “stealing” — the implication being that there was, therefore, no stealing in their culture.
I asked him if a culture lacked a word for “adultery,” but still practiced it, would it therefore not be a sin?
His exact words I don’t remember, but I recall him outclassing me with extreme and surgical precision…not dissuading me, but silencing me most definitely.
But…
Pristine, untouched — I see the pricelessness of these things in human terms. But while drawing a peace with evil religions, backward societal practices, and life-ending hygienic practices may be cerebral, literary and scientifically comforting, through the lens of Christ, it is still very, very selfish.
I find no reason to embrace Islam on any level. I embrace the Muslim, but only with the caveat of Christ.
I will never make that truce under the guise of accepting them on the basis of my greater depth and understanding — because it’s just selfish to not want to be hated for it.
The Council’s Ruling — Best Season
This and every Monday, the Bweinh!tributors, having convened in secret for hours of reasoned debate and consideration, will issue a brief and binding ruling on an issue of great societal import.
This week’s question — What is the best season of the year?
Chloe delivers the ruling of the Council, joined by Connie, Job, and Steve:
Summer. Sleeping out on the porch, drinking lemonade, playing games in the evening, family reunions, long afternoon walks, picnics, swimming holes, crick walking, wildflowers, sun, monsoon season, tans, breakfast on the patio…
Mike dissents, joined by Erin:
Winter — the world has to slow down every once in a while and take a day off.
Josh dissents:
Winter brings sledding, snowball fights, icicles, and the dream of a snow day.
Djere dissents, joined by David:
Hockey season — it’s the most wonderful time of the year.
MC-B dissents, joined by Tom:
Autumn/fall — the temperature is delightfully pleasant, and the beauty of nature abounds.
Next week: What is the least useful major in college?
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Favorite HS Subject
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by indoor plumbing: because the alternative is unthinkable.
These are the most enjoyable subjects in high school!
| Rank | Subject | Points | ||
| 1. | History/Social Studies | 27 | ||
| 2. | English | 23 | ||
| 3. | Gym | 16 | ||
| 4. | Writing/Journalism | 12 | ||
| 5. | Math | 11 | ||
| 6. | Biology | 7 | ||
| 7-9 (tie) | Lunch; Chemistry; Spanish | 6 | ||
| 10-12 (tie) | Geometry; Band; Science | 4 | ||
| Other | Computers; Chorus; Physics; Study Hall; Astronomy; Sociology; Politics; Accounting; Economics; US Law; Music | 1-2 |
Football Results (Week Seven)
This year, the Bweinh!tributors shall compete each week by proxy on the mighty gridiron!
The seventh week’s results
New England def. Miami; Dallas def. Minnesota; Cincinnati def. NY Jets
New Orleans def. Atlanta; Tennessee def. Houston
| Bweinh!tributor | This Week | Overall | GB | |||
| Steve; Djere; Josh | 5-0 | 26-9 | — | |||
| Mike | 5-0 | 25-10 | 1 | |||
| Tom | 2-3 | 24-11 | 2 | |||
| Erin | 3-2 | 16-4 | 2.5 | |||
| Connie | 4-1 | 23-12 | 3 | |||
| MC-B | 4-1 | 22-13 | 4 | |||
| David | 3-2 | 21-14 | 5 | |||
| Chloe | 3-2 | 12 wins | ||||
| Job | 2-3 | 12 wins |
By category
Avid fans: 89-36 (.712)
Slight fans: 47-23 (.671)
Uninterested: 97-58 (.626)
Joke of the Day, 10/22/07
“Nurse, I keep seeing spots in front of my eyes!”
“Have you ever seen a doctor?”
“No, just spots!”
Blessed Is He, Whosoever Is Not Offended In Me
These words appear in red, sent by Jesus in a message to John the Baptist as he lay in prison. John appeared to be faltering in his belief in Jesus as the Messiah. In their initial meeting, there were no doubts; in fact, he leapt for joy in the womb. 
At the next meeting, he saw the Spirit descend on Jesus like a dove, and proclaimed, “Behold the lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.” But after some time in prison, he sent a message saying, “Are you the one that should come, or do we look for another?”
Why would John doubt Jesus? Perhaps if you were in prison and the Great Deliverer, the Messiah, the Coming King — who happens to be your cousin — showed up, but you wound up in prison while His ministry grew so phenomenally that even there you hear reports about His fame, you might have some doubts yourself. You might expect a rescue or a pardon.
Have you truly never let your expectations about who Jesus is, and what He came to do, cloud your perceptions of life? I know I have. I want my bills paid on time. I want a clear path in life, with universally recognized milestones of achievement, so that anyone who looks at me can say, “Surely God is with him!” Instead I get the path that fits His plan, His timetable. His idea of success.
Local Car Commercials
I’d forgotten why I don’t watch local news anymore.
It’s not the quality or nature of the broadcasts — it’s the car commercials.
And it’s not the quality or nature of the commercials – all those liars have the same thing to say. It’s how they say it.
“Hi folks, it’s Tom Parks’ here…”
It’s how HE says it.
Though I’ve never met the man, I’d have no qualms about putting a boot through his face.
And I think that when I go back to work after lunch, I’m going to invent a new word.
Billy, you’re HUGE-tarded.
Quote of the Day, 10/19/07
“Multiculturalism is simply the state between two different cultures.” — J. Lileks
The Chick Tract . . . From Hell
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody). |
Shoes in the Room
One of the most amazing things about living creatures is their ability to adapt to almost anything. Life exists at every extreme of climate in this world, and it hangs on through great adversity. Much of what is defined as evolution is simply the result of acclimatization, as outside pressures produce long-term, beneficial changes in the way plants and animals live.
This is no less true about humans. Just in the past few years, I’ve visited rocky crags in Maine, forest-covered mountains in New Hampshire and New Mexico, swampy, humid Georgia and Washington D.C., and oppressively hot and crowded Juarez. People live, happily, there and many far worse places.
People make their homes at the extremes of hot and cold, wealth and poverty, joy and despair. They do things they never dreamed they could, for good and for ill, and once having done them, usually forget what life was like before. Very few can imagine living on any less money than they make right now. Give them more and you’ll be amazed how quickly they feel the same way.
Psychologically, once we get accustomed to something, once we internalize it as part of our normal environment, we become capable of dealing with it unconsciously. I think this is why seasonal change is so gradual. A week of slight chill, then a return to sun; a cold wind followed by a shorter break of warmth — until finally, when the first flakes of snow come down, they just seem right.
I am told that my brother Djere hated wearing shoes as a toddler. The very idea could send him into a screaming fit, the likes of which only The View provokes now. My parents eventually discovered that the secret to eventual acceptance was to simply put the shoes in his room for a while. No demands, no requests, just the presence of the shoes. After a while, he got used to them. Soon the shoes went on calmly.
There are some things with which we should not and must not make peace. For all the concern about drastic external impositions on our culture and our church, I worry much more about the process of gradual compromise, starting in my own life.
What have you become accustomed to? What ground have you surrendered by default?
Get rid of the shoes.
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Political Issues
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by DX-Ball: the computer game that best defined the turn of the century at Houghton College. Accept no substitutes!!
Sometimes? Sometimes it makes you hit the kill paddle.
| Rank | Issue | Points | ||
| 1-2 (tie) | Iraq/Iran; Terrorism/National Security | 20 (2) | ||
| 3. | Health Care | 19 | ||
| 4. | Abortion | 10 | ||
| 5. | Poverty | 9 | ||
| 6. | Taxes | 6 | ||
| 7-8 (tie) | Immigration; Zombies | 5 | ||
| 9-10 (tie) | Social Security; Judicial Nominations | 4 | ||
| Other | Environment; Lobbyist Reform; Foreign Aid/Int’l Dev’t; Gas Prices; Welfare; Campaign Finance Reform; Education; Corporations; North Korea | 2-3 |
The Nameless Answer
Which literary device was not used in this tract??
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If you picked “Tragic flaw,” you’re a winner!!
Almost every Chick tract is an allegory, with characters representing the three main categories of people: those who die in their sins, those who hear the Good News and repent, and those who hear the Gospel, but reject it.
“The Abyss” is an important motif in this tract, and the first trip there foreshadows the second.
No tragic flaw (a single characteristic leading to one’s downfall) exists in the protagonist, however.
OOPS! There’s Baphomet again!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
Joke of the Day, 10/18/07
A man came to the doctor’s office with a cucumber up his nose, a carrot in his left ear, and a banana in his right ear.
“What’s the matter with me?,” he asks the doctor.
The doctor says, “You’re not eating properly!”
Battle of the Bands XXXI
Moving on are Free and Will Is Present; here are the next contestants, from Romans 8!
Bible Discussion — Romans 8 (Part Two)
This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter in the book of Romans, Romans 8. Romans 8 Day continues!!
Again, joining us as guests are Capt. Steve Carroll, Rev. Dave Maxon, and Maj. Doug Jones!
Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
And the book of Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7
RANDOM THOUGHT:
Maj. Jones:
There is now no condemnation. Satan can’t condemn. Jesus won’t condemn. We shouldn’t condemn ourselves; unfortunately, we sometimes forget that truth.
MC-B:
This would easily make my top ten list of chapters of the Bible that a Christian should be extremely familiar with.
Steve:
Freedom from the Law was one thing, but for us to be described not only as children of God, but “joint heirs with Christ,” is an unimaginable honor. We will be glorified together.
Mike:
What is the difference between foreknowing, predestining, and calling? Why does Paul draw this difference?
Pastor Dave:
“For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” If people ever truly understood the depth of God’s love towards us, it would radically change their Christian experience in a positive way. Gone would be all those nagging thoughts — “He doesn’t love me,” “What did I do wrong to deserve this,” “What am I being punished for,” “Am I saved?” We would all walk with encouraged hearts, full of anticipation, knowing that no matter what’s around the next bend in the road, our ever-present help in time of need, the Lover of our souls, was with us.
Capt. Steve:
At night, when I am putting my son to bed, I often tell him, “Of all the little boys in the whole wide world, your Daddy loves you the best.” What am I going to say if my wife has another boy?
Erin:
What does it mean for the Spirit to intercede for us with groans?
David:
This chapter presents Christians as “spiritual” people, while Jude presents the wicked as “sensual” people. Are we being led by our senses or the Spirit? All that is in the world — the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life — are not of the Father, but of the world (1 John 2:16).
WHERE IS JESUS IN THIS PASSAGE:
Capt. Steve:
“At the center of it all.” He provided the means of this new life. He Sent His Spirit, who empowers and frees us from sin’s control.
Djere:
Not condemning, rather, having set us free, He is raised from the dead!
MC-B, Connie, Pastor Dave:
Everywhere — without Him, there is no way that humanity can approach God in order to have the relationship with Him that is detailed by this passage.
Erin:
This passage is all about Paul trying to understand Jesus!
Mike:
He is the pattern for the life of this new family, the church, and the giver of the Spirit which animates the life of this new family.
Chloe, Josh:
At the right hand of God, interceding for us.
Maj. Jones:
Jesus is throughout the entire chapter, beginning with freedom from condemnation and sin, making us joint heirs of the kingdom, keeping us firmly in His hands through any and every trial.
David:
In 8:32, being delivered up for us all.
VERSE TO REMEMBER:
Steve:
8:18 — “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”
Mike:
8:19 — “The creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God.”
Tom:
8:32 — “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?”
Chloe, Pastor Dave:
8:28 — “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”
Erin, Connie:
8:38-39 — “For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Capt. Steve:
8:6 — “For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.”
David:
8:14 — “For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God.”
Josh:
8:15 — “For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, ‘Abba, Father.’ ”
Djere, MC-B:
8:31 — “What then shall we say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?”
Maj. Jones:
So many verses, so little space — verses 10, 17, 26, 28, 31, and 35-39!
The Fall-Ness of Corn
Everyone knows that non-Brach’s candy corn gives you AIDS. Everyone, that is, who reads The Onion. Everyone also knows that Aztecs sing drinking songs about “maize, maize, potato.” Everyone, that is, who knows Seà n Cullen’s stand-up routine called “House.”
These facts notwithstanding, each fall I, my friends, and my family consume a healthy amount of corn — both candy and regular — but usually refrain from singing Aztec drinking songs. At this very moment, on my little table, my housemates and I have three ears of Indian Corn — that beautiful dry multicolored stuff — tied together as a centerpiece. As the days get colder and the weather decides, well, maybe I won’t spoil them after all with another month of 80-degree temperatures, we start to see how and perhaps why corn (“maize,” or scientifically, zea mays) is such a staple in our culture.
First, corn is a starchy vegetable, which makes it wonderful to add to soups, stews, and any light meal. One can often find “meat-lover” (often read as ‘vegetable-hater’) recipes trying to overcompensate for their lack of starch by being sludgy or including too much rice. Or they can be served over none other than — ta da! Cornbread!
Second, corn has been a staple in the Americas for much longer than the European colonization. Maize was one of the original “three sisters” — along with squash and beans — of the Native Americans of the Atlantic Northeast. Can anyone remember back to kindergarten, when a kindly older lady sat you and your classmates down, showing you how those silly Pilgrims were just starving away in the New World, until the kind and benevolent Native Americans came and shared their bounty, and taught the Pilgrims to grow corn, resulting in a rare thing: a cooperation and fellowship of two very different cultures?
In fact, corn only spread to the rest of the world after European contact with the New World in the 15th and 16th centuries. The rest of the story of the cultural exchange was not nearly so pleasant, if you recall.
We can also reflect on the delightful experience of toting oneself and a gaggle of confused friends around a maize maze — and the myriad of bad puns that can come from such an unfortunate homonym. Honestly, what could be better than understanding how a lab rat feels, except that instead of cheese, maize maze participants are usually promised cinnamon apple cider?
Corn is also on the forefront of science. It is being used to create biomass fuels such as ethanol since 2005, in efforts to reduce the cost of food, heat, and just about any other transported good affected by rising fuel costs; most of which increase in demand during the fall and winter months.
So although this little blurb is turning out a bit more argumentative than I had hoped, please know that I’m not trying to convince anyone to become a vegetarian, renounce other wonderful fall foods like chili or pumpkin pie, or even to support the University of Michigan (their colors may be blue and maize, but they are still your mortal enemy when it comes to football — believe me, root for Michigan State).
However, I am hoping that you’ll stop this fall and take some time to savor the colorful, healthy, knee-high-by-the-fourth-of-July, American-grown, Veggie-tales-forsaken, delightful fall staple that is corn.
And I’m not sure that candy corn counts.
Bible Discussion — Romans 8 (Part One)
This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter in the book of Romans, Romans 8. That’s right, it’s Romans 8 Day!!
And not only do we have almost-universal participation, but joining us as guests today are Capt. Steve Carroll, Rev. Dave Maxon, and Maj. Doug Jones!
Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
And the book of Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7
INTRODUCTION:
David:
This Chapter articulates the key difference between the world and the Christian. The people of this world walk in the flesh, “fulfilling the desires of the flesh, and of the mind” (Eph 2:3) — but “as many as are led by the Spirit, they are the sons of God” (Romans 8:14). The test to determine which you are is Romans 8:9 — “…ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit if . . . the Spirit of God dwell in you.” You must be born again of God’s Spirit.
Capt. Steve:
This is the kind of passage that I start reading quietly to myself, but by the end of the passage, I am shouting the words at the top of my lungs, and people are sticking their heads in my office to make sure everything is okay. “It’s all fine — I just got a little excited!”
Mike:
Set free from our slavery to death, we are made God’s beloved children. In a flourish, Paul declares that the calling of the children of God is the crowning moment for all of creation (v. 19-20) and that God’s love for his children never fails (v. 31-39).
MC-B:
This passage contains some of the most important tenets of Christian faith, so I suppose I should probably actually discuss this one, huh?
Maj. Jones:
Whenever I am asked about my favorite portion of Scripture, I always say Romans 8. As I now reflect and ask myself why, I am reminded of the assurance of life, liberty and the source of my joy and contentment.
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Pastor Dave:
How yellowed and worn, the edges of the page that holds Romans 8.
Capt. Steve:
The Holy Spirit is praying for us. How does that work?
Josh:
Verses 38-39 contain a fairly well-known list of things that cannot separate us from God’s love, but the list actually starts in verse 35.
Djere:
“Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” — The words “for us” are omitted in the NU text. I’d never noticed that before.
Mike:
The phrase in v. 2: “the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free…” Still wrestling with what precisely that means.
Connie:
The verses preceding Romans 8:28 are the ones that emphasize the Holy Spirit as our Intercessor. I always separate them and use them separately, instead of realizing that His intercession can lead us right to knowing HOW all things in our lives can and will work to our good, as long as we love Him and walk in His calling.
Steve:
It can’t be wrong or inappropriate to pray for God’s will in a situation — that’s precisely what the Holy Spirit is doing.
Maj. Jones:
Paul begins in verse 35 by asking who, but then lists many whats.
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Connie: Sheep for the Slaughter
Capt. Steve: Plan B
Chloe: For Your Sake
Tom: The Pangs; Indwells
Pastor Dave: Glorified; Foreknew
Djere: Firstfruits of the Spirit
David, Mike: Abba
Steve: Peril
MC-B: The Whole Creation
Erin: The Creation Waits
Josh: No Charge; Famine Nakedness Danger
Mentally Homeless
Imagine your doctor telling you that you are seriously ill. He books you into hospital for an operation. You go in, are shown to your bed and are asked what you want for supper.
The next day you sit by your bed, now familiar with the hospital and its regime. You wait patiently.
The next day is followed by another. Nothing happens. The days turn into weeks; and then months.
And one day a nurse says: ‘Tomorrow you are going home.’ ‘But I thought I was seriously ill,’ you say in surprise. ‘Oh, you are,’ she replies, ‘but our budget doesn’t extend to curing you. This is all we can afford.’
— John Bird, The Mail on Sunday, February 2007
This is the image John Bird presents of the way the UK deals with homelessness. Essentially, government-funded programs provide soup kitchens, hostels, clothing and flats to homeless people depending on need, urgency, and of course, funds. It’s a social program designed to keep legitimately poor people off the street. It generally does a good job of weeding out those who are homeless due to drug or alcohol addiction, which is why between 87 and 90% of homeless people in London are there because of addiction.
John Bird is one of the founding members of the Big Issue, a magazine which provides homeless people with 10 free issues to sell on the streets, then allows them to buy more magazines as they sell. The Big Issue is a not-for-profit organization, designed to enable the homeless to make a living and gain both the skills and the resources to rehabilitate themselves.
One would think that, as a founder of an organization aimed at helping the homeless, Bird would be sympathetic to them. Instead, he writes, “The people who are homeless through addiction are feckless, unstable, unreliable, incapable of holding down a job, feeding themselves or cleaning themselves. You take them into a hostel, patch them up and put them in State housing on benefits and they continue to kill themselves… They are ill and should be ‘sectioned’ — lifted from the streets and confined in the care of the mental health system, behind bars if necessary.”
Bird argues that, while not all homelessness can be attributed to addiction, those that are addicts need to be institutionalized and ‘reprogrammed’ in order to live stable, healthy lives. In England, there are a few institutions that deal exclusively in rehabilitating the homeless. Bird reports a 60 to 70% success rate.
Is addiction a mental disorder? Is Bird right in saying the homeless should be committed? What about people who aren’t homeless, but still struggle with addiction? Or is it just the homeless who are mentally unstable? What do you think?
Quote of the Day, 10/17/07
“Americans can always be counted on to do the right thing — after they have exhausted all other possibilities.” — W. Churchill
I’ve Run Out of Names For These Tracts
 
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody). |
Maxon’s Folly
Best of Job, September 2006.
A good friend of mine recently spent $75 and got a huge return on his investment. A shockingly good return that increases its value daily and, by all appearances, has no ceiling.
In fact, if Steve had been alive in March 1867, his $75 could have bought him 3,000 acres of Alaskan real estate — and many would have laughed at him. They would have said, most likely, that those funds could’ve been “spent on a fine buggy and horse of reasonable temperament, the right which being the good of the same, and with a full assortment of bits and collars for the beast.”
I’ve been thinking lately about what the best $75 I ever spent was, and I think it was a trip I made to Houston to thaw out once. Sunny, sublime and solitary, I was very enthusiastic for a while upon my return from the desert…
But that passes.
I spent $75 on my digital camera, the display model at Wal*Mart. I enjoy the thing but it is limited by my ineptitude.
I’ve spent the sum of $75 over and over again…and will many more times I am sure.
But I think the next time I have a disposable $75, I’m going to send it to Steve and tell him to go all Seward’s Folly on it for me.
Do it, Steve.
Daddy needs a new pair of shoes.
Clash of the Titans LIV: Soccer
| In this corner, a soccer fan, is Djere! | And in this corner, against the game, is Mike! | |
|
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL! GOAL! GOAL! GOAL! GOAL! GOAL! Hey there, sports fans! Whether you’re the spoiled spawn of a disinterested suburban trophy wife or more useful to your parents tending the cassava fields than at school, everybody loves soccer! Scratch that: everybody loves fútbol! Here in America, it used to be that we would raise a collective yawn every four years for soccer’s World Cup, knowing full well that nations we could literally wipe off the face of the planet would make our best and brightest look like a high school junior varsity squad. But things are changing! Soccer in America is the most popular organized children’s sport, and being a soccer mom is hip! Everybody wants to be a soccer mom… even Mike! With the addition of international footballers like David Beckham and Juan Pablo Angel, new clubs like FC Toronto, and the “Superliga” tournament pitting the best of the MLS against the best of the Mexican fútbol leagues, soccer’s on the rise. And why shouldn’t it? Americans are fat and lazy. The cure? Soccer! A soccer field looks familiar to Americans — a wider and longer NFL field, but players on the pitch run for almost 90 straight minutes, not stopping after every play to release a hip hop album. Americans lust for blood. The cure? Soccer! Hooligans riot for weeks when their teams lose a match to a rival! Players have been shot to death for scoring own goals! And when a player commits a penalty, the ref pulls out a card — he doesn’t toss a froofy kerchief to the four winds of heaven — and books the offending player. There are no coaches challenging the call on the field, no umpires spitting tobacco, and best of all, no John “Turducken” Madden. Americans want to be entertained. The cure? Soccer! Hands down, the single most aesthetically appealing points in any sport — bar none — are soccer goals. How many times can you see some 11-foot-tall college dropout reach up and place a ball in a basket? How long will you watch 14 400-pound college “graduates” slam into each other so 1 tiny man can dive over the blubbery mess into the end zone? Are you bored with jacked-up, ‘roid-ragers hitting little white balls over a fence with a stick? Soccer goals are quick and amazing at the pro level, the propulsion of a ball 30 or 40 yards with pinpoint precision. The spin, the physics, the drama, the beauty of a well-struck goal can cause entire nations to bless or curse. Not that Americans would know anything about that. What’s that? NASCAR’s on? YEE HA! |
I know that saying this will make me sound like a jingoistic pig, but would someone please explain what is so beautiful about the beautiful game? Three things that are not so beautiful: 1. Red cards. In my mind, if a team has to play a man down for the entire remainder of the game, there ought to be dismemberment of some sort involved. But because some guy, in the heat of the moment, tackles another in a particularly egregious fashion, all of the sudden he’s out of the game and his team is now forced essentially to hope for a tie? Really? When Paul Lo Duca whined and moaned through the Mets’ epic collapse, getting ejected from games, were the Mets prevented from using a catcher? No? Why? Because it’s ridiculous, that’s why. Oh, and by the way, that red card–all a judgment call. Not that the refs having all that power has ever led to corrupt officials. 2. Offsides. Okay, I’m snoozing my way through a game–oh, pardon me, a match — when finally — finally! — someone manages to break through all alone to face the goalie. For the first time, I raise my eyelids slightly, only to have the ref blow the whistle and inform everybody in attendance that the previous moment of heart-pounding excitement was an infraction of the rules. Oh good. Now I can go back to my sleeping, and the crowd can go back to their drinking, unconcerned that any substantive action may take place on the field–er, pitch–to distract us from those worthy pursuits. 3. Soccer parents. Something must be done about these people. I’m at a JV soccer match today at the local high school watching a girl from our youth group. A girl goes down on a somewhat hard tackle. The ref lets it slide and continues play. Behind me, a man, entitlement dripping from his lips, says, “Hey ref–what’re you looking at?” and proceeds to carry on an argument with the ref. In a crowd of 50 people max, this man, unencumbered by any sense of shame, barks at the ref at a girls’ JV game. Don’t tell me this happens to this extent in other sports. Soccer’s big here in the ‘burbs, where people have it all, but are in constant fear of losing it all. The incredibly dull nature of the game gives these people time to ponder the emptiness at the core of their lives and makes them even more agitated about it. Suddenly, a ref’s judgment call turns into a personal attack on my precious little Fiona! Hell hath no fury like a tight-lipped nervous suburbanite scorned. A vote for soccer merely perpetuates this insanity. Don’t do it! |
101-Year-Old Woman Demands to Speak to President Roosevelt About Son’s WWII Death
Best of Job, August 2006.
Vera Carter renewed her request Friday to speak to President Roosevelt about the death of her son, Private Hank Carter, a paratrooper who died on D-Day: June 6th, 1944.
“I want to speak to Mr. Roosevelt directly about Harold’s death fighting a rapidly-spreading fascist ideology that demands the violent annihilation of certain races and religions from the face of the planet,” Carter told reporters from her campsite across from Roosevelt’s Hyde Park home, where our 32nd President has been buried since 1945.
“I will not rest until I can tell him how annoyed I am that he had the guts to stand up to much of the world when it suggested that the mass ignorance that fueled Nazism should be left unchallenged and unchecked — and that he actually went ahead and did something about it.”
Vera went on to say that she thinks FDR probably knew about the Pearl Harbor bombing in advance, but allowed it to happen anyway, to give him an excuse to draft 16 million American men and fling them into a pan-global war to fill the pockets of his oil lawyer cronies.
Out-of-Context Chick Tract Answer!
 |
If you picked “Juan, praying,” you’re a winner!!
OOPS! There’s Baphomet again!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
Joke of the Day, 10/16/07
A young boy was in the garden, filling in a hole, when his neighbor peered over the fence. “What are you up to there?,” he asked.
“My goldfish died,” replied the boy tearfully, “and I’ve just buried him.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The man looked again. “But that’s an awfully big hole for a goldfish, isn’t it?”
Tim patted down the last heap of earth and replied, “That’s ’cause he’s inside your cat!”
The Council’s Ruling — Best TV Show
This and every Monday, the Bweinh!tributors, having convened in secret for hours of reasoned debate and consideration, will issue a brief and binding ruling on an issue of great societal import.
This week’s question — What is the best television series of our lifetime?
The Council was unable to issue a majority ruling on this issue.
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Holidays
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by the Game Genie! From Galoob!
What are the best holidays?
| Rank | Name | Points | ||
| 1. | Christmas | 47 | ||
| 2. | Easter | 29 | ||
| 3. | Thanksgiving | 28 | ||
| 4-5 (tie) | Independence Day; Talk Like A Pirate Day | 6 | ||
| 6. | Memorial Day | 5 | ||
| 7-8 (tie) | Canadian Thanksgiving; Christmas Eve | 4 | ||
| 9-12 (tie) | National Pause the World Day; V-J Day; Guy Fawkes Day; New Year’s Day | 3 | ||
| Other | Birthdays; Opening Day of Baseball; Halloween; Columbus Day; New Year’s Eve; Kwanzaa | 1-2 |
Football Results (Week Six)
This year, the Bweinh!tributors shall compete each week by proxy on the mighty gridiron!
The sixth week’s results
New England def. Dallas; Carolina def. Arizona; Cleveland def. Miami
Green Bay def. Washington; Baltimore def. St. Louis
| Bweinh!tributor | This Week | Overall | GB | |||
| Tom | 5-0 | 22-8 | — | |||
| Djere; Josh | 4-1 | 21-9 | 1 | |||
| Steve | 3-2 | 21-9 | 1 | |||
| Erin | 4-1 | 13-2 | 1.5 | |||
| Mike | 3-2 | 20-10 | 2 | |||
| Connie | 2-3 | 19-11 | 3 | |||
| MC-B | 5-0 | 18-12 | 4 | |||
| David | 2-3 | 18-12 | 4 | |||
| Job | 0-0 | 10-5 | 4.5 | |||
| Chloe | 3-2 | 9-16 | 10.5 |
By category
Avid fans: 72-33 (.686)
Slight fans: 39-21 (.650)
Uninterested: 81-49 (.623)
Quote of the Day, 10/15/07
“There are two kinds of people in the world: Those that divide everybody into groups, and those that overgeneralize.” — B. Pershing
Why We Believe, Vol. 2
This and following weekends, we will share the brief salvation testimony of each Bweinh!tributor. Next in line is Steve.
I became a Christian at age 5, having discovered the appendix to my Billy Graham-sponsored children’s Bible, wherein the good pastor laid out the plan of salvation in what must have been a simple yet compelling way. I prayed the prayer he suggested, and then followed its further instruction to go tell my parents. I think Mom was cleaning the kitchen or taking care of baby Thomas at the time, but she was more than happy to go through everything with me again to make sure I understood.
But being intellectually more mature than I was spiritually, my early childhood was plagued by doubt. Was my experience real? Did the name I called my brother, even when he deserved it, place me back in danger of the fires of hell? I don’t know how many times I re-committed my life with a furtive midnight prayer, but it may top 100. I remember reading a devotion that said salvation was so much more than escaping hell; to me, it still seemed the most compelling and effective reason.
Soon I was old enough to deal with other concerns, the rocks that so frequently ruin the soil. For several years, Christian summer camp provided more persecution than edification. There and elsewhere, I closely observed hypocrisy, how man often rewards the godly appearance of evil hearts. So many things people said and did in church were lies, meant to gain praise or attention. People I respected abandoned their families, slipped into debauchery and drugs. What was left to trust?
Intellectually, I knew the answer, and I knew deep inside that man’s fall does not diminish God’s power.
And so I carried on. I found myself adrift after college, with no idea what to do next, flagging confidence that I was in His will, and decreasing faith of any type. One desperate night, I actually wrote a letter, to God, to myself, explaining my doubts, my concerns about the vagueness of prophecy, the insufficiency of personal experience, how most Christians rely on other men to hear and explain the voice of God.
Yet even at this lowest point, I held onto unshakable belief, in divine Creation and the Resurrection. I cannot look at this world and its intricacies, and believe it was the result of mere chance. I cannot consider the history of the early church and the power of Jesus’ teaching, and conclude that so many would forfeit everything for what they knew to be a lie.
I had no instant, miraculous response. I went to sleep and woke up the next day with the same thoughts on my mind. Since then, I have again come to feel much closer to God, but even if I hadn’t, He would be no less true.
We must know that faith is so much more than how we feel; we must be able to explain what we believe, why we believe, in terms more substantive than “I just know it’s right.” In a world with so many competing beliefs and religions, how Jesus makes us feel is not what makes us — or Him — unique.
It’s what He did, and even more, what He’s still doing.
Say Cheese
Those who know me well will know that I don’t curse. Even those who know me only a bit will notice this about me fairly early on. In high school, I found this simple fact spoke volumes to classmates and furthered my witness.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t have substitute words that I’m all too happy to voice in moments of frustration, words that my mother’s delicate sensibilities would still deem a bit coarse.
Crap!
Dang!
Shoot!
The other day I was playing basketball with a young man who knew me not at all. My first clue came when he asked me without a trace of irony if I was really Tom, creator of MySpace (some in this neighborhood think I look like him). My second clue came when I missed a lay-up.
Cheese!
“‘Cheese’? What’s ‘cheese’?”
Huh?
“What does ‘cheese’ mean?”
“It means I lost the ball,” I told him.
He seemed a bit confused and dissatisfied with this explanation, until a short while later another errant shot brought the same exclamation. Turning to his friend he said, “Oh, I think ‘cheese’ means ‘Oh, #%@&.'”
Close enough.
Clash of the Titans XXVII: Legalizing Marijuana
| In this corner, supporting the legalization of pot, is Mike! | And in this corner, opposing marijuana legalization, is MC-B! | |
|
Those of you who know me as being perhaps on the theologically liberal end of the spectrum of Bweinh!tributors may be surprised to find out that I am essentially politically conservative. This is something that has developed in recent years, probably as I have grown older and responsible for running a household with my wife Jill. During our first year of marriage especially, we were not making much money. “How are we going to pay for it?” became a consistent refrain — when thinking of buying a car, new furniture or even a pizza for dinner. So while I hear and am genuinely moved by pleas for universal health care or raising the minimum wage, the question still pops up: “How are we going to pay for it?” Eventually, the answer comes to me: “You are . . . you and the rest of the tax base.” And while I ought to be ready and generous to give to worthy causes, I would just as soon not take the US government’s word for it in deciding what a worthy cause is. Just on the off chance that the US government decided something immoral was a worthy cause (perish the thought!), I would rather not have the mechanism already in place to force me to pay for it. We need the government to protect citizens from trampling each others’ rights; we don’t need a government determining right and wrong for individuals when that behavior has no impact on the lives of others. It is the same sort of logic that informs my position that marijuana should be legalized. I’ve never used marijuana; and not like Bill Clinton never used marijuana either. I’ve never used it, period. And I can’t imagine why someone would. But you know what? The threat posed to society at large by marijuana usage is minimal at most. It poses no undue risk to the general populace; it does not rob anyone else of their rights. Marijuana does not threaten to kill or injure anyone besides the user. And if people want to do things harmful to themselves, tobacco is already legal and shows no signs of becoming illegal. As far as I can see, the main reason for keeping marijuana illegal is that our government wants to send a message that it is abhorrent and dangerous behavior. I don’t condone marijuana usage. But neither do I want our government exploiting its power to determine what is abhorrent and dangerous. Remember, orthodox Christianity isn’t always pretty in the eyes of our government either, but it’s protected belief and behavior . . . for now. |
I guess I’m counted among the social conservatives of the world. Jonah Goldberg once described social conservatism (to me and my peers at SLU) as erring on the side of keeping things the same when change is proposed. He illustrated his point vividly — during the 1960’s, a significant number of hippie communes began suffering from terrible diseases no American doctor had ever seen. To make a long story short, it turns out the age-old traditions of bathing and personal hygiene were not just “the man’s” hang-ups after all. People are good judges of what is beneficial for them often enough that most decisions are safe in their hands; personal choice is one of the greatest tenets underlying philosophical liberalism and democracy. However, these also generally assume people are self-interested, and what’s good for me is not always good for you. Sometimes I can even be fooled into making a decision that’s good for me in the short run, but hurts in the long run. It’s a real shame that we don’t have a natural experiment to show what happens if otherwise responsible adults spend too much on expensive, addictive habits and not enough on their health, family, education, etc. But of course, we do. We could examine the effects of cigarettes, which cause cancer and eat up resources that could be used more productively. However, aside from addictiveness, tobacco does not have many of marijuana’s characteristics (no mind- altering experience, man!), so it’s probably better to compare marijuana to alcohol, a much more sobering comparison (pardon the pun). Both drugs produce an altered state of mind and can transform you into someone that you are not. Legalizing marijuana doesn’t just put it into the hands of homesick Europeans and responsible folks like you and me. It could also put psychoactive drugs into the hands of a welfare recipient who should be out looking for work or caring for his/her children, or a person getting behind the wheel of a car. Granted, there are still DUI/DWI laws, but think about what an unbridled success those have been and you’ll understand my desire to keep pot illegal. Such regulations barely deter anyway; few believe the risk of getting caught is significant. Finally, though I may be guilty of employing the slippery slope fallacy, it’s not a particularly good argument for legalizing marijuana. Why make anything illegal at all if the government cannot make moral judgments? Even protecting me from my neighbor implies my life is worth more than what’s spent on protection. Like most arguments, the argument about legalizing marijuana comes down to a matter of degree — to what degree will we let the government determine what Americans shouldn’t put into their bodies? I have no disdain for people who draw the line elsewhere, nor do they lack in morals, but I sincerely believe some people are not responsible enough to limit their detrimental behavior, so marijuana should remain illegal. |
Criss Angel, Mindfreak, Wins Nobel Prize in Physics
–STOCKHOLM, Sweden (AP)
Citing his entertaining videos, his unmatched experimental results, and his complete triumph over all known scientific principles, the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences has awarded the 2007 Nobel Prize for Physics to noted illusionist and raconteur, the creepy-looking Criss Angel, Mindfreak.
“Any old physicist can elucidate the quantum structure of electroweak interactions, as Gerardus ‘t Hooft did in 1999, or discover asymptotic freedom in the theory of the strong interaction, like Gross, Politzer, and Wilczek in 2004. Such things are to be expected,” announced Professor Gunnar Öquist, Secretary-General of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.
“But Mr. Angel, Mindfreak, levitated, walked through a pane of glass, and made millions aware of the amazing immunity of toothpicks from the laws of physics,” Öquist continued, stopping frequently to scratch his head and stare in wonder at the twitching, unshaven magician.
“Through his poorly-watched, critically panned television show, Mr. Angel, Mindfreak, is probably the single individual who has done most to create greater worldwide understanding of the field of physics. And that’s what matters to the committee. Not hard science, not results — slickly produced, factually questionable videos are what we want!”
Angel, Mindfreak, plans to use his multi-million dollar prize to finish his crowning achievement — a trick that will make his audience completely disappear.
The Glass Ceiling
I was sitting alone at a ministers’ luncheon some decades ago, watching my brothers interact with each other, when an important personal word came for me from the Lord. We had recently endured a meeting where one brother had spent 40 minutes proclaiming the KJV to be the only God-sanctioned text, and another where a well-respected man repeatedly said, “The Bible has more to say about finances than salvation.” Both things had grieved me, but being the youngest, newest member of this elite group, I didn’t challenge either statement. What grieved me more was that no one else did either.
As I watched them mill around before this next meeting, I could see the obvious deference they afforded one another — the “giving of honor where honor is due,” if you will — and I became conscious for the first time of the glass ceiling that inevitably comes with unity. God spoke to me at that moment: “Remain fiercely independent.”
I knew what he meant. They weren’t bad. They weren’t in grievous error. They just respected one another too much to challenge each other, and visibly hovering over the sanctuary, I saw this glass ceiling, beyond which they would not allow each other to grow.
I had just read a newspaper article commending the benefit of an independent nuclear France, and I have to admit it had become part of my thinking. The US and USSR were in a standoff for control of the world, and all the treaties we were signing, to the chagrin of the USSR, did not limit France at all. They were doing their own thing, an intangible the enemy could not control. They could rail all they wanted at the US and NATO, bully us into all manner of lopsided treaties, but they could not control the one other nuclear power who had hacked out an independent path, proclaiming, “Make all the treaties you want with what you believe to be the entire free world — we speak for ourselves!”
I purpose always, and only, to speak for myself in matters of faith. I hope, and pray, that when it’s all over, and I stand before God on judgment day, that I am not found to be a rebel. I just can’t say amen to things I don’t agree with, or don’t comprehend.
At a men’s advance (our church did not believe in retreating) in 1982, a bunch of us had stayed up late joking, and we fell into a speculative conversation where people threw out statements about God that all began with, “I think that God is…” At about 3 am, after several of these, Tom Altman said — in a very wise and solemn manner — “I believe God is oblong, ubiquitous, omnipotent and has no knees.”
Before we could even laugh, before the last syllable had fully died out, a dazed-looking brother across the table said loudly, “Amen, brother!,” as he had to everything else that night. Tom stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and said, “It’s time to go to bed.” And we all did.
I have to admit, I’ve been running from that conversation ever since. God, never, ever, let me say amen to something I don’t believe, or even comprehend, simply because I am among beloved brethren.
Joke of the Day, 10/12/07
Why couldn’t Mozart find his teacher?
Because he was Haydn!
Out-of-Context Chick Tract Excerpt!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody). |
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Dessert
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by Air Transat, the worst airline in the world!!
But don’t take our word for it — listen to yet another satisfied customer! Continued here!
Maybe You Don’t Belong In College
When I was at Houghton, back at the turn of the century, I was pressed into the school’s service to travel to Albany and beseech our secular elect to increase a specific financial aid program. We were successful in getting them to the $5,000 mark (our stated goal), which I’m sure had more to do with favors owed than the persuasive power of our delegation.
Of the events of that day, I best remember wishing — quite strongly, as I awkwardly balanced my lunch tray with one hand in the Capitol cafeteria — that I had remembered to bring a belt.
I tell you this to explain that I am not evil, a fact I ask you to mind as you read the next sentence.
FAR too many Americans go to college.
The four-year university has become an expensive infantilizing incubator for America’s young adults, one that extends the selfish angst of adolescence through a wasted half-decade of shirked responsibility and hedonism. Inasmuch as its focus on sex, alcohol, and sports is consistent with “real life,” it is perhaps the cause as much as the effect.
This country’s desire to increase college attendance has created a horde of clowns in gowns, proudly hoisting diplomas earned by average short-term memory and a skill for writing bright-sounding nonsense — or perhaps just an excellent aptitude for cheating. As someone who just spent three years on a university campus, I can tell you that I no longer trust the value of a four-year degree. Like Westley in The Princess Bride, “I’ve known too many Spaniards.”
As more and more unqualified, uninterested students stream through the doors of once-proud institutions, standards are lowered and curricula are changed. As Charles Murray wrote, in an article I discovered after writing half of this one, “[s]tudents who cannot follow complex arguments accurately are not really learning . . . [t]hey are taking away a mishmash of half-understood information and outright misunderstandings that probably leave them under the illusion that they know something they do not.”
Murray still assumes too much — namely, that most colleges even try to teach complex arguments to their undergraduates. Like any other business, they have adapted to the reality of the market — which demands a path broad enough to lead almost all to the goal of the degree. Businesses just hate to turn away paying customers.
Which leads me to the worst part of all: most students not only leave college no better educated, but they take away tens of thousands of dollars in crushing debt, which makes the habit of savings almost impossible to establish in those most pivotal early years. Here the cycle turns vicious, as many students who would have been best-served learning a useful skill or trade — which often pay more than ‘college’-type jobs and are frequently more rewarding — instead desperately search for a job “in their field” or out of it, anything to put food on the table and pay down the debt.
This five-year party comes with a lifelong hangover.
Say Chick II: The Exciting Conclusion
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If you picked “The boy dies of pneumonia,” WHICH NO ONE DID, you’re a winner!!
OOPS! There’s Baphomet again!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
Quote of the Day, 10/11/07
“Debate is masculine, conversation is feminine.” — A.B. Alcott
Battle of the Bands XXX
Moving on are Reckon and By No Means; here are the next contestants, from Romans 7!
Bible Discussion — Romans 7
This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter in the book of Romans, Romans 7.
Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
And the book of Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6
INTRODUCTION:
David:
If you believe Paul has been speaking about the purpose of the Law (with a few asides) ever since introducing the subject in chapter 2, then chapter 7 makes more sense — because it becomes a demonstration of what happens when the Law is applied to the flesh, rather than a peek into Paul’s personal failures.
The Law came to produce death, and it still produces death when we try to walk in “the oldness of the letter” as opposed to the “newness of Spirit” extolled in chapter 8.
Steve:
Look at what happens when we get a challenging chapter — everyone disappears! I bet they come back for the celebration that is Romans 8, but you can’t get there till you struggle through chapter 7!
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Steve:
How much Paul stresses that the Law was an innocent bystander in our murder by sin. At the very least, it seems to be the weapon by which sin brought death, produced evil desires, deceived us and killed us — but still he repeats that “the law is holy, and the commandment holy and just and good.”
Tom:
Relative complexity of a NKJV translation of 7-12.
David:
The word “oldness.”
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Steve: Free
Tom: Will Is Present
Josh: Utterly Sinful; Body of Death
David: Wretched Man
Best of Bweinh! — Prophets of the Rain
Best of Chloe, July 2007.
I won’t waste your time telling about the rain. You know the rain, its monotonous drip, drip, drip, its messy puddles and leaks. The rain is boring. It’s the oracles that are so alluring and stunning, the way they turn the storm into an electrical mess that muddles your senses and leaves you waiting for something both life-threatening and satisfying.
They come in the evenings, when it’s finally cool enough to go outside and work. If there’s a shed to be painted, a deck to be oiled, or lumber to haul, I can count on the clouds that hover like an alien ship to come crawling over the mountains in the south. These clouds aren’t blankets, oh, no. They are mountain ranges, arroyos, Grand Canyons flipped upside-down to create a skyscape that looms overhead and promises quite the show.
That’s how it starts, with the clouds. And then the birds begin to sing. I’ve heard that birds are most active before a storm, and the ruckus reminds me of an out-of-control high school class.
After the birds come the wind that, when it blows through the pine boughs, sounds like the tide on the wet sand. The wind brings with it the scent of the rain, that dusty metallic aroma of ozone. Then the air changes, an electrical charge that starts the birds off at a whole new decibel and pulls me further outside to feel the coming of the storm. Now the air is a rosy brown like old pictures and the wind chimes sing something familiar in the key of G and any moment now, any moment now, any…
The first drop is teasing, as if the clouds are demanding proof that I really want this deluge they’ve been dangling in front of me all evening. I reply with a shiver that can only come to a person who has been glorying in three-digit temperatures. Another drop falls and the old picture fades into a fog as that strange sheet comes tearing across the valley straight for me.
I won’t waste your time telling you about the rain. It is a disappointment, ten minutes of downpour that will evaporate in half the time. It wasn’t the rain I came out to see, though. It was the prophets of the rain.
Joke of the Day, 10/10/07
A blind man decided to visit Texas. When he got on the plane, he felt the seats and said, “Wow, these seats are big!” The guy next to him said, “Everything is big in Texas.”
When he arrived in Houston, he got to his hotel and headed to the bar. He ordered a beer and got a mug placed between his hands. “Wow, these mugs are big!,” he exclaimed. The bartender replied, “Everything is big in Texas.”
After a few drinks, the blind man asked the bartender where he could find the bathroom. “Second door on the left,” he said. The blind man headed down the hall, but tripped and missed the second door. Instead, he entered door #3, which led to the swimming pool, and he fell in. Scared to death, he started shouting, “Don’t flush!! Don’t flush!!”
Dear Mr. Gardner
Two months ago, I mentioned possible upcoming changes to the design and content of our site, changes that have as yet gone unmade. Our schedules are such that it’s difficult enough to meet our weekly deadlines, let alone attempt a drastic overhaul — and if I lack skill at anything, it’s automotive repair.
But if I lack skill at anything besides automotive repair, it’s art — especially the principles of graphic design. I like text a little too much for anyone’s taste, I fear.
So when I happened across this post, offering to give away a very nice new WordPress theme that incorporated several of the changes I wanted to make to the site…..well, I knew I couldn’t rest until I took a stab at that.
In his post, the author (Brian Gardner) said he was a creative person and the post didn’t need to meet any special requirements, so — falling back on what I know best, I present to you:
The Top Ten Reasons Bweinh! Should Win A Copy of the Revolution News Theme
10 — Our current theme was also designed by Brian, so I won’t need to write an awkward “It’s not you, it’s us” email
9 — The Bweinh!tributors and Brian actually have a lot in common — we’re about the same age, we have similar interests (especially football and coffee), and we’re unashamed followers of Christ.
8 — A man who loves both Jewel and Sarah McLachlan? Clearly born to design!!
7 — We have seven months of interesting Clashes and Bible discussions that deserve the more focused exposure the new theme can give them!
6 — If we weren’t on a watch list after Job’s article about taking over Rome with dirt bikes and crack, switching to the “theme” of “Revolution” should just about cement it!
5 — With daily articles, recurring features, polls, and a variety of other rapidly changing content, Bweinh! is precisely the kind of site that will bring out the best in the theme
4 — In the name of love and tolerance, we’re willing to overlook Brian’s interest in the Dave Matthews Band
3 — Bweinh! is an existing, well-established website with a seven-month track record of daily posts and an audience of over a thousand visitors each week!
2 — Brian says that 12 months ago, “he knew nothing about blog design.” Neither did we!
And we still don’t!
And the Number One Reason Bweinh! Should Win A Copy of the Revolution News Theme….
1 — Although clearly the decision won’t be easy, Bweinh! combines a creative entry, good daily content, and the perfect type of site for the theme!
So thanks for the opportunity, Brian, and everyone else, wish us luck — the contest ends Wednesday afternoon!
Mediation
I read a play once entitled “Art,” by Yasmina Reza. I don’t know how many of you will have read it, but frankly, I did not get it the first time through. Like most art, in fact.
Call me uncultured, shallow, unperceptive, base, but there happens to be quite a lot in the world that I can’t help but admire mostly for its aesthetic quality upon first glance.
I’m not the type of person to identify a natural nimbus right off the bat, or to make some sort of correlation between Henry VIII’s codpiece and the monarchy’s propaganda. It just doesn’t occur to me.
The play “Art,” now that I have spent considerable time discussing and enjoying it, actually has quite a bit to say about a person’s opinions on art. The plot revolves around 3 friends and their arguments about a painting, about 3 feet by 5 feet, completely white, with white lines running across the center. The man who bought the painting (Serge) is totally enamored with it, because it was expensive and painted by someone presumably famous. His good friend Marc thinks it was a ridiculous waste of money and isn’t impressed. The third man, Yvan, continually tries to make peace between the two, revealing how trying to please everyone rarely works — but may be the only chance for living that we have.
What opinions, judgments, or appreciations of art that I have at first glance seem to me to be kind of a mediating factor between the “greatness” of the piece of art itself (I’ve looked at quite a few “great” pieces of art and completely missed their artistic or historical significance) and the popular reception of that art. Oh sure, Van Gogh may have been a wonderful, talented man, but I can’t get into his work.
Perhaps the opinions that we all hold on things as enigmatic as art and music are really the only chance we have for thoughtful discussion, spirited argument, and living in a way that doesn’t just melt all our ideas together until nothing original is recognizable.
After all, to quote Reza, “If I’m who I am because I’m who I am and you’re who you are because you are who you are, then I’m who I am and you’re who you are. If, on the other hand, I’m who I am because you’re who you are, and if you’re who you are because I’m who I am, then I’m not who I am and you’re not who you are.”
Say Chick!!!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody). |
Why I’m A Bad Person
Best of Job, July 2006.
When I worked at CSJ, the bulk of my compensation was free education in the form of the school’s MBA program. While taking those classes, I also signed up for a web design course, because it was on a morning, between meetings, when I wouldn’t be doing anything else.
When I was tying up loose ends and preparing to leave for good, I got a bill in my campus mailbox for $7.97 in lab fees for that Web course. I know that’s just the price of dinner at Subway, but I was sure it was a mistake, and dropped it off with the accounting office on the way back.
The next day, it was back in my box, the $7.97 circled in red ink, with a note beside it — “Job, please pay this before you leave. Thanks.”
So I went back to my room, scared up my job description and found — in black and white — that my compensation included all tuition, lab and activity fees for any courses I took, up to 16 credits a semester.
With that in my back pocket, I went back down to Accounting and explained I was the men’s RD, and that I shouldn’t be charged. I was referred to the head registrar (the president’s wife). She told me the job description was mistaken, that RDs had paid lab fees for years.
I stared blankly.
“It’s not my mistake on the job description.” I signed a contract based on this — the typo was their problem, not mine.
It was an incredible standoff, one of the more surreal of my life.
She was “sorry,” but “she couldn’t see any way around the billing process,” without me having to pay it.
My boss had already quit and left, and my new boss was my brother — I couldn’t very well have him fight this for me. I felt so dumb that it was over $7.97, but the principle of the matter, and her inability to understand the simple reality of a contract dumbfounded me.
I was very angry. So I asked what would happen if I just didn’t pay it.
They would never release my transcripts.
So I left, not wanting to make the scene any sillier than it already was. At the time I figured I’d never care about the transcripts. But 2 semesters of a master’s degree being what they are, I knew I might eventually want them.
She kept sending me the bill. Once a week. Every week. With a real, live 37-cent stamp placed carefully in the corner. And I remained filled with unholy rage.
So I waited — and I counted the stamps. After week 22, they had spent more money on the stamps to collect the bill than what the actual bill was worth.
22 theses nailed to their door…
And I finally found my peace to pay the $7.97.
The Balloon
Best of Job, July 2006.
Based on a true story.
I knew a guy once with the worst broken heart I’ve ever seen, a sullen, moping, sleepless affair that went on — by my recollection — over a year. He was inconsolable, and no matter how hard we tried to cheer the lad up, or divert his attention, it all failed.
He had this box, see, with all “her” stuff in it. Notes, gifts, tickets to the fair. And he’d pull that dang box out and go through it, picking at that scab. His eyes would get puffy, and his night would melt away into a spiral of despair.
The worst item in the box was the balloon.
It was his birthday party. She’d blown up a bunch of balloons and he’d kept them.
She dumped him the next day.
The string holding the balloons got stuck in his fan and pulled them in, popping them one by one. He awoke with a fright, saw what was happening, and pounced on that poor fan like it were a sentient being. He ripped the cord from the socket and — freeing the tangled mess — tossed it violently against the dresser.
One balloon remained.
It was most precious, you see, because it was her breath inside that latex. Air, “from when she still loved me.” The most precious carbon dioxide on the planet. But the balloon was getting smaller and smaller, as the love air escaped. He was beside himself — he Googled it, he asked science professors roundabout questions. It was an unholy obsession.
He finally decided to place the balloon inside a Ziploc bag, “the best money could buy, with the color-seal guarantee and all that,” then pop it from the outside, containing her breath that way. My friends and I thought about stealing the balloon, popping it right in front of him and just letting the poison bleed out . . . letting him get on with things.
But we wouldn’t have to.
I was there when he put on a pair of gloves and carefully plucked the dimpled, misshapen, somber-looking old balloon from off the desk. He was breathing heavily — enough to fill a thousand balloons. I was holding the best Ziploc bag money could buy, a real humdinger, a double-sealed NASA-looking thing. My breathing was somewhat labored as well.
Carefully, so carefully, he lowered the balloon down inside with both hands.
He stopped.
“What is it?,” I whispered.
“Shhhh,” he said, his face suddenly choked with concern.
His hands moved slightly. It was a tight fit, and he gulped. Pushing it further or removing his hands would require slightly depressing the balloon. He gulped again and looked at me.
He whispered now. “Cut it off.”
“Cut what off?”
“The bag! Abort, abort! Cut the bag loose, it’s gonna pop.”
“Are you sure??”
“Yes!” His eyes flashed. “Do it now,” he snarled.
I grabbed the scissors from his desk and began to cut the bag from around his wrist.
Hiiissssssssssssssssssssss…..
He fell to his knees and I watched the most horrific sight of my life, as he wildly, frantically sucked the air from the breach and then — tears pouring down his cheeks — stuffed the husk of the balloon into his mouth . . . sucking the last air from it.
He crumpled into a heap, sobbing uncontrollably, his shoulders heaving rhythmically into his desk chair.
I could do nothing. I just left him there to mourn in quiet.
Her love — her love had lost its lungs.
To Get to the Oth — Nah, It Was Catholics, That’s Why! And Masons!
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If you picked “A homosexual Mason terrorist,” you’re crazy!!
If you picked “A Mason,” you’re the winner!!
OOPS! There’s Baphomet again!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
Quote of the Day, 10/9/07
“You must never be satisfied with losing. You must get angry, terribly angry, about losing. But the mark of the good loser is that he takes his anger out on himself and not his victorious opponents or on his teammates.” — R. Nixon
The Council’s Ruling — Best Playground Equipment
This and every Monday, the Bweinh!tributors, having convened in secret for hours of reasoned debate and consideration, will issue a brief and binding ruling on an issue of great societal import.
This week’s question — What is the best piece of equipment on a playground?
Job delivers the ruling of the Council, joined by Tom and Mike:
Swings are hands down (and feet up) the best. Swinging can be a solitary or social activity, of varied pace and adventure level, and use is limited only by weight-bearing capacity.
Chloe also concurs in the judgment, joined by Djere:
The swings provide a freedom and weightlessness that doesn’t require the use of drugs or danger.
David dissents, joined by Josh and MC-B:
The spinning thing that you jump on after you get it going real fast by running and pushing it.
Steve dissents, joined by Erin:
The monkey bars allow you to clamber and hang, swing and dangle, and to be precisely as adventurous as you dare.
Connie dissents:
The park bench, because it allows me to pause and reflect on the world while simultaneously avoiding all the other vertigo-causing apparatuses.
Next week: What was the best TV show of our lifetimes?
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Pro Sports Teams
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by Christopher Columbus, explorer and hero.
From one essay:
Ultimately the American Indians as well as the Europeans benefited from Columbus’ great discovery. . . Human sacrifice and cannibalism were ended, and the Indians were almost all converted to Christianity. . . Spanish law never recognized Indian slavery. And, back in Spain, a prolonged debate . . . finally convinced the highest authorities . . . that the Indians had souls equal before God to the souls of white men, and rights equal before the law to the rights of any Spaniard.
Our favorite professional sports teams —
| Rank | Name | Points | ||
| 1. | New York Yankees | 20 | ||
| 2. | Philadelphia Flyers | 16 | ||
| 3. | Arsenal (English Premier League) | 8 | ||
| 4-5 (tie) | New York Giants; Philadelphia 76ers | 7 | ||
| 6. | New York Mets | 6 | ||
| 7-10 (tie) | Kansas City Chiefs; Boston Red Sox; Kansas City Royals; Philadelphia Phillies | 5 | ||
| Other | Aston Villa (English Premier League); Red Bull New York (Major League Soccer); Philadelphia Eagles; Edmonton Oilers; Denver Nuggets; Buffalo Bills; San Francisco Giants; New York Jets; Detroit Red Wings; Syracuse Crunch (American Hockey League); New York Islanders; Los Angeles Lakers; “anyone but the Red Sox”; West Michigan Whitecaps (Midwest League – baseball); Watertown Indians (NY-Penn League – baseball, now-defunct); San Antonio Spurs | 1-4 |
Joke of the Day, 10/8/07
A man walking down a country lane passed a farm, where he saw a pig with two wooden legs, one in front, one in back. He called out to the man walking in the pasture, “How did your pig get those wooden legs?”
The farmer headed over. “This pig is really somethin’ else! One day my son got trapped under the tractor, and this pig came out the barn and got me, just in time to free him! This pig saved my boy’s life!”
The man was amazed, but still curious. “But how did he get the wooden legs?”
“When the house caught fire, this pig gone inside and dragged my wife out through the flames!”
“Wow! Is that why he got the wooden legs? Burns?”
“I’m not done — I was down by the river and an alligator done come out and snap at me. This pig fought the alligator off and let me escape with both my legs!”
“So that’s how he got the wooden legs? The alligator bit him?”
The farmer shook his head. “No, no… A pig this special? Can’t eat him all at once.”
Football Results (Week Five)
This year, the Bweinh!tributors shall compete each week by proxy on the mighty gridiron!
The fifth week’s results
NY Giants def. NY Jets; Pittsburgh def. Seattle; Dallas def. Buffalo
Tennessee def. Atlanta; Indianapolis def. Tampa Bay
| Bweinh!tributor | This Week | Overall | GB | |||
| Steve | 5-0 | 18-7 | — | |||
| Tom; Josh | 5-0 | 17-8 | 1 | |||
| Connie; Djere; Mike J | 4-1 | 17-8 | 1 | |||
| Erin | 4-1 | 9-1 | 1.5 | |||
| David | 4-1 | 16-9 | 2 | |||
| Job | 0-0 | 10-5 | 3 | |||
| MC-B | 4-1 | 13-12 | 5 | |||
| Chloe | 1-4 | 6-14 | 9.5 |
By category
Avid fans: 62-28 (.689)
Slight fans: 33-17 (.660)
Uninterested: 62-43 (.590)
Why We Believe: Vol. 1
This and following weekends, we will share the brief salvation testimony of each Bweinh!tributor. First in line is David.
As a typical bad kid growing up in Watertown, NY in the 1970’s, I found my way into alcohol and drugs at an early age, which led to petty crime to buy cigarettes, pot, beer and wine. Dad was Catholic and gone most of the time, and Mom was Baptist, working hard to raise 4 kids by herself. She sent us to the Baptist church for a while, but that stopped when she found out we were going to the bus station and spending the offering money in the vending machines on the way to church.
When I was 17, I found myself in jail (the city lockup) for the fourth time that summer. During that night, God spoke to me for the first time in my life, saying, “You’ve seen what the world has to offer — now watch what I can do for you.” Two weeks later while I was home alone, God showed up again and said, “He (the devil) has had you for your entire life, but if you want to, you can give your heart to me and belong to me.”
The rest of the conversation went like this:
“Who are you?”
“Jesus.”
“Send my sister to pray with me, because I don’t know who you are or what you want.”
“No, when you stand before Me to be judged, there will be no one else there but you and Me. This is your decision.”
“Come into my heart and be my personal Lord and savior.” (a prayer Dave Maxon had told me about)
Instantly I went from being a skinny, long-haired punk who was lost and going to hell, to being a skinny, long-haired punk who was saved and going to Heaven. I’m still headed for Heaven, because of what Jesus did in dying for my sins on the Cross, and revealing Himself to me that day.
The Hube
A couple weeks ago I received a call from a student at Houghton College, working the phone lines for the Houghton Fund. She shared with me that she was a freshman and proceeded to go through her scripted routine designed to extract money from me.
One of the first psychological tricks of her routine was to ask me what my favorite memory of Houghton was. I must confess, I was caught a bit off guard. How to sum up four of the greatest years of my life thus far into one memory? I hemmed and hawed rather unimpressively, grasping at straws.
Then she moved onto her next selling point — how Houghton is still impacting students. For this portion she tried to tell me what Houghton meant to her. I tried to listen but I just kept thinking, “Wait, you’ve only been there for three weeks! And you have to call alumni and try to tell them what Houghton is? That’s hilarious!”
I decided not to share my amusement for fear of embarrassing the poor girl. She did a nice job. I made a donation.
As luck would have it, a week later I received a visit from one of my college roommates, someone I’d not seen in five years, the one and only Hubie Hostetter. I had a chance to redeem my earlier favorite memory debacle, as we sat recounting all the things we missed about Houghton.
We miss intramural sports, be it soccer, basketball, team handball, or especially inner-tube water polo. We sure didn’t win many games, but our teams always had great camaraderie, and game night was always a highlight of the week.
We miss meal times. Some people couldn’t stop complaining about the food, but it sure was nice having someone prepare me three meals a day, all I could eat, with plenty of variety. And in my mind’s eye I can still look around the table and see the familiar cast of characters.
We miss our radio show on WJSL. We often dreaded going in, unsure of what we were doing or if anyone was listening, but always came out smiling. We’d get calls from guys in the dorm and all over the county, making song requests and trying to answer the weekly trivia question.
We miss the Shen Olympics. We miss inside jokes. We miss our Bible studies. We miss learning.
Hubie was only able to stay a few hours. We just sat in my living room, catching up and looking back. I don’t think we stopped laughing the entire time.
I sure do miss that guy.
Clash of the Titans LIII: Eating Healthy
| In this corner, eating healthy, is MC-B! | And in this corner, eating unhealthy, is Steve! | |
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Isn’t eating healthy awesome? Yeah, I know it is. Sometimes, you’ll go to the dining center or the kitchen or whatever and be like, “I want something delicious, but not too terrible for me.” Then you remember that big brick of soy that you have in the back of the refrigerator. Score! Just throw some ketchup (or mustard, for the rest of you) on that thing, stick it in the microwave, and in a minute or so you have the equivalent of warm meat loaf! (Culinary Tip: It’s easier to get the stuff down if you imagine that you’re actually eating a piece of an animal. One that was slaughtered in a humane manner. Maybe dead of old age.) Now, I know what you’re thinking. Isn’t eating healthy more expensive? Well, sure it is, but surely you’ll make up for that by reducing your trips to the doctor! Genetics, environmental factors, medical history and plain ol’ luck won’t have anything on you, once you’re armed with some sprouts — or even just an apple. Rock on! All I know is, on my deathbed, when I’m thinking about all the fattening meals I could have eaten in my lifetime, I’ll take solace in my rapidly dwindling health and the set of rock-hard six-pack abs that I was THIS CLOSE to developing, until I realized I’d need to put more complete proteins in my diet. That and actually do abdominal exercises. Yeah, on that day the icy nothingness of the great beyond won’t have anything on me. Until then, I’ll just keep on ignoring the eye rolls I get from people who haven’t seen the light, and continue annoying waitresses with my inane and often unfulfillable requests. Live long, live hard, and pass those greens! |
You know what’s really delicious? Besides The Golden Girls, Tom. Fatty food, that’s what! Let those hippie vegetarian longhair freaks eat their “tofu” and “pine nuts” and “lettuce”! True gastronomic connoisseurs like you and me, gentle reader, head straight for the top of the food pyramid — meats, cheeses, fats and oils! What are proteins and carbohydrates but a simple delivery system for the grease and sugar our bodies were designed to run on? You know how some children in South America carry bags of glue around to huff? I do that too — except with lard. A lot of people say, “Hey, man, put down the creme brulee! The healthier you eat, the longer you live!” That’s when I remind them that life ain’t worth livin’ without bacon, or pork rinds, or chocolate-covered bacon. Who wants to spend eighty years of torture choking down “fiber” when they can get in and out in half the time, with thrice the caloric goodness! Prolong the agony? Or go out with passion, like a shooting star, double-chin dappled with twin trails of mayo and meat sauce? I can tell. You’re a star. And I am too! I save my bacon grease to pour on my Extra Butter popcorn. I use my Magic Bullet to make a tasty Krispy Kreme cappuccino. I even carry four or five Triple Stackers in my briefcase — just in case Burger King ever runs out. So you can listen to my opponent and eat bizarrely unnatural green things, things people find in the ground — or you can live it up with me, while I wait for my second cheese fry refill at Ruby Tuesday’s. Me — and Estelle Getty. |
True Legends of the Fall
I have to admit I was disappointed when I found out that the movie Legends of the Fall was not about Reggie Jackson, or as we called him in the day, Mr. October. There, my friends, was a true legend of the Fall. This is the first week of October and, as you can tell, my thoughts have turned to baseball.
I became a fan in October 1972, when my mother bought 4 chances in a World Series baseball pool at work. She gave me a scrap of paper with the word Oakland and the number 2 scribbled on it in pencil. 
She explained that if the most runs were scored by Oakland in the 2nd inning, I would win money. I watched the opening game of the World Series that night for the first time in my young life and Gene Tenace hit a 2-run shot in the 2nd inning — giving me, and Oakland, the win. Four dollars and fifty cents! I was hooked. I didn’t win any more money after that first game, but I watched the rest of the series and rooted for Oakland.
They were playing Cincinnati, the Big Red Machine, with guys like Johnny Bench, Pete Rose, George Foster, Joe Morgan and Dave Concepcion. Oakland fielded a team with the likes of Dick Green, Joe Rudi, Gene Tenace and Sal Bando, but their pitchers were the real story: Rollie Fingers, Vida Blue and John “Blue Moon” Odom. Reggie was injured and didn’t play, so I didn’t become a Reggie Jackson fan until years later — just an A’s fan, and a baseball fan.
I lost interest in baseball eventually, but then in 1977 I turned on the TV and saw that Oakland was playing New York. I decided to watch the game for old times’ sake, and started out rooting for Oakland, but soon realized I didn’t know anyone on their team anymore. I did remember Reggie Jackson and Catfish Hunter, but they were playing for the Yankees — so, just like that, I became a Yankees fan. And wow! What a time to start following the Yankees! Willie Randolph, Chris Chambliss, Graig Nettles, Thurman Munson and, of course, Reggie. And 2 World Series wins!
If you saw any of The Bronx is Burning recently, I have to say it was a wonderful depiction of those days; especially the day Reggie hit 3 home runs on 3 straight pitches to win it all. Good memories. After Reggie left New York, I lost track of baseball again, and it took Derek Jeter, Bernie Williams and Paul O’Neill to bring me back again.
So far I have stayed for a decade or more and I’m looking forward to what this month will bring. Can they win again? Who will be the hero if they do? I’ve never seen anything to compare to Reggie’s performance in 1977 (I still have a REGGIE BAR candy wrapper stashed away in a safe place), but perhaps this could be the year a new Legend of the Fall is born.
Quote of the Day, 10/5/07
“Great art can be made out of love for religion as well as rebellion against it. But a totally secularized society with contempt for religion sinks into materialism and self-absorption and gradually goes slack, without leaving an artistic legacy.” — C. Paglia
Why Did The Chick Tract Cross The Road?
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody). |
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Favorite Male Names
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by the man with the action-packed expense account, America’s fabulous freelance insurance investigator — yours truly, Johnny Dollar!
| Rank | Name | Points | ||
| 1. | Stephen/Steve | 12 | ||
| 2. | David | 9 | ||
| 3-6 (tie) | Joshua; Jonathan; John; Djere/Jeremiah | 8 | ||
| 7. | Michael | 7 | ||
| 8-12 (tie) | Seamus; Austin; Elliott; Loyal; Jack | 5 | ||
| Other | Sullivan; Tyler; Victor; Ulysses; Maximus; Christopher; Duncan; Dallas; Fernando; Remember; Thomas; Matthew; Jacob; Stuart; Houston; Adam; Cooper; Reckoner; Daniel; Chase; Paul; Eamon; Lubbock; Ringo; Asa; Winston; Jimmy | 1-4 |
This Chick Has YOUR Number
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If you picked “Great Britain abandoned the nation of Israel,” you’re a winner!!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
Last One, I Promise
I just can’t resist, I’m sorry. Part of it is that I find the issue interesting, but more than that, I just want to help these people get better. And honestly, I’m slightly annoyed that they refuse to approve the comment where I linked to this site. The previous articles are here and here.
We’ll just have to settle for being the only site people find when they search for theirs. Onto it…
[T]he revolution has noticed a few distinct responses to our actions; people either despise us for the right reasons, admire us for the wrong reasons, or, what we feel is the proper response, feel that we are irrelevant and idiotic.
Wow. So much self-loathing, so little time. If there are right reasons to despise someone, isn’t it the proper response to, say, despise them? Why can’t there be a middle ground, for someone who just desperately wants them to keep taking themselves so seriously?
Consider that you were to die tomorrow, or consider what it would be like if the whole school were sucked into a chasm, actually it’s probably best just to consider what it would be like to leave Houghton tomorrow and not come back.
Actually, it’s probably best to consider that sentence a hypothetical train wreck (maybe one that resulted from a math problem with the two trains leaving the two cities) and start fresh. If these guys keep stealing stuff, they might just find out what exactly it would be like to leave Houghton and not come back. Maybe they could go find that legendary sucking chasm, down by Wiscoy.
[Y]ou would miss your friends, and you would miss the people; the “community” is an illusion which we create to help us be better people and doesn’t deserve our attention unless it serves its purpose.
Okay, we might have an interesting philosophical idea here. Does the concept of ‘community’ exist apart from people? Well, yes, and no. Community is meaningless without the people who make it up, but that doesn’t make it an illusion. It’s divinely inspired — after all, the first thing Adam got was community… with God, with Eve. We don’t create “community” to help us be better people; we live in community because it is the way we were designed to live! The history of mankind shows us that pretty clearly.
Let us consider why it is that we have chapel scanners in the first place; obviously this is because people are not responsible enough to take care of their own spiritual formation
This is not obvious, it is not true, and it reminds me that I want to write a post soon on why I’ll never be a libertarian. Rules — even rules that require action — do not necessarily strip anyone of responsibility. They simply provide an incentive to act responsibly.
Libertarians, once they reach a certain age, need to look at themselves in the mirror and ask if it’s freedom they love, or rebellion.
I’ll summarize the next bit, because it’s wordy and complex.
1) If it’s better to go to chapel, but some students don’t go, won’t they notice the difference?
2) Shouldn’t it be the ones who go encouraging the ones who don’t go to come?
3) If people can’t notice the difference, is it worth going?
Okay, fine. But then:
Either approach we take regarding this issue we are forced to make a difficult decision; but who are we trying to advantage by requiring chapel? The community or the students? You may say they are the same thing, but just imagine you are going to die very soon (relatively this is true), and tell me you still see them as the same thing; what advantage have we done them now that we’re all dead?
I cannot understand what this could possibly mean. Is it that mandating chapel won’t do us any good after we’re all dead, sucked down that infamous chasm? Or are we back on that linguistic point that community can’t exist without students? Hey, if we’re all dead, who is that mysterious them getting the advantage??
Viola!!
Is Christianity such a mediocre thing that it requires compulsion, or is it better to leave it up to volition and take responsibility as individuals to help our friends better themselves . . .? It is not that chapel compulsion destroys Christianity as such, but that it excuses us from taking responsibility in the lives of our friends and fellow persons. I recommend that we give over control and instead take up responsibility. Compulsory chapel attendance treats us as children; obviously children need such a discipline, but when do we grow up?
Now this is a reasonable and fair argument. I happen to think it’s wrong — I think an expectation of attendance, entered into upon admission, actually increases responsibility and shows the importance of spiritual growth to the group (and it’s very unfair to say compulsion implies Christianity is ‘mediocre’) — but it’s at least a serious thought, after some false starts and confusion.
But so much effort, and for what…
Joke of the Day, 10/4/07
What’s orange and sounds like a parrot?
A carrot!
Presidential Selector Thingy
You can take a little survey over here, that tells you which presidential candidate you should support.
It gave me Mitt Romney at 77%, then (out of the frontrunners) McCain (70), Brownback (67) and Thompson (67). That’s pretty dang accurate. Huckabee and Giuliani were tied at 55%, just ahead of crazy Dr. Ron Paul (51). My favorite Democrat would apparently be John Edwards (34), but I can’t believe that. Totally cool with Dennis Kucinich (16) bringing up the bottom, though.
That fits me great.
The Procrasta’ Masta
Best of Job, June 2006.
I’ve been dedicated lately to securing the best possible choice for the next stage of my life. I thought I was done with Residence Life, but have felt attracted lately to pursuing another dorm. I’ve also dwelt on the idea of working for the government, perhaps even the United States Army.
It’s been oddly stressful. Perhaps I feel like I’m out of dispensable years and might have to begin envisioning myself as a 40-year-old man, and what all of that will mean.
But when I do…whiskey oscar whiskey, the choke sets in. Poor 40-year-old Jobie.
I can see him there, cursing a blue streak, wishing to heaven he could grab my collar and talk some sense into me. “You worked for an airline for 2 years after college, knowing full well it wasn’t the career you wanted??!!”
What a Dickensian horror that would be — to have myself, in senior, drop in on me. He’d be a little hesitant and careful with his words, probably, seeing me and realizing how much I was enjoying my life at 26. Sentimental, reminiscent. But he’d choke up eventually, put a hand through his thinning hair, and would perhaps beg me, plead with me to get on with things. At 40, crossing his fingers on blistered hands, as he did at 20.
I would feel sympathetic and place a hand on this shoulder. I would tell him I would get on with things, I’d find him a wife and a job with benefits. I would buckle down. I would suck it up. “I am so sorry, old friend,” I’d say. “The past few years must’ve been so hard on you.”
It’d be a hug fest, a cry fest and I would inquire about my family and what has become. Bowden and Obadiah knock ’em dead, don’t they? And while we’re there wiping tears from our eyes, and I’m continuing on with my apologies and promises…
In drops 80-year-old Jobie, a tight line for lips.
One firm punch to 40-year-old Jobie’s jaw, and he turns to face me, hands on my shoulders…
“You’re doing just fine. You think I want his memories right now? You think I want his dang wife hounding me about my pills??”
He stands on 40 year old Jobie’s hand, grinding it into the ground.
“No sirree, Bob. You’re doing just fine.”
Battle of the Bands XXIX
Moving on is Adam’s Transgression; here’s the next group!
Bible Discussion — Romans 6
This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter in the book of Romans, Romans 6.
Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
And the book of Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5
INTRODUCTION:
Mike:
Paul presents his readers with a decision: will they be a slave to “sin” or will they be a slave to God?
David:
In the last chapter Paul made the statement that “where sin abounded, grace did much more abound.” He now deals with two questions that he assumes will come to the reader’s mind.
The first: “If grace brought sin, shouldn’t we continue (stay) in sin so that grace will keep coming?” The second: “Well, if we can’t stay in sin, can we visit occasionally (now that we have grace to forgive us when we do sin)?”
Erin:
Paul continues his logical argument for the Christian life in this chapter, focusing on why Christians should not just take Christ’s sacrifice for granted and continue living a sinful life.
Connie:
Sin versus grace! Watch them battle it out in a no-holds-barred fight to the death! Don’t miss it, right here, on Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday!!!
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Steve:
When the Romans were slaves to sin, they were “free in regard to righteousness,” able to raise as much heaven as they dared.
Connie:
Verse 15 is a great verse to fight the “once saved, always saved” doctrine.
Josh:
Just how often Paul likes to interrupt himself to ask questions that misrepresent his arguments, then shoot them down.
Chloe:
God is the slave’s master in this passage. How must this have sat with the abolitionists in the 19th century?
Mike:
v. 19: “I am speaking in human terms because of your natural limitations.” I wonder what Paul really wanted to say, but couldn’t because of the weakness of his audience. I’m certainly glad his audience was weak, because the slavery analogy is so profound.
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Steve: Reckon
Connie: Old Man
Josh: By No Means
Erin: Baptism Into Death
Mike: Somebody’s Slave
Chloe: Natural Selves
David: Undergrace
A Fresh Look at Bible Stories
There once was a man who was possessed by many unclean spirits. He lived among the hills in the region of the Gerasenes, cutting himself and crying out at all hours. He called himself Legion, and even chains could not restrain him. One day, as Jesus was getting out of a boat, the man came and started calling out to him in a loud voice. The spirits begged Jesus not to torture them, then asked to be sent into a herd of 2000 nearby pigs. Jesus consented, and the unclean spirits drove the pigs over a cliff and into the water to be drowned.
Fifty or so years before this incident, there was a Roman legion called Legio IX Hispana, which disappeared mysteriously from the meticulous Roman records. Some say the legion was overtaken by robbers. Others say it was swallowed by the earth for the sins of the Roman Empire. Still others say the legion was made up entirely of men who refused to ask for directions or cook for themselves, so they all starved to death in Siberia. Whatever the case may be, the fate of the legion has remained a mystery…..until now.
It has been proposed that perhaps this legion was killed in a brutal manner, before its time, and far from home (all ingredients for a proper haunting). What if this legion of wronged Gentile souls found its way into this poor Jewish man and made him so strong that even chains couldn’t bind him? What if they so longed for pork that they actually desired to be pigs? What if the only way for their deaths to be avenged was for them to get out of the kosher man and into the unclean pigs? And what if all demons in the gospels are actually ghosts?
What if, indeed?
Now, it must be admitted that few people believe this story. Why, when my Luke-Acts professor suggested we all get under the conference table and start a camp fire so he could tell us a ghost story, I thought for sure he was completely bonkers. But after he made the disclaimer that he didn’t actually believe what he was telling us, I began to see the light. This must be true, if my educated Bible professor doesn’t believe it. So open up your mind, forget all you’ve been taught, and read the story on a stormy night, preferably Halloween.
And don’t forget, gullible isn’t in the dictionary.
Quote of the Day, 10/3/07
“The only rules you have are the ones you enforce.” — D. Chamberlain
Houghton Update
On the heels of my post earlier today about the Houghton chapel scanner incident, I have some more information from those involved.
They started with a blog over here, but apparently changed their minds about the “Retardo” moniker, and went with this name instead. Good call.
It’s just a bunch of silliness really, a lot of words that don’t mean much.
And now we look to you, as it is for you that we draw our breath and speak these words; here to uphold the good gifts of life beyond all pithy complaints, we labor to support and proclaim again to Houghton the things it has forgotten. For we have too often traded the good things of our faith for earthly comfort. After peeking through the broken doors of our cages, we have cowered in fear at the prospect of leaving them, preferring the familiarity of our own cowardice to freedom.
“Uphold the good gifts of life beyond all pithy complaints”?
“Labor to support and proclaim again to Houghton the things it has forgotten”?
That’s some wild prose right there. Let’s just say I feel vindicated in that moralizing/navel-gazing/”deep question” prediction I made 12 hours ago in my first post.
From our experience with boredom and apathy, we realized that people would need something more than just another voice to confuse them. They would need something much more personal, more active, and preferably more interesting. Viola! The revolution was born.
Glockenspiel! The revolution can’t spell Voila!
Now that we have introduced ourselves, I am sure that you are puzzled as to how and what we expect to do. To be honest, we don’t really worry about that; time and the hearts of man hold many things that no person can foresee and we don’t pretend to. However, it is our solemn belief that by simply being who we are before God and refusing to let apathy and cowardice take that away from us, we are able to empower you and to serve you. Viva La Revolucion!
This is the worst part — they don’t even pretend to have a reason for existing beyond the fact that they exist. “Time and the hearts of men” may hold many things, but an explanation of how this stunt empowered or served anyone apparently isn’t one of them.
From a later post:
The point of the revolution is that Houghton’s problem is an internal problem within us students; the Houghton administration will never be able to fulfill your desires in an academic institution, and we need to change ourselves rather than to change the school (of course, if we were to change ourselves, we also would have succeeded in changing the school).
O….kay…. So, let me get this straight.
1) Houghton’s problem is an “internal problem within students.”
2) Students need to change themselves rather than the school.
Clearly the most important thing to change about themselves is:
3) That the school asks them to scan an ID card at chapel.
Oh, and the best way to show everyone how they all need to change is:
4) To use exciting Spanish words about revolution and take stuff from people.
Keep riding, Quixote.
Another Hot Chick (Tract Excerpt)
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©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
I Do All My Own Stunts
Best of Job, May 2006.
I haven’t slept in a bed in 365 days.
I made this decision rather spuriously one night, when I found myself unemployed, uninsured, heart-broken, soaked, adrift and seething towards God, trying to sleep in the back of a Budget truck, in the parking lot of my former employer. Next to the truck sat my Jeep — steam still rising from beneath its hood, as the newly blown radiator continued to vent and cool.
My internal radiator had blown as well and my engine was fast overheating. I was projecting. I wasn’t angry at God, but the trigonometry of my misery felt so intense, calculated and other-worldly that I felt He could be tricked into taking blame (or credit) for the equation.
When I eventually calmed (and apologized), I told Him about my plan. I felt a great silence in the truck bed, like God was giving me a chance to retract it. A silent guffaw, that only entrenched me further in my decision.
I was gonna fast that fast that lasts. I was electing right there to swear to Him that I wouldn’t sleep in a bed for an entire year. A real humdinger of a plan, sure, but you know what it’s like to get caught up in the moment, delirious with a sense of purpose. It would be a fast of comfort, routine and normalcy, a real sacrifice.
I slept on couches, pull-outs, the ground and my Jeep. I bought a hammock and strung it from my roll-bar to any available tree. I learned to fold myself into roots and rocks. I learned to enjoy rain on my nose.
Stars, my friends, cannot be counted, no matter your resolve.
They cannot.
I had to plan nights ahead to avoid any unforeseen hospitality. I told friends I “had things to do.” In my room at the lakehouse, I piled my belongings on my bed and told my folks I would get to them eventually, but just sleep on the couch for now…and never got to them.
I graciously accepted the bed the Filipinos gave me, then at night opted for the ground. In Albuquerque, I slept in the tub; in Houston, the chair. I swore by Northface and swore at mosquitos.
And I prayed. I was fasting, and my sore neck and back and fatigued brain were awake at 3 am many nights — with no recourse but the recreation of prayer.
I burned out my Indiglo. I invested in bug spray. I found the best rest came from hot pavement in the middle of a sunny afternoon. I loved to be the passenger in a car, reclined, the wind pouring over me.
In truth, at first, I was exhausted — finding my rest only in the solace of a promise kept and the trust in some benefit from the One I had made it to. I tell you all this because I feel it’s key, and might explain my philosophy on life and society. I hope it doesn’t smack of “gimmick.” Truth be told, it’s a cautionary tale. I’m not proud of this, and the “Serta Solution” will not be a devotional coming to a bookstore near you.
But I want you to know —
I have learned the fine art that is a promise. The fine art that is contempt for routine.
I have learned how precious days are when you anxiously count them down.
I have learned that the Lord is not slack in His promises and we should not be either, no matter the circumstances.
I learned these lessons last summer, but the real joy was in maintaining my promise, no matter how silly, or even psychotic, it was.
The Lord, methinks, honors such things. Pride and ego, He does not.
Being certain of having a place to rest your head at night is one of the most fundamental rules of society. But I think I’ve discovered that if you can rest your head anywhere, you fundamentally rule society.
Trust me… I know, having done this, that it is nothing profound. At best, between you and me, it is anecdotal. But between me and my Creator, I have upheld a promise — however fantastic and foolish it may have been — and I stand (or lay) now confident in any other promise I might be willing to make…or He might be willing to request of me.
But yes. It was asinine.
Makin’ Tracts
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If you picked “The boy prayed to the devil,” you’re a winner!!
©1984-2007 Chick Publications, Inc. Reprinted without permission as fair use (parody).
Grime
Clifford Avenue points west and downtown towards the gorge in Rochester — you can follow it with your eyes and end up staring uncertainly at the skyscraper-ish buildings rising nobly out of the city. They attempt to shake off the grease of the neighborhoods and stretch their tinted windows up to the sky, where the tint is enough that free air is all that matters. Miles upon miles of sky do a great deal for the skyscrapers, and for those who dwell inside.
But outside those windows is a whole other world that I have just come to know. A world within the city where uncertainty is life, where — despite Latino ascendancy — the Latino neighborhoods still rotate aimlessly around a center of poverty, crime, and fear. It is part of any city, the suburbanite might say, so what can we do?
I am as guilty as any suburbanite, even though I’ve never lived in any sort of housing development or suburb, of having this thought run rampant around my mind, twisting any compassion or motivation I might have for those who live their lives in the urban rut. Even in 2002, when I was blessed enough to have the city of the third world brought to my immediate attention — in an Iquitos marketplace, the immediate is all there is: sights, smells, tastes — even then, I do not think I really understood what the grime of the city is.
To me, then, it was sheer culture. Iquitos, Peru was distant even when I dug my toes into the black selva dirt. Certainly, the culture was amazing and I have since realized how much it really was my first love, but that does not take away from the fact that the cities have always been places that I feared. Too loud, too many people, too many problems that could never be solved.
Last weekend, nothing really spectacular happened, at least not by most standards. I hung out at a Salvation Army (a ‘Salvo,’ as I have called them for a long while) with 40 or 50 kids, played fútbol for upwards of three hours, proved that Houghton has not improved my ability to swing my hips to Latin music at all, and chatted in unmistakably poor Spanish as much as I could. I understood about 60 percent of a sermon and took communion with people from more countries than I ever have at the same time.
How disorganized my love for Latino culture has been.
I feel that I can only clarify this statement by saying that the grime of the city has officially taken up residence on my knees — and it is only by embracing this culture and all its needs that I can truly love it, truly pray for it, and truly be in it and of it (someday!).
Grime is unpleasant and ugly and socially unacceptable, but it is there. And those who live with it are just as qualified as any suburbanite to receive God’s love and ours.
Joke of the Day, 10/2/07
A man went on vacation and asked his mother to stay at his house and look after his pet cat. Just to be safe, he asked his next-door neighbor to check on her every few days.
After a few days in Mexico, the man got a call from his neighbor.
“How’s everything going?,” the man asked.
“Well, your cat died.”
“Come on!,” the man shouted. “Couldn’t you have been a little more considerate? I’m on vacation! You could have broken the news a little more gently, maybe start off by saying the cat was stuck up on the roof, then the next day tell me she fell off and went to the vet, and then the day after that, something about her surgery — just not all at once like this! It’s not right!”
His neighbor apologized, and the man went on. “How’s my mom doing?”
“Uhhh….. She’s stuck up on the roof…”
On the Home Front
More than half of the Bweinh!tributors went to Houghton College, so I hope the rest of you don’t mind indulging me for just a moment, as I address a current event on campus.
Every time I go back to the school — which is frequently — I make sure to do four things. Gape at the rapidly changing architecture, visit the secret book in the library, spit in the direction of what was once South Hall, and chuckle at that constant presence, the Christian college revolutionary.
He is there in the pages of the Star, inarticulately demanding that the school cease any involvement with ROTC (I’m looking at you, Inti “Che” Martinez). She is present in the Campus Center, shrieking her insistence that Jesus would never ever vote for either a Republican or a Democrat. I’ve even seen him decrying the Vietnam War in the pages of the college newspaper, years and years ago, in the thorough archives the library keeps.
Modern-day Don Quixotes, taking aim at windmill after windmill in a fruitless hunt for giants.
I remember the breed well from my own days at Houghton, six or seven years ago. Job and I sat at a table with several of them my senior year, in a late-night powwow to plan a town hall meeting on the problems besetting the student body. I had written a then-infamous article quoting the VP of Finance as saying “The student body has no right to run the college,” so they apparently believed me to be one of their own. I let them run the show; I just took notes on the conspiracy theories.
The Christian college revolutionary: so sincere, so noble, so energetic — and so frequently misguided.
Apparently the latest incarnation has come to town in the guise of “La Revolucion,” a charming outfit that swept into the newly remodeled chapel last Friday and struck a blow for freedom and liberty by stealing the chapel scanning equipment, valued at between seven and ten thousand dollars.
Following a warning email from the VP of Student Life, the electronics were returned, but not without (of course) a publication from the culprits. I don’t (yet) have access to what they said, but I don’t really need to see it. I’m familiar enough with the genre to write it myself: a dash of moralizing, a heavy dose of navel-gazing, and for the big finish, some “deep” questions intended to shake the college to its very core. “Do we go to chapel to meet with God, or just because they make us? And if they have to make us, does it mean anything anyway?”
What went unsaid in the excitement over my article on that VP of Finance was that I agreed with him, to a point. Students aren’t qualified to run a college, and have virtually no idea what their best interests are — they want higher grades, less homework, better food, more entertainment, and no Friday classes. The average person falls into habits of self-interest and inertia that are nearly impossible to break. The redeeming part of the revolutionary is her willingness to identify a problem, overcome that inertia, and passionately fight for what she believes in — right or wrong, small or large.
Here the problem can be posed in eternal terms: the depravity of the human heart, the battle between law and grace. In the eyes of La Revolucion, I’m sure the chapel scanners were liberated to address a point 95% of the earth-bound student body never considered — is compulsory worship meaningful, and should its neglect be punitive?
It likely won’t surprise you to learn that I think the answer is yes to both. Those who attend the college do so with full knowledge of what is required and expected of them. 
Required chapel attendance is designed to protect students from their own sloth (guys) or perfectionism (girls), not strip them of precious autonomy.
And herein lies the problem I have with the Christian college revolutionary in general. In a fallen world where so much is going wrong, this group choose to make its stand, its noble gesture, its violent assault on the cultural cords that hold so many captive — for what?
To protest a Christian college’s requirement that its students attend chapel — a policy that, were it repealed, would immediately marginalize the ministry.
Have at it, Don.
The Council’s Ruling — Worst Form of Music
This and every Monday, the Bweinh!tributors, having convened in secret for hours of reasoned debate and consideration, will issue a brief and binding ruling on an issue of great societal import.
This week’s question — What is the worst form of music?
Tom delivers the ruling of the Council, joined by Erin, Chloe, and Job:
Rap. A seething cauldron of lawlessness, violence and profanity, with a side of rampant misogyny.
Chloe also concurs in the judgment, joined by David:
The worst is American rap. While rap is used positively in other countries, in America, it not only has flimsy lyrics and only three to four notes, but it also incites listeners to beat their women, spit on their parents, and kill everyone else.
MC-B also concurs in the judgment:
Rap. Coming from a culture of woman-beating, cop-killing and drug use, this music rarely even features instruments — unless you count sirens or that guy going “uhhhnnnnh” in the background.
Djere also concurs in the judgment:
Rap/Hip Hop — a downward spiral of self-indulgence and misogyny.
Steve dissents, joined by Connie:
Emo. As fun as tooth decay and as entertaining as watching paint whine about how no one loves it. Shut your mouth and wash off Mom’s mascara, you freak!
Josh dissents:
That one song John Mayer keeps releasing over and over again.
Mike dissents:
Techno. It throbs and little else.
Next week: What is the best piece of playground equipment?
Ask Bweinh! Poll — Favorite Female Names
This edition of the Ask Bweinh! poll is sponsored by Bob Lonsberry, Rochester’s premier radio talk show host, who graciously gave me a certificate for a free pie after I utterly dominated the new citizenship test on his show last Friday. Didn’t beat him, though — we ended up in a tie.
Here are our favorite female names of all time!
| Rank | Name | Points | ||
| 1. | Elizabeth/Elisabeth | 11 | ||
| 2. | Chloe | 9 | ||
| 3. | Rachel/Rachael | 8 | ||
| 4. | Grace | 6 | ||
| 5-14 (tie) | Emily; Sarah; Lucy; Moira; Hazel; Debbie; Leanora Rose; Celeste; Rose; Karen | 5 | ||
| Other | Siobhan; Lauren Michelle; Estelle; Lindsay; Penelope; Mary; Adaire; Estrella; Hope; Sophie; Amanda; Star; Amaris; Patricia; Victoria; Clarity; Colleen; Melissa; Erin; Magdala; Liberty; Holland; Hannah; Liana; Margaret; Violet; “Hey you, where’s my pie?” | 1-4 |
Football Results (Week Four)
This year, the Bweinh!tributors shall compete each week by proxy on the mighty gridiron!
The third week’s results
Green Bay def. Minnesota; Dallas def. St. Louis; Atlanta def. Houston
Kansas City def. San Diego; Seattle def. San Francisco
| Bweinh!tributor | This Week | Overall | GB | |||
| Steve; Mike J | 3-2 | 13-7 | — | |||
| Connie; Djere | 2-3 | 13-7 | — | |||
| Erin | 5-0 | 5-0 | 0.5 | |||
| Job | 3-2 | 10-5 | 0.5 | |||
| Tom; Josh | 3-2 | 12-8 | 1 | |||
| David | 1-4 | 11-9 | 2 | |||
| MC-B | 3-2 | 9-11 | 4 | |||
| Chloe | 3-2 | 5-10 | 5.5 |
By category
Avid fans: 48-27 (.640)
Slight fans: 24-16 (.600)
Uninterested: 44-36 (.550)
Quote of the Day, 10/1/07
“In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful.” — C.S. Lewis
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