Three Links (Vol. 13)

11/22/2008, 1:30 pm -- by Steve | 1 Comment

Halftime of the Villa/Man U game…

– The thing I’ve noticed about the weird Levi’s commercials, with people backflipping into jeans and filling their pants up with helium, is the lack of a disclaimer at the bottom advising us against “trying this at home.” Does this mean they think these things are perfectly safe, or that they think it’s obvious that the commercials are fake?

– This poor guy drove all the way from upstate New York to Montana, worked one 10-hour shift, then got fired. Meanwhile, down in North Carolina, a couple fishermen a mile out to sea used a lasso to land a golden retriever.

– Last story’s a sad one. Six weeks ago, a 22-year-old Army reservist and Jefferson CC student named Jesse Kilgore walked into the woods near his home and shot himself. Now, in an interview with the questionable WorldNetDaily site, his father links his suicide to Richard Dawkins’s atheist snoozer, The God Delusion.

His death is a terrible tragedy no matter what its cause, but if these claims are true — that a book and “science classes” turned this young man’s faith into despair — the real problem is not with literature or science. The problem is not even a college that allegedly “undermin[ed] every moral and spiritual value” he had (which has not been the experience of the many JCC students I know). God created the world that biology explores and studies. When our faith in Him cannot stand up to a full, impartial consideration of reality, when we feel “we must shut up one of God’s books to read the other” (Noll), then it is we who are to blame: not God, and not science.

We cannot simply demonize learning and rely on this sort of mushy, meaningless answer: “I told [Jesse] it was my relationship with God, not my knowledge of Him that brought me back to my faith. No one convinced me with facts . . . it was a matter of the heart.” Heart or no heart, facts exist whether we ignore them or accept them. Part of the reason the university culture is so dismissive of faith is that so many people of faith are reflexively distrustful of education. Where teaching is openly anti-Christian, that’s understandable. But rather than disengaging from society, we’d be a lot better off teaching young Christians how science and philosophy are blessings, not threats.

The Wisdom of Ecclesiastes

11/20/2008, 10:30 am -- by David | No Comments

I saw a car yesterday in traffic, a mid-’80s compact model, and it reminded me of something that I hadn’t thought of in years. Two decades ago, I was working as a salesman — like I am now, only with far less success — and I wandered into a car dealership to make a sales call. It was yet another rejection when I desperately needed a sale.

The salesman noticed me eyeing a brand-new compact car and began giving me his pitch on the way out. He opened the door and made me slide in; I experienced that “new car smell” and took in the spotlessly clean interior. It was mesmerizing, and as far out of reach as the constellations in the sky. I thanked him, turned down a test drive, and slogged through the snow back to my old junker, which I drove off into the gathering gloom of a wintry evening.

I thought about that car forever, struggling to make ends meet raising a family on my income while my wife stayed home to raise our children. I marveled at a world that seemed so far beyond my reach: a world where people could buy a house, not rent; where people bought their children new clothes whenever they needed them; where people could walk into a dealership and buy a new car if the mood struck. All I could see was my poverty, and I was convinced that this other world would be a happy one indeed.

When I saw that same model, dented and rusted, smoking its way through traffic the other day, I was amazed at how small and unspectacular it really was. I’m 47 now, almost 48. My wife went back to school after the kids were grown, and now she teaches. We certainly aren’t rich, but we have bought and discarded a half-dozen new vehicles that all put that low-end GM product to shame. The poverty that shamed me and left me feeling so helpless at times is just a distant memory. Like all young couples, we struggled. but God was always faithful to provide what we needed — we never went without.

We’re reading through Ecclesiastes in our Bible study, and someone asked what value the book holds for a Christian. Well, when you understand it was written by a man of unlimited wealth, who sought to test the limits of the happiness it could buy, always coming up empty, then you see the wisdom of Ecclesiastes.

There is no “other world,” where material wealth brings forth a joyous existence of unbounded peace and contentment. Test if you must, but my experience with automobiles shows me that Solomon knew what he was talking about: “Vanity, vanity! All is vanity!”

Four Weeks (Part Ten)

11/18/2008, 1:30 pm -- by Steve | 1 Comment

Read the saga in parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Or read the complete, uninterrupted series here.

Intent and Purpose of the Rules: The Game
Basketball is played by two teams of five players each. The purpose of each team is to throw the ball into its own basket and to prevent the other team from scoring.

By the time I made it to the basketball camp that would serve as the final stop on my four-week sojourn, it was already mid-Thursday. It was the first time in four years or so that I hadn’t been around for the whole week, and I immediately noticed a problem: the college-age coaches were officiating.

I didn’t care that they weren’t very good, or that they were lazy. The problem was that by starting the week responsible for officiating, they had gotten the idea that they knew what they were doing. And what’s more dangerous than people who think they know what they’re doing?

Rule 2, Section 7: Officials’ General Duties
The officials shall conduct the game in accordance with the rules.

High school basketball is like prison. Lots of rules to follow, big guys tend to dominate — and everyone’s innocent. Just ask them.

Officiating is a good job for me. I love justice, I hate mistakes, and I have a thorough confidence in my judgment. Most importantly for my mental health, if you don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t care what you think.

Officials are never popular. When you notice an official, you’re probably disagreeing with him or her. And when you disagree, you’re probably wrong. Not always — I certainly make mistakes — but probably. See, I studied the rules for three months, scored 98 on the test when the average fan would be lucky to break 50, and am never more than a few feet away from the play. I know what I’m talking about, and I don’t want to hear you loudly display your ignorance — especially when I’m volunteering at a church camp.

And so I ate alone.

Rule 4, Section 9, Article 1: Boundary Lines
Boundary lines of the court consist of end lines and sidelines.

Friday night brought more complications. Awakened by a hallway ruckus, I opened the door and leapt out to grab . . . my sister, running in formation through the guys’ dorm at the strict Bible school she hoped to attend in a month. I ordered the ladies to leave, only to be yelled at in the manner which had quickly become the norm from some coaches. I was not at my best and aptly, if inappropriately, returned fire.

I soon learned that the worst on-court offender (a tattooed, tank-topped ex-jock I’ll call “the Diva” for his foot-stomping tantrums) had actually helped incite the girls’ invasion. Back in my room, I heard the guys next door recount how the “doofy” ref had “flipped out” on the girls before they heroically told him off. At least they had the excuse of youth. Where were the adults? Who were the adults?

Rule 10, Section 4, Article 1: Bench Technical
Bench personnel shall not commit an unsporting foul.
This includes, but is not limited to, acts or conduct such as disrespectfully addressing an official . . .

The championship game was Saturday, and it pit the Diva’s team, undefeated but with a great player missing, against a team with only one loss. As the game stayed tight down the stretch, tensions rose. I called a foul against the Diva’s team and awarded two free throws.

Suddenly there he was, storming down the sideline, foaming at the mouth, demanding an audience. I briefly listened to him rant, but then told him he couldn’t do it again unless he wanted a technical. The next time he wanted to talk to me, he would have to call time out.

Rule 4, Section 7, Article 2(a): Charging
A player who is moving with the ball is required to stop or change direction to avoid contact if a defensive player has obtained a legal guarding position in his/her path.

After a timing error was corrected in the Diva’s favor, allowing his team to force overtime, his opponents took the lead. His point guard brought the ball down the right side of the court with his head down and plowed through an opponent who had slid into position in front of him.

Charging.

The Diva went ballistic. He called time out, then followed me out on the court to argue. He complained to the camp director (my co-official) that the call had not been mine to make, then commenced attacking my integrity, at one point actually calling me a liar. I am not known for extraordinary restraint. Only respect for the director and the players on the Diva’s team kept me from issuing a technical foul.

Rule 5, Section 3: Winning Team
The winning team is the one which has accumulated the greater number of points when the game ends.

The game came down to the last play — the Diva’s squad down two with seven seconds to go. One of his best players brought the ball down the floor, drove down the right side of the lane, and leaped into traffic in an attempt to draw a foul as he shot. He was not fouled. He missed the shot.

The teams shook hands and I thanked the coaches. The Diva scoffed at me. “You screwed us,” he told me.

Turning his back, he called out to the director: “You should have known better than to get a lawyer as a ref. Thanks a lot.” I sat through the awards ceremony, overlooked by the directors in the “Thank you” portion of the remarks, then loaded my car for the ride home. My vacation was clearly over.

But I was glad. It was time to return to reality, with all its disappointments, disillusionments, misunderstandings, and monotonies. Life is not lived in a series of joyous reunions, stays so brief that the surface remains blissfully unbroken. It’s in the 2 a.m. screaming match; it’s in the response to passionate, competitive anger; it’s in the constant reminders that we were not made to be fulfilled on this earth.

And I obviously had — have — much more yet to learn.

Music by Bweinh! — Incorruptible

11/14/2008, 3:00 pm -- by David | No Comments

Listen to or download the song here (for a limited time)!

The voice said, “Cry out!”
And he said, “What shall I cry?”
“All flesh is grass,
And all its loveliness is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
Because the breath of the LORD blows upon it;
Surely the people are grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
But the word of our God stands forever.”
Isaiah 40:6-8 (NKJV)

This is the section of Scripture I had been meditating on when I wrote the words for the poem that became “Incorruptible.” It was so different from anything else I had ever read. Isaiah relates it abruptly, in the third person, with no introduction — just an announcement about what the voice had said.

And “he” (whoever he is: Isaiah, John the Baptist…) answers, “What shall I cry?” and it struck me that the burden to preach preceded any thought of what might be said. I have preached like that many times and it has been the absolute best preaching I have ever done. I have no idea what I will say when I open my mouth, but suddenly the message appears, fresh and relevant.

The message given here is one of hopelessness. It uses images of grass and flowers to explore the frailty and transience of man, and his complete lack of hope to stand before an almighty God whose standards of holiness are inescapable. This theme is also explored in the New Testament, where it expands on the hope expressed in the last verse here. For all our frailty, as Peter says, we can be “born again, not of corruptible seed but incorruptible, through the word of God which lives and abides forever.”

Today’s Economic Forecast

11/10/2008, 12:00 pm -- by David | No Comments

More bad news out of the financial sector today, as Goldman Sachs reported that although orders of durable goods were up 3% over the last quarter, those orders, due to a filing error, were placed in a back room under a bag containing Pork Belly Futures — ruining the orders and causing a downturn in the short-term manufacturing market.

This news was especially troubling on the heels of an announcement that Sweet Light Crude Oil had risen $8.75 per barrel to close at $182.50 for spring delivery. Medium, Dark and Extra-Roast Sweet Crude have fallen in late trading today while Mocha Latte No-Foam Skinny-Boy Crude remained steady at $167 per barrel.

In other Wall Street news, Fed chairman Ben Bernanke found himself in an uncomfortable position today, when he announced another ¼ point drop in the Fed’s major interest rate today, only to have reporters point out that the rate was at 3.25% in February and has been cut a total of 8.75 points since. An embarrassed Bernanke admitted that since the rate is used to determine the interest banks charge each other, and no bank is currently “stupid enough” to loan money to another bank, the rate is “at best, a theoretical exercise.”

When pressed to identify the actual status of the rate, Bernanke said, in effect, that since the average person in America has no idea what the heck happens on Wall Street, he simply makes sporadic announcements in the hope that they will somehow stimulate the economy.

Finally, Alan Greenspan appeared before Congress today and admitted that his policies over the past two decades were fatally flawed in ways that he is just now realizing.

“We thought that banks would police themselves when it came to subprime lending practices,” Greenspan said. “We never dreamed they would bow to federal regulations that required them to make bad loans, in bad neighborhoods, to people with no visible means to repay the debts.”

When asked about the wisdom of assuming that people could buy a house with no money down and no regular paycheck, then somehow pay the money back in a timely fashion, he quoted a line from the classic sitcom WKRP in Cincinnati: “As God is my witness — I thought turkeys could fly!”

I Five The Sandbox

11/7/2008, 1:50 pm -- by Steve | No Comments

Well, this is interesting. The history of gay marriage in California has been a contest of constant one-upsmanship, like that playground ‘game’ where you start by saying “I one the sandbox,” and proceed onward in an attempt to get your playmate to admit that he or she “eight the sandbox.”

You ate the sandbox?? Ewww! Why would you ever do that?!

This game started in 2000, when the voters of California voted by a 62-38 margin to codify “the union of a man and a woman” as the only valid form of marriage in the state. It took a few years, but soon enough, the state legislature took up the challenge, passing a bill in 2005 to legalize same-sex marriage. Ah, but beside the see-saw stood new Gov. Schwarzenegger. Ahnuuld vetoed the bill, calling it either unconstitutional or redundant, depending on how the courts eventually viewed the original vote.

The next stop was the intermediate court in California, which reversed a trial court ruling to find that the ban on gay marriage was non-discriminatory and based on a legitimate state interest. Now back to the legislature, which passed their bill yet again — and yet again found it blocked by the Governator, who said he wanted to know how the California Supreme Court felt on the issue. And they hopped onto the merry-go-round this past May, in a 4-3 ruling that constituted a breathtakingly broad expansion of precedent: finding sexual orientation to be a protected class like race and gender and subjecting any classification on its basis to “strict scrutiny.” These guys play for keeps!

But given the permissive nature of the California ballot, no one thought the game was over — and sure enough, the same tide that swept Obama into office this week also resulted in the narrow passage of a state constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage, as nearly 70% of blacks voted “yes” on Prop. 8. The voters spoke, and you could see the words formed clearly on their lips: “We seven the sandbox.” Game, set, match?

Not quite. Now comes word of future court challenges, on the ground that the constitutional change might be best termed a “revision,” which would require a two-thirds vote in the legislature before a majority vote by Californians. What Carpenter writes makes sense: given that the CA Supreme Court has already held that the right to marry is a fundamental right not to be denied on the basis of the suspect class of sexual orientation, they may well take “the importance of the right declared and the suspect nature of the discrimination into account,” and overturn (yet again) the will of the people through judicial fiat.

I’m hardly rabid on this issue, but I found the court’s decision unreasonable. And since California law provides for constitutional amendments through direct election, the people ought to have some say in the matter when they think the judges screwed it up. The only question is whether California’s highest court will submit to the people — eat the sandbox, if you will — or just conjure up a new integer ‘twixt seven and eight.

Let Freedom Ring!

11/6/2008, 9:30 am -- by David | No Comments

“I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’ ”
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Whatever Barack Obama was on Monday, today he is my president. I know that many of us — and by “us,” I mean conservatives and Republicans — watched the results of the election with a sense of dread, borne either by the fear of what a liberal president might do to the “right to life” cause, or the terrifying shadows of campaign rhetoric that somehow Obama will turn out to be a Muslim extremist or an agent for socialist change in America. But I think America is bigger than the sum of all those fears, real and imagined.

We must not let our short-term political disappointments cloud our senses and rob us of what should be a time of great rejoicing. I read through the text of King’s “Dream” speech this morning, and I have to say it gave me cold chills. In a way, it set my heart rejoicing. He noted that he had been asked, “When will you (the devotees of civil rights) be satisfied?” His answer was to quote the book of Amos: when “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

It reminded me of Lincoln’s second inaugural address, when he wondered aloud if the horrible war they were fighting was God’s judgment on slavery, and noted: “Fondly do we hope — fervently do we pray — that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue, until all the wealth piled by the bondsman’s 250 years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said 3000 years ago, so still it must be said: “the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.”

I cannot help but rejoice at the setting to rights of this nation’s past history of injustice. Perhaps it is because I live in the South, where the wound still aches in the sneers and smart remarks of my fellow white companions. Perhaps it is because I still remember the day I used the “N-word” — a word I had heard from my father many times — on the lone black girl at State Street School in Watertown, NY.

I remember how she followed me all over the school yard, smoldering anger in her eyes as I ran away. She never caught me, but the janitor, Mr. Allen, did. And when he found out what I had said, he slammed me against the wall and told me to never use that word again.

He was a white man. It was the first time I had ever seen a white man stand up for a terrified and helpless black child. It was the first time I saw that what I was learning at home from my father might not be right.

I rejoice that hopefully today 250 years of slavery is answered — every lash, every drop of blood — and that indeed “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

Obama Cancels Winter

11/5/2008, 9:33 am -- by Steve | 2 Comments

–CHICAGO, Ill.

“Winter,” a cold and lonely season of death that has plagued America for over 230 years, was outlawed yesterday, in the first official act of president-elect Barack Obama’s reign.

“And to those who still doubt that we have the power to turn back the icy hand of Jack Frost, to free this nation from the shackles of snow and ice and all manner of winter weather, to frolic together on the beaches of Lake Michigan at 10 pm on a balmy Christmas Eve — I say to you: yes! We! Can!” Obama told a crowd in Chicago’s Grant Park, formerly a scenic Christmas landmark.

As a result, all over the nation today, Americans awoke to discover bright sunshine and unseasonably warm temperatures, enlivening what was once simply another Wednesday in early November. Even the fierce and wintry town of Detroit, Mich. was not immune to the order; surprisingly comfortable breezes there were credited for a nearly 400% increase in the overnight murder rate.

“I knew we could do this,” said Toni Rogers, a bikini-clad administrative assistant from Springfield, Massachusetts. “Nonstop summer is change I can believe in! Next step: finding a way to make rainbows without all that rain.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s Barack Obama.”

“Old Man Winter,” the anthropomorphized mascot of the season, has reportedly been sent to a secure facility in Guantanamo Bay, where he is being treated as an enemy combatant and hot-waterboarded.

Obama noted that the ban on winter would not apply in Alaska.

Our Endorsement

10/31/2008, 12:00 am -- by Bweinh | 4 Comments

After an interminably long campaign season, the 2008 election is finally, blessedly, upon us. And as we vote, our nation faces immense challenges, from without and within: a gathering economic storm, two ongoing wars, and potential threats from Russia, China, and the Middle East. Our choice is not merely academic. We cannot afford a mistake. America must elect a leader with the experience to guide us safely through the next four years, the judgment to choose the best course through trouble, and the wisdom to make the difficult decisions.

Given the choices on the ballot, we have no trouble concluding: that leader is Senator John McCain.

Senator McCain has a long and storied record of serving this country with honor. He was shot down over Vietnam and tortured for over five years, enduring this suffering even after he was given the opportunity to be released before his fellow prisoners. He has been in the Senate for 22 years, where he is recognized by members of both parties as a pragmatic and independent leader, willing to hammer out a compromise when he believes it is in the best interest of the country, regardless of his party’s policies. He has long fought excessive spending and corruption in politics. His life tells a tale of accomplishments and action.

Contrast this record with his opponent’s. Senator Barack Obama has run an inspiring campaign that may well land him in the White House, but nothing in his history suggests that he is qualified for the job. From the Ivy League, he immediately entered the sleazy world of Chicago machine politics, where his ambition and gifts allowed him to quickly climb from local community organizer to U.S. Senator, with the help of several unseemly characters.

What has he done in that time? Precious little but run for higher office and vote “present” on controversial bills. What does he offer in support of his candidacy? Precious little but soaring rhetoric and vague promises of “hope” and “change” — welcome words in a time when so many believe the nation is on the wrong track, but ultimately, nothing more than hypnotic platitudes. He is simply a blank slate onto which his followers project their wildest political fantasies.

He has never — not once — taken a stance opposed to the wishes of his party.

He has never — not once — shown the courage to stand by an unpopular position.

On the issues, Sen. McCain outshines Sen. Obama, especially given the near-certainty of Democratic control in both the House and Senate. McCain’s tax plan focuses on relief for those who currently pay taxes; Obama would raise taxes on investors and confiscate money from some Americans to give to others. Obama has promised that one of his first actions in office would be to sign the Freedom of Choice Act, which purports to abolish all state restrictions on abortion. McCain is, and has always been, unapologetically pro-life. Obama’s responses to foreign crises, such as the Russian invasion of Georgia, have been unsurprisingly naive, while McCain speaks with the gravity of a man who has been deeply involved on the foreign stage for a generation.

While Obama has swayed with every gust of wind, McCain has been steadfast and right on Iraq and Afghanistan, promising that those countries will be secured and self-governing before we leave them. McCain would nominate Supreme Court judges who will free Congress and the states to make the law; Obama supports an unelected activist judiciary that would impose its policy preferences on the nation. McCain supports the continuation and expansion of free trade, which has been a tremendous boon to American industry. Obama would “renegotiate” the treaties, hamstringing our fragile economy even further.

John McCain is not a perfect man. He is anything but a perfect candidate. We disagree with him on several issues, and we need no help seeing his myriad flaws. But to choose a third-party candidate, as many have done, is no choice at all — not when the differences between the two major candidates are this stark, not when the stakes for our nation are so great. We have no time for foolish quibbles over irrelevant issues, the political equivalent of leaving a church over the color of the nursery carpet.

No, these are serious days for our nation and the world. We deserve, we need, more than a smooth-talking first-term senator who has never run anything larger than a law review office and a campaign. We deserve experienced leadership, a man who has been thoroughly tested and found worthy of the job and its tremendous responsibility. A man who respects the presidency, but does not lust for it.

Sen. Obama might inspire and uplift, but beneath the words, he is an unqualified man with one of the most extreme voting records in the Senate. Sen. McCain has a proven record of bipartisan accomplishment and consistent leadership.

One talks, and talks, and talks. The other has followed through.

Bweinh! proudly endorses Senator John S. McCain for President.

Best of Steve: The Unseemly Pride of Barack Obama

10/30/2008, 11:00 am -- by Steve | 1 Comment

Originally published April 14, 2008.

The least attractive and most damaging characteristic President Bush has is his arrogance. So it’s a wonder to me that so many who have hated the results of his presidency have flocked to Barack Obama, who gives Bush’s Texas cockiness a hard-edged trebling.

This arrogance first became obvious when he became convinced — after a mere 27 months in the US Senate, which followed eight mostly unremarkable years in the Illinois state legislature — that his rhetorical skills and passion to “unify” somehow qualified him to bring his doctrinaire liberalism to the Oval Office. Since then, flashes of his pride and hubris have piled up, becoming more and more clear with every condescending explanation he gives of the latest “misinterpretation” of his words.

Now we find out he said, at a San Francisco fundraiser:

“You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing’s replaced them. And they fell through the Clinton Administration, and the Bush Administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”

Arrogant Barack here assumes that:

– A generation of small-town residents have remained helpless and unemployed because Presidents failed to put them to work.

– These residents dealt with this reality not by making the best of their situation, but by becoming bitter and frustrated.

– This bitter frustration explains their Neanderthal desire to cling to (among other things): gun rights, religion, racial prejudice, and hostility to free trade.

Now I could point out that Barack himself has exhibited anti-trade sentiment, while simultaneously assuring our allies that he doesn’t mean a word of it.

I could add that if any religion could be characterized as “bitter” or “frustrated,” it might be the religion of the guy who had his children baptized by a man who thundered that God should damn America, not bless it, who taught that the US government created HIV to kill black people. I might even mention that Barack’s close and continuing political association with that man, and many others like him, brings up legitimate charges that racism exists in Obama’s own heart.

But all that is just simple hypocrisy. We’ve come to expect it in our politicians.

What I want to point out instead is that this man really does believe those fainting, screaming crowds (”Yes, we can!”) prove his greatness. This man actually thinks that his election is the only event that can possibly save the union. This man truly expects that a president, as his wife has said, can and should “demand that [we] shed [our] cynicism,” “put down [our] divisions,” “come out of [our] isolation,” and “move out of [our] comfort zone.”

A man who would stand in front of some of his strongest supporters and unapologetically insult the core beliefs of the very people whose support he most desperately needs is a man who, deep down, believes that he is better than they are.

He is angry, he is radical, and he is almost impossibly arrogant. And the more he talks, the more we learn about the unreasonable fire that motivates the flowery rhetoric.

Best of Job — All Your Base…

10/28/2008, 10:00 am -- by Job Tate | 3 Comments

Best of Job, originally published in February 2006.

I was reminded this morning of a prank I played in college. I was initially taught this genius by my brother Joel who would, of course, in his current pastoral capacity, deny it. But I had a giggle fit remembering it this morning, and now that the statute of limitations has passed, I will share it with you.

On one of the few occasions I was in the Houghton library, I noticed my arch-nemesis hanging out at a table with some of his henchmen, reading and carrying on. Armed with only a Russ Picardo, I felt the unholy, unhealthy urge to suddenly assert my dominance.

I made a beeline for the psychology section and searched for the most twisted title the shelves offered. I settled on “Homo-erotic Tendencies in Young Adults and Theories Toward Their Explanation” or something similarly-titled (ed.’s note: my search in the online catalog suggests it was “Homosexual behavior among males; a cross-cultural and cross species investigation”).

Perfect.

Rustler and I settled down at a table near the Pharisees and waited patiently. Finally my arch-nemesis and his minions went off to scope out the air-conditioned room upstairs for chicks to flirt with.

Quickly, and with Russ watching the stairs, I slipped the book into What’s-his-face’s bag, behind his binder and some looseleaf paper.

We moved over near the periodicals and waited. It was almost time for dinner. We would not have to wait long.

Here they came, laughing like drunken frat boys. Past the circulation desk. Towards the door. Through the scanners.

**BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP**

Looks of honest incredulity, as they tested themselves individually, narrowing it down to the evil one — who opened his bag at the circulation desk.

“That is NOT mine!”

It was a good dinner.

Trust me.

Four Weeks (Part Nine)

10/24/2008, 4:00 pm -- by Steve | 4 Comments

Read the series in parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Most airports are on the outskirts of large cities, surrounded by squat tracts of industrial zoning, often abutting the discolored shores of the local lake or ocean. Flying into Ithaca was a revelation. Gliding down amid the undulating hills and rolling, cow-choked pastures, all I could see were forests and farmhouses, until suddenly, the trees opened up on a tiny stretch of asphalt: this traveler’s version of the Great Valley, with marginally fewer pterodactyls.

Tom’s car had died shortly before our trip began, and so he picked me up in mine, the ever-reliable Purpletrator. From the tiny airport, we went to his laboratory, where I donned a lab coat and posed for several pictures holding beakers, pouring liquids, and doing several other things I am manifestly unqualified for. He left me at his apartment, where I showered and laundered; once his neighbor cut off his wireless signal, I gladly succumbed to the call of the nap.

For there wouldn’t be much time to sleep. 25-cent wings were on the agenda, followed by Monday trivia at a downtown bar. When I was planning my flights, I chose Ithaca over Rochester solely for the chance to join Tom and his team. Although we fell oh-so-short of victory, my trip was not totally in vain — my evening in Ithaca led, in part, to the flowering of Tom’s nascent relationship with his triviamate. Had I not met her that night, chances are very good that I would not have given insistent pro-Lindsey advice a month down the road. The evening was also memorable for an odd phone call that found me wandering around the downtown Commons, holding my phone at arm’s length while a friend spent five solid minutes laughing at me.

It had turned to Tuesday when I drove up to Rochester, Tom asleep in the passenger seat. He then drove right back to Ithaca while I packed my suitcase to go back west — this time New Mexico, via Phoenix.

Will you mind if I don’t tell you about my week there?

Were I disciplined enough to have written all this in August, I would have recounted in detail the scenic drives, hidden lakes, pleasant dinners — even the herd of mighty elk that thundered across the mountain pass in front of us. But instead it is October: three months since that week with Chloe; six weeks since we broke up. What can I say about the trip now? I had a lovely time. She and her family are wonderful people.

As time passes, actions and feelings piling up in its wake, our memories change in a way we cannot control. The past is seen only through the lens of the inevitable present. A delightful Christmas morning is tinged with sorrow after a sudden death, the valleys of a roller-coaster year are forgotten under the ether of nostalgia. What actually happened is not as important as how it is remembered, because only the second can ever change. Only the second makes a difference now.

The happiest moments, the perfect times, the days and nights you are surest of your fate and future: the joy they bring, though great, is never eternal, or immutable. And so the challenge of life is to risk the pain, to accept our transience and uncertainty, yet still choose to live — and love — with the abandon of the One who not only laid down His life for His friends, but commanded us to do the same.

Meka Has Fallen!

10/23/2008, 12:00 pm -- by David | 1 Comment

Meka has fallen. For those of you unfamiliar with Meka, she is the minor deity of considerable girth who reigns over the convenience store where I buy my coffee and newspaper everyday. She sits behind the counter, on a high throne that, to the uninitiated, appears to be a simple barstool. She rules the coffee maker and the racks of honey buns; she dispenses alcohol and tobacco products to the throngs of adoring devotees. All things considered, her reign has been a good one.

She arrived about a year ago, and her time has been marked by a magnanimous beneficence that had been greatly lacking in her predecessor. When I buy the USA Today and a cup of coffee each day, my total comes to 75 cents. If you know anything about the world of convenience stores, you know that the paper alone costs 75 cents. I’m not sure whether I get the coffee or the newspaper free, but I like the arrangement.

When Meka is not there, the owner charges me $1.25 for the same combo. On the rare day when they are both there, Meka charges me $1.50. I never flinch when this happens, not wanting to bring any ill fortune on her. Meka giveth and Meka taketh away. Blessed is Meka.

Her predecessor was known as the Elephant Woman, not because of her size, but because of her short, compact stature, and the general grayness that seemed to infuse her entire appearance. She reminded me of a character from Babar. Before her, there was a red-haired girl of gothic bent, whose name I don’t recall, but who loved to talk about her pet squirrel Ralphie. At the time, oddly enough, we had a pet squirrel named Billy, and so there was common ground.

There was never a doubt about who was in charge during Meka’s reign. There is a license plate-sized placard behind the counter with the words “PERSON IN CHARGE,” and every day, “Meka” was written there in large red letters. And although I cannot prove it scientifically, things have been better under her rule. Slothman Cabdriver has not blocked my coffee access in months, his slow stirs costing me precious minutes so I pull into work at 8:02, not 7:59. I also have not been accosted by panhandlers lately. I like Meka.

All good things must come to an end, though. When I entered the store Monday morning, the sign loudly proclaimed: “PERSON IN CHARGE — Jesus, honey!”

So Meka was gone, but how could I be dismayed? I was shocked and elated; all I could do was ask the owner (to his utter confusion) if Jesus would still be selling beer and alcohol. I didn’t mention the wine because I hate taking a nearly indefensible position in a debate.

To my great delight, Meka was back today, but the sign remained. She explained that she was tired of Jehovah’s Witnesses coming into the store, “readin’ they scriptures to folks and stuff,” so she made the change herself. Things can only get better now that Meka has yielded control of her small kingdom to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

“Crap” Reaches Christian Expletive Hall of Acceptance

10/22/2008, 10:30 am -- by Steve | 4 Comments

–ATLANTA, Ga.

Angry and frustrated Christians can curse easier today as “crap,” long considered vulgar and sinful, was elected to the religion’s Expletive Hall of Acceptance.

“This is a big day for ‘crap’ and the Christians who can now feel free to use it to express even their most righteous anger,” said Rev. Jerry Johnson, expletive voter from the Southern Baptist Convention and longtime supporter of the punchy euphemism for defecation. “I for one look forward to hearing what the Bishop T.D. Jakes can do with this now-fully sanctified word.”

With the vote, “crap” joins “dang,” “heck,” “good grief,” and the still-controversial “gosh-darn” as first-ballot selections to the Hall. Not only does the decision pave the way for “crap” to be used with impunity in bulletin inserts, at church potlucks, and on the covers of countless shallow, doctrinally unsound books, but it also retroactively negates an estimated 350,000 threats of the use of soap in the mouths of impudent youngsters.

“The voters clearly realized that ‘crap’ is a true triple threat,” said George Ito, linguistics professor at Wheaton College. “The word combines the powerful release of a plosive consonant with the naughty tinge that comes from its mild vulgar meaning, and — most importantly to evangelicals — it has the benefit of not actually being, uh, the ’s-word.’ You can’t get away with using that one unless you’re that darn Tony Campolo!”

“Golly, he’s a loose cannon,” Ito added.

The Hall was created in 1954 for two purposes: to recognize and honor those offensive words which had become so common that Christians gave up trying to avoid them, and to provide a convenient way to judge one another based on their words. “Before the Hall, it was anybody’s guess which words were okay; I didn’t know who should get a sneer and who should get a hug,” said Johnson’s wife, Mabel Lou. “The Hall just makes this judgment crap so damn convenient.”

“What? That one’s not okay yet? Oh dear me.”

“The difference between ’shucks’ and ’sucks’ may be just one letter, but it might just mean everything eternally,” added Rev. Jerry. “At least until next year, when we look at ’sucks’ again. I think it’s got a pretty good shot actually.”

The Johnsons also noted that the vote on “crap” does not extend to the phrase “holy crap,” which is still “very, very wrong.”

In related news, “freaking” was denied acceptance yet again in this, its 20th and final year of eligibility.

Best of Job: My Worst Teacher

10/21/2008, 9:30 am -- by Job Tate | No Comments

Originally published in May 2007.

Whether holding my hand over the fire pit of his analogies or examining broken twigs on the trail of his meandering reasons, never track his logic could I.

I always felt like I was a few days behind him, pressing through the dark forest of my instruction — trusting, hoping that his point lay just ahead, around the bend. I never enjoyed the chase, and there’s a thin line between being challenged and harassed. I came to a particular point in my trek when I determined that when a point is that well-hidden and obscure… when it requires that much angst to merely understand it… only a fool would spend his time rotting in the woods trying to catch it. The best in life is easily understood, and truth despises fog.

My worst teacher.

A man who bristled at the notion that you might think differently than him, he sent you his own copious notes before class and asked that you not take any others. They distracted him. If a question endeavored to stampede the discussion away from his notes, the energy he’d employ to corral us back into line was almost pornographic. Bullying, effacing and no-kid-gloves sophistry were never below him.

Sadly, these tactics were never below me either, and we butted heads to such a degree that he eventually asked me to drop the class. Success in his class was conformity to his thinking, a convincing imitation of it, or the old B-minus silence — none of which seemed a workable solution to me. My parents had taught me to speak my mind and to be aware and wary of socialist thinking. To him I was ruined.

While he had earned tenure, a doctorate in sociology, and ample respect from his colleagues, in turn he asked his students to simply piggyback on his experiences, judgment and morality. To just trust him. Our own conclusions were not encouraged, but headed-off.

But perhaps in being the worst teacher of my life, he is slowly morphing more readily into the best. He is the one who taught me that when it comes to faith, love and logic, I will only embrace them when I am tracking the truth — not, alone, someone else’s version of it.