No, this one isn't choking protesters, but it's still pretty cool. Enjoy!
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
One-Eyed Man
A number of years ago, my father lost the sight in his left eye. The retina detached and surgery did not help the situation, despite a lengthy and annoying recovery process. I prayed fervently that God would restore his vision, but He hasn’t yet (He still could). Then, a year after that, the retina began to detach in his other eye, and we were once again in the hospital as he underwent surgery. Of course, this time, he didn’t have a spare.
I was 23 or so at the time, a grown man with a job and all of that stuff, but sitting in my father’s hospital room as he waited for surgery, I felt very much like a little child. I struggled to understand why this was happening to my dad, and felt afraid for him and what it might be like for him if the surgery failed. My father would have been left blind and would have never seen his sons marry, his wife’s face, the smile of his grandchildren, the sunset... It was a very poignant moment and, sitting alone with him, I couldn’t fight back the tears. I asked my father, “What point is God trying to teach us with this? How is risking your sight going to glorify Him?”
My dad’s response was, “I don’t know. But I know it will.”
That response still sticks with me, and was brought to mind when I was reading John 9:1-3 - As he [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.”
I can’t tell you my father’s story; what he went through is for him to tell and not for me. But I think his response is very telling, and I was humbled to learn from it. As I have continued to learn more about God, I have learned that this is the truth: every experience - pleasant or unpleasant - will glorify God. This will happen whether we like it or not. Every experience teaches us something about who He is, what He values, and who He wants His children to be. It is up to us whether we fight it (read the rest of the story in John 9), or whether we say, “I don’t know how this is going to glorify you, God, but I trust it will and look forward to seeing it.”
There is no disembodied force at work in your life - no fate, no dumb luck - but rather, God is orchestrating and decreeing each event. You may blame Him if you wish, but that will not change the ultimate outcome: this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in your life.
I was 23 or so at the time, a grown man with a job and all of that stuff, but sitting in my father’s hospital room as he waited for surgery, I felt very much like a little child. I struggled to understand why this was happening to my dad, and felt afraid for him and what it might be like for him if the surgery failed. My father would have been left blind and would have never seen his sons marry, his wife’s face, the smile of his grandchildren, the sunset... It was a very poignant moment and, sitting alone with him, I couldn’t fight back the tears. I asked my father, “What point is God trying to teach us with this? How is risking your sight going to glorify Him?”
My dad’s response was, “I don’t know. But I know it will.”
That response still sticks with me, and was brought to mind when I was reading John 9:1-3 - As he [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.”
I can’t tell you my father’s story; what he went through is for him to tell and not for me. But I think his response is very telling, and I was humbled to learn from it. As I have continued to learn more about God, I have learned that this is the truth: every experience - pleasant or unpleasant - will glorify God. This will happen whether we like it or not. Every experience teaches us something about who He is, what He values, and who He wants His children to be. It is up to us whether we fight it (read the rest of the story in John 9), or whether we say, “I don’t know how this is going to glorify you, God, but I trust it will and look forward to seeing it.”
There is no disembodied force at work in your life - no fate, no dumb luck - but rather, God is orchestrating and decreeing each event. You may blame Him if you wish, but that will not change the ultimate outcome: this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in your life.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Mind the Cyclist
Well, I learned that if a cyclist runs a red light and crosses your path, you'll probably hit him. If you (and he) are fortunate, he'll walk away with only a few bruises and some stiffness. Sure, your car will have some damage and you'll smash his bike, but if he can walk away from that, everything's good.
Sorry you ran the red light, Giovanni. I'm glad you're not dead. I would have felt bad about that, even though it was entirely your fault. I hope you'll pause the next time you're so tempted, because I don't know if your luck will hold out; next time, you might not meet a driver with my skill.
Oh, and if you're a witness to such a thing, pausing to shout obscenities at the cyclist is not a productive effort. He's already been hit by a car; how much worse do you believe you can make him feel? And even though he ran the red light, I'd say getting hit by a car is punishment enough; your scorn doesn't add any heat at all.
Sorry you ran the red light, Giovanni. I'm glad you're not dead. I would have felt bad about that, even though it was entirely your fault. I hope you'll pause the next time you're so tempted, because I don't know if your luck will hold out; next time, you might not meet a driver with my skill.
Oh, and if you're a witness to such a thing, pausing to shout obscenities at the cyclist is not a productive effort. He's already been hit by a car; how much worse do you believe you can make him feel? And even though he ran the red light, I'd say getting hit by a car is punishment enough; your scorn doesn't add any heat at all.
End of an Era
Goodbye, old friend.
I feel a little silly writing this, but I'm going to anyway, and hang the consequences. It's about my car. My beloved 1998 Corolla... 5 speed, ruby pearl paint, 8-ball shiftknob... Trogdor sticker in the window. Martha (short for a Gaelic word for "survivor") was a beaut of an automobile; she was reliable, practical, and just sexy enough. Admittedly, she was something of a magnet for destruction (thus her name), but I loved that car.
Obviously I know that this was simply an object. It was a car. Despite the personification I might ascribe to it, it was inorganic. Still, she was Martha. There's a part of me that thinks she liked me best and worked best for me.
I drove that car everywhere. Martha'd been to Milwaukee a number of times, to Chicago, Moose Jaw, Calgary, Minneapolis, Saskatoon, Edmonton... that car had seen a lot of the midwest. I took my wife on dates in that car; I took uncountable youth to events or drove them home in that car; I went to football games with friends; I drove people to the hospital. If it was a major moment in my adult life, chances are that Martha was involved somehow. She never died on me, never cost me much money. Snow didn't stop her. The cold didn't stop her (I once left it in temperatures of -50C with the windchill for 8 hours, without the block heater plugged in, and she started up like it was a warm summer's day).
Sadly, it was hail that finally put her to rest. Admittedly, she would have continued on (and I like to think she will), pocked and dinged, but I just couldn't keep her. Laurel and I are hoping to get a new one, and the payout from insurance was good. So, I had to sell her.
Last night Laurel and I took a long drive, to say goodbye, I guess. We drove to places we liked going, and I drove familiar streets and appreciated the smooth shifting and speedy acceleration. It was nice. Sort of like a wake, I guess. I dropped Martha off this morning, handed over the keys, and got on the bus to go to work.
Anyway, it's the end of an era.
I feel a little silly writing this, but I'm going to anyway, and hang the consequences. It's about my car. My beloved 1998 Corolla... 5 speed, ruby pearl paint, 8-ball shiftknob... Trogdor sticker in the window. Martha (short for a Gaelic word for "survivor") was a beaut of an automobile; she was reliable, practical, and just sexy enough. Admittedly, she was something of a magnet for destruction (thus her name), but I loved that car.
Obviously I know that this was simply an object. It was a car. Despite the personification I might ascribe to it, it was inorganic. Still, she was Martha. There's a part of me that thinks she liked me best and worked best for me.
I drove that car everywhere. Martha'd been to Milwaukee a number of times, to Chicago, Moose Jaw, Calgary, Minneapolis, Saskatoon, Edmonton... that car had seen a lot of the midwest. I took my wife on dates in that car; I took uncountable youth to events or drove them home in that car; I went to football games with friends; I drove people to the hospital. If it was a major moment in my adult life, chances are that Martha was involved somehow. She never died on me, never cost me much money. Snow didn't stop her. The cold didn't stop her (I once left it in temperatures of -50C with the windchill for 8 hours, without the block heater plugged in, and she started up like it was a warm summer's day).
Sadly, it was hail that finally put her to rest. Admittedly, she would have continued on (and I like to think she will), pocked and dinged, but I just couldn't keep her. Laurel and I are hoping to get a new one, and the payout from insurance was good. So, I had to sell her.
Last night Laurel and I took a long drive, to say goodbye, I guess. We drove to places we liked going, and I drove familiar streets and appreciated the smooth shifting and speedy acceleration. It was nice. Sort of like a wake, I guess. I dropped Martha off this morning, handed over the keys, and got on the bus to go to work.
Anyway, it's the end of an era.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
June 13, 2009
I woke up with enough time to do everything I needed to do. It was not a day to miss anything, signified by the large sign on the inside of my outer door. I took care of the things that needed taking care of, and then hopped into my rental car and headed for the church.I was first to arrive at the Chapel, which is appropriate. Actually, the minister was waiting for me. It was the first beautiful day of the summer, but it could have been raining down fire mixed with hail and I wouldn’t have noticed; I was getting married! But before that could happen, I still had a number of things to do...
Well, all those tasks faded away when I realised that guests were arriving and I still hadn’t changed into my tux. Yes, many of them were greeted by the sight of me in a white Tshirt and plaid shorts. So, my groomsmen and I got changed quickly, and then it was time for the whole thing to begin. The minster (Chad) prayer with me and my groomsmen and then they went to where they needed to be, and I stood in the room and waited, surrounded by all the things from the stage we had removed.
Laurel and I wanted hymns. We love hymns, and it’s a
good way to get everyone to find a seat without having to say as much. We picked two: “Great is Thy Faithfulness,” and “To God be the Glory,” both of which we want to be themes in our marriage. If we accomplish nothing else, we will give God glory because of His faithfulness. I waited in the room for the first song to be done, and then Chad and I went into the sanctuary to wait, and sing. I love singing, and I loved singing at the front while I waited. It was amazing to see - and hear! - the Chapel so full of people. It’s been years since it was that full, I think, and I was humbled to see so many people... and nervous. Very, very nervous.
The hymns ended and my parents walked up the aisle. I hugged them both and then along came Laurel’s mom and brother. Following them, the groomsmen with their bridesmaids. I waited. I stood there, watching them come, smiling like crazy. Laurel wanted a specific piece played for her processional, and our lovely and talented friend Beckie played. But Beckie is a perfectionist (it goes well with her talent), and insisted that the song would either be 20 seconds or the full 2 minutes and not in between. So, we waited for 1 full minute before Laurel appeared.I don’t know if you’ve ever done that. I don’t know if you’ve stood in front of 250 people and just waited. We knew there would be the wait, but the guests didn’t. I started to see some concerned looks and puzzled expressions. I just smiled, trying to help them all see that it was perfectly fine. In the meantime, I waited and prayed for strength.
The door at the back opened and I saw my bride. It was the first time
I’d seen her that day, and the first time I’d seen the dress. And she looked stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, radiant... and every other synonym. My breath caught in my throat and I felt like I was choking. I wanted to cry and laugh and breathe and run to get her all at once. But, I stood. My dad mouthed the word, “breathe,” and I did. Sweet oxygen... So I didn’t pass out, but I stood and waited and fought back tears.
I took my place beside her and our parents gave their blessing on our marriage. Up on stage we went. After that, it was mostly a blur. I remember almost not making it through the vows because of my emotions, and I remember that Larry sang “The Wellspring” by Steve Bell and a more perfect song there wasn’t. We kneeled and were prayed over by Chad. We kissed, and then were announced. We left to the Hallelujah Chorus.
We met people outside of our little church and took pictures with anyone who wanted one. People on Osborne honked for us, and I just stood there grinning like a lovestruck fool. I was. I still am. I look forward to saying the same on our 25th anniversary.
After a time, we hopped into her uncle Allen’s restored Model T (gorgeous car, and he generously offered to drive us around) and we paused for more pictures. We drove to a nearby city park for a few pictures. No one gets mad at a Model T, no matter how many kilometers slower than the speed limit it’s going. How do you get mad at a car built in 1915, and which carries a new bride? Not possible.The reception was a blur. There were speeches and friends and family and food and... I didn’t get to see everyone I wanted. I thought I would be able to, but I just couldn’t. It was a lunch reception and featured chicken fingers (that was what Laurel wanted, so we had it), and it was everything I wanted.
We left and took pictures with our wedding party. They were amazing throughout the day. I couldn’t have asked for a better group of guys. They drove for us, 
were amazingly good sports through the afternoon of pictures, and seemed to have a good time.
They got into things, and made suggestions for pictures. I was and am humbled to have such men in my life, and even moreso when I think of the other people I could have asked if I’d been allowed to have 6 groomsmen.
That was my wedding day. This isn’t a very good description of everything that happened, so if you have a memory, why not share it? Help me see it through your eyes.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Wait... What?
If you would like to watch a video that will make your head hurt a little, give this gem a try. Allow me to summarise, to save you the time:
In the book of Mark, according to the King James version of the Bible, there are 678 verses. In the book of Mark, according to the New International version of the Bible, there are 678 verses, but there is a note that says that the earliest and most reliable manuscripts do not include Mark 16:9-20. So, the pastor says, if the NIV says that the most reliable manuscripts don't contain those verses, it shouldn't either. Therefore, we subtract those 12 verses from the total of 678 and we get....
I'll let you do the math...
...Yes, 666 verses in the NIV book of Mark. And this is how we know that the NIV is a Satanic version of the Bible.
You can't tell, but I'm clapping sarcastically.
Well done, detective pastor man. Great work in deciphering an arbitrary numbering system designed to help those of us who don't speak Greek sort through the different verses, and realising that it's the Devil's own work.
Know what? There's a community club near my house whose address is 666 Silverstone; does he believe that Satan is worshipped there? Would he refuse to take his kids to that place to play hockey because of the address? - another arbitrary numbering system!? Or what if his bill comes out to $6.66 with taxes? Will he refuse to pay that because clearly that money is going right to the Devil himself?
And another thing: assuming I were the Devil and I had arranged for this translation to be made so that it would point people towards me and away from God, why would I ever leave my signature all over it? The Devil is not that stupid, misguided pastor fellow. It just doesn't make sense, even if we allow your original assumption (that the NIV is Satanic) to be true.
Listen, if I tried to pull something like that while preaching, my father would walk up to the pulpit and drag me off the stage personally. And he wouldn't be the only one, just the fastest.
I'm not going to waste more time trying to wrap my head around the idiotic question of how many verses are there in Mark; I'm instead going to focus on two pieces of advice. I will leave them for you, first in the NIV and then in the KJV, so that worshippers of Satan and God can each understand in their own languages (said with tongue firmly in cheek)...
Titus 3:9 (NIV) - But avoid foolish controversies and genealogies and arguments and quarrels about the law, because these are unprofitable and useless.
(KJV) - But avoid foolish questions, and genealogies, and contentions, and strivings about the law; for they are unprofitable and vain.
2 Tim 2:23 (NIV) - Don't have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels.
(KJV) - But foolish and unlearned questions avoid, knowing that they do gender strifes.
In the book of Mark, according to the King James version of the Bible, there are 678 verses. In the book of Mark, according to the New International version of the Bible, there are 678 verses, but there is a note that says that the earliest and most reliable manuscripts do not include Mark 16:9-20. So, the pastor says, if the NIV says that the most reliable manuscripts don't contain those verses, it shouldn't either. Therefore, we subtract those 12 verses from the total of 678 and we get....
I'll let you do the math...
...Yes, 666 verses in the NIV book of Mark. And this is how we know that the NIV is a Satanic version of the Bible.
You can't tell, but I'm clapping sarcastically.
Well done, detective pastor man. Great work in deciphering an arbitrary numbering system designed to help those of us who don't speak Greek sort through the different verses, and realising that it's the Devil's own work.
Know what? There's a community club near my house whose address is 666 Silverstone; does he believe that Satan is worshipped there? Would he refuse to take his kids to that place to play hockey because of the address? - another arbitrary numbering system!? Or what if his bill comes out to $6.66 with taxes? Will he refuse to pay that because clearly that money is going right to the Devil himself?
And another thing: assuming I were the Devil and I had arranged for this translation to be made so that it would point people towards me and away from God, why would I ever leave my signature all over it? The Devil is not that stupid, misguided pastor fellow. It just doesn't make sense, even if we allow your original assumption (that the NIV is Satanic) to be true.
Listen, if I tried to pull something like that while preaching, my father would walk up to the pulpit and drag me off the stage personally. And he wouldn't be the only one, just the fastest.
I'm not going to waste more time trying to wrap my head around the idiotic question of how many verses are there in Mark; I'm instead going to focus on two pieces of advice. I will leave them for you, first in the NIV and then in the KJV, so that worshippers of Satan and God can each understand in their own languages (said with tongue firmly in cheek)...
Titus 3:9 (NIV) - But avoid foolish controversies and genealogies and arguments and quarrels about the law, because these are unprofitable and useless.
(KJV) - But avoid foolish questions, and genealogies, and contentions, and strivings about the law; for they are unprofitable and vain.
2 Tim 2:23 (NIV) - Don't have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels.
(KJV) - But foolish and unlearned questions avoid, knowing that they do gender strifes.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Delicious
A little while ago, I made pulled pork sandwiches in the slow cooker (thank you, whoever gave that to us - it's written down somewhere but that's my wife department), and they were so good I feel compelled to share it here. Enjoy!
3-4lbs Boneless pork shoulder butt roast, trimmed
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup ketchup
1/4 cup fancy molasses
1/4 cup water
3 tbsp dijon mustard
1 tbsp worcestershire sauce
1 tsp pepper
Put roast into slow cooker
combine remaining ingredients in a medium bowl. Pour over roast. Cover.
Cook on low for 9-10 hours, or on high for 4.5-5 hours.
Transfer roast to large plate. Skim and discard any fat from surface of liquid in cooker.
Shred pork with two forks. Return pork to sauce. Stir well. Serves 12.
I went and added "some" cayenne to the mix, too. I would also not add as much molasses to the mixture. I like it hot, not super sweet. Otherwise, this recipe was awesome, and I leave it with you to try.
3-4lbs Boneless pork shoulder butt roast, trimmed
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup ketchup
1/4 cup fancy molasses
1/4 cup water
3 tbsp dijon mustard
1 tbsp worcestershire sauce
1 tsp pepper
Put roast into slow cooker
combine remaining ingredients in a medium bowl. Pour over roast. Cover.
Cook on low for 9-10 hours, or on high for 4.5-5 hours.
Transfer roast to large plate. Skim and discard any fat from surface of liquid in cooker.
Shred pork with two forks. Return pork to sauce. Stir well. Serves 12.
I went and added "some" cayenne to the mix, too. I would also not add as much molasses to the mixture. I like it hot, not super sweet. Otherwise, this recipe was awesome, and I leave it with you to try.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Gender Identity: The Mixup
Imagine that you don't know me. You don't know anything about me except my name (as Chris), until one day you meet my very good friend, Sean. Sean is a guy I've known for almost 20 years, and he knows me quite well. Well, in talking about me, Sean starts to use gender-specific pronouns. "I went to the football game with Chris, and he sure had a good time," he might say, or, "Chris and I were talking and I said to him, 'You've got to see this movie,' and he said to me, 'Sounds good.'" (Forgive the cheesy dialogue; Sean is much more eloquent than that.)
Given all that you know about me (my name, and the fact that Sean uses male pronouns to refer to me) what would you estimate my gender to be?
Well, unless you've recently suffered repeated blows to the head, you would correctly believe that I am a male - or, that I have made it apparent that my pronouns of choice are the male ones. You would not be wise to start referring to me as a "she," as I am not.
So, why do so many people (and I mean liberal theologians) persist in doing the same to God?
Before we go any further, I am not saying God is a man. I am in fact not saying God is even male (I'll leave the distinction for the philosophers to sort out later). This is about reference. Your source for information about me was someone who knows me very well. The information he provided about me to you was that male pronouns are appropriate to refer to me.
So, when faced with the constant flow of male pronouns used to describe God, we look at who's using them. I could mention the innumerable people throughout history who have referred to God as "He," but I really only need to mention one: Jesus.
Yes, Jesus. Jesus constantly referred to God as "Father," "Abba," "He," "Him," etc. If you believe what the Bible says about Jesus, then it seems He knows God very well (being one part of the trinity, etc). If you accept that Jesus knows God well, why would you think His use of male pronouns is in some way incorrect? Do you claim to know God better than He?
Some might argue that it's merely a matter of Jesus using "He" in order to appease and/or relate to the people of His time. Poppycock! The peoples in Jesus' time and place were very familiar with the notion of goddesses; and it wasn't like Jesus was crucified for getting the gender wrong. Some others might say it's a matter of the translation process being done in such a way as to perpetuate the male dominated hierarchy. If so, why would you believe anything in there? If every pronoun was deliberately made male to further some oppression, I should think every should be suspicious for the same reason.
Some might argue that it doesn't matter. God is God, after all. He's not a created being and since He has no gender of His own as we understand it, any pronoun ought to work (except "it," since God is a person of sorts). "He" should be just as valid an option as "she" and Jesus was probably just choosing the one that He as a human identified with more closely.
The "who cares" response is one that I've really enjoyed using, and in lots of cases, it can help sort through the important things from the unimportant. But Jesus certainly seemed to care; He used only male language to describe God, and if there's one thing about Jesus: he wasn't afraid to ruffle some feathers if it was the truth.
Maybe this is not a big deal. Maybe there's only three people who will ever read this who will ever come across someone who refers to the God of the Bible as a she. Maybe only person who ever reads this will be one of those people. I would love to know the reasons, if I haven't already guessed it. But I think it's important to know things about God, and to know them to be true. What we know of God, through the words of Jesus, is that male pronouns are the ones that Jesus uses to refer to Him. If it's good enough for Jesus, I say it's good enough for me. And, what's more, to do otherwise is to disregard the language of the person who knows God best.
Given all that you know about me (my name, and the fact that Sean uses male pronouns to refer to me) what would you estimate my gender to be?
Well, unless you've recently suffered repeated blows to the head, you would correctly believe that I am a male - or, that I have made it apparent that my pronouns of choice are the male ones. You would not be wise to start referring to me as a "she," as I am not.
So, why do so many people (and I mean liberal theologians) persist in doing the same to God?
Before we go any further, I am not saying God is a man. I am in fact not saying God is even male (I'll leave the distinction for the philosophers to sort out later). This is about reference. Your source for information about me was someone who knows me very well. The information he provided about me to you was that male pronouns are appropriate to refer to me.
So, when faced with the constant flow of male pronouns used to describe God, we look at who's using them. I could mention the innumerable people throughout history who have referred to God as "He," but I really only need to mention one: Jesus.
Yes, Jesus. Jesus constantly referred to God as "Father," "Abba," "He," "Him," etc. If you believe what the Bible says about Jesus, then it seems He knows God very well (being one part of the trinity, etc). If you accept that Jesus knows God well, why would you think His use of male pronouns is in some way incorrect? Do you claim to know God better than He?
Some might argue that it's merely a matter of Jesus using "He" in order to appease and/or relate to the people of His time. Poppycock! The peoples in Jesus' time and place were very familiar with the notion of goddesses; and it wasn't like Jesus was crucified for getting the gender wrong. Some others might say it's a matter of the translation process being done in such a way as to perpetuate the male dominated hierarchy. If so, why would you believe anything in there? If every pronoun was deliberately made male to further some oppression, I should think every should be suspicious for the same reason.
Some might argue that it doesn't matter. God is God, after all. He's not a created being and since He has no gender of His own as we understand it, any pronoun ought to work (except "it," since God is a person of sorts). "He" should be just as valid an option as "she" and Jesus was probably just choosing the one that He as a human identified with more closely.
The "who cares" response is one that I've really enjoyed using, and in lots of cases, it can help sort through the important things from the unimportant. But Jesus certainly seemed to care; He used only male language to describe God, and if there's one thing about Jesus: he wasn't afraid to ruffle some feathers if it was the truth.
Maybe this is not a big deal. Maybe there's only three people who will ever read this who will ever come across someone who refers to the God of the Bible as a she. Maybe only person who ever reads this will be one of those people. I would love to know the reasons, if I haven't already guessed it. But I think it's important to know things about God, and to know them to be true. What we know of God, through the words of Jesus, is that male pronouns are the ones that Jesus uses to refer to Him. If it's good enough for Jesus, I say it's good enough for me. And, what's more, to do otherwise is to disregard the language of the person who knows God best.
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