Everything That Rises Must Converge

The Church Needs Women...In Leadership

2012-02-02T11:56:00.000-06:00

Why the Church needs Women…especially in leadership.

(This is in response to Rachel HeldEvans’ call to respond to John Piper’s words.)

So it’s been popular lately for certain evangelical “celebrities”to go on the offensive with their so-called “masculine” approach toChristianity. They claim that God intended the Church to have a “masculine feel.”They claim that Scripture clearly teachesthat men—and only men—should hold positions of leadership within the Church, thatwives should submit to their husbands, and those men should submit to the menwho lead their congregations (often without question), and then those men areultimately submissive to God (who is of course the biggest man, who can benchpress two city buses while chewing tobacco and kicking someone’s @$$ with histatted leg).

While there are an overwhelming number of people who supportthis point of view, I have to be honest, I can’t stand it! While those who toutthis point of view and spout a handful of proof texts to back them up, I feellike it ignores a great deal of what Scripture teaches us. We need women in theChurch. We need women in leadership in the Church. We need to realize that thisisn’t merely the product of twentieth century egalitarianism—there is biblicalprecedent. In order to prove my point, I thought I’d highlight a few women fromScripture for whose roles as leaders I am thankful.

Let’s start with Deborah. Now, if you have to ask, “Who’sDeborah?” read Judges 4-5. Deborah judged Israel; that means she was the leaderof the people of God. Unlike many of the other judges listed in Scripture,Deborah was wise, selfless, and actively involved in the affairs of Israel (asopposed to her own ambitions). Deborah is the beginning of what I see as a sortof pattern in Scripture: when men fail at being leaders, women are oftenempowered by God, not only to fill the void, but to show how it ought to bedone!

Just look at the story of Ruth and Naomi. Ruth has such loveand devotion for her mother-in-law Naomi that she refuses to leave her alone inorder to seek her own security (sounds like something Jesus might haveapplauded, yes?). It’s through her faithfulness and determination that the lineof David (and thus Jesus) came into existence.

Of course, the New Testament is filled with women who aregiven wonderful roles in leadership. In Romans 16, Paul mentions Phoebe (adeacon of the church at Cenchreae and leader in the church), Prisca/Priscilla (aco-laborer with Paul in his work), and Junia/Julia (who is regarded asprominent among the apostles) just to name three.

Then there’s the story of Lydia in Acts 16. Lydia was a sellerof purple near Philippi. After her conversion and the baptism of her household,she invites Paul and his companions to stay with her in her home. It’s possibleLydia had a hand in starting the church of Paul’s beloved Philippians, as shewas one of the first believers in the region converted under Paul’s ministry.

My final example is Mary, the mother of Jesus. If you thinkwomen should serve no role in leadership in the Church, you have obviouslyoverlooked Mary. Without Mary’s faithfulness to carry the Son of God, without herfaithful example (which left such a profound mark on Luke and his gospel), whoknows in what shape the early Church would have found itself.

The Church needs women…especially in leadership. The peopleof God have always needed women. When I reflect on my own life, it hasn’t exclusivelybeen the macho, rugged men of faith who have left their mark on my faith. Infact, the person I often credit with shaping my faith most is a woman—my grandmother,Rosie Orene Thomas. Without her faithful, loving, earthy, example of what weare supposed to be as people created in the image of God, I can only imaginewhat my life and my faith may be like.

May those of us who hold up the biblical example of women inleadership step up and begin to balance the scales. May we hold up those womenin positions of leadership who are sharing the gospel of hope, love, andequality with a hopeless, hate-filled, and unjust world. Let us applaud theirfaithfulness, because the Church needs women…especially women in leadership.

CPT

A Sermon for the second Sunday of Advent

2011-12-04T16:49:00.000-06:00

Here's a link to the manuscript of my sermon for the second Sunday of Advent, "Peace while Waiting":http://a-good-sermon-is-hard-to-find.blogspot.com/2011/12/peace-and-waiting-second-sunday-of.html

What if Jesus Comes Back Like That? ( A post for Advent)

2011-11-30T15:41:00.001-06:00

I wonder what they were saying about the coming of the messiah in the synagogues of Judea leading up to the first century. Were the rabbis preaching in front of giant, billboard-sized scrolls outlining the "Seven Signs of the Messiah's Appearing"? Did artists busy their brushes painting great images of a conquering king, his sword flashing in the blazing sun as he drove out Rome and all his enemies before him? I wonder, if they had been able, if folks would have produced dramatic motion pictures outlining every detail of the arrival of their idealized version of the Messiah. Would authors have written captivating volumes of fiction describing scenarios surrounding the Messiah's arrival that would have sold millions of copies? Would they have produced DVD series outlining the major prophecies of Isaiah and Hosea concerning the nature of the Messiah? I wonder if they had ever even imagined that he might arrive in a manger-as a baby born to an unknown woman.

I don't know what people might have thought then, but I know that a lot of them missed it. They missed the Messiah in the manger.

I wonder what they are saying about the second coming of the Messiah in the churches of America today. Are preachers shaping their sermons in such a way to paint a detailed picture of what that day will look like? Have books like Left Behind and The Late, Great Planet Earth replaced the wonder and mystery of Scripture? Have the hope, peace, joy, and love of this season been trampled by doomsday predictions right alongside consumerism? Have sermons announcing the ever-increasing evil in the world completely replaced sermons calling Christ's Church to the work of the Master while he is away? Have we become too consumed with what that day will be like that we just might miss it when it comes?

Now don't get me wrong here. I'm not saying the second coming of Christ will be something easily missed, but what if it isn't what we are expecting? What if Jesus comes back with less sky-splitting grandeur than we'd like to see? What if our hopes and fears of that coming day are slightly off target? What if we're like those who rejcted the notion of a Messiah who came as a baby born in a barn to be crucified on a cross? What if Jesus' second Advent is like his first, catching us completely off gaurd (like, say, "a thief in the night")? Will we be ready? Will we be so in love with Christ and the work of his kingdom that we couldn't possibly miss his return? Or will we be so consumed with trying to guess how it will all go down that we'll either miss it or find that we've ignored the kingdom's work right here in our midst?

As we are in this season of Advent, a season that calls our memories back to Bethlehem and our hearts forward to the future coming of Christ, may we live in the loving tension between the two. May we be so caught up in Christ's calling and the work of the kingdom that we look back to Bethlehem and the birth of our Lord with great joy and forward to that coming day with a hope that motivates us to love and make peace here in the present.

I want to end this Advent thought here with a few words from a song Collin Raye released in the mid-1990s that asked, "What if Jesus comes back like that?"
What if Jesus comes back like that
On an old freight train in a hobo hat
Will we let him in or turn our back
What if Jesus comes back like that
Oh what if Jesus comes back like that...
What if Jesus comes back like that
Two months early and hooked on crack
Will we let him in or turn our back
What if Jesus comes back like that
He came to town on a cold dark night
A single star his only light
The baby born that silent night
A manger for his bed
What if Jesus comes back like that
Where will he find out hearts are at
Will he let us in or turn his back
What if Jesus comes back like that
Will he cry when he sees where our hearts are at
Will he let us in or turn his back
What if Jesus comes back like that
Hey what if Jesus comes back like that...[1]

CPT

[1] Collin Raye, "What if Jesus Comes Back Like That" from I Think About You. Released by Epic Records in 1995.

'Til Death (or Alzheimer's?) Do Us Part

2011-09-20T11:36:00.001-05:00

In case you haven't heard, Pat Robertson has done it again. No, he didn't blame a recent natural disaster or terrorist attack on pro-choice politicians, homosexuals, or deals with the devil. Rather, in what I hope was perhaps an attempt at providing genuine counsel, Robertson responded to a 700 Club viewer's question about a friend who had decided it is alright to see other people since his wife has Alzheimer's and no longer recognizes him. Robertson went on to answer the viewer's inquiry by suggesting that the man divorce his wife, after having secured her care, because she has experienced a "kind of death."

Now there have been all sorts of responses to Pat Robertson's words over the past few days, many criticizing his response and some coming to his defense. I, however, can't help but think about what kind of testimony these sorts of "controversies" make to those outside of the Christian faith. Sure, those of us on the more progressive side of Christianity are quick to dismiss such remarks (from Robertson and the like) as we would the awkward jokes from a strange family member at Thanksgiving, but what about those outside of the faith, those who cannot understand the complexity and diversity present in the Body of Christ? Can we present such diversity without sounding fractured, disjointed, and contradictory? Perhaps a short parable would help.

There were two brothers who loved each other very much. They loved each other despite their respective faults. At times, one brother would be embarrassed by the words or actions of the other, yet their love for one another was strong. Then, one day the older brother was struck with an awful ailment that caused him to forget where he was, and he would frequently say strange things that made little or no sense, things that embarrassed his family. The younger brother would often have to speak up on behalf of his family, on behalf of himself, when his brother would say such things, but still he loved his brother. It came to pass that the older brother's condition did not improve and the younger brother was faced with a choice: either disown the older brother and therefore save the family's reputation, or continue to love the brother and endure the occasional embarrassment and discomfort that would come from his misguided ramblings. What should the brother do?

In the family of the Christian faith we have many brothers and sisters who are struck with the ailments of fame, greed, ambition, etc., and many of them say incredibly embarrassing things from time to time. I suppose one could even make the argument that they have experienced a "kind of [spiritual] death." But do we disown them for the sake of our family's reputation? Do we divorce ourselves from them so that we may live more comfortably in light of the world around us? Or, regardless of how often we have to, do we speak up on behalf of our family, the Church, and make sure the world knows there is more to the Christ we follow than misguided opinions and over-analyzed sound bites? What should the brothers and sisters do?

Day1 Blog

2011-05-27T10:38:00.003-05:00

For any of you who may still be following this blog, I have also started blogging as a Key Voice blogger for Day1.org. You can find my first post here.

CPT

It's the end of the world...

2011-04-03T19:16:00.008-05:00

(I thought that title might get your attention.)

Here's a list of recent "signs of the end times":
1. Earthquake in Japan that damaged nuclear power plants.
2. Tornadoes ripping through the South.
3. Flooding in other parts of the South.
4. Droughts in Texas.
5. Osama Bin Laden was killed with a shot to the head (it's likely he'll be back from the dead soon, so stay tuned to Fox News and TBN (maybe occasional shows on the History Channel) for the latest on the Anti-Christ).
6. Abortion is legal.
7. Rob Bell wrote a book about heaven and hell.
8. Do I need to keep going or have I "scared the hell out of you" yet?

I suppose I could quote all manner of Bible verses backing up each of these "points" to prove that we are indeed living in the "end times," but what would be the point in that? Apocalypse-loving Christians have been shouting from pulpits and soap boxes that we live in the "end times" for generations. They've pointed to all manner of proofs, from complicated mathematical renderings of the calendar, to the existence of evil dictators like Adolf Hitler. However, those generations have come and gone while the world keeps on spinning.
So what do all of these so-called signs mean? Simply, they mean we live in a fallen world. Yeah, the world stinks sometimes, and it really seems to stink when all folks want to talk about is how much it stinks.
But the truth is there is hope. There is hope when these awful things happen and total strangers come together out of love and common compassion. There is hope when people refuse to give up after losing everything. There is hope when, despite the constant stream of fear-driven news, individuals find reason to celebrate the future in graduation ceremonies and baby showers. In the end, all theses so-called "signs of the end of days" point to hope.
In that hope we find the real meaning of Christian eschatology (the study of the end): though sin may send the world spiralling out of control, there is a deeper, truer hope in Christ, and that hope can overcome whatever fear sin and devastation may bring. That hope is what we as believers are called to share, not the fear, not the anguish--the hope.

CPT

The Problem with Hell (Again)

2011-03-16T08:17:00.002-05:00

This is a re-post I thought might be appropriate in light of recent events in the "evangelical" and "emergent/emerging" world (and I just don't have the time at the moment for a new post).

Hell.

The word "hell" is mentioned only 13 times in the Bible (that is the New Revised Standard Version of the Old and New Testaments, excluding the Deuterocanonical books, for those of you keeping tabs). Eleven of those times it is in fact Jesus who speaks the word, which is the Greek word Gehenna (if you'd like to learn more about Gehenna and the history behind the word, you can click here). To give you a sense of perspective, while the word "hell" is translated some 13 times in the entire Bible, the word translated "poor" is used some 25 times just in the four gospels of the New Testament (of course in both cases this excludes allusions to the ideas of hell, poverty, etc.).

Hell has been the topic of some of my more "theological" discussion as of late, so I thought it might be useful to put some of my own thoughts on the subject down if for no other reason than to simply sort them out. I have to say I'm not "thrilled" about either side's (theologically conservative or liberal) approach to the whole issue about hell. For one thing, the fundamentalists have often used hell as a sort of "scare tactic" for faith, a sort of bully when it comes to theology: "If you don't get saved you'll go to hell, and nobody wants to go to hell and suffer in fire for eternity." Truthfully, I don't necessarily disagree with such a statement, but for one's entire approach to missions, evangelism, and faith in general to revolve around hell, creates a delinquency which cannot easily be repaired. As for the theological liberal who tends to cast hell aside as some relic of mythological antiquity, that too seems (at least to me) to leave a great gap in the teachings of Jesus.

So where does that leave me? It leaves me right about here: I believe hell is a real place, where (in Jesus' words) there "will be weeping and gnashing of teeth" caused by grief/pain/etc. beyond our comprehension (not necessarily literal fire); I believe hell is for all intents and purposes the opposite of heaven (i.e., the absence of God); I believe hell should not be the crux of one's theological persuasions and thus the very doctrine upon which to hang one's hat (I think love is probably a good one though!).

There you go; that's the gist of it. Of course I have other thoughts about hell--what it looks like, smells like, what happens there--but like so many others' opinions about hell, they are based on little more than cultural tradition and my own imagination.

CPT

A New (Additional) Blog

2011-02-24T08:55:00.002-06:00

Hey folks, I'm starting a new blog for sermon manuscripts. You can check it out here.

Too Baptist?

2011-02-08T10:53:00.005-06:00

I've been feeling like a tightrope walker without a net lately. As many of you who read this know I'm a Baptist, though not your ordinary Baptist in the South (and by no means a Southern Baptist). I tend to believe that the ecclesiological organizationof the Baptist tradition (i.e. congregational governance, autonomy, etc.) is more in line with the freedom and equality found in the gospel. I believe that the true mark of a Christian is a real, living, and personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I also believe that those who claim such a relationship are called to spread the gospel to unbelievers throughout the world. With that being said, one would think I'd have no problem fitting in with my Baptist brothers and sisters.
Ah, but how fooled we all are to think that the beautiful simplicity of unity in Christ is enough for unity in kingdom work.
While I strongly believe those thing I've already mentioned, I also believe that women have an equal opportunity in the sharing of the kingdom's work in the church. I believe the Bible to be authoritative, though I shutter at the word inerrant and all the baggage that comes with it. I believe a part of evangelism is ridding the world of injustice and the systemic sins of humankind along with the individual conversion of sinners. While I practice believer's baptism, I do not feel the need to re-baptize those believers from traditions that embrace pedobaptism (infant baptism). For these things (and possibly others), I am often left out of the loop called "Baptist."
"So," one may ask, "why are you a Baptist anyway?" It's a fair question I suppose. After all, we live in a world that is increasingly, non-or inter-denominational, and believers of my generation tend to bounce back-and-forth from steeple to steeple. Well, the short answer is, I believe in what it really means to be a Baptist. In my relatively short time in the faith (around 10 years) I have been encouraged and influenced my so many who wear the badge of being a "Baptist." Some were raging fundamentalists, some were left-leaning liberals, while most were just genuine Christians who felt that Christ called them to a life of love in the gospel. For me, to be a Baptist means being a Christian who practices his faith in freedom; freedom from hierarchy, freedom from forced interpretation, freedom from creeds and documents that tell me what I must believe and how I am to practice my beliefs. In the words of one of those Baptists who has influenced me greatly, Dr. Brad Creed (Provost, Samford University and former Dean of Truett Seminary), "Baptist means freedom." And for me, that also means a freedom to agree to disagree and still join together in the work of the kingdom of God.
So maybe I'm too Baptist to fit in with others who claim such a distinction. Perhaps I hang out too much with folks of other Christian traditions. Maybe I too often seek to cooperate with my brothers and sisters in the broader Church for the good of the world and the work of the kingdom. Maybe so, and if that means I'm not Baptist enough, or too Baptist, then oh well; I just hope we can all still call ourselves Christians.

CPT

Maybe it's too early in the morning...

2010-12-24T05:00:00.007-06:00

I'd like to say that I've been angry at God lately, but I always feel like that's a bit cliche and dramatic, so I'll just say I've been angry lately.
Maybe it's the holidays; truth be told I haven't really looked forward to Christmas since I was kid. I can't get behind the idea of buying gifts for people you hardly know or even buying things for people you do know who are completely capable of buying things for themselves. Maybe the entire notion of gift-giving is lost on me, but I absolutely hate the unnecessary stress of having to decide what to buy for people.
Maybe it's the added stress that comes with my vocation around this time of year; there are more services to plan, more sermons to write, more people to see, cards to write, calls to make, people to help. Don't get me wrong, it's times like this that I love my calling and love the change it brings to the lives of others, but it truly heaps stress upon stress.
Maybe it's some of the other thing going on in my life (things I'd rather not mention here for the sake of those involved). I've grown tired of hearing about how "awesome" everyone else's lives are as they postpone adulthood; I've grown callous towards my friends who seem to wax depressed when attention is scarce; I've learned that people love to cling to the past in the hopes that it will repeat itself (at least the good parts), and it kind of make my stomach turn; I'm fed up with this "thorn in my flesh" of seeing others being happy and somehow thinking it's a shot at me and the shortcomings of my life.
Maybe I just need to breathe. I've noticed lately that when I intentionally stop to breathe, I seem almost to be gasping. Perhaps I'll breathe better in 2011.

CPT

Revival

2010-10-17T18:18:00.009-05:00

As a minister I think about church a lot...I mean A WHOLE LOT! It's my life, my vocation, my passion of sorts, so it's natural that it would occupy my mind most of the time. Lately, however, I've been thinking more intentionally about church. I haven't been thinking about the usual stuff (sermons, events, Sunday school lessons, etc.); I've been thinking about why we even do church in the first place. Why does the congregation I lead even bother to meet? We are in a county of Alabama where there are at least 85 or so other congregations that are not too dissimilar from ours in terms of worship style, general practice, and doctrine. There are well over 100 churches in and around our city doing good things--"getting people saved," feeding hungry mouths, giving people gas money, etc.-- so why is it necessary that we exist? Is it even necessary at all?

Of course, I could easily extend that question to myself. There are hundreds of Christians in and around my community, and many of them are doing Christian service, sharing their faith, giving their time and their money. So what makes me different? Should I be different?

Of course, it depends on who you ask as to what sort of answer you'll get to those kinds of questions, but here are some of my thoughts. First of all, I do think there is a necessity for the congregation of which I am a part. Why? For the very reason I pose such a question: there are all of these congregations that surround us, yet there are so many people who get overlooked because of the color of their skin, the language they speak, or their particular socio-economic situation. It is precisely because there are so many other churches holding "Hell houses," preaching sermons that only focus on the necessity of some sort of conversion experience, declaring that they have the exclusive extension to the Almighty (and if they don't, well they do have a nice gymnasium and daycare). There are a lot of congregations in my tradition that do the same things, so I think our congregation stands a chance for reasonable existence if we are different. Of course, that is the big issue: how are we/will we be different?

Of course, different isn't the only answer. There are a lot of congregations doing genuine gospel work, living like Christ. Truth be told, most of them aren't in my Christian tradition, and I actually kind of like that. It gives our congregation a chance to bridge denominational and theological gaps, to begin healing wounds in our community that extend beyond our congregation and living generations. So rather that just striving to be different from the buffet of similar congregations, we may also strive to be like our brothers and sisters of different denominational stripes.

I guess in the end what I am trying to say, is that the "same ole, same ole" just doesn't seem to be what Christ had/has in mind for His Church. It's time to be different. The world expects us to be different, but not in a crazy "I protest funerals, beg for money, and claim to heal cancer" kind of way. We ought to be different in a "I love you despite my own prejudices, contexts, and ignorance, because Christ has loved me despite all those things" sort of way. We ought to be about sharing our faith with our actions and not some formulaic speech, pre-packaged program, or alliterative abbreviation. We ought to be different in that we show the love of Christ with every breath we take, rather than scaring the hell out of people with over-the-top productions of judgement and damnation.

And that goes for the individual as much as the congregation. After all, that is where true revival begins. Not in the presence of a shouting, red-faced, sweating preacher, but in the real, loving presence of Jesus the Christ in the everyday instances of a true believer's life.

CPT

Minister's Rant

2010-09-08T18:58:00.003-05:00

I'm sorry the A/C is too cold...

I'm sorry the A/C isn't cold enough...

I'm sorry the fellowship hall isn't clean enough for you...

I'm sorry the sermon was too short...

I'm sorry the sermon was too long...

I'm sorry you didn't know about the meeting mentioned in the newsletter, bulletin, and the beginning of the service...

I'm sorry that some of the youth were playing tic-tac-toe during the service, while another baby was crying...

I'm sorry I didn't do that the way you think it should've been done...

I'm sorry if other members of the staff/congregation don't do things the way you'd like them to...

But here's the deal...

You can stop complaining...

You can take a more pro-active role in the church...

You can do more than offer your two cents...

You can actually stop practicing your faith on the sidelines, critiquing everything that I do, or telling me about everything you think is wrong with everyone and everything else and actually do it...

You can make my job easier by actually letting me do it rather than trying to tell me how to do it, while I'm trying to put out the fires you have started...

You can actually join in this wondrous calling with me and together, along with the rest of the congregation, actually do some good.

That's all...pardon the rant.

CPT

The problem with hell...

2010-08-17T21:42:00.000-05:00

Hell.

The word "hell" is mentioned only 13 times in the Bible (that is the New Revised Standard Version of the Old and New Testaments, excluding the Deuterocanonical books, for those of you keeping tabs). Eleven of those times it is in fact Jesus who speaks the word, which is the Greek word Gehenna (if you'd like to learn more about Gehenna and the history behind the word, you can click here). To give you a sense of perspective, while the word "hell" is translated some 13 times in the entire Bible, the word translated "poor" is used some 25 times just in the four gospels of the New Testament (of course in both cases this excludes allusions to the ideas of hell, poverty, etc.).

Hell has been the topic of some of my more "theological" discussion as of late, so I thought it might be useful to put some of my own thoughts on the subject down if for no other reason than to simply sort them out. I have to say I'm not "thrilled" about either side's (theologically conservative or liberal) approach to the whole issue about hell. For one thing, the fundamentalists have often used hell as a sort of "scare tactic" for faith, a sort of bully when it comes to theology: "If you don't get saved you'll go to hell, and nobody wants to go to hell and suffer in fire for eternity." Truthfully, I don't necessarily disagree with such a statement, but for one's entire approach to missions, evangelism, and faith in general to revolve around hell, creates a delinquency which cannot easily be repaired. As for the theological liberal who tends to cast hell aside as some relic of mythological antiquity, that too seems (at least to me) to leave a great gap in the teachings of Jesus.

So where does that leave me? It leaves me right about here: I believe hell is a real place, where (in Jesus' words) there "will be weeping and gnashing of teeth" caused by grief/pain/etc. beyond our comprehension (not necessarily literal fire); I believe hell is for all intents and purposes the opposite of heaven (i.e., the absence of God); I believe hell should not be the crux of one's theological persuasions and thus the very doctrine upon which to hang one's hat (I think love is probably a good one though!).

There you go; that's the gist of it. Of course I have other thoughts about hell--what it looks like, smells like, what happens there--but like so many others' opinions about hell, they are based on little more than cultural tradition and my own imagination.

CPT

To Rosie Orene

2010-08-13T07:50:00.002-05:00

A year ago, the most influential person in my life passed away. I wrote the words below a year ago in reflection of her influence.

Rosie Orene was born on a day no one remembers in a year no one recalls, in a place too soon forgotten. She grew up poor when poor wasn’t noble. Her father was a drunk, her siblings were transient, and as a little girl she sat beside her mother’s bed as she slipped from this world into Beulah Land.

She grew up the audience of violence, watching her father and brothers fight over booze money and the last spoon of peas. She lived in the gritty reality of a romanticized world and was all too often its victim.

Like the other great heroes and heroines of human history, her adolescence is untold, but maybe that is best for all of us, to protect her innocence and the great magnitude of her selflessness. Still, she grew to be a woman, a wife, and a mother.

As a woman, she was anything but dainty. She had more in common with “Rosie the Riveter” than merely a name…she worked—hard. Whether it was in an elementary school lunchroom, a chicken processing plant, or a row of butter beans, she never showed any hint of slothfulness. But she didn’t work for the pursuit of money or prosperity. She considered it a privilege to have a job and a blessing to get up in the morning to work--an attribute lost on more than just this generation. She didn’t wear makeup, never owned a pair of high heels, but she kept hair appointments. She was every bit a woman, despite what the world wants a woman to be.

As a wife, she was fiercely faithful. She kept the house straight for her husband, despite working herself, and cared enough for him to bear him four children.

As a mother, she was completely selfless. She gave to her children to see that their every need was met. They would drain her, and when she was empty, they would siphon her fumes. Some may have thought she gave too much, but that was who she was—always willing to give without condition, to love without question. She lived in the skin of the gospel.

Her maternal instincts extended to her grandchildren, to whom she gave even more. She was the prime example, never heeded. She was the one who spoke softly, yet never yielded. She was the one who loved much but was loved so little.

She goes home to be with the One who will love her beyond any of our simple, human attempts.

She is a woman as beautiful as her name.

CPT

Kids think the darndest things...

2010-07-15T21:43:00.005-05:00

"When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways." The Apostle Paul, 1 Corinthians 13:11

When I was a child...
I assumed everyone somehow started out the same way I did. They all came from the same sort of family with they same sort of resources. Everyone had the same experiences and the same opportunities.

When I was a child...
I thought there came a point in one's life where he or she purposefully decided to "make it" or simply get by. I thought those who were broke, poor, in jail or on the street wound up in those situations by their own free will.

When I was a child...
I thought crimes were committed by those who were purely evil and couldn't possibly have any good in them, those kinds of people who did bad things because they were bad people.

When I was a child...
My eyes were covered with the rose colored glasses of childhood, my horizons were only as broad as my experiences and my capacity to understand them.

But I'm not a child anymore.

I know that not everyone gets the same start, not everyone comes from the same family situations, not everyone has the same experiences and opportunities.

I know that there isn't a point when one decides which level of society he or she will occupy, but we are all preconditioned in one way or another by those things in life's history and surrounding context that we cannot control, and those things cannot help but influence decisions we make.

I know that not everyone convicted of a crime is inherently bad or evil, just tired, fed up, or simply hungry.

With the passing of time and the experiences of life, I have learned that there were a lot of people who had it way better than I did, and there were a lot more who had it way worse than I did.

When I was a child I thought those childish things, but now that I am an adult I have put away such childish thoughts. It's a shame that a lot of adults have yet to put away such childish thoughts.

CPT

With this again?

2010-05-12T12:54:00.003-05:00

I've heard a lot lately about the National Day of Prayer. So I thought I'd say just a few things about it and move on.

First, why is it that so many people are conveniently religious when stuff like this happens? People I see maybe three times in a year in the Sunday morning congregations tend to come running out of the woodwork to let everyone know that they don't want their "Christian" beliefs violated, or their religious rights taken away. Seems to me like honest believers would just sort of shrug of a National DAY of Prayer, seeing as how EVERY day is a day of prayer for them.

Second, what's the big deal with having a National Day of Prayer? (That question is aimed at all of those people who think we shouldn't). So we set aside ONE DAY to encourage prayer in the lives of the people of faith in this country. There comes a point when all either side is doing is trying to piss off the other side, so really, what's the big deal if there is a National Day of Prayer? People of faith tend to pray daily anyhow, so what's it to the rest of the nation if one day in 365 is set aside for prayer?

Third, I have to admit I don't like it when people make claims that America is a "Christian" nation. Exactly what kind of Christian is this nation? Pentecostal? Episcopalian? Baptist (Lord help us!)? Catholic? Mennonite? Seventh Day Adventist? There aren't many in those groups alone who would want to be thrown into the mix with the others!

Fourth (and final), as long as real believers lie dormant in their sanctuaries and let the crazies on the fringe broadcast an intolerant and arrogant facade to the rest of the world no one will ever take people of faith seriously. As long as we argue over dates on a calendar, inanimate idols (if you want, you can call them monuments), and our "rights" the rest of the world will simply point and laugh saying, "Here they go with this again!"

CPT

Life, liberty, and property

2010-04-29T14:02:00.003-05:00

Why are we in love with stuff?

Stuff breaks.
Stuff gets old.
Stuff wears out.
Stuff is expensive.
So why do we love it?

I say we because I love stuff too. Of course, I'd like to think my stuff is a bit more socially acceptable, but at the end of the day it's really just more stuff.

Stuff is a symbol of our spending power--our worth.
Stuff gives us control, grants us status.
Stuff clutters our hallways and offices, yet we don't want to get rid of it, because we know we'll just go out and get more.

There are people who have serious issues with stuff; we call them hoarders. However, the strange thing is no one has ever come to my home, seen some stuff I don't use, and say, "Hey man, why you got all this stuff over here that you don't use? Are you a hoarder?"

I don't know. Maybe we're all not that obsessed with stuff, but it does say something that we live in a country with an entire industry built around storing excess stuff. I'd like to leave you with the words of one of the most ironically prophetic people of the twentieth century. These are just a few of his words on stuff:

"That's all I want, that's all you need in life, is a little place for your stuff, ya know? I can see it on your table, everybody's got a little place for their stuff. This is my stuff, that's your stuff, that'll be his stuff over there. That's all you need in life, a little place for your stuff. That's all your house is: a place to keep your stuff. If you didn't have so much stuff, you wouldn't need a house. You could just walk around all the time...A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it. You can see that when you're taking off in an airplane. You look down, you see everybody's got a little pile of stuff. All the little piles of stuff. And when you leave your house, you gotta lock it up. Wouldn't want somebody to come by and take some of your stuff. They always take the good stuff. They never bother with that crap you're saving. All they want is the shiny stuff. That's what your house is, a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get...more stuff!"
-George Carlin

CPT

Why do the heathen rage?

2010-04-08T22:12:00.005-05:00

"Why do the heathen rage , and the people imagine a vain thing?" -Psalm 2:1 (KJV)

Why are so many people angry? You can tell me it has something to do with politics, religion, or the vanishing of some idealized reality that never really existed in the first place, but that's a bunch of malarkey (and you know it!). Frankly, I'm tired of hearing and reading about people who constantly have some ax to grind, some banner to wave, some freedom being taken away. The last time I looked these same people aren't any less comfortable today than they were yesterday or the day before. I can't understand it.

It seems to me like no one has a positive opinion about anything anymore; nobody is "for" anything--we're all "against" something. What happened? When did we allow our political affiliation or opinion determine our worth? When did opposing views begin to lead to radical, even violent, actions towards each other? It's more than troubling.

While I'm at it, when did we stop caring about other people? Seriously, when did everything become about "me" and "people like me?" When did we decide that talking heads on the television set made our decisions for us? When did we decide that it was OK for opinions to become toxic?

Nevermind those who call themselves people of faith. Honestly, I can't hold the actions of those who hold no claim to Judeo-Christian beliefs against them, but when so many people stand up and claim to be bearers of the name of Christ, just to spew hate-filled speech at ANY other human being...well it unnerves me. Honestly, how can any person of faith complain about something that helps any other human being?

Maybe I'm raging a bit with this post (I am a bit rusty after all). Oh well. I do hope that the tide begins to change, that the diarrhetic flow of hateful rhetoric finds its way to whatever poisonous sea it is searching, so the people of this world may get on with doing good for one another.

CPT

Mourning

2010-03-18T22:15:00.005-05:00

I was fine. For about three years I had been preparing myself for that day; I knew it was coming soon. I always asked myself what I'd do when it happened. Would I be upset? If I was, would I show it? Would the world stop spinning? What about everyone else; how would they react? It seemed like that day would never come, but then it did. And as soon as it did it started to feel like a distant memory--fading at first around the edges, creeping its way towards the center of my memory like a dissolving acid.
We hadn't been home long. Our move back across the Mississippi River was a long haul, but we were here, back where there were hills, pork barbecue, and boiled peanuts. We hadn't even unpacked the boxes in our temporary rent house. I was getting used to the routine (or lack thereof) of being the "new guy" when my phone rang.
I knew who it was and what they were going to say: "She's getting worse. It won't be much longer now. Can you do the funeral?" What could I say but "Yes"? Of course, at the time there was no real need to plan it, no real need to get all worked up. It could be weeks, months, maybe a year before I'd need to pack the dark suit, Bible, and funeral service and head south. But it wasn't.
A few days later the final call came--I knew it would. I couldn't put off reality any longer. So I packed the suit, the Bible, the plans, got folks to cover for me on Sunday, and I headed home (would it ever be home again?).
I sat with my family, listened to a few stories, and went over how things would go the day of the service; I was fine, nothing to worry about. The visitation was on a Sunday, so my wife and I went to church that morning, out to lunch, and then to the funeral home to meet my family. And there she was. Honestly, I didn't recognize her: her glasses were way too clean, and she was wearing makeup. Again, I was fine, nothing to worry about. I watched family and friends I hadn't seen in years (some I had never seen at all) come in and out, talk to my dad, my aunts and uncles, and then leave. I saw them cry, heard their stories, and witnessed their genuine admiration for a woman that meant something in their lives. And I was still fine.
The morning of the service came; it was time to leave the "grandson" clothes folded neatly in my suitcase and put on the dark suit of a minister. I arrived early, with the family for the service, waited for about an hour with them in the room with casket, and then the funeral director came into the room, shut the doors, and told us how the service would go. Still, I was fine.
Then, the funeral director turned to me and said, "I'm going to ask the minister to pray before we go out into the chapel." And with a voice I've heard countless times coming from my own mouth on Sunday morning, I said, "Let us pray."

But only one other word came out after that, "God..."
That was it. That one syllable floated in the air around me for what seemed like an eternity, all the while I felt as if my body would fall to the floor in sobbing convulsions. For it was there, in that moment, that I realized I wasn't fine. It was there, in that moment, with my head bowed and my eyes closed, that I couldn't escape it anymore, and that one word, that one name "God" brought forth from my soul all of what I had been feeling.
I could no longer wear the facade. That was my grandmother, a woman who was nothing short of mythological to me, lying in that box, and I had to see to it that she was put in the ground properly--me, because I was called by God to do that sort of thing.
I can't honestly tell you what made me sob the way I did. I'm sure it was a mixture of emotions: sadness at the loss of such a wonderful woman, anger that she was robbed of so much of her dignity by those she loved, confusion at how apples can fall so far from their tree. Whatever it was, it was all triggered by that one word, uttered in the dark, personal silence of prayer, "God."
In that moment, that name conjured up everything that had been glossed over as "fine," and God, in that personal, dark silence comforted me, even though I was unsure as to why I needed comfort, and it gave me the freedom to mourn.

CPT

3

2010-03-11T22:44:00.005-06:00

Someone once asked me how old I thought we'd be in heaven. I didn't even have to think about it too long; I said "3." My answer has no real theology behind it, no real biblical citations to proof text, just my own personal preference. I mean think about what life was like for most of us when we were 3:

No school.
No real responsibility.
No worrying about politics.
No real concept of religion.
No bills.
No understanding of hatred or difference.
No diets, just eating whatever was put in front of you--if you liked it.
Your imagination could actually take you places.
Your experience of loss was minimal if not non-existent.
Your only great worry was whether or not you could play outside.
You weren't judged.

Come to think of it, 3 was a pretty awesome age, and who knows, maybe the eternal kingdom of God is full of non-judging, loving, carefree children, all seeking the same goal with the same purpose.

And you know, now that I've written this, maybe there is a passage, a word from Jesus, I can proof text (if even in somewhat of a "tongue-and-cheek" fashion): "
"Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."

CPT

Forgotten (a brief piece of fiction)

2010-02-22T12:35:00.005-06:00

Stepping into her house was like stepping back in time. A large, framed portrait of a handsome young man in a tan polyester suit clings to the faux-wood paneled walls. The tweed upholstered furniture sits on the rust colored carpet—unworn monuments of an uninterrupted life. She sits in a small lift chair by the door, surrounded by shelved trinkets of memories that pierce the marrow of her ever-aging bones. There are figurines of bright-eyed children, vases with no flowers, and pieces of lined paper taped to the wall above her phone with the numbers of the local hospital, her home nurse, and the man who brings her lunch and dinner everyday.

Her ninety-one years plays like the lines of ancient Greek tragedy. Like most women in her generation, she married young to the man that everyone knew would be her husband. The happily married couple soon became a trio with the birth of their daughter, and several years after, the family was completed with the birth of a son. The family of four was like any other family living in that tenuous time in the South. After years of working in the monotonous atmosphere offered by a small factory town, the family bought a small shop next door and sold all thing related to model trains and toy cars. Life was good, and things were plodding along like the constant steps of a mule plowing in the spring. Then things took an awful turn.
Fall had indeed fell. Like so many young men in Alabama, for their son fall meant one thing—hunting season. He was nineteen when he and a friend had planned a big hunting weekend. They loaded the truck and set out.

It was a cool, crisp fall morning in the foothills of Appalachia when she got the call. Her son was mistaken for sought after prey and accidentally shot by his friend. He died before his friend could get out of the woods. The tranquility of her life had felt its first tremor—and it was tremendous.
Time would leave a scar where her son’s soul used to be. That’s his picture that clings to the wall, captured in his youth with a wide smile and eyes still full of life. Time now limped on.

As the years went by, life returned to a sense of rhythm. The model train shop was going as well as one might expect in such a place—not a raging success, but enough to pay the bills and keep food on the table. Their daughter was a lovely young woman trying to find her place in a world that seemed lodged in a holding pattern over an unknown destination. She took her place in the family business behind the counter serving the loyal customers, those who could afford to buy their unneeded trinkets at the family’s shop just to help out some friends. It was in the midst of this new monotony that tragedy would once again reach out with its frightening grip.
She and her husband had finally decided to take a much needed vacation. The loss of her son had become an accepted part of life, and her faith helped in that acceptance. They packed their bags and packed the car, headed for the beach. Their daughter would keep charge of the shop. Two days into their long-expected getaway, the chilling sound of a ringing phone had interrupted her life once again.

The call came just after supper and sunset. Her daughter was found behind the counter of their shop. Initially she was unrecognizable; her assailant had beaten her repeatedly, crushing her skull. Her murderer was never found.

Life lost all sense. Color disappeared. Smells evaporated. Sounds faded. Life was gone; nothing more than existence remained. Her husband lost his battle with time and emotions. God had seemingly played a cruel trick on her by allowing her to be the last one. Now, here she sits, alone, forgotten, wishing she could forget.

CPT

Luxury

2010-02-13T23:51:00.006-06:00

What do you think of when you hear the word "luxury"? Personally, I think about walnut-accented interior, heated leather seats, in-ground pools, marble counter tops, and real silverware you actually eat with. Maybe you think about gated driveways, Armani suits, designer sunglasses, and "tea-cup" breeds of dogs. Perhaps you think about high-rise apartments with rare works of art and handmade oriental rugs. Whatever the case, I'm willing to bet you think about those things that are intrinsically tied to money, or to be more specific, a lot of money.

I have a real hunch you would never consider running water a luxury. Or how about electricity, for every hour of every day? What about food (and I don't mean caviar or Kobe beef)? Is food really a luxury? What about health care (too political?)--is it a luxury too? Here's one to really send your head spinning: is debate a luxury?

Hear me out. Is it a luxury that we can actually sit in groups and argue about things? Is it a luxury that we actually have the time, the energy, and the resources to argue about things that seem to matter, but in the lives of others they fall so far down the list of priorities that they rarely recognize the existence of such issues? Allow me to give you an example.

Say a group of people meet to talk about an important issue (i.e. climate change, fair-trade vs. free-trade, organic farming, unemployment, etc.), and when they gather to talk about this issue, they tend to argue, or debate, whichever is more diplomatic. And in this argument, both sides make some very good points and may even have caused the opposition to pause and reflect on its own understanding. Then, the television cameras are off, the moderator's gavel falls, or the coffee is all gone and the shop is closing, so everyone goes home to ruminate on the events of the evening. SO WHAT?

What difference does it make? Those who would actually be effected by the outcome of such weighty decisions are often left out of them, and mostly because they are too busy with their own life's realities that they have no time to slow down and put in their two cents' worth! The truth of the matter is most people are left in the dark about things like the fair/free trade argument because they're just trying to find the most food for their hard-earned dollar.

Now, I'm never one to defend ignorance, but I do think the ignorant need some sort of advocate. After all, we are always eager to hear the opinion of those who stand to make us or save us a buck, but we're rarely ready to hear the words of those who are just looking to make things right, fair, and honest for themselves and their families. Don't they deserve a sliver of our luxury?

CPT

Always with you

2010-01-23T23:28:00.005-06:00

It's taken me a while to write this entry (mostly because my schedule has been crammed lately), but after having time to "stew in my juices" I hope the following exposition is worth something.

In light of the recent tragedy in Haiti, a lot of people have been asking where God fits in all of this. It happens nearly every time there is some cataclysmic event that shocks the world to attention. Not to mention that it's usually quasi-religious people asking religious "authorities" these kinds of questions. The questions usually go something like this (following a typical pattern dealing with theodicy...you can google that word):

"Why would God let this happen?"

"How could God do this?"

"Where is God/hope in the midst of all of this devastation and despair?"

These aren't unfounded questions, but it does seem (at least to me) that most of the people who are asking these sorts of questions are comfortably stationed in their (still standing) homes in other locations, though I am sure some in Haiti are asking the same questions.
Of course, when these kinds of questions get asked, there are always those who are willing to step up with an answer--some of them good (comforting) and most of them terrible (empty, cliche). Some of those answers may go like this:

"God's ways are higher than ours."

"We can't understand God's will."

"They made a pact with the devil..." (though that one has gotten a lot of press lately, it isn't all that uncommon, especially when it sounds like: "They are being punished for their sins," etc.)

Some of the deeper attempts at answering those questions may sound like this:

"God is with the suffering people."

"God is on the cross, feeling the people's suffering."

"God is in the good will of those aiding the devastated."

I'm not saying these aren't necessarily "good" responses to an extremely difficult question, but maybe what I am saying is that we are asking the wrong question to begin with. What if, rather than asking, "Where is God in the midst of the present devastation?" we asked, "Where were God's people/God's Church/etc. before the devastation happened?" Now, when I say that, I have in mind those tragedies that take place in these extremely poor, destitute locations.
Haiti was the poorest country in the Western hemisphere before the earthquake; in fact, it seems like folks on the news can't report about Haiti without mentioning that as if it is the country's motto. It seems to me, the more theologically correct question to ask is "Why did we (i.e. Christians, Americans, Christian-Americans) allow Haiti to slip to the periphery of our vision of care and concern, all the while it plummeted into incredible poverty?" (By the way, did you know that there are cruises that stop in Haiti?!)
I get the feeling we're kind of like those earliest followers of Jesus when a woman with an alabaster jar anoints his body (including his feet). They want to know why he allowed such waste when this stuff could have been sold and the money given to the poor. Like us, I think they asked the wrong question, and you can hear it in Jesus' response: "...the poor you always have with you..."
The poor you always have with you. Not just now, not only after an earthquake, hurricane, tsunami, or economic depression, but ALWAYS. Maybe, in our efforts to help Haiti, we're standing by, watching the apparent waste of lives as they are lost in the rubble, when we hear Jesus' voice say to us, "You will always have them with you."

CPT

You don't speak for me.

2010-01-15T12:13:00.006-06:00

As most of you know who read this, I am a Baptist, and that means one thing --you can't tell me what to do! Baptists are natural offspring of the Enlightenment: we (traditionally) cling to our autonomy, and we loudly claim that religion is a personal choice and can in no way be imposed upon an individual by a government, church, ordained clergy, or any other exterior force aside from the Holy Spirit and only then at the acceptance of the individual. (I certainly hope that is a fair assessment of the Baptist tradition, feel free to correct my misinterpretation).
While I am a Baptist, I am first and foremost a follower of Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ; I am a Christian. As such, I tend to hold certain beliefs that are considered universal across denominations: the divinity of Jesus, his resurrection, the Trinity (though I guess that would exclude Unitarians, Mormons, and Jehovah's Witnesses, but...) the value (authority, etc.) of the Scriptures, etc. However, as a Baptist, this means there are certain things I do not share in common with my sisters and brothers of other denominations: I don't baptize infants; I don't have a (traditionally) sacramental understanding of communion; I believe in the primacy of the Scriptures (say, over tradition); I believe in the autonomy of the local church and that only believers should be baptized. With all that being said, however, I don't for one second feel I have the right to speak for any other Baptist, let alone any other Christian, and I certainly don't believe that any other Baptist/Christian has the right to speak for me.
I grant you that there are many Christians who publicly say things that I agree with (Bill Moyers, Tony Campolo, even Jeremiah Wright), and there are many who have said things publicly that I don't agree with (Sarah Palin, Pat Robertson, even Jeremiah Wright)--notice a pattern?
Anyhow, I'm writing all of this in light of the recent tragedy in Haiti and the "Reverend" Pat Robertson's latest example of ignorance. Now, I must confess that some have been overly critical, but their criticism is not unwarranted. Robertson has said idiotic things before from the cozy center of his "Christian Broadcasting Network" (look back at 9/11, Katrina, etc.), but this time it's more than ridiculous. I think I'm irritated most by the confident way he made (and makes) his claim as if it was dictated directly from the God-head. Listen Pat, if you want to spew stupidity across the airwaves for unsuspecting folks to digest, at least have the decency to call your network by its true name--"RBN: The Robertson Broadcasting Network."
And just as a final word: Pat Robertson, and all of those "Christians" who think that they have sealed the deal on the faith, those who think that they have an exclusive pass to communion with Christ, you don't speak for me!

CPT

IGNORANCE (or Not Knowing Any Better)

2010-01-05T15:53:00.006-06:00

[So it's been a while since I've written anything here, but I have several good excuses: the holidays, the increased workload that comes with the resignation of staff members, a slow desktop computer (now replaced with a more efficient laptop), etc. But the most likely reason I haven't written in a while is because I've felt as if the words I would've written here would be little more than digital sawdust (and who am I to say they haven't been thus far?). So I'll take a new stab at writing something semi-worthwhile.]

You were born into a family that couldn't afford to keep you, but couldn't afford to get rid of you. You were raised thinking that people with stairs inside their houses and pools in their backyards had to be the richest people in the world. You've always assumed that everyone smelled like secondhand smoke and cheap laundry powder. You thought all hot dogs were red and bologna was the preferred sandwich meat. As you got older, you were convinces a dishwasher was a job title and not an appliance, marriage was an expensive luxury in a relationship, children were a necessary burden, a job was the way to a paycheck, and retirement was a word used by old, rich, white people on T.V. in commercials.

Or maybe...

You were born into a family that planned on your arrival; they even had a special room in their home painted and decorated especially for you. You were raised thinking that everyone ought to live like you, and if they didn't, that was their own fault. You assumed everyone got new clothes in the fall and everyone got expensive shoes--after all, shoes were naturally expensive. You thought everyone's car and home had air conditioning, their bedrooms had televisions (with cable and a video game system), and everyone had at least one computer with Internet access. As you got older, you looked at those who "shacked up" and though they were trashy. You saw those who were buying cigarettes at the grocery store and thought they were less than you because of their habit. And for you, retirement was the ultimate goal of one's job/career/vocation.

Either way whatever atmosphere you were brought up in, the air penetrated your lungs, permeated your soul, and tints the lenses through which you view the rest of the world and its people. I wish we could walk a mile in each others shoes. Maybe then the rich wouldn't look down upon the poor so harshly, the poor envy the rich so greatly, the activist judge the apathetic so strictly, the fundamentalist rage against the liberal so fiercely, the liberal berate the fundamentalist so sternly. Maybe then we could stop thinking that our ignorance is actually a well-informed opinion! Maybe then Christians would act like Christ, and others would believe our words because of our actions. Maybe...if we put aside our ignorance and be willing to listen to each other as human beings and not regurgitated opinions. Maybe...

CPT

Second Advent Sunday

2009-12-06T23:22:00.008-06:00

Today is the second Sunday of Advent; the Sunday to reflect on Peace. I thought about how little peace I actually feel during the Advent/Christmas season. In the ministry, December is anything but peaceful: there are special services to plan, the Lottie Moon Christmas offering (for the CP of the SBC), the increased awareness of other people's needs, shopping lists (one stressor I would love to eliminate from my life altogether!), Christmas parties, and all manner of special celebrations to mark the holiday season, and to add fuel to the fire, our congregation will begin the process of searching for new staff replacements. To be sure, this Advent has been anything but peaceful for me.

I also thought about how little peace there is in the world as a whole. I say "little" because I don't think the world is completely void of peace. After all, there are those moments when one sees the sun set and watches the horizon crack with all the colors of nature's pallet; those moments seem to hold the rawest seeds of peace. But there is only a "little" peace. We are living twenty-one centuries after Christ, yet we still blow each other up, gun each other down, stab one another, rape one another, victimize one another, and dehumanize one another. There is little peace in the world.

So if there is such little peace in the lightening quick pace of my life, and so little peace in the lives of the human collective, then why reflect on the whole notion at all? Wouldn't that depress us more?

But then I think about the world prior to the first Advent of the Christ. Perhaps it was much like it is now, seemingly void of peace, chaos and war breaking out among quasi-civilized people, anger and wrath boiling over the cups of the righteous. They had little peace to reflect on but so much peace to hope for in the future. Maybe that's it. Perhaps rather than reflecting on the lack of peace in my life and this world, maybe this second Sunday of Advent is meant to call my attention forward, into the flickering flame of the future, that I may realize that peace, perfect peace, rests ahead of me in the unfulfilled, in the ever-coming Christ.

CPT

17 Million

2009-11-22T20:46:00.004-06:00

Right now, this very day, 17 million children do not know where their next meal is going to come from. That's 17 million children who will shut their eyes to go to sleep tonight without the assurance of a meal tomorrow--an assurance folks like me (and no doubt any of you who read this) take foolishly for granted. By the way, those 17 million children don't live in mud huts in sub-Saharan Africa, or rocky caves in the parched climate of the Middle East; they live right here, in the "good ol' U.S. of A," and in case you forgot, that's 17 MILLION CHILDREN.
I heard that news as I was headed out the door this morning to church, but as if that news wasn't enough to make me feel like a worthless bastard in my blue suit, holding my mug of coffee, my wife shared a different bit of news with me that troubled me the rest of the day.
She said that a fellow teacher in her school once gave some students some books to take home and read. She gave them to them to keep and read. The next day, however, she asked the children if they had read any of the books. They said, "No." In fact, they went on to tell her, they ate them! Yes. They ate pages from the books she gave them, because they had nothing else to eat! If that doesn't sour the food in your belly just a little bit, then you must be less than human, and in no way able to call yourself Christian.
This is the 21st century, better yet, this is America. Children should not have to be hungry to the point of resorting to eating the cheaply bound pages of a book. Seventeen million children should not even have to think about whether or not they will have food tomorrow; in fact, in a nation that wastes about as much as it consumes, NO ONE should have to worry about where their next meal is going to come from. Yet somehow, people in this country are so blinded by their own "right to make a profit" that they refuse to see those around them who suffer on account of their success. Shame on them. Shame on me. Shame on all of us. Because we are all to blame for those 17 million children who go to bed tonight without the security of their next meal. We are all to blame for our sins of selfishness, greed, and most of all, apathy. May God have mercy on us all and grant us the chances to begin to set things right.

CPT

Thanksgiving

2009-11-20T08:47:00.005-06:00

Thanksgiving. Where did it go? I mean, the candy from Halloween hasn't even been loosed from its wrapper before I am bombarded with e-mails, T.V. commercials, radio ads, billboards, events, and all manner of media promoting Christmas. Is Thanksgiving the Rodney Dangerfield of holidays? I have grown increasingly annoyed at this apathetic treatment of the holiday (and frankly I am surprised that some right-winged organization hasn't made a big deal about the snubbing of a potentially patriotic holiday). I think the grand commercial shuffle that Christmas has become has a lot to do with the displacement of Thanksgiving; maybe we should move the holiday after Christmas, then there'd be no rush to get up early the next morning, leave your family for the whole day just to buy a trunk load of junk that others will wind up donating to charity anyway! I don't know...I'm just saying.

I think I'm most annoyed though with the way that the erasing of Thanksgiving has led to the absence of true thankfulness and, in return, genuine charity (the Greek agape). If we ignore Thanksgiving, only pausing to acknowledge it as the signpost that brings in the "shopping" season, we fail to really see how UNBELIEVABLY fortunate we are. Now, I don't begrudge anyone a nice, warm family get-together, with football, turkey, and can-shaped cranberry sauce, but what about those who actually have to stand in line at a shelter for food? You'd better believe those people don't overlook Thanksgiving! After all, that's when the rest of us cash in our good deed for the year, get dressed down, and go serve "those less fortunate" just to go back home to eat all those leftovers.

CPT

Blessed

2009-11-05T22:22:00.003-06:00

What does it mean to be blessed?

We ask God to bless our food, our country, our efforts...

We ask for blessings of health, wealth, and prosperity...

We consider others blessed if they have a good family, enough money, and nice things...

But what does it really mean to be blessed?

I've thought about this question recently, because someone said to me, "God has blessed me with a wonderful family." I have probably heard that sentence (or one like it) at least a hundred times, but this time it struck a dissonant chord in my mind. Honestly, it made me question the validity of such statements altogether. It has made me ask "What does it mean to be blessed?"

Blessing seems to somehow be connected with reward, and if that is the case, then blessing is connected with effort (uh-oh Calvinists!). But if that is the case, then how can God "bless" one with a good family (looks like the Calvinists aren't out yet!)? I'd like to think we're looking at "blessing" all wrong. I'd like to think that we have distorted an idea of blessing with our own ideas of what we want and think we need. In fact, I think we've done it so much so, that God is all too often looked at as a "giant ATM in the sky" simply waiting for us to swipe our divine debit card and punch in our purpose-driven PIN. Allow me to unfold my thoughts for a moment.

One says, "God has blessed me with a good family." This individual says this reflecting on the seemingly happy marriage between his mother and father and the many happy memories of childhood. He looks at his own children and their apparent perfection and cannot help but think that (for whatever reason) God has blessed his family.

Another looks at her family and sees a shattered marriage, a childhood fractured by split custody, late child support checks, and divided holidays. And he/she can't even begin to think that God has somehow "blessed" such a family.

Still another sees the obvious comfort of wealth, the stagnant opulence of a life lived without care or concern and says "God has blessed..." All the while another child is born into the cyclical hell that is systemic poverty.

One looks at a family portrait and thinks of the joy of the coming holidays, while another gazes at a 20 year old picture of a lost son and cannot help but feel the decades of loneliness closing in around her.

Maybe we've gotten too comfortable equating blessing with comfort. Maybe we've gotten to used to the idea that God can bless us and not others and still go to bed at night feeling we have an appropriate sense of who God is. Maybe, just maybe, we don't understand blessing at all.

The prophet Amos told the people of Israel in the 8th century BCE that they had misunderstood what it meant to be blessed. They were rich, lying on ivory couches, trafficking other human beings just because they could, and buying up possessions and property...all in the name of being blessed. The prophet calls them "cows of Bashan" and threatens them with the eminent "Day of YHWH." They equated blessing with comfort...and they were carted off in chains by Assyria.

Maybe blessing has less to do with what we receive and more to do with what others receive from us? I know that sounds simple and trite, but maybe that's it. Rather than saying, "God has blessed me with such a great family" one ought to say, "God blessed another through my family." I don't know. I do know that there is a whole in equating blessing with comfort that cannot be easily glazed over by over-digested theologies or under-processed philosophy.

Blessing does not, cannot, and should not equal comfort. If it does, it makes God a liar and the gospel that hinges on painful nails and splintered wood is void.

CPT

Glass Bottom Boats

2009-11-02T15:52:00.003-06:00

Note: This is actually a re-post of a note I wrote on Facebook. Please forgive my quasi-laziness.

Humor me for a moment would you? Imagine God sitting in a boat on the crystal sea in heaven; the boat has a glass bottom, and He is able to gaze in observance upon His creation. Is He pleased? Perhaps He sees what He always expected to see? Maybe He knew what He would see before He ever peered through the glass. Either way, can you even begin to feel what He must feel?
Now, don't some of you get ahead of me and puff out your chest and point your finger to the left and say "it's those liberals causing the world to spin out of control away from God," nor be too quick to cut your eyes to the right and say "it's those damned conservatives and their ancient ignorance." We have all played a fiddle in the devilish tune that causes the darkness to dance. I recently read "Mere Christianity," and in it, Lewis makes a point I find quite suitable for those of us who call ourselves evangelicals: he basically says that progress is only progress if it is the right direction, and that direction may not always be forward from where we are.
I am afraid all of us, Christians, think that progression lies just ahead of where we are, so we press on, ever forward with our own ideas and ideals and seek to impose them on society and the greater Church. All the while other members of the Body are doing the same. We are drawing and quartering the Body of the Living Christ!
How do we expect to penetrate the darkness, ransack the gates of Hell, save lost souls, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick, and comfort the afflicted if we are pulling in different directions, in a dogmatic dog fight?
It is my opinion that when God looks through the glass bottom, He is not ashamed of the depth of the darkness, but the lack of Light.
If Creation is to be saved, redeemed, the Light must shine, and in this time of increasing darkness, the Light must shine with an illumination which would fade the sun. We must pull together, for we are His living body, His body that must go before the world, on behalf of the world as a sacrifice, despite ourselves!
Progression, progression for the Kingdom of God, comes only by the regression of our own understanding of self-preservation and the blooming of our understanding of selfless living. This is the gospel, and from it, the Body of Christ proclaims the Good News to all the world, the Light explodes with power and darkness disappears.
And God's view through the glass bottom boat is serene.
"Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven."
The Lord Jesus Christ--Matthew 5:16

CPT

Hands

2009-10-27T14:42:00.006-05:00

You can tell a lot about someone simply by looking at their hands.

I can recall a time, several years ago, when my hands were worn, cracked, and dry from pulling steel wrenches while lying under school buses eight hours a day. I still have a scar on my left hand from helping my dad load some scrap tin onto a ladder rack and having it slice my palm open. There is a bit of a calloused groove worn into the top joint of the middle finger on my right hand from years of note taking and figuring middle school math problems. Embarrassingly, there is a tiny scar on my right thumb from being shot through by a BB gun. There are all manner of scars, lines, and grooves worn by the natural happenings of life.

I can remember my maternal grandmother's hands. Ma's hands were especially brown towards the tips of her middle and index fingers from a lifetime of smoking unfiltered cigarettes, but she still liked to wear rings--it even seemed as if she had one for each finger. Some were costume rubies surrounded by minuscule diamonds, while others looked more like gold-leafed characters of calligraphy clinging to the joints of her fingers.

I even remember Mr. Tessier from the seventh grade. I remember his hands because he was missing a finger on one hand, and I thought that was one of the most interesting things I had ever seen.

Our hands tell us a lot about who we are.

Hands folded in prayer say a great deal about one's need to plead with God. Hands reaching out to grasp tell us of our need to have and to hold, to want and to take. Hands knotted in fists tells us of anger, hatred, and ignorance. Hands pierced by cold iron tell us of a God who longs to love us with more than an omnipotent arrogance of divinity.

What do your hands tell you?

CPT

Stupid is as stupid does

2009-10-08T11:19:00.002-05:00

Momma always said, "Stupid is as stupid does."

I think this may be one of the most profound statements ever made by a fictional character (from the movie, not Winston Groom's novel). The more I ponder on "Momma's" saying, the more true it becomes for me. I've seen a bus load of stupid lately, and I have to tell you, stupid is as stupid does, and there is a lot of stupid being done.

Stupid is...

When people seek their own gain at the detriment of another.

Stupid is...

the very notion that worth is based on the pigmentation of one's skin.

Stupid is...

when one person believes he or she is right, yet has never thought about why he or she is right.

Stupid is...

a crowd of people moving in one direction simply because they are the crowd.

Stupid is...

putting a gun in the hands of an angry idealist.

Stupid is...

practicing violence in the name of God.

Stupid is...

not loving your neighbor because of their choices.

Stupid is...

not listening.

Stupid is...

a lot of what goes on around us everyday, but we claim it as right and good though we know it is wrong.

Stupid is...

as Stupid does.

CPT

Violence

2009-10-05T13:26:00.001-05:00

"Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one's foes will be members of one's own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."

Call me a hippie, but I've been thinking a lot lately about war and peace. I think it has a lot to do with the current political climate in this country, particularly in the Deep South. Each morning I wake up with a cup of coffee and the news of another homicide, violent protest, or casualty of war. Why are we so obsessed with violence?

I decided to lead this post with words from Jesus that are sometimes used to support "war-like" actions. But I have to say, I don't think Jesus is a big fan of violence. Yes, he said he came to bring a sword, but not so that we may wield it! The "sword" he carried divided those who seek the kingdom from those who seek their own gain. I could expound on that further, but perhaps there are more appropriate places (i.e. the pulpit).

But I can't help but be enraged (ironic?) when I see the violence that is supported and instigated by members of the Church. Aren't we called to be peacemakers? Yet it has been the Church that has jumped at the opportunities to support war, violence, anger-driven political campaigns, fear-mongering, and all manner of things that promote violence. Why?

I have never heard more words of violence than I do within circles of "believers:" violence towards homosexuals, violence towards Muslims, violence towards women, even violence towards their own children! And worst of all, they claim this violence in the name of the Prince of Peace!

Have we not learned our lessons from the Crusades? Why does the Church rally to the call to arms? Why are we so willing to create violence in order to "spread the gospel?" Why do we still fall for the same misunderstanding of the disciples....

"Suddenly, one of those with Jesus put his hand on his sword, drew it, and struck the slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear. Then Jesus said to him, "Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword." -Matthew 26:51-52

CPT

Yom Kippur

2009-09-28T15:01:00.007-05:00

"Yom Kippur." It's a funny sounding phrase that literally means in Hebrew "Day of Atonement."

In the Hebrew Bible it is a day in which the sins of Israel are atoned for through animal sacrifice and the breaching of the Most Holy Place by the High Priest. This past Sunday I preached from Hebrews and how the author of that epistle must have reflected on where Christ fit in the grand priestly machinery of a religious society dominated my temple practices; I also reflected on how we fit into a religious system not that much unlike the temple system of the first and second centuries. I thought it was a fair effort (but what does my opinion matter?).

Today, on Yom Kippur, I stop again to reflect on the words of the author of Hebrews, and I stop to ask myself "Where DO I fit in this thing called religion?" After all, religion is a horribly awkward creature that attempts to occupy our lives in a way that binds us to habitual practice rather than relate us to a loving, ever-present God. Of course, this is a dangerous question to ask, because it has the potential to lead down a "slippery slope" towards the question I truly want to ask--"Did God ever intend for us to relate to Him through a systematized religion?" Well, if that's the question I want to ask, then I ought to just ask it!

Religion has truly become a word I like less and less (even though it was the area of study for my B.A.). I feel like our every attempt to relate to God, to Christ, through "religion" is an attempt to shove God into our own, specially made, box. After all, I was never given a list of rules, regulations, limitations, conditions, requirements, etc. when it came to loving my parents, my wife, or anyone else with whom I share an intimate relationship. So why do we force these sorts of things into our relationship with God?

If a Christian reflection on Yom Kippur is anything it ought to be a reflection of the words recorded in the Gospel according to Matthew: "Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised." Christ's death served to annihilate the systematic restrictions of religion. The atonement achieved by his death was liberating in that we are now given direct access to the God we kept in a box for so long. Jesus broke the seal and destroyed the box! So why do we want the systematic enslavement that came with our pre-packaged Diety?

Perhaps the ritual of religion gives us something to cling to; perhaps it gives us somethign tangible, a handle on the unseen; perhaps it makes God easier to understand; perhaps it makes Hom easier to control (so you think!). There's no fault in desiring to relate to God through ritual, through religion, etc. But when it moves from the method of relation to the method of control, religion becomes more than a system, it becomes a golden calf, an idol--not of a false god--but of the One who refuses to be identified in an image (or even a system).

I write all of these rackous ramblings to say this: on this Yom Kippur, should we not reflect on the ways in which Christ has freed us, not only from our sins, but our own, vain attempts at correcting our iniquities? That is not to say that we ought not to take responsibility for our sins, but isn't it worth rejoicing to know that God has granted us pardon in the blood of Christ that we may continue in relationship with Him, each and every day, living each day as Yom Kippur.

CPT

Socks

2009-09-22T08:37:00.004-05:00

It has occurred to me that different folks fold their socks different ways: some folks just fold two socks together and lay them in the drawer, some folks stuff one sock inside the other, and some folks just toss socks in a drawer and find a pair as needed. I fold my socks a rather specific way: I fold them in on themselves so they form some sort of rabbit-eared looking sock-ball.
Now I know it seems a bit odd to talk about how one folds his or her socks, but there's one reason why I fold my socks the way I do--that's how my dad taught me. In fact, it is one of my earliest memories.
I don't remember how old I was, but I do remember it was just my dad and me, sitting on the old brown-green-gold carpet that covered the floors of every single-wide made in the early 1980s. We were watching Peter Pan (not the Disney animated one, but the live action one with a girl playing Peter), and Dad had a basket of his clothes. I sat there, one eye on the T.V. wondering why Peter Pan looked like a girl, and the other eye watching my dad show me how to fold socks.
It was a simple thing. It is a simple, if even somewhat vague memory, but it's something I think about every time I fold my socks.

CPT

Hope

2009-09-20T17:33:00.005-05:00

Hope is a wonderful thing.
It pushes us on though life may be tumultuous and depressing.
It allows us to live in the present, longing for a better, fuller future.
It calls our hearts and minds forward, giving us motivation to change the present.

But...

Hope can also be a dangerous thing.
It keeps us stuck in a rut, unwilling to let go of inevitablity in order to deal with what's here and now.
It lets the ideal linger in the midst of a world that is anything but ideal.
It keeps us frozen, unwilling to move forward with the rest.

Above all though...

Hope is a powerful thing.
It gives strength to the weak,
Health to the sick,
Days to the dying,
Salvation for the lost,
Heaven for the damned.

It is indeed a powerful thing,
for even though it may be lynched on a cross,
it is still alive.

Hope,
Thy name is Christ.

CPT

Houses

2009-09-17T09:16:00.005-05:00

So my wife and I have been trying to buy a house. I say "trying" because the process has gone on a lot longer than we expected, and we still don't know for sure when (or if) we will close. We're currently living in an old rental house that serves to house more than just husband, wife, and two cats (we have a lot of "little brown tenants"). It's frustrating to have act as executioner to so many little varmints every day, especially when they seem to come out of nowhere and enjoy what the pest control company sprays on the baseboards. But I've lived in slightly worse conditions, and moreover, there are those in this city (nevermind the world!) who would see our rented domicile as a santuary of opulence (complete with central A/C and a dishwasher!).
I have to remind myself of that from time-to-time. In a world where my condition would look just shy of average, there are those who would look at me and think I've "got it made"--they're right. I may have to kill a roach or two, but I've always got enough to eat, a bed to sleep in, a shower with hot AND cold, clean water, not to mention a machine to clean the dishes I eat of off (this is a big deal to me, because we didn't have a dishwasher in our house in Texas).
While I am terribly anxious about moving into our new house, I am equally thankful for having a place to call home, a place (as that great theologian George Carlin would say) "to keep my stuff."

CPT

Dollar in my wallet

2009-09-16T09:32:00.006-05:00

This morning I found a dollar in my wallet. That doesn't happen often, because I usually don't carry cash. At first I was sort of happy to find it there, hiding in the folds of worn leather, slightly crumpled and green, but then I remembered something I read recently: a vast majority of people in this world live on less than $2 a week. That means, for most people in the world, half of this weeks pay was found--forgotten--in my back pocket. What does that say about me? What does that say about them? What does that say about a context that asks. "A dollar? What can you do with a single, lousy dollar?"
I can remember walking through the grocery store parking lot with my grandma, and she would bend down to pick up a penny, and I would say, "Grandma, it's only a penny." I'll always remember her response: "99 more and I'll have a dollar!"
There's another saying I remember hearing a lot when I accepted the call to ministry. People would tell me things like "There's no money in preaching," and I would respond (cliche though it may be), "Money isn't everything." It was their response to that little Platonism that I remember: "Money isn't everything...but it sure helps!"
Jesus said, "It is impossible to be in bondage to both God and money (Cotton Patch)." Truly, I think it's impossible to be "in bondage" with anything and money. Money is a jealous master, and demands our desire.
Perhaps that is why so many people are blinded by the needs of others; they are driven by that overpowering addiction to money. "No universal health care"--because it would mean less money for me as I pay more taxes, for the insurance companies, for the doctors, etc. Whether that is actually factual or not is irrelevant in an argument over money. "War"--because it's profitable, boosts the economy, means more jobs, etc. Again, whether it is factual or not is irreleveant.
Maybe we should stop worrying about what makes more money and start worrying about what brings sincere joy and peace. Perhaps we should reevaluate our addiction to the "Almighty Dollar." Who knows, we might even enjoy the exodus from such a cruel master.

(Didn't think I'd get that much for a forgotten dollar in my wallet!)

CPT

My First

2009-09-15T15:31:00.005-05:00

Well, I finally gave in and decided to start a blog. Perhaps it will become a steady outlet in my life in the days ahead.
I'd like to be a bit optimistic and thank anyone who may be reading this; you are truly a saint to have the patience to read words that fall from my mind and bang around on the keys of my computer.
I want to make the purpose of this blog expressly clear: this is a place for me to set my ideas, thoughts, and reflections down in some sort of visibly tangible format (beats talking to myself). Furthermore, feel free to agree, disagree, or comment with what I post here, but do try to be respectful. After all, it's only a blog. Now, on with the first (real) entry...

CPT