a hundred degrees

Gift from Above

It rained today. I don't think it's done that since the fourth of July.

And it waited until 7:00pm so I could finish my first soccer practice of the season.

No wonder people have historically been prone to try to get the attention of supernatural beings. It's rarely this good. There ought to be something we could do to make it this good more often.

Practice went well too.

I might be willing to do in the occasional chicken or turtle dove to experience such good times again. I'm pretty sure the chicken is better eatin'.

The point is, I feel a little funny saying, "Praise God for the rain," unless I'm willing to say "Praise God for the drought." Either I accept that he's in charge and is the definer of "good," the author of the test, the creator, sustainer and destroyer, or I only believe in a god who is smaller than I'm able to conceive.

Thank you, God, for the pleasures of today. Give me wisdom for the tests you set before me tomorrow.

Still Here

06/06/06 is mostly over and still not raptured. Looks like I'll be here a little while longer.

Containment and Revelation

I went to church with my parents this Sunday. They attend a moderately large (~1000 attendees) PCA church in Houston called Christ the King.

Probably I have been too long among the mystics, but I was brought up short by the reply to the second question in the "Affirmation of Faith" part of the service and could not join the congregation in the reply. This question was the second of the Westminster Shorter Catechism and runs thus:

Q 2. What rule hath God given to direct us how we may glorify and enjoy him? A. The Word of God, which is contained in the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, is the only rule to direct us how we may glorify and enjoy him.

That seventh word in the reply caused me to stumble.

I see "Word of God" and I think that we are talking about Christ. The logos, the very thing, that is God. To say he is containable seems a blasphemy. To say "my god is here in this book," smacks of idolatry.

Obviously, I misunderstood. They can't mean that. I'm guessing that the capitalization of "Word" is misleading. Maybe it's a title. They must mean "the words about God." There are more than just the first seven words of the reply to consider, so I went back to the context.

The question asks about a rule by which men may reach (what is called in the the first question) their chief end. A rule for monastics was a set of laws and standards for the community. It was recognized that these conditions of the community were more restrictive than were necessary for belief/salvation but useful for focusing the members and their minds to make a real beginning to working out their faith.

The bible is not small. It is a vast revelation of God's purpose and work in the lives of men. My Waterford frame with the Campagnolo components, Mavic wheels, and Continental tires is more bike than I can use. I will likely never get to the level where that bicycle limits my ability to "take it to the next level." Even more so, there is more revelation in the bible than I can hope to fully utilize in a lifetime.

For me the Waterford is sufficient, as a road bike. The catechism is a particular bunch of spiritual people saying that for them, the words about God in the scriptures of the Old and New Testament are sufficient, as far as written revelation. That's agreeable in my mind, is it okay by you reformed folks?

I could spend my whole life never riding mountain bikes on nature trails. But I don't despise those who do. I might call them reckless and fear the injuries they so frequently receive, but a part of me will envy the obvious thrills. My Waterford is way more than I can use on the road, but it's flat-out dangerous on unpaved surfaces. To follow those trails I need a bike that's made to take the rough road.

The road has thrills aplenty. There is more to do there than can ever be fully achieved. There's something to be said to fully committing to road riding only and perfecting that skill. I'd like to think that is what the Catechism is about. A personal statement of commitment and not a condemnation of things outside of it.

If all roads turned to loose gravel and dust, most of the road cycling enthusiasts would get mountain bikes. If all the bibles were burned, the rocks and the stars would keep declaring the purpose and work of God. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob didn't have road bikes.

Honest Living

My pastor calls it authenticity.

Manasclerk calls it the "Real Deal" Christian.

It is praying with your life. Christ in you. Dying to self. Fleeing Egypt.

I want to say "taking responsibility," but that's not right. It is doing the morally obvious thing and not being worried about long range outcomes that you cannot see. This is faith that can be reckoned as righteousness.

This is grace: The airman's prayer is rendered senseless. You cannot make a mistake. Abraham saw God and went straight to Egypt and denied his bride.

It's not for everybody.

It's scary as oblivion.

It also sounds like religion as the opiate of the masses. "Let's encourage the peons to be self sacrificing and unmindful of the long term so we the elite may reap the benefits of slave labor."

... because ...

A white Geo Tracker waited for the light to change in front of me today. It had a chrome Jesus fish on the back. About eight inches below was a bold new white on black bumper sticker reading simply "Shit Happens."

Picnic and Ultimate

Most of the church families met at the park today for a pinic that ran from before ten until nearly three. I took my Trac Ball set and impressed several folks with the fun it provided. Several of us played Ultimate frisbee. We were so out of shape, though, that there were substitutions in a ten minute game.

The kids had a good time and we all got a little red. Just laying down a base for the beach trip next month.

What I Don't Want to Do

At some point early in our marraige, Lexie made it clear that the part of doing laundry she most despised was the sorting and washing. I made it equally clear that I was least enamoured of folding and putting away. So, naturally, she sorts and washes and I fold and put away.

We are one of the least doting pairs of parents you will find. Particularly at our church. We're vocal about being less than thrilled at spending every moment with these little people. Other parents are engrossed with their kids and keep them up late just to interact more with them. Half our motivation for going to church is to have an excuse for more grown-up time. Therefore, as a matter of course, we put ourselves forward to head up a children's church during the last thirty or forty minutes of service (music block, homily, invitation, money gathering, announcements, benediction).

Continue reading "What I Don't Want to Do"

Just Stop A Minute

I went into the bathroom at work today and there was a sign taped to the stall door. I was amused when I read the sign because English was clearly not the author's first language.

I also felt for the author and his desperate need to communicate a simple concept. I appreciated the warning and heeded it because I knew what he was trying to say. I try to construct prayers to God according to varying sets of rules, but all of them sound as foolish as this sign to him. Yet he understands and listens.

And maybe sometimes he has something to say. I am more busy than I have ever been at work and I have just taken on the extra responsibility of preschool soccer coaching. Yet today is the beginning of Lent. This is when we Christians traditionally set aside some of our distractions to focus on God. I may have received a sign from God.

"OFF ClOSE"

As usual the implementation step is eluding me.

Missed the Party

Ooops. The party we had been looking forward to for a week was today not tomorrow as we thought. Bummer.

More Guitar

The guy who has played guitar at our church for quite a long time has decided to stop attending. I just had Paul do some fixes on my bass guitar since I didn't know that this was coming. Glad I had a friend do the work and only had to pay for parts, I would be pretty bummed about having spent a lot of money on it now. Unless someone new wants to jump into that seat, I guess I'll be playing guitar at church regularly enough to maintain calluses.

Never as Planned

"We demand rigidly defined areas of doubt and uncertainty!" - Douglas Adams

We share a meal every Wednesday night at church. There aren't any formal activities, we just eat and chat and let the kids run together a bit. This Sunday the pastor announced that we would eat together as usual, but afterwards we would gather round and sing carols. This flew about as well as most other planned fellowship.

After dinner Cathy sat at the piano and I got my guitar and played along with the chords I could find in time. We played and sang, while other folks wrapped gifts under the angel tree. The wrappers sang along a bit, but even when they didn't they expressed appreciation for the music we provided while they worked. Still other folks just kept talking and we were just background noise. Others stayed away from church tonight because they thought they would be forced to sing.

Enforced fellowship doesn't work with us. It reminds me of the ineffective silliness of trying to formalize communities of practice that Manasclerk talks about. However, we do work in spite of this, because no one gets terrifically upset about the formal failures, particularly not the pastor.

Christmen

I split a bottle of Delerium Noel and a bottle of Abbey Affligem Christmas Ale with one man and celebrated another's birthday. I'm thankful for them and the God who gave us beer and fellowship.

I'm In

I got Chloe'd today. I'm officially a part of the church.

As I was exiting the education building Chloe met me on the path and requested a hug. She then told me, "I like you." I knew that was it. Everything else was gravy.

"I like you too, Chloe."

"Everybody likes me."

"I've heard that."

"Gordon, took me out for ice cream on Thursday." My little interior cynic said, "Oh, so this is how it goes, huh? 'I'd like to let you in to the Chloe's church-going male adult friend club, but you better be aware of the standards of appreciation to which I've become accustomed.'" I told him to hush.

"Which ice cream place did you go to?"

"Dairy Queen." "Well, that's a standard we can afford anyway." I didn't even deign to respond.

"Oh, and what did you get?"

"A brownie earthquake."

"You went all out huh?"

"Yep."

At the christmas party tonight she asked me to play Mastermind with her. She had received it in the gift exchange. I obliged her.

Central Theme

My nine p.m. theology class continues to roar ahead.

"Why do you say 'In Jesus name, amen'?"

"Good question, Kevin.

"God is always and only good. Sometimes we do bad things. All people do bad things sometimes. You don't obey your mom and me, I sometimes make you mad when there are better ways to work with you. The point is that all people do bad stuff sometimes. Since God is all good he can't talk to us. But Jesus was all good, and he told us that he would cover our bad with his good. When we tell God that we're talking in Jesus name he hears us. We're covered."

I asked if he wanted to sing any Christmas songs and he requested "Frosty the Snowman." I sang what I knew of it and then sang the first verse of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing." He wanted me to explain the song and I did, probably too thoroughly. When we got to the line "God and sinners reconciled" I was able to reference the earlier lesson.

"Sinners" was a new word and confused him a little. "Sinners like at my school?"

"No, those are centers."

I'm So Glad I'm A Part

"Does God have a family?"

Kevin keeps throwing these things at me. This time it was before we started praying.

"Yes he does. His son is Jesus, and Jesus told us we could be co-inheritors. That's a big word. It means we're Jesus brothers. We're part of God's family. The people at church are part of that family. We are God's family."

We talked a bit about family. I declined to answer, "How do babies come out of mommies' tummies?" That one can wait another eight or nine years at least.

Listening and Answering

"God doesn't listen to us, right?"

Kevin and I were praying last night and we got around to our disappointment over the weather on his birthday. We had been praying for a couple of days that the rain would hold off, but it didn't. That's when he piped up with this observation.

I told him that God is kind of like his mom and dad. "We listen, but we don't always do what you ask us to. This is because we know that there are other considerations, and we understand better than you do what will be best for you. Did you have fun at your birthday party?"

"Yeah."

"God took care of us. We had a good time even though it rained a little bit. God doesn't always do what we ask but he loves us and always listens to us."

Musical Chairs

My pastor tells me that the biggest issue splitting up American churches today is music. The old line hymns versus the contemporary choruses. Poetic pithy drinking songs versus alpha-state-inducing four-chord doggerel (repeat).

We attended the church in which (7½ years ago) we were married this weekend. They have two services with Sunday School in between. The music in the 8:30 service is "led" by a praise band, in the 11:00 by the choir. Attendance is considerably higher at the early service. The late service attendees keep dying off.

Kevin went to "big church" with us. He didn't do too badly. He did spend most of the sermon on the floor with his matchbox cars, but he was never inappropriately loud. He did express a desire to play in the big kids' room, but we were proud of his behavior and will keep working on getting him through service.

I Can't Get Mad About This

One of the lady deacons felt called to start a regularly meeting group of women in the church. They met a couple of months at her house. Last time they decided to rotate the meeting place around to different houses. Lexie volunteered to host the next meeting.

Tonight we got the house cleaned up and I mowed and edged the front yard. Lexie got some nice glasses and flatware out to go with the food she bought and prepared. The coffee was hot and there were fresh mint leaves floating in the iced tea.

No one came.

The deacon lady called ten minutes after the meeting was due to start to say that her day had been much too crazy and she wouldn't be able to make it. She told Lexie that folks were probably just running late; They would come.

No one did.

No one else even called.

Here are the mitigating circumstances:

• Last week we did communion at church and the pastor forgot to make announcements early in the service and likes to "sing a hymn and go out" after the sharing of the Lord's supper. So there was no reminder there.
• The deacon lady did not send out any email reminders this week.
• Tomorrow night is a baptism service over at the house of some new members. Meeting with church people three days in a row is a lot to ask of anybody.

I'm sure the baptism will be well attended. In the three years we've been at this church we've never made a baptism. We were going to go tomorrow night, but I think that's out now. Lexie doesn't believe she can trust herself to guard her tongue. I don't blame her. Heck, we're not sure she won't say anything she'll regret on Sunday morning.

She has every right to her disappointment and I will support her as long as she needs to grieve and be bitter.

Meanwhile.

There are things going on in other people's lives, too. The church people are caught up in all manner of touchy issues right now. The pastor seems pretty worn out by it. He's gotta drum up the energy for the baptism thing after a long driving trip to a rough situation on top of the emotional warzone he's been dealing with this week. We don't pay him enough, but he has chosen this responsiblity.

For my part, I won't hold anything against the folks who blew us off. It's not worth it. I know they've got their own stuff happening.

Lexie doesn't hold grudges. She's not made that way. She explodes and then moves on. I'm going to stay with her in it. Which means we'll be a little distant this week at church.

Probably no one will notice.

That's par for the course, but I'm taking the long view and at some point in the future it will be okay.

You Don't Have to Change the World

"I don't want the world, I just want your half." - "Ana Ng" They Might Be Giants

The pastor told us today that it was not our responsibility to change the world. Our responsibility was to change bits of it we could reach. Like working with Habitat for Humanity or the SAMM Shelter.

This reminded me of a scene I recently read in "The Confusion." Daniel Waterhouse comes as a prophet to Sir Isaac Newton. Newton has been distracted for a number of years by alchemy and another long term project in that field has proven fruitless. Daniel tells him that it is not up to him to save the world; it will be sufficient that he is the greatest natural philosopher ever.

It's good to know your limits. It's even good to test them for a time. It's best to do work at your capability.

When God Feels Hokey

As I lay with Kevin after prayers tonight he said, "I want God to come in our house so monsters won't get me." He learned this important function of God from Veggie Tales. "God is Bigger than the Boogie Man" is an oft heard refrain.

I told him, "God is in our house already. He's everywhere. We don't see God in physical form, we relate to him as a spirit. We talk to him even though we can't see him."

For some reason I felt like I did when I told my neighbor Nathan, who was nine years my junior, that my little cardboard computer, inside of which I had placed an actual computer chip that was no longer of use to me -- in the mid 1980's you can imagine this might have been something like a 16K RAM chip -- was actually engaged in computing the answer to life the universe and everything. I told him that it would be finished in about seven million years. He being eight or nine wasn't buying it. But I persisted in the story. I told myself it might even be true. Incredible things can happen in deep time. Like the celery in Steve James' fridge that had been there so long that it had "discorporated on a molecular level and reincorporated with an intelligence of it's own."

I felt like a salesman. Trying to persuade a young mind of a myth. It is one thing to talk theology with adults who talk in classes and ideas about ideas and so forth. It is another to talk about a being that we can't see, nor likely ever will while we live, who is nonetheless actively protecting us and cheering us on to right living in the concrete terms of a three-year-old.

A "child-like faith" is disturbing and dangerous. The setting aside of our constructs and schema, our personal mythology takes us into a spooky realm of naked faith.

Earlier this evening Kevin was showing me a small scratch on his knee that had scabbed over and a little redness on the other knee that was apparently an abrasion so mild that it had not let any blood or even roughness to the skin surface. He insisted that his knees hurt and he needed band-aids. I explained to him that band-aids would not make his knees feel better, "They're not magic. They just cover up open wounds so that they can heal better. This scratch is past the point of needing a band-aid, and there's no break in the skin on this side." He insisted that I was wrong, "Yes, magic!"

I kiss "owie's" to make them better. I'm willing to indulge in this manipulation. I guess that I take God more seriously. I don't want to sell him short. I don't want his omnipresence to be dismissed with Santa, and the healing magic of kisses, and other ephemeral things we've conveniently presented as realities.

I want God to continue to be real for my kids. That's suddenly appearing to be a bigger task than I had expected.

Relaxing, Maybe Too Much

A year or so ago, I would have been pretty worried about heading to church with my guitar not having practiced for at least a couple of days. Last night I got the block put together at about 10:30. I didn't play all the way through any of the songs.

Its not that I've gotten that much better at guitar playing. Though I have improved. Mostly I've just gotten a lot less concerned about how well I play and who cares about it. I'd certainly be happy for anyone who plays better to come up and take over.

I'm happy to be involved in the church service this way. I hope that my lack of concern about my proficiency doesn't drive away too many parishoners.

Improvement and Debauchery

I spent today in training. The folks were teaching some process improvement vocabulary, tools, and methodology. There was some value in what they taught, but I felt it missed some of the larger issues. They warned about people holding out on us, but didn't have a lot of good recommendations about how to get at implicit knowledge. They pushed the Deming wheel and "continuous improvement." I wish that we might have made the point that we should continuously look for new process improvement projects, but that each project should be clearly delineated.

My fears for the failure of this whole venture are only balanced by the competence of the people in the group. I have had first hand dealings with most of the people in the core group and they are some of the finest folks that I have met in the bank. If I were to guess, I'd say that they range from high Strat III to low Strat V.

Speaking of people I respect and admire...

I must say that it is a wonderful thing to meet with men over bread and beverages and share freely. To speak of things great and small with equal enthusiasm. Praise God for the fellowship of the saints.

What an unparalleled wonder to be safe in sharing half formed thoughts and failings. Bragging and self debasing with freedom comfort and joy.

All right, I'm riding a little high. The beer was good. But more importantly I took my own advice and invested a little. It takes some to make some. "To prime the pump you must have faith and believe, you've got to give of yourself before you're worthy to receive." (Desert Pete) There are some spiritual earthly rewards.

Role Playing

Everybody was someone else at church today. I think we had more visitors than members present. Gordon, the pastor, was away at a family reunion. Five of a usual seven member music team were out. It was really sort of an off day. Yet it was still church and the spirit of our community was there.

Cathy played piano, I played guitar and led singing with Lexie. I also did the welcome. Lyle led the call to worship. Lexie rang the bell. Michael facilitated the prayer requests. Elizabeth preached. Bill and Chloe did the offering. It was a little loose, but we all know the motions and can fake it for an hour once in a while.

Meanwhile we keep praying for Amy, look forward to Gordon's return, and appreciate Ben more and more.

Talents

We had a wonderful time of sharing with the church people tonight. Our somewhat annual talent show. This is our community.

Lillian bounced.

Up and down a hundred times on her pogo stick. If your church doesn't have room for pogo sticks up front by the fireplace, then I'd say we've got an advantage over you there. You should see a seven year old bounce a hundred times. See her start. The little jumps straight up and down abandoned quickly for three foot hops sending her careening from one side of the "stage" to the other. She almost ran into her dad! But she really wasn't that close. Is she actually in control of those great haphazard-looking leaps? Or is she just lucky? Her big smiles shout, "This is grand fun." It appears that she cannot fall. She can just keep going and going. She's been at this a while now. She's showing no signs of stopping. How do you tell her that the act is wearing thin? How many times has she bounced so far? "... 48, 49, 50, 51..." Audience participation! But she didn't stop at fifty. She's in the seventies and showing signs of fatigue. Now it is simple determination. Pride. She'll make the big number. "...98, 99, One Hundred!" Bounce and dismount. Hooray!

Cindy read her poetry.

The way she uses her words is art. There is skill and passion. A heart stuffed too full of too many things. Her poems are like a release valve. Sit close and soak in the effluvium. Of course she wouldn't resort to words like "effluvium." She makes common words tasty just by ordering them properly.

I don't think we have too good a grip on Joy. It gets shouldered off the T-shirt slogans "Peace, Love, and [fill in your inanity]." There's an unavoidable component of suffering. Thank God for artists.

Anna danced.

It's so hard not to look ahead and anticipate what might be. Even Gordon succumbed to this common habit saying, "Keep your eye on this one." It kind of sucks that I have to remind myself, "Enjoy this now. This is the moment to treasure." At least I seem to be remembering to remind myself more frequently these days.

Last night while flipping through the very limited set of channels we get with basic cable we came across a couple of eight year old girls doing a traditional mexican dance on one of the public access channels. They weren't prodigies, but they knew what they were supposed to do. You could see their minds working as they remembered each section. Kevin must have watched this for four or five minutes before his attention wandered back to the toys in his lap. It was fun to watch him experience something new. To be fascinated by art.

We sang.

"Old Joe's Place" and "When You're Next to Me" are both from the "A Mighty Wind" soundtrack. Forrest pointed out that these songs are too good. Instead of gently spoofing folk songs, they come off as legitimate. Folks seemed to enjoy our simple renditions.

Kevin sang "Grand Old Flag" solo. He wore his Old Navy t-shirt with the American flag and waved an American flag as he sang. He knows all the words, but pitch is as yet a lost concept on the boy.

Gordon did a daddy trick.

Kid's need to be reminded that they don't know everything yet. Particularly after they've programmed the VCR. Fathers and mothers occasionally need some magic. Mom's have natural magic in the comfort discipline. Dads need props and misdirection.

Riley and Brittney sang.

High school girls. Their original intention included them playing electric guitar and bass. Instruments in their possession, but about which they know even less than I do. They put off working on it until yesterday, and then put it off until today. Gordon and I laughed at the idea of learning to play guitar in a day, but I remember when everything seemed possible and time was infinite.

They sang nicely. I don't know what the song they sang was about, but it had the word "angels" in it a lot of times. Brittney sang lead, but Riley's voice added richness and beauty when they sang together even in unison.

Roy rang the bell.

If you've never played handbells you may not realize that the clappers pivot on a single axis. No sound will come if you rock the bell parallel to that axis. Roy, who is somewhere in his seventies, shared his newfound knowledge of the subject with a practical demonstration.

We sang.

Anna danced.

Wish you were there.

Extended Session

Fourth Sunday, that is the fourth Sunday of every month, is our day to watch the kids in extended session. This is the pre-school age crowd. Since I have started playing bass and guitar in the service, this normally means that Lexie has to keep the kids. This Sunday, though, most of the music team was out (the regular pianist, the guitar player, the drummer, two of three singers) and Amy was not well enough to pick out music. So, it was an all hymn affair. Gordon is on vacation and so Will, the army chaplain, preached and his wife Sherri played piano. Lexie and Cathy sang.

I got to watch the kids. Kevin, Steven, and Anna are great kids to watch. There's a book in their room with Bible stories written in such a way that it is very easy to get them involved. Even I was able to invent questions on the spot to keep their attention. Everybody should experience ten or twelve minutes of reading and sharing with these kids.

Next we did crafts with foam shapes and glue. During this craft time an older kid named Topilsin joined us. Topy wanted to talk about his new game machine. I heard him telling Steven the button combinations for certain maneuvers. He played rather violently with the dollhouse and brought more active energy to the room than should be there. I asked him if he went to school and he replied that he is homeschooled. I think he needs a peer group, but he can't get one at our church since he's older than these kids and the seven-year-olds we have are girls and much more mature than him, not to mention public-school-socialized.

We tried to go outside, but that was a failure. We went back in and picked up the toys, then I started an Arthur video. They were entranced. Church let out less than five minutes after I started it, and when I opened the door to let them rejoin their families not one of them budged. In fact, about ten minutes later I had to turn off the television and tell them to go. Lexie told me that this was because it was a new video. They're all bored with the ones at church, so she had sent me with one from home that they hadn't seen. Thanks, Sweet.

Bowl Bound

Tim came over tonight. We shared a couple Red Baron supreme pizzas, half a dozen diet sodas, and two games of Bowl Bound.

The first game featured my Cornhuskers versus Tim's Fighting Irish. Nebraska scored the first ten points and then failed to score for the rest of the game while Notre Dame put up twenty-nine points.

In the second game Tim's Clemson Tigers came out looking unbeatable against my Miami Hurricanes. I went three and out a few times while he put up ten quick points. Then he fumbled on his twenty-four and I converted the turnover for a touchdown. At the end of the first half I was down inside his ten, but failed to put the ball in the endzone. For some reason it didn't occur to either of us until shortly into the second half that I should have kicked a field goal. Or at least if it had occured to Tim, then he had the good grace not to gloat over his gain at my foolishness. In the second half my guys got pinned and ended up giving up a safety. That made the score 12-7 in favor of the Tigers. Then the 'Canes intercepted a pass and their offense made the touchdown and the two point conversion to go up by three: 12-15. After that it was a circus of penalties and defensive stands. The score remained unchanged until time expired.

We finished the second game about 11:30. Tim took care of a lot of the book-keeping and mechanics which sped up the game considerably over the way it would have gone if I'd been trying to figure it out by myself. An enjoyable evening.

Church Guys, Disc Golf, Beer, and Naval War

An enjoyable evening with Gordon and Tim. We met at Live Oak for a round of disc golf at six o'clock. Gordon brought a guy named Johnathan along to play with us. Since none of us had played in a while we just played "best disc." Johnathan had never played before and ended up saving us from a bogey on seventeen(27). There were a couple of slow groups in front of us so we skipped 3, 4, & 5 and played 17, 22, and 26 instead. We managed four birdies and no bogeys. There was a group of younger golfers that we played with on the last two holes. Gordon, Tim and I hit trees and generally threw pathetically on 17/27. But after the other folks threw their tee shots at 18/28, Gordon threw a nice shot on the green to the right, which I followed with a beautiful shot straight at the basket on the green about twenty-four feet short. None of us managed to put in the bird there, but Gordon glowed later describing the beauty of my shot blowing those guys away while I was wearing my "World's Greatest Dad" t-shirt and goofy plaid beret.

Gordon and I went to Tim's place and enjoyed conversation, nachos, pizza, beer, and an old Avalon Hill card game. Well, Tim and I enjoyed the beer. I struck out with Gordon tonight on beer. Admittedly, the Ommegang had gotten a little too warm. The Chimay Red actually went well with the pizza. When I started describing the experience they said I should write about it. Okay, well, um, it had a nice opening flavor (a pleasant flowery bouquet?) and a clean (this might as well be water) aftertaste. The Delirium Nocturnum was a bit too sparkly (like homebrew) for this crowd. Perhaps it's the bottle fermentation. It is bottle fermented, right? The Old Speckled Hen was decent plain beer. Best cold and muddled with food.

Naval War is a simple card game of naval battle. I doubt that Tim used more than five sentences explaining all the rules of the game. We had fun. Tim won. Tim and I made plans for some gaming next week when Lexie takes the kids to her mother's house for the week. I'm looking forward to playing Bowl Bound the college football board game.

A good first day of summer.

Guitar Girl

  Last week the pastor's eldest saw me walking out of church with my bass guitar and said something like, "Ooh, a guitar! I want to play electric guitar!"
  Well, I had an electric sitting around the house that Paul found for me at a pawn shop somewhere in west Texas. I almost never play it, since I'm too accustomed to the action of my acoustics and tend to bend the slinky electric strings out of tune.
  I talked to the pastor about it on Wednesday night. You know the old saying about giving drums to the children of your enemies? I didn't want to inflict an electric guitar wielding teenager on the man without his permission. It turns out that she's been asking for one for a while now. I had supposed that her comment was an off-handed one, but brought the idea to him in case he thought she'd really be interested.
  Since her parents were thrilled with the idea that she might spend some time on something besides the computer this summer and the amp will accept headphones we decided to get her set up. Lexie and I bought a new cable and some new strings for the guitar over at Sam Ash.
  She's pretty stoked about the thing. I told her to go get some lessons so she gets started with good habits. Her dad understood that idea and was willing to make the investment.

The Culling Begins

  We're holding a church-wide rummage sale this weekend. Saturday is the 15th, be sure to cash your paycheck and come on down.
  I don't know what it looks like at other folks houses, but we're going to be bringing an awful crapload of junk. Honestly, a lot of this stuff should probably be tossed in the dumpster rather than waste someone's time pricing it. Sentiment is the pure source for the words "You never know what someone will buy." Maybe, but the church parking lot isn't exactly Ebay.
  Already on the chopping block from our house is a keyboard, a baritone horn, several gutted computers, an stereo cabinet, a body pillow, kids clothes, toys, a jambox, plastic shelving, a clock, a lamp, and I'm tired of making this list already.
  The folks whose idea this was, through no fault of their own, are not able to direct this effort. So the task has fallen to those with little to no enthusiasm for it.
  Oh well, at worst it is an excuse for a spring cleaning purge. Even if we can't sell a bunch of this junk, at least it will be out of our houses. It may not impact the church budget much, but our homes will be momentarily roomier.

Sunday School and Mr Taylor

  Three Sundays ago the group talked about a selection from Richard Rolle. The following lines caused me to go to the car and get a song for the group to listen to. "[T]here are many who, because they care nothing for feminine beauty or riotous living, reckon therefore that they will be sure of salvation. Because of this chastity, outward and visible, they see themselves as saints standing out from the rest. ... The devil has got hold of many whom we count good. ... Very often indeed are mortal wounds obscured by the odor of sanctity." I played "Hide the Beer, The Pastor's Here" since it echoed much of this sentiment. Though Terry's song takes it a notch farther with the line "The hate in your heart you're hiding well, cause the booze on your breath is easy to smell." Not only do we hide sin behind a sanctimonious veneer, but we hide our rotten hearts behind showy rebellion against the hypocrites. This, of course, has nothing to do with post modernist christianity.
  Eight days ago it was the now infamous session with some words of John Calvin. Some people have all the answers. We don't. I happened to listen to the second part of the Mr Buechner's Dream album later that day. The song lyrics in "Easy For You" sounded uncannily familiar.
  Blaise Pascal wrote our springboard text for yesterday. "We have so little knowledge of what God is that we do not know what we are ourselves." A lot of our discussion actually derived from an episode of "This American Life" that J and CH had heard. It presented some very interesting information about the role of testosterone in informing desire, and reflexively how external factors affect testosterone levels. I was the only male in attendance. When, at one point I noticed that my legs were crossed at the knees and my arms were folded across my chest, I laughed: unsure whether the cool temperature of the air was the cause or a sympathetic dropping of T levels. I don't know if there's a song in the Taylor repertoire that goes with this episode, but this one has a promising title.

Sources of Praise

  Lexie and I put together the music for church last Sunday. I played guitar, Adrian played drums, and Lexie sang. The congregation bore it with good grace.
  Each week the pastor gets an email with the lyrics to the praise songs for inclusion in the order of worship. I keep all of the emails that Amy sends with the music each week. This has been a boon for those weeks when I needed to do the music since I can pillage old emails.
  Amy's lyrics include a bible verse which I assume is the biblical source of the songs in the praise block. I figure this is to appease the old (we like the hymns) folks by showing them that these here modren tunes do in fact relate to the good book. Or maybe it seemed like a good idea and turned into a habit. In any event, no one pays any attention to them.
  We know this empirically. One of the songs we put in the praise block this week was not in any of the emails I had from Amy. Knowing that people were likely to notice that it had no scripture reference we gave it one. The pastor dutifully formatted it big and bold next to the song name:
More Precious Than Silver (Hezekiah 41:5)
Nobody said a word about it.

Calvin Bashing

  As we pulled in to the parking lot at church this morning I made a prediction. "This should be a lively discussion," I prognosticated for Lexie's benefit. I was not wrong.
  I've mentioned before that our Sunday School class (internally known as the Mystics and Cynics) is using a book called Devotional Classics. It features fifty-two selections from various authors almost all of whom are dead guys. This week's reading was taken from the writings of John Calvin. Below are outtakes from the discussion.

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Baptized and Birthdayed

  Sarah's baptism this morning was not as rough as I remember Micah's being. It was long, yes, but very little of it was in Greek and Susie, Paul's wife, took over the care of Kevin.
  Rob and Jill have said they love their priest, but are not fond of the church. I know that we have a pretty unique church, but I couldn't help feeling sorry for their lack of community. Besides the family, the godparents, Paul & Susie, and us, there was only one person there who was not involved in the ceremony. Actually, I'm not really sure that he wasn't part of the staff too.
  Emily's birthday party started at three this afternoon. We got home from the baptism/chrismation at about noon and the kids and Lexie immediately went down for naps. I played some computer football.
  Lots of people came to the party. Jennifer said that she had sent out a lot of invites assuming that most folks would decline. It seems that was a bad assumption. There were a whole bunch of kids there. Kevin was able to hang out with Steven. It was a good time.
  We just got a call from Amy that she's not doing well. Lexie and I are the music team for tomorrow. I need to get the kids down, pick out music, and practice it some.

Jesus.txt.pgp

  According to the pastor the lectionary places the story of Thomas and his doubts on the week following Easter each year. One of the details he brought out in today's sermon reminded me of something Paul had said earlier in the week about security.
  Thomas wants verification from two senses, he wants to see the marks and touch the wounds before he will believe that Jesus is risen. Paul (the bank's network admin, not the apostle) described how the current trend in security was toward requiring at least two credentials, with one preferably being biometric. He pointed to ATMs where we have a card and a PIN as an example of multiple credentials already in use.
  The pastor pointed out another fact that I hadn't noticed about the story before. This was that Thomas was not unique in his requirement to see Jesus in the flesh to believe that he had risen. Mary had told the disciples that he was alive, but they did not believe until he appeared among them later that day. Thomas just happened not to be there.
  I've always heard that the disciples did not believe the women who had gone to the tomb, primarily because they were women. However, Thomas at least assigns the same trust level to the other disciples. While not exactly respect, it is a lack of implicit disrespect for the fair sex. In terms of PGP type authentication schemes, Thomas may accept the credentials of the disciples, but he does not trust them to authenticate third party signatures.
  Jesus set up the church as a certification authority. "Blessed are those who believe and have not seen," he tells Thomas. He gave the keys (heh) to heaven to the church. We the church VeriSign the word of God. God's forgiveness comes to those we forgive, and is withheld from whom we withhold it. The church provides each individual believer with heaven's public key, with which we can speak directly to God. Of course, if we never give our heart's keys to Christ then he will not be able to authenticate us to God.
  If I get even further carried away with this already stretched metaphor then I might describe Jesus as an encrypted message from God. The spirit came with the public keys. The church's mission is to distribute the keys. Then it is up to individuals to decide whether we trust the signers and send our own keys to God. Of course Jesus must be encrypted with each individual's public key, it is a personal relationship after all.

Darkness and Worms

  My mother has what appears to be a children's book by Gary Larson. Yeah, the Far Side guy. That should have been my first clue. The book is called, "There's a Hair in my Dirt." For all I know we gave her the book. There was no inscription, but I'm bad enough about such things that that's not a guarantee one way or the other.
  Anyway, we read the fool thing to Kevin when we were there last weekend. As he continues to ruminate upon it, he occasionally reminds us, "When we die, worms eat our bodies."

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Egg Hunt #1

  Tim's kids will be with their mother on Easter, so we had an egg hunt at the church this evening. Tim and I hid eggs around the clearing on the porch side of the new building. I took a certain devious pleasure in watching a mob of six or seven kids scour an area of the clearing where I had done the hiding only to have them leave behind about four eggs. Kevin got those, with a little help.
  Lexie baked sugar cookies last night shaped vaguely egg-like. Tonight we took them and frosting and colored sugar crystals to church for the kids to decorate. They'll be our contribution to the pot-luck Easter Sunday breakfast.

Short on Vim

  The elders meet on the first Monday of each month. I'm trying to make a regular habit of meeting the pastor for dinner before those meetings. I'm afraid that today I was not too full of stuff to talk about. He ended up carrying the conversation for the most part. I almost stopped him and told him that it would be okay to just be quiet together a bit. The most animated our talk became was over grammar rules, for goodness sakes.
  I do covet time with the man. He's a good fellow and thinly stretched. Perhaps I should plan to store away good conversation fodder for next month. Two weeks from tonight is the next meeting of the church and beer guys. Chris plans to join us, so there will be two extra guys there to carry on with.

Mystics and Cynics Party

  Our Sunday School class had a little party tonight. Cynthia hosted the party and we hosted the kids. The preacher's kids came over to babysit Kevin and Stephen.
  Just yesterday we bought a swingset thing from a nearby neighbor. The boys apparently had a wonderful time playing on it.
  The adults also had a nice time just hanging out and chatting and snacking and drinking. Lexie's hearing aid batteries died on her near the end of the night and by the time I found somewhere to get some new ones and got back to the party it was time to go.
  It was another one of those get togethers where we said that we should do this more often. We will see.

In Vocation

My best man wants a job that seems to fit him.

Join me in prayer.

Father,
  Thank you for the talents that you give us. Thank you for the opportunities to invest those talents in work that benefits our community.
  We have squandered time and let your gifts atrophy. God have mercy. Forgive us.
  Please help our businesses and corporations to seek goodness and greatness. Help them find the right people to put in the right places. Bless their owners and employees and customers with good fruit from good work.
  Lead us to places where our gifts and talents are required and even stretched. Give us challenges. Let us shine your light brightly.
  We are reminded during this season that we do not live by bread (loaves or mammon) alone. Every moment the universe is sustained is your will at work. Still we boldly ask that you provide for my friend and his family through the obvious means of gainful employment. If you are stripping him of everything but you, we pray that he gets the idea in short order and ask that you bring him swiftly to the new work you want him to do.
  In the name of Christ we pray. Amen.

Vows to Madeline

Tonight I got a copy of the vows from the dedication service on Sunday. Here they are:

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Re:Lent - Repent

  The season of Lent starts today. Most of the year we eat grilled hamburgers and sausages on Wednesday nights at the church. During Lent we share soup, bread, and water. The soups are usually great.
  We attend a relatively odd Baptist church. We devote an entire service to the dedications to one child, or the commission of a missionary. Communion Sundays are likewise restructured. Our pastor preaches from the church calendar. We light candles each week of Advent. Tonight we will be reminded of our own mortality as ashes are applied to our foreheads.

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Plastered with the Pastor

  Okay, help me remember that an Old Foghorn and one other beer is my limit. That third one, while tasty, was more than I should have had.
  We agreed that what happened at the bar stayed at the bar, but some of it has hit the sewer system already, so I'll share that part. Gordon had his usual and then hit the Diet Coke. Tim started with Murphy's Stout, then had two or three Belhaven's (I lost count, I'm sure he didn't). I started with the Maredsous, then had an Old Foghorn. Then I got us a big bottle of Affligem Dubbel. I say us, because I knew that I couldn't do it by myself, so I ordered it on the condition that I'd get some help.
  Anyway, it was a good guys night out. We all said that it should become a regular occurence. I wish for Lexie's sake that the gals would organize something similar.

Paul's Dedication Pictures

  As promised here are a couple pictures that Paul took at Madeline's dedication. Click on the little pictures to see full sized ones.
        
  The dedication service at our church, being Baptist, is not calling on God to accept the baby as is. Instead, family, friends and the church vow to show the child the way to God and godly living. It is part of our tradition to pass the baby around the church, in part I guess so that the people who verbally dedicated themselves to the child will have a tactile memory of the day and promise.

Dedication to Madeline

  We had a nice service today for the dedication to Madeline. For friends and family that did not make it, I'll copy the vows in here. When I get them. I forgot to pick up a copy. I'll get pictures from Paul, too. Check back soon.

Music again

  Got the call tonight that the Joneses won't be there to play piano and guitar on Sunday, and Cathy has laryngitis. So we spent the evening scrambling to choose music. Cathy can play piano, but only with actual music, not just guitar chords. So I scanned some stuff from the hymnal and sent her pdf's.
  Church on Sunday will be all about the McJiltons. We'll be leading music and getting the baby dedicated.
  I'm going to bed now.

Living Order

  Our selection in Sunday school today came from George Buttrick's Prayer. Cynthia was instigating, and we had the preacher's mom visiting. Lexie was home with a sick Madeline. (We're all suffering a bit of congestion and her little system was unable to keep down the morning's mix of phlegm and formula. A couple of cases of RSV have popped up in her nursery at day care. Our pediatrician's nurse said not to worry about it unless her appetite decreased by about half, then the concern is dehydration.)

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Music and the book

  I spent a good while today getting the music together for tomorrow. The gal who coordinates music at church (essentially an unpaid minister of music) is in the hospital. She's been there a while, and though she hopes to be out on Monday, she had the same hopes last week.

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Interconnectedness

  The preacher told me last night at the usual Wednesday night dinner that he'd found my descriptions of the Sunday School class on the Power Struggle comments section. Apparently he frequently checks his referrer pages and so when manasclerk followed my links to various RLP pages they showed up. Well, at least he didn't find the description of the Elders meeting a few days earlier. I told him that it was a result of that post that I decided to start my own blog. As I told manasclerk, I just have too much bitchin' to do and his comments section just doesn't deserve that.
  The preacher told me that he wouldn't try to find my blog. I'm almost tempted to see just how resourceful he is. As far as I know there aren't any hyperlinks to here. Even if he has my root directory, there's no link to here. Perhaps I should be careful not to go to his blog from mine, but otherwise, I just don't see how he'd find it. I'm not hiding. Just not advertising.