When I first saw the trailor, I thought, "This looks stupid. All that CG and special effect crap that ruined star wars. I won't see it."
Then I saw the second trailor. Then I thought, "You know, it may not be too bad. It's people fighting and swords and arrows and blood and stuff. How bad could it be."
Then I started to wonder what it was actually about.
And that's when I fell in love with the story.
You can read all about it at Wikipedia, but let me just say, I think I want to name my first kid Leonidas. It means "son of the Lion". Seriously.
My favorite part of the story is when King Xerxes of Persia is having a conference before the battle with Leonidas. He says that they are too outnumbered and if Leonidas will lay down his arms he'll make Leonidas king of all Greece under Persian rule. Leonidas tells him there is no way he could do that to his compatriots. This ticks Xerxes off and he aggressively orders Leonidas to lay down his arms and Leonidas says, "Come and get them."
Have you ever had a perfect day? I mean the kind of day where everything goes right? Yesterday was one of those days for me.
I slept in till about 9:30. Then I got up, ate breakfast, threw my clubs into my jeep and took off for the golf course. Played a not-too-shabby 18 (well, for myself anyways...I'm sure there'd be a few people embarassed with my score). Came home to an immaculate house that my wonderful wife had slaved away all day cleaning. Hopped in the shower and then made some mean chili for some friends we had come over. Watched a hilarious movie, and then went to some other friends house for a party to cap the night off. Came home at about 11:00 pm and went straight to sleep.
Why can't they all be like that?
(Oh, and did I mention it was like 75 degrees all day?) (Oh, and also, you have to spell degrees because there is no key on the keyboard with the little degrees sign)
When I was a kid, I loved the Oklahoma Sooners. Well, mostly their football team. And mostly because my Grandpa did. At that point, I really couldn't have cared less about college football. It was more about getting as much swag as I could that had the name "Sooner" on it. It's why I like the movie "Far and Away".
I remember one christmas telling my parents all I wanted was Oklahoma Sooners gear. Footballs, bed sheets, sweatshirts, whatever, as long as it had the word Sooner on it (although at that age I still wasn't sure what a 'sooner' actually was). Well, christmas eve comes and all is quiet. I, of course, can't wait for the morning, so I sneak out in the middle of the night with my flashlight, scissors and tape.
I pick the nearest gift with my name on it. With the precision of a seasoned surgeon, I slice the tape perfectly between the seams. Ever so quietly, I pull the object out. With much joy, I admire my new sooner's hat.
Fearing I might get caught, I quickly use the tape to re-assemble the gift with the kind of perfection that comes from years of sneaking. The next morning we bound down the hallway to our new gifts. My brother and my sister are excited about what the unknown has in store. I'm a bit more reserved. I try to play it off as maturity, but it was all because there was no more unknown. I knew what my gift was. Of course, when the moment came, I played the part of the excited kid getting exactly what he wanted.
I've never really thought about that christmas until yesterday.
Sure, the Colts beat the Bears. Whoopieding. Even when Hestor ran the opening kickoff back, I can honestly say there was never a moment I was worried. Somehow, I just knew that we were going to win. Not because of destiny or anything else, just because I knew we were a better team.
I have to be honest when I say the present opening came for me two weeks ago. When Jackson intercepted that Tom Brady pass, I jumped up and ran around my house screaming like a crazy person. Yesterday, I barely smiled. It was like it was a forgone conclusion.
Don't get me wrong. I've been waiting a looooooong time for the Colts to reach this point. I've been waiting since Colts stood for: Count On us to Lose This Sunday. Back when Dean Biasucci was the kicker, and Bill Brooks caught passes from Jack Trudeau. Yes, I've been through those low times. And it feels good for us to finally be at the pinnacle.
I think, though, the pinnacle is when you know you are the best. It's when you beat the best. Sorry Chicago, but the real super bowl was two weeks ago.
If you have an ipod and itunes, you need to subscribe to "The President's Weekly Radio Address". I know, I know, you don't want to listen to a half-hour long dissertation by our beloved commander-in-chief. Don't worry, this is the minute and a half parody. Make sure you have the title right and DOWNLOAD! It will make you giggle.
This past sunday, a group of sixteen brave soldiers trudged onto a battlefied brown with the winter's death. We came from all parts of the valley, with tape and water bottles and cleats. Sixteen men, putting our reputations on the line in a war most of us were not prepared to fight.
It had been awhile since I had last strapped on the boots. The motion of attack had long faded and was but a sweet memory. The emergancy manuvers that had once been instinct had now become something of a chore and took more time.
As the battle lines were drawn, the anticipation grew. Men who had been mortals a mere hour preceding, had now become immortal gods on the eternal scales of a gridiron.
This was serious. This was a war.
With flags.
Okay, so it wasn't the epic event I was hoping for, but it was epic in other ways. Football is unique among most modern popular sports. With baseball, it only takes two to get together with a couple of mitts and make sport of it. With basketball, hockey, and soccer, you can literally practice by yourself. But not football.
Sure, you can toss the pigskin back and forth, but that is nothing like the assault that takes place after the ball has been snapped. Or the feeling of invincibility as you catch the touchdown pass. With football, it takes a concentrated effort of coordination. It isn't something that is just going to spontaneously errupt after a trip to starbucks.
When you are going to engage in this competition of greatness, you make the appointment days, if not weeks, ahead of time, ensuring the proper warriors of kinship are present. And the anticipation builds.
The last time I threw a ball in competition was during football intramurals at Johnson Bible College. It's amazing how quickly the throwing motion comes back. The instinct of linemen breathing down your neck, forcing you to scramble and throw a pass you have no business throwing. Your body cracks as the rust breaks free.
But then, you catch the receiver's eye. You know what he's thinking. He makes a break. You cock your arm and release with the power of a man's arm. And it all comes back. Poetry in motion.
The war was hard fought. And when the final whistle blew, the combatents threw their arms around each other and vowed to meet again in a couple of weeks...
It's been quite awhile since I've had anything real to blog about. Not that I have anything real to say right now, but I thought it might be nice to actually post words that I've written than ones I've simply copied and pasted into the Html area.
Two weeks ago I started real estate school. It's been a lot of fun learning all the different laws that go along with it. Before I took this class, I thought real estate agents simply printed out a pre-manufactured set of papers and then said, "Sign here and here and here and here..."
Even though I now see all the work it actually takes to make money in the real estate world, I find myself excited at the thought of doing it. For the first time since ministry I think I would actually enjoy getting up in the morning for work. That would be a good feeling.
Back to real estate school for a moment. I want to tell you about my friend Grace. Grace came to this country from South Korea four years ago. She came to study at a small bible college somewhere in Kansas (if I could remember the name of it, I would). She was telling me about her professor who had died on three seperate occasions. The first two times he went to hell but God called him back to earth. The last time he was on his way up to heaven but God told him not to come yet. I type all this nonchalantly for that is the way she explained it to me, as if we all have friends who have died and gone to hell and came back to tell us about it.
She then proceded to let me know that the most important thing we could do is go to heaven. That nothing else on this earth matters but that when we die we go to heaven.
Sadly, I know that she believes this with all her heart.
My good friend Bill and I have had many conversations on this topic. I'm pretty sure he's blogged about it a couple of times, but I'm too lazy to find it and link to it, so you'll just have to do a little homework on your own.
The problem is, while I disagree with Grace in principle, my life agrees with her in practice. I know I get too comfortable in my grace. I'm not sure that I understand fear and trembling anymore. Don't get me wrong, I love grace. Mainly because I need it more than most. I just think I get too used to having it there, knowing that I'll never be good enough, so most often I think, "why even try?"
Of course, I know the answer. I know it's because there is more to life than getting to heaven. I know that there is a journey that we are all on and that we are incomplete without each other. And that our journey is incomplete with out the Guide.
I don't have any eye opening final points. I can't think of a clever way to wrap this up that will make everyone go, "Ohhhh, what a clever way of stating that obvious fact." I just hope when I think of Grace, my soul will desire more than heaven.
CHICAGO (AP) -- Chicago Bears football practice was delayed nearly two hours today after a player reported finding an unknown white powdery substance on the practice field. Head coach Lovie Smith immediately suspended practice while police and and federal investigators were called to investigate. After a complete analysis, FBI forensic experts determined that the white substance unknown to the players was the goal line. Practice resumed after special agents decided the team was unlikely to encounter the substance again....
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all doing direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."
Thus begins Charles Dickens classic "A Tale Of Two Cities." (Forgive me Mrs. Pugh, I have no idea if I'm supposed to italicize, bold, or underline the title of a book...two out of three ain't bad eh?) As many of you know I am a huge fan of the Church. Sometimes, I am also her worst critic. I can be the loudest cheerleader or the most skeptical cynic. I love her and hate the whore we've made her. I often feel like the beginning lines of this book encapsulates all that I feel about her, possibly never more than the events of the past two weekends.
Two Sundays ago was Christmas Eve. We woke up early and took my wife's parents to the Gospel Brunch at the House of Blues. This may sound like a strange place to have been on Christmas Eve, but my father-in-law had been wanting to go there for awhile so we thought it would be a nice Christmas gift. Plus we scored some free tickets so what can I say?
It was quite an experience. Any House of Blues that you go to is going to be decorated very cool. With the quilt tapestry for a stage curtain and the eclectic art on the walls, it was a groovy environment. The food was also quite good (though the coffee had been sitting out awhile and was a bit cold) and I must say the bacon was very tasty. Then the show started. Luckily, about a quarter of the congergation...er, crowd was of the ethnic persuasion so it soon became very lively and gospely. I was quite impressed with how forward the singers were in their proclimation of Jesus as Lord. I remember several times thinking...this is just like church. There's energy, food, and people singing to Jesus. Sure, you have to pay 50 duckets to get in, but hey, that's less then my average offering per week. This is kinda neat.
That same afternoon we went to a church service near our house. We've been to this church several times and now that we live on that side of town, we will probably start attending. Of course, being Christmas Eve, they were doing their big Christmas production. After a few songs of the obligatory Christmas worship, the bulk of the service consisted of a drama about an unwed mother trying to win a car when a fellow contestant befriends her and tells her about Jesus. There are some more details in there, but I think you get the idea. It was all very well done with first class production. I think it's safe to say that everyone who left that day felt good about who they were and that Jesus was a baby and then were soon distracted by the hustle and bustle of the night before Christmas.
This past weekend, we (the in-laws and my wife and I) traveled to Indianapolis to watch the mighty Colts defeat the hapless Dolphins. (Okay, so they put up a fight, but who cares, we won!) One of my best friends lives on the north side of Indy. He attends a church called Common Grounds. I know, I know, it sounds more like a coffee house than a church, but believe me, it's a church. You can tell too, from the moment you walk into the more than 100 year old cathedral type building to sliding across the wooden pews. It reminds you of the kind of church your grandparents went to when they were growing up. Right down to the beginning of service and a guy on a mic doing a congregational reading of Psalm 104. But then the worship leader got up and grabbed his guitar and we worshiped. Occasionally a second guy would sing with him, but mostly it was just a dude and guitar. I asked my friend if it's always like this, so un-produced. He said not always. He said it's generally different everytime. Even though it was only a dude and a guitar, somehow it seemed more than just a dork who knew five chords. It was somehow very authentic. Then, the music stopped and there was silence for about five minutes. At first I didn't know what was going on, but quickly I realized this was some type of unanounced meditation time. Soon people began getting out of their seats and moving towards the front. Up there they had the communion elements. After communion, the pastor got up and basically said the following:
"We're not going to have a sermon today. I've been praying this whole morning that God would move His Spirit umong us and I think if I try to preach the sermon I've prepared, we won't give Him the opportunity to do it. So I'm going to sit back down and ask the worship leader to lead us in some more songs. The front of the chapel is open to anyone who needs prayer. Or if you just need to get out of the seat to actualize and set in motion some of the feelings in your spirit, come. We are going to worship and we are going to let the Spirit move."
Now, it very well could be that this was a cop out for not writing a good sermon because of the Christmas holiday. Or maybe he had family in town and didn't even attempt one. But I think there was more. I think so because I felt so.
Maybe it'd be neat to say that by the end we were all dancing in the aisles and handling poisonous snakes. Maybe it'd be neat to say that someone started prophesizing and I knew God's specific call on my life. Or maybe it'd be neat to say that a lame person was healed or a deaf could now hear or even a mute could now speak. Maybe. But what I saw was about a third of the congregation go foward. After that, about another eighth or so came up to pray with them. I saw people hugging and laying their hands on one another. I saw tears and I saw smiles. But most of all, I saw Christ glorified by his people being devoted to prayer and to one another. I knew with those tears and hugs came stories of struggles and of battles and of defeats. But I also knew that with those battles were victories. I knew that daily there were people who call themselves Christians soldiering into the world and taking up the battle right where they were at. This was their refuling station. This was their respite. This was their peace.
It's hard to say that one church experience is "better" than another. I'm not sure anyone but God can know for sure that what happens at any given moment isn't exactly what is supposed to be happening. But I think I've seen a tale of two churches.
I don't have a problem with attrational ministry. I'm probably going to attend a church whose main focus is attrational ministry. I simply find it refreshing that there is a fellowship of people who aren't afraid to not be attrational. To be intentionally un-attrational. And maybe, just maybe, that is the most attracting element of all.
I just got back from a guys night out. We had dinner at Outback and then went to see the new "Rocky Balboa" movie. I loved it. Of course the story was awful and the cinematography was worse, but hey, it's Rocky!
As I was driving home listening to a little "Eye of the Tiger" on the ol' Ipod, I was punching the air imagining myself in the ring. Yes, sometimes I am still eight years old. Okay, most of the time I am still eight years old. Just ask my wife! =)
In the process of my montage, I was reminded of an event that occured when I was younger. I was probably eight or nine years old at the time. We were all riding in the car when out of nowhere some jerk cuts my dad off. My dad lays on the horn behind the guy. Well, the guy slams on his brakes trying to get my dad to hit him from behind. After a couple of scary moments we end up beside this guy at a stop light. My mom is kind of freaking out at this moment and begging my dad just to forget it. Well, my dad turns and looks at this guy and sorta pumps his fist as if to say, "Bring it on buddy."
I remember afterwards my mom talking to us and telling us that my dad was sorry and that acting that way isn't very christianlike. She was probably right. But all I could remember was, "My dad is the toughest guy in the world!"
They say that the way you picture God has a lot to do with the way you view your Dad. My dad was (and is still) a very concrete guy. He knows what he believes and why and isn't afraid to tell you so. You always know where you stand with him. When we were kids and we got in trouble, we knew it was only a matter of time before we'd be in front of the ultimate judge and his leather judgements. Projecting this view on God can be scary when you're in trouble, but it's extremely comforting when you're scared.
In this Christmas season, it's easy only to think of Jesus as this little helpless baby that apparently didn't cry when he was born. But I kind of like to think God was a little pissed at the fact that his people were being so led astray that he just couldn't take it anymore and finally looked and satan and pumped his fists and said, "Bring it on buddy!"
I love Christmas time. I love the music and the decorations and the church services. I love the cold and the presents and the traveling. I love Christmas. If nothing else I love that there is no other reason to celebrate Christmas then Jesus' birth. I know the 'liberals' have turned into "Happy Holidays" and "Winter Break" for the kids, but December 25th is still recognized as Christmas and the reason for all the holiday madness.
Like I mentioned, I love the Christmas music. My favorite is a song called, "O Holy Night." It was written by a frenchman named Cappeau who was a winemaker. His priest asked him to write a Christmas poem to be read at their Christmas mass. He wrote the poem on a journey to Paris. In Paris, he met up with a friend of a friend named Adolphe Adam. About this time Adam was hot stuff because of an opera he had written the year before. Long story short, Cappeau put it to Adam's music and a masterpiece was finished. Later on, the song would be banned from some church's because of Cappeau's un-Christian views. Cappeau was anti-slavery and anti-social in-justice. Imagine that.
Anywho, I thought I would post the lyrics and a video of Eric Cartmand singing it. Just because I like it.
Enjoy and Merry Christmas!
O holy night, the stars are brightly shining; It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth! Long lay the world in sin and error pining, Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices, For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices! O night divine, O night when Christ was born! O night, O holy night, O night divine!
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming, With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand. So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming, Here came the wise men from Orient land. The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger, In all our trials born to be our Friend! He knows our need—to our weakness is no stranger. Behold your King; before Him lowly bend! Behold your King; before Him lowly bend!
Truly He taught us to love one another; His law is love and His Gospel is peace. Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother And in His Name all oppression shall cease. Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we, Let all within us praise His holy Name! Christ is the Lord! O praise His name forever! His pow’r and glory evermore proclaim! His pow’r and glory evermore proclaim!
Have you ever had moments where you were refreshed? Like the kind of refreshed after a good nights sleep, where you get to sleep until you just wake up. I'm having one of those days today. Well, technically, it started yesterday.
I was on my way home and I had just unpacked my ipod from it's hiding place inside my workout bag. Yeah, it had been awhile since I'd seen it. Anywho, I was flipping through the artists and came across a band I hadn't listened to in forty years. Smalltown Poets. I used to love those guys. Clickwheeled it to "Prophet, Priest and King." I would like to share a bit of this song...
"If I indeed am misperceived by some heads of state. Hey, that's great 'Cause I talk to a prophet who tells me the truth And I dine with a king at my home in Duluth Better yet I'm in touch with a much needed friend Who hears my confessions and pardons my sin
But my closet's a shrine to an old friend of mine Here I talk all the time with a prophet, priest... I pull out boxes and brooms and I gush like a groom For it's here I commune with a prophet, priest and king"
For awhile I had forgotten about the gift of prayer. Not that I never prayed, but most of the time it was in passing or in traffic (Dear God, smite this bad driver and the piece of crap he is driving. Amen.). You know the kind, when you just kind of think of stuff and you say, "Yeah God, do that okay?" I used to think that this was okay, that as long as I 'thought' about God at some point during the day I was okay, or I had filled my quota for the day. But the more I thought about it, I thought of Jesus. Here is the Son of God, the most connected human ever to God, and even he had to go away and be by himself for hours and hours at a time to be right with his Father.
Wow.
But then I realized it made sense. Jesus isn't so concerned about the end product, or the result of our prayer like we are. We say, "Oh be with them cause they have cancer, amen." Now, whether he decides to heal them or not isn't really the point. He wants to struggle with us. Cry with us. Rejoice with us. And the only way for that to happen is for us to choose to spend time with him.
It's uncomfortable at first because he usually airs the dirty laundry first. Yeah, that sucks. But isn't always the best when you slide into bed on those nice clean sheets that are still warm from the dryer? Well, the only way to get there is the laundry room.
So today, feeling all refreshed I went on the internet in search of new adventures. Came across this site of a church that seems to be living my dream. First of all, I think they have the best name for a church website that I could ever dream of: http://www.churchinabrewery.com Check them out, especially the two blogs about rethinking church and rethinking life. Good stuff. God is good!
