Warren Weirsbe:
"If you get your theology from circumstances you’ll come to the conclusion that God doesn’t love you”

Several years ago the movie “the last temptation of christ" came out and the church I was pastoring didn’t know what to think about it with all the picketing and criticisms about it so they sent me to check it out and tell them how evil it was…. Problem was, I loved the movie. I had a religious experience there. I met Christ in a new way at the film. Then I made the mistake of coming back to the church and I recommended it to the people from the front. It was, in retrospect, a huge mistake. I almost got fired over it. The movie got some things wrong but it really got some things right. In the film they portrayed Jesus as a very human person. He struggled with stuff I struggle with.
Do you think Jesus was ever tempted to lust?
To punch someone out?
Do you think he ever wanted to hold a grudge or gossip?
Be lazy?
Get drunk?

God grant me the Senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.

via darryl

a little while ago i was at a hospital and happened upon a potentially violent situation. a drug addict was soliciting a nurse for drugs near an entranceway and the situation was escalating. she proceeded to grab him to move him out. bad move. in canadian law that is an assault and he could have pounded her then charged her for assault. but my daddy never raised us to put up with manhandling of womenfolk so i decided to stop by. though i hate to admit it, i love situations like this. ya, ya, it's that macho crap but i is what i is.

i walked up and calmly enquired, "is everything ok here. can i be of assistance." as i proceeded to take on a more direct posture i felt something brush up against my right shoulder and i looked to see a cop, hand on his gun. he looked at me and then whispered as he smiled, "it's ok, i can take care of this." it was very cool. i offered to serve at backup and he quietly pointed behind me --- where 5 cops were standing, hands also on weapons.

so being the shy kind of guy i am, i stretched and said loudly, "well i think my work here is done, i'll be moseying along i guess." the cops all laughed and the situation was diffused.

i like to think of god like that sometimes. i come up against a tough situation and then i feel the gentle brush on my shoulder and a voice whispers in my ear, "it's ok, scott, i can take care of this." i look and see i have backup. the bad guy knew all along. he could look past me and see the cops. i could only see what i thought was a problem.
but i have backup.

"That the Clinton administration decided against intervention at any level was not for lack of knowledge of what was happening in Rwanda."

read the rest at jordon's blog.

i'm "retiring" from my church in mission this sunday. having been here 9 years it is somewhat of a nostalgic week for me. i am going about business as usual, only subconsciously aware that this is my last sunday in my official post. next wednesday when i get back from victoria i will be applying for unemployment, cancelling my flokrok email account and starting yardwork. friday i get my tonsils out. sunday i will probably sit at home and pace. i know i want to be at the church that day but i need to let go. i need to let the leadership do it's job -- basically not get in the way for a while. i'm not moving but people are taking a wait and see attitude towards my next move anyway. i kind of like the mystery, i have to admit.

last sunday i concluded my talk with these words:
"We want to be served. Many feel the church and society in general owes us something.

True meaning of the gospel – “love your neighbour. Take up your cross. Serve.

I, I, I, me, me, me. From our first breath we cry for attention. Marriages end because of it. Families fight because of it. Friends leave because of it.
You could save 99% of marriages if the people would adopt a servant spirit. If we could give and not worry about giving. It would transform your life if you could be a servant. And not keep score.

It’s about servanthood. I really is. In two weeks I’m going to be sitting in the pew and so before I go I want to say a few things...

it’s not about you.
it’s not about you."

but for many people it won't matter. they still want to know if the talks will be "scott-like". they still wonder if the leadership will fall apart. they worry that the music won't offend normal people anymore. for others it will be a glorious day as they wait on the wings to come back once i am deposed. some will wander away, convinced everything "has changed". most will stay. life will go on.

it pisses me off sometimes to think that the church is about me. i have done, on many levels, a poor job at passing the baton. that part is my fault. it's hard to be a strong personality on occasions like this. love me or hate me, everyone has an opinion. it's difficult to bear the responsibility for the small group of codependent lives in any church. people have come up to me and told me on the sly that they will leave when i do. that sucks. especially 3 minutes after i just ranted "it's not about me. it's not about you. it's about giving your life to something higher than either of us".
if you are reading this i'd like to remind you that church isn't about you. it isn't about your needs or your comfort or your musical tastes. sure you need to find a place where you can find a family but it's hard for me to believe that jesus died on the cross so his kids could have the best sunday school in town.

from grantley morris:
Our Leader's behavior shocked the religious establishment. Christ partied with crooks, drunks and sluts. A prostitute kissed his feet. He did things on the Sabbath he wasn't supposed to. He insulted dignitaries, calling them vipers, blind fools, whitewashed tombs and other endearing names. Those closest to him usually had no idea what he was talking about - he's warning them about the Pharisees and they think he's complaining about leaving the bread behind - but to those outside his inner circle, Christ wasn't nearly so intelligible. He was acknowledged by demons and rejected by theologians. He spoke to a fever, a tree, even a storm. Before long, Jesus' sanity was called into question and at one stage his family came to take charge of him. He was forever messing up funerals, wrecking beggars' only source of income - their infirmities - and outraging religious leaders. He made goo with spit and smeared it on a beggar's eyes. He stuck his fingers in a man's ears, spat, and grabbed the man's tongue. How many churches would tolerate such ludicrous behavior? He took a short-cut across the lake - without a boat. He sent two thousand swine hurtling to their death. He physically assaulted temple workers. No one - whether friends, family, admirers; devout, legalistic or lax - could agree with him for long.

Where are the creative, madcap warriors today? Are we patterning ourselves after a bunch of straight laced marshmallows who repel the creative and outlandish?

like many who are church attenders i have long struggled over what the nature of the church is. i ascribe to much of what the emergent thinkers in church work believe is the nature and the function of this most unique of institutions. many of us have been frustrated by the apparent lack of mysticism and mystery in traditional evangelical thinking. the authoritarian theology has made many of us question why we are not allowed to question. we sit in churches, week after week, and try to understand why there is such a dualistic approach to our structures. we wonder why we sing music that is just bad while our leaders harp on marketing and methodology and bend over backwards to do a poor impersonation of hollywood church.

i grew up in the church growth movement. as a young pastor i was thrust headlong into the marketing approach to spreading the words of jesus. i learned about mega-churches who use slick advertising, matching outfits and sermons that were devoid of scripture, to reach an audience that had given up on traditional church. i learned about media, about desktop publishing. i did telemarketing and used gimics to 'bring them in'. like many of my contemporaries i felt the overwhelming pressure from above to fill the chairs. those of us who did were elevated. those who didn't were ignored.

i have known the hollow thrill of being the fasting growing church plant in canada a few times. it looked great on paper but didn't seem to make a difference in my hometown. i prepared the market-driven sermons about "six ways to handle stress" that i ripped off from rick warren or bill hybels. i have handed out door hangers and flyers, done mass mailings and radio ads. like many of us i did whatever i had to in order to look good on paper. and like many of us, my church services were polished and precise, the music was amazing - but it all seemed devoid of spiritual depth.

some years ago i began to realize the shallowness of my ministry. i ran across people with churches far smaller than mine that seemed real, while my church just seemed polished. i noticed that, while i was on the top of my game, my personal spiritual life was lifeless. i did not connect with god on any meaningful level and it seemed that those around me were experiencing the same thing. people began to leave my church saying that it was amazing but carnal. i wrote them off as selfish and launched into the next slick campaign. many of the people who were attracted to my churches seemed shallow and in need of entertainment. every week we tried to pull out the next big 'wow' moment.

as we transitioned, eventually, into a more wholistic and holy way of thinking, many of the gimics still followed. we did postmodern church and tried to force the supernatural to show up. we used the same drivenness that we had in earlier church experiences to make the new paradigm work. we got many things right. we got so many things wrong. before long i got caught up in the emergent posturing that also went on. i grew jealous of those who were post-modern superstars who, though they vocally denied the power, were quick to embrace the limelight. the markers changed but the rat race remained the same.

early in the whole emergent thing i grabbed a phrase that has come to symbolize much of what i still believe today. i can't remember who said it but the term 'wounded healer' has stuck with me. it has given me freedom and hope. it may no longer be trendy but for me it was life. i began to realize that i was called to share out of vulnerability, not strength. it began to permeate every part of my life. i no longer had to pretend i had it all together. it allowed me to bring into play other important facates of my belief system. vulnerability, raw, real, imperfection, transparency. our church began to look more like a twelve step meeting than a church service. that had it's pitfalls too, but god started to move.

as i look back over my nine years at new heights church i realize i am proud to have been a part of such a unique experience. but with that vulnerability has come an incredible amount of pain. looking back i sometimes wonder if it is worth it, but the fact remains that this church is unlike anything i have ever seen or been a part of. in a world where every church believes it is different new heights really is.

i am no longer at the front of the pack, but that is ok. i no longer get calls for seminars, job offers or speaking gigs. the church is no longer the 'fastest' anything. it's funny, then, that i think we have finally gotten some things right. new heights is a struggling, questioning, vulnerable, broken, mystical church that actually does what it says on many levels. they do feed the poor, all the time. they take seriously the needs of others. they are vulnerable. they are creative. they are beautiful. i wish i could say that i am responsible for that success, but as i look at it objectively, usually i have been more of a hindrance than a force. i am the one who has thrust the church into schemes and dreams that sidelined us. my personal life has been a problem for years. as i said recently, lately i am more of an air-freshener than a warrior for change ( i tried to tell my church i was only 'eye candy' but they laughed).

i still believe in the 'wounded healer' concept. i just never realized how wounded i would become. i never realized how much of my own drivennes would have to be purged before i would understand even a little of what god wanted.

Pixie Sticks, because not every kid can afford crack!
Making us all wish we were blind - Speedo
C'mon, say "adios" to your stomach lining - Coca-Cola
Say no to drugs... that way you'll have more time to drink - Budweiser

more on ben's blog

Not all children's books are published. here's a few that weren't:
- Pop goes the hamster and other great microwave games
- Why can’ mr. fork and ms electrical outlet be friends
- You’re different and that’s bad
- The little sissy who snitched
- Grandpa gets a casket
- Kathy was so bad her mom stopped loving her
- Things rich kids have that you never will
- Curious George meets the Electric Fence
- That’s it I’m putting you up for adoption (think I’ve said that…)

And my personal fav:
Daddy Drinks Because You Cry

Grandma and grandpa were married for a half century and they had a cute game they used to play. They used to write the word shmily everywhere. In the sugar/smeared with dew on the car/mist on the mirror after a shower/in the roll of the toilet paper.
Little notes on the dashboard/pillow/in the dust on the mantel.
He was skeptical of love but never of his grandparents love. They held hands, stole kisses and touched a lot. It was disgusting. Grandma used to whisper to me how cute grandpa was. She claimed she really knew how to pick them.
Grandma got breast cancer and it started to go poorly. Grandpa used to nurture her as she got weaker.

Grandma died. On the casket was the word shmily done up in flowers. After the funeral everyone dispersed except the family as they gathered around grandma one more time.
Grandpa began to sing to her. Through tears of grief he choked out, “S-H-M-I-L-Y, see how much I love you…”

This is allegedly a true story. I read it on the internet and we all know they don’t lie on the internet…
Seems this man was working on his motorcycle on the patio when the engine started racing and it slipped into gear. The held firm on the handlebars and was systematically dragged through the glass patio door into the kitchen. His wife heard the cries and ran in only to see her husband lying on the floor cut and bleeding. She called 911 and soon the husband was rushed to the hospital. After the husband left in the ambulance the wife cleaned up the mess with paper towels and threw them, now saturated with gasoline, into the toilet. She did not flush.

The husband got treated at the hospital and is released. When he got home he took a look at all the damage and decided to go to the bathroom to relieve himself. He sat on the toilet and proceeds to light a cigarette. After he is done with the smoke he flipped the butt between his legs into the toilet bowl. At this point he is still seated.

The wife, in the kitchen, hears an explosion and the subsequent screaming and runs into the bathroom only to see her husband on the floor. His pants are blown right off and his butt is severely burned. Again the ambulance is called and the same paramedics show up and load him on the stretcher. Going down the stairs one paramedic asks, “how did your husband burn himself.” She tells him.

The paramedics start to laugh so hard that they tip the stretcher and the husband falls off, breaking an ankle and starts rolling down the hill careening into a parked car. At this point the story comes to an abrupt end.

Franz Koffka wrote a story entitled, “the hunger artist”. Of all the works by Koffka, this one short story seemed to sum up his personal thoughts about life. The story goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a man known as the hunger artist. He made his living by professional fasting. He would go for extended periods of time without eating and drinking anything and people would pay to see him do it. At that time, professional fasting was a respected, appreciated, and very lucrative business. Picture this in your mind…. They would sit the hunger artist on straw in a small cage expressing his will power to go for long periods without eating or drinking anything. He would fast for forty days and when the forty days were up the band would play, and his manager would give a speech.

Then two attractive ladies would lead him in his weakened condition out of the cage. The crowd would roar with excitement and ultimately they would pay him a great sum of money in appreciation of his great work of art.

However, there came a time when professional fasting was no longer understood nor appreciated by the people. The man lost his manager and had to join the circus. When he hooked up with the circus, he became down and depressed; despondent and discouraged because of the raw meat that constantly passed him… because of the roaring of the animals at night…. Because of the horrible smell that filled the air…. The people paid him no attention as they rushed by him to see the more popular exhibits in the circus.

He was ignored and forgotten about, even the leaders and the owners of the circus forgot him. His fast went way past forty days, because nobody bothered to count the days. And ultimately they found him one day half conscious slumped over in the cage…. They rushed over to assist him and in his last dying breath, he told his secret. He simply said, “I have to fast; I have no choice… you see, I couldn’t find any food that would satisfy me…”

This was his autobiography. This was his life.

his wife was experiencing depression. she began to mope around the house - no light in her eyes - no spring in her step - joyless. it became so bad that this husband did what any sophisticated person would do. he made an appointment with the psychiatrist. on the appointed day, they went to the psychiatrist's office, sat down with him and began to talk. it wasn't long before the wise doctor realized what the problem was. so, without saying a word, he simply stood, walked over in front of the woman's chair, signaled her to stand, took her by the hands, looked at her in the eyes for a long time, then gathered her into his arms and gave her a big, warm hug. you could see the change come over the woman. her face softened, her eyes lit up, she immediately relaxed. her whole face glowed. stepping back, the doctor said to the husband, "see, that's all she needs." with that, the man said, "okay, i'll bring her in tuesdays and thursdays each week but i have to golf on the other afternoons."

a while ago i was in the psych ward at a hospital. i know, you're not surprised.
... but seriously, i was only visiting someone. this time they let me wear the 'sane' nametag. now i have proof.
while i was there i met shane. shane needed to be there. shane has problems. at one point they brought in muscle to help him take his meds, in his concrete room that only locked from the outside.
he slipped me a note. i'm looking at it right now. some of it is weird, even for that ward. the part i like the best says, "i've been 170 years in this shell. do judge some control, you walked in the shoes of the fisherman. if i don't make it out of here tell everyone." complete with his phone number.

while near robson street i met a panhandler who thanked me for talking to him as a human. for taking the time to stop and look at him and talk to him like a person. ya i gave him money. i always do. i don't care what he uses it for. he has a hard life. it's easy to be judgmental. it's easy to imagine he'll pool my couple of bucks to buy drugs. i just wanted him to have a moment or two of joy in a world gone bad. i'm no saint and i know he wasn't either. it doesn't matter. for that moment i saw him as a person. a person god loves.
it was enough.

an unknown author wrote the following lines:
'i wasted an hour one morning beside a mountain stream.
i seaized a cloud from the sky above and fashioned myself a dream
in the hush of early twilight, far from the haunts of men
i wasted a summer evening and fashioned my dream again,

wasted? perhaps.
folks say so who have never walked with god...
when lanes are purple with lilacs or yellow with goldenrod.

but i have found strength for my labors
in that one short evening hour.
i have found joy and contentment,
i have found peace and power.
my dreaming has left me a treasure,
a hope that is strong and true.
from wasted hours i have built my life and found my faith anew.'

from bill gates, "rules of life in the real world".

rule 1 - life isn't fair, get used to it.

rule 2 - you will not make $50,000/yr right out of high school.

rule 3 - flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. your grandparents had a different word for burger flipping - they called it opportunity.

rule 4 - if you mess up, it's not your parents fauth, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

rule 5 - before you were born your parents weren't as boring as they are now. they got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you are.

rule 6 - your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life hasn't. in some schools they have abolished failing grades; they'll give you as many times as you want to get the answer right. this doesn't bear the slightest resemblence to anything in real life.

rule 7 - life is not divided into semesters. you don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you find yourself. Do that on your own time.

rule 8 - be nice to nerds. chances are you'll end up working for one.

how to impress a woman:
compliment her, cuddle her, kiss her, caress her, love her, tease her, comfort her, protect her, hug her hold her, spend money on her, care for her, stand by her, support her, go to the ends of the earth for her
how to impress a man:
show up naked.

the allies had established a strategic position. the commander said, "sweep across the field and kill all german soldiers still entrenched in the snow. i want no prisoners. absolutely none!"

"i walked until i found 2 wounded krauts and i shot them. then suddenly i approached a tall, young man leaning against a tree. he was exhausted, hungry, thirsty, ammo-less, alone and unhurt. fear, fatigue defeat and loneliness seemed to overwhelm him. he spoke english - i saw a bible in his pocket. we started to talk about jesus and salvation. he was a christian! me too! like many of us he had been forced into service. i gave him water and crackers and we prayed together. we read from his bible. we wept together. he showed me pictures of his wife and daughter. i showed him my bible college grad picture. together we read romans 13 about not killing, about the promise of joy and peace. then i rose to leave.
the german bowed his head to pray and i said, "you're a christian, i am too. see you later...
... then i shot him.'"

i'm not old enough to play baseball or football.
i'm not eight yet.
my mom told me when you start baseball you aren't going to be able to run that fast because you had an operation.
i told mom i wouldn't need to run that fast. when i play baseball,
i'll just hit them out of the park.
then i'll be able to walk.

from ruth calkin:
"you know, lord, how i serve you
with great emotional fervor in the limelight.
you know how eagerly i speak for you at a woman's club,
you know my genuine enthusiasm at a bible study.
but how would i react, i wonder,
if you pointed to a basin of water,
and asked me to wash the calloused feet
of a bent and wrinkled old woman
day after day, month after month,
in a room where nobody saw and nobody knew?"

"Every single day, 30,000 children are dying as a result of extreme poverty."
Click here for the UK version of the new Click campaign from makepovertyhistory.org.
Click here for the Canadian version of the new Click campaign from makepovertyhistory.ca.

i want to tell you two stories about skydiving. they begin with a challenge from tony campolo. on one occasion he was asking his students, "how long have you lived?" the students were confused and began calling out their ages. campolo replied, "no, not how long have been on this earth, how long have you been really alive?" then he told them the story of his trip to the empire state building and how it stuck out in his mind, how he felt truly alive in that moment. then he asked them again, "how long have you truly been alive?" minutes?

1. it was a stormy day. the clouds were solid at about 6500 feet. my two crazy friends and i asked each other if it was worth a quick jump at such a low altitude. it was always worth a quick jump at any altitude.
fergus and wendy jumped first and as i made my way out of the door i saw that we were literally at the clouds. i could reach up and brush my hands and see the vapor trail behind. above me it was solid grey and black clouds. below me the earth. time stood still. i laughed as i hung onto the door and swept my hands through the milky cotton. i was truly alive for that moment.

2. fergus and wendy had taken off first and again i was alone in the plane. only this time not really alone. my father sat in the passenger's seat watching his son prepare to take off and as i was getting ready to go he asked, "do you have to jump out a certain way? is it unstable if you are not stable?" i replied, "ya dad, everything is fine as long as you jump out of the plane in a completely stable position." upon uttering those words i pretended to stumble, fell backwards, rolled and tumbled out of the airplane screaming!
i was falling to the earth at about 125 mph, smiling to myself over what i had done to freak out my father when i happen to glance to the horizon. it was an amazing night. the nimbus clouds were thousands of feet deep, broken and touched by the sunset. the sky through them was a mix of purple and lavender. it was breathtaking.
suddenly i saw my father, oddly enough. he and the pilot were nose to the earth trying to pass me not a hundred yards off. he smiled and waved. my dad, the clouds, the moment, the amazing moment. it is hard to write how that moment unfolded. the sky went on forever. the colours were dazzling. my father was crazy. i was free. for that moment, i was truly alive.

1. Begin with infancy to give the child everything he wants. In this way he will grow up to believe the world owes him a living.
2. When he picks up bad words, laugh at him. This will make him think he's cute.
3. Never give him any spiritual training. Wait until he is twenty-one and then let "him decide for himself."
4. Avoid the use of "wrong." He may develop a guilt complex. This will condition him to believe later, when he is arrested, that society is against him and he is being persecuted.
5. Pick up everything he leaves lying around. Do everything for him so that he will be experienced throwing all responsibility on others.
6. Take his side against neighbors, teachers, and policemen. They are all prejudiced against your child. That will be good training for someday when you take his side against the police.
7. Quarrel frequently in the presence of your children. In this way they won't be so shocked when the home is broken up later.
8. Give the child all the spending money he wants. Never let him earn his own.
9. Satisfy his every craving for food, drink, and comfort. See that his every sensual desire is gratified.
10. Let him read any printed material, and listen to any music he can get his hands on. Be careful that the silverware and drinking glasses are sterilized, but let his mind feast on garbage.
11. When he gets into real trouble, apologize to yourself by saying, "I could never do anything with him.
12. "Prepare for a life of grief. You will likely have it.
--Taken from a pamphlet entitled, "Twelve Rules for Raising Delinquent Children" distributed by the Houston Police Department.

ben tells a great true story here.

i had a near death experience that changed me forever. i went horseback riding. everything was going fine until the horse started bucking and bouncing out of control. i tried to hang on but was thrown off. just when things could not get any worse, my feet got caught in the stirrups. i fell headfirst to the ground. my head bounced harder and harder and harder as the horse did not stop or even slow down. just as i was giving up hope and losing consciousness luckily the wallmart manager came and unplugged the machine. i could have died!

at one point in his pastoral career george whitefield received a vicious letter accusing him of wrongdoing. his reply was brief and courteous:
"i thank you heartily for your letter. as for what you and my other enemies are saying against me, i know worse things about myself than you will ever say about me.
with love in christ, george whitefield."

i did not really grow up in a strictly religious home. actually not at all. my grandparents were alcoholics and they taught me different lessons than you would probably learn at "johnny church member"'s grandma's house. by the age of 8 or 9 i knew how to play bridge, texas holdum, blackjack, craps, 21, 31, 333, follow the queen, stud, baseball, woolworths and various other derivations of many poker games. i learned that you had to be at least 13 before you can sneak beer from the basement. i learned that everyone drank. i learned that children didn't matter. i learned to be "seen and not heard". i learned that drunkenness was a daily thing, not a special holiday activity. i learned how to swear. to this day i can pack more empties in the trunk of a ford fairlane than anyone i know.

my grandmother was a poor gambler but didn't know it. she thought she was decent and indeed seemed to be so to an eight year old child. she understood the fundamentals of the game and would beat me evry time we played. she would usually take my allowance. it was a very tender family.
by the time i was eleven or twelve, however, i began to win. eventually two things dawned on me: first - she wasn't that good. second - she had taken a great deal of my boyhood money and it was time for her to go down. somehow i convinced her that we should play for higher stakes and i began the carnage. slowly, relentlessly, i drove her to the ground.

i looked at my grandmother. this was the person who had taught me how to play. she was the woman who had raised my mother. she was an old lady on a pension. and i took her for everything in her account. at eleven years of age i damaged her financially. i watched her sign a cheque in defeat. it was for hundreds of dollars. did i feel guilty? i remember thinking at the time, "this is the greatest day of my life".

as i look back i wonder why i didn't feel any remorse at all. my grandmother was not a nice person. she did not know how to express love, and one could argue she felt little as well. she was a bitter, angry little woman who would later disown me because i won an argument. when she found out i was engaged she commented, "i don't know the woman but she must be a slut to marry him."

i learned a great deal from my grandmother. i learned that family is not that important. i learned that it is easy to lie to cover up addiction. i learned that bitterness worked. i learned that i didn't matter. i learned that love was conditional.

as i ponder that part of my life and the subsequent apathy i felt when she died i realize that i feel ripped off sometimes. i did not have grandparents that i could love and cherish. my father was an orphan. the grandparents i had were not nice people. i look at the grandparents that my children have and i'm glad for all four of them. they each bring something to the table. my children love them all dearly. i am jealous. and thankful.

and i am very conscious that my children are watching and learning from those who impact their life. they have learned many lessons too. good and bad. they have and continue to learn negative lessons on marriage and commitment, parenting, love, choice, maturity and growth. they continue to learn positive lessons in some of the same areas as well. they know too well that adults are screwed up. they live in a world where they have born the ramifications of other people's horrendous decisions. they are skewed.

so i am very thankful for those who are positive role models in their lives. you know who you are. you make a difference. you remind my kids that some people are good, that some people have integrity. in a real way you are more family to my children than most of their relatives. you provide them with authentic expressions of love and integrity. you show them that not all adults are selfish idiots. you give them markers to shoot for. you enable them to aspire.

thanks.

someone sent me this stunning letter today...

Dear Scott,
Please help me, here's my story - my parents live in Mississauga and one of my sisters is married to a guy from Newfoundland. My father and mother have recently been arrested for growing and selling marijuana and are currently dependent on my two sisters who are prostitutes.
i have two brothers, one who is currently serving a life sentence in a Winnipeg prison for the murder of a teenage boy in 1994, the other is currently being held in Kingston Pen on remand for charges of abducting his three children.
I have recently become engaged to marry a former Thai prostitute who indeed is still a part time working girl in a brothel, however, her time there is limited as she has recently been infected with STD's.
We intend to marry as soon as possible and are currently looking into the possibility of opening our own brothel with my fiancee using her knowledge of the industry working as the manager. I am hoping my two sisters would be interested in joining the team. It would at least get them off the streets and hopefully off heroin.
My problem is this: i love my fiancee and look forward to bringing her into the family and of course i want to be totally honest with her. Should i tell her about my brother-in-law being a newfie?

great apologetic from leighton.

We did not change as we grew older; we just became more clearly ourselves.
Lynn Hall

i once had a pastor tell me that, if we are all parts of the body of Christ, than i was certainly the bile duct... made me feel sexy.

he went on to say that no one really wants to see the bile duct but if it shuts down we're all in a world of crap.
i like that.
of course it calls into question my hygeine, but then again... many have.

i have always taken sort of a perverse pride in standing in the margins. many who read this blog can relate. there is something powerful about throwing rocks at the establishment. - and it is a very easy thing to do. institutions, by their very nature, invite criticism. it is a relatively simple thing to stand back and lecture the world on how things would be different if you had your say. i have done it.

most of us have.

before you conclude that i am disparaging the "bile ducts" of life i want to say that there is a significant place for disturbers. they call into account the many asinine decisions and programs that organizations, both sacred and secular tend to make. we desperately need those who will sacrifice popularity to combat injustice, misappropriation and just downright stupidity.

it has been my experience that such individuals tend not to be very popular. many will pay them a begrudging respect if they are proven right but the fact remains that those of us who tend to be critical tend conversely to be criticized. it is a reality and perhaps it is even fair on some levels. i find it ironic that many critics are mortally offended when it is dished back at them - that somehow they should be immune to rebuttals. you reap what you sow.

recently there was a website launched called "disappointment with pastor scott". it was a short-lived tribute to my perceived failures as an individual. though the real list of my shortcomings tends to seem endless, this site was rife with innuendo and conjecture, much of which was blatantly just gossip and wrong. i am thinking of starting my own blog called, "disappointment with pastor scott - the definitive list." as with many of us i probably have a better insight into my failings than many.

now comes the funny part. when some of you chose to visit that site and call into account some of the innuendo; the author was very offended that you should do so. somehow they believed that they should be immune from criticism though they chose to dole it out in great heaps. occasionally i would visit the site, to find out what i was up to, and would laugh at the comments and counter-claims. it's nice to be popular.

it seems in life that some of us are called to live on the fringes. some of us feel passionately that certain injustices should be countered. i hope i am one of those individuals. lately it has become apparent to me, however, that if you choose to visit the front lines, chances are you may be shot at. don't be shocked, it's your choice to venture into the foray. much of the criticism i receive in life is deserved, some is ridiculous. whining about being controversial is only appropriate if you have not set yourself up to be controversial. it seems obvious enough.

i love the that quote from "the man from la mancha":
Dream the impossible dream,
Fight the unbeatable foe,
Strive with your last once of courage
To reach the unreachable star.
... to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause.

the older i get the more i hope i am able to discern what things are worth standing up for. gone are the days when i secretly desired to be controversial for it's own sake. there was a certain ego stroke in being thought of as a "maverick". kind of a "love me, hate me, just don't ignore me" sort of deal.
the aim is to be passionate for the right cause.
controversial for the right reasons.
critical of the right things

then you will be able to be shot at and know your enemy.
you will be willing to take a hit for the team.
you will be a martyr for the cause... not just a dickhead.

a real "we are the world" moment. at the end of talking about "control freaks" this morning, about letting go, i decided on the spur of the moment to get all the singers in the church to come up and sing "let it be". course i could barely remember the chords.

i would point to one or yell and get them to do a solo verse. very chaotic... very holy moment.
very cool.

Me: “Knock, knock.”
Ben: “Who’s there?”
Me: “Control Freak. Now you say ‘Control freak who?"

Me: “How many ADD/ADHD kids does it take to screw in a light bulb?”
Mom: “How many?”
Me: “Let’s go ride bikes!”

ran into this quote from desert preacher: People are getting sick and tired of hearing about “candles, coffee, and conversation.” If that’s the best the EC can muster, it’s doomed.

i live on the far edge of the emerging world, often wondering if my blue collar, homeless, youth and rock/punk universe really interplays well with the rest of the church. we have, over the years, flirted with modernity and post-modernity. years ago we idolized the willow wonder and the purpose driven pizzaz, eventually abandoning each for what we considered a purer, more authentic experience within the margins of the poe-moe framework. people like jordon cooper, the folks at the ooze, and others have helped us come out of the closet, given us permission to be who we are. i still remember clearly my first taste of post-modernism in its polished form at Mt. Herman Conference Center, back in the day. i found that i wasn't an anomely, that the stirrings and frustrations i had intrinsically felt with the church growth movement were not in fact aberrations. it was a liberating experience to find other paid religionists as screwed up as i was.

like all of us who do this for a living i have oft fallen into the trap of seeking uber solutions to my pastoring woes which promised to transform my life with little or no understanding. just inflict a drama into your service and presto, willow world. the people will undoubtedly flock to church. although i didn't realize it at the time, i soon employed the same tactics with my post-modernist freedom as well. it became about the candles, the lighting, celtic prayers and recitations, gotees and video (i have over 60 gigs of video in my library, arguably the largest collection of video for the church in canada). though it was taboo to be completely honest with ourselves and others, the trend was still about copying, still about 'flash and ash'. still about impressing the unchurched. still about performance.

some time ago i had a conversation with a self-proclaimed expert on post-modern church who informed me, in smug tones, that my service wasn't 'post-modern enough'. though i didn't say anything at the time, it made me laugh later. there was still the assumption that emerging churches:
- use accoustic guitars and better music
- must have candles and icons to be effective
- must change up the service format (though never admit we have one) weekly
- use poetry and quote from dead guys
- employ video projectors and slides
- love the "stations of the cross"
- dress "down"
- like beer and red wine
- swear
- denegrate the modern church
- form elitist affiliations
- have a rock band
- love secondary lighting
- draw pictures, paint crap, have stations all over the room
- draw a labyrinth on your floor
- and are generally a bunch of wounded, whiney ex youth pastors that no one understands.

... the list goes on and on. a subtle form of elitism had begun to filter in. we developed our own gurus and still worshipped on the alter of success, though we redefined what that was. smaller was better, house churches were superior to worship services, young beat out old, self-effacement was cooler than dynamic preaching, quotes from dead people were better than thots from old people. we began to name our churches and our services after cool hebrew words. we started to paint in church.
for a while it seemed so fresh.
later it just got lame.

and we know it. so we jump on the next train to glory and still sit in groups on a saturday nite trying to figure out how we can make the next event cooler than the last. and the trap tightens.

lately i have had an opportunity to sit back and question my own motivations in this regard. i decided not to be involved in any poe-moe mega-events this year, not to line up my team of v.j.'s and borrow 12 video projectors, not to spend endless hours previewing the lately coldplay videos for clips and hooks. i sat back with an old acrostic i learned years ago and re-evaluated where my dreams were going. it was the old "epic" acrostic - aged and outdated, unvogue.

i asked myself if my faith and my church was "experiential". did we experience god? were all the videos and the tricks helping or hindering the metaphysical? some of them were just becoming traps. the candles were now meaningless. 12 videos in the service seemed to have become more of a distraction than a blessing. it was chaotic and cool, but was it godly?

and was it participatory at all? it seemed god's people were just as inclined to be spectators as they were at willow creek. they still loved the glitz and the guitar solo. they still wanted to know who was speaking which week. but were they being transformed? were they a part of the holy narrative? even when we made them participate was it because they wanted to be in front of the pack? they were beginning to minister but were they transformed? i didn't know.

sure we had lots of images for an image-based world but were they helping people to imagine god, or were they only entertaining?

were we building community any better than we used to?

i put away the dumb acrostic and sat back and asked myself about myself. did the people know my brokenness but also know the healing? was i being real and raw or just raw? was there a sense of holiness that we as a church desired or were we glorying in our weakness? was i faking it?

it is rather humorous for me to read the critiques that spew out constantly about the liberalism of the emerging church. the "fact" that we no longer believe in the authority of scripture. they don't get it. not even a bit. most of us are conservative by most standards but all they can see is that we question orthodoxy and drink beer. the reason i found a home in this movement was because of the authenticity; the inability to accept carte-blanche the excuses and tired legalism of the past; the desire to rediscover our spiritual heart. let the others fear for our souls, it concerns me not at all. they don't get it. they only see the slippery slope to liberalism and misunderstand the intentions and the realities of those of us who are honest enough to question. i only hope that as the emerging church hits mainstream that some of us will still keep our crap detectors on stun and not forget why we found a home in the first place. candles are lame. country music is just as appropriate as gregorian chants though i rarely listen to either. most of us finger paint better than we draw epic icons. gotees look ugly. changing the service format every week is too much work, and for what? Most of my video isn't as good as "family guy" anyway. i hate accoustic guitars. most old poems suck. chicks dig a sharp dressed guy. i despise most hymns. the labyrinth bores me now. wine makes me gag. who really cares anyway, these things are meaningless in and of themselves - just gimics.

it's about the heart, the healing, the honesty, integrity and yes - even balance. it was about re-imagining our love for god. i hope we don't lose that as we begin to publish books and swap super cool videos.

it's helpful, but is it too helpful?

via

many people have asked me why i am stepping out of pastoring, at least for a while. there has been a great deal of conjecture on my behalf. some think it has a subversive twist to it. others imagine that i am absolutely distraught with life and cannot cope anymore. neither extreme really addresses the central issues i have faced. here are a few of the reasons why some of us tend to fade away:

we are tired of pretending that we cannot be hurt. people assume ministers are available for their criticism 24/7. people say things to clergy they would not say to their worst enemies. for some reason they feel at liberty to delve into every aspect of clergy life. they have an opinion about everything we do. they believe it is their god-given right to critique your personal life, your professional life, your emotional state, the way you dress, your use of colloquialisms, your kids, your personality, how much you spend on a car, your friendships, how you drive, how much you fart, the list goes on and on. pastors live their life in the limelight. they, therefore, constantly disappoint people. it is hard to disappoint people all the time. as a pastor, and maybe it is just me, i seem to let people down all the time. recently i was at a small group where several complained that i was not their close friend. besides the obvious fact that i do not have enough hours in the day nor the emotional energy to be friends with everyone, let alone friendly, how can you assume i would would want to be your close friend? ministers spend their entire life pretending to like a portion of the population that they really cannot stand.

pastors have their own group of close friends. the older they get in the ministry the more they look to outside people to fill that void. time and time again they are damaged by people who protest loudly that they can be trusted, only to be shot when they really get honest. face it people, a pastor's life can be a lonely one. you never know when you are on the clock. you aren't sure what people will say about you when you leave. most people we trust tend to talk behind our backs. we hear from others what they are saying and walls go up again. you become a needy, insecure little paranoid that tends to stuff what is really going on.

pastors tend to build up that insecurity the longer they work. they feel the pressure to put numbers on the role, they also realize that people leave the church because of them. that is a heady responsibility to bear. they understand that people don't like them but it still hurts when they have people they have invested in leave the church because of them. this life can be an exercise in guilty and humility. everything that happens which is good is "to god be the glory" ...they know who is to blame if things go bad. add to this that for some reason many churches rise and fall on the health and exuberance of their pastor. after a while pastors tend to jump from one quick fix solution to another in a desperate bid to patch holes that are systemic and often metaphysical. they attend conferences and clinics designed to point out their flaws and obvious solutions. they quickly conclude that they are the problem, the issue, and the solution. they develop a messiah complex. they develop an insecurity complex.

ministers constantly berate themselves for not being perfect and they spend an inordinate amount of time in introspection. they wonder why some of their ilk are so successful while they are not. they wonder privately if God is mad at them. they struggle with pornography and temptation, anger and ego just like everyone else but for some reason believe that if they do, God will remove his blessing from their church - so they take it personally. church people are desperately looking for role models and the minister usually fits the bill... for a while. after a while they wonder why lately they seem to take everything personally. no wonder that about half the pastors i know in my denomination are closet drinkers.

ministers are normal people who struggle with laziness and workaholism at the same time. no one knows what they do during the week so they tend to strive too hard to be noticed or duck out when they can get away with it. they realize that some volunteers do more than they do and it drives them crazy. they vassalate between the drive to do everything and the need to let others do the work of the church. they are control freaks, often out of necessity. sometimes out of ego need.

oh ya, and we love to be compared. compared to huge churches with massive budgets and incredible bands. compared to tv evangelists who spend more on dog food than we will see in a year. compared to amazing speakers, incredible entrepeneurs, and holy monkish nerds who can pray more than we can. that kind of stuff makes us very content.

ya this is a whine but it's my blog and you don't have to read it. perhaps, though, there may be a grain of truth in what you have read. take a look at your pastor if you have one. listen to his or her brokenness strewn in amongst the exterior confidence. let them know you don't need anything from them. shut up about them when others encourage you t