planning on going to larry norman's funeral on saturday so annette can say goodbye and see charles (larry's brother). i'll finally get to meet him.

my wife annette writes about their friendship...

I have seen many of his concerts over the years, both in the audience and side stage. All of them magical. That's when Larry was at his best, and shone for God. That's when the man Larry moved aside and the God vessel showed up.
One year, after I hadn't seen him for a while, he came to town and did a concert. I went. The whole night I was hoping he wouldn't do his song "Goodbye", because I find it so sad. He wrote it when he was in the hospital in Sweden after his first major heart attack. Well, when the evening was drawing to a close and Larry was taking requests, I heard this voice come from inside me. I shouted "Goodbye". And Larry sang it. I cried a bit, as I am now, thinking of the day that I would have to say goodbye to his mortal body. Thinking of the time I sat by his bed and heard him tell me how much he loves his boy. Thinking of so many memories that I have of him before and after our friendship began. So many to write here. Words come to me in torrents, but they won't make sense to those who weren't there because the images are so powerful that they can't be portrayed in the right way. I have to end here for now.


Good-bye, farewell, we'll meet again.
Somewhere beyond the sky.
I pray that you will stay with God.
Good-bye, my friends, good-bye.

The light grows dim, but in this hour,
I have no tears to cry.
My heart is full, my joy complete.
Good-bye, my friends, good-bye.

I feel no loss of hope as I grow older
Only this world weight upon my shoulder.

My heart beats to a slower song
So softly in my veins.
The night is warm, but in my sleep,
I dream of heavens reign.

Everything I am, I've tried to show you
In this life I’ve been so blest to know you
Good-bye, farewell, we'll meet again.
Somewhere beyond the sky.
I pray that you will walk with God.
Good-bye, my friends, good-bye.
Good-bye, my friends, good-bye.

from bemusings

it's not politically correct to jump beyond the the party line when speaking about minorities or historical inequities - it is akin to taking a anti-abortion platform into canadian politics, maybe worse. so i think i'll tell a story.

there is a frequent visitor to the restaurant these days. often you can find him trying to order a beer at 8:30 in the morning. he's probably drunk. it seems he is always drunk these days. after nearly 5 years sober he recently got a residential school settlement for past abuse. tens of thousands of dollars and little internal discipline. money that is killing him.

in canada it is suicidal to speak as a white person about land claims or treaties or resettlement recompense. to question the millions of dollars finally coming to deserving groups is considered to be racist. there is little freedom for dialogue or differing opinions.

it is difficult to understand the effects of some of the horrendous injustices wrought upon people by colonialism and exploitation. i also find it hard to understand how shovelling money at people who may or may not understand the ramifications; or have the intrinsic capability to manage such, is helping in any longterm and meaningful way. on some level it feels like paying individuals on an ongoing basis, solely because of their culture or race, is just another form of patronization and does not teach anything; it simply prolongs the dependence. how can someone develop a sense of self-worth if they never know what it is to contribute, to succeed, to be independent? wouldn't the millions of dollars be better spent on programs and economic development for people groups rather than on paying off individuals regardless of their capacity to manage? shouldn't we use the resources to teach someone to fish, rather that just hand them another fish?

complexity and paradox.

someone once said, it is better to ask the right questions than have the right answers...

my wife's special friend and the only christian singer i could handle at the time, dies.

“Love can sweep you off your feet and carry you along in a way you've never known before. But the ride always ends, and you end up feeling lonely and bitter. Wait. It's not love I'm describing. I'm thinking of a monorail.”
Jack Handy

In the play, A Raisin in the Sun, the young man comes home to see his family after he has lost all the money that would give them a future, destroyed all their hopes. His sister, Beneatha, calls him every despicable name imaginable. After she curses out her brother, the mother speaks and says, "I thought I told you to forgive him."
"Forgive him? There's nothing left to forgive."
"There is always something left to love," says the mother. "And if you haven't learned that, you haven't learned anything. When do you think it's time to love and forgive somebody? When they've done good? When they've made you proud? Well, that's not the time at all. The time to love somebody is when he's at his lowest because the world's done whipped him so."

someone told me to repent today. they went on to tell me i was basically beyond hope. it was awesome.
they took delight in pointing out my faults, and interpreting my actions. they believe they know my heart and my motivations. they cloak their judgmentalism in religious terminology and employ a vast history of fictitious schooling and educational acumen. i loved it.
i like controversy. i will admit it. i also enjoy a good argument; but for some reason this was almost entirely one sided. they had heard things about me, and unhindered by proof and reeking with bitterness, they exploded. they knew things about me. people have talked. the evidence, though wholly fictitious and proven wrong by not one but two denominational review boards, was stark and undeniable. the fact that i wasn't shunned and run out of town is proof positive that i am a narcissistic manipulator who is obviously cunning. i like the thought of being cunning. it sounds smart... cunning. i'm going to throw that word around some this week.
though i make light of it in writing, it is sad. an individual has been hurt. they are bitter. they deny that they are bitter, but instead act hyper-spiritual. they point to scriptures about the unrepentant heart that will be cast out. they imply i am going to hell.
the funny thing is, i'm not mad. i hurt for people like that because i recognize in myself the same feelings, the same righteous indignation that believes that revenge is something holy. i feel inside the tendency to hate. i know bitterness intimately enough to admit i once tried to drive off a bridge because of it. it is consuming.
the sad fact is that few of us are the egomaniacal anarchists that our detractors like to believe. most of us are simply trying to live a life and cope with the fact that we are far from perfect and rarely, if ever, feel holy. we struggle with sex or addictions, with money or insecurity. almost all of us carry around such an enormous sense of inadequacy that we believe it would shock others to know.
i am not the antichrist. i'm simply not that talented or committed. like you i am just another average person trying to live honestly in a dishonest world struggling to be the person i wish i could be. but apparently i am a little cunning.

i was embarrassed today. it was actually, for once, not something i had done; only something i am perceived to represent.
we hired a new employee at my restaurant this week. young, 20 something, pretty, dynamic. new to town. we worked together for the afternoon shift.
20 minutes in some ultra-charismatic evangelical tract wielding fundamentalists barged in for coffee and some "kick you in the ****" evangelism. they proceeded to walk to every table and ask people if they were christians. they cornered my new girl, who i'm pretty sure has little or no religious background, and proceeded to lecture her on the demons and spirits that hold mission in bondage... in king james english. they were obnoxious. i couldn't let it go...
hour 1.5: 4 guys in nice clothes and carrying a 8 foot cross came sauntering down the street, stopping people to lay hands on them.
hour 3: i knew that i was going to have to set up for club church soon. based on the afternoon so far i wondered what i would say to the girl. i was after all, setting up for church. the same church that the psycho tract wielders represent, the same christ that the weirdos with the cross serve. though we were worlds apart, she would not know that.
i wondered how i could explain why the restaurant exists. she was, after all, the first "outsider" we have hired - just a young woman in need of a job. so like usual, i backpaddled. i assured her that the club was not part of the deal, but the rebuttal felt hollow, even to me.
i underestimated the power of community, as usual. the crew that have adopted the restaurant - employees, volunteers, friends, clingons. they effortlessly did what the cross freaks and the bible thumpers could not even imagine; they simply loved her into the community. they hung out. and a few hours later in walked a gang with her in tow, for clubchurch.
from time to time i wonder if i'm insane. many people have. i wonder if it is really possible to make a difference in this self imposed exile. then i see my group of young crazies, who don't know any better, attack their world with passion and an innocent love that reminds me that maybe god is bigger than my boxes, my crosses... and my bible tracts.

for twenty years i have tried to be an advocate for the poor and downtrodden - fed and clothed, spoken about and advocated for. so the feelings i have been struggling with are new to me, foreign... anger. i'm frustrated by the seemingly endless mass of homeless who are not mentally challenged, not even struggling with addiction, who parade in front of my restaurant and want hand outs,who are ignorant and lazy. it goes against everything i have believed and taught, but the fact remains. without excuse, often from middle-class homes, they simply refuse to get off their asses and make a life for themselves. i find i am less tolerant, quicker to judge, less sentimental. though i still hold strongly to the principles of caring for the poor and lowly, there is an internal angst, a schizophrenic argument that plays in my mind.

i love paradox...

We're all like sheep who've wandered off and gotten lost.We've all done our own thing, gone our own way.And God has piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him, on him.

people are messy.
gone are the illusions of personal holiness and corporate integrity. absent are the expectations of perfection. i've lowered my standards. many of us had.

there are people in our worlds that continue to prop up the illusion that our leaders and friends somehow do not struggle with infallibility the way we do. they want to believe some are above suspicion.incorruptible. i'm not so sure anymore.

the older i get the more i see the inherent flaws of humanity. it seems so long ago that i kicked the pedestal out from under the last saint in my life. it appears that none of us are above pettiness and selfishness. there are none who do not struggle with sexuality or pride or any number of lesser drives. we are all perversely flawed.

there have been those who have believed that i once was above certain vices. they have mostly been proven wrong. we are all swamp scum with tremendous potential. perfection is dead. thank god. i'm tired of believing that my heroes are infallible. there is no one who is not sick with sin, desperate to portray a thin veneer of respectability. tired of trying to live up to other's hypocritical caricatures of what i should be like. most of us are.

grace.

running a restaurant is a bizarre thing. unless you've done something with food it's hard to imagine how particular and peculiar people are. take crazy guy, for example - old, insane, throws his cane around, swears constantly and loud. or wife killer. he told us once he killed his wife for not making his eggs fluffy. it seemed funny at first but now i wonder...

after 20+ years of starting churches i'm finally realizing that here, in our little crazy part of the world, i can potentially touch incrementally more people than i ever did in a church building. it is a massive understatement to say that helping people is easier, more effective, more real in the restaurant. the restaurant affords opportunities to impact people that churches cannot probably imagine. it's not that church is bad. not at all. it's simply that the restaurant is a safe place, neutral ground. so we use that neutrality to share the light we have. no one is ever threatened.

- last night i sat at the bar and spoke to someone about faith, church, and hope for a half an hour. he was affected on a deep level, then gave us an 18 dollar tip. what a bizarre concept.

- last week we gave away almost all of our disposable income from clubchurch to kids who are away on missions. we have no expenses, no salaries, no equipment costs. the restaurant pays for everything. what a bizarre concept.

- someone asked me last night if we would consider moving the club from saturday nites. saturday is, after all, a major night for dining out. it is a question that has been asked before, we have asked it ourselves. the problem is, the restaurant was started to support and subversively promote the club. changing the night seems like selling out to me right now. what a bizarre concept.

someone asked me again yesterday if i miss being a pastor. i'm not sure that is even a relevant question. the only difference is.. my church is licensed.