Lessons from Mr. Bonhoeffer

Politics are not the task of a Christian. -Dietrich Bonhoeffer

There's no way to sugarcoat it, so I'm just going to come out and say it: I cannot stand Sarah Palin. Whew, that feels so much better.

I liked her at one point in time, back when she was McCain's running mate in the '08 election. She caught a lot of flak, but I stood hopeful that she would knock them all dead and prove herself worthy of an executive position, because, even though my opinions have changed drastically since then, I thought she had more executive experience than Barack Obama.

But now, as of 2010, I cannot stand her. A book about how awesome she is and a show that makes too many references to the "Russia" pun from SNL has quickly lowered my respect for her.

I cannot stand Sarah Palin.

Is this opinion important? No, because, as Mr. Bonhoeffer stated, it's not my job as a Christian to get deep into politics, which is what I see so many Christians doing. As proven many times over, it ruins our reputation, seeing as how we cling to the Republican Party as the savior of our nation and tell everyone else where they can go.

New flash: God loves Democrats, too. The GOP is not God's hand-picked race. When He looks at us, he doesn't see our blue t-shirts or red ties. He sees us as what we really are: helpless lambs in need of a Shepherd. He doesn't choose by political party, so why do we make it seem that way?

Honestly, if Jesus were here in these times and he saw how the Republicans acted and claimed Him in all of it, He'd find some more tables to turn over.

And if the Right had interaction with Jesus today, they would shun Him, just like the Pharisees did, because he hung out with the "liberals" of that time. And you know how contagious and ungodly those dadgum liberals are.

Jim Wallis had an excellent point. Here's an excerpt from the introduction of his book, God's Politics:

God is not partisan: God is not a Republican or a Democrat. When either party tries to politicize God, or co-opt religious communities for their political agendas, they make a terrible mistake. The best contribution of religion is precisely not to be ideologically predictable nor loyally partisan. Both parties, and the nation, must let the prophetic voice of religion be heard. Faith must be free to challenge both right and left from a consistent moral ground.

"Voting based on morals" is a joke. Find me one moral person on Capitol Hill and I'll be the first to cast my vote for them. Until then, I'll be here at my politically apathetic stand, waiting for prophecy to unfold.

When it comes to this, I'm with Bonhoeffer. It's not my place to get involved in one of the most corrupt professions in the world. I'm here to be a light for Him.

I still don't care for Palin, but what does it matter? My goal to do His work, not waste my time and breath fighting a senseless battle.

And back into my liberal hole I go.

Default Unchanged

If you'll take a moment to look at my Facebook profile picture, you'll see me on the left, standing at a podium, and my brother, Nick, standing off to the right. The story behind this picture took place a couple months ago at a Missionary Kid retreat where my brother and I participated in a talent show in which we performed a skit where I acted as a professor for Dating 101 and my brother was the teacher's aide. In this skit, I gave my lecture while Nick acted out the various things I was talking about. Hilarity ensued.

My reason for explaining the story behind my profile pic? It's what everyone's been doing on Facebook for the past couple of days. Nearly every one of my Facebook friends have been switching their defaults to a cartoon characters in honor of victims of child abuse. The idea is to remember what childhood was like, thus coming to the revelation of how awful it is to have it ruined.

Basically, if you are a good person and you hate child abuse, you WILL switch your default. Because it would be a travesty if you didn't.

Well, I plan on going against the fad and leaving the memorable moment of my brother and I wowing the masses with our comedic skills up for all to see.

Does this mean I am condoning violence against children and excusing pedophilia? Am I saying that I don't care about one of the biggest social issues in our country by not participating in a newly found internet meme?

Absolutely not. In fact, I am just as distraught as you are about this issue.

So why am I not doing this? It's ineffective. I'm not going to save children from having their innocence taken away by putting Bugs Bunny as my default. I can flood your news feed with statuses about how terrible child abuse is and beg you to copy and paste it if you feel the same way. I can even go the spiritual route and update about my God who is more powerful than any child rapist, but that would be a waste of Facebook space.

Like I said, this is an issue that I find horrifying. And yes. I do wish that no child would ever have to go through anything like that.

Now, don't go switch your default back to the original pic on my account. What you want to do with your profile is none of my concern.

I just would like to present to you a question: why exactly are you switching your default? Do you really have a passion to help prevent this horrible crime? Or is it because all the cool kids are doing it and you don't want to look like a stiff, uncaring jerk by not having Marvin the Martian up until Monday?

Well, here's a bit of good news: you don't have to switch your pic. I'm not and I can probably show you a couple of others who aren't either. It's NOT a big deal. And God won't smite you for not doing what's popular on Facebook right now.

The sad truth is that we cannot stop child abuse altogether. We can hide every kid and arrest and execute every pedophile we find, but we cannot stop this awful crime.

We can try to prevent it though. Churches and business can do background checks, more security measures, etc. There are many ways were you can get involved and do something to help the cause that Facebook is trying to promote.

I'm sure it was a good intention in the beginning. All I'm saying is don't switch your default just because everyone else is. If you truly are passionate about this and you want to make a difference, get involved. Don't go with the current fad and act as if you did your part.

That is all. Carry on.

On the subject of socially acceptable phobias...

Recently a certain aspect of my personality was brought to my attention. Normally, I’m know to be a generally nice guy, but when this item is mentioned in my presence, a hatred that is almost unreal comes out of nowhere and manifests itself through yours truly.

The item in question? Koala bears.

It have been mentioned to me that I seem to have a morbid outlook on these seemingly cute and cuddly creations of the Almighty. They are docile and adorable that it is almost unimaginable they could cause one seemingly calm human being to turn into a heartless cretin.

This all has a reasonable explanation: they are conspiring against me.

You look at me like I’m crazy, but I’ll have you know it’s true. They want you to think I’m a crazy individuals who has some sort of vendetta against marsupials, but I tell you, my dear friends, it’s a façade; it’s what they do!

I was fifteen when the fateful incident occurred. What the outside world saw was a kind man approaching me, telling me I could make money by helping him promote his book. “10 dollars an hour” sounded so sweet coming from his mouth.

What happened next is what the masses didn’t see. The man’s thugs, a group of koalas, emerged from the ceiling and hauled me off to a location unbeknownst to me, seeing as how I was knocked unconscious. Once at their hideout, they forced me into what I thought was a stuffy box with a rickety fan inside and forced me back out into the public.

As I stepped into the open, the crowd was yelling, “Zoey Bear!”

I was never paid, and since then, the koalas have manifested many times to me, taunting me. I chase after them often, but those spawns of Satan are quick, leaving me to explain to confused bystanders that I was training for a marathon.

Then there was the time they surrounded me, prompting me to summon my knowledge of martial arts to take them down. However, due to their aforementioned thunderous speed, the public saw a crazy man pole vaulting in an alley.

You may think I’m crazy, but I will have you know that these freaks are not cute and cuddly. They are devilish fiends who will bring psychological grief!

Some of you are backing up slowly. It’s understandable. But I will have you know that I am NOT crazy. I am enlightened! And these little monsters will pay for it.

So next you’re at the zoo and you are passing these superficially cuddly marsupials, don’t buy into their lies. And if a man promising a hefty wage to help promote his book were to approach you, my best instruction is to kick him in the garden of good and evil and book it. It will be only a matter of time before his furry minions come after you.

Now if you’ll excuse, I must return to my jujitsu and karate training. My flying crane is going to knock those creatures into next Thursday.

A Letter to Shakespeare

Dear Bill,


Many describe you as a multitude of things: Legendary. Groundbreaking. Innovative. Inspiring.

But as for me, I have THREE words to describe you, supposed legend: Time-Traveling Thief. (Technically that could be considered two words, if you count the hyphen.)

Are you so desperate for a good story that you have to warp the laws of time and gravity just to get one? Do you have to take every thing we knew and loved growing up and twist it for your own profit? So that in some weird retrospect, we think that it was YOU that started it all?

I saw The Lion King. And it was good. It made me laugh, made me cry, and even made me reevaluate my life. Since that time, I have chosen to at all times put myself in the place of that young lion cub who dealt with the betrayal of his own blood. All while befriending a wisecracking meerkat and a loving yet dim warthog, of course.

Then all of the sudden, people are like, "Oh, it's based on Hamlet by Shakespeare, also a story of betrayal! All bow at the feet of Shakespeare!"

I don't know how you did it, but I know you, Bill, you wily son of a gun. I know Hamlet is just a cheap knock-off of Simba. Why didn't you just steal Timon and Pumbaa while you were at it? Or would that just be rude, you hack?

McClintock. One of the great John Wayne westerns. Definitely in my top three of all time. There's comedy, yet enough drama and tension to balance it all out. There's even a great mud fight scene that I continually rewind during each viewing.

And all of the sudden, here come SMART, WITTY BILL with "The Taming of the Shrew."

Are you serious!? How low of you to take a classic (and of all classics, a John Wayne classic!) and turn it into a boring comedy THAT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY! All the pratfalls, misogyny, and drunken fools have some kind of smart joke in jacked-up English that I don't get. The least you could do is make it entertaining, you stuffy, British kook!

I was willing to let you slide. People plagiarize all the time (except for me, though it would seem that way, for my writing sometimes appears to bear resemblance to the format of a college textbook), so I was going to let you go, Bill. Give you a second chance to reevaluate your position, much like yours truly after drying my eyes after watching The Lion King for the first time.

But then you did the unthinkable. You took yet another classic, maybe the greatest movie of all times, and did your worst.


ROMEO AND JULIET!

A heartbreaking drama starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. Untouchable, or so I THOUGHT! YOU COPIED IT WORD FOR WORD AND TWISTED IT, YOU SICK FREAK!

I cried at the end of that movie like a child who's discovered that Santa Claus is just a creepy old man who lives in his mother's basement. But when I read your version, I wanna run to the bathroom and throw up like it's New Year's Day and I've been partying all night long.

Like I said, I would've let you go had you just cheapened it into a different yet similar version, but you had to take this forbidden romance and slap your name on it like it was your own. You make me SICK!


I don't like you, Bill. I don't like you one bit. I love you, in the love of Christ, but in the love of me, there's a list, with the likes of Cher and parachute pants present. AND YOU'RE NOT ON IT. (Actually, you are, but I only put you there so I could cross you out, just to make the effect more long-lasting.)

You can play dead, you coward, but one of these days, I WILL find you. (I probably won't kill you, due to legal implications, but I might pinch your ear, thus causing slight discomfort and temporary irritation, and say something mean about your mother, like, "Hey, my mom makes better meat loaf than your mom. Take that, Mrs. S!")

You've been warned. Plan accordingly, because like a ninja, you won't see me when I'm coming. There is absolutely no retaliation against your sly acts, so I will be the first to find you. Prepare to have your time-warping world BUH-LOWN TO BITS!

Love (but not really),
Nate

"God, I pray for President Obama..."

"'What is Something I Would Never Hear a Fellow Christian Utter in His/Her Prayer Closet' for 500, Alex."

I think that would be my response if I ever heard anyone in the Pentecostal movement say this. It's like a monkey driving a car; not something you see every day.

I watched an interview on The Daily Show on the devil box last night. The one being interviewed? Barack Obama.

Though I stand the risk of making many people angry and causing their heads to explode, I'm venturing out to say that I was impressed. He let America know that the aforementioned "hope and change" wasn't something that was going to happen overnight. It was going to take time and the cooperation of America.

Right now, there are probably fellow brethren of the faith that are travailing because the words escaping my lips and making their way to the screen will doom me to an eternity with Beelzebub.

Know how to bring the absolute devil out of almost any God-fearing Christian?

Bring up politics.

Say the name Barack Obama or make a passing reference to the Democratic Party and you just might see a normally kind-hearted person turn into a grotesque, vile monster. The things I have heard from some of these people have made me cringe. Hate speech is an understatement.

It's funny. If I were to post a hateful diatribe on Facebook or Twitter against a spiritual authority, the amount of trouble I would get in could not be described in enough words. Yet, strangely, putting something absolutely wretched and nearly inhumane about the Commander-in-Chief is hailed as patriotic.

The rebuttal, of course, is usually, "Well, they talk bad about us, but we can't talk bad about them?"

Forget turning the other cheek. We don't do that anymore. It's overrated.

I might have missed the memo, but when did God become a Republican? When did that solitary political party become the official party for all Christians, namely Pentecostals? If so, do I have a say in this at all?

Apparently not. Because not being Republican or conservative makes you a flaming liberal. Which apparently is the only way to go?

Could they have ever considered that I've never really left their side, but in honor for the man who eventually won the final election, chose to show him the respect that is due?

My opinions haven't changed. I still voice them upon being asked about them. But when we are asked to respect our leaders, I choose to assume that the leader of our country is included. Because, whether we like it or not, what he says goes.

News flash: being in disagreement with the values of the President is not a license to call him whatever comes to your mind (most of it being regurgitation from conservative talk shows). The phrase "You can't be a Christian and vote for Obama" is one of the most ignorant things I have heard in a while. Comparing him to a terrorist with a homonymous (if that's not a word, I just made it one) name and praying that he gets kicked out of office or even assassinated is not the attitude a professed Christian should possess.

What happened to praying for our leaders? Let's think hypothetically: what if the reason for our country's condition is due to the fact that instead of using our words to bring blessings on Obama, we are choosing to slander and curse him with them? Shouldn't we be backing our leaders instead of stabbing them with our venomous rants?

More importantly, how can we teach the younger generation to respect our leaders if we can’t even respect some of our own?

If I’m wrong, feel free to tell me where I can go. But I don’t think I am. Maybe we need to stop and think.

We believe in the power of prayer. Is it quite possible that we can actually puh-puh-puh….puh-prray for the President? Maybe instead of hurling ethnic slurs and slamming his character (which he has more of than some people I know [Yes. That just happened.]), we could ask that God provide him with discernment and wisdom to make pending important decisions?*

Anyhoo, that is all. I will return to my liberal, postmodern hole until something else enters my mind.

*If you’re a firm believer that God cannot speak to or use secular leaders, look at Cyrus the Great, King of Persia (Isaiah 45:1-3). To continue the overuse of a popular phrase: just sayin’.

So Silly (Stolen from a Friend)

I’m doing something different this time. Instead of putting up something by yours truly, I’m posting something written by a friend for whom I have a great deal of respect. In this post, he challenges us to look at our supposed perfection and realize that it’s all a lie, a façade. (Kind of reminds me of Elihu’s response in the book of Job to the other friends who criticized Job.)

So enjoy. Hopefully this will provide some food for thought.

I want to know, does my emancipation not fit your equation? Does freedom not quite squish into that tiny little box you have made? Do all the numbers not add up? It's probably because you can't count. So why are you always trying to grab hold of what you can't control? Trying to push things where they don't belong. Putting words in the mouth of God. Are you a Pharisee? A bloodthirsty Jezebel? Oh wait... you're a Christ ian? And yet you are always trying to stamp out those who disagree with you.

And you’re acting as if just because I am young then I must be stupid; "Oh, he is just idealistic and foolish." But you're acting as if you’ve actually created something new. Ha! All you're doing is duplicating what has been done a million times! That's called regurgitation. Don't you remember that the Word says there is nothing new under the sun? So don't think that I am naïve because of my age. Tricks and fakery are easy to spot anywhere , be it in the tropical islands or the frozen arctic.

Yet somehow, even though I am quite the "ignorant baby," you're the one losing your cool... kind of ironic. It's as if a tiny, insignificant nation making the World Powers tremble. Are you really that threatened by someone so small? Achilles' heel? Joan of Arc? American Revolution? Really? I haven't even really done anything. You know that I try to live peacefully with everyone. You've seen me doodling hearts. You've heard me talk about nonviolence. You know I read Dr King's work. You know my room is decked in peace signs and flowers. I just refuse to participate in your propaganda. Who enjoys injustice or likes playing by those messed up rules? I will not bend to your graven idols and worship the image you have created. That's simple enough… and I’ve been this way the whole time.

The best part is that you knew the truth since the start! Actually you were fighting for me to join your team yesterday, but today you are scrambling to separate yourself. Isn't it strange how arrogance and pride completely change situations? That money is allowed to blind those who are in control. And that miscommunications only lead to further complications. Were you upfront with me? Are you even honest with yourself? Because now you are trying you're best to make me seem like the illegitimate one. Running my name in the mud, trying to tarnish my reputation in any way possible. What the heck? Why me? What is your problem? As if you have any right to challenge anyone; you're no champion. You've won nothing in your selfish, self-seeking, self-loving game. In fact… you just lost one. Silly.


Wait. Wait. Wait.

You no longer have anything to say? Your big mouth is finally shut? Why is it that all of your talking has turn into forgotten leftovers? Surely you have something you can say in your infinite wisdom. Especially considering you own the world, right? After all you purchased it, and it only cost you your soul. Wow! Look at how beautiful you are now; "What a sight to behold!" Ha! That's a joke! And shame on you because you actually buy into this. Come on, even the Proverbs declare that wisdom is better than silver and gold.

Just like you I was hopeless, but now I'm on hope road! And it's so important, but then again you probably don't want to hear anything that I have to say. But then again I don't care. Because there are so many paths but you must choose one. Only one! So until you do right, everything that you do will go wrong and be wrong… tainted by your nasty attitude. And if you don't change then the rain is going to come! And because it will we all need to get down on our knees and repent. Because even though we try to appear straight and perfect, our attitude has bent and misshapen every aspect of our person.

And isn’t it funny how hypocrites always want to play innocent, making it seem as if their intentions are pure and holy. They try to pretend like their word is their bond, but those evil chains aren't made strong at all. They’re cheap; shriveling up and breaking when confronted with the truth. And reality is that they never want to face the truth to begin with! They don’t want to be around when it's time for the punishment they have inevitably earned for themselves. In fact they only want to act as if they're exempt from it. Slithering around the problems they cause just like that serpent in the garden. Bad news though… none of them will be able to slick talk their way out of this one; the Day of Judgment. This isn’t a coincidence; it’s the consequence they’ve earned.

What? You're acting like this isn't commonly seen in nature. It's seen everywhere! And in all of your knowledge you don't even understand universal truths? Whatever you throw out will come back to you like a boomerang, and it will hit you hard if you aren't careful. Wasn't it Paul that said you reap what you sow? So don't ever underestimate those who you scar, those who you tease, ridicule, and attack. Don't think that you've gotten away with murder, friend, because I've got one word for you: karma.

Now some of you reading this are probably mistaking it for just some simple little blog, while others will never ever get it. But hopefully while some stand shunning and condemning these words, maybe someone will listen and learn. And for those of you to whom this is written, those of you who have reached the pentacle of perfection, look at yourself. Look at what you have become. Weigh your heart and reflect, reflect, reflect.

So just like I said before, you lost this one. In your attempts to achieve whatever it is that you are after, you lost. And in the end, what did you really gain from all of this? From what you've done? Really ask yourself… It’s so silly.

How come?


This is my interpretation and expansion of the Lauryn Hill song “Lost Ones” off of her classic LP The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

From the Desk of a Liberally Conservative Democratic Republican.

Are you going liberal?

Sure.

That's the answer I give every time. Personally, I think such an observation is based on perspective, because it depends on the angle from which you're observing me.

But in our [Pentecostal] movement, it is my general assumption that venturing beyond the thirty-eighth verse of the second chapter of Acts makes you a flaming, tree-hugging liberal. So if that's the case, then yes, paint me liberal.

I believe a quick disclaimer is in order: I still believe in the plan of salvation found in Acts 2:38, which entails that baptism by immersion and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost through the evidence of speaking in other tongues are essential to salvation.

But since when has that become the only Scripture in the Bible? Because every time we witness or talk to somebody about our beliefs, we slam them with that one Scripture over and over until they eventually concede and come to church, where we preach apocalyptic messages that make a second visit highly unlikely.

I'm not saying dilute the message. I'm asking that the people that have accused me of doing so follow their own advice and preach what the rest of the Bible says.

Because, and this may come as a surprise, there is more beyond Acts and Revelation. In fact, along with the strong message of coming events (which I hold in very high esteem), there is a message of a loving Saviour who paid for our transgressions so we wouldn't have to. And with a world filled with hurting people, this is a message they need to hear. Because before they can fully grasp the coming events, they need to know that perfection isn't demanded, which is the vibe Pentecostalism gives off.

So are ya liberal? Sure. Free-lovin' hippie? Okay. Post-modern Democrat? (which apparently is a grave insult) Why not?

All I know is that before Peter got up on the Day of Pentecost, there was a God who gave His only begotten Son, so that whoever believed in Him would not perish, but have eternal life.

Peter wasn't exempt from this. As a matter of fact, Peter was just as bad as us. But God looked past that and used him, just like He can use us, imperfections and all. I guess what I'm getting at is that we need to remember that it's God's will we follow, not Peter's.

Peter preached an incredible message and it is something we should remember and apply in our lives, but with all due respect, I worship God. Not Peter.

Sometimes I yell at God...

Sometimes I pray the way your average Christian prays. I thank God for everything in my life and exalt Him as the great Creator that He is. And if I'm in a time of need or struggle, I ask that His will be done in the situation.

Then there come instances where the average Christian would travail and start an intercessory service on my behalf if they could listen to my prayers. These are the times when I get brutally honest with God. Sometimes, when fear, anger, frustration, bitterness, and depression collide, what comes out is a seemingly ungodly rant against everything I'm dealing with in life.

And that's just fine. A lot of people do it.

I had a little talk with Jesus not too long ago, where I did indeed tell Him all about my troubles. It was in this session that I may have raised my voice just a smidgen. Or possibly spoken with a harsh tone.

Who am I kidding...I was yelling in my loudest voice. I was frustrated and God was gonna hear all about it.Whoever wrote Psalm 137 must have shared an equal, if not greater, sense of bitterness and anger. The Israelites were taken into captivity and horrible things were being gleefully done to them by the Edomites. The ruthless bunch even had the gall to ask them to sing songs of their homeland.

"Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!" the writer snarls in verse 9. Talk about getting worked up.

But you know what? I don't blame him. Because I would be saying the same thing.I don't think God minds either. Even though He knows what we're thinking, He wants to hear us say it. Whether we're on top of the world or ready to kill somebody, He wants us to tell Him. It's the honesty that will bring us closer to Him and like any relationship, communicating our feelings will solidify the base of our relationship with God.

I still vent when I pray. Some might frown upon this, but deep down, I think He appreciates that.

A Thorn In My Flesh

I don't believe in deliverance.

Now, before I get mobbed, let me explain. Since I was a child, I've heard countless sermons on how you can be delivered from your sin, that the blood of Jesus can wash away every bad thing you've done.

This is true. However, I have noticed a misnomer stating that upon being filled with the Holy Ghost, every sinful desire is taken away and you can never do wrong. If you were a homosexual, you will never lust upon someone of your gender again. If you were a chain smoker, you'll quit cold turkey. If you were a boozer, the bottle will never tempt you again.

Then someone who is "delivered" from their trial comes forward, stating that their problem has resurfaced. They are then taken to the altar, spit upon and hit with the Bible. And if that doesn't shake it, they run you out of the church.

This might be a slight exaggeration, but to some extent, most Christian churches believe that if you have JUST enough faith in God, your problem will disappear. Just ask the snake handlers.

To be completely delivered denotes perfection, which we as humans will never achieve. To have no problems or trials hindering us would make us just like God, which is what we are not.

Stuff happens in our life to glorify God. You can read in the Bible of several instances where people had illnesses that were used to show how great our God really is.

Paul spoke of this in II Corinthians 12:

To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

We have problems, addictions, and struggles because only through this can God show how powerful and merciful He is. Trials may come, but I can trust in God to carry me through when I cannot continue.

One thing that gets under my skin is the belief that Philippians 4:13 is interpreted as the bestowing of superpowers upon Christians. We aren't great and mighty because we've conquered all sin on our own; we make it through because we have a great and merciful God who saw it fit to provide us with grace.

And despite the opposition, it is possible to live a righteous life with affliction. THIS is what Philippians 4:13 means. In the good times and bad, we can still do all things through Christ.

So if deliverance is defined as never having the desire to go back to where you once were, then no; I do not believe in deliverance. Because I long for my old ways. There are days when I am above it, but then there are some where I oh so badly want my sin.

But that doesn't mean I have to go back to it. It just shows how much I really need God and how my life would be in shambles if I didn't have Him.

Little CHILDREN, not brats...

"Too many people confuse 'simple, childlike faith' with 'simplistic, childish faith.' Theology-even professional theology-does not deny the necessity of humble acceptance of God's message to humankind in Jesus Christ and the scriptural narrative about him. It does, however, push beyond blind and unquestioning acceptance of any and every interpretation of that message that happens to sound spiritual and comforting." -Roger E. Olson (Who Needs Theology?: An Invitation to the Study of God)

I have a feeling that sometimes, just sometimes, God looks down at His people and shakes His head. I'm not saying He regrets our existence; I feel like He thinks that we missed the entire point of His Word.

In Matthew 18, Jesus told us that we must become like little children to make it into the Kingdom of Heaven. And from the looks of it, some of us got the right idea; others, I feel, took the little children aspect a little too seriously.

"Our God is awesome!" "We worship One God, and His name is Jesus!" "Pentecostal is the only way to God!"All those Trinitarian three-god-worshippers can go to..."

You get the point.

What I'm getting at is that I feel that portion of Scripture has been horribly misquoted on more than one occasion. We're not little children in the sense of humility and undying devotion; we're more like the spoiled brats who refuse to clean up after themselves.

The same book I quoted at the beginning refers to this mindset at "folk theology." People are more comfortable hearing the same message in different formats and singing the same empty worship songs every Sunday than truly thinking outside of the box when it comes to God.

Is it heretical to question? Absolutely not. But don't say that to the folk theologians. According to them, the mere mentioning of hermeneutical discrepancies makes you a heathen, for the Bible is true, no questions asked! If Pastor said it, then there's no reason to doubt it.

Yes, I am being extremely heretical to some of you now, but just so you know, I'm not doubting my pastor's legitimacy; I simply want to understand it better and if the message doesn't mesh, it will most likely stick out.

I think what Jesus was trying to get across was the importance of humility and surrender, not stupidity and self-glorification. He wants us to follow him with childlike wonder, not complete disregard for everyone and everything around us.

As for me, I love Christ and every day is an attempt to be more and more like Him. And to do this, I must humble myself, but I don't have to become a complete moron to do so. Instead of treating the Word like a joint by taking a puff and passing it on to the next person (analogy, people, analogy), I want to learn more from it and know why I believe what I believe.

That is all. No heresy, no blasphemy. Just someone who lives to understand His Word a little better each day.

A Modest Proposition

As the weddings begin to pour in this summer, it makes me think, not on the two people being joined in holy matrimony, but rather the participants, seeing as how I will be a groomsman in one of the many wonderful unions this summer. It's a happy moment for everyone who saw this moment coming for the two people being wed and a bittersweet one for those who wish they would've made their move on either the bride or groom sooner.

But I sense discrimination in all of this. Not that the bride has to do a majority of the planning or that groom does nothing hardly, bur rather this factor: the flower girl. She prances down the aisle spreading flowers every where. And above all, she's a girl.

Here's my modest proposition (because I don't wish for Jonathan Swift* to rise from the grave and sue me): flower boy. I'm not suggesting he put on the girls' dress for this occasion, unless you choose to do so. Don't worry: he and his therapist will be laughing about it twenty years down the road.

But boys don't aren't graceful like girls; they don't know how to handle flowers.

I come with a rebuttal to that argument that consists of a three sets of two words: Valentine's Day. Mother's Day. Birth Day. We've been handling flowers for a long time, and during these times, we're usually being gentle with them. This time, we'll be throwing them, which I'm pretty sure we'd be good at doing.

In short, I think it's time for a revolution, where everybody has a choice to do what they want to do in the wedding. If the men want to be bridesmen and the women want to be groomsmaids, then so be it. If the ring-bearer wants to be a ring catapulter (given he/she has good aim), then let them. The bride and groom already having their fun; it's time that the other participants are given a choice to do what THEY want to do.

I wish to start this, beginning with a flower boy.

*Jonathan Swift is the author of the essay A Modest Proposal which serves loosely as the inspiration for this post. He's the guy who wrote Gulliver's Travels, if you're still lost.

"But have not love.."

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing." I Corinthians 13:1-3

Brother, sister, Mr. Big-Shot-Preacher, Mrs. Never-Do-Wrong, I have news: it IS all about love.We have a message to share, a task to be completed, an objective to be reached, but if there is no love, then it is nothing. If we focus on the ramifications of sin rather than the grace that washes it away entirely, then what is our purpose?

They already know; we've let them know many a time through our arrogant display of self-glorification and our shameless rebuking.

We ask ourselves: why doesn't a dark world accept the Light? Because we've placed it too high for them to reach. We've turned it into an exclusive club membership that only the perfect and spotless can attain.

Why don't they want what we have?

I respond with another question: why would they want what they see? Fools announcing their offerings with the sound of a trumpet, standing on the street corners praying empty phrases, and fasting with disfigured faces.

They love the Shepherd, but are terrified by His flock.

"Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." 13:4-7

Have we forgotten what love is? When did kindness take a backseat to fear-mongering? We've muddled our original purpose with pride and elitism as a lost world watches on like a lonely, dejected child. Our popularity contests have not only alienated them, but made them bitter and resentful.

And all in the name of the One who loves them just as much. We have ignored the fact that He sent His only Son so they wouldn't perish, but have eternal life in Him.

"Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." 13:8-12

Everything we put stock in will eventually vanish, but love is eternal. Prophecies and tongues can only last so long, for a day will come when all of that will meaningless. The declarations of prophets past will have been completed and tongues will be nothing but meaningless drivel.

Like children, our knowledge is only partial. And even as adults, our knowledge is not full. All we know, see, and think we understand is observed through a dark window, yet we take this and act like we have the one important revelation.

But love, this requires no in-depth observation. No analysis. No background checks. Our Saviour knew about us before we came into existence, yet paid for our wrongdoings in such a grotesque manner. All He requests is that we show this love to our brothers and sisters.

We can preach the greatest sermon or sing the greatest song, but have not love, it is nothing.

"So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love." 13:13

(Im)Perfect Creation

In the beginning, God created the world and saw that it was perfect. Every creation He brought into existence was flawless. Nothing that came from the work of His hand could be tainted by anything impure because His canopy of perfection hovered over it.

This is why, said the mentors of my youth, anything that displays a smidgen of filth is not of Him. Anything bearing the mark of transgression cannot be accepted into the Kingdom.

So why is it that I, a creation of the Almighty, am torn and disfigured? How can I be affected by my surroundings so easily if His artistic mark over me should shield me from all wrong? All of my life had I been taught that all who live in Him are stronger than others, but for some unknown reason, I've fallen behind in His grace to where I've failed to meet His standards. Why can't I do all things through Christ who strengthens me?

All counsel has told me that I am defective. I opened a door and now I am doomed to a future without Him. Everything made in His image is perfect, so I am therefore not of God. If I should ever want to be with Him in the end, I have to condemn myself and face the cursing of others.

But what about Jesus loves me this I know? Was there an asterisk on that lyric denoting Perfection Required that I skipped over? I try to fix this mess, but deep down, I know that no matter what I do to vindicate myself, it will never be enough. Those who constantly reminded me as boy that I was His child are the ones spitting in my face.

So here I stand, in front of a self-appointed judge and jury, helpless and damned. The place where I'm standing might as well be a witness stand with a sneering crowd in front of me, telling me what a failure I am.

With my flaws and indiscretions exposed for all to see, there's nothing I can do. Every inch of me is covered in labels tacked on by those who took it upon themselves to judge me by my errors. I try to me, but my feet are held down by the weights set in place by my accusers who told me I could never do His work because of my past.

Then the real Judge enters the room. The look in His eyes hushes the crowd and causes them to hide their faces in shame. The jury disperses and the fool who is attempting to play His part suddenly attains the appearance of a frightened boy.

Before long, many have left and the ones who have stayed suddenly have no more insult to throw at me. All they can do it sit and observe as the Master prepares to make His call on the matter.

I look at him in the eyes and what I see is a gentle stare that could calm even the angriest of men. But I hesitate because, like a wounded puppy, anyone who comes near carries a potential threat.

Then He reaches out his hand. I wince and shrink back, but before I can process anything, I feel something being released from skin. I open my eyes and am flabbergasted at what I see. One of the labels has been removed. And one by one, I watch as He takes each makeshift condemnation off of me and throws it on the ground.

Then He takes a key out of His pocket and puts it in the keyhole on the shackles binding my feet. After doing, He helps me up and whispers in my ear.

Go and sin no more.

I look up to see my accusers, only to find that they are gone. All I have is a sense of renewal, a hope of eternal life, and most of all, a promise of redemption. For so long, His followers have told me that He would not have any of me, that they were more fit than I could ever hope to be.

But now I have seen Him, and I know that He loves me. It's this validation that lets me know that no matter how many times I fall, He will always have His hand extended. I am not perfect, but nonetheless, I am His creation. And only He can judge me.

But when they heard it, they went away one by one, beginning with the older ones, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus stood up and said to her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?" She said, "No one, Lord." And Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more." John 8:9-11 (ESV)

Transparency

"Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working." - James 5:16 ESV

Transparency, as used in the humanities and in a social context more generally, implies openness, communication, and accountability.

Okay, so my source might possibly be Wikipedia, but when I was looking up the definition of the word transparency, this is the one that stuck out to me because it describes perfectly what this post is about.

First, I'll elaborate on the Scripture. "Confess your sins to one another...that you may be healed." According to the Forerunner Commentary, "...James instructs us to confess our faults. The apostle does not mean that we should reveal every sin and foible to everyone in the congregation. He implies that we should confide our problems to a close, trusted friend so that he or she can help us by praying to God for help in overcoming it."

I just stated not too long ago to a friend that we all have baggage. Everyone has a different load that they have to carry with them and more often than not, they are doing it alone. And when your burden gets heavier with each error made in life, its size increases to the point where you cannot carry it any longer.

TAKE YOUR BURDENS TO THE CROSS! is the message that is being shoved down our throats concerning the matter of heavy burdens, but how can we make it if we're doing it alone? And what if we still have this issue, this thorn in our flesh, for the rest of our lives?

"Confess your sins to one another...that you may be healed."

The power of transparency is something I'm still trying to comprehend. I was transparent with ONE person and I instantly felt like my load had been lifted. It was still there, but I wasn't carrying it alone. There was somebody else with a burden as well and through this act of confession, we were helping each on this difficult journey known as life. In short, it was a healing experience.


"The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working."

Many a time I underestimate the power of prayer. I've seen its effects and been wowed each and every time, but I slip back into that phase where "I'll be praying" has become a cliche cop out for a situation.

But when prayer is done in sincerity, with meaning and intent, there is a lot that can be done. Will God remove the struggle in my life completely? Probably not. But can I rely on a friend to help me through this struggle by counseling me and keeping accountable in my walk with God? Absolutely.

As the body of Christ, instead of condemning each other for our wrongdoings, we should be there to help the person up when they fall. When we condemn each other, we create a double standard, "For in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, practice the very same things." (Romans 2:1 ESV)

We're all guilty. We've all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (another awesome tidbit from Romans). But if we're open about it and acknowledge that we are not perfect and that we can't try to live in God's will without error, there is hope.

"Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted. Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself." Galatians 6:1-3 ESV

The Middle Aisle

Note from Author:
The following piece is simply an over exaggerated take on a town hall meeting. Any subliminal messages or underlying meanings that may be pulled from the context of this work of fiction are not intended. So if you do not enjoy satire and are easily riled by a slight magnification of reality, then I advise that you do not continue any further from this point.

This was the assignment that nobody else in the office wanted. It entailed tolerance and high levels of patience, for the subject matter was one that produced endless stress and frustration. Anybody that dared to venture into this field was guaranteed to lose a good portion of their mind trying to make sense of it.
It was the dilemma of a town called…well, that was still in the process of being settled on. They had a name, but several protest groups formed against it, arguing that it was too abrasive and unwelcoming to outside communities who could be looking for a place to feel welcome.

Yeah, it doesn’t make much sense to me either. I tried to find common ground with these wonderful people so I could somehow find their reasoning, but every venture down that road made me pop an Advil. After a small piece I wrote on their fight over what the town’s recognized fruit should be, I promised myself I would never be involved with anything they did that required the attention of our paper.

Then there was the election. The two main political parties of the town were sparring off in one of the biggest showdowns of the town’s history fighting for control of the town. There were harsh words exchanged and people’s mothers were insulted in this bloodbath of a campaign.

500 people and nobody could agree on anything. It was a story for the ages.

As soon as the news broke, everybody shrunk and hoped they wouldn’t be chosen to go on this hellacious venture.

But when nobody jumps at the opportunity to take on an assignment that nobody wants, lots are cast and people are picked. And by some odd chance that could have been orchestrated by a higher power, the person that least wants to go out of a large group of many who share the same sentiment is picked.
I am that person. And for some odd reason, they think that because of my seemingly kind demeanor that I can tolerate any kind of heart that comes my way.

So that’s why I went to this town that cannot be named out of fear of a lawsuit against the paper. I can only wish that I am bearing false witness.

The conflicting, nameless town sent an aide to follow me around the town as I got pictures of the protest groups, society-neutral monuments, and culture-free restaurants. His name was Miles, I think. He gave it to me in the beginning, but I had completely forgotten it. All I knew was that it started with “M.”

A man of small stature and a bursting sense of excitement over escorting me, he was determined to follow me until the end of the earth. This guy wasn’t an aide, but a nuisance.

“I think you’re gonna like what you see!” he spouted as his little legs struggled to keep up with my long strides.

“Ah,” he gasped, covering his mouth. “I can’t say that; copyright issues with the nice suit company here in town.”

“What’s the name of it?” I dared to ask.

“The Nice Suit Company,” he replied, giving me a “duh” look. “It originally had another name for it, but it wasn’t gender neutral and the store owners didn’t want the Gay/Lesbian Pride Alliance to jump down their throats, so they changed the name.”

Is your head spinning as well?

“Either way, it’s a nice town,” he said.

“Is that phrase banned?” I asked sarcastically.

“No,” he replied, “That’s on the approved list of phrases and idioms. You can say that whenever and wherever you want.”

I waited for the punch line, but as he kept walking and looking ahead, I figured that this wasn’t a joke. So I kept walking as if the list of approved phrases and idioms were a normal way of life.

All of the necessary pictures were taken in about an hour, most of them consisting of the peaceful demonstrations that involved burning pictures of the mayor and overturning statue of his likeness.

I asked Marvin if there was a law against such violent acts.

“Oh, it was overturned,” he replied. “Plus, the mayor didn’t want to lose the popular vote, so he figured that throwing out all the hard laws would make things better.”

And my mind once again is blown by the contradictions coming from Mort’s mouth. This town was getting worse and worse. And we weren’t even at City Hall yet.

That building was a sight as well. It was under construction because the appearance was too menacing. Once again, I learned that asking questions was absolutely unnecessary.

“Well, it’s about time to start,” Marty said as we made our entrance. “Why don’t you find a seat and wait for the sho—”

“Sir!” barked a police officer that appeared out of nowhere. “You have spoken a phrase that is not on the list of approved phrases and idioms! I’m afraid I’m going to have to write you a fine.”

As it so happens, Find a seat and wait for the show is the slogan for A Nice Film-Showing Area in the main square. Poor Micah.

“Where will you be sitting?” a rough looking gentlemen asked me as I made my way to the entrance with a somber-looking Manuel following me closely.

“Uh, in the back?” I said. “I’m just a journalist here to report on a story.”

“Well, you can either sit with the White’s or the Free Color’s,” he barked. “Plus, it would be nice to have on either side; we’ve got a sharp divide today. It’ll make the voting easier.”

I assumed those were the political parties of the town.

“Don’t you have to be a citizen to vote?” I inquired.

“Heck, we’ll take anybody,” the man responded. “We just don’t want anybody to get hurt as a result of a tie-breaker.”

My face denoted an enormous question mark.

“We had a death match last year,” he explained. “We made it look like an accident so the police wouldn’t suspect.”

With that being said, Morty and I headed into the main hall where another surprise awaited me. Besides the freaks that were demonstrating in the foyer, there were two sections in the main auditorium. My first instinct was that it was a walk way, but I was sorely mistaken.

The front of the building had large platform with one table and two podiums on either side, obviously for the opponents in this controversial election. On the table was a baseball bat, which I assumed substituted for a gavel. And from the way things sounded inside of this animal house, it was going to be used often this evening.

The right side of the aisle was the White Party, which consisted of people who wanted to reverse the progress of the town and go back to its roots. All of the members wore black and white and sat cross-legged as they waited for the commencement ceremony.

Their protesters stood outside, stiff legged and angry. They simply chanted their not-so-catchy protests as they glared at their opponents. I tried to get a few comments from them, but it was all banter about how they were right and the others were wrong.

Across from the White section was the Free Color Party. Much adverse from the opposing group, they were all for change and forward motion. Unlike the party across the aisle, they did not conform to one outfit pattern. Instead they looked like a sloppy rainbow of people who were expressing themselves in rather creative ways.

“I’ve gotta get this thing going,” Mitch said. “Don’t have too much fu—”

I suppose the upcoming phrase wasn’t approved. After Moto saved himself from another fine, he made his way to front as I searched for a place to sit.

“Where ya sittin’?” yelled somebody on the left, effectively scaring the crap out of me. He was waving his foam finger and munching on what appeared to be an organic treat. “We support freedom!”

“Freedom to look like idiots!” yelled somebody on the right. “Don’t sit with those fools; we support order and establishment, not chaos and disaster!”

As tempting as it sounded, I kindly declined from both sides. As much fun as the Free Colors’ looked and as controlled the Whites’ seemed, I preferred to sit in my own section. So I took a seat and sat in the middle.

“You can’t do that,” a White yelled. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Sit with us!” yelled a Free Color. “We’re fun! Plus, we got some super awesome foam fingers from Mr. Johnson!”

“Mr. Smith doesn’t have to resort to childish propaganda,” the White yelled once again. “He’s an intellect.”
“Intellect, schmintellect,” the Free Color retorted. “He’s B-O-R-I-N-G!”

Then a Boring, Boring chant followed that lasted for about five minutes before bother sides tired of arguing. I felt my intelligence slowly disappearing as the tireless, childish insults continued to ravage the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Marty shouted, banging the baseball bat on the table. “It’s time to bring out the candidates.”

Before he could continue, boo’s and shouts of approval began to flood the air as both sections stood and showed their support and distaste. Moe struggled to keep the pace going as he waved the bat and swung down on the table.

“That’s good!” he said once the room quieted down. “Now…without further ado…Mr. Smith!”

Mr. Smith was wearing the exact same thing his supporters were: a black and white suit/tie combo. Only he had a handkerchief inside his left pocket and a clip on his tie. He walked like he had something stuck in his posterior and carried the same scowl his fans did. After he took his place at the podium, he waved to his section, glared at the Free Color’s, and resumed his stiff posture.

The mayor for twelve years running, Mr. Smith had this town in a death grip. The law only allowed two terms of four years, but with the help of his camp, Smith overthrew this rule so he could keep his position.
His arrival was met with uproarious applause from the right, who stood attentively as their fearless leader made his way to the front. I thought of a certain German ruler from long ago as his stood motionless behind his podium. The little moustache drawn on his face didn’t help break the illusion either.

“And of the Free Color Party,” Mickey announced. “Mr. Johnson!”

The applause was uproarious. The seats in the Free Color section went flying as the people stood and gave their candidate his due. The screaming, crying, and flying apparel was more than I could handle. I felt like it was more of a sporting event than it was a town hall meeting.

“Peace!” Mr. Johnson bellowed as the applause got louder. “I love you; every single one of your freedom loving behinds!”

Odd, yet effective.

“Okay, people,” Maury yelled, swinging the bat once again. “We need order before we begin. Please let the speakers get into their place as we commence this meeting.”

The yelling sea of idiots died down in compliance with Marion’s request. As the two candidates settled at their podiums, I observed their mannerisms, just in case it would come in handy later on.

Mr. Smith was very rigid, unmoving. He stared ahead, as if there was a figurative prize at the finish line waiting for him. His outfit was neatly pressed and his hair was slicked back in a nice comb over that would have been considered the epitome of awesome in 1957.

Mr. Johnson, on the other hand, was looked like a sea of colors as he pranced up to his place. His Hawaiian shirt clashed with his light blue jacket that made his tight khakis scream as the brown loafers wondered what was going on upstairs. And his cheesy smile made the image so much more enjoyable. Whatever he had to say would be overlooked by the crazy party disguised as his outfit.

“Mr. Smith will now proceed with his opening statement,” Manny said once the room had quieted down. The spokesperson for the White Party made his way to the front as his supporters glowed.

“Good evening, citizens,” he said, reading stiffly from his organized stack of note cards. “I have come to this place today to give my intentions. This city is going down the drain and I am the one who can save it. I have a plan that is much greater than the one Mr. Johnson will offer you. All he wants to do is spend more money and use more supplies. If we do that, then we are going to lose our status as a great city. If you listen to me and follow what I have planned, then our greatness will be restored.”

The last statement seemed a bit Hitler-esque. Yet his brainwashed supporters stood and rewarded his opening speech with uproarious applause. I had a feeling that they had absolutely no idea what he was talking about (there was also that stalking suspicion that the speaker didn’t either) and they were just accepting everything he said as fact.

Considering the fact that he stood with his knees locked and delivered his words like a computer, there had to be some brainwashing involved because he didn’t exactly sway the crowds with his sweeping charisma.

Emotionless robot was the term I jotted down on my notepad.

“And up next is Mr. Johnson,” Mario said as soon as Mr. Smith took his seat. The entire left side stood and screamed as their candidate made his way to the front. The cheers were those normally reserved for a rock concert and I was starting to feel that effect.

“What’s up!” he yelled, throwing the cliché peace signs up with his hands. The Free Colors returned a favorable response. Before long, the podium was covered with roses, gifts, and apparel.

As the yelling continued, I sat in awe as I watched people transform from kooks to full out idiots. There was a mosh pit, people body diving off of their seats, and young girls and a few effeminate men crying hysterically as they saw their idol standing in the same building as them.

No words I could think of would be able to accurately describe the current scene.

“I love you guys,” Johnson said as soon as he got the chance. “I love you and you and you. I love the architecture of this city. I love the roads that lead to this place of enlightenment. And I even love Mr. Meany Pants over here, Mr. Smith.”

Mr. Meany Pants wasn’t the term I would’ve used, but it did describe Mr. Smith.

“I want to build my campaign on love,” he said, using air quotes. “What is love? Baby, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more.”

There were no words.

“You can quote that, Mr. Reporter,” he said, winking at me.

“Isn’t that from a Haddaway song?”

For some odd reason, I thought I was saying this in my head. But my thoughts tend occasionally escape from my head and into the open air.

“I’m sorry?” Mr. Johnson asked, his fake smile starting to lose its authenticity.

“That’s from a song,” I said, having no choice but to go along with it. “It would be plagiarism if I quoted that as your own words.”

“Hater!” a Free Color yelled, throwing something that looked like a piece of food at me. Within minutes, I had an entire group of freaks booing me and throwing unidentified objects in my direction. Apparently, questioning their fearless leader was blasphemy.

“Anyhoo,” Mr. Johnson said, settling down his group of followers immediately. “Love is my key word for the next few weeks. We want to see the world change and everybody making love to each other when this plan goes into motion.”

Something about that last statement left me feeling a little uneasy about his intentions.

“So let’s not fight,” he said, extending his arms. “Let’s love on each other, people!”

And with the thunderous applause, Johnson took a bow and observed as his people engaged in some weird kind of worship for him that I’m sure was influenced by Beelzebub himself.

“All right, now it’s time for the debate,” Monty announced. “I have a set of issues pressing in our town and I want you to offer your solutions. We’ll have a vote and see which the best one is.”

I figured this town had a different idea of what a debate actually was. Any sane reasonable person could see that this was a disaster waiting to happen.

“The first obvious one is the spray can art on the walls,” he continued. “What does Mr. Smith have to say about this?”

“Well, we are trying to be taken seriously,” the stiff neck stated. “And garbage being sprayed on the walls of our lovely architecture is not helping our case. I want it off!”

“Mr. Johnson?” Mowgli continued.

“It’s not garbage – its art!” he boasted, eliciting cheers from the Free Colors. “We want it up!”

A vote was taken. The entire White Section voted no, while the Free Colors were in favor.

“This is a problem,” Motley stated after taking a head count. “There are 249 on each side. We’ll have to have some kind of tie breaker.”

A thumb war wouldn’t have been too incredulous at this point. A bloody death match would be pretty entertaining; it would make coming out for this story worthwhile.

“Larry’s picking his nose!” a White shouted. “That discounts him from the vote; the Whites’ wins!”
And like that, the controversial issue of the graffiti was solved.

“Next issue,” Molina said, flipping the page. “The Proud Illiterates Society has filed a motion in the form of a picture book to change the signs and promotion for selected business so they can understand them. How do we stand?”

“They should learn to read,” Mr. Smith snarled. “We have several stations put throughout the city that has materials to teach them how to read. It would do them some good to use them from time to time.

“But what if they like being illiterate,” Mr. Johnson interjected. “It is their choice. If it makes them happy, then let them be. Therefore, in order to avoid conflict, we should meet their needs. I say, change the signs!”

“Change the signs, change the signs, change the signs!” the Free Colors’ chanted.

The vote was once again split; this time, Jack on the left had an ugly sweater, thus removing his voting rights. The signs were unchanged.

“And the final problem,” Mortimer proclaimed. “The issue that keeps coming back: the term law. The right insists on keeping it overturned, while the left wants it back.”

“It stays overturned,” Mr. Smith barked. “Officials deserve the right to keep their position from yuppies who think they can change the world. It stays!”

“I disagree,” Mr. Johnson replied, stating the obvious. “Sometimes we need to get rid of old people who are holding back the LOVE! I say bring it back!”

“Bring it back, bring it back!” the left chanted. This guy could tell them cyanide tasted like strawberry milkshakes and made their skin glow in the dark and they’d chug like it would be gone tomorrow.

When the time for the vote came, I waited to hear what ridiculous excuse the right would interject this time, but to my surprise, a Free Color stood up before a White could.

“Tony’s tie has white dots on it,” they yelled. “He’s broken their ‘order.’”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Smith scoffed. “How could you make up something so preposterous?”

It was instances such as these that made me wonder if I had slipped into an alternate reality. I pinched myself until I was blue and I was still awake.

This was a defining moment for the town with no name due to legal issues. The overturned law that kept Mr. Smith in power for so long could possibly be reversed, thus dethroning him.

It was all making me pull my hair out. Not out of suspense, but frustration over the idiots that presided in this ridiculous excuse for a town. I was less than a minute away from voicing my opinion, which was something that could compromise my job.

“Well, we’ve got to make a decision,” Melvin stated after a long awkward silence. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Keep Tony!” came from the right and “Throw him out!” sailed in from the left. So a vote was taken regarding the sub-issue of Tony and it was still tied. They re-voted and it still tied.

“There has to be something wrong,” Mick said, scratching his head. “Are we missing something?”

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I had contracted a bad case of diarrhea of the mouth.

“Yes,” I said, giving in to my urges. “You are missing something; common sense!”

All of the chatter stopped. The neutralist had spoken.

Finding a spot in the middle of the aisle, I turned around to face my newly-acquired audience and proceeded.

“You people are idiots!” I spouted. “Taking a pair of tweezers and giving myself a lobotomy would be a much more productive use of time than sitting through this ridiculous excuse for a town hall meeting. All you morons do is sit around and argue. Mr. Smith is changing laws up so the very thought of competition doesn’t enter the lines of this town that can’t be named because of an idiotic cult of a group. And Mr. Johnson’s plan for a world-wide orgy is freaking me out! How are you people still around!?”

The place was dead quiet. Nobody quite knew how to answer me. It was nice actually; they had their mouths shut for more than a split second.

“The Whites,” I said, walking towards them. “You are the stiffest mass of tight-wads I have ever met. You sit there with your judgmental stares and act like you have poles up your pharisaical butts! How about you adopt a personality and grow a little humanity while you’re at it?”

The murmuring started almost instantly.

“And you,” I said, strafing to the left. “The Free Colors…FREE COLORS! What kind of moronic name is that? You’re a bunch of simple-minded nit wits that probably haven’t had a thought of your own since this joker came along. How about you clean yourselves up, put on some decent-looking clothes, and get a friggin’ life!”

The murmuring intensified as I cut deeper.

“And who cares about your stupid issues,” I continued. “Graffiti is always going to show up because idiot, identity-challenged kids are going to express their ill-conceived sentiments one way or another. Keep the signs up and teach the illiterates how to read or let them leave town. And if you want anything to be reversed, you’re going to have to kill Mr. Smith because nothing’s going to budge until he keels over.”

The stares were of a horrific nature, as I had threatened the life of a baby seal. I could feel the panic sweep across the auditorium as every move I made was broken down and analyzed.

“It was a joke,” I said, trying to sooth their fear. “Sarcasm, if you will.”

“But that’s not allowed,” a White yelled. “Law number six hundred and twenty-two states that any form of statement that consists of irony is not allowed, for many not understand and do in accordance to said ironic statement.”

For a second, I forgot about my blind fury and soaked in what had just been said. They had a law against sarcasm. Sarcasm was not allowed in the town that was nameless because a dispute that branched out into many other disputes that all funneled back to that one major dispute.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “I rest my case. Continue your little town hall meeting; I am going to get out before I lose my freaking mind!”

Before Munez could stop me to try and reason, I was out the door and in my car. I blew through the town, ignored the police, and got on the highway before you say, “Mr. Smith rules all!”

The little town that had no name because of a legal dispute dispersed after a bloody brawl that broke out during Mr. Smith’s fourth inauguration. Many escaped to the northern regions of the country while some got caught by outside, reasonable officials and ended up in Gitmo and several mental institutions in Europe.

But it’s not my problem. After the town hall meeting, I quit my job as a journalist and got a job at another paper writing in the travel section. It’s a lot slower, but at least I can write about towns that have names. It’s a plus, if you ask me.

Holy Ghost Dancing 101

Note: The following post is not an attempt at sacrilege as some might view it, but simply one of a humorous nature that points out the often exaggerated demeanor of worship that Pentecostals display. I am very much a Pentecostal and I'm simply observing something that is appreciated by many, including fellow Apostolics. Please do not take offense at my sense of humor.

You see them everyday. They walk your streets. They roam your biggest mall. You often see them sneaking in and out of movie theaters so as not to be seen by their elders. And most importantly, they tend to crowd your local Golden Corral or Shoney's.

During the day, they are only men that tuck their T-Shirts into their jeans and women with freakishly long hair and skirts. But at night (on Sundays and sporadically during the week if there's Bible Study or a revival), they transform into something much greater. Something so outlandish, so ridiculous, even their nearest dearest friends of the same faith have a hard time getting past it.

They become your average, One-God-Apostolic-tongue-talking-holly-roller-born-again-heaven-bound-believer-in-the-liberating-power-of-Jesus'-name. In other words, your average red-blooded, Republican-voting Pentecostal.

If you are to choose to become one of these people that crowd the altar after service and display the theatrics normally reserved for the Ringley Brother Circus, there are a few techniques you can display.

I can only give you the basics, for the greater, much more complicated moves come with practice. Here are three to get you started:

#1 The Sway and Whoop

This is the easiest of them all. All you have to do is stand somewhere with plenty of space, preferably in the aisle, and just do what comes natural: sway your arms back and forth as you jump and twirl and let out a good ol' fashion Holy Ghost WHOOOOOOOOOOP! It's pretty basic, but effective.

#2 The Helicopter Dance

This one is a little harder, but still not so difficult. If you're car sick, you might want to stick to #1, but if you're under the Spirit, it really won't matter all that much. This is simply spinning in circles with your left shoulder tilted so as to give the appearance of a helicopter crashing into the ground. A little hoop or holler here and there is optional.

#3 The Jig for Jehovah

And last, but most certainly not least, is the Jig for Jehovah. This requires a little more skill and possibly some knowledge of dance moves from your time spent in the world backslidden or looking for a Savior. This could be really simple or complicated, depending on which way you want to do it. You can either jump up and down like something's poking you in the bum or you do three hops before taking off across the sanctuary, convention center, campground building, or where the Shekinah glory is falling. And along the way, you can throw in some fancy moves within your realm of knowledge wherever you deem it necessary.

So there you have it. The rest will come once you have master these three. And who knows; you might discover some of your own along your journey to glory. Either way, now you know how to get down like a Pentecostal. So if you'll excuse me, I've got some aisles to run.


GLO-RAAAAAAAAAAAYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!