Tear in Your Hand

So yeah, I've been tying up loose ends and carefully packing up my life here because my position at the church here has been cut. I've been so busy trying to do the all the right and important things as I get ready to leave, that I hardly remembered that I got to have a birthday this year.

So it was very nearly a surprise when one of my favorite people came through the line after church last Sunday and handed me a card.
"Happy birthday, Josh!" she beamed at me.
"Oh!" I said, a little surpised as I took the card, "Thank you!"
"Open it!!" she insisted. So I carefully opened the card, in case something should fall out of it. Nothing did. I read the pre-printed text of the card first, a generic "happy birthday" kind of sentiment. I could feel her continue to beam as I read the handwritten note.

Happy Birthday, Josh
Neil Gaimen

I did a double-take, surprised and overjoyed as she laughed aloud—delighted, both of us. A few days later, she sent me a message via Facebook with a description from her personal journal of her trip into the city to meet Neil and get some things signed.

"Hi Neil!"
He gave me a huge smile, the biggest cresent moon without teeth but open like we were friends in the past. I don't remember the order of the things he signed, but here are my immediate notes. "My name's Elizabeth"
He looked down at Fragile Things,
Elizabeth, lovely name. With an s or a zed"
"A zed"
"I love your books, I'm sure you hear that all the time." I could see the tips of his smile through out the sinage and it made me truly joyful to see him smile because of what I'm saying, and he's listening. When he spoke to me, it was slow and I didn't feel rushed at all.
"When I would read your stuff and listen to Tori in highschool, I thought 'oh my gosh, there are still lovely and decent people in the world.'
"Tori is lovely, I am the latter" he said with self depricating smile.
When I showed him the poster:
He did a little gasp and said, "oh, that's Tori"
"Those are my favorite"
He asked me where to sign, I said anywhere
"I'm going to use the red pen and as he pointed to the place, right here."
When given Josh's card:
I said, "He introduced me to you and Tori. It's his birthday on Tuesday. It a pity because he's getting laid off. It really hurts."

I was really struck by her words, well, first of all just because I like her writing—then because I think I knew that I'd introduced her to Tori's music but I hadn't quite known that I'd introduced her to both Tori and Neil's work. Then I was struck by how something so inconsequential turned out not to be. I had no idea that the simple act of identifying some of my favorite music, some of my favorite writing, would lead to the thought, "Oh my gosh, there are still lovely and decent people in the world." Then, finally—though certainly not least—I was struck by the very simple and honest reaction to my current situation. It is a pity that I cannot continue as pastor of this church. And it does really hurt.

But as I'm writing this, my iPod is playing "Dare! Dare to believe you can survive! You hold the future in your hand. Dare! Dare to keep all your dreams alive..." I truly believe that God talks to us through music and literature and film and art in general. Keep your ears and your hearts open, dear and faithful readers, because you never know when something new to you might make you think, "Oh my gosh, there are still lovely and decent people in the world."

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
031309

Song lyrics | Goodnight lyrics

Oh no! Skynet!

I can't remember if I've said it here in the ol' blog, because I've said it so many times in so many other places, but I'm of the generation that computers grew up with me. I will always remember playing games like Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego and The Oregon Trail on both my family's Apple IIe and the Apple IIgs at school! That's right, back when floppy disks were actually floppy—and existed. You and your new-fangled CD-RWs! Hey, you kids! Get off my lawn!

Where was I? Oh yeah. I clearly remember when movies like The Terminator were the new, cool thing. The Terminator—as well as any number of other, less well-known films in the 80's—had the unifying theme of a fear of technology taking over. I also clearly remember this counter argument from the film Short Circuit, when Steve Gutenberg's charcter waxes poetic about a robot, saying "It doesn't get happy, it doesn't get sad, it doesn't laugh at your jokes, it just runs programs!"

Now it's true that computers can play chess and that robots can construct automobiles, but they can't do those things without being programmed by a human being to do them. It is also true that some truly wonderful music has been created primarily through electronic means. It is most definately true that some of the most brilliant and moving animated films of the last decade have been created through the use of computer animation. However, the heart and soul of music and storytelling/filmmaking still comes from the talented human people who utilize these tools.

And that's ultimately the point I'm trying to make. Computers are a tool. Your iPod is a tool. E-mail is a tool. As are Facebook, MySpace, AIM, and your cell phone. These tools can be misused, just like any other tool. You can keep a candle upright in that candlestick, or you can murder your neighbor with it. The candlestick, in and of itself, lies blameless in both counts. It's what you do with it that matters.

So, I was interested to see the following post on Neil Gaiman's blog. He writes:

Just a quick one, as a follow-up to http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2009/02/quick-argument-summary.html and http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2009/02/zoom-zzzzoom.html.


Right.

1) go and read Wil Wheaton's post http://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2009/02/wil-wheaton-vs-text-2-speech.html

2) Listen, actually listen to Wil and "Alex" reading at http://wilwheaton.typepad.com/files/wil_wheaton_vs_text_2_speech.mp3

3) Now imagine a world in which someone sits with a novel on the screen and carefully codes every character and tone of voice, every emotion. Imagine the time involved, and the effort involved in making something that, no matter how good it ever gets, will not be as good as a person reading it. This isn't teaching a computer to play chess.

An audio book, read by someone who's good at it, is an audio book, an experience that's different to, sometimes complementary to, the words on the page. A computer reading to you is a computer reading to you. And at the point where they can read books to us as well as we can read them aloud to each other, we will have other things to worry about.

Which—I think—is right on. But more telling is the response that Neil received to his orginal post:

I'm glad to know that you support the Kindle text to speech capability. As a C-4 quadriplegic due to a spinal cord injury a few years ago recent improvements in technology allow me the independence to write this e-mail with assistance only from my computer, software and a microphone. However the technology is still young, clunky and not without drawbacks. (It will probably take longer to "write" this short e-mail than it did to listen to my friend read me the first chapter of Coraline!) (Don't ask how long it took me to write the word Coraline either-twice even!) Because there isn't big money for marketing products for para and quads we have to rely on technology progressing just for the sake of technology progressing. I think it would be silly and sad to slow improvments just because of money issues. Thanks for supporting technology and hope to see you at comic-con. -Brook McCall

As Stan Lee would say, "'Nuff said."

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
022709

PS Do go to Wil Wheaton's Blog and check out the MP3 of "wil wheaton vs. text 2 speech" It's pretty telling.

The Labyrinth

If you're expecting me to wax poetic about a
movie from my childhood featuring David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly, then you are—well, actually, that does sound a lot like me, doesn't it? After all, Jim Henson is my hero. But that's not what I have in mind this morning.

What I have in mind is most famously exemplified in Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres. It isn't a maze, like you find in the Jim Henson film, because there are no dead ends. It has only one path, so you can't get lost. Which may lead you to ask me, "What is the point of the thing?" Well, I'll tell you: walking this kind of labyrinth is a spiritual practice.

How so? Well, the winding path is a metaphor for your life's journey. Much like the point I made in an earlier post, as long as you keep carefully moving forward, eventually you'll get to the center. There are going to be twists along the way, so you'll have to be paying close attention in order to stay on the path. There are going to be times that the goal is tantilizingly close, only to recede again, but don't be discouraged—keep going and you'll make it.

I have had the opportunity to walk labyrinths in the past, and I wish I had a full-sized one to utilize on a regular basis. I do, however, have a minature version that was given to me as a present from a very dear friend. Instead of walking the path, I trace it out with the included stylus. Whether I'm walking a full-sized one, or simply tracing the path out on my pewter one, I find that it helps me clear my mind and open myself to hearing whatever it is that God may be trying to say to me. If I have a problem, or a difficult decision, going through the labyrinth often helps me find the proper perspective. And if I enter the labyrinth anxious or upset it forces me to slow down—and by the time I come back out of the labyrinth I am calm once more.

And knowing all of this is all well and good, but no use to you if you don't have access to a labyrinth of your own. Well, not to worry! You don't need a fancy pewter one—although mine is very nice. You can certainly live without a full-sized one—although I wish I had one I could use. I've found that simply having the pattern printed out on a piece of paper does the trick, so here's a pdf file diagram of the Chartres labyrinth for you to use at your leisure!

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
022509

PS Here's a video about walking the labyrinth!

Fat Sunday

Ever since Katrina, the church I serve has been putting on a top-notch
celebratory jazz service for worship the Sunday before Lent starts. We take a special collection for Gulf Coast relief—and yes, there is still need, even after all this time.

This year, for the sermon, I found some poetry by James Weldon Johnson. I read two of them, with a little explanation of my own wedged between, while Dr. Joe did some awesome jazz piano stuff underneath—he even managed to work in the tunes of all the spirituals mentioned in the second poem. I wish I had his music for you to listen to while you read these, but... I guess we'll just have to settle for the words.

Listen, Lord—A Prayer

O Lord, we come this morning
Knee-bowed and body-bent
Before thy throne of grace.
O Lord—this morning—
Bow our hearts beneath our knees,
And our knees in some lonesome valley.
We come this morning—
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord—open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning.

Lord, have mercy on proud and dying sinners—
Sinners hanging over the mouth of hell,
Who seem to love their distance well.
Lord—ride by this morning—
Mount your milk-white horse,
And ride-a this morning—
And in your ride, ride by old hell,
Ride by the dingy gates of hell,
And stop poor sinners in their headlong plunge.

And now, O Lord, this man of God,
Who breaks the bread of life this morning—
Shadow him in the hollow of thy hand,
And keep him out of the gunshot of the devil.
Take him, Lord—this morning—
Wash him with hyssop inside and out,
Hang him up and drain him dry of sin.
Pin his ear to the wisdom-post,
And make his words sledge hammers of truth—
Beating on the iron heart of sin.

Lord God, this morning—
Put his eye to the telescope of eternity,
And let him look upon the paper walls of time.
Lord, turpentine his imagination,
Put perpetual motion in his arms,
Fill him full of the dynamite of thy power,
Anoint him all over with the oil of thy salvation,
And set his tongue on fire.

And now, O Lord—
When I’ve done drunk my last cup of sorrow—
When I’ve been called everything but a child of God—
When I’m done traveling up the rough side of the mountain—
O—Mary’s Baby—
When I start down the steep and slippery steps of death—
When this old world begins to rock beneath my feet—
Lower me to my dusty grave in peace
To wait for that great gittin’ up morning—Amen.

James Weldon Johnson

James Johnson was an African American author, politician, diplomat, critic, journalist, poet, anthologist, educator, lawyer, songwriter, early civil rights activist, and prominent figure in the Harlem Renaissance. He was one of the first African-American professors at New York University and later in life he was a professor of creative literature and writing at Fisk. James Johnson was born in 1971 and died in 1938 and so he would have been in his 20s during the early days of Jazz. As you hear this next poem, I want you to think about his ancestors, only a generation before, toiling in the fields under their harsh masters. I want you to ask yourself how they continued on in the face of backbreaking labor and little hope of freedom. And I want you to answer yourself, “With the help of God.”

O Black and Unknown Bards

O black and unknown bards of long ago,
How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?
How, in your darkness, did you come to know
The power and beauty of the minstrel’s lyre?
Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes?
Who first from out the still watch, lone and long,
Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise
Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?

Heart of what slave poured out such melody
As “Steal away to Jesus”? On its strains
His spirit must have nightly floated free,
Though still about his hands he felt his chains.
Who heard great “Jordan roll”? Whose starward eye
Saw chariot “swing low”? And who was he
That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh,
“Nobody knows de trouble I see”?

What merely captive thing,
Could up toward God through all its darkness grope,
And find within its deadened heart to sing
These songs of sorrow, love and faith, and hope?
How did it catch that subtle undertone,
That not in music heard not with the ears?
How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown,
Which stirs the soul or melts the heart to tears.

Not that great German master in his dream
Of harmonies that thundered amongst the stars
At the creation, ever heard a theme
Nobler than “God down, Moses.” Mark its bars
How like a mighty trumpet-call they stir
The blood. Such are the notes that men have sung
Going to valorous deeds; such tones there were
That helped make history when Time was young.

There is a wide, wide wonder in it all,
That from degraded rest and servile toil
The fiery spirit of the seer should call
These simple children of the sun and soil.
O black slave singers, gone, forgot, unfamed,
You—you alone, of all the long, long line
Of those who’ve sung untaught, unknown, unnamed,
Have stretched out upward, seeking the divine.

You sang not deeds of heroes or of kings;
No chant of bloody war, no exulting paean
Of arms-won triumphs; but your humble strings
You touched in chord with music empyrean
You sang far better than you knew; the songs
That for your listeners’ hungry hearts sufficed
Still live,--but more than this to you belongs:
You sang a race from wood and stone to Christ.

James Weldon Johnson

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
022409

Breaks My Heart

I don't usually post twice in one day like this, but I just received an e-mail containing the video below from our beloved (and very out) organist here at the church I serve...


"Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo.

I am still wiping away tears as I type this. I have already said publically, and I shall do so again here and now, that when you talk about "gay marriage" you're talking about my co-workers, my friends, neighbors and loved ones. You are talking about people I know and love. Dearly. I try not to get political in this blog, but I have to say this much at least. From where I stand, if the definition of "marriage" is a legal issue, then every couple must be given the same liberties, rights, and responsibilities under both Federal and State Law or else we are dealing with a Civil Rights issue. If the definition of "marriage" is a religious issue, then the government is required to get out of it or else we are violating the Separation of Church and State. So whether or not your theology allows you to embrace LGBT folk as loved and accepted by God just the way they are, this Proposition is just wrong.

You don't have to agree with me, but you do need to
Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
022009

Sportsmen

Competitive sports, especially professional ones, have grated on me for years. I'll freely admit that part of that has to do with my trying on just about everything I could growing up, baseball, basketball... the usual suspects—and I discovered that sports just weren't where my talents lie. More than that, though, I think that all my experiences of poor sportsmenship—both personally and in the media—soured my joy for what is, at its heart, a game. I've simply had a difficult time connecting to something that produces bullpen assaults, basketball brawls, and killer hockey dads.


However, the recent fantastic sportsmanship and attitudes of blown out Dallas Acadamy team helped me begin to see why people love sports once more. And the story of the Barbs playing a non-conference game on the road against Milwaukee Madison has helped me restore my faith in sport-loving humanity even further!

The two high schools were developing the kind of friendly rivalry that begins with really close games on the court and ends with sodas and pizza together off the court. But this game, their third, almost didn't happen at all. You see, late that afternoon, Milwaukee Madison senior captain Johntel Franklin was at the hospital when the decision was made to turn off the life-support system for his mother, Carlitha Franklin. She died just hours before the game. It was young Franklin who countermanded Coach Aaron Womack Jr's decision to cancel the game, saying that he wanted them to play.

It was early in the second quarter and the game was already very close when Womack spotted Franklin in the stands. He immediately called a time out and Womack and his team went up into the stands and hugged their grieving teammate.

"We got back to playing the game and I asked if he wanted to come and sit on the bench," Womack said during a telephone interview.

"No," Franklin replied. "I want to play."

Since Franklin's name hadn't made it on to the pre-game roster, putting him in would mean committing a technical foul, but Womack felt that letting the grieving young man play was more important than winning a close game so he chose to take the foul. Despite the closeness of the game, Coach Dave Rohlman did not want his team to take advantage of the technical foul. He reluctantly called for a volunteer to take two free throws after the referees made it clear that he could not wave them.

Darius McNeal raised his hand, and after Rohlman asked him a single question he simply nodded his head and went out to the foul line.

His first attempt made it about two feet.

His second barely left his hand.

The Milwaukee team stood as one, turned toward the Barbs bench and applauded their sportsmanship—the crowd followed suit.

"I did it for the guy who lost his mom," McNeal told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. "It was the right thing to do."

The record will show that the Milwaukee team won 62-47. But as I imagine the two teams sharing pizza after the game, I doubt that the score was all that important to them.

They're all winners in my book.

Be good to each other
Rev. Josh
022009

Valentine Potluck

I helped a dear friend move on Valentine's Day this year, so I was unable to go to the church's annual Valentine Potluck and Talent Show. But I did get this wonderful YouTube video of one of our youth performing "I Was Born to Entertain" from the show Ruthless! Enjoy!



Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
021709

Valentine

Love each other,
Rev. Josh
021309

And They'll Know We Are Christians

I don't know if any of you saw this story when it first hit, but it has stuck with me so I thought I would share it with you all.

I also found this...

And so... I have to ask the question... who do you think won that game?

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
021209

The God Space

I've been thinking a lot about preaching lately. Partly because of this year's General Association, and partly because of all the things that go along with the professional transition I have coming down the pipe. I think I will always remember what it was like to preach my candidating sermon for the church I'm currently serving. For one thing, the church had been struck by lightning the night before, and it was not until that morning that they discovered that the sound system for the sanctuary had been fried. I'll always remember Eric booking out of the sanctuary and returnining with an electric podium and a coil of extension cord! And I distictly remember answering a question afterword about preaching. I said that what I write and say are not necissarily what the congregation hears. And that's a good thing! Because I have found that God can and frequently does wonderful things in that place between what I say and what you hear. That's when I saw this excited hand shoot up in the second or third row. It belonged to Amory, a divorced mother of two teenage boys who later became one of our youth advisors. "Yes?" I acknowledged Amory and her hand. "Fred Rogers calls that 'The God Space'!" she exclaimed!

I don't know how well known the Reverend Fred Rogers is anymore. To me it feels like he died just recently, but it has actually been about 6 years. But perhaps his television show lives on in reruns on Public Televsion. Maybe you've heard of it? It was called Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.

Anyway, Amory's citation of Fred Rogers tickled me to no end, and I probably told her right there that I was going to remember it and use it—and I have, in this poem:

Fred Rogers Called That “The God Space”

Word.
It starts with a word.
Sometimes it’s a hard word, but that’s where it starts.
Stillness.
The empty kind: Where I desperately hope that inspiration hides.
The full kind: My mind links association to association.
Write.
Tell stories, teach history, quote wise people, living and dead.
Make connections for today, our lives, to The Word.
Pray without ceasing.
Speak.
Make connections for today, our lives.
Tell stories, teach history, quote wise people, living and dead.
Speak.
Into stillness, the full kind: My mind links association to association.
The empty kind: Where I desperately hope that inspiration hides.
Speak.
Into the space that lies between what I have said and what has been heard.
The space where the Holy Spirit loves to work on each of us.
Never forget that it starts with a word.
Sometimes it’s a hard word.
But that is still
Where it starts.

Joshua J Sander 12/15/08



I like you just the way you are,
Rev. Josh
020609

Spoon Theory

That's right, Spoon Theory. It's not one of those new-fangled quantum physics things. Nor is it a sly way for me to make reference to The Tick and his nonsensical battlecry. Spoon Theory is a very concrete way for folk living with chronic diseases and conditions to help the rest of us understand what it's like to be sick.

Spoon Theory comes from short story by Christine Miserandino about a conversation she had with a friend about what it is like for Christine to live with Lupus. Please take the time to read the full story at ButYouDon'tLookSick.com.

Go ahead, I'll wait...

Okay, fine, here's a thumbnail version I found on YouTube, but please understand that I do not have the rights to the story, and neither does the person who made the video, so do me a favor and read the full story at ButYouDon'tLookSick.com!



I would be remiss if I did not thank a dear friend, who struggles with Fibromyalgia, for stopping and explaining to me what she meant when she told me one day that she "didn't have enough spoons" for something or other. I already felt blessed by her friendship, and now I feel twice-blessed that she would utilize any of her hard-won spoons on me!

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
020409

Slacker

Yup, I've been slacking off on my blog entries. A dear friend almost gleefully told me, "Yeah! Your last post was Halloween!!" Which is just embarrassing. However, I thought I should tell you, faithful readers—and you must be either faithful or new to my blog if you're reading this after so many months of nothing—what I told him. One of the reasons I haven't updated in so long is because at work I have my blog set to my home page—and I felt that I needed to be taking my own advice in recent months.

With the extreme downturn in the economy, the church I serve has been forced to drastically cut its budget across the board—and eliminate the position I currently hold. So the message I had for all of you about how we can't always go the old and familiar ways, the message about how sometimes there's something scary between where you are and where you need to get to, the message about how even though it might not be obvious but there is always a way forward... I needed that message myself!

It's a little bit like "Be careful what you wish for." or "Practice what you preach." Don't you think? "Be careful what you post, or you might need it yourself?"

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
020309

Welcome to Silent Hill

I've been thinking a lot about Silent Hill lately. It's one of my favorite scary video game series, and I've been playing the most recent installment this month. And a couple of days ago, it suddenly hit me that life is like Silent Hill sometimes. (Just click any of these to enbiggen them.)

Sometimes you're in a dark place.

Sometimes you can't go the way you used to.

Sometimes there are barriers in your way.

Sometimes there's something scary between where you are and where you need to be.

Even though sometimes it may be circuitous, counterintuitive, hidden, or just plain hellish, there's always a way forward.

Happy Halloween!
Rev. Josh
103108

This Is Halloween

I've already written my definitive Halloween post, however, there's always something new to discuss, isn't there?

For example, this morning, I ran across this article about how " For 16 years, real horror overshadowed the make-believe terror of Halloween" in Oil City, PA. There's already something about Halloween that freaks people out, especially adults, in my opinion. There are varied reasons for this, I think, but underneath it all it seems to me that Halloween embraces things that are beyond our control. It's an excuse to cut loose from the laws of everyday society, to hide behind masks, to be what we aren't... and of course, there's the specter of death everywhere. So it didn't surprise me to read that Oil City had clamped down hard on Halloween for so many years in response to a horrible murder.

Warning: The following account of the murder disturbs me. Consider it at least a PG13 rating.

You see, on October 27th, 1992, 11 year old Shauna Howe was walking home from a Girl Scouts Halloween party. She was only two block from her house when she was abducted right off the sidewalk. Two days later her body was found in a dry creek bed underneath an abandoned railroad trestle. It was later determined that Shauna spent most of those two days in captivity, that she had been raped, and that she had still been alive when she was tossed from the 30 foot high railroad trestle.

As the article put it:

With the town gripped by fear that a child killer was on the loose, trick-or-treating the next day was held in daylight for the first time. Police watched from helicopters as parents led their children from house to house along quiet streets.

Residents also began locking their doors and driving their children to school. And every year afterward, the City Council voted to allow trick-or-treating in the afternoon only, a move duplicated around the same time by many other U.S. cities and towns worried about children's safety.

I won't say that Oil City overreacted, after all, the three arrests made in the case weren't until the middle of 2004, (This site seems to have the best info on how that all came about.) but I do wonder if the town would have had a similar reaction had it been, say, a 4th of July party, instead. Even granting that Oil City's reaction was appropriate, I will also say that if I were the parent of 10 year old Elizabeth Roess, I'd be very, very proud. There's something very powerful about the fact that it took a 5th Grader's petition drive and very simple arguements (Halloween decorations are best appreciated at night, and many people aren't home during the day to give out candy) to move Oil City into a less fearful place.

Still, Oil City plans to have twice as many police officers on duty, plus all of the school's security guards and crossing guards. And the local radio station has been running a public service announcement warning parents to accompany their children, examine all candy, and have their kids wear reflective material. And two out of three of those precautions are useful and necissary.

Halloween candy tampering is an urban legend. Despite some very well publicized accounts of alleged tamperings in the 60's and 70's, there is absolutely no record of a child being injured or killed by swallowing adulterated Trick or Treat booty. Period. This one gets my goat, I think, because I have clear memories of being sternly warned by a uniformed policeman to thoroughly check candy before eating it on Halloween. It put a real damper on the holiday, at least in my experience as a child. And there's enough real danger in the world without lending credence to a pretend one.

I guess if there's an underlying message to all of this, it is this: As in all things, there is a balance to be had here. There is darkness in the world. Sometimes there are rapists and murderers ready to take your children from you. Sometimes children get run down in the road. But there are appropriate and reasonable precautions to take. After that... just have fun, won't you?

Be safe
Be not afraid
Rev. Josh
103008

9/11

It has been amazing how little time I've had the past couple of weeks. The beginning of the program year here at the church (which basically follows the school year) requires a lot of attention! So much so that I was a little off my game yesterday when Emmi, my co-dean for The Written Word told me via AIM that her office was observing a moment of silence in memory of September 11th. "Oh yeah... that's today, isn't it?" I said. That's how busy it's been. But I'm almost ready for Sunday, and I feel bad about (a) not blogging regularly & (b) not reflecting on 9/11, so I thought I'd do both of those things now.

My first memory of disaster is watching the Challenger explosion on TV when I was 9 years old. (I just glanced at the wiki article, and the image of that smoke plume still haunts me.)

The next time I remember being that deeply disturbed by tragedy was the Columbine High School massacre. I was in college then, and remember sitting in my dorm room and watching CNN all day long, trying to wrap my mind around it. I don't think the image of students being rescued through a second story window to the top of a SWAT vehicle, or racing for their very lives across the lawn, will ever leave me. I remember just... devouring every snippet of information I could on what happened there and did my very best to understand why... and I came to some hard conclusions about our society--but that's a post for another time, I think.

But 9/11... I was a student at ANTS and classes were supposed to start on the 12th. My wife was only my fiancée then, and the plan was for her to ride up to campus with me, spend the day with me, and then I would put her on the train home again. My dad was still working for the Navy then, and he and my mom had gotten up very, very early, had breakfast, watched the news and turned off the tv before the attacks happened. Then Mom and I went to the train station in Westerly to buy the tickets for the next day. And the gentelman at the station said, "We're not selling tickets today, nobody's going anywhere." And we were obviously confused, so the man said, "What? You haven't heard? Somebody flew a plane into a building in New York, they aren't sure yet if it's an accident or if somebody did on purpose." So we went back to the car and drove home, listening to the radio. I decided that driving towards Boston the next day, where the planes that hit the World Trade Center had taken off from, might not be my best move... I remember people around me feeling sorrow, and anguish, and... I couldn't feel anything. I was numb. But this disaster caused me to do more soul-searching about my country, my religion, and my God than any other.

I love this country, but I did not run out and buy a flag for my car. Instead, I wondered what kind of person decides to make a buck selling those flags on the backs of the nearly 3,000 dead in those attacks. I have always held dear the ideal of pacifism, because I believe that Jesus taught us to be pacifists and because I believe that violence begets violence and pacifism begets peace. But I cannot fault the passangers of Flight 93 for mounting their assault. There's certainly something about the words, "Are you guys ready? Ok. Let's roll!" that strike deep into the heart. I still struggle with 9/11, and all the things that it changed--all the positive and negative things that it revealed about this country, about this people, that I love.

On Neil Gaiman's blog yesterday there was a post about how layers of meaning have been added to 9/11 over the years, and it uplifts a clip of Jon Stewart as a means of maintaining perspective. My wife and I watched it in silence this morning, but before I embed it below, I'd like to point out one more thing I struggle with about this country, this people. In this clip, Jon Stewart proclaims that the 9/11 attacks forced us to a place where we judged not by the color of a person's skin, but rather by the content of their character. As we gear up for another election, and I hear people tear down the Democratic candidate because his last name is "Obama," I must beg to differ. Maybe in that pure moment of terror, as the towers came down, maybe then every color, race, and creed were for a moment equal. But I ask you, how long did that last?


If you have issues seeing the video, try this.

Be good to each other.
Rev. Josh
091208

The Magic of the Intertubes

Every once in a while the magic of the internet just boggles me for a second or two. Like the time I was playing World of Warcraft during the day of Christmas Eve and somebody in chat said, "What do you mean tomorrow? It's Christmas today!" It turned out that all of the Americans in-game hadn't considered the possibility that there might be somebody on who's in Australia... where it was already tomorrow! How cool is that? I was playing a video game with a guy on the other side of the world...

Anyway, I had another of those moments when I logged into my e-mail this morning. I had a message from Blogger informing me that I had a new comment on my infamous post about my tattoo. (I say infamous because there was a stir here at church about it, apparently some thought I was teaching our youth to disobey their parents. So let me reiterate. I waited til I was 30 to get Aslan done. If you're yonger than that, listen to your parents, kids!) Anyway, it was a nice complement from a name I didn't recognize, so I clicked on his Blogger profile link and discovered that he's from the UK... So I _really_ don't know him.

I answered his comment with one of my own and found out that he had simply been looking for a pic of Aslan for a video he had been editing for his blog. It's a amazing, have a look.

I've seen similar stunts in television commercials and video games, (Tell me you aren't thinking of Tomb Raider when you saw them hit that wall and pull themselves up!) but never anything so very much real life, unless you count Jackie Chan flicks.

In any case, I thank the internet for allowing me to connect with someone I never would have known even existed otherwise. I also thank the internet for introducing me to parkour, which I'd never heard of before this morning!

One last thing, all you blog-reading teens, I noticed that Ben refers to his parkour outings as "training" and even talks about a fall that could have ended badly, just in the one post I read. Please, for the love of God (and Rev. Josh), don't just run out and try this. Please?

Be safe & be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
082608

Aaron

This is Aaron. He's one of my best friends ever.

Life has been exciting and good to Aaron just recently. He's an aspiring young actor/puppeteer/musician, and he's actually been getting some exciting work! He was an extra in the latest Indiana Jones movie. And he co-starred in an indie film called Profile. So he's been in an Indy film and and Indie film. Hehe. I've already seen the Indian Jones flick, and it was fun to pick Aaron out of the background in several shots, but I'm more excited about Profile which premieres Sunday, July 20th at the Narragansett Beach Theater with a 6:30pm showtime. Due to the film's content, they'll be holding to an "R" rating.

Also, congratulations to Aaron for getting a job with the Tears of Joy Theatre doing acting/puppetry/singing! We're beside ourselves with joy for ya, man. We love ya.

Watch Aaron with each other.
Rev. Josh
071608

Gee! He was just here a minute ago.

Rest in peace, George.

062408

Rachael Ray... Terrorist?

Imagine my surprise as I logged into my AIM account this morning and was greated with the headline, "Rachael Ray's 'Terrorist' Ad Yanked" Well, I guess the rediculous headline did what it was supposed to do, because I went ahead and had a look. Apparently Dunkin Donuts has pulled an advertisement featuring Rachael Ray because her stylist put her in a white silk scarf with a black paisley pattern.

Yup. Scarf.

Terrorist scarf!

But Michelle Malkin apparently thinks I'm clueless about the symbolism of the terrorist paisley pattern, so let's rectify that, shall we? Malkin says that the paisley scarf that Rachael Ray is wearing "appears to be a black-and-white keffiyeh." She goes on to say,

It's just a scarf, the clueless keffiyeh-wearers scoff. Would they say the same of fashion designers who marketed modified Klan-style hoods in Burberry plaid as the next big thing?

Wow, keffiyeh are exactly like Klan hoods. Maybe I am a clueless... And yet, Malkin's condescending and vitriolic tone doesn't quite have me convinced that she is a neutral and reliable source of facts. I mean, really, who does she think she is? A FOX News pundit? What's that? She is? Oh. Well. That explains a lot.

Anyway, I decided to do a little research into the keffiyeh through Wikipedia, which is linked in my sidebar. And what I learned is that the keffiyeh is a traditional headress of Arab men and "is commonly found in arid climate areas to provide protection from direct sun exposure, as well as for occasional use in protecting the mouth and eyes from blown dust and sand."


It is true that Yasser Arafat has made the particular pattern of his keffiyeh a trademark symbol that has come to represent his politics. Even the way in which he wears the garment is symbolic, as "Early on, he had made it his personal trademark to drape the scarf over his right shoulder only and arranging it in the rough shape of a triangle, so resembling the outlines of the territory claimed by Palestine."

I suspect that it is also true, as Malkin says, that they are "a regular adornment of Muslim terrorists appearing in beheading and hostage-taking videos." I also suspect, however, that they are also a regular adornment of shopkeepers, taxi drivers, farmers, tailors... people who are kind and gentle as well as radical Islamic terrorists. In fact, our own military use keffiyeh "in military olive drab or khaki with black stitching" to keep the sand out of their faces as they do their duty in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Was Rachael Ray supporting Yasser Arafat in a Dunkin Doughnuts commercial by wearing a silk scarf that is the same color, almost the same cut, and not at all the same pattern as the keffiyeh Arafat has made his trademark? I sincerely doubt it. Was Dunkin Doughnuts right to pull the add? Actually... yes. Because Rachael Ray's scarf simply isn't important enough to be arguing over.

Although I am glad that I learned a little bit from all of this siliness. The keffiyeh is more like a baseball cap than a Klan hood. The Klan hood, as far as I can tell, is only worn by those who are in the Klan and subscribe to the Klan's positions. Baseball caps are worn in many different styles and colors for reasons varying from a simple need to keep the sun out of one's eyes to intentional affiliation with a group of people (the Yankees or the Red Sox, for example). Not every red & white cap means "Red Sox fan." Not every black & white keffiyeh means "I support Arafat." Many more times than not, a cap of any color means "this keeps the sun out of my eyes." And many, many more times than not, a keffiyeh means "this keeps the sand out of my face."

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
052908

Editing is Neat

This morning I ran across the following video on YouTube, and as I was considering writing a post about cell phone use and etiquette (Just cause it rings doesn't mean you have to answer it!) I noticed another version of the video called "extended cut." Here's the first...

Wow, who hasn't wanted to do that, right? Props to the prof! But wait... who was sitting in the middle of the classroom catching it all on video? Maybe it's been too long since I was in school, but we weren't video-taping lectures then... Maybe the extended cut will give me some answers...

Hehe, I suspect, having seen the full cut, that the whole thing was staged, and that the short cut made it look more real than it actually was. Which is really rather clever, in my opinion!
Seriously, though, silence your cell phones when you're in class, or worship, or a movie. If you really feel you need to look at your phone when it starts buzzing away, go outside and do it. Especially if you're someplace dark, like a theater. Even texting is annoying in a darkened room, because everyone behind you can see the light from your phone. It's like waving a flashlight around in there. And for your safety, and the safety of others, don't talk or, God forbid, text while you're driving. I can't count the number of times I've personally avoided an accident and said aloud, "What are you doing?" and then been able to answer myself. "Oh. You're driving one-handed while talking on your cell phone."

Be polite, be safe, and be good to each other.
Rev. Josh
052308