I spent time with a family who lost a loved one today. The man was a husband for 54 years, as well as a father and grandfather. He died today at the age of 84, and when I asked, "what time did he die?", his teenage grandson informed me that it was 2:46 p.m. (not 2:45 as I had speculated). It's amazing what a difference a minute can make. We never fully appreciate the people closest to us until they're gone, and subsequently, we mull over the years, months, days, hours, and yes, the precious minutes we had the privilege of knowing them. I imagine 2:46 p.m. will be seared in this young man's mind as long as he lives. Would that all of us would mark (and make use of) the precious minutes we have with those we love . . . don't wait until it's too late to do so.
Once upon a time, political pundits were not necessary because Christians conscientiously addressed almost every social ill and issue in our society.
Once upon a time, the church “turned the world upside down” with the mysterious and metaphysical power of the gospel, instead of political maneuvering and self-righteous name-calling.
Once upon a time, adequate and affordable health care was no issue because Christians took the time to build hospitals, orphanages, and asylums in Rome and Constantinople. What have we taken the time to build lately, aside from ignorance?
Once upon a time, Americans didn’t fall into the indolence of fascism or socialism, because Christians were thoughtful enough to promote truth, and subsequently, maintain the delicate balance between responsibility and compassion.
Once upon a time, Americans did not worship or abuse the environment; they respected the resources, beauty, and contribution of the environment, and subsequently, they harnessed the whole with wonder and wisdom.
Once upon a time, institutions like Brown, Harvard, Yale, Penn, and Princeton offered a good, liberal education, but now they’ve given in to the worst fundamentalism of all: “believe, promote, and publish the spirit of the age (i.e., the ‘politically correct’ opinions of a few), or perish.”
Once upon a time, Americans were intelligent enough to realize that “Politically Correct” is an oxymoron.
What's it like to attend an Evangelical church in North America on a Sunday morning? Honestly, I think most people could attend a carnival or a fair and scarcely tell the difference. Personally, I would rather go through the "drive-thru" window at McDonald's and get a real "Happy Meal" instead of the spiritual/fantasy "fast food" (cleverly disguised as worship) served weekly in many a church in the U.S.A. Worship is not for our entertainment, nor is it a means to "conjure" up God (via The Holy Spirit) as if we were attending a séance. No, worship is giving God his due; nothing more, nothing less. Our level of happiness, or satisfaction, or approval of the whole is not the point; God's happiness, satisfaction, and approval is. Amazingly, when we focus on the Triune God seeking nothing more than an authentic encounter with him, we receive everything we need (via his presence) without asking for anything. Where will you worship tomorrow? More importantly, how will you worship? As one seeking to be entertained, or as one commissioned to entertain the presence of the Living God? The choice is yours, and be assured that the motive driving your worship will condition the outcome of the experience. Think about it.
The smell of urine and pureed green beans; comatose nursing aids pondering whether or not they have the winning lottery ticket for Saturday night’s drawing; numerous television sets with little-to-no reception blaring out a symphony of General Hospital, Lawrence Welk re-runs, and a Jerry Springer documentary about wife swapping with a touch of kinky sex. Welcome to the local nursing home anywhere in the United States; the proverbial “dumping ground” of the aged. Pity the poor, dumb, bastards who venture down these halls. Nevertheless, if you can get beyond the smells, the depressing sights and sounds, and the pitiful stuffed animals crusted with ancient saliva, then maybe, just maybe, you will catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of God. I go every Thursday to visit Mrs. V, a lady in her 90’s with no short-term memory. The visits are brief, but very much appreciated. There is no glamour in this context; no one is watching, no one notices, no one except the audience of one. Jesus said, “I was sick and you helped me; I was lonely and you comforted me; I was in prison and you visited me, etc.” Why does Father Keen visit? Because these gentle creatures (in the twilight of life) bear the image of the Living God. If you want to experience the Kingdom of God in a real and meaningful way, you will often find it in the most unusual places. More than the excitement of the mega-church, more than the sensationalism of the electronic church . . . this is the real deal; the Kingdom of God in the midst of a human waste land filled with those too sick to live, too healthy to die, and all hungry to witness a display of “true religion” according to St. James (1:27). Check it out.
Take the blue pill or the red pill . . . you decide, but it really doesn't matter; most people don't really want the truth about a number of things like "Who am I?"; "Why am I here?"; "Where am I going?" Truth isn't found in a pill, but a number of other places if you're willing to look, see, and risk. I seek truth about a number of things such as confusion over human sexuality; the plight of the urban poor; the evils that plague orgainized Christianity (evangelical and liberal); the meta-message behind Rap music; the cry of the soul coming from a single mother struggling to make ends meet in the "teeth" of poverty; politics, power, and religion in the United States; the perverse things that come from within and ultimately find expression in what we say, do, and think. This blog isn't intended to be about one thing, but many things that ultimately point to the one thing that matters: truth. Come along for the ride; your input is welcome, but time is short so we dare not waste a moment.
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