Every now and again, radically conservative "Christians" do something to shoot Christ's Bride in the kneecap. In the eighties, it was the abortion clinic bombers. In the nineties, it was the abortion clinic bombers AND the ones who spoke against the liberal President's indiscretions. Today, it's the abortion clinic bombers, the ones who speak out against the liberal President in general, and Terry Jones.
This is not Terry Jones, beloved Python, childrens' author, and documentarian. Nor is it Terry Jones, the controversial and convicted Canadian politician. No, this Terry Jones is in Florida, and, if you've not read the news recently, plans to burn copies of the Qur'an at his church on September 11th.
Do I support Islam? As a Christian, I believe it to be a perversion of the relationship I have with God the Father through Jesus Christ and His Holy Spirit; while I cannot actively support it, I am not called to actively oppose it. I am called to love the sinner and show a better way, NOT to shock the general public with an amazingly crass display of narrow-minded thinking.
What does it prove, holding a Qur'an roast? It shows the flammability of paper, for one. It shows that you are radically and diametrically opposed to the words of the book, for another. Maybe it will remind you of other book burnings from the past: comic books in Binghamton, NY, in 1948; Jewish literature in the 1930's and 1940's; Communist literature in the 1950's; and the list goes on. Of course, in fairness, we have to add the Bible to the list of literature that has gone up in smoke - several times over, if one makes the count. Or perhaps it will bring to your memory "Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury.
Of course, scanning through other notable Christian book burnings of the past, we find the KJV exclusive congregants of the Amazing Grace Baptist Church of Canton, NC. Besides their exclusivity to the 1611 version (possible blog fodder), they held a book "burning" in 2009 which was put out by rain, protestors, and local law enforcement. They moved it inside and "burned" heretical works of Satan - including: books by TD Jakes, James Dobson, Joyce Meyer; Satan's music, including country (which i can somewhat get behind), CCM (which, again, I'm having a problem not getting behind), jazz (completely over the line), and "soft and easy" (direct from their website, cannot make this up).
When a church moves in such diametric opposition to the Kingdom of God, I fail to see how God can bless such actions. We are called to be inclusive, not exclusive; in the world, yet not of it. Love thy enemy, bless those who curse you, go two miles instead of the required one, give your shirt as well as the requested jacket: THESE are the methods in which one builds the Kingdom, for His glory and Honor.
I grieve over the people who believe that book burnings are a positive message to those who speak against them. I pray for the souls in the congregation of Dove World Outreach Center. While their leader's intent is pure, his actions are reprehensible; may God have mercy on Gainesville.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Second Confession
I try to love everyone; I mean, it takes all kinds to make up the social environment. Pirates, bloggers, corporations, clergy - each have their function and part to play in sustaining the dynamic tension that is "life".
That being said, sometimes, I really can't stand "church people."
You know the type: the ones who are just a little too enthusiastic in the morning, the ones who are just a little too Heaven minded to be earthly good, the ones who attempt to find out more about you than you're willing to offer. Of course, this is a generic personality type, or "tribe" as I think of them (probably to be explored in another confession) , not a complete slam on sheep, God bless 'em.
Allow me to illustrate.
A couple weeks ago, my nephew, Aaron, was baptized. It was a momentous occasion, and as such, we drove up to Marion to take part. Marion is in God's country, so it took some driving on my part, aided and abetted by a travel mug of coffee, to get there. Eventually, we arrive at the edifice where that body of believers meets. I'm not a morning person, as a general rule, and I'm a bit punch drunk from driving a long distance on not much consciousness. Stage now set, let's meet THE PEOPLE.
The church in Marion attended by Jeff (my brother-in-law, fine upstanding fellow, nice goatee like mine, but without the natty white streak) is populated with Midwesterners. Salt o' the earth, not a thing wrong with that. They advertise free coffee and donuts on their website; when I got there, there was a pot of coffee available in back. My morning-ness being what it was, that sounded really good; I proceded back to get a cuppa to restore a bit of sanity to my surreal world.
Just a note on that: the more awake I am, the more surreal the world becomes. If you're ever with me and I fall asleep, BE GRATEFUL: that means nothing weird is gonna happen. You're with me at about five, sixish at night - watch out!
I must have been more awake than I realized, because before I could get to the coffee pot, I was swarmed by CHURCH LADIES. They welcomed me, and presumed that I MUST be Jeff's brother. General rule of thumb when approaching a wild Ryan: Never Presume Anything. Of course I don't lie, I just tell them i'm not Jeff's brother. Not put off in the slightest, they ask who I am. Rule number two of approaching Ryan in the wild: Don't Ask THAT Question, because quite frankly, I'm still working on it myself. So I remark that I'm just a guy, and before I can get another statement out, they tell me that they noticed I was with my girlfriend.
Note on that: I've not had a girlfriend for a good twelve years. Even when my now-wife, Joy, and I were dating, I knew that we were supposed to end up together. Guys have that kind of sensing - when she's The One. I knew from the moment I offered her a Pez, and she mentioned that she same dispenser.
Also, I was wearing my wedding band. Durrrrrrrrrrrr.
About this time, my wife comes up and tries to pry me away from the grip of the Church Ladies. She did so, at the cost of herself; as I ran away from them as fast as is socially acceptable, they were scrunching the tattoo on her forearm, just so see what it would look like when she was old and wrinkly like they.
Having said all that, this subset of people is also available for viewing pretty much anywhere. The overly friendly sales clerk who goes way above and beyond in his unwavering loyalty to THE BRAND or THE STORE. The chatty person in the store who tells you all about their cats. The guy that walks up and gives you a telephone number to reach the actor who played Eb on Green Acres (another blog post, maybe). Maybe they're of the tribe of Dan, while I'm of the people of Issachar, I don't know. Working through this, I find that the only way I can best love them is from afar. Preferably the moon. I'll work with them, and I recognize that, without them, the church is incomplete. Maybe it's because they aren't a completely redeemed tribe, and in their immaturity they lack self-control, I dunno.
All I know is, when passing through Marion's church system, mind your tattoo.
That being said, sometimes, I really can't stand "church people."
You know the type: the ones who are just a little too enthusiastic in the morning, the ones who are just a little too Heaven minded to be earthly good, the ones who attempt to find out more about you than you're willing to offer. Of course, this is a generic personality type, or "tribe" as I think of them (probably to be explored in another confession) , not a complete slam on sheep, God bless 'em.
Allow me to illustrate.
A couple weeks ago, my nephew, Aaron, was baptized. It was a momentous occasion, and as such, we drove up to Marion to take part. Marion is in God's country, so it took some driving on my part, aided and abetted by a travel mug of coffee, to get there. Eventually, we arrive at the edifice where that body of believers meets. I'm not a morning person, as a general rule, and I'm a bit punch drunk from driving a long distance on not much consciousness. Stage now set, let's meet THE PEOPLE.
The church in Marion attended by Jeff (my brother-in-law, fine upstanding fellow, nice goatee like mine, but without the natty white streak) is populated with Midwesterners. Salt o' the earth, not a thing wrong with that. They advertise free coffee and donuts on their website; when I got there, there was a pot of coffee available in back. My morning-ness being what it was, that sounded really good; I proceded back to get a cuppa to restore a bit of sanity to my surreal world.
Just a note on that: the more awake I am, the more surreal the world becomes. If you're ever with me and I fall asleep, BE GRATEFUL: that means nothing weird is gonna happen. You're with me at about five, sixish at night - watch out!
I must have been more awake than I realized, because before I could get to the coffee pot, I was swarmed by CHURCH LADIES. They welcomed me, and presumed that I MUST be Jeff's brother. General rule of thumb when approaching a wild Ryan: Never Presume Anything. Of course I don't lie, I just tell them i'm not Jeff's brother. Not put off in the slightest, they ask who I am. Rule number two of approaching Ryan in the wild: Don't Ask THAT Question, because quite frankly, I'm still working on it myself. So I remark that I'm just a guy, and before I can get another statement out, they tell me that they noticed I was with my girlfriend.
Note on that: I've not had a girlfriend for a good twelve years. Even when my now-wife, Joy, and I were dating, I knew that we were supposed to end up together. Guys have that kind of sensing - when she's The One. I knew from the moment I offered her a Pez, and she mentioned that she same dispenser.
Also, I was wearing my wedding band. Durrrrrrrrrrrr.
About this time, my wife comes up and tries to pry me away from the grip of the Church Ladies. She did so, at the cost of herself; as I ran away from them as fast as is socially acceptable, they were scrunching the tattoo on her forearm, just so see what it would look like when she was old and wrinkly like they.
Having said all that, this subset of people is also available for viewing pretty much anywhere. The overly friendly sales clerk who goes way above and beyond in his unwavering loyalty to THE BRAND or THE STORE. The chatty person in the store who tells you all about their cats. The guy that walks up and gives you a telephone number to reach the actor who played Eb on Green Acres (another blog post, maybe). Maybe they're of the tribe of Dan, while I'm of the people of Issachar, I don't know. Working through this, I find that the only way I can best love them is from afar. Preferably the moon. I'll work with them, and I recognize that, without them, the church is incomplete. Maybe it's because they aren't a completely redeemed tribe, and in their immaturity they lack self-control, I dunno.
All I know is, when passing through Marion's church system, mind your tattoo.
Monday, September 6, 2010
First Confession
I really never thought that I'd start anything like this. Not that I hold anything against bloggers; they're part of the atmosphere of the internet, as much as 4chan and Google. However, I never considered committing my thoughts to "paper", as it were. Personally, it seems like sheer folly and arrogance to shout thoughts to the world, as though it would change anything. It's a bit like voting, in that respect.
However, I also find that, every so often, I need a sounding board, as it were, a forum for bouncing off whatever is in my head at the time. I usually just let it rattle around and around, until it becomes gibberish and spouts out. Of course, compound this with the unusually high amount of surreality in my life, and you get something wonderful.
So, come on in, we'll have some talking and some exploration, some interaction and some intervention, and we'll just watch where it goes. Any and every comment will be met with at least a comment, if not an entire blog post. I figure it's just the best courtesy that any blogger can give to anyone who comments on their post. I'm also going to start with a few posts, just to get the ball rolling. Then, we'll just let this thing evolve naturally.
However, I also find that, every so often, I need a sounding board, as it were, a forum for bouncing off whatever is in my head at the time. I usually just let it rattle around and around, until it becomes gibberish and spouts out. Of course, compound this with the unusually high amount of surreality in my life, and you get something wonderful.
So, come on in, we'll have some talking and some exploration, some interaction and some intervention, and we'll just watch where it goes. Any and every comment will be met with at least a comment, if not an entire blog post. I figure it's just the best courtesy that any blogger can give to anyone who comments on their post. I'm also going to start with a few posts, just to get the ball rolling. Then, we'll just let this thing evolve naturally.
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