Enough about me. This is for [y]ou.
More on Me Here
e-mail me
What should i Link to?
Archives
CAMP WALT NIGHT #1
It's official. CAMP WALT a.k.a. Cousin Camp is underway. My two sisters, Missie and Erica, arrived tonight about 8 after driving all day from the great state of Arkansas. With them are Allie (10) and Eliza (2) who belong to Missie with Savannah (5) and Chase (1) who belong to Erica. Needless to say, our kids have been on cloud nine anticipating this visit. I think they sat on the front porch from 3pm on watching for them to drive in. Allie, David, Savannah, and Mary Kathryn are all sleeping in the downstairs playroom tonight and they can't stop talking. (well past 11pm now). David's already belched the ABC's twice.
Stay tuned. This is going to be intense. And pray noone falls down the stairs.
By the way, it's not confirmed, but I think my sabbatical is over.
posted by John David Walt | at 7/31/2006 11:15:00 PM
| 1 comments
Some Emily Dickenson for our week I keep a little volume of Emily Dickenson poems in my morning reading case. It's a prymer of sorts. I became interested in her through reading the story of a pastor who encouraged her to stay with her craft through the latter half of the nineteenth century. You can read more of that story in this short essay or via the link to the right called "On Poetry." More and more I am compelled to try and encourage young poets (or old ones). It's such a fragile craft and so few of them grace our landscape. They are a gift far too readily dismissed in our fiercely pragmatic age-- especially in the Church. And yet so often they are the ones who reveal to us Heaven in ordinary, to borrow a George Herbert phrase.
This one is #599
There is a pain--so uttter--
It swallows substance up--
Then covers the Abyss with Trance--
So Memory can step
Around--across--upon it
As one within a Swoon--
Goes safely--where an open eye--
Would drop Him--Bone by Bone.
Speaking of young poets. Check out the Piper at the Gates of Dawn. This is the young B.H. Swan, emerging poet laureate type of The Woodlands, Texas, who you infrequently see lodging a comment right her on FARMStrong. He spent the summer in North Carolina and has some fine verse to show for it.
One more excerpt from Dickenson--- this one from #130. It captures for me some of the essence of my now fast passing sabbatical.
Oh Sacrament of summer days
Oh Last Communion in the Haze--
Permit a child to join. posted by John David Walt | at 7/31/2006 04:40:00 PM | 3 comments
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Your kids might be Rednecks if . . . . . Ok. . . . I recognize it is an overused genre-- the redneck thing. But the file clearly works for what happens in my home of late.
For starters. . . .
Your kids might be Rednecks if their Mom actually takes used John Deere Motorized Gators from Helping Hand Donation Bays for the "parts" leaving such gutted gators on would be blocks in the front yard. (see photo)
Your kids might be Rednecks if. . . . . .
just the other morning we had a guest in our home. Mary Kathryn (4) quickly warmed to the friend, showcasing her newfound ability to whistle. All day long now she whistles-- a single note over and over and over in short sustained quarter-notes. Our guest lauded her new found gift, inquiring as to whether her older brother, David (6) could whistle too. With a mild look of satisfaction she replied, "No." And then in an impressive effort to avoid boasting, she quickly added, "But he can burp his ABC's." At which point David, who was standing nearby proceeded to audibly burp out the entire alphabet. I was stunned. . . . and honestly. . . . . . impressed. It's a clear redneck attribute.
After that one this one is anticlimactic for sure-- but David and friends spent the afternoon yesterday producing limited edition artwork to hang in their newly created Art Museum (a.k.a. TreeHouse) in the backyard. Again-- clearly demonstrating solid redneck giftings.
As you can see from the works featured in the treehouse gallery, there is some sophistication in the themes. Note the traditional calvary cross as contrasted with the Assisi cross next to it. Also note the framing of the two crosses. To the left we see the iconic world photo with seeming desperate inhabitants waving for help. And to the right. . . . . . could that be an impressionistic allusion to a "Big Big House with lots and lots of rooms?" Could this be a bit of narratival-theo- story-boarding demonstrated by the young redneck master.
Finally note in the "Lightning Strikes the Ocean" piece (a.k.a. "That was a close one!) how the terrified family apparently seeks not only a refuge on the water but in the highest possible place, the single most likely place that lightning would likely strike. It's the classic redneck pose of daring nature to "hit me."
posted by John David Walt | at 7/27/2006 02:20:00 PM
| 12 comments
Tour Guides Rule the World (Part 2) Finally-- the time has come to deliver on my promise.
You can refresh your memory here with Part 1 in the unfolding saga of the Tour Guides Rule the World postmodernity FARMStrong saga.
We left off last time with some juicy tidbits from the Yale Football Recruiting Camp Official Campus Tour. A couple of more irresistable comments. At one point in the tour we were passing through what is known as the "Old College." The tour guide (a.k.a. Coach) shed some illumination on this fact with this priceless quote, "That's known as the 'Old College' over there. They call it the 'Old College" because it is the old college." Wow!
Now lets get to the Official Visitors Center Yale University Tour. Near the end of the football tour, as the coach was wrapping up all the reasons it was probably not the best idea for football players to join the Skulls secret society should they, in the unlikely scenario, be asked, I broke away and began to make my way to the Official Visitors Center. The next tour was slated for 2:30. I arrived ten minutes early as was directed into a gathering room where a diverse group of people were watching a video monitor showing a short movie on the University. Near the end of the show, after telling us in 50 ways how Yale was the long hidden secret of the universe a voice-over spoke these words,
"Yale is an idea you brought with you from wherever you came. You invent Yale with your own ideas and imagination."
Our tour convened outside the visitors center, which incidentally was housed in the former home of John Pierpont (I think that's his name). Anyhow, as clear as I can tell John Pierpont was one of the early founding type people at Yale. He was a minister and one of those responsible for its distinctive Christian heritage. His home is also one of the oldest residences in New Haven. His religious affiliation received no mention in our tour.
An interesting side-note (again not mentioned in this tour) is the name New Haven was taken from the idea of "New Heaven." The original layout of the city into 9 squared with three Churches in the center was their early effort to build a Kingdom community. Interesting. . . .
Back to the tour. Our guide quickly began to have the group identify where they came from. It turns out our group of about 30 people came from literally all over the world, containing a few prospective students, some tourists and other curious seekers. I quickly gravitated to the front of the group to walk alongside the tour guide to sustain some narrative guidance in between the stops. Our guide was a young Asian woman who was from California, a pre-med student, slated to graduate this May. She expressed early interest in why I was at Yale. "How would I explain this to her," I wrestled in my mind. Could my mouth even utter the words, "Revival and Awakening Conference," to her while keeping a straight face. I mean, I must confess, it seemed a bit ridiculous to me, given her status at Yale, her stature in the group as the guide and given the nature of this official tour. Why did I experience those feelings? It occurs to me that this is how secularism works. It powerfully, albeit quietly, marginalizes religious perspectives. Every perspective is welcomed and accomodated except anything that would resemble a sectarian perspective or really even a distinctive sacred angle on history, culture or society. So I answered her question by framing my purpose at Yale in this fashion, "I am here participating in a "scholarly" conference studying Jonathan Edwards and his influence on one of the early Spiritual Awakenings in this nation which had origins in and around this campus. You know. . . . the Jonathan Edwards of the Jonathan Edwards College here on campus fame." She got this bewildered look on her face like, "You're doing what?" And she actually chuckled as she repeated my words back to me. And honestly. . . . . I chuckled too.
It is ridiculous after all, like something straight off "The Surreal Life." HERE I WAS AT ONE OF THE OLDEST (IN THIS NATION) AND MOST FAMOUS EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS IN THE WORLD STUDYING ITS INCONTROVERTIBLE CHRISTIAN HERITAGE, HISTORY AND FOUNDING AND FEELING LIKE I WAS THE ONE LOST AND OUT OF PLACE. Almost any other reason under the sun would have seemed legitimate, except this one. Only one word suffices to sum this up: Absurder.
Ivan Illich, upon being asked what is the most revolutionary way to change society. is it violent revolution or is it gradual reform. He gave this careful answer: "Neither. If you want to change society, then you must tell an alternative story."
Somewhere along the way, someone started telling a different story.
Ok. Time for lunch. I will stop here, but I promise, Tour Guides Rule the World (Part 3) will come much faster than (Part 2). This gets even jucier. So hang on to your hoes (i.e. farmtools). In the meantime, any insights you harvest along the way are welcome in the comment field. ;-)
Oh yeah-- the photo. This is the Yale University Religious Heritage Official Tour Guide. (a.k.a. "the eager tour guide) He's a Jonathan Edwards scholar who works on campus-- really nice guy. Note the ironic backdrop-- which tells a story of its own. posted by John David Walt | at 7/27/2006 09:38:00 AM | 9 comments
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
168,894 Sunday after church I stopped off at my favorite restaurant for a quick bite. I found this on my Diet Coke.
Individual Choice. . . . . . . affording me the possibility of a different drink option every day for the next 462 years. Wow.
It makes me remember the church I formerly served and numerous others these days whose approach to worship seems to resemble the idea represented on this large diet coke. Something for everyone. Suit your own taste. Contemporary, childrens, traditional, spirited traditional, Light Rock, Family, acoustic, ( ok--kidding about the Light Rock one-- but get ready-- it's coming.) Really-- the Sunday line-up more resembles Satellite Radio than the New Testament Ecclesia. My friend, Marcus Green, in the UK just produced a record of worship songs done in the style of Big Band music. It's good stuff.
This is not a rant-- I promise. I find myself wondering about all of this. On the one hand, it's great to magnify God and amplify praise in every conceivable form and fasion and genre of music. Why not? It seems appropriate that Psalm 150 should never stop adding new instruments and ideas. But on the other, something doesn't seem quite good about elevating the value of "individual choice" in worship. Aren't those two things antithetical really-- individual choice or preference and worship? Are we laboring to practice hospitality or are we trying to make worship attractive? Isn't real worship inherently attractive? Could this individual choice thing be a sign that we are missing the essence of Christian worship altogether and that we may have created something entirely foreign (i.e. idolatrous) in its place?
More and more I see worship in the frame of an unruly albeit ordered athletic contest in a large stadium-- a jubilant celebration of the presence of God and the reality that We Win-- see David Crowder's song by the same title. Doesn't it seem insane that I would go to a UK game and fight with other fans about "individual choice" in how we cheered the WildCats on? I mean, when's the last time you went to a great football game and thought about yourself at all. Don't you get so lost in the game that you forget yourself in a way? (more on this coming in a future post)
More and more I think individual choice is so important for us in worship because we have made worship into a form of group therapy-- where the group is convened for the sake of the individuals present and music is the chief form of therapy, transporting so many individuals to their respective "happy places." (a.k.a. the Presence of God). Could this explain the incessant need of so many to repeatedly declare "It's not about me." If it's really all about God why do we feel the need to keep telling God that to his face? Can you imagine saying that to your spouse all the time-- It's not about me. It's all about you. I promise.
NO. ITS ABSURD. IF YOU DEMONSTRATE IT THERE IS UTTERLY NO NEED TO SAY IT. Could it be that the only reason we say this is in fact because we are deeply convinced that we are not demonstrating it? This makes saying it a form of denial doesn't it? And denial. . . . . we know that's not just a river in Egypt don't we? Denial is the mistress of addiction. And the addiction is. . . . . . . .me, myself and I. . . . . . we are addicted to self. And addiction is really one of the purest essences of false worship-- it's the totalizing substitution of something else in the place of God-- to the point that we will do absolutely anything to serve whatever that something else is (anyone out there familiar with the 12 steps??? step 1: admission of self's powerlessness to change = the defeat of denial. step 2: belief in a higher power = beginning of faith. step 3: surrendering of self to God = the beginning of worship. . . . . .)
So what's your favorite Sonic libation? posted by John David Walt | at 7/25/2006 04:48:00 PM | 17 comments
Saturday, July 22, 2006
The Biography This may be my new favorite poem-- It's from Thomas Merton. If you don't have time to read it now-- come back when you have time. Or better yet-- print it out, fold it up and put it in your pocket and read it in church when the sermon begins to lose its way.
Oh read the verses of the loaded scourges,
And what is written in their terrible remarks;
"The Blood runs down the walls of Cambridge town,
As useless as the waters of the narrow river--
While pub and alley gamble for His vesture
Although my life is written on Christ's Body like a map,
The nails have printed in those open hands
More than the abstract names of sins,
More than the countries and the towns,
The names of streeets, the numbers of the houses,
The record of the days and nights,
When I have murdered Him in every square and street.
Lance and thorn, and scourge and nail
Have more than made His flesh my chronicle.
My journeys more than bite His bleeding feet.
Christ, from my Cradle, I had known You everywhere,
And even though I sinned, I walked in You and knew You were my world:
You were my France and England,
My seas and my America:
You were my life and air, and yet I would not own You
Oh, when I loved You, even while I hated You,
Loving and yet refusing You in all the glories of Your universe
It was Your living Flesh I tore and trampled, not the air and earth:
Not that You feel us, in created things,
But knowing You, in them, made every sin a sacrilege;
And every act of greed became a desecration,
Spoiled and dishonored You as in Your Eucharist.
And yet with every wound You robbed me of a crime,
And as each blow was paid with Blood,
You paid me also each great sin with greater graces.
For even as I k illed You,
You made Yourself a greater thief than any in Your company,
Stealing my sins into Your dying life,
Robbing me even of my death.
Where, on what cross my agony will come
I do not ask You:
For it is written and accomplished here,
On every Crucifix, on every altar.
It is my narrative that drowns and is forgotten
In Your five open Jordans,
Your voice that cries my: "Consummatum est."
If on Your Cross Your life and death and mine are one,
Love teaches me to read, in You, the rest of a new history.
I trace my days back to another childhood,
Exchanging, as I go,
New York and Cuba for Your Galilee,
And Cambridge for Your Nazareth,
Until I come again to my beginning,
And find a manger, star and straw,
A pair of animals, some simple men,
And thus I learn that I was born,
Now not in France, but Bethlehem.
Thomas Merton, 1946 posted by John David Walt | at 7/22/2006 10:51:00 PM | 1 comments
Friday, July 21, 2006
This one's for you Mom
I'm back in the saddle again. My sabbatical was temporarily derailed a few days ago. While sitting with my mother on the front porch, the porch swing suddenly collapsed spilling me out on the concrete floor, coffee flailing through the air. Fortunately, Mom was not on the swing but in the adjacent rocking chair. The eye-bolt sheared in two pieces. It could have been a disaster had the usual scene been the case-- me with all four children swinging a full 180 degree arc through the morning air. By grace alone my leg was not caught in the back-swinging position as it crashed, which would have meant sure amputation. I didn't sustain a single scratch-- a little post traumatic stress disorder but no actual scratches. So Mom gave me three lectures and four warnings about how I should re-hang the thing the right way this time. ;-) So this time I purchased two extra-long brass eye hooks with brackets. (say those last 5 words 5 times real fast) You can study the photo above and see just how unbelievably secure this sucker is burrowed into the beam above. This time the entire porch will come down before that mother comes out. (did i just jynx myself!?) So hat tip to Mark Benjamin for this, his last rent-a-husband project on my behalf before he and family leave for Oregon next week.
You can see from the photo below that I'm back in business. This porch swing has been a serious sabbatical place for me. The sun sets every day right over there just behind the teal-brown aging Honda Accord. (for you longer term farmstrongers. . .. yep that's still her). I've spent most early mornings right there on that swing and witnessed about 58 consecutive sunsets there as well. it's a beautiful thing that swing.
ok.ok.ok. i promise, part 2 of the postmodernity post will come next week.
posted by John David Walt | at 7/21/2006 03:42:00 PM
| 5 comments
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
where Epiphany lives To see from below
that is
observation
From above
revelation.
Between a
ladder place. . .
. . .epiphany
Life coheres on
the ladder.
all else
the tug of war tween
philosophy and religion
(photo: a chapel near the edge of Yale's campus)
Labels: poetry
posted by John David Walt | at 7/19/2006 12:51:00 PM | 2 comments
Monday, July 17, 2006
Happy 6th Birthday David!!
July 18, 2000-- six years ago tomorrow, our first, John David Walt III was born in The Woodlands, Texas. This past Saturday night and Sunday morning we had a birthday party out on Lake Harrington at our friends Pete and Texas Cates Lake Cottage. Here are a few key pieces of evidence from the celebration. Lots of potty talk, camp-fire hotdogs, smores, late night Star Wars, even later night GameCube, crack of dawn fishing, tubing and lots of lake swimming. It was a blast.
Special Thanks to to our special guests: Dan Crockett and his boys, Jared, Blake and Grayson and Marty Lamb and his boys, Ty and Luke.
By the way, today is my Mom's birthday--- so Happy Birthday Mom-- without you--- none of this would have been possible! ;-)
posted by John David Walt | at 7/17/2006 10:38:00 PM
| 1 comments
Friday, July 14, 2006
nuptial sacra-mentality here's one i've been crafting on for the past couple of weeks. not sure it's done yet. does it make you see, hear, feel, or remember?
Where my weakness finally meets
your weakness
in the pitiful weakness of One Dying;
Crucible forging strength’s
final awkward permanent vulnerability
Not the first flowery altar
shaded garden of
love’s acquaintanceship
where rings exchange vows
and eat cake,
reveling in water baptism’s easy wine.
Glory’s first public kiss
imbibes Capuletian crypt’s slow venom.
for union dies a thousand times
secretly
amid shrouded gardens of gall
germinating in earth’s altar
testing years
twisting fears
tasting tears;
protections surrendered
criticism crucified with contempt
tangibilitating Love’s Life
flourishing frail-tree
extravagant
Eucharistic Friendship
ever Rising from the ground.
Labels: poetry
posted by John David Walt | at 7/14/2006 05:39:00 PM | 6 comments
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Tour Guides Rule the World (part 1)
(754 words)
Some say the history writers make history. I say it’s the tour guides. I spent the last week of June on the campus of the elite Ivy league institution, Yale University. We were part of a conference on revival and awakening and since the first great awakening has some of its origins in New Haven, CT and Yale, it served as a nice host site for the gathering.
On the last afternoon of the conference the schedule called for a presentation on “post modernism” and its implications for revival and awakening on university campuses. Having been in the class room way too long, I decided to opt for a more experiential lesson on “post-modernism.” Earlier in the week our group took a “Christian heritage” tour of the campus. We talked largely about Jonathan Edwards and a few of his protégés who helped to establish Yale as a college for training ministers. Anyhow, our tour consisted in a stop on the New Haven Green adjacent to the campus entrance as well as a walk through Jonathan Edwards Residential College culminating in a long sit in the cemetery (see photo) where Dwight Edwards is buried. Edwards was one of the early Presidents who helped to shepherd a spiritual awakening on campus. File that little “cemetery” tidbit away in your “ironic” folder and keep walking.
About midway through our quite focused (limited) tour, we intersected with another tour group coming down the opposite sidewalk. It was a mess. We didn’t stop for them to pass, nor did they stop for us to pass. We just sort of walked through each other on our different paths. The moment lodged in my mind like a splinter.
So that final day after deciding I couldn’t sit through another beautiful afternoon in that classroom listening to a lecture on postmodernity I decided to attempt an experiment in postmodernity. The colliding tours moment couldn’t escape my mind. I kept wondering what they were talking about on their tour. Here’s why. We were touring the same exact streets, buildings and landmarks, and yet I suspect our tours had little in common. Same tour, different guides, different stories. The way we are guided and the consequent story we are told will largely determine our experience of the campus.
Providence struck quickly on my walk back to my dorm room to get the official campus tour schedule. I noticed a small tour of large men forming on the sidewalk. I decided to tag along. The tour had its apparent beginning next to “Toad’s Place,” far and away the most famous bar in town. The male tour guide spoke of the Rolling Stones and other such dignitaries once playing in this bar. The guide said, “Next Stop: Yale Law School.” I decided to tag along. Walking up to one of the guys in the end of the line I inquired, “So is this an official campus tour?” “Yeah,” he replied, “We’re with the Yale Football Recruiting Camp.” Wow! I would not be disappointed. Supposedly enroute to the esteemed law school, we passed by a large museum and massive marble hall. The guide pointed out that this large building held the best dining hall on campus and the one open the latest. It didn’t take long to realize this was no ordinary tour guide. He was no less than the university’s football coach. This tour got fun fast. As we passed the massive bell tower on campus he pointed out that during reading week (finals prep) those bells played Britney Spears tunes to break the tension. We never actually got to the law school. We passed through the center of campus, stopping at a statue of one of the great former presidents of Yale. Coach told us the story of how this president was as supporter of the skulling team and that every time he was there they won. So most athletes stop by the statue and touch his foot for luck prior to their “big games.” No mention of the “book” prominently featured in the sculpture. Our tour ended with a walk by the now infamous secret society of the skulls, an imposing Athenian Temple styled building with no windows or doors. Yes, this is the site of the recent movie and its sequel, The Skulls—or something like that. And yes, both George W. Bush and John Kerry were members of this elite society. Anyhow—that was the football tour. In the next installment, I will recount the fascinating “Official Yale Tour” that happened next.
Stay tuned--you're about to see the very essence of post-modernity unfold before your very computer screen. . . posted by John David Walt | at 7/13/2006 10:09:00 AM | 3 comments
Monday, July 10, 2006
Racing Summer
Last night we hosted a good-bye party for Mark, Erin, Silas and soon to come John Ezra Benjamin. Mark has been on our Chapel Team for the past couple of years as this family has walked with ours in friendship. We will miss them terribly. They head for George Fox University out in Oregon in the next few weeks. Mark will serve on the University Staff in the worship and discipleship arena.
That's David, Mary Kathryn, Jackson and Peyton Lewis (friends) and Molly (unofficial winner of the race) posted by John David Walt | at 7/10/2006 02:15:00 PM | 1 comments
Friday, July 07, 2006
Beyond FARMStrong I've started posting again on the Asbury Seminary blog site and will try and sustain that over the coming months. It will be a different kind of posting than we see on FARMStrong.
We got started with that yesterday with THIS ONE about how broken people often hide behind successful ministry. It is a fascinating study which I excerpted on the seminary blog with a link to the full story. Would be worth your read. posted by John David Walt | at 7/07/2006 08:52:00 AM | 3 comments
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Krispy-Kreme Breaking into the place
of poems
like waiting in an empty parking lot
for the dough-nut shop to open
anticipating sweet satisfaction of sugared bread
craving bitter black water's acidic bite
watching old men arrive with habitual precision
meeting open doors
greeting regular friends,
But sitting all alone
in the car's pre-dawn silence
peeling away night's crusty blindness
as a violet horizon bespeaks the violent flame
ah yes-- the treasure trove of poetry
opens
jdw
I caption this unrelated photo: My Turn. That's Lily (2) in the center.
Labels: poetry
posted by John David Walt | at 7/05/2006 11:00:00 AM | 1 comments
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Contrast in Studies
Back in Wilmore now-- I'll take the next several days to unpack more of the gathering at Yale, a.k.a Revival Camp. Actually, it will probably take years to completely unfold for me. Anyhow, here's a start.
The top two photos are of the Yale Repertory Theatre (a.k.a. the Calvary Baptist Church circa. 1869) The bottom two were found within about fifteen feet of each other in the historic Dwight Edwards Chapel on the "old campus" of Yale University. They narrate the story(ies). In fact, Yale itself is a microcosm of the movement from modernity to post-modernity; from one meta-narrative to a hundred or even a thousand fractured narratives all of which resist any larger sense of grand story. I couldn't get two of these turned right, and yet that forms a sort of parable in itself. By clicking on the images they will enlarge giving you the opportunity to read the fine print.
posted by John David Walt | at 7/02/2006 10:08:00 PM
| 4 comments
FORGETTING what we never really knew 9 prayers
breath pleading
humiliating independence.
Constitutional spirit
humanizing words,
making submission's
Peace.
Teaching power
posture;
kneeling at
Love's altar,
leaning
on trees,
remembering
days before history.
This is my annual 4th of July poem, which I write in church during the sermon which usually salutes the president more than anything else. (the sermon not the poem) now for you RED SCARE readers out there, resist the easy temptation to construe my comments as anti-American and claim the audacity to attend to their potentially prophetic tones or at least muster the grace to dismiss them as fodder.
As for the sermon today-- it was pretty good actually, finding a fair balance. My post is not reflective of the sermon at all-- my poem, on the other hand, is.
Anyhow-- I wrote these lines during the sermon as a way of helping me think it through. The 9 prayers-- not part of the sermon at all, but something on my mind and heart a lot of late. We have 9 recorded prayers of Jesus. I am stunned that I have tried to learn to pray for a good 300 years now and am only finally digging into the actual recorded prayers of God. Stupefying really. Were you aware of this? Can you recall all of them? Have they significantly shaped your praying. . . . your life? Anyhow-- more on that later.
This church and state thing colliding around the 4th of July has me riled a bit. It's one thing to "pray for our troops" and quite another to demonize the enemies of the United States in the name of Christ. There's just such an unsophisticated "jihad" spirit brewing in so many churches across this land. I can guarantee it-- more churches made more of the 4th of July, the state holiday commemorating the birthday of the U.S.A., than they did of Pentecost-- the sacred feast day commemorating the birthday of the Church.
I wonder how many churches prayed today for the Iraqi family who were (allegedly) savagely murdered by United States soldiers after they gang-raped the fifteen year old daughter. initial reports say they premeditated the whole horrific affair for a week prior. If it is true-- and at this point we certainly can't assume it is-- I simply cannot imagine anything worse. Is this act representative of the United States Armed Forces? absolutely not. Does this act represent the United States Armed Forces and every citizen of the country? absolutely. I have a friend, Major General William Caldwell, who is the Commanding Officer of the whole operation in Iraq right now. He's a good man. I will be praying for him in the coming days-- and for the Iraqi people-- who must find this whole thing impossible to sort out.
In closing. Our two oldest, David and Mary kathryn, emerged from their Sunday School class proudly waving American Flags they crafted from construction paper. It neither surprised nor disappointed me. However, upon being asked about what they learned today, David replied, "it was about the 4th of July, but there was nutin about Jesus. . . . . nutin."
Sadly, this increasingly summarizes the great story of America. The big question: will the church abandon her story for this one?
Labels: poetry
posted by John David Walt | at 7/02/2006 06:36:00 PM | 16 comments
Today...