Chip Shots

As you know, the Christmas season is in full swing. For many, it’s become a generic holiday so tepid that even the word “Christmas” is avoided. “Merry Whatever,” I guess. As the Christmas — I mean “holiday” — season began, one department store decided not to sell Christmas trees. Instead, they’d call them “holiday trees.” Another store took all references to Christmas out of their advertisements, and told its employees not to say “Merry Christmas” to customers. I read today that public pressure (i.e., the threat of lost revenue) has led these corporations to relent. But it didn’t stop a public school in another state from including in its “winter program” the famous and well-loved song, “Cold is the Night.” (It sounds suspiciously similar to “Silent Night” — but we don’t want to confuse the children.) How the simple story of Jesus’ birth can be so controversial is a mystery to me. I suppose Christians bring it on themselves by trying to celebrate Christ and capitalism on the same day. ...

They both called on the same day: my son and my father. One called to see how I was doing. The other called to tell me how he was doing. Long conversations in both cases. Neither call was expected; both calls made my day. There’s something about family, isn’t there? The source of our greatest pain and our greatest joy, both rolled into one. Odd, isn’t it, how love and pain seem joined at the hip? I remember standing beside my now 18 year old son’s crib when he was only an infant. He’d just endured a life-threatening operation removing half of his right lung. His breathing was labored. The night nurse, concerned, would not leave his side. Neither did I. I seriously wondered if he’d ever grow up. It’s not a pleasant memory—even now. That night, I had a choice to make: would I succumb to fear and anger, or surrender it to God? Thus far, God hadn’t seemed to keep his end of the bargain. I’d never felt so angry and helpless in my whole life.. Retreating to a quiet room, I grit...

Yes, I'm one of those guys in the tight shorts on a bike. You know, the kind that irritate you on the road. Why just the other day I was pedaling up a ten mile stretch when I was startled by a crack on the back of my helmet. I nearly fell off my bike for fright! Catching myself, I saw a harmless chunk of ice bouncing on the road, apparently thrown at me by the Jeep jaunting merrily ahead. I don't know why cyclists irritate motorists. After all, I'm a motorist too. I pay road taxes, and while on my bike I'm subject to the same laws you are. I guess the guy just thought it would be fun to see if he could hit me. If he knew how close he came to causing an accident, he'd probably think twice before doing it again. Or not. I've been honked at, sworn at, and, now, thrown at. At least I haven't been spat at. Yet. I got into cycling about a year ago when a friend from our church cajoled me until I consented. I dragged myself out at dawn, dreading thoughts of huffing...

Just time for a quick note: We've recently moved and have temporarily lost internet access and, more importantly, the ability to read/send emails. So if you've tried to contact me, please be patient. I'm not ignoring you, really! It's just that your email is lost in cyberspace. Hopefully I'll be up and running soon. Just wanted you to know....

Like any good camp counselor I was doing my best to be sociable. Sitting among a crowd at a large wooden table during lunch I spied a quiet girl. She was aloof and substantially overweight. Feeling sorry for her, I tried to initiate a conversation. "Are you enjoying camp?" I innocently asked. "Yes," she said in an oddly squeaky voice. We exchanged a few pleasantries. She didn't seem too bright. "Too bad," I thought. "When fat kids are smart, at least they've got something going for them." One of my duties at camp was to lead worship around the campfire each evening. This was in the days when we thought nothing of combining camp songs with worship songs. Anything to get the kids involved! Since this was the last night of camp, emotions were high and we had a great time of worship. I sat on the corner of the stage feeling rather pleased with myself. The speaker got on the stage. "All week I've been introducing you to people wh...

There’s no question about it: Jose Canseco is a money-grubbing sleaze ball. He’s an embarrassment to the game of baseball -- the very game which made his name a household word. He has broken the athlete’s honor code: don’t rat out a teammate. It serves baseball right that someone with Canseco’s dubious pedigree finally forced players and managers to talk honestly about steroid use. After all, management could have pushed the issue in the past, but kept their mouths shut for fear of the player’s union and their love of money. And the player’s union, which in my view is the main culprit in this sordid affair, has never taken the issue seriously. The recent steroid agreement, in response to government pressure, is only a bad joke. It’s pathetic. The integrity of the game has been compromised, as has the health of the players. My goodness! Three former MVPs are now admitted steroid users (four, if you don’t believe that lame story about Cream). Older players who gave their lives to achieve...

We'd been on the road nearly five hours. It was a beautiful night but we were tired and anxious to make it home before 11:00 p.m. After all, I had to preach in the morning. The weekend had been miserably chilly and wet. It was a lonely desert road, the kind where the speed limit is merely a suggestion. I'd set the cruise control on 79 hours before. As we neared civilization the speed limit changed for no apparent reason. An uncharacteristic thought entered my head. "Slow down." Usually it's just my guilty conscience and I treat it as a reminder to look carefully for lurking highway patrol cars. This time, however, it seemed more like a prompting than a warning. I stewed on it for a moment, doubting that a cop was nearby. Maybe I should slow down, at least a little. I began to coast downward. Suddenly, I found myself crashing into standing water. As is common in our state, water was on the road even after the rain had passed. I hit it like a load of bricks, nearly ...

Yes, I've been quiet for a while. Perhaps it has to do with my birthday which came and went last Sunday. Actually, that's not the reason, but it's as good an excuse as any. All in all, it was a good day, full of the ordinary moments which make life extraordinary. But it didn't start that way. It began with every preacher's worst fear: oversleeping on church day. As best I can recall, it's the first time I've overslept on Sunday. But hey, what better way to begin your 45th birthday than with a rude awakening? For once my recurring nightmare came true -- a pretty predictable plot: church is ready to begin, everyone's waiting, and I'm desperately trying to find my shoes, or my shirt, or even my pants. "Wait! Just a minute! I'm not ready yet!" The panic is palpable as the clock ticks. I wake up in a cold sweat. I hate that dream. It may sound innocuous, but then it isn't your nightmare, is it? Anyway, no sooner had I showered a...

At first I was pleased. Then I was offended. Now I'm furmished (is that a word?) I was pleased ... because a friend from long ago emailed me out of the blue. She'd gotten our annual Christmas card and responded with a few greetings of her own. As a vital part of a former church, she'd gone on to marriage, parenting, and the like. You know, the usual stuff. I was pleased to hear from her and delighted to know something of what was happening in her life. Then I was offended ... for suddenly the tone of her letter changed. It started with the words, "I am writing you to let you know about a fantastic business opportunity. Have you ever heard about...?" What? Give me a break! How naive does she think I am? Does she really think I don't see through her blatant recruiting effort? Send me a Christmas greeting, or send me a recruitment letter, but don't try use the one to validate the other! In so doing, you demean both our relationship and your ...

"But you've got to kill the terrorists before the killing stops. And I'm for the president to chase them all over the world. If it takes 10 years, blow them all away in the name of the Lord." (Jerry Falwell, CNN Late Edition, October 24, 2004). Does this statement trouble you? It does me. I'm certain that I am to pray for others in the name of the Lord. It's also clear that I am to baptize disciples of Christ in the name of the Lord. I recall a text where men were honored because they "risked their lives for the name of the Lord Jesus Christ." Then there's Paul's tearful statement to his friends in Acts 21: "I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die ... for the name of the Lord Jesus." The scriptures include admonitions to give thanks in the name of the Lord, to anoint with oil in the name of the Lord, to do everything in the name of the Lord, and to call upon the name of the Lord for salvation. All of these make perfec...

In her forward to the book Future Church , Sally Morganthaler wrote: Many of us launched our boats on the Mississippi of church growth in the past two decades. We dutifully set them afloat in the world of big and simple. We followed those who had built massive riverboats, along with the equally massive paddlewheels of programs to propel them. But the landscape shifted beneath our feet. From big and simple, we entered the postmodern topography of small and complex, transforming American culture from homogeneous demographies, seeker-believer compartments, easy answers, and fill in the blanks to diverse neighborhoods, ubiquitous spirituality, paradox, and tell-me-your-story. The boats we need now are kayaks, but having spent our ministry years building and operating riverboats, some of us find ourselves not only up a creek without a paddle but without the expertise to use one if it were handed to us. I've thought a lot about these words, having cut my own ministry teeth on the ...

Like many adult males I did a little last minute Christmas shopping. My motto is, "why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?" (I keep angling for a new motto, but it seems these things rather find us than the reverse.) Anyway, I wanted to buy a Christian book for a good friend. Usually I'd simply order it off the internet but, as I said, this was the last minute. I instinctively ventured into a well known Christian bookstore to find what I wanted. I should have known better. I was immediately bombarded with gadgets, trinkets and "testamints" (breath mints with Scripture verses on them). I found wall hangings, posters, gospel tracts and Christian videos. As for books, I could find scores of them about the "end times" (by the way, has anyone else ever mused about the similarity between the words eschatology and scatology?). I could read about the Christian family or about how to pray or how to have "driven" life complete with b...

I'm one of those drivers you hate to see on the road. Now don't be too critical; you're likely just as bad as me. I know it's not a race, but still, I'd rather lead than follow. Besides, I tell myself, the faster I go, the more quickly traffic behind me can travel. It's like the interminable traffic light. Don't you hate it when the line is so long that you only move forward once the light turns red again? Why is that? It's because of all those slowpokes at the front who are waiting 1/2 second longer than they need to to accelerate. Every car behind them is slowed down and us poor souls at the back of the line can only creep forward once the light has changed again. I go fast; it's for your benefit. So stop swearing at me. Recently they resurfaced a major road near my home. I was travelling it on a moonless night. In the absence of streetlights or starlight the only lights were headlights. The centerline was painted, but none of the white li...

John Donne (1572-1631) has long been my favorite poet. Following are two reasons why: Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend Your force, to breake, blowe, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurpt town, to'another due, Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end. Reason, your viceroy in mee, mee should defend, But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue. Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine, But am betroth'd unto your enemie: Divorce me,'untie, or breake that knot againe, Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I, Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free, Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee. -- Holy Sonnets, XIV, John Donne Oh, to vex me, contraryes meet in one: Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot A constant habit; that when I would not I change in vowes, and in devotione. As humorous is my contrition...

How to begin a brand new year and a brand new blog? Perhaps with old words. Homer... Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways of contending, the wanderer, harried for years on end, after he plundered the stronghold on the proud height of Troy. TS Eliot: Four Quartets, Little Giding, stanza V... What we call the beginning is often the end And to make and end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. ..... We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings... The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say. Again... All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who ...