I like Netflix. Turns out they filmed a commercial using local Netflix customers recently, and it's playing now.
If you watch, you may see something interesting. Then again, you may not. Guess it all depends on who you know.
February 03, 2008
This was funny
Sarah Silverman...you can take her or leave her, more often than not. She's very funny at times, and sometimes she's just mean. And I'm pretty sure she needs her mouth washed out with soap.
Anyway, here's a bit she did for her boyfriend, Jimmy Kimmel's, TV show.
Anyway, here's a bit she did for her boyfriend, Jimmy Kimmel's, TV show.
January 29, 2008
SOAP Notes
The newest installment in the SOAP Notes series...
January 29, 2008
Exodus 23-24; Psalms 14; Acts 5
S: Exodus 23:4-5
“If you meet your enemy's ox or his donkey wandering away, you shall surely return it to him. If you see the donkey of one who hates you lying helpless under its load, you shall refrain from leaving it to him, you shall surely release it with him.”
O: In a section detailing some of the various laws God laid out for His people, we see these particular verses about treatment of your enemy.
A: I’m fine with the whole idea of not hating people. I think most people are comfortable with that. Sure, there are people I don’t like. There are people who make me very angry, who I avoid, who I speak ill of. But nobody I can think of who I despise to the point that I wish them death or illness or anything like that.
When I think of enemies, I don’t think of hated people. I think of people who’s interests are opposed to my own. There are professional enemies, who (strangely) are often friends. And there are real enemies, people who seem to be arrayed against me in my life mission. At the moment, I can’t think of any arch-enemies. Indeed, most of the time a person is my enemy simply in relation to whatever mission I’m seeking to accomplish.
There’s the enemy of my sleep on the plane. There’s the enemy of my nose in a crowded room. There’s the guy with the dumb sense of humor who’s demonstrating it loudly and often. There’s the person in line at the store who cut in front of me with 20 items when I have one. There’s the guy at the corner who asks me daily if I have change, both as I travel to the coffee shop and as I return. These are all people I’d rather be without.
With these people, I generally regard myself as a great success when I walk away from the encounter with an enlightened “live and let live” philosophy. I think I’m great and mature and wise when I decide that I can go on without acknowledging them, and I think that doing that is so much greater than just telling them that I think they suck.
With these people, I’ll make no effort to help. The very nature of the identification of an enemy is the feeling of animosity, of opposition, we have to them. The guy who needs change, he can get it from someone else. The lady in the line at the store, well, when she drops her groceries, she can pick them up herself. The loud guy on the plane? When he starts sneezing, he can get his own Kleenex.
Only I’m confronted here with the truth of live-and-let-live. Which is, it’s wrong. Just as Jesus told people to take the clothes off their back to give to their enemy, to turn the other cheek after being struck to allow another strike, and to forgive seventy times seven times, we see that the rule goes back a long way.
If I saw someone I didn’t like drop something (a coin, an important piece of paper, or whatever), would I pick it up for them? If I saw an “enemy’s” car get rolling down the street with another driver, would I call the police? If I saw that beggar on the ground, coughing uncontrollably or shivering, would I attend to him?
No.
And so I see that I’m not mature. I’m not so great. I’m as weak and as callous and as unkind as anyone else. I live under the delusion that, as a Christian, I’ve evolved with a bemused sense of holier-than-thou disdain and disinterest in those people who offend me. I see that, as a Christian, I’m supposed to step out to prevent them from suffering, from loss, and from pain.
This verse doesn’t say that you can’t have an enemy. It doesn’t say to love a person who does you wrong. It says, though, that despite how that person may treat me, I am to act out toward them in a loving and caring way. Despite the harm that they would do me, I am to act to protect them.
P: Lord, reshape my perspective. Help me to see that to not hate is not the same as to be kind. Help me to understand that I have a mission, to share love and kindness and to spread peace and goodwill, even to those who I feel, inside, an aversion to. Let me, day-by-day, step out in small kindnesses that, over time, will transform me. Give me grace for others, and let my heart toward even my enemies be more like Yours. Amen.
January 29, 2008
Exodus 23-24; Psalms 14; Acts 5
S: Exodus 23:4-5
“If you meet your enemy's ox or his donkey wandering away, you shall surely return it to him. If you see the donkey of one who hates you lying helpless under its load, you shall refrain from leaving it to him, you shall surely release it with him.”
O: In a section detailing some of the various laws God laid out for His people, we see these particular verses about treatment of your enemy.
A: I’m fine with the whole idea of not hating people. I think most people are comfortable with that. Sure, there are people I don’t like. There are people who make me very angry, who I avoid, who I speak ill of. But nobody I can think of who I despise to the point that I wish them death or illness or anything like that.
When I think of enemies, I don’t think of hated people. I think of people who’s interests are opposed to my own. There are professional enemies, who (strangely) are often friends. And there are real enemies, people who seem to be arrayed against me in my life mission. At the moment, I can’t think of any arch-enemies. Indeed, most of the time a person is my enemy simply in relation to whatever mission I’m seeking to accomplish.
There’s the enemy of my sleep on the plane. There’s the enemy of my nose in a crowded room. There’s the guy with the dumb sense of humor who’s demonstrating it loudly and often. There’s the person in line at the store who cut in front of me with 20 items when I have one. There’s the guy at the corner who asks me daily if I have change, both as I travel to the coffee shop and as I return. These are all people I’d rather be without.
With these people, I generally regard myself as a great success when I walk away from the encounter with an enlightened “live and let live” philosophy. I think I’m great and mature and wise when I decide that I can go on without acknowledging them, and I think that doing that is so much greater than just telling them that I think they suck.
With these people, I’ll make no effort to help. The very nature of the identification of an enemy is the feeling of animosity, of opposition, we have to them. The guy who needs change, he can get it from someone else. The lady in the line at the store, well, when she drops her groceries, she can pick them up herself. The loud guy on the plane? When he starts sneezing, he can get his own Kleenex.
Only I’m confronted here with the truth of live-and-let-live. Which is, it’s wrong. Just as Jesus told people to take the clothes off their back to give to their enemy, to turn the other cheek after being struck to allow another strike, and to forgive seventy times seven times, we see that the rule goes back a long way.
If I saw someone I didn’t like drop something (a coin, an important piece of paper, or whatever), would I pick it up for them? If I saw an “enemy’s” car get rolling down the street with another driver, would I call the police? If I saw that beggar on the ground, coughing uncontrollably or shivering, would I attend to him?
No.
And so I see that I’m not mature. I’m not so great. I’m as weak and as callous and as unkind as anyone else. I live under the delusion that, as a Christian, I’ve evolved with a bemused sense of holier-than-thou disdain and disinterest in those people who offend me. I see that, as a Christian, I’m supposed to step out to prevent them from suffering, from loss, and from pain.
This verse doesn’t say that you can’t have an enemy. It doesn’t say to love a person who does you wrong. It says, though, that despite how that person may treat me, I am to act out toward them in a loving and caring way. Despite the harm that they would do me, I am to act to protect them.
P: Lord, reshape my perspective. Help me to see that to not hate is not the same as to be kind. Help me to understand that I have a mission, to share love and kindness and to spread peace and goodwill, even to those who I feel, inside, an aversion to. Let me, day-by-day, step out in small kindnesses that, over time, will transform me. Give me grace for others, and let my heart toward even my enemies be more like Yours. Amen.
January 28, 2008
January 23, 2008
Suck It Patterson, Part D'uh
The word that I've continued to ponder all season with this Blazers team, and have failed entirely to blog about, is "chemistry." As in Steve Patterson's famous aversion to team chemistry in favor of raw talent. His fan-like devotion to rotisserie-esque, stats-based team construction was usually reviled, but we were too-far removed from the trifecta of consummate teammates Clyde, Terry, Jerome and Buck to realize what was going wrong.
Juxtapose "I didn't major in chemistry" with this quote from KP, courtesy of Jason Quick's blog at Oregonlive today:
That's refreshing, isn't it? Recognize what we have, that it works well together, and that there isn't internal dissent and bickering and cancer, and encourage the chemistry to take place, as opposed to snuffing it out. Just another reason why I say KP for president.
Juxtapose "I didn't major in chemistry" with this quote from KP, courtesy of Jason Quick's blog at Oregonlive today:
"We're not making any trades,'' Pritchard said Tuesday afternoon in New Orleans, where the team is preparing to play the Hornets tonight. "I mean, why? What
benefit is there? If I did a trade right now that didn't pan out, I would be
crucified. What would be my motivation to trade - we have a good young team that
likes each other and is playing well. . . Now, if Cleveland wanted to include
LeBron James, we would certainly listen. But, I like my team. We are the
youngest team in the NBA, we have a great young coach and we have a team that
likes each other and plays unselfishly. I don't want to do anything that would
be disruptive to what we have going on.''
That's refreshing, isn't it? Recognize what we have, that it works well together, and that there isn't internal dissent and bickering and cancer, and encourage the chemistry to take place, as opposed to snuffing it out. Just another reason why I say KP for president.
Suck it, Steve Patterson!
Cudos to Canzano for pointing out this study which rates past and present NBA GM's based on a variety of performance criteria.
What does it show us? What we already knew, which is that (A) Steve Patterson sucked, and (B) Kevin Pritchard's going to rock (note that, in order to get him and the other first-year GM's into the study, they were each given a league-average season plus their current performance; Pritchard still comes in the upper 50%, which says he's trending nicely).
I love KP, and I love the team these days. Too bad I haven't had the time or the scratch to get to a game. By the way, whenever I do, Mark Mason promised me a beer to make up for the previously-mentioned snub for the Sam Adams party (which, it turns out, was likely as much my fault as Mark and Dave's). Mark Mason made it clear in the e-mail that he's read some of my other stuff, which I appreciated.
What does it show us? What we already knew, which is that (A) Steve Patterson sucked, and (B) Kevin Pritchard's going to rock (note that, in order to get him and the other first-year GM's into the study, they were each given a league-average season plus their current performance; Pritchard still comes in the upper 50%, which says he's trending nicely).
I love KP, and I love the team these days. Too bad I haven't had the time or the scratch to get to a game. By the way, whenever I do, Mark Mason promised me a beer to make up for the previously-mentioned snub for the Sam Adams party (which, it turns out, was likely as much my fault as Mark and Dave's). Mark Mason made it clear in the e-mail that he's read some of my other stuff, which I appreciated.
January 22, 2008
SOAP Notes
Yet another installment of Tuesday's occasional SOAP Notes series.
January 22, 2008
Exodus 3-5; Luke 22
S: Exodus 3:10-11
10 "Therefore, come now, and I will send you to Pharaoh, so that you may bring My people, the sons of Israel, out of Egypt."
11 But Moses said to God, “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should bring the sons of Israel out of Egypt?"
O: Moses is talking to a burning bush, the manifestation of God, and is learning what his mission is. Moses is being given his purpose, and he’s afraid, has doubts, and challenges God.
A: This verse speaks to all of us, because this verse reflects the feeling that we’ve all had from time to time. I, for one, have had very distinct impressions at various points in my life of what I should be doing. I’ve had times of great clarity (however fleeting) where I’ve understood exactly what my purpose was for being in a certain place at a certain time. Sure, I’ve never been talked to by a burning bush, but I’ve felt God at work in a not-uncertain way in these moments. And, despite this, there have been so many of these times where I’ve balked. Where I’ve stepped back from the opportunity and said, “Really? Me?”
So often I wonder what God is thinking. Why am I the one for this job at this time? I mean, really, what do I have to offer? It’s the same insecurity that raises its head in so many situations, whether those of divine intervention or those of simple life, where I find myself facing a task and not feeling equal to it. Often, in fact, hoping beyond hope that I’m not equal to it, because to walk away is safer than to try and to fail.
A common thread I see in these SOAP notes is one of disappointment in myself. I’ve played it safe throughout life, deciding not to step out, whether due to a fear of failure, or perhaps due to a fear of success. If I’m successful in something I enter into on someone else’s terms (be they God’s or another person’s), I’m no longer free to be successful on my own terms in the things I want to put my time, my effort, and my heart into.
So what am I fearing? Am I fearing the result of the situation? Or am I fearing a loss of control? I think more the latter than the former. And, in reading Moses, I wonder how much his protest is out of real uncertainty in himself, and how much of his protest is out of a desire to avoid getting pulled out of his comfort zone. In reading Moses, I wonder how different he really is from the rest of us. Perhaps the thing that distinguishes him isn’t that he was such a great man, but instead that he surrendered himself to walking in a path, for better or worse, that wasn’t the one he would have chosen.
P: God, help me to lay down my fear of losing control. If I can’t listen to a burning bush—if I can’t give in even when I’m certain that You are the one trying to lead me—then what hope is there? I try so hard to feel like I’m a servant: to you, to others, to whomever there is to serve. Help me to actually serve, though, to cede mastership of situations and to really be in the moment, to serve and to give and to ultimately find the greatness that comes from simply abandoning my own plan for Yours. Take away fear, bring peace, and conquer my will. Amen.
January 22, 2008
Exodus 3-5; Luke 22
S: Exodus 3:10-11
10 "Therefore, come now, and I will send you to Pharaoh, so that you may bring My people, the sons of Israel, out of Egypt."
11 But Moses said to God, “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should bring the sons of Israel out of Egypt?"
O: Moses is talking to a burning bush, the manifestation of God, and is learning what his mission is. Moses is being given his purpose, and he’s afraid, has doubts, and challenges God.
A: This verse speaks to all of us, because this verse reflects the feeling that we’ve all had from time to time. I, for one, have had very distinct impressions at various points in my life of what I should be doing. I’ve had times of great clarity (however fleeting) where I’ve understood exactly what my purpose was for being in a certain place at a certain time. Sure, I’ve never been talked to by a burning bush, but I’ve felt God at work in a not-uncertain way in these moments. And, despite this, there have been so many of these times where I’ve balked. Where I’ve stepped back from the opportunity and said, “Really? Me?”
So often I wonder what God is thinking. Why am I the one for this job at this time? I mean, really, what do I have to offer? It’s the same insecurity that raises its head in so many situations, whether those of divine intervention or those of simple life, where I find myself facing a task and not feeling equal to it. Often, in fact, hoping beyond hope that I’m not equal to it, because to walk away is safer than to try and to fail.
A common thread I see in these SOAP notes is one of disappointment in myself. I’ve played it safe throughout life, deciding not to step out, whether due to a fear of failure, or perhaps due to a fear of success. If I’m successful in something I enter into on someone else’s terms (be they God’s or another person’s), I’m no longer free to be successful on my own terms in the things I want to put my time, my effort, and my heart into.
So what am I fearing? Am I fearing the result of the situation? Or am I fearing a loss of control? I think more the latter than the former. And, in reading Moses, I wonder how much his protest is out of real uncertainty in himself, and how much of his protest is out of a desire to avoid getting pulled out of his comfort zone. In reading Moses, I wonder how different he really is from the rest of us. Perhaps the thing that distinguishes him isn’t that he was such a great man, but instead that he surrendered himself to walking in a path, for better or worse, that wasn’t the one he would have chosen.
P: God, help me to lay down my fear of losing control. If I can’t listen to a burning bush—if I can’t give in even when I’m certain that You are the one trying to lead me—then what hope is there? I try so hard to feel like I’m a servant: to you, to others, to whomever there is to serve. Help me to actually serve, though, to cede mastership of situations and to really be in the moment, to serve and to give and to ultimately find the greatness that comes from simply abandoning my own plan for Yours. Take away fear, bring peace, and conquer my will. Amen.
January 16, 2008
January 14, 2008
For What It's Worth
Theoretically, the quiz linked below helps you find the candidate most closely alligned with your personal viewpoint. Who knows how true it is. Until now, I was actually favoring Barack Obama. Now I guess I have to investigate substance.
Fred Thompson (a joke): 23
Kucinich: 23
Ron Paul: 20
Huckabee: 20
Chris Dodd: 18
Obama: 18
Billary: 18
| Mitt Romney Score: 28 | Agree Taxes Health Care Abortion Social Security Energy Marriage Death Penalty Gun Control | Disagree Iraq Immigration Stem-Cell Research Line-Item Veto Environment Education | |||
-- Take the Quiz! -- | |||||
Other candidate scores:
Giuliani: 27Fred Thompson (a joke): 23
Kucinich: 23
Ron Paul: 20
Huckabee: 20
Chris Dodd: 18
Obama: 18
Billary: 18
January 08, 2008
SOAP Notes
Yet another in the occasional Tuesday SOAP Notes series...
January 8, 2008
Genesis 20-22; Luke 8
S: Luke 8:16-17
16 "Now no one after lighting a lamp covers it over with a container, or puts it under a bed; but he puts it on a lampstand, so that those who come in may see the light.
17 "For nothing is hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light.
O: This verse is one of many where Jesus uses symbolism to make a spiritual point. Here, He’s using the symbol of the lamp to mean, essentially, himself.
A: To apply this verse, first we have to talk about the lamp. The lamp represents a variety of traits that are contained in Jesus. The lamp is truth; one does not hide the truth, one displays it. The lamp is life; one does not hide life, one celebrates it. The lamp is love; one does not conceal love, one shares it. The lamp is salvation; salvation is not to be hoarded unto oneself; it is to be encouraged in others. The lamp is faith; faith is not to be hidden away, because faith without works is dead.
These are all traits of Jesus, and we are to become like Him. So these are all traits to be found in us, ideally.
But what this discussion of the lamp is about is not to highlight traits of Jesus by using the lamp; instead it is to provide an illustration of what the lamp is for, and what it isn’t for. It’s a verse about what to do with the Jesus in us, and how we should behave as vessels of what Jesus is.
What does it say? We are not to hide our faith, or to shun the truth, or to suppress the life that’s in us. We are not to restrain our love for others, and we are not to be ashamed of our salvation.
So this verse applies to me very clearly. As a Christian, as a person trying to be more like Jesus, I’m supposed to showcase Him, not hide Him. I’m supposed to be open with the truth, open with my love, open with my faith, sharing with my life, and desirous of salvation for others. The person I am, though, falls short of this in so many ways at so many times. And I wonder why.
What is the shame in being a Christian? There’s the associations people make. “Oh, you’re one of them? So you believe that?” What of it? If a person can’t see past their ideas of what a “Christian” is to see who I am, that isn’t my concern. My job is to be real, and that’s all.
And, yet, I’m often so afraid. Afraid of how people will see me. Afraid of how they may act around me. And, really, afraid of how I may act around them. I am nowhere near being an accurate representative of Jesus. I’m kind to some, but mean to many. I’m sharing with a few, but miserly with most. I’m generally honest, sure, but I couch things in comfortable and non-offensive terms to avoid dischord. Above all, my behavior doesn’t always (even, I suppose, often) reflect my beliefs. I’m afraid of shining my light, of identifying myself, because I’m afraid people will see me as just another example of a “Christian,” which to them means a judgmental person with double-standards. And I’m afraid that they’ll be right to do so.
But the truth can’t be hidden. No secret remains forever. It’s interesting to me that, while I don’t go around pontificating and preaching to my friends, so many of them identify me as “the most moral guy I know” or “pretty religious” or things like that. The Jesus in me, even when I try to hide it, must come out. Because the light cannot be hidden; it shines even under the covers, or under the bed, and it seeps out into the world around it. So, in the end, is there greater shame in openly being a less-than-perfect Christian, or in trying to hide the fact that I’m a Christian at all?
I need not so much to be more brave to step out, but instead I need to be less afraid to simply be. I need to stop worrying about what people expect me to be, because of who they’ve known me to be or who they think I should be, and instead I need to be willing to simply be honest about who I am. Whether I’m a perfect Christian isn’t the point of the exercise. Simply being open and willing to share who I am to those who need or want to know is enough, and God can handle the rest.
P: God, I’m tired of being ashamed, and of being ashamed that I’m ashamed, when there simply is no shame in being open with who I am. Help me to be willing to share openly, and at the same time make it clear that I’m not a “Christian” as so many see us, full of judgment and failure combined, but instead simply an imperfect person who wants to share truth, life, love, faith, and my salvation. Take away my fear.
January 8, 2008
Genesis 20-22; Luke 8
S: Luke 8:16-17
16 "Now no one after lighting a lamp covers it over with a container, or puts it under a bed; but he puts it on a lampstand, so that those who come in may see the light.
17 "For nothing is hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light.
O: This verse is one of many where Jesus uses symbolism to make a spiritual point. Here, He’s using the symbol of the lamp to mean, essentially, himself.
A: To apply this verse, first we have to talk about the lamp. The lamp represents a variety of traits that are contained in Jesus. The lamp is truth; one does not hide the truth, one displays it. The lamp is life; one does not hide life, one celebrates it. The lamp is love; one does not conceal love, one shares it. The lamp is salvation; salvation is not to be hoarded unto oneself; it is to be encouraged in others. The lamp is faith; faith is not to be hidden away, because faith without works is dead.
These are all traits of Jesus, and we are to become like Him. So these are all traits to be found in us, ideally.
But what this discussion of the lamp is about is not to highlight traits of Jesus by using the lamp; instead it is to provide an illustration of what the lamp is for, and what it isn’t for. It’s a verse about what to do with the Jesus in us, and how we should behave as vessels of what Jesus is.
What does it say? We are not to hide our faith, or to shun the truth, or to suppress the life that’s in us. We are not to restrain our love for others, and we are not to be ashamed of our salvation.
So this verse applies to me very clearly. As a Christian, as a person trying to be more like Jesus, I’m supposed to showcase Him, not hide Him. I’m supposed to be open with the truth, open with my love, open with my faith, sharing with my life, and desirous of salvation for others. The person I am, though, falls short of this in so many ways at so many times. And I wonder why.
What is the shame in being a Christian? There’s the associations people make. “Oh, you’re one of them? So you believe that?” What of it? If a person can’t see past their ideas of what a “Christian” is to see who I am, that isn’t my concern. My job is to be real, and that’s all.
And, yet, I’m often so afraid. Afraid of how people will see me. Afraid of how they may act around me. And, really, afraid of how I may act around them. I am nowhere near being an accurate representative of Jesus. I’m kind to some, but mean to many. I’m sharing with a few, but miserly with most. I’m generally honest, sure, but I couch things in comfortable and non-offensive terms to avoid dischord. Above all, my behavior doesn’t always (even, I suppose, often) reflect my beliefs. I’m afraid of shining my light, of identifying myself, because I’m afraid people will see me as just another example of a “Christian,” which to them means a judgmental person with double-standards. And I’m afraid that they’ll be right to do so.
But the truth can’t be hidden. No secret remains forever. It’s interesting to me that, while I don’t go around pontificating and preaching to my friends, so many of them identify me as “the most moral guy I know” or “pretty religious” or things like that. The Jesus in me, even when I try to hide it, must come out. Because the light cannot be hidden; it shines even under the covers, or under the bed, and it seeps out into the world around it. So, in the end, is there greater shame in openly being a less-than-perfect Christian, or in trying to hide the fact that I’m a Christian at all?
I need not so much to be more brave to step out, but instead I need to be less afraid to simply be. I need to stop worrying about what people expect me to be, because of who they’ve known me to be or who they think I should be, and instead I need to be willing to simply be honest about who I am. Whether I’m a perfect Christian isn’t the point of the exercise. Simply being open and willing to share who I am to those who need or want to know is enough, and God can handle the rest.
P: God, I’m tired of being ashamed, and of being ashamed that I’m ashamed, when there simply is no shame in being open with who I am. Help me to be willing to share openly, and at the same time make it clear that I’m not a “Christian” as so many see us, full of judgment and failure combined, but instead simply an imperfect person who wants to share truth, life, love, faith, and my salvation. Take away my fear.
December 24, 2007
December 20, 2007
"Thank god"?
Why?
I've been relatively quiet lately. Combination of work, play, Christmas shopping, and my dog's fleas.
My dog got some fleas, and brought them into our house, and they manifested into a full-fledged invasion force. My basement, which is where our comfy couch and TV and computer are generally located, has been a ghost town of late.
But, I digress. Suffice it to say, I've thought of lots of stuff to write about, and just not gotten to it for lack of time or for lack of a desire to get bit to death.
General snippets of thought: happy the American-born child of the American lady and the Mexican national jailbird, who's in foster care somewhere in Oregon, gets to stay (who's bright idea was it to deport an American, anyway?); anti-Arizona's plan to try to thwart the rights of American-born children of illegal aliens to their right of citizenship by denying them birth certificates (when did we get in the business of deciding which Constitutionally-approved Americans are good enough to be Americans?); tired of all the press Britney Spears is getting (she's a train wreck, I get it); wondering at the idea that the Blazers always seem to do better when their starting power forward is out, regardless of who the starting power forward is (and pondering that it probably indicates that our former point guard coach has trouble devising a system that effectively uses the PF while keeping everyone eles productive); and noticing that I'm getting fat as the holidays approach, and starting to plan a weight-loss system, but I'm still dutifully eating my way to New Year's.
Now that those broad ideas, which have been bouncing around my head of late, are exorcised, I can get to today's topic: God with a little "g."
I was sparked in my reading, today, of the letters to the editor in Willamette Week. Namely, one by an individual named Chris Iverson, in Ashland, Oregon, who said (in part) the following: "Thank god that sometimes even bad publicity is good publicity."
Mister Iverson was responding to an article from last week that I haven't read (meant to, just never got to it), and so I have no idea whether his comments in his letter are educated, asinine, or even germane to the subject matter of the article. So I've got nothing to say as to the merits of his letter as a piece of editorial literature.
But I wonder at the people who invoke the name of God with a little "g."
The way I see it, there are three kinds of people. There are those that recognize and subscribe to a monotheistic, nameless God, who is the supreme power in the universe and who, by virtue of that, gets capitalized.
There are those that subscribe to a different idea of deity or deities, like Allah (who, some would say, is God, but I'll leave that for another discusser in another discussion), Vishnu, Jah, or whatever. They capitalize their deity, which is appropriate in the context of that person's usage of the name, given their feelings towards their deity.
Then there are the atheists, non-theists, secular humanists, and agnostic sorts who don't recognize or acknowledge the truth of a God-type deity. These are the ones that say God with a little "g," because they speak with no particularity and with no respect.
I'll digress quickly just to say that these people would never dream of not capitalizing Allah or Vishnu, but will with the more-generic (but generally Judeo-Christian proprietary) "God." For whatever reason. I'll leave it at that, and continue with my main point.
I wonder why someone who doesn't believe in, or appreciate, or adhere to any god would bother thanking one. And, if you're going to thank just one, isn't that One important enough to capitalize?
Sure, "thank God" has been watered down into just-another-figure-of-speech. But a thoughtful person like Chris Iverson certainly has the vocabulary to say "thankfully" instead, which would make his point just as effectively without being confusing (or revealing) as to his system of beliefs. In fact, by making the effort to make sure to fail to capitalize God in his submission, Mr. Iverson was saying exactly what he meant to say. Which is that he's a slave to the English language and is therefore bound to thank a God in Whom he doesn't believe.
Clearly I'm one who takes some sort of umbrage at these minor affronts. Is it just a lack of understanding on my part? Or is it a semi-righteous indignation at a person's demonstration of their lack of respect? Or is it understandable confusion at the thanking of one in whom a person sees no reason for actual thanks? Probably a combination of all of them.
Ultimately, I thank God I'm in a place where I'm able to do so, and even where Chris Iverson's able to not. But, really, if you don't believe in God, don't thank god. Because it clearly doesn't mean anything to you.
I've been relatively quiet lately. Combination of work, play, Christmas shopping, and my dog's fleas.
My dog got some fleas, and brought them into our house, and they manifested into a full-fledged invasion force. My basement, which is where our comfy couch and TV and computer are generally located, has been a ghost town of late.
But, I digress. Suffice it to say, I've thought of lots of stuff to write about, and just not gotten to it for lack of time or for lack of a desire to get bit to death.
General snippets of thought: happy the American-born child of the American lady and the Mexican national jailbird, who's in foster care somewhere in Oregon, gets to stay (who's bright idea was it to deport an American, anyway?); anti-Arizona's plan to try to thwart the rights of American-born children of illegal aliens to their right of citizenship by denying them birth certificates (when did we get in the business of deciding which Constitutionally-approved Americans are good enough to be Americans?); tired of all the press Britney Spears is getting (she's a train wreck, I get it); wondering at the idea that the Blazers always seem to do better when their starting power forward is out, regardless of who the starting power forward is (and pondering that it probably indicates that our former point guard coach has trouble devising a system that effectively uses the PF while keeping everyone eles productive); and noticing that I'm getting fat as the holidays approach, and starting to plan a weight-loss system, but I'm still dutifully eating my way to New Year's.
Now that those broad ideas, which have been bouncing around my head of late, are exorcised, I can get to today's topic: God with a little "g."
I was sparked in my reading, today, of the letters to the editor in Willamette Week. Namely, one by an individual named Chris Iverson, in Ashland, Oregon, who said (in part) the following: "Thank god that sometimes even bad publicity is good publicity."
Mister Iverson was responding to an article from last week that I haven't read (meant to, just never got to it), and so I have no idea whether his comments in his letter are educated, asinine, or even germane to the subject matter of the article. So I've got nothing to say as to the merits of his letter as a piece of editorial literature.
But I wonder at the people who invoke the name of God with a little "g."
The way I see it, there are three kinds of people. There are those that recognize and subscribe to a monotheistic, nameless God, who is the supreme power in the universe and who, by virtue of that, gets capitalized.
There are those that subscribe to a different idea of deity or deities, like Allah (who, some would say, is God, but I'll leave that for another discusser in another discussion), Vishnu, Jah, or whatever. They capitalize their deity, which is appropriate in the context of that person's usage of the name, given their feelings towards their deity.
Then there are the atheists, non-theists, secular humanists, and agnostic sorts who don't recognize or acknowledge the truth of a God-type deity. These are the ones that say God with a little "g," because they speak with no particularity and with no respect.
I'll digress quickly just to say that these people would never dream of not capitalizing Allah or Vishnu, but will with the more-generic (but generally Judeo-Christian proprietary) "God." For whatever reason. I'll leave it at that, and continue with my main point.
I wonder why someone who doesn't believe in, or appreciate, or adhere to any god would bother thanking one. And, if you're going to thank just one, isn't that One important enough to capitalize?
Sure, "thank God" has been watered down into just-another-figure-of-speech. But a thoughtful person like Chris Iverson certainly has the vocabulary to say "thankfully" instead, which would make his point just as effectively without being confusing (or revealing) as to his system of beliefs. In fact, by making the effort to make sure to fail to capitalize God in his submission, Mr. Iverson was saying exactly what he meant to say. Which is that he's a slave to the English language and is therefore bound to thank a God in Whom he doesn't believe.
Clearly I'm one who takes some sort of umbrage at these minor affronts. Is it just a lack of understanding on my part? Or is it a semi-righteous indignation at a person's demonstration of their lack of respect? Or is it understandable confusion at the thanking of one in whom a person sees no reason for actual thanks? Probably a combination of all of them.
Ultimately, I thank God I'm in a place where I'm able to do so, and even where Chris Iverson's able to not. But, really, if you don't believe in God, don't thank god. Because it clearly doesn't mean anything to you.
December 11, 2007
I Am The Grinch
I don't talk much about my job. That is a lesson borne of a fair amount of blowback in prior blogging about my work. And I don't think I'll be changing my position on that now.
So, no discussion of my particular employment here. However, I will touch upon some of the human realities of my unspecified work.
In my particular line of work, one could say that my job is to keep particular people from realizing their dreams. There are people out there who see in particular circumstances an opportunity, whether just or not, to get something they didn't have before.
Sometimes their visions are reasonable, and in those cases my job doesn't impinge much upon them. But there are times when their ideas are beyond the realm of what is reasonable, and in those cases my job is to keep the desires of their heart from being fulfilled.
To them, I'm The Grinch.
Today, I did my job quite well. There was a person, a Who if you will, who was seeking a nice, big present under their tree. This Who was a perfectly nice person. This Who, in fact, deserved a present under their tree, just not a big one. Over the past year and a half, though, they worked their present up to something huge in their mind. And, today, reality gave them one heck of a hip check as The Grinch ripped their joy away.
It's odd. I derive some level of pleasure from my job, and at the same time I feel a bit dirty by it. In my line of work, in the system that I function in, The Grinch is necessary. In fact, The Grinch is healthy, and by-and-large is a force for good. That doesn't necessarily make me feel great about my Grinchiness.
I am The Grinch. It's who I am, it's what I do. Particularly in this season, who I am brings me a little bit of angst, even as I celebrate a job well done.
So, no discussion of my particular employment here. However, I will touch upon some of the human realities of my unspecified work.
In my particular line of work, one could say that my job is to keep particular people from realizing their dreams. There are people out there who see in particular circumstances an opportunity, whether just or not, to get something they didn't have before.
Sometimes their visions are reasonable, and in those cases my job doesn't impinge much upon them. But there are times when their ideas are beyond the realm of what is reasonable, and in those cases my job is to keep the desires of their heart from being fulfilled.
To them, I'm The Grinch.
Today, I did my job quite well. There was a person, a Who if you will, who was seeking a nice, big present under their tree. This Who was a perfectly nice person. This Who, in fact, deserved a present under their tree, just not a big one. Over the past year and a half, though, they worked their present up to something huge in their mind. And, today, reality gave them one heck of a hip check as The Grinch ripped their joy away.
It's odd. I derive some level of pleasure from my job, and at the same time I feel a bit dirty by it. In my line of work, in the system that I function in, The Grinch is necessary. In fact, The Grinch is healthy, and by-and-large is a force for good. That doesn't necessarily make me feel great about my Grinchiness.
I am The Grinch. It's who I am, it's what I do. Particularly in this season, who I am brings me a little bit of angst, even as I celebrate a job well done.
SOAP Notes
A continuation of the semi-regular Tuesday SOAP Notes line:
December 11, 2007
Philemon; Hebrews 1-4
S: Hebrews 2: 5-10
It is not to angels that he has subjected the world to come, about which we are speaking. But there is a place where someone has testified:
"What is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
You made him a little lower than the angels;
you crowned him with glory and honor
and put everything under his feet."
In putting everything under him, God left nothing that is not subject to him. Yet at present we do not see everything subject to him. But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.
In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering.
O: The discussion is about our salvation and how it should not be ignored. What is key to this part of the discussion, though, is the dialogue about our mode of salvation, and the way that God changed roles to bring it about.
A: How interesting to consider the hierarchy of the Christian realm. It appears in these verses that we see a shift in things, and that shift is brought about through the act of our salvation, and by the expression of God’s love for us and our value to him.
As we see in the quote from Psalms, in the Old Testament man was understood and accepted to be fairly low on the totem pole. At the top was God, next were the angels, and then man was “a little lower,” with the rest of God’s creation subject to man.
Paul goes on to look at what happened when Jesus came. Jesus, being the incarnation of God, is understood to have been a dualistic hybrid, 100% man and 100% God at the same time. His personhood and identity were never changed from God, but He was subject to the base desires and cravings and temptations that the flesh foists upon our spirits, and by virtue of His Godhood was enabled to avoid sin.
While He was all-God, though, He was, in the spiritual order, below the angels, like man. It was in taking on this role, and in living a life without defect, that God was able to accomplish our salvation.
But, in identifying Himself as one of us, and in taking on our form, God elevated us in the process. As I read this passage, and ponder its meaning, I’m lead to believe that man was raised in the hierarchy by God. We are no longer simply creations, but we are sons and heirs. We, like our “brother” Jesus, are given authority, subject to God’s will, and because of God’s will, over His creation.
It’s hard to wrap my mind around, and hard to understand. So often, I see myself as “just a man.” I never get past the “who is man, that You are mindful of him?” Because, really, who am I? I’m nothing, I’m insignificant. I’m a vapor, a fleeting moment, a blink of an eye in an eternity. From that perspective, I am nothing. God needn’t even acknowledge me. But my value to God isn’t derived by this perspective; it’s defined by His love for me, and by what He’s given so that I might be more than just a speck, but instead can be His friend forever. So, while I still don’t understand exactly what makes me worth all of this effort, aside from the fact that God clearly values people, I’m thankful for it, and will embrace and accept His love.
P: God, I don’t know why you’ve done so much for me. Your love baffles me, and the fact that You are even aware of me is astounding to me. That You would place such value in humanity that You would wrap Yourself in it in order to redeem it is beyond my comprehension. Although my mind doesn’t understand, help me to step away from worrying on the concept and instead allow me, by faith, to simply accept the love, and to grow in it. Thank You for saving me.
December 11, 2007
Philemon; Hebrews 1-4
S: Hebrews 2: 5-10
It is not to angels that he has subjected the world to come, about which we are speaking. But there is a place where someone has testified:
"What is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
You made him a little lower than the angels;
you crowned him with glory and honor
and put everything under his feet."
In putting everything under him, God left nothing that is not subject to him. Yet at present we do not see everything subject to him. But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.
In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering.
O: The discussion is about our salvation and how it should not be ignored. What is key to this part of the discussion, though, is the dialogue about our mode of salvation, and the way that God changed roles to bring it about.
A: How interesting to consider the hierarchy of the Christian realm. It appears in these verses that we see a shift in things, and that shift is brought about through the act of our salvation, and by the expression of God’s love for us and our value to him.
As we see in the quote from Psalms, in the Old Testament man was understood and accepted to be fairly low on the totem pole. At the top was God, next were the angels, and then man was “a little lower,” with the rest of God’s creation subject to man.
Paul goes on to look at what happened when Jesus came. Jesus, being the incarnation of God, is understood to have been a dualistic hybrid, 100% man and 100% God at the same time. His personhood and identity were never changed from God, but He was subject to the base desires and cravings and temptations that the flesh foists upon our spirits, and by virtue of His Godhood was enabled to avoid sin.
While He was all-God, though, He was, in the spiritual order, below the angels, like man. It was in taking on this role, and in living a life without defect, that God was able to accomplish our salvation.
But, in identifying Himself as one of us, and in taking on our form, God elevated us in the process. As I read this passage, and ponder its meaning, I’m lead to believe that man was raised in the hierarchy by God. We are no longer simply creations, but we are sons and heirs. We, like our “brother” Jesus, are given authority, subject to God’s will, and because of God’s will, over His creation.
It’s hard to wrap my mind around, and hard to understand. So often, I see myself as “just a man.” I never get past the “who is man, that You are mindful of him?” Because, really, who am I? I’m nothing, I’m insignificant. I’m a vapor, a fleeting moment, a blink of an eye in an eternity. From that perspective, I am nothing. God needn’t even acknowledge me. But my value to God isn’t derived by this perspective; it’s defined by His love for me, and by what He’s given so that I might be more than just a speck, but instead can be His friend forever. So, while I still don’t understand exactly what makes me worth all of this effort, aside from the fact that God clearly values people, I’m thankful for it, and will embrace and accept His love.
P: God, I don’t know why you’ve done so much for me. Your love baffles me, and the fact that You are even aware of me is astounding to me. That You would place such value in humanity that You would wrap Yourself in it in order to redeem it is beyond my comprehension. Although my mind doesn’t understand, help me to step away from worrying on the concept and instead allow me, by faith, to simply accept the love, and to grow in it. Thank You for saving me.
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