Empty and Silent

**
Looking down into his face
I see my own reflected.
He is my image and God's.
He is my son and God's.

Listening, I hear him call
My name from his bedroom.
It is night, a scary time
For little boys with big imaginations.

He grows up and is like me
But better, nobler, attentive
To the things that matter,
To the things that keep us sane.

I look down and he is not there.
I listen, and he is silent.
A ship sunk before it sailed,
His death preceded his birth.

*Note* This poem is not autobiographical. I wanted to imagine a father who participated in the abortion of his own child.

Filed in Poems

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Related Tags: Abortion, Poetry, Creative Writing, Poems, Pro-Life

Trembling

**
Shhhh. Kneel down with me here in the corner. You can close your eyes if you want to. I’m going to take a minute and look around the room.

There’s Mary, the Lord’s mother. (I thought you might keep your eyes open, too, at least for a minute.) Is she smiling? I can’t tell from over here.

John is off to the side. He looks like he’s wrestling, like a dog trying to press itself as close to its master’s leg as possible.

Yes, Peter is right there in the middle. Yes, he is crying. Yes, I’m pretty sure I know why.

The three James’s are spread out: Alphaeus’s son, John’s older brother, and Jesus’ relative.

The room is breathing. In and out. The collective prayers and praises course through each person who has come.

There is anticipation here. It is not desperation. There was that time, but thankfully it is gone. The Lord chased it away when he came back. Now, he is gone again.

I can feel the intensity here. It is like the warmth of liquor working its way through a body. It is like spilled milk being soaked into a paper towel placed flat on the counter. It makes me tremble. I have been transported and I am transfixed. We are all reaching out, up.

These people touched Jesus. Mary birthed him, nursed him, changed him. She held his corpse. They all knew him. They’re not mourning, for he is not dead. But, they all want something.

We’re not sure exactly what to expect but we know it will be different, better, more. Once the Comforter comes, we will recognize him, yet the experience will be totally other.

So we pray.

And wait.

And believe.

Propers for the Sunday after Ascension

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Filed in The Big Three - Ascension, Pentecost, Trinity Sunday

Related Tags: Ascension, Church, Pentecost, Holy Spirit, Mary, Prayer, Christianity, Church Year

Look Up Redux

**
See my post on Easter, Look Up.

When I was in seminary my theology professor, Dr. Bill Ury, suggested that we use the concepts of anabasis and katabasis (ascent and descent) to think about Christ's life. There are numerous descents and ascents in the history of our Lord. Think through the Gospels (or read through them, for that matter). Which ones are especially meaningful to you? Why?

You may also find evidence of the themes of ascent and descent in Paul's epistles. I direct you especially to Colosians 1-3, Philippians 2 and Ephesians 1-2. They are excellent supplementary passages to the Propers for today.

I took the concepts of ascent and descent and tried to see them at work in my own history (this was probably also been by Dr. Ury's direction, I don't remember). I saw that my life has had it's ups and downs, if I may use our colloquial expression. Many of them are the result of my sin, but some of them, both ups and downs, are the result of the Father sending his Spirit to join me to his Son.

Today Christ ascends. Whatever you are dealing with, remember that. If you are mired in depression, try to spend some time today thinking about Christ's ascent above all earthly things. If you are overwhelmed and beset by many sins, or one in particular, look up to the ascended Christ who lives to intercede for you. If you are crushed by guilt, the the Lord on high is mighty and merciful. You can find him alive and exalted in his Church.

His ascent is not a denial of creation. It is not an escape from suffering. He entered more completely into death and suffering that any of us ever will.

His ascent is a declaration of victory over the Fall. As the Incarnate Lord, he has joined humanity to himself. He takes us with himself to the Father's side. We are seated with him there. Remember. Believe.

It's not a magic trick. It's an act of worship. It is faith in the trustworthiness of God in the face of contradictory "evidence."

Jesus Christ, who emptied himself and became a baby.

Jesus Christ, who went up and down throughout Israel preaching the Good News and healing all who were oppressed by the devil.

Jesus Christ, who went up to the Mount of Transfiguration and down to Gethsemane.

Jesus Christ, who was raised on the cross, went down into the tomb, then down into hell.

Jesus Christ, who was raised from the dead, who rose from the grave.

That same Jesus Christ ascended back to his Father's side. He lives there as our Lord and Mediator.

"Therefore He is also able to save to the uttermost those who come to God through Him, since He always lives to make intercession for them. For such a High Priest was fitting for us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and has become higher than the heavens" (Hebrews 7:25-6).

The same Lord who came and went away will come again to receive his family into their everlasting home.

Propers for Ascension

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Filed in The Big 3 - Ascension, Pentecost, and Trinity Sunday

Related Tags: Ascension, Jesus Christ, Christianity, Hope, Second Coming

See

****
Lord, we don't think you're lying.
Our eyes are simply not used to seeing
In such vivd colors.

The light doesn't hurt our eyes.
It is not too harsh
Or too bright.

It might be too good, too pure.
It might be too much
For us to believe

For we are weak in faith.
Some of the muscles in our eyes
Have atrophied, or something.

You have made promises.
They exceed our expectations.
They exhaust us in the asking.

How is it that your gifts
Are connected to our asking
When what you give dwarfs our request?

Safety, fruitful land, peace
We would not deserve
On our best day.

The Holy Spirit -
Ours for the asking.
Can it be?

A tear in our seeing eye
Our voice trembles
As we call you

Shepherd
Friend
Father

Propers for Rogation Days

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Filed in Poems and The Big 3 - Ascension, Pentecost, and Trinity Sunday

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Thinking Is Good for You

****
I stole the title of this post from Professor Steve Blakemore. He taught me philosophy and pastoral ministry in seminary. He has also been a good friend and counselor. The title of this post is the title of his blog, Thinking Is Good for You, and it is. The title of his blog, like mine, is descriptive of his personality and concerns.

Thinking is not only good for you, it is essential to the Christian life. Not thinking, or thinking the wrong thing, has led to a whole slew of messes, including the murder of people who did not believe correctly. Thoughtfulness is not your enemy.

"O LORD, from whom all good things do come; Grant to us thy humble servants, that by thy holy inspiration we may think those things that are good, and by thy merciful guiding may perform the same; through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen."

Between "the hearing of the word" and "the doing of the word" there is "the thinking about the word." Thoughtless (or ill-conceived) action, sometimes mislabled "obedience," is as dangerous as inaction, or "disobedience." In other words, doing the wrong thing can cause as many problems as doing nothing.

So between hearing and doing is thinking. We need to hear the right things. We need to think the right things. We need to do the right things. There are so many opportunities for things to get screwed up.

We need the Lord to help us. We need him to give us preachers who will speak "the word" to us, so that we might hear the truth. We need him to give us teachers who will instruct us in how to think about 'the word," so that we might process the truth. We need him to give us examples who do "the word," so that we might act out the truth.

The Father is not stand-offish. He wants to hear our prayers. His Son makes intercession on our behalf. The Spirit assists us in our prayers as we live in the bosom of Mother Church.

O Lord, have mercy upon us. We are liable to error in so many ways. We need you to give us a hearing ear, an understanding mind and an obedient will that in all things we may live in communion with you, our Father, your beloved Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, the Comforter. Amen.

Propers for Easter 5, Rogation Sunday

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Filed in Easter

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This Is Not About the Da Vinci Code

**

I saw this church van recently in the best parking space outside of Best Buy on a Friday morning. I could not believe my eyes. It was fortunate that I had my camera with me and was able to interview the driver of the van, a member of the church.


axegrinder: "Your church is called 'Rock Star Missionary Baptist Church.' Why?"

dude driving church van: "There are some churches called 'Church on the Rock.' There are others that take the name 'Morningstar.' We liked both of these names so we combined them. We feel it describes the way we see the Lord."

axe: "And that is?"

dude: "Jesus is my Rock Star." [makes thumbs up sign with both hands]

axe: "What is your congregation like?"

dude: "Well, we have a lot of band members. We have a lot of roadies and dee-jays. There are some managers, but we are always suspicious that they will turn out to be Judases. Though, pretty much anyone can come."

axe: "Are there any specific requirements for membership?"

dude: "You have to be a Christian. We're God's groupies." [makes peace sign]

axe: "Anything else?"

dude: "Obviously, it helps if you R-O-C-K, ROCK!" [does air guitar movement]

axe: "What are your services like?"

dude: "They ROCK!" [more air guitar]

axe: "How about your pastor?"

dude: "He ROCKS!" [still, more air guitar]

From here the interview degenerated into a full set, including air drums, air bass, and, yes, more air guitar. I must say, it had it's effect on me. I'm seriously considering changing churches.


Note - The church van is real. The interview is fake.

Epilogue:

I have a friend whom I affectionatley nicknamed "Rock Star" a few months ago. I did not know it at the time, but he actually owns a belt buckle that says "Rock Star" on it. I have a talent, I tell ya. I saw him after taking the pictures of the aforementioned church van. I had to tell him about my discovery, especially in view of his nickname. It turns out that my friend has actually seen the Rock Star Missionary Baptist Church. He and his wife drive by it periodically, so he knew what I was talking about. No way.


Hack away.

PS "The Da Vinci Code" does not rock.

Filed in Humor

Related Tags: Humor, Satire, Rock and Roll, Church, Churches, Jesus Christ, Jesus

Mom

**
On my way to church this morning I was thinking about words. I really enjoy vocabulary, though mine is not particularly impressive. As I was thinking, I remembered a scene from my childhood that repeated itself dozens of times.

“Mom, what does [insert word here] mean?”

“The dictionary is on the shelf in the family room.”

“C’mon, Mom, just tell me what it means.”

“If you look it up, you’ll remember it.”

“Aaawww, Maaahhm.”

She was unmoved and resolute.

Even as I was remembering these episodes I was not sure whether or not her method worked. Then I realized that I had just been thinking about how much I liked words and knowing their definitions. Hello?

While I am giving honor to whom honor is due, I would like to mention a particular instance as a witness to my mother’s indefatigable practice of praying for me.

My time amongst the Pentecostals was very hard on my mother. I embraced ideas that were highly and unnecessarily detrimental to many of my relationships, including my relationship with the Holy Trinity. Well, God had an ally, my mother.

She prayed for me and my religious affiliation. She was humble in her petitions for her son. Her faithful, fervent, loving prayers were key in my emancipation. I shudder to think of what my life would be had she not banged on God’s door until he finally said, “Enough is enough already. I’ll get him out, OK?”

“Yes, Lord. And thank you.”

Yes, Lord. And thank you.

Hack away.

Our Father, grant your grace to our mothers that they might follow you wholeheartedly and enjoy the blessedness of that faithful discipleship. Draw them ever more fully into your shared life of holy, self-giving love. May we always remember them in our prayers and honor them in our hearts, words and deeds as you have commanded. Amen.

Filed in Friends

Related Tags: Mother's Day, Prayer, Christianity, Intercession

The Three Sons - A Parable

****
"Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee,
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me."

"I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?"

"Change and decay in all around I see.
O Thou who changest not, abide with me."

- Couplets from the hymn "Abide With Me" by Henry F. Lyte
**

There was a country village where three families lived. The three fathers were sending one of their sons from their homes in the country to the city in order to serve as apprentices. The first was to serve a butcher. The second was to serve a baker. The third was to serve a furniture maker (someone had suggested a candlestick maker, but everyone knows there’s not much money in candlestick making).

The three fathers were concerned that their sons would be enticed by all the allurements of the city. They had each been raised in church but the temptations in the city were certainly more numerous and more deadly than those in the country. So the three fathers each called their sons aside the night before their departure for a talk.

The next day the sons began the journey from their village to the city to begin their apprenticeships. As was typical of the youths, they began talking about all manner of subjects. Eventually, the first one said, “My father called me aside last night and told me that I would be facing many temptations while living in the city. He said that he was concerned for the safety of my body and soul. But, he told me that I had been well trained at home and in the church. He said he trusted that, when the time came, I would resist temptations and remember my upbringing.”

The second boy replied, “I too had my father call me aside for a chat last night. He told me that there would be many things and people who would seek to entice me to sin. He warned me that yielding to these people would lead to the ruin of my future. He handed me a note in which he had written down many specific admonitions and warnings. He told me to keep it with me wherever I went and to read it whenever I felt tempted.”

The third boy spoke up and said, “My father also called me aside last night. He told me that the devil had many more servants where I was going and that I would need to be on my guard. He reminded me that he and my mother had taught me the way of righteousness, like your parents,” he said, pointing to the first boy. “He also gave me a note similar to the one your father gave to you,” he said, pointing to the second boy. “After I finished talking with my father, my mother told me that I would be living with my older brother. He has an apartment next door to the furniture maker and works on the same street for a grocer. She told me to stick close to my older brother when I go out for recreation or shopping or church.”

Their first few weeks in the city were uneventful. They each settled into their new routines and surroundings. There were letters written to and received from home. The butcher, the baker and the furniture maker were pleased with their hardworking, young apprentices.

The three boys did not see each other during the next two weeks. This concerned the third boy, since they had been attending the same church. “They have probably been visiting other churches,” he thought.

Two weeks later the three boys happened to meet outside the market. The first boy looked very different. His eyes were red. His clothes were dirty. His hair was matted. The third boy inquired about this change in his friend’s appearance. He replied, “About a month ago I was looking for something to do during the evening. I wandered around for a while and eventually met up with some other boys. They seemed to be having fun and invited me to join them.

"We went to some parties, met some girls and had a great time. We ended up in an apartment at the end of the night. They had alcohol and drugs there. I knew it would displease my father, and that I probably should not do it but I joined them. I have been partying almost every night since then. I lost my job a few weeks ago and I am out of money, but things will turn around soon enough.”

The second boy was dressed in an unusual manner. He had on a green sports jersey, jeans that were too large and a green bandana tied around his head. The third boy asked him why he was not wearing his baker’s whites during the workday. The second boy replied, “About a month ago I was walking around after work. I went into an area that was new to me. While there I was accosted by three boys. They threw me down on the sidewalk and told me to give them my money. I acted like I was getting my money for them. When their guard was down, I grabbed a trash can lid and hit the biggest one in the mouth, knocking out a couple of his teeth. I had the element of surprise, so I knocked the other two down and ran away.

"A few days later, I saw the big one walking towards me on the street. I started to turn down another street, but he called out to me to slow down so he could talk to me. The street was crowded, so I obliged him. He told me that the leader of his gang wanted to invite me to join them. They were all impressed with how I handled myself and figured it would be better to have me fighting on their side. I thought about the note in my pocket. Then I thought about how lonely I was, how bored I was and how I didn’t want to be walking around with no one to watch my back. I joined their gang a couple of weeks ago.”

The first and second boys noticed that the third boy had his work clothes on. They asked him why he was not at the furniture maker’s shop. He replied, “I am running errands for him this afternoon. About a month ago, he told me that I had been working very hard and that he wanted to give me more responsibility and to start paying me a little extra.”

“What have you been doing besides work?” the first boy asked.

“My first week here my brother introduced me to the parish priest. He told me about the various activities that they have every week, and I began attending the Bible studies and prayer meetings with my brother, along with the regular Sunday worship and daily prayer services.

“My second week here my brother took me to a local mission. The director told us about the various ministries. I started serving at the women’s shelter and soup kitchen, as well as helping with the children’s outreach.

“My third week here my brother introduced me to the cultural activities in the city. We went to two museums, an art gallery, a free concert in the park, a community theater production and a choral concert at a church.

“My fourth week here my brother took me to the city college. The librarian gave us a tour of their stacks. I spoke to the student relations office about auditing some classes. My brother’s girlfriend introduced me to some of her friends in the campus fellowship groups.

“I have spent the last two weeks figuring out what activities I should pursue and when. It has been a good six weeks.”

“It sounds like you’re life is really boring,” the second boy said.

“Haven’t you had any fun?” the first boy asked, “Haven’t you partied at all?”

“If you are referring to the kinds of things you all have been doing, fighting, getting drunk and using illegal drugs, then, no, I have not had any ‘fun.’ Any time I was tempted to get into trouble, my brother was there to point me in the right direction. I just kept my mother’s words in mind and stuck close to my older brother.”

The three boys parted ways. The first two boys felt sorry for the third. The third boy went home and prayed for the other two.

Propers for Easter 4

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Filed in Easter, Parables

Related Tags: Easter, Parable, Parables, Temptation, Accountability, Discipleship

Jeter's Rest

****
This is the final part of a story that I began on Sunday. Part 1 is called "Jeter's Cloud." Part 2 is called "Jeter's Exit."
**

When Jeter got home from his meeting with Pastor Lumley, Vickie had the ladder out and was replacing the bulb in the front porch light. As he mounted the last step to the porch, he could see that she was still hoping that Lumley would be able to change his mind. She was able to read in his expression that the conversation had not gone well.

"I won't be going back to church," he said flatly.

She looked at him for a moment. He saw the tears begin to form in her eyes before she was able to cover them with her hand, turn and go inside. She was asleep by the time he went upstairs. Looking at her form in the darkness of the bedroom made him feel so sad that he went back downstairs and slept in his recliner.

The Holcombs developed a pattern of cohabitation over the next three months that neither of them liked. There were no fights. Voices did not get raised. No objects were thrown. They simply lived in the same house, ate at the same table and shared a last name. The color drained out of their home.

Jeter continued to spend time with Truck, though it didn't seem that they had a whole lot to talk about. Truck and Jeter had gone back and forth about the Church and the Christian faith during the four months before Jeter's official exit. Jeter did not want to talk about it anymore. They mainly stuck to the Braves, fishing and home improvement.

While Vickie spent Sundays in church and with friends, Jeter had begun a ritual of his own. He would make the ninety minute drive to his grandfather's property outside Taskerville where he spent so much of his childhood. On his first trip out there he rediscovered a cave that he and Frank had frequented whenever Frank accompanied him to Grandy Paul's. When he first saw it again the memories began blowing over him like the wind over a wheat field. He put his hand on the sharp stone at the entrance and leaned against it for support. He bowed his head for a moment before going inside.

There was enough natural light from the fissures in the ceiling for him to find his way through the opening and into the gallery, as he and Frank dubbed it. Along with his pocket flashlight, the natural sunlight revealed some long forgotten remnants of his childhood. There were a few comic books, a cup with various nails and screws, a sheet that he and Frank "borrowed" from the linen closet, an army backpack with a rusty canteen inside, some coke cans and a map that he and Frank had drawn of the property.

His finger traced a pathway that they had drawn and marked "The Hidden Path." The path wound its way around a great deal of the property. There were red x's at various points along the line. He strained to recall what they indicated. He seemed to remember making up a story about a dangerous journey that two explorers had to make on their way to find a hidden treasure. The red x's were the various perils that lay between them and their jouney's end. He and Frank had spent days concocting the plot of their adventure. It had been more fun planning than executing.

His grandfather's property was not an oasis. The trips out there didn't really relieve his mind. Jeter's existence was a rhythm of sadness. He missed Frank. He wanted to reconnect with his wife. As much as he did not want to admit it, Grandy Paul's property was a lousy substitute for Sunday's at church. His absence on the deacon board was much more painful due to the loss of comraderie than any loss of position or reputation. He felt like a ghost at work. People seemed to look right through him. He missed the faith that failed him, the church he wanted nothing to do with and the God in whom he no longer believed. The weeks flowed like muddy water.

One morning Jeter woke up and his mind was clear. For the first time since Frank's death, he didn't feel like he was standing on the deck of a ship tossing about on rough seas. He felt like he was standing on a hill watching the sunrise, so that's what he did. He went to the lake, cast his line and watched the sunrise.

"What's going on?" he thought. He smiled. Then, he laughed.

He went to work and was able to concentrate. He got back into a groove with his employees and customers. He started to remember how much he used to enjoy the shop. Everything didn't remind him of Frank's death. Truck noticed the change but kept his observations to himself.

At the end of the day, Frank called Vickie. He told her that he would be a little late for dinner, but that everything was alright. She heard something different in his voice, different, yet familiar.

Jeter drove out to the church. He still had a key in the ashtray of his truck. He unlocked the door to the fellowship hall and went in. It was warm inside. Pastor Lumley had shut off the AC when he left after lunch for visitations.

He walked through the sanctuary doors at the rear of the church. There was always a "whoosh" when both doors were opened at the same time. It was like the wind was entering and leaving at the same time.

Jeter sat in a pew. Actually, it was his pew. He reached out for a Bible and opened to the story about Thomas's encounter with Jesus after the resurrection. "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." He smiled.

When he got home, Vickie had everything ready, including herself. She needed some good news. He embraced her, looked in her eyes and told her about his day. Her lip quivered for a moment. Then, she smiled. Then, she kissed him, and he kissed her back.

That night, after Vickie went upstairs, Jeter sat on his back porch in his rocking chair. Sunday School lessons and sermons seemed to arrange themselves in his mind alongside homespun wisdom from some of the older people he had known. What had seemed like so much nonsense over the past months did not seem so tonight.

Bad things happened to everyone. That was the reality of life in this world. The resurrection was not a cop out, but an answer to all the suffering that people endured in this life. He still did not understand why God seemed so distant when he needed him to be so close. He still did not like it. Nor did he like the fact that he had no plans on a reunion with Frank anytime soon. Nor did he get why God chose to share in human suffering. It seemed like it would be easier to do away with it, instead.

The answers to all of his questions hadn't really come. Maybe they would some day. They probably wouldn't. Somehow, he didn't feel like a fool for believing anyway. He knew he would lose Truck's respect for "reverting," as he called it. He was sorry for that. He appreciated Truck's friendship.

After a while, Jeter decided to go to bed. Vickie was asleep. She was making that purring sound that he found so soothing. He knew she would eventually start snoring, but that was okay. He'd sleep through it tonight. As Jeter undressed, he looked across the room ar her dresser. There was a picture of the two of them at their wedding, flanked by Frank and Celia. He said a prayer for Celia.

Jeter's head sunk into the pillow. The image in his mind as he drifted into unconsciousness was the smile on Frank's face at their wedding. Maybe Frank had that same smile on his face again.

Propers for Easter 3

Hack away.

Filed in Easter and Stories

Related Tags: Easter, Creative Writing, Suffering, Depression, Fiction, Christianity, Theodicy, Doubt

Jeter's Exit

****
This is Part 2 of a story that I began on Sunday. Part 1 is called Jeter's Cloud. I will post Part 3 on Thursday.
**

Jeter kissed Vickie on the top of the head and told her he would be home late. He had mentioned that he would be spending some time with Truck at Merle's that night. Vickie sensed something was up with her husband. He had been in a funk since Frank's death. Her close call and all their financial woes, combined with the loss of his best friend, had done bad things to the man she loved. It seemed, however, that he had turned a corner in the last three days. Unfortunately, it felt like another turn in the wrong direction.

As Jeter turned off Watkins into the bar's parking lot, he heard the sound of tires on gravel that he had become so accustomed to in recent months. It was not unlike the sound his tires made when he pulled into the back lot at church, where he always parked. The emotions the sounds inspired, though, were totally different.

As he pulled into a "space" in the middle of the lot, he saw Truck's 1500 a few spaces over. He would be holding court at the corner of the bar or around the pool table. After Jeter had his first beer, they would retire to the relative privacy of the booth in the rear. Whether intentionally or not, Merle had put one booth in his bar where people could have a confidential conversation if they wanted. It was away from the bathrooms, the jukebox and the pool table. Jeter had wondered what sort of private conversations had taken place back there.

When they were seated, Jeter cut right to the chase. He had thought about this long enough. It was time to finally say it out loud.

"I don't believe in God anymore, or, at least, not the way the church has painted him," he announced.

Truck's countenance did not change. He was listening.

"I don't believe in God," Jeter repeated, if only to reassure himself that he had actually uttered the words.

"Okay," Truck said, allowing Jeter to work up whatever momentum he needed.

"I'm going to go back to church for Vickie," he paused for Truck to respond. When he didn't, Jeter continued, "I don't want to hurt her."

"I understand."

Jeter wondered for a moment about Truck's virtual silence on what he thought was pretty monumental news, then he continued. "All that stuff you said about the resurrection and all the crazy things the church expects you to believe ..." he was getting choked up and had to stop.

Truck waited a few beats, then reached over and put his meaty hand on Jeter's shoulder. After a few seconds, he gave it a pat and pulled his hand back across the table. "I'm with you, man."

The conversation with Vickie did not go well. She knew Jeter had questions, accusations really, for God. He had become very impatient with Pastor Lumley and had finally stopped talking to him altogether. This development was important. The two men had been pretty close since Lumley's arrival seven years earlier. Jeter had trusted his pastor and had looked to him for counsel on numerous occasions.

Vickie did not know what to say. She was not given to crying, so there was a prolonged silence after Jeter broke the news to her. Eventually, tears formed in her eyes and she said, "I was hoping that we would be able to work through this, Honey. Pastor Lumley ..."

"I no longer care what Lumley has to say," he interrupted.

"Jeter, I'm worried for you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Though Jim Lumley took Mondays off, he agreed to see Jeter that afternoon. Based on Vickie's demeanor the day before, he anticipated something bad. He couldn't help but feel that he failed his friend in his hour of need.

"Jim, this is a long time coming. I do not believe in God anymore," he paused so that the words would not be lost in what he said next, "but I still want to serve on the board and come to church on Sundays. I don't want to put undo stress on my wife."

"I know I'm supposed to say, 'I'm sorry to heat that, Jeter. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?' but I can tell that you've made up your mind. Is there anything specific that you want me to know about your decision?"

"I don't think any of it will come as a surprise. I think you and I have talked enough."

"Okay, Jeter. Then, we need to discuss your continued participation in this church."

"Alright."

"Deacons are supposed to be examples for the rest of the church to follow. Like pastors, they don't always live up to their calling, but they're expected to try. It is not appropriate for you to accept the title and responsibilities of a deacon if you do not believe the Gospel."

"You've got to be kidding me. Are you telling me Marcus Nolan is anywhere close to your high-and-mighty idea of a deacon?"

"If you'll remember, I inherited Marcus, and he has never vocally rejcted the teachings of Christ. Anytime I talk to him about his failings, he listens and assures me that he is trying. It's not ideal, but what about church life is?

"Your situation is different, Jeter. You have come to me and told me that you do not believe in God. I cannot have you serve on the board any longer. I would prefer that you write a letter of resignation. That way, your beliefs do not have to be public knowledge."

"Dammit, Jim. I was hoping to keep this between us. I'm trying to protect Vickie."

"I am sympathetic, Jeter. But, there are some compromises that I am not willing to make. This is one of them. Again, I will have to ask you to resign from the board."

"Sure, I'll write a letter of resignation. And you can take it and shove it up your sanctimonious, little ..."

"That's enough, Jeter. You swore at me when I tried to visit you at your home, but I will not stand for that kind of language in the Lord's house."

"You won't have to worry about my bad language, or my unbelief, or my problems anymore. I won't be back."

As Jeter sped out of the back lot, his tires sprayed gravel into the high weeds that lined it.

(to be concluded Thursday)

Propers for Easter 3

Hack away.

Filed in Easter and Stories

Related Tags: Easter, Creative Writing, Suffering, Depression, Fiction, Christianity, Theodicy, Doubt

Jeter’s Cloud

**
It was 6:45 PM on Wednesday night, and Jeter Holcomb was reclining, beer in hand, watching the Braves struggle in an early season yawner against the Nats. Vickie was at the midweek prayer meeting. She had reached the point where she no longer asked her husband if he was coming with her. It had been a rough six months.

Apart from the occasional blow-up at the shop, Jeter wandered through his days and nights in a bit of a haze. He was not a morose person; it was more like shell shock. Pastor Lumley had frequently reached out for four months, only to receive increasingly hostile rebuffs. He had finally discontinued his visits and phone calls after an especially loud confrontation on the Holcomb’s front porch. He had not had language like that directed at him since he time in the Navy.

Jeter flipped the handle and rolled out of the La-Z-Boy. He shuffled to the fridge and retrieved two more tallboys. He grabbed the pretzel bag off the counter on his way back to the den. He flopped down and telescoped the chair back into optimum veg-out position.

“Aaa-teeeen HUT!” he shouted as he flipped the top off of his fifth beer. “Present and accounted for, sir.” he mockingly saluted right before he drained half of the bottle in one draw. It was the top of the seventh.

Vickie returned at a quarter ‘til nine. She usually went by the home to visit her mother after church. She had a smile on her face and greeted Jeter with a warm kiss. She was trying and he knew it.

“Braves win?”

“Painfully.”

“Twila sent along some meatloaf and I have some pound cake left. Would you like something?”

“Sure.” Jeter realized that he was in one-word-answer-mode. This happened when he drank alone in front of the television. He got out of his chair and followed her into the kitchen. He sat at the table under their new hanging light.

He had replaced the old one after an especially violent episode right after Frank was killed. Vickie was out shopping at the time. Jeter simply told her what he did. He didn’t even try to make up a story to cover his outburst. She was a bit shocked at first; he was not a violent man. He simply did not know what to do with the pain of losing his best friend.

They talked while he ate, small talk about her day at the salon and his day at the shop. They were both committed to staying connected while he worked through recent events. Vickie was a good woman but she did not know what to do for her husband, other than to remain a consistent, loving presence at his side. Jeter recognized his wife’s devotion and forced himself to keep the door open for her as much as he could.

Jeter woke up sweaty at 5:30 the next morning. He rose and headed for the kitchen after stopping by the bathroom to part with last night’s beer. He got a sixer out of the fridge, threw on some shorts and headed to the lake for a couple of hours’ fishing before work.

Truck was manning the forklift when Jeter rolled into the parking lot at the shop around 8:15. Truck had been with them for a couple of months. He was barrel-chested and loud, but harmless. He was a good worker and fit in well with the rest of the crew.

“Mornin’, Boss.”

“Mornin’, Truck. How goes it?”

“Can’t complain. You see the game?”

“Yeah. Not too exciting, huh?”

“No, indeed. At least they won.”

Truck had become the closest thing to a confidant that Jeter had these days. They went fishing, watched baseball and drank. Truck knew boundaries. He referred to Jeter as “Boss” at work and “Gee” off the clock.

As Jeter walked through the cargo door he thought about their last conversation. Despite the fact that he was still technically on the deacon board, Jeter had not been to a meeting in months. He rarely went to Sunday service. Truck had asked him some hard questions over the last month. Well, maybe they weren’t so hard. Maybe they were the questions that Jeter wanted to be asked.

“I don’t know, Gee. Just seems like it don’t square too well. I mean, ‘the Lord is my shepherd’ and all that stuff sounds great, but what about your buddy Frank? What about Vickie’s surgery? C’mon. Your best friend gets killed on the job in a freak accident. It’s no one’s fault, but you’re almost bankrupted by his family in the courts. You wife has to have emergency surgery. She barely makes it, and the insurance company throws a mountain of b. s. on top of you and refuses to pay because of some misfiled form.

“It would be one thing to have to deal with a friend’s death. It would be another thing to watch your wife suffer and barely make it through surgery. But, to have all these ridiculous money problems on top of all that. I mean, is there no one to blame? It just seems like you have to give God all the credit for the sunshine, but he gets a free pass when it rains.”

That was last weekend when they were taking a break from fixing Truck’s back fence. He turned around and flagged down the forklift.

“Let’s get together Friday night at Merle’s.”

“Sure ‘nuff.”

Jeter looked up as a bank of clouds obscured the sun.

(to be continued Tuesday)

Propers for Easter 3

Hack away.

Filed in Easter and Stories

Related Tags: Easter, Creative Writing, Suffering, Depression, Fiction, Christianity, Theodicy, Doubt

The State of the axegrinder Blog

****
This blog started on 4/20/05. My first post was a poem called, "Triune Praise." I have published just over 200 posts in the last year. I committed to doing 2 per week, so I have been successful in at least one area of blogging. That muffled sound you are hearing is me patting myself on the back.

I don't know what to call the completion of one year of blogging. Is it the birthday of my blog? I don't really think of my blog as my baby. I'm not ready to be known as anyone's "baby's daddy," even if it is in a metaphorical sense. Is this an anniversary? I don't think of axegrinder as a spouse or a mistress. If axegrinder was a woman, she'd be a painfully ugly one. The blog does not really have a life of its own.

Some people employ their blogs therapeutically, vocationally or socially. I am simply trying to say things that are true in a humorous and/or interesting manner. I am attempting to write in accordance with reality out of my particular/peculiar experience, education and environment. I am speaking about things that are unbound, though I am bound by my age, background, personality and other considerations. I hope that we will connect in spite of my limitations. "Could you be mine? Would you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor?" Hello, neighbor.

The whole blog experience for me has been positive. I never wrote consistently before axegrinder came into existence. I wish I had know about blogging sooner. I think someone pointed Salon.com out to me a few years back, but I was too cheap to pay and the people seemed exclusive and (gasp!) liberal. I would have loved to blog through my seminary experience. It was such a time of momentous change for me. It would be nice to have a fuller record of it.

Three people helped me get off the ground. First, JJ, homeschooling mother, friend, thinker, talker, organizer, cook, activist and all-around great woman, introduced me to the medium. She tried to get me interested in blog-daddy Hugh Hewitt. It didn't grab me by the collar and shake me around. I guess I wasn't ready. Not an innovator, I.

Next, JJ's pastor and my good friend, Gary Tebbe started a blog. I suppose it simply took seeing a friend do it to push me over the edge. I jumped in.

Finally, a smarmy, little wiseguy that I befriended at seminary was blogging. It helped to have someone that I saw every day also participating in the blogosphere. He flaked out after only three months (you know I'm talkin' to you, SP).

Who is my audience? I asked myself that question when I was driving home from church on Sunday. Maybe I should first ask whether or not the number of people who read this blog qualify as an audience. Anyone know how many readers you have to have before they can be called an audience? What I have may be more like a random gathering at Starbucks, or a few people stuck in an elevator, or citizens awkwardly washing their hands next to one another in a unisex bathroom. Or none of the above.

I began soliciting friends, family, fellow parishoners and other acquaintances via weekly email sometime after Christmas. I was hesitant to do so but went ahead with it anyway. For whom am I writing? I am writing as a Christian to Christians. However, I believe that my posts are beneficial for those who do not share the Christian faith. I write as an Anglican who is learning what it means to be an Anglican. I am trying to join the conversation amongst the more traditional Anglicans out there in the blogosphere. I've had a smidgen of success, but only a smidgen.

I cleared 5000 hits last week. That is a very modest number for a year's worth of blogging. I did not begin networking until the fall. My short term goal is to have 100 unique visitors a day. I would like 20 of those to be returning readers. I am averaging just over 20 unique visitors a day right now. That is disappointing. I do believe that writing well is the most important part of blogging. I believe that it is also important to make rounds at other blogs and participate by emails and comments in what other people are doing. I've not been good at that aspect of things. "Do unto others ..." The blog gods have yet to anoint me with their one's and zero's.

I've tried to provide some good links for my readers in the right hand sidebar. They are grouped by category. It should go without saying that I do not endorse everything on every blog. I do not link to "adult" material but I put links that will be interesting to adults. I always recommend that parents go before their children to check out the web landscape before allowing their kids to navigate in those places. I will continue to add links as I become familiar with more quality blogs and websites that correspond with my interests and priorities.

I have now categorized my entire site. I am using a site called del.icio.us. The links in the left sidebar under "Categories" lead away from this blog. You will find all the posts I have done under each particular category. It is not difficult to familiarize yourself with how to use the del.icio.us site. I think it makes the contents of my blog more accessible.

November and December saw the launch of two fiction sites. After finishing my MDiv I decided to try my hand at writing stories. "Monica" is a blog that features a novel on which I am working. It is too idle, but I leave updates on axegrinder whenever I add something to it or to my other fiction site, "Poboy Muse," which features short stories.

I would like to express my appreciation to my readers and those who have linked to axegrinder. I have reciprocated all links of which I am aware and will continue to do so. You bless me by taking the time to read. I am striving to give you something worthy of your time and attention. If you know of someone who would enjoy axegrinder, point them my way or send me their email address and I will add them to the list.

I want to offer an invitation for feedback, critique and suggestions via email or comments. I would love to hear more from you all. There are bloggers out there who get overwhelmed by email and comments. That is not the case here.

Hack away.

Filed under General

Related Tags: Blogging, Blogs, del.icio.us, Writing, Links, Linking