Gadarene Insomniac

Paul McCartney Strikes Again

2012-02-13T13:08:00.000-08:00

Since my wife was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease over five years ago I've not been able to listen to Paul sing, Yesterday at all. When he muses, "Why she had to go I don't know, she didn't say." I lose it. I've successfully avoided this 1965 song since 2006.

After last night's Grammy's (2/12/12) I've found another brilliant McCartney song to avoid, My Valentine. Again he muses, "She said that someday soon The sun was gonna shine." This is not true in our case and when I reflect on that thought I lose it all over again. The melody is mournful, melancholic, and could easily drive me mad. Music is the language of the emotions and Sir Paul grabs me by the emotions and pins me to the ground. Here's a 30 second clip. Listen if you dare.

Adventures in Logo Land

2012-01-29T00:12:00.000-08:00

While recently upgrading my websites I was struck by how many business identities I've had over the years. Hansel and Gretel left crumbs on the trail marking their journey; I've scattered logos along mine.

Peacock Sign Co. Logo 1 (1974)

While walking around Woodland Park Zoo one day in 1974, wondering what to name my newly launched sign painting business, I heard peacocks calling in the distance. Voila! A new business name was born, Peacock Sign Company. Painting paper banners for grocery stores helped pay for school and supported my book buying habit.

Peacock Sign Co. Logo 2 (1977)

In 1977 I married Vicki and supplemented our youth pastor's income by painting . Here's logo #2 for Peacock Sign Co.

Magazine Cartoons and Illustration (1979)

In 1979 I sold my first cartoon to a national magazine (Sat. Eve. Post). Vicki and I danced around the living room like we'd won the lottery.

Vicki turned her immense art skills into a commercial venture, too (1980)

One of the funnest activities Vicki and I have done over the years was taking art classes. We took a calligraphy class together in 1980. She combined her excellent penmanship with her crow quill pen skill and soon she was up to her elbows in India ink. This was before our five kids came along.

Family Challenge Ministries (1998)

From 1976 to 1998 I worked with teenagers in a number of churches. In 1998 we "retired" from parish ministry, took the plunge, and started a counseling practice called Family Challenge Ministries. I got the idea for this logo while on a family trip to the Science Museum in BC.

Cartoon Faces Caricatures (2000)

When not counseling couples and families I indulged my interest in drawing by teaching drawing at WWU and WCC and doing live caricatures at fairs, fests, and business events starting in 2000. This self portrait appeared on my Cartoon Faces business cards during that eight year frolic.

Youth Pastor Coach (2002)

A short lived business venture included a stint as Youth Pastor Coach, mentoring young adults working with teens. This logo was drawn by artist Fred Harper.

Positive Turn Life Tools (2004)

The entrepreneurial bug bit me again in 2004 and I launched a business called Positive Turn Life Tools, creating and manufacturing volvelles (aka adjustable round charts or data wheels) on which appeared tons of info on a circular chart. Luke Markowski designed this.

Erik Johnson, LLC (2008)

Our counseling practice grew and we changed the name to Erik Johnson, LLC. Luke Markowski designed this logo, too.

Mediation Services (2009)

In 2009 our practice expanded to include peace making in areas beyond couples and families.Erin Sullivan designed the Conflict Mediation Coach logo.

St. Whimsy Publications (2012)

For many years I've been free lance writing under the business name St. Whimsy Publications (I was one of the religious humor writers for Christianity Today). I finally got around to giving that business an icon.

Here's my take on this trail of logos.

1. I'm probably ADD.

2. Running businesses feeds my love of adrenaline.

3. I've got 89 businesses to go before reaching the Fortune 100.

4. I used to ride my bike in Bill Gate's Medina neighborhood. While he was programming computers I was doodling. If our roles had been reversed he'd be posting his legacy of logos on computer software that made me the mega-billionaire. But I wouldn't trade him places.

Who Says Ideas Don't Have Consequences?

2011-03-27T15:28:00.000-07:00

One of my hitch-hiking buddies
in UT. enjoying the scenery, 1971

It’s no secret my early ‘70s impulse to travel was inspired by popular culture. Travels with Bronson (TV) and Easy Rider (film) fostered wanderlust. A friend’s journey to and from New Orleans by thumb gave me itchy feet. But without a doubt the sweet harmonies and cleaver guitar licks of AM radio had the greatest impact.

I was told to: Get out of this place (Eric Burdon), Head out on the highway (Steppenwolf), Get a move on (Dave Clark V), Hit the road (Ray Charles), Ride captain, ride! (Blues Image), Join a traveling band (Neil Diamond), Ramble on (Led Zeppelin), and get On the road again (Canned Heat).

I was told I was: Born to be wild (Steppenwolf), Born to wander (Rare Earth), and Born free (Roger Williams).

I was told to go to: San Francisco (Scott McKenzie), San Jose (Dionne Warwick), Massachusetts (Bee Gees), Nashville (Lovin’ Spoonful), USSR (Beatles), California (Mamas and the Papas, Scott McKenzie), Arizona (Paul Revere and the Raiders), New Orleans (Judy Collins, Arlo Guthrie), Phoenix, Galveston and Wichita (Glenn Campbell), Lodi (Creedence Clearwater Revival), Marrakesh (Crosby Stills and Nash), Woodstock (Joni Mitchell), Indiana and Carolina (James Taylor), Clarksville (Monkees), Alberta (Gordon Lightfoot), ‘Frisco Bay (Otis Redding), and No particular place (Chuck Berry).

I was told how to get there: Walkin' down that long, lonesome road (Peter, Paul, and Mary), Kickin’ down the cobble stones (Simon and Garfunkel), Like a rollin’ stone (Bob Dylan), Hitchin’ a ride (Vanity Fair). And I was to take a Country road (James Taylor), To the country (Canned Heat), on a Long and winding road (Beatles).

I was told which mode of transportation: Magic carpet (Steppenwolf), Greyhound (Simon and Garfunkel), Diesel ( Janis Joplin), River (Creedence Clearwater Revival), Airplane (Boxtops), Boxcar (Roger Miller), Magic bus (Who), Beautiful balloon (5th Dimension), Motorcycle (Arlo Guthrie), Truckin’ (Grateful Dead), Wooden Ships (Crosby, Stills, and Nash), and a Yellow taxi (Joni Mitchell), a Yellow submarine (Beatles), on a Yellow River (Tony Christie). No transportation? No problem! We can fly! (Cowsills).

And I was told I'd be gone awhile: Maybe I’ll be back someday (Sonny and Cher), I’m a long way from home (Peter, Paul, and Mary), because I've gone to look for America (Simon and Garfunkel).

After spending years marinating my brain in these songs how could I not throw cooked brown rice and dry granola into a back pack and hit the road when Simon and Garfunkel told me to hitchhike 100 miles?

Good thing pop songs of the day didn't encourage eating Mt. Ranier or building bridges out of toothpicks.

(Musings on my past for a memoir-in-progress)

Good and Bad Marriage Advice from Sonny and Cher

2010-11-26T22:34:00.000-08:00

They say our love won't pay the rent. I Got You Babe, 1965. Good. Clear thinking couples don’t try to use romance as legal tender.

Before it's earned, our money's all been spent. I Got You Babe, 1965. Bad. Financial problems are near the top of challenges faced by couples. Solution? Budget, budget, budget. And sell a few million records.

So let them say your hair's too long . I Got You Babe, 1965. Good. Boomer guys with male pattern baldness would love being mocked for having long hair.

We don't have a pot. I Got You Babe, 1965. Bad. Two words: wedding registry.

When I'm sad, you're a clown. I Got You Babe, 1965. Good. Humor is an under estimated feature of healthy relationships.

And if I get scared, you're always around. I Got You Babe, 1965. Bad. What does the anxious partner do when their mate goes to work, the gym, or shopping? It’s comforting to face anxiety with the help of a partner but dependence on that partner can be precarious. And smothering.

I got you to talk with me. I Got You Babe, 1965. Good. The question is, how did they do it? Conversation-starved partners everywhere want to know.

I won't sleep at night until you say, “My honey all I ever need is you.” All I Ever Need Is You, 1971. Bad. Voluntarily delaying sleep until your partner recites a mandatory slogan is a power play sure to create both a sleep debt and an irritated spouse.

I've been in town for 18 years. Baby Don't Go, 1965. Good. Living in one location for the first eighteen years of one’s life affords a person the opportunity to bond, make lasting friendships, and develop interesting hobbies.

I can't stay, maybe I'll be back some day. Baby Don't Go, 1965. Bad. Running from conflict at age 18 sets an unhealthy precedent. The avoidant personality forfeits opportunities to learn vital people skills. To compound matters, considering a possible return even before leaving indicates indecisiveness.

I never had no money, I bought at the second store. Baby Don't Go, 1965. Good. During the tough economic times that happen to most middle class couples, it’s important to know how to cut corners, budget wisely, and wear recycled bell bottoms.

The way this old town laughs at me I just can't take it no more. Baby Don't Go, 1965. Bad. Rather than throw in the towel, it would be wiser for this person to become curious, “Why do elderly citizens laugh at me? Am I funny and not know it? How can I increase my resilience when ridiculed by the older members of this town?”

Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain. The Beat Goes On, 1967. Good. Neurobiologists say the brain is plastic and that repetition is one way to keep the ol’ synapses supple, mindful, and alert. It’s better to have a dumb song stuck in your head than nothing at all.

Teenybopper is our newborn king, uh huh. The Beat Goes On, 1967. Bad. Do we really want prepubescent boys and girls in positions of power?

Electrically they keep a baseball score. The Beat Goes On, 1967. Good. Keeping score in baseball feeds statisticians. Keeping score in marriage—electronically or otherwise--is not advised. (I understand in Wrigley Field they still post scores by hand).

You're not real pretty but you're mine. But You're Mine, 1965. Bad. Dolts call attention to a spouse’s diminishing good looks. It’s best to accept a partner’s jowls, wattles, and wrinkles without comment.

Bang, bang, you shot me down. Bang, Bang My Baby Shot Me Down (1966). Bad. Research shows that gunfire in marriage is a major cause of hard feelings.

I wore black you wore white. Bang, Bang My Baby Shot Me Down (1966). Good. A healthy relationship allows for differences.

You would always win the fight. Bang, Bang My Baby Shot Me Down (1966). Bad. Accepting influence is a keynote feature of healthy relationships. Losers feel taken advantage of; winners grow weary of the mate who constantly gives in. If you must fight, take turns winning and losing.

When Will I Learn Misery Doesn't Sell?

2010-09-11T19:59:00.000-07:00

In 1971 I tried to sell the following dismal gag cartoons to Boy’s Life. Somehow the editor’s felt poisoned campers and cliff hanging kids weren’t in a nine-year-old subscriber’s best interest.

"You see? I told you earth worm stew would taste good."

"Yes, they're moose tracks, Jimmy. Pretty fresh, too."

"Tell me again how much fun we're having. I keep forgetting."

In 1977 I wrote and illustrated a children’s’ book entitled The Miserable Life of a Sockeye Salmon. What was I thinking? Here are the illustrations; I’ve spared you the maudlin text.

In 1982 I began drawing a 64 page graphic novel wherein the parish of a country priest gets kidnapped and held for ransom. Click here for the world’s first gander at Parish Snatchers. Our now 27 year old son was born at that time and I never took Pastor Amos beyond the first 7 pages. The world’s probably a better place because of it.

I mention these stories because it appears I just don’t learn. I’m currently working on a marriage-building board game for couples set in the Middle Ages: famine, plague, Inquisition, rebellions, leeching, torture, wars, no universal health care. I’m putting the feud in feudalism. A real crowd pleaser, huh?

Somehow I never inherited the “I like paintings of kids with big eyes” gene. Too bad. A velvet Elvis sells. For better or (probably) worse, I’m of the Bambi Meets Godzilla school of entertainment. Irony over tidy, adversity (sometimes) over victory, ambiguity, chaos, and puzzlement over cute.

This being the case, I now put on hold all plans for: 1) an expository essay reflecting on Jean Paul Sartre’s essay On The Viscous, wherein I deal once and for all with my aversion to things sticky, 2) a comic book version of Kierkegaard’s Sickness Unto Death, and 3) a novella wherein Orthodox Priests launch a church in rural Ferndale and marauding iconoclasts wearing Carhartt disrupt the liturgy.

I better stick to cute; it sells, misery does not. Now if only I can make the middle ages cute. Stay tuned.

300+ Free Handouts on Counseling Topics

2010-09-07T09:17:00.000-07:00

Follow this link to a library of free handouts used in my counseling/mediation practice which is informed by the values of historic Christianity. I've been selling these on line for a while and am now making them available for no charge. There’s still a charge for the data wheels and books but the handouts are gratis. After 30+ years of helping people work through difficult challenges our inventory of topics has grown. Here are the major headings. Use the site's search engine to track down specific topics of interest. Check ‘em out and load up that shopping cart with freebies!

Yours for better managed conflict, Erik

Addiction
Affair Recovery
Anger Management
Character Building
Conflict Resolution
Counseling Topics
Difficult People
Distancing/Pursuing
Emotions
Family of Origin Topics
Fear and Anxiety
Forgiveness
Marriage Topics
Miscellaneous Parenting Topics
Pastoral Topics
Personal Growth
Premarital Topics
Proverbs
Suffering
Teenager Topics
Theological Topics

Quick Mind Dump on Gaming

2010-08-18T12:49:00.000-07:00

SPROUTS

Pieter Brueghel, Children's Games

I loved playing Stratego as a kid. We raised our kids on (among other things) Husker-Du. Vicki and I would play Scrabble till the wee hours of the morning. When I was a youth pastor I met fans of Dungeons and Dragons. I joined a chess club once (and quit when 10-year-olds kept beating me). Our three sons (Mario, Luigi, and Bowser) play uber video games (especially Portal). I notice Facebook folk play a variety of games. My guy friends are enthralled with baseball. I've known guys absorbed in fantasy sport games. I tweak Solitaire on my computer once in a while. I've visited several mega game stores in recent weeks. I delight in game reviewers on YouTube. We live in a gaming culture. There are lots of games out there! I want to invent a new game and am looking for ideas. What are you favorites?

Stalking the Wild Dragonfly

2010-08-15T21:15:00.000-07:00

Apart from the fact that I probably looked pretty goofy prancing around VanDerYacht Park in Ferndale with a plastic shopping bag chasing bugs, I was very happy when I nabbed this baby--all luminescent, glowy, with neon greens and blues. This bug was thinking just before I caught him, "Even though mom said to stay away from tall spindly things waving white shopping bags I'm in no dan-" and then Snap! He just became an involuntary artist's specimen.

Homage to the R. A. T.* Boys of Bellingham*

2010-08-07T10:55:00.000-07:00

Homage to the R. A. T.* Boys** of Bellingham***

C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien had their Inklings, Joseph Priestly and Ben Franklin had their Club of Honest Whigs, Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchley had their Algonquin Club, Dante Rossetti had his Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Picasso, Matisse, and Sartre had their Left Bank, Ken Kesey, Wavy Gravy and Stewart Brand had their Merry Pranksters, and Martin Luther had his Diet of Worms.

*R. A. T. = Readers and Thinkers group includes (from left to right): Marriage and Family Pastor in Cornwall Church of God, former CEO of mega food chain and current business consultant, baseball historian and senior pastor of Bellingham Covenant Church, flash fiction writer and head of the INN (college group at Western Washington University), baseball artist and senior pastor of Birchwood Presbyterian, counselor/mediator/erstwhile cartoonist, CEO of the NW's largest camping ministry (FIRS), and career coach and pastor of Christ the King.

** Not Pictured, Writer in Residence Second Baptist Church, Houston, TX

*** Best city in America

How Do You Say Moth?

2010-08-02T08:54:00.000-07:00

Young Huck Finn calls his mother, “Hey Ma!”

Hear that “ah” sound in the word, “Ma?” Making an “ah” sound requires a wide-open mouth like when we say, “father,” “gaga,” or “Ali Baba.”

A sympathetic friend hears your tale of woe and says, “Aw!” This “awe” sound requires a circular mouth like when we say the words, “often,” “fawn,” or “shawl.”

There’s a subtle but important difference between these two sounds, “ah” and “awe.”

People on the east coast call the creature that flutters around porch lights, “mawth” (rhymes with “awe”) which is to me a richer, rounder, more manly way to identify this bug.

People on the west coast call these guys, “mahth” (rhymes with “ah”) which to me sounds smarmy, shallow, and insubstantial. It’s a wimpy way to identify a bug.

If you shouted at me, “Look out! Here comes a flying mahth,” I’d casually glance up with a disinterested air wondering what all the panic is all about.

But if you shouted, “Look out! Here comes a flying mawth,” I’d duck and cover and ask questions later.

If we’re going to talk about these critters, we have to get our dialects in sync. For practice, please repeat after me, “I often put a shawl around my fawn to protect it from moths.”

Do not say, “Ali Baba goes gaga when his father swats moths.”

So please, west coast folk, stop calling them “mahths” and start calling them “mawths.” It’s the right thing to do.

And think of the lives you’ll save.

These Games Don't Work

2010-07-30T22:50:00.000-07:00

For years I've tried to create the next Rubik's Cube, Master Mind, and Scrabble game. I've failed but keep trying. Here are some old rejects.

Exhibit #1: Strained Glass. Arrange the colored circles into shapes that are both pleasing to the eye and useful for calculating simple math functions. Dismal failure.

Exhibit # 2: Scramble Face. Players splay the discs from the grommet and then carefully rearrange them to make a face. Since the discs are connected the level of difficulty is brain-numbingly easy. Grade? F-!

Exhibit #3: Spin Field! Games are supposed to entertain and challenge; this game bores to tears. Even with dice, movable score board, and running batters, it's a cross between Strat-O-Matic and a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

Exhibit #4: Holzendatz. A solitaire game wherein one turns the many discs in an attempt to align 7 datz of the same color in a row. The trick is--some datz must be aligned with holz strategically hidden throughout, thus leading the unwary player down fruitless dead ends. It's so complicated I failed to jot down the solution key, couldn't align the datz, and gave up.

Exhibit #5: Dice Line. Players scramble the rings then take turns rotating one ring at a time attempting to align five dice in a row, in order. Part Stadium Checkers, part Yahtzee, part sleeping pill.

Exhibit #6: Dot Face. If you squint and tilt your head to the side you'll see behind the holes a caricature face. On the actual game one can rotate the acetate on which is printed the black background and see the face clearly through the holes. This game is for the easily amused. Would make a nice coaster, actually.

There are many more to display but a wave of sleepiness is coming over me. Hey, maybe I should market these as sleep inducing devices!

Thistles Before Breakfast

2010-07-27T07:29:00.000-07:00

This prickly bugger was growing outside our front door.

A Pearl Harbor Denier

2010-07-23T10:18:00.000-07:00

You can try to convince me the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, but you won’t succeed. It never happened.

• Pictures of Japanese Zero fighters? Photoshop.
• Films of sinking ships? Computer generated images.
• Eye witnesses? Conspirators.
• US involvement in WW II? A Tom Hanks invention with help from Steven Spielberg.
• Treaty documents? Forgeries.
• Underwater memorials? Think Magic Mountain.
• FDR’s Day of Infamy speech? Voice overs.
• Purpose of this fabrication? Stimulate the US economy after the Great Depression.

Hey, wait a minute. I’m not sure the Great Depression was real.

• Pictures of bread lines? Photoshop.
• Films of Hooverville? CGI.
• Eye witnesses? Conspirators.
• FDR’s New Deal? An invention by the current administration to justify bailouts, stimulus package, and a 14 trillion dollar debt.

Hey, wait a minute. I’m not sure the current administration is real……

Sheesh. I’ve got to quit listening to Jesse Ventura.

Motor Psycho Madness

2010-07-15T14:06:00.000-07:00

Almost 30 years ago we moved to rural Whatcom County from Seattle. One of the first differences we noticed between city life and rural life was locals’ attitudes toward noise. After years of urban chaos—blaring sirens, honking horns, buses with air brakes, disturbed pedestrians shouting to themselves, and the ubiquitous jackhammer—we found the silence in Ferndale pleasantly deafening.

Not long after arriving, I visited a man who lived in the very heart of Whatcom County farmland. I found the guy riding his lawn mower in the middle of the biggest field I’d ever visited. During our brief conversation, he lamented, “Hear that noise? I hate it that civilization is encroaching on our privacy!” I strained my ears to hear what he heard. Bees buzzed. Crickets chirped. Clouds silently glided by. The sun beat down on us. Then, in the far off distance, I heard a faint train engine whistle, a mere whisper. And this guy was appalled at the noise!

Thirty years later and now I’m appalled at civilization encroaching on our privacy. While leisurely watering plants in our front yard last week three motorcycles raced past our house clearly NOT following the 25 MPH speed limit. What really got me, though, was the noise. The combined decibel levels of an amped up Jethro Tull concert, the deafening racket of diesel ferryboat engines, and misguided firecrackers going off next to my ear, couldn’t match the jarring pandemonium of these motorcycles. My ligaments disconnected from my bones, my blood pressure spiked, and my bladder beheld the garden hose with longing. Death by motorcycle noise? It’s possible.

Transforming sources of irritation is one of the skills I teach clients so here is my attempt at cognitive self-therapy. What possible reasons could these bikers have besides an evil attempt at murder by two-stroke engine for polluting airwaves with such disquietude?

1. They attended so many rock concerts in their youth that they, like Pete Townsend, have hearing loss. What I experienced as cacophonous bedlam they experience as purring kittens.

2. They’ve lived lives of powerlessness and this is their attempt at regaining a voice. As children, adults squelched their tantrums and this is an attention-getting payback.

3. Broken mufflers; perhaps they couldn’t help the noise and they were rushing to mechanic friends for beers and emergency repairs.

4. They are bumbling undercover agents infiltrating the Banditos and totally blowing it because even Banditos’ bikes aren’t that loud.

5. They're from PR trying to overcome the biker stereotype of being “dirty, leather clad men with shaggy beards covered in road dust riding around the country wreaking havoc and getting into barroom brawls” (taken from a website, Top 10 Notorious American Biker Gangs). If their campaign is successful, we’ll consider them nothing more than a bunch of noisy but happy-go-lucky guys out for a summer ride.

6. They are daring philosophers, ethicists, and politicians to weigh their individual rights against society’s collective rights. Do indeed others' rights end where our eardrums begin? It’s debatable, but who’s nervy enough to launch the debate?

7. This is an effort to promote fuel-efficient transportation. Their message? “We will woo you into giving up your gas guzzlers by destroying your hearing.”

8. They are existential nihilists bent on terrorizing peace-loving citizens who pay their taxes and water their lawns. Oh wait, that option doesn’t calm me down one tiny bit.

9. They are earplug manufacturers exercising First Amendment rights to free speech and are simply drumming up business.

10. They are noise junkies who've made huge strides in recovery. They used to fly fighter jets with the windows open, groove on 727s taking off, and use airraid sirens for an alarm clock. They’re working their way down to electric cars, mopeds, then the soothing sound of mountain bike derailleurs.

11. It’s a reenactment of family of origin issues. Like the Woody Allen character raised under a roller coaster, the noisier the better.

I’m still trying to get over it but I do feel better. Thanks for listening.

A Bug's Life

2010-07-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

I inherited from my dad a powerful reading lens. I used it today to draw small stuff; I attacked the world of bugs with my markers. Just think what one could do with a powerful microscope. I could draw bee's knees.

Ode d' Sandal

2010-07-10T17:54:00.000-07:00

If a pleasant experience is like a perfectly fitting shoe,

what is a perfectly fitting shoe like?

This is my tenth and last summer

wearing a perfectly fitting pair of sandals.

They are falling apart.

One could say they are under their last legs.

Any sure footedness I've experienced

this decade of summer walking

is due in large part to these

hard working and uncomplaining sandals.

Goodbye friends. You will be missed.

Free Book

2010-07-05T13:01:00.000-07:00

I've always wanted to write a book wherein I quote Sartre, Solomon, and Simon Cowell. Well, here it is: Stealth Drawings: The Existential Quandary of Being Stared At. 29 pages of miscellaneous quotes from philosophers, psychologists, and theologians illustrated with over 100 clips from 30 years of sketching. Follow this link and type "stealth" in the search menu. During check out make up your own password. Let me know if you hit glitches.

Fountain Pen as Mediator

2010-07-03T15:35:00.000-07:00

I lost my favorite pen last week, looked for it feverishly without success despite this great web site: how to find lost things. For seven long days I had a sour attitude while taking client notes, writing in my journal, and making lists using inferior and off putting writing implements. I couldn't take it anymore and in a panic finally ordered two more similar pens off the web. Yesterday I pulled a shirt from my closet and in the pocket was the missing pen! Birds chirped, the sun came out, and my funk was lifted. I even spotted rainbows and unicorns in the back yard.

Why the obsession with this favorite pen? For 50+ years I've been an obsessive doodler, scribbler, and note taker and have tried hundreds, maybe thousands of different tools for writing—from crayons to key boards, from easy to smear crow quill and Speedball dip pens to Design Markers loaded with toxic xylene for quick drying, from maddening Rapidographs that clog to exotic grades of graphite sticks and felt tip markers. Nothing beats the fountain pen I discovered two years ago (Lamy details to come). Here’s why I’m a dedicated fan.

It’s comforting to hold a pen. Like a security blanket I find holding a pen oddly soothing. I type like the wind but the keys clatter, my sentences bump into each other, and important rough drafts disappear thanks to the too-easy-to-use delete button. A fountain pen makes me slow down and think.

A fountain pen is a low tech device, operable in dim light. Computer screens emit serotonin-boosting light and journaling at night by hand in dusky lumens has a calming effect. Plus, when I change the ink cartridge there’s a gradual appearance of the new color—turquoise, red, purple, blue or green (see photo). One takes one’s entertainments where one finds them.

Most importantly, fountain pens glide over paper surfaces effortlessly. Years ago I was a sign painter who dreaded jobs where I had to apply lettering to rough surfaces—splintered wood, untreated boards, and gritty cement walls. It’s like these surfaces resisted my artistic efforts. I know we shouldn't personify paper surfaces; they hate it when we do that. But I still get the feeling that writing surfaces are fussy; I believe that paper resents intrusive pencils, bossy ball point pens, and demanding gel pens.

But the fountain pen! Ahhh. A smooth flow of rich, opaque ink is one of life’s finer pleasures. You know those electronic devices we see on TV with several needles wobbling back and forth—seismographs, lie detectors, EKGs? I believe the rolls of paper on which those wavy lines appear welcome ink with pleasure because the data is applied with grace, delicacy, and finesse. Fountain pen ink is applied the same way. It is not imposed or forced upon reluctant paper; it flows, it glides, it is laid down with grace. And the paper cooperates! It’s the difference between plowing furrows in hard clay and gently planting seeds in prepared soil.

Writing instruments bring together two disparate entities that need help connecting: synapses and stationery. The fountain pen is the perfect media—from which we get the word mediator—accurately mediating between what brains think and what paper receives. By presenting with clarity and gentleness a writer’s thoughts, and representing to the brain how the writing surface is responding, a symbiosis takes place. Whether the surface is a note card, onion skin, or cheap note pad, a fountain pen does the job with artfulness, class, and elegance. It’s a marriage made in heaven.

Lamy details. One need not—but could—spend $10,000 for a collectible fountain pen. After years of experimenting my favorite fountain pens are made by Lamy, $26 - $235 each (ink is extra). I buy the $30 models and love them.

Rejection at the Speed of Light

2010-06-28T09:48:00.000-07:00

Today at 8:04 AM I submitted another humor piece to The New Yorker Shouts & Murmurs column, this time via email and a .pdf. They replied with this chatty and upbeat note:

Thank you for submitting your work to The New Yorker magazine. Your message has been forwarded to the Shouts & Murmurs department. You should receive a reply within three months.

Forty four minutes later (8:48 AM) I received this rejection notice.

Dear Erik, We’re sorry to say that your piece, “Love Tests,” wasn’t right for us, despite its evident merit. Thank you for allowing us to consider your work. Best regards, The Shouts Dept.

Using the latest techniques of cognitive therapy I imagine several possible explanations for this swift sucker punch.

1. Susan Orlean, Woody Allen, and David Sedaris all submitted the exact same article just moments before me and editors are squabbling over which of these luminaries gets the by-line.

2. The unsolicited manuscript rejection committee saw Toy Story 3 over the weekend and now nothing is funny by comparison.

3. The New Yorker staff accidentally left their "automatic rejection" switch on and no one actually read the 760 words I slaved over this weekend; I've been sabotaged by technology.

4. By fantastic oversight on my part I forgot to tell them I was born in New York.

5. By fantastic oversight on their part they assumed nothing funny could come from a town whose tallest building is Ferndale Grain.

6. God wants me to have empathy for the rejects on American Idol.

7. Garrison Keillor's prediction is true, "The future of publishing: 18 million authors in America, each with an average of 14 readers, eight of whom are blood relatives. Average annual earnings: $1.75."

8. The Shouts Dept. received 18 million unsolicited email submissions this morning and due to budgetary cut backs neither reader had time to savor my scintillating and witty prose.

9. In a science fictiony twist of fate someday New Yorker rejection notices will command big bucks on eBay rendering today's lost royalties a mere trifle.

10. Maybe my piece was so disagreeable they bent the three month rule and immediately rid their offices of my loathsome submission like it was anthrax. Meaning, it wasn't funny. Enough. For. Humor. Connoisseurs.

Ouch.

Coffee Aficionados

2010-06-17T08:40:00.000-07:00

I drink instant coffee but don’t offer it to guests; I pull out my secret stash of the good stuff. Last Saturday, for example, I took from its honored place on the shelf our high priced coffee made for complicated machines that use measuring cups, filters, and glass pots. I don’t know how to run such machines so I asked our daughter Emily to make a pot of real good coffee for our son’s graduation party. She did and I thought all was well. At least I enjoyed my cup of this gourmet blend served only on special occasions.

When the party was over I was puzzled to see how much coffee was still in the pot but secretly happy; I had leftovers for the next few days! On Sunday morning I poured cold machine-made coffee into a mug and put it in the microwave. On Monday morning I did it again, polishing off the remains—good to the last drop.

Imagine my shock when Emily at a later family gathering informed me she didn’t drink Saturday’s coffee claiming it was inferior to fresh ground beans. We like our kids to be firm in their convictions but her smugness was one bean short of hoity-toity. I protested, “What’s wrong with that coffee? It’s not instant; it’s made for coffee makers!”

“Dad, that coffee is old!” she argued with more than a little fervency. “It smelled terrible!”

I said, “It wasn’t terrible. I reheated it twice since Saturday and it was great.”

At this news her husband Jason, all her siblings, and all their friends erupted. “What? You drank reheated coffee? The stuff Emily made from that old can?”

I marched into the kitchen, found the gourmet coffee, and presented it to them with flair, “What’s the matter with this can of coffee?”

Jason read it, “Fred Meyer Supreme Blend? They don’t even make that stuff any more.”

Daughter Olivia’s fiance Brandon removed the lid and sniffed. “This smells like old Saltine crackers and ground up twigs.” Elliot our 18 year old pulled some old Saltine crackers off the shelf for comparison purposes, apparently feeling this bolstered their case.

“But it’s two pounds, seven ounces of real coffee!”

Jason turned the can over and read, “Use before August, 2003.”

“You’re drinking coffee you got when Elliot was eleven!” came the cries. Apparently one is not supposed to drink, much less reheat, coffee that’s seven years old.

Brandon took the can and with flair dumped the contents into the garbage, “There! Now you can’t use it at all.”

Thoroughly chastened, I yielded. I couldn’t out-argue a mob of vociferous coffee aficionados, especially now that my secret stash was gone for ever.

So now I’m going to learn about coffee pots. I wonder how often one can reuse a filter and grounds.

The Joy of Cigar Smoking

2010-06-12T18:19:00.001-07:00

Today our family celebrated our fifth and last child's graduation from High School. Elliot's older brothers have developed a hankering for cigars so I joined them (again). I gotta admit, there are three things about cigar smoking I find pleasantly otherworldly: 1) sitting still--it's hard to run around with lit stogies, 2) shooting the breeze in the back yard with guys age 18-29 --Vicki and I have great sons and daughters who hang with great guys, and 3) joining the ranks of great smokers of church history--Chas. Spurgeon, Soren Kierkegaard, R. C. Sproul, C. S. Lewis, and Gandalf. When I was a pastor I'd quip, "Smoking won't send you to hell; just make you smell like you've been there." I'm now eating my words. Apparently the smell of cigar smoke isn't as vile as I'd been lead to believe.

I also learned that my sons realized too late that--due to dad's lack of sense of smell--they could have smoked like chimneys all through their teen years and I'd never have known it. They prudently waited until legal age before lighting up.

Lennon and McCartney taught me to, "Curse Sir Walter Raleigh he was such a stupid get." Ronald Regan taught me, "Smoking Hippies dressed like Tarzan, looked like Jane, and smelled like Cheetah." Mark Driscoll taught me, "Cigar smoking + Christianity = Holy smokes!" (I made up that last quote). W. Churchill, T. Soprano, and D. DeVito taught me, "Close but no cigar!" And the young guys in my life taught me, "Clip off the ends, spit a lot, and drink lots of water."

Congratulations, Elliot! We're proud of you. We light up these tightly wrapped and finely aged Dominican Republic beauties in your honor.

Creativity in 5 Minutes

2010-06-06T09:58:00.000-07:00

Jeff Warren's Head Trip: Adventures on the Wheel of Consciousness includes a brief but nifty summary of the skills of the creative (p. 50). I list them here with elaboration.

Spontaneity: While contemplation and reflection are rare in our speed-of-light lives, one can think too much and too long. Fear of mistakes often paralyses creativity. Homework: try doing something impulsive this week (that isn't immoral, illegal, or fattening).
Effortlessness: I once wrote a letter to (and got an answer from) Kurt Vonnegut telling him how hard I laughed at his description of a woman, "whose greatest act of creativity was squishing old slivers of soap onto a new bar of soap." Creative acts need not be rocket science. Homework: Pay attention this week to all those tiny acts of creativity you do in the normal course of a day. If you can't find any, squish slivers of soap together.
Expressiveness: Social networking is fueled by expressiveness. Once I answered the question, "What do I care about people's daily breakfast menu?" I began to appreciate micro blogs as tiny acts of creative expression. Homework: post something on line this week; it lets your fans know you're alive and kicking.
Innocence: Creative people are typically too naive to know that something can't be done so they try it anyway. The result? The Wright brothers flying machine, Edison's incandescent light, Salk's vaccine, Dean Kamen's Segway, and Chuck Hoberman's sphere. Homework: don't let naysayers, party-poopers, or pessimistic drudges rain on your parade. Keep believing you are capable of creating new ways of doing things.
A lack of fear for the uncertain, ambiguous, or unknown: Control freaks, black and white thinkers, and the "highly certain" are generally not too creative. Homework: Instead of looking at the gray areas of life as threatening, see them as opportunities for creativity. A whole genre of Biblical literature is dedicated to ambiguity: wisdom literature (Job and Ecclesiastes in particular).
An ability to tolerate bi-polarities and to integrate opposites: Juxtaposing two different things unleashes all sorts of new ideas. Creativity is stifled when, for the sake of harmony, one polarity is ignored, eliminated, or discounted. Homework: this week list all the things apples and oranges have in common.

Kirkegaard on a 7" wheel!

2010-05-31T19:19:00.000-07:00

Christian philosopher Soren Kierkegaard once wrote that he loved making simple things complicated. I in turn love making complicated things simple. For example, Kierkegaard's opening paragraphs in The Sickness Unto Death are notorious for being some of the most complicated sentences in the English language (translated from Danish, his mother tongue). They're even parodied on Youtube (very funny!)

Once you plow through his opening pages and get his nomenclature, the book is actually (to me) a spiritually edifying discourse. I've applied my wheel making hobby to this work and finished the first draft this weekend.

I'm tempted to start a new blog dedicated to the art of the volvelle...called, "Spinning My Wheels."

A Little Known Cultural Factoid From the '70s

2010-05-21T07:17:00.000-07:00

After high school I spent several years hitch hiking up and down the west coast with buddies. Our lofty ambitions during this period of youthful folly were to spit in the Grand Canyon, sleep in the Painted Desert, and pan handle in Height Ashbury. We meandered through WA, OR, CA, AZ, NM, NV, and UT and spent hundreds of hours idling about freeway on-ramps with our thumbs out. Here comes the cultural factoid: the 6” x 6” posts of freeway on-ramp signs were plastered with the hand scrawled notes of a generation of aimless wanderers, personal notes beyond the ubiquitous “Impeach Nixon.”

“Jade, meet me in SF on the 14th. Sunseed.” “Flakey Foont, I missed you in Phoenix. Find me in Flagstaff next month. Mr. Natural.” “Amethyst, we waited 3 days and you never showed. Found Moose. Head to Elko. Look us up. Amanita.”

The freeway sign posts, eight to ten feet tall for maximum visibility, were literally covered with micro blogs on all four sides, from top to bottom, on every on-ramp from Salem to San Diego: Oakland, Bakersfield, Sepulveda, Yuma, Chico, Union Gap, San Jose, and more.

“Chrystal, busted in Redding, hung up in Sacramento, Oceanside soon. Opal.” “Marjoram, where’s that twenty bucks I loaned you? Chanterelle.” “Has anyone seen that chic Rainbow from Pismo Beach? Was supposed to be here last Thursday. Tell her Mossyfern missed her.”

Clearly, the odds of these messages actually reaching their intended audiences were slim. The pattern of pick up and drop off was random, subject to the whim of Good Samaritan motorists. But the sign posts did make for interesting reading while stranded for hours. The human need for connection always finds a way.

“Crazy Horse at Fillmore next month. Pickles, meet me there.” “Greenflower, where the heck are you?” “Great soup kitchen on Elmwood in Berkeley but don’t eat the tuna.”

Just think how efficient the nomadic 70s might have been had we had Twitter.

The Lawn Mower Proof for the Existence of God

2010-05-18T08:49:00.000-07:00

St. Thomas would be glad to know someone’s finally added a sixth classical proof for the existence of God. Apologists who strike out using the ontological, cosmological, moral, teleological and contingency arguments can now argue unbelievers into faith using the Ariens, Snapper, Lawn Boy and Honda proof for the existence of God. Here’s how.

1. After months of backbreaking work of removing rocks, leveling dirt, planting seed, watering and weeding, lawns grow like crazy. But then people undo their work by cutting down the grass that took months to cultivate. It serves no evolutionary advantage for Homo sapiens to find pleasure in this bizarre practice. Such folly can only be explained by our fallen nature. If there’s a fallen nature there’s got to be a God whose nature we’ve fallen short of.

2. Some lawn mowing persons (me for example) rarely mow the lawn in the same pattern. The joy of making creative mowing patterns is evidence of the aesthetic in us. Where did such a bent come from? Why do moose or llamas not graze in oddball patterns? Because, not being created in the image of a creative God, they take no pleasure in art.

3. I’ve heard stories of some (not me) who mow others’ lawns for free. Such altruism can only be explained by a divine desire in us to serve others without reward. Where does this selfless concern for others come from--the selfish gene? We think not.

4. If we found an abandoned lawn mower in a grassy field it’s unlikely we’d conclude that the fossil fuels and carbon pistons spontaneously materialized out of thin air. We’d conclude some irresponsible teenager simply got lazy and quit mowing. Further proof of our fallen nature.

5. Some lawn mowers come equipped with a mulching plate to be installed when not bagging. Failure to install this device results in jamming the self propel mechanism. Persons who fail to put that plate in place (I’m not naming any names) recognize they lack intelligent design. By negation we know what is by knowing what is not. Some (still unnamed) lawn mowing persons know intelligence exists because they know they lack it. Ergo, intelligent design does exist (just not in my back yard).

6. People see differences between pre-cut and post-cut lawns (especially around our place). The cognitive ability to recognize newly shorn lawns requires image retrieval, memory comparison, and conclusion making. If this is mere neurology, a function of random synaptic connections and electronic impulses—like telemarketing or laugh tracks--why trust it? Every time an atheist appreciates a newly mown lawn they’re demonstrating their God given ability to trust their senses.

7. Tracking grass into a recently swept kitchen triggers strong emotions in some (I am again naming no names). The hard work of sprucing up the yard is for naught all because of a couple of measly blades of grass? Okay, it was a couple of handfuls. Picky, picky. So how does the Swept Floor VS. Mown Lawn controversy prove the existence of God? If unaided natural selection dictated the survival of the fittest, we’d take grass on the kitchen floor in stride. But because the lawn mower wants to get along with the kitchen sweeper, intelligent adjustments must be made. Now please excuse me, I’ve got some sweeping up to do.

The Dudley Do Right School of Conflict Resolution

2010-05-14T21:33:00.000-07:00

The 1960s cartoon Dudley Do Right smartly captured three roles played in contemporary disputes. In most conflicts one party plays the role of the evil Snidely Whiplash. He's the identified bully, provocateur, and persecutor who threatens the innocent and vulnerable Nell Fenwick. In family conflicts Nell is the victim, martyr, and powerless recipient of mistreatment. To the rescue comes Dudley Do Right of the Mounties! Dudley saves, protects, and fights injustice. As a conflict mediator I'm astonished how frequently everyone thinks they play the role of Dudley Do Right. Check this out.

A mother watches in horror as her husband tries to toughen up their son with what she thinks are unreasonable consequences. From her point of view, the harsh dad is like Snidely Whiplash picking on their vulnerable son (Nell) and she, playing the role of Dudley, comes to the rescue--interferes with dad's discipline, softens the harshness, and scolds the nasty Snidely!

A father watches in anger as their son manipulates mom and pushes her around. From his point of view, the son is like Snidely picking on a vulnerable wife (Nell) and he, playing the role of Dudley, comes to the rescue--protecting mom, scolding the son, and coming on like gang busters!

A son watches in fear as his parents fight like cats and dogs. From his point of view, dad is like Snidely Whiplash picking on his vulnerable mother (Nell) and he, playing the role of Dudley, acts out (misbehaves, flunks classes) to rescue his parents.

Everyone thinks they're the hero Dudley protecting the innocent Nell by fighting injustice. Or they think of themselves as Nell, the martyr being persecuted by the bully Snidely. Rarely do folks admit, "I'm the mean one, I'm Snidely Whiplash, I'm the one who stirs up the drama."

If you find yourself in conflict with two other people, pause and ask each one to describe what role they feel they're in--picked on Nell, rescuer Dudley, or bad guy Snidely. There's no guarantee that will end the fight but it'll give you a good laugh in the middle of it when no body fesses up to being a Snidely!

Temper's Temperature

2010-05-11T11:57:00.000-07:00

There's a connection between anger and heat; where else would these phrases come from?

He lit my fuse.
She's a hot head.
She makes my blood boil.
I was in the heat of passion.
She exploded.
Our tempers flared.
She's like a volcano.
He's red faced.
Stay cool!
Chill out!
He burns me up.
My wroth is kindling.
We had a heated argument.
I'm steamed!
She burns me up!
Don't push his hot button.
I'm fuming!
She's venting!
There are degrees of anger.
Some anger is caustic.
He makes inflammatory remarks.
Don't blow up.
Simmer down!

If I Worked for Microsoft

2010-05-09T08:03:00.000-07:00

Microsoft has a reputation for asking job applicants weird questions to see how they handle off-the-wall inquiries: Why is a manhole cover round? How many cars are there in the USA? How many cubit feet of water pass by a chosen spot in the Mississippi River? How would you relocate Mt. Fuji?

I wonder what questions are asked of those who apply for the job of Job Applicant Question Writer. Here’s what I’d ask.

1. Which came first: the can or the can opener?

2. Who put the lava in lavatory?

3. Who put the mode in commode?

4. Who put the hroo in bathroom?

5. Who was the first to rearrange the spaces of that famous French phrase, “Wet hepeo ple?”

6. Who was the first to describe Kafka’s The Trial as Kafkaesque?

7. If given two choices which would you rather receive: dashed hopes or hashed dopes?

8. Is your dislike of discursive reasoning due to an intellectual incapacity or a highly selective standard of relevance which produces an insuperable indifference to matters bearing no apparent relation to those matters that do interest you?

9. Who was the first to rearrange the spaces of that famous rap lyric, “Uni Ted West and?”

10. Using just a lawn mower prove the existence of God.

7 Views of Economic Shortage

2010-05-08T00:21:00.000-07:00

Why are some people stuck in the middle (or lower) class? Why are some business owners not selling as many widgets or billable hours they used to? Why is cash flow not flowing for so many? Here are seven views of economic shortage (illustrated with references to scripture and culture).

1. Randomness. This view suggests there are no discernible or predictable laws of economic success.

Solomon said, “The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.”
This is the premise of the Black Swan by economist Nassim Taleb, Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, Drunkard’s Walk by Leonard Mlodinow, and a host of mathematicians who study chance, luck, and lotteries.

2. Retribution. This view suggests moral or ethical failure is behind poverty.

The disciples believed this (“who caused this man’s blindness—himself or his parents?”) as did Job’s comforters (“God repays a man for what he has done; he brings upon him what his conduct deserves”)
It’s a favorite of health and wealth preachers.
Richard Adams in his novel Shardik brilliantly described a superstitious tribe who read the random movements of a large bear as omens in response (retribution) for their undisciplined worship.

3. Good Products, Bad Capitalism. This view suggests an unregulated market squashes those without power.

James warns against unscrupulous bosses (“Look! The wages you failed to pay the workmen who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty. You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter”).
One can learn about this view from Barbara Ehrenreich’s Bright Sided and Michael Moore’s Capitalism: A Love Story.

4. Good Capitalism, Bad products. This view suggests the struggling widget seller may not be selling widgets because they’re bad widgets.

Jesus cleansed the temple because the products were being sold at exorbitant prices thus preventing worship, “In the temple courts he found men selling cattle, sheep and doves, and others sitting at tables exchanging money.”
Just as bad-singing contestants on American Idol need a Simon Cowell to tell them they stink, entrepreneurs need an objective reality check.
Adam Smith in Wealth of Nations said the “invisible hand” of an unfettered market weeds out the bad products naturally.
Think dangerous Toyotas, tainted Tylenol, and contaminated tuna.

5. Good Product, Bad Worker. Even businesses with great products can go belly up if the owner is shady, unethical, or morally impure.

This is the message of Proverbs (“for the prostitute reduces you to a loaf of bread, and the adulteress preys upon your very life”).
Similar to the retribution view, this view suggests moral turpitude may lie behind economic failure.
This caused doubts in Asaph who puzzled over the success of the unrighteous in Psalm 73; I wonder what he would have thought of oil rich Arab nations?
Willy Lowman in Death of a Salesman exemplifies this view of immorality and income.

6. Divine Determinism. This view leaves little room for human influence. One’s economic fortunes (or lack thereof) are determined by God’s sovereignty.

Deuteronomy states, “But remember the LORD for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth.”
James wrote, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that."
Economic shortfall is re-framed as divine discipline, character building, or opportunity to cast one’s self on the “frowning providence” of God.
Paradoxically, according to Protestantism and the Spirit of Capitalism by Max Webber, the Puritans believed that industriousness would earn God’s favor and could be measured in profit.

7. Passivity. This view suggests one’s earnings are commensurate to one’s faith and generosity.

“Test me in your finances,” said Malachi.
“If you’re not faithful in mammon, how will God entrust to you true riches?” said Jesus.
Since there are so many scriptural references that imply one shouldn't be financially ambitious (“Be content with one’s wages.” “Love of money is the root of all evil.” “Consider the lilies and the birds…they don’t sweat earning a living”), one is left trying to find the balance between foolhardy Zen-like passivity on one hand and greedy accumulation on the other.
Richard Foster, Phillip Yancey, Ron Blue, Larry Burkett, and others address this challenge.

What other views are there? How do you explain economic shortages?

What Comes After "Z?"

2010-05-07T07:21:00.000-07:00

I woke up with this burning question, "What letter comes after the letter z?" to which I reply:

1. "Y" if you're listing the letters of the alphabet in reverse alphabetical order.
2. "A" if you're listing the letters of the alphabet in alphabetical order in sequence.
3. "S" if you're spelling the name Zsa Zsa.
4. "B" if you're spelling the name Zbigniew Brzezinski.
5. "O" if you're spelling the word zoo (on and on for zebra, zylophone, zipper, etc).
6. "N" if you're looking at a random rack of Scrabble letters.
7. "%" if you're inventing a 27th letter of the alphabet.
8. "Z" if you're into singers with long (long!) white beards.

Now, back to work.......

Quips/Quotes: Midnight Disease

2010-05-04T08:29:00.000-07:00

Interesting quotes by Alice Flaherty (Midnight Disease) and my responses

Lewis Carroll wrote 98,721 letters in his life time (almost as many monthly texts as the average teen).

Highly productive would-be authors fill file drawers with unpublishable trash (she’s been snooping in my home office).

The drive to write produces a first draft; it is the drive to write well that produces the second, third, twentieth (would that more authors had the drive to write well).

If you don’t like the first or second doctor, see another. If you don’t like the fifth, though, it just might be you that is in trouble (words of genuine wisdom).

Queen Anne said admiringly of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, “How awful, artificial, and amusing” meaning awe-full, artful, and inspired by the muse (today she’d say, “How dope”).

Creativity is defined as novelty and value (my baked salmon is valuable but not novel; my made-from-scratch green smoothies are novel but lack value. I’ve yet to cook a creative meal).

Déjà vu, jamais vu—the feeling of never having seen something which is in fact familiar (like seeing my high school annual photos).

Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote, “I don’t want to be a doctor and live by men’s diseases; nor a minister to live by their sins; nor a lawyer to live by their quarrels. So I don’t see there’s anything left for me but to be an author” (ouch! he just eliminated my callings as therapist, pastor, mediator).

Why Prolific Writers Write

2010-05-04T08:24:00.000-07:00

I read the Midnight Disease to find out why some people write so much. Here are the options.

Biology. An overabundance of neurotransmitters in the synapses of our limbic system influences our temporal lobes.
Vocation. We have a sense of mission and we desire to propagate truth, beauty, humor.
Hypergraphia. Like the workaholic, there’s a psychodynamic urge to write and we just can’t quit.
Suffering. Misery shared is half the misery.
Temperament. The artist in us “gets pleasure from the praise of complete strangers.”
Post partum disorder. (Um, not for all of us).
A visitation. One receives inspiration from the muse like receiving dictation by an outside source.
Imago dei. Being created in the image of a communicating God prompts us to communicate as well. Well, not as well, but in stumbling imitation.
Depression. Introspection is a very writerly trait.
Compulsive memoirism. This is the fuel behind most blogs.
Money (fame, fortune).
Self therapy. “Language was the first mood altering experience” (p. 200).
Self knowledge. “How do I know what I think until I see what I say?” (p. 218).

My hunch is that people with the compulsion to write a lot combine several of these motivations. What drives you to write?

Kierkegaard Bibliography

2010-05-01T07:18:00.000-07:00

Annotated Kierkegaard Bibliography

Soren Kierkegaard’s (1813 – 1855) literary legacy is massive, convoluted and confusing. To make sense of his pseudonyms, irony, humor, theology, philosophy, psychology, and profound depth, I could either plow through his authorship on my own (which causes fear and trembling in the most stalwart), or I could benefit from the works of love by others. I’ve chosen the latter. And I am glad I did. While there’s repetition in Kierkegaard, it would take ages, well, at least two ages, to untangle his philosophical fragments. I recommend tackling the works sited below (many of which are papers of one still living) in stages. On life’s way most of us, on imagined occasions and in various spirits, create a bucket list. Mine includes attaining purity of heart before I contract any sickness unto death. To achieve this I need practice in Christianity. And the upbuilding discourses below help me do this. So judge for yourself! Let not the concept of anxiety or the concept of irony prevent you from enjoying these edifying discourses. One last note before concluding. “Unscientific?” “Postscript?” I know the jargon seems endless. But if you read for self examination I’m confident you’ll blossom like the lily in the field and the bird in the air. (Note: how many Kierkegaard titles can you find hidden in this paragraph?)

-----------------

Barrett, Lee C. III Kierkegaard (Abingdon Press: Nashville, 2010). A new, brief (75 pages) and trenchant summary of Kierkegaard’s continued significance in modern theological thinking.

Evans, Stephen C. Kierkegaard: An Introduction (Cambridge University Press: NY, 2009). Since the author shares Kierkegaard’s Christian faith I trust Evans’ interpretations more than average. Rather than making Kierkegaard the “father of existentialism,” Evans clearly delineates the massive differences between Soren and Sartre, Camus, Kafka, Nietzsche, et al.

Evans, Stephen C. Soren Kierkegaard’s Christian Psychology: Insight for Counseling and Pastoral Care (Regent College Publishing: Vancouver, BC, 1990). I’m not sure this book will help you talk to clients or parishioners better (it’s theoretical, not clinical), but it will definitely clarify the unique role a Christian therapist or pastoral counselor plays in the spiritual formation of others. If you’ve ever felt sheepish for not being “value free,” this nifty essay (134 pages) will assuage your guilt. Evans draws from Kierkegaard’s whole authorship but primarily Sickness Unto Death and Fear and Trembling.

Garff, Joakim. Soren Kierkegaard: A Biography (Princeton University Press: NJ), 2005. Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse. A massive (864 pages) and finely-detailed examination of Kierkegaard’s life and times. I loved it. At times, Garff is overly critical of Kierkegaard in my opinion. But whose heroes do not have feet of clay?

Gill, Jerry H. Essays on Kierkegaard (Burgess Publishing, MN, 1969). Older existentialist reading of Kierkegaard. If nothing else, the authors of these collected essays can take pride in the fact that they recognized Kierkegaard’s value to philosophy before he hit the big time (if the current resurgence of interest in Kierkegaard can even be called “big time”).

Hong, Howard. The Essential Kierkegaard (Princeton University Press: NJ, 2000). Snippets of Kierkegaard’s major works arranged in chronological order. Read in conjunction with Garff makes for fabulous reading. It’s mind boggling how one Danish brain could ponder the things it pondered. Welcome to the world of genius.

Kierkegaard, Soren. The Sickness Unto Death: A Christian Psychological Exposition for Edification and Awakening by Anti-Climicus (Penguin Books: London, 1989). The book that got me hooked on Kierkegaard. The first two pages are famous for their obscurity, opacity, and off putting double talk. I’m sure many bailed on a career in philosophy when they first encountered the “relationship that relates to itself.” But press on and the book unfolds into a relevant psychology that predates (and in my opinion outshines) Freud. Highly recommended.

Kierkegaard, Soren. Fear and Trembling: Dialectical Lyric by Johannes de silentio (Penguin Books: London, 1985). Translated by Alastair Hannay. The theme of this trenchant but powerful book is faith. I still grapple with the Abraham/Isaac affair but Kierkegaard’s contribution to the discussion is essential.

Mullen, John Douglas. Kierkegaard’s Philosophy: Self Deception and Cowardice in the Present Age (New American Library: NY, 1981). One of my favorites. Mullen’s illustrations are dated (he references the hot topics of the late ‘70s: Open Marriage, the “new” fad of jogging, etc.), but I’m convinced that had this nifty paper back been published 20 years earlier we may never have had the hedonistic ‘sixties. Mullen does a masterful job of giving Kierkegaard his due as the relevant and powerful philosopher of our times. Don’t leave home without this book!

Why I am an Ag-NOSE-tic

2010-04-30T23:11:00.000-07:00

An Interview with the Wheel’s Creator

So, what’s the story behind this weird wheel?

In creating this wheel I’ve played two roles and pitted them against one another. Like C. S. Lewis who, “thought in reverse for months” while writing the Screwtape Letters, I’ve played two roles, neither of which I ultimately believe. First, I play the role of Aromatician putting forth evidence and rationale for belief in the sense of smell. I do this by faith since I am indeed olfactory impaired. Second, I play the role of Ag-NOSE-tic, debunking the arguments for smell. I do this by faith since I do indeed believe that smells exists.

And the point is?

The strained and probably too obscure point of this double charade is to illustrate the futility of a type of Christian apologetics. The Aromatician (True Believer) represents a rationalistic and evidence based Christian apologetic. Regardless of their well crafted “proofs,” the Ag-NOSE-tic remains unconvinced. Furthermore, I hope to illustrate to the Ag-NOSE-tic (real agnostic/atheist) the pointlessness of their refutations. So what if the Ag-NOSE-tics (agnostics/atheists) can debunk rationalistic and evidentiary arguments for the existence of smells (God)? As long as our planet contains odors, Ag-NOSEtic disputations remain folly.

You’re saying Christians shouldn’t offer reasons to believe?

No, I’m saying embracing Christian truth is neither empirical, evidentiary, or rationalistic. Faith is existential. Just as one’s experience of enjoying an aroma is subjective (so I am lead to believe), enjoying the confidence of faith is subjective (which I in fact do enjoy). Jesus himself, in so many words, said evidence isn’t sufficient for faith.

Luke 16:31 "He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.' "

John 6:36 “You have seen me and still you do not believe.”

OT Israel saw miracles in the desert yet longed to go back to Egypt.

Couldn’t this wheel tweak the faith of some Christians?

Yes, there are risks in creating this wheel. The Christian who bases his/her faith on rationalistic arguments (such as Aromaticians make on wheel side one), may be disappointed to see how easy it is for the Ag-NOSE-tic to refute them (on both sides of the wheel). A faith based on rationalistic “sight” rather than existential “faith” could conceivably be thrown into doubts by this wheel. I take that risk in the hope that other’s Christian faith will be strengthened.

How?

By taking an existential leap of faith. Faith isn’t strengthened by getting better arguments, or refuting agnostic/atheistic refutations. Faith is strengthened when it shifts from evidence, rationalism, logic, and reason, to a commitment. I believe that many Christian apologetic arguments for belief are not only ineffective but ill-conceived. One cannot be argued into faith. God isn’t a theorem. Even if He were, how much faith is necessary to embrace 2+2=4? None, “and without faith it is impossible to please God.” Agnostics and atheists refute rationalistic straw men. Warrants for belief require other treatments (other wheels?). So while this wheel is indeed “anti apologetic,” my apologetic intent is to shift the debate away from an unbiblical ground.

Please compare and contrast Aromaticism and Biblical Theism.

One can’t choose to smell if their olfactory senses are impaired, whereas one can choose to believe in God (arguments regarding freewill and sovereignty notwithstanding). The evidence for aromas are convincing to those with a working nose. Warrants for faith are convincing to those with a working faith. How to get a nasally impaired person (such as myself) to experience smells is as mysterious as how to get a faith impaired person (such as an agnostic/atheist) to experience God. Unlike aromas, where there is no psychological bias for or against aromas, Christian theology suggests that there are psychological (spiritual) biases against faith. Attempting to overcome those biases with evidences frames the God question on faith-weakening rationalistic terms. Attempting to rationally convince an olfactory impaired person that smells exists is equally futile.

Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?

No. New priorities at home necessitate limited social life. Yet my inner world expands. All that pent up creativity must leak out somewhere. Why not roll all the things I love—irony, humor, wisdom, philosophy and the fear of the Lord—
into one (to me) highly entertaining volvelle?

Team Preaching

2010-04-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

How Good and Pleasant When Pastors Preach Together

Pastor Bob: “As pastors of large churches, not only do Grant and I deal with many of the same issues, we deal with many of the same people! A lot of you are ‘double dippers,’ going back and forth between our two churches.”

Pastor Grant: “Bob and I asked ourselves a while ago, how can we send the message that our churches are not in competition with one other?”

Pastor Bob: “And we decided you can do ‘double dipping’ as long as you do double tithing!”

Pastor Grant: “Preach it!”

Pastor Bob: “I will, since you can’t fire me! I can say whatever I want in your church!”

Pastor Grant: “Hey, Bob, that’s not in my notes … but that’s good!”

One weekend a year Grant Fishbook, Senior Pastor of Christ the King (non-denominational), and Bob Marvel, Senior Pastor of Cornwall Church (Church of God, Anderson, Indiana) located less than three miles away, spend a weekend on each other’s stage . . . at the same time. Sitting side-by-side they team preach on an agreed upon topic. Staff pastors fill in at the home church while their senior pastor is preaching at the host church.

Whether taking turns covering specific sermon points, or engaging in humorous banter, Pastors Grant Fishbook (38) and Bob Marvel (42) model a serious truth—there’s no room for competition in the body of Christ. Being the two largest evangelical churches in Whatcom County (population 175,550) in Bellingham, Washington, with attendance in each church over 2,800, both pastors are keenly aware of the evangelistic work yet to be done.

“As far as Grant and I are concerned,” says Bob, “there’s no room for jealousy or competition. We’re committed to getting rid of those things because folks are going to an eternity without Christ. Look at how many folks aren’t in an evangelical church.”

Grant adds, “Our state is the 49th least churched state in America and our county is one of the least churched counties in the state. There’s too much work to be done to worry about being in competition.”

The concept of guest preachers addressing a congregation is as old as Paul’s missionary journeys. But two preachers at the same time from two different churches with a reputation of being in competition with one another? These were the challenges facing Bob and Grant.

“The idea for team teaching was birthed from our friendship,” recalls Bob. “Grant and I have traveled together, run a marathon together, we eat, pray and meet together. We often talk about the revolving door between Christ the King and Cornwall, and the perception that there is competition between us. Team preaching seemed to be a great way to defuse some of the ideas that were circulating.”

“Sharing the stage is a better picture of unity than mere words,” says Grant. “When we sit shoulder to shoulder, sharing our hearts people believe that we really do care about the whole kingdom and not just our little territory.”

Team preaching affords another benefit, emphasis on “hard” truths. While neither pastor shies away from preaching truth, they both report advantages of their congregations hearing the same truth from different frequencies. It speaks volumes when the message is sent by one perceived as the competition.

Pastor Bob (addressing Christ the King): “Somewhere along the line you’ve got to land in a church and get committed. If Christ the King Church isn’t for you, or Cornwall isn’t for you, then find a Bible-believing church that is and get involved. At Cornwall I sometimes say, ‘If you’re here to heal, then heal. We want this to be a healing place. But some of you are coming as consumers and not contributors.”

Pastor Grant: “At Christ the King we say, ’If you’re just sitting here drinking our coffee and taking up a parking spot there’s someone who’s eternal soul is hanging in the balance who needs your seat.’”

Pastor Bob: “First time I told the consumers at Cornwall, ‘Go back to your own church,’ we lost 100 people. I’m not going be asked to speak at church growth events! But like Doug Murren, former pastor of Eastside Foursquare Church, says, ‘Every healthy body occasionally needs a good bowel movement.’”

Pastor Grant (to his congregation): “If you’re going to write a letter, write it to his church!”

“We get to say tough things to the other person’s congregation,” Grant says. “When boldly stating truth, we have nothing to gain or lose in the other person’s environment.”

Bob adds, “Knowing that when I speak at Christ the King I don’t have to worry about how an elder, staff member, founding member or big contributor will respond to what I say is truly freeing. If my boldness blazes the trail for Grant to be more bold or vice versa there is an added benefit. Plus, there are people on the ‘conveyor belt’ between Christ the King and Cornwall and for them to hear the same hard truths at both churches let’s them know that there is no escaping it.”

Bob tells the congregation of Christ the King, “We hear complaints of those who leave our churches, ‘I’m just not growing, you’re not deep enough, it’s all about outreach.’ Instead of whining that your needs aren’t being met, why not grab someone new to the faith and help them grow? Get in the race and bring some brothers and sisters along with you!”

Grant tells the congregation of Cornwall, “I’m going to say this because your tithes don’t pay my salary! Every once in a while people will come to us and say, ‘You aren’t feeding me.” To quote a favorite author John Ortberg, “If that’s your stance, take off your bib, crawl out of your high chair, come to the big people table, pick up a fork and feed yourself.”

A familiar truth told by a guest pastor has impact, especially when congregants watch their own pastor listen attentively and nod enthusiastically. He models openness to hard truth. Territorial rivalry is demolished before the congregation’s eyes.

Team teaching can’t be forced or contrived. The success Bob and Grant enjoy is due in large part to their respect for each other. Without it they’d never get away with the self deprecating humor (“If I fail at running a marathon I’ll become a sermon illustration at Cornwall,” says Grant) or the kidding (“I don’t like back seat drivers,” Bob tells each congregation, “so when Grant ran a stop sign I didn’t say a thing. I figured we’re both ready to go to heaven and besides, our churches could use a change”).

Grant says, “The most amazing outcome of this homiletic strategy is the impact our preaching has had on the unsaved community. It has become water-cooler conversation in the county and the thing that seems to intrigue people is the novelty of churches being on the same page and removing the competition card. It makes me proud to be a part God’s redefining of what church is!”

Bob summarizes the outcome of team preaching, “We send a message loud and clear that unity between our churches is not just the ‘party line’ but reality. Team preaching helps our congregations feel more unified. It’s like they are actually beginning to believe we are on the same team.”

And they are.

Listen to Bob and Grant team preach at these sites.
http://www.cornwallchurch.com/messages/2005/pastors_on_the_run.php
http://www.cornwallchurch.com/messages/2004/boc.php
http://www.ctkbellingham.com/media/archives.htm (with video)

Latte Great Planet Earth

2010-04-30T22:32:00.000-07:00

AGING BOOMER FUMBLES BARISTA EVANGELISM

Who would have guessed that seven years of seminary and thirty years of pastoral ministry could be rendered totally futile in a matter of moments? Certainly not me. Yet it took only one five minute conversation with a post modern barista to convince me that all my years as a professional Christian communicator is not worth diddly in this new era. My apologetics mentors of the 1970s clearly did not prepare me for doing evangelism in the 21st century.

My wife and I recently arrived by train in downtown Portland on a Friday night for a four day, schedule free, wherever-our-whimsy-leads-us walking tour of the city. On Saturday morning we discovered a local bakery/coffee shop and I was delighted to see the barista--shaved head, soul patch and gemstones the size of walnuts in his earlobes--wearing a "Beam Me Up, Jesus" tee shirt. I thought to myself, "Nice to see a young person not ashamed of Christ."

Always eager to bridge the generation gap, I felt a guy in his fifties could easily engage this twenty-something. Everything went great, until I opened my mouth.

"Hey, we're new in town and want to attend church tomorrow. Got any recommendations?"

He stared at me blankly.

FUMBLE #1: Believing tee-shirt slogans are endorsed by their wearers.

"Your tee shirt," I said. "It mentions Jesus and I figured you go to church somewhere around here."

"No, dude," he said. "I got this shirt at the McMinnville UFO festival."

Now it was my turn to stare blankly. I said, "UFO festival?"

"Yeah, years ago there was a famous UFO sighting in McMinnville, Oregon and every year we gather to hear speakers and celebrate mutants. Both Marilyn Monroe and Darth Vader have made appearances. Check this out."

He turned around and showed me the back of his tee-shirt with words from 1 Thessalonians 4:17, "We who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air."

He looked at me brightly and said, “I believe in the Immaculate Abduction!”

FUMBLE #2: Assuming Bible verses mean the same to everyone.

I am an evangelical with a black belt in proof-texting, but I never met anyone who used Paul to prove the existence of UFOs. Call me naïve, but wearing sacred texts as irony, or absurdity, or both, simply is not on my radar.

Shaken but undeterred, I pressed on. "Well, if you were to recommend a church for us, where would you send us?"

He said, "Do you want a progressive church?"

"Yes!" I said with enthusiasm, grateful that one of his friends was probably affiliated with some hip, emergent, storefront church. "Where do they meet?"

"There's a group up on 10th avenue that studies the mysteries of the Mayan Calendar."

I blurted without thinking, "That's progressive?! The Mayan calendar is 3000 years old!"

FUMBLE #3: Thinking rationality trumps irrationality.

Being thoroughly modern, I try to juggle faith with healthy scientific skepticism. Being confronted with such bold, post modern proclamations of unscientific isms was unnerving. The ground beneath me shifted. How does a mystical Christian believer like me connect with a mystical nonbeliever like him? Where is the common ground for discussing eschatology and theories of the rapture in a coffee line?

He asked where I was from and when I told him Bellingham, Washington he said, "Hey, my band played there once." Desperate to build some kind of rapport with this guy, his mention of music gave me hope. I am a guitar picker from way back always ready to leverage mentions of Hendrix, Clapton, and Garcia into opportunity for conversation.

I asked "What instrument do you play?" hoping like crazy he would say guitar.

"I play the didgeridoo," he said.

More blank stares from this aging rocker.

"The didgeridoo," he patiently explained to the clueless unhipster, "is a long wooden drone pipe played by native Aborigines in Australia."

FUMBLE #4: Imagining millennials are as interested in the 60s as I am.

My brain is loaded with thousands of arcane factoids not one of which helped me relate to a didgeridoo blowing, Mayan calendar affirming, UFO studying barista. I may as well have been talking to an Aborigines.

A line had formed behind us so my wife and I paid for our coffee and pastries and left, I in a stupefied daze. I have rarely felt so disoriented, incompetent or ineffective.

To add insult to injury and further my existential sense of irrelevance, later that day my wife and I stumbled onto a sandwich place called, Wrapture, the subtext being, "Spiritual or emotional ecstasy, joy or delight, experiencing great food.” I thought to myself, "Is this city mocking me, or what?!"

On Sunday we actually did stumble onto a hip, emergent, storefront church not far from the bakery. I made it a point to tell the leaders about the barista with the “Beam Me Up, Jesus” tee shirt. Surely they could relate to him better than I.

Monday was our last day in the city and we returned to the bakery to tell the barista about the evangelical church around the corner. Sadly, the barista was not there. In his place was a twenty-something woman and when I saw the message on her tee-shirt I was stunned.

Fumble #5: Expecting post moderns to categorize life like I do.

This new era blurs things previous generations kept distinct. The line between sacred and secular is muddled. What I so effortlessly compartmentalize—us/them, truth/error, in/out—is foreign to post moderns. Our walking tour of Portland taught me communicating the gospel in today’s world requires new strategies, new ways of thinking, new creativity. It is our job to learn to speak the language of our contemporaries since it is clear that they do not understand the language of evangelicalism.

The message on her tee shirt? “Prepare to meet thy baker.”

Visit to an Orthodox Church

2010-04-30T10:34:00.000-07:00

Reflections on a visit to St. Tertullian’s Orthodox Church (4/25/2010)

My oldest daughter surprised us with a visit Sunday AM so I took the opportunity to return alone to St. Tertullian’s Orthodox church (not it’s real name). I drove to the chruch, parked in the lot, entered the lobby, a woman bustling about saw me, introduced herself as Sarah (not her real name) and said in part, “We’re mostly all former Protestants here. You can’t make any mistakes. Please join us. ”

Inside the sanctuary were about 20 adults standing and singing/chanting Bible texts (Matins?) that were somehow related to the texts to be used in the divine liturgy (I never made the connection). I entered @ 9:45 (15 min. before divine liturgy) and stood by a guy who introduced himself as Phil (not his real name). He volunteered to show me what’s going on. He said, “The first time I visited an Orthodox church I wanted to run for the door!” All during the liturgy he gave me a running commentary.

“This orthodox church is connected to Syria so there’s a tinge of Arab flavor to the ceremony.” I had no idea what that meant.

“St. Crysostrum, an attendee to one of the early church councils, wrote this liturgy based on the early church AND the Old Testament.” I believe it; the priests looked like SS flannel graphs of Levites. They swung censors with bells and smoke (or water?).

Phil had just returned from a three week vacation to Constantinople (I think he called it Istanbul?) to “study his spiritual roots.” There he bought icons and brought them home and during the liturgy the priests blessed them for parishioners use at home.

“The four largest icons up front are (from left to right) St. Tertullian, Theotokos (Mary), Jesus, then John the Baptist.” All about the sanctuary were 150 smaller icons, portraits of famous saints. “See that painting on the ceiling? That’s Jesus coming out of the tomb with Adam and Eve on both sides. I saw the original of that painting in Constantinople last Sunday. This congregation here is more user friendly then that one.”

As 10 AM rolled around the attendance picked up but with no discernable shift in the program. It was an effortless slide into divine liturgy, the only difference was the attendance grew to about 70 participants, 20 of which were noisy kids. It wasn’t raucous, but it wasn’t silent and somber. It was just a bunch of noisy worshippers. Chanting scripture, singing scripture, antiphonal songs, prayers, blessings, creeds.

Phil handed me an order of service with the prayers, songs, chants, printed out. I followed along best I could but mostly enjoyed the notion that Jesus was listening to all this, even my halting participation. Seemed like everyone knew when to cross themselves (they did it in sync) but I couldn’t tell what cue alerted them to do so. Like Sarah said, nobody paid any attention to my gaffs and I bumbled through—frequently out of sync--indicating with my hand my faith in the trinity.

Father Vladimr (not his real name) gave a short homily that would have fit in any fundamentalist Baptist church. The text was about Jesus healing the cripple at the pool of Bethsaida, “Many today don’t know they’re in need of spiritual healing.” He went on to lament the deplorable spiritual state of our country today. “Back in the 50s stores were closed on Sunday, what was seen as scandalous porn then is bland by today’s standards. When communists took over Russia they dedicated themselves to stamping out the church. They closed the churches. That didn’t work. They arrested priests and bishops. That didn’t work. They even martyred Christians. That didn’t work. Then they got the idea to put school activities on Sunday morning and Wednesday evenings—sports, debates, trips. They took the kids out of church and in 20 years the Albania was the first fully atheist country.”

After the 6 minute homily there was much kissing of icons, Bibles, the hand of priests, and goblets. Remember all the while there’s no silence. It’s continual quoting (singing) scripture and prayers. 5 pre-chrismated (candidates for membership) went forward for a blessing during the service. As time for Eucharist drew near, it seemed like some sort of crescendo was coming.

Phil said, “Before we celebrate the Eucharist we must fast from food, sex, water. Then after the service we go home for lots of fun. In the Roman Catholic Church the Priests turn the elements into the body and blood of Christ. Here, it’s the job of the Holy Spirit.” In the sacristy (holy of holies?) the priests and bisops were doing some sort of incantations.

I asked, “How does the Priest know when it happens?” He said, “That’s between him and God. Once we had to wait about a half hour for it to happen.”

He continued his commentary, “My wife bakes the bread for Eucharist…she sings hymns while kneading, saying prayers over each ingredient (yeast, etc). I once came home in a surly mood and angrily griped about something … and the bread fell flat. She had to start over.” I said jokingly, “Shame on you.”

The priests treated the elements like they were radio active --- paraded around the sanctuary holding the transformed elements in carefully wrapped containers--held bibs over the communicants so nothing spilled, offered plain bread to all after eating the Eucharist so as to soak up all the blood of Christ in one’s stomach (I’m not clear what that’s all about). “If a drop of the blood of Christ falls on the carpet they have to burn the carpet. We take this very seriously.”

I went forward to receive a blessing. Was offered and took a piece of the non-Eucharistic bread.

As the service drew to a close I asked Phil, “No walking around building? We did that the last time I visited.” “No,” he said, “that only happens on certain occasions.”

By 11:30 the service was over. I was invited to stay for lunch (they break their fast together). I declined.

Concluding reflections: Protestant churches are way more cerebral….exegesis, outlines, illustrations intended to grip the imagination, tight logic and points for application. The Orthodox experience is just that, an experience that touches the senses. This liturgy kept folks educated in the faith for 1400 years before the printing press so the faith is passed on kinesthetically (we stood the whole time), auditory (sweet singing, bells, chants), visual (icons, paintings, symbolism galore), olfactory (I don’t have a sense of smell so I can’t speak to this), and tactile (kisses, hugs, jostling about like in a crowded airport). Like an aerobics class forcing my body to go through its paces, the liturgy forces me to focus on Christ for 90 minutes. (I recently read an Oprah chit lit book Eat, Pray, Love wherein the author spent hours in meditation despite bodily aches and pains—figured I could do at least that for Jesus). Repetition like this is intended to transform minds. Taking Eucharist is “partaking of the divine nature” (being non Orthodox I only watched). I’m not sure how much this liturgy enhanced my encounter with Jesus (I’d like to think a lot…I wept at times) and how much was the sheer novelty of it all. But I came away with a mind marinated in Jesus without doing the heavy cerebral lifting I am wont to do. He is risen. He is risen indeed!