Renaissance Festival Business Attire

Last night I had to go to a somewhat formal meeting that was not Church related. I can't remember the last time I did that. My basic life's wardrobe consists of three things. A cassock or a gold dress. Work jeans and t-shirt. OK, four things... I have my flannel Grinch pajamas that I wear around the house. Five things... For special occassions I have a Hawaiian shirt.
This was a "special occassion" so I was about to put on my CLEAN jeans and my Hawaiian shirt. My wife said, "I think this is beyond the Hawaiian shirt stage." Dang. NOTHING is beyond a Hawaiian shirt. But I knew what she meant.

I trudged down to the basement and opened the door of the storage closet. I inhaled the smell of dry cleaner's plastic, dust and the musty cloth. I flipped the switch and the single dim bulb lit the racks of clothes that haven't been moved for literally years. Way, way back in the 80's, in my protestant days, before an expensive divorce and the downward spiral of my construction company I bought "really nice" clothes. 180 bucks for wool pants? Sure. 80 bucks for a cool tie? Why not? I wasn't into "labels", just "really nice".

Now, the reader has to understand THIS was the guy buying these clothes.
Hippie art major, anti-establishment, you name the 60's cliche... I was it. The problem I discovered with being a former art major is that I had developed an eye for "nice". I could walk into the men's department of a store and see something that caught my eye. It was always ungodly expensive. But I had the money and more often than not, I bought it. What happened to me (besides having more money) in the intervening 15 years between thrift store embroidered over-alls and silk blend sport coats from Goldwaters? Well, dear reader, really...

Nothing.

I was the same person. I was a poser, a chameleon. In the 60's the accoutrements of hippiedom were cheap. I could afford to be one. Because I was an art major I could even make cooler clothes than some people could buy at "Clothes for Beautiful People". The subculture was the particular Renaissance Festival of humanity I chose to join. I wore the costume, assumed the posture, spoke the language, I did it well enough to impress people with the act, and I belonged.

I gave up just barely enough of that to get through Bible college. I cut my hair when Crosby, Stills and Nash were singing about almost cutting theirs. But it was cool to be one of the few "hippie guys" at a Texas Christian College. I gave up even more to get hired by a Boy's Home, and laid aside my overalls and T-shirts for J.C. Penny slacks and shirts. It was a pragmatic move, I knew I had to dress the part of a social worker and administrator to be taken seriously. I took it as maturity.

In the 80's when I got fired from my ministry job, one of the elders at my Church told me, the senior pastor and youth minister in a meeting that we would not get raises because we should be glad that we even have jobs. He said ministers are a necessary evil in order to have a church and the only reason a man becomes a minister is that he can't do anything else, and if we could be something else we certainly wouldn't be preachers. The gauntlet was thrown.

For a lot of reasons, I stayed at the Church after I was fired. I believe most of the reasons were good even to this day, mainly I didn't want to cause another schism by leaving in a self-righteous huff. But the elder's words rang in my ears. I taught Sunday morning adult Bible class and eventually was drawing 80% of the adults of the congregation. I was a successful preacher. But I was also now a "successful businessman". I changed my costume, spoke a new language, had a new attitude. My literal posture, even how I walked changed. I had joined a different Festival. By '85 the hippie thing was old anyway, and I didn't run in that circle anymore, there was no one in my life from that Festival left to impress. And, I was sticking it up that elder's ... Anyway, I still have a few pieces of clothing left from those days in my closet, but more on that in a minute.

Fast forward to Orthodoxy. It was a whole new Festival. And it talked about "the goodness of the material" and the role of the material changing the "person". It was counter-cultural, but within its culture there were levels and layer upon layer of new costumes and personas and attitudes. There was even a new language that, if you mastered it and spoke it with the proper inflections you'd look smart, spiritual AND humble. It all validated the life of a chameleon... and no one could accuse me of being a poser because, well, I was "being Orthodox" and for them to suggest that was being judgmental, which the Fathers condemn. Only your nous knows for sure.

The materiality of Orthodoxy and the evidence of personal transformation (or assistance toward it) for the individual is often judged and viewed by their attire and personal grooming. (I am getting to the dark, dusty closet here... trust me.) They say "clothes makes the man". I'd say yes and no. Yes, it influences how we act, and no, that's not always good because what we wear is usually more about what we are than what we think we're becoming. I don't know of any male convert who, when they first encountered Orthodoxy, didn't experience a twinge of "cassock lust" or envy. There's no two ways about it, there's just something cool about looking like Neo.
So almost back to the point, as I was nearing graduating from Bible college, I remember visiting my friend Harry. He was an old hippie heroin addict who had "sold out" to the establishment, but was (and still is) the most Christian person I think I've ever known. I was at his house (in my jeans and t-shirt) and out of the blue he went to his closet and pulled out a long cape. I think it was his wife's actually. He said, here, put this on and look in the (full length) mirror. I thought he was nuts, but I did. I remember looking in the mirror and my posture changed, I stood up as if I was regal and grinned. Harry, said, "See? See what happened?" I knew what happened. Clothes made the man. The change of costume changed me. I knew what he was saying. I was a poser. My hippie costume was dictated by my weakness of person, not conviction, not a true sense of my self. Whatever I was dressed in became who I am, "I" filled the clothes, the clothes did not adorn who I "am". That was 1975.

It was 30 years after Harry's object lesson and 7 years after I first experienced "cassock lust" that I was tonsured to wear one. I freely admit there is still a bit of "cool to be Neo" aspect to it. I honestly wear the gold dress because I "have to", I was conscripted into service and it is a spiritual discipline for me to serve altar in it. I accepted it because I didn't want it, and no one else would take it on.

So, finally, back to my basement storage closet... that was the point.

I pushed aside some of the old coats and suits and found a sport coat I haven't worn in probably 20 years. Yes, it still fit. I put it on and...

Nothing happened.

That is the point. It wasn't a badge. It wasn't a statement. It wasn't a podvig or a selling out. It wasn't to impress anyone or to get accepted. It was what was fitting for the occasion at hand. I didn't change. I didn't react. I was still, Me. I had realized a milestone standing in my closet that only took 57 years to reach.

When I went to the folk's house I was riding with (from Church), their daughter looked at me and said, "WHOA! I've never seen you like this before!" I said, "You better take a picture because you might not ever see it again in your lifetime." So she did.

Is it " GQ-SP"? "Bearded-Orthodox s-p in a worldly clown suit"?

Nah, just s-p.

Happy Holiday, Podcast Version

The spiritual politics of giving to the undeserving poor. On Steve the Builder HERE

Click Here

Excellent Quote

This should be included in every inquirers and catechism class:

"This process of becoming Orthodox is not something that you can do just after 6 months of catechesis and a little bit of chrism on your forehead. It's a life-long process, because it's being transformed into Christ. And if we can keep our focus that coming into the Orthodox Church is not about joining a new organization; it's not joining 'the right church'; it's not 'joining the historical church or the apostolic church'; or it's not 'joining the right church instead the wrong church that I was in.'

"But rather, it's an entrance deeper and deeper into the mystery of Christ. Then I think we're on the right track. Because otherwise all we're doing is getting stuck in our heads and caught up in judgment and condemnation. In other words, we're just stuck in our passions and we might as well have not converted anyway, because we still haven't left the world behind.

"Our task is to incarnate that life in Christ that is not of this world. We have to be in the world, but not of it."

- Metropolitan JONAH, "Baptizing the Culture"

From his lecture at the 2009 Missions and Evangelism Conference.

The entire lecture can be heard HERE and the QandA HERE

H/T to Jamey

Moo Sighting at the Ballet

Click HERE

Got a Bug...

This Makes Me Weep

Happy... Holiday!

Associated Press Posted on December 1, 2009 at 1:15 PM

HOUSTON -- Happy holidays — now where's that immigration paperwork?

Several programs providing Christmas gifts for needy children are checking immigration status first, requiring at least one member of the household to be a U.S. citizen before handing over toys. The Salvation Army and a charity affiliated with the Houston Fire Department are asking for children's birth certificates or Social Security cards.

__________________________________________________________________

What the f--ilioque is going on with Christmas? I think we've finally gotten what our politics and even many Christians have hoped for: It looks like "immigration policy" has finally trumped Jesus Christ as the "reason for the season".

It seems to me that the birth of Christ is exposing the truth about the state of the world, just as it did 2000 years ago. Many claim America is a "Christian nation", yet at the season of the greatest Gift, the birth of Christ, we politicize the celebration of His Incarnation by legislating the boundaries of unconditional charity and grace in His honor because of the "politics of the aliens among us".

When Jesus came and threatened Herod's kingdom, Herod killed the children to protect his political status and nation.

When the Jewish leadership met to discuss Jesus they determined it was politically expedient to kill Him "lest the Romans come and take away our status and our nation."

When Pilate was confronted with the person of Christ, he delivered Him to be crucified to save his political ass.

The illegals threaten our status and our nation. They threaten our lifestyle because they threaten our economy. They are a burden on our society.

The Jews were commanded to welcome the sojourner among them. They were to leave a tithe of their fields for the alien and the poor to glean. As Christians we are to exceed the righteousness of the Pharisee. As a "Christian nation" do we exceed the demands of the imperfect Law or do we follow Herod, Pilate and the High Priest and his council and trample under foot the gift of God to preserve our comfortable kingdom?

Jesus did not come to rule the world. He already ruled it. His coming made manifest the meaning of the Psalters words, "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we will call on the Name of the Lord."

Jesus came to expose the world for what it is, what it has become through sin, and to save it through an Unspeakable Gift given without regard for citizenship and politics, morals and religion, power or wealth. We are all equally aliens on the earth, sojourners and strangers, we are all poverty stricken, hungry and destitute, all enemies of God and enemies of one another. It would seem that once a year The Gift of unconditional love could be emulated by those who claim to be giving in the "spirit of the season".

I get spam every year at this time about the politics of "keeping Christ in Christmas". And given the politics that surrounded the Gospel of the Incarnation 2000 years ago, in a way it is a fitting irony that Christians are using the legal and political arena and economic pressures on retailers who eschew using the term "Christmas" to get their say in the culture. It is indeed, in one sense, truly "Christmas" because Christ is finally doing in our culture and kingdom what He did the first time: exposed the politics of religion, power and our trust in the chariots and horses of economics and the imaginary stability of our temporal kingdoms and preservation of our lifestyles. But alas, indeed, in another sense it is no longer "Christmas", it is Christlessmas because in the political killing of the Gift to innocent children we have followed in the footsteps of those religio-political leaders who killed our Christ... or at least have tried to.

Herod, the Elders and Pilate... where are they and their economies and kingdoms now in spite of their political machinations, policies and rationalizations to save their status and nations?

Yes boys and girls, Santa is checking his list to see who is naughty and nice. And apparently his list is now the Census. (Hmmm... didn't someone else take a census when Jesus was born?)

May we find His truth in this Advent season, not in ACLU lawsuits, Christian websites identifying "Christmas approved retailers", email spam about Christmas trees, Kwanza and even apologetics about the baptism of the solstice, but by being called in the simplicity of our daily work by angels' voices to come and adore Him who was born rejected, a stranger to His people, outside the city, away from the shops, the palaces and yes, even the churches.

Blessed Nativity to all.

H/T to Barry Young KFYI

Decisions, Decisions: Pop Tart Redux

Those who have followed my blog for a long time know my affection for Pop Tarts and junk food,
and my admiration for celebrities that know its value.

I've worked in construction for nearly 30 years now. I know the location of every Taco Bell, Burger King, McDonald's, Denny's, and AM-PM with two for a dollar hot dogs in the Phoenix metropolitan area. If I ever retire and stop eating lunch on the road I'll let you know so you can dump your stocks in those companies.

Sometimes its hard to decide where to eat. I've finally found something to help me out: A flow chart. (Click on the image to embiggen, then when it opens, put your mouse pointer on it and click on the little + magnifying glass...I know, its a lot of work, but look at it like you got a cyber-work out.)
A "Breakfast Cereal" flow chart can also be found HERE
H/T to RYAN

Faceless Book, Part 2

Fr. Jonathan Tobias usually posts things way above my pay grade. His recent post about Facebook is one I think I understand. If not, at least I find it convicting on a deeper level even though I continue to resist Facebook. It's a pithier critique of what Facebook and other social network stuff perhaps represents about our lives and potentially does to our souls.

Fr. Jonathan's post "Mimeograph" is worth a read and a few minutes of reflection. You might even want to post it on your Facebook page and Tweet it to your followers.

How to Learn Love

Gary is back in the hospital. He had a coughing fit at the nursing home and the pain in his chest became unbearable. They transported him to the emergency room. I arrived shortly after they checked him in. Joe and I sat with him while they ran tests and waited hours in between them for results to come back.

Joe is in charge of the house at the Rehab. Gary picked him up off the street two years ago. For 30 years from age fourteen Joe lived in refrigerators, behind dumpsters, on the street and in the bottom of a bottle. No home was his home. He had the social skills and cynical savvy of a loner street person. "Pastor Gary", or more exactly they would say, Jesus Christ has transformed Joe into a human being.

Joe is fiercely protective of Gary. One morning two weeks ago in the former hospital, Gary didn't get his breakfast tray. Joe tracked down one of the orderlies. The orderly came to the room and said Gary got his breakfast. Gary said, "No, I didn't". The orderly said, "Yeah, you did," and walked out. Joe walked out right behind him, got in front of him and instead of slamming his head into the wall, just said, "I never want to have to come out here again and tell you to not call my Pastor a liar. If he said he got no breakfast, he didn't get it...do you understand?" Gary got his breakfast and the orderly didn't have to go to the emergency room.

Gary lay in the emergency room gurney wracked with pain. Until they knew its source they wouldn't prescribe anything. Joe looked on his Pastor going in and out of conciousness and crying out in agony. His prematurely old eyes that have seen decades of indescribable human suffering in the streets, glistened with helplessness.

"This is probably a new experience for you, isn't it? Its hard to just sit and watch and know there's nothing you can do," I said.

"Yeah."

"You probably never thought you'd be taking care of your Pastor like this."

"Nope."

"You know, this is probably how he saw you spiritually when he found you. He took care of you, now you are returning the grace."

"Yeah."

As the night wore on, I told the attending physician the neglect and lack of attention to Gary's real symptoms at the former hospital and at the nursing home. They ran the typical emergency room tests and again ruled out a heart attack, and again the source of the crippling pain was a mystery. I convinced him to admit him to the hospital to do more tests. After eight hours of vigil they finally arranged to move him. Joe and I followed him to his room, we talked to the head nurse about his bed sores that no one has treated, how to move him because of his torn shoulder, then we left. It was midnight and it was raining.

In the parking lot Joe asked, "Will you be here in the morning?"

"Yeah, I'll be here by 5:30. I want to be here when the attending doctor makes his rounds to be sure he knows what is going on."

"Cool. I have to make sure the guys get to Church in the morning. Pastor Gary will kick my ass if I don't take them. I'll be here after Church."

"No problem, Joe. I'll tell Pastor Gary you took the men to Church. You guys pray, I'll come sit."

"Thanks."

Love does not need a lot of words. Sometimes love just sits in helpless pain and prays. If we are capable of learning to do that, we are capable of salvation.

A Popular Church

The Church of the Holy Denunciation

Ain't I Great?

We got Gary moved out of the hospital into a nursing home a couple days ago. He was drugged into derilium at the hospital and since being at the nursing home and off the morphine and dilantin he has been able to talk and is aware of who is visiting and what is going on. I stopped by to visit Gary on my way home from work today as usual.

Gary has led quite a, ahem... colorful life but has spent the last 13 of his 64 years in Christian ministry. A lot of his dreams and goals are almost coming true. His Christmas "homeless and shut in dinner" will feed over 6000 this year if all goes as planned. His shelter and rehab has gotten some attention and interest from a couple localities to open similar programs in their cities. We were talking today and he said, "In one way if I die I know I am "God ready" and I look forward to being with Christ. But in another way I think, WHY God? ... I'm at the verge of seeing all my ministry dreams come true and You're calling me home before everything great happens. If I could live seven more months I could accomplish SO much more."

I asked Gary to name me one person in Scripture that died thinking they had accomplished EVERYTHING God wanted them to do. I asked him to name one person who, if they had lived another month or year, would not have done even greater things for Christ. I told him that perhaps his one true purpose was to turn one particular person from the street to Christ and THAT one person will be his link to even greater things than he even imagined. I told him the geneology of Christ was full of no-name, obscure people who accomplished nothing more than getting a mention in Matthew's Gospel, but through them salvation came into the world. I told him greatness is not in accomplishment but in faithfulness, and according to the biblical record, "faithfulness" is often not very pretty or laudable in polite and "spiritual Church society".

The reality is, we who aspire to serve the Church in some "significant way" usually self assess according to our self referenced accomplishments and goals. But as James the Thickheaded said in a recent blog post:

"Do we really do ourselves any good by our ambitions to be a “somebody” in the Church? Moreover, do we do the Church any good, or those around us? I’m not convinced. And I’m certainly not convinced that ambitions of this sort – if we are candid with ourselves – necessarily amount to more than adopting a posture unconducive to our professed aspirations. Sainthood as an aspiration for ascension could perhaps be more clearly understood as a path of descent… not into nothingness, but from the sinful false images we erect of ourselves and toward real personhood."

Indeed, there is a temptation to what amounts to a desire for a place at the head of the table disguised as "service at the table". Subtle ego fulfillment is a leech on our "aspirations" that is contrary to the true path to "ascension". It is too easy to adopt the "posture of humility" with the agenda to be elevated to a higher place in the future rather than learn to serve with true humility in the place we've been called to in the present moment. The shiny cross worn around the neck is a glittering temptation, a distraction from ascending the true cross of accepting all God gives us, including dashed hopes, thwarted dreams, unrealized aspirations and even humiliating failure. God does not "need" our ministries and false humility, nor even our greatness. He works best through the horror of the Cross, and in the lives of those who willingly or even grudgingly accept the death it offers to each of us. He needs human beings to die to themselves and the world in Christ and thus to live as a witness to the resurrection of true personhood, and to be willing to be an obscure, no-name person in someone's distant past who, because of a glimmer of faith, did one small thing in the name of God that, generations later, saved the very cosmos.

No... I ain't so great.

Pictures of Our Bishop's Visit

Our Bishop Benjamin (OCA) paid his first "dedicated visit" to our Mission this past weekend. Before this he would spend Vespers with us and we would close our Mission and join him at Sts. Peter and Paul parish in Phoenix for liturgy on Sunday. This was the first time since I was ordained a sub-deacon that I was somewhat responsible for attending to the Bishop. Since I've never actually been the "proto sub deacon" at a heirarchical liturgy, Bp. Benjamin brought Sdn. Johann from the cathedral with him to "assist" us...which means he taught us how to do it. This is the final "huddle"with all the altar servers on Sunday morning before Bp. Benjamin arrived. (Sdn. Johann is the second from the left).
This is me and Sdn. Matthew from the local Antiochian Church preparing the Bishop's vestments. They are folded in a certain way so when we vest the Bishop they go on in the right order and easily.
This is the beginning of the service and vesting of the Bishop. This is what Metropolitan Jonah refers to when he says, "Its no wonder Bishops have big heads...when they enter a Church people dress them like a Byzantine emperor and sing to them that they hope they live forever..." One of the things you don't want to do is get nervous and get started on the wrong button, like I did last year when I assisted at Sts. Peter and Paul.


Sdn. Johann and I finish the vesting without any glitches.
The Bishop is vested and gives his blessing...he also blessed our new building this morning. (Yes, that is me...without the candles.)
Prayers...
And blessings...
One of the hardest things to learn as a sub-deacon is which candles go in which hand and when. I know the three branched always goes to his right hand. Depending on the part of the liturgy we either hand the two and three branched candles to the Bishop facing the altar or the congregation, so they are placed on the altar accordingly (and depending on where we are in the liturgy they are either lit or not. ) Sdn. Matthew and I got this one right.
The Bishop consecrates and serves communion when he visits. The parish priests are his "hands", so when the Bishop is present the priests are wallflowers and the deacons and subdeacons do most of the liturgical work with the Bishop.
And he gives the final blessings.

For the full pictorial go HERE. Thanks to Paul aka. Bagwhan Dos for his fine photo journalism.

Bishop Humor

Bishop Benjamin (OCA) visited our Mission this past weekend. He is a wonderful Pastor and always has great stories (as well as pastoral teaching and advice).

During the liturgy when the Bishop is finishing the preparation of the Eucharistic gifts before the Great Entrance, each person serving at the altar comes up to him and kisses his shoulder and says his name so that he can commemorate them, then they take their place in the line for the procession. One of our altar servers was our priest's five year old grandson.

At lunch Bp. Benjamin told us that when he was a deacon serving at a heirarchical liturgy, each person went to the Bishop and kissed his shoulder, but there was a young boy about six years old serving who could not reach his shoulder, so he kissed the Bishop on his backside then took his place in line. The Bishop looked at Deacon Benjamin and winked and said, "That boy will go far..."

Gary Update

It has been a week since Gary was admitted into the hospital. His condition plummeted each day. He had a seizure and they added dilantin to his morphine. Every day they raise his morphine dosage. I visit him every morning and evening and if I have no work I sit with him in the afternoons. He is in and out of conciousness and picks up on conversations from hours or days before. He isn't lucid long enough to get through the living will in one sitting. He's concerned about his homeless and rehab ministry being carried on and he has ordained me to take it over in the event of his death. It is an honor that he has given me that charge.

Bishop Benjamin went with me and Fr. Damian (our priest whom Gary loves) and Bill Gould to visit Gary on Saturday during our heirarchical parish picnic. We took Gary a cheeseburger and some brisket.

Of course, as soon as something like this happens I pick up a lot of work, so I'm juggling visiting Gary and keeping three projects going. Yesterday Fr. Damian spent most of the day with him. We've joked with Gary for a couple years about baptizing him and getting him into a "black dress". He hand wrote a sign for his hospital room: "No men in black dresses carrying water will be allowed in this room." He told me he wished he could live longer to talk to me more about Orthodoxy since we both came from the same protestant tradition. Fr. Damian called me and told me that Gary wishes to be chrismated. If he dies, we will bury him at St. Paisius Monastery where my father in law is buried (and I will be buried, but after I'm dead...)

The medical update is a mixed bag. The lump in his lung is pre-cancerous. They don't know if he has cancer anywhere else, or what is causing the excruciating pain. He has an anuerism at the base of his brain. His kidneys have ceased functioning. They don't know the condition of his heart yet because his health is so bad he can't do a stress test, and he is allergic to the nuclear iodine dye and is too big to fit into a full body MRI machine.

He wanted me to be the person to make his "end of life decisions" on his living will, but because he wants to will his ministry and its assets to me I cannot do that (no one who stands to "financially benefit" from someone's death can make end of life decisions...makes sense.) We've found another friend of his that is willing to do that for him.

The hospital doctor said they are pretty much at the end of their resources. He might be discharged in a few days and will have to go to a nursing home and be treated on an outpatient basis for each individual issue, heart, kidney, cancer, brain and unknown pain. The hospital he is in is an abomination. I won't even try to tell all the neglect and carelessness I've seen in the last week. Unfortunately the only way to get moved is for Gary to request it, but he is too drugged up. We will be trying to get him moved to a better hospital tomorrow one way or another.

If you pray, please do so for us all.

Malcolm Muggeridge Quote

The final paragraph of Malcolm Muggeridge’s essay ‘The Great Liberal Death Wish" on life at the end of the 20th century:

"As the astronauts soar into the vast eternities of space on earth the garbage piles higher, as the groves of academe extend their domain, their alumni’s arms reach lower, as the phallic cult spreads, so does impotence. In great wealth, great poverty; in health, sickness, in numbers, deception. Gorging, left hungry; sedated, left restless; telling all, hiding all; in flesh united, forever separate. So we press on through the valley of abundance that leads to the wasteland of satiety, passing through the gardens of fantasy; seeking happiness ever more ardently, and finding despair ever more surely."

H/T to Fr. John Chagnon

Facing Mortality, Yet Again

Gary runs a non denominational Christian drug and alcohol rehab shelter. His men helped us build our Church. Ironically Gary was a minister at the church of Christ that I got "disfellowshipped" from 6 years before he came on board. We met him at a city interfaith event. We've done Vespers at the shelter, his men come to our Mission for Bible study and services once in a while. Gary says of all the Churches they visit they like ours the most.

Gary and his men have been helping us get our property ready for our first Bishop's visit this weekend. I saw one of his men Wednesday afternoon and he said Gary was having some chest pains. I asked him if he called 911. He said, no...Gary went home to rest and was coming back later to finish moving their stuff to the back lot. I called Gary's cell and no answer. Not a good sign. I went to his house, no one home...maybe a better sign, at least I didn't have to break the door down. I found Gary at 7:30pm in our Church parking lot sitting in his van. He was trying to move a trailer out of sight to the back lot. He looked like hell. I told him, "You're going to the hospital, right now...moving a pile of trash for our Bishop is not worth your life." He looked at me and said, "You're not going to let me out of this are you?" I said, "No. I'll drag you out of this van and carry you there if I have to." (He weighs 350 pounds). "Thanks," he said. And we went to the emergency room.

I sat with Gary tonight for a couple hours. He's in a lot of pain and they are still running tests. At 64 he's facing his mortality. We talked about DNR's, living wills, worst case what will become of the men in his program, who will make the final decisions about pulling the plug on him if it comes to that, his childhood in the Ozarks of Arkansas, running a hot dog stand, his former marriage, traffic tickets, getting shot with rock salt stealing watermelons and life's regrets and satisfactions and delusions. Though there are no specific diagnoses or prognoses by medical professionals, the inescapable one that does not take an MD to know is "the flesh is corruptible and death is inevitable".

Tonight I will download legal forms for a living will for him. Tomorrow we'll have biopsy results and they'll do a cardiac stress test. Tomorrow night our Bishop arrives for the weekend. There will be things around the Church left undone that I didn't do to finish sprucing up for the Bishop's visit. If the paint in the bathroom didn't get touched up and if I'm not there to "sub-deacon" him every moment he's there because I'm at the hospital, I know he'll understand. He's like that.

Please pray for the servant of God, Gary, benefactor to our Mission and to "the least of these".

First Fishing Trip

Many years ago I used to go fishing. Then life got in the way, six kids and the need for lots of money. Then death got in the way. When my best friend died I basically stopped playing guitar and fishing. I sold our fishing gear at a garage sale. Then death loomed again and I started fishing again with my dad. My oldest son and I have been a few times. His friend Tom from Boston was visiting so all of us and my youngest daughter went fishing this weekend. Tom caught a few bluegill.


It was my daughter's first fishing expedition. She cut up worms, baited the hook and eventually learned to kiss the fish.


Kenz's first fish! Jesse shows his sister how to remove the hook without killing the fish. Kind of a girly experience but she got the hang of it. A fun day all in all...life is good.

Moo Takes a Bath

Watch the video HERE

BarseMoophius

CLICK THIS

Moo at Daybreak

HERE

A Life Well Lived, Or....

...a death well died.

Well, once again the theme of death seems to come to the forefront after my Father's brush with his mortality last weekend.

Today "rightwingprof" who comments here is in the hospital fighting for his life. Inside of a week what was pain in his legs was discovered to be a body riddled with tumors.

Today a client that I've known for years is trying to decide whether or not to finish his last round of chemo-with-no-guarantees. He retired a multi-millionaire and a couple months later found out he had an incurable cancer and 6 months to live. I called him a few weeks ago and asked how he was doing and he said, "Not too bad for a chemistry experiment."

Most of us could multiply such stories and the irony of timing, mystery of circumstances and depth of tragedy. Such is life. Such is death.

Outside of putting one's self purposefully in harms way, how we live seems to have little bearing on what kills us and when. Neither life nor death is fair. Bacon eating smokers and drinkers live to be 100, vegan runners die at 30. The randomness of how people die and from what has no discernible relationship to their relative morality, type of faith or religion, philosophy or "niceness". Trekkies may give you Mr. Spock's Vulcan blessing "Live long and prosper", but in the end it is merely an incantation, much like "Have a nice day", or even "God bless you". In the end well wishes are shorthand for our unarticulated acknowledgement of the fact that people die young and destitute, the days are fraught with evil, and the need for control outside of ourselves of a hostile cosmos that seems to be hell-bent on killing us off in more random, surprising and horrific ways than six sequels of "Saw".

A Christian's life may or may not be as moral or healthy or happy or even "blessed" as the atheist's. Evangelism based on God "one upping" lifestyles that lack irony, tragedy and poverty is doomed to attract only the deluded and desperate and can only end in either deeper delusion and ultimately in despondency. The Christian Gospel requires a life of self restraint, sanctity and love for one's neighbor, but the Gospel does not claim that any of it is a talisman against the cosmic assault on our bodies and souls. The Christian is not called to overcome life, but himself. He is not called to live long and prosper, but to live well and be content in any state. He is not called to have a nice day, but as the Psalmist says, to offer up all days wherein we saw evil to God with thanksgiving. And in the end the Gospel points us to consider the randomness of life and the ultimate injustice: death.

Death is more real than life. Life is like the water the fish swim in. We don't think much about it unless something points us to our frailty, powerlessness and mortality. A split second encounter with death can change an entire 80 years of life. Life can be hypnotic, but death is the snap of the fingers that brings us out of all self made illusions.

In the end, the Gospel is about the overcoming of the power of death so that we may live without the illusion that a "good life" has any correspondence to a "life well lived". A life well lived is one lived without fear, in faith that no matter what life does to us, good or evil, and no matter how or when we die in the end all will be well, all will be well. A death well died is the final witness to whether we lived well or merely lived good.

As I wrote this the theme of death came up on several other blogs:

The Ochlophobist has a pithy blog post on Christian funerals HERE
(also read the link to John's excellent travelogue post on Texas graveyards).

And Sophocles has a reflection on death and the funerals of a nihilist punk rocker and a saint HERE

And today is Dia Del Muerto (The Day of the Dead) in the Mexican culture. I love the art.

Ultimate Prayer Smack Down Competition

Kimbo Slice has nuthin' on monks.


H/T to Allan

Wisdom of Older Women

After 40 years of being married, one day I was looking at my wife at supper and said, "You know, 40 years ago I had a cheap apartment, a crappy car, watched a ten inch black and white TV while eating hamburger helper after I got home from work, and slept on a sofa bed...but I got to sleep with a hot 25 year old girl every night."

"Now I have a two million dollar house, a BMW sport car, a chef's kitchen, a plasma screen TV and a Duxiana bed...but now I'm sleeping with a 65 year old woman. I don't think you're holding up your end of the bargain."

My wife is a very reasonable woman. She said, "I'll tell you what, you go find yourself a hot 25 year old girl and I'll make sure you live in a cheap apartment, drive a crappy car, eat hamburger helper and watch a ten inch TV again."

Truth in Advertising

Too bad they aren't all this honest.



And even more interesting, how they made the commercial



H/T to Silouan

Moona Lisa

Click HERE

My Father is My Brother

I drove to northern Arizona and picked up my parents yesterday afternoon to bring them down to Phoenix for my Father's heart procedure today.

Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know something about my Dad from things I wrote in previous posts.

My Dad is an "old school man". When he says anything about anything that most modern emo people would consider worthy of hours of pithy discussion over a venti frappucino carmel latte you have to listen carefully then read between the lines and then fill in the blanks. As we drove down the mountain roads he made small talk about football, basketball, hockey, the weather. Interspersed between his running commentary on the mundane he talked about his surgery.

"I really don't want to have this done but I figure I should at least find out what's going on" means: "I know this might be it."

At one point I told him Fr. Damian (our priest who he met at my ordination to the subdiaconate, and the first time he has been in a Church in probably 65 years or more) said he would be willing to come to the hospital and say some prayers before he went in for surgery... if he wanted him to. Dad said, "I'd really like that, thank you." Translation: "I know I could die on the table. I'm scared **itless."

We went to the hospital this morning and they took Dad in to prep him. Fr. Damian came and talked with my Mom (who raised us kids Roman Catholic alone) for a few minutes then we all went in together for the short visiting time they allow before the surgery. After a few minutes I said, "We'll go to the waiting room for a while and leave you guys alone for a bit." We left Fr. Damian and Dad alone in the room and waited. About twenty minutes later Fr. Damian came out and said, "Steven, your dad wants to be baptized and he wants you to be there."

I went into the pre-op room and assisted Fr. Damian with the baptism of my Father who 40 years before made fun of me mercilessly about my faith. When we finished the baptism my Dad looked at me and said, "I love you." I said, "I love you too, Dad...I've been praying for this for a long time." He had tears in his eyes. He said, "I know."

We brought my wife and daughter and Mom into his room. Fr. Damian, the Wifie, daughter and I sang "As Many as Have Been Baptized into Christ" for him.

The procedure went well. As they wheeled my Dad to post-op he said, "It looks good." and I said, "Yeah...now you'll have to make good on all those deals you made with God." He grinned. I'll drive them home tomorrow morning. In about 3 weeks I'll bring them down to Phoenix again when our Bishop visits. My Dad and Mom will be chrismated together then.

Thanks to all for your prayers. They have been answered beyond measure.

Demotivators

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For...

MOO!
Recent Moo sightings.

The Best DUI Arrest in History

New Dessert and Bread Recipe

I love to cook, but I don't use recipes because I find they are generally kind of wimpy on the spices, probably to appeal to the broadest spectrum of tastebuds. And I just like to experiment.

We had friends over for supper last night and I made some dessert pears that were simple and turned out, well, REALLY good. The pears were still a little green and hard, so cooking time might be less if the pears are riper. (The ingredients are approximate, I never measure either.)

Cut 5 pears in half lengthwise and using a paring knife "dish out" the core leaving a decent crater that would hold liquid.

Lay them out in a shallow baking dish, cut side up and sprinkle with brown sugar (don't cover them entirely but don't be too skimpy either).

Mix a stick and a half of softened butter with about 4 ounces of spiced rum (I used "Black Strap Rum", it was really cheap and has a great taste for this kind of stuff.)

Put about a good heaping teaspoon of the rum-butter mix to fill the crater.

Cover with foil and bake until the pears are very soft (I cooked mine on 250 for about 3 hours while I was cooking everything else...probably 350 for an hour or more depending on the ripeness of the pears). Serve with vanilla ice cream on the side.


And here's a really quick and tasty home made bread that you can bake and serve right out of the oven when you have guests (or just want fresh bread). This makes two good sized loaves and takes about ten minutes to prepare.

Half of a 5 lb. bag of all purpose flour in a bowl add two heaping tablespoons of coarse salt (not table salt). (If you keep your flour in the freezer let it come to room temp. I've found frozen flour tends to kill the yeast or at least really slows it down.)

Warm about a cup of water on the stove or in a microwave (not too hot, so you can still hold your finger in it comfortably). Add about a heaping tablespoon of rosemary leaves into the water. Add one level teaspoon of sugar and 2 tablespoons (or 4 packets) of yeast. Stir and let the mixture set for about 10 minutes. (When the yeast is activated it will develop foam on the top of the water. If you don't see that, your yeast is no good.)

Add a cup of water to the yeast mix and then pour it in the flour. Start mixing and adding water until the dough is thick enough to barely stand up (not too thin, not too stiff) so if you let it sit for a minute, it will slowly flatten out. I use my hands and just kind of squeeze it between my fingers and scrape the bowl to be sure there's no loose flour at the bottom. It will be very sticky. Don't try to get it absolutely lump free. If you've mixed for more than 3-4 minutes you're trying too hard to get the dough smooth.

Grease 2 bread pans liberally with olive oil, (I use shallow round 9" dishes or my 10" cast iron skillet, not the high sided bread pans so it comes out as a round "artisan loaf"). I haven't had great luck with baking stones, the dough is too soft to hold its own shape and flattens out too much for my liking.) Split the dough between the two pans, I just kind of lump it in and don't worry about the shape too much, it will flatten out and take on its own shape as it rises anyway. Sprinkle a little flour on top and put them in a cold oven and let rise for about an hour (keep an eye on it, it rises fast and will overflow the edges of the pan.) At this point you can take it out of the oven, run your finger around the edges and kind of fold the edges of the dough back in on itself so it forms another mound in the center (don't be too aggressive, just enough to move the dough away from the edge of the dish) and let it rise again, or you can skip this step and just turn the oven on.

If you let it rise twice wait until the dough is slightly above the top of the dish, then turn the oven on to 375. It will keep rising during the baking process. Bake until the top is browned. (About 45 minutes). Remove from oven, let cool for about 15 minutes and pop it out of the pan.

Really yummy on its own, buttered, or with pesto or balsamic vinegar and olive oil dip.
(If you try the recipe, let me know how it works for you...I'm still playing with the formula.)

No More Dogs Dog, Part Deux

When we lost our kids' childhood dogs to old age and illness, and our four cats finally died my Wife said, "No more pets..." A couple months later we ended up at the dog pound and she fell for not one, but two "No more dogs dogs ".

Life with the two "no more dogs dogs" went well for a while. Then she found a stray on the way to the dog park. She fell in love with him and named him Peanut. He immediately turned into Destructo-Dog. He chewed and tore up everything inside and outside the house from the couches, shoes, laundry, and the fish pond. He was "her dog", but in the end he ate too much of "her stuff" and she weepily gave him up to a shelter.

My favorite dog, Duke, even after a couple years of TLC was so damaged we ended up having to put him to sleep a few months ago. The Wifie said, "One dog. That's it. I can't do this again." So Maggie has been the solo dog. She's mellow, big and lazy, as low maintenance as a dog can be.

And it was good.

(Then she found Moo the Turtle at the dog park and it got better.)

Last Monday night my daughter was out with friends on fall break. I was in bed asleep. About midnight I get jostled awake... "Come outside, you have to see this!" I pulled on my yellow smiley face PJ's and my "Closed for Rehab" T-shirt and went out to the driveway. She and her 4 friends and the Wifie have a dog. A BIG brown dog. "Look what we found!" No collar, no tags. "He's sooo cool! He jumped in the car with us...can we keep him?"

"We can keep him until we find out who he belongs to. Tomorrow you need to put up signs in the neighborhood." That was the plan. Well, spring break stuff, a camping trip and other things came and went and the signs didn't go up until yesterday, a week later. In the meantime he made himself right at home. He's friendly, great with kids and other dogs including Maggie, obedient (though we've discovered he's a chow hound and eats anything lower than 4 feet off the floor.) The Wifie kept saying stuff like, "You know, he's really a cool dog...someone is probably really missing him, I bet." And he was cool. The Wifie said wistfully as we printed out flyers, "He's the coolest dog I've ever met." He was that cool. She doesn't hand out dog compliments.

This afternoon she just had to find out. She took him to the vet to get the free scan for a "chip". "A dog that cool HAS to belong to someone who took good care of him", she reasoned. Sure enough. She came home with a defeated look on her face, "He has a chip. They found the owner and they're going to call him and give him our information." "Crap", I thought, "...but maybe he won't call..."

An hour later he called and said they've missed him and would pick him up in a couple hours. So we fed him his last meal with us and sighed a lot. I almost told the Wifie I'd offer to buy him from the owner, but we can't even make our car payments. At supper I half-heartedly said, "Maybe he'll give him to us...yeah, right."

About ten minutes before the owner was supposed to arrive the phone rings. It is the owner. He says, "I'm losing my house and I really can't keep the dog...would you like to keep him?...Can I bring the kids over to say goodbye?" We were elated for us and sad for him and his kids. He arrived a few minutes later and he and the kiddos say goodbye (the kids were too young to really get it, thank God, I remember losing my dogs in grade school). The owner was really glad he had landed in a good home. So are we.

So... this is Carlos, the No More Dogs Dog III (and Maggie) and the Wifie.
Maggie now has company keeping vigil at the supper table for scraps.Everyone is smiling. And it is good.

Mortality Looms

A few months ago I decided I needed to spend more time attending to family stuff, mainly spending more time with my parents, especially my dad. We've been fishing a few times and a few times when I've had days off I just drove up and visited with them for a couple hours. I popped up there last Monday and surprised them. They said they were going to call me that evening to tell me my dad was going to have another heart procedure. My dad had an EKG a couple weeks ago and his heart doctor said it didn't look good. He wants to do an angiogram. My dad had his first triple bypass when he was 51 (about 30 years ago). He had his second triple bypass about 4 years ago. The doctor told him at that time there was one artery that was inoperable and basically it was a ticking bomb. This doctor told him, basically no matter what they find they won't do another bypass at his age. One of the problems is the last time he had an angiogram the procedure itself set off a heart attack on the table and they were forced to "crack him open" and do the bypass.

My mom called me yesterday while my dad was in the yard working on the garden. She said he's really worried. That's "Mom-speak". When she says "he's worried" it means she's really scared.

This Thursday I'll be driving to Northern Arizona to pick up my parents to bring them down to Phoenix for a heart procedure on my dad on Friday morning. If you all remember, offer up a short prayer for us this week for Jesse and Nell (and us kids and grandkids). Thanks.

Day Trip to Sedona

Sedona is a world destination because of the incredible beauty of its rock formations. It is a New Age haven, an artsy fartsy community, a guru-proclaimed "vortex" of cosmic spiritual harmonic convergences, an aging rich hippie hangout and a tourist trap. One of the "events" that people come for from all over the world is the changing of the leaves in Oak Creek Canyon. I know changing leaves aren't a big deal for you who live back east. Cacti don't do much in the way of arboretal dramatics in the winter here. But its not just the leaves, its the setting they are in too.

Anyway, the wifey is on fall break and we decided to take a day trip and look at the leaves. They didn't disappoint (though we were maybe a week early for the real show.) Here's some pictures from the day. (Click on the pictures to enlarge them to full screen).



The hike goes along a creek that runs between two cliffs that are hundreds of feet high.



This is part of the creek and one wall of the cliffs on either side that has been eroded away.

The wifey is standing under the overhang for a perspective on the dimensions of the rock formations. You can see the opposite cliff walls from here and the direction we were hiking. You can follow the creek back about 4 miles between the canyon walls.

This is a view looking back on where we came from on the hike.
And just for grins, a picture of Sedona's "Red Rocks" that I took last year and posted before...but it was a once in a lifetime lighting condition, I pulled off the side of the road and I only had my point and shoot digital camera with me. But, this is why people come here.

Depress Me, Whydontcha?

This is the new marketing ploy from "MyLife" a "reunion" website. Their teaser is an email that tells you "A 57 year old female in Phoenix is looking for you." (OK, if you've lived in Phoenix since you've been 15 and you're 57 that's a tease, if you're 23 its a problem.) Or, "You have 103 people looking for you!" (OK, do any of them have "Esq." behind their name or "Detective" in front of it?") Well, for 6 bucks a month they will tell you who is looking for you and let you contact them through their website. And for 6 bucks a month they will give you a graph that tells you how popular you are.

They have 75 million people who have access to their information. They tell me I have 53 people who have looked for me. So I tried to do the math (I can't do 4th grade math, ask my daughter...) That means ummmm... less than one one millionth of their clients are interested in me. If I cared and could do math, that could be depressing.

The question burning in my brain right now is if I gave them 6 bucks, what would they do with their graph? Is .000000085% "POPULAR"? For 6 bucks will they bump me somewhere between "POPULAR" to "VERY POPULAR"? Of course they will. No one is going to pay 6 bucks a month to have someone spam them every day to remind them they are "LESS POPULAR". But I'm thinking that unless I pay the 6 bucks to find out who the female is that is looking for me (of course feeding on some high school fantasy relationship), I probably won't find out the marketing plan they have for a mere 12 bucks a month to move me to the "VERY POPULAR" end of the graph. (I can already see a lawsuit coming: Website tells someone they are unpopular. Person cancels subscription and uses the money to buy overdose of over the counter drug.)

I heard a talk show a few weeks ago about a company that you can BUY "Friends" for your Facebook so you'll look well...like you have a lot of friends. Of course the initial reaction is outrage... But when you really think about it, that's not any different from what goes on in "real life" and the ways human beings have "bought friends" and conspicuous relationships to impress people they don't know or care about.

In the end, "POPULAR" is the perversion of "COMMUNION". Stats are the delusion of community. "Hit Counters" are the illusion of communication. They put them on Facebook and blogs because intuitively marketers know that what human beings are looking for is validation of their personhood. We're created in a Trinitarian image, we cannot be whole without another. "MyLife" and a zillion other "social networking" sites are the digital 7th Avenue whorehouses of lonely, dieing, withered souls grasping for the comfort of a fantasy straw of communion, a bunch of pixels on a screen with a graph or a stat counter and perhaps some words that tells someone that they are connected to someone else on the planet. But the only touch is their keyboard, and the only face they see is an avatar. And once again human beings sell their soul for an illusion, pay 6 bucks for the lie, and in the dark of the night they weep alone.

This is the work of salvation: to be face to face, to be in communion incarnate. God touches us with flesh in order to save us. Can we do anything less to save those around us and to find our own salvation?

For now we see through pixilated glass, darkly; but then face to face...

Contact Juggling

This kid is really good!


And from an old post, more traditional juggling done well worth a re-run

Putting Graphic Designers Out of Work

This is amazing computer/internet stuff. Whodathunk it?

Sketch2Photo: Internet Image Montage from Tao Chen on Vimeo.

Renaissance Festival Orthodoxy

Yorgos Bilalis of the Romeiko Ensemble joined with costume designer Fatima Lavor-Peters to recreate the chanters (psalti) vestments worn before the fall of Constantinople in 1453. The vestments were designed from frescoes and manuscript depicting the garments. After the Fall under Ottoman rule the chanters wore only the black riassa worn up to the present day.

Well...since this is the REAL tradition and not the modernist liturgical minimalism we've adopted, I thought about having one made to wear for our Bishop's visit coming up soon. (I like the "paper hat" style rather than the "Coneheads").

(Wouldn't THAT be a hoot? In my old days, if we had such things in my Protestant Church, I'd have done it...though I did do stuff that amounted to the same thing. Its a good thing I didn't become Orthodox in my 30's.)
H/T to Byzantine Texas

Orthodox Tortoise

Moo becomes Orthodox HERE

Another Cool Card Trick

Australia's magician of the year. I don't know how they do this stuff. It's like...magic!

Not Lawrence Welk's Accordian

This ain't no polka beer drinking accordian music for sure...

Kid shreds on accordion
Uploaded by kj1983. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

Breaking News from the NBA

Moo plays basketball for the Phoenix Suns! HERE

Daddy's Little Girls

I don't think it matters how many times a man goes through it, there is a joyful, sobering, heartbreaking tragedy when a daughter begins the passage to becoming a woman. I remember nearly a decade ago going to the mall to shop for a homecoming dress with my eldest daughter. She held up various satiny, shimmery evening gowns, with no straps!, and beamed, "What do you think, Daddy?"

Daddy thought of her adoption day, the trip home from Colorado with a tiny premature infant with spidery E.T. fingers who fit in the sock drawer of the motel as a makeshift crib. Daddy thought of her first smile, of her ear infections and colic, of driving her around in the middle of the night in the car to put her to sleep, of changing diapers, of reading "Where the Wild Things Are" with sound effects at bedtime, of building her desk and putting up "Rainbow Bright" and "My Little Pony" wallpaper in her bedroom, of her dozens of stuffed animals, and her books, of her climbing on top of the refrigerator and getting stuck at 6AM, of her first day of school and her fourth grade math I couldn't do... "Daddy, what do you think?"

The reality was, the dress was beautiful and when she tried it on, she was radiant. No Daddy is ready for that. A Daddy has the curse of seeing his daughter both as a Daddy and as the 17 year old he once was.

Tonight my eldest baby daughter is the student body president of her law school and she's in the library preparing briefs for Moot Court competition. Tonight my baby girl is at her Homecoming Dance. We went to the mall last week and as she held up her dress...

Daddies have a vision and image of what they want their children to be. As children grow a Daddy realizes that his child is a person, not a lump of Playdoh. As hard as you push and ply and squeeze, there is an unmalleable and mysterious part that refuses to be conformed to the image. A Daddy soon realizes he has begotten an unrepeatable mystery. But that mystery is bound to his own mystery and that bond in itself is also common yet unrepeatable. Such is the Father-Daughter relationship.

Tonight I let my baby go. Tonight my baby girl, who 16 years ago, giggled hysterically while I cradled her in my arms and danced with her in our living room will dance in a young man's arms across the floor of a High School Gym. Tonight she is a young woman to everyone else, but still to me she is Daddy's little girl. Tonight she will come home to my house, but I know now not far on the horizon another's house will beckon.

But no matter the distance, no matter the age we have become or the number of years that have passed, there is nothing sweeter in a man's ear than to hear his daughter's voice say, "Daddy..."

Anyway...This is the group going out together to Homecoming. All the parents were there to take pictures. One mother said, "Are these our KIDS?" Indeed they are, and always will be.
This is my daughter and her date (of whom we approved...)
This is me and my baby... there is no preparation for this.

Clever Ads

I'm not promoting Norton Antivirus but I'd promote their ad agency.
(Watch Kimbo's pecs on this one... :)



And where did they dig these guys up again?

I'm in Love

Oh baby!

See a slide show and read all about it HERE