So you wanna hear/read my all-time favorite Easter sermon? What luck! I transcribed it yesterday! Here's the transcription which will rock the socks off any lover of the believer's Gospel hope in the new creation and here's a link to the audio for the sermon (so you can listen while you read if you like!). Enjoy!!

 Christianity Today brought to light an interesting question centering around art, censorship, and the Christian's privilege to remain of unsullied senses. Various groups seek to aid in the Christian parent's quest to filter movies appropriately for their children. Movie Mask is the hot product of the discussion. The tool eliminates blood, sex, and profanity entirely from popular films.

Trilogy Studios's pioneering software doesn't just "bleep" out bad language or cut scenes. It actually alters the imagery. Titanic's Kate Winslet doesn't pose nude when Movie Mask is running—instead she appears in a corset. And Saving Private Ryan starts with a bloodless massacre. Referring to Private Ryan's opening scene, Trilogy cofounder Breck Rice boasts to ABC News, "There are 32 edits in that scene. If you had never seen the original, you wouldn't know the difference—gone are the severed limbs and gushing blood. We've taken out some of the real gory scenes where people's guts were laying on the beach."

The questions, then, are these: 1) who is to determine appropriate? 2) isn't this another attempt to relieve parents of the responsibility of properly raising their children to understand the culture around them? 3) should people monkey with other people's art sans their permission? 4) isn't this copyright infringement? and 5) what the heck is the kid who grows up watching Movie Mask gonna think when ten years later he sits down to enjoy some good Schindler's list and is horrified at how thoroughly his memory had sanitized the film?

Oh, and 6) what kinda perverts do you think these guys are who digitally clothe a nude Kate Winslet frame by frame to protect your child?

So then...
1) Who are to be the vanguards of the appropriate for my children? Is all nudity to be sanitized - to be dismissed by long and flowing and conveniently placed locks or a digital corset? Is non-sexual nudity likewise unfit to be a part of the story? Are the gaunt old men of Schindler's List to unseemly to appear in a morally responsible film? Which words are foul enough to be Masked? Will it only be obscenities that are blunted from hearing - or will obscene ideas be absconded with as well? What about false doctrines or mistaken views - will improper views of God be replaced with one's that I, as a parent, can trust my children with?

And what is the measure of this morality? I would presume some sort of desire to live as godly and in accord with the Bible, but the Bible is fraught with all the sorts of nasty images that Movie Mask seeks to sanitize. There is far more vicious gore in Scripture than in Braveheart and Saving Private Ryan combined. The incest, polYgamy, adultery, rape, and fornication is overwhelming. Drunkenness, betrayal, blaspheme, divine wrath to the death and mutilation of the wicked. Martyrdom. Hate. Idolatry. Prostitution. Spilled seed.

Heck. Hosea married a whore.

Aren't these all images and ideas that we would never wish our children to run across undigested? The are monsters in the world and under the bed. But more, there are monstrous ideas out there, and even more, inside our hearts. Children need to be able to confront these ideas as they come. There is something to be said for protecting our youth, but more to be said for preparing those same.

Hmm.. and are there different versions of the mask so that we can keep the realistic depiction of war from our seven-year-olds but allow the full horror to wash over our sixteen-year-olds? Or should we just realize that maybe a five-year-old shouldn't be watching Titanic or Saving Private Ryan.

2) Should I, as a parent, give over the protection of my child's mind and heart and soul and innocence to someone else, who no matter the goodness of his intention, doesn't know my child or my values or how I wish to expose my family to life and to what degree? Clearly, by the way I've phrased the question, I don't think I should. How much better would it be to allow filmmakers to create as they will (G, PG, R, NC-17, whatever) and then allow me to choose my family's consumption based upon not someone else's interpretation of morality, but my own?

Oh? That's how it is now? You don't say! Well, then, let's hear it for the status quo! [delirious applause ensues]

3) Now whether film is art or not is another question (one that is sure to rile those who have disagreed with me in the past *wink*), but do we impinge upon the integrity of that which a film's creator has crafted to save our kid an awkward question of a nightmare here or there? Steven Spielberg doesn't think so:

Every film represents a truth which is morally and exclusively the right of the writer and director. No one is authorized to impose their truth on top of ours despite how strongly they may disagree with it. Schindler's List and Saving Private Ryan have been cited as two of my most important contributions to history through cinema. The public has a choice to make - do they or do they not want to share in this experience. No one has the right to delete, re-shuffle, or in any way alter our films without our permission or the permission from the copyright holder

And you know what? Even though he directed Lost World and Hook and Ishtar^[note], I'm going to have to agree with him here. Although not quite so emphatically. I'm less enthralled with the idea of a creation's intrinsic integrity as a conduit by which we see a director's truth than Mr. Berg, but I think he does point us to something valuable. We don't allow (socially - and perhaps even legally) the haphazard editing of books or poetry so that they might better jibe with our sense of how the world should be. We don't accept this as a good thing. We (society) would be outraged if someone, thinking Escher's endless staircases demonstrated a worldview against God, decided to straighten all those twists and turns.

4) Really, though, I think that Movie Mask's infringement upon the visual/audio concepts presented in films might be a breech of copyright law. I don't know much about this area in regard to films and re-editing (or however you'd wish to term it), but it just leaves a bad tast in my mouth.

Questions 5 and 6 were really just rhetoricals and I think we all know the answers to those. Yep. Perverts. Total perverts. Like most Japanese animators. *yick* gives me the willies just thinking about it :-o

Reason #Infinity for Why I Have a Hard Time Reading Revelation Literally - Illustrated below:
"And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth" (Revelation 6:13).

It gets better. In verse 14, every mountain is removed. In verse 15, because these thousands of stars have crashed into the very resilient earth and the sky has been taken away and all the mountains and islands have been removed, the leaders of men hide (wouldn't you?). In fact, they hide in the best place they can't find - in the mountains. Hmm... maybe the black helicopters rescued a few mountains from being snatched and saved them for these leaders to hide in?

My Top 5x2 "Chirstian" Bands

(in no order beyond alphabetical)

Element 101

Five O'Clock People

Havalina Rail Co. (everything but America)

Joy Electric (esp. We Are the Music Makers)

Plankeye (circa Scott Silletta - 1994-1996)

Sixpence None the Richer (esp. The Fatherless and the Widow)

Starflyer 59 (all of it)

Stavesacre

Switchfoot (New Way to Be Human)

?? [I didn't wanna force the list]

My Top 5x2 Defunct "Christian" Bands

(in no order beyond alphabetical)

Asight Unseen (Hollywood Proverbs - 1993)

Children of the Consuming Fire

The Lifesavers (Dream Life - 1983)

The Killing Tree

The Prayer Chain (circa Neverland Sessions - 1992)

Mortal

Saved

Thee Spivies

Steve Taylor

Undercover (circa God Rules - 1983)

My Top 5 Female Vocalists

(in no order beyond alphabetical)

Fiona Apple

Natalie Cole

Ella Fitzgerald

Kristin Korb

Diana Krall

Runner-ups include Etta James, Leigh Nash, Bjork (circa the Sugar Cubes), and I'm almost embarrassed to include Natalie Merchant (but I'll let her stay because I know how much it means to her).

Just finished the heart-rending urban faery tale called Sparks: An Urban Fairytale. All at once tragic and joyous and freeing and responsible, Lawrence Marvit's captivating and all-to-believeable-except-for-the-robot-coming-to-life-bit tale of love, death, life, and astronomy is bound to make any who don't have the shell of a cockroach growing over his heart feel deeply for its characters. Set in a once upon a time kingdom resembling New York/Chicago/etc., Marvit develops a likeable princess (with whom anyone who's ever felt lost can relate) with occasionally wicked parents and a knight of true nobility to attend her needs. Next to Jimmy Corrigan and Mister Blank, Sparks inhabits an Olympus of only the elite of comicdom. As gods among men, books like these are either those to which all the others aspire or else villainous reminders of how far from adequate the rest of comicdom truly is. Here's the Amazon link if you care to purchase it right now.

Additionally, I also finished a wonderful graphic crime novel called MISS: Better Living Through Crime. It was a French creation. I know I know. You never thought you'd read me use wonderful to define anything French did you? Well, except maybe something like the "wonderful eradication of France" or something in that vein. But it was really and surprisingly good. There were a couple points of poor story structure and character confusion, but otherwise: a delightfully grimey world of 1920s New York. Here's edxcerpt from the first page: "We called them ‘the crazy years‚’ New York City was spreading like a pool of urine across a subway platform. Even rats caught diseases there." A nice start. And it kept up the love.

Oh, now that I remember it. Sparks did have some minor problems that editing didn't catch - a repeated line here, a grammatical mistake there - all entirely forgiveable because of the wealth of Story!

Anyone ever notice how most contemporary worship songs could be sung ambivalently to either God or one's lover?

Because Russ asked so nicely, I shall herein illustrate with depth and accuracy, my love life (so he can live vicariously through me).

Because others have found it encouraging - my brief exposition of the events recalled in Nehemiah 8 through 13:

Ezra Reads the Law

In 444 B.C., Ezra, the first high priest of Israel since the exile and of the line of Aaron (with the assistance of Nehemiah and the Levites) reads to the children of Israel from the Law. The assembled multitude, readily aware of the circumstances of the exile and the hand of God in their defeat and enslavement, listen hard to the words of Moses brought to both their attention and understanding by Ezra and his assistants. And understanding their condemnation through the Law, they weep openly. As a single body, they mourn for their rebellion. They fear the jeopardy to which their sin has brought them.

And yet, even they are comforted. They are counseled to mourn not, but rejoice—for the pleasure of the Lord is full and bountiful. They should neither be frightened nor sad. The stain of their iniquity would not be the last word! For they are God’s people.

Further, the people are immediately given redemptive picture in their renewed celebration of the Feast of Booths (or of Tabernacles). Embracing for a time the remembrance of God’s grace upon the children of Abraham as they wandered in the wilderness, the children of Israel recognize that as God was faithful to deliver his children from desert wandering in spite of their past malice, even so, his people would once more bathe in the refreshing waters of His inestimable mercy.

As one man, the people of Israel separate from the foreign peoples in their midst and repent the sins of their fathers, acknowledging both their past wickedness and God’s longsuffering mercy. They note well that God owes them no obligation of grace and so cry out for mercy. In response to their sorrow for the previous flaunting of the Law, they make a covenant amongst themselves to once more follow after the ways of their righteous God.

And yet, as true children of Adam, they are born to failure and born to iniquity. They soon break the very covenant they had endeavored to keep. Once more, they endanger themselves for the keeping of the Law is impossible for them. They find no comfort in this covenant; no, their present determination to keep the Law cries out in pleading for a New Covenant. And not in vain. They desire security in the mercies of their Lord. They desire an everlasting peace. They desire to be made better. They desire a covenant they will not break.

And they will get it. Five centuries later, the world will reel under the spreading influence of a powerful New Covenant. So mighty the redemptive strength of this New Covenant, no longer will national boundaries limit its range. No longer will the nation of Israel be the sole bearer of the mercy of the Lord. Much more than for a single nation, this is a covenant for the world. Jews and Gentiles will be made one people, indistinguishable from each other as taking equal part in this new community of faith. All who rest in this New Covenant are counted the sons of Abraham—the mighty nation so long ago promised. And all these shall be counted as fruit of that Seed promised so many centuries earlier: Christ.

Christ crushes the power of Satan upon the cross. Christ ushers in a new creation so much better than that of Noah. Christ is Abraham’s son of promise. Christ fulfills the Mosaic Law to perfection. Christ takes up the throne of David, ruling in heavenly Jerusalem forever and ever. And best of all, Christ, as a second Adam, lives in perfection as Adam did not; and so, Christ earns the Sabbath rest that God offered to Adam. And by His atoning life, death, and resurrection, He offers that covenant fulfillment to all the people of God.

This is the hope of Israel circa 444 B.C. This is your hope today.

As I have mentioned in the past, Tuesday mornings we have a staff devotional meeting in which either employees or guest speakers share exhortations from Scripture (supposedly that’s the intention). This week our guest was a highly regarded “messianic Jew” (a.k.a. a Christian) and he shared nothing of Gospel – which was a disappointment as strict moral advice never really hit me as being very devotional.

In any case, the purpose of this tale is to reveal the horror of what happened at lunch. We all visited an Italian restaurant (conveniently named “Gentile’s” *grin*) and while we were waiting for food, one of my bosses (another messy Jew who nearly worships the work of our guest) confided to the guest his admiration for the devotional content, allowing for the following exchange:

“Your message was very good. I was so convicted!”

“Thank you.”

No no no. How is it that we have come to imagine that coming away from “an encouraging time” in God’s word can ever be equated with the simple statement, “I was so convicted.” Conviction may indeed play a part in a sermon or exhortation or devotional time, but it is a joyless, fruitless, and powerless example of death-dealing moralism if we simply leave it at that. Where is the power to change? Where is our comfort? Where is our reason to go on living and hoping? Where, goshdanggit, is the Gospel?

If I come away from a sermon or exhortation dwelling on my sinful fallenness, then you have done a reproachful job in your exhortation. I should leave every time of study in God’s word rejoicing bountifully in who I am become in Christ Jesus. If my identity as a son the King and coheir of eternity is not the focus of my thoughts, then you have probably not spoken accurately in your time. Remind me of man’s iniquity, but offer me hope. Identify the scorn of man’s heart but encourage me in Christ. Show me I’ve been unloving, but then reveal to love of my Lord to me and thereby cause me to so rejoice in His love that such overflows into my own. Never end a sermon with the bad news.

This is bad. This is wrong. And this betrays the goal of Scripture and defeats any time of study and exhortation.

I am worried. I am fraught with anxiety. I am nervous and pitying. Oh, and I have a furrowed brow too. From what I hear, a good friend has caught badly a case of malaria. I don't know which brand, but from what I gather, the sockgirls both received the tragic bite while ministering on a three-week missionary endeavor in Uganda. Her sister is doing better from what I'm told, but she isn't faring so well, I guess. If you're the kind of person to do so, please pray for the two of them; I would appurcheate it - and even more, I bet they would. Again, this whole post is based on rumour, but it still worries me. Thank you for your support. Bartels and James, premium on ice.

Interestingly enough, there is a Federal law demanding bus riders stand for the elderly and disabled. I love the legislation of morality. Rather than teach people the difference between right and wrong, we make a law and put funny stickers on dirty bus windows. I love government. I love liberals. I love the sheer, blindly idiocy of the whole cure-the-symptoms-but-not-the-disease mentality of the world around me.

What is God's obligation to provide our physical Needs? The question arose in our staff meeting yesterday morning and I'm curious for response to my thoughts. Does God promise to provide for the physical needs of his people?

My thought is that he does not. I'm not by any means certain of this conclusion, but from my understanding of the world around me - I know, I know, never the best hermeneutic - this seems to be the case.

If God promises to provide for the physical needs of his people (and I think we can all be comfortable with describing food and shelter as needs), then why do believers starve to death in Africa? If God is obligated to the provision of a minimal standard of living, then why do believer's freeze to death for lack of clothing or shelter? I think they tend to do so because God has not promised to provide our earthly needs (in abundance or in any other fashion). I believe he will supply our every spiritual need and is storing up for us all a vast provision of treasure where moth and rust hold no sway. But it doesn't seem that his promised concern is for our lives in this sphere.

A co-worker answered my question with "Well, God provides until he decides to take you home to be with him."

But then, isn't his provision identical for the believer and the non-believer alike? We both subsist on the earth with varying degrees of worldly goods. There are wealthy believers and wealthy unbelievers. There are both believers and unbelievers stricken by the severest poverty. Both God's people and the reprobate have their needs provided so long as they live. And when they die, it is because God has ceased their provision and chosen to take them. Both the elect and the non-elect alike. So then, is God's earthly provision merely a taste of his common grace (as it rains on the believer and the unbeliever alike)?

Then when we look to Biblical promises of provision, should we view them as speaking solely to our heavenly habitat? Or what? I know it's a little late in my Christian journey to be wondering about something so elemental, but, well, there it is.

I happened across the most amazing thing Saturday afternoon! On the bus. Amazing. Just sitting there! Like the belonged in the picture. I'm still shocked by even the remembered sight of them! White people!!! And not homeless white people either! Three couples in later-middle-age, dressed casually as if going out for a nice summer day on the town. I couldn't believe their audacity! The must have been from out of town - although I couldn't pick out any distinguishable dialect. They seemed good-natured and enjoying themselves. And they spoke to each other not in hushed tones or obnoxiously loud barks, but in normal voices indicative of civilization. I can only guess that they rode the bus as a part of some grand social experiment testing what hypothesis I haven't the faintest.

Now lest ye think I speak unfairly and with prejudicial malice, allow me to assure you. In South Orange County, public transit is strictly for the destitute or the disadvantaged or those who have had their driver's licenses stolen by officers of the law (see entries revolving around last January). This means our illegal friends and neighbours from south of the border (who, you'll pardon me, are largely Mexican - through no fault of their own),* our homeless and/or honestly snacking individuals, our foreign visitors who imagine Orange County transit might be similar to any other civilized nation's transportation, and the occasional poor soul like myself who has the choice of fixing an ailing autovoiture for a fistful of Samoleans or tripping the light fantastic with the Orange County Transportation Authority. Typically, the tragedy of these people's lives takes its toll upon their physical demeanor - hardship without hope rots not only the body, but the soul as well (this is tragic and I am sympathetic to their plight - but my story isn't about them so I'll continue...). In all my travels in O.C. public transit have have come across TWO people who look beautiful or handsome - as if the cares of the world had taken no hold. One I mentioned in a previous post (at which time I was reading too much Sarte - and yes, one book by the man is quite too much) was a little girl and perhaps the most adorable creature I have ever had the privilege of seeing with my own two eyes. The other is a beautiful Mexican woman I see occasionally who I haven't asked out yet :-Þ

The point is, these six people seemed so immediately out of place that they almost fit in. They were happy. They were friendly. And if there were more people like them - not taking the bus out of destitution, but out of pleasure - I think the Orange County public transit system would be redeemable as a concept. If everyone who rode were as they, then I'm certain that busses would be cleaner and would have more direct routes and would arrive more frequently and would get me to work in less than two hours! What a dream I have! Impossible, sure, but what a dream!

Oh yes, to reiterate reality. I saw a teat and a penis on my way to work this morning. Neither experience enjoyable. Neither experience tantalizing. And neither experience conducive to my recommendation to others of our public transit system.

This is the first Google hit I've ever gagged upon. And I'm the Only and Only hit for it. This has to be punishment for something.

Well, it happened. Just after midnight. While I was asleep. I reached a milestone. My 50,000th visitor since adding a blog to my site two years ago. What does that mean? Not a whole lot really - except that my minions are working overtime. Bwoo-ah-hah-hah. That was a sinister laugh in case you are onomatopoeia-deprecated.

In other news, I commented on a blooger's site regarding this whole silliness of this JesusJournal mess and returned later to find my comments had been done away with. I tried to gather up the pieces and perform the proper funeral rites, but alas, I fear the comment's honour has been forever impinged by the assasination. Regardless, it was exciting to have been censored - as I have never experienced that outside the church experience that I hope to relate tomorrow.

I'm riding the bus again.

Driving has just become to costly for me at this stage; and so, I embark once more on pilgrimages devoted to the shrive of public transit. O what wonders I have beheld! Two days past I was privvy to a wonderful site - a tattered man with a liver likely bloated with alcohol (absorded as a sponge over the last fifteen years) rolled around on the floor of the bus station - passing out and then back into and out again of consciousness on his carousel ride of lucidity. One day back, I watched as the twenty-something with whom I shared a bench exited the bus briefly while it picked up new riders to vomit up a half-pint of luminous, Red-flavoured Gatorade only to step back onto the bus as if naught had occurred. And this morning, I was the only rider to get up and offer my seat to a lady. I love the bus in SoCal.

There is a downside, however.

I'm getting a lot of reading done. Yes, in the four hours I spend on the bus every day, I bide my time with literature. In fact yesterday saw the finish of Chandler's High Window (in fact, the least satisfying of his books I've yet read - only one more to go), and the beginning of The Tale of Genji. Genji is rather long eleventh century work, being more than a Grand in pages (big pages. lotsa print), and so I don't expect to finish it within the next week; but it'll give my a nice head start on my Japanese Literature course this Fall... if we elect to read the tome (which I'm betting on). So far, it's rather fun. And the ancient Japanese narrative process is far different from that to which modern audiences are accustomed. It is far more matter of fact - leaving the process of emoting to the reader's imagination. In any case, should be fun, and the bus is a good opportunity to finish the book.

The Fancy Llama is all at once the saddest, funniest, bravest, most pitiful man in the entire world.

Why do people always say that your wedding will be the happiest day of your life? Doesn't that mean everything else will be downhill? How depressing.

Because it seems to be so totally en vogue, The Dane's own movie quote quiz for ye who fancy yourselves cinephiles:

1) "I don't mind if you don't like my manners. I don't like them myself. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them on long winter evenings."

2) "How can you trust a man who wears both a belt and suspenders? The man can't even trust his own pants."

3) "Would you like to kiss me on the veranda?" "No, just the lips will be fine."

4) "Treat your wife. Treat somebody else's wife. It's a lot more fun if you don't get caught."

5) "There is nothing so helpless and depraved as a man in the midst of an ether binge."

6) "We now have discrimination down to a science."

7) "Your reality, sir, is lies and balderdash and I'm delighted to say that I have no grasp of it whatsoever."

8) "There's the television. It's all right there. All right there. Look. Listen. Kneel. Pray."

9) "Mein Fuhrer! I can walk!"

10) "Communism. Capitalism. It's the innocents who get slaughtered."

11) "The toenails, on the other hand, never grow at all." "The toenails on the other foot never grow at all."

12) "You two are just dumber than a bag of hammers."

The historic church has never made eschatology an essential doctrine (beyond the simple and dear eschatology of heavenly hope and resurrection life), allowing for premillennialism, postmillenialism, amillennialism, and even the recent dispensational premillennialism to flourish under its usually strict banner. As I grew in my faith, I had always relegated my eschatology (premil/pretrib at the time) to a special corner that may as well have been named Things I Believe Though They Bear No Relevance To My Practical Life.

This might be sad. And there might be premil/pretrib adherents out there shaking their head in wonder since they live so fully in their eschatologies.

But I didn't. Not in the least.

To know that seven years before the end of the world, I would be taken up to be with Christ while the earth suffered horrible things and then some guy with a mark on his head (either a Gorbochavian birthmark or a wound from an assasination attempt) came around and said he was God and then killed a bunch of Jews who never had sex - to know this occupied no more importance to me than my knowledge that girls have two-count-'em-two X chromosomes. It wasn't nothing but trivia. What did I care. I wasn't gonna be around for any of it.I was going to be caught up into the sky while planes, trains, and automobiles crashed and burned with no drivers - killing thousands of course. And no one could no when it was gonna happen, so should I really live my life different?

In any case, that all changed when I slowly began to see the merits of an inaugurated millennial perspective. Oh yeah. Some people call that amillennialism. This, I've found, is confusing to most people. They either think the amillennialist doesn't believe in any sort of millennial reign of Christ or they believe that the reign will begin after Christ returns (the latter being a form of premillennialism by the way). No, no. The inaugurated millennialist (a.k.a. the amillennialist) believes that the reign of Christ mentioned in Revelation 20 began (i.e., was inaugurated!) at the death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ and will conclude at his second appearing when he will usher in the end of the age and bring all men to their eternal states. And yes, I realize that means we take the 1000 years to be a figure and not a literal numerical quantity. No, I don't have a problem with that. And neither has most of the church throughout history. And neither should you.

So, how is it that my eschatology has all at once come to relate practically to my life? It's the implications of the belief that really take hold. The amil perspective is really one of two realm: the earthly and the heavenly. The one is a world of suffering while the other is a world of hope.

On earth, the children of Christ suffer for their righteousness. Their devotion to the Lord of all buys them no favours in the earthly realm. If those of this world hated Christ (indeed, for they slew him with all malice), than how can we expect any better from them. A servant is not greater than his master, so we should not skirt the fact that while we reflect the beauty of heavenly majesty, the world will be at odds with us. Righteous living does not earn us prosperity. We do not live under the Mosaic Covenant. Christ lived sinless and was slain. Paul lived righteously and was beaten, scourged, stoned, imprisoned, and ultimately killed. Such is the story of the righteous in these last days. Paul rejoices in suffering. Why? Because it ends in hope! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

But the amillennialist thinks Christ is already reigning! How can this be? If Satan is bound, he sure has a long leash! Oh, but he does reign - so sayeth Scripture ("But God being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ - by grace you have been saved - and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus." - Ephesians 2:4-6).

Christ reigns in the heavenlies. On the eternal throne of David that will never pass. He even now sits at the right hand of his almighty father. All authority is given him. Satan cannot touch his children, for none can snatch his adopted brethren from his loving hand. And do we marvel at this reign from afar? Not remotely! We are even there, at his hand, reigning with him in the heavenly places. We have already inherited the treasure house of heaven for every spiritual blessing is made ours. We have already been justified, sanctified, and glorified. We are already made up to be the holy city - the New Jerusalem - the very bride of Christ! We are adorned in splendor as the bride of the eschatalogical Lamb ought ot be. But how do we apprehend such things? I look around and see nothing but the world of sin, death, and sickness. Where is this throne? Where are these treasures? How can I see these things if even they exist?

By faith. By faith. For now in any case. Soon there will be a time when the things apprehended by faith will be made known by sight. Soon Christ will return in magnificence purging the world in fire and bringing to fore a New Creation! A new heavens and new earth! The former things will have past. That old creation, only redeemable in its destruction to make way for the new, will be as a forgotten memory for the children of the Most High - for the heirs of life eternal.

That is the hope of the amillennialist. Heavenly consummation. And nothing less. I don't look longingly toward a moral, God-fearing political entity. I don't care to spend one thousand years in the Middle East waiting for the real life to kick in. Call me selfish. Call me crazy. But I want that consummation. It is my eternal state - worshipping at the very feet of Jesus Christ himself - for which I long unceasingly.

And it is that hope that sustains me day-to-day. I recognize well the futility of earthly life in itself (hence the name of this domain). I recognize that life here is suffering. I recognize that things will not be made right until he comes again. And what does this do to me? It makes me to hope. I hit all red lights on the way to work? I dream of heaven. I spend the night awake with food poisoning? My eye is fixed upon that which is beyond its grasp. I am twenty-nine with nary a romantic hope alive? It is the gates of the heavenly city that welcome me and loves me. I witness the tragic death of dear friends? I yearn for a land absent such a mockery of life. There is no room for depression for as the details of life get me down and cause me to sing the blues (as they will to all who dwell in theis fallen world), for even depression works in me overflowing joy as it is changed by the grace of Christ into, yes, hope.

If to die is gain, than to live is surely Christ! Reminded of what is in my eschatalogical store, the life of Christ overflows in me and makes me to work for his honour and glory. As the resurrection life Christ bought me overflows my heart, I work the works of righteousness naturally - and incredibly, what was once futile (cf. Ecclesiastes), is verily redeemed. Our works in Christ will follow us! We store up treasure that is not vanity! Stores which do not whet the appetites of moth and rust! Our treasures are eternal and they are free.

My eschatology lives and breathes and inhabits my every thought, my every whisper. It gives me hope for tomorrow and inspires me for today. My eschatology is useful. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I should stop writing comments on other sites and get to the business of my own. I still have to write about my love life so that Russ can experience vicariously what he experiences everyday in actuality.

Today's Reflection

For you shall not go out in haste, and you shall not go in flight, for the Lord will go before you and the God of Israel shall be your rear guard.

from Isaiah 52:12

Never need the bride of Christ, when arrayed in her battledress, proceed anxiously to meet the enemy. Nor shall she flee from villainous hoards, defeated and brought low. She is the queen of God’s right hand and ever shall He protect her comings and goings, guarding her both before and behind, and ever granting her sword arm the full measure of His omnipotent strength. Rejoice in the Lord! Rejoice in your strength!

Interestingly enough, a reader's suggestion a few nights passed to treat the matter of the believer vs. potty mouth coincides nicely with Miss Quick's post this morning dealing with the very same subject. So without further ado, let us initiate this discussion with some definitions:

Obscenity – a term deemed socially unacceptable or taboo by the culture in which one finds himself.

Swearing – vain use of the name of God or vain appropriation of something uniquely divine.

Vulgarity – a term deficient in taste.

Next let's begin with some misconceptions about foul language.
1) Despite popular (read as "cutting-edge/hip") Christian theory, there are indeed bad words. No, of course the syllables themselves are not villainous – don't be lame. That has never been the issue. I had this conversation with a young lady about five years ago. She made the (superfluous) point that words are just sounds and therefore can't really be bad. Words are not just sounds and never have been. Words and their inflections are tokens. Tokens for ideas, concepts, beliefs, and attitudes. These can indeed be bad. This is what we mean when we speak of bad words.

Additionally, we can see in Scripture the moral importance (goodness) God places upon His own word. The word of God is a token for His entire nature. The word of God is good. In fact, that it is good implies that words can be good or bad. Just a side note that.

2) Despite popular (read as "uninformed/Biblically illiterate") Christian theory, Scripture does indeed speak of foul speech. Whatever the Bible does say, it doesn't relegate this to one more liberty allowed the believer. This matter isn't simply something not spoken of in Scripture. It isn't beer, cigars, poker, dancing, Rated-R movies, or a pretrib rapture.

3) Despite popular (read as "sophist") Christian theory, there is a difference between minced oaths and the real thing. There is a difference between saying "Crud" and dropping the F-Bomb. There is a difference between "dangit" and "dammit." Hopefully, I'll have time to make this clear by the end.

So. Let's start with Scripture. Always a good place for the believer to start I'm told. Ephesians 4:29ff speaks to us in the context of both not grieving the Spirit of God and the propriety of our actions as children called to faith: "Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers." And then Ephesians 5:4 as well: "Let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking, which are out of place, but instead let there be thanksgiving." I think that those two bits are pretty self-explanatory.

So what constitutes filthiness of speech? Certainly a general disgusting nature of one's conversation can fit that description, but can single words or terse phrases be guilty of the same? I don't think we have to imagine too hard to see that this can be the case.

Obscenities (that we defined earlier as terms deemed unacceptable or filthy by one's society) can certainly fit this sense. If secular society places a degree of filthiness on certain words – most notably, the F-Bomb – I can hardly see how the believer can be justified in using it without discretion. It is not a word that finds itself often in polite conversation. I can't really see it sung reverently in hymns or with joy in the latest praise chorus. I really can't see Jesus walking up to Peter and saying, "Are the fish biting Motherfu-" eh, you get the idea. Even writing that felt distasteful for me.

But what if the society you're in doesn't find that word foul or filthy? Okay. Fine. Then it is not filthiness. Remember words are tokens and only signify what they mean to the speaker and to the speaker's audience. If I'm in the sole company of my wife and she drops an F-Bomb to be cute, knowing for certain that I won't be bothered by it (which I'll get to later), I don't think she's violated the admonition of Scripture to abstain from foul speech. Because in that context, the Bomb meant nothing crude or foul.

In the same manner, I think judicious use of the right obscenity can drive a point home in relating an idea to someone. This is only applicable for those who don't use such words as a matter of course. Since 1990, I've harshly used the F-Bomb twice – and to good measure I think. I believe I was justified in these two instances. But other than that, I abstain.

Why? Chiefly because a believer diminishes his witness by engaging in filthy talk. He neither edifies his brother nor shines the character of Christ by the common use of obscenity. Is that really so difficult to see?

Hmm... let's talk briefly about swearing and vulgarities. Swearing is often more inappropriate than obscenity for it either treats God vainly, as in "Omigod!" or takes for the mortal realm something expressly given to the divine, such as "Dammit" (since man doesn't have the authority to damn or command to damnation). Vulgarity, on the other hand, seems less filthy and consequently, more open to liberty. Vulgarities would include terms like crap, sucks, bastard, or pissed off. These are words that while not polite, are not offensive enough to the general populace to raise the same degree of shock or ire in the midst of polite company. Again, keep in mind your social circumstance. I once (in 1988) made the error of telling my brother he sucked at volleyball in front of a homeschool mom and was roundly chastised and lectured, "Don't cuss!" For the life of me, I couldn't at the time, figure out which word was the once she associated with cussing – since my social environment thought nothing of the word.

Also, let's mention substitutionary terms quickly. Miss Quick uses a great example wondering why upon doing something like stubbing our toe (my example since I couldn't remember hers) – why do we ought bother saying "POOPY FART" when in our hearts we are saying the same as if we had dropped the queen mother of F-Bombs. This is a great question and one that I couldn't figure out for a number of years. In the end though, I think the question avoids something important. The heart that says "POOPY FART" rather than its harsh alternative is a better and more refined heart. We don't like to say that for fear of endorsing hypocrisy, but what is really and truly occurring in my own heart when I hit my thumb with a hammer and wail, "OW-ow-owiieeeeeee!" over its choicer of verbal compatriots, "&@#$%?!?!" is that my concern to model Christ is governing my mouth. My concern that the world would not see me as just another of itself overrules my desire to audibly assert my pain and frustration in the strongest possible terms. At least that's my take on what's going on.

And last of all, does foul language bother me? Generally not in the least. Especially when flowing freely from the mouths of nonChristians – I mean, theologically speaking, their spirits are corpses right? so why should I expect anything bearing life to come from their speech? And generally, it doesn't bother me to hear it from believers either. Although I do automatically think one of two things when I hear such from the mouths of saints: 1) well, they're just not there yet... I'll give them some grace or 2) tsk, ghetto because really, the lack of refinement betrayed by those who speak filthily generally shows both their lack of class or lack of education. Now obviously there are brilliant people who can cuss up a blue streak, but I gotta say that potty mouth is really pretty lowball.

And I guess that's that. I'm sure I've raised more questions than I've answered, but it is a large topic for a li'l old blog like mine.

And so. The Danny Bond cult of personality continues apace. It's comforting to see that somethings never change. [*caution: to all who are utterly dense, that last bit is to be read with the most desparing and knee-deep sarcasm. stuff like this really breaks my heart because I've seen it tear into the most tender and honest people with no care for their well-being - wanting only to lord an unreal and man-centered power over all who will not bow before the altar of ego. and not just in Pacific Hills Church, but in a number of places where a man alone is raised to on high*]

Aside: I've now fleshed out the Art section of the site... Pumpkins, doodles, drawings, photos, and at long last, WEB SITES. Both ones I've designed for others and the visual tale of my own site's evolution. I hope you'll enjoy!

One of the things of which Russ warned me when I first began to blog was this: "No matter what anyone tells you. There is no community. Have fun blogging."

Words to live by folks. Relationships with few exceptions can't exist in any real sense over the virtual range of the net. We can enjoy the contributions of others. We can contribute to the thought life of others. We can move people in their hearts and minds. We can affect the world by our words. But. We can imagine that these are our friends. We can imagine imagine that we share some form of intimacy with them. We can imagine that our lives depend upon each other. We can imagine that we are community.

These are imaginations. Online communities are a vanity and a chasing after the wind. They are the modern lonely hearts clubs - just without the base in reality. The people we portray ourselves to be, no matter how honest we are with our readers, are not the same selves as we are in real life. The heart and flesh of our lives are replaced by dry, sterile pixels. The warmth of our bodies. The sound of our voices. The heat of our breath. The hard, gridiron reality of our lives. None of these exist on the net. Sure, they do after a fashion. But only after a fashion.

Would I be sad if Jim Hart dropped off radar? Sure. Would I shake my head in sorrow if Rich Clark got cancer? Of course. Would I be happy for Kristen Knox if she got married? Only if she was. Do I get frustrated when online people misunderstand my words and their intent? Absolutely. Does this imply community? Not so far as I can see. These people are certainly of a passing interest to me (as I may be to them), but if I lost my internet tomorrow and forever, would I be poorer for the loss of their sites? Nah. And I would hate to imagine them poorer for the loss of mine. Sure, there's a certain intrigue to these minds across the globe, but that is intrigue and not community.

*shrug*

Signing up on Blogtree was interesting insofar as I was able to reminisce. Why did I get started blogging? Who was the villain who began me on this path to unrighteousness? Who can consider themselves the parent of this here blog? Only one man can lay hold of that claim: Young Russ Young and his wonderfully hurty brain.

Two years ago, I had a fairly large site: lotsa essays, lotsa pix, lotsa other stuff. But no blog. I confess I hadn't yet heard of them. But not many had. At that point there still hadn't occured the media buzz that soon followed. I met Russ in the mountains at a young reformed person's weekend retreat. We were both up early one morning and began chatting about what we did - both of us involved in the world wide whatever for our mealchecks. Then he mentioned this blogging thing he was doing on his site. I thought it sounded interesting, checked it out, liked the idea, and three months later - 20 July 2000 - started my own. And the rest is history.

So now you know who to blame or thank for what you see hear on a fairly occasional basis. When I was thinking about my style of blogging and how I treat topics and what other blogs seem like mine, the only one that really seems kindred in content, feel, attittude (sorta), and humour, is Russ's. He speaks of faith similarly, he skewers ideas similarly, and he treats on culture similarly. Or maybe its that I do all those similarly to him - after all, I'm the chicken who came after his egg. In short, I'd like to say thanks Russ. Thanks for what I think is a neat idea - even if it gets me in trouble online and off more than I'd care to believe.

p.s. I'm honoured and stunned to have been genetically named as a parent of the Amazing JettGirl's blog. Honoured because she puts out some heartfelt stuff that's worthy of reading and dwelling upon. Stunned because she started her blog a week or so before I started mine - and that kinda math hurts my head. She says that my blog is somewhat inspirational for her (did I get that right?). And quite frankly, that makes me blush and get goosebumpley and all happy inside.

Ryan Hodges has taken someone's valuable suggestion and created a site dedicated to how crummy and downright villainous Alaska Airlines can be. It just so happens that Alaska Airlines is hell on luggage. One of these days, Brandon and I will pool our resources to spread the good news of how SEARS is evil and lame and stupid and populated by morons whom the company enjoys humourously calling "employees" when they should be calling the foul and bumbling creatures "minions of the netherworld." One of these days.

After all, isn't this really one of the great and abusive powers of the internet? The power to truly take hold the reigns of consumerism!

For those who don't understand why I consider the Left Behind series by LaHaye and Jenkins to be literary drivel, I have turned to random pages in Book 3 to pull out quotes that you may witness the truth.

Buck was waved at, pointed at, and hollered at by traffic cops, and he was honked at and obscenely gestured at by other motorists.

— Nicolae, p. 11

Buck sat in the sales manager's office of a Land Rover dealership. "You never cease to amaze me," Chloe whispered.

"I've never been conventional, have I?"

"Hardly, and now I suppose any hope of normalcy is out the window."

"I don't need any excuse for being unique," he said, "but everyone everywhere will be acting impulsively soon enough."

— Nicolae, p. 17-18

When Carpathia had told Rayford he might learn a few things by sitting in the copilot's chair, Rayford had had no idea it would entail more than a few interesting tidbits about this quick, small jet. "Let me get this straight," he said. "Earl Halliday knew about this new plane and is conversant enough to teach me to drive it?"

— Nicolae, p. 23

That's all for now, but for those of you who can't understand why this is schlocky writing, please refer to Jim's recent quotations from the works of Raymond Chandler. Then all should be made clear.

I have noted some recent hubbub about something called a Christian blog. What it is I have yet to figure out. Did a blog get saved? Did it place its sole trust and hope for a life beyond its own on Christ who died to save ... uh, men? No that can't be it. Blogs can't be redeemed because they aren't men. And what did they do that requires redemption? Maybe the first blog sinned in such a... nah - you know you're writing crummy satire when you get bored of your own writing while you're writing it.

Okay. Starting over:
I have noted these past weeks an inordinate hype about Christian blogging from the quarter of whom I would gather consider themselves Christian bloggers. My question then, really is "Doesn't this strike people as cheesy?" Like Christian bookstores or Christian bands or Christian bumperstickers or Christian whatever. As soon as you slap the label "Christian" on a normal thing, you degrade it. You've eliminated its entire ability to compete in a real marketplace. You've niched it. And by niching it, you almost certainly relegated it to the realm of the substandard.

Why don't "Christian bands" sound good? Because they focus more on being "Christian" than they do on artistry. Why don't "Christian novels" ever get counted as great literature? Because they don't need to be. Christian niching is a sure market. Pass something off as Chistian and you've got a built-in consumer pool. Ever hear of Left Behind? Sure you have! Ever read it? If you have, you know that it's literary schlock you wouldn't dare use as toilet paper for fear of getting your poop dirty. Once something is labelled "Christian," it no longer has to conform to any artistic standard. If you need evidence, go sample the music, writing, art, and ideology perpetrated daily upon wits-dimmed Christian consumers at your local "Christian" bookstore.

The moment a blog is labelled "Christian," it will begin to suffer the same degradation of creativity, quality, appeal, et cetera. It will have its readers simply because it offers a "wholesome" environment in which to suffocate upon the saccharine. It won't skirt unpleasant ideas. It won't use language that hasn't been sanctified by consumer-Christian culture. It won't question God. It will support FoxNews. It will support crusades. It will support the Republican party. It will say that Harry Potter promotes the occult. It will fear the secular. It will give up on the world in favour of a rice-flavoured and monastic banality.

I am a Christian. My belief and relationship with Christ is the centre and pinnacle of my life. My worldview influences my every thought and action. My words are soaked in my faith. But only a eighth or less of my posts deal with religion in any direct aspect. I write about life. Though life be effused with the divine, so is it also filled to overflowing with the secular. To abandon the secular is to lose perspective - and what good is a writer with no perspective?

I am a Christian and this is my blog. But this will never-ever-in-a-million-years-ever be a Christian Blog. I will have sold my heart and soul and any potential for quality if I ever take on that dastardly label. This is a Life Blog. Good, bad, and ugly. I embrace life for what it is, holy and secular, and write of coalescence. I am The Dane and this is my Life Blog. Welcome to it.

Still going with the suggestions for topics, I shall now answer the question, "Which author, if any, has made you cry?"

I can only think of one. Although I came close reading the Civil War tragedy Gods and Generals by Jeff Shaara, the only book to ever bring tears from my eyes was penned (in multiple senses) by Chris Ware. His astonishing tale of inadequacy, disenfranchisement, and social disfunction was so heartfelt and believable, so cunningly wrought, so unfortunate and disturbed that I wept like a little girl while pouring over its coloured pages. Well, maybe the little girl part was a tad extreme. But my cheeks were assuredly dampened during the six or so hours I spent in those leaves. Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth receives my highest recommendation and so far as I can tell, it represents the nearest a graphic novel has yet come to melding perfectly art and literature - and it may be a long time before anyone crafts its equal. Maus was powerful and won a Pulitzer, but was rather one-note. The story was intriguing but was never powered much by its art (which was rather lackluster). Palestine was important and strong and bold and revealing, but it was too journalistic to be great literature. Nausicäa of the Valley of Wind , an incredible tale, soared and leapt through strata of imagination, but was so wedded to fantasy that its characters were never entirely relatable. Of all the novels I've read - written or drawn - only Jimmy Corrigan has so devastatingly captured the drama of the human soul. Incidentally, Jimmy Corrigan holds Amazon sales rank 3,215 - which is pretty darned good when you think of all the other books there are out there.