Spiritual Practices

at our last Eikon sunday night gathering, we discussed some actions that anyone can take to explore and develop their faith. stealing completely without permission from the practicingourfaith.org website, we listed honoring the body, hospitality, household economics, saying yes and saying no, keeping Sabbath, testimony, discernment, shaping communities, forgiveness, healing, dying well, and singing our lives. we chatted about ways to keep our “yes” and “no”strong and singing our lives. you may view the suggestions by clicking the links. what did you think? should we continue to cover these ideas in the immediate future?

cheers!

Dante Brandley?

i was able to dig up the Canto that i wrote along with 2 comrades back in high school. enjoy. more on hell to come, too.

The Magic School Bus

by Dante Brandley, Dante Lanet, Dante Oliver

Midway along the journey through the semester,

our esteemed teacher took us on a voyage-

a field trip to the dark depths of the universe , where the ring rounded the rosie.

We anxiously took our seats on the school bus

not knowing what lay ahead,

only that it would be different from where we came.

Our teacher explained that we were in for the wildest ride of our lives,

when we inquired where we were going,

she only smiled knowingly and replied thus:

“We are headed for a place were the nightmares never end,

and the mind determines reality with a pocket full of posie.”

We looked at each other, shrugged to ourselves and thought, “She must be kidding.”

The ride started out smoothly enough, but the students soon became uncomfortable

as they looked out the window and saw a huge sign

that stated in large red and orange letters   “HELL:  Population  ___”

Immediately to the right, a population counter was spinning so rapidly,

no slow motion camera could have aided in

counting the number of souls being added to Hell each second.

We finally realized where we were a little freaked out.

Our teacher was so OK with it, we figured she had quacked out

or that the thick smoke had gotten to her.

The bus screeched to an abrupt halt, and a fancily clad devil handed the driver a ticket

with directions to our parking place in the day visitor’s section,

and informed us that we could get it validated at the “Devil in a Blue Dress Café.”

We continued in a parking lot that was only a few car spaces large, most were reserved

for different people, many of whom drove up adorned in black clothes

with pentagrams and goat heads scattered like polka dots over the filmy fabric.

After stopping for a cup of killer mochas at the café, we made our way to a garden of sorts

in the reality that we made up, it was composed of dead rose bushes,

shriveled stalks of yarrow and thyme, yet in between,

Baneberry, star-of-Bethlehem, false hellebore, and scrub oak,

climbing bittersweet, kalmia, celandine, and wisteria,

all thrived in the poisonous soil and ashes.

Our beautiful teacher decided to pluck a flower of the blooming vine,

she stuck it behind her ear, and was surprised to see the

petals turned brown, curled, and fell off in the foul smelling wind.

Our eyes followed the wind, and it seemed to carry us.

We found ourselves in a vast desert.

There were coffins in long rows for as far as the eyes could see.

We were greeted by one John Doe, who, upon our arrival,

informed us that there would be an autograph session after the tour,

not to take any pictures of him without his permission,

and that if we wanted an  interview, we would have to wait

a couple more years till his press secretary arrived.

He gave us a tour guide’s welcome to Hell and warned us

that we should keep our hands at our sides, not to talk with any ghosts

we didn’t know, and to remain seated until the tour cars (ironically

enough shaped like school desks) had come to a full and complete stop.

No one paid much attention to him

and Mr. Doe became more and more animated.

He wanted to know why no one seemed to recognize him.

And then he remembered- he was in Hell for sins he had committed,

namely, thinking everybody should know and love him,

for after all, he was a famous and important person, n’est pas?

The ride started without warning, and our esteemed guide laughed and announced that our first

stop would be the unpunished criminals. We heard the baying of hounds

in the distance. We soon saw them.

These fiendish beasts were composed of the stuff only nightmares are made of.

Their fangs were bloody from recent kills and dripped with foam. Their

eye sockets contained no eyeballs, and they had coats that shone like obsidian.

They were the size of small hippopotami (hippopotamus pl.), yet they ran with the speed of

the hellish wind which reeked like an old carton of eggnog.

Occasionally, a shade would dart out and run frantically away, towards

the horizon. We watched in fascination as they would clear all sorts of obstacles,

almost like a steeplechase, dodging, ducking, and jumping over barriers.

Immediately behind them were police, urging the hounds on in pursuit.

No matter how fast the prisoner would run, the hounds would catch him,

and would drag him back, sobbing over his misfortune. One particular shade

was so terrified of the hellish hounds, he would stumble over the line,

only to crawl  back over at the barking of a small dog,

resembling a Doberman, but several times smaller.

One of us called out to him in a taunting manner

He weakly glanced up at us, and made it known that he had been

initiated into a gang, and had been forced to steal against his will.

He had not been caught, but his conscience buried him in an avalanche of guilt.

He pointed out to us one shade that ran particularly well, and always made it farther

than the others before being caught. His life was of a juicy nature- he had murdered his wife

and her friend, yet had not been convicted, though the evidence against it was overwhelming.

The desks shot off again as the pathetic shade tried to make his way,

only to hear the warning bark of a puppy, and cried out in terror as he scampered back.

We traveled at a brisk pace, into a building, where the walls were pale

And screams of agony echoed through the empty halls. Many of the students who had laughed

earlier at the comic sight of the chase, began groaning at the blood dripping

out from underneath curtains, which shaded some miserable sight from our eyes.

Cries of, “Breath!” and “Push” were rampant, and we found ourselves in the paternity ward

of a hospital. La Maze breathing instructors angrily yelled out instructions.

Fathers that had passed out were given “CPR,” a swift blow to the abdomen.

Few babies were heard, though. And the ones that did make any noise soon stopped, dead.

Mr. Doe explained that the fathers in eternal labor were those

who had impregnated a woman on earth, and had abandoned her.

The babies they gave birth to were crack babies, who would soon die after being born and reborn.

These were the drug-dealers that had introduced cocaine and dope

to children; they were eternal suffering withdrawal.

Each of the students was beginning to understand the horrors of the underworld.

All conversation in the cars had stopped long ago,

Until we entered a corridor walled in with mirrors.

However, at the sight of ourselves, we began to scream, for the mirrors showed not the outside,

but what was really on our hearts. The vain and conceited were forced to

march up and down the hallways, and the mirrors distorted and stretched

their images so that no one could consider the reflections to be of human origin.

They fainted, and a devil would wake them up to a mirror.

They shut their eyes and immediately the light around them would grow dim.

They would believe that they had somehow escaped their punishment,

and would open their eyes to see if it was true.

And then their eyes would be opened again, and they would be once again

inflicted with the horrible truth that they would never see themselves again.

The rest of the passage is but a fading memory to us now,

is it that we choose not to face our worst fears, that this, may be our fate?

That one should be tortured in ways to justly punish his crimes?

We returned to our school bus, unsteady, knees trembling like a frail leaf in

a cold winter’s wind.

And each one of us wondered, with what could we stop ourselves,

how can we be saved from this nightmare, before

the  twig snaps.

And we all fall down…

what the hell?

i have a good deal of questions about my faith-the things that i’ve come up with on my own, the things i’ve been taught, the things i was taught that i now reject, the whole gamut. and of course, one of them is hell. i’m probably not alone in that i was fascinated with the book of Revelations as a kid and i read that book as much as the 18th psalm or the crazy adventures of the judges and kings of early Israel. beautiful, wild stories that captured my imagination. so now i come back decades later and although my ideas and beliefs about the Christianity that i was raised in are worlds apart from my current paradigm, i’ve let a lot of other people do the talking, thinking, and heavy lifting. i’ve had good conversations that have formed me, but very little of it is original on my part.

my knee jerk reaction is to just hop around online and see what i can find. i’m confidant that my high school and college teachers were a bit too paranoid in their fear of the internet and the many lies and half-truths could wriggle their way into my identity without my realizing. it’s true, there’s a lot of crap out there and it’s not hard to find, and much of it masquerades as truth or news or fact. however, a large portion of that drivel is poorly designed, html heavy, really big then really small fonts, yellow and red text on black background like this. and of course some of it is cnn.com or washingtonpost.com or whatever you like. even the almighty ESPN has to issue retractions sometimes. so i’m going to do this the old fashioned way in more facets than come easily: i get to do my own research. no lifting other people’s online papers and the like. i’ll go to credible sources. and i’ll look through various translations of the Scriptures to see what various people have taken various things to mean. i don’t have the desire to present a single coherent 45 page paper, so i’mjust posting things as i complete them, and ideally, they can be taken as a loosely associated “whole” and be beneficial for those who read, even faith-altering. i read Dante’s Inferno in high school and one of our projects was to write our own canto. i’ll have to dig that up and post it so you can see how far i’ve deteriorated as time has gone on. i remember particularly liking that assignment. anyway, i guess the place to start is where i’vebeen–the kinds of things i grew up thinking and reading and hearing. my temptation with this is going to be to talk about apocalyptic literature and eschatology. i will flee this temptation as best as i can.

onto what is past. the Bible is a good starting place for this. the Christian faithholds the Bible in high regard. supposedly, any doctrinal or theological material we hold tightly with a closed should be expressed clearly within its books. of course that statement (i’m sure there’s some creed that says it more accurately or eloquently, but honestly, how many modern Christian even know any of the creeds?) presents all sorts of problems, of which hell is only in the top 5 or 10 by said standards. but the pictures in our minds that are conjured when we speak of hell have their basis the writings of the prophets, several apostles, and even Jesus himself. so what exactly is written, then?

Rev 5:3 tells of a hermetically sealed scroll (isn’t it ironic bringing a word with Greek mythological roots into a discussion about heaven and hell) that no one “in heaven, on the earth, or under the earth” could open. under the earth? hell maybe? probably not, because a few verses later (v. 13), everyone in heaven or on/under the earth is singing God’s praises… an unlikely response for a damned, soul, i submit.

Hades is personified in Rev 6:8. Hades, of course, is a nod to the Greek god of the underworld. Hades is a word commonly translated as “hell” in the NT. OT uses are substituted for “Sheol” (the pit/abode of the dead). however, according to Job and Ecclesiastes, Sheol is the common destination for both the righteous and unrighteous dead.

Revelations 9, a 5th trumpet is sounded and a star that had fallen from the sky to the earth is given a key to the shaft of the Abyss. the Abyss has tortuous but nonlethal locusts (with an exquisite taste for non-God followers’ blood–i hear it’s wonderful) and smoke (think of the shaft as a chim-chimney cheroo). the Abyss will also be the portal for the Beast who will kill the 2 witnesses, but apparently, it will be an ineffective killing, as the witnesses will be resurrected a few days later.

Revelation 12 depicts the war between angels (called “messengers) and a great dragon (who also has messengers). the dragon is familiar as the Devil, literally, or the adversary. more on that notion later. but when the dragon is defeated, he is hurled to the earth. some folks hold to this strangely medieval notion that hell is actually inside the earth, as in, you and i are separatedfrom separation from God by a few miles of crust and molten lava. it’s wise to note that in these terms of hell and Satan, the destruction bent dragon spews water from his mouth and the earth helps out those in danger by opening it’s mouth (figuratively?) and swallowing the water, which gets the dragon all sorts of peeved at the failure of his hastily conceived and easily derailed plan. hell? inside the earth? i think not.

It’s also interesting to note that the idea of a “lake of fire” is finds some similar roots in the description of the lake of “glass mixed with fire,” (literally, mingled with fire) in Revelation 15, where those who are victorious over the dragon play on God-given harps, singing the song of Moses and the song of the Lamb. Additionally, smoke from the glory of the presence of God flows out of the Tabernacle, described in the same chapter. so, where there’s smoke (and fire), there isn’t necessarily hell.

Revelation 19 portrays the battle between Mr. Faithful and True, who rides a white horse, has a head that accommodate many crowns, sports fiery eyes, a sword-like appendageprotruding from his mouth, and can fearlessly show the most bad-ass tattoo of all time: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS. in all caps, no less. take that, conservative, Mosaic-law-toting conservatives. the Son of God himself is gonna be inked when He shows back up. this last bit is worthnoting. upon the defeat of the Beast and his False Prophet, the two thugs are cast into a fiery lake of sulphur. all the followers are then killed by the sword-tongue of Mr. True, with their bodies being left for carrionbird food. chapter 20 has an angel locking up Satan into the Abyss for 1000 years, witha time-release lock, which doesn’t hold Satan down forever. Satan breaks out, assembles his people for war, but before even insults or taunts can be exchanged, fire comes down from heaven (yes, fire from heaven), and devours the bad guys. then the devil gets tossed into Burning Sulphur Lake, along with his comrades, the Beast the False Prophet. finally, all the dead are judged by Him who sits Great White Throne, and those whose names aren’t found in the Book of Life are cast into Burning Sulphur Lake. interestingly, the common notion of the Book of Life may be a bit out of whack, because in the very next chapter, people described as “those who practice magic arts, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters and everyone who loves and practices falsehood” are just outside the holy city walls. oh, and dogs are outside the city, too. sorry animal lovers. it sounds like all dogs make it to the general location of heaven, but not “to” heaven. the apocryphal Book of Jubilees mentions a Book of Life and a Book of Death.  ancient Jewish customs hold that God opens the Book of Life and Book of Death every new year to sit in judgement over all creatures, not just humanity. as to the origin of the idea of a Book of Life, it’s possible that Jewish folks adopted and adapted the idea during their exile years in Babylon, where the Tablet of Destiny is a prominent part of their death cult. Egypt had their own Book of Death (or so it was named by some white male imperialist in the mid 1800’s). it was actually a funeral text from the Old Kingdom (around 3000 years Before Common Era), that coincidentally includes descriptions of death, burial, divine judgment, and spiritual vindication.

now, this is only the beginning of what may be a tiresome and dreary process, and i have yet to complete an exhaustive study. i probably won’t complete one, in fact. but in the book of Revelation, i have yet to see mention of a couple of things that are traditionally associated with hell. first, the fire, sores, earthquakes that make islands and mountains disappear, hail that “weighs about 100 pounds,” locust, and other judgement and calamity all occur to living human beings on the earth itself. second, the mention of souls or bodies in terms of judgment are only found in terms of merchants who traded with Babylon the Great (the whore). and these merchants were bummed out at the decimation of Babylon, whom they had previously shared a booming economy exchanging everything imaginable: cinnamon, myrrh, horses and carriages, ivory, and of course, the usual human bodies and souls, which are so easy to put a price on these days! for now, i hope this brief peak into the book of Revelation has piqued your curiosity, and that you’ll let me know what you think as we try and remove the cobwebs of hearsay and falsehood from the portrait of our theology.

2 most important links of the day

based on the recent conversations i’ve been having with people regarding what it is that a Christian life looks like, ideally more than absence of sin, these are the most important things you can click today.

Churchmarketingsucks brought this to our attention. as usual, the comments beg good questions.

Eugene Cho, whoever he is, almost but stops short of saying “Fuck human trafficking.” with all due respect, i said it. and here’s a “why” and a “what” that we can discuss soon, also.

Constantine

i have a tag cloud over on the side of the blog, and i generally have a group of very big tags used frequently. the others are quite small. score one for the environmental tag.

a good old friend of mine whom i have never met posted this. let me give you the 1 sentence version, as he aptly states, “we have become dependent on plastic more than religion.”

french connection United Kingdom Walmart.

happy hour

Becky invited michelle and i to accompany her to a get together for her running group, Team in Training. it was at a neat Mexican place that’s super popular for socialites and TCU students and alumni. very beautiful people, as you can imagine. we sat in a room and drank beer and margaritas and ate delicious salsas and crispy tortilla and sweet potato chips for a couple of hours, chatting with the various runners on the team. some had been doing marathons (and longer) for many years. their necks were wrinkled and brown, their physiques slender. they nursed light beers and smiled easily. others were newer to the running culture. i heard one lady say something simple that caught my attention and immediately started me thinking. she was talking about her experiences training for and running a marathon. it was likely her first, and she made no bones about it.

she talked about how hard it was and how impossible it seemed just training to run for so many hours in a row. and then race day came and while she gave her best, it she didn’t want to finish, and she was just past halfway done. and then her coaches came back for her. they had already finished, their times ridiculously low, and were circling back to encourage their teammates. she had some run alongside her for a mile and then turn back to find other teammates. she had another that met her around mile 20, and finished the next 6 miles with her.

ahhhhhhhhhh. (a moderately loud scream, not a sigh.)

i can’t remember her exact words, but she has never felt so cared for or loved. she can’t even imagine what it’s like to accomplish something that’s extremely draining and then to go back and assist someone else who’s struggling to the exact same thing.

and neither can i.

and so as i thought of difficult things, it made me think of Eikon. most things do.

perhaps this is how the church should work. people who have gone on before us should help us to run races. people who have finished before us should help us finish. and i thought of saints and how their spirits could help us through rough times. if only they could come back from the dead.

oknotreally. but i was so jealous! i want Eikon to make people feel like that–wanted, like they belong. like they have people who give a damn. but something inside didn’t quite allow that thought to settle.

that lady doesn’t remember the face or name of a single person she passed during that race who was cheering for her on the sidewalks alongside the course. i’d bet my life savings on it.

but she does remember the people who came and ran with her for miles and miles. and so, i guess that although i pat myself on the back for the occassional nice things i do for people, it’s not enough to be nice. you can’t throw a single bean into a cup of water and call it coffee. the bean has to be roasted, ground, and brewed. there’s some intense pressure and heat that is required before the flavor is released into the water. the bean is never served with the cup, but the essense of the bean is there until the last drop.

perhaps it’s not just grand gestures, but real sweat and effort, even tears and blood that are required before the essence of joseph (and thereby, Christ, i hope) is able to permeate the souls of people i know.

i don’t think i sacrifice enough. i come home from work tired from being on my feet or dealing with people and a faltering economy. it’s expected that i take some time to decompress, sit and watch tv, waste time online. it’s understandable. it’s what people do. and no one “can” blame me. and nothing disgusts me more than  my fitting nicely into expectations of mediocre people.

over the past 12 months, i think i’ve read and completed 3 books. maybe 4. how does this prepare me for leading a church? what other ways am i being exposed to the best minds in the world on spirituality, theology, and the like? not many. but i DID watch hundreds of movies on Netflix. so i am ready to talk American (and even some foreign!) cinema with you. last month, i cancelled our subscription. i had a couple of old video games on my computer and i would literally murder and maim and desecrate time, probably weeks worth mastering the perfect Curt Schilling curveball and cheating by randomly dropping nuclear missiles on opposing armies during the Middle Ages or creating an instant army of 10 heavy machine gun units to ward off attacking chariot cavalries. it’s amusing the first three or four (hundred?) times. as of last month, i don’t have any games installed on my computer. and while i watched and gamed my way to oblivion, i didn’t pay attention to our finances and we ended up owing the IRS thousands of dollars.

but all that stuff is about me. where have i been entering the furnace or the french press or the 170 degree water and leaving the fragrance of Christ behind? perhaps i project my shortcomings onto my church, wanting the church to do things as a whole. if i can be a part of a church that does great things, it’s like i’m great. i don’t even necessarily have to be there or do the hard work myself. wait. where have i observed that mentality before?

i know i probably set a less than stellar example to my wife, as though she needs my help anyway, but she’s the one who’s teaching the art class every week at the community center. perhaps it’s me that needs to follow the available examples.

i know that this might sound overly negative, so here are some props for the awesome author of this blog: i’ve practiced the guitar more in the past 3 months than i did in the previous 24 that we lived here. and i’m learning Spanish through Rosetta Stone. and i’m reading a very boring book on hotel operations and management. yay.  *throws paper bits from the shredder into the air.*

ideas for postgraduate work

in discussing my future with my friend over in Africa, we were both thoroughly jeally of michelle and her continuing pursuit of higher education. so we started throwing out ideas of what i could take myself. note: some are ideas for my doctoral thesis, so don’t be a hater and steal them.

-puppetry
-manipulation in triadic relationships
-concrete 2D design
-metaphysics
-facial hair artistry
-paper snowflake engineering and production
-pyrotechnics prevention with an emphasis in therapy for people who are easily startled
-phrenology and it’s effect on modern North Korean culture
-the future role of chemical engineering in fuel efficiency reduction
-the concerning relationship between eschatology and the humanizing and training of hominidae Pongo borneo

any other suggestions?

Phil McCracken

this past weekend, i had the privilege of going to see a concert. i don’t remember how it was billed, but i certainly walked in assuming that 15+ year veteran songwriter Charlie Hall would be headlining. i was wrong, and as soon as the main act took the stage, it was immediately apparent why my assumption was incorrect. but we’ll get to that. Charlie is a small fellow from OKC with a goatee that is one of the most amazing i have ever seen. he stroked it thoughtfully and affectionately during the spaces in between songs as he talked about life and God. i walked in with the notion that Charlie’s best songwriting days are behind him. he started off so strongly, writing songs that captured the imaginations of hundreds of thousands of people around the world, writing of hope and eternity and life with a rare poetic force. but ever since then, it seemed that it may have been more of a personal exploration and experimentation… one that i and many others quickly lost interest in. i don’t know that this trend has stopped, however, there were 3 songs in his 10 song set that caught my attention.

the first song was his opener, called “new year.” it was played powerfully, and while it still some of the awkwardness that has entangled Charlie’s lyrics recently, it hints at a page turning. “i’m held in a place, a beautiful space, where heaven meets the earth, my heart opens wide and the Father pours life, deep inside my soul…where hope can hold my hand of sorrow.” Charlie briefly spoke of difficult times he has gone through recently. this song is a brilliant example of a composer opening up his soul and creating something beautiful our of the muck… something that others can read and relate to and worship to. Charlie also spoke of a liturgical service he had been visiting to take communion and clear his head every few weeks. some of the liturgy stuck with him, and out popped the song “mystery,” which easily gave me hope that Charlie is coming back strong.

“mystery” has some interesting words which after doing a quick bit of research, brings up some interesting points about liturgy, scriptural interpretation, and lyrics in worship songs. in March, Becky, and hesitantly, Chad, took issue with the lyrics of a couple of songs we sang at a worship gathering. one song says “i am stained with dirt, prone to depravity… You are everything that is bright and clean, the antonym of me.” another says “i’m so unworthy, but still You love me.” they happened to be sung on the same night, and it set off a mini controversy. i thought about my ideas of original sin and Augustine and Calvinism when i agreed (Levi suggested it) to use the first song. i think that although David Crowder might theologize one way or another, i’ll go ahead and take his words as they’re written. i AM, in fact, prone to depravity. i’m an asshole. no ifs, ands, and there are most certainly butts. but the key word is “prone.” if others finds themselves otherwise, then by all means, don’t sing the song or that line, or at least let’s chat about it. however, i’ve sung and lead songs that don’t accurately describe how i’m feeling or aren’t completely in line with my life’s story. but singing these words together unites us, brings us into unity by acknowledging and honoring our community’s roads as a whole and as individuals.

back to the research: King James (dang him to heck!) scribes added the idea that Jesus body is “broken” for you. so the uberdramatic lifting high and breaking of the loaf at the Presby church is really an extrabiblical idea. the literal word there is Jesus telling his disciples that his body is “given” for them. perhaps not a big difference in the grand scheme of things, but shouldn’t we be obsessed with truth? especially when it’s something simple like this, within our grasp. we have the chance to stop the perpetuation of false notions of our faith….. or we could leave it to someone else.

the lyrics to this song are simple, but are so powerful in light of the circumstance from whence they spring: “Sweet Jesus Christ my sanity. Sweet Jesus Christ my clarity… Christ has died and Christ has risen and Christ will come again.”

on the whole, it’s good to see the return of great lyrics to go with the usually creative music Charlie produces. and now on to Phil.

Phil, Phil, Phil. awesome, awesome, awesome. he and his band played with so much energy, and their songs are all written so abnormally well. there’s nothing predictable or formulaic about them. most of the songs he played were from the “Cannons” album but he threw a couple new ones out there for our enjoyment also. Phil didn’t waste any time blabbing–everything he stopped and talked about was coherent and flowed. it didn’t seem scripted, but it was smooth enough to re-inspire me to have thought about the things i say when i get to lead people in musical worship.

he has this voice that’s higher than your average guy, but it’s so pretty. michelle remarked that it is good to hear someone sing live and sound just as good as they do in the studio. i concur. all this was very encouraging to me. the writing and the musical execution… the whole thing. but the setting was a bit foreign. it’s been so long since i’ve been to a concert, let alone a “Christian” concert. the last place where i’ve seen that many people physically expressing their hearts was many years ago in san diego at a conference. and there was something unnerving occurring. the people in front of us were probably staff members of the hosting church, based on snippets of conversation we overheard and the sheer number of people coming by to say hello. and every few minutes, they would bust out their phones and tweet or facebook or text. and then they would spend a few minutes sitting and watching. and then they would occasionally stand up and sing, sometimes raising their hands. it wasn’t just them, this was happening all over the room. and it secretly horrified me. i know worship music is a hot commodity, but to see the blatant consumption-engaging only in familiar songs they liked, ignoring the rest, and being so incredibly disrespectful to the artists on stage-it kinda killed a corner of my heart. they are the people that are leading this church, the people whose every moves are being analyzed non-stop, and this is the example they present for their church.

i desperately hope that the things i value will be the things i outwardly show have importance to me. and i hope that nothing i do detracts from those unspoken messages. and if not, then i need to question how much i truly care about worship and art and the worth humans have and the respect that God deserves.

Swine Flu tips

my sister is very knowledgeable about epidemiology and the like (3 years as a bio/chem major before switching back to piano performance). she did her internship with the northern CA CDC and worked part time at Livermore Labs to pay her way through school. the thing that news outlets aren’t telling you is that beyond the medicines that treat symptoms, inoculation and resistance are being proven more effective than any vaccine. this is her suggestion on how to get started: