Remember me?

That's the question Blogger asks as I log in. Funny, I guess, in that it works on several levels. Yes, I want it to remember my password so that in the traditional lazy geekoid way I don't have to type it in each time (and no, you can't borrow my computer until I've logged out, thanks). But I've checked that box before, yet if I go too long without posting (which is apparently some arbitrarily assigned number of days; my blog is finicky) it will forget, guilting me into typing once again the magic words that open my account: username, password. It ceases to remember because I've ceased to make my presence known. It waits patiently here slumbering cybernetically in its small virtual corner of blogland while I go about my small circle of the 3D world, living my life with whatever significance it's got only thinking of this page in passing.

But the links to the left I think of often. I visit them often, browse the archives often, though I comment less than I'd like. I browse pages I haven't made myself sit down and link yet (in much the same way I've not updated my "current reading" since... August. My "current reading" changes every 2 - 3 days, tops.).

Of course, I somehow manage to talk my head off here. (Ooh. Did I really just point that link out? Hrm. Am I lucid at the moment? Maybe I'm wagering that no one reads this page anymore... ^_^) There I feel compelled to talk about pretty much everything and a lot of nothing. Including, of course, important life lessons gleaned from commercials, my absolute lack of knowledge of anything related to pop culture and... well, my old college roommate and I interact a lot there, too, so it's psychoses on parade some days.

No real point to this post. I just got to thinking about this spot in cyberspace.

I'm slow to pick up on things most days.

There's been a lot of discussion about suffering and evil lately. I don't have anything like all the answers. But all I can think, at least as far as evil that can be linked to sin, is that if all sin is equal before God - sin is sin is sin - and man has free will, then for the sake of that choice God will allow the pedophile to commit his sin in the same way he will allow the liar, the thief and whatever I am when I am my worst to commit ours.

And it is that thought that makes me consider the awesome gift and responsibility of choice: an arena wherein God has taken a step back and asked, not forced, us to do his will.

His will will be accomplished, but he asks us to choose to play a part.

Should it really surprise me that a great God has such great faith?

I'm being pathetic this week, apparently. And not by choice.

I don't like being sick. It bugs the snot out of me -- sometimes literally, but that's a mental image I could do without. I don't like when my body, apart from my brain, decides that it will spend the day in bed, thankyouverymuch and there's no changing its.... mind?

It's weeks like this I'm reminded I have leukemia. For the most part, particularly since it went into a partial remission, it's been possible for me to forget that nagging fact. There are days I can even deny it. I mean, I feel fine therefore I must be fine, right?

Today, and for the past few days, I've been extremely aware that my body doesn't work quite the same way anymore. Sometimes I joke and say I'm very old for my age -- and then some days I really feel it. (Usually that line refers to my mental state, but there are days when I might as well be a permanent resident of the local geriatric ward if the way I feel is any indication.)

These are the days it's sometimes hard to believe Paul, because while he addresses the days wherein we are aware that outwardly we are wasting away, he's oddly silent about the days in which it doesn't really feel like an inward renewal. Some days it feels like whatever part of me is immortal -- soul, spirit, whatever -- is feeling the wear (and the weary), too. So far, I think the thing that annoys me most about CLL is that even though sometimes sick is sick, sometimes sick is just tired. And not just any tired -- achy, bone-sore, limb-heavy, eye-drooping, slow-breathing, thought-thickening, joint-stiffening, will-killing, soul-sucking tired. Leukemia doesn't bite -- it just kind of gnaws. Well, and punctures, but that's mostly the result of blood draws and bone marrow aspirates. Y'know, the things that are intended to help, the cures that are worse than the disease.

Ooh. I sound pouty. I'm really not. I'm just thinking about the this because I happen to be at home dealing with the tired sort of sick (well, and a couple of other sorts, but they're hardly postable) and writing is more interesting to me than daytime television, so I write. And e-mail copiously. And drink Dr. Pepper. And eventually succumb to the horrors of daytime television, but such is life. We all have our bears to cross.

I had a good conversation with Dr. Alan Black this afternoon re: this whole "women in the church" thing.

No, we didn't come to any sort of conclusion. It was good if for no other reason (though there are plenty of other reasons) than that it forced me to better articulate my questions. I am indebted to Dr. Fortner for proposing and arranging the meeting.

I've got a lot of reading to do and a lot more thinking and praying. But it was good. It was good to have a cordial discussion feeling free to ask questions, knowing I am also free to disagree with the proffered answers and not be thought belligerent or simply stubborn -- and not to be automatically assumed to be a left-of-center heretical feminazi. That was, I think, my favorite part. I enjoyed very much talking to Dr. Black and hope to do so again in the future. I've respected him for quite some time but have never had opportunity just to sit and talk with him. It was nice.

I also had a double dose of Fortner today which is good for me theologically, insofar as it remains a discussion of our thinking about God. It's a little hard in that it reminds me of my love for the subject and the degree to which I'd hoped to pursue it. Bittersweet, I guess.

Bev Dowdy is brilliant.

Rambling 'bout the election -- just like everybody else.

No one at church has said explicitly "real Christians will vote for Bush."  It's just been an atmospheric sense.  Not just at church, though:  everywhere.  Everywhere in this part of "the Bible Belt," at least.  Real Christians here vote for Bush -- because he's anti-gay marriage, pro-life and willing to continue bombing Iraq.  At least, those are the only reasons that come up when anyone asks why.

I think "real Christians" are going to vote (if they vote) for the person who or party that most accurately represents their views on government -- kind of like "real people" will.  Seriously:  not all "real Christians" believe that the government should be used as a vehicle for achieving Christian ideals.  Regardless of what I think about that, I don't believe that a person's opinion on it determines his or her Christianity.  Not all "real Christians" think that choosing a pro-life candidate is all that important in light of other issues.  Not all "real Christians" are for (or against) the war in Iraq.  Not all "real Christians" are even going to vote.  And some may vote for Nader or any number of other third party candidates, write-in or otherwise.  Because real Christians are real people and when Christ was calling followers, he wasn't calling them to a political party:  he called them to a way of life.

Does that way of life impact how one votes?  Of course.  It'd be stupid to say otherwise.  But I'm no more a Christian if I vote for Bush and no less a Christian if I become an expatriate and cast off everything that makes me an American.  Because at some point, some of us got the idea that to be Christian in the U.S. and to be a patriotic American are inextricably linked.  I dunno.  I don't think it was necessarily the Christian's duty to be a patriotic Roman in the first century.  A responsible citizen, sure, of wherever one happens to reside -- but patriotism, while it can be a nice attribute, should hardly be binding as a matter of faith.  Sometimes it's my Christian conviction that makes me a lousy patriot -- and sometimes it's the Christian conviction of others that lead them to be very patriotic. 

Last time I checked, though, "real Christians" were those who really belong to Christ.

Well, after class this [past] weekend, I've learned two things. The first is that Dr. Fortner objects to my changing career paths. He said, "This isn't because of what some idiot male said, is it? Because I'd like to apologize on behalf of my entire gender."

I'm going to go ahead with the plans for a BA in psychology at least. I can't look that many years ahead right now, anyway. I'll just keep thinking and learning and see what happens.

This weekend was great, though. We had good discussion about whether the prophets were in their laments and complaints laying the problem of evil at the doorstep of God -- i.e. whether they were blaming him.

Not to say that evil isn't the result of the actions of sinful men (for the most part -- and even if we can't trace it to a specific action, we lay it all on the head of Adam. "Children have cancer because Adam and Eve rebelled," that sort of thing...). Theodicy, the righteousness of God on trial, is thematically enormous in the old testament (and in Paul's writings in the new, but we tend to read them with Christian glasses on).

Anyway, I started writing this post... Sunday? Maybe Monday, but I think I got distracted. A lot has happened since then. A lot that brings to bear the questions of theodicy.

Philip Yancey tried to answer the question in his various books, among them Disappointment with God. And he did an excellent job - but since then, I've heard from Job on the issue.

Actually, his name's not Job. He's a man who attends SVCC, but his story is the same heaviness.

He and his wife had a perfect life: two beautiful sons, a nice home, good jobs, an active church life and a strong marriage with strong faith. It seemed there was a hedge around him. He though of it, though probably not explicitly, as his 'deal' with God. "God, you keep doing your thing - protect my wife, my children, our interests, our wellbeing, our spiritual lives, our endeavors - and I'll do mine: be a Christian father, husband, active church member, faithful Christian, cheerful giver, good example." And for a long time, that's how things went.

He and his wife had a perfect life. They began to think of expanding their family and soon were expecting their third child. It seemed like the perfect pregnancy, no real problems. When the baby was born, he was beautiful: red hair, soft skin, ten fingers, ten toes. Perfect. Except something inside didn't connect, something wasn't right.

The baby couldn't breathe on his own and his body didn't perform naturally many involuntary actions. The doctors put him on life support, telling the parents it would be days, maybe weeks before he could go home. The doctors could find no physiological reason for the disconnect. It didn't make sense; they didn't know what caused his condition or how to cure it. They couldn't even pinpoint what, exactly, his condition was.

Weeks soon became months. It became clear their son wouldn't be coming home.

The first time this couple held their newborn baby without a tangle of wires or through a gloved barrier was his last day. They disconnected the life support and sat and rocked their newborn as he died.

Their sorrow was intense, but they had a strong love for God and for each other. They had supportive families and a loving church home. They were devastated, but they survived faith, family and marriage intact. Several months went by and they began to wonder about the possibility of having another child. Their doctors assured them they'd be fine. They were young, healthy and should have no problem; what happened with this baby was like lightning: unpredictable and of miniscule likelihood to happen again. They didn't even know what had happened; it was a fluke.

This wasn't good enough. The couple brought their concerns to God. They prayed, the church prayed, everyone prayed. They couple prayed that if they could have another child, God would let it happen, but they were afraid of the heartache if anything else went wrong and asked God to circumvent their desire for another child if something like this could happen again.

The couple conceived quickly; they seemed to have their answer. Things seemed to be fine. At the first ultrasound, the doctor was concerned. He noticed some of the abnormalities that he'd seen last time and had written off. And this baby wasn't breathing much, even in the womb. It became apparent that this child had the same problem, only far more severe.

Doctors began to talk to the couple about their 'options.' Termination. "For us, there were no 'options.' My wife was committed to carrying this baby to term." And so, against the advice of the doctors, the pregnancy proceeded.

The prayers then became pleas for healing. "God, you're the God of miracles. Move in such a way that the doctors have no explanation except for your power. Heal him." And they went in to every appointment, every checkup and every ultrasound after that with the expectation that God would do it, that the doctors would scratch their heads, puzzled, and inform them that the deformity had vanished.

But it didn't happen. Each time, the news was the same.

Soon, his wife delivered their son. He looked perfect: red hair, soft skin, ten fingers, ten toes. But something didn't connect. He couldn't breathe and his body couldn't perform most of the involuntary actions it should do automatically. So that day, in that same room where they'd set almost a year before, in the same chair, they rocked their son as he died.

All he could do was ask God, "why?"

====

This modern Job spoke one Sunday night. He couldn't understand. Hadn't he prayed? Hadn't he been a good father, a good husband, a good Christian? Hadn't he done his part? Why, then, was God falling down on his? What kind of "father" is God, anyway?

Why.

He realized, eventually, that he didn't care why. Knowing why wouldn't make it hurt any less.

The man began to think of his two, living sons. When he taught one of them to ride a bike, the inevitable happened: his son fell. It hurt; he cried.

He didn't turn to his father and question his parenting skills. He didn't run up and kick him in the shins or scream in his face, asking where his father had been and why he'd let him fall. Instead, he ran to his father for comfort, for healing. "Because my son and I don't have an 'agreement.' We have a relationship."

That's when he realized all the "why's" in the world and all the answers to them wouldn't make a difference. What he wanted was not to know "why." What he wanted was for his father to pick him up, to clean him off, to comfort and to heal him.

===

It's not wrong to ask why. It just may not be what we need afterall.

Whaddaya wanna bet that with this, I could knit a wookie?

On a completely different note:

Saturday, I taught myself to knit. I now have about a fifth of a scarf. ^_^

This whole question of whether to pursue theology (academically and full-time, anyway) or whether to take this other trek - it's been a struggle. It's a struggle between what I want personally (either to sit in an ivory tower dissecting Hebrew words or teaching others to do the same, an academic 'ministry' since it's highly unlikely I'll be asked to preach) or this: counseling.

I can either spend the rest of my life fighting for a theological ideal I don't think will be realized in my lifetime or I can spend my life trying to help others heal. I guess it comes down to whether I really want to do ministry - or whether I only wanted to prove a point.

I want to do this. It was a hard decision to make and a lot of people might not understand why. I never just wanted to prove a point. I only ever wanted to become a minister in order to minister. I didn't know then that it'd just become a fight. I didn't know that exercising the talents God had given me would land me solidly on the side of the heretics.

Over the last several years, the same desire to minister hasn't died. And God has a sense of humor. God has apparently taken something I hate deeply and made it an avenue of ministry, a way to serve. The whole thing is an answer to years of prayer, though in the great tradition he's established over many millennia of interacting with his people, he didn't answer it in a way that I'd hoped or wanted.

If someone has been badly burned, how is he expected to react when around fire? Or when in the presence of another burn victim? But with proper training, he may ultimately become the best one to treat the burns of another. He remembers not only what it felt like to be burned, but how it hurt to start heal. And he has insight to obstacles that reach far beyond the initial healing. He knows what it's like to live with the scars and to flinch around flame. He understands.

Anyway, it's beyond the quiet corner thinking and the sounding board stage: this is what I'm going to do, Lord willing (and it seems he is). And sadly, there's a growing market for the area of social psychology in which I'll be specializing.

I'm a theologian by nature; it seems I probably always will be, since theology is literally thinking about God. This way, I can put that thinking into practice. Maybe I'll get the opportunity to do some good.

Slightly less cryptic...

Lord willing, in January or possibly summer of 2005, I will be starting a BS in Psychology program -- at a local Catholic university, of all places. Should take me about 3 regular semesters and a summer term. After that, I'll officially enter the masters program in counseling therapy at HUGSR with the additional intent to obtain licensure as an LPC.

Beyond that, who knows? But this looks like the direction I'm going. Doors have started flying open in directions I wasn't even looking. And the way in which the timing falls? Amazing.

I can't explain how all of this has come about, really, except to say that it looks like it's got all the marks of the hand of God plastered on it. How else would I shift from old testament theology to counseling therapy? And yes, I've shifted. I can't do both; old testament will become a (very involved) hobby.

I know God can use either choice, either path, that one isn't necessarily more "right" than another.

I'm just wondering what the heck God intends to do with a therapist who holds a deep interest in all things ancient near eastern?

I haven't entirely disappeared. Only in bits and pieces, one of which is the bit (or piece) that blogs, I guess.

Actually, it's still here -- it's just been kind of quiet lately. I've been thinking. Sometimes thinking needs a sounding board, and sometimes thinking just requires a quiet corner. This has been mostly quiet corner thinking.

Old testament is still my passion, still what I love best and would still rather study it than even to breathe, but it may not be where I'm headed anymore. It's still very much what I want to do, but there's a strong compulsion in a different direction in which I may actually be able to do more in a ministry sense.

And nothing says I can't continue to study OT, even if I serve in another way. Right?

This is an uncomfortable sort of shift, this direction of thinking. I'm not sure I like it, but somehow, I think I may also be at peace with it. Doesn't make sense, I'm sure, but then when we're honest, not that many things really do.

My brain may be twisting and/or writhing for the next while; in the future, maybe my "quiet corner thinking" will need a sounding board and I won't be so blasted cryptic. (Whether it sounds like it or not, this is actually something deeply entrenched in the last post re: "gifts." I think there's something I have that God can use if I let him. I've just got to get past the fear and/or reluctance and my own personal stubbornness that won't.)

Who knows?

I've been thinking a lot about the parable of the talents lately.

We just had a ministry fair at SVCC and it's stirred up some interesting thoughts about the nature of the body of Christ and the individual responsibility of every believer toward ministry.

And i've thought that "talent" might not be limited really to what I've traditionally understood: something a person is good at that's to be used for the glory of God. I think it's that, too, but I think that's an unnecessarily narrow definition and that a talent might be anything in a person's life that God intends to use -- and hiding one's talent in that respect would be standing in the way of his using it, or letting fear stand in the way.

God may not have given me the trials in my life, but he's given me what I've needed to survive them and he's given me opportunity to learn from them and, when necessary, to heal from them. And it strikes me sometimes that Mordecai's words to Esther, "who know but that you have come to [this] position for such a time as this?' may have far broader application. God spared her in order to spare his people. Who knows but that God has brought me through in order to use me to bring others through as well?

So maybe a talent isn't necessarily anything I'm good at or any specific gift God has given me directly. Maybe it's just something in my life he intends to use -- if I'll let him.

The Dan Brown Code

I've been re-reading The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown. Well, okay, I re-read it Sunday night; now I'm re-reading the prequel, Angels and Demons.

The criticism I've heard most often is that "it's a fun book for the most part, an interesting mystery novel with a lot of factual errors." And that's true in part. But I've harped on elsewhere about his absolute lack of fact checking before (i.e. citing over 80 gnostic gospels ...and apparently locating some of them in the Dead Sea scrolls -- which all scholars seem to think are devoid of anything remotely related to new testament gnosticism, not to mention containing absolutely no gospels or gospel fragments of any sort, and which he claims were discovered "in the 50s," I think.) Anyhow, I have other opinions, too -- which may or may not involve spoilers.

The story is, in general, pretty entertaining. Except that it's been done. To death. And by much more talented authors. Umberto Eco, for instance, wrote Foucault's Pendulum back in 1989, I think. Heck, even The World's Sixteen Crucified Saviors by Kersey Graves, an unsupported fabrication of the 1870's from which Brown gets most of his "information" about where Christianity supposedly drew most of the characteristics claimed to be unique in the life of Christ is a better work of fiction.

Robert Langdon, the protagonist, is a relatively well-developed character, though sometimes dense as London fog -- maybe it's part of his charm. But I think that the character is three-dimensional because Brown is writing himself largely into the role. And it's interesting to note that the character doesn't mind notariety even of the infamous sort -- and neither will his editor -- because book sales will jump. Given Brown's past assertions, this seems revealing.

His villians are lacking. The albino monk, Silas, is at one point incredibly sinister and evidences a devious cunning -- and in another breath shows all the intestinal fortitude of a mango, being both imbecilic and a 'victim of circumstance.' Poor disillusioned guy...

His plots are formulaic. It's as though he took Angels and Demons, shortened it, changed most of the names of the characters and moved it to Paris instead of Geneva. The puzzles really should not have kept him and his cohort busy for the entire length of the book if he is indeed a "Harvard Symbologist" and she a professional cryptologist.

It is an intertaining book. But is it worthy of all the attention it's garnered? No. Not in my opinion. There are far better books -- on equally controversial themes, if one really needs that sort of thing. There are far more entertaining books much better written, researched and plotted. There are books out there which contain actual surprises.

This is not one of them.

So I think I've decided to write the next blockbusting best-seller. I'm not sure what I'm going to call it, but I promise not to do any research and to try to tick off as many people as possible somewhere near the middle and promote as many ludicrous theories as I possibly can -- and even some I can't.

At 6:00 this morning, my phone rang. My brain, though benedryl-hazed and coherence-impaired due to the ungodly hour somehow managed to recognize the voice of my mother. You know, the woman who gave birth to me and the one who realizes that one of the larger blockaids to my converting was that the local c's of C all met hours earlier than did the Baptist church of my youth. In short, she knows I like to sleep. However:

Mom: "Quiara? I have a surprise for you."
Me: *mmmprhhp*
Mom: "Did I wake you?"
Me: frumph.
Mom: "Good." *sound of phone being passed.*

...

Nephew(!): "Key?"
Me (suddenly awake): "Yes, Doodle?" (Which is, of course, short for Doodlebritches)
Nephew: "I go s'prise for you!"
Me: "You do? What is it?"
...

Nephew: "...I 'on't know... But Brandon [my youngest brother, a.k.a. "The Prodigal"] is fweepin' in my bed."
Me: "He is?"
Nephew: "Uh huh. He snorin'. Like this:" *loud, adorable imitation of Brandon's snore.*
Nephew (again): "Key? You talk to Nana now. I got go play."

-----


Eh, I think he's cute. ^_~ (Stinkin' adorable is the term I use most often, in fact). His maternal grandparents (who are also custodial at this point, but that's a long story) moved to Mississippi a while back. Since my mother continues to live in the God-forsaken land that is Arkansas (as opposed to the far more God-forsaken land that is Mississippi), she doesn't get to see him nearly often enough anymore. And I, living in Tennessee (somewhere between the two on the scale of God-forsaken-ness, I'm sure) hardly see him at all. I think he now believes I live in a telephone.

Major Prophets:

Fortner's class this semester is Major Prophets. It meets 2 days/month, 6ish hours/day, for 3 months. It's a baptism in the prophetic books - and I can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday.

Well, I also cleaned house. But mostly I thought about the prophets, their function, and the manifestations of the presence of God among his people throughout the ages.

Classes like this are air to me. I try to inhale enough to sustain me between class meetings. It almost works.

I'm still stewing over the things we talked about. Friday evening, we had a lecture by Dr. Jack P. Lewis. Incredible man. I've got tons of thoughts I want to coalesce at some point.

What I think I need....

That would actually be a better title for another post I want to write, but not right now. Right now, what I need (I think) are two people, one who believes particularly strongly in the complementarian/patriarchal mode of women in the church and one who believes in the egalitarian model because I have questions for each of them that, to my mind, each "side" has entirely failed to address.

But I dunno who to ask, dangit.

Wow.

Well, we're back.

The retreat was great. There wasn't a lot of "formal" devotional time, but there was definitely Godstuff happening all over the place.

We also recorded 24 songs in less than 24 hours -- about 5 of which (the hours) we slept and about 3 hours were devoted to eating. All in all, not a bad ratio. There was only one song we didn't get to and it's one that we hadn't even got the music for until this past Wednesday, so even if we hard started it, it's not likely we could have made it into something of recordable quality given the time we had.

But it was fun!

And I am so stinkin' sleepy.

I wonder about the strangest stuff sometimes. But today, I was listening to my iPod at work while doing some routine file stuff. And for me, it's an effort NOT to sing when I'm listening to music. But I didn't sing. I focused on the words -- I even mouthed along with them, "singing" without any air. And while it's good to just listen every once in a while (I love the words -- and I noticed a spot where I'd consistently been singing the wrong note. It sounded okay, but it was wrong), I have to wonder: why is it that people would turn shades of fuschia heretofore unseen on earth if you caught them singing -- but these same people think nothing of walking around in public talking into "hands-free" headsets on their cell phones? Is it really any less embarrassing to look as though you're engrossed in a conversation with a particularly chatty imaginary friend? There are even people who gesticulate wildly while doing so -- something that not that many years ago would have found them straightjacketed and pumped full of thorazine before you can say "Can you hear me now?"

What is it about singing that mortifies people before they even open their mouths? One of the statements I hear most often when it comes up is, "Oh, I can't sing...."

So?

Singing isn't always about hitting the right notes. Sometimes it's just about being happy. Or sad. Or whatever. The Psalms, the book that best expresses not only God to man, but man to his Creator, is a bunch of songs -- and some of 'em aren't tunes I'd call "perky." And how did radio catch on? People like songs. Sometimes you sing just because you sing.

But beyond that, how do they know if they never sing? More often than not, I've found that most people just need a little encouragement. Yes, there are those who cannot carry a tune if I loaned them a forklift, but for the most part, people can sing. They just need someone to fail to laugh for once. And the most important part of singing is also the hardest -- but it's the most important part of life, too: LISTEN.

I think we need to listen, to stop laughing, and for cryin' out loud, just to SING.

I'm looking forward to this weekend, even if it will be spent in Mississippi.

SVCC is having a "worship retreat," which amounts to "Kip and some singers go hide out for 2 days and record a CD. And also have a devo." I think it's going to be a lot of fun. I'm singing alto this go-round, and it's fun to get back to it again. I sang alto all through college, but tried to increase my range by singing soprano for the last couple of years. (Plus, Dr. Ganus tried to convince me that deep down, I really wanted to be a soprano. Ha.)

Anyway, looking at the music, I recognize bloggers' names all over the place! Or if not names, then people and/or groups with whom they are associated. That's nifty. It makes it that much more important to sing it "right." Somebody worked incredibly hard to get it down on paper right, so I ought at least to have the courtesy to give it my best shot. ^_~

I've been walking around the complex with my iPod singing along. It dawned on me earlier what the alto part must sound like without any of the other parts -- and that's all any of the curious onlookers have heard. They must think I'm tone deaf or something.

That's one thing I like about a cappella music, too: all the parts inter-relate. They just make more sense when you've got all four (or more). Okay, too, as a convert, I prefer it to the untuned, no-tempo piano of TinyBaptistChurch, Inc., a.k.a. my first home church. But if I start talking about that place, I'll probably never shut up. It's a tiny church (with 25 - 30 on a crowded Sunday) so the auditorium was usually nearly empty, but the people were full of love. That church survived a lot of conflict. It's not small because it split and it's not small because they lost people (well, except for the random conversions which don't exactly count). It's small because it's located in the middle of nowhere, it's a 40 minute drive from anywhere and a lot of people don't even know it's out there. It's also small because the members who do attend, who do know it's out there, are getting older. Several have died in the last few years.

Sometimes I miss that church.

Too often, where I work is silent.

I work in a clean lab and my computer has no sound. (I'd send it down to IT, but I'm afraid it'd come back with sound but no operating system or something worse.) I hadn't realized how much music impacts me, how much it shapes my moods and the way I encounter things. Silly as it may sound: I need music. I need to play music, sing, or even just listen, but I need music.

I have a friend who believes that music is just another way in which God speaks to us. And I tend to think he's right. And just like we can abuse the other channels through which God chooses to communicate, so this, too, can be abused -- and often is, as is apparent if you turn on nearly any radio station.

I don't mean that I think all music has to be (or even ought to be) "Christian" music insofar as it's defined by the music industry today. But I think that all good music cannot help but be Christian music -- because every good and perfect gift comes from above.

Anyway, not incredibly deep thoughts. Just randomly thankful for the invention of the iPod: portable music in a silent lab. ^_~

There were several things I had to repeat to myself over and over while reading Women and Men in Ministry by Saucy and TenElshof -- and they worked for a while (a statement I'll explain more fully toward the end of this post).

I had to remember that

• This book was written by God-fearing people who've studied, fought, struggled and prayed about this as much as have I.


• These people are only seeking God's will for their lives and for the church.


• I have biases and presuppositions and even different connotations for certain words, too, which may or may not be as great or greater than are theirs.

However, I also have to remember that:

• This book is not the Bible; it's a tool, not an inspired mandate on high. Rejecting it is not, as the authors would have the audience believe, rejecting God.


• God has given me the ability to think critically and some intelligence; he's given me the ability to discern a good source from a bad source and strong logic from faulty leaps


• I don't have all the information yet. I won't have the answer at the end of the book, regardless of what number book it makes that I've read by then.


• Regardless, in the end I have to decide for myself and trust in God to give me the wisdom to pursue ministry in whichever venue he desires.

---

Anyway, those are some things I had to keep flipping back to for the duration of the book. And it helped for the most part. Unfortunately, it became harder and harder to remember that these are simply God-fearing people seeking the will of God as the tone of the book grew sharper and the not-quite-hidden barbs grew more and more frequent. The book is a revision of the position that women must submit to men because God created us second and made us for the sole purpose of completing and submitting to man, that women are ill-fit for autonomy of any sort because we possess weaker physiology, psychology, spirits and intellect. The point of this book is not that if you disagree that you are wrong, but is instead that if you disagree, there is something wrong with you. It's not a faulty belief within you, it's a fault, an expression of sin.

As a separate post, I want to highlight particular sections of the text and my responses (in the margin) to them. The tactics of rhetoric employed in several of the chapters are beneath contempt and hurt the credibility of the book and its authors without ever having to encounter the theology of the writing. The theological holes and leaps are great and their stand is only hurt all the more by the shameful way in which the authors communicate these beliefs.

One should always have the fortitude to stand behind his or her assertions; a failure to do so communicates one's doubts in the strength of the truth behind them. I am given the distinct impression these authors aren't fully persuaded of the truth of their position on any level other than feeling.

I don't deny that there are differences -- psychological, emotional, physical -- between the sexes. It'd be hard to contest that and of little value to do so. However, one thing that bothers me, particularly in the reading of this book (Women and Men in Ministry) and which I hope to address more fully later is this: Why is it so inconceivable, particularly in today's world in which men and women share many of the same responsibilities, circumstances and even temptations -- why, then, is it so hard to believe that they may actually have overlapping, rather than opposite, needs?

Does having a certain need preclude one's filling that need in another? I would hope not. Otherwise love is flat out.

An example of this: in the book, "exaltation," or recognition is given as a need of man -- and one that he should rightly desire, according to the authors, because of his primacy in creation and his role as the expression of the observable aspects of God) -- while for a woman, the need is "to feel needed." The ideal woman of this book is a supporter who "uplifts" (it says "others," but the only "others" the context allows is "men") and who has no need beyond that. The ones who do are simply "broken."

Why is that which is seen as a virtue in the one seen as a weakness in the other? Besides, traditionally, aren't we taught that the man needs to feel "needed" and therefore feels compelled to be protector and provider while the woman has a more "exaltation" based need in that she "needs to feel cherished, loved and put on a pedestal?" That's what my notes from Christian home say ... maybe Dr. Isom was flip-flopped.

Anyway, it bothers me that in reinforcing the differences between the genders, it suddenly becomes impossible for any overlap to occur without immediately blaming it on a brokenness in one or the other.

I'll have tons more to say on this later. Later, I'll post the checklist that I've made for myself that I have to refer to constantly to keep from flinging this book across the room in a rage against the vacous lack of logic.

I'm reading Women and Men in Ministry by Robert Saucy and Judith TenElshof.

This book is driving me batty. Ultimately, on some things, I kind of agree. But the way in which they reach these conclusions is infuriating. In one paragraph they will say "egalitarians [blanket statement] assume that this text implies this. It is not necessary to infer that." And in the next, they'll infer their own tenuous translational idiocy. It retrojects the idea of "ministry teams" and counseling ministries onto the first century church (and before). It makes use of some scholarship I find questionable -- as well as avoiding scholarship it would have been helpful to see it dispute.

I'm having to read it slowly, though, contrary to my normal pace to allow for the periodic outbursts of rage and/or logic.

I think I've been here before: I've got some huge questions, but there's no one to ask.

Shy of converting, what do you do?

As reported by the AP to KTVU.com here, 8/13/04

BRIELLE, N.J. -- An 8-year-old girl who has a rare digestive disorder and cannot consume wheat has had her first Communion declared invalid because the wafer contained none.

Now, Haley Waldman's mother is pushing the Diocese of Trenton and the Vatican to make an exception, saying the sacrament should be changed to accommodate the girl's condition.

Roman Catholic doctrine holds that communion wafers must have at least some unleavened wheat, as did the bread served at the Last Supper of Jesus Christ before his crucifixion.

In May, the girl received her her first Holy Communion from a priest who offered her a wheat-free host. But last month, the diocese told the priest that Waldman's sacrament would not be validated by the church because of the substitute wafer.

It's not a new question.

When thou wert in the world, Lord, Thou didst not despise women, but didst always help them and show them great compassion. Thou didst find more faith and no less love in them than in men.... We can do nothing in public that is of any use to thee, nor dare we speak of some of the truths over which we weep in secret, lest thou shouldst not hear this, our just petition. Yet, Lord, I cannot believe this of they goodness and righteousness, for thou art a righteous Judge, not like judges in the world, who, being after all, men and sons of Adam, refuse to consider any woman's virtue as above suspicion. Yes, my King, but the day will come when all will be known. I am not speaking on my account, for the whole world is already aware of my wickedness, and I am glad that it should become known; but, when I see what the times are like, I feel it is not right to repel spirits which are virtuous and brave, even though they be the spirits of women.

--Teresa of Avila, 16th c. AD

My Mama Doesn't Call Me Q (Or: Unrelated Ramblings)

I acquired the nickname "Q" my freshman year of college from Hillary, my then roommate and still best friend. It caught on quickly and soon all of our friends called me that -- and introduced me to others by the same.

It didn't stop there, though. Soon, my brothers picked it up, and even a few of my aunts. Professors and librarians were calling me Q. And it was spiffy.

Then my mama called me Q.

I dunno how to explain it, but that just felt wrong. I never minded when she'd called me "Sis" or "Key" when the boys were little -- that's what they'd called me then. But Q just didn't sound right coming from my mother. When I told her that, she didn't understand at first. She mock-pouted for a day or so, "Mrs. Haynie can call you Q, but your own mama can't. The mailman could call you Q, but you won't let your mama," etc. What she didn't realize is that she had it exactly right.

I want my mom to call me by my name -- my REAL name. Is that weird? It just seems more personal than the catch-all nickname dispensed to the world at large. There are about 3 people in this world whom I don't want to call me Q, because the relationship I hold with each of them is unique and for some reason, it just seems more fitting NOT to be called Q. Nicknames can be affectionate tags (and I hope mine is...), but names are special.

Or maybe I just put too much stock in names. ^_~

Random: a song in six stanzas

I finally updated my "current reading" list, but I only updated it with the ones I could remember off the top of my head, so maybe I'll remember to stick a few more in there at some point.

I'm also in the middle of doing paperwork toward buying a car. Since I don't think I've said this here, I'll say it now: I hate teh car-buying thing. Hate it. Really. A lot.

Ideally, I want to find a car that will last the next 20 years because I don't want to do this again. Ever, really, but I'll settle for 20 years or so. However, the ideal only exists in my warped mind, apparently, so I've decided to settle for a Honda Accord, which was the closest I could come in the real world.

Dad may start chemo this week, too. Earlier than they'd originally thought (which is a mixed blessing). And he'll be doing it here in Memphis, so I'll be able to see him during.

Also, my nephew explained to me that the sun goes night night when it's night night time; it gets dark because he turns out the light so he can sleep. He keeps his blanky tucked up under the clouds. The moon sings him songs and watches over him till it's time to get up. Then the moon gets to use the blanky and the sun sings to him.

I like the way his world works.

I read my hometown newspaper online. It's a pretty good way to keep up with at least highlights of what's happening where most of my family is, things they wouldn't necessarily think to tell me like which schools hired which new teachers for the fall, what upgrades are being done to city hall -- basically local news not directly related to my family. I generally read 4 sections: the obituaries, the police & courts section, letters to the editor and the news highlights.

I read the letters to the editor because sometimes it's a shouting match, but sometimes there are some thoughtful articles. Sometimes there are some thoughtful responses to shouting matches. Sometimes it's frustrating and/or annoying, but it always seems worth it somehow to see the things people from my hometown actually care about and how they express it. (I guess the letters to the editor are a sort of mini-blogging for the community; must be what people did before instant publishing.)

The news highlights fill me in on general town happenings and 'police & courts' is generally an easy way to keep up with the kids I graduated with... (Okay, so not all of them.) The obits I read because sometimes there are people whom everybody knows, but not everybody knows well. Just standing fixtures of the community whose funerals I may or may not have attended if I were in town, but whose passings distinctly affect the nature of the place. People I just assumed would always be there.

Reading the obituaries makes me think about a lot of things, though. A person's entire life is encapsulated to a few brief paragraphs and a list of survivors. The ones I know, I can fill in some of the gaps for myself. Others give only a fleeting impression of who this person was, what s/he did, what was important to him or her. More than an epitaph, but hardly a legacy.

I promise I'm not being morbid, but sometimes it makes me wonder what mine will say. I think the phrase that always rings hollow to me is "he was of the ____ belief," as though the faith of the person was as casual as his ice cream preference. "He was of the opinion that mint chocolate chip ranks above orange sherbet."

I don't want mine to say "she was of the church of Christ belief." Or "she attended the ____ church of Christ." Neither of those come close. I'm more of the sometimes waffling, always searching belief. I don't want just to "attend," either. I've been blessed enough to find a unique family of faith in the places I've lived; I want to do more than just "attend."

It won't matter, though, what mine says, really. The ones who know me will fill in the gaps for themselves; I guess it's my job to live in such a way that they've got good stuff to fill it with. The ones who don't probably won't really stop to think about it.

Tonight one of my elders spoke to me about my letter. He apologized firs and foremost for its having taken 2 months to get back to me.

His explanation didn't actually solve anything. It was just "another way to think of it." But his primary concern in our conversation was in making sure that I a) understood and b) was okay with their decision. I appreciated the heart of the man who approached me.

I've never doubted that our elders are praying, godly men. I appreciate the fact that they paid attention to what I'd written. I hardly expected it to affect the outcome, and it didn't, so that was moot. I appreciated the spirit in which he approached me, too.

There's not a good way to end this. So much of life eludes adequate conclusion.

Invisible II: Incarnation

I posted parts of this somewhere else first, but I kind of wanted to put it here, too.

It's always interesting to me when things just make sense. Sunday morning, Curt's sermon was on John 1:1-2, the Word became flesh. That night, it was on invisible people and Matthew 25:31-46. Somewhere between the two, the message became alive.

That morning, I met Kevin.

My guess is that Kevin is in his early thirties. I met him because I have a habit of sitting at the far end of the pew (I like to have an armrest) and suddenly, I found myself sharing the armrest with someone: Kevin.

I tend to sit close to the front, in the first 5 rows or so usually. Sunday I was closer than normal, in the third pew. (My "usual" spot was taken.) Sometime after the first songs and the few minutes where everyone greets everyone else, but before communion, Kevin wheeled himself down in the middle of one of the songs and parked next to me, propping his arm up by mine. He swung his head toward me and said, "Hi. My name's Kevin." Definitely got my attention because the rest of the auditorium was silent, pre-prayer, listening to the devotional thought before communion. So I did the only thing I know to do when someone introduces himself to me. I shook his hand and told him my name.

Kevin stays at the KDS (King's Daughters and Sons) home in downtown Memphis. KDS is an assisted living community for disabled adults, similar to the HDC cottage in Conway, AR in which my aunt Genave lives. The KDS home is located in downtown Memphis right now, but is soon to move to Bartlett on Appling Road in mid-September. I don't understand, but this move apparently makes some Bartlett citizens uneasy. I guess I could understand if the prison relocated to the backyard of Bartlett, but the reaction to this kind of confuses me. I look forward to it, though, because we have a sort of 'mission' team that goes to KDS each Sunday to conduct services out there. Right now, I'm not comfortable enough driving in Memphis to drive to McLemore where it's currently located. But I can make it out to Appling.

So I met Kevin and he immediately asked me to be his pen-pal (and I will write him) and also tried to hold my hand. (In the course of 15 minutes, he developed a schoolboy crush.) I told him we could be friends and that I'd write him, but that I'd get his address after the last song. So after each song, he'd ask me if it was the last one yet. I pointed out to him on the bulletin where we were in the service and showed him how much longer till the last song. Afterward, I wrote down both his current address and his future address which he proudly told me he's already memorized, spelling out the street names.

Kevin is someone whom the world (and sadly, the church) is content to let be and to let remain invisible. It's less complicated that way. Initially it may be hard to get past the more obvious differences, the wheelchair, the too-thin legs, even the drool. I wonder what it is about people like this that make others uncomfortable. In any initial meeting, we wade through a host of differences between ourselves and the other person without even thinking about it. But somehow, differences like this stop us short.

After church, someone told me I'd done "a good job" and someone else said God had probably sent him my way, knowing I'd know how to "deal" with him. I didn't know what to say at the time, but the words set wrong with me. It isn't a job to make someone feel more comfortable or welcome. It's a command. And Sunday, it was my privilege. I sometimes think if Christ were going to pop up among us today, he would quite possibly be just like Kevin, someone who's different enough to make others uncomfortable.

And as to God having sent him my direction, I think it's true -- but not for the reasons this person did. I've been praying for God to kind of shove me lately -- out of my comfort zones, out of my introversion, out of my personally preferred invisibility. (Comes with being an introvert, I think). Sunday, I think Kevin was part of his answer.

But God will redeem my life from the grave; he will surely take me to himself.

(Ps. 49:15)

"Secret Stuff You Can't Know About"

I grew up (for the most part) as one of three children, I and two brothers. In any band of three, it's not uncommon for alliances to form, 2-to-1. We were no different.

Often I as the oldest was the divisive one, as much as I hate to admit it. I and one brother would ally against the other and talk about "secret stuff you can't know about." The secret was normally that there was no secret.

I think what bothers me is that I see the same trend developing in churches today. In an attempt to regain "biblical manhood" and "biblical womanhood," we've subdivided the church in to gender-based clubs.

Before someone thinks I'm trying to do away with gender distinction, let me clarify: men and women are different, yes, and have different wants and needs, etc. Fine. But I think we've gone beyond the idea of meeting the needs of each and into the arena of division, and ill-fitting divisions at that.

This really isn't a focused line of thought, just something that's bothered me for a while. Not long ago, the women in the church had the opportunity to participate in a Beth Moore study. Had to be all women, of course, because the person on video was female.(Note that she wasn't present, simply recorded -- how is this different from a book written by a woman? But that's another discussion entirely.) There wasn't anything in it that was substantially "girls only," but that's the way the class was billed. Only a few weeks ago, the men took part in a class based on John Eldredge's book Wild at Heart.

I'm not here reviewing the books and/or studies themselves (which could take a while). Instead, I'm more concerned with the ways in which they are presented. The "boys only!" and "girls only!" attitudes sets up an exclusivistic dichotomy which I think is far from a biblical ideal.

And there's something else that bothers me. The image either of these sets up as the "ideal" man or woman of God is generally far from universal. The "ideal" woman of God is based largely on evangelical culture rather than the biblical picture. As is the man of God. Particularly Eldredge's take on it.

I have a friend whom I consider to be a great man of God who is also shy, quiet and far from the adventurous man Eldredge sets forth as the ideal. Is this man less in the image of God because he is not the adventerous type? And if God is this wild, risk-taking Person and the ideal man is to be like him instead of 'feminized,' what then does this say about the ideal woman?

I don't know. But it bugs the snot outta me. I want to has this out a little better later.

I am re-connected. At least sort of. My iBook is happily zooming along on the wireless network, but my iMac isn't seen by the network. I highly suspect the ethernet port got smacked with the same lightning that killed the router in the first place.

Anyway, it's far past my bedtime and if I keep writing I'll just rant about tech guys who don't actually know what they're doing and I don't want to do that. He was nice, even if he didn't have a clue. Eventually, if you smile and nod enough, they go away and you can sort the networking out for yourself. If you're lucky, this takes less than 2 hours.

But there are far more interesting things than my wireless network (dubbed "lemon") and the various computers that will or will not cooperate with it. Unfortunately (fortunately?), I'm too stinkin' sleepy to bother with them tonight.

G'night.

'Day-tah, dah-tah... what's the difference?'

This is from one of my favorite exchanges in StarTrek:TNG, a series I used to watch constantly. It's among my favorite dialogue snippets because it expresses something I've tried hard to convey for years. A quick google tells me this is from an episode called "the Child."

PULASKI
Data,
(she says "Data" with
a short A)
look at this.

DATA
(he corrects her)
Data.

PULASKI
What?

DATA
My name. It is pronounced Data.

PULASKI
(with a wry smile)
Oh?

DATA
You called me Data.

PULASKI
What's the difference?

DATA
One is my name and the other is
not.

At birth, my parents dubbed me Anna Susan Quiara Maureen Hazlewood. I grew up called by the name Quiara. One glance shows quickly enough that it's not a particularly common name -- at least it wasn't in Ely, Nevada in the early 80s. I've heard more butcherings of my moniker than there are stars in the sky: "kwee-ra" (She-ra?), "queer-uh," "Keera," "Kwai-rah," and, my least favorite, "key-are-uh." This last one is no doubt the one most people who've only seen my name in print opt for, if they attempt a pronunciation at all. I dislike this version for 2 major reasons: It's in the "close but no cigar" category (much like the day-tah, dah-tah conundrum) and, secondly, after 22 years of wearing the name, I found out it's the more "correct" pronunciation anyway. (Apparently it's a French dialectical form of Clara, for the curious.)

My name, however, isn't pronounced that way. It's said "key-air-ah."

This is why, more than any other reason, I go by "Q." So much easier. Most people hit that pronunciation right off. Plus, my college roommate dubbed me that freshman year and it turns out it was better than what my current roommate, Laura, calls me ("ki-ki"), so I won't complain. Much.

Having had my name mangled for much of my life, I think I grew up with an appreciation for the importance of a proper name. I try my best to pronounce the names of people in the ways they've said them to me. And I'm resolved to become better at remember names. (I've been studying our church directory to put more names with more faces.)

A name is something dumped on a child at birth, assumed that s/he will one day grow into it. A surname, in particular, comes also complete with the traces of things done in that name before the child was ever born. And the things the child will do with his or her name will impact the next generation to wear it as well. Names are important things.

When God called Abram, he changed his name. As he did with Jacob. And he called them all and brought about a new nation all for the sake of his name. We are saved in his name, hated because of his name, things we do "in his name" have eternal consequence. Names are important things.

He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.



Revelation 2:17

John Fortner once said, "The danger of worship is that you become like that which you worship."

I think of this sometimes when confronted with the idea of people like Fred Phelps. Reverend Phelps claims to be a Christian, a follower of Christ but most people see him instead as a minister of hate. This man claims to be a follower of Christ, but his life evidences harsh judgement and hate to the point of rejoicing in the belief that the souls of certain men, women and even children are burning in hell.

Who does this man worship?

It's true there are pictures of God bringing judgement on the unjust, on the wicked. This image isn't limited to the old testament, either, but veins the book of Revelation with equally startling, disturbing images of the Son of Man. This God of vengeance holds tight to the law of justice and all wickedness finds its end in judgement.

Is this the God of Phelps?

This same God gave Jericho 6,000 years to repent. This same God weeps over his people. This same God yearns for relationship, reaches out, loves even to the point of death. This is not a God, so far as I can see, who holds picket signs proclaiming that [He] hates "fags."

This same Lord encountered the woman caught in adultery, who by his own law should die, and spares her life, dispelling her accusers and commissioning her to a new life, free from sin. Does Phelps know this God?

It seems instead that Phelps worships a broken god; a half-image of the creator. That which he worships is no god; it's an attribute, an attitude, and it's very human.

But what about those who accept unconditionally, condoning everything under a banner of love? These people forget that when Jesus spared the woman, he also told her to go and sin no more. So, too, when we negate the consequences of sin or bandaid bullet holes (crying 'peace, peace! when there is no peace...) we find ourselves doing the same thing: worshipping a half-god, an idol.

This is a sobering thought for me. Who am I like? Am I like the one whom I claim to worship?

Things on faith

I appreciate all the prayers on my father's and my family's behalf. And I believe God hears them. What God has in mind is still somewhat grey.

The tumor was malignant and they've found cancer cells active in his lymph nodes. He'll be starting chemotherapy soon -- as soon as he heals from the last surgery. But he has opted to take the treatment. That in itself is a prayer answered and in the way I'd hoped.

Over the last year or so, I've learned a lot about faith. I've learned that in order to learn about faith and in order to grow in faith, I've had to fight with faith -- and fight with God.

I've learned to pray differently. I still pray for God to heal the sick, comfort the hurting, encourage the despairing and to bring about his will and manifest the kingdom of God. But I realize in that last part, the part about "your kingdom come, your will be done," I'm sometimes negating the first part. Not because I think God's will is for people to be sick, hurting, alone or despairing, but rather because in a world full of sickness, hurt, loneliness and despair, God sometimes has to work through that in order to reach us.

In Disappointment with God, Philip Yancey explains this far better than I could. A God who answers prayers like fast food orders and appears in pillars of flame and columns of smoke at the drop of a hat isn't a God who inspires faith and love in his people. More often, they grew to resent him or to take him for granted. But the question "why does God seem so often silent?" That's a question that arises in the lives of most at some point. I'm sure it occurs to anyone who's ever petitioned God for the life of a loved one, only to lose them anyhow. And when the hurt just wraps a cold hand around the heart, squeezing, sometimes the dying breath of faith is, "Where are you, God?"

Why doesn't he reveal himself then? C. S. Lewis struggled, too, when he lost his wife, Joy. The silence of God was heavy and complex, and difficult, too, because so often when he'd not wanted God around, when he wished to be lord of his own life, God was persistent, insistant and omnipresent, at his elbow constantly. So this God who annoys us in our sin and arrogance, where is this same God who will not show himself when we are steeped in pain?

Questions like that get frowned at. I don't understand why, though, when even Christ knew what it was like to sit shadowed in the silence of God and cried out, "Why have you forsaken me?"

Jesus came to be literally God with us. But he also came to become like us, fully human as well -- to experience what it is to be thirsty, tired, sad, happy and if he would know all that, he must also know what it's like to feel forsaken. We really do have a high priest who understands and intercedes.

Philip Yancey has already said that doubt isn't the enemy of faith, fear is. And I think he's right. Questions are only questions. It's when we are too afraid to look for the answers, often because we don't think we'll like what we learn, that our faith begins to fail.

In order for God's kingdom to become manifest in this world through his people, he constrains himself to the context of this world. How will we minister to the hurting if we've never felt pain? How can we love the ones who struggle if we've never struggled? And can any of us say we've never experienced the silence of God?

Sometimes I wonder if the state of our world, our lives, our souls -- I wonder if sometimes it doesn't simply strike God speechless.

Our cable modem/router had an unfortunate encounter with lightning on Friday (must be all the heresy I've been sending through it...). On the upside, though, it's given me time to unpack.

Apparently God wanted to choose our new apartment for us, so he made last week as complicated and complex as possible so we wouldn't end up where we thought we would.

Last Monday, my roommate and I were supposed to move down the road to a new apartment complex. The short version of the story is that we, in fact, didn't. The longer version involves a lost set of keys, delays due to vacuuming and a burrowing rodent of questionable genus and/or species. The resolution involves the hand of God - and also a Kroger gift certificate.

Anyhow, it leaves me very domestic lately. I have to clean the old apartment before... well, before the apartment managers want to look at it. Which I think is Thursday. Which leaves me cleaning pretty much... tonight.

Last night I took my guitar over there and played for a while. The acoustics are better in the empty rooms.

Invisible

So many things in the world today are invisible. Invisible toxins can kill us. Invisible illnesses strike without warning. I pass invisible people every day -- the ones who are hard to look in the eye, because looking means realizing a mother of three can be homeless and hungry and realizing brings responsibility to do something about it, something beyond saying, "Be warm and filled." And by the way, God loves you. It's just easier not to see.

There's another kind of invisible -- invisible tradition. As an example, my friend recounts to me his travels to Japan, specifically Tokyo where he studied for a year. In general, he found the city and its people pleasant.

In Japan, there is no racism; it doesn't exist. Japan is not like the U.S. My friend heard this repeatedly from different friends he'd made at the university, all of whom were Japanese. Despite having observed others crossing to the other side of the road to avoid walking with him, despite having seen restaurants deny him entrance, claiming there were no tables even as later arriving Japanese customers were continually seated, despite all of this, racism does not exist in Japan.

His friend weren't just covering for the status quo. It's hard to cover something one doesn't see. Racism is impolite, it's loud and angry and an attitude more than an action -- at least as it's perceived in Tokyo. Everyone had politely declined to allow him full participation -- after all, he's not Japanese. But that's not racism -- it's just the way things are.... Right?

Wrong. The intent and attitude are, of course, elements, but the action is the essence. The invisible bias against the "outsider" is a polite form of racism so subtle and ingrained that it links seamlessly with life as lived.

My friend pointed out another invisible bias that I've never quite known how to vocalize. And even now, my doing so will not be effective. My friend points out the Western invisible bias of the masculine. It's likely that those words from a female will align her immediately with the far feminist left whereas a male who states it "may have an interesting point."

The invisible bias is pervasive. It does not occur to many men why many women do consider the ongoing question of women and the church to be an important question. "Why rock the boat?" But the question is bigger than women and the church; the underlying question is women and God.

It doesn't occur to some the lack of female "role models" in either testament. Most women are valued or commended for their roles in preserving the bloodline, the male legacy. Men walk and talk with God "as a man with his friend." Women have never seen the divine. Men are righteous for living according to the law of God, women for living according to the law of their husbands. But when this comes up, often well-meaning men will point to Jesus as the only example needed and claim that to look elsewhere is to lose the focus of the Christian walk.

Why then are men who exhort us to have the heart of David, the wisdom of Solomon and the drive of Paul not given similar lectures?

Jesus is the ultimate expression of divine love and his sacrifice is all-sufficient for our salvation, yes. But if a woman were to follow his example very far, she'd find herself at diametric odds with the church; she'd walk contrary to doctrine.

Often I've heard 1 Corinthians 11:7ff as an answer -- man is the reflection and image of God; woman is the reflection and image of man. How is this an answer? It only brings more questions. This verse has been quoted to me so often, I no longer (if I ever did) know what it means. The words are senseless to me. The same ones who quote it to explain away the "problem" of woman are the same ones who claim that woman is not inferior.

Woman seems always at least one more degree removed from God than is man. Man is the reflection of God; woman is the reflection of man. A copy of a copy makes a lousy copy. Man is created from nothing; woman is 'built' from man. Moses sees the face of God, Miriam is stricken with leprosy. After the rape of Dinah, Jacob is angry -- but not because of what has been done to his daughter. He's angry because his sons have avenged it and brought conflict on his house. And where was God? God is silent there as much as he is in Judges. God doesn't speak much in Judges. If God is King and there was no king in Israel, was God simply absent? Covering his face?

This is why I struggle. When I voice my questions, I'm "reassured" that God doesn't think women are inferior or secondary -- but I'm given no reason to believe it. When I voice questions challenging the status quo, I'm rebuffed as a radical or seen as a boat rocker. If I'm rocking the boat, it's only from grabbing at the side and trying to climb inside rather than continuing to drown.

---

I seriously considered deleting this entry. It's full of questions no one can answer and that many won't even see as valid questions. But today I got an e-mail from a friend asking many of the same ones, asking any advice or encouragement in dealing with them -- and I didn't have any. But she shared hers with me so I feel compelled to leave mine here. Maybe they're not valid questions, I don't know. But I do know I'm not the only one who struggles with them.

Questions, at least, shouldn't stay invisible.

...

Dad seems to have come through his surgery fine and the doctors think they got all of the mass. I appreciate the prayers and kind thoughts as, I'm sure, does he. He's a stubborn old goat, but I love him. ^_~

Slight update

He's only now waking up and is scheduled for another surgery in the morning to remove as much of the mass as is possible. They suspect cancer, but won't know for certain until after the surgery.

Because fervent effective prayer avails much...

My dad is currently in surgery. Sunday, they found a mass in his right side and they're doing a biopsy and colonoscopy today. In addition to his other problems and the fact that he had a bad reaction to the medication last night, I'm worried.

I and my family would definitely appreciate prayers.

Camp again:

Did I mention that my girls won Bible bowl again this year? I've worked this week for three years now and they're undefeated for the third year in a row. ^_~

Culture Shock

I've just returned from a week in which worship means dirt, sweat and bug spray. It means crickets and mosquitoes, sunsets and flashlights. It means wooden bleachers caked with questionable substances, shorts and t-shirts to combat the heat and the word of God read under skies threatening rain. I've just returned from this to my home church where tonight, in an air conditioned building complete with stained glass, carpet and florescent lighting in cushioned pews made to seat a thousand plus decked out in Sunday best, I heard a sermon complete with PowerPoint bullets on God's desire to heal us of our love of stuff.

I sat in the auditorium feeling both happy to be home and distinctly out of place.

Some camp stuff: good and bad, a mix.

Is it really Saturday? Already? Well, it was when I started this post. It's Sunday now.

It seems like just yesterday I made my brother haul my camp stuff into girls' cabin 2. But it was Friday that I hauled it out and yesterday that I returned to Memphis.

It was a good week, but over so quickly. Monday was long -- it always is. Sunday night is spent re-igniting friendships, alliances and rivalries a year dormant. Sunday is spent without much sleep. Monday's pretty much the longest day of camp -- and then it flies entirely too quickly.

The girls were wonderful this year as always. I had several returning for consecutive years, several new ones and some who'd missed a year or two in between. They were incredible, organizing and giving the devos on their own, generally well-behaved, if a little bit talkative. (Okay, a lot bit talkative, but they're teenage girls -- what did I expect?)

The hardest part of the week came Thursday evening at the "senior banquet." The campers who've graduated that school year are honored at a special meal. Someone says a few words about them and then at the end a prayer is led on their behalf. One of my girls, Danielle, had graduated. That morning, while the names were being divvied up, the director asked specifically for "guys who'd be willing to say a few words."

Danielle had been in my cabin for at least 4 years. None of the male counselors knew her that well, so the director wound up with her name.

It bugged me all morning, but why buck? It's a small thing, right? It is, but it didn't just bug me -- it bugged all the female counselors and so I was "elected" to ask about it. Not to challenge it, but just to ask why the ones who spoke at the senior banquet (not a "church" setting) had to be all male.

The reason: because that's the way we've always done it. In the past, there had been a prayer following each "speech" about a senior -- though done by a different counselor from the one who'd spoken. He needed to think about it. Unfortunately, he decided it'd be okay about 15 minutes before it was to happen.

Yes, I could have come up with something off the top of my head to say about Danielle. But the reason I'd wanted to say anything in the first place was because Danielle is important to me. She's been one of "my girls" for years now. She means more than 15 minutes prep time. I declined and he spoke on her behalf.

It was frustrating, but it's over. It was just kind of hard. The director is a great guy, one for whom I have a lot of respect and one to whom I normally enjoy talking. Next year, however, he wants to plan it so that it will be not only possible but also in such a way "that the most conservative person will be happy with it." I think that means I won't be able to mention God, how he's blessed me through these girls or how I pray he'll continue to bless them in the future. Dunno if I'd be allowed to quote/read a Bible verse/passage either.

It's just frustrating: a senior banquet should not be tangled with the discussion of "acceptable roles of women." It only served to remind me that no matter how well I manage to learn this Bible stuff, it'll never bee good enough for anyone to forget the fact that I'm female. For some, my words will always negate the word of God and destroy the body of Christ. And if that's not a good enough reason for me not to preach or teach, I don't know what is. But it doesn't stop the feeling that someone is ripping my guts out.

Home again.

I've been back from camp for 20 minutes.  Before I pass out, I want to record a few thoughts on the week.
 
It was a good week. 
 
There's only one reason I do camp:  the kids.  God is gracious to bring me through it every summer and to let me be a part of the shaping of the souls of these kids.  My last post sounded naive; this post will only reinforce that.  We were blessed to have an excellent group of kids.  Very few discipline problems, very few pranks.  No one wanted to go home early. 
 
The cliques disolved in large part and the kids meshed fairly well.  There wasn't the normal pettiness one often finds when a group of teens are confined to a single geographic region for 6 days.
 
Of 80 campers, many "repeat offenders," we had maybe one who would be voted "camper most likely to be thrown from the bluff."   Not bad numbers.
 
Five were immersed into Christ and I witnessed the first double baptism I think I've ever seen.  Rusty McMillion baptized 2 kids at once.  I called him on it:  double dunking.  ^_~
 
It was hot, but the rain held off till the last day. 
 
Somewhere in this jumble, there is a thought process at work.  I've got more to say later.
 
 
 

For some,the years turn around January -- the first signifying the "new" year. For most of academia, a new year begins in August or September, when school takes up again. While I don't really consider it my "new year marker," camp for me is the highlight of my year. People who know me casually might find that funny. People who know me well are no longer surprised.

People who know me only casually know me well enough to get some idea of my physical prowess and coordination. It doesn't take long for me to sufficiently prove my lack of either. This coupled with the fact that I am allergic to everything tangible, it would make sense if spending a week in the woods were something I'd choose only if I were feeling particularly suicidal.

But this camp is different.

I started out at CRYC as a camper, though an older one. (I think I was 16.) It wasn't long after I'd converted; all of my friends from my mother's church would be going to the Baptist camp down the road, the camp I'd gone to before. I didn't know many people except those from my home congregation at Bono; most of them were younger than I was and would be in other cabins. I felt pretty awkward about the whole thing; it seemed like everyone already knew everybody else from previous years, youth rallies and other activities. I wondered how I'd ever fit in, particularly being "older."

I guess I was lucky in that the campers that year were a pretty wonderful group of people. I felt at home pretty quickly. The counselors were incredible people. I remember being impressed; these people really cared about the kids and about camp.

I counsel with some of those same people now. The people I looked up to as adults and authority figures are now peers. And now I'm one of the responsible adults. How'd that happen?

Honestly I haven't got a clue. Though from my first week as a camper on, I wondered how I'd be able to go back to summers without CRYC. To tell the truth, I still don't know; I haven't yet missed a year. Last year it must have been the hand of God himself that got me through.

I'm stubborn. When I was diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia in February of last year, one of my first thoughts was "But what about camp?" I finished the first six week round of radiation radiation the week before camp started. Only Gary, one of the counselors and a good friend, even knew of the diagnosis. Immature as it was, I hadn't wanted to tell the director -- he might tell me not to come!

If I'd been smart, maybe I wouldn't have. But I'm not that bright, really, so I'd gone anyway. It was a hard week, physically and emotionally.

Originally, my doctor hadn't thought I'd have to undergo chemotherapy, that the radiation would be effective enough. But the bloodwork the week before showed otherwise. Wednesday of camp last year, I got the news: I'd be doing six months of radiation starting the Monday immediately after camp. I wasn't sure whether to tell anyone or not. I talked to Gary and Gary decided for me: it wasn't something I should keep to myself.

It was a hard week, but wonderful. Even while I felt like yelling at God, I watched kids turning to him, learning to love him. While my faith was being challenged, theirs was growing. By the end of the week, we were all of us stronger.

This year, I'm in a partial remission. I have my doctor's full approval to rush stubbornly into the woods for another week of camp psychosis: no sleep, sugar rushes, running ourselves ragged on the ropes course. And watching teens grow in faith.

Not all of them do. I realize (as naive as I sound) that for some of them camp is just another social event. For some of them, it's an excuse to get away from home for a week. Others are there because their parents made them come. But regardless of why they come, they're there. And God is constantly doing something. Sometimes it takes a couple of years to see exactly what, but he's always doing something.

Very few people plan their theophanies. God's got a way of reaching people who don't necessarily want to be reached.

Anyway, tomorrow afternoon we start another week. I've been praying all year.

I'm in charge of writing the Bible Bowl questions for Teen Week this year. Trey Reely (the director) wrote them last year and I gave him a hard time about them, so he kindly (?) passed the torch on to me. My instructions are to keep it under a thousand questions and require no more than an associate's degree in Bible to answer.

It's fun putting this thing together. Some of them I came up with off the top of my head, but I decided to just read through my Bible until things struck me that would make good questions -- particularly considering we're dealing with teens here. Which is how I came to include the questions about Ehud and King Eglon. Figured the teens (particularly the guys) would get a kick out of the very fat man whose guards didn't want to open his chamber because they figured he was ... indisposed.

I know they'll grumble, but I'm being merciful. I'm giving them a study guide and I have at least book and chapter (and usually verses) references for each question -- they don't just have to hunt them all up outta nowhere. Too bad they don't seem to get nearly the kick out of this that I do.

Sometimes I wonder how you inspire that in a kid? When I teach classes, it's easy enough to get them interested. But how do you get them to take that home with them? How do you make it stick? How do you convince them that the word of God really IS "sweeter than honey" -- and not only that, it's NOT boring? Because without fail, I have some kid tell me, "I didn't know THAT was in there... that's COOL." (They tend to speak in capital letters.)

That's what I want to do, but not only teens. I want to inspire interest in and love for the Bible in people. Because there's fascinating stuff there -- beyond the fact that it's the history of God's people and the testament to his working in the world and in the lives of man, there's some seriously funny and fantastic stuff in there besides.

I guess it's a question for the ages.

Random, unimportant and also lacking in substance or "how Gorbechev stole my ring"

(This blog was supposed to be primarily for -- well, the sort of things it's been for. I write the other stuff elsewhere, normally. But I was bored, I had access to a computer, and the computer happened to be online. All of this could have lead to mayhem, death, destruction and mass chaos. Instead it led to rambling stupidity.)

Just so you know, my birthstone is peridot. It should be a matter of public record and taught to children in school, but sometimes these things get overlooked. My birthstone happens to be peridot primarily because I managed to be born in August. Go me.

Problem is, peridot is very rarely turned into pretty jewelry. In fact (there has been research), large quantities of the jewelry made with peridot are sold to ugly people to make them feel better. There has been only one pretty ring from peridot and ... I think Gorbechev stole it.

I posessed this ring. My parents had given it to me for my 16th birthday. I'd never seen another one like it -- and probably never will. Turns out, it was a custom design. What were they thinking?

Anyhow, I wore that stinkin' ring everywhere. Including, I might add, to the concert in which I and several hundred other Harding choir/chorus/singers members serenaded Gorbechev with a song in Russian about a tree -- and a couple of English songs, too. The rest of the time we spent propping our eyeballs open trying to pretend that the translator was interesting. Because he wasn't.

While I was sitting on a hot stage in ... some month in the spring semester of that year,whenever that was, my hands began to swell. So I took the ring off and placed it in my inadequate pocket.

Short story long now, I lost it. Very sad. (I actually lost another gold ring and a gold bracelet that same year. This may explain why I wear so much silver now. Much cheaper to replace -- which I do nearly so often as I have my oil changed.)

And so I'm cursed to sort through ugly peridot jewelry in search of a decent ring that doesn't exist.

Fin.

"Sermon" to myself.

Earlier, talking about loss and the things God teaches us through it, I said sometimes I don't want to know what God is going to teach me. And it's true.

Sometimes I don't want to know because sometimes I'm afraid it will hurt. I'm no stranger to pain -- in fact, I'm familiar enough to know that I don't like it. The losses hurt already, do I really want to surrender to the hands of a God who let it hurt?

Yes.

So why don't I? Why don't I let it all go and hand it all over? Sometimes it is because I'm scared. I don't have any guarantee that it won't hurt to heal or that I won't suffer loss again. But I do know that God uses the things that have hurt in our lives to shape us, to mold us more in his image. He knows, too, what it's like to hurt, to lose someone he loves.

God knows what it's like to lose a child. But he also knows the joy of receiving him back -- a joy he offers to us to share. Our God doesn't lead us through valleys he's never seen.

Sometimes it's because I'm angry. Because as often as I ask "Why God?" I know that underlying that question is often, "But why me?" Why my loved ones? Why did it have to touch my life? Why at all?

I don't always have good answers, either. I understand the Yancey/Brand concept of no pleasure without pain -- and that pleasure is the greater puzzle. I understand (but disagree with) Rabbi Kushner's final assessment that God simply can't stop these things, that he would if he could. I've read the story of Job -- and Job was mad, too.

Sometimes we don't get answers. Some relegate all evil and pain to the existence of sin in the world. Is it really sin that causes miscarriage? SIDS? Random cancers? Or other unexplained death? "Who sinned that this man was born blind?" No one.

God didn't cause any of it. And I have to trust him to heal it, even if it hurts, because he's the only one who can. I certainly can't. God didn't cause it, but he can use it for his glory -- if we (I) let him.

More thoughts from a "Radical Feminist Heretic" (tm)*

The discussion on Mike Cope's blog about women, men, church, worship, gender, roles, etc. has been fascinating. I've still got a lot to say about it, but I took up tons of space there already. So I'll blog it here.

There was one comment in particular that I wanted to respond to, but didn't since a) it was anonymous and b) sounded like an ad for the Piper/Grudem book Biblical Manhood and Womanhood. Comment may be clipped for length here and broken up for the sake of clarity, but it may be found in its uninterrupted entirety somewhere in here.

Doesn't Paul's statement that "There is . . . neither male nor female . . . for you are all one in Christ Jesus" (Galatians 3:28) take away gender as a basis for distinction of roles in the church?


No. Most evangelicals still agree that this text is not a warrant for homosexuality. In other words, most of us do not force Paul's "neither male nor female" beyond what we know from other passages he would approve. For example, we know from Romans 1:24-32 that Paul does not mean for the created order of different male and female roles to be overthrown by Galatians 3:28.

I think that the Galatians text is often bent into uncomfortable contortions on this issue, so generally I don't mention it. But for a good breakdown of that verse in the larger context of the book, Jan Faiver Hailey has written an excellent essay on it which can be found in Essays on Women in Earliest Christianity, vol. 1. The part of this paragraph that got me was this person's other reference: Romans 1:24 - 32, which says (at least according to the NRSV):

Therefore God gave them up in the lusts of their hearts to impurity, to the degrading of their bodies among themselves, because they exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever! Amen. For this reason God gave them up to degrading passions. Their women exchanged natural intercourse for unnatural, and in the same way also the men, giving up natural intercourse with women, were consumed with passion for one another. Men committed shameless acts with men and received in their own persons the due penalty for their error. And since they did not see fit to acknowledge God, God gave them up to a debased mind and to things that should not be done. They were filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, covetousness, malice. Full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, craftiness, they are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of evil, rebellious toward parents, foolish, faithless, heartless, ruthless. They know God's decree, that those who practice such things deserve to die—yet they not only do them but even applaud others who practice them.

Here I'm confused. This passage as explains that Paul did not mean to overturn the "different created order of male and female roles"? I could be wrong, and often am, but to me, this passage says several things:

• men have sex with women and women with men, not men with men or women with women


• not acknowledging God leads to self-destruction


• those who do not acknowledge God are the wicked, evil, covetous, malicous, envious, murderous, striving, deceitful, crafty, gossiping, slandering, God-hating, insolent, haughty, boastful innovators of evil who are rebellious, foolish, heartless and ruthless -- though not necessarily all at once.


• They refuse to acknowledge God by choice. They know what he requires and simply don't do it -- and encourage others to follow suite.

To me, that doesn't seem to have a lot to do with any sort of created order, unless the commenter meant the part about God ordained sexual unions involve both a woman and a man. I'm not even sure why it was brought into the discussion. It seems instead a negative catalogue in order to highlight the virtues of Christian morality. There's a literary term for that, but I've forgotten it.

The context of Galatians 3:28 makes abundantly clear the sense in which men and women are equal in Christ: they are equally justified by faith (v. 24), equally free from the bondage of legalism (v. 25), equally children of God (v. 26), equally clothed with Christ (v. 27), equally possessed by Christ (v. 29), and equally heirs of the promises to Abraham (v. 29).

I agree wholeheartedly. However, I don't think it's limited solely to that meaning. Because something has one agreed upon meaning, does that negate its having any more applications? I hope not. Preachers rely on bringing new life to old texts, often through new insights. This idea will have put them out of a job: once all passages are preached in their one-meaning context, why continue to talk? Let the people buy the tapes instead.

In 1 Peter 3:1-7, the blessing of being joint heirs "of the gracious gift of life" is connected with the exhortation for women to submit to their husbands (v. 1) and for their husbands to treat their wives "with respect as the weaker partner." In other words, Peter saw no conflict between the neither-male-nor-female principle regarding our inheritance and the headship-submission principle regarding our roles. Galatians 3:28 does not abolish gender-based roles established by God and redeemed by Christ.

The 1 Peter text is also interesting. It begins "In the same way, wives..." Well, in the same way as what? Going back to chapter 2, we can see that Peter is there addressing slaves and telling them to submit to their masters. This is a passage often quoted by those who say it affirms female submission -- but deny that that submission has anything to do with slavery. Apparently for Peter, there is a clear parallel -- so much so that he exhorts a woman to submit to her husband in the same way a slave submits to his master.

And so my quandry is still if the abolition of slavery is a good thing -- although it's obviously not a concept the biblical writers entertained, nothing Paul ever seems to have expected to happen in this life, and really an alien concept to the new testament world -- why would the continued submission of women "in the same way" be seen as virtous? And conversely, why would its eradication be such a downfall to the church and to society?

I dunno.

---

* "Radical Feminist Heretic" trademark Grant Boone, 2004. Except the t-shirt idea. ^_~

Sometimes what you see is what you get.

Being a Christian today comes with a lot of baggage. The world has a pretty unflattering view of Christians and Christianity: judgmental, hypocritical, intolerant, hateful, exclusivistic, narrow-minded and ignorant, suspicious of science or reason come pretty quickly to mind. Why is that?

Some say it's because they've had bad run-ins with the church before. They've met the intolerant, hateful, exclusivistic, etc. Christians before -- several times and many of them. Christians say the world just doesn't understand or has got the wrong idea.

How'd they get the wrong idea? The negative idea that is so popular has a basis somewhere.

I admit that the perceived intolerance may come from some Christians simply standing up for what they believe. We're called to be light, after all, and to teach the truth even when it's unpopular. Narrow mindedness can come from a misunderstanding of the Christian proclaimation that there is only one way. But what about the others?

Hateful. Christians are thought of as hateful, judgmental, hypocrites. Is this in part because of the ways in which we choose to stand for our ideals? If homosexuality is a sin, does that mean that the best way of imparting that truth is to wave banners proclaiming it? Join in marches, shouting slogans? It's no worse than my sins of pride -- but no one has organized marches against me. Yet.

We should seek to teach the truth the same way Christ did: actively. It does little good to enact legislation against homosexual marriage if we don't reach out to the ones who are part of that lifestyle. It doesn't help to change laws regarding abortion if no one is going to be there to help the single mother with the child she'll be forced to bear. And there will be many more like her if no one reaches out to the young women who think they are good for nothing else or the children who believe that sex is love. We'll never have unity in our churches if we're so busy watchdogging and biting each other. And with that sort of internal strife, why would anyone seek to become a part?

If the church has a bad image, it's our fault. It may sound harsh, but it's true:

By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."

--John 13:35

And if we truly have love for one another, the love that fills us can't help but spill out into the world.

"Either make the tree good, and its fruit good; or make the tree bad, and its fruit bad; for the tree is known by its fruit. You brood of vipers! How can you speak good things, when you are evil? For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. "




"I tell you, on the day of judgment you will have to give an account for every careless word you utter; for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned."


--Matthew 12:33-34, 36-37

We can't keep uttering careless words and bearing bad fruit and still call ourselves the people of God.