I've got several thousand songs in iTunes, which enables you to rate songs on a scale of 1-5. In the spirit of Darwin, natural selection takes over to give the lesser songs the John 15 treatment (lopping them off), leaving me with only the better songs (and more disk space--that's the real issue).

This unnatural selection leaves me with quite a few songs sporting a "5" rating, the highest. But among them are a handful of songs which, if I could, would get a "6." These are songs which I never, ever get tired of hearing. When I hear the song, I stop and pay attention. They aren't necessarily by my favorite artists. In some cases, I don't care for anything else by these artists. No, there's just something about these particular songs. They resonate with something in me.

For example, I've given a "5" rating to a number of Bruce Springsteen songs, like "Glory Days," "Darlington County," "The Rising," and "Into the Fire." I love those songs. But there's something about "Born in the USA" which is on another Cosmic Level of Existence. It's the only Springsteen song which makes me pay attention every time I hear it.

Here are the other songs I would put in this transcendent category.

• "The Rose," by Bette Midler (1979). Might be my favorite of all.
• "It's Only Rock'n'Roll," by the Rolling Stones (1974). There's something restrained (for the Stones) about this song, like a thoroughbred with a restrictor plate (to mix racing metaphors). Do you remember the TV awards show where they performed this wearing white sailors' outfits in a plastic bubble which filled with bubbles as they performed?
• "Never Been to Spain," by Three Dog Night (1972). The lyrics say, "I headed to Las Vegas, only made it out to Needles." The starting point could have been Lake Havasu City, Ariz., where I once lived. We always traversed Needles en route to Vegas.
• "What's Up?" by Four Non-Blondes (1993). I use a line from this song as a heading in the Anchor Church site.
• "All She Wants to Do is Dance," by Don Henley (1984). Love the bass line. Interesting nuclear-wasteland video, too. Don't like anything else by Don Henley. In general, drummers shouldn't sing. (Hear that, Ringo? Phil Collins? Tommy Lee?)
• "What a Wonderful World," by Louis Armstrong (1968).
• "Scarborough Fair," by Sarah Brightman (2000). Yes, a Simon and Garfunkel song by somebody else. I love Sarah Brightman's voice.
• "Sweet Child of Mine," by Guns N Roses (1987). Sheryl Crow's version is very good, too--a 5, but not a transcendent 6.
• "Old time Rock & Roll," by Bob Seger (1978).
• "Dancing in the Street," by Mick Jagger and David Bowie (1985). A joyful, fun-loving song. "They'll be swinging, swaying, records playing, dancing in the street...."
• "More than a Feeling," by Boston (1976). I still remember the first time I heard it: 1977, in a room in Wright Hall, third floor north.
• "Don't You Forget About Me," by Simple Minds (1984). Icing on the cake: it concludes my favorite movie, "Breakfast Club."
• "Behind the Wall of Sleep," by the Smithereens (1999).
• "Can't Keep a Good Man Down," by NewSong (2000).
• "I Can Only Imagine," by MercyMe (2001).
• "Keep Your Hands to Yourself," by the Georgia Satellites (1986). Good ol' Southern rock.
• "Transcendental Blues," by Steve Earle (2000).
• "With or Without You," by U2 (1990).
• "Beautiful Sunday," by Daniel Boone (1972). A joyful song from the 1970s. Takes me back to Electronics class at Lake Havasu City High School.
• "I'm a Bit**", by Meredith Brooks (1997). Can I spell that out?
• "Born in the USA," by Bruce Springsteen (1984). Title track of one of my favorite albums.
• "Colorful," by Verve Pipe (2001). First heard this at the end of the movie "Rock Star" (the coffeehouse scene) and fell in love with it. Tracked down the original version on iTunes.
• "The Way," by Fastball (2002). First heard this in a Best Buy store, and loved it, but didn't learn the title or artist for at least another year, when I stumbled across it on a borrowed CD.
• "Heroes," by the Wallflowers (1998). Better than Bowie's version.
• "American Pie," by Don MacLean (1971). Doesn't get old.
• "American Pie," by Slaughter (1997). Same song title, totally different song. Has the same restrained feel as "It's Only Rock and Roll."
• "Take My Breath Away," by Berlin (1986). Yes, the song from "Top Gun."
• "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," by Green Day (2004). The latest addition to this list.

Posted at 10:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I stop at Starbucks most mornings on my way to work. I did today. They always have three coffees available--a medium or mild roast, a bold roast, and decaf. The three selections are scribbled on a chalkboard with brief descriptions. And the descriptions contain words like these: bold, smooth, soft, well-balanced, nutty, herbal, fruity, earthy notes, spicy, sparkling, acidic, light, robust, citrusy. And my favorite: complex.

I don't know what those mean. I've never sensed any nuttiness in coffee. No hints of oranges or mangoes or any other kind of fruit. To me, there are two types of coffee: strong, and not-so-strong. And decaf versions of each. Okay, I should add a third type, the kind grandpa always had sitting on the stove in the farmhouse, a roast which I call Terminal Stomach Radiation. Starbucks has nothing similar, beyond stuffing a handful of Komodo Dragon beans into your mouth.

Life needs to be kept simple pre-coffee. I don't want to enter Starbucks and be confronted with difficult decisions: "Do I feel like nutty, or smooth? How many earthy notes can I handle today?" Before coffee, I can barely locate my truck in the garage. I just want to say, "Gimme coffee," and leave. Then, having consumed my morning brew, I'm empowered to make decisions during the rest of the day. Never mind that I usually get decaf. There's a psychological thing going on which still perks me up, enlivens my senses, as though I'm still mainlining caffeine. Let nothing jeopardize that illusion.

Anyway, I certainly don't want "complex" coffee first thing in the morning. I want it strong or not-so-strong, and I don't want to put any further thought into the purchase. Thank you.

Posted at 08:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

A nice little Memorial Day twist at church this morning.

Lots of churches, on Memorial and/or Veterans Day, ask the vets to stand so everyone can recognize them. We've done that. But today, at the beginning of the service, Pastor Tim invited people to stand and mention someone they know, like a relative, who served in the military.

Tim went first. He mentioned his brother Matt, who served in the US Army (until, while on Christmas leave a few years ago, a drunk driver killed him). Other people stood and mentioned a husband, father, grandfather, brother, and others who served in the military--the relationship and the service branch. Sitting at the piano, I offered, "My Dad, and Pam's dad, both served in the US Army."

It was a neat way to do it. I liked it.

One of the things I like about going to Branson, Mo., is that most of the shows recognize military vets. Pam and I have taken my parents there twice, in 2002 and 2004, and it always made me proud to see Dad stand. Deeply, profoundly proud.

I've always wished that I had served in the military. In 1973, as a 10th grader with the Vietnam War still going, the prospect of being drafted was on my mind. But already, there was a sense that the war was winding down and I wouldn't need to serve. So it's not something I worried much about.

But I envy the worthiness, whether at Branson or at Anchor, to stand alongside other vets, acknowledging, "Yes, I served my country." That's not something you accomplish. Rather, it's a gift that you give to your countrymen. That's a gift I would like to have given.

Posted at 10:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Wow, today was a hot one. Pam and I worked in the yard for several hours this morning. I hauled in four yards of mulch (two pickup loads), and we spread it all over. But it about did us in. We're getting old, after all. Or I'm getting old. My wife is, of course, young and lovely and vibrant and full of energy and soon to read this entry.

Yesterday, too, was a day for yardwork, as we both took a vacation day. This week we planted about ten new bushes, brought in a couple loads of dirt, tore out two huge but ugly bushes, sprayed weeds, and committed other acts of improvement upon our suburban home. So right now, I'm feeling quite a sense of accomplishment. And I do believe it's well-deserved.

Posted at 10:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Well, I finally finished readingThe DaVinci Code. The first half was exciting and intriguing, with the "gravitational pull" that I once heard Philip Yancey talk about at a writer's conference, the momentum propelling you onward. Then you get to the middle, where Sir Teabing lays out a sordid history of conspiracy and repression regarding the truth about Jesus and Mary Magdalene. That part disturbed me because it was just so doggone heretical.

But after that, the book bogged down, lost its gravitational pull. And Dan Brown resorted to assorted implausabilities. I no longer felt eager, let alone compelled, to keep reading. So I forced myself to finish the thing, like stale chocolate cake after a full meal at Smokey Bones. Now I'm done and can happily move on to something else.

I've not yet seen the movie, which has been lambasted by every critic I've read. Of course, if they had given the movie good reviews, Christians would say, "Aha! Another example of the liberal media supporting an effort to discredit Christianity." Jerry Falwell et al don't know what to make of "liberal media" folks criticizing something which is, at heart, anti-Christian. Oh, what a complex world we inhabit!

Anthony Lane of the New Yorker is one of the top movie critics, and I devour every review he writes, whether or not I care about the movie. Lane is incredibly entertaining and dumps molten sarcasm on any movie (or element of a movie) he dislikes.Such was the case with "The DaVinci Code," though in this case, Lane also skewers the book. You must read Lane's review in the New Yorker. It's a LOL read.

For example, in the movie Sir Teabing talks about the Council of Nicaea. Lane writes, "We get a flashback to the council in question, and I must say that, though I have recited the Nicene Creed throughout my adult life, I never realized that it was originally formulated in the middle of a Beastie Boys concert." He mentions the appearance of a villain "hitherto suspected by nobody except the audience."

Of the book, Lane says, "no question has been more contentious than this: if a person of sound mind begins reading the book at ten o’clock in the morning, at what time will he or she come to the realization that it is unmitigated junk?"

Posted at 03:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

When Ryan Seacrest announced that Taylor Hicks had won American Idol, I let out a "Yeah!" cheer. But it wasn't as loud as the "Yeah!" I uttered a couple hours later when Boris Diaw made a last-second shot to put the Phoenix Suns ahead of the Dallas Mavericks. So I guess this aging soul still retains some manly-manly-ness. Considering how much American Idol has controlled my life this year, I was beginning to wonder.

The American Idol finale was a lot of fun. It's the first one I've seen. Some great singing. Chris Daughtry singing with Live (note to self: check out Live on iTunes). Paris Bennet with Al Jarreau--wow, Paris is great! I was impressed with Carrie Underwood. The segments with Kelly Pickler and Wolfgang Puck were hysterical. Loved the three Brokenote cowboys. I'm a Meat Loaf fan, so I enjoyed seeing him and Katherine McPee sing together. Enjoyed hearing Lisa Tucker sing again (always one of my favorites). The segment with the five guys singing together was wonderful (much better than the counterpart with the women). Didn't recognize Clay Aiken with his new 'do until near the end of that song. The silly awards were fun. It was just a fun, fun event, and I unabashedly enjoyed it.

But it was nice to then flip over to TNT to rev up the testosterone again.

Posted at 09:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I think I am afflicted with what Anna Quindlen calls "creeping codgerism." Or what I call Grumpy Old Guy Syndrome. I noticed it clearly during last Friday's Battle of the Bands (see May 22 post). A number of times, things happened which, in most other churches, would be quashed as disrespectful of God's House. When I began working with youth about five years ago, I got uptight about a lot of such things and drifted into the role of fun-stopper, or Guardian of the Building. I quickly chilled out, learning that much youth-type activity is harmless, and fusses should be made only about truly fuss-worthy stuff. But where's the line?

Anna Quindlen wrote in her Newsweek column, "When I complain that my daughter's skirt looks more like a belt, or that my sons keep vampire hours, those are the churlish carpings of a woman years removed from the days when her own dresses were sky-high and her idea of a good time was sleeping until noon." I feel that way. Something wants to criticize today's youth for their tattoos, their hair (whether long, short, or just wierd), piercings, and general youth-oriented behavior. Creeping codgerism afflicts me, and I don't like it.

On Friday night, Grumpy Old Guy yearned to jump into action. I could use various rationale: what you're doing is disrespectful of God's house, shouldn't happen on church property, could damage our property, is just plain inappropriate. Being in a position of authority, I had weight to throw around in such situations as these:

• One teen carried a gallon jug of purple liquid, like grape Kool-Aid, as he moshed--running around, swinging the jug, running into people, and taking a swig now and then. A disaster waiting to happen. Finally, someone rammed him and a huge amount of grape slopped onto the sanctuary carpet, which we paid to have professionally cleaned just before Easter. Grumpy Old Guy wanted to go down there, look at the teens with a disapproving expression, go get some wet towels and carpet cleaner, then come back and clean up their mess, donning an Impatient Martyr demeanor in the hope that they felt duly ashamed. Treat them like little kids who just don't know better. Don't say anything; just bark silent disapproval and clean up the mess. But I didn't.
• Kids were smoking outside, as usual. I could say, "We don't mind if you smoke, but not on church property." That's reasonable. But I didn't. We used to fuss about this and put up "No Smoking" signs, but we don't anymore.
• Some kids in the sanctuary were throwing around a soft plastic ball, and occasionally it smacked against the wall. I watched them, thinking, "Should I stop them before they chip the paint or break a window? Out of respect for this room in which we worship God for three whole hours every week?" Grumpy Old Guy wanted to stop them. But he let it go.
• The hallway leading downstairs, where the bands store their stuff, was littered with Gatorade bottles and other trash. Very messy. Disrespectful even. I didn't say anything to anybody. But Grumpy Old Guy stewed about it.
• Two girls sat on the couch in the foyer for the longest time, laying against each other and intertwining legs. By all appearances to Grumpy Old Guy, they were gay. Surely I could justifiably break up such PDA occurring in the church. But I didn't. Right or wrong?
• We moved the grand piano to the back of the sanctuary and surrounded it with stacked-up chairs. I heard someone playing, and rushed downstairs. A tall, skinny youth had climbed behind the chairs, lifted the lid, and was playing the piano--my piano. Over the roar of the band on stage, I yelled, "No. Stop. Get out of there." Very terse, direct. He smiled at me sheepishly and complied. Grumpy Old Guy wanted to take a different approach, tell him with condescending sarcasm, "We blocked off the piano for a reason." Grumpy Old Folks say stuff like that. But I just told him to exit, and left before he actually did.
• And then there's the lead singer who did a striptease on stage, just behind where our worship leader stood two days later as we sang "Lord I Lift Your Name on High." Grumpy Old Guy was too shocked to move.

This type of thing is the price of doing business with this crowd, in this neighborhood. It happens. Last year, somebody broke a window in the sanctuary during the Battle of the Bands. There is always gum in the carpet (I found two pieces mashed down this year). We deal with it, don't get unduly disturbed, and life goes on. And on Sunday, when we gather to worship, God still shows up.

We say the "church" is the people, not the building. We say the building is a tool for the Kingdom, not a sacred shrine. But events like this test that pretty theology, and I suspect most United Brethren people would fail miserably. Frankly, I carry too much traditional baggage, growing up in the days when you didn't run in church and you certainly never sat on the altar. ("What?" you say. "You mean those days ended?") I was taught one theology about the church being the people, but saw a different theology in practice. But if we truly view the building as merely a tool for ministry, something which can be used for worship, but which can also be used for a carnival (which we do, putting a huge rented moonwalk on the platform), then you shouldn't get uptight.

Last Friday, I sensed the onslaught of "creeping codgerism," as Grumpy Old Guy tried to break free to scold/admonish/shame/punish those youth and show his frustration/disapproval/disappointment/general annoyance. I'm glad Grumpy Old Guy didn't win. But he's there, lurking within me, and he's not happy.

Posted at 04:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Interesting interview with Franklin Graham on Time magazine's website. He was asked what Jesus would say about AIDS. His answer:

In his day, there was leprosy, which was incurable. And Jesus healed lepers. He didn't turn them away. That would be the same reaction today. But Jesus did tell people he healed, "Go and sin no more." And I think that to a person with HIV/AIDS, he would tell them, "Go and sin no more"....I think there are times where a sinful lifestyle can lead to a disease in our bodies. I think Jesus would heal a person who drinks too much alcohol and ends up with cirrhosis of the liver and say, "Don't go back and do that again."

We're very concerned today about not appearing judgmental, about not doing anything that might hurt someone's feelings or self-esteem. But I think Jesus was probably far more concerned about the person's heart than about their disease.

Posted at 09:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Pam and I worked in the yard until 9 pm (thanks, Daylight Savings Time!), so we had to tape American Idol. But we watched it. The finale. Of course we watched it.

I doubt that the show changed anyone's mind. Didn't change mine. I think Taylor will win, and I want him to win. Some things in life are of transcendent importance, and this is one of them.

We'll find out tomorrow. And after tomorrow, my life can ge back to normal. This addiction, this obsession, will at last be vanquished. Glory be.

P.S.--They practically coronated Taylor last night. If I were Kat, I'd be thinking, "Wow, everyone on the show really wants Taylor to win."

Posted at 11:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Last Friday night, May 19, my church held its fourth annual Battle of the Bands, a competition for Christian hard-core bands in the Fort Wayne area. Pam and I have attended all three previous incarnations as volunteer workers. In the past, we've had 500-plus teens and young adults. This year, it was under 300, but more than enough to swarm over our church property. And there were 12 bands. We moved all of the chairs out of the sanctuary, cleared off the worship equipment and furniture, and let the bands take over.

Last Friday, I mostly hung out in the sound booth, which is located in an upper level room overlooking the sanctuary. I spent the evening taking photos and, in between, typing out lots of observations on my laptop. So here you go.

Pam and I arrived at 5 pm, which is when the doors opened. Bands were still lugging in their equipment. The show was supposed to begin at 6 pm, but timeliness is optional at these events. Terry Leatherman, one of the worship team guitarists, was already here. He's one of the three judges tonight. I told him, "Wanna place bets on when the show begins? I say 6:45." Terry said, "7:30."

Well, it started at 6:30, so they showed us.

The judges at their table.

The first band just finished what was probably two songs, maybe three; it sounded the same from beginning to end. Hard-core consists of throaty screaming. I'm told there are actual lyrics, but I've never detected them. Keep in mind that I'm an "old guy" who has little exposure to this style of music, just as my parents were not exactly Three Dog Night fans. But even kids will agree that it's basically a lot of screaming.

The bands compete for free studio time with Monastic Chambers, a recording studio in nearby New Haven. The guy who runs Monastic Chambers, a neat guy, comes every year as a judge. He's bald except from his ears back, where shoulder length hair grows but doesn't flourish. I talked to him before things started. He said he's a bit surprised by the popularity of hard-core music among Christian kids. He said one reason may be that it's not particularly difficult to play (though he admitted that a good hard-core drummer was hard to fine).

The much-tattooed emcee introducing a band.

In previous years, we had much more of the Goth element--lots of black, numerous piercings, chains hanging from pants, spikey Mohawks and other strange and multicolored hair, etc. But the kids tonight are dressed more "normal." There are still a lot of black T-shirts, which is standard attire for concerts, but also NBA jerseys, reds and yellows, and stripes. Kalvin, from my church, came up to the sound booth, and I asked him if hard-core has gone more mainstream in youth culture. He said that, yes, that's the case. I felt proud of myself.

I'm looking down from the sound booth. The middle of the sanctuary floor has cleared out, and kids are zipping around in the hard-core version of a tame mosh pit. Nobody's getting hurt or knocked over (though I've seen that before). Nobody yet. Tony, the Anchor guy who organizes these concerts, left his post at the on-stage sound controls to jump into the pit and do a strange little jig (for want of a better word), stutter-stepping sideways in a crouch while thrusting his hands out. Tony is also lead singer for Saints Never Surrender, a hardcore band that got started last year (placed near the top of the 2005 Battle of the Bands), and has since toured quite a bit in the Indiana-Michigan-Ohio area. They'll be at this summer's Cornerstone festival. I think very highly of Tony.

The off-duty policewoman (one of two cops hired for the night) admonishes some kids on the back entrance.

There are probably 180 kids in the sanctuary, maybe two-thirds of them paying attention to the band, the rest talking among themselves (actually, yelling among themselves, since that's the only way to be heard above the band).

I decide to take a little tour. Turns out probably 50 kids are in our back parking lot. A group of guys are playing basketball. A bunch of kids are grouped along the steps leading up to the entrance. Scattered around are other small groupings of teens. Fellowship time. I take pictures, and some of them wonder if I'm some kind of undercover cop. At least, that's what I deduce from their suspicious looks. One guy chats me up—"Hey there, how ya doing?" "Just fine," I tell him. Fascinating conversation, huh?

The judges during a not-so-exciting time.

The first year, a threesome of high schoolers called Firefly Massacre won. They had played the month before at one of our concerts, and they totally wowed me. They were Jimmy Hendrix fans and loved to play stuff from the 1970s. The lead guitarist was absolutely incredible. So was the bass player, who flew across the strings, but always right with the lead and the drummer. The bass player did some singing, but mostly they just jammed. I was told that the guy from Monastic Chambers, after Firefly Massacre finished, turned to one of the other judges and said, "What was that?" Because he was just as blown away as the rest of us. Unfortunately, the group soon disbanded. I've seen the lead guitarist a few times since then, but I've never heard him play. The bass player comes to most of the concerts and I've heard him perform with other bands. Don't know what happened to the drummer.

Band number three just finished. It's 7:30, so we're one hour into it. At this rate, the evening will last another 3 hours. Marsha Biard said they hoped to be done by 10:30. So I guess we're on track.

Volunteers at the concession table. Marsha Biard, our part-time youth and children's director, is on the far left. Kalvin and Lucinda, also from Anchor, are on the right

The fourth band, Sakered (pronounced "sacred"), is getting ready. They played last year. They huddled around the drummer, and I think maybe they prayed. You don't always see that. I'm convinced that some of the groups we have are not necessarily Christian groups, but groups with some Christian members. Sakered is definitely (to me, which is a big and inexpert qualifier) better than the previous bands. Still lots of screaming, but I've been around hard-core enough to confidently state that this group is better. Don't ask me to explain. A number of kids, mostly girls, are doing dance moves in the mosh area. Lots of creative stuff occurring there. Oops, now guys have taken over the mosh pit. I actually enjoy watching it. You don't often see a girl who will get in there with the guys and mix it up.

In previous years, we brought in huge speakers, taking the sound level to the stratosphere. Tonight we're just using the five-foot speakers which normally reside downstairs, and which provide ample sound for our basement concerts. As a result, the sound tonight is not nearly as loud as in previous years. I'm not even wearing my ear plugs. My ears will probably be numb tomorrow, but I find this more than tolerable.

Pam (orange shirt) and Renee took people's money and gave them a wristband for the night.

There's a barefoot blonde girl in the mosh pits, wearing bluejeans and a denim vest, who is really going to town. She did her thing, a flurry of activity, and then moved to the side of the circle. As guys clear out space, she moves back in, flinging her arms and legs wildly. Her moves remind me, oddly, of Elaine's much-maligned dance moves on Seinfeld. I guess you can't consider that a compliment.

The sanctuary is much fuller than before. Kalvin told me that some of the weaker bands were on first, and that the place would fill up as the better bands played. Guess he was right. It's still plenty light outside, and will remain so for a couple more hours.

Kids in the sanctuary.

Band Number 5 is on. I didn't catch their name. So far, every band has been similarly configured: two lead guitarists, a bass player, drummer, and lead singer. Not a whole lot of variety in hard-core. This particular band is so loud with the instruments that I can barely hear the singer screeching. But actually, the guitarists are pretty good, in a everything-blends-together-chaotically kind of way.

Well, here's something new: a rapper. Haven't had that before. The crowd really likes it. It's just one guy up front with a beat track; no band. He's a heavyset white guy with a short Mohawk, a red shirt, and camouflage shorts (camouflage is in style again, for about the fourth time in my lifetime). The kids are crowded around the singer in front. There are actual words, and he interacts with them, getting them to repeat words back to him. This is fun. I like it. Now he's got the kids repeating words back to him and throwing their arms in the air, while he takes a short break to swig water from a plastic bottle. They are definitely having fun. Kalvin told me that the hard-core crowd has become much more open to other genres of music, including hip-hop and rap (there's a difference).

Kids in the sanctuary.

Earlier this evening, I noticed two girls in the foyer sitting on the couch together, legs draped over each other. "Are they gay?" I wondered. I was just down there again. The girls had moved to a different chair, but were still entwined. Yeah, they're gay. Cute girls, too.

Not too many kids are outside smoking. Very few, in fact. Maybe they've been spending all of their allowance on gas.

The next band is up. This one is doing some great guitar work. Still screaming--that's, a constant--but they are rocking in a way to which I feel a slight kindred spirit. The mosh pit is now a huge circle in the middle of the sanctuary. The kids rimming the circle watch those inside; some occasionally leave the fringe to venture into the middle, where they do their thing with unbridled flurry and then melt back into the crowd. Occasionally, all the kids will begin running counter-clockwise around the circle, running furiously, bumping into each other, pushing each other. Legs and arms flailing.

The way many kids wear their hair--long and shaggy--it could be the 1970s. Replace the black t-shirts with tie-dyed t-shirts, and there you go.

We're now on our third rapper, this one a heavyset white guy who goes by the name King (left). The crowd's not really into him. Pretty boring. People trickle away. This guy came up to the sound booth/balcony earlier in the evening, asking if I could turn on the stage lights. I told him I didn't know how (which was true), figuring that would solve it. But he hung around, found the light controls, got them turned on, and then left. Tricky dude. I didn't even know what he was doing til it was done. He's wearing super-baggy bluejeans, white sneakers, and an oversized #36 jersey which comes down almost to his knees. He's got the hip-hop hand motions down. I guess. What do I know? Every once in a while, as he raps, he brings his hand down to within striking distance of his privates, just like rappers on TV. I'm afraid he's going to grab his crotch. Some kind of Grumpy Old Guy paranoia.

This guy's beat track is really really annoying, with some high squeaking beneath the pounding bass that sometimes sounds Donald Duckish. It just squeals throughout the sanctuary. Please turn it off! My goodness, he keeps going and going and going. I think he's on his 5th song now. It's supposed to be 15 minutes, max. Somebody needs to kick him off the stage, say, "Enough!"

All three rappers have been heavyset white guys. I haven't seen an African American all night. There's one oriental girl downstairs. A pretty homogenous group.

Okay, King won't stop. I go downstairs to the judges table and say something sarcastic to Terry and Joe Leatherman. Joe motions toward the sparse crowd and says, "Does he actually think people are enjoying this?" Then I go over to the west wall, where Tony and the emcee are standing. I say something to Tony about King's interminable performance. Tony says, "I've told him twice to stop, but he won't. He's mean. I'm afraid that…" and I don't catch the rest of it, because of the sound level. But I get the idea. King might punch him out. How often do you see these dynamics at a Christian concert?

But I know what to do. I go back to the sound booth, and as King winds down his song, I dim the stage lights. It's over. Now I just need to watch to make sure King doesn't come up the steps to visit vengeance upon me.

The group with the keyboard, with the lead singer (green shirt) still fully clothed.

Next group. Okay, now we're talking--a keyboard! The keyboardist and lead singer do the first song just themselves, a mild song with real words. Nice. Then they shifted gears, cranking it up. The lead singer dons a bass guitar and a little red-shirted guy comes out with a lead guitar, and a drummer appears. This song really rocks. I like it. They do something mild, then switched to something powerful. The keyboard player is wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt, and has those leather fingerless gloves on his hands, like Belker always wore on Hill Street Blues. I guess it's a cool look. Maybe I should try it on Sunday morning.

Now they've switched to yet a different tempo, something like a power ballad from the 1980s.

Oh my gosh, the lead singer just took off his long pants, revealing short tan shorts--boxer shorts?-- about the length John Stockton used to wear. Now he takes off his shirt, now his socks (he must have already lost the shoes somewhere along the line). He's practically naked. Okay, this I can't believe. I just know he's going to conclude with a grand finale that would make the church saints blush. Oh, I'm the church saints. Phew, he concludes, picks up his clothes, and leaves the stage. Had me worried there.

Two girls in the middle of the sanctuary floor.

Despite this heart-pumping episode, I've grown bored. The bands all sound the same, nothing that sounds, to Grumpy Old Guy, like creativity. So I switch to the web. I read some blogs, check the score of the Spurs-Mavericks game, and occasionally descend from my perch to take pictures.

Finally, the last band finishes. The judges huddle with their scoresheets and pass their judgment on to Tony. I see Terry in the hallway. He tells me that the third band won. Hmmm. I didn't think the bands started getting good until the fourth one. Shows what I know.

I come up behind Pam. "Ready to go?" She is, and we do.

Posted at 11:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Isn't that an awesome piano? It's called the Pegasus, and it's made by the Schimmel Piano company in Germany. The modern exterior houses a traditional (as in non-electronic) grand piano. Though "traditional" doesn't normally include a hydraulic lid or ergonomic keys with a slight curve. I think my church needs to get one. Are you paying attention, Pastor Tim?

Posted at 04:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am halfway through The DaVinci Code. I’ve really enjoyed it...until last night. It’s the part where Langford and this British expert guy explain the conspiracies to Sophie. Constantine, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and lots of humanizing of Jesus are part of this discussion. And in his efforts to build a credible plot for his story, Brown resorts to rewriting history.

I like historical fiction. James Michener’s Poland and The Covenant place fictional characters into accurate historical contexts. Michener doesn’t change historical events. He only injects made-up persons into those events and lets us be entertained (and educated) as we watch his characters interact with those events.

Clive Cussler does something similar with thrillers. In Treasure, he imagines that the great Egyptian library at Alexandria was not destroyed, but was smuggled off to the Americas, where Dirk Pitt, of course, locates it. Each of his books takes some well-known story from history (the Titanic, Amelia Earhart, and the final days of Abraham Lincoln, as examples), creates an alternate but plausible scenario, and weaves it as a subplot into his contemporary thrillers. It’s a form of historical fiction, and I like it.

Biblical fiction does the same kind of thing, taking a familiar Bible character--Joseph, Sarah, Mary Magdalene, and others--and generating a full story about their lives. The story remains true to the tidbits we know from the Bible, but takes liberties in filling in the gaps.

Then you have fiction which creates what is called “alternate history.” For instance, a writer says, “Let’s pretend that the Germans won World War II. Here’s a story about a resistance group in London fighting the Nazi occupation.” The author rewrites history in order to create a new context. You could do the same thing by imagining that Napoleon conquered Russia during a particularly mild winter, or that Robert E. Lee won at Gettysburg and marched on to sack Washington D. C., and slavery was legalized throughout the USA. In such cases, the author only pretends that historical events turned out differently. (It's also akin to last Saturday night's hysterical opening to Saturday Night Live, which presented an alternate universe in which Al Gore won the election, and all the things which would be different as a result.)

Dan Brown tries to have it both ways, and in the process shows enormously flagrant intellectual dishonesty. He creates the context for his novel by rewriting what undisputed history tells us about the Dead Sea Scrolls, Constantine, Opus Dei, the Priory of Sion, DaVinci and his paintings, the life of Christ, and much much more…and yet, he insists that the events he cites are true. Imagine Michener writing Poland around the contention that it was the Poles who actually invaded Germany. James Michener has no doubt turned over several times in his grave over Brown's literary transgressions.

I’ll finish the book. But Brown plays dishonestly with the rules, adjusting reality to fit his story while denying that he’s doing it. And that really really honks me off.

And I haven’t even gotten to the really good stuff yet.

Posted at 12:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Elliott is gone, and I actually felt sad about it, after seeing the video thingy they do before singing "You had a bad day" (which is a nice touch, don't you think?). Yet I'm glad he's the one who departed, and not Kat or Taylor. It should be a good final next week. I figure Taylor will win. But I may end up rooting for Katherine. I'll be happy with either. As if I'm the be-all target demographic of American pop culture.

Posted at 03:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm always grateful when someone provides a biblical insight into something pretty basic to my faith, but which I, despite 50 years in the church, hadn't heard before. This doesn't happen a lot. But it did happen a few days ago when I read a blog entry by Michael Hines called "Biblical Worship."

The whole post was excellent, talking about the sabbath and the intertwining of sacrifice with worship throughout the Old Testament. It provided a fine lesson in Bible history. The part that gave me a Eureka moment was, "The sabbath day was not set aside as a day of worship. It was, instead, a day of rest." And then he quotes Exodus 20:10-11, which says exactly that. It doesn't mean you can't worship on Sunday. But he explained how people went to the temple to offer sacrifices during any day of the week, and that worship and sacrifice occurred together.

He brings it all together in the New Covenant with Romans 12:1, which says we are to make our bodies living sacrifices all week long, "which is your spiritual act of worship." Suddenly, a bunch of things came together for me and fit snugly.

I thought of Willow Creek, where the believers come on Wednesday and Thursday for their worship service, or preaching service--at any rate, the counterpart to what most of us do on Sunday. I attended one of those services a few years ago and thoroughly enjoyed it. But it felt odd (to me) doing this particularly thing during the middle of the week. Willow still holds services on Sunday, but those are outreach oriented, geared more for nonbelievers. But now I realize (dumbly) that Sunday wasn't designed for worship, but for rest, which I'm confident includes watching football games. ALL of the days were designed for worship. (I'm sure I've heard these same ideas articulated in countless sermons. My sudden enlightenment probably speaks more to my attention span and general intelligence than anything else.)

Anyway, it's a wonderful piece, and I learned a lot about something I assumed I was already knowledgeable about. Those surprises are nice.

Posted at 09:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I shall continue hoping that, tonight, Mr. Tumnus goes bye-bye and breaks Paula "The Flake" Abdul's heart. However, he obviously has a fan club. So it'll probably be Kat who exits.

Which would be too bad. She has come on very strongly the last few weeks, finding and displaying personality (which was missing earlier in the season). After her performances last night, I think I want her to win. Even over Taylor.

Yeah, I've got McPheever. What a sad, sorry life I lead.

Posted at 11:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I can't believe I stayed up until 2:15 watching basketball. It was worth it, because my Phoenix Suns won in double overtime. But I'm gonna pay for it today, I'm afraid. Getting too old for this college-like nonsense. Throughout the playoffs thus far, the Suns games have gone past midnight. I've been watching until I can't keep my eyes open, which is usually in the third quarter. Then I go to bed. But last night I saw the whole game.

The Phoenix Suns is (I realize, Mom, that that sounds ungrammatical) the only pro team in any sport that I have consistently rooted for since I was a kid. I've had my flings with the Vikings and Dolphins in football (now the Colts, of course), and with the Lakers and Kings in basketball (and now the Pacers, of course). But the Suns have always been on my rah-rah radar.

It goes back to my high school days in Arizona, when the Suns spent a preseason week at my school practicing and then held an exhibition game. I wrote about that previously.

Last night, the Suns looked tired. Or was that me, as I occasionally nodded off? Whatever. They were a well-oiled team against the Lakers, but now have trouble hitting threes and they make an uncharacteristic number of errors. Now they're up 3-2 and they have three days before the next game. That'll be good.

Posted at 08:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's the NBA playoffs, the Cavaliers are battling the mighty Pistons, and Larry Hughes, one of the top Cav players, isn't suiting up. In fact, he's missed two games. His younger brother Justin died last Thursday, and he's taking care of family business and mourning. He's not playing on national TV because "That's what Justin would have wanted." No, he's somewhere in St. Louis dealing with a gut-wrenching loss, and the attitude of the Cavaliers is, "If Larry comes back--fine. If not, that's fine, too. But we're leaving him alone."

Good for Hughes, and good for the Cavs. Last November I wrote "It's What He Would Have Wanted", a blog item about athletes who experience a death in the family, but don't miss a game because they argue that the family member would have wanted them to play. Which I don't buy.

Larry Hughes could have gone to any college, but he stayed in St. Louis, his hometown, because of his brother's condition. He turned pro early, in 1996, because his family truly needed the money, being overwhelmed with enormous medical bills and facing a heart transplant (which Justin got the next year). He took a trade to Cleveland to be near the Cleveland Clinic, a major heart center.

Now Justin is gone, and Larry is taking time away from the team to be with his family and to grieve. And the Cavs have no problem with that. In fact, today the whole team is attending the funeral in St. Louis, rather than preparing for the next crucial game.

It's nice to see proper priorities every once in a while.

Posted at 11:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

On Sunday we had a number of visitors. I met most of them. Two were young singles recently out of college who moved into town and are checking out churches. Both probably feel somewhat alone, moving into a new city by themselves. This was the first visit to Anchor for both of them. The fact that they are checking out churches, trying different ones, tells much about them.

The guy graduated a year ago from a Christian college in another city. He’s originally from around Cleveland, and just started a new job here in Fort Wayne. He found Anchor through our website. A lot of people do, we’ve found. If a church doesn’t have a listing on the web, they should. The girl graduated from Huntington University a year ago and moved to Fort Wayne in March. A wonderful girl with a UB background.

Both will probably decide on a church and become active there. They struck me as those kinds of kids. I don’t know if either will settle down at Anchor. But I’m delighted that we made them feel very comfortable and people spoke at length with both of them. Because I know that if they’re checking out other churches, they’ll encounter some where they slip in and out, and nobody seems to notice. At Anchor, we notice. And that makes me smile.

Posted at 09:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This Friday, May 19, is our annual "Battle of the Bands." Probably 500 kids and young adults will descend on Anchor. After music practice on Thursday night, we'll clear all of our musical instruments and equipment from the platform, and stack up all of the chairs in the sanctuary and shove them against the wall.

I think I can guarantee that nothing like the Battle of the Bands occurs in any other UB church. We'll have a dozen "hard-core" bands competing for free studio time. Each will have 15 minutes to do their best stuff, and four judges will evaluate them by a number of criteria, from musical proficiency to crowd reaction.

The lyrics...well, it's mostly shouting. A few actual words leak out, but you've got to be listening pretty close. The dress code is basically black. Tattoos, black T-shirts with a band's logo (and sometimes cuss words), interesting hair, multiple piercings, lots of kids smoking outside. The center of the sanctuary will clear out and become a mosh pit. No seating. Everyone stands throughout. A couple rent-a-cops will patrol the area.

I'll be there, and Pam will be taking money at the door. This will be our fourth Battle of the Bands. If you're in the area Friday night, stop by. Doors open at 6 pm. It'll be a unique experience. Bring your own ear plugs, because I'm not sharing mine.

Posted at 10:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yesterday I spouted off about the lyrics of today's worship songs--that they are all vertical (between me and God), and rarely address horizontal issues (relationships with other Christians, reaching out to nonChristians). Now, my youth group days (the 1970s) featured plenty of vertical songs: "I Just Came to Praise the Lord," "He is Lord," "God is So Good," "Let's Just Praise the lord," "Something Beautiful," "O How He Loves You and Me," and Keith Green's "O Lord, You're Beautiful." Most of these don't hold a candle to the wonderful songs being written today, like "Worthy is the Lamb," "Once Again," and "Amazing Love." I'll take today's vertical songs.

But I wish more songs, with just as much quality, could be written about the body of Christ and the lost. I'm talking about songs designed for congregational singing. And we had many of them in "my day," that being the 1960s and 1970s.

Evangelism

In my youth group days, we constantly sang about salvation and the need to reach the lost. We exuberantly exhorted, "Get all excited, go tell everybody that Jesus Christ is King." Another song, "Freely," instructed:

Freely, freely you have received,
Freely, freely give
Go in my name and because you believe,
Others will know that I live.

Then there's the straightforward "I'll Tell the World," which said:

I'll tell the world that I'm a Christian
I'm not ashamed, his name to bear
I'll tell the world, that I'm a Christian
And take it with me everywhere.

I'll tell the world how Jesus saved me
And how he gave me life brand new
And I know that if you trust him
That all he gave me he'll give to you.

We also, of course, sang "This Little Light of Mine," in which we promised to shine our light all over our town, our school, our country, etc. The much-maligned "Pass It On" (which I unashamedly loved) says:

That's how it is with God's love,
once you've experienced it.
You want to sing, it's fresh like spring,
you want to pass it on.

Another oldie said, "They'll know we are Christians by our love." Who is "they"? Nonbelievers, of course. And then we had, "Let the redeemed of the Lord say so." In other words, if you're saved, tell others about it.

The Church Body

We used to sing Lanny Wolfe "God's Wonderful People," which said:

I love the thrill that I feel when I get together
with God's wonderful people
What a sight just to see all the happy faces,
praising God in heavenly places

We sang "Bind us Together." We proclaimed, "We are One in the Bond of Love." And we celebrated, "I'm so glad I'm a part of the family of God."

Those are just some of the songs I remember singing as a youth, songs with a horizontal emphasis. I can't cite, offhand, a single current worship song which talks about the body of Christ. I love "If We are the Body," by Casting Crowns; but that's not a song you sing corporately. And only a few songs have an evangelistic emphasis:

• "Salt and Light" is the clearest, sustaining the evangelistic theme throughout. "I Wanna Sing" is close behind, saying, "I wanna sing of your kindness, wanna share the good news. As long as I can sing I wanna sing about you."
• "Shine Jesus Shine" says to "Flood the nations with grace and mercy, send forth your word."
• Another of my contemporary favorites says, "We wanna see Jesus lifted high, a banner that flies across the land, that all men might see the truth and know He is the way to heaven."
• "Days of Elijah," a wonderfully unique song, says:

We are the voice in the desert crying,
"Prepare ye the way of the Lord....

And these are the days of the harvest,
the fields are white in the world,
and we are your laborers in your vineyard,
Declaring the Word of the Lord.

Hymns are filled with lyrics about salvation: "Send the Light," "Lead Me to Calvary," "Just As I Am," "I Surrender All," "Rescue the Perishing," "Since Jesus Came Into My Heart," "What a Wonderful Change," and many more. And songs about the church: "Bless Be the Tie that Binds," "The Church's One Foundation," "I Love Thy Kingdom Lord."

And then there's "Onward Christian Soldiers," which brings the church and evangelism together:

Like a mighty army, moves the church of God
Brothers we are treading where the saints have trod
We are not divided, all one body we.
One in hope and doctrine, one in charity.
Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war
With the cross of Jesus going on before.

Posted at 04:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Last night, ten of us from Anchor attended a Tommy Walker concert at Blackhawk Baptist, one of the megachurches in Fort Wayne. The place was packed. We occupied the right side of two pews in the steep balcony. It was not a young crowd, so I wouldn’t put it in the post-modern fold. It looked to me like most people attending were in their 30s and 40s. Which described Anchor’s delegation.

I’m not sure “concert” describes it right, at least not in the way I think of concerts. This was a participative event, like a two-hour worship service without the preaching--just the congregational singing part. Only a couple of songs were sung “to” us. Nearly all of them included projected lyrics so we could sing along.

Tommy Walker leads worship at a church in Los Angeles, and is also a “hired gun” worship leader for Promise Keepers and other organizations. Worship leaders are sort of the new Christian rock stars. Yes, we still have Third Day and the Newsboys and MercyMe and lots of other "traditional“ concert performers. But worship leaders/writers like Chris Tomlin, Matt Reddman, and Darlene Zschech now fill stadiums just as easily.

I’d never heard Tommy Walker before. I liked him, liked the concert, consider him genuine. He did a wonderful job leading in worship. I recommend him.

With that extended disclaimer, I’m going to comment on aspects of the event.

The music was nearly all of the vertical variety--me singing to God. This seems typical of contemporary worship music. Most of the worship songs written today can be summed up with these generic themes: God is awesome, he’s wonderful, he’s my strength, I love him, I need him, God is great, I praise him, I honor him…. You get the picture. Most of the songs we sing now are basically love songs to God. Now, how can you criticize sentiments like that?

But last night, there was nothing about the body of Christ, about being a mighty army, about going forth and changing Fort Wayne, about telling our friends and neighbors about Jesus. No, it was all personal singing, between me and God. Nobody else around me was needed. It was a collection of individuals who could zone off in worship, just them and God and Tommy's superb lyrics.

I’ve noticed this trend for years, and others on the Anchor worship team are, by now, tired of hearing me gripe about it. I guess my formative years included a lot of "horizontal" songs which spoke about the church and evangelism--"One in the Spirit," "Pass it On," "I'll Tell the World," "Get All Excited." I miss hearing the body of Christ express those themes in song.

It seems outlandish for me to criticize vertical worship, and please admonish me if I’m out of place or just plain ignorant. But I left the concert last night feeling that hundreds of individuals (myself included) had experienced a good time of individual worship, and that’s as far as it would go.

Posted at 12:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Ron Cook is pastor of the Salem United Brethren Church outside of Chambersburg, Pa. That's where we held the Day of Missions last Saturday. Ron has pastored UB churches in Pennsylvania since the 1960s. My first memory of him comes from Rhodes Grove church camp. We spent many weeks there one summer when Dad directed the food service. Ron Cook was a new minister. I remember Dad saying to my Mom, "That Ron Cook is a really good young guy." Or something like that. Hey, it was 40 years ago. But the gist was that Dad liked Ron, for whatever reason. And, therefore, I liked him. And always have. Imagine if Dad had given me a different first impression by saying, "That Ron Cook--I can't believe the screwball thing he did today." My young mind would have formed a different lasting impression. But thankfully, my view of Ron molded around the "good guy" label.

Even after what he did to me.

At Intermediate Camp (that's what they called it back then—the next camp after Junior Camp), we played Capture the Flag. Ron Cook was a counselor, I was an impending 7th grader. They divided the camp in half, with a chalk strip going between a row of cabins and bisecting the tabernacle. All of us hung a colored strip from our pants, a different color for each team. The goal, of course, was to grab the other team's flag and get it across the chalk line into your own territory.

Most guys formed raiding parties of three or four and played chicken with the other team, trading feints. I went solo, wandering inconspicuously into enemy territory, starting from the hilltop where the guys' cabins were and meandering along the fence to where two guys guarded the enemy flag. The guards didn't pay me much attention, instead watching the action elsewhere.

I got fairly close, and then made a running lunge for the flag. I grabbed it and sprinted toward the chalk line, probably 50 yards away. Those incompetent guards screeched and pointed frantically at me. And scores of kids began chasing after me.

I aimed for the middle area between the guys' cabins and the middle row of cabins. Teammates stood on the other side of the chalk line, cheering me on. I was no more than a couple yards from the line when, from my left, Ron Cook zoomed from between two cabins, plucked my flag, and skidded to a stop about ten yards further down.

I was so close to being a hero. I've always kicked myself for not throwing the flag over the boundary line. I could have done that. But instead, they recaptured the flag and took me prisoner.

I've often resented Ron Cook for denying me my moment of earthly glory. But my resentment always fades because, after all, as Dad told me, Ron Cook is a good guy.

Posted at 05:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So online pornographers and the Family Research Council are now on the same side. Sometimes you just have to shake your head in wonderment.

The proposal was to create a new .xxx web extension. Pornographers opposed the idea, because they felt it would make it easy to confine their sites to a seedy area of the web which could be easily blocked off. Internet providers could then block or filter all sites with that extension. It would make it easier to control objectionable websites.

But the Family Research Council argued that creating such a domain extension would "legitimize" the adult entertainment industry. News flash: this industry already exists, and is legitimite. Not respectable, but legitimate. It's nice that the FRC favored this win-win situation.

A drug is being developed which could prevent a certain cancer in women which kills 5000 women a year. However, Christian groups have opposed it, because it would seemingly "legitimize" non-marital sex (which increases the risk of this cancer). So this life-saving drug faces a battle from right-wing Christians.

The same groups are apprehensive about potential vaccines for HIV/AIDS, because they contend it would only encourage sexual relations. Am I, as a Christian, supposed to oppose an HIV vaccine?

I remember in the 1980s, when religious groups blocked a bill which would have outlawed or restricted certain types of abortion. They argued that since the bill didn't prevent all abortions, then it was insufficient. So if there are four million abortions in a year (I don't know the real number), maybe it would have cut the number in half. But these right-wingers felt that it was all four million...or nothing. And so, it was nothing. Pragmatists said, "Let's save the two million now, and work on the other two million later." But that would seem like a compromise to the hard-liners. And so, the abortionists and anti-abortionists basically both argued against the bill. Strange.

Posted at 05:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I don't get it. Who is voting for Elliott Yamin? I don't know anybody who favors him (as if I'm authoritatively plugged in to the American zeitgeist). I figured it would come down to Chris and Taylor Hicks. Now I'm quite certain that Taylor will win. Just as I was certain Mandisa and Kellie would still be around.

Craig Berman has a good article about last night's Idol on the MSNBC site. He writes, "Will this year’s champion be Taylor Hicks, who owes much of his success to a manic stage presence that may not translate to the audio-only CD? Will it be McPhee, who copes so well under pressure that she’s had two mediocre weeks in a row? Or will it be feisty underdog Elliott Yamin, who lacks anything resembling star quality?" He gives the nod to Taylor. As do I.

Posted at 12:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

On Tuesday night, as I rested between ping pong matches (yes, it's necessary to rest), Gary told me he was having a hard day. Gary, who does computer trouble-shooting for the school system, said he got a new PC at home and taught his wife how to use it. The problem, he explained with a grimace, is that she's far from computer savvy. He came home to find the new computer in some kind of infinite rebooting loop, which required all of his computer prowess to fix. Fixing his wife's non-computer savvy would prove more difficult.

I then told Gary that I couldn't relate, because I'm a Mac user, to which he said, "My condolences." I told him that we primitives don't know anything about infinite rebooting loops; the very concept is absent from our universe. Typical interaction between PC and Mac users.

Apple has begun using Intel chips in Macs. I told Gary that we Mac users have always felt left out, because we don't get the viruses which the PC world takes for granted. At social gatherings, PC guys discuss pitched battles with invasive viruses and having their DSL connections hijacked, and exhilarating stuff like that which can inspire pack grunting. Meanwhile, we Mac users stand idly by, bearing nothing to contribute to the conversation. We twiddle our thumbs, feeling excluded. It's not a good feeling. How we have desperately yearned to experience the worms and viruses which everyone else experiences in such resplendently diverse glory.

Now, with Intel chips in our computers, we Mac users can actually boot our Macs using Windows XP, which is, of course, an unimaginable dream come true. And in the process, we could potentially become privy to the viruses which the rest of the world has come to enjoy and appreciate, not to mention the crashed networks, missing drivers, and so much more which colors that side of the fence with multi-hued greenery. The very thought of the adventures to come makes me salivate all over my keyboard. Excuse me while I locate a towel.

Of course, it won't work that way. We may bring the viruses to our computers, but they won't do anything sinister. They'll be impotent. And so, we remain non-combatants, relegated to the rear-guard of the infection wars. But at least this gave me a talking point with Gary. I don't feel as excluded as I did before.

By the way, I love the new "Get a Mac" ad series from Apple. There are six ads. I've only seen one on TV, but all can be viewed onscreen with Quicktime or downloaded. I especially like the one on viruses.

Posted at 09:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It is, of course, Elliott's time to go bye-bye. All four finalists did well last night, in my view. But Elliott--well, the water's too deep for him. Katherine has stepped up the showmanship angle, which Taylor and Chris already had. Elliott's been left behind. He's not got the makings of a pop star. I'm a bit surprised he made it this far, frankly.

Posted at 11:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This afternoon I turned to the back page of this week's Time magazine, to the essay by Andrew Sullivan. He hooked me with his first line: "Are you a Christian who doesn't feel represented by the religious right?" Yes, I am. Most vociferously, I am.

Sullivan wrote, "The term 'people of faith' has been co-opted almost entirely in our discourse by those who see Christianity as compatible with only one political party, the Republicans, and believe that their religious doctrines should determine public policy for everyone….So Christ is a conservative Republican?"

Then I loved this line: "'My Kingdom is not of this world,' Jesus insisted. What part of that do we not understand?"

Sullivan then suggested that we coin a new word: Christianism. While Christianity is a religious faith, he proposed Christianism as an ideology, echoing the distinction between Muslim and Islamist. "Muslims are those who follow Islam. Islamists are those who want to wield Islam as a political force." He described Christianism as "the view that religious faith is so important that it must also have a precise political agenda."

I like that. So Tom Delay and Jerry Falwell are Christianists. My own Congressman, I believe, is "merely" a Christian, which is good.

Sullivan said, "I dissent from the political pollution of sincere, personal faith. I dissent most strongly from the attempt to argue that one party represents God and that the other doesn't. I dissent from having my faith co-opted and wielded by people whose politics I do not share and whose intolerance I abhor. The word Christian belongs to no polical party. It's time the quiet majority of believers took it back."

The thing is, Christianists aren't nearly as visible as they were in the 1980s, during the Moral Majority heydey (which also thrust James Dobson and others, quite willingly, into the political limelight). But the Christianists were naïve (and therefore perhaps considerably more pure) back then, novices to politics. They merely wished to stem the cultural slide, not turn us into a theocracy (well, not all of them did, anyway). But today, the Christianists are highly experienced, meticulously organized, thoroughly plugged in to the power centers. They know the strings to pull, the buttons to push to get their all-knowing way. They have become fully intertwined in the political power scene. And I'm sure Jesus is just tickled pink about it.

Now here's the part of Sullivan's piece I disagreed with. He said that some Christians believe God is unknowable to our limited minds, and that religious faith is often "interwoven with doubt." He said many Christians believe we can't know God's view on such things as Terry Schiavo, contraception, the role of women, or "the love of a gay couple." These are the words of someone whose religion doesn't include a whole lot of Bible study, because the Bible does give us considerable direction regarding social issues. Not always, and not always in line with Republican dogma (like, uh, the poor? ever hear of them, noble Republican?), but Christianity for many of us doesn't require an undue amount of uncertainty.

So I disagreed with Sullivan that we don't know how God feels about a lot of things. But most everything else settled well with me. It made for good reading.

Posted at 10:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Richard and Miriam Prabhakar.

The May 6 Day of Missions concluded with a memorial service for Dr. Richard Prabhakar, who died last fall after a lengthy battle with heart problems. Richard was an extraordinary man, though it's difficult to mention him alone. You really need to say "Richard and Miriam," because they were so much of a team. I wondered what the memorial recognition would be like. Turns out it basically consisted of two videos--Stephen Prabhakar telling about his father's life, and then a video from the funeral in India. The latter lasted probably 10 minutes, and it was captivating.

I'm well aware of the high respect Richard receives in the States. But this video showed the respect he commands in his homeland. During the memorial service, we hear Josh Prabhakar talk about his father, and it's very moving. Then we see the crowd walking, presumably, from the memorial service to the cemetery. This is what got me. The camera basically stayed in one place and filmed the people as they walked by. They just kept coming...and coming...and coming. The common, ordinary people of Narsapur and beyond, honoring the faithfulest of servants.

My eyes watered up at this point. I didn't think the stream of people would ever end. It was amazing. Pam and I went out to eat afterwards, and she mentioned the same scene.

Posted at 05:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Burt Lange (right) with new UB missionaries Jamie Fiedler (left) and Anna Geivett (center).

This past weekend, the Day of Missions that Pam and I attended was held in Chambersburg, Pa., which is the most densely UB-populated place on earth. Six UB churches have Chambersburg addresses, nearby Greencastle has four churches, Shippensburg has three, and I'm sure gobs of surrounding towns yield additional UB churches. People talk about Huntington, Ind., as being the UB "Mecca." Well, my vote goes to Chambersburg.

The event was held at the Salem UB church, which I'd never before visited. It's a stately brick building; "stately brick" seems to be a common architectural motif of UB churches in that area.

I spent a lot of time in Chambersburg when I was a kid. We lived in Harrisburg for 3.5 years ,which corresponds to my grades 4-7. The conference campground, Rhodes Grove, is located just outside of Chambersburg. Dad directed junior camp for two summers, and he ran the food service for one entire summer (which means we stayed on the grounds most of the time).

On Saturday, Burt Lange and former missionary Aldean Saufley played an outstanding prelude--Burt on the piano, Aldean on the organ. Burt is an incredible, incredible pianist. He hooked up with Tony Fontaine during the 1960s when Tony did annual revival services at my church (Devonshire UB in Harrisburg), and Tony began using Burt in other meetings. They even performed together in the White House. Every summer at camp, Burt entertained the crowd with his piano-comedy bit. He'd have us all in stitches. Burt still possesses that amazing sense of humor.

But I remember Burt Lange for another reason, as well. He was the evangelist for junior camp in 1967. Under his preaching, I went forward and dedicated my life to Christ. I walked to the altar with my head bowed and knelt at the altar across from a counselor whose face I didn't see. After a few seconds, I heard the counselor weeping, which seemed strange. I looked up…and it was my Dad, a last-minute counselor that year. Dad's first words were, "Steve, do you know what you're doing?" I said I did, or at least thought so. Dad talked to me, and I responded, though I can't remember a bit of that. But in the end, he led me in a prayer of salvation. So that was pretty special.

A couple years ago, I ran into Burt Lange at an event in Chambersburg and mentioned this to him. He said, "I can't take much credit for that. With your background, somebody would have got you." And he's right. I grew up in a strong Christian home, and it was only a matter of time. Burt just happened to be working the harvest fields that particular day. It could have been somebody else, but it was him. But that doesn't diminish the place Burt has in my heart.

Posted at 08:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Pam and I returned from Pennslyvania today, arriving home with still some daylight left so that Jordi and Molly could get some time out in the grass. They love that.

I've become a huge, huge fan of XM Satellite radio, especially for long trips. No more must I find new channels every time I come upon a different major city. No more do I experience the frustration of locating a channel I really like, only to have it gradually fade, becoming increasingly static-ridden and eventually indeciperable. Rather, I can listen to the same channel for 500 miles if I want.

But of course, I don't do that any more than I would watch the same channel on TV all day long. Heavens no. Instead, I find myself constantly switching channels. Maybe I'm on ESPN. When an ad comes I change to Fox or CNN, or maybe to the 70s music station. If the next song isn't to my liking, I bump the channel up a notch to the 80s, then the 90s. Who in the world designed this car radio with ony six presets?

I radio-surf constantly, which is probably a tad more hazardous than talking on the cell phone while driving. I imagine it annoys Pam to pieces, though she's always so engrossed in a novel that she may not even notice. Huh. Of course she notices. She's probably chuckling inside at this overt display of Guy Attention Deficit Disorder. Call it GADD. I've got it big-time.

Posted at 10:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The Day of Missions went great today. I thoroughly enjoyed everyone who spoke, and the chance to meet some of our newest missionaries--Mike and Jenny Burtnett (wonderful couple!), Anna Geivett, and Jami Fiedler. I'll write more about the event later. But right now it's midnight on Saturday, the Suns just won their series against the Lakers, Tom Hanks is hosting Saturday Night Live for his 8th time, and I'm tired. How all of those things relate--you figure it out.

I do want to comment on something Alan MacDonald said. (That's Alan on the right, talking to Global Ministries director Gary Dilley.) Alan MacDonald works with Wycliffe, serving as a laison to government and United Nations officials. It's a pretty important job, one which fascinates me. Alan is highly respected within Wycliffe. I've enjoyed hearing him speak over the years and reading his writings, because he has a wonderfully insightful view of world missions, and a strategic vantage point.

Today he mentioned some changes in missions. One, he said, was that the post-WW2 generation which really accelerated the cause of world missions is aging. Those people, he said, provided a great deal of prayer support for missionaries. But as they die out, and younger generations don't carry the same burden for praying for missionaries, something extremely important will be lost. That's not exacely what he said, but it's the gist with some Stevely amplications.

This was evident in the people who attended. It was very much a graying group of people--my parents' generation. My own generation, the Baby Boomers, was largely absent, to say nothing of the Baby Busters and Gen-Xers--a few representatives, but very few. While the retirees were out in force. The people who came out to learn more about missions and interact with missionaries were NOT the people who will need to carry the ball in the future. So where were they?

The people in today's audience, I realized, were the people who not only faithfully pray for missionaries, but who send them cards, raise money through bake sales and other events, and otherwise keep alive their church's interest in missions. This generation will be greatly missed if they are not replaced. And it doesn't look like they will be.

On the other hand, many of those grey-haired people have probably never ventured overseas. The younger generations go on mission trips and do other types of foreign travel, even as part of their youth group. My generation, and the younger generations, have experienced much more of life in other countries. We've gotten our hands dirty. And yet, we won't come to an event like we held today. And I greatly doubt that we'll be prayer warriors like those people sitting in today's audience, people who have silently undergirded the missionary force of today and yesterday with their faithful remembrances. We want to experience things for ourselves. We're not so good at supporting and cheering from the sidelines. What are we to make of that? Is there a positive spin I'm missing?

Posted at 08:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Tonight, Pam and I are in Chambersburg, Pa., staying at the Holiday Inn Express. Tomorrow is an event called a "Day of Missions," here in Chambersburg at the Salem United Brethren church. This makes a nice get-away for us, the first chance to do something all year. So I'm technically working, but we're together, out of town. Nice.

Here are some random notes from the trip.

• Cracker Barrel. Pam and I like to eat at Cracker Barrels while traveling. We never eat at the one in Fort Wayne, Ind., where we live. We know the food there would be great. But we just prefer reserving this place for road trips. So for lunch today, we ate at Cracker Barrel in Cambridge, Ohio. It was noisy, like all Cracker Barrels, and the corn bread was much too gritty for my taste (Smokey Bones has the best cornbread, hands down). But that's our place when we travel.
• The Turnpike. I love the Pennsylvania Turnpike. When my family lived in Harrisburg, Pa., back in the 1960s, we traveled the Turnpike a lot going back and forth to our extended family in Ohio and Michigan. For us kids, the tunnels (three of them) were always a highlight. And the travel islands (all Howard Johnsons, back then) made neat stops. Pam and I stopped at one today, just before Breezewood. It had a Starbucks. I passed. Reluctantly.
• Roadkill. Lots of deer laying beside the road in Pennsylvania. Lots of them. Some body shops are getting business. Another type of roadkill on the Turnpike: multitudes of dead trees on the north side of the road. In places, it seemed like all of the trees were dead. I don't know if they are just late bloomers, of if 50 years of exhaust fumes took their toll. ("Toll"--good term for the Turnpike. I'm so hilarious.)
• Beauty. Pennsylvania is beautiful, especially going through the mountains. Out West, where we had real mountains (the Sierra Madres in the distance in California)--now those were real mountains. But they were majestic, not beautiful. In Pennsylvania, the Appalachians are simply gorgeous, especially when you come up over a ridge and look into an expansive valley.
• Enemy territory. Pam and I went to the Chambersburg Mall tonight. I was wearing an Indianapolis Colts T-shirt. But everywhere I looked, I saw Pittsburgh Steeler merchandise. I felt conspicuous.

Posted at 09:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I guess I was right--Paris Bennett said goodbye to American Idol last night. She's an amazing performer, and can sing up a storm. I felt like she could potentially have the best pop career of anybody there. But alas, she didn't get the votes.

Next week Elliott will go. Then it'll get real, real hard. I heard a Vegas oddsmaker say they have Chris at 2-1, Kathryn at 3-1, and Taylor at 4-1. Interesting. Interesting that I should give a rip what a Vegas oddsmaker says.

Posted at 03:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Some of the workers. My pastor, Tim Hallman, is third from the right. Pastor Bob Bruce of Emmanuel (with whom I roomed for one fun-filled summer in college) is second from the left.

Something happened at my church on April 22 that left me glowing all day. Just really touched me.

On that day, about 30 people descended on Third Street, where Anchor Community Church is located, and relandscaped five homes. We're located in a neighborhood which used to be real nice, but has become a lower-income area with lots of rental properties. It's not a run-down place, but it's not a suburban subdivision, either.

Anyway, people from Emmanuel Community Church, a UB church located in the suburbs on the "rich" side of town, came to our neighborhood in their grubbies and worked alongside Anchor people to make these five homes look great. They spread a gob of fresh mulch, planted new plants, raked up leaves, and swept the street of debris. It was a demonstration of love by the body of Christ. And I tell you--they made those five homes sparkle!

Pam and I didn't participate. Shame on us. Actually, that was the first Saturday after April 15, which is always a sacred day for us. It's the first Saturday of the year that Pam, a CPA, doesn't have to work. The first Saturday of 2006 on which she could actually sleep in. But we did pop over to the church (15 minutes from our home) to see what was happening and take pictures. I tell you, it blessed my heart. To see these people from Emmanuel working their buns off alongside Anchor people. Even now, as I type, my eyes are getting watery.

Tom Clounie, an elder at Emmanuel, started his own landscaping business in the 1980s and it has become a really big, really respected firm. My pastor selected the homes and talked to the owners, but Tom brought in his trucks and equipment and landscaping materials (and even a few paid workers, I was told) and supervised the whole thing very efficiently. Good job, Tom.

I thanked Tom, and told him it was neat seeing all his trucks on Third Street, that the neighborhood people couldn't miss the fact that something big was happening. Tom said, "They are God's trucks. I have them on loan."

For more photos from the project, follow the link below.

With all the equipment, nobody in the neighborhood could miss the fact that something big was happening.

Sweeping up after completing one of the homes.

Pastor Tim Hallman of Anchor (left) with Chris Moore, one of the staff ministers at Emmanuel.

One of the homes after the landscaping was finished. Notice the fresh mulch and the new plants around the front of the house.

Tom Clounie using a tractor to remove old mulch, leaves, and debris.

Another one of the homes after the work was done.

And finally, a well-deserved meal back at Anchor.

Posted at 02:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This being Wednesday, it's time for me to divulge my pick for leaving American Idol tonight. In the process, I feel morally compelled to inject self-deprecating comments about my utterly shallow infatuation with this icon of pop culture, recognizing that no truly God-fearing creature would enjoy seeing an unabashed emissary of Satan like Simon Cowell verbally pummel hapless twenty-somethings on national TV, summing up their sorry existence with a devastating soundbite.

Anyway, Paris will probably exit tonight, but my choice to go home is Elliott, who actually sang a song which wistfully said, "I wanna go home." This weekend, my sister-in-law Dorene, a music teacher, told me she likes Elliott's voice, but his appearance wrecks it for her. He is, indeed, Mr. Tumnus from "Chronicles of Narnia." To compensate, Dorene closes her eyes when he sings, and then, she says, you catch the rich tone of his voice.

So last night, during Elliott's first song, Pam suggested I try that. I closed my eyes, and sure enough—man, his image just won't go away! But yes, I did appreciate his voice more.

Since I play ping pong on Tuesday nights, Pam tapes "American Idol" and we watch it when I get home. Makes a late night, but hey, we gotta see it. Last night, the contestants had to pick a song from the year they were born. Taylor Hicks did "Play that Funky Music," by Wild Cherry, from 1976 (Taylor's the oldest). It was incredible. I rewound the tape to watch it again. Of the people left, Taylor's the only one I would travel some distance to see perform, because I know it would be fun.

Okay, let's wrap this up with some more self-deprecation. I'm a culturally unsophisticated worm, a fallen Christian enraptured with worldliness, a compromised specimen of humanity totally unworthy of bearing the label "Huntington University graduate," an institution of such transcendent refinement that, I've heard once or twice (or untold zillions of times), US News ranks it way way up there in whatever category it fits. Enough. Confession's over.

Posted at 01:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The move is complete. My blog has taken up residency at the RandomPokes.org domain, and I bought a whole new wardrobe for the place.

I started Whatever in the fall of 2004 and gave it a name with very little thought. I didn't check around to see if other blogs were using the "Whatever" name. I just plugged it in and took off. I didn't know if I would enjoy blogging or not. Just thought I'd give it a try.

Turns out I really enjoy it. As a writer, I've always been told that I should keep a journal. Well, journalling never worked for me, though I made half-hearted efforts over the years. But blogging is basically journalling, and this does work for me. Meaning, it helps me keep my literary muscles flexed.

Previously, I used Blogger, which is now owned by Google. It's nice, and it's free. But I've moved to Movable Type, which gives me all kinds of new flexibility and capabilities. Since I'm proficient with HTML and FTP and CSS, I can make it work (otherwise, stick with Blogger).

So, I'm here, and will be for the forseeable future. I'm sure there are all kinds of things I still need to fix, but I'll catch those as I go. I'm just glad I was able to transfer all of my old posts. I didn't get the comments moved, but maybe I'll figure something out.

Anyway, enjoy RandomPokes, and stop by often. I'll try not to bore you silly.

Posted at 05:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yesterday afternoon, Pam and I went to Convoy, Ohio, for a wedding shower. My niece, Paula, is getting married on June 24 to Tom, a guy I wholeheartedly approve of. I, of course, was not invited to the shower. Pam was, though. So I dropped her and Mom off at the Convoy United Brethren Church, and then went over to the parsonage (where my brother Stu lives), to hang out with my two brothers, Tom, and Stu's sons Benjamin and Jonathan. There was, among us, no sense of being "left out" of the festivities (i. e., silly little games) which are allegedly common at bridal showers. We, instead, talked about computers and dogs, and did some grunting.

Benjamin, who is 21, bought a house in Willshire, about 20 miles away. It's a two-story house sitting on three lots, with a separate brick building. This place is a true fixer-upper, but when you realize he got the thing for just $10 grand, it's a steal. Fortunately, Benjamin knows handyman-type stuff; Stu seems to have hogged all of Dad's handyman genes, since me and Rick sure didn't get any of them. Anyway, Benjamin took me (and my brother Rick) over to his house. Yeah, the thing is torn to pieces, with stuff everywhere. Benjamin sleeps on a couch in what will be the living room. But I say--good for him! He's willing to put all the work into totally renovating this house, and when he's done, it's gonna be worth a whole lot more than he paid for it.

The shower ended, and I did get some leftover cake. Paula and Tom hauled their loot upstairs. I guess they're looking for a house to rent. Better hurry.

Back in Fort Wayne, Rick, Dorene, and their two kids stopped by our house. We ordered the aforementioned Hungry Howie's pizza, which they'd never had. Pizza, regardless of brand, always works at Dennie gatherings. Rick and I were both bummed to learn that the Lakers had taken a 3-1 lead over the Phoenix Suns. This just can't happen. Kobe cannot be validated.

Posted at 09:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)