Tagged: Jesus
I Am Never Ready
These last three days I learned that despite my training and full belief in the Boy Scouts’ “Be Prepared” motto, there are three things I am never ready for.
Firstly, America’s natural beauty, specifically the Rocky Mountains.
I drove to Salt Lake City from the Springs (and back) and while my eyes were necessarily on the road, I could’t help but marvel at the grandeur passing by my right and left.
I have decided that this area will be my kids and I’s new playground.
Secondly, folk’s response to, “What is the gospel?”
“You are insolent,” the friend of my buddy told me, as we sat next to each other late into the wedding reception. This was preceded by, “You are proselytizing.” Which was preceded by a three to five minute recounting of his entire childhood interaction with the Church which concluded, as he could tell he was avoiding the question, with a tremendously subpar answer, which he knew was subpar as he delivered it even before my eyes surely indicated so. This being preceded by his rehearsal of the lunacy of the concept of the “chosen people” and my, “Well, and to be sure—I am giving you my best now, no pulling punches—you must understand the gospel before you can understand or be at peace with any of the rest of it. There is an order of events, so to speak. So I would ask you (you don’t have to answer) what is the gospel?” And of course this was preceded by his, “You’re religious, huh? My problem is…”
I guess I am just an optimist. It’s my only explanation why I am always surprised that such a simple question can evoke such a dark response.
Thirdly, once in a lifetime offers of unimaginable wealth and luxury.
“Are you happy there? Are you happy with your job?”
I said, “Sorry what are you asking?”
“Are you settled in for good? Do you like your job?” the man repeated.
I had just met him. I learned he was a doctor. He was immediately kind. I believe his opening banter was complimenting the toast I had just given/hosted as best man. And, I never confirmed, but I am pretty sure he was a Mormon.
Do you see it now?
He saw what I had just accomplished in the other room and was ready to put those talents to work for the faith—and we all get richer in the process.
But I stumbled. Someone else was nearby and asking those around if they knew the movie that the current bluegrass band’s song was from, and I couldn’t help but ignore my new friend and lean over to answer, “O’ Brother Where Art Thou?!”
By the time that reverie ended, the moment had passed. The “doctor is out”, and never to return.
Oh well. I do like my house and I do like my job. But I also feel shame that I have acted in the same way during similar moments enough times to recognize the physical sensation I get afterwards as the “missed/blown opportunity” one. And this shame is only made worse in that these moments keep happening to me.
Maybe next time, I’ll be ready.
What I Would’ve Told Myself About Getting Married a Second Time Had I Known Then What I Know Now
Besides the Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar from Genesis story, during our last spat, my wife also asked if I knew what a “Phrase” was and recommended that I read about “the prostitute women bring her to Jesus.”
Again, you have to really want to understand the speaker—it’s my wife; I do—in order to figure out what the hell they are saying in moments like these, but if you work within the given context, “Phrase” can be a heavily accented “Pharisee”.
Unlike the account of VLH Tamar (which is on the whole depressing and kinda embarrassing to the patriarchs of our faith—let alone Scripture itself), I could imagine why my wife would think the LORD in heaven would use the infamous “cast the first stone” story to convict a wretched sinner like me (America’s Husband) and hope that, in so doing, she will create marital bliss in the form of an unquestioned matriarchy.
My wife states plainly that “I accuse her” all the time. (I would say that I speak with truth. Can I get a witness?!)
Naturally, then, she reads about the “Phrases’s” bringing a woman caught in adultery to Jesus (keep in mind, I am not 100% that this is the correct passage. But I think it is. Also informing my guess is the international megachurch’s absolute love and reliance and incessant preaching of this account) and sees the action of accusation and puts two and two together and here we are.
A careful, objective reading of the story, however, does not persuade me (and does not include) that it has anything to offer humanity as regards interpersonal communication or family dynamics or nation building.
After the accusation (apparently uncontested), the text has:
They were saying this, testing Him, so that they might have evidence to accuse Him.
If there is one aspect of the Gospel that preachers and teachers looking to cherry-pick “scriptural applications” from the text miss whole-heartedly all the day long, it is that the Pharisees wanted Jesus dead!
How these men (and now women, #metoo) always miss this, considering the Pharisees did get their way and have him killed, is incredible, but miss it they do! And when you don’t teach what the Bible says, when you don’t do your job and help people to focus on the text, you end up screwing up a whole lot more than just one little pericope (that’s “purr-i-co-pee”, long o). You end up messing with my marriage! Marriage supposedly based in the Judeo-Christian worldview, no less.
Yes, yes. I am currently accusing. I am doing the very thing I am defending myself against.
But I am right.
How can I be sure? Because I have some special power? Not special in extraterrestrial or mutation, but yes, I have a special as in precious or rare power. I can read!
And literacy leads to other things, like answering relevant questions like,
Does Jesus, Lord of Lords and King of Kings, want humans to stop “accusing” each other of mistakes and wrongdoings?
My answer is, “How would we determine such a thing? I mean, for example, I can imagine that we could read up and discover whether he ever forbids the making of accusations. (He does not.) Then we could, if we cared to, read with an eye out for whether biblical authors themselves accuse or offer stories where the protagonist accuses—and are lauded for it. (Text doesn’t have much to offer on either side of this perspective, but Titus 1:6 hardly makes sense if all accusing is to cease.)”
Over and above my literacy power, though, is something simpler. We could simply ask, “What are your intentions, my wife? Because mine are to be head of the best family I possibly can. And yours do not seem to align with mine.”
****
But this post is truly about warning myself regarding a second marriage and especially a second marriage that makes new babies.
The warning is this: Pete. You have had the worst divorce in human history—your ex steals your money daily and has kidnapped your daughter. I’m not telling you “don’t do it”. But please consider that this “felt experience” is going to feed into a heavy dread of the same thing happening again. And this means that there will be informed and resultant overreactions to the normal(?) downs of associating with the weaker sex. In short, you are entering into what may, at times, feel like a hostage situation, your kids as the leverage. A veritable, “Want to keep seeing your children? Then do as I say!” Only this time, you know all too well that everyone, including the guys (and gals, #metoo) with guns, will take her side against you.
Consider yourself warned.
****
And had I known this, I would’ve proceeded as I have, optimistically, perhaps blindly, because, as the story goes, Jesus did not come to condemn people. If my wife has the Holy Spirit inside her, as she professes and I believe to be the case, then Jesus isn’t coming for me.
Want to take my kids (#metoo)? Good luck! You won’t find any fight from me. Instead, you’ll find yourself fighting the living god.
Wait, what? It’s not about the kids? What’s this? You merely want me to change my thinking? Good luck! All you have to do is remove my ability to read (or burn all Bibles—better make it all books), wipe my memory of scripture, and drop me off anytime after, say, 1900 AD when women have decided they are head of the family. I think if you pray real hard for that, the LORD will give you that good gift. (And you’ll also get that book deal and your “healing” and “blessing” along with the thousand other attendees at your “church”.)
Lord, if you’re listening (I know, I know), do not tarry.
Some Thoughts On Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar in Genesis, the One that Played the Harlot (Not Absalom’s Sister Who Was Raped).
My wife uses the Bible to argue with me. Anyone else have a woman like this at home? It’s wonderful.
Just this morning she brought up “Judas son of Jacob”, from which I can only assume she meant (talk to text doesn’t work well for those with heavy accents) Judah. We’re already in funny-land with this, as it clearly demonstrates why surnames ever came to be. Who? Judas? Which Judas? NT Judas? Iscariot? Oh, Jacob’s son? Oh, Judah. You mean Judah? Judah, son of Jacob? Judah Jacobson. Judah Ben Jacob. Ha.
Anyhow. So the story has it that Judah’s first son, Er Judah-son, is killed by Yahweh for being evil. Par for the course. And his second son, Onan, is unwilling that his biological son become his older brother’s heir and so he will not consummate the deed. Yahweh kills him, too.
Only then do we learn the full nature of the issue. It seems Judah has this idea, perhaps divinely inspired, perhaps not, and holds to it like his last breath, that Tamar (Er’s wife) is owed a son by one of his (Judah’s) sons. So he promises Tamar that when Shelah Judah-son grows big, he can donate his seed to the common cause.
Here’s where the story gets interesting, and not just in Azeem’s, “How did your uneducated kind ever take Jerusalem?” sense.
Er’s widow Tamar (Tamar has no surname, so “Er’s widow Tamar” will have to suffice…for now) hears that Judah Jacob-son is going on a trip. It is this moment of the story that deserves grave attention. Here is the focus of this exegesis.
So she removed her widow’s garments from herself and covered herself with a veil and wrapped herself. And she sat at the entrance of Enaim, which is on the road to Timnah; for she saw that Shelah had grown up, and she had not been given to him as a wife.
“For she saw that Shelah [Judah-son] had grown up, AND she had not been given to him as a wife.”
“Vindictive little hussy” Tamar sounds more appropriate than “Er’s widow Tamar” at this point. But let’s read on.
Judah, now a widower and past the time of mourning, apparently still gets the itch. So when he sees a harlot on his trip, he begins to negotiate. Unlike, or perhaps exactly like, men from every corner and age of the planet, he didn’t think ahead and so now he is stuck. “1. Get laid but have to give her my ID to hold until I can find my darn credit card.” Or “B. Don’t get laid.”
He gives her his ID.
She takes it, gives herself to him, and then runs, never to be seen again—even after he finds his credit card.
But this, to most illiterate preachers, is still merely the setup for the punchline of the story.
(Let’s pause here for an apropos Uncle Remus saying: “You can hide the fire, but wha choo gunna do bout da smoke?!”)
Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar is soon “showing” and the affronted Judah Jacob-son wants her burned.
She wants to live and so offers Judah Jacob-son his ID back.
The next killer-line is:
And Judah recognized them and said, “She is more righteous than I, inasmuch as I did not give her to my son Shelah.”
Oh, the qualifier.
We almost had a perplexing, a-historical, fantasy account on our hands. Without the qualifier, we might have real evidence that scripture is flawed, uninspired, and not the Word of God that we all believe it to be.
So thank the LORD and his precious son, Jesus, for the qualifier.
Judah Jacob-son does not elevate Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar unreservedly, no. That would be the work of the uninspired Woke mob, post-#metoo and George Floyd and all.
Instead, since we’re reading the Word of God—which was written by men who lived thousands of years ago at a time before Jesus fulfilled Yahweh’s plan—there is a qualifier.
Nowhere does the story suggest that Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar was righteous full-stop, but it does convey that Judah Jacob-son now recognized that he hadn’t fulfilled his vow. Or as Apollo Creed says, “Some people gotta learn the hard way!”
Granted, I still have no idea why my boo brought this up in the argument over the kids’ clothes today. And granted I honestly am not 100% certain I analyzed the right story, since “Judas son of Jacob” is not certainly “Judah Jacob-son.” But these are some thoughts on Tamar, the eency-weency-bit-more-righteous woman than the John, Judah Jacob-son, little horn-dog that he was.
Christian, You’re Wrong About the Rainbow Flag. It Is Wholly the Alphabet Mafia’s Symbol. Let Them Display it Proudly.
I put My bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a sign of a covenant between Me and the earth. And it will be, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow will be seen in the cloud…
So the bow shall be in the cloud, and I will look upon it, to remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.
(The above should be thought of as “axioms” or “definitions”.)
What is most curious, to an Eagle Scout/combat veteran’s mind like mine, is the use of the word “bow”. It really drives home how early man was always struggling to find analogy for their language. They saw in the sky something new and in the shape of, well, what object would ancient man have had to analogize from? The shape of…hmm. Oh, I know. It looks like the bow and arrow’s bow! Perfect.
But more importantly, for you, Christian, is that nowhere is fabric or any tangible good mentioned.
If this doesn’t add divine peace to your life, something is wrong with you and you should use this moment to align yourself with some truth.
The Living God is not messing around, nor ever has, with his creation or his plan.
If you see a bow in the sky, like an archery bow, then be thankful that Yahweh is God (and a faithful one at that), and not some other punk deity.
If you see a colorful flag, then…do whatever conscience dictates. It really doesn’t matter and shouldn’t disturb you.
Real Fears of a White Step-Dad
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I want to talk to you about something that is generally taboo, but especially given the details (often in footnotes) of the recent Supreme Court case on affirmative action and university admittance, it is important that we chat.”
“Um-”
“I’d ask you to not interrupt and I request this indulgence because I am the one with something to lose here—not you. Thank you.
“I see the supposed excellence of your school. While I am fully persuaded home school is the best way to educate a child, a future citizen of America, I am also fully persuaded that a charter school like yours is far superior to public school.
“I struggle to believe that the way my step-son was admitted to your school was fair. You have exceedingly few black students as is, and while regular demographics of our city account for it, there is some sick love/hate relationship with educated—do not hear intelligent—educated whites and what they see as possible black success.
“If you enroll too many black kids, then no whites will find that school desirable. If no black kids, then whites will be painted as racist. So ya’ll are stuck in a pickle, the way I see it. Precisely just how many blacks can you afford your school to enroll and still keep the whites coming?
“Here’s the rub: A- is not black. I have already made it clear that I suspect we disagree on this matter. So let me repeat myself. A- is not black. You all let him in to your school. I believe it is because you saw him (especially as he is an immigrant, not the really difficult American black) as able to help keep the whites happy. Whether your gamble was well-informed or not, we will all find out together. But he is not black. Do you hear me?
“For the last four years I have watched and listened to educators get run over by, ignore, and turn a blind eye to A-, all because they see a little black boy they can use to fulfill some twisted quota. Everything has been graded on a curve and relative to other students. The calendar hasn’t existed. Endless ability to retake and correct assignments and tests has been proffered. In a word, he has been in “schools” which have absolutely zero accountability for A-. He has a grand total of no understanding of where he stands in relationship to his fellow man, and worse, he seems to think he hasn’t ever failed. This has to stop.
“Did I introduce myself? Apologies for that oversight. Here are the vital stats. I am A-’s step-dad, not you. Second to that fact, I have and will always perform better than any of you here on every mental subject and assessment you can develop. And I have used all my brain power to decide that it is worthwhile to give you the benefit of the doubt to start.
“But I am watching. And if I start to get even the slightest feeling that A- is receiving special treatment because you can’t shake the feeling that he is some little black boy available for use in atoning for your perverse understanding of life, then we will be done here. I will pull him from your school and you will know why.
“To be clear: I am not asking for fair treatment. This isn’t funnel cakes and ferris wheels. I am asking for you to teach him to know he has failed where he has failed and for him to know he has learned where he has learned. No more “stars” for effort, or on time work, or completed assignments.
“Maybe I am asking too much.
“To conclude then, I put the choice in your hands. What do you say? Can you do this for me? Will you agree, no matter how this relationship started, that A- is not black, that he is not some project?
“Will you agree that he will fail if he doesn’t perform appropriately? I can pull him right now if you won’t. There is no need to waste anyone’s time. So what do you say?”
One One-Liner Heard Inside Mardel’s and Why Seminary Costs Money—and Should
Here in Colorado Springs, the “Sierra” store is in the same spot as a “Mardel Christian and Education” store. I needed Mother’s Day gear, so after perusing Sierra to price compare “Expert Voice” “deals”, I took the kids across the lot to Mardel. (Sierra seems to be winning on every level, if curious.)
While perusing the Bibles (specifically interested to learn the LSB has made it to retailers yet), I passed by a couple of ladies (the types which strike everyone as just as permanently affixed to the spot as the bookshelves behind them) who were putting on a show of “enjoying” some restful repose inside a great store.
I made eye-contact with the elder and listener as I heard the other one say, “I am done reading theology. I tried for a while but, honestly, just give me Jesus.”
It’s a fairly trite and common assertion among under-achieving wives and over-achieving baptist ministers, so I cannot say for sure whether she was the echo chamber or in earnest. But it called to mind a conversation I had with my mom the other day about church.
Sunday School was the topic, or the setting of the topic. The real topic was the morons who lob terribly uninformed opinions about terribly vague and uninteresting parts of scripture at all comers.
I told my mom, “Remember when Charlie Sheen was in all that drama and his show fell apart? At one point he said, ‘You don’t pay prostitutes for sex, you pay them to leave.’”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. Ugh.”
“Well, with that nature of flip-sided perspective in mind, as I get farther and farther from my time at Seminary, I believe that is how the money part works. If churches aren’t doing it for ya, you finally decide to pay money to try to find meaning in silence. The nicest way of putting this perspective being that seminary students want to be around other people as serious as themselves (calling or no), but the truth (and cynical perspective) is that seminary students want to be around people who are able to keep their mouth shut when they don’t know what they are talking about. And the money has something to do with segregating those two groups.”
Oh Give Thanks Unto the LORD. Six Figures is Enough.
If you happen to run into me while we’re out and about, the conversation—after weather—will likely turn to cost of living. It may be me, it may be you, who brings it up. But if we’re out and about, then we’re probably spending money and so the topic is at hand regardless.
A common refrain you’ll hear me utter, “My whole life six figures has meant, ‘You made it,’ and, ‘That’s a good job.’ But the truth is in 2024, while six figure jobs are still hard to find, it isn’t enough.”
(Forgive me, Father. It is enough is the biblical sense. But you know what I mean. The amount isn’t enough to live like six figures has allowed others to live.)
****
I remember one of the first times I heard six figures was from a knucklehead kid, probably in middle school. He said, “Well your dad makes six figures doesn’t he?”
It seemed like so much money. Six figures.
Most of my time in the Air Force I made six figures but I never knew it. I always guessed I was around $70k for some reason. I think it just seemed so out of reach for a measly military member, and I never really cared about money so I never totaled it up.
****
But something funny happened to me the other day as I had time to consider my life. I support myself and my wife and her son and our two toddlers. (That’s five.) Then, I support my ex wife, her husband, our daughter, and their daughter. (That’s four more, for a total of nine.)
Six figures in 2024 can support nine people, four adults and five kids. Maybe six figures is enough. Maybe I need to shut my pie-hole and stop complaining.
****
For he is good. Yes, he is good.
Some Days Are Dark
H- hasn’t spoken to me since boldly declaring to me on a random phone call (why don’t kids know how to use the phone?) that she wasn’t coming to Christmas and didn’t understand why I wasn’t “getting it”.
I don’t stop believing in Jesus on dark days. Yet I cannot deny that there is an appeal to giving up on god and all–that is part of the darkness.
But I will unashamedly confess that on dark days, days when I take inventory of my life only to realize more fully that there has been a general lack of support (social, financial, or emotional) from anyone ever remotely falling under the umbrella of “family”, I do conclude god is unknowable.
On Baptist Preachers Continuing the Invitation
Not because I can’t or wouldn’t or won’t share the gospel—including asking the question, “Have you decided to follow Jesus?” with my kids, but I really want my family to join me in attending a small-ish Baptist church which still sees the preacher invite the congregation to salvation before concluding the service. “Why?” you ask. “Why, Pete? Why go backwards? Everyone knows that denominations are dying/dead, and never to return. They are a failed experiment. It’s non-denominational, one-church-multiple-campuses-small-groups-for-those-interested-and-no-invitation-messages from here on out.”
I’ll tell you why. And this is close to the heart, so please go easy on me. I want my family to join me at the Baptist church because the invitation is my answer to the infamous “how do you know you’re saved?” zinger of a question.
Many, many Sundays of my childhood and youth, and nearly every time I heard the invitation ever since, Sunday after Sunday after Sunday (if I was in a Baptist church), I knew it was directed specifically to me. I knew I was the sinner. I knew I needed salvation. I knew Jesus was the way, the truth, and the life. Moreover, I knew I couldn’t hide behind anyone, nor did I want to hide. I wanted salvation. Who wouldn’t?
For most of my life, I have not treated this response as anything noteworthy or indicative of eternal spiritual matters. I had accepted Jesus Christ as my lord and savior at a young age and was baptized later on and the rest of these times I chalked up the feeling to “powerful preaching.”
As I have gotten older, as fewer people come forward, I have to say that it seems like most people don’t take the invitation as a literal invitation.
But as a father, I take my young daughter (A- this time, H- in times past) and the two of us sit there, and I imagine what H- and my step-son, both 14 and not present—would think during the invitation. Would they think, “My parents are good (believers), so I am too.” Or, “He’s not talking to me. This is just the end of the service.” Or maybe, “My phone, my phone, my phone, my phone…”?
I honestly cannot imagine them saying, “Uh, I am a sinner. I need Jesus. Dad, what do I do?” in any capacity. Mostly, that just seems in line with the more rare emotions, like achieving a lifelong goal, that I can’t imagine what it might look like. But we all talk such nonsense, so much of the time, that it feels fair for a kid to say, “Oh. You were serious about that? I thought that was just part of the ritual.”
Anyhow, we’ll see what the family decides to do. As for me, I am redeemed by the blood of the lamb, no turning back. So I’ll see you at the Baptist church.
What Exactly Do You Want Me To Do?
“Join me in lifting up these heroes and their families in prayer.”
That’s what Nikki Haley tweeted.
I’m not stupid and I’m not tone deaf. I know that this is the appropriate statement for public consumption after tragedy strikes.
But I am serious and earnestly want to know. It is tragic that Americans are being killed overseas because they’re Americans and I would like to do anything I can to support those who agree that it is a tragedy. So again, what, Mrs. Haley (et al), exactly do you want me to do? Turn agreeable? Blithely nod?
You want me to close my eyes? You want me to close my eyes and bow my head? You want me to talk with my eyes closed and head bowed?
You want me to close my eyes, bow my head, and think thoughts?
You want me to keep my eyes open and look towards outer-space and think thoughts?
You want me to talk to some named, but never seen, invisible being that folks write about, but never see?
You want me to, while thinking about the three dead and dozens injured, speak words in the hearing of others (or no one) that request something of some deceased-but-still-powerful ancestor?
How could I possibly join you if I do not know what you mean?
****
Wouldn’t it be nice if people actually said something that meant something?
Something like, “If, like me, you believe that there is only one god powerful enough to comfort mourners, meter justice, and grant forgiveness, one living god that was, is, and is to come, the King of kings and Lord of lords, that his name is Jesus Christ, then join me tonight, at 8pm EST in reciting the prayer he taught us to prayer.”
Yeah, that’d be something worth posting.
Captain’s Log 