priests & paramedics

The Greatest Song Ever

2008-07-23T11:34:00.005-04:00

OK, forgive the hyperbole.

It's not the greatest song ever written; it's simply my favorite of the moment. The song in question is "The Greatest Man Who Ever Lived (Variations on a Shaker Hymn)" from Weezer's latest eponymous record (known affectionately as The Red Album). And it's the undisputed heavyweight champion of my summer playlist.

Now I'm not claiming that Weezer have achieved the pinnacle of songwriting, or that the song is even quasi-intellectual... in fact, since their inception, Weezer have succeeded in producing some of the smartest dumb rock music of the last 15 or so years (Rivers Cuomo, the lead singer and chief songwriter, is a Harvard grad, mind you). It's not brainless dreck, mind you – the album was produced by Rick Rubin (the guy who discovered the Beastie Boys, helped an all-but-dead Johnny Cash find his voice, and created the Red Hot Chili Peppers' masterpiece Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic).

The song is six minutes of pure, unadulterated fun. Like the subtitle suggests, it's all based on the melody of the old Shaker hymn that starts the song. From there, it explores hip-hop, pop, battle march, heavy metal, Gregorian chant, spoken word, punk and Queen-style bombast. It's a mini rock opera in the theme of The Who's Tommy and Green Day's American Idiot, compressed down into a taut five minutes and fifty-two seconds. Good luck trying to cram those disparate styles into a whole record, let alone one song.

Weezer's brand of nerd-core is the perfect summer album. With the Greatest Song of the Summer. If you're a fan of ridiculous, over-top-braggadocio (sample lyric: "After the havoc that I'm gonna wreak / No more words will critics have to speak), you won't want to miss this song. It may change your life. As Weezer say, "I am the greatest man that ever lived / I was born to give."

So give I do. Enjoy.

Come and Die

2008-04-04T14:41:00.007-04:00

Early morning; April 4
Shot rings out in the Memphis sky
Free at last!
They took your life
They could not take your pride

Today marks the anniversary of a dark chapter in our nation's history. 40 years ago today, Martin Luther King Jr. was shot and killed on the balcony of a Memphis motel.

Looking back as we remember King's legacy, and his gospel-informed, peaceful approach to societal change, we are compelled to remember the ones who went before us and sacrificed their livelihood and sometimes even their lives.

King was a modern-day martyr who embodied the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer: "When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die."

"I Know It When I See It"

2008-01-26T16:34:00.000-05:00

By the way, Rumplestiltskin says hello. I ran into him during my vacation from the blogosphere. He's well, but I had to bring that up to explain my absence. Forgive me, I'm back. For now, at least.

Read on.

If you're not already aware, I am the pastor of a church in Fort Lauderdale, Florida (CityChurch) which seeks to be a church that desires cultural engagement rather than cultural retreat.

I relay that little tidbit because I received an email this morning from someone who had attended a recent event that our church had sponsored. CityChurch hosts a monthly series called Cinema Vérité where we show an important film on the big screen at our local art house theatre, and hold a discussion. The person who wrote the email is from another local church, and wanted to know why a church would show a film like Magnolia – not an invalid question, if you've ever seen it.

What follows is part of my response to him (edited in order to make sense to you, dearest blog-reader):

CityChurch desires to be a people who encounter regular, normal people who don't know Jesus, or who have never even heard the gospel in the first place. We don't expect people to come to us, rather we go to them in the form of our people developing relationships that they have through their neighborhood, their family, their work, their local coffee shop, etc. We believe that the church is about people and that people must be very gracious and winsome in any relationship when it comes to engaging someone with the gospel.

The reason I say that, is because that's one of the reasons we sponsor Cinema Vérité. Other than the fact that it gives us the opportunity to show great films, it is simply a way to enter into the discussion about humanity, life, God, death, morality, purpose... the list goes on.

We leave the "safe" confines of our church, and enter into a public art house, show good films and open up the floor for discussion. Furthermore, while I enjoy seeing these films, the purpose of Cinema Vérité is not to show movies with our Christian friends and have a good time. We're wasting a lot of time, money and energy if that's the purpose. It is intentionally a forum that is a safe place for non-Christians – together with Christians – to discuss this stuff. Usually for the first time.

Surprisingly (or maybe not surprisingly), the proprietors of Cinema Paradiso (the theatre) are on board with what we're doing. They were originally nervous about Christians coming in and doing what Christians normally do (preaching at, seeking to convert, judging), but they have seen that we have been gracious in our discussions... raising more questions than we answer... prodding people to seek God as he is revealed in the Scriptures.

And that's why we showed Magnolia. When you watch the film in its entirety, you have the opportunity to see that it was far and away the most "Christian" film we have shown, and will show for some time now – the discussion that followed gave proof to that as well.

At CityChurch, we believe there is more humanity, depravity, redemption and grace in a film like Magnolia than in other "Christian" films such as Omega Code, Facing the Giants, etc. Some of the most graphic, gothic and vulgar (not in the usual sense, but rather, as Flannery O'Connor defined – "common," "raw," "real") works of art are by those who have professed genuine faith in Jesus. Artists like U2, Walker Percy, Johnny Cash, David Bazan, Anne Lamott and even O'Connor herself. Sadly, Christian art for so long has been safe, tame and... not very real.

And again, that's why we chose Magnolia. We believe that this film shows the flawed, fallen, broken, destructive side of the human soul. It shows what happens when people isolate themselves from one another, when people destroy one another for their own foolish gain, when people don't seek reconciliation, and much, much more. It's possible that no film we will ever show again will expose our deep-seated need for redemption quite as well as Magnolia does.

Yes, there are some sex scenes at the beginning, and I don't want to downplay them. But those scenes, while graphic, are not pornographic. Those scenes (as part of the montage that sets up the tragic lives of nine interconnected people) are instrumental in establishing two of the central characters: a victim, and a victimizer... both of whom are in need of the grace that they will taste at the end of the film. They are hard to watch, ugly to look at, brutal to experience. But here's where they differentiate from pornography: they are not gratuitous... they are not intended to glorify the act... they are not intended to titillate. They are there to show – dare I say – need.

Need for hope.

Need for deliverance.

Need for God.

There is no way to keep everything that happens in and around the church pure. Simply put, as long as I am the pastor of CityChurch this will never be the case. I am an impure, needy, sinful and broken man who is constantly reminded that I need the gospel.

If I didn't, there would be no reason for Jesus to have lived, died and conquered the grave. For me.

Discuss.

King of Kings

2007-08-13T12:22:00.001-04:00

Hank and family shop for a new church. No explanation necessary.

Christian Clown Training

2007-06-27T14:42:00.001-04:00

I know I haven't posted in something like 4 months, but this should make up for it.

This video might be the creepiest thing on the internet. When I am old and in a nursing home, if clowns are allowed to roam the halls freely, consider yourself the defendant in a malpractice suit.

Church-Growth Strategy

2007-02-28T17:33:00.004-05:00

This is just too good to be true.

It seems as though some guy named Rev. Craig Rubin has started a new "church" in Hollywood, California called Temple 420.

To some of you, the name will immediately clue you in as to what goes on at this "church," but for those less informed (the ones with all their brain cells remaining), read on.

This "church" welcomes people of any and every religious persuasion, which isn't necessarily unusual... what is unusual is the fact that they are the the target of a criminal investigation.

This criminal investigation was due to fact that the Reverend Rubin uses marijuana smoke to carry the prayers of the congregation up to God. The pot is smoked, apparently, in some kind of censer in front of the congregation (imagine an old Catholic priest... but he's really mellow. And smells like burning rope).

Apparently, members can also purchase some of this burning bush for a small "donation" for use in the home. New members must sign an agreement professing, among other things, that "the God of the Bible created cannabis for the healing of all nations."

That's quite a doctrinal statement.

The comment by the investigating officer is priceless: "They were trying to set it up under the guise of a religious right and then be able to sidestep marijuana laws. The deal was for a $100 initiation fee and $100 annual fee, you could buy all the pot you wanted for quote-unquote 'religious purposes.' That's bull$#!%."

I thought I'd heard it all.

Apparently not.

College Sports

2007-02-27T21:47:00.000-05:00

If you need a reason as to why college athletics are better than those offered by professional jocks, the argument is now officially over.

Spare me the "I want to watch the best athletes in the world" argument.

I'm watching the Tennessee / Florida men's basketball game, and sitting in the stands is former UT quarterback and Superbowl XLI MVP Peyton Manning.

And UT Football coach Philip Fulmer.

But if that's not enough, Pat Summit (the UT Lady Vols Basketball coach) is dressed in full cheerleader regalia (I mean real cheerleader uniform, not sideline-tramp getup). This is in response to Bruce Pearl's (the UT men's coach) chest-painting at a nationally-televised Lady Vols Basketball game.

Two other coaches.

A campus legend.

If you want pure spectacle... pure entertainment... pure fan-experience, you gotta go with the college game. You like passion? You like athletes playing every game as though something were on the line? You like to watch a football game and hear the sound of a marching band, rather than some jackass pushing the button for Gary Glitter's "Rock and Roll, part 2?"

The college game is where it's at.

Etymology

2007-02-23T21:25:00.005-05:00

Several have asked, "what in the heck is the name 'Priests and Paramedics' all about?"

I've blown them (or you) off, but here's the scoop.

In a nutshell, it's a song by Pedro the Lion (née David Bazan). I'll explain at another time my uderstanding and the significance as to why I've christened my online presence with this name.

Here are the lyrics:

Paramedics brave and strong
Up before the break of dawn
Putting poker faces on
Broken bodies all day long

The neighbors heard a fight
Someone had a knife
It must have have been the wife

Husband's lost a lot of blood
He wakes up screaming "Oh my god!
Am I gonna die... am I gonna die?"
As they strapped his arms down to his sides

At times like these they've been taught to lie
"Buddy just calm down, you'll be alright"

Several friends came to his grave
His children were so well-behaved
As the priest got up to speak
The assembly craved relief
But he himself had given up
So instead he offered them this bitter cup:
"You're gonna die, we're all gonna die
Could be twenty years, could be tonight."

Lately I have been wondering why
We go to so much trouble to postpone the unavoidable
And prolong the pain of being alive

The Greatest Show on Earth

2007-02-20T22:49:00.000-05:00

You probably didn't hear about this, since it is an obscure little news story buried in the back pages of your local fish-wrap (that would be "newspaper" for the Jim Rome-impaired), but apparently a woman named Anna Nicole Smith collapsed and died in our own backyard.

Again, you've probably been distracted by the incessant barrage of updates on the genocide in Darfur, or the continued global insouciance toward Iran's nuclear arms race, but believe it or not Anna Nicole is dead. And the world wants to know!

The world wants to know so badly that three helicopters have been parked over my house in the hopes that they will catch someone (maybe Smith's mummified body) walking out of the courthouse. And while the sound of the helicopters was bad enough to drive me to do an internet search for the schematics of a Howitzer cannon, what really set me off was my recent foray through downtown Fort Lauderdale.

As I drove down the street where the church that I pastor meets, I ran into a road block. It seems as though every camera and microphone in the news world was parked in front of the Broward County Courthouse. For nothing.

I don't know what's more sad: our rabid obsession with all this, or the fact that this deceased woman led such a tragic life.

John Mayer

2007-02-15T18:26:00.000-05:00

So I have this friend who raves about John Mayer. He frequents his blog. He just went to his latest South Florida concert. He thinks the guy's the latest incarnation of Robert Johnson. He longs to hear Mayer tell him that his body is, indeed, a wonderland.

I dispute this of course. But my argument against the credibility of John Mayer has never been his musical acheivements, or anything really. My argument has to do with his audience.

It's all 15-year-old girls.

Case in point: check out this video. It's from a recent concert (Oklahoma City on February 3rd of this year). In it you'll see sweet John make every pre-pubescent girl's dream come true, and in the process, get deafened by the cacophony of screams from said young women.

Greatest Bad Album Covers

2007-02-11T22:43:00.001-05:00

This post is not entirely original, but it was inspired by a song selection at the tail end of a burned CD that was given to me by a good friend. This heretofore unmentioned person was setting out to enlighten me on the band Midlake (they're really good... check 'em out), but he unknowingly - or knowingly - focussed my attention to some bad 1970's soft-pop.

So without further ado. I present to you the greatest bad album covers of all time:

10. Stryken, First Stryke - first of all, it's bad enough when Christians imitate "secular" bands.

But it's altogether different when a "Christian" band imitates a bad Christian imitation of a "secular" band.

Bravo, Stryken. You did the unthinkable.

9. Ken, By Request Only - This begs the question: "who requested this?"

8. Orion, Reborn - He is wearing a mask... and a light blue satin shirt... and matching light blue Sansabelt slacks... and a really bad toupee.

Oh, and he's wearing a mask.

7. Colonel Sanders, Tijuana Picnic - When did Harlan Sanders start making records? And why would I want to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken at a picnic in Tijuana?

6. Devastatin' Dave, Zip, Zap, Rap - Call me politically correct, but is it appropriate to call one's self a "Turntable Slave."

Discuss.

5. Jo Calypso, He He Nick - There are some things in this world that are just plain creepy.

This is one of those things.

4. Wayne Carr, Jesus Loves Me - But Jesus hates your outfit, Wayne.

3. David Hasselhoff, Night Rocker – It's a little play on words. "Night Rocker"... like "Knight Rider."

You know, like the TV show I'm in. I'm not above shilling my show in order to get you to buy my crappy record.

Please buy my crappy record.

2. Joyce, Self-Titled - Madonna. Cher. Pelé. Oprah.

Joyce.

1. Orleans, Waking and Dreaming - well ladies and gentlemen... this is it. This was the inspiration.

This is the album featuring the classic soft-pop ballad "Dance With Me." Put a shirt on, and we'll talk.

Where Do We Go Now?

2007-01-18T22:16:00.000-05:00

In an earlier post I mentioned my undying love of rap music, and while it will remain a part of my musical memory bank, so will something else that is (arguably) as embarrassing:

Heavy metal.

Yes, I owned several Mötley Crüe albums... yes, I bought an album by a band called Autograph, simply because David Lee Roth was an Executive Producer... and yes, I used to fumble through the myriad demonic-looking record covers in my local record store (I was a Spec's guy - may Spec's rest in peace).

But nothing shook me to my bones quite like the amalgam of sight and sound when I saw Axl Rose step off that bus at the beginning of Guns N' Roses' "Welcome To The Jungle" video.

That record (or CD, by that time) was both the culmination and the end of my heavy metal experience. Whether I knew it at the time or not, I would never again waste my time on the devil-rock with which had previously been enamored. I was done. The sound of "Sha-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-knees" will do that to a person. But that wasn't even the best song on the album. Call me old fashioned, but that would have been "Sweet Child O' Mine."

The perfect guitar solo. The coolest video of all time (it has subdued Rottweilers. Subdued Rottweilers! Who does that? They're just lying there!).

But the reason for this writing was my reading of an article in PASTE magazine (read PASTE... you'll thank me later) about the song. While I love the song, and that should be reason enough to encourage you to read it, the article is simply an amazing piece of writing. It's one of those rare pieces of art that makes you both want to pick up a pen at one moment while at the next want to drive you to smash your word processor because you'll never write like that.

Read it. You won't regret it.

Hey, Nick Saban:

2007-01-03T20:58:00.000-05:00

Classy job with the Dolphins. Alabama should be much easier... they just ran off a pedigreed coach who delivered a 10-2 record the year before.

I'm not angry at the lies. I'm not angry about running to greener pastures.

I'm angry at the disdain for the people of South Florida.

You don't like us? You don't like our lifestyle? You don't like the atmosphere down here? Well we don't like your personnel moves (Drew Brees probably wouldn't have worked out anyway). We don't like your condescension.

And most of all, we don't like your dumb-ass Panama hat.

Damien Rice - "Cold Water"

2006-12-22T22:17:00.000-05:00

This is simply ridiculous. "Cold Water" is a song from Damien Rice's amazing four-year-old debut, O, but it was never one of my favorites (those would have been "Cannonball," "Volcano," and the nihilistic hidden-track "Silent Night").

He has a new album out entitled 9, but a friend of mine sent me a link to this performance. You need to listen to the whole thing. If you're familiar with this song, you might be tempted to move on... but do that at your own risk: the song moves from empty ethereal longing to a cacaphonous and chaotic, yet hypnotizing siren's call that gives me goose bumps as I type.

Don't say you weren't warned.

Live, From New York...

2006-12-19T22:31:00.000-05:00

In the spirit of my last post, I thought I'd share another little Top 5 List. I was ruminating about the most jaw-droppingly captivating performance I'd ever seen on television (see #1), when I started thinking about the best musical performances in the history of Saturday Night Live.

Some are memorable for the performance itself, some for the whole spectacle of it all, and some for the controversy surrounding the gig. I've attached links to YouTube, so you can judge for yourself. Enjoy... and debate.

5. Beck, "Clap Hands" - This clip is from the current 2006 season, and makes the list simply because it's unlike anything else you've ever seen. I know they do this in concert, but I couln't stop watching... and I don't even like Beck.

4. Sinéad O'Connor, "War" - The voice... the porcelain skin... the innocence mixed with rage... then, Holy Crap!... what was that?!? I remember watching this live and thinking, "What has she just done?" She's just ruined her career. That's what she's just done.

3. Nirvana, "Territorial Pissings" - (Couldn't find the link. If you do, post a comment.) Hot on the heels of taking over the music world by ripping the #1 song crown from Michael Jackson's creepy, formerly-gloved hand, Nirvana appear on SNL. They play the requisite "Smells Like Teen Spirit" earlier in the show, then rip throug this one. Chaos ensues after the final note - Kurt attacks the Marshall stacks with the neck of his guitar, Dave knocks over the drum kit, and Krist throws his bass about 15 feet in the air. When it comes down, he misses it and it hits him on the forehead, and drops him to the canvas.

2. Elvis Costello and the Attractions, "Less Than Zero/Radio, Radio" - Costello and band begin with the first song, but eight seconds in, he calls it off: "I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, there's no reason to do this song here..." Live [and unpredictable] from New York, it's Saturday Night.

1. Radiohead, "National Anthem" - All I can say is that when I first saw this, I was awestruck. I had never seen anything like it, and doubt I ever will. They also performed "Idioteque" on the same show - and it was probably better - but I was ruined... everything else would be judged by what I had seen that night.

I'm still waiting for a compilation DVD/CD of these myriad performances, but it'll never happen. Until then, check out what I've got, and comment and add your own.

Thank you, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Greatest of All Time

2006-12-15T21:48:00.000-05:00

Last weekend, I caught a viewing of a new ESPN special called Ali Rap. The creators of the show - and the subsequent DVD and hardcover release (just released Dec. 12... order now, in time for Christmas) - postulate that Muhammad Ali invented rap as we know it.

While I'm sure the Sugar Hill Gang and Grandmaster Flash would beg to differ, for the sake of my point, we'll go with it.

The show is narrated by Public Enemy's Chuck D, and there are numerous appearances by rap luminaries who are all too eager to quote one of Ali's classic insults/wisecracks/politically charged provocations.

But really, all this got me to thinking... like any other white kid who grew up in the suburbs, I'm an expert on the subject of rap music. So to that end, I've come up with my definitive list of the top 5 MC's (Master of Ceremonies, Mic Controller, main rapper guy) of all time. In order:

5. Snoop [Doggy] Dog - Impossible to list the top rappers without mentioning Snoop D - O - Double - G. No other rapper is so smooth. Even as he speaks of committing a "187 on [an] undercover cop," it somehow makes you want to sit back on a cool night and sip a tall cool glass of Gin and Juice.

4. Jay Z - Not really sure on this one, but this is what all the kids tell me.

3. Ice Cube - 3 words: "Straight"... "Outta"... "Compton." If you didn't rap it, it would be 4 words. But if you didn't rap it, you'd be a dork.

2. DMC - Darryl McDaniels made every white kid "Proud to be Black."

1. Rakim - He of "Eric B and Rakim" fame. If you doubt, listen to "Paid in Full (Seven Minutes of Madness)" from the Colors soundtrack. Simply the greatest flow of any rap song.

Ever.

He somehow rhymes "money's spent," "...up with lint," "residence," and "dead presidents." And if that's not enough to win you over, Snoop himself covers this song in the ultimate ode-to-wannabe-rapper-cool movie Old School.

There really can be no debate about this list. They're the greatest of all time. I was in NYC three months ago, and I felt like a pre-pubescent schoolgirl at an N'Sync concert (or at least how a pre-pubescent schoolgirl at an N'Sync concert in 1998 felt). As I looked across Broadway, I saw DMC as he was walking into the House of Blues for a show. I had a flutter in my heart, and a tear down my cheek.

Thank God it wasn't Rakim.

______________________________

Editor's Note: I can't believe I forgot Chuck D! He was the inspiration for the list in the first place. "Fight The Power" might be the single greatest rap song in history.

Why Do We Need The Church?

2006-09-08T22:02:00.000-04:00

Check this aticle out: it is written by José Figueroa... a colleague and friend of mine from Miami who is exploring how the church in Miami should be expressed:

It used to be that people would go to church because you could find great speakers and teachers, but people really aren't all that impressed anymore by great teaching. You can go to the internet and listen to the best preaching in the US on line. People used to go to church because it was the center of the community. But the church has been displaced by other community centers (places where you see people on an everyday basis). The church really doesn't provide great community. In fact the way the church is structured today (i.e. meeting for 2 hours on a Sunday and 1 1/2 hours on a Wednesday) works against forming authentic community. Church can be a very lonely place for members of its community. Great worship really doesn't do it for people anymore either. Many churches are stripping their worship bands to one or two people leading the congregation in song. Why? People are hungry for an authentic embodied faith.

However, something the Church shall always have is the Lord's Supper and this will always feed someone who hungers for embodied faith. There is something truly mysterious about the Lord's Supper that is transformative. Here the body and blood of Christ are offered to a world that desperately needs him in the symbols of bread and wine. And as we take these simple elements, the Holy Spirit works so powerfully through them in a very mysterious way, that we who feed on them are nourished by Jesus Christ.

"Christian" Music

2006-09-03T21:12:00.000-04:00

I don't listen to Christian music.

Actually, that's not strong enough. What I meant to say is that I hate Christian music. Now I have nothing against Christians who write and perform music. In fact, some of my favorite artists are professing Christians such as U2, Johnny Cash (see "The Man in Black" on this blog), Sufjan Stevens, T-Bone Burnett, and David Bazan of Pedro the Lion, just to name a few.

The aforementioned pour their hearts, souls and creative integrity into their work - sales and mass popularity be damned.

It's the processed, formulaic, over-produced, sappy, lowest common denominator drivel that can be heard on various radio stations with "positive," "uplifting," "safe" names like "The Spirit," "The Dove" and "Manna From Heaven FM," with which I take umbrage. It's not art so much as it is an amalgamation of projected bad taste with some cheap Jesus-talk sprinkled on.

And while most of the music coming from the Nashville Christian music factory fits the above description, there are glimmers of hope that occasionally shine through. One such example is a man named Derek Webb. Web cut his teeth as one of the founding members and chief creatives behind Caedmon's Call. After leaving the band (amicably, no less) about four years ago, he has gone on to record 3 solo studio albums and one live recording - a prolific pace, unless your name happens to be Ryan Adams.

And while his previous two efforts (She Must and Shall Go Free, and I See Things Upside Down) were worthy additions to anyone's record collection, his latest - Mockingbird - is one of the best albums of the decade. The reason for my writing is the fact that he has just released this less-than-a-year-old album gratis on the website freederekwebb.com.

"What's the catch?" you ask. Nothing. You can download the album, pop it on your iPod, and walk away guiltless - an experience LimeWire or the first incarnation of Napster can't offer. There is no obligation to give a dime, but Webb does offer several opportunities to give to worthy causes he feels passionately about. Say what you will, but this takes stones. He's banking his money on his belief that the gospel of Jesus Christ is good news, not just for the future, but for the here-and-now.

But let's get back to the music.

First of all, the musicianship on Mockingbird is top-notch. Webb has recorded his voice in several layers; a process that sounds haunting and ethereal... distant and immanent at the same time. And the accompaniment is perfect. The oddly-syncopated drums, the sparse piano, the occasional viola, xylophone, marimba, and trumpet... you'll never hear anything like it on the typical Christian album.

But the lyrics - oh my, the lyrics. For all of the praise and attention given to the musicianship on Mockingbird, the lyrics are simply amazing - at once poetic, poignant, convicting, and beautiful. In "A King and a Kingdom," Webb confesses "My first allegiance is not to a flag, a country, or a man. My first allegiance is not to democracy or blood. It's to a king & a kingdom." It's not shocking to see why his records were pulled from the shelves of several Christian retailers.

In "Love Is Not Against The Law" - one of the songs I don't like to hear (but so desperately need to) - we hear Webb cry "It’s giving up your life for the ones you hate the most. It’s giving them your gown when they’ve taken your clothes."

But it's "A New Law" that's the album's triumph. A song about our desire to replace the grace of Christ as offered in the gospel with our own made up lists and rules, we hear Webb sing "What’s the use in trading a law you can never keep, for one you can that cannot get you anything?" "Shine Jesus, Shine" this is not.

This album will punch you in the gut, and kick you in the teeth for good measure. But it's so artistically refreshing that you will enjoy every minute of it.

Thank you, Derek Webb for speaking the truth. Even when it hurts.

Even the Wind and the Waves

2006-08-29T16:00:00.001-04:00

This latest hurricane/tropical storm (Ernesto for the uninformed) has caused me to reflect on my own self-reliance.

See, just a couple of months ago we had impact windows installed in our house. I bought a generator in case the power grid gets wiped out like it has before. I'm about to take one last hot shower... just in case. I bought my gallons of water (actually Dede did, but I'll take credit - she doesn't know how to edit this blog). I am completely in control of my environment.

Or am I?

Today I reflected upon Mark 4 - the story of Christ and his disciples in a boat in the middle of a lake when a giant squall overtakes them. The disciples, like me, rest on their own resources and intuition, and not in the one who sleeps through the storm.

I pray for that faith.

Take Your Time

2006-08-21T10:55:00.000-04:00

This morning, I read an article about former major leaguer Jesse Barfield. Barfield played for the Blue Jays and Yankees, but that's beside the point.

The article was about an incident that caused Barfield to be in the hospital recovering from a head injury. Not that big of a deal, right? Well, apparently it made headlines due to the fact that he was pushed down the stairs by his 18 year-old son, Jeremy.

Pretty shocking. Sounds like it was ripped from the pages of Desperate Housewives (I realize that I've mixed my metaphors, and that there are no actual pages of a TV show, but work with me). But shocking as it may be, does it warrant an entry in my little exercize in self-importance?

Actually, yes. Yes it does.

Turns out, the incident was provoked when Barfield went to see what was delaying his son as they were getting ready to go to church. You read that right - they were about to be late for church, so Junior shoves his pop down the stairs. I know it's often a bit of a hassle to get the kids out the door on any given Sunday, but that's one heck of a morning.

Take your time. Slow down. We'll get there when we get there. Just don't throw me down a flight of stairs.

Dear Lord, Baby Jesus...

2006-08-14T14:42:00.000-04:00

Yesterday saw a new twist in my Sunday afternoon routine. Oh, it started off normally, alright (come home, rip off sweaty clothes, throw on shorts and t-shirt, eat lunch, use the facilities, pass out in bed for about half an hour), but that's where it took a dramatic turn.

Usually in preparing for my little Sabbath-day power nap, I'll pop on the TV and let a little golf match drone on and put me to sleep. But today... no golf. So I flip around the channels when I finally land on some coverage of a guy praying. I thought I had flipped all the way up to TBN (the televangelist channel with the lady with pink hair sitting in a gold throne), exept for the fact that the guy praying was wearing a cowboy hat and a sateen jumpsuit emblazoned with patches of Bud Light, Windex, Mitchum, and Easy Off Oven Cleaner (I don't remember exactly what the patches read, but work with me).

But this guy starts praying, and it's not one of those "Dear celestial force up in the puffy clouds, uniter of the cosmos" kind of prayers. It's one of those "Dear Heavenly Father... bless this race (that would be "car race," not "white race" - I think)... bless the troops... in Jesus' name" kind of prayers. One of those prayers where it gets top billing before the National Anthem - I'm not kidding, "The Banner" got bumped.

Now forgive me for being the only person in North America (or at least south of the Mason-Dixon line) who hasn't seen more than 13 seconds of a NASCAR race, but this was news to me. The purpose of this posting is not to comment on the prayer - I'll deal with the propriety of that at another time. But post-prayer I couldn't change the channel. There was something that kept me glued to the set.

It was like the vortex of a black hole sucking in all life within a resonable proximity. Like the sirens' call drawing Odysseus to the rocks. Like the disgusting pile of roadkill from which - no matter how hard you try - you can't turn away. Like the... OK, I'll stop.

What I'm trying to say is (and I feel dirty even admitting this) I kinda liked it. First a little disclaimer: it wasn't a normal NASCAR race where all they do is turn left. There was actual skill involved, since it was one of those road races where they turn right and left. But it was NASCAR nonetheless.

Pray for me. I don't want to end up like that guy.

Cuba Libre!

2006-08-01T21:37:00.000-04:00

Last night, as I was flipping back and forth between a rerun of Supernanny and Hell's Kitchen (that reality show with the wannabe gourmets who have to put up with the hot-tempered, potty-mouthed British Chef), when all of a sudden the news busts in with one of those "This Just In, and It's Really Important... So Important That We're Gonna Interrupt an Important Episode of Supernanny - You'll Have to Learn How to Discipline Your Kids an Another Time."

And whereas many times, it's not really that big of a deal (news of a tropical depression that maybe - just maybe - might become a tropical storm if the sustained wind speeds pick up another 30 knots, Paris Hilton being spotted on Lincoln Road with what seems to be the look of someone who has broken her vow of abstinence, or something of the like), this time it was.

Kind of.

"Castro steps down." Rumors abound about whether he was dead or not, but the official news coming in from Havana stated that Fidel Castro announced a provisional transfer of his duties as Cuba's president to his little brother Raúl. The announcement cited "an acute intestinal crisis, with sustained bleeding" requiring immediate medical intervention - basically a colon that had become so impacted it caused his hemorrhoids to bleed profusely.

But seriously, I had this thought pop into my head as I watched the celebratory parades waving Cuban flags and cheering in the streets of Little Havana, Westchester, and elsewhere in Dade County: do you think they're interrupting Supernanny elsewhere across America? In places like Des Moines, Peoria, Omaha, and Spokane? I mean, it'd make the 11 o'clock news (or in most of those places, the 10 o'clock news... they go to bed a little earlier in the Heartland). But they don't bust in.

Let me say right off the bat that I'd love to see Castro out of power. He's a despot who has brutally executed his enemies, driven his island into abject poverty, and struck fear into the lives of the resilient Cuban people. Ordinary citizens dare not utter his name for fear of arrest by Fidel's Gestapo-like secret police.

Back in 1997, I witnessed this firsthand: doctors, lawyers, electricians, teachers scraping by on the government mandated $15-a-month; a former island paradise (and I don't use that term lightly - it used to be a paradise) delapidated and in ruin; young girls whose only hope is a life of prostitution - selling their bodies to the myriad Canadian and European tourists who remain at the resorts, but never see the real Cuba.

I stayed with a family of 7 who were crammed in a tiny, sweaty apartment, whose oldest son was my primary means of communication - my grasp of the Spanish language is limited to spewing vocabulary words and misconjugated verbs. The son's name was Alejandro. He was 25 years-old, and had what looked like a volleyball tucked under the skin of his neck. This grotesque tumor was malignant, and it was something that any doctor could operate on and remove - even one whose medical school diploma was signed by Sally Struthers. But day after day, Alejandro stared at this growing death sentance - one exacebated by the man in control.

And while I witnessed this firsthand, and long to see a free Cuba, it's all cerebral... I don't harbor this feeling in my gut like the people celebrating on Calle Ocho. Like the ones who fled Cuba after the Revolution. Like the ones desperate to the point of hopping in an innertube, braving shark attacks and the Florida Straits simply for the chance of a taste of freedom.

And while Castro has been resilient through the years (surviving the Bay of Pigs debacle, a 13-cigar-a-day habit, and beard leeches), he has also had his share of moral support (the picture to the right shows Castro, the USSR's Nikita Krushchev, and Steve Buscemi).

Of course, the big question remains: what happens next?

My hope and my prayer is for a free Cuba. And when that happens, we'll work on the east end of the island.

Top Head-Butts Of All Time

2006-07-27T22:09:00.000-04:00

On the heels of my last post, I've put together my personal list of the top head-butts of all time. Here they are (please know that they were deliberated over, and much thought was put into their selection):

5. Dennis Rodman head-butts the ref - The Worm head-butts referee Ted Bernhardt during a game against the Nets in 1997, and is subsequently ejected. Rodman rips off his Bulls jersey, knocks over a cooler and trots to the locker room.

4. Jockey Paul O'Neill head-butts his own horse - see previous post.

3. Evander Holyfield head-butts Mike Tyson - though referee (and future wannabe Wapner) Mills Lane says the butt was accidental, Tyson reacts to it by biting a chunk out of Holyfield's ear.

2. Zinedine Zidane of France head-butts Italy's Marco Materazzi in the 2006 World Cup final - possibly the coolest, most gutturally experiential head-butt of all time (you either loved it, or were apalled by it)

1. Gus Frerotte head-butts a concrete wall - After tossing a touchdown pass in a home game against the New York Giants, Frerotte (then of the Washington Redskins) got so excited that after congratulating his teammates, he proceeded to head butt the stadium wall. Frerotte had gotten caught up in the excitement of the moment and also thought that it would be safe, since the wall appeared to be padded. Unfortantely, the wall consisted of reinforced concrete backed up by only a half inch of foam. He ended up in the hospital after suffering spasms at halftime (he was eventually diagnosed with a concussion).

Jockey Head-Butts Horse

2006-07-24T14:58:00.000-04:00

The headline says it all, really.

ESPN is reporting that jockey Paul O'Neill will be investigated by the sport's governing body after television replays showed him head-butting his horse, City Affair.

Ironically, O'Neill claimed that he only resorted to the head-butt after City Affair made several racial slurs about his Irish ancestry – he claims that, among other things, the horse called him a terrorist, said his father was a drunk with a fiery temper, that his mother moonlighted as a car-bomb assembler for the IRA, and suggested that the leprechaun that his sister is dating "make her an honest woman" and marry her already.

Horse lip-reading specialists have been called in to determine whether there is any merit to O'Neill's claims. Until then, both jockey and horse have have filed seperate restraining orders, requiring them to remain at least 100 feet away from each other at any given time.

Sigur Rós - Glósóli

2006-07-11T22:08:00.000-04:00

Good design sucks me in every time.

For example, several months ago, as I perused the aisle of the record store, I came across what looked like a strangely illustrated children's book. When I looked at this supposed "book," I found it to be a CD by an Icelandic band with a name I wasn't sure how to pronounce (incidentally, it sounds a little like "see-or rose").

I had no idea what I was getting into at the time - I imagined them sounding like Teitur or Damien Rice. As any fan (or detractor) of Sigur Rós can attest, they sound nothing like either one of those artists. Their sound is beautiful, ethereal, majestic, and downright wierd - kind of like Radiohead without the chaos or hopeless nihilism... all sung in unintelligible Icelandic. But somehow it works.

What you see posted is their video for Glósóli, from their album "Takk..." It won “Best Rock Video” at the Creative & Design Awards back in June, and is the most watched video in EMI history.

Enjoy.

The Man In Black

2006-07-06T17:26:00.002-04:00

I’ve always associated Johnny Cash with my father.

Maybe it was the deep baritone voice. Maybe it was the imposing, larger-than-life persona. Whatever the case, I cried the day Johnny Cash died. And while those tears and that grief may have been in anticipation of my father’s impending death (he died a little more than 2 months later), they were real nonetheless.

Everyone knew it was a matter of time – the Johnny Cash in the “Hurt” video was a far cry from the Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison.

Or the original recording sessions at Sun Studios with Sam Phillips.

Or that hokey guest appearance as a charlatan preacher on “Little House on the Prairie.”

But although his death was immanent, it doesn’t mean that the news didn’t come as a shock. After hearing of his death, I listened to "American IV: The Man Comes Around" and heard anew the words of a man who knew he was about to die. "American IV" is full of songs about regret, despair, pain, sorrow… and faith. Faith of a man cheating death.

I heard this Johnny Cash once again a couple of days ago – the Johnny Cash who knew he was about to die. I picked up his latest [posthumously released] album "American V: A Hundred Highways" on Tuesday, the day it came out. Like he did on his last record, Cash sings of death. But whereas on “American IV,” he saw death as an executioner (like a condemned man awaiting the inevitable on death row), on "American V" he sees death as a gardener… one who tills the soil until the hope of the resurrection. The new album is filled with songs that are clearly hopeful of a better life beyond this one.

Much will be said of the propriety of "American V" – while the vocals were recorded in the months before Cash’s death, the backing tracks were laid in the two years since.

Save the controversy.

This record was released with the full support of the Cash family (John Carter, Rosanne, et al), and there are few collaborative partnerships like the one Johnny shared with Rick Rubin – Bernie Taupin/Elton John and Lennon/McCartney come to mind. One could argue that Rubin brought out the last creative breaths of a living legend like Johnny Cash in a way that no one else could have. Only Rubin could convince Cash to sing a Nine Inch Nails song, for crying out loud!

But back to death.

Death was something that Johnny Cash was known for. He was the Man in Black. The man who gave a voice to the common person. The man who sang for the oppressed. The man who spoke as the criminal. The man who knew his time on earth would soon come to an end. On "American V's" self-penned “Like the 309” he sings (in an appropriate semi-asthmatic, near-death guttural scrowl), “It should be a while before I see Dr. Death, so it would sure be nice if I could get my breath. Well I'm not the crying nor the whining kind, 'til I hear the whistle of the 309.”

And in “God's Gonna Cut You Down,” a confession only Johnny Cash could sing and not sound like a hell-fire and brimstone fundamentalist Bible-thumper (or like an ironic hipster as did Moby on “Run On” – yeah, that’s where you heard those lyrics before), he drones to a perfectly laid 2/4 stomp/clap backtrack, “Go tell that long-tongue liar; go and tell that midnight rider; tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter: tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down.”

The reason is simple: he’s speaking about himself. About the man who God cut down… the man who God caused to stumble, but who wasn’t ashamed to tell that story, because it was the story of a gracious God who did just that… cut a man down and in the process show him his mercy.

I miss you Johnny Cash.

I miss you Dad.

At Least it's for a Noble Cause

2006-06-30T18:41:00.000-04:00

This picture had "gotta put that on my blog" written all over it. What you're looking at is a South Korean soccer fan who was upset about his country's 2-0 loss to Switzerland in Group G of the World Cup. The man had just finished watching the match on an outside screen in Seoul, and was protesting against what he considers to be the referee's unfair judgment after South Korea's national team lost.

Say what you will, but we will never be considered a soccer country as long as we lack the passion that demands a partial disrobe in front of tens of thousands of passersby.

Archdukes, Gunshots, Butterflies, and the Gospel

2006-06-28T14:06:00.000-04:00

You may not have noticed, what with the incessant American media coverage of the World Cup, but yesterday marked the 92nd anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Other than being known for having one of history's coolest moustaches, the Archduke Ferdinand was a fairly inconsequential political figure whose siginfigance to world history is getting plugged by some crazed Serbian anarchist/freedom fighter/terrorist (take your pick) named Gavrilo Princip. "The Assassination in Sarajevo," as it is called, precipitated the Austrian declaration of war against Serbia and was the spark that ignited the fire that began WWI, and eventually drew the world into the "First Great War."

Somehow, this got me to thinking about the myriad little insignficant details that end up culminating (through some sort of interrelated "butterfly effect") in the great movements or events in world history. Those watershed moments where the course of history changed from one moment to the next. Those great "Tipping Points" (thank you, Malcolm Gladwell) that set the course of human events in a different path than before they occurred.

Johannes Gutenberg toiling in his workshop.

The birth of a Middle Eastern boy in Mecca in AD 571.

Julius Caesar crossing the rubicon in 49 BC.

An obscure Saxon friar named Johann Tetzel raising money for the construction of St. Peter's Basilica.

Michael Jackson moonwalking across the stage of the Motown 20th anniversary festivities.

In the Gospels, Jesus promised that his church would progress to the point that "the gates of hell" wouldn't be able to contain it (Matthew 16:18). Likewise, Christ has promised to make "all things new," and has called the church to participate here and now in painting a picture of his coming kingdom. But while the church is growing in Africa and Asia, the North American church has become stagnant, at best. I'm hoping and praying that we are seeing the end of this, and that Christians in the U.S. and elsewhere would embrace their nature as God's sent people - people dependent upon the Gospel, and passionate about the grace and hope that Christ offers.

Like that gunshot in Sarajevo 92 years ago, will historians one day talk about the church making making an impact on the world? And if so, what will that legacy be?

U2 Churches

2006-06-22T14:45:00.000-04:00

I read this article about a church in Tuscon, Arizona that sings U2 songs during its worship service. Apparently it's part of a larger trend to use the u2 canon as the basis for a church's worship.

I don't know what I think about these things. I mean, yeah U2 obviously have a spiritual message - even a Christian message - but come on. For one thing, there's other stuff out there. The church that I pastor has used U2 songs during our services for contemplative purposes – we've even used songs by Death Cab for Cutie, Patty Griffin, Jimmy Eat World, to name a few - but all that was in small doses. Secondly, wouldn't it be appropriate to sing songs that are representative of the larger church (geographically, culturally, historically, etc.), rather than just ones written by four guys from Dublin.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of U2. My walls were covered with posters from their "War" and "Joshua Tree" days when I was a kid, but the idea of labeling your service a "U2charist" (honestly, that's what they call it) seems pretty silly to me. It seems like people will look back on this in 10 or 20 years and say, "Remember when we did that U2 mass thing? Man was that lame!" It reminds me of some older friends of mine who told me about a service back in the '80s where someone very sincerely broke into a rendition of the Eagles' classic "Desperado" - you know, Elaine Benes' boyfriend's "song" (she eventually chose "Witchy Woman").

I wonder what Bono, et al think about their apparent deification.

Americentrism and Sports

2006-06-20T10:12:00.001-04:00

If you've been paying even the least bit of attention to what's currently happening in the world of sports, you no doubt are familiar with the World Cup. For those of you in South Florida, like me, believe it or not, there is actually something else going on other than the Heat series. And frankly, if you live outside of the United States, you're reading this and thinking I'm some kind of a rube for even suggesting that you might not be familiar with the World Cup, or that it's currently taking place.

I'll get to my point: Give soccer a chance. It's actually good... and interesting. The most common complaint is the lack of scoring, but that's beside the point (award each score seven points like American football, and The Ukraine beats Saudi Arabia 28-0). I think it boils down to our Americentrism: that oh-so-subtle tendency that we have to look down upon other cultures as quaint at best, and inferior or savage at worst.

So if you haven't already, take some time to watch the world's game. Tune into today's match between Sweden and England, or the U.S. vs. Ghana on Thursday, and be surprised yourself. World Cup. Copa del Mundo. Weltmeisterschaft. Call it what you will, but 500 million people can't be wrong.

Welcome to the Future

2006-06-07T21:44:00.001-04:00

So I've finally caught on to the future of this thing they call the "World Wide Web," and I'm staying ahead of the curve by being the first one on my block to start a weblog (or just "blog" for those of us in the know).

But seriously, I figured it would probably be about time to start one of these self-important sites in order to discuss the things that move me, interest me, or simply just amuse me. Visitors to this blog will experience some of the things I encounter as a minister in an urban tropical paradise, commentaries on the state of our city, the nature of the church as it relates to our culture in the 21st century, or simply some random miscellany.

So to both of you, I say thank you and enjoy.