
Thanks to the UCLA Bruins for knocking off the USC Trojans. This keeps the University of Michigan hopes for a rematch with Ohio State alive in the BCS championship game. We'll see what comes out of the BCS rankings tomorrow, but hope is still alive.
Musings of a Poser - as defined by Brennan Manning - and now fully embracing my status as a ragamuffin dependent on the Grace of God and nothing else.
The answer has significance far beyond the Haggard tragedy. As evangelical megachurches have sprung up around the country, concerns have grown over whether superstar pastors help or hurt faith communities.
The article goes on to talk at length about megachurches with superstar pastors. But the question is probably rhetorical. Are we really that shallow? Do we really go to churches just because a particular person is in the pulpit? I realize that pastors make a huge difference, but are we really that shallow?All I Need (I Did Not Catch Her Name)
I did not catch her nameThe Boy In The Bubble
It was a slow day
And the sun was beating
On the soldiers by the side of the road
There was a bright light
A shattering of shop windows
The bomb in the baby carriage
Was wired to the radio
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That’s dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don’t cry baby don’t cry
Don’t cry
It was a dry wind
And it swept across the desert
And it curled into the circle of birth
And the dead sand
Falling on the children
The mothers and the fathers
And the automatic earth
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That’s dying in the corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don’t cry baby don’t cry
Don’t cry
It’s a turn-around jump shot
It’s everybody jump start
It’s every generation throws a hero up the pop charts
Medicine is magical and magical is art
The Boy in the Bubble
And the baby with the baboon heart
And I believe
These are the days of lasers in the jungle
Lasers in the jungle somewhere
Staccato signals of constant information
a loose affiliation of millionaires
And billionaires and baby
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That’s dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don’t cry baby don’t cry
Don’t cry
© 1986 Paul Simon
Music by Paul Simon and Forere Motloheloa
We still have bombs in baby carriages, cars, buses and any other device that can transport a bomb. North Korea just detonated a nuclear device, much to the world's chagrin. We plan trips to Mars, watch space shuttles disintegrate before our very eyes, and are working on laser-based missile defense systems.
At the same time, we have breath-taking advances in medicine, robotics, nanotechnology and circuitry. These truly are the days of miracles and wonders.Phillippians
This is not my favorite part of the Bible, simply because contentment is an unfinished issue in my life. By nature I am a restless spirit and I simply have to work at contentment, and accepting what the Lord has for me at any given point in time. One of the things that drives me nuts is that the Lord gave me eyes that can see the possible and a spirit that wants to get there right now. Such is my ministry preparation. I'm pushing 40, enrolled in Asbury Seminary, and have all sorts of great ideas. But, as the chorus goes, "In His Time", is not matching up with my time.
Last week we bid farewell to our closest friends, the Risters, as they packed up and moved to
Envious that God had opened a door for John where Ford Motor Company offered him a buyout that includes paying for his education. Envious that they get to move to one of the most beautiful places that I have ever been. And envious that their sense of direction seems stronger than mine.
But I know what God has asked me to do, and I continue to prepare for whatever he has in store for us. I rejoice in the Rister's sense of purpose. And for the way God has opened doors for them. Pray that I can be patient enough to wait on his time. I know He has doors to open for me.
Naming a State Dirt
Just Doesn't Wash
With New Jerseyites
TOMS RIVER, N.J. -- As its license plates affirm, New Jersey is the Garden State. Where does its garden grow? It grows in dirt, which is why asking the state legislature to designate an official New Jersey state dirt sounded like a nice idea to David Friedman.
"It connects plants and animals and water and everything," said Mr. Friedman, a tall 55-year-old who runs the Ocean County soil-conservation district, here on the coastal plain between New York and Atlantic City. On a hot afternoon, he was driving his Subaru toward the broad, burnt lawn of the East Dover Baptist Church.
"What's beneath our feet," Mr. Friedman continued, "is a whole other world of earth and worms and...help me out, Chris."
"And roots and organisms," said Chris Miller, a specialist with the U.S. Agriculture Department who was on an inspection tour; he was riding in the back seat.
"They all serve," Mr. Friedman said. "If we manage what's below our feet, it's going to benefit mankind."
The sentiment appealed to Douglas Fisher, chairman of the state Assembly's Agriculture Committee. Encouraged by Mr. Friedman, he co-sponsored a bill naming a sandy loam called Downer soil as New Jersey's official dirt. Also known as "sugar sand," Downer blankets Ocean County; it's the commonest dirt in the state.
By unanimous vote, the Assembly passed the bill in May, prompting local resident Jay Lomberk to write to the Asbury Park Press: "State dirt? Are you kidding?" And another local, Jackie Daly, to write: "If it weren't so pathetic, it would be funny." There were lots of editorials, too.
Mr. Fisher is sure the mockery explains why no senator followed his dirt bill with one in the state's upper chamber. Earlier this year, Mr. Fisher nominated the tomato as New Jersey's official vegetable. The tomato is a fruit, but Mr. Fisher cited a U.S. Supreme Court decision from 1893 to prove that tomatoes are vegetables in the eyes of the law.
"The tomato didn't go anywhere, either," he says. "Didn't even pass the Assembly. Legislators think these bills make them look stupid. You can reduce anything to folly if you keep working at it."
Hard at work across America, state legislatures have lately ordained official fossils, odes, dogs and doughnuts. Bob Akerle of Netstate.com, a Web site that tracks these bills, says his count of new proposals is nearing 60 for this year. Where official symbols once stopped at flags, flowers and anthems, they total in the hundreds now. A few months ago, South Carolina made boiled peanuts its official snack food. Hawaii just installed the humuhumunukunukuapua'a as its official fish.
United Square Dancers of America has lobbied Congress to make the square dance a national symbol, alongside the flag, the rose and the bald eagle. "What with the war, we were not able to pass it," says Alitia Becker, the group's Plains region vice president. But it has persuaded 31 state legislatures -- New Jersey's included -- that they need an official folk dance, and that the square dance is it.
Until July 1, only Vermont had an official pie (apple). Now Florida has passed a pie act (Key lime) and the American Pie Council has hopes for pecan (Georgia) and cherry (Michigan). "People like to invoke a feeling of America," says Linda Hoskins, the pie council's executive director. "Nothing invokes America like pie."
Sure enough, but even officialdom can get fed up. Florida's lawmakers saw no use for a state rock; Ocala limestone met defeat in April. Last month, Louisiana Gov. Kathleen Blanco vetoed the newly written "I Love My Louisiana" as state poem, citing its lack of literary merit. In March, the Utah Legislature killed the rattlesnake's bid for state reptile.
Unlike rocks, snakes and poetry, the official-dirt movement, a loose amalgam of soil scientists, had run into little resistance up to now. Florida named a dirt (Myakka) in 1989. West Virginia did it (Monongahela) in 1997, and Illinois (Drummer) in 2001. Georgia is getting set to name red clay. All told, 21 states have honored dirt.
"There's no financial motivation, like there is with pie," Mr. Friedman was saying as he drove up to the Baptist Church and parked at the curb. He opened his trunk, got out a rubber-handled steel spike and added: "I don't think this should be a controversial issue in New Jersey."
Except for one thing: Mr. Friedman's homage to Downer soil also happens to be a philosophical challenge to what federal researchers recently identified as America's biggest crop.
The lawn.
At the East Dover Baptist Church, the lawn, initially planted in Downer, was now parched and firm. Mr. Friedman started across, paused, and jammed the spike as deep as it would go into the surface crust. It stopped at two inches.
"This is what happens in suburbia," said his colleague, Mr. Miller. Like lawns everywhere, this one had been flattened and turned during construction before it was grassed over. When dirt gets crushed, grass can't sink roots deep enough to drink up water from below; it has to be watered by hoses and sprinklers more and more. Because the dirt can't absorb it all, the water runs off into drains. In Ocean County, lawn fertilizer is then sluiced into barrier-island bays, helping breed algae that can starve fish of oxygen.
By contrast, under a pine stand in a far corner of the church lawn, a patch of Downer had survived in its spongy, primordial state. Mr. Friedman walked over and easily drove his spike up to the handle. He cleared the leaf duff with his book and scooped up two handfuls of the fragrant, sandy loam. "Plenty of pore space," he said, and Mr. Miller added: "It's best as woodland, a natural woodland soil."
Once, Ocean County was almost all woodland, and its population included 2.6 million hens. It has 500,000 people now, most in houses with lawns, plus 93 gated subdivisions for retirees and more on the way.
"Lawns," said Mr. Miller from the back seat as Mr. Friedman drove west toward Lakehurst. "Personally, I don't know what the draw is." The Subaru passed a string of "active adult communities," their new houses standing on treeless greensward. "That's how they build," Mr. Friedman said. "They clear everything."
He stopped at the edge of a future old-age compound called "River Pointe." Banners with pictures of smiling couples hung from poles. Behind them lay 165 humpy, windblown acres. Root-rakers had pulled out the scrub oak and pitch pine. Graders had sheared off the topsoil and stockpiled it. A backhoe was digging a storm drain.
Two surveyors stood at the roadside. Mr. Friedman walked over to introduce himself and offer his views on lawn abuse. "That was Downer soil," he said, looking over his shoulder. "It no longer is."
"Unfortunately, I'm responsible for clearing this," said one of the surveyors, Doug Falkinburg. "That's progress."
Mr. Friedman brought up his legislative campaign, pointing out that New Jersey has a state bird (goldfinch), a state tree (red oak) and a state dinosaur (Hadrosaurus foulkii), but no state dirt, the thing that holds it all together. "People didn't see the value," he said, mentioning that Downer, which almost covers the southern half of the state, was the candidate.
As Mr. Friedman left, the surveyor watched silently, and then he gave the dirt a kick. "Hey, I'm a South Jersey guy, too," he called out. "You got my vote!"
Write to Barry Newman at barry.newman@wsj.com1
URL for this article: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB115508792324430654.html |
Take, take till there's nothing, nothing to turn to.
Nothing when you get through.
Won't you break, scatter pieces of all I've been.
Bowing to all I've been running to.
Where are you?
Where are you?
Did you leave me unbreakable?
Leave me frozen?
I've never felt so cold.
I thought you were silent.
And I thought you left me for the wreckage and the waste.
On an empty beach of faith.
Was it true?
Cause I, I got a question, I got a question- Where are you?
Scream, deeper I wanna scream.
I want you to hear me, I want you to find me.
Cause I, I want to believe but all I pray is wrong and all
I claim is gone.
And I, I got a question, I got a question- Where are you?
lyrics from Silence by Jars of Clay
That's where I am today. I'm reaching out for God to tell me
what he wants me to do with my life, my vocation, and the
seminary education I am acquiring.
But there seem to be more questions than answers.
Then along comes a chapel podcast on Be still and Know.
Whack! (sound of 2x4 hitting skull)
Read Psalm 46 with me
1 God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. 2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, 3 though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. Selah 4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. 5 God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.
6 Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; he lifts his voice, the earth melts. 7 The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah 8 Come and see the works of the Lord, the desolations he has brought on the earth. 9 He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear, he burns the shields with fire. 10 "Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." 11 The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah (emphasis added)
Pray for me to be still. If you know me, you know how difficult that is. I want to know it all now, and it doesn't work that way. But I want to know because there is a restlessness in my soul that I cannot explain.
A few years ago I attended a conference on USA/Canada Missions in Nashville, TN. The conference, sponsored by the Church of the Nazarene, had nearly 5000 participants focused on how to evangelize the United States and Canada. The M3 refers to the 3rd Millennium of Christianity, which we are now in.
Am I the only one to cringe at the concept of having to have a conference on how to evangelize our “Christian” nation? I used to make fun of the Jews because they “just didn’t get it” when they had the Messiah in their midst. In Acts 1:4,8 Jesus tells his disciples to wait in Jerusalem until they have received the Holy Spirit and that “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea and Samaria and to the uttermost parts of the earth.” People, our Jerusalem is all around us.
Look at your community with God’s eyes. Who is hurting? Who needs a friend? Who needs food? Shelter. A lift out of addiction? Freedom from fear from an abusive spouse? Who are the widows, orphans and poor that God cares so deeply about? And how can we help them?
Pray that we will be obedient to God’s leading in these issues. We need to be prepared to reach people who do not look like us, act like us, or are even the kinds of people we like to be around. We are all sinners, some of us are saved by Grace, and others are waiting for that opportunity. God loves these people, and we need to be obedient to present the Gospel of Jesus Christ to them. That may mean a church plant, opening a Compassionate Ministry Center, or implementing outreach efforts to show Christ’s love to them. Or something that we haven’t even imagined. Mercifully, God is not limited by our imaginations.
Pray with me that God will lead us to follow His direction. We can’t be passive, but we need to be obedient. Pray with us, come with us, and work with us to reach the lost for Jesus.
Verse:
John 3:16; Jn 3:16; John 3
Keyword:
Salvation, Jesus, Gospel
With Operators:
AND, OR, NOT, “ â€
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