While meeting with some friends for a Bible study Tuesday, I stumbled into an epiphany of sorts regarding the scriptures we’re walking through right now. Consider, as we did, Hebrews 4 [ESV]:

[continuing a theme from chapter 3]…Therefore, while the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us fear lest any of you should seem to have failed to reach it. For good news came to us just as to them, but the message they heard did not benefit them, because they were not united by faith with those who listened. For we who have believed enter that rest, as he has said, “As I swore in my wrath, ‘They shall not enter my rest,’” although his works were finished from the foundation of the world. For he has somewhere spoken of the seventh day in this way: “And God rested on the seventh day from all his works.” And again in this passage he said, “They shall not enter my rest.”

Since therefore it remains for some to enter it, and those who formerly received the good news failed to enter because of disobedience, again he appoints a certain day, “Today,” saying through David so long afterward, in the words already quoted, “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.”

For if Joshua had given them rest, God would not have spoken of another day later on. So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his.

Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience. For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

For as long as I can remember, I have been told and taught in church that the “word of God is living and active” refers to scripture. To insist on that being an accurate interpretation is to flatly refute the many tools of interpretive and criticial exegesis given to us. It’s also completely disrespectful to the context and authorial intent.

Plainly, I think we’ve got this one wrong.

At a glance, we see just from this excerpt of the letter, the author is not talking about scripture anywhere within the logical literary unit. Secondarily, we see that this is not a parenthetical interjection, the line in question is clearly part of the main flow of the text, either as a narratival theme or possibly a sub-narrative (‘rest’, as we have discovered for the past month and a half, is a major theme in Hebrews, linked with disobedience and sensitivity to the leading of God’s spirit. A separate conversation.)

So the writer isn’t talking about the Bible. Where else in the New Testament do we see the ‘word of God’? John’s prologue. I’ve argued elsewhere that ‘word’ doesn’t exactly fit in the prologue, either. It is clear that the ‘word’ as found in John is a metaphor for Jesus, but being that the root is logos, ‘logic’ or ‘paradigm’ is more fitting for translation than a clunky, ill-fitting ‘word’.

(For the record, I do not say that ‘logic’ means something akin to gnosticism or just getting smart as salvation. Just because I dispute the ‘word’ does not mean I deny the employment of metaphor here. ‘In the beginning was the logic, and the logic was with God and the logic was God…’ Clearly, the ‘logic’ is the spirit of Christ, as found in Jesus, the prototype of what it means for man to live in communion with God. So, no, I’m not a heretic. ‘Word’ just is a poor translation, in my opinion.)

So, what is the author of Hebrews saying? “For the ‘logic of God’ [or, 'spirit of Christ'] is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning to the thoughts and intentions of heart.”

I approach this thought another way: many conservatives recoil at the thought of judges legislating from the bench, complaining about people who view the US Constitution as a living document. Those conservatives argue in favor of the jurisprudence of original intent, or strict originalism. Being that many people have taken a living document approach to scripture and committed heinous religious, political and cultural atrocities, shouldn’t we argue for the jurisprudence of original intent when it comes to scripture? Some people open the Bible and come to wild conclusions, others gut the content of its salvific potency, is that same Bible living and active? Or is it the spirit of Christ that brings understanding to a reader in need of rest? Perhaps the way we understand it right now needs to be reworked.

Certainly understanding this verse as the spirit of Christ brings a greater level of understanding to the text. As it was, we had a disjointed passage with an ill-fitting verse in the middle. This passage is still somewhat disjointed–the author of Hebrews is clearly someone who is less Matthew and more Mark–but it clicks now, especially with the following passage.

Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience. For the [spirit of Christ] is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And no creature is hidden from [his] sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.

[Note the brackets: the biggest clue to the true nature of 'word' is the fact that the following verse has the same subject with a different pronoun. If the verse in question were indeed about scripture, the pronoun following should be an 'it', not a 'he'. Context clues demand that we work with what we're given, not with what we assume.]

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

The same spirit of Christ that brings judgment upon the heart, is the same spirit that, having endured all that Jesus did, brings us atonement and reconciliation to God. Which is a powerful theological reality lost when we simply assume a verse’s meaning based on osmosis. It is a sword and a sheath, a conviction and an aquittal, a turning of the back and a warm embrace; all contingent upon the state of a person.

In praise of spirit over letter

With all the hubbub surrounding politics regarding deregulation and oversight, it seems a good time to mention a few related things.

One of the things that makes Christian theology beautiful is its spiritual revolution over the letter of the law. It is this philosophical shift that inspired American limited, restricted government, enshrined as a constitutional democratic republic. (For the record, I choose my words carefully: I do not advocate that this is a Christian nation founded by Christians, however, we do see a clear influence of, amongst other motivations, the scriptures in the formation of America.) As we see a concept of Christian liberty as taught in the New Testament (a proper reading of the New Testament proclaims what we should or can do, rather than what we cannot), we see in the Constitution clearly defined limitations on government, not citizens. Sadly, that concept has been routinely ignored, particularly in recent years by all parties and branches in government.

With the controversial bailout package passed by Congress came much discussion about the sources of our recent economic meltdown. Typically, Democrats blamed deregulation while Republicans blamed lack of oversight.

Constitutionally-limited government is predicated upon the decency or goodness of a nation’s citizenry. Tocqueville said it thus: When America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great; noting that the concept of American liberty was so intertwined with fervent preaching of the Gospel that it was clear the source of goodness was in the churches and places of worship from city to countryside.

Decent people need not be placed under the thumb of excessive stipulations or legalities. Decent people accept people who will preside over and defend constitutionally-limited government, which is why we have presidents and not kings, premiers, chancellors or tyrants, as well as a Congress that has specifically enumerated powers. When decent people preside over the halls of government, there is no concern for trespassing on those powers because their role is clear, defined and accepted: service, not dominion.

Again, an axiom found in scripture that has lasting repercussions beyond spiritual affairs: Where there is no vision, the people cast off restraint.

People who need strict boundaries and black and white rules are people with no sense of responsibility or self-control. Because they lack a basic inner sense of right and wrong, and have never been exposed to the concept of natural law, they are hardly more than animals: selfish creatures constantly starved by the insatiable hunger for self-gratification. People who are dangers to themselves because of their reckless self-interest are people who need straitjackets and restraints.

Self-interest, and a good dose of deception, caused the fall. Self-interest is the antithesis of liberty.

Federal codex and regulations now exceed 25,000 pages of legal mumbo-jumbo, while the Constitution has been replaced with the US Legal Code, full of enough thou shalt nots to make even the most embittered wayward soul, having a propensity toward complaining about faith-based legalism, cringe. Clearly, we are a people who are a danger to ourselves governed by people whose self-interest is political ideology instead of the vigorous defense of the Constitution and their fellow Americans.

Clearly, we are a people who necessitate tyranny. As Tarkin aptly put it: Fear will keep them in line.

Which brings us to the current economic meltdown. Things were allowed to get this bad by everyone:

-Government which held mortgage lenders hostage in the name of politically-correct egalitarianism and then got into the debt management business with high risk mortgages via government-sponsored entities. The same party that advocated the destruction of black neighborhoods in the name of public housing projects passed the original Community Reinvestment Act and its modification, which is directly to blame for the mess we’re in right now;

-Banks and other financial entities that offered variable and adjustable rate mortgages with impunity and disregard for their own well being (see also: Countryside, amongst others), as well as buying up bad debt portfolios from others (see also, Brothers, Lehman, amongst others);

-Those who borrowed without consulting an attorney or doing due diligence before signing the paperwork for their own inevitable execution;

-Government again, for failing to do anything until there was no choice but to engage in socialism the likes of which may completely destroy free enterprise in America;

-And finally, taxpayers for not throwing a second Boston Tea Party over such a blatantly risky, taxpayer-funded, Yuan-funded potential fiscal apocalypse.

The reality of the matter is that this mess is neither the Democrats’ nor Republicans’ responsibility. It is not because of regulation, deregulation or oversight. It is because we are a nation of irresponsible, nihilistic sub-humans, by irresponsible, nihilistic sub-humans and for irresponsible. nihilistic sub-humans. ‘People’ hardly suffices to adequately explain who we have become in ‘civilized’ society.

Corporate lawyers pour over legislation in order to find loopholes, so they can do what is wrong without breaking the law. McCain and Feingold were able to get campaign finance reform from dream to reality, only to see the 527 nightmare, while a certain presidential campaign is living high off the hog thanks in part to donations amounting to just underneath the disclosure threshold. In a culture poisoned by power and greed (in no particular order), what do you expect? 501 tax exemption, a perfectly-decent allowance for charitable organizations, has allowed a whole bumper crop of crisis cult health-and-wealth ‘churches’ that live apart from the burden of taxation, only to line the pockets of sleazy snake oil salesmen preaching their offensive and heretical doctrines, while well-intentioned organizations trying to attain 501 status to do meaningful religious or charitable work need to go through miles of red tape to the status so many others appear to abuse.

[EDITORIAL ASIDE: Given the cultural climate we have now, further given that we will be facing up to a trillion-dollar deficit in the upcoming months, rest assured that balancing the budget will include finding fresh manflesh for the Uru-khai. Churches and synagogues, the cross hairs are upon you, your property and your income, I mean, donations, irrespective of who heads the next administration. The sun is setting on you because of those who abuse the privilege of exemption. Indeed, night cometh, when no man can work.]

I advocate neither morality nor Christianity as the solution, mainly because mob rule is already entrenched within our borders. The only stability that will come will be by force and not from the goodwill within us as people. It has already begun, and while I do not hold any particular eschatological stance, mostly because there is so much work yet to be done that it is utterly presumptuous and absurd to look to the stars, we can see the foundations of [potentially friendly, potentially not] totalitarianism laid in our civic and federal halls.

When America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great.

The principles of American liberty are beautiful, yet nothing compared to the liberty of following the way of Christ. Reason, charity, faith and self-government are ideals nearly lost in the throes of those blindly following Hegel’s dialectic (on both sides). As a philosopher, a Christian, a theologian, husband, brother, son and human, existence without these core tenets is existence bound first by chains of the soul, then by chains of the body.

We spent decades fighting for the full liberty of our human brothers because of the color of their skin. We spend millions of dollars fighting for the liberty of oppressed people in the Middle East. Why are we not vigorously defending the liberty of America? How can we assail tyrannous ideology overseas and ignore the rising tyrant(s) within our own borders? Or overturn the death-inducing letter of the law there, but to return to the death-inducing letter here?

Where is the spirit of the law in American society today?

A regular, no-lead feature

[a weekly note from Facebook, now here:]

So I’ve followed the price of crude oil since before Rita and Katrina sent things reeling what is now more than a few years ago. I’ve seen all sorts of stupidity in the reporting, but this is the one I’m most amazed by, more amazing than the two weeks where the same reasons the price went up were the exact same reasons the price went down.

I have Yahoo Biz in the bookmark toolbar on Firefox (and if you’re not on Firefox, or on browser not from Microsuck, what is wrong with you???) and I check it every business day, two to three times. On Tuesday, the coverage begins to amp up for the Energy Department’s release of stockpile information, usually late Wednesday morning. Without fail, the genii at the Associated Propagandists, er, Press business section, cite Platts for an estimate of what the report will be. Platts, a self-professed “leading global provider of energy and metals information” and a subsidiary of McGraw-Hill (yes, the textbook people) has been, without fail, wrong. And not just wrong, obscenely wrong.

For five weeks in a row now, Platts has royally screwed up the estimate. Today, from the AP’s Madlen Read’s 11.13 AM report: “The Energy Information Administration, an arm of the U.S. Energy Department, said the nation’s crude inventories rose by a hefty 9.4 million barrels in the week ended Aug. 15. That figure was much higher than the average analyst forecast for a 1.7 million-barrel increase, according to energy information provider Platts.”

1.7 goes into 9.4 over five times. That means that Platts was off by roughly 550%! Last week, when I got so fed up with the absurdity of estimating the guvment’s report that I e-mailed the AP and ripped them for using bad information on a weekly basis, they were off by about 300%.

So the folks with the Associated Propagandists seem to be in on the fix. They seem to have a vested interest in using bad information to spread unwarranted panic through estimate information that is routinely inaccurate in a way that makes weatherpeople look like the precogs in Minority Report.

Stay tuned every Wednesday for the latest findings.

___

3 September: Nary a word from the AP about Platts or estimates, only the Energy Dept.’s actual findings. I’m not going to be so presumptuous as to say that one man took on the Associated Press and won via the power of the interweb, but I’m just saying that four weeks after a certain writer contacted the AP and three weeks after said writer started keeping published track of the mistakes, and lo!, was there no word of the incompetent ones at Platts to be found.

And oil continues its nosedive. Now the prices need to follow suit. Better time than ever for the elected moronity in Madison to repeal or suspend the minimum markup law.

___

Well, Platts took Labor Day off, it seems.

As reported by the Associated Propagandists today:

Platts estimate: gas supplies down -1.8M barrels

Energy Dept: gas supplies down -1M barrels

Platts off by 40%

Feel confident about McGraw Hill’s textbooks yet? If Platts is this crazy, what do you think they’re passing in print?

___

24 September:

Platts: +1.5M barrels

Energy dept: -1.6M

Platts off by 200% the complete wrong way.

___

1 October:

Platts: + OR – 1.5M barrels of crude stocks

Energy dept: + 4.3M barrels

With a THREE-MILLION BARREL SPREAD, the brain trust at Platts still managed to get it wrong anywhere from nearly 200-400%.

Gas stocks:

Platts: – 1-3M barrels

Energy dept: + 900K barrels

With a TWO-MILLION BARREL SPREAD, Platts again misses from almost 200 to 400%, while also going the wrong way.

Next week, expect the analysts to finally get it right with a spread from +30M to -20M. They may as well, since they can’t seem to hit water falling out of the boat.

___

Last week’s hijinks out of the way, Platts managed to blow it yet again…

Crude stocks:

Platts est.: – 1M barrels

Energy dept: + 8.1M

Margin of error: Off the wrong way by 900%

Gas stocks:

Platts: + 2M barrels

Energy dept: + 7.2M

Margin of error: about 300% off

And, added to the fray this week, distillates:

Platts: + 1M barrels

Energy dept: – 500K

Margin: Off the wrong way, 150%

Platts surveys analysts in the market to come up with their wild prognostications. Should you trust the markets when these clowns are overseeing the supplies? Probably about as much as trusting Washington with the bailout.

Cheers!

___

Platts took yesterday off (due to Columbus Day), but they’re back for another week of wild guesses…

Platts Oil: +3.1M

Energy dept: +5.6M

Platts Gas: +3.5M (approx., according to the Associated Propagandists)

Energy Dept: +7M (ditto)

So they missed each estimate by about double. New week, same misses.

Evening rambling, with an nod toward Nick Tosches

[For a while, I kept my writing juices warm on Facebook. This, amongst others, was originally published as a note over there. Enjoy. From 3-4 October:]

My feet are at the head of the bed, while my wife gently snores, her hand on my calf. The warmest part of my body. It’s 10.37 and we old farts are in bed, the younger sleeps, the elder wide awake.

I went over to ebay and browsed some things that I used to look for. No one sells game-worn Minnesota North Stars jerseys anymore. I then recalled seeing somewhere that Starflyer 59’s highly obscure first live record allegedly sold for $500. Five songs, $100 a pop. Unfortunately, no one was selling. I have a copy, purchased at Cornerstone 96, weeks before my brother and now sister-in-law were married and the day before Lee Bozeman destroyed what I thought music could be in a short, impromptu midnight set. Funny thing is, I had Luxury’s ‘Solid Gold’ running through my head earlier today.

It’s been a nostalgic type of day here. Life right now isn’t treating me very well these days, or so it seems, so nostalgia seems like a good way to stave off an existential malaise. Not sure it’s working, but that’s how these things go.

And, of course, those good old days were probably not so good, hormones and awkwardness and gigantic spectacles and whatnot. In those days, I would wonder what I would look like as an adult. I look in the mirror and gasp at what I have become. To borrow from my brother’s birthday card sent to me not so long ago: “Crap, 27 is OLD!”

I moved on from Starflyer to see what Michael Knott stuff was out there. Not a bad selection, and the prices were reasonable, but not reasonable enough to make a move. In the 90s, there was a huge market for rare and OOP Christian records. They were rare and OOP because the labels often lacked the finances and strategic wherewithal to survive, and that the Christian market was so impenetrable that many, many talented artists were relegated to obscurity and the few brokers who were able to obtain them, in a pre-e-commerce marketplace, gladly charged gobs of money. Knott’s label, Blonde Vinyl, tanked because of a distributor going in the tank. So ‘Screaming Brittle Siren’ would go for upwards of $100. It was $27 tonight, and a 14-year-old inside me said ‘BUY!’.

The 27-year-old refused.

At Cornerstone in 1996, some kid made a t-shirt that said, “Pray for Mike Knott”. Knott was (and probably is) a troubled soul. Insightful, sharp, haunted, brilliant. He was almost singlehandedly responsible for the rise of an albeit shortlived Christian music scene that would have never settled for the horsecrap, whiny “there must be something mooooooooore!” emo-esque pap that is all too cool these days. (I’ve been meaning to write about that phrase for a while now. Rest assured, ’tis coming.) Rumor insists that Knott was the silent partner who gave Brandon Ebel the capital to start a label in his California apartment called Tooth and Nail. Unfortunately, the inference that comes from a t-shirt is not familial concern, but backdoor condemnation.

Even more unfortunately, I saw Knott play–ironically, with Bozeman; another memorable show–in a small club in Kansas City years ago. It was the last time he actually toured, to my knowledge. I wasn’t sure at the time, but he was probably drunk. A guy like that doesn’t need prayer, he needs love.

I waited for my wife to leave work tonight and a mother was going into the place of employment with her small children. One in the cart, the other practically dragged by the arm. And, in this moment of reflection, it all makes sense: people can only function when they are loved, in the assurance of being loved, we can feel free to be like children, because children are adorable when they are in the presence of love. Things aren’t right when there is no understanding of love. People feel for a lost or missing child. People celebrate when a child is found. I still remember being separated from my mom as a very little child at a JCPenney in Burnsville, Minnesota. It wasn’t long; of course, as a toddler, it seemed like an eternity. Mom still gets upset when that story comes up, and I’m sadistic enough to joke that she left me, when I wandered off on my own recognizance. The child isn’t the only one who panics; we all do.

Knott’s panic was very public because of his standing as an artist with Christian conviction. And the industry eventually responded by cutting his music off from outlets. As far as I know, he doesn’t record anymore, he just paints. The great troubadour has gone silent, if not for his brush and canvas.

I then turned my ebay interest to the 77s. In 1986, they put out one of the finest pop records one could imagine, and thanks to an agreement between Exit Records and Island, some CCM artists were getting attention outside the Christian sphere. That self-titled record contained the high watermark of the Sevens’ catalog, and it was supposed to garner serious attention from the airwaves, print media, etc. A funny thing happened: a little record called ‘The Joshua Tree’. Exit’s deal with Island crumbled shortly thereafter and the 77s were left for dead. They kicked around for a while, came back with another fledgling CCM label (Brainstorm) and were hailed as legends, even though Mike Roe was dealing with similar troubles as Knott.

They put out two records in the wake of the Island fiasco that were quite good. Both were on ebay: ‘Eighty Eight’, a live record, which I have on cassette but was unavailable on this night on CD; and 1990’s ‘Sticks and Stones’, supposedly a stunning collection of b-sides and other unreleased stuff. That one is the rarity.

I was at Spencer Lake Bible Camp I don’t know how many years ago, and at that time they had a little shack that served as their bookstore, only open toward the end of the camp week. And, as all good evangelicals know, the Christian bookstore is also the place to scour past the awful Carman and Petra records for the actually adequate music. There it was in the showcase. I had no idea what it was at the time, I was probably 11 years old. But it was the only time I ever saw ‘Sticks and Stones’ for sale. And, of course, not only would I not have cared, but I was also poor. Christian records always cost too much, there was no such thing as The Nice Price in the local Christian bookstore.

‘Sticks and Stones’ I know for a fact has sold upwards of $200. On this night, the price was $40.

And again, the 27-year-old wrested with the inner adolescent and prevailed. My tongue touches the permanent retainers behind the upper and lower front teeth to remind me of how bad things were in those years when Spencer Lake was part of the summer routine.

Perhaps it’s the economy, but a better guess is that the reason the demand for these things is so down is because the market that gave rise to their importance has been utterly destroyed. The Christian music industry is a joke, and most Christian musicians don’t bother trying to cater to that crowd. Why perform for them when 1) they don’t pay unless you’re one of them; and 2) they’re out for your head should a more or folkway be broken? I seldom purchase a ‘Christian’ record anymore, if at all. Most of my friends don’t, either. The concept seems foreign to me now: what makes a record ‘Christian’ anyway? What makes a record ‘Christian’ when those artists hailed by Nash-Vegas are hypocritical because they’re doing precisely what ’secular’ artists have always done in hotel rooms, at clubs, on tour. (And at least three once-prominent acts come to mind, in stories related from quite reliable sources.) If I purchase a record, it’s because I like the music or I appreciate the artist. Meaning can be derived from there, which is why the same tinglies Christians get from whomever happens to be the ‘worship leader’ du jour are the same tinglies I got when I saw Two Gallants rock out in a church basemen on State Street in Madison a few years back. Once upon a time, I thought that was the Spirit. It just turned out to be great music.

I still hold the Spirit near and dear to me, and that’s why my enthusiasm toward ‘worship’ is largely curbed.

RadRockers used to hold connoisseurs of the Christian underground hostage with exorbitant prices for European-only Saviour Machine releases and rare 77s EPs and whatnot. So would True Tunes. I don’t even know if they exist anymore, I’ve been at this for an hour and I don’t feel like checking. What happened to them is the same that happened to the Christian music industry at large, we substituted Christian experience for an entertaining experience. With apologies to Dostoevsky, Christian art imitated Christian life, then Christian life imitated Christian art, and eventually the Christian aspects of both canceled each other out. The language could explain our plight in general, as well: in reality, the fiction created by Christian art was spawned from the fiction that was the Christian life. When someone like Knott came along and made Christian art that reflected real life, that art was deemed not Christian because it threatened the structural fiction.

And that’s why Christian radio is all ‘worship’, all the time now; a horrifying reflection of the drugged people we are.

And when there is no general market, there can be no aftermarket. Goodbye and good riddance to CCM unintentionally means goodbye to the market I raised myself on, with help from a handful of others. You can’t go to the Lighthouse bookstore in Green Bay and ask the right people to see the rare and beautiful music behind the counter, hidden like the smut behind the counter at a gas station. I’m not even sure the Lighthouse is in business anymore. Searching online for some of these remnants of a dead and dying culture isn’t as rewarding as searching them out in person. I have a life now, a wife, friends and a community entrusted to my care for the time being. It’s fun to look, but I am reminded, as was the preacher in Ecclesiastes: Vanity of vanities! All is vanity!

Those days are gone, many of those artists have disappeared to places where ebay won’t even follow. And, as the relentless march of time drones on, neither can I.

Midnight looms, and I am another day older.

Forced morning people (like me)

[originally submitted for small group discussion for one of my Bethel courses...]

Thanks to the incessant chirping of my wife’s dying cell phone, I was roused from an aborted slumber sometime in the 4.00 hour this morning. These are the mornings where I am envious of my wife’s sleep-through-bombing-runs pattern, and the subsequent frustration of realizing, all over again, that I have my mother’s if-you-wake-up-you’re-screwed sleep paradigm.

I often joke that I am the world’s lightest sleeper, when I was a baby, napping in a crib, some relatives and family friends thought it would be cute to watch me sleep. Their presence in the room would interrupt that, regardless of how quiet or still they would be.

On mornings like this, however, there are no jokes about sleep because a lack of sleep isn’t funny. At least not until later.

So I roused myself and got out of bed, did the husbandly thing by plugging in my wife’s noisy little, um, cell phone, poured some leftover coffee, warmed it in the microwave and began to face the day as I usually do: my morning reading. News, financial news, reading overnight e-mail, Facebook, etc. It’s been a fairly uneventful morning in the world, so I decide to take advantage of the extra waking hours my wife’s phone gave me (not bitter, not at all…) to go to school. So I picked up [Henri Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son] and started to finish this week’s assigned reading.

I’m quite chippy this morning (in case you didn’t notice), and I find myself with little room for silliness. Then, in the midst of my reading, came Nouwen. p. 82:

“The story of the prodigal son is the story of a God who goes searching for me and who doesn’t rest until he has found me. He urges and he pleads. He begs me to stop clinging to the powers of death and to let myself be embraced by arms that will carry me to the place where I will find the life I most desire.”

While this reads perfectly fine, something occurred to me that I otherwise might have missed: Nouwen has completely wandered off the reservation of the parable, the painting, the central point of the book. And when I began to write how Nouwen has gloriously missed the point…

…my computer crashed.

So I went to the kitchen, muttering things I probably ought not to mutter and thinking worse, poured another cup of coffee, warmed that in the nuker, and started over. And I’ve made it this far without the magic smoke disappearing from my laptop. I think we’re going to be ok.

Here’s the beef I’m having with Nouwen: there isn’t anything in the parable to suggest that the father begged or pleaded with his son not to leave. In fact, here, in the middle of the chapter, he has abandoned his subject matter [the elder son] to go on a romanticized missive about God’s love in relationship to him!

The reality as found in the parable is far more chilling: the father gives his bratty little child what he wants. This is not to suggest that the father is immune from sorrow, mourning, even frustration or anger over the matter, such characteristics would make this father less than human, much less the creator of humans. He has given his son what he asked for, and the son doesn’t let the door hit him in the butt on the way out.

In this parable, dialogue only takes place where it is necessary, and the father says nothing, part the intention of the story-teller, part indicative of an unspoken caveat to his son. It seems Nouwen has either (charitably) missed this fact or (uncharitably) is ignoring it. I find it to be of utmost import, for if God were one to beg or plead for his son to stay, it would betray the fact that our God is fundamentally insecure about his ability as father and as creator.

In the case of the Good Shepherd, we see a shepherd leaving the 99 to go after the one, but the 99 are already penned up. This imagery may work in a book about the Good Shepherd, but not here in the story of the prodigal. (Moritz’s caution about reauthoring the text [to fit our prejudices and biases] looms large here.)

Few fathers and sons are touchy-feely, tender and affectionate, Nouwen’s understanding of the father and son resembles a toddler, not a grown (or even adolescent) son. Further, his understanding of the father seems more like a mother. There’s nothing wrong with God having maternal qualities (after all, he is gender-neutral) but, again, that has nothing to do with a painting or a parable. I qualify my statement about the touchy-feeliness of fathers and sons to include a clause where, under certain circumstances, fathers and sons will be more physcially affectionate: for example, a soldier returning from war, or a rebellious son returning home. Outside of those circumstances, there is little room for insecurity or outright affection for the man of the house.

And, as the story reads, those special circumstances are not prevalent until a broken and empty son comes home. To me, the cold, stark reality of a God who, under the great weight of sorrow, allows his children to take their inheritance and squander it is more meaningful than a God who treats his children as though they are perpetually three. (Moreover, if God is this way all the time, why is there resentment on the face of the elder son?)

We still have liberty, even the liberty to nail Jesus to the cross. Only the hopelessly pretentious would think that would somehow reimagine the nature of an almighty God. If for nothing less, it is the squandering that makes outright affection and celebration possible.

Straight talk, my friends

The first real entry here shouldn’t be about politics, but it is. Such is the the season.

When I found out that John McCain was going to do a barnstorming tour of Wisconsin this week, I decided that, since I have never been to a presidential rally, this would be as good a time as any to go. You see, Wisconsin outside of Madison and Milwaukee is seldom a hotbed of national politics. George HW Bush was here way back when on his whistle-stop tour by rail. Other than that, and an appearance by Howard Dean and John Edwards back in ‘04, Central Wisconsin goes largely unnoticed: Dave Obey’s rotting corpse gets reelected every other year for whatever reason and life goes on as it usually does. With a case of beer and a snap to attention at the very utterance of the name. (Lombardi. Or Miller Lite.)

So wife and I decided to take the afternoon off and head up to Mosinee, where Straight Talk Air would touch down and greet the throngs of supporters. (To be fair, it’s probably a good thing Mac wasn’t piloting the thing.) We arrived at CWA, were directed to alternate parking and lo! there were cars as far as the eye could see. As well as a line that stretched for a half-mile (longer by the time we got closer to the hangar.) In union-friendly, good ol’ boy Central Wisconsin, no less!

Let’s put it this way: in 1984, when Reagan ran wild over Mondale, only one county in Wisconsin fell in the Mondale category. That would be Portage, right here in the 715. Not the People’s Republic of Dane County, not the recovering socialists comprising Milwaukee County. Portage County.

So we parked, got in line and waited. And waited. The line slinked along at a snail’s pace, thanks to intense security detail and people who apparently didn’t realize that the less they brought with them, the faster they could get whisked through the metal detectors and wands. Which reminds me, those Secret Service guys are efficient; why can’t they do the airports, too?

While we inched closer and closer to the hangar, we began to hear angry voices on bullhorns. muffled-muffled-GEORGE BUSH AND JOHN MCCAIN!-unintelligible-muffled-SEND JOBS OVER-muffled-COUNTRY CLUB FIRST! COUNTRY CLUB FIRST! Sure enough, some union guys were there, mostly peaceful, mostly civil, but these two buffoons, one in a Bush mask, the other in McCain’s likeness, were on a bullhorn with background music so awful a wedding DJ would cringe (Tainted Love followed by Funkytown, for instance) and occasionally engaging in some kind of vertical breakdancing, using the terms loosely. At first it was irritating, but then it became quite funny, so the protesters, as lame as they may be, score bonus points for having a sense of humor. Some of the people in line for the rally jumped the line to get their pictures taken with them.

For the record, there were about a dozen protesters. There were over 2000 people for the rally.

Two points about Secret Service people: 1) They can be incredibly rude, as we found out when we chose a line and they decided to tell us to pick a line when we were already in our chosen line; 2) The suited ones you expect to turn and say “Missster Annnderson,” have really sharp ties.

So we finally made our way through the security detail and went out to the tarmac, where the rally was staged. Apparently we weren’t sexy enough to get onto the bleachers, so we got to stand with the peanut gallery. We stood in line, we waited for security, we walked through to the tarmac and got to stand for another hour.

The rally was to start at 2.30. The flight didn’t arrive until 3.

My back began to hurt around 3.05, in a certain sign of the impending Sirviopocalypse.

One of the area high schools’ marching bands played any number of songs that may or may not be found in a truck stop’s compact disc collection, people continued to file in. Aside from the wind, it was a beautiful, cloudless, warm but breezy day, a rarity around here for this time of year. A perfect day to wait around for a presidential nominee.

The mayor of Mosinee, a classic northwoods guy with a pompadour and a lumberjack goatee with absolutely no charisma or stage presence whatsoever, began the festivities just before the scheduled start of the rally, inviting numerous northwoods Republicans to the stage to warm up the crowd. As hokey as it may be, I find the old-time stumping for a candidate charming. Apparently so did the rest of the crowd, howling, cheering and booing at all the apropos moments.

When they exhausted the Republican officeholders, they turned to the pledge of allegiance. Then to the national anthem. Several more selections from the best of your local best of the 80s 90s and today radio station courtesy the slightly flat Wausau West band when filler was needed. A local minister offered an invocation. Then, in what appeared to be a last resort, a pro-life doctor with even less stage presence than our poor, outmatched Mosinee mayor was in mid-speech when a glimmer appeared in the Eastern sky. Some present may have thought it was the tearing asunder of the sky, heralding the Second Coming. In any case, she was prompted to mop-up her most boring oration. All the while, volunteers began to hand out pre-made signs, regular campaign stock and thunder sticks. Suddenly the bleachers where the cool people (read: some veterans, some black people and other non-caucasian folks and a mix of others, incidentally including my dear family friends who practically raised me from across the street when I was young) looked just like they do on the news!

[EDITORIAL ASIDE: Nothing irritates me more about modern theatrics than the insipid advent of manufactured fandom; signs made or handed out for people to wave as they would their own, thunder sticks, political correctness. From the 2000 RNC, to episodes of Family Feud, to American Idol to today's rally I absolutely HATE contrived signage and propaganda. Really, you think the Jones family has fans in the crowd who brought signs? You ever stop to think that those little mind-numbed blondies in the front rows of American Idol sway with their hands raised to every single slow song?! I want my own signs for my life. Feel free to add suggestions in the comment box. I digress.]

As the plane landed, little girls screeched as though John McCain were John Lennon. There was no real need for that.

The jet taxied next to our rally site and the back doors popped open. People got excited, only to realize a legion of Secret Service guys came out. And then the press corps. And then the back door closed.

The front door then popped open. People got excited, cameras were clicking everywhere. More Secret Service people and staffers. Finally, the PA blares the introduction of Senator and Cindy McCain, and then they appeared. I had read earlier this week that Palin would be there, too, but she wasn’t. People were excited for McCain, but every Palin reference sent the crowd into a frenzy. She’s a popular girl, especially in these parts where she sounds exactly like one of us. Except that, for most of the time, I don’t sound like that.

The rest of the rally was more classic stumping. I snapped a ton of pictures, and got pretty good at taking shots with my arm extended up and out, the rally shot. McCain had his usual statements, the far-too-interjected ‘my friends’, talked about creating jobs and jump-starting the economy, cutting spending and waste and got lusty boos whenever he invoked the name of the junior senator from Illinois. Par for the course.

I don’t agree with McCain on a lot of things, which is why I deliberately curbed my enthusiasm at the rally. His idea about government taking over mortgages makes the libertarian in me cringe. His campaign finance reform was well-intentioned, but isn’t working the way he may have wanted it to. I was strongly opposed to the bailout for corporations who give lots of money to campaigns and parties, which was a total Catch-22 for a presidential candidate. But when I look at McCain, I also see a guy who probably believes what he says, and you can’t say that for a lot of politicians, including his main opponent. Including our current president.

There’s another thing about McCain that gets lost in the shuffle: he’s actually much better in person than in the media. He has a commanding presence that doesn’t translate through cameras and commercials.

He’s also pretty quick-witted, another thing that gets lost in debates and sound bites. He would improvise and wander off the script, engage in gentle self-deprecation and allow for human moments with the crowd. Unfortunately, this is the tube culture, and most will never see, much less care, how charismatic the senator really is.

The rally ended, and he went around glad-handing supporters and attendees. Wife and I were able to have enough forethought to know that McCain would probably go all the way around the perimeter to meet as many people as possible. So, instead of the glut of people who stayed where he was, we went to where we anticipated him to be, and it paid off. The media began to shift over, Secret Service began to eye us all down and then John and Cindy McCain were right in front of us. We got to shake his hand, wife got Cindy, too.

Now, what do you say to a senator, much less a senator running for president, a guy who meets a million people a day and probably won’t remember the encounter beyond simply being there? To be fair, McCain looked every one of us in the eye and offered his gratitude for our being there, which was really cool, but when the time came to shake his hand, I momentarily froze. What do I say? Good luck? Thank you? Stammer and guffaw in starstruck-ness? So, my mind blanked out and the first thing that popped out was…

“Give ‘em hell, Senator.”

Give ‘em hell? Is he Truman? Is this the 50s? What in the crap are you thinking? Really? The best thing you could think of is “Give ‘em hell“?

I’m an idiot.

Yes, I’ve returned. Like a dog to its own vomit.

Now that I am less encumbered than I was before, I return to the blogosphere. News, sports, music, movies, philosophy, religion, politics, life. All with strength, without compromise and toward meaningful conversation. I hope to keep the bitterness or acrimony down, and to keep the ideas up.

All that, and I just couldn’t resist the urge to publish again.