Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam.

I admit it. I’m a Trekkie. I love watching Star Trek. In fact, I don’t just love watching Star Trek…I love watching Star Trek (the original), Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager, and even though it’s not that good Star Trek: Enterprise. I’ve seen all the movies. I know a few of them by heart. After all, who can forget the classic scene, “Kkkaaaahhhhhnnnnn!”
I’m afraid I probably have lost at least half of you by now. Sorry. Being a Trekkie is one of my little quirks. We’re all a little weird. Come on, admit it! You are too! We all are. To be ‘an average person’ is just to say that a person’s weirdness isn’t totally beyond anyone else’s. So I admit it…Yes, I watch Star Trek, and, yes, I love it.
All that being said, I wanted to quote a Klingon phrase, “Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam.” Literally, it means, “Today is a good day to die,” but it is used whenever a Klingon is confronted with a challenge or a difficult situation. It is a statement of boldness. I declaration of can-do. To say this is to commit to a cause and see it through to the end. The Klingons are an honorable race, and the stakes of life and death brought forth in this phrase tell all that their commitment to a cause is serious.
Recently, Pastor Paul preached a sermon entitled “Whatever It Takes.” He encouraged us to look at our faith and to commit ourselves. Sometimes living faithfully is difficult. Have you ever said to a group of friends, “I don’t think we should be talking about someone like this behind their back.”? Have you ever offered love when someone was giving you hate and mean words? I’ve seen college students arrested for passing out Bibles, and I know that many of our brothers and sisters in faith have lost their lives in Jesus’ name. Whatever it takes…
Some might say that after 9/11 that we should not say such things. It might send the wrong message. However, when we truly understand Jesus when he said, “Take up your cross and follow me,” we see that Jesus has called us to a crucified life. It is a life that gives of itself for others. It is a life of loving and being loved. It is a life that is bold and courageous to right wrongs. It is a life that dies to self. The Apostle Paul said, “I have been crucified with Christ, and I no longer live. But, Christ lives in me.” To live as a Christian is to live in Christ, and that always means that we die to self. We live for God. We live for others. We live in Christ. Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam. Maybe the Klingons got it right.

The Lotus: chapter 2, Blossom

The Lotus takes on a new look when it blossoms. From a lilly-pad to a blossom to a flower, the plant changes. As it opens, a new perspective on the world and self unfolds...

Life Means So Much

I love being a dad. I love coming home and seeing my son turn and look. He smiles. Sometimes he'll giggle, too. Then he reaches out toward me with these outstretched arms. I can't but help go over to wherever he's at and pick him up. I pull him close, and I give him a kiss on the head. He'll push away and give me a grin. He's my boy, and I'm his daddy. We both know this.

I love my wife and child. They are the most precious treasures I have here on earth. They complete me. They force me to see things differently. I still love doing the things I did as a bachelor, but I treasure every moment I have with both of them. I enjoyed two mission trips I went on this summer, but I really wished they could have gone along with us. I hardly ever worried before, but now I say a prayer everyday that we all get through the day safely and healthy. I can't imagine us not being together as a family.

Chris Rice sings a song called "Life Means So Much." It is truly one of the most beautiful songs ever written in my opinion. Sure it's music is soft and slow...quite different from my alternative and punk music, but it's lyrics eloquently state the truth about life, its fragility, its fleetingness, and its beauty. It is a treasure. Life means so much. May each of us treasure every day we have and give ourselves to that which really matters.

"Life Means So Much" written by Chris Rice

Every day is a journal page
Every man holds a quill and ink
And there's plenty of room for writing in
All we do is believe and think
So will you compose a curse
Or will today bring the blessing
Fill the page with rhyming verse
Or some random sketching

Teach us to count the days
Teach us to make the days count
Lead us in better ways
That somehow our souls forgot
Life means so much
Life means so much
Life means so much

Every day is a bank account
And time is our currency
So nobody's rich, nobody's poor
We get 24 hours each
So how are you gonna spend
Will you invest, or squander
Try to get ahead
Or help someone who's under

Teach us to count the days
Teach us to make the days count
Lead us in better ways
That somehow our souls forgot
Life means so much
Life means so much
Life means so much

Has anybody ever lived who knew the value of a life
And don't you think giving is all
What proves the worth of yours and mine

Teach us to count the days
Teach us to make the days count
Lead us in better ways
That somehow our souls forgot
Life means so much
Every day is a gift you've been given
Make the most of the time every minute you're living

Bloodlust

I have been wrestling with something lately. I don't really remember when it started, but I know it was a while ago. I started seeing a fascination with blood. Let me explain:

I know these teenage girls who cut themselves. One of them cuts herself all of the time. She has tried to quit, but it is difficult. I've asked her why she does it, and she shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know." She gets quiet and fidgety. "My counselor tells me that it is a way for me to express the pain deep inside. He's probably right because I really don't feel anything. I just feel better when I see my blood." Inside I weep for her. The suppressed pain that drives her must be horrible, and I wonder what it is about seeing her blood that makes her feel better.

Recently, I have been hearing about this movie called "Faces of Death, part IV." This movie is real video footage of executions, suicides, accidental deaths, and other macabre situations. That people pay money to see this surprises me. Most of us cringe when we hear about someone dying in an accident. We are saddened to hear about suicides. Many people can't even take the sight of blook, yet here is the 4th movie/documentary offering blood and death as entertainment. It reminds me of the Roman games. In the Roman Empire, thousands would gather to watch men fight animals, other men, sometimes even women to the death. Early Christians were eaten by lions or sometimes set on fire. People were horrified, yet just like today the people were entertained in some morbid why by watching someone bleed and die.

When I was in high school the president of our FFA chapter was watching a mature steer get dehorned. Mind you, this is a very bloody event as the base of the horn is about 1.5 inches and is full of blood vessels. Anyhow, in the midst of this demonstration, he fainted...Eyes rolled back, fell over, the whole bit! Everyone laughed and made fun of Mr. FFA himself. Deep inside though, I think everyone was glad it wasn't them. The blood was everywhere, and more than one person looked as white as a sheet. It's interesting to me that the greatest predator the world has ever seen faints so easily at the sight of blood.

This April we celebrated Good Friday at church. I couldn't help but think: Here we are. We are gathered together to celebrate this one man suffer, bleed, and die. Each month we celebrate it again by drinking his blood and eating his flesh. No wonder the Romans were freaked! We have an entire religion based upon blood and death. As I have thought about this more, I realize that every ancient religion does sacrifice. We kill life, and we pour out the essence of life, blood. From our earliest times, we have had this need to see blood flow. Somehow, it makes us feel better. From blood and death, we see new life...often eternal life.

From squeemish to bloodlust, humans have a truly spiritual experience when blood is shed. It is the most basic of religious rites. This has made me wonder...Did God need the Cross or did I? I've always struggled with why God didn't just forgive us. Why did Jesus have to die? Maybe, it isn't about God after all. What does this say about me? About you? About us?

I don't have any answers, yet (when I do, I'll right a book...so please buy it). But one thing I am coming to believe. Our mortality consumes us. Our beliefs in God, afterlife, sin, forgiveness, they are all tied in some way to our experience of bloodlust. Our fascination with blood is a reaction to our own mortality. Through blood we look past this life, and we are brought face to face with death. It is the most powerful symbol of faith the world has ever known. We need blood. I don't know anymore if God is the one who needed the Cross...Maybe it was just me and my bloodlust.

I'm interested in your thoughts.

Easter Egged

I got this from someone on the desperate preacher's website.

http://d21c.com/scratch/holidays/egg.swf

Enjoy! Oh, and Happy Paschal Sunday!

Alma Familia

Being a Duke alumnus, I often feel a real connection to the university and my fellow Duke graduates. It is a small school, and it can be difficult to get your foot in the door. The academics were rigorous, but the intellectual climate was unparalleled. Every day in class I felt like I was learning from giants and sitting beside future bishops, national politicians, and professors. It was such a great and unique experience. Overall, my wife and I did not like North Carolina, but I found identity and community in Duke. That doesn't mean I liked everything that came from Duke, but like any family you take the good with the bad.

The Duke name carries a weight, too. I didn't think much of it until I got back in Indiana. I'd say, "I went to Duke," and people would be like "Oh, wow!" It felt good to be a part of something big and special. As I mentioned before, I have even become a Duke basketball fan. I consider myself a Dukie!!!

Lately, being a Dukie has been not so fun. Usually, I'm proud to be a member of the Duke family, but recently I have been a little down about it...I am still Duke, and I always will be. In Durham, Duke students are being attacked and being called, "Rapist!" One student even had to go to the hospital after being beaten in the Durham community. All of this anger follows the alleged assault and rape of an African-American woman by the nearly all white Duke Men's Lacrosse team. By being a part of the university, part of the Duke family, all students, all athletes, the professors, the administrators, even the alumni suffer, the consequences of one night's events. Being a part of the family, I am saddened that this could and would occur. I am angry that young men representing my family allegedly acted in such ways. I am shamed that the coaches and athletic department were unconcerned with an athletic team of which one third of the athletes had alcohol related misdemeanors. I am also defensive as I hear people proclaim that Duke University hasn't done enough and is a racist institution. Pending the outcome of the legal system, what more can Duke University do beyond the suspension of the Lacrosse team?

This violent crime has touched off an underlying problem present in Durham, North Carolina, the South, and even the entire United States. Racism is a living and thriving part of U.S. culture. From our neighborhoods to our churches from our politics to our entertainment, Americans divide on racial lines. In Durham, much like many other U.S. cities, the races are also split along economic lines. After the Civil War and all the way to the 1970's, Durham was a thriving tobacco industry town. Tobacco employed thousands, and it was the major industry of the entire state. When the quit smoking campaigns began making strong gains, the industry began to dry up, and the jobs left. Many uneducated, unskilled (besides tobacco) employees were left jobless and without income opportunities.

By 2004, the memories of Durham that I will always carry with me will be the poverty, the crime, the gangs, the drugs, the prostitutes, and the silent racial divide. It was a sad situation that seemed to be getting worse. As a teacher in the poorest of Durham's schools, my wife saw first hand the environment in which the children of Durham are being raised. We'll never forget the loving students who were crack babies, children of prostitutes, nor the gang-initiated 'trouble-makers.'

This rape has become a crack in the dam that separates our calm, peaceful society from the reality of violence, poverty, and cultural wars taking place in our cities. My hope is that Duke University isn't made a scapegoat as was the initial reaction by CNN. Duke pours millions of dollars into the Durham community. It is the largest employer in Durham. It is a leading catalyst for change in a very prejudiced state. The divinity school requires all students to take classes in Black Church History/Studies as it understands faith being a bridge for understanding.

Our real concerns ought to begin with why this young woman felt she had no recourse but to make money as a stripper. Why did these affluent white men feel like they had the right to force themselves on anyone? Why did they even want to throw out the racial slurs before, during, and after the attack? Why are our impoverished community schools failing? What are underlying issues involved in poverty? Are programs like affirmative action working? These very difficult and VERY controversial issues are the real battle ground...not Duke's suspension of athletes. Maybe I'm protecting my family, but I think the media has been unfair. After all, they too are the ones who have been silent concerning the racial tension present in Durham. Perhaps, they are ready to shoulder some of the blame.

When my wife and I were in Durham, our car was stolen, another broken into, someone was shot in our apartment complex, we saw gangs and drug deals going down in our parking lot, and we saw children being neglected in very damaging ways. The white people silently mistrusted and disliked the blacks, and the blacks silently mistrusted and disliked the whites. When we voiced our concerns and frustrations there were usually two different responses. One aimed against black people, and another aimed against our ability to "live in ministry." To us it seemed a complete lack of true meaningful engagement with the real issues at hand.

That is Durham. That is North Carolina. That is the United States, and until we are ready to grapple with the real issues that is where we will stay. One of our rays of hope in Durham: The biracial couple living next to us. A white male married to a black female living together in peace and love. They loved their family, and they were great neighbors. My Duke family has something to learn from them...as does my American family.

Classic

Funny can sometimes be an understatement!

www.mothergooserocks.com/headandshoulders.html

Only In My Dreams?

I had a dream last night. To be honest it kind of worried me. Miroslav Volf was in it. I have never met him. I have never even seen a picture of him. So what the heck is a major theologian/philosopher doing in my dreams!?! Is my love of books becoming psychologically fatal?

He was a really nice guy, and he spoke sort of like a wise, old grandfather. We discussed some things about God, but mostly we talked about how our lives often seem to be so divergent from our beliefs. I remember thinking, "I can't believe I'm talking to Volf." "Everybody back at Duke would be so jealous." I knew I was dreaming, but it was still cool.

I've been wanting to read more of his stuff. He talks a lot about Identity, Otherness, and Self in terms of our faith. I have never read his books on those issues, but that is exactly where our dreamy conversation stayed. Why do we fail to be the people that we so desperately want to be? Am I who people really think I am? Am I who I think I am, or am I deceiving myself in delusions of piety!?!

Who dreams about theology and theologians? What does this say about me? Is my subconcious crying out for me to find my identity and self. To know who I am and what I live for...To align my perceived self with my actual self. Should I get that tatoo? Will I help my wife with more household chores? Will I love that person who frustrates me almost daily (this person really does exist). Do my actions define me? What determines my identity? Can we truly be ourselves. Is that possible with all of the tensions and contradictions that fill who we are and what we think, feel, and believe? Who am I? Who are we?

I found a paradox that has come to mean a lot to me...I am not who I am, and yet that is exactly who I am. This struggle is life and faith. Being who we are and aren't. Only in my dreams am I me, yet I am me.

Thanks Miroslav. I really enjoyed our conversation. I left it humbled and hopeful. Next time though, I prefer to meet you in person:)

Go Duke!

Ahh...March Madness!

Everybody wear your blue and white and root for the Dukies! Having grown up a diehard Purdue fan and having my degree from there, I didn't think that I would ever end up rooting for another team besides Purdue. That all changed when I first experienced a Duke game at Cameron.

It was a surreal experience to be sure. The arena, it's actually more of field house, is quite small. It only fits around 7800. In the student sections, you seem to be sitting right above the floor. It felt like sectionals in high school. Everybody jumped up and down the entire game. Like a bunch of cells forming a single organ, we cheered together in perfect timing. It amazed me that we were making up cheers together, but the crowd sounded like they knew them by heart.

It was so loud, too. Here we are, undergraduates and graduate students of the South's finest university, and we are screaming our heads off, saying childish things all for the sake of a game. Future doctors, lawyers, engineers, CEO's, politicians, ahem pastors, all possessed by the Blue Devils of basketball.

The funniest part of the experience was the old guy who got the crowd started. He looked to be mid-70's. He had the dress and look of a lawyer, but as he stood, the crowd hushed looking for their cue. He pulled up his Duke-blue towel, started waving it around, and yelled, "Let's go!" The crowd went crazy and stayed crazy for the rest of the game. I have never seen a group of people all gathered together for one thing, one purpose, be so united. There truly was a spirit that possessed them. Their allegiance was to Duke, to coach K, to J.J. We were one body. We were family. We were Duke.

What if we had that unity everyday? What if all of humanity decided to cheer each other on, and be one family? I guess I want to be that old man...I want to wave my towel around and yell, "Let's go!" I want to see the fieldhouse Earth erupt in one accord, as one body, as we struggle in this game of life. But who am I? I'm not famous. No one knows me. I have no great charisma or position. But, then I think...The old man wasn't always cheering as "The Old Man." He just cheered on his own...for himself and his team...and eventually people followed. His enthusiasm and his spirit caught on. I guess if I want to the world to cheer each other on, I need to start cheering and start loving first. Aye, there's the rub.

As my family is visiting today, I'll be enjoying my Blue Devils playing and, of course, winning. Go J.J.! Go Coach K! Go Duke! I hope you enjoy watching Duke, too. It's a life changing experience. Just ask the Old Man.

The Lotus: chapter 1, The Beginning

I just started my first blog! How exciting!

I chose the name "The Lotus" for the Asian water lilly by that name. In Eastern philosophy and religion the lotus is the symbol for purity. The snow white flower blooms from beneath the water. Life flowering. Beauty from unexpected places. Peace and purity above the dark waters of life. Untouched in one sense, but a part of the pool nonetheless. For me, it's a symbol of a beautiful and serene life growing in purity from unexpected places.

Sometimes we don't do things we've wanted to do for a long time. A blog is exactly that for me. Where else can we speak and be heard? No one listens, but here...here we are heard. We speak, and we listen. Isn't it so sad that we must connect to outlets for our souls to open and blossom forth. Our machines become the faces, but our hearts are exposed. The tender shoots are so gentle. May this be a place of peace and openness for you...