Scraps of memory come rushing back, and you wonder if things were ever the way you thought they were. Some momentous occasions I don’t even remember how they happened. I remember Rob Simpson. It was in seventh grade when I met him. He was your typical dork: glasses, pimples, kind of chunky, asthma, loved computers, messy hair, not exactly a social superman. And you have to know that I’m saying this with the kindest of intentions–I was just as dorky. But what impressed me about Rob was the way he carried himself. The other kids laughed at him gym class. The teacher even poked fun at him. But Rob took it. He cursed under his breath and trotted out in his navy sweat pants and striped t-shirt to run his laps. He’d end up walking most of it anyway, but he went out and did it. He certainly wasn’t the coolest kid either. He was smart, and he knew it. He liked Monty Python, the Simpsons, and I bet he would have loved the Tick. He had that sarcastic, cynical edge, and I remember hanging out in the back of class before school started. A bunch of guys would be hanging out and joking around. We weren’t the coolest kids in school. We weren’t athletes or really smooth guys. None of us really would have made it with the ladies. As I look back I wonder about Rob and how he survived it. I wonder how I survived it. It was a time when you were judged by how you looked, and that was all people saw. The sad thing is that was all I saw, too. Why don’t things change? Why can’t people lose their preconceived notions and prejudices, and just accept people? Why is it that I saw Rob as a dork. I knew him as a friend, but I still knew he was a dork. If I just looked in the mirror I knew the same was true of me. I don’t like people thinking that of me, yet I still thought it of him. Where’s the justice, Rob?
Category Archives: Society
The Six Billionth Person
Yesterday the 6 billionth person was born in Sarajevo. Well, not exactly the 6 billionth. It’s all symbolic. The UN declared October 12, 1999 as the day the human population would surpass the 6 billion mark. They picked the first baby born that day in the city where the current secretary general of the UN was born. Okay, very symbolic.
Another interesting fact is that of those 6 billion people, 16% of them consume 80% of the world’s natural resources. That 16% is the most affluent countries in the world: the United States, Japan, and most of Europe. For the most part, that’s us. Not only that, but the United States is home to one third of the automobiles in the world.
That doesn’t seem like a very sustainable system. You can’t turn the faucet and magically get water forever. You can’t always put your trash on the curb before the landfill starts to creep into your backyard. You can’t drive your cars forever without turning the sky black with pollution. I don’t mean to preach apocalyptic doom, and rain down on your happy day, but it’s a reality we may soon need to accept. God made us stewards of this planet. I can’t help but wonder if some day he’s going to come home, find the place trashed, and we’re going to have some explaining to do.
Craving a PB&J
The salt of your own sweat burns your eyes, and you watch the people pass by. People with money. People who have everything they need and more of what they want. People who think nothing of tossing out half a sandwich or buying a pop on the way home. Sometimes you wonder how people can live that way knowing the many needs around them. Where has the money gotten them? They just find more and more that they want, and they’re never happy with what they get. Has a peanut butter and jelly sandwich ever caused your eyes to light up and satisfy your hunger? Have you ever seen the people handing out free samples and thanked the heavens for the refreshing drink? As everyone walks by ignoring you and your need, all you can think to yourself is God will provide. God will provide. Though the storm clouds come and the pain of hunger strikes, God will provide.
Celebrating our Independence
July 4, 1776. The shackles of tyranny are cast off, and what would someday be called the greatest nation on the face of the earth took its first few feeble steps. Today, 223 years later, that nation is still taking its feeble steps, and you have to wonder if they’re not feebly drunk.
“…the bombs bursting in air and the rocket’s red glare, gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there. Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave?”
To celebrate our independence we light up the night sky with explosions, and the echoing booms can be heard miles away. In other countries when explosions shatter the silence, the citizens bury their heads in their knees and pray. In America, the land of the free and home of the brave, we raise a sweaty beer can to the sky and let out a drunken cheer. Men and women have fought and died for this country, to preserve the freedoms and liberties that we hold so dear. And what have we done with that freedom? We’ve chased the American Dream to the ends of the horizon. We’ve filled our homes with toys and bowed to the almighty dollar. Is this what our soldiers have fought and died for? Are we really the greatest nation on earth? I watched Saving Private Ryan on Friday night, and the dying soldier demanded that his comrade “earn this.” Earn the sacrifice we’ve made for you. “Have I lived a good life?” the elderly comrade asked as he stood weeping above the dead soldier’s grave. “Have I earned this?” I think that’s a question we should all ask ourselves.
Sitting Next to Steve
Tattoos up and down his arm, uncombed hair, and a voice that carried halfway across the train. This was the guy I chose to sit next to. Well, ‘chose’ isn’t the right word. It was the only seat left. Most people would have moved to a different car. That’s what my mother would tell me to do. But I sat there anyway. His name was Steve. He had to be in his forties, and it was his night off work. So he was heading to his friend’s house to… well… to get plastered. It’s been ten years since he’s had cocaine, and tonight he’s doing it again. This he proudly boasted so half the train could hear him. If he had a joint he’d light it up right there. He didn’t care if the conductor kicked him off and called the cops. This was the kind of guy mothers keep their children away from. He talked loud, and he talked to anyone, whether they would listen or not. I just don’t understand some people’s motives. All this guy wanted was some booze, drugs, and rock & roll. A little sex wouldn’t have hurt either.
Now there’s a funny thought; I wonder what it would be like to have Steve sitting next to me in church.
Police Brutality in Chicago
Police brutality. This isn’t exactly a happy issue, and right now it’s ripping the city of Chicago apart. In the past few weeks there have been reports of police gunning down unarmed civilians. A young activist told me three people were murdered in the last three weeks. You’d have to be living in a bunker not to have heard about two of the fatal shootings, both of which occurred during traffic stops. People have been protesting, marching, and even boycotting. When I went downtown to yo-yo today, a group of radicals was boycotting the Taste of Chicago, a huge food festival downtown that draws nearly four million people. They were handing out flyers and urging others to do the same.
Another Day on the Streets of Chicago
Another day on the streets of Chicago, proof that life isn’t always easy. Today was a pretty rough day. My body ached, my bruised palm hurt, and my fingers bled. And you thought a yo-yo was a toy. Yesterday I was hustled by some kids, today I was robbed. Well, not really. They tried to. Four eight year old kids decided it would be fun to spend their Saturday running up and down Michigan Avenue harassing people. First they tried to use my spare yo-yo’s, against my will of course. Then they took off with the yo-yo’s. I trusted they’d come back, and they did. Next they tried to take off with my money. They grudgingly came back. For the next hour and a half they kept coming back and bugging me. Sometimes you just want to strangle kids.
Celebrating Memorial Day
Seventeen boats of drunken people, lashed together in the middle of a river. A blood red moon rises in the east and fireworks explode overhead, a celebration for Memorial Day. While the brilliant colors flash across the sky, someone comments that you could see this every night in Serbia. This is how we celebrate our independence.
Church, Quitting and Baseball
Closing the door to my truck, I scan the grounds. Everything is still and quiet. I am late, and everyone else is inside. Walking towards the building, everything feels strangely eerie. It feels like I’m walking into a war zone. I open the door, and strange faces greet me. No smile. No warm handshake. I round the corner to find the warmth of familiarity shattered. My usual row is empty and cold. I find an empty seat and my eyes look across the room. Few familiar faces smile back at me. The songs seem forced and hollow. The message seems empty, airy, and beyond me. But was I really listening? Welcome home. Welcome to church. Where unity is stranger.
The American Way. We hear a lot about this great country of America and our character. The protestant work ethic has often defined America. It’s the land of opportunity. Roll up your sleeves, dirty your palms, and you will prosper. But is that still the attitude of America? An NBC special on Jesse Ventura tonight showed a period of Ventura’s announcer days when he claimed that cheating was the American way. I think that pessimistic slide is on the right track. I’d like to claim that quitting is now the American way. When the going gets tough, the American goes walking. When things get hard, we quit. We throw our hands up in the air and call it quits. We don’t want to work anymore. We don’t want to dirty the brow. Divorce, jobs, friendships. It’s everywhere. What a great country.
Well, I can’t be all negative today. Some friends and I played some ball today. Ah, the great American past time. It’s pretty obvious it’s not my past time. Yet still, there’s nothing like feeling a bat in your hands as it connects with the ball, and you watch the ball sail through the air. It flies higher and higher, arcs beautifully, and falls just beyond the infield: My best hit of the day. Kevin D. Hendricks, baseball legend.
Inviting Marilyn Manson Over for Dinner
Today at the beginning of chapel the campus pastors took a moment to share about some new prayer thing that was happening, and they shared a quick story about praying against the Marilyn Manson concert that was in town this week. Sherry made a slip of the tongue and said something about, “When Marilyn Manson comes to Bethel.” Everyone laughed and thought it was funny, and Sherry’s face turned red and she laughed for a minute before continuing.
But I wasn’t laughing. I obviously didn’t listen to much they were saying about the prayer meetings. I was thinking about Marilyn Manson. He’s taken a lot of flack lately. A lot of people have been picketing his shows because of whatever connection there may be between the “goth” followers of his music and the Columbine shootings. As rumor has it, at the Minneapolis show somebody put a big yellow smiley face somewhere on the stage, and when Manson saw it, he stopped the concert mid-song, and stormed off the stage. Sherry related this story as a victory story for the group that was praying for the presence of God to be in that concert hall.