unlikely places

hanging out listening to T.S.O.
and this song comes on:

in a stable
in a manger
in the cold winter's air
in the arms of his mother
a child's lying there

in a city
in a village
though the years have gone by
the child still remains
with the dream still close by

and each year on this night teh Child
reawakens
and each year on this night that hope rebegins
that the dream he has offered might one day
be taken

for the sake of our brother
for the child who's forgotten
for the dream that is still lying there

o' come all ye faithful
joyful and triumphant
o' come ye, o' come ye,
to bethlehem
come and adore him
born the king of angels

o' come let us adore him
o' come let us adore him
o' come let us adore him
Christ the Lord

in a stable
in a manger
in the cold winter's air
in the arms of his mother a child lying there

just thought i'd share that...
because once again the "normal people" know what it's about
while the church fumbles and bumbles and stumbles
and says "it's all about me."

meanderings

In the midst of the craziness and chaos you still found a way in.
Right when I least expected it, you snuck in and squeezed my heart.
I half expected it would happen by candlelight,
(but I should know by now to expect the unexpected)
and my voice hitched
and my heart swelled
and you were there
to hold me up.


Funny how it happens like that.
Guess Mom and Dad were right:
"Don't worry," they said, "You'll know."
(Love and Baptism)
And I guess I should look both ways before crossing the street, too.
Because I was looking down the road to "Silent Night" and prepared for the beautiful pain of that moment,
but somehow you snuck in on the word "glory."


I thought I was going to be too busy to see you this year--
thought you might have missed me since we got the new house
(and, no Santa, I don't mean you...)
But Refugee of the refugees you sought me out
and slowed down my pace just enough
to help me see the homeless child
The Pilgrim of pilgrims
and once again
it broke
and the springs of living water flow.

God meets Scandal meets God?

so I've been thinking about this whole incarnation thing.


I've been thinking about what it means for God to enter this world through an unwed mother--and what it means for God to tell the fiance of said unwed mother not to "divorce" her even in secret.


I've been thinking about what it means for God to be born in a barn. Not in the fancy inn--hyatt regency. Not even in the not so fancy inn--motel 6. But in a barn. God was born to an unmarried couple in the middle of animals who were nestled down for the night. Surrounded by the smells of defication and urination, God was born.


I've been thinking about what it means that the first worshippers of this infant were the shepherds that no one trusted or liked. The first worshippers smelled like the sheep they kept watch over and they probably weren't great conversationalists either.


If this is where God broke into our existence--if these are the first moments the God-Child knew--how does the contemporary incarnation of God (the Church) wrap itself in elegance and safe locations? Shouldn't the Body of Christ be in the places that stink? Shouldn't the body of Christ be worshipping with people who smell and aren't all that great at the art conversation?


I'm not going to try giving an answer...you might not agree with it anyway...but if the church exists for the sake of transforming the world we ought to step into the places that need transformation. We ought to step into the places the world doesn't want to deal with--we should be in the places that aren't worth anything to the corporate empires of America. (even though those places are ripe mission fields to be sure!)


The fancy inn didn't have room for God--neither did the not so fancy inn. God was born in a barn. God met the stink of our lives with his--and since I'm speaking of Jesus I can use the word "his"--first breath, but only because we didn't make room for him in the nicer places.


Maybe the church should go to the abandoned places not to be transforming, but so that we might be transformed. Not to tell "those people" to repent, but so that we might see how much we need repentance ourselves.

snow day?

Five or so years ago, I wanted seasons again. Five or so years ago, I missed snow and I wanted to make sure my children would know seasons. Five or so years ago, I remembered snow through the same romantic, soft focus lens that the cameras use on Good Morning America (the one that makes my eyes water when I look at Dianne Sawyer).

I think in my mind every snow fall was going to look like this


or this
:

But the reality of snow looks more like this:


The kids woke up with magic in their eyes because it went from nothing to three inches in one night--which for them is a miracle--and I'm glad that they are excited....

But all I can think of is shoveling the driveway...oh would somebody please get the soft-focus lens?

Thing that make you go...WAUGH!

I forgot my password and I couldn't get it to reset--but today it finally agreed to reset.

So...

I haven't been able to update in ages and ages and ages and ages...

If you want to see everything that's been going on check out the following link: http://www.myspace.com/dansporch and you'll be able to catch up on the nomadic world of the prodigal pilgrim.

We are hopefully moving this week; the house stinks of varnish and fresh paint and is off-gassing like I do after a big bean dinner (if you didn't want to know that, I apologize)...but we should be moving in this weekend. I hope our phone gets hooked up soon, even though no one will be there to answer it.

Okay, I'm back and this is random nonsense so if you want more stuff to read check out the above link.

goodness

I had the pleasure of helping my friends Abbie and Shane get married last night. It was one of the simplest ceremonies I've ever done, and one of the coolest. No long prayers; no schmaltzy readings; just simple promises to take care of each other in love: to share the rest of their lives, to give and receive, to inspire and respond, to speak and to listen...wonderful promises.


I also saw a fantastic movie the other night. The Pursuit of Happyness. If you haven't seen it, you should go rent it, or borrow it from your local library. A fantastic movie.


The leaves have managed to find enough moisture to make for a glorious fall, which we did not expect. I love fall.


I got a one-hour massage on Friday. Everyone should get one-hour massages and thank their massage therapist afterwards. I'm still thankful. Thanks, Dan! I think churches should offer massages as a ministry (Solomon's Porch mentions massage therapy as one of their ministries, which is pretty darn cool.)


So I am swimming in goodness right now. I just wanted to share that.


Pax,

The Pilgrimm


Oh, yeah, I have a few days off, so I get to stay at home on a Sunday morning and hang out in my pajamas and listen to resurrection Sunday on 91X. Still more goodness!

venting in progress: mind yourself

@%&*$@%&!

rass-a-frack-a-rack-a-nackin' stupid people!!

Back in the early 90's, a time rife with good music and really, really sucky music, along came a band that said, "we might suck but we don't care." Okay maybe the didn't really say that, but the music really wasn't that good, and the lyrics weren't even close to being profound--I'm not even sure if they were intended to be taken seriously.

Who is this band?

Infectious Grooves.

The song I'm singing in my head right now?

"Infecto Groovalistic."

Why you ask?

Because there's this part in the song where they sing, "I hate stupid people!" (over and over and over again).

Why you ask?

In August of 2006 three people committed a horrible crime against an autistic foster child. The foster mother reported him abducted from a local park, when, as was later determined, she and her husband and her husband's live in girlfriend had wrapped the boy in a blanket and duct tape and left in a closet for the weekend while they all went to a familiy reunion. When they came back Marcus was dead, so they burned the body and hid the remians in an abandoned house's fireplace. Perhaps you've heard the story.

Leading up to, and all through the first trial (the one for Liz Carroll, the foster mother), the media and communities reached by the media had already convicted and executed the woman. She was found guilty, and sentenced to 54 years to life. After this the husband went to trial and made a plea bargain. By pleading guilty--and he was the one who actually killed Marcus and disposed of the body--he was sentenced to 16 years to life in prison. The girl friend--who was also part of the whole thing--was offered immunity for testifying against David and Liz.

Now Liz Carroll wants a new trial because she says she was not given a fair trial.

None of this is why I'm singing Infecto Groovalistic.

Now that Liz Carroll is pointing out the lack of fairness in her trial. You should hear the howls of disagreement and the cries for blood. "She deserves a special place in Hell for what she did to that child!" "Somebody needs to dig a ditch, shoot her in the head, and let God deal with her!" "She should get done to her what she did to Marcus--that poor baby! Let him look down on her in hell while he's in heaven." (Not real quotes, mind you. These are my synthesized versions of all the hateful, lynch mob, comments that I've read on my local paper's webpage. But they're pretty durn close to real.)

I wonder how many of these heaven and hell sorting lynch mobbing people consider themselves "born again"? Or have heaven and hell merely become mythological places of justice and judgment based upon how we follow the laws of the nation?

Please understand, dear readers, that I am not condoning their actions; I am not saying that Liz doesn't deserve punishment for the crime. But I do not believe she--or anyone who is part of a highly publicized trial like this one was--can get a fair trial in the area where the crime was committed. I'm also curious as to how she got a much harsher sentence than the husband did. Seriously, the live in girlfriend gets immunity, David Carroll gets 16 years to life and Liz gets 54 to life?

And how does howling for blood, or stakes for burning her on (a literal comment by one of the paper's readers) bring back a boy that was put into foster care by a mother who did not want him.

Gandalf the wizard says to Frodo, after the latter speaks of wishing Golum to be dead: "Many that live deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then be not too eager to deal out death in the name of justice, fearing for your own safety. Even the wise cannot see all ends."

I'll say to everyone who reads this what I said last Sunday to my church: If you don't like what's going on, step up and offer an alternative. If you don't like how foster parents act, then become a foster parent yourself. If you aren't willing to make a difference, then please, just be quiet. Because the more you say the more I hear...

Infecto Groovalistic