Hesitant Monologues

I Feel Carbonated

2008-06-07T19:09:00.001-06:00

Last time I posted about some of the woes of being a parent of an infant. Funnily, my mom called me not long after and asked me if I was doing alright. Which I am. I told her that I was fine and that I was just trying to be honest about what was going on. I added that I thought my experiences were probably not too out of the ordinary and that many new parents surely understood where I was coming from. She agreed, but added that most of them don't post their feelings on the internet. I had no argument. I guess I don't mind airing my dirty laundry.

So, in response to the many concerned and suspiciously encouraging responses (which I genuinely appreciated and probably needed), I have decided to post about a more positive element of my life as a new dad. Selah is beginning to smile.

I had a friend jokingly say that evolution taught babies to smile early so their parents wouldn't chuck them out. While that's a very crude way of saying it, I understand. Taking care of a baby that only communicates by crying gets old quick. So this is why I'm so ecstatic that Selah has begun to curl her beautiful lips up into a smile every now and again. Although, it's pretty cute when she sticks her lower lip out in a pout, too.

The other day I was changing her diaper in the morning and she was looking very content. Wiggling and kicking her legs, she then broke into this outrageous smile. Not a little grin, but she gave the kind of baby-smile where she is showing off her gums. And what happened next was so unexpected that I have been brewing on it for days. When she smiled at me, I transformed. It was liquid joy filling me like drink. If you'll allow a rather masculine guy to use this word, I felt sort of "bubbly."

Her joy was my joy. Her laughter transferred to me. I wanted to dance and spin and kiss her forever. As I leaned over her, I talked to her through my chuckles and my eyes even began to water. The sun was coming through the window just right and her eyes (which haven't decided what color they want to be) sparkled. It was like a Disney cartoon. At that moment, she was a princess...my princess. And through this experience I have learned two things: 1) what the joy of fatherhood truly means, and 2) that I'm in big trouble when she finally realizes what her smiles do to me. She could ask for Canada and I would spend the rest of my life scooping the country into my pockets.

Big Changes

2008-05-31T21:36:00.004-06:00

Okay, so I knew that having a kid was a big change, but I just never stopped to think about all the ramifications of this "single" change. This completely dependent human being obviously changes things like sleep at night, budgeting for diapers, and learning how to properly hold an infant. But I just never thought about the smorgousboard of other little changes: 1) laundry - seriously, Selah has more clothes than me. And she somehow makes them dirty on a rather regular basis. 2) Cabin Fever - I've never spent this much time in my place of dwelling ever. But when leaving home requires as much planning as it does now, I'm pleased that we even get to go to church. 3) Marriage - not only did the sex switch get turned off for six weeks, but now I'm married to a mom. Loving a mother, I'm finding out, is totally different than loving a wife. Support takes on a whole new meaning, and a meaning that I'm not to great at interpreting at the moment. 4) Fatigue - So Selah not only needs holding, shooshing, swaying, rocking, bathing, feeding, and diaper changing 15x a day, but she has had this annoying infection in the skin-fold of her neck which is causing her to cry a lot. So we put ointment and powder on it 3-5 x a day. A friend of ours gave the whole new birth experience the perfect word -- "relentless".

I heard someone say that when you get married, a little part of you dies. And when you add kids, the dying process keeps on a' working. And it's so true. My family is not just Rachel and me getting to do whatever we want whenever we want. We can't move to the Philippines to take courses at an Asian seminary anymore. We are living for more than our own desires and wishes. We have voluntarily invited another human into our fold and now that human is affecting the way we live. Like I said, it was somewhat expected, but who can truly predict the far-reaching consequences of adding another person into your most private spaces.

Welcome to our family Selah.

Joel = Dad

2008-04-11T15:34:00.001-06:00

It's a bit surreal, I must say. Like most newborns, she mostly just eats, poops, sleeps, and cries. But every now and again she just looks around like a curious human being, checking out her surroundings and trying to identify the source of the deep voice singing songs to her. I don't know how to communicate the feelings that I'm feeling -- feelings of responsibility, of joy, of circumspection, and of relief. It's like trying to explain the emotions I felt when I visited some city to someone who's never been there. You just can't quite help them understand. Well, now I understand you dads out there. I know the happy knot in my stomach, the flutter in my chest, and the smile on my face which is Selah Eden Triska. She is my girl. My daughter.

Almost a Monk, Pt. 3

2008-04-01T15:01:00.009-06:00

I’ve already done an all out blog about a previous walk through the woods. So I’m just going to include photos and stuff with perhaps a few comments here and there.

This was my favorite station of the cross this time around. They fixed the spelling this time, and I loved the image of the broken cross leaning against two other trees.

Someone that went on the trip with us mentioned afterwards that this cross caused them to reflect on Christ’s understanding of falling multiple times...not in the way of sin or anything, but moreso an understanding of getting knocked down and having to get up again.

Most of us tend to criticize Catholics for ending their stations of the cross at 14 with the burial. "Where’s the resurrection!?" we demand. Well, the stations of the cross is a tool to help a believer focus on tha passion -- which is the story of Good Friday for Jesus. However, a Norwegian guy named Daniel noticed while he was walking through the woods that this muddy creek came directly after the last cross. He interpreted this as a symbol for the leap of faith. Many do not have a problem reflecting on Jesus’ death -- that is the death of a good man or good teacher. However, to take youself to the 15th cross of the resurrection requires some uncomfortable work and some determined faith.

This is Daniel. On with the walk through the woods.

The path eventually became less and less clear. I actually walked until it evaporated into "the nothing" (Warning: obscure reference to 80’s movie). It was then that I turned around so that I would not become utterly lost in the Ozarkian woods.

What? I think fungus is interesting. Don’t you.

Almost a Monk, Pt. 2

2008-03-24T10:00:00.016-06:00

In general, icons are a difficult thing for Protestants. It all goes back to the Iconoclast controversy in the 8th and 9th century. One side condemned icons as idols that people inappropriately venerated -- and they had a point. The other side laid out theological arguments advocating the paintings as mere wnidows or tools to help the worshiper to focus on the true realities of God behind or beyond the image -- they had a point, too.

While I avoid venerating objects, I have no problem honoring works of art which help people reflect or express their devotion to God. I use songs and hymns in the same way. We Protestants just come from a tradtion that is very weary of the arts, and that's too bad. It is said that the first Reformed churches often had blank white walls in their sanctuaries with only the pulpit and the proclamation of the Gospel as decoration. That sounds nice, but also boring. And I personally don't think that Gospel is boring. Therefore, as long as one utilizes the icon/image for appropriate purposes and keeps Christ at his rightful place of Lordship, I see no problem in enjoying works of art for what they are -- paintings and sculptures expressing the mysterious attributes God.

Here are several examples at the modest monastery I stayed at:

A really tiny depiction of the Lord's Supper hung in my room.

This was a wood carving hanging in the library.

This is a well known icon that I personally love.

Brother Francis mentioned this small statue as portraying that the monk's life is centered around the Word of God.

Of course, this is where Protestants get fussy -- Mary and the Pope. Sure, I obviously disagree with some of their doctrines (Ex Cathedra, Mary as Co-Redemptrix, etc.), but I don't think the Pope is the anti-Christ and I think Scripture portrays Mary as an extraordinary woman.

I liked the colors on this one.

Not really an icon, but come on, these are totally cute. They're like ascetic Cabbage Patch dolls.

This statue of Mary was just hanging out in the middle of the woods.

Close-up.

This was another statue of Mary outside the Abbey.

These little cherubs were on the base of the statue.

It had just rained, but I thought this was pretty.

There you go. My trip to the monastery proved more than just bland silence and solitude. The monks also gave me some colorful stuff to look at while I walked around. Coming soon...my walk through the woods.

Almost a Monk, Pt. 1

2008-03-17T13:54:00.010-06:00

So, I returned to Assumption Abbey for the third time. My first two experiences can be seen here: first time, and second time. This time, I think I'll break up the experience into smaller bite-size blogs as opposed to my usual overview experience. Today, we'll take a look at the main purpose of the trip -- connecting with God through solitude/silence.

This is Bro. Francis. I've introduced him in my previous two blogs, but I have to bring him up again because he is so vital to my experience at the monastery. He' s a monk of 38 years, and unlike most stereotypes he has quite the pesonality. Clever and humorous, he tells stories of his life in multiple monastic settings including the monastery where he was in active ministry as an athlectic director of a school while coaching baseball, basketball, and the like. He told this great story of a monastery he started out at where everyone observed silence to the extreme. This led to some rather unique ways of communicating -- primarily invented sign language. One night, the monastery caught fire. Bro. Francis told us how the monks then ran around trying to communicate by holding their fingers up like candles and blowing on them frantically. Finally, an elder monk just yelled "Fire!" Despite the seriousness of the situation, everyone was scandalized by the monk's break of silence. Everyone had a good laugh. Bro. Francis proves that even monks have found we can't take ourselves too seriously.

He also talked to us about how silence is not just of the mouth, but we should seek silence of the mind. This proved extremely difficult. If you never have tried it, just imagine not talking for 30 hours and see what your brain will start doing. Bro. Francis calls solitude and silence a mirror for your soul and I found this to be true. A person's thoughts will reveal anger and resentment, their obsession with being in control, or even their deep-rooted fear of being alone. The goal is simple: don't run away. Face those thoughts, own them, learn to be accept the ugliness that we often hide under our busy lives. Only then can we surrender them to God. Brennan Manning says that in order to be free, we must be able to name our cage.

Historically, monasteries and nunnaries call their rooms "cells". And there is this old saying that Bro. Francis told us. Apparently, the olden monastics would encourage the younger monks: "Stay in your cells, and your cell will teach you all things." The wisdom of this is to doggedly face the solitude and silence and not to try and relieve yourself by walking around and distracting yourself. I tried to face this more on this trip, even though I still made it out for a long walk on Saturday.

I brought 5 books with me: my Bible, my journal, John Stott's Basic Christianity, Thomas A Kempis' The Imatation of Christ, and Thomas Merton's No Man is an Island. While I read from all of them, I primarily spent time in the Psalms (Bible) and portions of No Man is an Island. I didn't know this before, but Thomas Merton is actually a Trappist monk, which is the same tradition of Assumption Abbey. Merton is sort of the celebrity in their camp. So I read a bunch about the difference between doing and being. As an American and a Pentecostal, I tend to focus on doing. In fact, if I'm not careful I can allow what I do to define me. "I am what I accomplish" sort of nonsense. God does not think this way. Thomas Merton says, "We are warmed by fire, not by the smoke of the fire...So too, what we are is to be sought in the invisible depths of our own being, not in our outward reflection in our own acts." So, this discipline of silence and solitude sort of force me down an uncomfortable path: 1) by sitting and reflecting on God and his love, I can no longer define myself by what I do, 2) I begin to wonder who I am underneath all of my striving and attempts to impress people, 3) I realize I have no clue who I am without distorting my self-image with pride or fear, 4) and finally, I am forced to ask God who I am. And I get back to the purpose, letting God define me. I am who I am supposed to be in Christ, a message that usually gets drowned out in our bustling world of technology and information overload. And who am I? I am broken, yet I am loved. I wander away, yet I still am his child.

I mostly sat in this chair, sipped on tea with honey, and thought about Jesus. Honestly, I slipped into naps quite often (but this is also due to the many services I attended including Vigils at 3:30 am). But for the first time I felt completely guiltless for falling asleep. Sleeping is good for me. I'm not just a brain or a spirit, but I have a body. And there is something quite spiritual about falling asleep while I think about the Psalms or my identity in Christ.

In the end, my time was wonderful. I feel rejuvinated and closer to God. Keep an eye open for my upcoming posts. I will be posting about my walk out in the woods and also the use of images/icons around the monastery and my thoughts on that.

Recently Published Article

2007-05-16T15:47:00.000-06:00

This was recently picked up by www.the-next-wave.org.

PURPOSE-DRIVEN NOOMA

When I first entered the ministry, my church staff traveled to Willow Creek’s “Prevailing Church” conference. Fresh out of a biblical studies degree, I had only recently begun to interact with much of the church-growth literature. I had marked up my copy of Purpose-Driven Church and kept John Maxwell tapes in my car at all times. So you can imagine the wonder and awe I experienced when I first gazed upon the glory of Willow Creek’s Disneyland-size parking lot.

During this brief phase of my life, I soaked in the 'Willow-Back' philosophy like a sponge. Coming from a slightly traditional background, I became fascinated with the seeker-sensitive approach. I felt intoxicated by words like “strategy” and “excellence”, and I pretty much read whatever books “those guys” told me to read.

But the honeymoon quickly ended. Not only did I soak in church-growth literature, but I occasionally ran across harsh criticisms of the seeker-sensitive movement. Some people threw around names like “sell-outs” and used descriptions like “watering down the Gospel.” These disparagements did not compute with my experience at Willow Creek (where their passion for Jesus overruled their passion for excellence), but the seed of doubt was planted nonetheless. All that I had eaten at the table of leadership soon began to churn within my soul.

I then entered my “dark night of the soul.” My wife and I call this my “postmodern crisis.” While I wrestled with one “why” question after another, she prayed that I would still be a Christian on the other side. I felt like my superiors and peers had betrayed me—which they had not—and I found myself struggling with increasing resentment and a judgmental attitude.

It took me a while to find equilibrium. But when I did, I discovered something strange. The negative emotions that I had experienced did not stem from the so-called sins of the church-growth movement. The real issues revolved around my personal incompatibility with the philosophies of another generation. In other words, the Saddleback Sam I had come to embrace just could not satisfy my internal Postmodern Pete. Therefore, while I learned to plunder the business world for truth and virtually lived and died by numbers, I had neglected my authentic desire for community, mystery, and social justice. Of course, these are like the trifecta-force radiating from all emergent literature.

This leads me to discussing more recent voices in American Christianity. It seems that a philosophical shift is taking/has taken place regarding cultural relevance: the Lee Strobels are being replaced by Donald Miller’s and the Rick Warren’s are being replaced by Brian McLarens. I know that I should write about a thousand disclaimers here, but please allow me to bypass that necessity of drawing distinctions in order to get to the point.

My point is that despite the stylistic differences between these two camps (Sam vs. Pete), most of their leaders are striving for the same thing—cultural relevance. Whether the poster-child is Bill Hybels or Doug Pagitt, I tend to see their efforts flowing out of their similar desires to connect the message of Jesus to non-Christians—Willow’s auditorium is just a super-sized version of Solomon’s Porch.

Boomer churches strove to understand their audience in the same way many emerging churches do—a sermon about “Seven Steps to a Healthy Marriage” was just as contextual as “Deconstructing Little Miss Sunshine”. In Velvet Elvis, Rob Bell complains about the abominable phrase “Christian Marketing”. I understand this complaint to be rooted in a distrust of institutions and power-manipulating the masses, but let’s be honest. Driscoll and Bell (the Mars Hill Bros.) are not popular because they portray a cultureless Gospel, they are popular for one primary reason—they’re wicked cool. In other words, they are marketable because they are connecting with the new postmodern niche. They’ve found a way to make sense to people. Purpose-driven nooma.

A Weekend at a Monastery

2007-02-12T11:12:00.000-06:00

This past weekend I spent time practicing silence and solitude. I spent most of my time in my cell (not jail), but was able to make it outside for a day. I thought I'd take you through a virtual tour of my weekend. Fasten your seatbelts!

The front of Assumption Abbey. It's a monastery for Trappist monks.

This was my room/cell. I intentionally did not bring my iPod so that I could eliminate distractions. I'm told that monastics say that silence/solitude is like a mirror for your soul. Having spent 37 hours without talking/interacting, I agree with their analogy. Without distractions we are forced to face ourselves.

Bro. Francis spent some time with us before and after our stint of silence/solitude. He gave us a brief history of practicing silence and solitude as well as some tips. He's a brilliant guy with the kind of spiritual depth I can only hope to develop.

Even though it was freezing, one day it was sunny enough for me and my long-johns to make a trek through the woods. They have this path that goes through the stations of the cross--a Catholic tradition that the movie The Passion of the Christ is based upon. The point of the stations is a tactile way for believers to reflect on the sufferings and death of Jesus. I'll walk you through it with me.

1. Jesus being condemned to death.

2. Jesus receives the cross.

3. The first of three falls.

4. Jesus meets his mother. I found this to be one of the most powerful scenes in The Passion.

5. Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry the cross. (I will refrain from making any jokes about the unfortunate absence of the "L")

6. Veronica wipes Jesus' face with her veil.

7. The second fall.

8. Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem.

9. The third fall.

10. Jesus is stripped of his garments.

11. The crucifixion of Jesus--being nailed to the cross.

12. Jesus dies on the cross.

13. Jesus' body removed from the cross (Pieta). Like Michaelangelo's famous sculpture.

14. Jesus laid in a tomb.
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After the stations ended, I followed the path for about another 45 minutes. I stopped and turned around when I thought about facing mountain lions miles away from anyone who could hear me. (Not that I would have screamed during my vow of silence. :) )

If I were a fox, I'd live in that hole. But I'm not, so I don't. On the other hand, if I were fox-y, I'd live pretty much where I live now...which confims my attractiveness.

Streams + Silence/Solitude = Absolute Serenity.

Most of the ice was gone, but it still existed in some shaded areas.

I was wearing a hood.

The random ice made the experience a bit surreal...almost magical. If I were to invent a word on the spot, I would have to say "Narniaish".

I found the existence of ice in shady areas as a fitting metaphor for our spiritual lives. Inevitably, light melts the frozen parts of our souls. This weekend truly taught me how to stop hurrying and make space for God's light to shine into every corner of my heart and mind.
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Where we had services...6 services a day that is.
3:30 am-- Vigils
6:30 am-- Lauds
9:00 am-- Mass
11:45 am-- Sexts
5:30 pm-- Vespers
7:30 pm-- Compline

This is where we ate. All the silence business was not too hard except when we ate. It makes things a bit awkward when you can hear everyone chewing their food.

Well, there's my exprience this weekend. Hope you enjoyed it and perhaps you may feel a bit inspired to slow down, take a break, speak less, or simply take a walk in the woods. Believe me, God's voice gets much clearer when we turn down the volume of our lives.

Jesus Cramp: An Insider’s Review of Jesus Camp

2006-12-07T14:38:00.000-06:00

Indy documentaries come and go by the dozens. And to be honest, I really don’t pay much mind to most of them. It seems to me that these so called objective films merely serve as a vehicle for movie makers to grind axes under the guise of journalism. From Fahrenheit 9/11 to Supersize Me, editors boldly select the footage that best backs their position and offer little room for alternative interpretations. However, in spite of the obvious agendas in the “docu-tainment” genre, one cannot walk away from these films without a sense of responsibility. They move us emotionally. We are forced to ask, “What do I do with this new information?”

The major movie theatres in my town didn’t play Jesus Camp. I had heard that they were going to show it, but for some reason they pulled it from the playlist. I have a sneaky suspicion that the Jesus Camp filmmakers underestimated the influence of the American Mega-church. Nevertheless, even the loudest preacher can’t keep a small independent theatre from showing what it wants to. So I found myself standing in line with a buddy at the local Indy theatre.

My friend and I got 2 of the last 5 tickets and squeezed into the packed room. As is the custom at this theatre, the owner stood up before the showing and gave a brief explanation of coming films and introduced the feature. “They even got Ted Haggard in this film blasting homosexuals and everything,” the guy said. My friend and I shared dark looks. The owner went on to comment that if we weren’t giggling then we should watch the news more often.

Then reality hit me. Here I was—a Pentecostal seminary student—sitting in a crowd of cynics who were hungry for more ammo to shoot at fundamentalist Christians and George W. Bush. As the film began, I sank further and further into my fold-down chair. I felt like an insecure teenager at a party with all the cool kids laughing about band nerds. Little did they know that I played the clarinet.

When my seminary friends ask what the movie was like, I usually begin by saying that it would not have been that bad had I watched it with a group of Christians that understood youth camps and participated in highly emotional altar calls. Other than the footage of 50 children reaching their hands out towards a cardboard cutout of our President, most of the abuses were familiar to me. But since I did not watch it with sympathizers, I found myself developing a tangible stitch in my side. Had there not been an intermission half way through, the stomach cramp would have certainly killed me.

The film’s agenda echoes the sentiments of many talk show hosts—even conservative ones. The makers of Jesus Camp seem to feel the need to warn our nation about the impending doom that zealous right-wing Christians will inevitably bring. Therefore, they go straight to the roots and paint a picture of Christian families indoctrinating their children into this fundamentalist ideology. To put it bluntly, they seemingly fear Jihad Jesus soldiers. And with the footage they compiled, they actually create some startling justification.

The problem is context. I get the sensation that the producers of the film do not appreciate the nuances and diversity in Pentecostal movements, let alone Evangelicalism as a whole. In contrast, I grew up in these environments and deeply understand the Christian culture that those cameras were invading. Because I understand, I easily recognized their sincerity and passion to put their convictions into action. I know why they seek holiness and Spirit empowerment. The reason I know is simple: I seek the same things.

During the intermission I grabbed a root beer and quickly began to unpack what I was seeing with my buddy. Things got interesting though when we bumped into an acquaintance that I knew was not a Christian. He asked what we thought of the film so far. I decided to be honest and gave him a one-word answer: gut-wrenching. Overwhelmed by curiosity, I quickly shifted the conversation to what he thought about the film as an outside observer.

I was prepared to hear him wax eloquent about the ignorance of those hillbilly Christians or why Republicans would destroy the social fabric of our nation, but I was delightfully surprised. He shrugged his shoulders and admitted that the film really didn’t surprise him that much. Not satisfied with his answer, I dug in further. “So, what is it like to watch these folks? I imagine it would be a bit like watching National Geographic cover the rituals of an obscure African tribe.” He smirked and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s a lot like that.”

I just wish Jesus Camp would have included a narrator to explain the rituals—why they speak in tongues, why they despise abortion, and why spiritual experience matters so much to them. But explaining the rituals would mean that the makers of Jesus Camp were trying to help people understand. Creating harmony is most certainly not their intention. If anything, the filmmakers remind me of the people they criticize—drawing a line in the sand and pointing fingers at the weirdoes on the other side.

In the end, my embarrassment was short-lived. Once I left the Indy theatre, I remembered the occasionally endearing nature of the camp director, Becky, and how she gave her life to teaching kids. Sure, her methods sometimes troubled me, but she certainly did not deserve the onslaught of criticisms following the film that eventually bullied her into closing her camp down. And while I’m willing to grant the Jesus Camp makers some validity in their critical observations, I would be a fool to think their form of indoctrination was more compelling than Becky’s simply because they know how to cut and paste digital video. Give me a camera and I’ll show the world a family that gives their toddlers marijuana and why liberals want to legalize orgies.

I can see why some Christians fear the ramifications of this film. It gives onlookers a negative peek into our world of Christian culture. This simply means we should evaluate where we are irrelevant to culture and ensure that the Good News does not get too jumbled up with our political aspirations. However, if one truly believes that God revealed Himself in Scripture and that his Spirit now leads him/her, with what authority does the Jesus Camp cast judgment? Ultimately, it is just one worldview versus another. Therefore, what started out as a humiliating cramp in my side proved to be a reminder of the huge chasm between the world and God’s Kingdom and that I should probably be more mindful of how many people are watching me.

Review of Stranger Than Fiction

2006-11-16T08:15:00.001-06:00

Try as I may, I could not walk into the theatre without a set of subtle presuppositions. With Will Ferrall’s name stretching across the poster who can blame me? While Elf, Talladega Nights, and the hilarious Anchorman hold a dear place in my heart (take notice of the unapologetic absence of Kicking and Screaming), the previews of Ferrall’s newest release struck a familiar yet suspicious chord in me. I walked in expecting a type-cast comedian giving a wack at something serious. Would this rival the satire and creativity of Jim Carrey’s Truman Show? Or perhaps it would prove a career-ending stab at crossing genres tantamount to casting Carrot-top as the new James Bond? With much joy I must report that the former rings true for me.

Harold Crick (Ferrall), a monotonous IRS auditor, starts to hear a female voice narrate his every action from brushing his teeth to sensual fantasies. Karen Eiffel (Emma Thompson) serves as the woman behind this British dialect—a delightfully eccentric author who is feverishly searching for a tragic ending to her new book. Unbeknownst to her, the main character in her book actually exists and is living out her plotline in real-time with her typewriter.

This leads Harold to the literature expert Professor Jules Hilbert played by the legendary Dustin Hoffman. Professor Hilbert acts as Harold’s literary detective as they narrow down the plot structure to determine whether he is living in a comedy or a tragedy. As Eiffel continues to write, Harold develops a crush on a free-spirited baker named Ana (Maggie Gyllenhaal) and decides to scrap his life of numbers and punctuality. This leads to a personal transformation worthy of Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day.

The plot thickens as Eiffel seeks for the most poetic way to slay Harold. With the threat of writer’s block on the horizon, the publishing company brings in Penny Escher (Queen Latifah) to help ensure that Eiffel meets her deadline. And this is proof that this movie is worth seeing—any good movie requires an ex-rapper. I for one approve for the selection of Queen Latifah over Marky-Mark, Fresh Prince, Ice Cube, or L.L. Cool J.

The movie takes some risks with its cinematography, but it works in my opinion. Thompson renders the delicacies of her character brilliantly—a chain-smoking author with an inappropriate appreciation for morbidity. And if you mix that with Hoffman’s obvious talent and Ferrall’s natural gift for making the mundane mirthful, you have a winner. I just hope we get to see all the Ferrall's improvisations said in the DVD extras.

Ultimately, the strength of the film relies on the creativity of the plot. If this movie were a cartoon, it would be Pixar. I just love the idea of mixing Harold’s fumbling responses with someone who is arbitrarily writing his life. It makes me ask, “Just who is in control here?” Destiny meets human responsibility in the form of a British novel—if only we knew what God was trying to write about us. I’d welcome his knowing voice over my morning ritual (minus shower-time because that would just be weird). It is just that we all want to be the star of a story…to have a life worth narrating. The only catch is that sometimes the story may take us somewhere we find unappealing. If that ever happens to me, I can only hope that I face it like Harold Crick—faithfully living the script for the sake of a good story.

Writing About the Prosperity Gospel

2006-11-14T19:05:00.000-06:00

I picked up a Time magazine the other day simply because of the cover (I guess that's the idea, huh). It simply read..."Does God Want You to Be Rich?" It was an edition mostly devoted to the phenomenal growth of the Prosperity Gospel in the United States.

Having received my theological education at a major Charismatic University, I was intrigued and thumbed through it. The theme seemed to revolve around a reinterpretation of Jesus' words: "What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?" (Mark 8:36) The overwhelming sentiment I got from the Prosperity proponents was "sure, I don't want to forfeit my self, but why can't I have both?"

But I have mixed feelings about this Prosperity Gospel. On one hand, I despise its glorification of human effort and its almost animistic worldview; on the other hand, I appreciate its attempts to bring the attractive elements of Gospel into the center of Christianity (i.e. joy, blessing. and God's favor). On one side, these proponents dangerously overlook Scripture's insistence on God's Sovereignty, issues of stewardship, and the value of suffering; from another angle, they folks are all out to find happiness in the here and now (not so sinful of a pursuit if you ask me).

These thoughts led me to write an article that was recently published. Feel free to check it out here.