The whole area of Christian participation in and support for war has been a vexing one for me. (Months ago I mentioned the compelling words of Lee Camp, a Lipscomb professor, in Mere Discipleship, a new book published by Brazos Press.)
But regardless of how one comes out on that dicey issue, we have all benefitted from the courage and sacrifice of those who have fought for freedom. Part of why I have the liberty to sit at my desk today and hack away at this blog is that many have fought against what they believed were forces of evil and injustice.
One of my closest friends, Dr. Charles Mattis, grew up fatherless. When he was young (four, I believe), his father was shot down in Vietnam.
One doesn’t have to be a huge supporter of Vietnam to appreciate the sacrifice that was made–not just by the young pilot but also by his widow and her two small children.
So today I “remember” this man whom I never knew–along with lots of other men and women I never knew.
And I double my prayers for the kingdom of God to continue breaking in. We pray for God’s rule that will cause humans to beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. We long for the time when “nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore” (Isaiah 2:4).
Yes, yes, last night went very well. We won first place (8-4) and get to enter the area tournament as Key City team #1.
This morning I was back at the field for a while helping with some cleaning to get ready for hosting tournament games. I got to clean to the best background “music” possible. We always have the best tunes there–including many of the songs nominated on this site a few days ago.
But this morning I cleaned with the sound of cheers behind me. It was a game in the Challenger League. All the children playing were handicapped. Most had parents right next to them, helping them bat, assisting them as they fielded.
Every time someone is announced coming up to the plate, every person in the stands cheers. Every time they swing (whether they hit it or not), everyone cheers.
All right, so the game is “rigged.” Everyone swings until they hit the ball. And when they hit the ball, they’re going to be safe at first. There were wheelchairs flying around the bases. I spoke to one of the adults who told me that one of the girls playing had woken up early that morning and was giddy with excitement about the game.
No one makes an out. No one is embarrassed. No one gets yelled at. No one gets nailed with an error. Everyone hits; everyone gets on base; everyone scores.
I like this game. I think Megan (our daughter who was mentally and physically handicapped, for those blog readers who don’t know us) would have enjoyed it, too.
Tonight’s the night. This is game three of Baack’s vs. Half Moon. The winner gets first; the loser gets second. Both will get to be in the city tournament. After that, I’ll be the manager/coach for the all-star team. So potentially I could be hacking and wheezing well into July.
Here’s what I have to look forward to in major league all-star coaching. (I was the minor league all-star coach two years ago.) Every parent thinks their son should (1) start, (2) pitch or play shortstop, and (3) bat third. I have not yet discovered a way where all 12 can do that.
I’ve enjoyed reading the comments from this past week. What is there about this blog that attracts so many readers with a touch of cynicism?
This little piggy went to Central Market
From this week’s Time magazine: “With summer just weeks away, women are prepping their feet for open-toe season. But this year foot care may cost you an arm and a leg. ‘The foot is the new face,’ says Dr. Suzanne Levine, owner of the Institute Beaute, where she gives clients foot facials. The $225 treatment includes a mineral-oil-and-Epsom-salt scrub, glycolic-acid peel, intensive tissue-repair cream (applied with an ultrasound want) and callus-blasting microdermabrasion. Savvy strutters whose feet are sore from their Manolos are hobbling to doctors to get the balls of their feet injected with collagen, Restylane and Botox. The extra cushioning allows for hours of pain-free high-heel wearing. Salons too are stepping up to the plate, with fake nails for tootsies. Dashing Diva, a Manhattan-based nail boutique and spa, offers Tip-Toes, ready-to-wear nail falsies. You can order Levine’s foot-facial kit . . . or, for less cash, try Burt’s Bees, a foot-care kit that contains Coconut Foot Creme, a pumice stone and yellow socks to protect pampered little piggies.”
“The foot is the new face.” Well, then. Never let the head say to the feet, “I don’t need you!” I guess the Apostle Paul was just ahead of his time (1 Cor 12:21).
I love this footnote from Luke Timothy Johnson’s Religious Experience in Earliest Christianity:
“Because of the remarkable success of Christianity as a movement that eventually became the religion of the Roman Empire, it is easy to miss the outrageousness of the statements claiming, within only a few years of the death of its founder, a worldwide mission (Acts 1:8) that would make disciples of all nations (Matt 28:19), not to mention its present ascendancy over the world and its role as the future of the world. . . . One of the benefits of the discovery of the writings from Qumran is that they remind us of how bizarre such claims appear when the cult in question simply disappears from history.”
Greatest classic rock ever? Tough call. But here are a few of my favs: CCR’s “Down on the Corner,” the Beatles’ “Twist and Shout,” the Eagles’ “Hotel California,” Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride,” Three Dog Night’s “Celebrate,” and the Kingsmen’s “Louie, Louie.” How about you? Favorite classic rock song? Note to ACU grad students who read this blog: by “classic” I’m talking well before 1990. Likely before you were born! 
Back when Bill Clinton’s sins became public fare and when several religious leaders were feasting like ravenous wolves, I heard Landon Saunders say something profound. He said he thought that the real test of a friend is this:
Imagine that you have just done something unimaginable, something you deeply regret. You’re lying on the ground in anguish. Then you open your eyes. Whose face would you like to see?
I have so many faces in mind: Landon, Darryl, Leonard, Adam and Donna, John and Evelyn, Eddie P. and Eddie S., Terry, Dickie, Leon, Ross, Charles, James, my brother . . . .
What do you think? Whose face would you like to look up and see?
All 42 of Highland’s elders have resigned and their wives have stepped in to run the church.
How do I know that? A friend just contacted me from Arkansas saying that he’d heard it directly from a reliable source.
That upsets me.
Why wouldn’t anyone tell me that happened? Here I am the minister of this church, there is a sudden coup d’etat, and no one bothers to tell me. And the worst part? It all apparently happened since Wednesday night. Sure, the eldership seemed unified and joy-filled, but they must have been hiding something from me.
Either that or the rumor–reported as fact!–is untrue. But surely not. It’s hard to imagine that anyone would pass along anything so preposterous. It’s just easier to believe it happened but no one has told me yet. Don’t you think?
Bookstores.
Am I the only one who gets weirded out by walking into most Christian bookstores? It’s a subculture I hardly understand. The one that I have to go to occasionally here is part Republican Party headquarters (with books about Oliver North and Dan Quayle and a lifesize poster of President Bush), part NRA promotional center, part distributor of mostly lame music, and part indoor garage sale for religious kitsch. The books? They never have anything I want. (Of course I don’t go looking for one of the thousand copies of “Left Behind” series books.) No one seems to know who Luke Timothy Johnson is; nor have they heard of Walter Brueggemann. But if you want your choice of a dozen books talking about how evil Harry Potter is, you’ve found your mecca.
But, when I enter a Barnes and Noble, it’s a very different feeling. All right, so Abilene doesn’t have one. But 2 hours and 10 minutes away, at the University exit off I-30 in Ft. Worth, there is one. When I walk in, I feel like I’m walking into a world of ideas. For some reason, it makes me wish I didn’t hate coffee, so I could just sit with a cup of joe and a book. And the music in back? Some of the best of Christian music–but also jazz, classic rock, country, etc.
Christian bookstores remind me of how easy the church can default to a shallow, world-denying position where we protect ourselves with OUR music, OUR art, OUR action figures, OUR novels.
Barnes and Nobel reminds me of what a diverse, thought-filled world we live in–a world that needs the message of the gospel.
A standing ovation for Randy Johnson, please. On behalf of all fortysomethings, I’d like to thank him for showing that we aren’t yet over the hill. (I realize a case could be made that there is a slight difference between 47 and 40 or that there is a small difference between 6′10″ and 5′8″. Big stinkin’ deal.) 27 up, 27 down for The Big Unit.
I can’t wait to go pitch batting practice tomorrow!
Roger Clemens with a 7-0 record. Randy Johnson with a perfect game. Maybe it’s time for:
Nolan to come back and shoot for his 6000th strike out;
Michael to return and lead the Bulls back to the playoffs;
Joe Montana to show the young guns in the NFL what a QB does under pressure;
Mark Spitz to jump in the pool in Athens;
Diane and me to have another child so I can still coach another decade;
Jack Nicklaus to win one more major.
All of the above are very unlikely. One would require an act of God.