I'm currently in Southhaven, Mississippi sharing space with more than a handful of future missionaries. We had just spent a week learning about teaching in another culture, and we finally enjoyed Sunday as a day of rest. After five days full of seminars we were ready.
This Sunday the sole challenge was choosing a place of worship. Keeping this in mind, I got up, rifled through my suitcase, and chose some of my best casual wear from my limited collection. I threw on a black Everlast T-shirt complete with logo, cargo pants with Bible-compatible pockets, and my nicer pair of flip flops. I was stylin'.
After breakfast I hunted down the people who were going to the church I wanted to attend. They described it as a black Gospel Baptist church. I said I wanted to go as well. They replied with, "Everyone's going to be dressed up." Some helpfully added, "Are you wearing that?"
I hung my head and mentioned that's all I had with me.
There were at least twenty of us. If that was the case, about eighteen of us were white. The congregation numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands. As we entered the parking lot, I realized I'd once again be in the minority. I haven't felt like that since we came back to the States from Korea. I missed that feeling.
In the parking lot, I joked about hiding behind tall, well-dressed people. I was the only one displaying my brand of "stylin'". I took my Bible out of my pocket, hoping to de-heathenize my image as much as possible.
We were reasonably punctual, so we found a nice seat in the middle section. People would continue to arrive throughout the first hour of the service. Through the course of that time, we'd shift to the left and right, respectively, to make room for others to sit. Soon enough we were thoroughly squished. There was no ignoring us.
God has His ways of shutting me up. This church was huge. By "church" I mean the congregation and the building. I'll even throw in the screens up front. Yes. They were all huge.
That matters because I'm not a big church person. I often stated freely that big churches tend to be disconnected and inward focused. Sitting in a pew as the pastor read prayer requests, using individual names, I felt humbled. He asked us to join in prayer, and the next surprise came.
I didn't notice until later why the lady next to me grabbed my hand. She seemed middle-aged, so I wasn't too concerned. Then I looked around and realized all the people were joining hands in prayer. In most churches I've been to half this size people don't even greet each other.
Throughout the service I saw a concern for people. No one went in and out without a challenge to interract, to change something, to allow God to teach us.
The second item on the "shut up Matt" list was music. I've whined about worship being equated with music, and how much of that music seems too artificial, repetitive and emotional.
We sang many songs without hymnals. Sometimes we just listened.
The songs we sang without hymnals had direct lyrics that were easy to repeat. If you don't know where that tradition came from, look it up. The pastor was kind enough to explain it to us visitors and I'm grateful for that.
Music was used throughout the service, including the sermon itself. There was emotion, but it was genuine. There was a structure and freedom in the worship.
The pastor even did a dance number toward the end of his sermon. I'll be honest and say I wished I had the rhythm to follow suit.
At the end the pastor introduced us and asked us to stand. He must have talked to someone else in our group, because I didn't see it coming. We stood up and appeared on the front screens. So much for hiding my style.
We greeted him on the way out. He was one of several people who gave us a hug before the day was over. He encouraged us, and we tried to do the same. My friends said nice things, but all I could do was smile. Given the circumstances, I was speechless.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Media Rant
Please watch the news responsibly. I've noticed a trend in news headlines that most likely isn't new. Most of them are distracting or just plain depressing. Never mind the real issues, here's something to be afraid of. Now aren't you enraged? Rant away.
A weighty example is the economy. I know this is a real problem and it's not wrong to report about it, but the dwelling and biases on both political sides are less than helpful. No new information, just political parties to blame. Now get angry and call each other nasty names.
This throws the focus inward. Why can't I keep my 1000 inch TV and other overpriced toys? It's those nasty liberals (or conservatives, take your choice). And when we operate on fear and anger we are that much further from showing love (charity) to others.
It's hard to believe, but most of us are still rich compared to many people in the world. But according to the newsperson, we need to worry. God forbid we lose our cable. Where would we get our fear-inducing news then?
A weighty example is the economy. I know this is a real problem and it's not wrong to report about it, but the dwelling and biases on both political sides are less than helpful. No new information, just political parties to blame. Now get angry and call each other nasty names.
This throws the focus inward. Why can't I keep my 1000 inch TV and other overpriced toys? It's those nasty liberals (or conservatives, take your choice). And when we operate on fear and anger we are that much further from showing love (charity) to others.
It's hard to believe, but most of us are still rich compared to many people in the world. But according to the newsperson, we need to worry. God forbid we lose our cable. Where would we get our fear-inducing news then?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Prarie Home Companion
First, let me say that this is not a movie review. This is about the radio show the movie was about. I hadn't seen the film, but I gained a respect for the show itself.
Beka and I had free tickets to see the thing and were encouraged to go by Beka's grandmother. We had no idea what it was, and weren't told the title but the name of the guy who did it. I have since forgotten his name. She assured us he was famous and that we should google him. We never got around to it.
As we drove to the outdoor concert theater we noticed a gray sky. As we walked to our seats it started to drizzle, then rain. We mentally thanked gram for seats under the roof, stumbled around and found our seats.
We were close enough to see what was going on, so it was good. The stage looked like an old time radio set. The music had begun, and we heard the host singing. But we couldn't find him.
People were laughing, and we strained to figure out why. Nothing happened on stage. The rain was picking up.
We looked around to our aisle and saw him. The host was singing and nodding to people in the audience as he walked by. Older people in the audience were delighted. Younger folk like Beka and I didn't know what to make of it.
He continued to go as he sang a medly. It started to rain heavier, and the host was outside with the people sitting on the lawn. We craned our necks, hoping to see him. Of course we couldn't, but we couldn't be disappointed. How could we be? He was suffering with the fans.
Toward the end of his set he made his way back to the stage. His hair would retain the soaked look for the rest of the evening. It began to pour. The lawn fans cleared out, and we heard thunder.
Our host informed us that we would be on the air. I would remember that later when I let a weird, loud laugh escape. Some random day I might hear public radio and say, "That's my laugh! My laugh is on the radio!" Then I'll weep a little.
At one point the lights went out and quickly came back on. Someone whispered in the host's ear as he sang with a group. He later informed us that the show was off the air for about 10 minutes. "I don't know what you were listening to at that time," he told the radio audience.
The duel between radio show and thunderstorm continued. At one point they did a skit, and a lady put on a sultry voice and used the word "sex" as much as possible. She was in the middle of a joke when the thunder BOOMED too loudly for anyone to ignore. She stopped in the middle of her joke and said, "I think that was a sign."
Eventually the storm died down, and we enjoyed some folksy, bluesy and bluegrassy music. Some of the skits were enjoyable as well, while one sentimental letter reading was a little too "Country Time Lemonade" commercial-esque for my tastes. Still, The Wailing Jennys and the guitarist from Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna did an excellent job and are definately plug-worthy.
As we walked back to the car, I remembered the thunderstorm and the wet hair, and the constant refusal to shut the show down. I'm not a fan, but I'm glad he was with the ones who are.
Beka and I had free tickets to see the thing and were encouraged to go by Beka's grandmother. We had no idea what it was, and weren't told the title but the name of the guy who did it. I have since forgotten his name. She assured us he was famous and that we should google him. We never got around to it.
As we drove to the outdoor concert theater we noticed a gray sky. As we walked to our seats it started to drizzle, then rain. We mentally thanked gram for seats under the roof, stumbled around and found our seats.
We were close enough to see what was going on, so it was good. The stage looked like an old time radio set. The music had begun, and we heard the host singing. But we couldn't find him.
People were laughing, and we strained to figure out why. Nothing happened on stage. The rain was picking up.
We looked around to our aisle and saw him. The host was singing and nodding to people in the audience as he walked by. Older people in the audience were delighted. Younger folk like Beka and I didn't know what to make of it.
He continued to go as he sang a medly. It started to rain heavier, and the host was outside with the people sitting on the lawn. We craned our necks, hoping to see him. Of course we couldn't, but we couldn't be disappointed. How could we be? He was suffering with the fans.
Toward the end of his set he made his way back to the stage. His hair would retain the soaked look for the rest of the evening. It began to pour. The lawn fans cleared out, and we heard thunder.
Our host informed us that we would be on the air. I would remember that later when I let a weird, loud laugh escape. Some random day I might hear public radio and say, "That's my laugh! My laugh is on the radio!" Then I'll weep a little.
At one point the lights went out and quickly came back on. Someone whispered in the host's ear as he sang with a group. He later informed us that the show was off the air for about 10 minutes. "I don't know what you were listening to at that time," he told the radio audience.
The duel between radio show and thunderstorm continued. At one point they did a skit, and a lady put on a sultry voice and used the word "sex" as much as possible. She was in the middle of a joke when the thunder BOOMED too loudly for anyone to ignore. She stopped in the middle of her joke and said, "I think that was a sign."
Eventually the storm died down, and we enjoyed some folksy, bluesy and bluegrassy music. Some of the skits were enjoyable as well, while one sentimental letter reading was a little too "Country Time Lemonade" commercial-esque for my tastes. Still, The Wailing Jennys and the guitarist from Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna did an excellent job and are definately plug-worthy.
As we walked back to the car, I remembered the thunderstorm and the wet hair, and the constant refusal to shut the show down. I'm not a fan, but I'm glad he was with the ones who are.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Book Review
Farenheit 451 has to be my new favorite book. It's somewhere in the middle of the "books I was never forced to read in high school so I can enjoy them now" list. I had some extra time in airports and planes lately, so I was able to read it fairly quickly. It reminded me that
a) There is still good fiction out there I haven't yet read
and
b) Ray Bradberry knows how to write.
I guess c) would be that Mr. Bradberry is still alive, but that's not too relevant to the review. Still, how old is he, 90?
Even if I was forced to read this book, I'm sure I would have enjoyed every page of it. The suspense hardly lets up for the entire length of the book. There's always some tension about something, and Bradberry knows how to sustain it.
But it's about more than just good storytelling. It's one of those cautionary tales about where we as society are headed. However, like many sci-fi classics, it makes inaccurate and extreme predictions. For example:
1. Censorship exists but it's mostly unecessary. Americans in the story care mostly about themselves and TV than anything or anyone else. Other countries don't like them, and they don't know why. Sure. Like any of that will happen.
2. TV is mindless drivel, but people treat the bland characters like family members. Treating fictional characters like family? How far-fetched can you get?
3. A character notes that TV could contain the substance of books, but people just don't want it. Education becomes bland and entertainment-based. Everyone gets so bored that they behave recklessly and lose respect for human life. Oh, come on.
Prophetic inaccuracies aside, this was a fun and thoughtful read. I recommend it, if you like that thinking thing.
a) There is still good fiction out there I haven't yet read
and
b) Ray Bradberry knows how to write.
I guess c) would be that Mr. Bradberry is still alive, but that's not too relevant to the review. Still, how old is he, 90?
Even if I was forced to read this book, I'm sure I would have enjoyed every page of it. The suspense hardly lets up for the entire length of the book. There's always some tension about something, and Bradberry knows how to sustain it.
But it's about more than just good storytelling. It's one of those cautionary tales about where we as society are headed. However, like many sci-fi classics, it makes inaccurate and extreme predictions. For example:
1. Censorship exists but it's mostly unecessary. Americans in the story care mostly about themselves and TV than anything or anyone else. Other countries don't like them, and they don't know why. Sure. Like any of that will happen.
2. TV is mindless drivel, but people treat the bland characters like family members. Treating fictional characters like family? How far-fetched can you get?
3. A character notes that TV could contain the substance of books, but people just don't want it. Education becomes bland and entertainment-based. Everyone gets so bored that they behave recklessly and lose respect for human life. Oh, come on.
Prophetic inaccuracies aside, this was a fun and thoughtful read. I recommend it, if you like that thinking thing.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Cardboard Testimonies
A few family members have shared this video they saw on youtube called "Cardboard Testimonies." Individuals come up to a stage holding a piece of cardboard telling the "before" side of their testimonies, then they flip to the "after" side to much applause. Some emotional song about God's love plays in the background for emphasis.
I enjoyed seeing the many ways God has helped people. In that sense, it was effective.
In another sense, the video irritated me. I kept wondering, who are these people? Are these their testimonies, or friends', or someone's they read a book about once? The fact that I never spent time with these people left me feeling, well, disconnected. I wanted to hear their stories, not read generalized labels.
I'm not saying this can't be powerful or effective, because in some ways it was. But I wanted to meet these people, to see how their stories continue. It felt incomplete.
The problem with cardboard is that it's two-dimensional.
I enjoyed seeing the many ways God has helped people. In that sense, it was effective.
In another sense, the video irritated me. I kept wondering, who are these people? Are these their testimonies, or friends', or someone's they read a book about once? The fact that I never spent time with these people left me feeling, well, disconnected. I wanted to hear their stories, not read generalized labels.
I'm not saying this can't be powerful or effective, because in some ways it was. But I wanted to meet these people, to see how their stories continue. It felt incomplete.
The problem with cardboard is that it's two-dimensional.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
What I Like About Punk Rock
As someone who spent a weighty part of teen hood believing punk rock = Green Day, I owe much of my music history knowledge to VH1, and a bit to High Fidelity. Otherwise I wouldn't have known that Green Day sounds like a combination of the Clash and Sticky Little Fingers (thanks, High Fidelity). I also wouldn't have known that punk rock was all about ugly dudes making a lot of noise (thanks, VH1). I didn't have access to music videos as a teenager.
When I moved to a small but urban area in Korea, I soon found a miniature music shop that caught my liking. I guess I liked it because it was near my house. I pretended it was my own little High Fidelity-type rare music place, only without the rare music. Actually, the chances of finding what I was looking for were often slim. But I usually found something that ended up being not-too-crappy.
Once I found a Rancid CD, ignored the parental advisory label, and made a purchase. Later, I found the label was EXTREMELY well-warranted, but I also learned a few things about why I tend to like punk rock. So here goes.
1. There's joy in it. The more old-school, pure style of punk is about enjoying life to the fullest. Sure, the punks often find this through sex, drugs and rock-and-roll, but that's not the part I'm talking about. It's about a Carpe Diem sort of thing. Usually it has to do with love or music.
2. Rebellion. Sometimes I believe it's OK to rebel. For example, pop music, where pleasing music with meaningless lyrics and image are key. As VH1 astutely observed, the punk dudes were ugly and noisy. They were crass, but knew pure evil when they heard it. And so they rebelled. Later, Green Day rebelled against the rebellion by making punk popular, but that's another story. It ends with us blaming them for Blink 182.
3. It sounds good. Sometimes three chords are all you need.
4. Style. Look at them. They're so colorful!
I feel like there should be a number five, but four works for me.
When I moved to a small but urban area in Korea, I soon found a miniature music shop that caught my liking. I guess I liked it because it was near my house. I pretended it was my own little High Fidelity-type rare music place, only without the rare music. Actually, the chances of finding what I was looking for were often slim. But I usually found something that ended up being not-too-crappy.
Once I found a Rancid CD, ignored the parental advisory label, and made a purchase. Later, I found the label was EXTREMELY well-warranted, but I also learned a few things about why I tend to like punk rock. So here goes.
1. There's joy in it. The more old-school, pure style of punk is about enjoying life to the fullest. Sure, the punks often find this through sex, drugs and rock-and-roll, but that's not the part I'm talking about. It's about a Carpe Diem sort of thing. Usually it has to do with love or music.
2. Rebellion. Sometimes I believe it's OK to rebel. For example, pop music, where pleasing music with meaningless lyrics and image are key. As VH1 astutely observed, the punk dudes were ugly and noisy. They were crass, but knew pure evil when they heard it. And so they rebelled. Later, Green Day rebelled against the rebellion by making punk popular, but that's another story. It ends with us blaming them for Blink 182.
3. It sounds good. Sometimes three chords are all you need.
4. Style. Look at them. They're so colorful!
I feel like there should be a number five, but four works for me.
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