..::On Kenosis::..

2007-09-28T12:19:00.000-07:00

Here's the deal... I've moved my blog over to wordpress...Redirecting...

If my HTML coding is correct you should be automatically redirected. If not, go here http://jaredslack.wordpress.com and update your bookmarks.

//uhm... bad news//

2007-09-28T07:19:00.001-07:00

I'm a fickle person.

I have a weird "thing" for change, and it realy affects all areas of my life. I've been really annoyed with blogspot for a while now, and a friend of mine recently (just last night) turned me on to wordpress. So this morning at work I made a rash decision and am going to be moving my blog.

please come with me. i need the affirmation.

..::On Kenosis::..

jared.

//i’m no superman//

2007-09-26T09:02:00.000-07:00

Contrary to popular belief, I’ve had my fair share of flings in the art of adolescent seduction. Nothing to write a novel about or anything; just your run of the mill affair with the predictable overly-dramatic heartbreaking finale that ought to leave one reluctant to revisit such an experience again, but inevitably makes you insatiably desire more developmentally preparatory pseudo-romantic relations. You know I’m right.

My first girlfriend’s name was Leslie Thompson. We were in Pre-K and used to hold hands on the playground. Once we shared an ice cream cone at a Halloween Carnival. I have a picture to prove it. We were pretty serious. Her dad owned a Radio Shack, and I have no idea where she is today.

I don’t know why I just said all that.

I imagine we’ve all had our fair share of childhood romps with love, but I like to think that I’m slightly more experienced than most. A sort of compensation on the other end of the spectrum to make up for the fact that at present I’m the most pathetic person in the world.

Back to what I was saying... I was one suave toddler. On more than one occasion females swooned over my chubby cheeks and thick brown hair. Just ask my mom. I could control a room with giggles and antics for hours on end. It really wasn’t fair to all the other children I imagine, but its a dog eat dog world. I was an adorable force to be reckoned with (still am if you ask me). But I guess all the cuddliness and charisma went to my top-heavy head, because in those days, cupid’s arrow aimed a little higher than my neighborhood peers or classmates. More often than not, I directed my affections toward any particular evening’s caregiver.

When I was little, my parent’s affinity for the two-step regularly gave my brother and I the opportunity to spend an evening with whichever one of my mom’s friend’s daughters needed some extra cash and had nothing else to do on a Saturday night. On one particular evening my mom ordered us a pizza, and we all had dinner together before my parents went out. The babysitter arrived at the house around 7:30, and I was already zipping around in my superman pajamas. I must admit, there was something empowering about that red cape. When it was Velcro-ed to my shoulders no female was safe. I was certain that by the end of the evening babysitter chick and I would be cuddled up watching The Fox and the Hound. I was money.

Unfortunately for me and for her, I’ve never been really good with any combination of excitement, nerves and edibles (just ask that carnival worker at the Angelina County Fall Festival `96), and this time would be no different. At one point in the evening it seemed that no amount of charm or cuteness was going to attract the attention of this particular babysitter because she kept talking on the phone and didn’t seem to notice me diving/”flying” back and forth from couch to couch. I was freaking superman, and she had the audacity not to be impressed.

Women...

Well, before I knew it or was able to prevent it from happening, my stomach gave me notice that the pizza I had consumed earlier in the evening was about to have an encore. So, I did what any child would do in this situation. I immediately cupped both hands over my mouth and frantically ran all over the house mutedly screaming, “Mhhmmm, Mhhmmmm!” Finally, when the romantically irresponsive ho-bag noticed me, she came running over to find out what was wrong.

And then I threw up on her.

It seems like this story has played itself over and over in my life in one metaphorical way or another: Boy meets girl, boy vomits on girl.

I screw things up a lot. I make a fool of myself trying to impress people or keep their, and most of the time I think I just plain make things worse. And I guess this could apply to following Jesus, because I screw that up a lot too. Like Peter I have the stones to ask Jesus to command me to come out on the water, but once I get out their I almost get myself killed. But I still I think Jesus beckons me (even foolish me) to come, serve and experience. Despite my tendency to screw things up or make things bass ackwards, Jesus is more than willing to work alongside this feeble humanity of mine.

I'm grateful for this.

Because it just so happens that this God that I serve has a thing for sinners, and I sure do like his taste.

(mandatory spiritual tie-in over)

jared.

//Britton//

2007-09-24T14:58:00.000-07:00

My blog has been in a state of neglect for the past month or so. I started back to school and started a new job. Both are great, by the way. As a result, this place has been left to it's own devices. About 3 weeks ago, I came to check on things, and found that the template my blog uses had been discontinued. So, I have spent that past couple of days working on a re-design of sorts

At my job, I have access to Photoshop, so I even tried my hand at creating a header (see above). As you noticed, it's a little big. I still haven't figured out the exact dimensions needed to fit it snuggly in the browser screen.

Blake, If you know the dimensions (as I'm sure you do) let me know.

And Blake... Nickel Creek is coming to Austin on Novemeber 17th. It's there last show in Texas... ever. Do what you will with this information.

If anyone is keeping tally, that's 3 concerts I'm going to in the next 6 weeks.

October 5th - Andy Davis @ HOB, Dallas (I don't actually know who this guy is, but it's a nice trip up to Dallas... supposedly karaoke might be in the plans... so I'm in.)

November 5th - Ben Harper @ The Majestic, Dallas (most expensive concert I will have ever attended)

November 17th - Nickel Creek @ Stubbs, Austin (favorite music group of all time, favorite city - that I have acutally been to - of all time)

that's enough information for now.

jared.

//a picture paints 1,000 words (or just 368)//

2007-08-07T23:43:00.000-07:00

He used to bring his kids to this beach.

Though he would never let it on, at one time this very spot served as a weekend getaway for his family. A lazy Saturday at the beach once a quarter that was intended to chip away at the division arising between him and his loved ones. This was about all he was able to give. It’s impossible to rally much enthusiasm for familial relations after putting in a dozen hours of work each and every day. These outings were his futile skirmishes with the uncomfortable conversations and abbreviated encounters that had become the norm rather than the exception within his home.

The sacrifice one makes to sustain a lifestyle in hopes of sustaining a family is a monument to irony.

The american dream: a sixty-hour workweek, and loveless family.

His mouth now serves as a vault to the memory of these days. Those moments when his jaws clench and lips cower from the inner unrest of a mind trampled upon by fleeting happiness and surmounting remorse come regularly upon him as the faces of his children cinematically plague his thoughts. The fodder of his former life plague this man whose wife had had enough and whose children who had had too little.

Regret is best served silent he supposes, so he keeps to himself. No kind words or friendly gestures can scathe his defenses as he denies any offer of assistance. The occasional crumpled dollar bill or clanking of change on the ground at his feet mock his plight. He has all the money he needs, but no family to share it with.

At least not any more.

He subjects himself to this daily routine of scrounging for scraps or the occasional aluminum can in the trash bins dotting the perimeter of this familiar beach area. Not because he needs to, but because he ought to. Maybe it’s the penance he deserves for being the father and husband who simply couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Or maybe he’s making up for all those Saturday’s he wished he'd spent here flying kites and building sand castles rather than trying to support his family.

Is he really all that guilty?

jared.

//Hedley, TX//

2007-08-06T10:39:00.000-07:00

My friend, Jonathan, and I took a trip up to Hedley Texas to do a youth rally. He preached and I played. It was a good time.

In an effort to be more creative, I took my digital camera. I took some photos and captured a few funny moments from the ride up there.

Here is the video:

//the beast in me//

2007-08-01T14:27:00.000-07:00

Two pudgy feet peek out from under their haven of matching G.I. Joe covers and find themselves recklessly drooped over the side of the bed. While this may not seem like much, the miraculous nature of this moment cannot be overlooked. It seems that yet again the newness of the day has dispelled any of the previous night’s fear of the monster underneath. This ineffable beast with the propensity to seize any appendage carelessly dangled over the edge is incredibly efficient in its task of squelching any small child’s desire for a glass of water or a trip to the bathroom. But somehow the morning provides the antidote for these irrepressible phobias, and as if by routine or some unknown compulsion the toes belonging to those fearless feet begin delicately tracing the corners of the large chest found at the edge of the bed containing the day’s entertainment. Toes dancing back and forth, sliding gently from cold metal to smooth wood and back again provide a rudimentary cadence to the process of waking up. These first few moments are spent shaking off sleep and reintroducing your self to the world...

“Your name is Jared Dwayne Slack. You’re 9 and you hate your middle name. You are lying in your bed, in your room, and as you can probably tell by the posters, you like Bo Jackson and four-wheelers. The sounds coming from outside your door are probably your mom making breakfast. You like her. It’s mostly because she smells good and kisses you goodnight, but be careful not to make her mad. Your brother is in the room next to yours. You share a bathroom and a closet. You hate him. He thumps your ears. Your dad is probably at work. You don’t know what he does for a living. You should probably find that out. While you don’t like the black jellybeans, your dad does. It’s weird how that worked out, but use it to your advantage. Just so you know, you like to play with LEGO’s and G.I. Joes. You’re beginning to think that Transformers are where it’s at, but you aren’t ready to give in to the hype. Your favorite TV show is the Mickey Mouse Club. You’re in love with the girl who lives down the street. You should consider the benefits of getting a new haircut because no one takes the bowl-cut seriously. You aren’t as good at playing basketball as you are at baseball, but everyone in the neighborhood prefers football so it really doesn’t matter. You are funny, intelligent, and like to tell stories. One day the girls will love you...”

GET UP.

..::::..

2007-07-26T19:14:00.000-07:00

I'm not one of those people who feels incredibly obligated to keep everyone up to date on their life's happenings. It's just not me really. I might have been that person in the past, but I am not that now. As of late I have preferred the company of a good book and my dog, and haven't felt the need to let anyone in on that.

Even more, I haven't felt much like posting anything recently. To be honest I haven't felt much like myself, so writing anything would have been just a little bit too forced.

In "losing" my job at the Methodist Home it felt like that part of me that was struggling to emerge from the rubble of past experiences that had finally found it's niche was being pulled right out from under me. I was caught off guard and I got burned. I'm not ashamed to admit that it was something that hurt me and left me just slightly scarred. It seems that I have yet again found myself weary of the establishment and burdened by this damn calling that is mine. It is a nasty thing, this experience of grace and the need to share it.

I'm still not ready to step out of this funk. It's nothing to worry about (that's what I keep telling myself), and I am sure that once my life settles down, I find a job(s), and begin a new semester this will all just pass over.

jared.

//checking in//

2007-06-09T20:42:00.000-07:00

You would think that since I have nothing better to do I would spend more time on this thing.

You would think.

But I do take pictures.

jared.

//i don't know what to do with myself//

2007-05-23T13:17:00.000-07:00

well. I'm officially unemployed now.

Being on this side of employment after having held a rather steady and grown up kind of job is incredibly awkward. I remember as a college student how effortlessly I could waste a day away with absolutely no activity. As if sitting on the couch or playing video games until my backside went completely numb was at one time something worth boasting over.

In the past several months I have gotten used to the idea of being useful. I am amazed at how quickly I’ve gone from being important to feeling menial. With just one day of joblessness under my belt, I already feel utterly worthless. Idleness is gnawing away at me. I haven’t "produced" anything that is of any value in some 24 hours. I haven't spent time talking with a kid about their life. I haven't picked up my guitar to go over music. I haven’t given any thought whatsoever to this Sunday’s liturgy. Any activity that would have defined me two days ago is missing from me at the moment, and it scares me that it may be a long time before I get to do them again.

Today, I woke up. Had a bowl of cereal. Walked my dog. Read a book. Worked out. Took pictures.

Here’s evidence that I am good enough, smart enough, and gosh darnit that people still like me...

//it's all in the jiggle//

2007-05-20T21:49:00.000-07:00

I hate the whole process of buying new clothes...

My butt looks good in nothing.

In all fairness, it might just be the angle from which I’m looking. But if the merchandise doesn’t comes across as appealing from my vantage point, then who else is going to want to check it out.

As a five year old, shopping with your mom is a rather emotionally taxing experience. And it’s not just the shopping that does the irreparable damage; it’s the process as a whole... beginning in the parking lot. Many can testify to the horror that is the span of time immediately following the removal of the keys from the ignition and the moment you’re actually allowed to exit the vehicle. I’m not sure if it’s a “Parenting 101” tactic taught immediately following conception, but there’s really no better way to put the fear of God into your child than to linger indefinitely in a car with the A/C turned off as the summer sun heats up the inside like a bag of popcorn. With beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead and your mother’s eyes turning from their natural peaceful green to smoldering fireballs you are promised that any inappropriate behavior within the store will certainly result in your death by timeouts.

In this moment, before your feet have even touched the parking lot pavement you experience one of life’s greatest conundrums. This journey you have embarked upon has no good ending, and the real kicker is that you didn’t even want to come in the first place. Sometimes I think 75% of the trouble I got into growing up was the direct result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What kills me is that those places and times were determined meticulously and forcefully by the very person who later had me bent over their knee. And they say there is such a thing as justice...

You enter the store and just as abruptly as your pupil’s dilate and adjust to the fluorescent lighting your nasal cavities are overwhelmed by the stench of new fabric doused in chemicals used to prolong color and kill brain cells. The doors close behind you as you’re snatched out of your toxic daze and pulled in every direction that you really don’t want to go. You soon find that your poor feet can’t keep pace with this monster whose got grip of your hand. You begin to open the lines of communication between you and God. Shopping can be such a spiritual experience.

You finally come to a stop in the Boy’s section, and you find that today is the worst of all shopping days. Today you are in search of a new pair of jeans.

(I must inform you now that my mom grew up the middle child of five in a rather small house. Unfortunately for me, her childhood development didn’t spend too much time in the area of personal space and modesty, and I got to reap the benefits of such an upbringing.)

The mortifying climax of this shopping experience comes to a head as your mom’s frantic sifting through the clothing rack produces a pair of pants matching your measurements. In a sort of adolescent outer-body experience you watch in slow motion as you are compelled to drop trouser right there in the middle of the store displaying all your spiritual gifts to any curious onlookers. You look on in trepidation as she crams your stumpy little lower extremities into a pair of denim jeans with an elastic waistband only to realize halfway into the procedure that her little man, who is a tad bit on the husky side, needs to make the move up to the next weight-class.

So the whole nightmare restarts, except this time you’re left there pant-less and ashamed of yourself hoping the next pair is the right pair. You see no end in sight, and all the while you can’t help but think that you never wanted to be here in the first place, and your probably going to have to have a “talk” with your dad when you get home.

But alas! The faithful moment arrives when you effortlessly slip into a pair of jeans. Your head bobs up and down as your mom seals the deal with the signature jiggle from the back belt loop. Euphoria sets in, she continues to tug, and a smirk comes across your face. The shopping experience has now become your own and you imagine all the great things you will accomplish in these jeans... First Day of School, the building of a fort, playing tackle football, working on the car with your dad...

She continues to tug from all sides now, leaving no loop un-tugged. She’s just checking to make sure they fit right, but you knew they did from the very first jiggle. Five minutes ago you would have protested, but now you're just looking to make her feel important.

jared.

//Lord, have mercy//

2007-04-10T22:06:00.000-07:00

My mom tugged us along by our arms as we approached the church through the courtyard. Mass started at 8, and my mother hated showing up after things got started because people stared. As we pushed through the doors the thick aroma of mahogany, incense, and silence met me as my eyes began to scour the back few rows. I soon zeroed in on my Grandma, who had already found her seat and was praying, and began frantically tugging at the hem of my mom’s dress informing her that it was time to release my hand. I insisted on sitting with my Grandmother each week. I am sure I brought tears to onlooker’s eyes as they watched me frantically climb into her lap and take my time settling in at her side just as the priest began his spiel. This was all very heart warming to watch. A kid who sits with his grandma every Sunday is straight up Hallmark, and I am sure you were all swooning at the mental image of me snuggling up beside her. If only I had a picture...

I’ll be honest. My intentions were not pure. The only reason I was so adamant about sitting with her was because she had butterscotch, lots and lots of butterscotch. Her purse was like that bag from Mary Poppins; her hand never came back empty when she reached inside. She and I had an understanding. In exchange for my silence she would give me candy. It was the way things were done, even if it was a little Pavlovian. She raised 5 kids; she must know what she’s doing.

The candy exchange would do its thing for a while, but inevitably, I would lose interest with my obedience and the sweetness of the candy in my mouth wasn’t payment enough for me to sit still. My fidgety little body would sliver down into the space between the pews and crawl around; weaving, and contorting myself around the legs of my family and any person within squirming distance, imagining I was being chased by bad guys using anything I could for cover. Within moments, without fail, my imagination would take me over causing some sort of World War II period special effect sound to erupt from my mouth loud enough for people across the aisle to look over and notice the chubby kid peering from behind the kneeling bench aiming an imaginary rifle at their foreheads.

I’m kind of embarrassed to even talk about this.

I can still feel the sting of my grandmother’s fingers toned to hardened steel from years of needlework and pea shelling as they clamped onto my ear lobe, (I was cursed with large lobes, they were a convenient handle on many occasions) and yanked me back into my seat.

Excursio...
Contrary to what you might believe, I do love the Mass. For many reasons in fact. One being that it’s so deliberate and slow. Every week it is like a romance. You enter in, things are a little awkward at first, and you even catch yourself getting bored for a bit. Everything inside you wants to rush ahead to all the physical stuff, but something inside you convinces you that your patience will pay off in the end. You find that the other person can be a little long-winded. They seem to be so self-involved. You’re really not all that interested at first, but then things begin to get better. You realize that all the self-interest, was actually self-disclosure. They just wanted you to know their intentions, to comfort you and open you up to being honest and bearing yourself. You begin to participate more, taking cues from them. You’re comfort level is rising. Finally, there’s back and forth banter. They speak, and somehow you know what to say back. You begin to feel even more comfortable with one another, comfortable enough to touch hands from across the table. You open up, you let each other in on your faults, and you soon realize that they weren’t really that big of a deal in the first place. There is acceptance, love, respect, and grace. And it all culminates in this wonderful celebration. The union of two persons into this one co-dependent thing commemorated by the breaking of bread and the sipping of wine is a beautiful thing. It’s all very involved and emotional, and you really don’t know how in the world you’ll ever be able to do it again. But somehow you find yourself there again; ready to pick up where you left off. For me, this is the Mass.

Back to the story...
Call it what you will, but every Sunday the planets seemed to align. At the very instance that my squirming, imaginative self was abruptly reintroduced into the Mass the priest and the community were preparing to receive communion. I always enjoyed getting to see what was going on so my grandmother would stand me up on the pew next to her. With my new vantage point, our faces were now at the same level, and she would draw me in close so I my ears could receive her voice. The congregation would respond in unison. Even though her response was with the rest of the congregation, I know she was speaking to me. Lord, have mercy. I could hear the priest’s voice in the background, and she would respond. Lord, have mercy. My rambling mind came to a standstill as I heard the words over and over. Lord, have mercy. Her voice is gentle, frail, and piercing all at the same time. Lord, have mercy. There is an ineffable emotion behind every syllable as each consonant receives its due attention, as if mistreating one would make the rest worthless. Lord, have mercy. My grandmother was praying for me, herself, and for the whole world. Lord, have mercy.

I’m not too good at prayer. I’ve become so mired by all the fanciness of big words, and impressive spiritual banter it seems that all the richness I experienced earlier in life has been sucked out of the discipline. Lord, have mercy.

More often than not my prayers are a chasing after the words that I don’t have. I sit/lie there in silence agonizing over my inability to be more vocal when I communicate with God. But I find that I have all the emotions and passion I could ever need. They reside in my heart, pain, joy, agony, disappointment, love, and insecurity. These are my prayers. The moments I spend in silence trying to fall asleep, as the emotions of the day rush over me. There are but few words that do justice to them all. Lord, have mercy.

love potion #9.

2007-04-02T19:40:00.000-07:00

My bestfriends, Bobby and Britt, put this little cheat sheet together for me my Junior year. A couple days ago, I was cleaning out my desk and I came across it again. I thought I would share it with the world.

So much wisdom...

//all things new//

2007-02-11T18:07:00.000-08:00

In theory this sounds good.

I’ve been around lots of “new” lately and it’s making me ill. It’s not that I hate new and those who get to have it. It’s that my overwhelming love and desire for new combined with the abounding lack of it in my life causes me to live with an insalubrious (new word, just learned yesterday – it fits... I promise) hope for something better that just might be around the bend.

“New” mocks me.

Let me be honest. I like new. I want new. I need new. Why you ask? Because “new” brings about possibility. The possibility that the person we are today might become just slightly improved by morning. Now that sounds pretty good. Maybe the me of tomorrow will be in love, know what he wants to do with his life, and have a new Mac.

Now I understand that apathy has become sort of “my thing” as of late: questioning everything, wandering aimlessly, seeking seclusion, and punctuating my day with disdainful exhales and all… but judge lest ye be judged bitches. I’m in a funk.

I’ve come to the only logical conclusion possible I suppose:

I need Jesus.

Now, hear me out. I’m not talking about the sappy, overly emotional, “opiate of the masses” Jesus, but the real Jesus: the Jesus who makes all things new, Jesus. I desperately need him to come along side this mess that I’ve made and help me tidy up a bit. I guess we all know what that’s like.

Now, don’t you go jumping to conclusions. I’m not depressed. I’m simply fed up. I’ve been spending entirely too much time trying to straighten up so Jesus can stop by. If I’m smarter than I think I am, I’ll just go sit next to the pile of dirty clothes I call "this life" and wait for company to arrive.

But let’s be honest. I’ve already started hiding things in the closet and shoving the mess under my bed.

//ryland//

2007-01-20T20:53:00.000-08:00

...the beginning to a short story I will never finish...

He was maniacally deliberate with the adante cadence of his steps. The even sound of dried vegetation crackling under his shoes provided the most fitting soundtrack for this occasion. It was incredibly cold, and he hated the woods.

Well, scratch that.

Once upon a time he had a deep love for the woods, but at the moment he hated his surroundings. The towering trees and the smell of decomposing leaves blanketing the forest floor reminded him of the past. When he was a younger he had found sanctuary in these woods. Lord knows what he did there.

Probably burn things.

Which seems like something most prepubescent males his age would be doing. While in most cases that seems to be the correct assumption, this kid was different. To him there was something alluring about the woods that had nothing to do with matches. Maybe the woods were the only place he could be himself; in the woods, alone, just his thoughts amongst the silence, being and doing whatever he wanted. I’ll be honest, that does sound a little weird, but freedom for a ten year old doesn’t come with many qualifications. My guess is that being in the woods provided him solitude. As much solitude as a young boy needs, I imagine. Nevertheless he loved the woods for reasons that maybe only he understood, and I don't think it responsible for you nor I to prematurely chastise him for such a harmless past time.

Although, in recent months it had gotten to the point in which his parents became concerned about him being gone so much. The boy seemed just a little too independent for their taste. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust him. He was a good kid, straight A’s, and never the subject of a parent teacher conference like his older sister, but a “little bit of a loner” is what his mom would mention to her therapist. The boy didn’t know about the therapist. As passe as seeing a therapist may seem (therapy is so early 90’s), his mom simply worried that her son wouldn’t make friends. Loners typicallly have a hard time fitting into any sort of social scene. In her defense, she simply worried that her incessant worrying might further his fascination with seclusion.

Not such a bad thing to worry about, if you ask me.

jared.

//save me//

2007-01-05T17:17:00.000-08:00

It was Christmas afternoon, and I had spent the better part of my morning asleep on the couch, when my mom nudged me awake saying, “You want to go see a movie?” Now, I have never been one to place my parents in the “un-cool” category, in fact they are a rather entertaining couple of people to be around. I have said many times that I love being at home. So, the prospect of catching a flick with those who brought me into the world didn’t seem like such a bad idea. My brother and his wife have already abandoned me for a visit to her parents, so I had little reason to say no to my mother’s innocent invitation.

So I got dressed. My mom dittied up her hair and put on her best causal attire suitable for the occasion, while my dad slapped on some jeans, a t-shirt, and adorned his head with a cap endorsing a major dealer in commercial demolition equipment (the twin to the cap I found in my stocking this morning). At a quarter to three, my father sauntered into the living room and in the most pristine of East Texas twang said, “We riddy?”

Of course I was ready. Free Movie + Free Popcorn = Why the hell not?

From the looks of the empty parking lot it seems like the rest of my hometown had found better things to do with their holiday afternoon. My parents and I make our way inside to find an empty lobby and a young, pissed off girl working the counter. Going to the movies with your parents as a single 24-year-old male, doesn’t seem like such a big deal, and for a while there I had convinced myself that what I was doing was perfectly okay. While I’m standing there waiting for my father to solve the quagmire that is butter or no-butter, I experience one of the most bone chilling moments of my life.

From my peripheral vision my eyes are drawn to the three people that have now unbeknownst to me joined us in the lobby. Another father-mother-son combo has decided to indulge in the cinema this afternoon, and I soon realize that I am now standing within throwing distance of The Most Pathetic Man in The World: a 30-something male who third-wheels it with his parents to the movies. I become entranced by his mere existence and before I know it our eyes meet and TMPMITW gives me a nod and a terrible little smile.

Holy shit, he’s found a kindred spirit, and it’s me. I belong to The Most Pathetic Brotherhood. He's given me the secret greeting. I'm in. My life's over. Shoot me now. This is an official lifetime low point.

It is in this moment I realize the main reason why I want to find someone. Not because I want to be in love, make out, have sex, get married, or have kids. This my friends really is the bottom line, the chief attraction of the opposite sex for all of us, old and young, men and women is that we need someone to save us from the pathetic sympathy smiles in the cinema snack line, someone who can stop us from plummeting down deep into the pit where the permanently single are hanging out with their moms and dads. I refuse to go back there again; I’d rather “stay in” for the rest of my life than attract that kind of attention.

jared.

//home for the holidays//

2006-12-23T20:39:00.000-08:00

it feels really nice to be home.

currently i am sitting in my dad's recliner looking on as he lies on the floor wrestling with my dog.

i spent the better part of today making christmas candy with the mom, and I even got to spend some time reading a good book.

life works at the moment.

*knock on wood*

..::all things know::..

2006-12-13T16:48:00.000-08:00

welp the semester is officially over. I came out with 3 A's and 1 A-. I'm kind of perturbed at the A-, but I don't want to be "that guy". So, I'll quietly back away from the asshole in me, and be happy about my grades.

on another note... things at work have been really hectic/annoying lately. Our annual Christmas worship service, "Carols and Candles", is this Thursday. All the planning and changing of plans has been rather exhausting. Plus I really don't enjoy decorating.

(the picture is of the stage in the sanctuary)

Also, we're finally getting a new chaplain at work. I think he is going to be a great fit for the work that we do at the Home, and it will be an incredible feeling to have someone who actually knows what they are doing in the office.

Lately, when I hang out with the students at work I feel completely inadequate. I make so many mistakes with them it seems. I'm finding it quite difficult to create a good boundary between being a friend and being an adult with them. Either extreme seems entirely unacceptable in my line of work. I would imagine it's all just a learning process.

I'm really just rambling now. I am thinking about making a photoblog, but I really don't know a good server to put it on, nor do I think I will post enough pictures on it to warrant my need of one.

peace.

jared.

//fishin' for compliments//

2006-12-05T08:02:00.000-08:00

I've been doing alot of work on this thing as of late. You better have noticed.

the lyebarry.

2006-12-03T16:16:00.000-08:00

i absolutely hate going to the library if i have to go.

i'm all about putting in the voluntary hours at that library. But when my presence there is a neccesity unwillingly placed upon my self; i'm not a pleasent person to be around.

when I was in undergrad my best friend, Bobby, and I would go to the library together to study. something about that made the whole experience seem worthwhile. we even had a good time sometimes, but that had nothing to do with the studying we were doing or the library.

it had everything to do with the fact that we would reward our studying by playing paper football.

i miss those days.

so anyways. i'm at the library right now trying to finish a take home final and wishing i had bobby here to play football with.

peace.

jared.

..:://karis//::..

2006-12-02T20:34:00.000-08:00

just so we're all clear. i have the greatest dog ever...

..:://spur.of.the.moment//::..

2006-12-01T09:33:00.000-08:00

Last night i finished my last assignment for the semester, and I decided i would treat myself to something that I have been toying with the notion of purchasing.

So I went and bought a camera. As some of you may know. I like to dabble a little in the photo taking, so I splurged a little bit and bought this....

well, actually I charged most of it. But i had to because I was able to get a %12 percent discount by doing so.

so there. i have a credit card and I used it.

don't tell my mom. i'm really not in the mood for "that" conversation right now with finals coming in the next few days.

alright. well. I'm going to go now.

peace.

jared.

p.s. this post was inspired by the pattons who's blog has made me feel all kinds of inadequate. which I am sure this is their main reason for posting so often and working so diligently on its appearance... just to make me develop a complex.

..:://Mission in the (Post)Modern Context: Renovating the Structure//::..

2006-11-29T19:06:00.000-08:00

i've been doing alot of writing lately... just none of it here.
here is a partial product of my toils and troubles....

The Gospel as Post-Modern
The task of the church has always been to personify the message of the gospel within the context of the surrounding culture. In response to this, I feel that it would be fitting to examine how the contours and longings of the postmodern ethos might affect how we articulate (don’t read regulate) the message of God’s saving love. How might the gospel meet the deepest needs of the world?

First, any postmodern expression of the gospel will be post-individualistic. We must move beyond the Cartesian emphasis upon an individual certainty focused upon objectivity, and see that the gospel ought to be lived out within a community. The modernist focus upon the importance of the individual has left us alienated from others and ourselves. The church must reclaim the gospel as being that which binds us together as one: individuals within community.

Within this, we shall rediscover that the influence one’s community has upon our beliefs is unavoidable. Through socialization and participation in our community we inherit a cognitive framework by which we come to knowledge and faith. The narratives of individuals will always find themselves told from the perspective of communal life. As God is in fact the social Trinity, we are called to bear that same image in our interpersonal relationships. The Good News of Christ’s redemptive love will find itself being expressed by individuals in community. We must not shy away from proclaiming a gospel that is meant for more than (but always including) individuals. As Lesslie Newbigin puts it, “The Church is called to bear witness to the gospel not only as truth for the personal life, but as public truth.”

An inherited flaw of the Enlightenment has been the church’s tendency toward a strict separatism of the soul and the body. I believe that we need to welcome the postmodern rejection of this Greek dualism. In missions I think this means that we should renounce our tendency toward allowing the gospel to perpetuate a false-distinction between “humanitarian service and spiritual salvation” and rediscover the biblical message of the shalom of God being all-pervasive in the entirety of human experience. By dividing the human person into mind and matter, the gospel has been plagued by our evangelistic inclination to care only for the eternal security of the soul and forsake the present state of one’s physical existence. Postmodernism urges missions to become biblically holistic.

Finally, in our venture to be spurred on by the sympathies of postmodernism, the mission of the church in the proclamation of the gospel must dethrone the myth that the goal of our existence is the accumulation of knowledge. “We must declare that the purpose of correct doctrine is to serve the attainment of wisdom.” In harmony with postmodernism we declare that the ascertaining of knowledge is not the chief end of humanity. Yes, gaining knowledge about the world and God are inherently good things, but if it is not coupled with a good result then our efforts are fruitless. Faith is passed on as more than an intellectual endeavor in which we convince people to believe in mere propositions. Rather, a commitment to Christ must effect the heart as well as the mind. Such a realization revolutionizes the impetus behind our mission. The church does not “go” simply because some abstract proposition extracted from the biblical data declares it our duty, but we go because the reality of Christ has transformed us so much so that we can do no other.

The Gospel as the Clue to History
While much of postmodern thought can be welcomed into our manner of proclaiming the gospel, some of it must be rejected outright. As mentioned previously the message of the one God who reveals himself in the person of Jesus is alarmingly antithetical to the emerging pluralistic worldview. We now find ourselves in a pluralistic society in which “the freedom to believe whatever one chooses to believe has ended in no belief at all.” The abandonment of the universality of truth has resulted in world that is devoid of any unifying truth that speaks to the purpose of our existence. Each human thus becomes a maverick ion left to its own faculties.

However, the church simply cannot accept this, and we must stand against the loss of our unifying center. By definition the message of the gospel opposes the postmodern denial of the metanarrative, because Jesus Christ is the one unifying reality of all history and the gospel is to be a proclamation of that truth. Tim Conder speaks to this effect when he writes, “Mission in the emerging culture needs to address the immediate reign of God in our world and culture as much as the promised eternal kingdom of God.” The church is to awaken society to the reality of the kingdom of God as present and yet to come. The clue to the history of the world is the gospel. It is “the universal history, and therefore the history of each person, and therefore the answer that every person must give to the question, who am I?” The life, death, resurrection, and imminent return of Christ are the driving telos of all creation. In missions we are called to live out this reality, and proclaim it as the history to which all people belong and are welcome.

We now live in an era in which the rules of engagement have drastically changed. The faith of our fathers must take on a different shape or the church risks becoming just one more religion amongst numerous others. All around us people are looking for real meaning in life, and it is our joy and our task to proclaim the love of God, which is more than just Good News for us, it is Good News for all.

..::/read between the lines/::..

2006-11-01T20:20:00.000-08:00

I want to write something profound:

//something that will elicit your curiosity or prolong your misguided estimation of my intellectual ability//

Unfortunately, the words just don't seem to be forth coming. Of course I could blow smoke up your ass, get your attention for a moment with the thrills and spills of my life, but all my possible rants about Jesus, philosophy, or the harrowing tale of a paradigm shifting experience just seems so futile... so forced... so fruitless.

It seems that in this moment, like so many moments lately, my actions just don't seem to match up with what I'd hope they could attain to: being worthy of your interest.

And it's not your fault.

It's mine.

I'm just not what I wish I was, or what I hoped you'd wanted.

i'm done.

jared.

p.s. i want to hookah. really bad.

*cue Death Cab music*

"I enjoy being unimpressive... I sleep better"

2006-10-12T14:50:00.000-07:00

I try too hard to be impressive.

It's on the verge of being a vice.

In fact it might just be one.

In the world in which I live, there's no room for mistakes.

I created this world. In fact, I am well aware that the way in which I perceive people perceiving me might just be a fabrication of my own psyche. But in admitting that, I seem incredibly unimpressive, or at least I assume you think I am incredibly unimpressive, which makes me feel incredibly unimpressive. So, go figure...

But, as of today. I am no longer out to impress you. The person I have made you out to be is incredibly hard to please. It's kind of ridiculous.

I might just be able to get a "B" in a class and live until the next day. I may not get my PhD. I might consider blowing all my savings just so I can fly Boston to watch the Red Sox play and see the leaves change colors (I know I already missed this, but there is always next year).

I might just go against all the things that I thought I wanted for my life, and be what seems to be the least desirable version of what I set out to become: Someone who is unimpressive.

From now on I want to be about impressing myself. Doing things that I never would have thought I could do. Being the person that does, rather than the person who wishes they did. Taking risks.

In other news. I watched Dead Poets Society last night. I'm feeling awfully "O' Captain, My Captain"-esque at the moment.

be still,
jared.

..::uncertainty::..

2006-09-27T11:05:00.000-07:00

yeah... I hate uncertainty.

let me do a little timeline for you.

1st Grade - I was certain I was going to be a Veterinarian.

3rd Grade - Found out animals die, and there was nothing I was going to be able to do about that.

7th Grade – Decided I would be a Lawyer – my parents were happy

8th Grade – saw the TV show “The Practice” and decided lawyers were assholes

9th Grade – wanted to become a cool youth pastor with a goatee and a Hawaiian t-shirt

11th Grade – found out “cool youth guy” was in fact NOT cool and completely unrealistic – now I would become the cool speaker guy with the hot wife who travels around and speaks at camps

Freshman year – realized that I in fact hated the Church, so I will become a professor who teaches theology but doesn’t really believe any of it.

Junior year – fell back in love with the Church/Jesus/humanity… yada yada… want to teach at the University level as well as work in church planting for the disenfranchised and marginalized.

Seminary - now, I work with kids at a children’s home and am feeling like this is what I want to spend the rest of my life doing.

As I look back, all I can say is, “what the hell just happened?”

In short, I am all sorts of uncertain about what the future has for me. I still want to teach, but sometimes just not as much as I want to work with kids who’ve been counted out in life. I still want to plant a small house-church, but sometimes just not as much as I want to spend every day helping kids realize their self-worth.

I hate uncertainty.

jared.

..::postsecret::..

2006-09-20T06:28:00.000-07:00

I go to this place alot. I go there so much so, that I know every Sunday morning when I wake up I will find the site updated with brand new secrets. It's on the brink of addiction. On more than one occasion I've gotten in my car ready to leave for church at the Home and been forced to go back inside so that I can see what secrets people let out.

This week in our small groups we are having the kids make their own postsecrets. Monday night was the first night. Some of the secrets we have gotten have brought me to tears. Hopefullly, when the entire campus comes to see all their secrets together in one place there can be healing amongst them.

let's hope.

in other news: immediately after church this sunday I got to break up a fight... it was awesome.

jared.

just a snack.

2006-07-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

I gave out communion for the first time ever this Sunday. Well, let me qualify that. I have done communion with groups of people before, I lead them in the whole, "and Jesus broke the bread, saying..." thing. This Sunday was different. I actually broke off the bread from the loaf and gave it to each person.

It went something like this:

I tore off a piece, raised it to their eye level... almost in a taunting way; emphasizing each word with the movement of my hand I said to each person (using their name if I knew it) -
"Bo Sho, this is the body of Christ broken for you."

I'm pretty big into tangibles, and breaking off bread and pronouncing the brokenness of Christ's body for our sins is pretty tangible in my book. I've been on the receiving end of many communions, but never have I gotten to administer it.

After about the 20th person it got kind of frustrating, because it felt like they weren't getting it, me included. What I was tearing with my hands and passing out was no longer bread. It was the most beautiful representation of Jesus' body, and we were feasting upon it. We sat at the table of grace and were asked to have our fill.

I remember as a little kid I looked forward to communion more than anything else . One, because I got to move around the church and look at everyone's faces rather than the back of their heads; and Two, because it was a nice snack to tide me over until lunch.

Sunday lunch was an event at my house.

Some might say that I was missing the point. And to that I will say... "I was 8, what did you want me to think?" I had just mastered the art of subtraction, what I am supposed to do with grace?

I wonder if any of the people this Sunday looked at communion the same way that I did when I was 8?

just a snack.

But I wonder... How far off are they? Communion is an experience of spiritual nourishment. We come as a community to feast upon the grace of God. And to be honest, sometimes grace is all that gets me through the day. Maybe communion is that which gets us through life. It eases the pangs of our hunger until we come in full to the kingdom.

My friends, communion is a snack, a taste of the divine, an experience of the grace of God, and that which will most assuredly tide us over.

EAT HEARTILY.

jared.

UM ARMY

2006-07-08T21:56:00.000-07:00

i leave tommorrow for UM ARMY. I am not sure if I am happy about this or not.

I started research for an article on Horace Bushnell's anthropology...

i leave you with this:

“Then when God appears in His beauty, loving and lovely, the good, the glory, the sunlight of soul, the affections, previously dead, wake into life and joyful play, and what before was only a self-lifting and slavish effort becomes and exulting spirit of liberty. The body of sin and death that lay upon the soul is heaved off, and the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus --- the Eternal Life manifested in him, and received by faith into a vital union --- quickens it in good, and makes it free.”

and...

"Justification is that which will give confidnce, again, to guilty minds; that which will assure the base and humiliated soul of the world, chase away the demons of wrath and despair it has evoked, and helped it to return to God in courage, whispering still to itself --- soul be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee."

taken from God in Christ.

have a good week...

forgiveness.

2006-06-18T22:50:00.000-07:00

"bless me father for i have sinned. it's been 14 years, 3 months 1 week, and 5 days, since my last confession. these are my sins..."

I have gone to confession one time in this life. I was nine, and I was chubby… go figure. I remember staring blankly down at the ground as I waited my turn. My poor terror-ridden psyche found its only comfort in avoiding eye contact with all forms of life and squandering my final moments making sure I looked presentable. I critically examined my catechumen garb, beginning first with the standard issue blue clip-on tie and white button up shirt that seems to be given to all the little boy first communioners. My paranoia drove me to ask my pal Kevin to yank on my tie to make sure it was fastened securely. I of course returned the favor (we were soldiers on the same battlefield, and we were preparing for a grim conflict). I checked out my freshly pressed blue slacks that my grandmother had gotten me, and I tightened my belt up one more notch… because you can never be too cautious in these situations. I completed the inspection by giving the once-over to my very first pair of black leather dress shoes. These were great shoes. They were wretchedly uncomfortable. I recall the striking contrast they offered against the red shag carpet that covered the floors of the church. Beauty and the Beast for sure. My mom and I spent many laborious hours trying to find the perfect pair. Preparation for confession is just as important as confession itself… or so I’ve heard.

Before stepping into the booth I spent my last waning moments hoping against all odds that maybe the priest would take it easy on me and assign only a lap or two around the Rosary. I pleaded with my past and prayed that whatever I had done in these first few years of my life wouldn’t warrant any major time-consuming penance activity. I watched in fear as my brother-in-arms, Kevin disappeared into the confessional. I found myself alone and receiving a nominal source of comfort in resting my heard against the cool door of the adjacent confessional. I slowly closed my eyes and pressed replay on the story of my life, taking inventory of all the sins that I deemed worthy of inclusion in my impending conversation with Father Lenahan. Alas, my imagination was unable to sweep me away to another place before I was yanked back to reality. I had barely made it beyond that incident with me, Leslie Moore (names have been changed to protect the innocent), and a toy doctor’s set when Kevin stumbled forth from the portal of doom and pensively shuffled by me in silence.

There was no momentary glance shared between us. There was no smirk of reassurance to ease my mounting fears. Benedict Arnold offered no sort of outward expression to privy my soul to the next moment’s events. In fact, there was no recognition of my existence at all.

What had they done to him?

There was no consolation to be had for this weary soul and there was an overpowering trepidation mounting in my chest. The inevitable moment when silence would become the cue for me to begin my spiel of iniquity was soon approaching.

I took confession very seriously. Partly because I thought my Confirmation teacher was very pretty and I wanted to impress her, but on the other hand confession felt so right. It was what grownups did. Confession was a right of passage. It was one of the many hoops life seems to make you jump through in order to become the person fate has squared away for you to be.

And I must admit, confession wasn’t bad at all. I told Father all the things I had done in my life that I wished I could take back. It was quite obvious that my little mind had taken my fears in all sorts of directions. He offered advice on how to love my brother even when he picks on me, he talked me through the consequences of being dishonest, and suggested ways for me to better honor my parents. He even chuckled a little when I told him about the time I tried running over my brother with our four-wheeler. But most important, he told me that confession is about forgiveness. It’s about me accepting my need for forgiveness and God’s free offer of forgiveness.

Now, separate all this from the Catholic understanding of ritual absolution and I think you are on to something.

I fear that we have bought into a system that promotes the idea that achieving perfection in life, academics, and ministryare the real moneymakers when it comes to “bringing God glory” (thanks Hyde). As if God’s glory were a substance that I could add to or subtract from. We live in a culture that tells us that things/job positions/grades make us who we are. Our accomplishments in life are the tell-alls in how holy and acceptable we are before God.

Looking back on my first and last confesion, I realize now that my fear was not about confession itself, but about letting it out in the open that I was a broken vessel. I had convinced myself that up to that point I was the poster child for sainthood, and that confession was a denial of that badge that I had given myself. I had to come clean with the fact that as hard as I tried to present perfection, there were still times when I let my anger get the best of me. Confession is about me admitting to the fact that my deep down expectations for goodness will never match up to the way that I actually live.

Taking this moment to look back upon my 9 year-old, over analytical, high-strung-self has taught me a great lesson:

Confession is not what I fear… It’s imperfection.

improvised wisdom.

2006-05-26T19:06:00.000-07:00

this week we said a reluctanct good-bye to 26 of our students. each of them is returning to the world that we have tried so desperately to protect them from and prepare them for. some will be heading to college, some will join the job-corps, and some have decided that things would work out best if they just fended for themselves.

each chose a path that they felt best suited them...please god don't let those choices be mistakes.

the moment has come and gone in which you cling to them one last time as tightly as possible, whisper in their ears a few more tid-bits of advice and improvised wisdom you've collected through out your own years:

"believe in who you are, and don't let people change you"
"remember where you came from"
"don't forget that love is always the best possible option"
"you always have a place of acceptance right here"
"take chances, but don't be stupid"
"don't let your pride prevent you from hearing good advice"

maybe the work you've done will not have been in vain...

your only hope is that sometime in the past few years and maybe even in that final moment, something sinks in. something hits home with them so much so that they diligently carry it with them and allow it to guide them along their way. by chance it's not just your voice speaking from within, hopefully your voice is being drowned out by the still small voice of the ONE who knows them best. that would be nice.

it's all a hit or miss isn't it?

watching helplessly as these few leave and forcing yourself to say farewell makes the anticipation grow for those moments that you have yet to experience with the ones that remain. while those moments are in fact numbered, you still have the chance to pull them aside and whisper a few tid-bits of advice and improvised wisdom into their lives.

maybe it will take. maybe it won't. we'll see i guess.

jared.

i love my job.

2006-05-11T21:47:00.000-07:00

ok. So I don't really believe in the whole meticulous providence thing. i don't think any of us do, or we wouldn't do half the stuff that we've done (or "will do" depending on your perspective).

If God had any part in that time that I shoved a yard stick into my brother's mouth, ripping the back of his throat open, and nearly killing him (it's a long story...), then God's got some explaining to do.

however, I will say this... well atleast until the day that he tells me to say otherwise. (ok that was a joke. you were supposed to laugh, but I imagine most of you don't get the irony)

ok. so. I will say this: I believe that God is highly involved in the workings of the world. I'll be the first to admit that sometimes I have lost sight of this reality. (and no. I am not referring to this, rather I am talking about this, and yes, I still think about that)

Coming here to Waco has always seemed to be a form of settling. A concession if you will. I promised myself to be here only as long as my circumstances demand, and after that I am gone. I never expected much from my time here, nor did I expect much from myself. Truett was #2 on a list that was only one item long. I am supposed to be there not here. You cannot convince me otherwise.

God didn't make me financially incapable any more than God made my mom confiscate my Rambo action figure as a result of the aforementioned incident with my brother and his esophagus. So don't go there. I'm a highly trained cynic, and you don't stand a chance against my impenetrable walls of negativity and anti-authoritative tendencies.

All that being said. I love my job. I won't go into specifics, simply because of the nature of my position and the place that I work. But I have the opportunity to work with the most incredible people in the world. I spend my time combating social labels and uncloaking the existence of goodness and hope in the face of dire circumstances.

About a month ago I witnessed a miracle (don't picture this). I won't tell you what it was, because it was for me to see and not you. It was my glimmer of hope that I had been needing for quite some time.

Experiencing goodness never gets old. It's like hugging my grandmother. It offers a fresh dose of acceptance and a damn good starting place.

i love my job. maybe God has something to do with that.

jared.

down to the wire.

2006-05-07T18:45:00.000-07:00

alright. only two more days of finals.

Monday - Church History - a.k.a. - big pisser.

Tuesday - Scriptures - a.k.a. - bigger pisser.

hoping all is well with you and yours.
jared.

let's make a deal...

2006-04-27T20:13:00.000-07:00

ok. so yes. I haven't posted in a long time. I've had things to do. I'm sorry. But let's make a deal. How about we start right back where we left a few months ago.

No, "about time" or "well look who decided to post" comments. Why not a gentle and encouraging, "Welcome back, buddy"?

In fact, how about we say it together... "welcome back."

Well, it's good to be back. The semester is just about over. I find myself on the brink of finals week with a relaxing summer in front of me. I hope to post more frequently in these next few months once I get these tests behind me. I hope you'll be patient. I have a few things I hope to say.

I leave you with this quote from one heck of a smart asshole...

"The people bitching the loudest about being persectued for their Christianity aren't Christians at all. They're demagogues, conmen, and scolds; and the only thing they worship is power. And if you believe Jesus ever had a good word for war, torture, or tax cuts for the rich; or raping the earth or refusing water to dying immagrants. Then you might as well believe bunnies lay painted eggs." -Bill Maher

what's a post by me that doesn't piss a few people off?

peace.
jared.

2006-01-31T13:00:00.000-08:00

..::Freedom, O freedom, that's just people talking, your prison is walking through this world alone::..

The Eagles

We all want a slogan, but it seems there aren't many of us who can palette the truth they expose in us, or the expectations they have for us. Weakness is a life sentence dealt out to all without any sort of preferential treatment. The truth is, we all get the short end of the stick, and worse yet, we spend our entire lives attempting to shrug off the implications of an existence that requires that we ante up to our own inadequacies and self-inflicted solitude.

I want to learn to relish in my weakness and my shortcomings, become more adept at accepting grace, and somehow learn what it means to be a part of a community of people who can’t live without one another and without God.

That’s enough there…

I’ve been doing some minimal thinking about what it means in Acts when Luke says that early believers gathered together and…

..::committed themselves to the teaching of the apostles, the life together, the common meals, and the prayers::..

What intrigues me is the idea of the common meal. While some would insist that this is an early reference to the Eucharist (Lord’s Supper), I am not similarly swayed. That idea wasn’t actually formally attested until sometime in the 2nd century (don’t contest me on this… I know my shit). So, what does this reference to a common meal actually mean? I’m glad you asked.

I honestly think it means to simply sit and eat some food together. The Greek actually implies that they were eating food simply to sustain physical life. In other words, making sure everyone had a good meal. It seems to me that Luke was yet again making reference to “meeting one another’s needs” as an integral part of serving the Lord and one another in the early Church.

So, to cut to the chase. I think this explains my ineffable affinity for all things Food Network.

jared.

2006-01-10T10:18:00.000-08:00

I started class today. After a 6 month involuntary sabbatical I am back in the classroom where I belong. It feels good.

Really good.

And, no, its not escapism. I think I'm in a good place.

And then there was...

2006-01-03T19:22:00.001-08:00

“Turn it back on…”

I wouldn’t consider myself one who has frequent encounters with desperation. But today I found myself screaming an assortment of badly connected explicatives (in my head for the most part) as I pleaded with a complete stranger as he shut off my electricity. Needless to say, this is a spot I never thought I would find myself in: standing outside my mobile home, wearing the same clothes I woke up in, watching a TXU disconnection order being served, demanding that a company man would just wait a moment so I could get things straightened out. I half expected to turn around and find my overweight, half-naked, Courtney Love-esque wife standing behind a screen door, sucking the life out of a Virginia Slim, clutching my 3 month old, and barking for our other offspring who had turned a hubcap into a hat to get her ass back in the trailer. Then I realized that I’m only 23 and such a thing shouldn’t come to fruition for another 6 months or so… if all goes well.

Well, long story short and $300 later, I’ve set up camp in a local coffee shop while I anticipate the re-turning on of my lights. It’s uncanny how such an event can get you to thinking about the grand scheme of things. Honestly, I’ve been in a shit-hole of an existence for about 3 months now. I haven’t been attempting much social interaction, except with those whom I feel some sort of obligation, and I have little to no desire to converse with God. I’m enrolled in seminary because I feel like I have no place else to go and nothing else that I could be good at. But today was a good day, and I can’t think of one damn reason why that’s the case.

yeah yeah.

2005-12-14T12:36:00.000-08:00

I'm making a comeback...

eventually.

The Openness of God.

2005-11-16T10:56:00.000-08:00

Traditional understandings of the word “sovereignty” insist that God must always act and never react. The problem with this is that it is not biblical to have a view of God that imposes upon Him the necessity of being a god who is pure act, leaving no room for reaction and interaction. This is what differentiates the biblical narrative’s portrayal of a God who is intimately involved in the everyday occurrences of his people’s lives and the god of Greek philosophy that must have absolute foreknowledge of all events in order to be considered god. Such a stipulation (absolute foreknowledge) necessitates that God be abstract to, and completely outside of, time in which he experiences all things in one simultaneous “eternal now”. Unfortunately, such a stance has no correlation to the biblical text, nor does it find much resemblance in the faith practices of believers. God is seen as a being that actually interacts with the humanity he created as well has having the capacity (both by volition and according to the whole of the biblical message) to change.

In my first experiences as a believer I was taught to interact with God. Things like prayer, worship, and Bible study were times in which I interacted with the Father, but it seems like those are lost if we take seriously conventional views of theism. Ultimately, when one gets more acquainted with theological jargon and doctrine that the reality behind the situation is brought to light. If God knows all things (how I will act, how he will act, and how I will respond, and down the slippery slope we go) then it seems that there is no room for true meaningful interaction between Creator and creation. God becomes static, rather than dynamic. Thus my actions have no effect or value when it comes to God or how he acts…

A Side Note
-My actions having no effect on his actions are directly antithetical to many stories in the scriptures. A perfect example of this would come from the story of the prophet Jonah, whom pronounced to Ninevah that God would bring about their destruction because of their immense depravity. As soon as Jonah pronounces this judgment the city immediately turns from its wickedness, and in response God relents of his anger and does not bring about the city's demise. It seems that this is an example of God both interacting with Jonah, and responding to Nineveh’s repentance. Did God know all along that he was going to spare Nineveh, and if he did, then was his threat to destroy them merely a “holy head-fake”? There’s no genuine mercy left in the story because it was a predetermined event, and there was no real example of God’s holy judgment because it was a bluff. Instead, the story we are presented in the Bible is one that strongly proposes that God in fact was going to destroy Nineveh because of its depravity, but because of it’s repentance God responded by changing his mind and relenting of his intention for destruction. This is a perfect example of God's dynamic interaction with the world in time.

With all that is in me, I do not feel that this type of stance detracts any from who God is and who he has revealed himself to be. Rather than deducting form his sovereignty I feel that it truly enhances it.

Opening Remarks

2005-11-13T20:39:00.000-08:00

I must admit I have always been quite disillusioned with and disenfranchised by conventional "glory-based" views of God. So, this book really hasn't done much to bring me over to the darkside as much as it has eased my weary soul and my incessant doubting.

The Openness of God proposes the idea of what is known in many academic circles as, Open Theism. At its core, it seeks to bridge the gap between our personal practice of Christian faith and the theological implications perpetuated by our particular view of God. Of course this is assuming there is a bridge that needs "gapping", and that the aforementioned gap is located directly between the way that we practice our faith and the beliefs that we hold about the one we are putting our faith in. This is where conventional (or classical) theism busts up the party.

In Classical Theism, it is believed that God is a being who's sole purpose for creating all that exists is for his own glory, and as a result of his irresistible sovereign will all that he dictates must come to pass as it plays servant to his grand purpose for self-glorification. In a nutshell (and I'm sure this is going to seem harsh) God's relationship with the world is one of mastery, domination, and control. For some, this is welcoming and comforting, but for me this is most unwanted and alarming. I see an innate paradox in the act of lifting up a prayer to a God who already knows what I am going to say, what he is going to do, how I am going to respond, and all the while calling it a "genuine relationship". How can it be that while sitting in the pew I'm invited to enter into a reciprocal communion with the Creator, but while pondering specific doctrine I'm turned into a measly pawn in the Creator's eternal chess-match of life?

I'm petrified by the notion that the truth behind ultimate reality is that I am merely a means to an end, rather than an end in and of myself.

I imagine some will say that I should only be so lucky. But, if this type of belief were a movie, I'd ask for my money back.

more to come...

Who am I? The End.

2005-11-10T13:23:00.000-08:00

Part One
Part Two

Alright, after much anticipation, I wrote this today during my time as a German Teacher. Enjoy.

My “us/them” mentality has come asunder as of late. I no longer see myself as a walking confliction of Catholic and Protestant beliefs continually vying for my allegiance. Through conversations and deep inward contemplation I have come to an understanding that faith is not about labeling myself, and being confident in any particular dogma. It’s about living, being, and struggling with the paradox that is grace and growing fond of my ability to relate with God. No denomination can claim to be the sole proprietor of grace and it’s alright that I don’t know who it is that I am. It’s not a curse for me to come from a mixed background any longer, it’s actually a blessing that I have began to embrace. For me, my heritage is that of a Hispanic Catholic. I will embrace this and I will stand against anyone who wishes to demean or demonize either group. Not because I think either is without flaw, but I think it’s a major flaw in our society that supports the notion that in some circumstances we should be ashamed of who we are.

something to win you back....

2005-11-09T13:58:00.000-08:00

the funniest video i have ever seen.... seriously.

Who am I? Part Deux.

2005-10-25T16:33:00.000-07:00

When it comes to having been Catholic, I’ve always proceeded with caution. Until now having that in my past has been troublesome, not because it actually is or should be deemed so but I had convinced myself that it was. Being Catholic is something I was in the past, kind of like an alcoholic or something, at least that’s the way I made myself think of it. Pondering this always induced feelings of anger and relief. Angered by the fact that I was connected to a group that people found reason to hate, one that people labeled as not getting into heaven, and one that was continually being painted with a corrupt brush. Not to mention the fact that I had declared a revolution in my family and erected a wall of piety between my parents and I, for no other reason other than that I had decided that my ministry to them would be to show them their evil Catholic ways. I was relieved to have separated myself from them (Catholics, baby-baptizers, pope supporters, alcoholics, and any other label I had convinced myself they were worthy of). I was hard-pressed to make sure that my beliefs were the right ones, ones that would certainly get me into heaven, and ones that were well outside the reach of any Catholic tendencies. Being Catholic was a poison, and I thought being Protestant was the antidote.

It wasn’t until recently that I began to sniff out my own sub-conscious inclination to run from who I was, and to realize that this wasn’t how things were meant to be. The problem wasn’t with Catholicism AT ALL; it was with my presuppositions and me. One thing I picked up while calling myself a Protestant was that scripture and true Christianity (i.e. Romans 6:6, Ephesians 4:22, and Colossians 3:9) required that I abhor, run from, and revolt against who I was in the past. For me, it wasn’t about despising my sin it was about despising myself. I guess you can imagine that this wasn’t a good time for me. I was an overly dramatic teen who often compared his life to Job and asked why he had to be born into such wretched family. I figured I was well on my way to being the next Billy Graham, if only I could manage a small excursion through depravity with a few sexual escapades and alcoholic debaucheries (we all know these are perfect ingredients for a great testimony).

still more to come...

Who am I?

2005-10-20T13:20:00.000-07:00

I was in the 8th grade when I think I began my journey of faith. Well, at least that’s about where I would put it at the moment. Until then I was Catholic, but now I guess I would consider myself Protestant. Until then I was Hispanic, now I guess I would consider myself “white”. It’s such a strange thing growing up, making decisions for yourself, changing and adapting into who you will become, figuring out who it that you are now, and most importantly meshing those two things with who it is that you were and have always been.

As of recently I’ve been conflicted in so many ways about who it is that I am and what it is that I believe. Ranging all the way from politics to religion, the entire spectrum of what it is that might make me who I am has never been an area of earnest conviction. Nor has it been one of apathy I would say, but it seems that my beliefs have been based solely upon my particular associations, justified or not. For example: I’ve been Catholic because my family was, white because my friends were, Mexican because I was Catholic, Republican because I was Protestant, anti-Catholic because I was Baptist, white because all my friends were, and an ass (well, I don’t imagine there’s an excuse for that). But until now, I have convinced myself that the “way to be” was the “way to fit in”, and whether or not my spiritual/political meanderings where actual representations of the people I surrounded myself with was ancillary. I’m not saying this to demean any community I’ve been in cohorts with, it just seems that as a person I tend to go with whatever flow I find myself in at the time.

As a result, I’ve evolved into a man who has no personal identity pertaining to who he is and what he stands for. And worse yet, has no backbone to stand up for what he was or where he came from. This is a problem.

to be continued...

Coming Soon...

2005-10-18T11:17:00.001-07:00

hello,

A new post is coming soon. I promise.

Although, it will not be a continuance of my writing on the Church, culture, and truth. Something else has drawn my attention at the moment, and I am presently spending some time on this subject.

For the past couple days I have been doing alot of pondering and responding here.

talk with you soon,
jared.

The Liberation of Truth - Installment Dos.

2005-10-11T15:52:00.000-07:00

Sorry it is taking me so long to get these things out... I have alot of stuff going on right now.

Introduction - Culture Shock

Culture of Fear

At present, it is becoming more evident that the church’s understanding of the nature of truth simply does not coincide with the presumptions of contemporary society. This is resultant of its blatant disregard for the contextual nature of theology that we see exemplified in the practice of the early Church (see Acts 15). Rather than embrace the study of God as a fluid practice that takes seriously the need to understand and interact with one’s social, political, and economical environment, theologians of our time have sought to shore up the basement of their unchanging and unresponsive theological enterprise with theories founded upon modernist assumptions. Thus, while the church has clenched tightly, although futilely, to their claim as the supreme arbiter of truth, society has shown no interest in the many notions that under-gird the church. These including, but not limited to: truth being certain, objective, and hence absolute. The problem is not that those statements aren’t necessarily true, but that they don’t show any sort of relevance or consideration to the current philosophical situation in the world. We could chase an epistemological rabbit by discussing the numerous theories of knowledge, stumbling our way from foundationalism to subjectivism, but it seems that rather than do so, I might do well in proposing my take on the current stance of popular Christianity (or Modern Evangelicalism), and its vehement opposition of postmodernism.

Modern evangelical thought has perpetuated the assumption that the best mode of operation when encountering society is fear and opposition. This opposition is not one of deep conviction, but merely based upon an a priori principle. The powers that be have decided for us that rather than engage culture in a meaningful, progressive, and constructive manner we should fear and oppose it without question. The principle might be: “If we didn’t produce it, label it, or rip it off and make it our own, then stay clear.” In all circumstances in which the Church rubs shoulders with culture, our first and only priority has been to demonize their ways and retreat into our cocoon of exclusivism we create called “correct Christian conduct.” The modern church has perpetuated a culture of fear. One fears first, and asks questions later. The spiritual life of a Christian has morphed into a practice defined by what we keep ourselves from rather than what we give ourselves to. This type of fear has found ample ground in the postmodern cultural milieu, and caused a chasm of silence to develop between the church and society.

The Essence of Faith.

2005-10-02T11:35:00.000-07:00

A 17 year old girl stands in front of her student group and gives her testimony:

"ok, so i was like totally laying in my bed one night, and I was really thinking hard about whether or not God exists, you know? And so, as I lay there, this total sense of peace just like overwhelmed me, and I couldn't move my body at all. And then like as I'm laying there paralyzed, through my window I see this bright light. Not like a you're going to heaven bright light, but a like a beam or whatever, and it totally like shined in my room eventhough it was dark outside. As it passed through the window it like reflected off this dreamscicle that hung from my window seal that my boyfriend John got for our 6 & 1/2 week anniversary. And as it passed through this gift that John got me to show how much he loved me, the beam of light like shined right on my chest. When I looked down at where the light was shining it like totally lit up this cross that I wear around my neck. And from then on I just knew that God was real and that he wanted me to be with John forever."

Religious Experience.

What role does religious experience play in our faith? Should it play any role at all? Should the Bible be the only foundation of my faith in God?

Good questions.

I completely agree that the above paragraph is not a good example of what a true religious experience that leads to faith might look like. I have often found myself in such situations in which someone stands up and gives a testimony much like this, and it scares me to think that someone might base their faith in Jesus on something so "unbelievable." It happens though. Unfortunately, far too often we allow such examples to convince us that as a whole religious experience breeds a faith that is based upon our irrational passions and mere images of what we want to see and believe.

I have heard it said that religious experience should in no way warrant any type of belief, and the only foundation of one's belief should be in the biblical text and the promises that it makes. I believe this to an extent, but only a small one. I believe without any qualms whatsoever that what the Bible tells me about God is true. God is loving, beautiful, creative, wrathful, merciful, grace-filled, and holy. I believe these things, and I would give my life for them. I however do not believe them based upon any view that says that the Bible must be the foundation of my belief. Such a standard is never mentioned in the biblical text itself. I don't believe that God is love because I believe that the Bible is true. I believe that God is love, simple because God is love. I see no need to qualify or back up such a statement. In fact, we have ample instances in the biblical text that point to the notion that religious experience is perfectly apt in being the beginning of one's faith.

Moses and the burning bush. (see Hebrews 11:24- 29)

The voice of God telling Noah to build the Ark. (see Hebrews 11:7)

Paul on the road to Damascus. (Acts 22:6-11)

These are examples of religious experiences that lead to great acts of faith. Where would we be without Moses? Not here. Also, isn't it interesting to note that the person responsible for most of the New Testament came to faith as a result of a private religious experience? What has changed since then? Some has, I admit that, but it seems like it would be best for me to have a faith that somewhat resembled the same type of faith that Paul possessed.

Here's the deal. I'm not advocating the idea that faith is based solely on religious experience. Religious experience is not the foundation of my belief in Jesus, in the same way that I don't believe that the Bible should be the singular foundation for my faith in Jesus. In fact, I don't think there is such a thing that could be the foundation of all that I believe. I just don't think that is how faith works. Now, we shouldn't go about life hoping to be blinded by a bright light or be scared feces-less by a talking, fiery shrub. Personally, I haven't seen Jesus floating above my bed in well over 6 months (kidding), but I have experienced the peace and love of God. I hope I experience it daily, as I do the same for you. It's these experiences that shape my faith and give it texture and character.

Here's the next deal. I don't really know how faith works. I'm completely unfinished in the Jesus department, or any department for that matter. I have grown quite weary however of people who claim to have it all figured out and make claims about faith that discount everything except scripture. I don't have a clue as to how experience or the Bible play a role in being the essence of my faith in Jesus. I do believe they are an essential part of it though, and without either we wouldn't get very far.

peace.
jayrod.

Guest Appearance...

2005-09-30T14:40:00.000-07:00

I convinced a friend to let me be a part of a section on his blog titled "Ask a White Dude."
While I'm not exaclty a white dude, I love offering a different perspective on things. Thank you to my friend, Blake, for letting me voice my opinion on his blog. I think you'll appeciate the title.
Have a good weekend.

enjoy.

peace,
jared

the truth is out there...

2005-09-30T12:59:00.000-07:00

ok, so maybe it is taking a little longer to get stuff done on my essay about truth. But I promise i am getting it done. Today i did some writing for another blog that i read. I might post it here if it doesn't make the cut.

The Liberation of Truth - An Introduction

2005-09-26T13:20:00.000-07:00

Here is something that I have begun. It's liable to never be finished, but my hope is that this is the first installment of however many entries it may take for me to get this finished. enjoy.

INTRODUCTION - Culture Shock

In a world in which the notion of absolutism is being berated from all directions, how is it possible that religious belief can maintain its’ veracity when it seems that the rules of the game have changed around us? As a believer I must ask myself how the contemporary postmodern situation has affected the Church’s, and my, ability to proclaim truth and to effect the world for the better? For a long while, Christian belief has been grounded in the notion of the absolute. Due to recent trends within evangelical Christianity, the Bible has been hoisted to the position of being the one true inerrant, infallible, incorruptible, indestructible, unlimited, almighty, (it’s a bird! It’s a plane! No, it’s…) and downright most complete revelation of everything that God is and all that he has said. Now, while I do take issue with any group that holds such a “fantastic” elevation of the Bible, I believe that such a discussion would better be suited for another time.

Furthermore, biblical inerrancy should not be seen as the singular point of contention in the arising postmodern world. For that matter, as far as I know, the issue has flown quietly under the radar of the social arena and has been left largely for us theological/philosophical church mice to mince words over. All that being said, the issue of biblical interpretation is more than relevant for our present discussion. Our current troubles instigated by the creation of the theory of inerrancy are symptomatic of a greater point of friction taking place between the Church, which presents itself as the sole bearer of absolute truth, and a society that is utterly unimpressed by such far-reaching claims that would insist we place sole authority in a singular organization often regarded as corrupt and obsolete. Thus, we would be morally and academically remiss if we did not take a moment to examine the issue at hand: how does the Church emit truth in our postmodern era the way it was created to?

Why this?

2005-09-26T12:23:00.000-07:00

I am writing here, not because I think that what I have to say is worthy of reading or your time, but merely because I have within me this desire that bids me to create. I can't paint, I'm afraid to sing in public, and I am ever fearful of what people think of me when I meet them in person. But what I can do, with some minute sense of accomplishment, is write down my thoughts. As few and far between as those thoughts may be, I have more faith in my ability to put them down on paper than I am in my ability to live them out. So thus to chronicle that which is my thoughts I created this place with the help of my little artistic friend so that I may use this as an outlet to prove to myself that I am a person of substance and one who offers something to the conversation that is life.

RSVP.

2005-09-23T22:32:00.000-07:00

Ive been thinking about what Jesus said about banquets. he told a story once of a man who threw a banquet and invited all the upper tier of society to attend it, but unfortunately when the time for the party came around none of the high society folk showed up. so the host went out into the street and handed out invitations to the poor and the low socialites of the community. it seems that Jesus is trying to say something about upheaval of social norms that the gospel and the kingdom of God perpetuates. as well, in Luke Jesus is teaching about the immanent coming of the kingdom. he brings up the story of Noah and the flood. Jesus says that on the day of the coming kingdom a man will be standing on his housetop and he will have to decided whether or not he will go back down into his house to collect his goods. When the flood comes its the rich man who will more than likely go back into his and try to preserve as much of his stuff as possible, while the poor will be the ones who are saved.

It seems that these two stories are intricately connected. I have often heard it taught that the kingdom of God is like a banquet, so this is not a new idea to most. Jesus brings good news that flips the firmly entrenched social structures as we know them. now i dont think he is implying that he prefers the poor over the rich, but i do believe he is saying that those who find their worth and identity in the things they own will have a harder time entering the Kingdom. It is not merely the financially poor that Jesus says will find the Kingdom of God as a sanctuary, but those who realize that they are already bankrupt and are prepared to lose everything.

On that day, let the one who is on the housetop, with his goods in the house, not come down to take them away, and likewise let the one who is in the field not turn back. Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will keep it.

falling short?

2005-09-15T12:31:00.000-07:00

i feel tied down by my own aspirations. which seems contradictory, but it's true. there is this side of me that wants to throw caution to the wind, buy an old van, and spend a year travelling the country with my "to-be-purchased" dog. i want to take some time to figure myself out. to take sabbatical from reality as i know it and reaquaint myself with the real world. but i can't.

not that i can't physically, or that i don't have the gusto to make it happen. but that i can't turn my back on what i have already started with my life. i have to be true to what i want to do with my life, and no matter how romantic the notion is of being reckless, irresponsible, and taking a road trip may seem, i need to finish what i started.

it's still difficult though. i dont want to miss out. is it possible to be inspired without experiencing anything worthy of evoking inspiration. what if i never see a sunset that takes my breath away, light a cigar in celebration of some epic feat, or know what it feels like to be completely free of outside influence? will i be half the person i could be? will i be able to write things that pierce the soul or think thoughts that perplex? i don't think it's possible to ponder life if i never take the time to live.

i feel like im falling short.

Let the Fun begin...

2005-09-14T14:01:00.000-07:00

Something inside me wishes this guy were republican...