What were you thinking, Rob Bell?

First, a bit of background; I'm the resident heathen in a "Methodist" church (sorta kinda Methodist), and by extension, a Methodist "small group." They're too nice to call me heathen (seeker being the churchy word), but by "heathen," I mean I'm quite certain there's a God, though I'm pretty Jeffersonian in my Christianity. In other words, my beliefs about Jesus don't comport with conventional Christianity.

Anyway, we've been watching these Nooma videos in our small group get-togethers. Nooma, as we've learned, is the phonetic spelling of the Greek word pneuma, which means spirit or breath. These videos feature Rob Bell, the young, hip, charismatic pastor of Mars Hill Church. I like listening to Rob Bell. He's very conversational, very energetic, very cool. But, in each of these videos, I've had a "what the--?" moment... a moment in which what he's saying seems kind of incongruous with what he's doing. It's not that he's being a hypocrite. Hell, he probably doesn't have anything to do with the script. It's just there are moments when I've thought (with a chuckle) "what were you thinking, Rob Bell?"

The first video has Rob in his living room. Wherever Mars Hill is, it's cold and there's snow on the ground. I don't remember the exact message, but the gist of it was you spread the word of Jesus by the way you live and what you do, not what you say. As he's saying all this, there's this person--some of us think it's a portly teenage boy and some think it's a portly middle-aged woman--shoveling snow from a driveway. Rob occasionally glances out his window, coffee mug in hand, watching the portly person shovel snow. Eventually, the person finishes shoveling and then we realize it's not their driveway; evangelism through unsung good deeds. But then I thought "Hey! Where was Rob Bell during all this?" Drinking coffee in his living room, talking to us, the lazy schmuck! ;) Now, wouldn't it have been a more effective message if Rob is talking to us while he's putting on his coat, grabbing a shovel and helping the neighbor shovel snow? It's not unheard of, ya know. Jack (Kelley's hubby) has done this on a number of occasions. Maybe Jack should narrate these videos... now that would be a hoot. ;) But it begs the question: what were you thinking, Rob Bell?

I didn't get to see the next video until the Father's Day sermon, though we apparently showed it in small group (I must have been AWOL). It's really a very touching video which probably elicited a tear from more than one father in the congregation. Rob Bell is walking through the woods with a baby, his son, in one of those little backpacks. He tells of how it started to rain and how his son started to scream in terror and how he would do anything to get his son home safely. The gist of the message was that God, as our father, loves us as his children and would do anything to protect us. But here's the "what the--?" moment; he says he puts the baby's hood up (he's wearing a cotton hoodie, like that'll help), that the hood slips off and that he doesn't know this as his baby screams in terror, completely drenched, over the course of a mile that he has to walk through the woods, with rain pounding and lightning flashing. I'm thinkin' "take the kid out of the backpack and put him inside your raincoat, ya knucklehead." Or at least hold him in front of you so he can see your face. Eventually he does this, but you've got to ask: what were you thinking, Rob Bell?

The last video has Rob on the subway, and he's talking about breathing. We finally learn what that groovy little "nooooooma" that comes at the beginning of each video means. Spirit. Breath. The gist of this message is that the spirit of God is in our breath and gives us life. That the ground we walk on is holy (God made it) and that each of us is a holy, sanctified child of God (God made us). Knowing this, we should change how we treat our fellow human being. Be nice. There's probably also an environmental message buried in there, but I won't go there today. So, Rob gets on the subway train and there's this guy. A black guy. Nothing particularly notable about this guy other than his head is hanging like he's put in a 14-hour day somewhere. Rob sits down a seat or two away and the body language is perfect; he turns his body away and looks away from this guy, his fellow child of God. Hello! No nod, no smile, no how ya doin', how's it goin' how's it hangin'... nuthin'. Now is that any way to treat a fellow holy, sanctified child of God? It makes one wonder: what were you thinking, Rob Bell? Ok, the answer to this one is probably "please don't hurt me," but c'mon! Child of God. Be nice.

Father's Day

So, in case y'all haven't noticed, I haven't had much to say lately. It's due to the confluence of my temporary bout of consumption or lung cancer or somethin' and the daily dread I wallowed in while waiting for my grades to come back so I would know whether I was still in law school. Well, I'm only coughing up little bits o' lung now, and my grades came back much better than expected. [whew]

Actually, I've been thinkin' about Father's Day. Yes, it was last week, so I should be looking forward to something else, but this Father's Day was a particularly contemplative day for me. It occurred to me just how crappy a father I've been and how I need to do better. Case in point--shower time with Bryan. Bryan has always been squeamish about water. It was impossible to give him a bath for months because he was afraid of water getting in his eyes. Not soap. Water. We eventually worked through this, but not without many a frustrating evening of crying and gnashing of teeth--and Bryan wasn't happy either.

Anyway, Bryan has been taking showers now for a few months. He liked showers because he was now a big boy, and he liked playing with the shower head (I need to see about replacing the drywall on the ceiling). Note that I said he liked, because somewhere along the way, his fear of water inexplicably returned. He said the water was too fast, though it couldn't dribble out of the shower head any slower than it was. So he would thrash around, cry and carry on, much to my frustration. And, on Friday night, the Friday before Father's Day, my frustration took the form of yelling. I'm not much of a yeller, but I yelled... I yelled angrily at my little boy, who's just a little kid with little kid fears. And he cried. God, I felt so ashamed after that... as if I hit him. He's just a little kid.

On Sunday, Mike (Pastor Mike for those who don't know Mike) preached his Father's Day sermon. It was good. It made me think, and truthfully, it shamed me. So, when it came time to pray, I prayed to God that I could be a better father... a father that Bryan and Meagan deserve. And I vowed I would never yell at Bryan the way I yelled at him that Friday night (unless, of course, he wrecked my car).

So far I've yet to raise my voice to the kids, and things have been pretty harmonious. Today was a challenge because Bryan was pushing buttons, but I didn't yell, and I won't. Not any more, not if I can help it.

Wow!

Pardon me while I indulge in an aviation geek moment (unlike the previous post, which was just a geek moment). I've managed to do something like this in Warbirds in a AGM5, but that's a video game... err, multi-mega player online combat simulator... and this is real life. Truly impressive.

Gosh!

This movie speaks to me.

My Jazz iMix

Not. Pardon the pointless post. Troubleshooting in progress. (Editor's note: hey, whadaya know! It works! I take back all that bad stuff I was sayin' about Apple... well, most of it.)