Not Safe

This video has been floating around on the internet for a while. If you've not seen it, well, now's your chance.

What was your first thought when you watched it? Mine was, "Damn, I wish that I was one of those guys!" I know. Stupid, huh. But then again, maybe not.

There is a lot to say about good shot placement when dealing with dangerous game. They are, afterall, dangerous. And that they are dangerous is reason enough for man to persue them. What is a deer going to do to you? I know that people have been killed by the docile Whitetail before, but I don't think that risk of being gored comes to the top of most deer hunter's list of reasons why they hunt.

Dangerous game must be hunted by a sufficiently powerful rifle and cartridge. It is usually hunted in fairly close quarters by hunters on foot. The margin of error for hunting dangerous game is fairly slim. You want to hit your mark. You want a guide or professional hunter with you to back you up if you miss. You don't want to be too close.

So, this crazy blogger says, "I wish that was me." Not shooting a lethal 1st shot? Not even a lethal 2nd shot? Yep. I have some crazy idea that having a wounded (i.e. extremely pissed off) lion charging me from less than 50 yards is fun. You might think suicidal. I think primal.

The truth of the matter is that I may never get to hunt dangerous African game. But also true is the fact that so many men are walking around as mere shadows of what they are meant to be. We are so much more than what we've become. This lion hunt is a metaphor for life. There are a few men out there taking on challenges, risking it all for the hope of a return, but the vast majority of men are shirking away from this. We wake by the alarm clock, report to the job and have someone tell us what to do for that day and return home. Day after day. Year after year.

What is my desire for this year? It is to come alive, to have some sort of lion come charging after me. As President Roosevelt said,

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

"When a Man is Needed"

And now for something completely different...

the Short Story now makes it's debut on the pages of my blog. Forgive any sophomoric tendencies of the author.

It was raining and a sad, dejected little boy sat down at the table to a breakfast he did not want to eat. He had been waiting for his father to return home from yet another business trip and the news from Mother this damp morning was that his father would not be home until Monday. A weekend wasted. All he wanted was to feel the stubble of his father's unshaven face scrape across his cheek as he embraced him and for he and Father to spend the day roughhousing together.

His father was not an exceptionally strong man, not exceptionally anything to speak of, but the boy indeed cherished every moment spent with his father. Father, equally disappointed, longed to be home with his family. He needed rest. He needed the beauty and comfort of his wife and the life that his son inspired in him. Too often he was away while his family arrived at new milestones. Last year, he missed his son's birthday so that his company might increase their bottom line. He was growing weary.

The morning dragged by and the child pondered Mother's offer: a jaunt into town for a matinee with dinner at his favorite youth centered restaurant. This prospect was not too desirable in the boy's eye, but better, he supposed, than watching the rain beat down upon a yard too sodden to play in. He conceded to Mother's offer and the two went off into the garage, keys jingling in Mother's hand.

As the pair drove down the country lane toward the town the boy thought of his hopes for this weekend. Of course he fancied it sunny and warm and in his dream he and Mother were in the back yard enjoying the Father's regal return to his throne. How appropriate the rain was. It was as if all heaven was weeping at the boy's misfortune.

The boy was now began to fight a feeling of anger, not towards his father, but at his absence. "Surely there were other boys whose father's were away sometimes," he thought. "Perhaps he likes to be away." The boy winced at that thought for he knew it to be a lie. Every time Father was away he came back hungry for time with his son and Mother. Bedtime was always extended with ample grace on those blessed evenings when his father returned home.

As the boy pondered this his mind wandered to Father's display of delight with Mother. He would lift her in his arms and spin her around the kitchen floor. There was, of course, the obligatory kiss and the lengthy embrace that accompanied it. He would then sit down at the table and patiently let her fill him in on all the preceding days' notables. The boy would lose his patience and crawl up in Father's lap just to be close to him. The scent of his father mingling with that morning's dose of cologne, the feel of the rough chin occasionally scraping across his youthful, tender forehead, and the firmness of Father's shoulders and chest are all things that the boy sensed. In addition to this his perception of time would go completely haywire. It would be as if he had only just crawled up into Father's lap when drowsiness would overtake him and he would fall asleep there supported gently by the man who loved him most.

He saw that Mother was as sad as he. She spent the better part of the morning in the same gloom that he was in. Mother dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief and on several occasions and looked into the mirror to regain her composure. She pulled her shoulders back, smiled, and, on at least two occasions, said, "Only two more days," to the reflection looking back at her in the mirror. In a moment of forced elation, she made her proposal to the boy in the hope that the trip into town would elevate their spirits, even if just a bit.

Mother's sad face belied her smile on a particular stretch of their journey and, as he noticed her sorrowful expression, it took the boy rather by surprise at his accompanying thought. He had always been sensitive to other people's emotions, but this time he felt compelled to act. Before he even realized the depth of his thought, he spoke to his mother.

"Mother," he boldly stated, "I don't want to go to the matinee." Before she could protest he continued, "Can we go to the University," he hesitated, "to the library?" He had often heard Mother and Father mention this place when they talked to each other in hushed tones.

Mother, a bit shocked at her son's question, paused for a slim moment before returning an answer. "What do we need to do at the University library?" she asked instead of the more obvious questions that passed into her mind.

The boy, not quite sure what to say, once again referred to those hushed words Father spoke to Mother. "To get to know each other?" he asked more than stated. He was now in new territory. His mother, sensing something out of the ordinary, did not seek to retire the boy's subject. "I just want to be somewhere that makes you think of Father," he said finally.

Her eyes moistened once again, though this time for an altogether different reason. She guided the car onto the street that led them to the University. There was no difficulty in finding a parking space this drizzly Saturday afternoon. Before the car had stopped completely the boy had unfastened his seat belt and was racing around the car to open Mother's door. He had seen his father do this all of his life. The smile on his mother's face told him why. Mother was quickly in sync with her son. Delight spread across her face, washing away all of the disappointment and gloom in an instant.

They folded their hands together and directed themselves to the path that led to the library. By the time they arrived at the grand doors they were practically skipping! Mother smiled as she took her son to the fiction study nooks- the very place she and Father met not all that long ago. She explained a few details of her attraction to the boy's father and the boy, who was bursting with excitement reached up to Mother's hands. He knew no dance steps, but did his best to improvise Father's routine there on the carpet of the University's library.

These two went on to enjoy a splendid afternoon together. The boy, aware that something inside of him had changed, was enjoying the charm he had on his mother, yet he missed his father all the more. The smile on his face never revealed it, though. He took Mother on a date. They danced in the library, they went to eat at a grownups' restaurant, and had hot tea (with lots of honey and milk) together afterward. The sun was very low in the sky when they made their way back home. Both were beginning to feel that familiar loneliness of Father's absence.

It was nearly dark by the time their car settled in their drive. Mother noticed that several lights were on in the house. "Son," she said, "why are all of those lights on? Didn't we turn everything off when we left?" The boy was sure they had and bravely suggested that they call on the neighbor to open the house with them. But before Mother could get the car into reverse the front door opened. The cause of the door's action stepped into the faint light. Excitement burst through the air as Mother and child exited the car each racing to Father.

By: Moshe E. Weisman

The World is Too Much With Us; Late and Soon!

2nd Timothy 2:4 Reads:
"No soldier in active service entangles himself in the affairs of everyday life, so that he may please the one who enlisted him as a soldier." (NASB)

William Wordsworth wrote:
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

We have given our hearts away? Really? To whom and for whom? I would propose that noise is a possible answer to this question. Noise is cacophony, discord, unrest, business, work, leisure, new toys, achievement, passivity, and loneliness. It is a lot of other things, too. In fact, it can be nearly anything you want it to be. Noise, in the auditory sense, is what distracts our attention from something or makes it hard to hear clearly. In terms of oral communications (i.e. Speech Class) it is anything that is going on that takes your attention off of the speaker. This can be literal noise like microphone feedback, crying babies, or a neighbor's sneezing attack, or it can be non-auditory things like how (good, bad, poorly, splendidly) someone is dressed, the temperature in the room, the stature of the speaker, etc. The end result of noise is that it can cause a person to lose focus on what is important. The good news is that it doesn't have to.

Humans have to be taught nearly everything. We are taught to be distracted. Yes, on the desk of our enemy is this mandate, inlaid in gold under a sheet of glass, "Endeavor to lead the chaotic life, attend to everyone's business, and give up the work or your hands." "How?" you ask. Look around you. Look at yourself. Spend more time looking at yourself. How do I get myself going in the morning? How many hours a day is my TV on? How many hours do I spend online? What do I do to wind down? Does any of this involve silence or meditation? When I ask myself these questions, I find the answers troubling. My students are amazed when I tell them I don't watch TV. I always clarify that we have a TV, we just don't pay for or receive any broadcast transmissions. But, I would be kidding myself to think that I don't waste too much time on the internet, or reading, or listening to music. I seldom, if at all enjoy good, quite, alone time.

I have been taught that it is a bad thing to be without something to occupy my time. When did it start? Early in life. There was the TV and those Saturday morning cartoons. Then there was sports and practice during the week with games on Saturdays. There was music with hit after hit pouring out of the speakers of my Magnavox ghetto-blaster. There was the endless pile of FourWheeler magazines that littered my floor, worn out and covers long ago lost. There was the computer with its access to all manner of knowledge siphoning off countless hours of my life. From the time I was a little boy to now I have been trained to occupy my time and waste away. Ouch! This is damning. I was missing the point the whole time and was too busy to notice it.

I suppose it needs be said that these things I'm enumerating are not bad things. Playing competitive sports, watching some TV, listening to music, surfing the internet, or reading magazines can be very appropriate ways we can relax or enjoy ourselves. Temperance, however,is the key concept in not allowing these things to become a burden in our lives. These things become problematic when they take a foremost priority in our daily lives. When I can't foresee anything other than sitting down in the recliner after supper to watch __________ like I do every night or turning the radio on in the car before I pull out of the drive-way I am placing this thing between God and me. John Eldredge said that worship is whatever you dedicate your heart and time too. I believe he is right.

So I turn on the noise without even thinking about it. I check myself out. I drift off into the realm of the impotent. I am neutralized.

Paul tells Timothy that this should not be so. Timothy has his hands full and Paul, speaking with analogies, tells Timothy that soldiers are trained to ignore those everyday things that tend to distract us civilians. Think back to any good war movie of your choosing. I'm thinking about Saving Private Ryan. Omaha beach is bathed in blood and Tom Hanks' character is leading a group of men around a bunker. A machine-gun nest is raining down fire upon them. Let's think about what these men had running through their minds. "Keep the sand out of the action," "Keep covered," "Watch my buddy's back," "Objective- take out machine-gun nest." There probably wasn't too much contemplation going on about the fact that they were wet, or their boots were a tad to big or small, or that what-his-name has a prettier girlfriend waiting on him back in the states.

Paul does not use this analogy by accident, and its intent is not to be taken lightly. When we get weighed down by earthly crap we are guilty of gross dereliction of duty. We have lost sight of our number-one goal as Christians: to exalt Christ, evangelize the lost, and edify the saints. When we are preoccupied with distractions of our own making or lost in the drama of others we cannot possible perform our orders with any authentic sense of allegiance to Christ. Our lives become a shell game. As Shakespeare wrote in MacBeth, "Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing." We put on our Christian suit and go to church. We scurry around one-hundred and sixty-six hours a week with our own agenda on our minds and expect a two hour church service get our senses and sensibilities restored.

We know that God has our hearts in mind. We know that He won't ask us to do what we can't. But how will we ever know if we never give Him time to speak to us?

Lord Alfred Tennyson wrote in "The Charge of the Light Brigade",

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

This is us. We are surrounded (whether we know it or not) by an enemy that is in full war against us and our families.

Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:

We have orders, simple orders to follow. Take Tennyson's plea to heart along with me, knowing that in God's economy "do" is backed with the full authority of heaven and our "die" is the consummation of our commitment to the covenant He made with us (We get to go to heaven!).

Fathered by God

A few weeks back I got the chance to go to Ransomed Heart Ministries Wild At Heart Boot Camp in lovely Fraser, Colorado. I had been trying to go to this for several years and it would seem like one thing or another would keep me from going- we were short on money, I couldn't take off from work, you name it and it kept me from going. This year was looking no different than the past few years. With the help of my wife's cousin, Jonathan, I got accepted into the camp. I got out my planner and marked off the days in question and worked a little extra this summer to pay for the trip. For some reason, the email notifying me that I needed to send payment didn't show up and at three weeks before the camp I was making frantic email and telephone requests to Ransomed Heart hoping to get my spot back. God intervened on my side (yet again). With my reservation in the bag the only thing left to do was pack. And then...

The night before I was to leave, Natasha's dear Uncle "Doc" Torsten Seubold passed away. I was torn, but at the same time I knew that Uncle Doc would rather I go to receive something from God (that I badly needed) than to stay here. Natasha refused my pleas to stay and do what I could for the family. Grass needed to be cut, houses cleaned, and, of course, I wanted to be there to weep at the loss of our family's patriarch. I was weak, feeling compelled to stay and compelled to go. I got up at 4:00 AM and started driving to Tulsa. At the airport I called Natasha and pleaded again with her that I would come home in a heartbeat if she would say the word. She batted away my complaint and urged me to go. So, at 8:00 I boarded my flight and left the rest to God.
The Boot Camp was invigorating and I came home refreshed and filled with revelation about who I am and what I am meant to be. This feeling was so much in this direction that I haven't really talked about it with anyone yet. I wanted what I received to soak in and become part of me, and that had not happened in the few days after the camp. I'm now getting to that point.
With this in mind, it was tonight as I was mowing Uncle Doc's office lawn that I think the import of one of those lessons began to hit home. In fact, the lesson began before the camp. It was the night that Uncle Doc passed away. Like I said earlier, I felt both compelled to go and compelled to stay. Natasha and I talked about what I should do and she wanted me to go. "We'll be fine," she said. Alright. OK. This is what my wife was telling me. I believed her. Kind of.
For the last 6 years of our marriage I had been a whole lot closer to being an LPN than a husband. And for a good deal of that time, this is in fact what Natasha needed. But once a guy, and a hard headed guy at that, gets into some sort of role, like "nurse", he might find it difficult to let go of. I did. And to be perfectly honest, I've not completely relinquished that role of nurse just yet, but I am getting better.
Natasha tells me to go and trust that everything would be OK. So I boarded my flight in Tulsa with the suspicion that the my little bunch wouldn't fall apart without me there. Not a belief, just a suspicion or maybe it would be better to say a dread.
The dread is not that I wouldn't be missed, but that I'm not needed. Someone else will be there to hold my wife while she is crying. My kids will shuffled between the grandparents as needed and they will be fed and loved on. Someone will cook dinner and clean the kitchen and haul the trash out to the curb.
There comes a point where we fathers need to realize that we can't be there for every situation that arises for our family. There are areas where my knowledge and skills will have played out and my son will have to go to someone else for help. For fathering. I am not a one-stop never ending resource fatherly wisdom on all subject areas. If my son comes to me ten years from now needing to know how to wire a light with two switches, I'll have to send him to my neighbor down the street. I'm not an electrician.
So what happens when a father is gone? Or when you had no father or a very bad one? You find fathering in other men, and if one of those men is wise, he will teach you that God is your father. He will point you to Ephesians 1:4,5 to show you that you (all mankind) were chosen before the Earth was formed to be adopted as sons by God, and teach you the full import of this idea.
I have been very fortunate in my walk in this earth-suit to have had some very good fathering done by many different men. Doc Seubold, the man whose bedside I had just been weeping beside a few days ago, was in so many ways one of those men who I considered a father to me. Whatever sonship I feel pales in comparison to what his children feel at this moment, and the loss I feel is infinitely minuscule to the loss Josh, Jonathan, and Jordana feel in these days, as well. But in his going on to be with the Father, I have lost a father as well.
The lesson I have learned, with the help of Morgan Snyder of the Ransomed Heart team, is that I need fathering from other men, but mostly, I need it from God. When I get in a bind on some project that I am not qualified to do, I need to ask my Father for wisdom and assistance.
Morgan said, speaking to his son, "Son, I've tried for three years to be your father." He realized that he was grossly unqualified for the task of fathering a son. At my church, Cornerstone, we have an axiom, part of which says, "If it's all about me, then it's all up to me." I, like Morgan, am grossly unqualified for the position of father to my two children. What I should be teaching them is something I learned some time back but didn't have the term to express the concept. What I need to be teaching them is to let God be your Father. Let God be our Father. Morgan's son said to him that he (Morgan) was his brother really, if God was his father. It is an idea that is so simple that a child can latch right on to it. In my fatherhood to my kids, I need to be showing them my reliance on the Father. Because, if it really is all about me, then it really is all up to me. And I am becoming more cognizant everyday that I am in as much need of fathering as my kids are.

Things That Work: Fenix Flashlights

Flashlights have come a long, long way since my childhood. It seemed the coolest TV sleuths (Simon and Simon, Magnum P.I., and others) had a super bright and small flashlight to use on their nightly investigations. So the Mini Mag-Lite was obviously the solution for compact portable illumination. Well, maybe it was 15 years ago, but I would hardly call them state of the art today. The LED is king of the flashlight world today.
I appreciate fine tools that do a job and do it well, like a watch or a camera. For most people the watch and camera has been replaced by their phone and that is fine. I've yet to find a flashlight that was anything but a flashlight that was worth talking about and I still (for the moment anyway) prefer for my phone to be a phone.
Back to flashlights. Good LED flashlights are expensive. Some of them are really expensive. So the desire to have a powerful flashlight that was compact and didn't burn through expensive batteries in minutes rather than hours was being suppressed by the fact that I was not going to spend $150 or more dollars on a flashlight.
One piece of good news was that Coleman came out with their Maxx series of LED lights about a year ago. I selected their 115 lumen 2AA model ($26 Wal-Mart) and haven't regretted it. It is a fine flashlight, bright enough to render someone blind at night for several seconds which is a useful feature if the need should ever arise. What did I not like about it? It didn't offer a low power setting that could maximize the battery life. Who needs all 115 lumens all the time? I don't but for $26, I couldn't complain. Besides, the AAs seem to have a fairly long life in this light anyway.

About the same time I bought this flashlight my best friend began working for Fenix. Fenix is relatively new to the flashlight industry and they build high quality flashlights for consumer, military, and law enforcement. He introduced me to their products and I was thoroughly impressed with what I read about and wished that I had saved my money for one a Fenix light. Beside that fact that the Fenix lights were loaded with features, they were considerably cheaper than light from other manufacturers . So much cheaper that I ruled them out from consideration.
The light that I have ended up with is their PD30 model. Its highest setting is 215 lumens! Yes, that is bright. This is not a setting that you want to leave it on for it can damage the light if it is used on this setting for more than 10 minutes. Fair enough. The high setting is 115 lumens and is more than bright enough for most any situation. Fenix, I suppose, was showing off because they included two more lower settings and an S.O.S function and a strobe function as well. Cool. Very cool.
In fair disclosure I did not buy this light. It was a gift to me by my friend. However, comparing price to features with other popular lights it is easy to see that the Fenix lights are a bargain. This particular light's MSRP is $99. Another brand's comparable light is $150. Yes, I will be laying down my money for other Fenix products as need and generosity arises. I can't think of a better gift anyone could have given me and I can't wait to give one to some deserving guy-or gal.

Business is Good! or The World Belongs To Those Who Hustle

How many times in the last two years have we heard how bad the economy is? Every day there is a report in the news about some company needing help, going under, or laying off workers. But is this really the truth? In some ways it is. I, myself lost my job this spring as a result economic conditions in rural Crawford County. There are tens of thousands of workers who have been laid off all over the country. Things are bad or are they?
For some folks the answer to that question is going to be yes. But, my friend, it doesn't have to be. Solomon wrote in the Proverbs that we are supposed to pay attention to the ants. A good friend of mine watched the ants one time and he got a unique insight to their resourcefulness and a really cool story to boot. Solomon said that the ants have no king to lord over them and tell them what to do. They just know. They know that to survive the winter, they need to store food while the food is available in the summer. In my buddy's story, the ants were caught in flood water. Thousands of ants linked their legs so that they became a buoyant ball of ants. Naturally some of the ants were under water, so they crawled to the top of the ball and let other "dry" ants take their place. The ants were working hard to survive in adverse conditions. They were doing what they knew to do to make things turn out for the best.
So what is really going on and what do ants have to do with it? I'm glad I asked. What is really going on is a carefully thought out marketing campaign by the media to ensure they have something to write and talk about. Other than that, it beats me. What I do know is that during the Great Depression there were people who retained their fortunes and people who made fortunes.
All we hear about are those who lost fortunes. Let me ask you a question, when you hear about a major sports event, for instance the recent World Cup of football, do you hear stories about the team that finished second? No, you don't. You hear about the victor, in this case Spain. The sports media will be interviewing the Spanish team, their coaches, and their fans, but you won't see to much about, who was it again? Hmm. I forgot. So why do we see news headlines about losers and sports headlines about winners? News "winners"don't sell newspapers. Winners are doing OK, their business is good, and their employees are happy. Sports winners have conquered a great obstacle; they've beaten the man! And more Americans are much more concerned over their sports teams than they are with what is actually going on. We are a perplexing herd who will believe almost anything the media will tell us.
So, who was it that made fortunes during the Great Depression? People who behaved like the ants in the flood. If they didn't make changes to accommodate the changing environment, they would drown like every other creature who couldn't get out of the way. These are people who are resilient and are ready to adapt to the market's changing conditions. By the way, this very thing is going on right now in the midst of our own economic meltdown.
Solomon goes on to admonish the seeker that if he should choose the path of comfort, the Lay-Z-Boy or Serta Perfect Sleeper, poverty and want would come upon his house like labor comes on the expecting mother. Fast and when she least expects it.
When we choose comfort over the things that give us life, things that exercise our faculties, we choose to fail. The failure often does not come right away but rather when we are good and asleep. The alarm is sounded in our depth of sleep and we are jolted out of bed with the house ablaze and no water in sight.
Was I caught off-guard? Not really. Now I do have certain advantages that a lot of folks do not have. I've actually had to depend on God to supply my needs a time or two in the last six years. So when my superintendent came to me and said I was the low man on the totem pole, I knew things would be OK. I would be where I needed to be at the time I needed to be there. Guess what? I still don't have the surety of a "main gig" and I'm not worried about it in the least. I've taken a lesson from the ants and have been more than willing to expand my horizons and exercise my talents. Who knows, I may come out of 2010 without the need for a "main gig" and that would be alright with me.

Seasons

It was not all that long ago I chided my friend for not updating her blog. It's been well over a month now for me. Not that I have anything all that interesting to say, I have just been lazy. My mind has been going a thousand different directions at once while my fingers have left the keypad alone. Sound and fury signifying nothing.
What have I been thinking about? I've had questions- more than I care to answer, not that I can answer them to begin with. Yet not knowing what lies ahead and walking there by faith is one of those things that is easy to tell others to do. So, be it declared to all and singular, I am waking up tomorrow to do what needs to be done for that day and for all the days to come.
Artistically a statement by Jack White (of The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, and The Dead Weather) has been floating around in my head and I can't get rid of it. What's more- I think he's right! His statement was that when we have all the colors of the rainbow to work with, our creativity is stifled. Of course his application of this statement comes in his own medium, the guitar. His typical guitar is less than perfect, hard to keep in tune, bent neck, or some other defect. He doesn't toss it in the dumpster and pick up a made to order Whatever Ltd. brand guitar, he just picks up his old favorite and wails on it. This idea has caused me to question how I pursue my hobby/profession of photography. What parameters am I going to limit myself to so that the creativity will turn on instead of stagnate?
So that is what I've been thinking about. Well, not all of it. Nearly a year ago I found out that the University of Arkansas, Fort Smith was bring both Jesus Christ, Superstar and Garrison Keillor to town as part of their twenty-ninth Season of Entertainment. Without a great deal of consideration I picked up the phone and orded two pairs of ticket for each event. Finally the time has come for those events. In fact, Jesus Christ, Superstar played on April 15th to a packed house. We are awaiting An Afternoon with Garrison Keillor. We won't have to wait too long- it is this Sunday!
Superstar was and is an amazing story. For those who want to see blasphemy and heresy and decry its production and lambaste those who enjoy it as unsanctified godless heathens- knock yourself out! Savor every moment of your bundage to your grave. Rice and Webber simultainiously had their fingers on the pulse of modern day religion, present time angst and interpretations of the times, and history without the benefit of hindsight.
Modern day religion wants to see the show and know "when do we ride to Jerusalem" without taking into account the price that was paid for our ticket. Is the world troubled now? Oh, is it ever. Just like it was when Jesus ate, drank, sweated, and defecated with humanity. Some folks then and now are listening to the voice of the Shepherd. Most are blissfully unaware that we are really sheep and indeed we do need a shepherd. And some of us get so caught up in living for heaven that we forget that we are here on earth. Let us all not forget that Christian living is a direction, not a destination! Jesus in his time on earth did not have the luxury of two-thousand years in which man could contemplate his divinity and create doctrines by which He would be interpreted through. No, he walked and talked with people just like you and me, especially like you and me. Remember, the organized church kicked his butt out! With this in mind, is it really heretical to think that people didn't quite have a grasp on who He was? Hind sight is 20/20. We really do dumb things when we don't know how they will turn out. (So Peter told Jesus the one about the two rabbis and the priest that went into the bar...) Count yourself fortunate to seek and find beauty and art.