Amazing Fatwah ... Or ... The Confessions of a Baptized Humorist ...

I'll admit it, I find the Danish cartoons hilarious. I suppose I'm risking a fatwah myself in saying it. But the picture of Mohammed in a turban of bombs... Of Mohammed urging terrorists to stop encouraging suicide bombers because, "We're running out of virgins..." All those make me laugh hard.

I admit, too, that I've always had a secret little love for Christian versions of the same. I thought the Church Lady on SNL was the funniest running skit they ever did (apologies Fernando). And who do you suppose is urging me to say that? Who? Who? Could it be ... SAAATTTTAAAAANNNNN????

When I was in college, The Wittenburg Door began it's regime as the Mad Magazine of Christian theology. Frankly, I sputtered about it being awful, but that was mostly because they were skewering my favorite theologians. I was too young to be confident in the face of humor.

Now, looking back, I see they were right.

So I wonder, why is it that the tradition of a free press, satire and humor have flourished in the countries saturated (at least at some point) by the Gospel? Why is it that in those places saturated by other religions, their symbols are simply not open to ANY humor??

Now understand, we Evangelicals and Fundamentalists have at times engaged in our own fatwah. But on the whole, we haven't bombed, maimed, murdered in reaction. Instead, we've tended to use that humor right back.

I believe that without GRACE man is pretty much humorless. Except for the humor of racism and bullying.

With grace, the grace Jesus poured out at Calvary, our minds have been opened to a new possibility. That all men are filled with foibles and sins. That our self-righteousness is funny and NEEDS to be poked and prodded.

Jesus used humor more than we now recognize. When he called the Pharisees "Whitewashed tombs" I've heard it said that it would have struck his audience as hilariously funny. He skewered the self-pious much like Dana Carvey did.

Our Savior shows us that humility, coming to Him as a little child, is the only way to seize His Kingdom. And there's nothing like the laughter of a little child.

D--

The Terrible Allure of the Past...

Keeping The Faith -- Billy Joel

If it seems like I've been lost
In let's remember
If you think I'm feelin older
And missing my younger days
Oh, then you should have known
Me much better
Cause my past is something that never
Got in my way
Oh no

I am lost in "let's remember". It's 1982, 1983. It's California, La Habra, La Mirada, Bellflower, Long Beach.

I've just moved there, started grad school. I hook up with an old acquaintance and we start going out.

The days fly by. Joy is everywhere. Such freedom. Such discovery. Living truly on my own. Being an adult.

Dinner, a walk in Belmont. Hamburger Henry's for Marua Burgers. Cheesecake at Grandmas Sugarplums. Walks through the art gallery.

The movies. The music. The long late talks. Her hair, her scent. Her soft touch on the back of my hand.

Thank God we don't see the future. Thank God we walk forward with hope, with confidence.

Looking back I see that just 6 months later it had evaporated. The realities of marriage and what I know now were her sickness made the very same places seem like dry sawdust, not the sweet fruit of the so-recent days.

I looked up. I looked around. All I saw was fear. Choking, abandoning fear. Raging in my mind. Seeming to have lost all the joy.

How did joy disappear so suddenly? Eventually I forgot that the joy evaporated like a minute's rain in the desert. But it did. It left me parched, aching, fearful. Feelings I learned to live with but never understood, never identified again til so much later.

Joy disappeared suddenly because all was an illusion. Carefully crafted to make it seem like there was life. I had my hand in that too.

The past never got in my way. But these days, it looms, lurks, hulks.

I don't wish her back. But I ache for the joy that was. Or seemed to be.

I ache for the man I was. I ache for the dreams, shredded.

I'm tired.

D--

The Purple Butterfly...

When Katie Retelle contracted leukemia, she had to leave school. She was left with a lot of time on her hands and picked up beading.

Her friends have taken up where her death left off... Their bead collection is online. All proceeds will go to the Leukemia Society.

D--

The Purple Butterfly Collection

Too much death. Too much dying...

Beloved kitty Daisy, nearly 19 years old.

We had to euthanize her. These wonderful animals that mean so much. It hurts when they leave us.

She was a good and faithful friend.

D--

What the heck am I doing???

Just thinking... Do people see Jesus in me? Are my kids growing toward Christ?

This life is SO different than what I envisioned...

In so many ways, for that I am SO grateful. This world we are in is REAL.

The coccoon of unrealism I grew up in (called the Evangelical community) was SO unreal. But still, in all of that, Jesus must never be lost.

Jesus, work in me. Shine in me.

D--

A Mild Defense of Happy Holidays...

Never one to let sleeping words lie...

Several years I switched to saying "Happy Holidays." I worked in a company that was largely Jewish. They never chided me for saying "Merry Christmas." But for them, it wasn't the joyous greeting I meant it to be.

I decided that it was kinder to say "Happy Holidays." It expressed what I wished to express to them. Political Correctness had nothing to do with it (though I KNOW that it does in much of the current debate).

Just another thought to muddy the waters :)

D--

Empty chairs at empty tables...

When we began to reclaim our lives from chaos, violence and destruction, the task seemed insurmountable. In over 10 years of living in this home, Whitney, my oldest, had never had a friend over. Ever.

One family surrounded her and supported her even before I awoke to the horror that we were living. Katie Retelle was Whit's friend from the time she was 6th grade. Whit would ride her bike down to their home on Joppa Road.

Sue, her mom, reached out to us, and especially to Whitney's mom. Though Tracy pretty much rejected the hand of comfort and support, Sue never wavered and always held our family close in heart and prayers.

When we began to wade through literally every path in the home covered with at least a foot of clothes, food, papers, cans, cups, Katie insisted she would help us. She came in and held trash bags. When we got down to the horribly stained smelly carpet, Katie was in there first, pulling, prying, ripping. Once up, the aged but pretty wood floors were a constant encouragement.

Katie was our first dinner guest, and became a regular welcome presence. She called Tighe her boyfriend. He glowed every time.

Oh my God, how can it be?

October a year ago, she began feeling really crummy. It didn't pass.

She had leukemia. But that's so treatable these days.

Usually.

Today, must have been around 1 or 1:15 in the afternoon Katie Retelle, redhead goof, sharp-tongued loving Katie, Katie who would take nothin' from nobody, who hung on tight to her friends, Katie Retelle passed away.

I can't imagine the grief of her parents, her brother, her sister. I can't imagine the grief of Whitney or the rest of Katie's friends. I only know that someone special is no longer in this world, and I am poorer for it, and they, who were closer, are infinitely more poor than I today.

Katie, you were such a light to us. Thank you Katie. Godspeed.

D--