ADOLESCENTS LYRICS
"Kids Of The Black Hole"
No sound is heard from unit two
When there was once so much to do
Was once a green mansion, but now it's a wasteland
Our days of wreckless fun are through
GO!
Kids in a fast lane living for today
No rules to abide by and no one to obey
Sex, drugs and fun is their only thought and care
Another swig of brew another overnight affair
House of the filthy, house not a home
House of destruction where the lurkers roamed
House that belonged to all the homeless kids
House of the filthy, house not a home
House of destruction where the lurkers roamed
House that belonged to all the homeless kids
Kids of the black hole
Messages and slogans are the primary decor
History's recorded in a clutter on the floor
Inhabitants that searched the grounds for roaches or spare change
Another night of chaos is so easy to arrange
House of the filthy, house not a home
House of destruction where the lurkers roamed
House that belonged to all the homeless kids
House of the filthy, house not a home
House of destruction where the lurkers roamed
House that belonged to all the homeless kids
Kids of the black hole
The nights of birthdays
The nights of fry
The nights of endless drinking
The nights of violence
The nights of noise
The nights that had to end for good, still not understood, by the girls and boys
Carefree in their actions as for morals they had none
When the girls were horny who would be the lucky ones?
Pushing all the limits to a point of no return
Trashed beyond belief to show the kids don't wanna learn
House of the filthy, house not a home
House of destruction where the lurkers roamed
House that belonged to all the homeless kids
House of the filthy, house not a home
House of destruction where the lurkers roamed
House that belonged to all the homeless kids
House of the filthy, house not a home
House of destruction where the lurkers roamed
House that belonged to all the homeless kids
House of the filthy, house not a home
House of destruction where the lurkers roamed
House that belonged to all the homeless kids
Kids of the black hole
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
The Black Hole (the conclusion)
Well I moved in with my best friend, who is now my brother in law. My wife likes to point out that he is technically my step-brother in law. And I would pray for the kids of the black hole who were now certainly up to no good.
I heard the two brothers moved in with the gal with three little boys. Could see that ending badly. My brother was staying with a girlfriend I believe. Tri Hawk moved home and Fingers was probably just bumming sleeps around town.
It was probably about three months later I got a phone call from my brother. There had been a fire and Mohawk boy and Big Brother were trying to get ahold of me. A mattress had ignited at the house they were living with the three children, and all three of the children were in the hospital ICU, one was badly burned but stable, one could go either way, and the other wasn't expected to make it through the night. I got ahold of Mohawk Boy and Big Brother, and the mother of the boys was begging me to come to the hospital. I was the only pastor these guys had ever known. So I show up, twenty years old, with my bible under my arm, and pretend to be a minister.
I was the only person allowed in the room with the children besides mom and dad, (who for now called a truce). I prayed for the little guys as hard as I knew how. I wasn't allowed to touch them but I did my best imitation of laying on of hands, I had seen my pastor do it lots of times. And then I waited with the family, and my family. The kids of the black hole were all there, except fingers, who I think may have been in jail again. I talked seriously with the brothers, and they both asked if I would pray with them to recommit their lives to Jesus. I talked to the mother, who also asked to become a Christian. I talked to the grandparents, I talked to Mohawk Boy and Big Brothers parents. I even talked to my own brother, but he was still kinda weirded out over watching his big brother become some Jesus freak.
I stayed at the hospital for the next day and night. The child they said wouldn't make it through the night did, and the next day they said, "you can take him home tomorrow" The other two pulled through as well. I don't really know what happened to the children and their mom. I know Mohawk Boy is married and is walking with Jesus. Big Brother is now a youth pastor after years of struggling. My brothers are both Christians now. Tri Hawk is still struggling and Fingers seems to be doing pretty well.
Since then I have done three Punk Rock weddings and a few funerals. Thats where I got my nickname. The punks called me the reverend, cause I was one of their own, still one of the family, but I was also a follower of Jesus.
Seems that when we take God at His word and actually do the things that seem too extreme to be taken literally, He meets us there. Now I am not for a minute saying things will work out okay. I could have gone to jail for possesion of drugs, which I am sure must have been in my house. Maybe all of those kids could have died. Success or failure isn't the point. I met God in the Black Hole, and I imagine we all do.
the rev
I heard the two brothers moved in with the gal with three little boys. Could see that ending badly. My brother was staying with a girlfriend I believe. Tri Hawk moved home and Fingers was probably just bumming sleeps around town.
It was probably about three months later I got a phone call from my brother. There had been a fire and Mohawk boy and Big Brother were trying to get ahold of me. A mattress had ignited at the house they were living with the three children, and all three of the children were in the hospital ICU, one was badly burned but stable, one could go either way, and the other wasn't expected to make it through the night. I got ahold of Mohawk Boy and Big Brother, and the mother of the boys was begging me to come to the hospital. I was the only pastor these guys had ever known. So I show up, twenty years old, with my bible under my arm, and pretend to be a minister.
I was the only person allowed in the room with the children besides mom and dad, (who for now called a truce). I prayed for the little guys as hard as I knew how. I wasn't allowed to touch them but I did my best imitation of laying on of hands, I had seen my pastor do it lots of times. And then I waited with the family, and my family. The kids of the black hole were all there, except fingers, who I think may have been in jail again. I talked seriously with the brothers, and they both asked if I would pray with them to recommit their lives to Jesus. I talked to the mother, who also asked to become a Christian. I talked to the grandparents, I talked to Mohawk Boy and Big Brothers parents. I even talked to my own brother, but he was still kinda weirded out over watching his big brother become some Jesus freak.
I stayed at the hospital for the next day and night. The child they said wouldn't make it through the night did, and the next day they said, "you can take him home tomorrow" The other two pulled through as well. I don't really know what happened to the children and their mom. I know Mohawk Boy is married and is walking with Jesus. Big Brother is now a youth pastor after years of struggling. My brothers are both Christians now. Tri Hawk is still struggling and Fingers seems to be doing pretty well.
Since then I have done three Punk Rock weddings and a few funerals. Thats where I got my nickname. The punks called me the reverend, cause I was one of their own, still one of the family, but I was also a follower of Jesus.
Seems that when we take God at His word and actually do the things that seem too extreme to be taken literally, He meets us there. Now I am not for a minute saying things will work out okay. I could have gone to jail for possesion of drugs, which I am sure must have been in my house. Maybe all of those kids could have died. Success or failure isn't the point. I met God in the Black Hole, and I imagine we all do.
the rev
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
The Black Hole (part 4)
Well, as you can imagine things were not always calm around our place.
Mohawk boy got his knife ring stuck into his finger and we couldn't get it off, after punching a middle aged cowboy who thought these young punks would make for some good sport. Don't even remember how we got it off. Big brother had his bi weekly paranoid sessions. Tri hawk decided to shave off his eyebrows. Fingers actually broke the only house rule, no one allowed on my bed. Not only did he break it, but he had some help breaking it! We were visited by the police a number of occasions, usually when I wasn't home. The reason was because the cops were unjustly persecuting my fair young friends. Or so they told me.
One evening there was quite an uproar down stairs and I went out with the boys to see what was up. Some young gentleman was quite upset and was trying to get in a fight with mohawk boy, which would have been a mistake. I was trying to be the peace maker. One little obnoxious punk named Richard was trying to egg it on, and I told him with the authority only a two hundred pound former wrestler could muster to, "shut the hell up", he did.
Well this angry young man kept getting more and more insulting and aggresive. Mohawk boy took off his leather jacket which was his sign that he had had enough and was gonna beat this loud mouth to a pulp. I again stepped in the middle and was trying to broker peace. Then the loudmouth started in on me. I was getting angry, and, well to tell you the truth I was quite interested in impressing everyone with my fighting abilities.
It must have shown on my face because he started jumping around, "you want some, I got some for you, I got some for you, I'll shoot your ass, I'll shoot your ass" Well I don't know if he had a gun or not, but I smiled and told him he had better leave now and that I was sure the cops are on their way. He left, but the memory of that altercation didn't. For days I relived it, only in my mind I shot a double leg, picked him up over my head, smashed him into the sidewalk and beat him till his big mouth didn't work so well. But I was young and full of testosterone back then. I wondered if the guys didn't respect me for not kicking his ass.
Another time Richard and his brother came to the house to deal out some justice. I am still not sure exactly what or why, but I think it had to do with mohawk boy spending a bit too much time with Richards brothers girlfriend and the mother of his three sons. Well there was a scuffle. A window was broken and someone was thrown through a wall. There was talk of reprisals, and I was now living in a war zone. I started to get up even earlier to pray for two hours before I went to work, and prayed all day long that my family would be safe.
We received an eviction notice soon after. The black hole was going to be closing down. I was relieved a bit, scared a bit more. My brother totalled his truck falling asleep on the freeway to work. I was chastised by my dad for not taking care of things. I felt like a twenty year old, who was fathering a group of six rebellious teenagers. I was glad it was coming to an end, but I was also profoundly sad. My following Jesus, seemed to have not made anything better. Maybe even worse. I was a failure. The black hole really wasn't ending, it just became my own emotional state. One brother went to Sacramento, the other lived on the streets for a while, the boys all went back to sleeping wherever they could.
the rev
Mohawk boy got his knife ring stuck into his finger and we couldn't get it off, after punching a middle aged cowboy who thought these young punks would make for some good sport. Don't even remember how we got it off. Big brother had his bi weekly paranoid sessions. Tri hawk decided to shave off his eyebrows. Fingers actually broke the only house rule, no one allowed on my bed. Not only did he break it, but he had some help breaking it! We were visited by the police a number of occasions, usually when I wasn't home. The reason was because the cops were unjustly persecuting my fair young friends. Or so they told me.
One evening there was quite an uproar down stairs and I went out with the boys to see what was up. Some young gentleman was quite upset and was trying to get in a fight with mohawk boy, which would have been a mistake. I was trying to be the peace maker. One little obnoxious punk named Richard was trying to egg it on, and I told him with the authority only a two hundred pound former wrestler could muster to, "shut the hell up", he did.
Well this angry young man kept getting more and more insulting and aggresive. Mohawk boy took off his leather jacket which was his sign that he had had enough and was gonna beat this loud mouth to a pulp. I again stepped in the middle and was trying to broker peace. Then the loudmouth started in on me. I was getting angry, and, well to tell you the truth I was quite interested in impressing everyone with my fighting abilities.
It must have shown on my face because he started jumping around, "you want some, I got some for you, I got some for you, I'll shoot your ass, I'll shoot your ass" Well I don't know if he had a gun or not, but I smiled and told him he had better leave now and that I was sure the cops are on their way. He left, but the memory of that altercation didn't. For days I relived it, only in my mind I shot a double leg, picked him up over my head, smashed him into the sidewalk and beat him till his big mouth didn't work so well. But I was young and full of testosterone back then. I wondered if the guys didn't respect me for not kicking his ass.
Another time Richard and his brother came to the house to deal out some justice. I am still not sure exactly what or why, but I think it had to do with mohawk boy spending a bit too much time with Richards brothers girlfriend and the mother of his three sons. Well there was a scuffle. A window was broken and someone was thrown through a wall. There was talk of reprisals, and I was now living in a war zone. I started to get up even earlier to pray for two hours before I went to work, and prayed all day long that my family would be safe.
We received an eviction notice soon after. The black hole was going to be closing down. I was relieved a bit, scared a bit more. My brother totalled his truck falling asleep on the freeway to work. I was chastised by my dad for not taking care of things. I felt like a twenty year old, who was fathering a group of six rebellious teenagers. I was glad it was coming to an end, but I was also profoundly sad. My following Jesus, seemed to have not made anything better. Maybe even worse. I was a failure. The black hole really wasn't ending, it just became my own emotional state. One brother went to Sacramento, the other lived on the streets for a while, the boys all went back to sleeping wherever they could.
the rev
Monday, August 08, 2005
something a good friend sent me
wanted to share this
>TO MEET SUCH A MAN
>I sat, with two friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town-square. The food and the company were both especially good that day.
>
>As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying a well-worn sign that read, "I will work for food." My heart sank.
>
>I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call for some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car.
>
>Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square."
>
>Then, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the store front church, going through his sack.
>
>I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newest visitor.
>
>"Looking for the pastor?" I asked.
>"Not really," he replied, "just resting."
>"Have you eaten today?"
>"Oh, I ate something early this morning."
>"Would you like to have lunch with me?"
>"Do you have some work I could do for you?"
>
>"No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."
>"Sure," he replied with a smile.
>
>As he began to gather his things, I asked some surface questions. Where you headed?" "St. Louis."
>"Where you from?"
>"Oh, all over; mostly Florida."
>"How long have you been walking?"
>"Fourteen years," came the reply.
>
>I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark, yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, "Jesus is The Never Ending Story."
>
>Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought.
>
>He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God
>
>"Nothing's been the same since," he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now."
>
>"Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
>
>"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads."
>
>I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: "What's it like?"
>
>"What?"
>"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?"
>
>"Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me."
>
>My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said, "Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in."
>
>I felt as if we were on holy ground. "Could you use another Bible?" I asked.
>
>He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite. "I've read through it 14 times," he said.
>
>"I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see." I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful ?Where are you headed from here?" I asked. ?Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon."
>
>"Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?"
>
>"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next."
>
>He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.
>
>"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked. "I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
>
>I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you; Plans to give you a future and a hope."
>
>"Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met and we're really just strangers, but I love you."
>
>"I know," I said, "I love you, too." "The Lord is good!"
>"Yes, He is."
>
>"How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked.
>
>"A long time," he replied
>And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile, and said, "See you in the New Jerusalem."
>
>"I'll be there!" was my reply.
>
>He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned, and said, "When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
>
>"You bet," I shouted back, "God bless."
>"God bless." And that was the last I saw of him.
>
>Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them... a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them.
>
>Then I remembered his words: "If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
>
>Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. "See you in the New Jerusalem," he said. Yes, Daniel, I know I will...
>TO MEET SUCH A MAN
>I sat, with two friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town-square. The food and the company were both especially good that day.
>
>As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying a well-worn sign that read, "I will work for food." My heart sank.
>
>I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call for some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car.
>
>Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square."
>
>Then, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the store front church, going through his sack.
>
>I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newest visitor.
>
>"Looking for the pastor?" I asked.
>"Not really," he replied, "just resting."
>"Have you eaten today?"
>"Oh, I ate something early this morning."
>"Would you like to have lunch with me?"
>"Do you have some work I could do for you?"
>
>"No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."
>"Sure," he replied with a smile.
>
>As he began to gather his things, I asked some surface questions. Where you headed?" "St. Louis."
>"Where you from?"
>"Oh, all over; mostly Florida."
>"How long have you been walking?"
>"Fourteen years," came the reply.
>
>I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark, yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, "Jesus is The Never Ending Story."
>
>Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought.
>
>He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God
>
>"Nothing's been the same since," he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now."
>
>"Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
>
>"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads."
>
>I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: "What's it like?"
>
>"What?"
>"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?"
>
>"Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me."
>
>My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said, "Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in."
>
>I felt as if we were on holy ground. "Could you use another Bible?" I asked.
>
>He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite. "I've read through it 14 times," he said.
>
>"I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see." I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful ?Where are you headed from here?" I asked. ?Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon."
>
>"Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?"
>
>"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next."
>
>He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.
>
>"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked. "I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
>
>I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you; Plans to give you a future and a hope."
>
>"Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met and we're really just strangers, but I love you."
>
>"I know," I said, "I love you, too." "The Lord is good!"
>"Yes, He is."
>
>"How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked.
>
>"A long time," he replied
>And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile, and said, "See you in the New Jerusalem."
>
>"I'll be there!" was my reply.
>
>He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned, and said, "When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
>
>"You bet," I shouted back, "God bless."
>"God bless." And that was the last I saw of him.
>
>Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them... a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them.
>
>Then I remembered his words: "If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
>
>Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. "See you in the New Jerusalem," he said. Yes, Daniel, I know I will...
the black hole (part 3)
One of my favorite memories of the black hole was Thanksgiving. This was the first Thansgiving away from home for my brothers and I. We were used to the whole big dinner thing, with Turkey and Ham, sweet potatoes with marshmallow top, stuffing, potatoes and gravy, creamed greenbeans with crunchy onion topping, cranberry jelly with cream cheese topping, and pies. Lots and lots of pies. Pumpkin, mince, apple, cherry and pumpkin. It was always a very big deal to us. Still is for me. We had a Thansgiving dinner here in Australia with fifty of our friends turning up. I love thanksgiving.
Well this year, my brothers and I, along with our new flatmates, decided to do our own thanksgiving. We would invite any of the other punks that didn't have a place to go and we would do it right. We cooked a turkey in our over, might have been the first time we ever used it. We made sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, and some chips :) We bought pies, and bread, and another Thanksgiving tradition, sparkling apple juice. It was awesome.
As I sat around the table, I was surrounded by mohowks, leather jackets, bald heads and piercings. I felt like I was one of the pilgrims having the first thanksgiving with the (politically correct alert) indiginous people of America. And I was especially pleased when they all politely bowed their heads for a prayer before we started.
I think back and realize that there is something sacred about eating with others. I realize why the early church did so much eating together. We laughed, watched football on the tele, talked about other thanksgivings. You see we were all seperated from our family, so we became one ourselves, and it was an awesome time.
I have many wonderful thanksgiving memories, but that one, probably impacted my life more than the others. I have since tried to always honor the memory of the Black Hole Thanksgiving, by inviting others to share our table.
the rev
Well this year, my brothers and I, along with our new flatmates, decided to do our own thanksgiving. We would invite any of the other punks that didn't have a place to go and we would do it right. We cooked a turkey in our over, might have been the first time we ever used it. We made sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, and some chips :) We bought pies, and bread, and another Thanksgiving tradition, sparkling apple juice. It was awesome.
As I sat around the table, I was surrounded by mohowks, leather jackets, bald heads and piercings. I felt like I was one of the pilgrims having the first thanksgiving with the (politically correct alert) indiginous people of America. And I was especially pleased when they all politely bowed their heads for a prayer before we started.
I think back and realize that there is something sacred about eating with others. I realize why the early church did so much eating together. We laughed, watched football on the tele, talked about other thanksgivings. You see we were all seperated from our family, so we became one ourselves, and it was an awesome time.
I have many wonderful thanksgiving memories, but that one, probably impacted my life more than the others. I have since tried to always honor the memory of the Black Hole Thanksgiving, by inviting others to share our table.
the rev
The black hole (part 2)
There were two brothers among my brothers friends. They were an interesting pair. The youngest was one of those characters that you usually only see in the movies. He was young, charismatic, and very good looking. I know this is hard to believe, but he actually looked better with his black and white mohawk. Everywhere he went the girls all looked at him. Even the non punk rock girls, well, especially the non punk girls. He was the dream man, beautiful, and really bad. Their parents would hate him.
The older brother was a good guy. Would get very paranoid when he was up too many days. And, well he was a bit jealous of his little brother. They both boxed when they were younger, and the younger was even the better boxer. It seemed to be very hard to live in his little brothers shadow, and he had a bit of anger over the whole thing.
They both had a lot of anger over some other stuff too. See mom and dad went to a pentecostal church. And when these two would misbehave, as teenagers often do, their parents would take them to church and the elders would cast demons out of them. They preached a fire and brimstone version of pentecostal holiness at their church, and these boys bore the brunt of it. They didn't care much for the church, but did seem to understand me, a bit.
One time when the oldest had been up for about twelve days he went a little crazy. He had turned over the couch in the living room, and was hiding behind it with a pellet gun. He was screaming and shooting at anyone who tried to come in the housse. We didn't know what to do, but eventually he ran into the bedroom and locked the door. He fell asleep for a few days and life returned to normal.
Another time we were talking in the living room and I saw the older brother standing at the door watching his little brother. He seemed to be muttering to himself and getting angrier and angrier. The younger brother didn't notice him. But all of a sudden the first born starts running across the room and at full run punches mohawk boy right in the face as hard as he could. He didn't even slow down but ran right into the bedroom and locked the door. It took two of us to keep him from breaking down the door. Big brother slept for a day or two again.
Funny thing is I really loved these guys. I realised I was in a pretty intense situation, and tried to be responsible. I would wake up at 4:30am so I could pray for an hour and a half before I left for work. Then I would listen to bible tapes on the way to and from work. And listen to preachers all day on the radio at work. I had people from the church praying, I was serious.
The black hole was a scary place, sometimes a dangerous place, but it was my mission, my home and my prayer chapel.
the rev
The older brother was a good guy. Would get very paranoid when he was up too many days. And, well he was a bit jealous of his little brother. They both boxed when they were younger, and the younger was even the better boxer. It seemed to be very hard to live in his little brothers shadow, and he had a bit of anger over the whole thing.
They both had a lot of anger over some other stuff too. See mom and dad went to a pentecostal church. And when these two would misbehave, as teenagers often do, their parents would take them to church and the elders would cast demons out of them. They preached a fire and brimstone version of pentecostal holiness at their church, and these boys bore the brunt of it. They didn't care much for the church, but did seem to understand me, a bit.
One time when the oldest had been up for about twelve days he went a little crazy. He had turned over the couch in the living room, and was hiding behind it with a pellet gun. He was screaming and shooting at anyone who tried to come in the housse. We didn't know what to do, but eventually he ran into the bedroom and locked the door. He fell asleep for a few days and life returned to normal.
Another time we were talking in the living room and I saw the older brother standing at the door watching his little brother. He seemed to be muttering to himself and getting angrier and angrier. The younger brother didn't notice him. But all of a sudden the first born starts running across the room and at full run punches mohawk boy right in the face as hard as he could. He didn't even slow down but ran right into the bedroom and locked the door. It took two of us to keep him from breaking down the door. Big brother slept for a day or two again.
Funny thing is I really loved these guys. I realised I was in a pretty intense situation, and tried to be responsible. I would wake up at 4:30am so I could pray for an hour and a half before I left for work. Then I would listen to bible tapes on the way to and from work. And listen to preachers all day on the radio at work. I had people from the church praying, I was serious.
The black hole was a scary place, sometimes a dangerous place, but it was my mission, my home and my prayer chapel.
the rev
Sunday, August 07, 2005
I Love To Dance A Little Sidestep, Now They See Me, Now They Don't
Funny how people will do anything to get around the call of Jesus to sacrifice. They bend and twist and turn, first they are literalists, then they are not. They say, the bible says what it means and means what it says. Then they explain away everything that requires them to actually leave the place of comfort, and security and venture off into the crazy world of the Spirit.
It's like trying to get someone out of the spa, when its zero degrees outside.
Well I must be honest, I am not the best at this myself. I try. I have sold most of what I owned and tried to follow, but I still like a bit of security. I want to still have a glass of wine that comes from a bottle once and a while. But atleast I am trying. Funny, the more I actually give up, the more I realise I got more in return. But not like the Copenhagen faith people tell you, I didn't get more money, I got more joy. More love. More fulfillment. You know, the stuff that doesn't really pay the rent.
Jesus preached a downwardly mobile kingdom, where the greatest is the servant of all. And He actually left all and showed us what true sacrifice and humility means. We have in turn tried to create Jesus Claus who gives you everything you want if you are good enough, have enough faith, or plant enough seed. Well guess I will just end my hypocritical rant and put my bags in the mercedes so I can go to class.
Oh, just incase you were wondering its twenty five years old, was loaned to us to use while we are here, and needs a bit of work.
the rev
It's like trying to get someone out of the spa, when its zero degrees outside.
Well I must be honest, I am not the best at this myself. I try. I have sold most of what I owned and tried to follow, but I still like a bit of security. I want to still have a glass of wine that comes from a bottle once and a while. But atleast I am trying. Funny, the more I actually give up, the more I realise I got more in return. But not like the Copenhagen faith people tell you, I didn't get more money, I got more joy. More love. More fulfillment. You know, the stuff that doesn't really pay the rent.
Jesus preached a downwardly mobile kingdom, where the greatest is the servant of all. And He actually left all and showed us what true sacrifice and humility means. We have in turn tried to create Jesus Claus who gives you everything you want if you are good enough, have enough faith, or plant enough seed. Well guess I will just end my hypocritical rant and put my bags in the mercedes so I can go to class.
Oh, just incase you were wondering its twenty five years old, was loaned to us to use while we are here, and needs a bit of work.
the rev
I remember (the black hole part one0
I remember when I was twenty, my parents had moved up to Sacramento and I was living with two of my younger brothers in a two bedroom apartment. I had been a follower of Jesus for about a year and a half.
My brothers friends were a ragged bunch of punk rockers. They had nick names like Fingers. They were probably not the best group of friends my brothers could have chosen. They lived in the basement of an abandoned house, sold and took drugs, and stole things to pay for it. At the time I didn't realize that Jesus didn't actually mean the things he said, and figured if they needed a place to stay, and I had a place to stay it was calling to offer them a place to stay.
So now it was my two brothers, four of their friends, and myself, in a two bedroom apartment. They knew I was a Christian, they knew that was why I let them come live with us, and they tried their best to keep most of their truly immoral and illegal activities out of my eye sight.
But let me tell you, the apartment... Well it didn't smell too good. It was constantly a mess. There was always loud music, and loud people over. And to tell you the truth I did love it. I was quite fond of these punks, I was one when I was younger, and Jesus hadn't completely taken the rebeliousness out of me yet. (still hasn't actually, I am glad to say)
Well this is a long story, and I hope you will stay with me through it all, but I thought I might start by describing the place to you. When you walked in the door there was a semi large room which held our couch, our tv and our stereo. At the back of it there was a bar that seperated the lounge room from the kitchen, and off to the side of the kitchen was a dining area where we had our table and chairs. On the stove in the kitchen was a giant pot of grease, that we would occasionally replace. There was a basket that went in the grease. And the walls all had a nice slippery coating of said grease. Our refridgerator was full of chips, frozen burritos, tater tots, fish sticks and anything else you could cook in a pot of grease. We also had the cabinets filled with two minute noodles, which at ten cents a piece was the official food of homeless punk rockers. To the right was my bedroom and bathroom toilet. This was the only place of refuge for me. To the left my brothers bedroom and toilet bathroom area.
There was not much decorative, there were no cute animals with aprons on, but it was home. And I lived with my new family, in this smelly, messy, greasy two bedroom apartment, which had now earned the name...
the black hole
(to be continued)
the rev
My brothers friends were a ragged bunch of punk rockers. They had nick names like Fingers. They were probably not the best group of friends my brothers could have chosen. They lived in the basement of an abandoned house, sold and took drugs, and stole things to pay for it. At the time I didn't realize that Jesus didn't actually mean the things he said, and figured if they needed a place to stay, and I had a place to stay it was calling to offer them a place to stay.
So now it was my two brothers, four of their friends, and myself, in a two bedroom apartment. They knew I was a Christian, they knew that was why I let them come live with us, and they tried their best to keep most of their truly immoral and illegal activities out of my eye sight.
But let me tell you, the apartment... Well it didn't smell too good. It was constantly a mess. There was always loud music, and loud people over. And to tell you the truth I did love it. I was quite fond of these punks, I was one when I was younger, and Jesus hadn't completely taken the rebeliousness out of me yet. (still hasn't actually, I am glad to say)
Well this is a long story, and I hope you will stay with me through it all, but I thought I might start by describing the place to you. When you walked in the door there was a semi large room which held our couch, our tv and our stereo. At the back of it there was a bar that seperated the lounge room from the kitchen, and off to the side of the kitchen was a dining area where we had our table and chairs. On the stove in the kitchen was a giant pot of grease, that we would occasionally replace. There was a basket that went in the grease. And the walls all had a nice slippery coating of said grease. Our refridgerator was full of chips, frozen burritos, tater tots, fish sticks and anything else you could cook in a pot of grease. We also had the cabinets filled with two minute noodles, which at ten cents a piece was the official food of homeless punk rockers. To the right was my bedroom and bathroom toilet. This was the only place of refuge for me. To the left my brothers bedroom and toilet bathroom area.
There was not much decorative, there were no cute animals with aprons on, but it was home. And I lived with my new family, in this smelly, messy, greasy two bedroom apartment, which had now earned the name...
the black hole
(to be continued)
the rev
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Prophet or Gossip?
I say this understanding that I may offend certain people and anger others, but I still think I need to say it.
John Smith is an amazing guy. He is a hero to many within the Australian church, and well should be. From all I have heard of the guy, he seems worthy of the title legend. However, at the FORGE national summit, I had a bit of a problem with the address he gave.
Let me first say that his address was perhaps one of the most inspirational, and well received of the weekend. I think I heard more comments about how moved they were by his message than any other message. This actually makes me a bit sad. Not sad that they like him, but sad that I missed it. Being involved with the planning and running of the conference I had much to do, and was forced to listen to John from the foyer, and watch on the big screen. After listening to the first thirty minutes, I simply found other things to keep me busy. If I was in the main hall I would not have walked out, but since my leaving would not upset anyone, I did leave.
Why?
Well for the first thirty minutes every other sentence was a critique on George Bush, or the American military. Those that know me well, might be laughing as they read this, as they know, I have no great love for the president, nor the current hostilities around the world. And in truth I agreed with just about everything John said. My issue was not with the content, but the purpose of the message. I have talked to other Americans there, and all three of them were a bit embarassed and offended. Again, I understand that offending people is par for the course if you are going to "tell the truth", but what was the purpose of this part of the message? There was nothing for anyone in that room to do about it! They could not vote George W out of office, they could not organize a march on the capital, they could not even call their local congresman. This message was spoken with no possible recourse.
I believe this was inappropriate. The prophets of our day must stand, and take a hard line against the corruption, immorality, and injustice of the government. And if John Smith said these things in America I would stand in the front row cheering. But to do this in Australia, was not prophetic, but gossip. It was not taking a stand, but rather taking pot shots at an easy target, that in this instance could not defend itself. This was like a profesional boxer beating up a fat overweigth sixty year old, but worse than that, it was like doing it by remote control.
Mr. Smith's comments were true, but unnecessary. They did not help his message, nor did they accomplish anything other than encouraging an anti American sentiment, which is already quite apparent atleast in Melbourne. And I for one am particularly upset, because they caused me to miss the heart of his message, which I most likely could have really used.
Now before you get too angry at me, my australian brothers, take some time to imagine the shoe on the other foot. Imagine sitting in a room full of American church planters and missionaries, and an iconic American gets up, and spends a half hour talking about how stupid, and unjust Australian policies are, bagging out the man that your country elected, and criticising the Australian military. Again, even if you agreed with what was said, it just doesn't seem right that someone else is saying it.
I remember as a kid, I was allowed to beat my little brothers. But if someone else touched them, then I got very upset. Perhaps, I am still a bit of a child.
the rev
John Smith is an amazing guy. He is a hero to many within the Australian church, and well should be. From all I have heard of the guy, he seems worthy of the title legend. However, at the FORGE national summit, I had a bit of a problem with the address he gave.
Let me first say that his address was perhaps one of the most inspirational, and well received of the weekend. I think I heard more comments about how moved they were by his message than any other message. This actually makes me a bit sad. Not sad that they like him, but sad that I missed it. Being involved with the planning and running of the conference I had much to do, and was forced to listen to John from the foyer, and watch on the big screen. After listening to the first thirty minutes, I simply found other things to keep me busy. If I was in the main hall I would not have walked out, but since my leaving would not upset anyone, I did leave.
Why?
Well for the first thirty minutes every other sentence was a critique on George Bush, or the American military. Those that know me well, might be laughing as they read this, as they know, I have no great love for the president, nor the current hostilities around the world. And in truth I agreed with just about everything John said. My issue was not with the content, but the purpose of the message. I have talked to other Americans there, and all three of them were a bit embarassed and offended. Again, I understand that offending people is par for the course if you are going to "tell the truth", but what was the purpose of this part of the message? There was nothing for anyone in that room to do about it! They could not vote George W out of office, they could not organize a march on the capital, they could not even call their local congresman. This message was spoken with no possible recourse.
I believe this was inappropriate. The prophets of our day must stand, and take a hard line against the corruption, immorality, and injustice of the government. And if John Smith said these things in America I would stand in the front row cheering. But to do this in Australia, was not prophetic, but gossip. It was not taking a stand, but rather taking pot shots at an easy target, that in this instance could not defend itself. This was like a profesional boxer beating up a fat overweigth sixty year old, but worse than that, it was like doing it by remote control.
Mr. Smith's comments were true, but unnecessary. They did not help his message, nor did they accomplish anything other than encouraging an anti American sentiment, which is already quite apparent atleast in Melbourne. And I for one am particularly upset, because they caused me to miss the heart of his message, which I most likely could have really used.
Now before you get too angry at me, my australian brothers, take some time to imagine the shoe on the other foot. Imagine sitting in a room full of American church planters and missionaries, and an iconic American gets up, and spends a half hour talking about how stupid, and unjust Australian policies are, bagging out the man that your country elected, and criticising the Australian military. Again, even if you agreed with what was said, it just doesn't seem right that someone else is saying it.
I remember as a kid, I was allowed to beat my little brothers. But if someone else touched them, then I got very upset. Perhaps, I am still a bit of a child.
the rev
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Last night
Last night we had our community dinner. We had a visiter from another suburb and it was great to have him visit. And two of my interns from FORGE, (the emerging church missionary training group I work for) were visiting as well. I cooked up a giant feed on the barbeque, we all stuffed ourselves and just talked and caught up with each other.
It was really important to me to have my interns join us. Why? It was just a dinner, we didn't even do anything. We didn't really talk about the FORGE stuff. Didn't talk about the emerging church really. Didn't even get very spiritual. They told jokes to me daughters, got to know my friends a bit, and ate. Not much of a night to remember was it?
Well, to me it was important for this reason. My interns need to see me engaged in my community. To see that I really believe what I say to them, and to experience my own convictions in action. But also, everything I do, is a part of my community. They need to meet my interns as well. Then need to see what I am up to, to meet the people I am ministering to in some way. We minister as a community, and the love we have with each other is part of my personal mission. They pray for me, they pray for my interns that they now have a direct contact with. Life is all inter connected. My faith community is not only a part of my spiritual walk, but part of my whole life.
They are part of my leadership, my coaching, my prophetic voice, my evangelism. We are all together, and thats the way I like it.
I know you may be saying "duh" and thats okay too. :)
the rev
It was really important to me to have my interns join us. Why? It was just a dinner, we didn't even do anything. We didn't really talk about the FORGE stuff. Didn't talk about the emerging church really. Didn't even get very spiritual. They told jokes to me daughters, got to know my friends a bit, and ate. Not much of a night to remember was it?
Well, to me it was important for this reason. My interns need to see me engaged in my community. To see that I really believe what I say to them, and to experience my own convictions in action. But also, everything I do, is a part of my community. They need to meet my interns as well. Then need to see what I am up to, to meet the people I am ministering to in some way. We minister as a community, and the love we have with each other is part of my personal mission. They pray for me, they pray for my interns that they now have a direct contact with. Life is all inter connected. My faith community is not only a part of my spiritual walk, but part of my whole life.
They are part of my leadership, my coaching, my prophetic voice, my evangelism. We are all together, and thats the way I like it.
I know you may be saying "duh" and thats okay too. :)
the rev
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