Do You Know This Woman?

Sen. John McCain has selected Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin, 44, to be his running mate. Gov. Palin was elected to her current office in 2006 and took office early in 2007. Prior to winning the governorship, she served three terms as the mayor of Wasilla City, AK, a town the size of Humboldt, TN.
Apparently Sen. McCain has decided that Senator Barack Obama's youth and experience will no longer be raised as an issue by the Republicans.

Is That So Wrong? (In Jon Lovitz' best Harvey Fierstein voice)

Word tonight that the goopers are considering delaying their convention due to Hurrican Gustav's anticipated arrival.
Given the publicly announced prayers of one James Dobson, asking God to pour down rain on Mile High Stadium tonight, is it so wrong to enjoy biblical injunctions against self-satisfied praying?
For just a moment there, I envied the late Rev. Falwell, Rev. Robertson and Dr. Dobson their theological position that bad things that happen are necessarily punishments from God.

The Next President of The United States of America

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all [people] are created equal

Tonight, for the first time in our history, these sacred words are true. Senator Barack Obama is the nominee of the Democratic Party for President of The United States. No less a conservative than Patrick J. Buchanan pronounced Obama's presentation as perhaps the greatest convention speech in American history.

Given the differences between the candidate nominated this week and the one to be nominated next week, there is only one question to be determined: Have We, the People grown beyond our racist, redneck identity enough to elect a man who is defined by our society as black? Do we believe the premise on which our nation is founded, or not? Are we a complete and total fraud, or do all Americans have a part in this nation, do we all belong?

Barack Obama is America. He is black and white. He is Christian with a Moslem father. He is Patton's 3rd Army from World War II, and an immigrant. He is Harvard educated, and South Side of Chicago employed. He is the child of a single mom, and the father in a traditional family. He is a devoted husband of a wife as educated, professional and able as he is--and she's the primary parent for two little girls, too (ie: Ginger Rogers did all Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels!).

John McCain is a good man, but his beer baron wife, his 7 houses (and don't tell me he couldn't remember--he was just embarassed to admit it), and his "$5,000,000 annual salary equals middle class" comment just doesn't look or sound like the America most of us know anything about.

This young man, with his big dreams and big visions, is the antidote needed after eight years of Darth Cheney and Goober. If only we can get to what another dreamer, 45 years ago today, said should be the deciding factor: the content of one's character, rather than the color of one's skin.

Lies and the Lying Liar Christians Who Tell Them (with apologies to Al Franken)

Throughout the primary and now convention season, I have received two or three emails per week, forwarded by parishoners, purporting to tell "the truth" about Barack Obama. Those that include citations of their sources invariably come from Fox News, James Dobson or Rush Limbaugh. More of them are simply anonymous. The messages recount how Sen. Obama makes fun of the Bible (Dobson). How he holds Kenyan citizenship (Limbaugh). How he attended a Moslem school as a boy (Fox News). The anonymous ones are, of course, even more enthusiastic and absurd. Obama trained as a terrorist. He's a member of a Moslem cult. My favorites are the ones that within one message make the Moslem accusation, and criticize him for his membership in Trinity Church (supporting that preacher, of course). Can't beat that! And, of course, there are the "Michelle hates America" ones, and the "Obama won't wear a flag pin or put his hand over his heart during the Pledge of Allegiance or national anthem" business. (I wish that last one was true, as it seems to me just about time that someone in this faith pointed out that when the Ten Commandments that are so cherished by the right wingers say that there are to be no other allegiances but to God, and no graven images to be worshipped, that means the ones we like as well as those we don't; ours, as well as other peoples'. Perhaps, intead of simply seeking to post them in courtrooms, classrooms and in public squares, they should try reading the Commandments?)
On my better days, it breaks my heart that good people will accept, unquestioningly, the pronouncements of people who set themselves up as oracles.
On more days, I marvel that some people never seem to have a thought until Dobson or Limbaugh fart. Yes, that is, indeed, a "head up their ass" reference.
My deepest anger over this nonsense is that it is coming from groups that present themselves to the world as Christian. No one else would make the Moslem accusations.
The last time I checked, there is nothing illegal about being a Moslem in America. I know several. They have been guests in my home, and in my churches. After 9-11, I participated in several community meetings with leaders of Moslem congregations near where I was serving at the time. But those who pass on this garbage know their audience. And as though it's not enough for that crowd that Obama is seen as a black man (odd, as he is just as white as he is black, but that's America--any drop of "black blood" and you're "marked"), they seek to define him as Moslem.
Here's the thing: he is a brother in Christ.
Regardless of November's vote totals, "Christian" people in this country are denying a member of the family. They are cutting him out of the body of Christ. They are rejecting his baptism and his profession of faith in Jesus Christ. They are dismissing his discipleship, his marriage before the altar of God, and his commitment to raise his children in the Christian faith.
In short, they are putting their own souls at risk.
And they are selling their souls for nothing more lasting or valuable than political advantage.
Obama is not Jesus Christ, but these persecutors are Pontius Pilate. They know full well that Obama is a Christian, and they condemn him anyway. Wash your hands as much as you want, it doesn't change what you are doing, or what you are.
Remember, brothers and sisters, that you stand before God. You will have to answer for your actions. And attempting to injure a member of the family, in Jesus' own words, leads to such unpleasant consequences that millstones around the neck in deep water would be preferable.
Debate the issues. Vote for who you want. But deny a fellow Christian? The truth is not in you!

Lies and the Lying Christians Who Tell Them

With apologies to Al Franken,

Hillary Makes the Case

I voted for Hillary Clinton in our state primary.
This isn't a lecture from outside the fold.
It is a lecture to say, much as Senator Clinton did tonight, that if you voted for her in the primaries, you cannot vote for John McCain in November. What did Hillary run on? The same things that she has worked for her entire adult life! Opportunity for all. Healthcare for all. Education for all. You know, as in "...and liberty and justice for all!"
That is the Democratic platform. That is Barack Obama's purpose in life, too.
The Republican party is about keeping what they've got and acting like they accomplished something, when all they've done is keep their boot on the neck of the poor, shovel out money to the rich like coal into a steam locomotive, start wars that are basically fought by the children of families who can't find jobs, serve their shareholders by refusing to raise the minimum wage, provide adequate healthcare or keep college affordable for working families dreaming of moving up. All this and much more as bad if not worse.
If you voted for Hillary Clinton and now intend to vote for John McCain, what were you doing in the primary? The Senator asked the question herself tonight: were you in it just for her, or for the people and causes that she has fought for all her life?
Sober up! Straighten up! Get back to work, and stop this Republican madness while we still have a country at all!

Teddy Stole the Show

After a beautiful, heartfelt tribute from his niece, Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg, and a majestic filmed tribute, Senator Edward M. Kennedy was introduced to the Democratic National Convention tonight. Unless you've been off the planet the last six months, you know that Sen. Kennedy is fighting a brain tumor that typically takes the life of those who are stricken with it within a year. There was a lot of speculation about the Senator's attendance at the convention, and if he were able to appear, whether he would be able to speak. He answered both questions powerfully.
At 76 years of age, with a miserably bad back that causes him to stoop and keeps him from raising his arms above his shoulders, and just a short time removed from brain cancer surgery, Teddy was awesome. He again lent the Kennedy imprimatur to Barack Obama. The Old Lion of the Senate and the party roared out the great theme of his legislative life: healthcare for every American. He invoked his brother's inaugural speech in calling for the passing of the torch to yet another generation of American leader. He was strong. He was clear. He was Ted.
I will readily confess that I cried throughout Caroline's speech, the film, Teddy's speech and his farewell as his children, nieces and nephews and all of their children crowded the stage around him. Any realistic reading of his prognosis suggests that this will be the last time that Ted Kennedy will rally the Democratic faithful in convention. We can hope and pray for better, and, after all, I didn't think he would make this one. But the Kennedy name has been The Name in Democratic politics longer than I have been alive. Ted Kennedy has been in the United States Senate since the year after I was born. He couldn't go earlier, when President Kennedy left the seat upon his election to the Presidency, because he wasn't old enough yet. I cannot imagine our country, and certainly not my party, without him.
He has done more for the unemployed, the working poor, the old, the young, those without healthcare, the immigrant, the disabled, minorities, women, and any other downtrodden person you would care to name, than any other person in this country, period. He has taken seriously his obligation as a privileged man to work for the good of others. He is reckoned by many as the greatest Senator in the history of our country.
Ted Kennedy is anathema to the right wing. They raise great amounts of money off of his name to this day. But they raise that money from people who do not want others to succeed, or find assistance. Ted is the boogeyman to everyone who wants to keep the minimum wage below a living wage; who wants to abuse their employees by witholding healthcare; who wants to be able to discriminate in hiring and firing; who wants to keep poor children poor by denying them an equal start; who wants to throw the elderly to the wolves; who thinks that disabled people don't deserve to have lives. He wears that great label, "Liberal," as the badge of honor that it is. Ted has room for all people, and believes that government should always, always, always act in the interest of those having trouble making their way.
He is not perfect. Everyone knows that. But Ted Kennedy has served this country well. He has fought for those who couldn't fight for themselves. And he will be one of my heroes as long as I live.

It's Joe!

Senator Barack Obama has passed his "first decision test" with flying colors: on Saturday morning he will name veteran Delaware Sen. Joe Biden to be his running mate. Biden brings tenure. He brings gravitas. And, most importantly, he brings long experience on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, as both Chair and Ranking Member. He has also chaired the Senate Judiciary Committee. Biden's Senate credentials trump those of John McCain. He will be an articulate and energetic partner for Sen. Obama, and is, quite simply, an excellent choice.
Biden has stood at the top of the Democratic party for twenty years. He has a compelling personal story of loss and triumph. Shortly after his election to the Senate in 1972, Biden received the telephone call that every person dreads. His wife, Neilia, and baby girl, Naomi, had been killed in an automobile accident that also critically injured his young sons, Beau and Hunter. Democratic leaders pleaded with Biden not to resign his seat. He finally agreed, beginning his continuing practice of commuting to the Senate everyday from his home, so that he could care for, and then raise his sons. Biden married Jill Jacobs in 1977, and they celebrated the addition of a daughter, Ashley. His family then cared for him when he suffered two brain aneurysms in 1988, and was away from the Senate for more than two months. Beau is now the Attorney General of Delaware, and also a member of the Judge Advocate General's corps. He is due to be deployed to Iraq this fall.
A powerful orator, and highly credentialed legal and foreign policy expert, and loving and committed father, a husband and devout Roman Catholic, Biden is a marvelous choice to serve alongside Barack Obama in the White House. He will be an exceptional campaigner for the ticket until November's election.
Senator Obama has done very, very well!

Baseball Is Life on the Road Again: Baltimore

Through the good offices of The Most Generous Friends Ever, your humble blogger has spent enough time in Charm City to look forward to going back for a full-blown vacation trip at some point.
Baltimore holds more significance, professionally, than I realized before arriving. I knew that I would find there the home of The United Methodist Church. John Wesley concluded late in his life that his Methodist Movement would need to become a church in the new United States of America. To that end, he did something (just what Father Wesley did with Francis Asbury has been debated to this very day) to enable the establishment of a church through the 1984 Christmas Conference that met at Baltimore's Lovely Lane Methodist Church. The good people of Lovely Lane, still a worshipping congregation, had organized in 1771. I knew that the site of the current church housed a museum of Methodism, and that it is not at the original 1771 site. What I did not know was that the Old Otterbein Church, the mother church of the United Brethren in Christ, one of the lines that led to the 1968 merger that produced The United Methodist Church, was also in Baltimore. Philip William Otterbein became pastor in 1774 and stayed 39 years, the rest of his life. Otterbein was close to Francis Asbury, as was his church. Testimony to relations between the two: Lovely Lane Methodist Church organized and met at Old Otterbein in its infancy; it was the original site of the congregation that would birth the Methodist Church! Little wonder that Otterbein so frequently had Asbury fill his pulpit. Remarkable that the seeds in this relationship led, almost 200 years later, to a joined church.
It was a joy to experience this part of my history first hand.
It was also not at all unpleasant to have the opportunity to study another piece of Baltimorean architecture, just a couple of blocks from Old Otterbein. A beautiful patch of green over the hallowed grounds of the George Ruth Saloon. Oriole Park at Camden Yards is as absolutely and completely beautiful as it has appeard on television for the last 17 years. It is not at all difficult to sit in the stands and envision the 2,131 banner that hung on the old B&O Warehouse along Eutaw Street when Cal Ripken, Jr., saved Baseball in 1995. It is a blast to shake hands, take a picture and get an autograph from John "Boog" Powell, former Orioles' first baseman and 1970 American League Most Valuable Player, as he presides over Boog's Barbeque, also on Eutaw. Think John Goodman, only with a believable swing. The Booger is having fun, and likes for everyone else to do the same.
While there does not appear to be a bad seat in the place, I can attest that the section behind home plate, about 18 rows up, is specatcular beyond belief. How Mr. Most Generous Friend Ever managed to get those tickets is beyond me! Combine that with a Red Sox offensive onslaught and a now-typical performance by my hero, Jon Lester, and Monday night was, to use the Bay State vernacular, wicked awesome!
Tuesday was more of the same, hits and runs galore, with only the indigestion of an also now-typical performance by Daisuke Matsuzaka, and seemingly 75-80% of the park occupied by Red Sox Nation. It was a two evening riot.
Along with the daytime educational exercises, this was one terrific road trip!
My thanks, again, to Mrs. Most Generous Friend Ever for allowing the loan of her husband for a couple of days, along with the chance to sit in a seat she might have had without me along. And to the Mr. for giving up a Monday night that he might have spent at home with their totally awesome two year old son. And everybody should see the family portrait that my friend carries with him--oddly, in the very front of the photo album--where the boy is gazing adoringly at his dad. Great, great stuff!
And now, (yawn) back to real life, work and home. And even gone only for two days, and really nice days, life, work and home are pretty darned good.

A Memphian Mourns on August 16

Today is one of those truly historic days. A day when an historic life ended, a life that changed the world, overwhelmingly for the better. A life that will be remembered forever, honored, researched, celebrated and imitated. It was a life of genuine accomplishment, achieving feats no one else could duplicate, even years after the death that ended this remarkable person's journey. Only that assessment doesn't cover things, because, if anything, the individual's face, story and records are better known today than during his lifetime.
Babe Ruth died on August 16, 1948.
Babe Ruth was the Home Run King. His long ball escapades are not generally appreciated accurately. Last year, when the artificially enhanced Barry Bonds was surpassing the thoroughly honorable Hank Aaron, it was continually reported that Aaron had broken Ruth's 39 year old record, and Bonds was taking down Aaron's 33 year reign. Only problem: Ruth didn't become the home run champ upon his retirement in 1935; he set the career home run record in 1921, with number 139. Roger Connor, a first baseman pricipally for the New York Giants in the 1880's, had held the record since his 1897 retirement. Ruth lifted the record from 138 to 714, and held the record for 53 years. (Take just a moment to consider the extensions: Aaron went from 714 to 755; Bonds from 755 to *762; Ruth went from 138 to 714. That is an increase of 417%!)
It took Ruth only 8 years, and just three of those as an every day player, to make the record his own. You see, there is one simple basic reason that Ruth will always stand as the unquestioned best player in baseball history: before he was the greatest slugger in the game, he had been the best left-handed pitcher in the game.
As much as we enjoy Rick Ankiel's exploits this year, Ruth was the best lefty in the majors from 1915 through 1918, and the greatest hitter from 1918 until 1935. There is no comparison, and give the age at which kids are forced to specialize today, there never will be.
To this day, fantastic exploits are "Ruthian." Players who look younger than their years are still "Babe." Top guys must still be given nicknames, and we're not talking about that Chris Berman junk, either. The Sultan of Swat. The Maharishi of Mash. The Bambino. The Big Bam. That's why we have The Hammer, both Iron Horses, The Say Hey Kid, both Pudges, Mr. October and The Goose. They are all following in the footsteps, the larger than life footsteps, of George Herman "Babe" Ruth, who died sixty years ago today.
Thanks, Babe! We'll never forget you.
Or that other King who died today. You know, the rock'n'roll guy.
(It is interesting to me that Aug. 16 has seen a number of notable deaths: The two noted, Babe Ruth in 1948 and Elvis Presley in 1977, but also Bela Lugosi-1956, Admiral Bull Halsey-1959, Margaret Mitchell-1949, Gunsmoke's Miss Kitty, Amanda Blake-1989, Stewart Granger-1993, Newsman and Timex shill, John Cameron Swayze-1995, Idi Amin-2003, and, after the Babe and the King, dearest to my heart, legendary Bluesman Robert Johnson-1938)

Swiftboaters, Round 2

To call Jerome Corsi a lying bastard is an insult to lying bastards everywhere. He was the author of 2004's campaign screed that created a character named John Kerry out of whole cloth, a character who bore no resemblance whatsoever to the very fine public servant who was the Democratic Party's nominee for President. Now he's back for more, with a new character named Barack Obama. This new character bears no more resemblance to the current Democratic nominee than Corsi's Kerry did to the real man.
What does it say about this pathetic man's confidence in his obviously weak candidates-George II in 2004 and John McCain today-that he attacks his opponents so viciously and inaccurately? He clearly knows that, just like Bush the last two times, McCain can't win on the truth. So he rehashes all of the gooper crap that has been circulated in emails, whispered in the back rows of "Christian" churches and passed from the lips of such exemplars of virtue as Limbaugh, Hannity and O'Reilly. At least they have peddled this trash when they haven't been busy defending themselves against drug charges (Limbaugh), sexual harassment suits (O'Reilly) and being just plain stupid (Hannity).
Obama is a Moslem! Only he's not. He attended a Moslem school! Only he didn't. He's a tool of the terrorists! Yeah, the Senate is full of them. His (white) mother married an African, and then a whatever-it-is-that-comes-from-Indonesia, wherever that is! Yeah, so?
The only reason the Corsis of the world haven't put Obama in the pilot's seat of one of the hijacked planes on 9-11 is that he's still alive. And they'll probably find a way to do that even yet.
Lying about your opponent is a long-standing, time-honored tradition in American politics. But this has gotten ridiculous.
And it shows just how scared the right-wing is!
Ooh! The big, scawy bwack man giving the itty-bitty wepubwican boys nightmawes?
Hey, you jackasses! Remember those Ten Commandments you're so fond of? Thou shalt not bear false witness. It made the Top Ten list, so check into it!

Revival Preaching

So a colleague had one of his members call a month ago with the request/order that I had to preach their church's revival. At the time it was a while off. I said I'd be glad to do it.
Then time passed, and Sunday night will bring the beginning service. And I'm not so glad I'll be doing it.
I mean no disrespect to my colleague, his revival chairperson, or their congregation. I just puzzle over the revival's place in our world.
I don't even know how these worship series came to be named such a thing. Words have to matter to someone in my line of work, or at least, they should matter greatly. And one does not require much familiarity with language to understand that "revival" refers to a rekindling or renewing of life.
In many communities, or lack of communities, people would come from great distances, gather for days or weeks at a time, eat, dance, worship and whatever else all together. Those pioneering souls could go some time without a member of the clergy passing by, or a neighbor, or any face that was outside the family. So the camp meetings/revivals were special times spiritually, but also socially.
And they became times when conversions were expected to happen. New life was to be sought, often by hard-headed children of the families involved, but also by community drunks and other sorts of reprobates.
But these days, the only people who show up for revival services are the same ones who show up for Sunday evening worship: the ones who could be leading the thing themselves. OK, there is the "we all need..." dogma to acknowledge, but the folks I will be facing Sunday night through Wednesday night will be the finest, most devoted participants in their church.
What in the world am I going to "Re-" with them? And why would I aim for evangelism with this group that is already so firmly entrenched in the faith?
You who know me well know that I don't do well in the realm of "Since this is what's always expected and done, we'll just ignore reality and keep the fantasy in place." Not my best thing! And I won't do it in the coming week, either.
So, we will lay aside the fantasy of wailers from the Mourners' Bench wending their way to the altar, convicted by the overwhelmingly powerful preaching brought to bear by the visiting Evangelist. We will, indeed, shoot for revival. I continue to struggle with aspects of my own faith, and will, as always, work out of that. It seems to resonate.
I believe that I have been more changed by the revivals that I have preached than anyone who was parked in the pews. That's no insult to those faithful people. It's probably a confession about where I've stood on my journey, compared to where others have been positioned on theirs. But it is one of those odd Southern phenomena, to be paid something to show up at someone else's church, fill someone else's pulpit and work on my own faith.
I do hope that someone else will get a little work done next week, too.

Skip Caray, 1939-2008

This dreadful season for the Atlanta Braves has, finally, hit rock bottom. Now it just can't get any worse: Skip Caray, the long-time voice of the Braves, collapsed and died this afternoon while filling a bird feeder in his backyard. (Initial reports were that Skip had died while napping. His wife, Paula, corrected that information in the afternoon on Aug. 4)
Skip Caray and Pete Van Wieren were hired in 1976 by Ted Turner to join Ernie Johnson in the Braves' booth. Turner had bought a baseball team-an absolutely dreadful baseball team-to be a part of the backbone of his tv station's programming, and he needed broadcasters who could keep the fans' interest, because God knew, the team wasn't going to keep them tuned in. So, to Johnson, perhaps the nicest human being in the world, Turner added Van Wieren, perhaps the smartest human being in the world, and Skip Caray, certainly the most passionate and sarcastically funny human being in the world.
He came by his passion for baseball honestly. The son of Harry Caray grew up on the game, and gave his life to it, too. But where Harry openly and lovingly accepted most everything that happened in front of him, Skip brought the more skeptical sensibilities of a person who was a young adult through the 1960's. Many nights in the late 70's, Skip would grant late-inning permission to viewers who had watched the Braves take another drubbing to "go ahead and walk the dog, as long as you promise to patronize our sponsors." In the days of the 2 am Braves replays on TBS, Skip would speculate on the mental health of anyone who would "watch this junk in the middle of the night." Or, "If you're watching the replay, we welcome all dozen of you to the broadcast." Or, on a brutally hot August night at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium, "I'd like to personally thank all of you folks who came out tonight, and it wouldn't take very long to do that." Skip was a wiseass, and that made him a cult hero to fraternity boys all over America, who would put on the Braves as we came in for the night, to listen to Skip let somebody have it. That spirit continued to the very end, as the Georgia Department of Transportation had become the main target of the last couple of seasons, due to their endless "improvements" to I-75/I-85.
Skip was sick last fall, sick enough for the doctors to call his family in. He made it through, and we got to have another half season with him on the radio, at least for home games.
Braves baseball will still be uncommonly well covered. Pete Van Wieren is still on the radio, sharing his encyclopedic knowledge of the game. Chip Caray has carried the family business very ably into the third generation. Joe Simpson and Jon "Boog" Sciambi are an excellent team. But Braves broadcasts will never again be as much fun as they have always been since 1976. Skip, just like Harry before him, always, always, always made the game fun. And after all, it is still a game.
God bless you, Skip. And your wife, Paula; your sons Chip and Josh; your grandchildren; stepmom, Duchy; and millions upon millions of Braves fans who loved listening to you explain the infield fly rule to some dope on the call-in segment, pontificate on the wave whenever the non-fans broke it out, share the home town of the last fan to catch a foul ball, attack the club-level fan who dropped a foul ball, and capture the drama of the game in your call of Sid Bream's slide, Smoltz blowing away another batter, Chipper cranking another homer, or Marquis Grissom securing the fly that gave the Braves their World Championship.
Well done, sir! We'll miss you.

The Privilege of His Company

I should be asleep (preparation for a good Sunday, don't you know) but I just got home from AutoZone Park, home tonight of the Dave Matthews Band and their opening act.
I will confess: I'm not the biggest DMB fan, or, at least, wasn't until tonight. I like their weird instrumentation and the unusual rhythmic structure of many of their songs, I've enjoyed the songs that have made the radio, and I share their politics; they just haven't been must-have when the new albums have been released. I may have to rethink that.
After all, anyone who can incorporate the Talking Heads (Burning Down the House) and Peter Gabriel (Sledgehammer) into their set is OK by me. And there is also the number they did with the aforementioned opener, a guy who put DMB's Gravedigger on his last album: Willie Nelson.
I will confess again: I got to the park wondering how Willie could be the opening act for Dave Matthews. I don't think that Willie Nelson ought to be opening for anybody, unless he and Dylan undertake another joint tour (no pun intended).
Willie is America. Now, he wasn't born just yet when the revolution was undertaken, but, apologies to Pogo, he is us. He's been on top, he's been on the bottom, and he's hit every rung in between. How could one man have written all those songs? And how could he have forgotten to pay his taxes on all the money those songs brought him? And how did that cowboy gain such a powerful, poetic sense of the language? And why does Grandpa still get caught smoking a little pot? OK, a lot of pot?
Well, that, and so much more, is all Willie.
And when he comes to town, he walks out on stage and plays his music. Barely stopping to breathe in between songs, he plays. He throws in one for Waylon. Sometimes one for Cash. Something of Kristofferson's. A Haggard song. He introduces his sister, on piano; his drummer's intro leads, always, into Me and Paul. Paul's the drummer.
Willie was the only guitar player in his band tonight. First time I'd seen him without someone playing alongside. And my great Willie Nelson suspicion was confirmed: he's one terrific guitarist.
He's been into all kinds of other things, too. He's been an actor. I thought he was hysterical in Electric Horseman. Kind of scary in Barbarosa. He has spent years helping people. He started Farm Aid in the mid-80's farming crisis, to do something for the American family farmer. Those benefit concerts have drawn the biggest names in music, and continue to this day. He is big into the production of bio-diesel to replace fossil fuels, and big against the slaughter of wild horses which are seen as nuisances by big western landowners. In short, if you have a cause, Willie will be on the right side of it, and raise a lot of money for it.
But it always comes back to the music. I love Dylan dearly, and his Neverending Tour gets a lot of press. But Willie's ten years older (75 last April), and he hasn't sat down in the last fifty years, either. I hope neither one of them every does. They make real, powerful, American music, and we are all richer for their efforts.

The Future of the Church (A Riff for Friends Suffering Far Away Places)

We know the painful truths. The church is declining. All mainline churches are losing. The ones with the highly-educated clergy. The ones organized for grand tasks on an international level. The ones that send good people great distances at great expense to grand workshops where they don't find the answers. Because the people leading them often don't even know the questions.
We're losing ground almost everywhere.
Meanwhile, this highly-educated, grandly-trained clergyman had lunch with Bob today.
Bob is 85. He is the proud owner of two new hips, installed over the last year. I buried his wife of 50+ years while I was his pastor at one of my previous stops. His son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren moved in with him a few years ago, so that when he needs a little more help, they'll be there.
He's also never been to seminary, isn't ordained, and hasn't attended any important workshops (and I dearly hope you understand that "important" is typed as sarcastically as my little fingers can manage).
What Bob knows is Jesus Christ.
That's why he declined to call the police a few years ago when, already into his 80's, as he was tending the little bit of yard that his church has, a couple of hispanic children who had moved into the neighborhood stole his lawnmover off the back of his pickup while he was using the weedeater. Oh, he made a very strong response; he just wouldn't put those kids in jail and give them a criminal record for the rest of their lives. Bob pushed, instead, to invite all of the hispanic children in the apartment complex next to the church to that summer's Vacation Bible School. And when a couple of those kids began to attend our church regularly, and later, serve as acolytes, he befriended them, asking after their families and schoolwork every Sunday. He may have been the only person in that church (outside of my household) that knew which name went with which boy.
See, Bob has never studied Current Something, Effective Whatever and that scourge of the faith and the faithful, Church Growth. He just happened somewhere on his journey through life to bump into a carpenter's son from Galilee, and his life changed. He loves as he has been loved. And it is just that simple, no matter how damned hard we sometimes try to make it.
The good news is that while Important People are figuring out Important Things to shower upon the rest of us dopes, simple everyday people like Bob are out there living the faith.
And some days, my better ones, I am pretty sure that the Bobs know more about the faith, the church and discipleship than any given barrel full of us well-trained, well-educated leaders will ever know.

Time for Manny to be Manny Somewhere Else

I love Manny Ramirez. I will be grateful to him and for him for the rest of my baseball-infatuated life. But enough is enough.
In the winter of 2000-2001, Manny parlayed his wildly successful years with the Cleveland Indians into an eight year, $160 million contract with the Boston Red Sox. The contract, negotiated by former agent Jeff Moorad-now the President of the Arizona Diamondbacks-included two additional seasons (2009 and 2010) at club options for $20 million each season. What that means is that at the end of the contract (this offseason), the Red Sox would have the ability to pick up the option for next year at an already agreed upon price, or decline it and make Manny a free agent again. And if that option were exercised for 2009, team and player would then go through that process again prior to the 2010 season.
Manny has always been eccentric. Listen to him, look at him, watch his visits to the Green Monster during pitching changes; the guy is put together differently from most people, and that's ok. The problem isn't those eccentricities. It's the other stuff. Like playing when it suits him. Like screaming for a trade every summer for the last six years. Like careless play in left field. Like turning doubles into singles by assuming they would be home runs. Like not even making it half-way to first on infield grounders, several of which have been kicked by the infielders over the years.
Oddly, for their $20 million per season, the Sox expected Manny to play hard. Had they reacted more aggressively early on when he didn't, things might not have reached this point. But they didn't, and they have.
Manny knocked down the Sox' Social Security-eligible traveling secretary when the man couldn't provide all of the complimentary tickets that Manny wanted for friends and family on this summer's road trip to Houston. That's free tickets, for this multi-multi millionaire's family and friends.
Manny made his annual pitch to be traded.
Manny called the Sox ownership underhanded and deceitful.
Manny took himself out of the lineup against the Mariners in the last game of a long road trip, complaining of a sore knee. Understandable for a 36 year old player.
Manny stayed out of the lineup in the first game of a home series against the New York Yankees. Unforgivable for a Red Sox player.
Manny was sent by the club for MRIs on both knees, and after they came back negative for any damage, was told that he would play the rest of the Yankee series or face suspension. Only then did he decide he was fit to play.
Manny shot off his mouth to ESPN about his desire for a trade.
Manny then complained that the Red Sox didn't "deserve a player like me." He likened himself to Nomar Garciaparra and Pedro Martinez, other past stars, Manny alleged, who had been mistreated by the Sox when they were on the way out of town. Reality check: Nomar had an unpleasant departure in 2004 because he also developed an inability to play when it didn't suit him. Pedro's departure was amicable; no one in Red Sox nation had anything bad to say about Petey.
What has Manny in such a snit is the fabulous work of the agent who replace Jeff Moorad: Scott Boras. Boras has one basic problem with Manny's situation: Boras ain't getting paid. The agent's fee for the current contract still goes to Moorad's former agency. If the Sox picked up one or both years of options they hold on Manny, Boras still doesn't get paid. So Scotty just doesn't care how much money was available to Manny from the Red Sox.
Boras has engineered a situation that is certainly going to cost Manny Ramirez millions of dollars. No sober GM or owner, not even Hank Steinbrenner, is going to give more than $20 million dollars per year to a temperamental, seemingly unreliable and maybe even unstable, declining 36 year old former superstar. If he gets more than $10 to $12 million he will be very fortunate. But then again, Boras will get paid. And that's what all of this is about.
Boras has, again, badly served a client. He cost Alex Rodriguez a small fortune last winter with the stunt he (Boras) pulled, opting out of the previous contract ARod had signed. Alex only came out of it as well as he did because he took a break from visiting Madonna's apartment, went hat in hand to Hal Steinbrenner, and apologized for following Boras' advice. Oh, yeah, he fired Boras in the process, too. Prince Hal then took Rodriguez back, at a lower salary and fewer benefits than the opted-out-of contract had contained.
It is a shame that Manny is so immature and/or foolish that he can't seen what is about to happen to him. And he's done it all to himself. At Boras' encouragement.
Sadly, it's time for Manny to go.

Elite is Bad?

To say that our little political process sometimes boggles the mind is an obvious exercise in understatement. Barack Obama is being labeled an elitist. Sneeringly, critically, insultingly declared an elitist!
Stupid me, I thought elite was good.
My home town sure thinks so. Compare the attendance figures between the woebegone Grizzlies and the National Runnerup Tigers. Michael Heisley's highly paid professionals can only dream of the passion and support routinely heaped upon John Calipari's college boys. Think about the problems that the Redbirds have had drawing flies for the last few, losing, years. And why more of us are finding our way to the beautiful park at Third and Union this year. Amazing what a pennant race does for putting butts in seats.
Consider my little area of expertise. The strongest years that churches tend to have are those when a building is being constructed and right after...in short, the growing, successful years. What moves people to move? Not enough kids here for my children to have a program. Not enough people in the choir for me to sing with. More competent (ie more highly paid) preacher at the new church.
We like success. We like to associate with the best.
Not sure? Who do you want doing your bypass surgery? Dr. Top-of-the-Profession, or one repeatedly sued for malpractice? Yeah, me too!
But then comes politics.
There is no surer demonstration of the political genius/innate evil of Karl Rove than the fact that he managed to make just enough people in this country believe that it would be better to have everybody's dopey, lovable cousin as President than two of the most able, highly intelligent, accomplished people ever to run for the office: Al Gore and John Kerry. Just enough, that is, that any attempt to have the true results of the 2000 and 2004 elections was doomed to look like whining or sour grapes.
We are in that same position again.
John McCain has lived an honorable life. He has demonstrated his personal bravery in ways that few Americans (me obviously included) can even begin to understand. But for John McCain to turn to the politics of Karl Rove to find his path into the White House would be laughable if it were not so disgusting.
McCain's campaign is labeling Obama an elitist?
Obama grew up a biracial child in America. McCain grew up the son and grandson of admirals in the US Navy.
Obama was raised by a single mother. McCain's significance was understood even by the North Vietnamese captors who held him all those years.
Obama skipped a ridiculously high paying job in a corporate law firm to go work in the slums of Chicago's South Side as a young man. McCain married the beer heiress.
And Obama is elitist?
Let's not dicker over definitions.
In this election, Barack Obama is clearly the elite candidate. That means he is clearly the better candidate.
I respect McCain. But he is a Republican. He is of the party that has wrecked our economy fighting an unjust war in Iraq. He is of the party that has allowed the oil interests to rip off the whole nation. He is of the party that has extended tax breaks to those who just don't need them, while shifting the National Debt onto the shoulders of those already carrying more than their share.
And he wants to further Bush's policies.
And, while I dearly love my parents, McCain is older than either of them. And I don't want Mom or Dad running the country.
Obama is about the future. He has a vision about where we need to go as a country. At this point, I'm ready to try something new. What we've been up to ain't been that great.
And I want an elite President. For a change.

Vacation Matters

Meant one way, we had a great time. We didn't leave town but for one shopping excursion at the Mall formerly known as Opryland. As we are at the door of enjoying her son, my daughter and my future son-in-law in education beyond high school and a new grandchild just a few months away, we couldn't afford it. So we enjoyed our fair city. The Memphis Redbirds are better than they've been in years, even with that pesky team up the river taking our best players off and on all summer. The city music scene--no, not that Beale Street crap; the REAL Memphis music--is thriving and readily available. My supervisor's scrapbooking and my MLB Extra Innings package provided us with glad diversions from what we normally do, where we normally go, and what we normally think about. And that's the point.
The other meaning of vacation matters is that a vacation really does matter. I never took more than a one week break until about six years ago. That was the time when a valued friend (you know who you are) shoved an article into my crowded hands that explained in blunt medical and psychological terms just why it is that we can't do the same thing all the time. I needed that. Now, I take three weeks. That period allows disengaging, rest and renewal. It takes time to change gears, reorient and just plain think on different things.
I am in a profession that attracts insecure people and cultivates insecurities in the strongest people. We are afraid that our parishoners will find out they can get by without us, or that they will like a fill-in's preaching better than ours. I have actually been told by colleagues that they invite the worst pulpit people they can find, so that they'll look good when they get home. Wow! Does it even require saying that we can't be at our best with all that garbage running around in our heads and hearts? And we can't be at our best when we are torched and running on fumes, either.
It was time for me. I was to the point of dreading planning that next service, that next sermon. I was in need of re-creation, refreshment, reenergizing. And this break has provided all of that. I'm looking forward to getting back in the morning. I'm ready to celebrate Holy Communion next Sunday. I'm eager to sit with the children, and preach to those who don't go to children's church. But none of that would have been the case without the vacation time well spent.
I would encourage my sisters and brothers in the clergy to take your break. We are protected at this point: the Conference guidelines call for legitimate vacation time. Take advantage of them. If need be, have your Superintendent explain it to your Pastor-Parish Committee. It is simple. They will get a better you all year by being without you for a few weeks. I testify out of my own experience. Amen!

Vacation Matters

Meant one way, we had a great time. We didn't leave town but for one shopping excursion

Sunday Night at Huey's

If you know Memphis, and I have no idea how you found my little dog and pony show here if you don't, you know about Huey's. For 873 consecutive years now, Huey's has been voted Best Burger in the Flyer's Best of Memphis annual polling. (Sadly, we lost the founder and owner of Huey's, Thomas Boggs, this year. Tom was one of our best corporate citizens, the kind every businessperson should be.)
On various Sunday nights, mostly at Huey's Downtown (Third at Union), but occasionally at Huey's Midtown (Madison at Tucker), DiAnne Price and Her Boyfriends hold court. Yes, I've written about DiAnne and her band before. You need to hear it again. Trust me.
(Disclaimer: DiAnne has been my friend for 17 years. We worked together for seven of those years. That friendship influences my opinion of her performing not one iota. This is Music, people! Friendship with Your Humble Blogger gets you nothing!)
DiAnne Price (vocals and piano), Tim Goodwin (electric and upright bass), Tom Lonardo (drums and percussion) and Jim Spake (soprano and tenor saxophone) are, plain and simple, the most accomplished musicians in Memphis. Don't trust me? How about some credentials: Goodwin and Lonardo are both professors in the University of Memphis music department; Spake's discography is utterly mindboggling-check it out at jimspake.com; and DiAnne won Memphis Magazine's Best Female Vocalist award in their music poll for so many consecutive years that they retired the category! They are the best.
And they are the best at everything. Blues, Jazz, Standards, they've got it. Covers and originals. Live and on any of their five cds. The only problem with the recordings: no cd can capture what they deliver live.
One of the mysteries of Life in River City: why are people like these playing in a hamburger restaurant? For the same reason, I guess, that Rufus Thomas was sort of a joke here in town, but has a civic park named in his honor in a city in Italy. For the same reason that B.B. King always plays at his local club to a number of empty seats.
I don't know what that reason is, by the way. I've heard several reflections on the matter. Memphians have so great a musical heritage that we've become jaded. Too many terrific active musicians. Downtown's dangerous. Too far to drive. And downhill from there.
I tend to think that it's a problem with priorities. Music's intrinsic value to life cannot be overstated. Meanwhile, we've done everything possible to devalue music: removed it from school curricula, stopped learning to play instruments since everyone can operate a cd player, even making a mess of recording now with all levels being pinned to the maximum possible volume.
Most people at this point have never heard the gentle fade into night of Mahler's Ninth Symphony, most of the fun that the Beatles and George Martin had with the endings of any numbers of their songs, the plaintive sigh of Robert Johnson in Hellhound on My Trail, the glorious work of John Pizzarelli's hands on a guitar. But I digress.
Unless you are such a vegan that you cannot be in a place where meat is being served (and my niece is one, and still loved the show!), then you really should make time to check the Huey's website (hueyburger.com, follow the Live Music link), find when DiAnne is scheduled, and show up. I unreservedly guarantee that you will be glad you did!