Oh Microsoft, How Could You?

There is tragic and disturbing news today. Reports are coming in from frustrated and distraught people that the new XBOX 360 is plagued with glitches. I warn you to read no further if you are easily disturbed by unsettling news. Yet, if you are brave enough to understand the gravity and magnitude of this crisis then I invite you to read on and consider what we can all do to eliminate this potential devastating crisis.

My heart is full of sympathy as I think of all the shoppers and gamers who waited in lines for days to purchase Microsoft's XBOX 360 only to discover that the problems that would prove to ruin their day. I am concerned that these enterprising shoppers may have trampled each other in vain during their mad dash to acquire the long anticipated consoles.

Sad news comes from the discussion forums of a frustrated gamer who put the shooter game Perfect Dark Zero into the new XBOX only to have the flawed machine try to read it as a DVD movie. How could it come to this?

Brian Crecente said his XBOX 360 locked up three times, causing him to lose a couple of hours' worth of progress in a Western-themed action game called Gun. Oh, the humanity!

And what does the Seattle-based corporate stronghold responsible for this crisis have to say to the poor gamers who are losing valuable hours of game progress in their virtual worlds?Microsoft says that it has received only "a few, isolated reports" of machines with problems. That's just the sort of big-business static I would expect to hear from a faceless evil that doesn't understand the fear and outrage that all of us feel.

Isolated reports, huh? Well, I would like for Microsoft to come and personally apologize to poor, unfortunate on-line gamer Kulanose who says that he spent "six and a half hours outside uncontrollably [shivering] for something that doesn't work right . . . they just lost me and a bunch of people I know." Doesn't it just break your heart? Who is going to speak up for the other Kulanose's who fear Bill Gates and his geek army? This will impact these poor souls for the rest of their lives!

I say it is time for the government to act. I know that some will say that the government has more important matters to attend to, but I ask you can we really afford to lose any more hours of progress on Gun and Perfect Dark Zero? Very soon China will surpass us in the all-time high score on Halo 2! We need government intervention to protect those whose trust in Microsoft has just been shattered. I fear that some (*choke*) will never enjoy video entertainment again.

I also think we should seek a class action lawsuit. We should include everyone in that class and not limit it to those who actually bought the XBOX 360. After all, haven't we all experienced just a little pain and suffering as we think of poor gamers shivering uncontrollably because their Quake 4 adventure froze up just as they were about to kill the space aliens?

(*choke*sob*) I'm sorry I just can't write anymore. It is too disturbing. When will somebody do something? Please Oprah, help us!

Hosea

On the surface, being a prophet seems like a privilege. It seems a special gift to hear God’s voice. But consider poor Hosea. The Lord's first words to Hosea were brutal: “Go marry a prostitute, and some of her children will be born to you from other men.” Why isn't the Lord a little more sociable? There's no “welcome to the life of a prophet" speech. There's no small talk to break the ice, not even a simple "hello."

Why would the Lord ask such a thing? Didn’t he read the Bible? People aren’t supposed to marry fornicators and adulterers. Why would the Lord ask someone to do this? God's explanation is that Hosea is supposed to do this so that his life will become a living illustration of God’s relationship with his people. You see, God’s wife has not been very faithful to him.

So Hosea marries Gomer. Here comes the bride wearing a halter top and high heels with seven colors of eye shadow. She is not having trouble with her fake eyelashes, she is making eyes at the groomsmen. The couple have children and Hosea has to wonder if they are his. Two of his children are named "Not Loved" and "Not Mine." Two innocent children stuck with names that are drenched in sin.

If the story is breaking your heart, then you get the point. God’s heart was breaking because his people were unfaithful to him although he was faithful many times over. Without faithfulness we live in a world of heartache and mistrust. Yet with faithfulness the harshest heartache and the deepest mistrust may be healed with forgiveness and hope.

Cheap Kindness

Bonhoeffer is famous for arguing against cheap grace. He says that cheap grace is the sort of grace that is sold in marketplace with the cheapjacks wares. It is grace that demands nothing at all of those who receive it or give it.

As a part of the Life on the Vine sermon series I have been studying kindness and I think it is time that we argue against cheap kindness and call one another to the sturdier, richer kindness that Scripture describes. What follows is a edition of a post I placed on another blog:

It seems to me that we often accept simple politeness for kindness. In our culture we describe a kind person as someone nice. Being kind is about being nice to someone else. Kindness rooted in the nature of God shows that there is more to kindness than being nice. Taking off on the "Life on the Vine" agricultural metaphor, kindness must be some sort of ground cover vine or grass. It is the raw material that makes up the social fiber. Kindness is at the root of hospitality. I think most of us understand how the concept of hospitality has become reduced in our culture. In ancient times hospitality was more than just being nice. It was required by the gods. Those who did not show proper hospitality were as bad as horse thieves. To deny hospitality was to violate basic covenants of human co-existence. When you think about it, especially in the ancient context, it makes sense.

Self-sufficiency is the alternative to kindness. Take self-sufficiency to its extreme and you have a sort of Mad Max Thunderdome world. I saw glimpses of this world on the streets of London where beggars stole from beggars. Thunderdome is fiction, but the Superdome isn't. One of our newest members at West-Ark was in the Superdome during Katrina. I asked him if it was mob rule and he corrected me. A life-long resident of New Orleans, he told me that gangs are absent in New Orleans, it is instead a city of "every man for himself." There was no kindness among those who attempted to be extremely self-sufficient.

Thinking of kindness and New Orleans, I cannot avoid thinking of Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire. So often her famous line ("I have always depended on the kindness of strangers") is ripped from its context and used to compliment nice people. The truth is that Blanche is adrift in the world looking for another to show her genuine kindness. Like so many she enters into relationships that are more contractual than covenantal. She gives herself to strange men so that she can get what she needs to survive. The kindness of strangers that Blanche experiences is cheap kindness.

Against the cheap kindness that litters our culture is the kindness of God. David demonstrated this sort of kindness when he showed his devotion to Johnathan's son, Mephibosheth. (2 Sam. 9). When kindness is mentioned in Scripture it is more often equated with love, mercy, goodness rather than simple politeness. I choose to believe that this sort of loving kindness could come to fruition among us.

Quatloos!

Chad's reply to the last post reminds me of one of the better attempts to do something about those incessant scam letters.

I recommend the Brad Christensen Exhibit at the Quatloos! website. Perhaps more of us should respond with wit and humor to these desperate con artists the way Brad does. Then again, the scammers have nothing but time on their hands and the rest of us are living our lives.

For the sake of trivia, anyone remember where the term Quatloos! comes from? No peeking at the website!

Junk Mail Blocking the Door

Returning to the Written Without Ink office is a bit scary. The room smells sort of musty and there are cobwebs in the corner. I need to open a window and let some fresh air in.

The door was a bit sticky when I tried to open it. I thought it was just the weather warping the wood but it seems that there's a pile of junk mail comments blocking the way. Looks like a few folks dropped some comments through the slot after I evacuated the WWOI office due to Hurricane Katrina. Let's see now, what do we have here . . .?

Jessica finds my blog informative. Well, of course it is. Where else can you find an article about Jesus' Kung-Fu style. But I must say that this pales compared to Jessica's very interesting website about buying a Citizen Watch with interest free credit. I know you are dying to go check it out. Go ahead, but come back here because we have more mail to go through.

Welcome back. Hey, what do you know . . . Will McDonald says that my blog shows up on a Google of the words "blog debonair." I want to be modest but I must admit that I do strive to have the most debonair blog on the net.

Senson invites me to create my own blog. Real swift there Senson, I have my own blog - and you're posting a comment on it! Wake up!

Will McDonald writes again and says my blog is awesome. Sure it is, especially since it hasn't been updated in two months.

Oh look, here's a message from Me!!!!!! Me!!!!! says, "Search this thing - it is hilarious how people cant even spell right when they are selling something on eBayMisspelledauctions.com" Yeah - haha - some people are so stupid! Just like the idiots who leave the apostrophe out of can't. By the way, your link doesn't work.

And speaking of Hurrican Katrina, TheDevilIsInTheDetails says, "Be prepared for the next huricaine katrina picture or find another one that's similar. As the Boy Scouts say: "Be Prepared"!

Whoa! I had better get hurricane picture insurance right away. I would hate to be caught off guard by a picture of a hurricane. The only thing worse is finding one that is similar! (That's funny, I didn't know the devil was a Boy Scout.)

Well then, why don't you folks watch the office here at Written Without Ink while I go call the GEICO agent to get that picture insurance. I will be back soon and I would love to hear from you; especially if you are posting a bona fide comment and not just flattery laden ads for other websites. (Yeah, that's right! I can see through you hucksters!)

Hurricane Katrina Hits Fort Smith

I am very tired, but I do not think I can go to sleep without some writing. I have spent most of Labor Day weekend doing what I can to support the relocation of evacuees to and from Fort Chaffee. I have been writing some every day. It is my means of decompression. I will be posting my log entries once I sort through them.

The stories from Hurricane Katrina continue even though the latest news seems to be that all the people have been moved from Chaffee and no one else will be brought in. I will tell my stories here and the stories of those I have met over the last few days. I am very proud of my brothers and sisters who accompanied me on the trips to Chaffee. Their Christ-like spirit was obvious.

A friend asked me recently if the winds of Hurricane Katrina reached as far as Arkansas. I must tell him that the winds may not have, but the aftermath did.

E-Salesman With A Foot in My Door

So, I log in to see who left a comment to my last post "St. Elvis." What a surprise! It is my old friend lewissmith6536. Ah the great time I had with old lewissmith6536. (I call him 6536 for short.)

I remember the time that 6536 and I would call up the local store to ask them if they had Prince Albert in a can. 6536 could barely get through the punchline - "You had better let him out before he suffocates!" - without snickering.

Having lunch with 6536 was always a blast. I always knew how to time my jokes just right so that he would laugh while he was drinking his milk. . .

"Hey 65, why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"

He glances my way as he is drinking his milk. Wait for it! Now just as the milk is past the uvula and just in front of the epiglottis . . . .

"Because it was dead!" Oh, the wonderful Vitamin D-enriched blast of milkiness! And out the nose - how it burns!

Yes, we always thought 6536 would go far. The 6536 name was well respected in our community. His father owned the local auto dealership. He would have this huge sale once a year and mark all cars down to $6,536.00 for one weekend. He was well-known for his cheesy antics on those dreadful commercials. Mr. 6536 would be riding a bull or a camel or some other bizarre animal. Beside him was a blonde sweetheart holding a placard with "6536" on it. (It was rumored that she and Mr. 6536 were having an affair, but it was never proven.) At the end of the commercial, Mr. 6536 would shout out, "Come on down to 6536 Auto Sales. And tell them Bob 6536 sent you! That's a name you can take to the bank - or take out of it!"

I really think that my old chum 6536 felt a bit intimidated by his father's local celebrity and salesmanship. He tried his hand at car sales but failed miserably. I heard that he and his father had a sort of falling out. (Some say it was because 6536 and the blonde sweetheart started going out. But that's never been proven.)

I had not heard from lewissmith6536 in years and now along comes his heart-warming comment to my St. Elvis post. I see that he is back in sales. Sadly, I see he hasn't learned anything either. He is reduced to posting unreasonably long ads on my humble little blog.

What are you thinking 65? Do you think any of my readers are really interested in fifteen cent stocks or the future of biometric identity chips. Zzzzzzzzzz! Sorry old friend, that is the sound of all of us falling asleep to your miserable diatribe. And did you really think any of us are interested in that Section 17(b) nonsense? No, don't tell me that you are required to put that mumbo-jumbo in the post because of the STC. You were always a geek for such rules. Did you ever wonder why you could not sell cars like your father? Here is the painful truth old pal: he understood that the public was more interested in corny tag lines, camels, and blonde beauties. Customers were always looking for the door when you started waxing eloquent about the compression ratios and foot-pounds of torque of each model. Do you see why you were the one we dared to eat crayons in third grade?

Thank you lewissmith6536 for what is a rather bittersweet comment. On the one hand it is so good to hear from you and recall the old days; but on the other hand I am sorrowful that you have been reduced to a lonely e-salesman desperate enough to stick your foot in the door.

St. Elvis

Yesterday was the anniversary of Elvis' death. I was almost ten when he died and I remember it. I remember it because my mother was a fan. When Elvis died in 1977 my mother was barely past thirty. Elvis was only 42. These numbers seem quite small to me now as I am stuck somewhere between them.

My mother was a fan, but I don't recall her weeping or sobbing refusing to be consoled over the news that the King was dead. I don't think she ever had the urge to go to Graceland or light a candle in his memory. I just remember her going about her daily duties that summer day - probably snapping beans, washing dishes, or working out in the garden with my grandmother. I do recall the TV being on and the commentary on Elvis' death. Mom had her own commentary. She thought it a shame that a talented man got hooked on drugs. She remarked that he had needed someone in his life to set him straight. And that was it.

In the pantheon of celebrity gods Elvis is one of the saints. Graceland is a shrine. I have no idea how a celebrity gets canonized into the sainthood. It would seem to have something to do with how many fans mourn and how much merchandise they buy after your death. If one really wants to learn how a celebrity joins the sainthood keep an eye on the rise of Dale Earnhardt. I noticed a T-shirt yesterday that depicted a scene of St. Dale watching over NASCAR from heaven surrounded by his mystical number "3."

My mother was a fan, but she wasn't fanatical. She simply lamented the loss. People like her are lousy customers for the sainthood market.

True Believer

I am not convinced that there are no super-heroes. I have seen them. Just the other day I was mowing the lawn when suddenly from out of nowhere I saw a dash of color blaze across my front yard.

"Look, out on the yard! It's a squirrel! It's a cat! No, it's . . . ." Lightning Man? The Black Bolt? I really didn't recognize which super-hero it was. I have quite a few in my neighborhood. He was wearing a black cape with a purple tunic. A golden lightning bolt was emblazon on his chest. Unlike many super-heroes, he wasn't very tall, in fact he may have been just a kid, but there have been many young super-heroes in the history of heroics.

When I glanced up to see where our young hero had gone I couldn't find him. Just then he peered from behind the tree and placed a finger on his mouth urging me to be quiet. No doubt he was stalking alien wizards from another galaxy. Or perhaps he was protecting us all from the nefarious schemes of General Mayhem. Then again he may have been dodging some nosy girl-reporter trying to discover his secret identity.

In reply to his "carry on good citizen" glance, I gave him my nod of assurance that I would carry on with my mowing and that I felt much better knowing that our fair city was under his protection. Then off he dashed in a blur of motion.

Tonight when my youngest son is concerned about werewolves attacking the house or the invasion of toads from Mars, I will reassure him with the knowledge that our neighborhood is under the protection of a small but brave super-hero. I will tell him that I saw this super-hero while I was mowing the grass. And then I will ask him if he has ever seen this hero.

A Series of Fortunate Events

I had the surprise of seeing old friends last night. We met in the middle of I-540 about 300 feet above the ground. No, this wasn't an out of body experience nor was I under the influence of illegal substances. The story goes something like this . . .

Karen and I were on our way to Brentwood to collect our children at my parents' home. Typically we take Interstate 540 to get there and this evening was no exception. I-540 was built within the last ten years and takes advantage of the best technologies in highway construction. Rather than follow the curves and contours of the rolling mountains like Highway 71, which is I-540's scenic counterpart and once the only major route to Northwest Arkansas, I-540 shoots straight across deep valleys and bores through the sides of mountains. Highway 71 attempts to become one with nature, but I-540 lives by the adage that the shortest and fastest distance between two points is a straight line.

We were barreling along on I-540 and were crossing the high bridge over the railroad track just before the Bobby Hopper tunnel. Five or six cars ahead of me I could see something massive obstructing both lanes of traffic. We came to a quick stop. Soon traffic was backing up behind us and we were frozen with other trucks and cars in the middle of the bridge. There are no exits that high up and the shoulder is quite narrow. There was no getting around this accident.

After a few minutes the curious nature of the obstruction aroused my curiosity. What was the massive construct stretched across the highway? Did I see a boat in all that mess? I noticed that no emergency vehicles had arrived so in addition to curiosity I was motivated by a concern to give whatever aid I could. I suppressed my concern over what tragedy might lie ahead. I started on my "spacewalk" outside the safety of the mothership and emerged between the two Wal-Mart trucks blocking my view. Ahead of me was a camping trailer on its side effectively blocking both lanes. On one end was a blue truck still attached to the towing equipment. On the other end was a boat trailer attached to the camping trailer but hung up on the concrete barrier that kept it from plummeting down on the Mountainburg field below. Lying alongside the trailer was a keen looking fishing boat that had somehow jumped off its trailer in a vain attempt to escape the accident.

After my initial survey from a distance I met another adventurer returning from the barricade. "Is everyone alright?" I asked.

"Yes, they're all perfectly okay," he replied with a slight hint of amazement in his voice.

Satisfied that there was no human tragedy, I returned to my van. The minutes ticked by and my boredom mounted. The parade of emergency vehicles followed by a news truck stirred my blood but I resisted the urge to be a rubbernecker. Then my intellectual curiosity and scientific inquiry overcame me - "How exactly will they move that colossus?" I thought. I took a breath and launched back out into space.

Closer now I ventured. Closer still. I was upon the small crowd of civilians huddled near the concrete barrier of the bridge. In the rainbow colored lights of the emergency vehicles I watched the skilled engineering maneuver being used to disconnect the truck from the towing bar on the trailer. They were smacking it with an axe.

Just then I noticed a woman speaking on her cell phone. Beside her was a man holding the hand of a small child; he was speaking to a state trooper. I overheard the city police officer tell the trooper that this couple were the owners of the truck/trailer/boat assemblage. The woman finished her phone conversation. We looked at each other with recognition.

"I know you!" she said.

"And I know you!" I replied as I introduced myself.

I knew who they were even as she told me that she was Holly and he was Alex, a couple I knew when I lived in Russellville. This was no time to catch up on old times but to assess the present situation. Did they need anything? Were they okay? No to the first and yes to the second. Good answers! As we looked at the black and gray markings on the stark white concrete barrier, Holly gave thanks to God that their truck did not go over the edge. She told me how she was praying through it all. I could tell that she had been through a terrifying few seconds when the various components of their freight train decided to go their own ways. It was obvious that she was thankful and felt fortunate to be alive with her family. She and Alex were smiling with relief. Finally, she asked me to apologize to everyone stranded behind them.

I returned to the van just as the tow truck was headed down the shoulder of the highway. Alex and Holly shuffled off to speak to the state trooper. I realized that they had quite a story to tell. Quite a testimony to give. I hope they do not mind if I tell my part of it.
"

The Morning Show

My first task of the day was to visit the set of the KFSM Morning Show. Saturday is Community Outreach Day and we are publicizing the event.

I enjoy visiting television studios because they deconstruct the reality of television. That is necessary treatment for one such as myself born under the sign of the test pattern. As the Talking Heads sing, "I was born in a house with the television always on." Indeed, in a time when reality television is considered more than reality it is good to go behind the scenes and remember that TV is magnificently unreal.

I notice all of the subtle imperfections that are not visible on the broadcast - the green screen, the rigging in the rafters, the window facade, the placement of the newsdesk and the weather center ("Hey they aren't even looking at each other when they engage in witty banter!") I delight in the backstage view.

I enjoyed my visit to KFSM. They really did a wonderful job helping us to get the word out about Community Outreach Day. I think that Bobbie Miller, Brad Flickinger, their producers and crew are top-notch. I have a certain nostalgic nook in my heart for KFSM. I remember watching the news, weather, and the Santa Show on this old station. I always wanted to be on the Santa Show. That never worked out, but at least I made it on the Morning Show and I got a coffee mug to boot.

The Good Old Days of Criminal Adventure Part 2

Now that I have let the irony and sarcasm of my previous post sit on the site for a while, I thought I would follow up with a less satirical voice. I did intend to make a point with my previous post, so here is the meaning of the parable. . .

First, I want to be clear that I am not slamming Sen. Clinton or any of the other senators that are calling for an investigation. I think it is important for people in positions of leadership to raise questions that are in the interest of our children.

Second, I can accept Rockstar Games' claim that the sexual content in the game is the result of unauthorized modifications and isn't part of their original game design.

Which brings me to my main point, the original content of the game is enough to warrant some sort of protest from the public, especially as these games are often popular among children. (I know they are not the intended audience, but that's who usually winds up buying them and playing them.) According to the official site for Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, the premise of the game is as follows:

Five years ago Carl Johnson escaped from the pressures of life in Los Santos, San Andreas... a city tearing itself apart with gang trouble, drugs and corruption. Where filmstars and millionaires do their best to avoid the dealers and gangbangers.
Now, it's the early 90s. Carl's got to go home. His mother has been murdered, his family has fallen apart and his childhood friends are all heading towards disaster.
On his return to the neighborhood, a couple of corrupt cops frame him for homicide. CJ is forced on a journey that takes him across the entire state of San Andreas, to save his family and to take control of the streets.

For those of you hoping that the game will satisfy your nostalgic urge to revist the early 90's beware. The game is rated M for mature. (Breaking News: Not anymore!) Trying to download a clip from the game at the official website prompts a warning that asks for the age of the viewer. At least the producers of the game recognize that children shouldn't be watching the trailer for the game. (Why they don't assume a 13-year-old would lie about his age escapes me). After watching the trailer I see why they issue a warning. The soundtrack contains profanity, the sreenshots show drug deals in action, shoot-outs, and gangsters executing a drive-by shooting from a motorbike. And that's just the original content.

I wish the Senators well in their efforts to raise public awareness. I hope that Rockstar Games will do even more to convince the public that their game is really for adults and not just limited to being purchased by adults. All of this highlights the fact that responsibility ultimately devolves to people like me - that is, parents and guardians. Pay attention to your children. Help them make choices. Get involved and do not rely solely on the ESRB rating system. Step up and be the parent. And let's all help each other along the way.

[Addendum: I wrote this as part of the previous post but decided to hold off on publishing it. For an explanation as to why, go back and read the third comment on the previous post. It is my reply to Anonymous.]

[Addendum 2: As I write this, it would seem that some good has come from the public debate. Grand Theft Auto will now be rated Adults Only. Also, the company that manufactures the game admits that they are actually responsible for the pornographic content. And to think I was willing to accept that it was the work of drive-by "modders." Why did you lie to me Rockstar Games? Why?!]

The Good Old Days of Criminal Adventure

This news just out from Reuters: "U.S. Sen. Hillary Clinton pressed on July 13, 2005 for a government investigation into how simulated sex cropped up in a modified version of the blockbuster criminal adventure video game 'Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.'"

What is the world coming to when our children cannot play their criminal adventure video games without pornographic content? I remember when boosting a sweet ride and capping pigs with a Mac 10 was more wholesome. Now someone has gone and made something nasty of what used to be nothing but old fashioned fun with one's homies. You kids should really keep your digitized clothes on when you are clocking 120 m.p.h. on the simulated streets of San Andreas in a stolen Mercedes. What's the world coming to these days!

Haste Ye Back

Eighteen years ago I made a momentous trip to Scotland. The before, during, and after phases of this trip have shaped my identity and my faith. The details of these phases would take more room than I have in this single post. These are, as I have said before, stories for another time.

In Scotland they have an expression similar to the Arko-Texan phrase "Ya'll come back now." They say "Haste ye back!" I did haste back in 1991 with my new bride, Karen. Now Scotland, and especially the families of the East Kilbride Church of Christ, have a special place in our hearts.

Yesterday, one of my friends and brothers from East Kilbride, Kerr Thomson, arrived at our house. He is visiting America with his new bride, Susan. The visit with Kerr and Susan rekindled memories of significant moments in my life. We shared stories of the past and news of the moment. I am saddened to hear that the last few months have not been pleasant for the church in East Kilbride. I ask you to pray for these people. They are my family on so many levels. It is always a tragedy when the body of Christ is torn and wounded by conflict. I hurt for them because they are the church and the pain is doubled because I know most of them very well.

If the Lord wills, I want to haste back to Scotland. I would love to be there on June 24, 2014 for the 700th anniversary of Bannockburn. The Battle of Bannockburn is the only conflict in Scotland I care to commemorate. My fondest hope is that when I do haste back I will find the bride of Christ in East Kilbride happy, healthy, and new.

Look At Me

The movie theatres need to consider a better method for determining what previews are shown with which films. I took my six-year-old son to see the Fantastic Four today and just before the film begins we are blasted with a trailer for The Transporter 2. Sure, I know that Fantastic Four is rated PG-13, but there's something different about the comic-book style fighting of an orange rocky giant throwing an automobile at an electricity-wielding metal-hided villian compared to the violence depicted on the trailer for Transporter 2. Call me inconsistent, but when I made the decision to allow my son to watch the Fantastic Four I did not bargain that he would have to sit through a scene of a woman dressed like a Victoria's Secret model firing semi-automatic machine guns in an emergency room. When I checked the family reviews for Fantastic Four there were no warnings about watching the Transporter himself use super-quick martial arts moves to break the necks of assorted hoodlums.

So, I am faced with a crisis and I have little time to act. I covered my son's eyes during the intense moments in Revenge of the Sith but my simple method of censorship didn't seem to work, so this time I followed my instinct and said to my son, "Look at me! Keep your eyes on me." He did. He kept his eyes on me the whole time and I kept my eyes on him until the trailer was over.

The symbolism of my parental instruction has stuck with me all afternoon. "Keep your eyes on me, son." Instead of just distracting him from what he shouldn't see, I suppose I need to give him something worthwhile to watch. Not on TV or the movie screen, but in my life of course. Isn't that what being a father is all about?

Putting the Hurt on Evil

During my research for the sermon on Mark 3, I discovered this image from the Getty Museum. It comes from the page of a 13th century manuscript. The scene is obviously inspired by Revelation as it depicts unclean spirits issuing from the mouths of the dragon, the beast, and the false prophet.

What is Christ doing in the illustration? It has been a few years since I studied art history. I had almost enough hours in art history to minor in the subject. I know that certain poses and gestures are artistic conventions that are visual shorthand for theological concepts. For example, when Jesus is shown in some paintings holding up two fingers he isn't giving the sign for peace; rather he is flashing the sign that says that he is one with the Father.

Well and good, but what is this odd gesture above? If any of you out there know perhaps you might illumine me. In the meanwhile I will share my theory with you: I think Jesus is taking up his "wax on" kung fu stance and he is about to put some ginormous theological hurt on evil. Hey I like that! You will have to have some serious art history credentials to convince me I am wrong.

Tablets of Stone, Tablets of the Heart

"I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh." - Ezekiel 11:19

On Monday the Supreme Court made its wonderfully circumstantial and ambiguous ruling on the display of the Ten Commandments. What I am able to decipher from the arcane documents with their unusually wide margins is that the court ruled the display of the Ten Commandments is not an endorsement of religion if the display is historical. Yet, if the display is a statement of faith then state religion is being endorsed. It will be interesting to see how this is interpreted in the future as opponents argue "historical" versus "not historical." Much will likely depend on how large a chunk of granite the Ten Commandments have been carved into.

I am less interested in the display of the Ten Commandments and more interested in its application. Regardless of whether they made proper notation and citation, the Supreme Court applied the Ten Commandments during this session. In the case of MGM vs. Grokster, (I know, it sounds like a Godzilla movie) the court said that the providers of software that would infringe copyrights of copyrighted material were still responsible for the infringement. In other words, "thou shalt not steal." How many other supreme court decisions can be reduced to one of the Ten Commandments? How many decisions assume the simple truth and logic of the Ten Commandments? Whether it is considered historical or religious, the spirit of the Commandments is in use.

On the same day in another court, Dennis Rader confessed to ten counts of first degree murder. Rader is better known as the BTK Killer. Rader regards the victims of his crimes as projects. He bound, tortured, and killed them to fulfill his sexual urges. Rader broke nearly all the Ten Commandments, yet one cannot say that Rader was unfamiliar with the commandments. At one time in his life Rader was president of his church council. He was a boy scout leader. He was a code enforcement officer, so he knows something about rules that are written in stone. Certainly Rader must have been exposed to a display of the Ten Commandments at some point. It is regrettable for all of us, especially his victims and their families, that the commandments were never written on his heart.

"You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts." - 2 Cor. 3:3

Hearing the Message in the Song

Who says that children don't pay attention in worship? On the Sunday before last we were worshipping with Karen's parents at their home congregation. Our youngest son was a bit more fidgetty than usual. He is sort of traditional and prefers a church house with pews rather than new-fangled chairs. I felt bad for the worship leader and the preacher because all their hard work was lost on my six-year-old son. He is just too set in his ways. Yet I was amazed when he perked up during one song. The message reached him and he responded with all his heart. The song was the old spiritual "Get Right Church" and as we sang the line "Get right church and let's go home" my son turns to his mother and says "Yes, let's go home!"

The Battle of Bannockburn

It was 691 years ago from today that nearly 5,000 Scots from all walks of life and all social classes were camped out on a hill near a river in central Scotland. Advancing on their position was the English military numbering over 20,000. Included in their force were longbow archers and armored cavalry knights. Most of the Scots were fortunate to have a garden tool for a weapon. What should have been a massacre and simple victory for the English on the field of Bannockburn became the decisive moment in Scotland's battle for independence in the 14th century.

The Battle of Bannockburn and the triumph of the Scots over a force that outnumbered them four to one reminds me of the significance of unity. Scotland had allowed the English to subdue them because they were at odds with one another. They were a house divided and they could not stand. William Wallace and King Robert the Bruce united the Scots, which enabled them to win a battle that by all rights they should have lost.

Six years after the victory at Bannockburn, the Scots declared their independence in a letter to the Pope known as the Declaration of Arbroath. They affirmed their unity and the purpose of their fight in the most famous line from the declaration: It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours that we are fighting, but for freedom - for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.

Homeward Bound

For many years now I have clutched on to a belief that a place really feels like home only when you leave it for a time and return to it. I do not fully understand this sensation. My guess is that when "home" becomes your destination you feel "at home" when you arrive. After all the effort to vacate our house so that we could go on vacation, we finally reversed our energy by packing up, loading the van, driving for hours and passing slow-moving traffic just to get home.

I am sure there is some rich, theological significance to this effort to feel at home. Yet, I am tired and just happy to be home right now. I leave you with the following scripture and ask, as I often do, what do you think?

"For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come." - Hebrews 13:14.