The Whiskey Priest

Bitter Cold Days, Remembering a Lost Friend, and the Company of Old Friends

    The week began as ordinary as any other; last minute preparations for lessons that I was to teach in the coming days, but mostly savoring the last few minutes of weekend bliss. Monday came and went without much fanfare and the only drama in my otherwise quiet life was the coming cold snap. Forecasters were predicting that the weather would reach sub-freezing highs by Friday due to - what Holly smartly quoted to me was - an “arctic wind.”

 

    Tuesday’s bitter cold wind brought not only a typical January cold front, but news of another kind of bitter cold. I do not think I could ever have bundled up enough to protect myself from the biting sting of the words that rattled through the cell phone receiver. “Jeff, I’ve got sad news. It’s about Dr. Goodman. He died.” No eloquence, no polished phrases; just choked words, bitter cold and a biting sting that still cuts me to the bone.

 

    The following days were a whirlwind and a blur. Phone calls were made to old friends separated by miles and years. How did it get to be seven years since I last saw or talked to you? I’m sorry I’ve been a bad friend. Life has a way of doing that to us, you know? Plans were made, work schedules adjusted and carpools arranged. Tomorrow we would be back together. The miles and years between us would shrink, if for just a moment.

 

    Familiar roads quickly became unfamiliar, yet somehow in the midst of the unfamiliarity I found something that looked a lot like home. I found comfort in your red eyes and tear stained cheeks and there was warmth in your embrace to shield me from the cold. Every Baptist church seems to look the same, but there was a comfortable familiarity in that too.  

 

 

    I was terrified the first time I met Dr. Goodman. I was in my third semester PBA and had the audacity to take a senior level Hermeneutics class. Perhaps it was hubris, but I thought I could handle that class as easily as I had other cupcake religion classes – Principles of Biblical Faith – after all, I was going to be a Biblical Studies major. This stuff was in my blood. I made it through about as gracefully as Icarus’ fall. The flimsy constructions of my theology were about as sturdy as Icarus’ wings; if I was satisfied with mediocrity, then they would do. However, if I wanted more out of my faith it became rapidly apparent that I would need to find a new way to fly. Yet, in spite of what I thought was a crash-and-burn catastrophe, Dr. Goodman stopped to tell me and a fellow underclassmen that our work together was top shelf.

 

    He had a way of doing that, you know? Offering a word of encouragement when you thought you were about to explode in a ball of flames that made you feel as if this terrible mess of sorting out your faith was the most amazing thing that you could be doing at the moment and that you were doing a great job of it. He also had a way of setting those hastily construed arguments and weak hyperbolic or superlatives ablaze like waxed wings too, but I’m not so sure that was ever a bad thing. It’s frightening to be sure, and sometimes it hurt like hell. In the end, I’m glad that Dr. Goodman never accepted mediocrity from me, even if I was willing to settle for something less.

 

 

    In the days, the weeks and months from now, I know that I will slowly move back into my old familiar patterns. Roads that were once foreign have a way of leading back to those that are familiar. The biting cold winds will eventually subside, even though tonight it only feels like they are getting colder. The fog that I have been living in for the past few days will slowly lift and I will be able to see clearly through eyes that are no longer swollen from a flood of tears. Winter will give way to spring and rebirth. Time has a way of speeding back up after it has ground to a stop. Somehow, we will make it and we will be ok. It is frightening to be sure and sometimes it hurts like hell, but somehow we will make it. Amidst all of that, I will remember my teacher, my shepherd through so many dark nights, and my friend, Danny Goodman.

 

Grace & Peace,

-          Jeff Mann

In the Valley of Dry Bones, Part 2

Ok, it has been a long time in coming and I am finishing this for my friend Joe. He has posted part one of this blog on his site www.baptistspirituality.com, which I recommend highly to you.

In the lectionary for year A on the last Sunday of the Lenten season, this passage is paired with the story of Jesus at Lazarus’ tomb. The connection seems to be pretty straightforward; dry bones in the valley, dead bones in the tomb, and new life for all those bones. I need a little more than that (especially if I have to preach on the material, although my congregants would likely appreciate getting out early to beat the Methodist to lunch).

So, we come to the Gospel of John and specifically to the tomb of Lazarus. The good of this story is kind of wasted on us, as we know how the story ends. We know that Jesus will raise Lazarus, that his dried up, lifeless bones will walk again and that he will once again fill his lungs with the breath of life. We watch Mary and Martha and all the neighbors sobbing over their loss and we feel bad for them, we really do. However, we never really sympathize with them, for we know how the story will end. It’s hard to be sad when you know a happy ending is at the end of the next paragraph. Nonetheless, for the sake of listening and learning, let us listen to their sorrow and hear the story again.

The story of Lazarus begins with a report of his failing health. He has become so sick that Mary sends for Jesus asking for any help. After all this is the same fellow who healed a blind man with mud made from dirt and spit. Surely he can help Lazarus. The expectation of Mary and any compassionate person is that Jesus will move with a quickness to help his friend. That is not the case Jesus intentionally delays leaving.

Maybe you are a person of greater faith than I, but my first question is to ask, “Why?” This is the same man that crafts a parable about a Good Samaritan, after whom we have named countless hospitals, ministries and even laws. This intentional delay is hardly something that would be classifiable as Good Samaritan material. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I get somewhat angry with Jesus for not moving faster. I think I will stand with Mary and Martha on this one.

Yet, from the outset of this story we are told that it is not a story about family’s crisis. There is something larger at stake here. This is about a crisis of the world which is caught up in death and sin. Lazarus, like the valley of the dry bones, is to serve as an object lesson. That doesn’t seem to alleviate the frustration I have, but I know that there is poetry in this. So, I wait. I wait like Mary and Martha.

When Jesus arrives Martha angrily runs out to meet him and begins to ask him why he delayed in between her sobs and pounding him on the chest. This is scandalous conduct and is dangerous for a woman to act this way in first century Palestine. Whatever this story says about the nature of a life of faith, at this point we must conclude that faith in Jesus does not preclude us from nor is not a guarantee against pain and suffering. Good people will suffer and hurt. Good people will grieve terrible heartaches. It is a fact and no less a fact in spite of Jesus’ coming. But there is poetry in this story; I promise.

Four times Martha asks why he didn’t come. We all know what is being spoken beneath the surface. The implication is that if Jesus had come, none of this would have ever happened. How many times have you cried out in grief or called for Jesus to come to heal, save or rescue you from sorrow? How many times have your prayers failed to fly to heaven only to end up scattered about the floor like wads of Kleenex that missed the trash can? We know it too. We know what it is like to stand with Mary and Martha.

In the shortest verse in the whole of the Bible, we do see Jesus’ response to Martha’s grief. Jesus wept. I’ve heard countless sermons on why he wept and most say one of two things or both; 1) Jesus wept because now Mary and Martha would have to have two funerals, and 2) because he had to bring Lazarus back from Glory. I’m not buying that and I’m calling BS on those preachers. That is bad theology. Instead, I believe that Jesus weeps because there is something about the heartache of all those gathered that so moved him he couldn’t help but weep. Just like I get choked up and cry whenever I stand with a family at a funeral, even if it isn’t my family. Just like Schindler’s List or Life is Beautiful always make me cry regardless of how many times I’ve seen them.

There is a poetry here. God is redeeming this broken down, windswept, dry, dusty and desolate world. When we cry out from the low places, dark places, places that seem to be our graves God hears. When Jesus is slow in coming, he is coming nonetheless. When we think, like Martha, that it is too late and that all is lost, we find that is when the grace of God floods our lives. There is no place, no power in heaven or on earth that is beyond the grace of God.

So go dry bones. Go and find your sinew, your muscles and your organs, your skin, your hair, your eyes and your teeth. But when you are standing there and all does not seem right, when you are alive but not quite living, may the breath of God come from the four corners of the earth and fill you with a new breath, a new spirit and a new life. May you be filled with a new hope as you walk from out of the valley of the dry bones, from out of your own tomb and into the world. May you have life and may you have it abundantly.

In the Valley of Dry Bones, Part 1

    In 9^th grade English, we move through literature in a survey of various genres. I always look forward to the time of year when we teach short stories, as that is perhaps my favorite genre. One story I always look forward to reading is “The Cask of Amontillado” by Edgar Allen Poe. In the story, two characters, Fortunado and Montressor, travel deep into some catacombs in order to fetch a cask of the finest amontillado. Unbeknownst to him, Fortunado is walking right into a trap Montressor is springing in order to get revenge for some offense never fully explained to the reader. I recommend this story to you to find out what happens next.

 As I teach this story, I have a PowerPoint presentation with pictures of des Catacombes (the catacombs) in Paris in order to show students what they are truly like. These particular catacombs fascinate me and if I ever become a world traveler, this is definitely going to be one of my stops.

 Late in the 17^th century city growth in Paris, both in population and urban expansion, as well as the slow accumulation of generations of the dead had begun to overwhelm Parisian cemeteries. The largest cemetery in Paris, Les Innocents, was so saturated it began to affect those in surrounding neighborhoods. Residents began to suffer from diseases due to improper burials. For centuries, French officials condemned the cemetery to no avail. In 1786, officials decided to exhume the entire cemetery as well as other cemeteries in the city and to take the bones into the now abandoned tunnels of the rock quarries beneath the city. This was a process that would take two years to complete and moved an estimated six million bodies.

 Scattered throughout the catacombs are plaques that remind living visitors of their own mortality. Though I have not been there to see it, I have read that as one exits the catacombs a plaque by the door offers a word to the bones:

Listen, dry bones
Listen to the voice of the Lord
The powerful God of our ancestors
Who in one breath created them
Will re-tie your undone knots
You will have new flesh
On which new skin will form
Dry bones, you will live again

I hate underground places. Perhaps like Poe my chief fear is that of premature burial. I could never live in New York, Joe, for I am deathly afraid of those trains that move in subterranean tunnels. Nonetheless, I will one day visit those bones in Paris.

 We are bit of a long way in getting here, but I imagine that all of those bones – six million bodies worth – is something akin to what Ezekiel saw as he looked out across the valley of dry bones. There scattered across the valley lay countless bones lifeless and windswept. Then, in classic Ezekiel fashion, which is to say something we would accuse someone of being high for seeing or doing, Ezekiel begins to talk to the dry bones on God’s behalf. He calls out to the bones to get up, order themselves into skeletons. Ligaments, muscles and tendons attach themselves to the bones and organs, skin, hair, teeth and eyes grow over the body. Ezekiel has commanded the bones to get up and to become a field of…well, zombies. You see, though they had all the accoutrements of a living being they lacked that most basic of spiritual elements, breath. So Ezekiel calls the breath of God to come and from the four corners of the earth the breath fills their lungs and they are alive!

 For Ezekiel, such pictures were wonderful object lessons. This is Israel. A people windswept and lifeless, all dried up. They are a people without a hope of living again; a people who live and yet do not live, zombies, in a foreign land. However, there is hope. God will bring them back from the grave and God will give them a new spirit and a new life. God will restore them to the land of the living.

Align Yourself!

I've been hooked on The Bottle Rockets of late. They're a great band out of St. Louis, Mo. It seems I recall reading somewhere (I'm too lazy to look it up at this point to cite it properly) that someone called them "the greatest bar band." While I've never seen them live, I'd be inclined to put them in my top ten of bands that have that Americana bar band/alt.country/honky-tonk sound down pat.

As I rode along in the pick-em-up truck today listening to the iPod through my newly installed radio (thank you Crutchfield), this particular song found its way into the shuffle mix. I'm glad it did. The song is entitled "Align Yourself" and seems to be a jab at all of the labels, -isms, groups, categories, and brands that we cling to in order to identify and define ourselves.

Myspace as well as Facebook both ask us for these categorical definitions, though they are not alone. I receive friend requests and automatically I scan their list of books, music, and films to see if I could possibly like this person. The whole process is absurd. There are a lot of fellow indie snobs & alt.country rockers that I can't stand, though we both love the same bands. Similarly, several dear friends of mine are Sci-Fi types (I hate...nay, I loathe sci-fi), but I would not trade them for the world, even if they do like Strar Trek and Stargate or whatever else.

In this our Post-Modern generation, I find it incredibly ironic that we struggle so mightily to define our whole generation and the concept of "post-modernity," yet we label ourselves and align ourselves with groups, teams, conferences, clubs, brands and so forth in such a way that flies in the face of post-modernity's most indefinable nature. Perhaps in the end, the philosophy books will define post-modernity as a categorical poem with a list of all the labels that we post-moderns use to define ourselves, including the nebulous label "post-modern."

"Align Yourself" by: The Bottle Rockets

NRA, KKK, Adventist, Seventh Day
Elks and Eagles, Moose and Masons, everything’s ok

If you align yourself, define yourself
when you don’t know who you are
you can remind yourself...

FFA, PLO, choose your partner there you go
NAMBLA, PETA, People’s Temple, plant your seed and grow
NFL, AFC, think of who you wanna be
Deadhead, Trekkie, Coke and Pepsi, Manson family

If you align yourself, define yourself
when you don’t know who you are
you can remind yourself...

don't be on your own
never be alone
don't worry you will never be alone

Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists
Bloods, Crips, Teamsters, Nudists
Democrat, Republican, Independent, pick you one
John Birch Society, NAACP
Ford, Chevy, Al Qaeda, all can set you free

If you align yourself, define yourself
when you don’t know who you are
you can remind yourself...

Yes, I am a slacker - a little weekend humor

(Insert lame excuse for not keeping up the blog here)

I know, I know...its been too long and what few readers I had probably don't even check in anymore. So much for gathering steam. I believe the ultimate goal of Freshmen is to win their unending battle of the wills through the slow murderous pace that comes with this war of attrition. Well, truth be told, there's nothing slow about this pace. It is already the fourth week of school and I am swamped and it's been too long between posts and there has been so much to say and...I ramble.

So, for those few of you so dedicated to this site that you do check in from time to time...this is for you. I came across this by way of a colleague at BCHS. She and I share an overwhelmingly sarcastic and sardonic sense of humor. If you are of the same ilk, please read and enjoy. If not...well, we'll just make a list about you. Ha ha.

August 6th, A Day That Will Live in Infamy

Holly and I just finished watching a documentary entitled "White Light / Black Rain" about the dropping of the atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I am still not quite sure I know what to say (what follows will probably be a bit disjointed...we'll see).I wept at points over the inhumanity of the bomb, I became silent and even angry that we could believe we were so right in our actions. I believe that just as December 7, 1941 was a day that will live in infamy that the events that happed 62 years ago today were just as heinous and just as infamous.

The images of the those who survived the bomb were absolutely gut wrenching. They got up that morning and went to school, went to work, went to church, just like we do everyday; just like the American sailors did on December 7th and just like so many did on September 11th. The routine of their lives was so brutally interrupted by the horror of the bomb. That is it...the horror. I am certain I will hear Col. Kurtz whispering that as I go to sleep tonight.

I know all of the canned responses I'm likely to hear. It stopped the war, we saved countless American lives, and so forth. I'm not buying this. Can we truly value one life over and against another? It is easy to justify the dropping of the bomb if we value a Japanese life as less than that of an American life. But we know better than that, right? Life is never that black and white. How do we respond when we learn that some of those killed were fellow brothers and sisters in Christ there at church about to confess their sins. Whatever sins they might have been, I doubt they would be weighty enough to warrant such calamity.

Additionally, my problem is that we dropped the bombs on cities specifically targeted because they had not been previously bombed in the war and we could see how much destruction the bomb would actually inflict. The post A-bomb carnage couldn't be confused with pre-bombing wreckage. The casualties in Hiroshima do not even justify the act militarily. The civilian to military personnel ratio was something in the neighborhood of 6 to 1; six civilians for every military soldier. If that weren't enough, the bomb dropped on Nagasaki was almost twice as big as the first bomb dropped on Hiroshima. We saw the damages inflicted at Hiroshima, why the need for the second and much much more powerful bomb? If we'd lost the war, or if the Japanese or Germans dropped The Bomb, would they not have been brought up on war crimes charges for crimes against humanity? No, I cannot agree any longer with the voices who echo with one accord that what we did that day was right.

Please do not read this as misguided anti-Americanism. I am quite the opposite. I love America dearly. But that love does not mean that I must at all times agree with the course she has chosen in history. I believe we were wrong...sinfully and wickedly wrong. God forgive us, for we know not what we've done.

2 Sundays Ago - Sermon Reflection

So, school is back in and I have a few minutes to actually look at the blog. Thank you for your patience over the past couple of weeks. Here is the sermon reflection from the Sunday before last.

The Audacity of Abraham

You don’t have to be much of a Christian to know anything of Sodom and Gomorrah. We have long remembered the wretchedness and sinfulness of those in that urban center and we’ve even named some our own laws after their sins. We know that it is the town that was burned to the ground for its rampant sinfulness. We know that some fellow named Lot and his family (good godly folks) escape the destruction.

We also know that Lot’s wife was a bit too nosy about things and that she looks back to see the destruction of the city. Poof! She turned into a pillar of salt. Isn’t that how you remember the Sunday School lesson going? There’s probably a sermon in that little vignette too. Something about looking in on the suffering of others for no other reason than our own voyeuristic desires; our own nosiness, and that such sadistic voyeurism causes us to lose our self; at our core we become dried up and as pillars of salt.

Here’s something that I’ve recently discovered. I always thought it was two towns. You know, kind of like Raleigh-Durham. Rather, its real name has been lost to us. The only thing we know of it is that it is Sodom, “burned” and Gomorrah, “buried.”I also only recently thought to look a bit more into the story of Sodom & Gomorrah, mostly because of its place in the lectionary. I have been interested in hospitality and its role in the Ancient Near Eastern (ANE) culture for a while now. In my studies I have found that there is a little bit more to the destruction of Sodom & Gomorrah than just their homosexuality (it would be convenient for us if that were the only reason – it allows us to cast stones a bit easier); rather, the greater sin of Sodom & Gomorrah was their inhuman treatment of the alien in their midst. Their actions were the complete opposite of hospitality. Perhaps we could say something political about that. I’ll let you think about that for a little bit. Remember that Jeremiah says that we can gauge the righteousness of God’s people by the way they treat the poor, the widowed and the orphaned in their midst, but if you look closer you’ll also see that it is how we treat the alien among us as well.

My fascination with this story isn’t the destruction of Sodom & Gomorrah. Instead, it is the audacity of Abraham to call God out and question God’s actions. Abraham asks God if the righteous are to be destroyed alongside the wicked. His simple question breaks open a whole world of theological questions that will never again be silenced; we’re still struggling with this today. The questions still ring in our ears and if you listen close – put your ear down close to the pages of the text – you may well hear what ol’ Abe is really asking, “If so, what’s the point of being righteous?”I read and reread this passage a number of times and couldn’t really find an angle on it. Nothing made sense homiletically, theologically, or pastorally. What is the point of this exchange between God and Abraham? Is God so hot-tempered that the first response is always the most violent? Does God need cool headed people to calm God down when God gets pissed off at us? I don’t believe that for one second (and if that is a bit too close to blasphemy for you…I apologize. Stick with me for a second). I think this passage is a bit of corrective theology.

It’s not the first time that the figure Abraham serves to correct the theology of the people of God. Later in the Genesis story is the story of the attempted sacrifice of Isaac. Rene Girard suggests that this story is a corrective theology intended to differentiate the God of Israel from the other ANE gods. Perhaps this story of Sodom & Gomorrah is another such story and the image of God that needs correcting is the one that responds to sinfulness in rage.

Busy week...sermon reflection coming soon

Hey, things have been a bit crazy this week so far, which is why I don't have anything posted since last week. I promise, I have stuff in the process of being posted. I have my weekly sermon reflection and a nice little reflection on some dear friends' adpoption process. Until then, here's a little rundown of what's been going on

• Monday - Rock n' Roll show in Athens. The band played again in Athens and I think it was a pretty good show. We're paying our dues and building relationships with local venues and hopefully we will be able to graduate to a weekend show pretty soon. The 3am bedtime simply underscores my "rock star" status, or my insanity.
• Tuesday - I started back to work (I know, two months vacation is tough to live with). Three cups of strong black coffee and I was beginning to wake up for orientation. This week is all new teacher orientation, or "How Can We Possibly Bore You to Death Week?" Highlights of that so far: the pep rally countdown at the beginning of yesterday's session when all gathered HAD to stand an clap for the countdown to...who knows what; the guy sitting at my table that was a dead ringer for George W; and the TWO totes that I was given (seriously, I don't need one tote, much less two). Then I come home to find that my blog was taking a day off.
• Today - No orientation b/c I'm not a first year teacher. So, I went down to Gainesville and got some new specs. I don't have to wear glasses normally, but spending so much time on the computer and reading lately had me in need of a new pair of reading glasses. I have what the doc called Accomodation Disorder. It is a fancy way of saying I get eye fatigue quickly when reading or working on the computer for extended amounts of time

So, all that to say, check back this evening and I'll actually have something of worth to read.

A Little Rock n' Roll, A Little Revival

I went down to Athens last night to hear my buddy Richard Sherfey & All God's Children play at Tasty World. If I only had a clue what I was in for, I would have called everyone I knew in the area and told them to come to the show - an apology to Richard and J Roddy Walston for not doing so. I haven't been to a show that had such electricity in a while. I was even moved to clap along with the band at one point, something us cool kids in the back with our serious faces and crossed arms never do.

I had heard that J Roddy Walston & the Business were good, but I would have to say in retrospect that doesn't quite measure up. They were absolutely phenomenal. Their sound was pure American rock n' roll and it was very accessible. As I write this, I cannot help but think that this probably sounds like the ramblings of a giddy school girl over her new love. It may well be some of that; at the moment I'm glad to be excited about a band without feeling some sort of cynicism or overly critical pessimism about them or their music.

I was equally thrilled to hear Richard's new stuff. He and I have talked a bit about the idea behind his newest album project and I was anticipating hearing some of those songs. I loved it. I was glad to hear someone sing songs of faith and of life with such honesty and without the contriteness of much of Christian music. Richard had a way of melding Rock with some upbeat Gospel rhythms and genuine lyrics that made for a good evening. I felt as if I'd been to church (in a good way) after the show. I'm looking forward to getting a copy of the rough mixes to listen to the whole project top to bottom.

Please do go and check out J Roddy Walston & the Business. I'll post to let you know when Richard's album goes on sale.

So, we aren't alone after all

In many ways I have felt like a bit of a pioneer these last four years. Not a pioneer in the sense that I was walking into a great unknown and blazing a path for others to travel down. Rather, a pioneer in the sense that I was out in a great wilderness and seemingly detached from my neighbors.

I have been the pastor of Foothills Community Church in Northeast Georgia for four years now and have been very happy with things; happier than I've been in any church. Perhaps it's because it is an honest attempt to be what I believe the church needs to be and because it is everything that the church isn't. However, in those four years I have often felt detached from the Church (when this church was in its beginning days a church informed us that they had voted not to pray for us, we even received a letter from the local SBC association informing us that we were no longer considered a part of their fellowship. No big loss as we were not welcomed in the first place and were the perennial black sheep). Most of my peers in seminary were going off to work for the man in your traditional church settings, so we were even approaching our conversations on ministry and church from very different angles. Suffice it to say, I have felt terribly alone at times.

Enter the www. I have only recently, as you can see, begun to scratch the surface of what is going on with regards to the church out here in the "blogosphere." It is a bit overwhelming, really, to find that not only are you NOT alone, but that there are countless Christians who are seeking a way to maintain their Christianity and church in ways that aren't so different from my own experience.

Our small church has used the Lectionary in order to connect ourselves to the larger Christian community. On my best days I truly do feel connected to all those reading those passages with me on Sunday. However, at other times it feels entirely academic and without any community at all. It is a blessing to find another way to connect to the lives of other Christians and to read about their attempt to live out their calling in a new and exciting way.

Please check out some of these sites.
House Church Blog
Tall Skinny Kiwi
internet monk

Take it easy
- Jeff