Throwback and Flash Forward

This is amazing. I used to watch Eastman Curtis on TV as a kid. I'm really glad that there are churches out there actually emulating Jesus. Leaders, thinkers, and in general, people like this, are the hope for the church.

Does God Care If I Eat Chocolate Ice Cream (Part 2)

Does God Care If I Eat Chocolate Ice Cream (Part 2)

Picture yourself sloughing through the line in your dining hall at school (work, camp, wherever, use your imagination). All afternoon, you’ve wanted chocolate ice cream. Your overwhelming desire for a chocolate treat is stymied when as you arrive the last scoop is scraped from the bottom of the container. The people behind the counter promise more in the very near future. And your hankering will not be ignored. So you wait. And as you wait you strike up a conversation. Your conversation reveals a similar destination after dinner, (a guest speaking at a lecture, perhaps?) to which you walk together. You’re introduced by your ice cream buddy to a group of people, one of whom shares your field of study. You share classes. Over the course of your time together, you grow to love one another. You’re off onto an adventure to happily ever after.

So, if you hadn’t stuck around for the ice cream, you’d have missed the person, who introduced you to the classmate, who brought you love. How does this penchant for ice cream fit into God’s grand design? And if it doesn’t, were we really supposed to meet?

O.K. So the hypotheticals are always fun but let’s run down a real live scenario.

2001- I write my first entirely voluntary short narrative for a writing contest, a surrealist piece where people can battle with music.

2002- A spritely 60 something substitute teacher in my AP American History class, flails about, coffee in hand, going on about the nature of history as fact and story. Almost frightening in his enthusiasm for learning I learned more that day than in the rest of the class. And despite seeing him from a distance across hallways and through classroom doors, throughout my entire time in high school we never speak again.

2003- My friend’s mom mentions a new coffee shop in downtown Canton. Muggswigz proves to have the finest tea selection I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s beautiful. And I evangelize the daylights out of the place. I drag every willing person there; and even the odd unwilling person. Regular game nights, meetings, pretty much everything could be held there.

2005- I apply for a job in the banquets department of the Marriott McKinley Grand Hotel, setting up and tearing down rooms for events. After a quick chat with the woman behind the desk, I ask to whom, “Attn:” should be given. “Well, I’m actually the manager of the front office. I could use a personality like yours.” And just like that, I’m a bellman.

The Marriott McKinley Grand Hotel provides the background for the most absurd roller coaster of sexual identification and misidentification in my entire life. A stack of funny stories start to pile up and I become a hit at parties, “the almost but not really gay man.”

2008- Living with another guy in a tent, to teaching dance, to being stalked for weeks, my stories begin overflowing my memories. I start writing down my adventures.  

2009- The pile of notes, stories and ideas is not close to being a book. I start a blog to get a sense of accomplishment.

August 2011- After something of a slow spell, I read the incredible 33 Million People in the Room by Juliette Powell, and redouble my blogging efforts and focus.

October 2011- My blog revived I read, Everything YouNeed to Know About Blogging, the author’s idea of writing books for digital publishing in a effort to get attention to your sites, resonates with me, I start dusting off ancient notebooks and getting my book back in order.

 November 1^st, 2011- Three days after reading the book, sitting in Muggswigz working on my writing, I see my quirky sub from history class, looking as spry as ever, and wonder if he’s still scaring the little highschoolers. That’s not what I said though. I asked him if he was still overwhelming the minds of the future. He laughed, and he told me that he was not. And though he didn’t remember me, he then asked me what may be the most off the wall question of my month (or more), “So, do you have anything that you’ve written that you’re looking to get published?”

WHAT?!? Who asks that? That’s the kind of timing reserved for the movies. Not even good movies, Deus ex machina, B movies, pull this kind of craziness. I stammered and stuttered,

“Actually, I’m working on a book right now.”  Why would he open such an odd line of inquiry? Oliver substitute is now OliverHouse Publishing. Back at his table, he proceeds to introduce me to his business partner, who loves my idea and excitedly. I receive an enthusiastic invitation to an event which the publishing house is having. After which, “if you like what you see. We can work out some details.”

Even if I don’t sign a huge book deal and become the next ______ (insert your favorite widely published, yet poignant and challenging author here), this was a very life affirming event. So, here goes.

I know that there is no way that I would have been able to engineer even half of those things in such a way as to achieve this result. I believe, and even like the idea, that God leant divine influence to the proceedings. And I am wildly appreciative.  But where does the “will of God” start? Was it a part of the plan that I went to Muggswigz, that hour? If I hadn’t said hi to Mr. Oliver would I have been in defiance to God? What about reading those books? Or having fun living the almost gay life? Or blogging? Or moving to DC? Or teaching dance? Or living in a tent? Or working at a hotel? Or being chatty with the person behind the counter? Or trying out the new place in downtown Canton? Or entering a story contest? And there’s no way I made myself have Mr. Oliver only once as a sub, in my three years.

So if I’m not acting to deliberately do these things, and God just seems to move them about, where do I actually fit in?

Does God Care If I Eat Chocolate Ice Cream (Part 1)

This post is the beginning of a series called, Does God Care if I Eat Chocolate Ice Cream. This is how I think of questions related to things like divine intervention, and destiny, and things along those lines (which is odd considering my distaste for both chocolate and ice cream). My goal is to explore things like decision chains, and predestination. There will of course be a bit of cross over to other topics. But when you get deep by choice, you get wide by necessity. The post is a little long, but I’d like to think it’s worth it. The underlying themes I'd like you to consider are, the persistence of love and the confluence of events.

Part one: Over a Cup

Shortly after I settled into my DC digs, I stopped going to church. It was a decision, part antagonist, part apathy, part internal conflict. But for more than a year, I wasn’t attending any church regularly. When I was in a church it was as uncomfortable as a badly cut suit. If I was lucky, there was the awkward visitor glad handing, big toothy smiles, knuckle crunching greetings, and the stilted conversation which shields us from penetrating conversations, deep thoughts, or worse? Silence. You have to give them marks though. Enthusiastic, but a touch overwhelming. The other option is even less appealing. You walk in alone. You sing the songs. You listen to the message. And you go home alone. No greetings. No goodbyes. And lucky for the congregants, you didn’t upset the balance of their days. You could have watched a TV church service to the exact same end. After a few such visiting experiences, I settled into a regular living routine, and the church wasn’t a part of that routine. Work, write, sleep, play, repeat.

   Life goes on and my roommate and I moved from our little place on the outskirts to a microscopic place, right in the thick of it. I was still workin’ near the old place, so on a regular day, getting to work was an hour long trip of a train and a bus. On an irregular day it was three busses and two and a half hours of think time. And on those irregular days, I passed this church called Mosaic. It reminded me of a cool looking church I’d read about, over on the west coast. I thought about stopping in some Sunday. But, the people on the bus go up and down, and it was never more than a thought.

   Half a year elapses and I’m living and working in the thick of it, but some of my friends and thinking spots were still in the outskirts. So, every once in a while I found myself repeating my “irregular days” on purpose. All the while Mosaic sat at the side of the route, beautiful older architecture and an inviting new sign. I was going to go on Sunday, but I overslept Sunday School, and didn’t want to make myself, “that guy” as soon as I walked in... Maybe next week.

   Days and months roll on and I’m headed up to New England to be in the wedding of two very good friends. 688 miles from my childhood home, Canton, and 436 miles from DC. So the bride introduces me to her former roommate from her off campus semester in Michigan, of whom she’d spoken years ago, because she was attending Malone College in Canton where I grew up. And now when she introduced us at her wedding, the roommate is living in…DING! Our nation’s capitol. Our shared connections get us started, we chat over the course of the festivities,

“Do you go to a church in the area?”

“No. I visited a few. I’m kinda passively looking, at this point.”

“Well, you should visit my church, it’s called Mosaic?”

Let’s recap, shall we? So I went to New Hampshire for a wedding, met a girl who grew up in my hometown, who roomed with my friend, who studied in Michigan and, who lived in DC, AND attended the only church I’d considered going to. That’s a little much to be just a coincidence. So, immediately, upon my return, I didn’t go. I waivered and waffled, and stayed home.

I decided to go to church again, one Saturday night, the same way people give up smoking. Only this time, when I woke up late on that Sunday morning, despite my guarantee of tardiness, and at the risk of being, “that guy,” I dusted myself off and hopped on the bus, for the longest trip of my life.

I rolled along, as uncomfortable as anyone can be. While on a purely social level, large groups are my favorite, there’s something raw about being in a church. All the more, for a church one has no knowledge of, save the captivating sign, and the hope that a single familiar face may be among the gathered.

When the bus arrived at my destination, I didn’t know what to do. I walked over to the front of the building and just stood there, staring up at the building. The doors were open and I gazed through the foyer into the sanctuary. And I started in. Every step a hesitation. Not sure why I’m here, and not sure where to go next. Starbucks and the book in my bag are sounding more and more appealing.

I stepped through the foyer into the back of the sanctuary, and I just stood there. My head on a swivel, I teetered on the edge. A stiff breeze and I was gone with the wind.  The people in the church weren’t doing the typical pre-service milling; they were gathered around two large round tables eating breakfast. They’re eating. I’m standing. And I don’t know what to do.  There’s a young woman, maybe thirteen years old, standing in the corner rocking out on a by the cup coffee maker. I watched her for a second, “HI! Would you like some coffee?” She offered, with a smile that did not say, “Welcome to our church.” Her smile greeted me like family, “We’ve been expecting you. We’re so glad you made it.

I will never be able to encapsulate, the warmth that washed over me, in words. I felt what I can only express as God’s love radiating off of her, like the light of the sun off of the moon. Years of cynicism and disillusionment came off like the armor of battle which has been won. And, for the duration of my time in DC, the church enfolded me into its body.  Mosaic is a collection of broken pieces that come together in their brokenness to create something bigger, something beautiful, something eternal. Being a part of that community, reminded me why I want to be a Christian.