Da-na-na-na-na-na-na-na BatGod!

Holy bronzeworks BatGod! Satan is on the loose again, trying to steal the Jesus statue! To the Batcopter! Urrrk! Pow! Blam! Kablooey! Biff!

Wow.

Once upon a time, there was a young boy named James. James grew up in a nice, Christian home in Ohio, enjoyed bringing cookies to his grandmother and playing with his dog, Kipper. One day his daddy brought home a magic guitar. James was immediately enchanted. Little did he know that the guitar's powers would doom him to become the worst chapel musician in history.

I mean, seriously? Seriously? I'm reasonably certain that church camp only happens during the summer and is only attended by horny thirteen-year-olds, so thanks for sending me back to my wonder years. [Excellence? Forward-thinking? Honesty? Well, I can't judge that last one. 33%.]

James. I'm sure you're a nice guy. I'm sure you have good intentions. I'm sure you'd probably be a lot of fun to have a beer with. I'm also sure that you're better than this. . . .

"You guys can clap if you want to." Yeah. . . .

Beam me up, Scotty.

In the case that you only heard the part of the sermon about appendage-less squirrels this morning, you missed out; Mr. Regester really had some great thoughts to offer.

Recap. Lesson one. God's will for your life is like a candle. If you light a candle in a dark room, you will only be able to see a few steps in front of you, and everything else will remain dim or shrouded in shadow. The same holds for God's will. If you ask God what she wants you to do in a specific situation, she'll only give you advice for the next step or two. Lesson two. From lesson one it follows that Christians should make an effort to live their lives in the present moment, not worrying about what adventures, surprises, and shenanigans are waiting around the next bend.

Good thoughts. First, I have long been of the opinion that the habit many Christians fall into of praying to God and asking for her advice about who to marry, which college to attend, whether to open a bank account or not, paper or plastic, and other related questions is absurd and entirely unnecessary. Such matters are either far too dependent on circumstance and practicality or far too trivial to warrant troubling the transcendental. Unless, of course, you're totally into having a super anal-retentive, meddling micro-manager for a deity. [The other explanation, and the more probable one, is that people simply enjoy the lack of effort and thought that is required when someone else is telling them what to do. You've got some holy breast-milk on your chin . . . . a little to the left . . . . you got it.]

Christianity is, above all else, a moral system. And morality, at least in its most commonly accepted forms, is two parts altruism, two parts common sense, and one part not murdering people. The practice of living in and focusing one's attentions on the moment is advantageous for any [reasonable] moral system because it takes the focus away from the self and places it on others. Ooh, selflessness! I wonder where we've heard that before? The Buddha? Jesus? Ayn Rand? Gandhi? All but one are correct.

The third lesson from this morning? All chapel speakers, if they want their points to be remembered by the student body, should sprinkle their speeches with stories involving squished and/or sopping squirrels. Squid-burgers. Superfluous statements. [How's that for alliteration?]

Oh, and lesson four. Until further notice, skip chapel when James plays.

"Keep near me and you will be safe."

Daedalus

These are the days of thoughtcrime.

Ah, Wednesday...Double holiness day here at SNU: chapel in the morning and an empty campus in the evening because we're all at church. Little do they know....

First, a response. In preparation for these next comments, it would be good for you to read the second and third comments on yesterday's post.

Jbeezy seems a little worried about the exact definition of "sin." The problem here, as some of the more intellectually astute among you may have realized, is that "sin" is not easily, if it can be at all, qualified. Some traditions define "sin" as trespassing on the laws of their divine while others expand the operational scope of "sin" to include transgressions against humanity. To some, "sin" is commited in action, to others, the crime exists only in thought. [Which, if I do say so myself, is rather Orwellian.] Regardless of how you choose to define "sin," the concept is not one that can be easily nailed down.

So, when we are encouraged by whatever esteemed orator we happen to be listening to in chapel to "confess our sins before God," I get a little confused about what exactly they are attempting to say. I suppose it could reasonably be assumed that the definition of "sin" expounded on our campus would follow a Biblical delineation, but even that is vague at best. So when I am confronted with the charge that I am pretending to be too holy by claiming not to have "sinned," [which is not what I said] or when I am asked to define "sin," I can respond in the same way. "I'm not sure exactly what you are saying."

Enough psychobabble, on to chapel.

This morning's chapel marked the long awaited return of...drumroll please...the Godfather of Soul himself, James Brown. [Ow! I feel good!] Oh, wait. Not that James Brown. Damn. All I really need to say here is that, "These are the days of Elijah." Yep. [Just to clarify, in case JBeezy is still wondering, if there is sin in the world, the foremost example of it was the authorship of that song.]

I also especially enjoyed the overtly brooding rendition of a Negro Spiritual we were treated to this morning. [Please, sweet chariot, swing lo and carry James home.] Apparently Ben Folds is not the only one who can show us what it's like to be male, middle-class, and white. Next time you perform please sing "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen." I'm sure no one can understand the sorrow of a suburbanite like you.

Oh, by the way. I heard you singing. You sounded great. And God liked it too. [ha ha ha]

A letter:

Dear Mr. Gibson,

Please stop telling me how to do my job. If this trend continues the next time you are asked to speak in chapel, I will shoot you with a bb gun from the tech booth.

Love,
The Video Tech

A challenge:

Reverand Gibson, I hereby challenge you to take the stage in chapel and preach a sermon that the students in attendance have not already heard fifty times. I challenge you to move beyond the hell-raising and condemnation perpetuated by preachers of your father's generation and actually push people to grow in their spiritual lives. I challenge you to have an original thought. I challenge you to think more deeply about why an individual ought to commit their life to Christ and actually provide support, beyond the assertion that humans are inherently broken, sinful, and weak, for your argument. I challenge you to a walk-off. [Age before beauty, goat cheese.]

Your spiel today reminded of a scene from Mean Girls. You just need Jesus. Ok? Everybody take some rubbers.

The wax is melting.

"Keep near me and you will be safe."

Daedalus