Curriculum Vitae

“And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by Him.” (Colossians 3:17)

Just because someone doesn’t feel the push to go into ministry doesn’t make their vocation any less important to the Lord. As Jesus was a carpenter prior to his emergence into society-at-large  as a rabbi, we’d do well to reflect on our position in the workforce and the world, whatever it may be.

“And because he was of the same craft, he abode with them, and wrought: for by their occupation they were tentmakers.” (Acts 18:1)

Our best work is done…

Finish that sentence. The verse above refers to Paul. Think about other figures in the Bible (namely most, if not all, though I haven’t checked) who held down gigs that were other than standing in a pulpit proclaiming the Word. There was Stephen, called upon to fill a role as a waiter (Acts 6). We have Lydia, a “seller of purple” (Acts 16:14) and then there are the various blue-collar workers the comprise Christ’s rabbinic entourage (references throughout the opening chapters of the gospels). Point is, the “ministry” is what you do.

“For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.” (2 Corinthians 5:10)

As you may know, curriculum vitae is like a résumé but more so. They’re typically sent in for higher-order academic positions. Know, though, that it’s Latin, literally, for “the course of one’s life”. The road our lives take may wind in and out of any number of jobs, side jobs, careers or otherwise and while none of those positions define us, God would have us learn things about Him and about life that we would learn no other way.

In the twentieth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus talks about “the kingdom of Heaven” (verse 1) in terms of hiring and day labor. While all of the applicants get work and all of them work for a “penny” (the minimum-est of wages, I might add), Jesus sews up the parable with the counterintuitive “many be called, but few chosen. (20:16)” In the chapter, a couple things stand out, namely the notion that anyone serving the Lord is on his timetable and in his employ. The idea of working for profit is introduced, but we’ll talk about that in a moment. As Christ is a storyteller par excellence, one can glean so much from the simple ways in which he weaves together the ingredients to his parables. Implied throughout the story is this notion of non-judgment upon those who haven’t been serving the Lord as long as others. Yes, the vineyard metaphor most-likely pertains to the Church—as in church work—but Jesus considers the whole world to be the factory floor for his operation. So this means that we are always working for him whether we realize it or not.

Saving for retirement

“Let every man abide in the same calling wherein he was called. Art thou called being a servant? care not for it: but if thou mayest be made free, use it rather.” (1 Corinthians 7:21-22)

So, what Paul is saying here is to stay true to one’s gifts as given by God. This doesn’t mean that one’s career or vocation can’t change but that any lateral movement in the place one finds oneself must be done at the leading of the Holy Spirit. Moving on because someone wants more money or more perks is not the highest order to which one should aspire. Climbing a ladder doesn’t necessarily fill the will of God if that ladder doesn’t reach the right place. Contentment is worth more than all the money in the world. I love Paul’s little instruction there: “care not for it”. In other words, don’t let a less-than-desirable job oppress you or define you or squeeze God’s joy out of your heart. You can do so much for Him wherever you’re at. A paycheck is merely a bonus.

And if you do feel called to the ministry, more power to you (see 1 Timothy 3:1).


“For I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh.” (Romans 9:3)

Colony Collapse

What does it take to attain to a level of love for our brothers and sisters in Christ that we’re willing to give up even our own salvation so that others may themselves come to the Christ that we know? One of the things I think we struggle with—subconsciously or otherwise—is this attitude that we must merely put up with certain individuals until we can either not have to speak to them again or at least excuse ourselves from the room. This coolness is the exact opposite of the fervent love that Paul expressed in the verse up top.

“And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.” (1 Corinthians 12:26)

“And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbours together, saying, Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost.” (Luke 15:9)

So, we (the Body of Christ) are not technically a superorganism. The Western honeybee colony is a little more heartless and mechanical than the Church. There are, however, some things to be learned from the inclusiveness to be found in the lowly beehive. Things like teamwork and selflessness and things done according to an order and a pattern (see 1 Corinthians 14:40). Above, when Paul says “all the members suffer with it”, he’s describing a closeness that Christ envisioned, desired (desires) and indeed died to provide for His Body. And when it’s all we can do to darken the door of a building on a Sunday morning, maybe join a Bible study group mid-week and then do the bulk of our interaction and fellowship through social media, I think we’re missing the point of what Christ came to give us. The Body of Christ is supposed to be the most tightly-knit, welcoming, and loving group of people the world has ever seen. In contrast to that, the superorganism certainly helps itself but individuality is nowhere to be found.

“And all the people gathered themselves together as one man into the street that was before the water gate;” (Nehemiah 8:1a)

Cross pollination

The thing about individuality is that God gives it. And He gives it more the closer you endeavor to get to Him (see Psalm 134; James 4:8, Luke 21:19, et al.). But watch out. If you’re for whatever reason looking to exclude yourself to the neglect of whatever and whomever the Lord is calling to influence, pray for, and in a word, love, watch out. One’s individuality should never come at the expense of the love and attention we’re meant to bestow on those, our brothers and sisters in Christ, who maybe aren’t where you’re at. After a while, the metaphor of a superorganism breaks down with reference to the Body of Christ. We’re One (see John 17:21), but that doesn’t mean we’re hiding in and among every one else, essentially doing our own thing. There’s a balance.

“For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons (and daughters) of God.” (Romans 8:14)

In closing, all I can say is pray for balance. Some people need more love and attention and help than others. And it’s hard to know when to turn off the tap and let them rely on God. It’s certainly not a smart idea to block the Lord from dealing with someone directly—even if it means letting them suffer. God will give you the wisdom to discern when and where and how long and all that (see James 1:5). All you have to do is ask. Like honey, God is always sweet. Unlike sterile worker bees, however, He has no sting. The church shouldn’t either.

“The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ? For we being many are one bread, and one body: for we are all partakers of that one bread.” (1 Corinthians 10:16-17)

In Sincerity

“Grace be with all them that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity.” (Ephesians 6:24, emphasis mine)

If you’re not sure, just ask. Nothing worse than going on in blindness, not knowing that you’re somehow missing the Lord altogether through some feigned authenticity. Paul closes his letter to the Christians in Ephesus with that caveat. Nearly all his canonical letters end on a grace note, so to speak. It’s Ephesians that tacks on those last two words.

“Therefore take heed to your spirit, that ye deal not treacherously.” (Malachi 2:16b)

While that part of Malachi is repeated from the verse prior to it (2:15), and both deal with a husband’s conduct towards his wife in remaining true to her in heart and mind, I think the same admonition could be leveled at those who profess Christ. There is a deep work that necessarily takes place in the heart and mind of those who “love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity” to where you know. You know that you know the one who “loved [you] and gave himself for [you]” (Galatians 2:20) and are beyond convinced that you are in fellowship with him. Because it’s something that is living and active, if I may.

“Though the Lord be high, yet hath he respect unto the lowly: but the proud he knoweth afar off.” (Psalm 138:6)

Again, if you’re not sure as to your level of sincerity (or lack thereof), just ask. When you first believed is when you received “the adoption of sons [and daughters].” (Galatians 4:5b) In other words, the same status that Christ possesses by virtue of being “the firstborn among many brethren.” (Romans 8:29b) did you receive. I have to say, that a prolonged period of disconnect through the willful ignoring of him is a position that no child of his should even consider approaching. But again, reestablishing what you had when you first met him is as simple as a childlike acknowledgement or conversation. Find something to thank him for that he has done for you in the past week or so. This is how sincerity is built, one thought at a time.

“If thou sayest, Behold, we knew it no; doth not he that pondereth the heart consider it? And he that keepeth thy soul, doth not he know it? And shall not he render to every man according to his works?” (Proverbs 24:12)

Authenticity has to be the hardest thing to fake. How would one even go about doing that? As an image presented necessarily needs not just a model but also a sounding board (audience), authenticity on the order of Christ must have him in view. When Jesus said “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.” (Matthew 5:9) he implies that when one is transparent in heart, they’ll see through everything to the Father. Point is, there is a level of sincerity and authenticity that Jesus builds in to you when you endeavor to live as did he: with reference to God. And if you’re having trouble with your sincerity, he’ll help you. Meanwhile, act like him. Be kind and thoughtful and present with those whom you encounter. Lift people up before the Lord and pray for them and you’ll look back at intervals and see yourself becoming the person God thought of when he first made—and then remade (see 2 Corinthians 5:17)—you.

“And hereby we know that we are of the truth, and shall assure our hearts before him. For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart and knoweth all things.” (1 John 3:19-20)


“Which doeth great things past finding out; yea, and wonders without number.” (Job 9:10)

If you really know how to look—I mean take the time to focus your attention on how many things that God has done to speak to your heart, you will see the proliferation of his blessings to you. There are some things he does for us, however, that require a little more focus, a little more attention and care.

“A gift is as a precious stone in the eyes of him that hath it: whithersoever it turneth, it prospereth.” (Proverbs 17:8)

Think nothing of it

Some gifts he gives are more like pieces of him. Take, for instance, the gift of the Holy Spirit in whatever capacity the Lord has showered on you. In the case of Christ, he had the full measure (“…and the Holy Ghost descended in a bodily shape like a dove upon him” Luke 3:22a) but as we take our inspiration in the things of the Spirit from him anyway, that’s a good place to start. When, in the next chapter of Luke’s Gospel, he stands up to explain why he has this gift and what it’s to be used for, we understand that our own ideas as to what we’re gonna do with what we’ve got don’t always go to the top floor with reference to God. Here’s that verse from the next chapter:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised. To preach the acceptable year of the Lord.” (Luke 4:18-19)

It sounds like the gift of “The Spirit of the Lord” ensured Jesus would be quite a busy guy. Those six things he listed were the laundry-list of acts that he went about doing during the three years of his ministry.

Dead giveaway

Paul quotes the 68th psalm in his letter to the Ephesians. He’s equating the psalmist’s declaration of God with Christ—as, I suppose, he had the authority to do (see 1 Timothy 1:11)—when he says:

“Wherefore he (David) saith, When he (Christ) ascended up on high, he led captivity captive and gave gifts unto men.”

Interesting distinction: whereas the version of the verse in Ephesians uses “gave” with reference to the “gift of Christ” (4:7), the original scripture from the Psalms (68:18) uses the English verb “received”, indicating that the gifts have been taken back and then reallocated for us. It might be nothing more than a triviality. But as with many things in the Word of God, fine details often have a way of opening up grander vistas than we ever thought were there. Treasures hid in a field, as it were.

An “aliquot part”, as you may know, is simply a piece of a larger whole. Speaking with reference to the science of chemistry or in mathematics, “aliquot” takes on a little more complicated definition. The thing about the gifts of Christ—the gifts of God that are like pieces of him, in my opinion—is that they are for a specific purpose and will only work correctly when used in the service of the God who gave them.

So what is it that you’re doing with your gifts? Use your imagination. Do you have the gift of prophecy? Does it help you plan out your schedule and your weekend? I’m serious. Forward thinking is a gift, just make sure you have your focus trained on the one who’s letting you see things in the first place. How ’bout the gift of teaching? Very simply, the desire to break things down into their constituent parts and then assemble them in a coherent way to those listening is an aspect of it. Use it well. Do you have the gift of helping others (see 1 Corinthians 12:28)? Perhaps that manifests itself in an a way of thinking that doesn’t really consider the person in possession of the gift. Don’t forget to take care of yourself!

As it says at the top of the page, God is abundant and generous and wholly unselfish with his gifts. But all of them are aspects of the greatest gift of all. And that’s love. And, well:

“God is love.” (1 John 4:8b)

Known and Unknown

“Wherefore henceforth know we no man after the flesh: yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now henceforth know we him no more.” (2 Corinthians 5:16)

The risen Christ is altogether more than he is seen as prior to his crucifixion. The risen Christ is the Jesus that is known in the heart and only perhaps seen with the eyes (but not always). The risen Christ is the one “with whom we have to do (Hebrews 4:13).” Yes, he’s “Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever (Hebrews 13:8).” But there had been, as the writer of Hebrews points out, a death. His.

“For where a testament is, there must also of necessity be the death of the testator.” (Hebrews 9:16)

In other words, the writer of Hebrews is relating Christ to the biblical figures from the first testament (called the Tanakh in Jewish tradition) and indicating through a series of precise, back-and-forth comparisons, just exactly what Jesus did in fulfilling rabbinic tradition and then allowing himself to be taken (essentially kidnapped) and beaten and crucified. “Yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh…” In other words, we saw him as a mere human. Now, upon resurrection, he’s so much more. Savior, friend, architect, “the author and finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2).” How can Christians be so crazy for someone they’ve never met face-to-face and who died nearly two-thousand years before this generation came along? Rhetorical questions.

“Whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory: receiving the end of your faith, even the salvation of your souls (1 Peter 1:9).”

The first part of the scripture from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians at the top of the page says “Wherefore henceforth know we no man after the flesh…” This is the King James translation and it comes across a little archaic. A modern revision would read something along the lines of “After believing in Jesus-as-Christ, it isn’t all the outward signs of achievement, wealth, social standing, physical appearance or personal bearing that his followers first see when they look at other individuals.” A little more longwinded, admittedly, but it gets the point across. All the qualifiers of which fall under the broad category of “the flesh”. I say all of this to say that the first half of that scripture implies that we as Christians now look at others as we see (the risen) Christ. Question: how would we look at Jesus if he hadn’t died on the cross and if the, uh, festschrift—that is the Bible and all its attendant literature—hadn’t made its mark on the world? To be sure, he wouldn’t be known at all. He would have been an obscure Jewish carpenter, plying his trade, and who decided on a vocational shift as he neared midlife. Perhaps a unique story, made all the more salient for the sole fact that he had some radically counterintuitive proclamations. Things that, while they might sound like some of the things put forth by other religions the world over, hold a freshness and lightness in spite of their weighty implications. But he was just a man! Someone lost to the sands of time and who died a gruesome death through the gerrymandering, bureaucratic, conspiratorial positioning of both elitist, Pharisaic Judaism and imperious Rome. Just a man, one of thousands, if not millions, who had come and gone, before and after. If this is all Jesus was then what’s the big deal? All fantastic utterances aside (see John chapter 10, verses 10 and 30), he was just a man. Oddly enough, one of the Roman centurions who stood by while Jesus was hanging on the cross, said at his expiry “Truly this man was the Son of God (Mark 15:39b).” Evidently something had happened when Jesus died that caused the centurion to see Jesus in a different light than “just a man”. It says in verse 37 that “Jesus cried with a loud voice, and gave up the ghost.” The next verse talks about the veil of the temple being torn down the middle (symbolizing the emergence of God’s Spirit into this world) and then we have the centurion’s conversion upon hearing Jesus cry out.

The whole point of Paul’s fifth chapter in his second letter to the Christians in Corinth is this idea of “living in our body”. Verse 2 and 3 say “For in this (this life) we groan, earnestly desiring to be clothed upon with our house which is from heaven: If so be that being clothed e shall not be found naked.”

The whole point of Easter (as seen from the Christian’s point of view) is that there is more to this life than the body and more to what happens after death than its decomposition. If one chooses to look at the gift of existence as consisting of more than what we can see, then they’re on the way to understanding the profound implications of all that stuff in the Bible that makes absolutely no sense to a worldview that dismisses the spiritual. We are more than our “house”. So was Jesus. It is my prayer that you would take him at his word and see, not just the sacrifice, but also the resurrection, as two sides to this very real and very much alive individual who loves you.

“So Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation.” (Hebrews 9:28)

Breaking Bread: Friendship and Barbecue in Austin

“I think they’re pretty interchangeable, in that respect,” he said. My friend Dylan and I were chatting about the similarities to Portland and Austin. The two cities, it would seem, are enjoying a bit of a renascence, if renaissance, in their respective images. Both of them, while quite different in feel, presently hold the creative class of Generation Y in a tractor beam with the promise of exposure and networking amongst likeminded individuals. Dylan and his wife Carissa moved here for these reasons about a year-and-a-half ago. And while I prefer Portland for the weather, I was in Austin for Dylan—and, subsequently, for the food. That’s one way in which Portland and Austin are not “interchangeable”, in my opinion.

Last month I took a road trip from my hometown of Medford up to the tightly-packed urbania of Portland. Stumptown may be best known for being weird but Austin has a similar clarion call (“Keep Austin weird.”—interchangeable). The culinary draw for Portland, however, is its selection of microbrews. That being said, I had one of the best grilled cheese sandwiches of my life while there. From a food truck called “Grilled Cheese Grill”, I walked a block or two away from the crowd near the long row of food trucks and proceeded to savor each crispy, gooey bite under the eaves and out of the rain. They garnished it with a dill spear and a handful of ridged, salt-and-pepper kettle chips. Delicious. In contrast, the food to get in Austin is barbecued meat, plain and simple (again, it’s more about the beer than the food in Portland). About a week prior to flying out, Dylan had asked me to think about things to do while there and local cuisine was about all I could come up with. Of course we would walk and talk as we’re wont. Grab an Americano—two shots for his, three in mine—and unburden our hearts to one another. This had been the hallmark of our friendship over the years: deep conversation over coffee. I was the guest in this case and he would show me some good places for joe and that was fine with me. But my next request was that I’d get to sample some of what makes Austin famous. Texas has cows in abundance. So much so (I’m assuming), their school named their team after them. The shade of representative orange the exact color of the grease after a day in the fridge. And so, I suppose, beef would be what’s for lunch. My imagination showed me a shredded mass of sauce-sodden meat between robust bun halves. I knew what I wanted.

My flight arrived in the early afternoon. “You picked the perfect time to come out,” Dylan exclaimed as we pulled in to his apartment complex. “South by Southwest is done.” We were stopping at his place for a moment to drop off my bags and jacket and say hi to Carissa. Dylan took this opportunity to find a place to eat, commenting to me that Franklin’s would be closed by this time and that if one wasn’t in line by 7 in the morning—for lunch—that person wasn’t going to get any. Stiles Switch, however, was doable. Lamar Street runs the length of Austin and as we drove down, I commented on the abundance of independent, non-franchise-looking shops and businesses lining both sides of the wide, washed-out looking road. Indeed all of Austin was cast in a bright, neutral-tone palette. Warm, rough-hewn stone. Even the streets were a bleached, light-gray under the Texas sun. And here we were at its heart, the sky a cloudless blue.

We walked into the restaurant and took our place in the short line at the edge of the dining room. I ordered a barbecue sandwich and he got the same. He opted for a side of potato salad and I the mac-and-cheese and as I knew he would driving, an IPA. Upon trying the first bite after taking a seat at a long bar near the door, I saw the light. The beef was cooked to perfection: warm, moist, smoky, and full of flavor. A minor downside to this particular meal would be the cheap bun wrapped around this near-perfect specimen of Austin barbecue. They proffered a side of sauce and I drizzled it in and among the pieces of meat I’d forked onto the bun. I hadn’t eaten yet and so proceeded to hungrily devour my lunch. This was day one and my vacation was off to a great start.

The main appeal to any vacation, I would have to say, is the food. Wandering around and taking in the sights will only get you so far. And on an empty stomach, the slightest whiff of something to eat makes one want to turn in and get some grub. One place at which I always stop in Portland is the Rogue Brewery. Located at the edge of the ivy-shrouded brickwork of the Portland State University campus, they’re famous for a number of beers (7 Hop IPA, Dead Guy Ale, et. al). The thing I enjoy most, however, is their Kobe beef burger. It is, to my mind, the gold standard of burgers, with utmost umami engagement on the part of my tastebuds. The horseradish mayo and savory, thick-cut bacon serving only to complement the experience. The time before last, I asked for it medium, a little pink inside, and found it too soft for my taste. This time around I would get it well done. Furthermore, I was pleasantly surprised by the sample of double-chocolate stout. So good was this dessert beer that I elected to take a bottle with me, opting instead, to enjoy a sharp, tangy red cider with my meal. More tart than sweet, the apple flavor almost an afterthought. But the burger. The burger was amazing. However, the culinary appeal to Portland (for me) is more about the beverage than the food. Coffee and beer. Outside the Kobe, there isn’t much I’ve eaten that begs me to go back.

The first night, undaunted and, to a degree, unsatisfied, I had looked online for good barbecue in Austin. The sandwich from earlier a distant, but quite pleasant, waking dream. Reading down the “best of” list—which included Franklin, and also Stiles—I spied Salt Lick and remembered a satellite location at the Austin airport. This being said, I had begun to think that perhaps playing it by ear would get me further in my quest for the sandwich of my imagination. Another item on my itinerary was to check out deep downtown: any city of size beckons me into its concrete and glass and steel canyons—the earlier the better, in my opinion. Either way, there’s always been something about a bustling heart of a city. Feeling its pulse and rhythms for oneself is an essential part of this life. Dylan knew I wanted this and so he suggested Houndstooth. They had exceptional coffee, he assured me, and we would hit up the one nearer to his place so as to have something to sip on the way downtown. My triple Americano proved up to par, with a complex fruitiness needing no cream. After finding a place to park on Congress, we walked across the Ann W. Richards “bat bridge” and into downtown. Right after Houndstooth, I had googled a purveyor of decent ‘cue nearby, understanding by now that unpretentious white bread was the traditional accompaniment to the meat. As the bun from the previous day’s sandwich had barely held up against the meat and sauce, a kaiser roll or hoagie seemed like a better fit. The search yielded Cooper’s barbecue and so we agreed on that for this day’s lunch.

Walking through downtown, I was struck with the evident similarities to the clientele and look of our fellow Generation Yers; Portland and now Austin. Arms not sleeved in business casual sported tattoos, every (male) leg sheathed in tapered trousers. The “interchangeability” spoken of by Dylan on full display. We walked up the ramp to Cooper’s and when inside took our place at the end of a long line of young professionals, out for lunch. A panoply of slogans and phrases (including “Cooper’s” rendered in Cooper Black—the font, strangely enough) were stenciled on the brick wall to our right. I wasn’t having it: white bread with my barbecue. So I asked the barkeep if they had “real” bread, she answered in the affirmative. This time, I got the potato salad. Dylan didn’t feel like barbecue and so decided to watch me eat. The layout was a little more upscale than Stiles and there were two open berths—a little darker orange than the Longhorns’—on one wall in the dining room around the corner from the ordering counter. Each one with its respective pots of sliced pickles and onions and a large, steaming vat of pinto beans, flavored with bacon. The “real” bread, spoken of by the barmaid, turned out to be the wheat variation of the ubiquitous Austin white. I chose the wheat and didn’t look back. Present, too, was a tangy barbecue sauce that wasn’t quite to my taste. If there is some ratio of food quality to atmosphere, those two things would have been radically inverted at Stiles: while it wasn’t much to look at inside, the food was exemplary. Stiles’ only downside, as I’ve said, was the quality of the bun and then the fact that my imaginary, perfect Austin barbecue sandwich still had a placeholder in my mind. As-yet unfulfilled. With Cooper’s though, the food quality would slide ever-so-slightly down the scale while the atmosphere would be just about opposite of Stiles Switch. Both meats were delicious. It was the sides and the bread that would end in causing Cooper’s to take second place to Stiles. Thank God I had one more day in Austin. Dylan suggested I google “barbecue sandwich” proper for our next (and final) day’s attempt as, really, any place is gonna have meat. It is bread, however, that makes a “sandwich”. As I had one more day to fill this need, I really wanted to sate my imagination. Dylan’s lunch was a thick, white bean chili at a restaurant whose bar was open to the corner of E 2nd and Congress. It was aptly named Corner with a simple logo belying a sophistication and swank to rival even Cooper’s. That night, the three of us went to dinner at The Asian Cafe. The beef lo mein was quite yummy and it was wonderful catching up with Carissa.

By this time, I already consider the trip to be a success. The main reason I went to Texas (I was born in Plano but my family moved a year later—hadn’t been back since) was to see my friend (Texas’ state motto is simply “Friendship.”). After a day-and-a-half of solid conversation and delicious food and drink (Corner had this pear shandy that was out of this world—don’t squeeze the lemon in it though), I could’ve left happy. I also got to get a break from work and from Medford. But that image. The one of the sandwich, dripping with thick, savory barbecue sauce, the beef inside packed tight and steaming beneath the brow of a substantial, whole grain bun that, much like the state of Texas, if I may, wasn’t going to give up without a fight? That was still unfulfilled. As Dylan and I are optimistic at heart and seeing how we’re both in the barbecue capital of the world, we were bound to find the perfect place. Thursday looms large.

A couple errands led us first to the pet store and then to Game Over in order to sell some rarely-touched video games collecting dust on Dylan’s bookshelf. As we talked with Davide, the subject of food came up and he suggested Valentina’s. It sounded as good a place as any and as I hadn’t yet scoured the Google for the “barbecue sandwich” of my dreams, we figured we’d try a local’s take (“He’s more local than I am.” Declared Dylan on the way out). Turns out Valentina’s is a food truck about ten minutes out. We drove over and upon seeing the scene, something reminded me again of the food quality/atmosphere ratio. In retrospect, I think I subconsciously realized that with no atmosphere (picnic tables) but the aforementioned blue sky of Texas above us, the food was bound to be superlative. It was my turn to pay and so after ordering the chopped beef sandwich (the prior two had been brisket), I thought I’d see what I could find to drink at the convenience store toward the end of the strip mall. With nothing inside to quench my thirst and as it wasn’t all that hot outside, I came back out. And there it was. The sandwich of my imagination. Please understand, it was as if the intangible image, produced mentally by neurons and synapses and several-images-from-God-knows-where, had been rendered in three dimensions by whomever was working the barbecue pit hitched up to Valentina’s food truck. It had been dragged into reality: the apotheosis of “barbecue sandwich”. I sidled up to the table, sat down, and then we said a brief prayer. I hefted the thing from the paper and eyed a hunk of dill pickle nestled beneath the top bun, a bun that I somehow knew could go the distance. Strands of meat hung off the sandwich and chunks of it fell into the paper tray. The first bite was like nothing I’d experienced, if only for the simple reason that a circuit had been completed. Here I was in the state of my birth enjoying exactly what I had wanted. You can imagine how it tasted. Mission accomplished.

I feel it. As a writer and member of the “creative class”, I feel the draw of the two cities. In that sense, they are indeed “interchangeable”. In fact, it was the people-watching on the way into downtown on Wednesday that began the discussion of the two cities’ “interchangeability”. Taking in both cities in as many months, I do see some distinctions. The grackle with its obscene call and broad tail (“Everything’s bigger in Texas!”), the sparrows and doves that aren’t pushy but that don’t fly away with the wave of your hand, the weather. The barbecue. Many things in Austin have no match in Portland. And while the food in the latter is, well, there, Austin wins out, hands down. In closing, I would have to say though that I enjoy Portland just a little more. Something about the coziness (to say nothing of Dylan and Carissa’s hospitality) and the gray of the Northwest speaks to my soul. After a day of driving around Austin, I realized what was so markedly different: the space. In that respect, Oregon has nothing on Texas. Different zoning laws or something. Wandering this vast expanse is bound to make someone hungry.

The Life

“I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly (John 10:10b).”

Second best

What does that mean to you? I think maybe a penultimate tier to thinking about that statement—as it necessarily indicates that, obviously, Jesus came to give me “the good life”—says I am entitled to everything under the sun. That is, “life, and breath, and all things;” (Acts 17:25). No big deal. Paul, in that reference from the book of Acts, is talking to a crowd of people to whom the Gospel of Christ appeared to be “foolishness” (Greeks; see 1 Corinthians 1:23). It’s so easy to live in the abundance God provides, take it for granted, and then in turn turn around and think that it’s our right to enjoy the bounty Jesus alludes to in the verse at the top of the page and then here again in the Sermon on the Mount:

“And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” (Matthew 6:29)

But there’s more to it. Consider this statement from John’s first letter:

“And this is the record, that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life (1 John 5:12).”

That’s a little narrower, don’t you think? Here we see some of what might look to be the closed-mindedness that comes with a fundamentalist Christianity. I think that if we see Jesus as “just some guy” who came to do magic tricks and leave us feeling full and contented, we’re not seeing him as all he is. As an aside, Jesus talks about “life” and then John goes one further and says “life eternal”. Time is indeed flowing. But if you take a moment (i.e. an indeterminate period of time) and “be still” (see Psalm 46:10), you can separate yourself from time’s undercurrent—and feel the timelessness of eternity. It works. But again, with reference to the whole “glut of stuff” thing, think about what happened after the story of the five loaves and two fishes (from Mark’s Gospel). It says “neither had they in the ship with them more than one loaf (Mark 8:14).” And that’s enough. Jesus chides them in the next verse saying “Take heed, beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, and of the leaven of Herod.” That one loaf sits there in the hold of the ship with the disciples (whose hearts, metaphorically speaking, were harder than day-old bread left sitting out). The twelve disciples who had forgotten all about the miracle of abundance by which they had just been directly influenced and in which they all partook. Jesus warns the disciples against submitting to an attitude—from either the Pharisees or Herod—that would not only negate the blessing of God but also make stale the memories of what he (Jesus) had provided.

Think about it: “And they took up twelve baskets full of the fragments, and of the fishes (Mark 6:43).”

This, from a mere five loaves of bread and “two small fishes (John 6:9).” And Jesus says “Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost (John 6:12).” That single loaf of bread spoken of in Mark’s Gospel serves to remind us of the—in a word—prosperity that God can give. I mean, assuming you see Jesus’s miracles as more than magic tricks, how in the world did those few ingredients not only end up providing repast (dinner to the full) for 5000 people? And then overflow into the abundance of twelve baskets of leftovers? Amazing. But that’s the God we serve: cornucopious, as it were.

“And of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace (John 1:16)”


Take that one loaf and hold it in your hand. Can you feel the grittiness of the flour and the rough crust? It’s still warm from the oven and it smells delicious. I’m sure the inside is hot and soft and the pockets the yeast has opened invite you to crawl inside (assuming you were the size of an ant or something) with some butter and eat to your heart’s content. There’s a difference between being spoiled and then being spoiled rotten. God provides so much for us; gratitude is the order of the day. But if we neglect Christ—the Christ that came from God and that God provided for us—in favor of all that he can and has given us, we won’t ever be full.

Here’s the thing: none of the things Jesus provides are to be a substitute for knowing him. He’s the kindest, most approachable and liberating individual I have ever met. It truly takes a lifetime to know him and to get to know him. It’s so worth it. He loves you.

“Because Thy lovingkindess is better than life, my lips shall praise Thee. Thus will I bless Thee while I live: I will lift up my hands in Thy name (Psalm 63:3).”

A Shot in the Dark

I’m sitting in a little coffeeshop (called “Main Street Bistro and Coffee”) in downtown Silverton. There’s a blinking traffic signal off to my left. It’s not swaying in the breeze but it may as well be. I sip my “shot in the dark”—so-named as it’s a shot of espresso in a cup of brewed, black coffee—and listen to Clean Bandit’s “Rather Be”, featuring the same expression in the lyric. It’s all coming together. The coffee shop takes up the first two floors on the corner of the Wolf Building on E. Main and N. Water St.

I was given the last week of February off from work. I had forgotten I had the time but as my boss is decent, she made sure I didn’t lose something that was rightfully mine. I wonder, had I not been given the time off, how I would have been able to hold up under the slow landslide of homework that marks the end of the semester. But I got the time and so I was able to give my assignments their due and then think about and plan a mini vacation.

So I drove up to Portland and stayed the night at a hostel on SE Hawthorne. It’s amazing how a couple hundred miles removed (as opposed to the “thousand” spoken of in the aforementioned song) from one’s “comfort” zone serves to “switch up the batteries”, if recharge the ones that lay dormant in my heart and mind. The hostel felt the same and so did the neighborhoods through which I ran this morning after I got up. Downtown Portland yields itself up after a brief stroll here and there: gray. But it’s a good gray. And thank God it wasn’t raining like it was yesterday when I arrived. I took a stroll then as well and got soaked to my socks. My shoes are still drying out. I was effectively cleansed from the grit and grim of the quotidian and the mundane that silted up in my soul while in Medford.

I subscribe to Multiverse Theory, but not in the way you might think. There’s such a thing as “distance” and then something altogether different called “time”. Though in the case of the latter, the difference from the former is a metaphorical one. Here’s the thing: both distance and time are covered through movement. And if one spends the necessary time to get where they’re supposed to be with reference to activities and responsibilities (like in the case of my homework), then they’ll get to a place where time will still flow the sixty seconds to a minute and sixty minutes to an hour. But alongside this, another dimension will open up of possibility and potential. All the beautiful things that lay dormant in your heart and mind will begin to unfold like the moist wings of a butterfly emerging from the cocoon. Let them stretch in those minutes and hours. You don’t necessarily have to be removed geographically but take that time and make it work for you now. Everything else that you temporarily leave behind will be waiting for you, don’t worry about that. But give it up for a few moments and give yourself time and space to breathe. Try it. It’s a shot in the dark but trust me, it sounds great.

It’s also delicious.

Lionizing Jesus

To lionize someone means that you treat them other than what they really are. Humanly speaking, it means that you see them in an unnatural light and maybe perhaps think they’re more than human, more than down-to-earth and approachable.

Halo effect

“When Jesus therefore perceived that they would come and take him by force, to make him a king, He departed again into a mountain himself alone.” (John 6:15)

Reading through the testaments, one gets this idea that the children of Israel wanted nothing more than a physical representation of that which God the Father promised to them in eons past: namely, that of a king, on a throne, dispensing judgment and edicts, etc. But, true to form, God did things different than expected. He sent His Son to be born in obscurity and grow up among the hoi polloi (yes) and, after that incident in the temple with reference to that long-forgotten prophecy in Isaiah (see Luke 4:21, Isaiah 42 respectively), Jesus is on the scene. He’s the Messiah and all of humanity is left to deal with it the only way they know how. Thank God He sent the Holy Spirit to truly discern the nature of Christ and what it means to approach Him on His terms (see the passage at the bottom of the page).

“The woman saith unto him, I know that Messias cometh, which is called Christ: when He is come, He will tell us all things. Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am He.” (John 4:25)

Throughout the Old and New Testaments, the knowledge of just who Jesus is with reference to history and humanity seemed to come to a select few—those whose hearts were ready to hear it. The woman at the well referenced above was eminently set in her ways and yet with a simple realigning of her priorities (and a little bit of sin-conviction), she was lit from within and ended up going out and evangelizing a city that most likely would not have heard the Gospel till God-knows-when (they were Samaritans and they didn’t mix with the Jews; racial tensions, you understand). But think about it: The children of Israel were promised many times—if they had read the scriptures (see Psalm 132:11, Isaiah 7:14, et al.)—that God would send a Savior, a Messiah. And here you have the man himself walking “through Samaria” (John 4:4b) and looking into the eyes of one individual (of many), telling her that He is that One. How then is this example different than the one from the sixth chapter of John above? The rabble, gripped with a mob mentality that looks to hoist Jesus high on their shoulders in order to take him somewhere and make him something other than what the Father had in mind when He sent him, is the wrong response. I can imagine the ignition, the pilot light that started in the eyes of the woman from Samaria when Christ leaned in and whispered those words. Evidently she didn’t see him as anything special before that.

There are several prophecies in Isaiah that describe a multi-faceted individual. Someone altogether human and yet concerned with one thing. The forty-second chapter, second verse says “He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause His voice to be heard in the street.” This means that doesn’t have to do what normally a person seeking an audience would be inclined to do. Yes, he had an entourage of twelve disciples but that was only because he was a teacher and it was tradition to find students and teach them. All throughout his time walking the streets of Israel, he was affecting the change talked about back in the prophecies of Isaiah. Another one from that book (53:1b-2) says “To whom is the arm of the Lord revealed? For He shall grow up before Him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.” In other words, there’s nothing about the outward appearance to Christ that suggests a knight in shining armor or an individual who has an unfounded messiah complex. He’s simply here to do what he was sent to do. It took a widescale realigning of the human experience by those who knew Him to understand, to apprehend the enormity of his person as he went about his day, doing things that were totally ordinary. He asks Philip (one of the twelve) “Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip?” (John 14:9) It takes time to have the light of God diffuse into us to where we see Christ for who he is while we’re here and as we are.

Help is on the way

Here’s the thing about Christ: He’s amazing. He’s the Man. There is a gravitas to His person that keeps one from being flippant and glib in His presence. But this isn’t to say that He inspires a mindless hero-worship bereft of our faculties. To see Him in what light one is accustomed brings a peace and a beauty that nothing else in this world is able to substitute. And He loves you. Don’t be fooled: He is the “Lion of the tribe of Juda, the Root of David” (Revelation 5:5) and due all the worship one is able to wring out of their person. But He’s also a friend. He’ll help you see Him for who He really is.

“These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you. But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, He shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:25-27)

The Other Side of the Coin

“The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, saith the Lord of hosts.” (Haggai 2:8)

I have a somewhat cavalier and nonchalant attitude when it comes to money and finances. Don’t get me wrong, I save and I budget (maybe a little) and give and spend wisely. But when it comes to “squeez[ing] every last drop” (to quote Prince John from Robin Hood) of usage out of my money, I sort-of, uh, turn off. Blame it on the fact that I am predisposed to live in the moment and you might understand that, while I know I have a future, I’m not overly concerned with “making it in this world”. But before I go any further and lest you think I don’t “get it”, let me quote Jesus here (Luke 16:9):

“And I say unto you, Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.”

Almost sounds scandalous doesn’t it? Here, Jesus is talking about dealing wisely with reference to money and finance and capital and whatnot. I suppose the gentleman (Jesus; I was gonna say “guy”, but that sounded a shade disrespectful) who can tell Peter to go drop a line and pull up, not just dinner, but both of their taxes as well, needn’t worry about such things (see Matthew 17:23-27). Think about how He calls it “the mammon of unrighteousness”. The context of the verse quoted doesn’t really flesh out the idea of our failing as an inevitability (“when ye fail”). It’s the unique individual in this world who isn’t under some sort of financial auspice or in the employ of a person “signing the check”. Yes, the man in the parable “had done wisely” (16:8) but there are all sorts of unwise things that we do with money—things that don’t play into the future the Father wants to give us—when we know deep down that there are other, better ways to spend and to save. That being said, here’s the next verse in the parable (Luke 16:10):

“He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much.”

Quick question: Does that have to refer only to money? What about time and patience and joy and a thousand other beautiful intangibles we have flowing out our ears because our God is just so generous? If you tithe regularly but look the other way when passing a person who might need a smile, what does that mean? I think often of Paul’s response to the chief captain’s declaration of “With a great sum obtained I this freedom” (referring, of course to citizenship in the Roman Empire). Paul says: “But I was free born.” In other words, Paul did nothing but emerge from the womb in order to be at the same privileged level for which the chief captain had to give God-knows-how-much (probably a lot) in order to procure. By the same token, I did nothing to get the look in my eyes and the smile on my face—two of the things that God uses to bless others. These things are of inestimable value. They’re also the very things that glaze over and become gray, dry and ineffectual when once we get our focus too far out on things like money and status. Seriously, don’t lose the light in your eyes.

“For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.” (1 Timothy 6:10)

Paul went one further and informed the world that, while love may make the world go ‘round, if one, uh, invests that love in money, said person gets pulled down to the center of the earth by way of some evil gravity (I’m not kidding). Referring again to what Jesus said about “Mak[ing] to [ourselves] friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, depending on what phrase you heard first growing up, you might not get what He said. Jesus isn’t saying to “love money”, He’s saying that it needs to be respected for the tool it is.

“Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not? For riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle toward heaven.” (Proverbs 23:5)

What about memories? Even if I make a costly mistake, I get the privilege of living through it and watching it work together for my good (Romans 8:28). Not only do I get a story to tell, but I also gain a window on the inner workings of a system I’d not get to experience otherwise. The truth is, we don’t know where all the money’s going (see Psalm 39:6). Even that bottom layer of our bank account that we don’t have to touch because payday rolls around sooner than later is like some sort of miraculous dimension wherein God can work miracles in the lives of those less fortunate. Think about it. I’m not telling you what to do with your finances: just be wise.

“Then Peter said, Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk.” (Acts 3:6)