Gritty. Demanding. Difficult. Inconvenient.

Love.  It isn’t about rainbows and bunnies.  It’s gritty, demanding, difficult, and inconvenient.  Jesus said, “…and the second is as great as the first, that you love your neighbor as yourself.” In one simple declaration he made loving your fellow man equal to loving your creator.

It’s simple.  But you’ve failed.

You have clipped, trimmed, neutered, and sterilized love into a little valentine.  Something given to somebody you like.  A hug to your best friend.   A smile to someone who’s nice.  But it’s more than that.  Much, much more.  And we’re not talking about the difference between a felon and that bitchy person at church you don’t like.  This is more complex.  More demanding.  It’s a commandment to love every single person that exists.

And though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, I am nothing.

Most likely you’ve spent a great portion of your adult life separating yourself from others.  Purifying your life from theirs.  Elevating and sanctifying.  “I will NOT break bread with you, sir.”  You love them so much that you put up huge walls.  A nice societal hedgerow that shields you from their crappy existence.

And this is how they will know you, that you love one another.

So as you sail though your clean little evangelical, Anabaptist, or second-Presbyterian-twice-removed world, remember that he did as you ought.  Whether the hooker, the cheater, or the traitor, he loved everyone around him.  He made everyone better.  And he proved it.

Greater love hath no man, than he lay down his life for a friend.

Ironic. This outburst isn’t about love.  Nor is it about Jesus.  It’s about Christ-ians.  It’s about those who subvert the single greatest commandment in a misguided attempt at meeting one thousand nine hundred and forty-seven lesser ones.  A grand and grail-like quest of perfection that fails miserably at the throne.

I was hungry and you fed me. I was naked and you clothed me.  I was in prison and you visited me.

And finally, it’s about hypocrisy. Yours. And mine.

Tasty Nostalgia

I really like communion bread.  I’m sure it started like most young GB children, walking up the aisle on the Sunday after communion.  It was probably made even more appealing by the shear regulation of it during Official Body Bread Baking held just prior to every communion service.  One deacon’s wife, in particular, made it her solemn duty to guard against over consumption of bread by the children during the baking event.  And we’re not even talking about whole sticks, just the over baked ends and sides.  In hindsight, she may have been concerned that the joy and fun levels might reach inappropriate levels.

The communion service itself served as a dichotomy of sorts.  Guilt and joy, together.  As a young man between the ages of 8 and 12, I frequently sat second, third, or fourth in line to the elder presiding over the communion service.  The lead up to the sermon with the “Death and Suffering” talk always created a dark and ominous, even guilt ridden, emotion.  But then, oh yes, the passing of the bread.  If I remember correctly, the first stick would pass directly in front of me.  Left to right.  “Beloved brother, this bread which we break…”  I don’t remember getting an end piece immediately, but usually when the third -in -line minister came back for more.  Then, a tiny little piece of delicious, unleavened bread was placed over my shoulder and into my hand.  If you really think about it, it actually doesn’t have a taste at all.  But it did then.  It was simultaneously the taste of redemption and the taste of adulthood.  That’s the result of closed communion to a child. The exclusivity of the whole piece heightens the experience of the tiny piece.  When everyone began to eat their bread, I would eat mine in the tiniest little pieces ever. 

Must not eat too quickly.  Must make the experience last as long as the grownups.

This, of course, was not the only time I was able to enjoy communion bread.  Much to my delight, Uncle Morris always made a batch during the annual Cook Christmas.  My cousin Chad and I would grab just enough pieces as to not attract attention, and then race off to a corner and enjoy.  This practice may have seemed sacrilegious to some, but we knew from communion service that this unblessed bread was not the Eucharist, but a small, flat snack that could be eaten in months that were not October or May.

After college when I had my own place, I realized that baking communion bread was not solely the job of the local official body or my uncle.  I acquired two recipes, worked out some kinks, and set about to make my own.  There were rolling pin issues, the matter of straight lines, and deciding which fork to use.   There was also the Great Low-Fat Margarine Debacle of 2008.  Turns out that skim milk can substitute for half-and-half, but anything other than butter or regular margarine will turn into disappointment.  With my process improved, I can now whip up a batch in 30 to 35 minutes total.  It takes a little longer if I’m talking to family and have to re-count the cups of flour.  Trust me, you don’t want to mess that up.

I have now taken it to family Christmases, eaten with friends, by myself, and even took on a business trip last year.  Tastes great on a plane, too.  Since my wife doesn’t like it, or even understand exactly what it is or why I make it, I don’t have to worry about someone else finishing it without me.   After thirty-one years and somewhere over a thousand individual pieces, I still enjoy every bite.

Random thoughts: Cufflinks and bonnets.

I went to a GB wedding today, for the first time in twelve years or so.  It was nice to see so many familiar faces.  Funny how the Eel River official body looks much like they did twenty years ago.  It was definitely the first GB wedding where I checked my Facebook messages and breaking news on CNN with my Blackberry.

It was a day of tradition, with a touch of contrast.  A sea of dark, slicked back hair.  My brother in suit-and-tie with bright, blonde hair beside me.  Ushers in stand up collars with neatly parted hair beside my GQ-worthy nephews.  I texted one of them during the service just to see what would happen.  I know, not one of my better moments.

For all of my reticence, my wife and I were about the last people to leave.  We dodged the floor sweepers while finishing up conversation.  Okay, it was mostly me talking.  It was a day of Hesses, Slothours, Metzgers, and Zaigers.  There must have been some Brubakers and Garbers, but I can’t remember.

The small boy in front of us entertained himself by rapidly plugging and unplugging his ears during the sermon.  Funny how some things never change.

Laban Cook

Is Truth hereditary?

By Laban Cook

I’m currently wrestling with the idea of universal truth versus local norms and mores.  Any of us who have enjoyed an undergraduate sociology course appreciate the concept of community values that we absorb through our childhood and teenage development.  This is certainly a good thing because it gives us a framework for acceptable behavior, interaction with those around us, and a sense of the social contract.

Most of us, however, would argue that our childhood and teenage development was influenced by something much greater than a simple set of common sociological values.  We probably believe that we have Truth, a profound and universal belief that transcends community and geography, national boundary, ethnicity, and time.  This may be true, and is certainly worthy of an eternal debate.  Here is why I struggle with this.  If you’re reading this, there is a VERY good chance that you are a white Anglo-Saxon protestant born and raised within the forty-eight contiguous United States.¹ In fact, you may be part of an even smaller segment who hold to more peculiar and fundamentalist type religious tradition.  There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with this, but the core issue arises from the perception of universal truth.  You probably think that you believe what you believe because it is Truth, not that you were simply born into this community with its associated values, traditions, and beliefs.  And sure, you might have varied slightly from the core tenets, but in the grand scheme of things, you have probably deviated .01% from where you started, compared to the wide diversity of thought that exists worldwide.

What about the temporal aspects associated with belief?  I recently read a book titled, A New Kind of Christian by Brian McLaren that commented on this.

“To really get the impact of how different the medieval model was, we could imagine what would happen what would happen if we could take two of you students … and send you back into the fifteenth century.  Nobody could possibly believe that you could be Christians.  …if you told them you didn’t believe in the pope and you didn’t accept that kings ruled by divine right and you didn’t believe that God created a universe consisting of concentric spheres of ascending perfection, and if you let it slip that you agreed with Copernicus that the earth rotated around the sun, you would surely be tried as heretics and perhaps burned at the stake…To the Christian culture of medieval Europe, none of you today could be considered real Christians. True, you might say that you believe in Jesus and that you follow the Bible – but that would sound like nonsense to them if at the same time you denied what to them was essential for any reasonable person to accept: the medieval worldview, which was the context for their faith.”²

So, the ultimate question remains.  What are the chances your current core truths would remain unchanged if you had been born in Karachi, Pakistan?  What about Bangkok, Thailand?  What about Mumbai, India?  Statistically, you would be Muslim, Buddhist, or Hindu respectively.  And, it is highly unlikely that you would change because conversion rates are tiny compared to the overall national population in each of these countries.  Is it also related to your birth in the 1960’s instead of the 1460’s? 

So, are your beliefs True?  Do you find yourself bolstering them by reinforcing statements that originate from the same community and culture?  Do you believe them because you were born to Bob and Ethel Brubaker³ and raised in a nice little community somewhere in Ohio, USA?  Did you go to a nice little school where everyone else thought the same way?  Do you primarily interact with the same people, with the same mindset, who drive the same cars, with the same education?

Then again, maybe you do have a lock on the truth and the other five billion people are hosed.

The Second Law of Thermodynamics and the modern church

"Second Law of Thermodynamics - Increased Entropy
The Second Law of Thermodynamics is commonly known as the Law of Increased Entropy. While quantity remains the same (First Law), the quality of matter/energy deteriorates gradually over time. How so? Usable energy is inevitably used for productivity, growth and repair. In the process, usable energy is converted into unusable energy. Thus, usable energy is irretrievably lost in the form of unusable energy.

"Entropy" is defined as a measure of unusable energy within a closed or isolated system (the universe for example). As usable energy decreases and unusable energy increases, "entropy" increases. Entropy is also a gauge of randomness or chaos within a closed system. As usable energy is irretrievably lost, disorganization, randomness and chaos increase. (http://www.allaboutscience.org/second-law-of-thermodynamics.htm)