The Rob BlogIt's Better Over Here.

Earlier this week, a friend of mine posted his thoughts on the Evangelical Church and Communion. I found his post thought-provoking, noble and well spoken, though it apparently caused such a fervent response that he was urged by the leadership of his church to take it down. (It’s a shame when the church cannot partake of healthy dialogue regarding the elements of the faith. I happen to believe that even flat-out emotional debate is good from time to time, but maybe that’s just me.)

At some point, an argument was made for using pre-packaged communion elements based on saving the Church money that could be used for other ministries.

Was someone really suggesting that pre-packaged elements are cheaper? Surely not. More convenient, perhaps. Cheaper than bread, juice and reusable cups, (be that glass or metal, chalice or cup) no. That argument is just plain silly.

But, before this conversation goes any further, I think it is worth noting that my friend was commenting on the Evangelical Church as a whole, and the shift he has seen away from the sacrificial elements being taken in a reverent way. This wasn’t an indictment on any one local church, but rather a question of how we, as The Church (I know, there goes Rob on an ecumenical kick again) reverence our most sacred of rituals.

That brings me, of course, to the sacred ritual itself. There is nothing in our Church history that is more sacred and intimate than the taking of communion. Keep in mind that many of your brothers and sisters throughout history gave their lives rather than give up this very thing.

When I think about communion, I tend to try and find something that resonates with me in the same way…. In this case, I liken it to making love. That’s right. Giggle and blush if you must, but that’s the truth.

In a marriage, there is no greater intimate moment than making love to your spouse. It is the pinnacle of togetherness. It is the very physical act of saying, “I love you and I want to be as close to you as I can possibly be.” For the Christian, no ritual comes closer to that kind of commitment than taking the elements.

So, think about your wife for a moment. Do you prefer to make love to her in a cozy bed and breakfast, where the candles are lit and the rose petals have been set up across the room, or do you prefer a rent-by-the-hour motel? I think your wife could answer easily, which matters more to her. Now, you COULD make the argument that the act is the same in both places, right? I mean, either way you are getting it on…

But, one just feels a little more loving than the other, yes? One environment says, “I love you and I want you and you matter to me.” And the other says, “My own physical gratification is most important, and let’s get this over with.”

So, why would we look at communion any differently? Why would we say, “The way we do this doesn’t matter as long as our hearts are right?” It doesn’t make any sense. Of course it matters how and when we take communion!

Would you say, “Making love to my wife is so awesome. I’m only going to make love to her quarterly because otherwise it would lose its specialness.” No way! Because it is special, you want to join with her in it as often as you can, right? Right.

Look, I’m not attacking the local church I attend on Sunday mornings. I love it there, and I believe in the Church and her leadership. I’m amazed by the compassion and heart of the pastor and the people. What I am saying is that like anything else, it is healthy to reexamine what we do and why we do it from time to time and make changes that are in line with what we believe. In this case, we have a very excellent record in scripture as to how communion was received. There is no need to stray in the name of convenience.

What my friend wrote resonated deep within me, and it made me joyful, not angry or bitter to know that people still care about our sacred rituals.

Communion is special in my opinion, and I love it enough to do it often and right.

The Hike

Gavin loved hiking.

Out here in the woods, with his legs chugging along, he felt almost light. The sun managed it’s way slowly through the leaves and down towards his present location, a rocky bluff on the side of the mountain. He knew he was somewhere in Western North Carolina, but he wasn’t positive of his exact location.

There was one thing he WAS positive of though. Out here he could breathe.

He sat down on the rocks and looked out over the valley below. Far beneath him, the Nantahala River snaked its way through the forest. The steady breeze was moving the leaves in the trees in a rhythm of sorts, and it was hard to hear the river, but every now and again, the two would blend into a beautiful song.

For some reason, being alone here in the mountains made him feel less lonely and closer to God. It wasn’t that he was a pantheist or anything like that, but rather that he felt he could better listen when he was alone.

Back home, things felt…cluttered. His brain didn’t seem to work amidst the constant needs of his job, church and family. He loved them of course, and would do anything for them, but it did make him at times feel tired and unable to process thought.

It hadn’t always been this way, had it? He struggled to remember.

There were a lot of things Gavin could no longer remember. He found as he got older that some memories had crawled into the far recesses of his brain and simply would not emerge no matter how hard he tried. This enraged Shelley, of course. She struggled to see why he couldn’t feel remorse for the things in his past, but how could one be remorseful for something he didn’t even remember?

He slowly stood up and looked down again at the valley. So beautiful.

When Gavin was out here, it had the effect of a prescription drug. The kind of drug made just for him. The kind of drug that could lift his sadness and give him a clear head. The kind of drug the doctors told him didn’t exist for his condition.

He longed for Shelley to join him, out here in the woods. If she would, he thought, she would see me for who I really am.

But was that true? Was the person in the woods the real him or was it simply who he wished he could be? Was the real him the man back home?

It didn’t matter really, because she would never meet the man in the woods. Long ago, Shelley had been hit by a car as she was out walking. It had been a horrible accident, leaving her in the hospital for months and years of therapy afterward. You couldn’t see it now, but every step, even on carpet hurt her a little. Hiking was out of the question.

Sometimes, this seemed to be a good explanation for their entire marriage- Each of them unable to join the other. She couldn’t do the things that set him free and he couldn’t free his mind for her.

Both were cages.

He wondered for a moment, how long they could last like this.

The very thought of being without her made his head reel, and he had to reach out and steady himself by grabbing the nearest tree. He bent over, thinking he might be sick for a moment, but slowly, the feeling dread passed, as it always did. He straightened up, and gazed out over the valley.

Along the tree line in the far distance, he saw a thin black line. For just a moment, the breeze picked up, throwing leaves around him in a tiny whirlwind. The sweet smell of summer rain reached into his senses.

A storm was coming.

Gavin glanced at the ridge one more time. What he would like to do would be to find a dense grove of trees or perhaps a small cave far up in the mountains and sit protected as the storm passed over him. He would like to close his eyes and listen as the rain fell down all around him. He would like to stand in it and let the wet mountain air embrace and clear the sweat away.

Instead, he turned and began the walk back to the main trail that would lead down the mountain and then eventually back to his truck.

After all, a storm was coming.

CAFFEINE AND GREEK

A lot of people ask me what kind of Bible I read and the answer isn’t as easy as you might think.

You see, I tend to use several. Here is an approximate break down-

My standard reading Bible is the NASB. There are a few reasons for this, but the main reason is that it was the required text from Bethel Theological Seminary in St. Paul where I received my Masters degree in “Uppity Theologian Who Thinks He’s Always Right”.

For sacred occasions such as reading the Christ Birth at Christmas time, I prefer the St. John Bible. This is a hand scribed book and I never cease to be amazed at it’s beauty.

I still casually read from my NIV Bible that I was presented upon my graduation at Lee University. The inside has an inscription by President Paul Conn himself! How’s that for your tuition dollars at work?

Now things get a bit trickier.

If I’m studying the New Testament in an effort to introduce context and proper meaning, I use Marshall’s NASB-NIV Parallel. It’s a nice sturdy hardbound edition that April got for me years ago, and you can read all three translations (Greek, NASB and NIV) at once.

I also like to read The Message (not a true translation, I know…) when preparing a lecture or sermon. I thing Peterson is a linguistic genius and we can probably get closer to the spirit of the text from the Message on most days than we can from any real “translation”.

I have a small pocket version of the ESV that was presented to me on the evening of my Ordination into the ministry. I don’t read it much, but I do often keep it in my back pocket just in case.

You will notice that nowhere on the list is the King James or the New King James. I know that many pastors love the sound of the King James while screaming it. It definitely has an air of authority to it and with the proper Southern twang it can sound downright brimstone-y. A definite must-have if reminding people that they have a one-way ticket to Hell.

In my opinion, neither of these texts are better than the NASB or ESV and in most cases, The Message will serve your purpose better anyway.

Now, on to the matter of Coffee…

Starbucks or Dunkin. Period.

(Note: I’m trying a little exercise. I’m going to be writing some semi-autobiographical pieces over the year in an effort to sort my feelings out about various emotions, thoughts and feelings that I have going on inside. These stories aren’t fact, though they certainly have elements of truth in them. I ask that you please accept them for what they are. The simple ramblings of an old blogger.)

The Writer

Gavin had never intended to be a writer in the first place.

Perhaps this is why he felt as though the well was dry. Perhaps there had never been any well of creativity to begin with. In fact, Gavin was beginning to wonder if there was any purpose to any of it.

How could he write from the bottom of his heart if he wasn’t even sure there was anything in his heart at all? Most days, he simply felt dead inside. It had been this way ever since the crash.

Everyone knew about the crash. It had happened years ago. Something inside Gavin had snapped and gone horribly wrong. To this day, even close friends and family wondered why it had happened, though he often heard them speaking among one another about his “overloaded schedule” or “Silly dramatic tendencies”. He had no doubt that they meant well, though he also knew they couldn’t possibly understand. Since the crash he had come to understand that unless you had gone insane for a while, there was no real way to understand those who had. It was kind of like trying to understand someone who claimed to have been “born again”, except  instead of hanging out with Jesus and being insanely happy, you hung out with Jesus and were insanely miserable. Either way, Jesus and you hung out by yourselves.

No one else is invited to the crazy party…only crazy people.

Whatever the reason, one thing was certain. A part of Gavin had died, and no amount of begging, pleading or praying had been able to bring it back.

Gone was the playful and loving man who had enjoyed spending time with friends. The faithful trusting man of God had disappeared too, leaving behind a disillusioned, frightened, angry person that even he could hardly recognize.

When had he stopped praying? Tough to tell. Was it the millionth time he had cried out to God with no answer, or the Millionth and one?

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to say that he didn’t “pray”. After all, he spoke to God every day. The difference these days was that he wasn’t expecting any answers.

Most days, the conversation between Gavin and God played itself out in clinical fashion. During the crash Gavin had finally turned off the voice in his head that he had once believed to be his Creator. It was too confusing hearing that voice alongside all the others. Now, even though the voices were gone (or at least in the background) he felt no trust.

Trust.

How could he ever trust again? After all, a lifetime of service to God hadn’t saved him from the agony of the crash. Worse than the agony during the ordeal was the lingering residue…a smoky crater that sat in the middle of his chest, directly where his heart had once been.

The crash had affected everything.

Even his marriage was damaged from the crash. (or was it from the fallout? Or perhaps the cold realization that this was his new life?)

She had hoped for better in life. Surely, she thought, she deserved more than a house and kids and a husband who sometimes thought of ending his own life. Her job was nothing more than 8 hours of frustration a day, and she arrived home in no mood for fun, even when the kids needed it.

‘They take”, she thought. “They all just take…and I’m dying.”

Gavin didn’t have the strength to help her anymore. He couldn’t. There was nothing left. So instead, he watched helplessly as it all fell slowly apart.

That was part of it. The speed.

Gavin had never been one for slow burn. He had been a firebrand of a person before the crash. He had loved explosions. A nice big fight had never bothered him. But there was no passion anymore. The crash had taken it from him.

She would try to argue with him sometimes. Anything to feel something. But instead of fighting, he would just look at her and sigh.

She hated him. He was certain of it. Inside he wished there was some way to tell her that he still cared, but she was far too angry to hear him, even if he could.

No, Gavin had never wanted to be a writer at all. It wasn’t his plan. But here he sat, staring at the blank screen. The cursor blinked on and off, mocking him.

No words came out. After all, how could they?

There were no words left.

OK…first things first. Welcome to the new RobAlderman.Net. …Super glad to have you here.

Now, on to more important things, like Avatar . Wow.

To say that this film is EPIC, would be an understatement in the truest sense. In fact, I struggle to even find a way to review the film, so in the end, I’ll probably just let the Slinky do it. Still, I feel like I should say something, so here goes.

Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way…

Yes, the movie steals it’s plot from Ferngully , though much of Ferngully has better dialogue. Let that sink in and just accept it. ready to move on? Good.

Now on to the good stuff.

You have NEVER, ever…like, EVER IN YOUR LIFE seen a movie like this. Now, my good pal and old professor Matthew Melton went and saw this movie in regular 2D format, and he still loved it. I’m not really sure how this is possible.

The fact is that this movie is an absolute gamechanger. I think that beyond anything, it was the fact that I never had a “Wow, this is 3DDDDD!!!!!” moment that really showed how brilliant this film really is. The tech is so amazing that you just buy into it from the opening scene. My eyes never needed adjusting, nothing weird…just simple transportation into an alien world that seems just as real as the person sitting next to you.

Now, there is something else worth mentioning. The acting is actually really solid, and doesn’t seem to hurt from the cliche dialogue. what’s more is that you really truly feel for the characters. Their pain and happiness affect you deeply, which is a real triumph in this day and age.

As for the message, it isn’t anything you haven’t heard before, but that doesn’t make it any less important. i love movies that tap into the basic human needs. Love. Hate. Waste. Forgivness. Grace. Ect…

When you look at this film through a theological framework it becomes even more intense. There were moments during the film that I felt I was communing with The Almighty, and that doesn’t happen much. When a film takes me to a place where I feel the need to pray,(and I don’t mean in that “Dear God, this movie is so horrible. Please get me out of here.” sort of way) I am forced to take notice.

As you know, I really REALLY enjoyed Sherlock Holmes, and I think you should go see it. I’ll stand in line for the sequel and I’ll go to bat for the film against any of it’s detractors for no other reason that America needs to learn to enjoy a fun movie when they get one. But here’s the thing. For as good as Sherlock Holmes is, it isn’t even in the same league as Avatar. You can’t compare the two, so don’t try. While Sherlock Holmes is a fun ride, Avatar succedes at being something much deeper and meaningful…and I, for one, am grateful.