Adulthood can be delayed, but not avoided.
A perfect storm happens, as in the underrated film of the same name, when two or more powerful weather systems collide and join forces.
In a total span of five weeks, May 15th to June 25th, I will 1) graduate from St. Paul School of Theology, 2) be married to Lindsey and 3) be commissioned as an provisional elder in the United Methodist Church.
I have been a student for 20 of my 26 years. This is part of the delaying of my adulthood; going straight from a high school student to a college student to a graduate student. I don't know how NOT to be a student. I don't mean the kind of life-long, everything's a lesson kind of learning. I don't know what it looks like to not be enrolled in school. And, because of a few past mistakes, I have a more-than-full load of courses all of which require exemplary performances between now and diploma time.
The pressures and stresses of simply planning a wedding aside, becoming a married person is the biggest thing I've ever done with my life. I am thrilled to have Lindsey in my life and to be a part of hers, and I am ready to give my whole self to her. But, its stressful enough when two lives become one, two houses, two families, two bank accounts, two places to spend the holidays; add to that the uncertaintanty of an itinerant pastor's life, of really not knowing where our first house as a couple is going to be until weeks before we're married, and the unfair expectations placed on pastors' spouses by congregations, pastors, cabinets and bishops. And, lurking behind the scenes and far ahead in the future, is the thought of fatherhood, of starting a family. I want to be a father, but I'm still a child.
Commissioning should mean answering God's call in my life to serve the least, last and lost, becoming part of a tradition, both ecclessial and familial, of life devoted to the love of God and neighbor. Unfortunately, commissioning means paperwork, interviews and stress. I go into this process wanting to be true to myself and to my theology that has been formed through 26 years of experience and study, but also terrified of saying the one wrong thing that will end this journey. I go into this process meticulously parsing each syllable of my answers to the Board, not to gain a better self-understanding and be better prepared for ministry, but so I'll pass the test. Commissioning means, probably, a new full time position and while I know the cabinet and the bishop strive with every appointment to consider the gifts and graces of each pastor, the needs and contexts of each congregation and the lives of each family, they can still send me, and Lindsey, anywhere. Anywhere! Not only do I feel called to ministry in Kansas City, my future spouse, the woman to which I'm willing to give my whole self, is succesful here and has worked hard for 12 years to get where she is. And they could send us anywhere? When I take my vows I will affirm and support the itinerant system of the United Methodist Church, just like I will follow the church's stance on ordination and marriage of homosexual persons for as. But that won't mean that I will suddenly stop thinking that our church structure, system and stances are in need of serious reform or stop hoping to be a part of that reformation.
Graduation May 15th. Wedding May 23rd. Annual Conference June 6th. Appointments June 28th. The Perfect Storm.
Let me be clear:
My seminary education has been an overwhelming blessing. The people it has brought into my life, the people with which I have been able to learn, the growth and fruition of an identity as a pastor. Unbelievable stuff.
I love Lindsey with all of my heart, I am ready to be her husband, I thank God everyday for the love, challenge, support, guidance, comfort and laughter that she brings me. I could not be more excited to become Bradley James CoreyBryan, as confusing as that may be to the people who already get my name wrong.
I am prepared and excited, bursting at the seems actually, to begin the next phase of God's ministry in my life. Simply being allowed to preach and teach and sing the love of God in Jesus Christ, to care for the children of God and to be a part of creating the kingdom of heaven on this earth (no, I don't mean bringing about war in Israel, Pastor Hagge) is an astonishing, awe-provoking, embarrassing, overflowing joy.
Sometimes joy can be terrifying. Especially for a shoe-gazer like me.
I hope this sheds some light on my blogging absence as of late. There's been some other things on my mind.
I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal. I am thine and thou art mine. So be it. Whatever may come, so be it.
Peace, B
Monday, November 24, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Case for Texas Chainsaw Massacre
On the previous Halloween blog, I claimed Silence of the Lambs as the best horror movie of all time. Since then, I've watched, again, the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Here is the case for TCM being the best horror movie ever.
1. It starts creepy, stays creepy, ends creepy. From the start, with flashbulb shots of decomposing body parts, high strings and clashing cymbols soundtrack and shot of the sun as an object of forboding instead of comfort, TCM creates an atmosphere of creepyness and uncomfortableness that grabs you and doesn't let go. The disturbing images, music and, of course, plot, continue throughout. And we end with the classic shot of Leatherface dancing in the street waving his chainsaw around and the girl's eyes that glimmer with insanity.
2. It's scary, but mostly disturbing. There are moments in TCM that make you jump and scream and grab on to the person next to you. But, most of all, you can't get it out of your head. It disturbs you, disrupts your sleep, ruins road trips. Case in point: yes, the first time Leatherface jumps into frame, hits the guy over the head, drags him back and that great stainless steal door slides shut, you jump and scream in fright. But, the image of mostly-dead Grandpa sucking the cut finger of the protaginist, the couch made of bones or even the watch with a nail through hanging from the tree get stuck in your head and don't come out.
3. The filmmaker, Tobe Hooper, trusts in the capacity of the audience's imagination. You see the hook, you see Leatherface pick the girl up, but you don't see the hook go in. You see the chainsaw move toward the gut of the person, but you don't see the cuts being made. You don't need to; your imagination will come up with something worse than the director could show you. (Hostel, Saw, I'm looking at you!)
4. The girl gets away. She is not saved by anyone, she doesn't save anyone herself (like Jessica Biel saving the baby in the remake), she just gets away. Sure, she's completely driven insane by her experience. But, sometimes that's all we can ask , just to get away with our lives. And there's no stupid set up for a sequal, just a girl in a truck and a maniac dancing in the street with a chainsaw.
Thus, with its reliance on the deep dark disturbing recesses of our own imaginations and its creepy-crawly mood, from images to camera work to music, Texas Chainsaw Massacre could be the best horror movie ever!
Pleasant Dreams, B
1. It starts creepy, stays creepy, ends creepy. From the start, with flashbulb shots of decomposing body parts, high strings and clashing cymbols soundtrack and shot of the sun as an object of forboding instead of comfort, TCM creates an atmosphere of creepyness and uncomfortableness that grabs you and doesn't let go. The disturbing images, music and, of course, plot, continue throughout. And we end with the classic shot of Leatherface dancing in the street waving his chainsaw around and the girl's eyes that glimmer with insanity.
2. It's scary, but mostly disturbing. There are moments in TCM that make you jump and scream and grab on to the person next to you. But, most of all, you can't get it out of your head. It disturbs you, disrupts your sleep, ruins road trips. Case in point: yes, the first time Leatherface jumps into frame, hits the guy over the head, drags him back and that great stainless steal door slides shut, you jump and scream in fright. But, the image of mostly-dead Grandpa sucking the cut finger of the protaginist, the couch made of bones or even the watch with a nail through hanging from the tree get stuck in your head and don't come out.
3. The filmmaker, Tobe Hooper, trusts in the capacity of the audience's imagination. You see the hook, you see Leatherface pick the girl up, but you don't see the hook go in. You see the chainsaw move toward the gut of the person, but you don't see the cuts being made. You don't need to; your imagination will come up with something worse than the director could show you. (Hostel, Saw, I'm looking at you!)
4. The girl gets away. She is not saved by anyone, she doesn't save anyone herself (like Jessica Biel saving the baby in the remake), she just gets away. Sure, she's completely driven insane by her experience. But, sometimes that's all we can ask , just to get away with our lives. And there's no stupid set up for a sequal, just a girl in a truck and a maniac dancing in the street with a chainsaw.
Thus, with its reliance on the deep dark disturbing recesses of our own imaginations and its creepy-crawly mood, from images to camera work to music, Texas Chainsaw Massacre could be the best horror movie ever!
Pleasant Dreams, B
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.`'
Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door
-Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating`'
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.
'Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."
'But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Happy Halloween, Brad
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.`'
Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door
-Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating`'
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.
'Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."
'But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Happy Halloween, Brad
Monday, October 13, 2008
Are You Scared?
What makes a great horror movie? The antagonist? The protagonist? The make-up effects? The music? The answer is yes.
I love horror movies. I'm not quite an afficionado, but I know my stuff. So, in honor of Halloween, the wonderful time of year when even American Movie Classics plays Friday the 13th 4, the one that Jason isn't even in and the killer is actually Cory Feldman (what?), here's my offering of horror movie rules, winners and losers.
There's basically three types of horror movies: nightmare inducing, movie-theater-scream-inducing and vomit inducing. The all have their merits and their crown jewells. For my money, the nightmare inducing horror flick is the best. The villian you see in your dreams for weeks after watching is better than getting scared a few times in the theater by a villian you barely remember.
For years, the golden age, the nightmare genre ruled. In the 90s, Scream ushered in a new era of the, well, scream-inducing movies. And the 2000s gave us the wonder of Saw that introduced the bile-moving horror flicks. With every good revolution comes backlash of course: punk movement gave us Good Charlette, Nirvana led to, ugh, Puddle of Mudd. And Saw, an excellent horror movie, led us to the point of watching plotless, gruesome torture movies. Sitting in a theater watching a man get castrated, by rusty scissors OR vagina dentata (see Teeth), is not scary, its gross.
No, my friends, I am a traditionalist. Its the movies that get into your head, that haunt your dreams, that are true horror movies. They may not be "scary" in the theater, you may not jump out of your seat and grab your seatmates arm in shock, but you can't get them out of your head. Reagen in the Exorcist, Michael Myers in Halloween, Jack Torrence in the Shining. These are the faces I see in my nightmares. Not the goofy knife-weilding killer from Scream.
Alright, my argument for the best horror movie of all time: Silence of the Lambs. Not a horror movie. Bullshapoopi. Sure, there's no ghosts, no zombies, no monsters, nothing supernatural at all. But, sit down by yourself, in the dark, turn off the phone, no interruptions, and then try, just try I DARE you, to not see Hannibal Lector's eyes in your dreams for weeks to come. Try not to hide your face from the screen in the climatic night-vision scene. Try not to hear Hannibal's voice when you close your eyes. In terms of sheer nightmare inducing, horror movie power, you don't get better than Hannibal the Cannibal.
Enjoy Halloween, watch scary movies, visit haunted houses.
It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again, B
I love horror movies. I'm not quite an afficionado, but I know my stuff. So, in honor of Halloween, the wonderful time of year when even American Movie Classics plays Friday the 13th 4, the one that Jason isn't even in and the killer is actually Cory Feldman (what?), here's my offering of horror movie rules, winners and losers.
There's basically three types of horror movies: nightmare inducing, movie-theater-scream-inducing and vomit inducing. The all have their merits and their crown jewells. For my money, the nightmare inducing horror flick is the best. The villian you see in your dreams for weeks after watching is better than getting scared a few times in the theater by a villian you barely remember.
For years, the golden age, the nightmare genre ruled. In the 90s, Scream ushered in a new era of the, well, scream-inducing movies. And the 2000s gave us the wonder of Saw that introduced the bile-moving horror flicks. With every good revolution comes backlash of course: punk movement gave us Good Charlette, Nirvana led to, ugh, Puddle of Mudd. And Saw, an excellent horror movie, led us to the point of watching plotless, gruesome torture movies. Sitting in a theater watching a man get castrated, by rusty scissors OR vagina dentata (see Teeth), is not scary, its gross.
No, my friends, I am a traditionalist. Its the movies that get into your head, that haunt your dreams, that are true horror movies. They may not be "scary" in the theater, you may not jump out of your seat and grab your seatmates arm in shock, but you can't get them out of your head. Reagen in the Exorcist, Michael Myers in Halloween, Jack Torrence in the Shining. These are the faces I see in my nightmares. Not the goofy knife-weilding killer from Scream.
Alright, my argument for the best horror movie of all time: Silence of the Lambs. Not a horror movie. Bullshapoopi. Sure, there's no ghosts, no zombies, no monsters, nothing supernatural at all. But, sit down by yourself, in the dark, turn off the phone, no interruptions, and then try, just try I DARE you, to not see Hannibal Lector's eyes in your dreams for weeks to come. Try not to hide your face from the screen in the climatic night-vision scene. Try not to hear Hannibal's voice when you close your eyes. In terms of sheer nightmare inducing, horror movie power, you don't get better than Hannibal the Cannibal.
Enjoy Halloween, watch scary movies, visit haunted houses.
It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again, B
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Midterm Papers
Sorry for the recent break. I've been working on midterm papers, getting a passport, filling out charge conference paperwork, writing a sermon series, finalizing reception plans, etc. etc. etc.
Be back soon. Peace, B
Be back soon. Peace, B
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
To Set at Liberty Those who are Oppressed...(HBI warning-hot button issue to follow. please read and discuss)
...with Liberty and Justice for All.
Fighting for justice and against oppression is what we're SUPPOSED to do, right? As Christians, as Americans, as Humans. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere, right? Is there anybody who doesn't agree with that?
Liberating the oppressed, reaching out and responding to the marginalized, showing hospitality and kindness to the outcast, is how Jesus defined his own ministry and the kind of ministry to which he called the disciples.
Instead, certain people in certain churches in certain contexts have decided, and continually decide, to be the oppressers. I'm trying not to generalize. I recognize and affirm the individualilty and particularity of each human person.
But there are A LOT of people who seem content with their oppression, even comfortable with it, even proud of it. Building fences, building fences to bolster the fences, denying people communion, denying people the right to worship where, when, how, to whom/what, they please.
Here it is, folks. I have to say it. It might trouble some of you, it might get me in trouble. But right now, I have to say it:
1. Saying that women don't have the right to preach is oppression.
2. Saying that homosexual persons don't have the right to preach or marry or even become members of a church is oppression. And a church, say the United Methodist Church, that does not allow ANYONE to preach and proclaim the gospel is a participant in oppression.
3. Denying anyone communion EVER is oppression.
4. Thinking your tradition's baptism is better or, um, more official, is oppression.
5. Building fortified fences on our borders is oppression.
6. Calling to claim English as America's official language is oppression.
The ultimate oppression is the idea that one person, one group of people, one tradition, one nation can have complete and sole ownership of truth (or of God, which might be six and one). If you (I) ever, in any way, think you (I) are (am) better than anyone else or have a clearer understanding of the mysteries of life than anyone else, you are (I am) wrong and you are (I am) oppressing.
The questions:
1. Knowing this, saying this, believing this, how do we claim Jesus Christ as the way to salvation?
2. How do we show tolerance to the intolerant? Kindness to the unkind? Love to the hateful? Are we supposed to? Aren't we supposed to hate what it is evil and cling to what is good?
3. How do we teach "liberty and justice for all" to the affluent, the liberated, the powerful?
4. How are we, individually and collectively, participating in oppression and what are we doing, individually and collectively, to set at liberty ALL those who are oppressed?
The answer, always: grace.
Your friend, brother, partner, collaborator, Brad-owner of one microscopic atom in one grain of sand of the vastness of the truth of God.
An unexamined life is not worth living.
Fighting for justice and against oppression is what we're SUPPOSED to do, right? As Christians, as Americans, as Humans. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere, right? Is there anybody who doesn't agree with that?
Liberating the oppressed, reaching out and responding to the marginalized, showing hospitality and kindness to the outcast, is how Jesus defined his own ministry and the kind of ministry to which he called the disciples.
Instead, certain people in certain churches in certain contexts have decided, and continually decide, to be the oppressers. I'm trying not to generalize. I recognize and affirm the individualilty and particularity of each human person.
But there are A LOT of people who seem content with their oppression, even comfortable with it, even proud of it. Building fences, building fences to bolster the fences, denying people communion, denying people the right to worship where, when, how, to whom/what, they please.
Here it is, folks. I have to say it. It might trouble some of you, it might get me in trouble. But right now, I have to say it:
1. Saying that women don't have the right to preach is oppression.
2. Saying that homosexual persons don't have the right to preach or marry or even become members of a church is oppression. And a church, say the United Methodist Church, that does not allow ANYONE to preach and proclaim the gospel is a participant in oppression.
3. Denying anyone communion EVER is oppression.
4. Thinking your tradition's baptism is better or, um, more official, is oppression.
5. Building fortified fences on our borders is oppression.
6. Calling to claim English as America's official language is oppression.
The ultimate oppression is the idea that one person, one group of people, one tradition, one nation can have complete and sole ownership of truth (or of God, which might be six and one). If you (I) ever, in any way, think you (I) are (am) better than anyone else or have a clearer understanding of the mysteries of life than anyone else, you are (I am) wrong and you are (I am) oppressing.
The questions:
1. Knowing this, saying this, believing this, how do we claim Jesus Christ as the way to salvation?
2. How do we show tolerance to the intolerant? Kindness to the unkind? Love to the hateful? Are we supposed to? Aren't we supposed to hate what it is evil and cling to what is good?
3. How do we teach "liberty and justice for all" to the affluent, the liberated, the powerful?
4. How are we, individually and collectively, participating in oppression and what are we doing, individually and collectively, to set at liberty ALL those who are oppressed?
The answer, always: grace.
Your friend, brother, partner, collaborator, Brad-owner of one microscopic atom in one grain of sand of the vastness of the truth of God.
An unexamined life is not worth living.
Friday, September 26, 2008
One for the Hip Column
This week, my brother Andy, posted a punch-in-the-gut story from the Dispatch that said "Morningstar is a United Methodist Church, but it seems more like a hip, contemporary, evangelical church."Well I think this is pretty hip. After 9-11, Bush's psuedo-gestapo homeland security agenga grew as fast and as out of control as a Bugs Bunny snowball rolling down a hill. It has now reached all the way to a place named, of all things, Friendship Park in San Diego. Friendship Park, for GENERATIONS before Bush, was a place for familes and friends to meet between Mexico and the United States and feel whatever community one can feel between the links of a fence. George Bush will now take away even that amount of contact. They're putting in another fence!
Well, one pastor, the one above, Pastor John Fanestil, has decided to offer whatever he can. He can't stop the administration from erasing the words from Lady Liberty, but he can preside over Holy Communion.
Every Sunday afternoon, Pastor Fanestil goes to Friendship Park and serves communion to families on both sides of the fence, helping them participate in the sacrament together by handing the bread and cup through the links of the fence.
This is true communion. What it is supposed to be. What it is supposed to mean.
Oh, and Pastor John Fanestil, he's a United Methodist. Count one for the hip, contemporary, evangelical column.
Brad
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Call (LCP: long, church-related post warning)
Over the next few months, as part of my continuing journey to ordination in the United Methodist Church, I will be asked over and over to explain, reflect, define my call to ministry.
My call has a spiritual aspect and a practical one that comes from growing up in a pastor's house. By spiritual call, I'm not one of those people who has heard God's voice in the back of his head (like, oh i don't know, telling the people that God wanted me to be president.) I don't deny some people's audial experience of God, it just didn't happen to me.
When I was 17 years old, my youth group at Schweitzer United Methodist Church in Springfield, MO, went on a fall retreat. We went to Camp Wilderness, or Wilderness Camp, a UMC sponsered camp in southern MO. During this retreat, during one of the private reflection and prayer times, I went out by the lake and sat down. I found myself asking the question, do you want me to be a minister? I couldn't think of anything else, the question just kept circling through my head. And, like I said, I didn't hear a voice, no one answered me, Charlton Heston didn't come down and say "Let my people go." But, when I asked that question, I was overwhelmed with a sense of peace. A sense of right-ness. There's no way I can make anyone understand, but I think that's the way it's supposed to be. I just knew.
The practical side of my call came through the process that almost everyone goes through when they're 17 of just trying to find something to do with their lives. I knew I wanted to teach, I wanted to play music, I wanted to work with youth and children, I wanted to write, I wanted to speak, I wanted to help people, I wanted to work in mission and service. (And, being 17, I still wanted to be a rockstar drummer, so I did stay in bands throughout college) But, I watched my dad do all those things growing up. Everything I wanted to do, in one job. So, I decided I didn't have to pick one, I could do everything my heart was telling me I was supposed to do, as a minister.
And that same year, the spiritual call came as well, so I didn't look back. I applied to one college, got a full ride scholarship on the strength of my writing (which i subsequently got cut in half on the "strength" of my study habits), signed up as a religion major/sociology minor in my first week, assigned to my first churches before graduating and have been in the process ever since.
But, my call has evolved since then. The non-descript, fuzzy edges of "ministry" have become clearer. I believe I am called to urban ministry, to ministry in Kansas City proper, to ministry with young adults. I am not rural, I am not suburban. My gifts and skills and talents and call and culture are for city ministry. I want to be in ministry with urban young adults-the First Friday Art show crowd-the River Market concert crowd-the downtown loft crowd, but also feel called to be a part of homeless ministry, fighting the racial divisions in Kansas City, reaching the ever-growing international community of KC, bringing church back from the suburbs into the city, stopping the skyrocketing homicide rate, speaking out against the meth trade, etc.
Let me be clear: I am not denying the life-changing ministry that can be and should be done in rural areas or suburban areas or small towns. Or evaluating any one of them as better than the other. It's just not me, it's not my community, my context, my call.
Full discloser: I also LOVE Kansas City. I love the plaza, westport, 18th and Vine, Arther Bryant's BBQ, the Western Auto sign, Irishfest in Crown Center, yes even the Royals and Chiefs.
Of course, I also feel called to ministry within the United Methodist Church, which means I am part of an itinerant system that moves its pastors around on appointment basis and will be asked if I am willing to "go and serve where ever I am sent." The answer is yes, but i also feel called to be a part of reforming the 300 year old system of itinerancy. (i.e. what it does to families, what it does to smaller churches, what it asks of spouses, how it fits in our flat-earth, ditigal culture)
Finally, another piece of my call that has revealed itself more clearly through my seminary years, is the call to be a part of redefining what counts as worship, what worship looks like, how worship functions, what worship sounds like. As I told my DCOM board, my personally ideal worship style doesn't exist: my sanctuary would look more like a theater and my service would look, feel, and sound more like a rock show. I don't want a praise band, I want a professional level band that plays smart, poetic, powerful, iconic (directs one through to connection with God), and, most of all, MUSICALLY SOPHISTICATED worship music. -Lord, I Lift Your Name on High, Here I am to Worship, Open the Eyes of my Heart, and especially *shudder* Jesus is My Friend, don't count. In addition to bringing these things into the sanctuary, I also want to bring worship outside the sancutary. Art shows, concerts, experiencing nature, literature, a good meal, anything in all God's creation can connect us to the Creator God.
This is my call, as I see it, as I feel it. I pray that we all constantly search for the ways in which God is speaking to us and calling us in to ministry (everyone, not just pastors). A call is NEVER defined, it is always changing, always growing.
I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal,
Brad
My call has a spiritual aspect and a practical one that comes from growing up in a pastor's house. By spiritual call, I'm not one of those people who has heard God's voice in the back of his head (like, oh i don't know, telling the people that God wanted me to be president.) I don't deny some people's audial experience of God, it just didn't happen to me.
When I was 17 years old, my youth group at Schweitzer United Methodist Church in Springfield, MO, went on a fall retreat. We went to Camp Wilderness, or Wilderness Camp, a UMC sponsered camp in southern MO. During this retreat, during one of the private reflection and prayer times, I went out by the lake and sat down. I found myself asking the question, do you want me to be a minister? I couldn't think of anything else, the question just kept circling through my head. And, like I said, I didn't hear a voice, no one answered me, Charlton Heston didn't come down and say "Let my people go." But, when I asked that question, I was overwhelmed with a sense of peace. A sense of right-ness. There's no way I can make anyone understand, but I think that's the way it's supposed to be. I just knew.
The practical side of my call came through the process that almost everyone goes through when they're 17 of just trying to find something to do with their lives. I knew I wanted to teach, I wanted to play music, I wanted to work with youth and children, I wanted to write, I wanted to speak, I wanted to help people, I wanted to work in mission and service. (And, being 17, I still wanted to be a rockstar drummer, so I did stay in bands throughout college) But, I watched my dad do all those things growing up. Everything I wanted to do, in one job. So, I decided I didn't have to pick one, I could do everything my heart was telling me I was supposed to do, as a minister.
And that same year, the spiritual call came as well, so I didn't look back. I applied to one college, got a full ride scholarship on the strength of my writing (which i subsequently got cut in half on the "strength" of my study habits), signed up as a religion major/sociology minor in my first week, assigned to my first churches before graduating and have been in the process ever since.
But, my call has evolved since then. The non-descript, fuzzy edges of "ministry" have become clearer. I believe I am called to urban ministry, to ministry in Kansas City proper, to ministry with young adults. I am not rural, I am not suburban. My gifts and skills and talents and call and culture are for city ministry. I want to be in ministry with urban young adults-the First Friday Art show crowd-the River Market concert crowd-the downtown loft crowd, but also feel called to be a part of homeless ministry, fighting the racial divisions in Kansas City, reaching the ever-growing international community of KC, bringing church back from the suburbs into the city, stopping the skyrocketing homicide rate, speaking out against the meth trade, etc.
Let me be clear: I am not denying the life-changing ministry that can be and should be done in rural areas or suburban areas or small towns. Or evaluating any one of them as better than the other. It's just not me, it's not my community, my context, my call.
Full discloser: I also LOVE Kansas City. I love the plaza, westport, 18th and Vine, Arther Bryant's BBQ, the Western Auto sign, Irishfest in Crown Center, yes even the Royals and Chiefs.
Of course, I also feel called to ministry within the United Methodist Church, which means I am part of an itinerant system that moves its pastors around on appointment basis and will be asked if I am willing to "go and serve where ever I am sent." The answer is yes, but i also feel called to be a part of reforming the 300 year old system of itinerancy. (i.e. what it does to families, what it does to smaller churches, what it asks of spouses, how it fits in our flat-earth, ditigal culture)
Finally, another piece of my call that has revealed itself more clearly through my seminary years, is the call to be a part of redefining what counts as worship, what worship looks like, how worship functions, what worship sounds like. As I told my DCOM board, my personally ideal worship style doesn't exist: my sanctuary would look more like a theater and my service would look, feel, and sound more like a rock show. I don't want a praise band, I want a professional level band that plays smart, poetic, powerful, iconic (directs one through to connection with God), and, most of all, MUSICALLY SOPHISTICATED worship music. -Lord, I Lift Your Name on High, Here I am to Worship, Open the Eyes of my Heart, and especially *shudder* Jesus is My Friend, don't count. In addition to bringing these things into the sanctuary, I also want to bring worship outside the sancutary. Art shows, concerts, experiencing nature, literature, a good meal, anything in all God's creation can connect us to the Creator God.
This is my call, as I see it, as I feel it. I pray that we all constantly search for the ways in which God is speaking to us and calling us in to ministry (everyone, not just pastors). A call is NEVER defined, it is always changing, always growing.
I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal,
Brad
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Dear Bishop, Cabinet and Board of Ordained Ministry,
Background: In the United Methodist Church we go through an extensive process of discernment and preparation toward becoming ordained as an Elder in Full Connection. It's called candidacy.
To whom it may concern:
The process of candidacy should be a grace-filled time of personal reflection and discernment, of celebrating that myriad ways God calls people into ministry and the diverse gifts that each of us have been given. It should be affirming, strengthening, growth-inducing.
Sitting around the lunch table at St. Paul School of Theology today, I heard a sadly common story of a recent candidacy interview with a District Committee of Ordained Ministry. The interviewee was spoken to condescendingly, broken down, beaten up, actually insulted and eventually not allowed to be certified a candidate because he was too intellectual. The person was treated as an inferior. He was told that teaching was not a job pastors were supposed to do. He was told that instead of entering into a conversation with a troubled youth, he was supposed to tell them God loves them and give them a hug, and then shown by one of the committee members what a hug looks like. He was asked how old he is, 23, and told that he has some more learning to do and to come back in a few years, delaying even further the age in which he could ever become an ordained elder. He was asked a question by one committee member who then immediately left the room to answer a cell phone call and told to answer to the committee. He was told, basically, that he was wrong, that he needed to get right, and that right meant the opinion of the committee.
I have typed for too long and too much about this. This is not the exception, this is the common experience of my friends and colleagues. One friend will not be commissioned this year, not because he is not eligible and certainly not because he is not ready, but because the district committee lost his paper work. One person who mentioned the desire to transfer conferences was told by the conference she would be leaving that she could leave, but don't expect to be welcomed back.
There is so much that the process of candidacy should be, so much that it should accomplish, so much ministry that it should build, so many gifts that it should affirm and strengthen and explore. Unfortunately, a grace-filled, affirming, collaborative, learning, diversity-celebrating, conformity-avoiding, empowering experience with the District Committee on Ordained Ministry and the Conference Board of Ordained Ministry is the exception, not the rule.
I don't want to draw lines. I don't want to talk about us and them. I don't want to speak for young adult clergy, or candidates of all ages. But, the stories are piling up.
As I prepare to answer questions for commissioning in the United Methodist Church (the very same questions, btw, that I have answered twice a year for 8 years now), I should be excited about the freeing process of self-reflection, looking forward to working in collaboration with the Board and my mentor to become the best possible pastor I can be, I should be examining my own gifts for ministry, lifting them up, strengthening them, sharing them with others.
Instead, the only thing I feel is fear. Will I pass or not?
Dear Bishop, Cabinet and Board of Ordained Ministry,
We need to fix this and we need to include the voices of the people GOING THROUGH IT in order to do so. There is so much more that this process could be.
Dedicated to answering God's ever-changing, life-changing call on my life,
Reverend Brad Bryan
To whom it may concern:
The process of candidacy should be a grace-filled time of personal reflection and discernment, of celebrating that myriad ways God calls people into ministry and the diverse gifts that each of us have been given. It should be affirming, strengthening, growth-inducing.
Sitting around the lunch table at St. Paul School of Theology today, I heard a sadly common story of a recent candidacy interview with a District Committee of Ordained Ministry. The interviewee was spoken to condescendingly, broken down, beaten up, actually insulted and eventually not allowed to be certified a candidate because he was too intellectual. The person was treated as an inferior. He was told that teaching was not a job pastors were supposed to do. He was told that instead of entering into a conversation with a troubled youth, he was supposed to tell them God loves them and give them a hug, and then shown by one of the committee members what a hug looks like. He was asked how old he is, 23, and told that he has some more learning to do and to come back in a few years, delaying even further the age in which he could ever become an ordained elder. He was asked a question by one committee member who then immediately left the room to answer a cell phone call and told to answer to the committee. He was told, basically, that he was wrong, that he needed to get right, and that right meant the opinion of the committee.
I have typed for too long and too much about this. This is not the exception, this is the common experience of my friends and colleagues. One friend will not be commissioned this year, not because he is not eligible and certainly not because he is not ready, but because the district committee lost his paper work. One person who mentioned the desire to transfer conferences was told by the conference she would be leaving that she could leave, but don't expect to be welcomed back.
There is so much that the process of candidacy should be, so much that it should accomplish, so much ministry that it should build, so many gifts that it should affirm and strengthen and explore. Unfortunately, a grace-filled, affirming, collaborative, learning, diversity-celebrating, conformity-avoiding, empowering experience with the District Committee on Ordained Ministry and the Conference Board of Ordained Ministry is the exception, not the rule.
I don't want to draw lines. I don't want to talk about us and them. I don't want to speak for young adult clergy, or candidates of all ages. But, the stories are piling up.
As I prepare to answer questions for commissioning in the United Methodist Church (the very same questions, btw, that I have answered twice a year for 8 years now), I should be excited about the freeing process of self-reflection, looking forward to working in collaboration with the Board and my mentor to become the best possible pastor I can be, I should be examining my own gifts for ministry, lifting them up, strengthening them, sharing them with others.
Instead, the only thing I feel is fear. Will I pass or not?
Dear Bishop, Cabinet and Board of Ordained Ministry,
We need to fix this and we need to include the voices of the people GOING THROUGH IT in order to do so. There is so much more that this process could be.
Dedicated to answering God's ever-changing, life-changing call on my life,
Reverend Brad Bryan
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Three Completely Unrelated Topics
On the way in to Kansas City this afternoon for my week of school, I passed three large pickup trucks with three large bumper stickers on them. The first read, "I Love My Carbon Footprint."
The second one said, "Piss off a liberal, buy a gun," with a picture of a handgun in the middle of the words. The third one, my personal favorite, "Suckin' Gas n' Kickin' Ass!" God bless America.
I've heard the new Metallica album and I believe that while Death Magnetic can't compare to Master of Puppets or Ride the Lightening, it definately approaches ...And Justice for ALL, and clearly surpasses the Loads and St. Anger. (Only a few of my readers will understand what that meant!) Here's the thing about Metallica: the only way to rank or critique a Metallica album is to compare it to OTHER Metallica albums. That's how you know the band is huge.
On a more serious note, SMOKING CAUSES CANCER. There's no "may" or "might" left on the box anymore. It simply says, SMOKING CAUSES CANCER. There's a powerful and difficult article in this week's Newsweek about how we're losing the fight against cancer. 1 in 2 men will get cancer at some point. 1 IN 2!!!! Sure, most of that is prostate. But, men who get prostate cancer aren't participating in an activity that knowingly causes it.
I started smoking when most of us started doing the things in our lives that hurt us, college. I smoked cigarettes for five years, and got down to the occasional cheap gas station cigar and the very occasional expensive cigar shop cigar. But, then occasionally turned into any time I was out with people. Then, any time I drove anywhere.
Why do we do the things we do to ourselves? Sorry, that was a little judgemental. Why do I do the things I do to myself? It's not just smoking either. It's eating. It's not working out. It's not studying like I should. Why? Why can't I stop the voice of selfish justification that always makes it ok to have that one next cigar? That comes up with a perfectly good reason to go to Taco Bell at 2:00 in the morning!
Well, as far as the smoking is concerned, I'm done. For good. Never, never again. If you ever see me with a cigar in my hand, slap me in the face. I'm done. It causes cancer stupid.
Taco Bell will be a harder battle.
Peace, B
The second one said, "Piss off a liberal, buy a gun," with a picture of a handgun in the middle of the words. The third one, my personal favorite, "Suckin' Gas n' Kickin' Ass!" God bless America.
I've heard the new Metallica album and I believe that while Death Magnetic can't compare to Master of Puppets or Ride the Lightening, it definately approaches ...And Justice for ALL, and clearly surpasses the Loads and St. Anger. (Only a few of my readers will understand what that meant!) Here's the thing about Metallica: the only way to rank or critique a Metallica album is to compare it to OTHER Metallica albums. That's how you know the band is huge.
On a more serious note, SMOKING CAUSES CANCER. There's no "may" or "might" left on the box anymore. It simply says, SMOKING CAUSES CANCER. There's a powerful and difficult article in this week's Newsweek about how we're losing the fight against cancer. 1 in 2 men will get cancer at some point. 1 IN 2!!!! Sure, most of that is prostate. But, men who get prostate cancer aren't participating in an activity that knowingly causes it.
I started smoking when most of us started doing the things in our lives that hurt us, college. I smoked cigarettes for five years, and got down to the occasional cheap gas station cigar and the very occasional expensive cigar shop cigar. But, then occasionally turned into any time I was out with people. Then, any time I drove anywhere.
Why do we do the things we do to ourselves? Sorry, that was a little judgemental. Why do I do the things I do to myself? It's not just smoking either. It's eating. It's not working out. It's not studying like I should. Why? Why can't I stop the voice of selfish justification that always makes it ok to have that one next cigar? That comes up with a perfectly good reason to go to Taco Bell at 2:00 in the morning!
Well, as far as the smoking is concerned, I'm done. For good. Never, never again. If you ever see me with a cigar in my hand, slap me in the face. I'm done. It causes cancer stupid.
Taco Bell will be a harder battle.
Peace, B
Friday, September 05, 2008
The Times They Are A-Changin' (sort of)...
My brother, http://www.entertherainbow.blogspot.com ,has finally graced the world with an opinion on the current political race that no doubt will inspire a few others to blog there own reflections on the conventions, campaigns and coverage. I know it made me want to talk about it.
I'm no Fareed Zakaria or Jonathan Altar, but here goes. LRP warning: this will probably be a longer post that will ramble at times, so get some coffee and find a comfortable chair.
In Andy's first warning he mentions the misnomer (sp?) that pastors are not to have, or at the very least, express their political opinions. Of course, the pulpit is no place for politics but in an informed, civil conversation, why should pastors be expected to be apolitical? We're people, too! (was that whiney?)
Okay. Both camps say we're heading in the wrong direction. Both camps say we need a change in Washington. Both camps use the same evidence to support the need for change. both camps have seemingly interchangable mantras of Yes We Can or Change We Can Believe In or I Believe in a Better Way (kudos to Barack for using a Ben Harper song and not anything by ABBA)
Here's the thing. We thought change was coming two years ago when the democrats regained voting power in the Senate. The new government has, largely, failed to change anything.
The whole system is so entrenched that its hard to believe that any one person or administration will change it all that much. I believe this election year has started a process of changing the ways of Washinton, one that won't fully be developed until i'm an old man, say 37. Obama's not going to ride in on a white steed and throw out all the lobbyists, get the dems and rebs to sit down and smoke the peace the pipe. McCain, voting with Bush 90% of the time, is certainly not going come in guns blazin' and say "the Maverick's in town, this town ain't big enough for partisan politics." It's not going to happen. Things will change simply because different people will be in office. But the lobbies aren't going away, the never-ending campaign culture isn't going away and the 50/50 split isn't going away. As long as money's invovled, as long as special interests are invovled, as long as reelections are invovled, it'll be Washington as usual.
(here's the rambling part) About this Muslim thing. I want to make perfectly clear: BARACK OBAMA IS NOT, HAS NEVER BEEN, AND NEVER WILL BE A MUSLIM. But here's a question, why does it matter? In 2008, are we really still that obtuse and arrogant and ignorant to believe that a Muslim person couldn't be the cheif executive of the United States. Our nation, founded on the priciples of religious freedom (to name one), has officially seperated church and state. It shouldn't matter. neither candidates faith should be an issue. But it is. I praise both candidates for distancing themselves from the crazy Christian supporters that came out of the woodwork. Jeremiah Wright, James Haggee, Dobson, Robertson. James Dobson actually called on the members of Focus on the Family to pray for rain during Obama's speech. How very Christian of you! And then there's Rick Warren. Get them on the same stage, ask them the same questions, and let your worshippers make up their own damn minds. Thank you, Pastor Warren. They shouldn't have had to campaign in a church in the first place, but such is our country, and you handled it well.
I don't want my PODUS to have time to go to church. I don't want my president to bring religion into every decision. I do want them to have hearts of compassion, mercy and justice. Every religion on earth shares these tenants, and oh, atheists can be compassionate too. It shouldn't matter.
OK. No turning over the tables of the money-changers, no great hope for change, we covered the religion thing. What else?
Can we talk about Sarah Palin for a second? She's an intelligent, successful person who cares about her family and the people she's been elected to serve. But has there ever been a more rediculously transparent political move? It's like the GOP is saying, "Hey Hilary supporters, this person has boobs too, vote for her now." And it turns out, it's been kind of a political train wreck. Where's that 200 million dollar check from the federal government for the project that was cancelled? You know, the one you supported until the US government scrapped it and ONLY THEN did you agree it was a bad idea? Cindy McCain? Closest state to Russia? What?! How does being governor of a state with a population smaller than the city in which Obama honed his political chops prepare you to be a heartbeat away from the PODUS? It's insulting, is what it is. It's an insult to our intelligence. (and, I agree with Obama and McCain that family should be off limits, but just think for a minute what would happen if the tables were turned. If Obama had a 17 yr old daughter who was having a baby. What a field-day that would be for the GOP?)
Speaking of Hilary supporters, get over it! How many times does Hilary herself have to say she supports Obama for you to listen.
Now, the coverage. Journelistic integrity died when 24 hour news stations were born. Just like video killed the radio star, 24 hour news killed the unbiased, factfinding reporter. I go to www.bbcnews.com for my election coverage. "A lot of people are going to pre-supposed such and such, so let us be the first to presuppose such and such." The best politcal news team? Come on, people, this isn't 7th grade. In a political knowledge poll, people who got their news EXCLUSIVELY from the Daily Show and the Colbert Report scored 20% higher than people who watched the real news. Karl Rove as a political analyist? Oh yeah, that should be totally unbaised.
Alright, here it is. The ultimate faux-pah (sp?). Don't talk about religion or politics. But, here it is. I am supporting, voting for, hoping for Barack Obama and Joe Biden to lead the next administration of the United States. Primarially for their promise to find a reasonable end to the war in Iraq. I'm not naive enough to take a campaign promise without a large grain of salt, but we have to get out of Iraq and I think Obama has a better plan than McCain.
And finally, I leave you with the same pessimistic hope as my brother. That politics itself will change. That the constant, junior-high bickering will stop, the campaign culture will stop, the lobbyists and speical interest groups will stop, the "this is why you shouldn't vote for these people" strategies will stop. That we can help the poor and oppressed, acknowledging the systemic failures that birth poverty and create opportunities for personal development and responsibility. That we can promote, encourage and work for peace while facilitating the security of all people. There is too much need in this world, too much violence in this world, too much hunger in this world for politics as usual.
I pray (yes, pray, i'm inserting my own religious views into politics) that we can come together and fight for the things that really matter.
Hopefully yours, Brad
www.procon.org
www.dividedwefail.org
www.bbcnews.com
I'm no Fareed Zakaria or Jonathan Altar, but here goes. LRP warning: this will probably be a longer post that will ramble at times, so get some coffee and find a comfortable chair.
In Andy's first warning he mentions the misnomer (sp?) that pastors are not to have, or at the very least, express their political opinions. Of course, the pulpit is no place for politics but in an informed, civil conversation, why should pastors be expected to be apolitical? We're people, too! (was that whiney?)
Okay. Both camps say we're heading in the wrong direction. Both camps say we need a change in Washington. Both camps use the same evidence to support the need for change. both camps have seemingly interchangable mantras of Yes We Can or Change We Can Believe In or I Believe in a Better Way (kudos to Barack for using a Ben Harper song and not anything by ABBA)
Here's the thing. We thought change was coming two years ago when the democrats regained voting power in the Senate. The new government has, largely, failed to change anything.
The whole system is so entrenched that its hard to believe that any one person or administration will change it all that much. I believe this election year has started a process of changing the ways of Washinton, one that won't fully be developed until i'm an old man, say 37. Obama's not going to ride in on a white steed and throw out all the lobbyists, get the dems and rebs to sit down and smoke the peace the pipe. McCain, voting with Bush 90% of the time, is certainly not going come in guns blazin' and say "the Maverick's in town, this town ain't big enough for partisan politics." It's not going to happen. Things will change simply because different people will be in office. But the lobbies aren't going away, the never-ending campaign culture isn't going away and the 50/50 split isn't going away. As long as money's invovled, as long as special interests are invovled, as long as reelections are invovled, it'll be Washington as usual.
(here's the rambling part) About this Muslim thing. I want to make perfectly clear: BARACK OBAMA IS NOT, HAS NEVER BEEN, AND NEVER WILL BE A MUSLIM. But here's a question, why does it matter? In 2008, are we really still that obtuse and arrogant and ignorant to believe that a Muslim person couldn't be the cheif executive of the United States. Our nation, founded on the priciples of religious freedom (to name one), has officially seperated church and state. It shouldn't matter. neither candidates faith should be an issue. But it is. I praise both candidates for distancing themselves from the crazy Christian supporters that came out of the woodwork. Jeremiah Wright, James Haggee, Dobson, Robertson. James Dobson actually called on the members of Focus on the Family to pray for rain during Obama's speech. How very Christian of you! And then there's Rick Warren. Get them on the same stage, ask them the same questions, and let your worshippers make up their own damn minds. Thank you, Pastor Warren. They shouldn't have had to campaign in a church in the first place, but such is our country, and you handled it well.
I don't want my PODUS to have time to go to church. I don't want my president to bring religion into every decision. I do want them to have hearts of compassion, mercy and justice. Every religion on earth shares these tenants, and oh, atheists can be compassionate too. It shouldn't matter.
OK. No turning over the tables of the money-changers, no great hope for change, we covered the religion thing. What else?
Can we talk about Sarah Palin for a second? She's an intelligent, successful person who cares about her family and the people she's been elected to serve. But has there ever been a more rediculously transparent political move? It's like the GOP is saying, "Hey Hilary supporters, this person has boobs too, vote for her now." And it turns out, it's been kind of a political train wreck. Where's that 200 million dollar check from the federal government for the project that was cancelled? You know, the one you supported until the US government scrapped it and ONLY THEN did you agree it was a bad idea? Cindy McCain? Closest state to Russia? What?! How does being governor of a state with a population smaller than the city in which Obama honed his political chops prepare you to be a heartbeat away from the PODUS? It's insulting, is what it is. It's an insult to our intelligence. (and, I agree with Obama and McCain that family should be off limits, but just think for a minute what would happen if the tables were turned. If Obama had a 17 yr old daughter who was having a baby. What a field-day that would be for the GOP?)
Speaking of Hilary supporters, get over it! How many times does Hilary herself have to say she supports Obama for you to listen.
Now, the coverage. Journelistic integrity died when 24 hour news stations were born. Just like video killed the radio star, 24 hour news killed the unbiased, factfinding reporter. I go to www.bbcnews.com for my election coverage. "A lot of people are going to pre-supposed such and such, so let us be the first to presuppose such and such." The best politcal news team? Come on, people, this isn't 7th grade. In a political knowledge poll, people who got their news EXCLUSIVELY from the Daily Show and the Colbert Report scored 20% higher than people who watched the real news. Karl Rove as a political analyist? Oh yeah, that should be totally unbaised.
Alright, here it is. The ultimate faux-pah (sp?). Don't talk about religion or politics. But, here it is. I am supporting, voting for, hoping for Barack Obama and Joe Biden to lead the next administration of the United States. Primarially for their promise to find a reasonable end to the war in Iraq. I'm not naive enough to take a campaign promise without a large grain of salt, but we have to get out of Iraq and I think Obama has a better plan than McCain.
And finally, I leave you with the same pessimistic hope as my brother. That politics itself will change. That the constant, junior-high bickering will stop, the campaign culture will stop, the lobbyists and speical interest groups will stop, the "this is why you shouldn't vote for these people" strategies will stop. That we can help the poor and oppressed, acknowledging the systemic failures that birth poverty and create opportunities for personal development and responsibility. That we can promote, encourage and work for peace while facilitating the security of all people. There is too much need in this world, too much violence in this world, too much hunger in this world for politics as usual.
I pray (yes, pray, i'm inserting my own religious views into politics) that we can come together and fight for the things that really matter.
Hopefully yours, Brad
www.procon.org
www.dividedwefail.org
www.bbcnews.com
Thursday, August 28, 2008
This Week in "What The...?!?" News
Yo.
Thanks for your comments on the last topic everybody and thanks for your kind, but misinformed, voting on the drummer poll. John Bonham is the best there's ever been and ever will be when it comes to rock drumming. Every one else who beats the skins, from Brad Bryan to Neil Peart, is just trying to play like him.
And now, onto business.
This week the LPGA announced that they were instituting an English language test to be given to all golfers. Hey LPGA, WHAT THE....?!?! This isn't even closet racism, its just racism. Ethnocentrism, arrogance, racism. Pure and simple.
One may wonder why the lady golfers association decided to start this new program. Because, and I want everybody to listen closely to this, too many Korean players are winning championships. Korean women dominate women's golf. Over 60% of tournaments played are won by a Korean woman.
Here's an idea, American golfers who have chosen systemic racism to solve your problem...PLAY BETTER GOLF!
In a sporting world in which the US Open, tennis, is dominated by Russians and the best men's players are Serbian, Spanish and whatever Federer is, in which the US Redeem Team won its gold medal over a Spanish team with four NBA players on its starting lineup and the best players in that league are from the Virgin Islands, Spain, China, Argentina and Canada, yes, Canada and a world that can nominate a half-white-Kansan, half-African, raised-in-Indonesia-and-Hawaii man named Barack for president, the LPGA, instead of globalizing and expanding has gone back in time to 1950s Mississippi. Get with the times LPGA and if you're tired of getting beat by the Koreans...uh, practice, practice, practice.
Flabbergasted,
Brad
ps: no offense meant, but if you still think Barack Obama is a Muslim, then I think you're kind of an idiot. (this is the exact thing Mom warned me about, but come on people!)
Thanks for your comments on the last topic everybody and thanks for your kind, but misinformed, voting on the drummer poll. John Bonham is the best there's ever been and ever will be when it comes to rock drumming. Every one else who beats the skins, from Brad Bryan to Neil Peart, is just trying to play like him.
And now, onto business.
This week the LPGA announced that they were instituting an English language test to be given to all golfers. Hey LPGA, WHAT THE....?!?! This isn't even closet racism, its just racism. Ethnocentrism, arrogance, racism. Pure and simple.
One may wonder why the lady golfers association decided to start this new program. Because, and I want everybody to listen closely to this, too many Korean players are winning championships. Korean women dominate women's golf. Over 60% of tournaments played are won by a Korean woman.
Here's an idea, American golfers who have chosen systemic racism to solve your problem...PLAY BETTER GOLF!
In a sporting world in which the US Open, tennis, is dominated by Russians and the best men's players are Serbian, Spanish and whatever Federer is, in which the US Redeem Team won its gold medal over a Spanish team with four NBA players on its starting lineup and the best players in that league are from the Virgin Islands, Spain, China, Argentina and Canada, yes, Canada and a world that can nominate a half-white-Kansan, half-African, raised-in-Indonesia-and-Hawaii man named Barack for president, the LPGA, instead of globalizing and expanding has gone back in time to 1950s Mississippi. Get with the times LPGA and if you're tired of getting beat by the Koreans...uh, practice, practice, practice.
Flabbergasted,
Brad
ps: no offense meant, but if you still think Barack Obama is a Muslim, then I think you're kind of an idiot. (this is the exact thing Mom warned me about, but come on people!)
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Question
Either I'm gearing up for another school year, or I have completely lost my mind. Either way, I opened St. Athanasius' book On the Incarnation the other night and read it cover to cover. In it, Athanasius makes the case for the divinity and humanity of Christ, the need for the incarnation and what it means.
Now, I'm an incarnation guy. Some people are baptism people, some focus on the cross, still others on the resurrection. Realizing that they all, of course, go hand in hand, the incarnation is the most important thing Jesus ever did in my opinion.
Like any good doctrine of incarnation, and therefore salvation, one must begin with the NEED of salvation. Why do we need saving? So, a question came to my mind reading Athanasius' account of original sin that lead to the incarnation and the salvation of all.
How does one form a sound doctrine of original sin while denying the act of the original sin itself? In other words, what's original sin without believing in Adam and Eve? And, maybe more important, does it matter?
I pose the question to the blogosphere...
Thanks, B
Now, I'm an incarnation guy. Some people are baptism people, some focus on the cross, still others on the resurrection. Realizing that they all, of course, go hand in hand, the incarnation is the most important thing Jesus ever did in my opinion.
Like any good doctrine of incarnation, and therefore salvation, one must begin with the NEED of salvation. Why do we need saving? So, a question came to my mind reading Athanasius' account of original sin that lead to the incarnation and the salvation of all.
How does one form a sound doctrine of original sin while denying the act of the original sin itself? In other words, what's original sin without believing in Adam and Eve? And, maybe more important, does it matter?
I pose the question to the blogosphere...
Thanks, B
Monday, August 04, 2008
The Wesley Project
Hey, everybody,
For the past couple of years, I've been writing new tunes to Charles and John Wesley songs from the United Methodist Hymnal. My friend Mark, http://www.stupidityensues.blogspot.com/, found out that this is actually a real thing done by a guy named Carl Thomas Gladstone. Check out http://www.carlthomasgladstone.com/wesleyproject.htm. I wrote mine completely unaware that this was going on, but its pretty cool. My big brother Andy has rewritten quite a few, as well. He says there's usually two types of Charles Wesley hymns, the "fight song" type and the organ opera that's way too hard to sing.
Here's the problem. Modern songs need a chorus. If you want a congregation to be familiar with a song and sing along, the song needs a catchy, easy-to-sing, memorable repeated section. The biz talk for this is the hook. The song needs a hook. Charles Wesley didn't write hooks, he didn't know what they were. So, you've got to find a line within the song to use as a chorus. "Amazing love, how can it be, that thou my God would die for me?" from And Can it Be that I should Gain, is a great chorus.
Another problem is the language. I don't change the thee's and thou's, I kind of like them. But, some words that rhymed when Charles wrote them, don't rhyme any more. And, the line above is actually shouldst die for me, but who wants to sing the word shouldst?
So, here's a little song list that I've got so far.
Maker In Whom We Live: This is the first one I wrote, and it sounds like it. A regular G, C, D praise song.
Thou Hidden Source of Calm Repose: Never heard this one done in its original form. Probably a reason for that. The backward, Yoda speech of this one called for a reggae beat.
Praise to the Lord the Almighty: Not a Wesley song, but I'm pretty proud of this one because it uses not one, but TWO capos (that's right Mustoe, I did it, two capos) Ask your nearest guitar player what a capo is.
Christ Whose Glory Fills the Skies: A Pearl Jam-y slow rocker, needs a full band and a Ryan McLouth lead guitar line.
Jesus, Thy Boundless Love to Me: #183 in the UMC hymnal, a poem translated by John Wesley who called it the cry of his heart. I like this one.
O Love Divine, What Hast Thou Done: A beautiful song about the passion of Christ. Naturally, I did this one as a blues song.
Christ the Lord is Risen Today: A St. Paul favorite and probably the most complex one. Andy, Ron and Joel sat in the back picking out the Pearl Jam section, the Dave Matthews Band part, the U2 bridge. Impossibly high pitched U2 bridge, why do I write music out of my own range?
Depth of Mercy: A clear Jack Johnson rip-off.
And Can It Be That I Should Gain (Amazing Love): The newest one. Just a classic rock song. Needs a full band to really be appreciated.
O For a Heart to Praise My God: An upbeat bluegrassy tune. Needs slide guitar and Mr. Clayton Peak on banjo. Actually had to write a chorus for this one.
Jesus Thine All Victorious Love: A bluegrass ballad. Screams for a fiddle part.
Jesus, United By Thy Grace: This one's for the boys of Blessed. A complete, exact rip-off of our 8-minute, four-chord jam.
I have some other arrangements of non-Wesley tunes: Holy, Holy, Holy. There's Within My Heart a Melody. Psalm 29. For the Beauty of the Earth.
There are passionate, powerful words in our hymnal. But, the music doesn't exactly speak to my generation. Looking forward to sharing these songs with you whenever I can.
Love, Peace and Rock n' Roll,
Brad
For the past couple of years, I've been writing new tunes to Charles and John Wesley songs from the United Methodist Hymnal. My friend Mark, http://www.stupidityensues.blogspot.com/, found out that this is actually a real thing done by a guy named Carl Thomas Gladstone. Check out http://www.carlthomasgladstone.com/wesleyproject.htm. I wrote mine completely unaware that this was going on, but its pretty cool. My big brother Andy has rewritten quite a few, as well. He says there's usually two types of Charles Wesley hymns, the "fight song" type and the organ opera that's way too hard to sing.
Here's the problem. Modern songs need a chorus. If you want a congregation to be familiar with a song and sing along, the song needs a catchy, easy-to-sing, memorable repeated section. The biz talk for this is the hook. The song needs a hook. Charles Wesley didn't write hooks, he didn't know what they were. So, you've got to find a line within the song to use as a chorus. "Amazing love, how can it be, that thou my God would die for me?" from And Can it Be that I should Gain, is a great chorus.
Another problem is the language. I don't change the thee's and thou's, I kind of like them. But, some words that rhymed when Charles wrote them, don't rhyme any more. And, the line above is actually shouldst die for me, but who wants to sing the word shouldst?
So, here's a little song list that I've got so far.
Maker In Whom We Live: This is the first one I wrote, and it sounds like it. A regular G, C, D praise song.
Thou Hidden Source of Calm Repose: Never heard this one done in its original form. Probably a reason for that. The backward, Yoda speech of this one called for a reggae beat.
Praise to the Lord the Almighty: Not a Wesley song, but I'm pretty proud of this one because it uses not one, but TWO capos (that's right Mustoe, I did it, two capos) Ask your nearest guitar player what a capo is.
Christ Whose Glory Fills the Skies: A Pearl Jam-y slow rocker, needs a full band and a Ryan McLouth lead guitar line.
Jesus, Thy Boundless Love to Me: #183 in the UMC hymnal, a poem translated by John Wesley who called it the cry of his heart. I like this one.
O Love Divine, What Hast Thou Done: A beautiful song about the passion of Christ. Naturally, I did this one as a blues song.
Christ the Lord is Risen Today: A St. Paul favorite and probably the most complex one. Andy, Ron and Joel sat in the back picking out the Pearl Jam section, the Dave Matthews Band part, the U2 bridge. Impossibly high pitched U2 bridge, why do I write music out of my own range?
Depth of Mercy: A clear Jack Johnson rip-off.
And Can It Be That I Should Gain (Amazing Love): The newest one. Just a classic rock song. Needs a full band to really be appreciated.
O For a Heart to Praise My God: An upbeat bluegrassy tune. Needs slide guitar and Mr. Clayton Peak on banjo. Actually had to write a chorus for this one.
Jesus Thine All Victorious Love: A bluegrass ballad. Screams for a fiddle part.
Jesus, United By Thy Grace: This one's for the boys of Blessed. A complete, exact rip-off of our 8-minute, four-chord jam.
I have some other arrangements of non-Wesley tunes: Holy, Holy, Holy. There's Within My Heart a Melody. Psalm 29. For the Beauty of the Earth.
There are passionate, powerful words in our hymnal. But, the music doesn't exactly speak to my generation. Looking forward to sharing these songs with you whenever I can.
Love, Peace and Rock n' Roll,
Brad
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Shadows
I've spent my life living behind some pretty wide shadows. Not physically wide, of course, my brother can play hide and seek with a 2x4. But, you know what I mean. In two weeks, these shadows come together in what I alternately refer to as the perfect day and the perfect storm, depending on the kind of day I'm having.
The Bryan family is gearing up for our first family reunion in years. And, like all family events, the reunion begins at church. On August 10th, I will be guest preaching at Missouri United Methodist Church in Columbia, MO. Not only will this be the largest congregation to which I preach, but included in this congregation will be Bishop Monk Bryan, Rev. Jim Bryan, and Rev. Andy Bryan. And, since the Bishop Bryan will be in attendance, there's a good chance that the Bishop Schnase will be there.
This is clearly the biggest preaching day of my career. And while my sermon has been written for quite awhile, this is the most nervous I have ever been before any particular proclamation.
Let us dwell in the shadows for just a moment.
It is difficult enough to be a younger child. By virtue of age alone, your older siblings get things done before you. They graduate sooner, get jobs sooner, have children sooner. But, my brother Andy is no ordinary older sibling. An honor student, actually a rediculous honor student that worked hard and loved school. A proficeint musician. A "well-behaved" kid. Just about everything a parent could want in a child. And, a hero. One of the most profound moments of my life is seeing my brother cry after returning from a vacation and learning that his dog, Jackie, had died in the kennel while we were gone. Seeing my Superman break down tore me down. But what I was too young to know then was that my brother, instead of proving himself not a man, was redefining for me what it is to be a man. I actually wrote an essay for english about it called "Does Superman have super-emotions, too?" Sometimes, I can resent my brother. The pride in our parents' face, and specifically Daddy Monk's (that's the Bishop, our grandfather) presence at his ordination service. The collection of communion plates and chalices that mostly come from Grandfather's collection. The fact that Daddy Monk wants Andy to have his old piano even though he already has one. But, always, I love my brother. I am proud to be his brother. And I want him to be proud of me. And, there he'll be on Sunday morning, hearing the word from me.
Then there's Dad. Everything I know about being a man, being a pastor, being a husband (in 300 days), comes from him. Dad is a well-known, well-liked, well-respected elder in the Missouri Conference. A delegate to General and Jurisdictional conference numerous times. Exceptionally successful for a pastor. I live to make him proud. And I'll be preaching from his pulpit in two weeks.
I don't really need to go very deep into explaining why having Monk Bryan for a grandfather can be hard. I'm preaching at his old church, where he is the pastor emeritus. He's been going to Annual Conferences for 90 years, he was bishop of Nebraska. He is HUGE in the United Methodist Church.
So, yeah, little Brad has had a lot of shadows to deal with. I dream of the day that I can introduce myself at Annual Conference as Brad Bryan. Not Andy's brother, or Jim's son. I can't wait to have an interview with the Board of Ordained Ministry (the folks that kind of hold my career in the palms of their hands) that doesn't start with "I knew your Grandfather".
But as I get older, the shadows that seemed to hide me, the one big giant carrot held out before me that it seemed I would never reach, have become the trusses that hold me up, my bulwark never failing. I am not my brother, nor my dad. Although I have learned from them, I am a very different person. And I know that no one expects me to be anybody but myself, but the shadows of legacy will always be there.
Our family has been blessed to be able to be involved in God's work for generations, but I, just like my father, will tell my children that under no circumstances should they become pastors.
I am proud of my family, I am proud to be a part of it. But, I want people to respect me, my gifts, and my call. In two weeks, at my father's current church, my grandfather's former church, with my brother doing music and my grandfather baptizing my sister's son, Braeden, I hope that I can show them, but mainly myself, that I can stand on my own two feet.
Monk, Cornielle, Glenn and Carmen's grandson, Jim and Caryl's baby boy, Andy and Stephanie's little brother, Cori, Wes and Braeden's uncle and Fiona's dad, Bradley James Bryan.
The Bryan family is gearing up for our first family reunion in years. And, like all family events, the reunion begins at church. On August 10th, I will be guest preaching at Missouri United Methodist Church in Columbia, MO. Not only will this be the largest congregation to which I preach, but included in this congregation will be Bishop Monk Bryan, Rev. Jim Bryan, and Rev. Andy Bryan. And, since the Bishop Bryan will be in attendance, there's a good chance that the Bishop Schnase will be there.
This is clearly the biggest preaching day of my career. And while my sermon has been written for quite awhile, this is the most nervous I have ever been before any particular proclamation.
Let us dwell in the shadows for just a moment.
It is difficult enough to be a younger child. By virtue of age alone, your older siblings get things done before you. They graduate sooner, get jobs sooner, have children sooner. But, my brother Andy is no ordinary older sibling. An honor student, actually a rediculous honor student that worked hard and loved school. A proficeint musician. A "well-behaved" kid. Just about everything a parent could want in a child. And, a hero. One of the most profound moments of my life is seeing my brother cry after returning from a vacation and learning that his dog, Jackie, had died in the kennel while we were gone. Seeing my Superman break down tore me down. But what I was too young to know then was that my brother, instead of proving himself not a man, was redefining for me what it is to be a man. I actually wrote an essay for english about it called "Does Superman have super-emotions, too?" Sometimes, I can resent my brother. The pride in our parents' face, and specifically Daddy Monk's (that's the Bishop, our grandfather) presence at his ordination service. The collection of communion plates and chalices that mostly come from Grandfather's collection. The fact that Daddy Monk wants Andy to have his old piano even though he already has one. But, always, I love my brother. I am proud to be his brother. And I want him to be proud of me. And, there he'll be on Sunday morning, hearing the word from me.
Then there's Dad. Everything I know about being a man, being a pastor, being a husband (in 300 days), comes from him. Dad is a well-known, well-liked, well-respected elder in the Missouri Conference. A delegate to General and Jurisdictional conference numerous times. Exceptionally successful for a pastor. I live to make him proud. And I'll be preaching from his pulpit in two weeks.
I don't really need to go very deep into explaining why having Monk Bryan for a grandfather can be hard. I'm preaching at his old church, where he is the pastor emeritus. He's been going to Annual Conferences for 90 years, he was bishop of Nebraska. He is HUGE in the United Methodist Church.
So, yeah, little Brad has had a lot of shadows to deal with. I dream of the day that I can introduce myself at Annual Conference as Brad Bryan. Not Andy's brother, or Jim's son. I can't wait to have an interview with the Board of Ordained Ministry (the folks that kind of hold my career in the palms of their hands) that doesn't start with "I knew your Grandfather".
But as I get older, the shadows that seemed to hide me, the one big giant carrot held out before me that it seemed I would never reach, have become the trusses that hold me up, my bulwark never failing. I am not my brother, nor my dad. Although I have learned from them, I am a very different person. And I know that no one expects me to be anybody but myself, but the shadows of legacy will always be there.
Our family has been blessed to be able to be involved in God's work for generations, but I, just like my father, will tell my children that under no circumstances should they become pastors.
I am proud of my family, I am proud to be a part of it. But, I want people to respect me, my gifts, and my call. In two weeks, at my father's current church, my grandfather's former church, with my brother doing music and my grandfather baptizing my sister's son, Braeden, I hope that I can show them, but mainly myself, that I can stand on my own two feet.
Monk, Cornielle, Glenn and Carmen's grandson, Jim and Caryl's baby boy, Andy and Stephanie's little brother, Cori, Wes and Braeden's uncle and Fiona's dad, Bradley James Bryan.
New Features
Hey guys,
I know its nothing drastic or anything but I've made a few changes to the ol' blog. First, I feel I've lightened up a bit since I started the Bustle, so I'm lightening the color. What do you think?
Also, I have finally put up links to some other blogs. If your name is not Adam and you'd like a link here, just let me know. And finally, I've started the poll of the week feature. I love reading comments. But what's the one negative thing about reading comments? Reading, right. So, each week I'll ask a different question and poll all you wonderful people and then explain why your wrong! For a while, it will be different variations of "Who's the Greatest?" This week, guitar players.
Hope you like it.
BB
I know its nothing drastic or anything but I've made a few changes to the ol' blog. First, I feel I've lightened up a bit since I started the Bustle, so I'm lightening the color. What do you think?
Also, I have finally put up links to some other blogs. If your name is not Adam and you'd like a link here, just let me know. And finally, I've started the poll of the week feature. I love reading comments. But what's the one negative thing about reading comments? Reading, right. So, each week I'll ask a different question and poll all you wonderful people and then explain why your wrong! For a while, it will be different variations of "Who's the Greatest?" This week, guitar players.
Hope you like it.
BB
Friday, July 25, 2008
Curse Words
Alright Mom, I love you, but let's do this.
I curse. I curse around my friends. I curse around my colleagues. And I curse in ranting blogs when my acceptance of the stupidity of our humanity reaches a boiling point.
I don't curse around you, kids, my parishoners and my professional/educational superiors.
There's a button inside that automatically switches off the bad words when certain people are around. So, yes, America, I use curse words. Just like most EVERYONE else. Oh, and any youth group kids that know I have a blog, they curse when we're not around too.
I'm not afraid of people in my churches knowing that I sometimes use these words, I think the percentage of people whose opinion and respect for me as pastor would go down is quite small. But where I agree with my beautiful, wonderful, loving mother and her incessant "mom" comment after a particular lar (long, angry rant) is professionally.
I learned at this Annual Conference that a lot of people read my blog. A lot of people in the ministry life will come over through the link on my big bro's blog. And I've heard the argument that you should treat your online persona-blogs, facebook pages, etc.-as a constant resume and job application.
Well, if Bishop Schnase or any members of the cabinet spend 5 minutes of their day reading my personal, ranting, insignificant thoughts on this hard-to-find, purposely-misspelled drop in the ocean of the blogosphere, then welcome. This is who I am. Sometimes I use extreme language when my feelings on a certain subject are extreme. AND if they do stop by and see the occasional curse word or insult thrown Bill O'Reilly's way and it has a negative effect on my career, then...well...I don't want to be something I'm not to get a job. (hmm, that sounds like another l.a.r. directed at the UMC, making people be something they aren't so they serve in ministry!)
So yeah, I curse. Not in conversation. Not for no reason. I curse when I'm mad, frustrated or in pain. Like a human. And when people are being stupid, petty, greedy and selfish my language can get judgemental. Like a human.
Mother, I love you so very much. I live to make you proud. And I never want you to stop "mothering" me about my taxes and language and eating habits. But, maybe if you could stop doing it on the comments page for all my friends to read!!
Human...being,
Brad
I curse. I curse around my friends. I curse around my colleagues. And I curse in ranting blogs when my acceptance of the stupidity of our humanity reaches a boiling point.
I don't curse around you, kids, my parishoners and my professional/educational superiors.
There's a button inside that automatically switches off the bad words when certain people are around. So, yes, America, I use curse words. Just like most EVERYONE else. Oh, and any youth group kids that know I have a blog, they curse when we're not around too.
I'm not afraid of people in my churches knowing that I sometimes use these words, I think the percentage of people whose opinion and respect for me as pastor would go down is quite small. But where I agree with my beautiful, wonderful, loving mother and her incessant "mom" comment after a particular lar (long, angry rant) is professionally.
I learned at this Annual Conference that a lot of people read my blog. A lot of people in the ministry life will come over through the link on my big bro's blog. And I've heard the argument that you should treat your online persona-blogs, facebook pages, etc.-as a constant resume and job application.
Well, if Bishop Schnase or any members of the cabinet spend 5 minutes of their day reading my personal, ranting, insignificant thoughts on this hard-to-find, purposely-misspelled drop in the ocean of the blogosphere, then welcome. This is who I am. Sometimes I use extreme language when my feelings on a certain subject are extreme. AND if they do stop by and see the occasional curse word or insult thrown Bill O'Reilly's way and it has a negative effect on my career, then...well...I don't want to be something I'm not to get a job. (hmm, that sounds like another l.a.r. directed at the UMC, making people be something they aren't so they serve in ministry!)
So yeah, I curse. Not in conversation. Not for no reason. I curse when I'm mad, frustrated or in pain. Like a human. And when people are being stupid, petty, greedy and selfish my language can get judgemental. Like a human.
Mother, I love you so very much. I live to make you proud. And I never want you to stop "mothering" me about my taxes and language and eating habits. But, maybe if you could stop doing it on the comments page for all my friends to read!!
Human...being,
Brad
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Are You Ready for Some...Whiny, Spoiled, Overpayed, Greedy, Selfish Grown Men Acting Like Babies
Well, football fans, its that time of year once again. Our favorite teams are going back to work, getting ready to bring us quality football for another season. And then there's Devon Hestor, Chad Johnson, Plaxico Burress and other NFL players who are refusing to show up for team practices until they get more money in their contract.
In what fantasy world does this work. How do they not just get fired? This isn't a union, by the way, they aren't striking. They are unhappy with the contract THEY SIGNED and are holding out for more money. Any other job in the world, the boss would say, "alright, see ya, good luck."
These grown men, these professional athletes who get paid for playing a game better than the rest of us, just are satisfied with the millions of dollars they recieve for running fast and catching balls. They want more millions. They are greedy, selfish a-holes. Excuse me.
Hey, NFL contract hold-outs, you look rediculous. You're acting like babies. Shut the frack up and play football.
What if our doctors wouldn't operate until they got more money? And, on the other side of that same coin, they are so many more deserving people who SHOULD not go to work until they get more money: teachers, police and firefighters, soldiers, the men and women who build our roads, maintain our bridges.
These men aren't just playing their fiddles while the world is burning, they want gold-plated strings.
So, you whiny little brats, shut your mouths, take your millions, thank your gift horses, go to practice and PLAY!
I love football,
BB
In what fantasy world does this work. How do they not just get fired? This isn't a union, by the way, they aren't striking. They are unhappy with the contract THEY SIGNED and are holding out for more money. Any other job in the world, the boss would say, "alright, see ya, good luck."
These grown men, these professional athletes who get paid for playing a game better than the rest of us, just are satisfied with the millions of dollars they recieve for running fast and catching balls. They want more millions. They are greedy, selfish a-holes. Excuse me.
Hey, NFL contract hold-outs, you look rediculous. You're acting like babies. Shut the frack up and play football.
What if our doctors wouldn't operate until they got more money? And, on the other side of that same coin, they are so many more deserving people who SHOULD not go to work until they get more money: teachers, police and firefighters, soldiers, the men and women who build our roads, maintain our bridges.
These men aren't just playing their fiddles while the world is burning, they want gold-plated strings.
So, you whiny little brats, shut your mouths, take your millions, thank your gift horses, go to practice and PLAY!
I love football,
BB
Monday, July 21, 2008
Camp Jo-Ota 2008/Batman Review
The extreme lameness of this post title is due to the myriad of possible titles floating through my head: "There's Still Mud in My Ears", "I Wanna Be like Mike", "Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned from a 12-yr-old named Kody", "The Most Exhausting Week of My Life", "B-Rad Jeezy", "Best Batman? Try Best Superhero Movie Ever", "Yeah, That's Right. Batman has Sonar Now". All equally potential titles.
So, first for camp. Thanks to Abby for asking me to be a counselor; it was a great week. Here's some highlights. Crazy Kickball/Mudpit night was thursday. First base: a bucket of water to dunk your head in. Second: a tarp full of cooked spaghetti, baked beans, chocolate and vanilla pudding with a mandatory slide rule. Third: A kiddie pool full of shaving cream. And home: the classic slip and slide. Awesome stuff. Still waiting for the sliding into home picture of me from Abby! Then we went to play around in the giant mud pit, tried to play some actual games but the communication skills of Sarge were, shall we say, lacking a bit, so we just had a free-for-all. The sight of our not-too-small everyjobman Donnie running at me through the mud is the scariest thing I've ever seen.
And then there was Mike. The 20-yr-old male model counselor whose only job was to make us chubby musically talented, movie geek counselors feel bad about themselves. Adam Fears and I gave him a pretty hard time all week, but it is out of pure jealousy. BUT THEN, when I said I could look like that by next summer Mike said, and I quote, "That's impossible." I request, Abby, that you have me back next year just to prove him wrong!
The conversations that 12 year old boys have late at night or in cabin time are simply astounding. We had politics, McCain vs. Obama, the true cause of the war in Iraq, how many of them had officially "made-out". But, especially enlightening was Kody. Ah, Kody. Kody is an expert on the origins of things like hotdogs (stolen from a guy in Italy and sold in front of Yankee stadium), an aspiring entomologist (the pegasus beetle has a horn like a unicorn) and a fishing pro (if you curve your hand into the water to mimic a feeding frenzy, the fish will come flocking). Thank you, Kody.
I'm still tired. I'm still sore from wrestling and throwing kids in the pool (sometimes six at a time) But it really was a wonderful week.
And now, to the main event. The Dark Knight. I'm going to talk about everything here, so if you care, read it after you've seen it. This is not only the best Batman ever, it is the best superhero movie ever made. Its dark, its powerful and its entertaining. Some reasons its the best ever? Sure. Batman's tougher than ever. He gets a new suit so he can turn his head and actually fight without the awkward turn-with-your-whole-upper-body moves of past Batman. He has freakin' sonar vision in his suit...redunkulous.
And then there's the Joker. The creepiest villian since lector and the best villian since Darth Vader. In one opening scene he says, "how 'bout a magic trick?" He sticks a pencil into the table and says he's going to make it disappear. When a thug comes up and tries to front on 'im, the Joker takes the guys neck and throws his head into the table, effectively making the pencil disappear into the guys face! Holy crap! The way he licks his lips, that voice, the way we never really know the real way he got those scars. Ew, creepy.
Other reasons: the damsel in distress gets blown to pieces, the final main fight is between Batman and the swat team not the Joker. And the questions! Can we be good in an evil world? Did Batman inspire good or inspire madness? Do we die a hero or live long enough to see ourselves become the villian? If given an impossible choice, what would we do? Does a hero have to play by the villian's rules to ever be victorious? Unbelievable. Batman, Joker, Two-Face, Rachael, Alfred, Comissioner Gordon, everyone was brilliant. Clearly, Heath should get the Oscar. His voice, his lip-licking tic, his eyes. Greatest bad guy performance in any movie...ever!
I've seen it twice already and it only gets better.
Well, there's an update from the summer of Brad. Coming up: family reunion, Lindsey's b-day, Jack Johnson.
Peace, B
So, first for camp. Thanks to Abby for asking me to be a counselor; it was a great week. Here's some highlights. Crazy Kickball/Mudpit night was thursday. First base: a bucket of water to dunk your head in. Second: a tarp full of cooked spaghetti, baked beans, chocolate and vanilla pudding with a mandatory slide rule. Third: A kiddie pool full of shaving cream. And home: the classic slip and slide. Awesome stuff. Still waiting for the sliding into home picture of me from Abby! Then we went to play around in the giant mud pit, tried to play some actual games but the communication skills of Sarge were, shall we say, lacking a bit, so we just had a free-for-all. The sight of our not-too-small everyjobman Donnie running at me through the mud is the scariest thing I've ever seen.
And then there was Mike. The 20-yr-old male model counselor whose only job was to make us chubby musically talented, movie geek counselors feel bad about themselves. Adam Fears and I gave him a pretty hard time all week, but it is out of pure jealousy. BUT THEN, when I said I could look like that by next summer Mike said, and I quote, "That's impossible." I request, Abby, that you have me back next year just to prove him wrong!
The conversations that 12 year old boys have late at night or in cabin time are simply astounding. We had politics, McCain vs. Obama, the true cause of the war in Iraq, how many of them had officially "made-out". But, especially enlightening was Kody. Ah, Kody. Kody is an expert on the origins of things like hotdogs (stolen from a guy in Italy and sold in front of Yankee stadium), an aspiring entomologist (the pegasus beetle has a horn like a unicorn) and a fishing pro (if you curve your hand into the water to mimic a feeding frenzy, the fish will come flocking). Thank you, Kody.
I'm still tired. I'm still sore from wrestling and throwing kids in the pool (sometimes six at a time) But it really was a wonderful week.
And now, to the main event. The Dark Knight. I'm going to talk about everything here, so if you care, read it after you've seen it. This is not only the best Batman ever, it is the best superhero movie ever made. Its dark, its powerful and its entertaining. Some reasons its the best ever? Sure. Batman's tougher than ever. He gets a new suit so he can turn his head and actually fight without the awkward turn-with-your-whole-upper-body moves of past Batman. He has freakin' sonar vision in his suit...redunkulous.
And then there's the Joker. The creepiest villian since lector and the best villian since Darth Vader. In one opening scene he says, "how 'bout a magic trick?" He sticks a pencil into the table and says he's going to make it disappear. When a thug comes up and tries to front on 'im, the Joker takes the guys neck and throws his head into the table, effectively making the pencil disappear into the guys face! Holy crap! The way he licks his lips, that voice, the way we never really know the real way he got those scars. Ew, creepy.
Other reasons: the damsel in distress gets blown to pieces, the final main fight is between Batman and the swat team not the Joker. And the questions! Can we be good in an evil world? Did Batman inspire good or inspire madness? Do we die a hero or live long enough to see ourselves become the villian? If given an impossible choice, what would we do? Does a hero have to play by the villian's rules to ever be victorious? Unbelievable. Batman, Joker, Two-Face, Rachael, Alfred, Comissioner Gordon, everyone was brilliant. Clearly, Heath should get the Oscar. His voice, his lip-licking tic, his eyes. Greatest bad guy performance in any movie...ever!
I've seen it twice already and it only gets better.
Well, there's an update from the summer of Brad. Coming up: family reunion, Lindsey's b-day, Jack Johnson.
Peace, B
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