:: in.a.mirror.dimly :: A theology and culture blog with the Bible in one tab and a news feed in the other.

Josh, the other contributor to this site, preached one Sunday at Fellowship Baptist Church. Listen to it here.

His topic was John 17 and Jesus’ prayer for unity.

Though I was working while listening, I picked up some good points. One of the driving points seemed to be that Jesus wants us to focus on him. Out of our unity with God we find our unity with one another.

In other words, ecumenical gatherings can only do so much. We cannot plan out a “unity” so to speak. What we really need for unity is a life that is formed through contact with our Lord.

Something else that I need to listen again is the part about the unity that Jesus prayed for. Here’s the passage:

17:20 I am not praying only on their behalf, but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their testimony,
17:21 that they will all be one, just as you, Father, are in me and I am in you. I pray that they will be in us, so that the world will believe that you sent me.
17:22 The glory you gave to me I have given to them, that they may be one just as we are one
17:23 I in them and you in me that they may be completely one, so that the world will know that you sent me, and you have loved them just as you have loved me. (NET Bible)

Two things are striking here.

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My friend Jesse is a fantastic juggler. He has a real heart for children and does a great job keeping the kids engaged in the little juggling show.

Check out his new web site: www.jessethejuggler.com.

I’m pretty impressed with his touring schedule. It looks like he’s all over the mid-west.

Part of Jesse’s gig is that he uses juggling to teach children Bible stories. It sounds impossible, but somehow he really makes it work.

It’s official. Manchester, Vermont has the worst Dunkin’ Donuts franchise in the world. Why, you ask?

- There’s two less people working there than what is necessary to operate a DD.
- The coffee is therefore always running out. They’re always trying to make it. A sin at DD.

So I blame it on the management.

I have always seen long lines in there, even though the parking lot was virtually empty. I guess local thugs ran off with their cars while they were detained inside.

After five minutes of standing in place this morning I decided to run off to Mrs. Murphy’s Donuts . . . right where I should have gone in the first place.

Mrs. Murphy’s has equally good coffee and much better donuts. The local flavor is great. It’s got the “locals section” with all the fellers and ladies hangin’ out and yuckin’ it up.

It began as the car my grandfather used to haul his blue-blazered grandson off to school. He passed it on to me before my junior year of college.

It served through two years of college, four years of seminary, and then a long move to Vermont. It survived a Vermont winter and is now ready for the next move. Yesterday, after cleaning it out on Monday, I passed my blue 1994 Toyota Corolla on to my brother-in-law.

He’s going into his sophmore year in college, but he’s more mature than I was by my senior year of college, so all is well.

I got the car with only 33,000 miles on it. Now 122,000 miles later I find myself reflecting a little bit on my first car.

I remember going through a type of personal revolution during the summer before my junior year of college. My freshman year was kind of chaotic and even somewhat godless at times. My sophomore year was fairly stable. Before my junior year of college God really grabbed my attention.

I realized one night while reading the third chapter of Romans that I had been trying to live the Christian life on my own. That’s right, just like Martin Luther, Romans is THE book for evangelical Christians I suppose for better or worse. It was a dark night of the soul that suddenly ended that evening when I surrendered.

“Righteousness from God,” was the key. How freeing. God wants us to live holy lives, but he makes it happen. That is a religion I can give myself to. God wants to be with us so much that he will draw us to himself. We just have to get out of the way.

And so that summer I dedicated myself and whatever I had to the Lord. The car was included in this deal.

Going off to college in Indiana, I did all that I could to give rides to freshmen and other people who needed a lift. I hauled 20 foot boards in the car for people who needed to move a lost. I made countless mid-night trips to Taco Bell.

The car, in a sense, was my one of my tools for serving others. I didn’t always do things right, but I had a sense of responsibility to use the car that I had received at no cost as a blessing for others.

I grew a little sentimentle yesterday as I looked over at my car in the parking lot at work for the last time. It’s so odd that we grow attached to things. The familiarity, the routine. The air conditioner that blew out more air on low than on high. The remnants of a milk shake around the center consul during a trip home from college, the crusty stain from a peach pie I brought to my grandmother and partially spilled on the seat, the red stain of jello that melted and spilled out of the span.

Good memories. Good years. And now, one of the chief reminders of my college days has passed to my brudda-in-law. It’s his job to make his own memories now. Good luck and have fun taking sharp corners!

Today I learned that you should never make a lengthy trip to the DMV, run a bunch of errands, clean out your car, and completely revamp your web site in one day. Then you may stay up way past your bed time like I’m doing right now. And speaking of errands . . .

While in Bennington today I saw and then heard an altercation where a young woman almost ran a man over with her car. He seemed nice enough just strolling along with his little canvas bag. Once the brakes screeched and he stopped dead in his tracks to avoid the car zooming out of the drive through teller toward the sidewalk, he let loose a string of profanity.

She gave it back, mostly recycling the same words and probably saying something about watching where he’s going. Being clearly in the wrong though, she seemed to bow to his escalading torrent of f-this and f-that. It was kind of depressing.

Here we are, beloved creatures of God all scurrying about on our way. When someone messes up, we tear into him or her. The goal suddenly becomes belittling the other person, winning the fight, and making the other person feel lousy. He could have yelled, he could have reprimanded her, but he didn’t stop there. He became abusive and spiteful, just trying to hurt.

She didn’t help. She could have said, “My bad, I’m sorry.” Yet, she tried to fight him back, trying to save face somehow and abusing him in return.

No one made an effort to communicate. The English language was a by-stander like myself for this exchange.

In the end, no one won. He became lost in his fury, consumed with anger and she became defensive and furious. There is no doubt that the man’s words had some effect. It almost hurt me to hear it.

And so my question after this is: “Why attack others when they come close to hurting us?” I have felt this on numerous occasions while on the road. I become defensive and think angry thoughts and even want to yell something or find another way to express my rage.

There has to be something to our own designs for perfection. Abusing and chastising others for their own failures, especially when we feel threatened may be a way to make us feel superior.

And yet, how should we react when the car is zooming up to the sidewalk and we are in danger? I can’t help but relate with the man. I would be angry too. But is there a humble and redemptive way forward even in the rush and hum of every day life?

After a year and a half with the “stanch” skin for this blog, I talked with Josh about changing things up a little. One of the most interesting templates around for Nucleus seemed to be the Fishing one.

I’m a novice still with web design, so it will take a little time for me to get things cleaned up and to get rid of the fish, but for now hang in there and don’t be surprised if things are completely messed up sometimes. Actually, things are pretty bad right now.

Of course I start these kinds of projects when I have next to no time for them. We’ll see how things go. The first thing to go has to be the fish!

I was on my way to the pet store yesterday in Manchester since I had some time to kill before meeting Julie for dinner. I was in the turn lane, had my blinker on, and was waiting while droves of cars swarmed on both sides as if I was a rock in a rushing stream.

Looking up I noticed that two fellahs were walking along the road with their thumbs out. They were just about out of town and were probably not going to have any luck with a ride. Once the traffic settled down, I pulled over and they loaded in.

My first two thoughts were: 1. Dang, my car is not that big! 2. I need some kind of odor thing in my car if I’m going to do this regularly.

They were through hikers on the Appalachian Trail with huge packs. What made them unique was their choice to hike from North to South, rather than the typical South to North that is a bit easier by way of temperature and difficulty.

Their names were Grit and Wa——??? I’m not sure. It was a unique trail name that’s tough to pronounce, let alone remember. I’ll just say “W” for now, not to be confused with George W.

Grit and W started together up in Maine with many other N to S hikers, but as people dropped out or moved forward or behind, they ended up hiking together quite a bit. Though W is from upstate NY, the Albany area and then Syracuse, Grit is from England. Not a bad way to see America.

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Driving home tonight I heard on VPR that a series of shootings had occurred in Essex, VT. Apparently the details are still sketchy, but it appears that 2 people have been killed and at least 3 people were injured.

I think the gun man was one of the injured people. Apparently he shot himself toward the end of the ordeal.

Read the article here.

As far as some comments on this go . . . it seems that tragedies in small towns and small states hit a little closer to home. I’m still new to Vermont, so it’s hard to gauge how people will react to this.

I suppose at this point we can only pray that the victims will heal and that this troubled man will have a chance to receive the Gospel and be healed spiritually.

It’s that time of the year again in the Battenkill Valley of Vermont. Small dark shadows dart in a jerky motion through the air at dusk. Flapping wings course past the setting sun. In a word, I’m speaking of one thing: bats.

Bats have a curious tendency to enter homes. They can wiggle through little cracks in windows. They find their ways down the fireplace. They find ways into your homestead that would make a mouse green with envy.

And what happens when a bat gets into your house??? All heck breaks loose.

The lights throw them off and they fly all over the place quite frantically. My wife said they won’t bump into you because of their sonar. That does NOT apply when a bat is flipping out inside of your home.

There are various ways to deal with a bat in your home.

The Camp Method
Take a thick towel and wear thick gloves. Take hold of the towel and advance on the bat so you corner him. Then smother him in the towel and release him outside. This is humane, but a bit dicey for my taste. Next option.

The Julie Method
My brilliant wife Julie held up a huge blanket and was able to successfully herd the bat out of the door that I gladly held open (and stood behind). It does not involve contact with the bat and is fairly successful.

Of course you have to leave the door open for a while, so ANOTHER bat could come in. All in all, it works, but I prefer another option.

The Chet Method
My neighbor Chet has the best method for quickly ridding your home of a bat. I call it bat batting.

You will need any moderately sized and sturdy adult tennis racket. Firmly grip your racket, make sure no one is nearby, and then find the bat. Wack the bat with the racket as if you had the advantage in a match-deciding tie-breaker. Repeat as needed.

Pending on your preferences, either carry or shovel the aced bat outside.

I’m not a cruel person, we have rabbits for heaven’s sake, but rats and bats are another matter. There will always be enough of them in the world. I’ll be waiting for our first bat with my tennis racket. It’s only a matter of forehand or backhand.

After a few days down at the NJ shore with family we are back in Vermont. I’m scrambling to get a few articles together for this week and have a bit of a back log of stuff to post on. I hope I can remember it all.

Thanks to Neil Cole’s book Organic Church I have been thinking a lot about church and ministry. So far I have been really hit with two of his points:

1. Church buildings have a tendency to change the focus of ministry, whether we want them to or not. We suddenly feel a pressure to keep the building full, gauge our success by numbers, and to provide programs in the building to keep people there. Right? I have felt this and feel it even in house church settings! Oftentimes church buildings cause ministries to continue long after they have ceased to be alive and effective.

For example, one church down in Ocean City had a huge stone laid in it side that read, “Dedicated to the Glory of God in 1967.” Well, there you have it. How can a ministry fold up and try something else with that on its building???

2. The other point of Cole that is tremendously freeing for me is that church is a simple gathering of disciples. It can be two or three disciples even. I don’t have time to develop this thought, but if Cole is right, then the implications for ministry are huge. HUGE, HUGE, HUGE (said with my Philly accent that would be: ‘uge).

We took the train down to Philadelphia today from Albany in order to pick up a station wagon from my mom. We are going to follow it will a blitz tour of family and then a day down the shore in New Jersey.

The station wagon will enable us to transport junk all over, but the chief reason is for our kayaks and our rabbits. There is no limit now to the traveling capabilities of our rabbits . . . kind of.

It was my first trip on a long-distance train, Amtrak this time. I spent the entire trip comparing it to plane travel.

On the plus side you can walk around whenever you want. There are no seat belts, and you can basically carry your luggage with you as you go. Check in is easy. You rarely wait in line. And the clincher for me was the snack car. Not just peanuts and soda. We’re talking about salads, sandwiches, cinnamon buns, bagels, cocktails, beer, iced tea.

Of course the car rocks a little, making it a little tough to walk a straight line. But I can’t really think of any other draw backs.

After work last night we drove up to Lowell Lake just east of Londonderry to meet my father-in-law and bro-in-law. They generously let Julie and I paddle around in their canoe while they hiked around the lake.

It’s a curious little place. There are many old cabins that are no longer occupied since it’s a state park. But the park service has not been able to do a whole lot up there yet. So it’s kind of like a creepy little ghost cabin town in the mountains. Well, not really. Maybe it just felt that way because it was dark.

We didn’t manage to explore the whole lake, but we saw quite a bit. The water is clear and seems clean enough. Magic Mountain looms immediately to the east and the grassy ski slopes scar its landscape of pine trees. Magic Mountain is so steep that I can’t imagine anything less than black diamonds there.

Eating dinner, canoeing, and swimming up at Lowell Lake was the best thing I could have imagined doing after work. People wait for their week of vacation to do stuff like this. We can hike, swim, or kayak on our weekends and weeknights. By the way, yes, we did just purchase kayaks this past weekend. Pictures and the story are coming soon.

This weekend we are returning to my mother land: Philadelphia. It’s funny what you end up missing about a place. Of course you miss family and friends, but I’m thinking of regional things that you would do. I thought I would miss sports and the convenience of shopping. I thought I would miss Borders. But I don’t. I have found adequate substitutes up here or in the case of sports, just found other things to do.

I ended up missing the places that Julie and I would go together such as the Bucks County section of the Delaware river. I miss disc golf at Tinicum park, riding bikes on the river trail, and crossing over to the NJ side to go into towns like Stockton. It was fun to ride your bike from town to town.

But once you get past the high standard of living and the absence of jobs with an adequate salary, Vermont is a tremendous place to live. I never thought that I would enjoy it so much.

I like Vermont. I like history. I especially enjoy the history of World War II because it has shaped so much of our world.

Now someone in Vermont, Pownal of all places, is trying to set the record straight on behalf of the black soldiers who served in WWII. So many black units who served honorably have been ignored. Many others were simply not allowed to fight such as the paratroopers who were used in the Pacific Northwest as smokejumpers. The Rutland Herald, my local paper of choice, has an article about Bruce Bird, the founder and curator of the museum: read it here.

I think our history books often overlook minorities, only retelling us the stories we have already heard, lest our national conscience be disquieted. But there is a place for facing our past crimes so that we can repent, set the record straight, and hopefully never do the same wrong again.

One story that I have often read is the discrimination of black soldiers, especially in the south, when compared to that of German prisoners of war. Enemy combatants (to use a phrase we kick around today) were allowed more priviledges in mess halls and restaurants than black soliders who had to be served out back while the white soldiers, regardless of allegiance, ate inside.

Of course I think that Bird has an uphill battle. I have seen his brochures around town, but it will be hard to drum up attendance to the museum. His location is OK, but not good enough. The middle of Bennington would certainly give him a shot. There aren’t many places to go and hang out down town if you have a family looking for things to do.

But I’m afraid that a museum in Pownal will be a tough sell. Arlington’s tiny Norman Rockwell Museum has a great location and interesting content, but even that museum is struggling to make it. Never mind the fact that it only has prints. It will be very hard to draw tourists off the main road to go in search of the museum.

Great idea. Good luck. I hope it works out!

I had an idea last year when I heard about the struggle of Appalachian/Long Trail hikers in our area to hitch a ride. I thought that I would offer rides to hikers.

But how to do it . . .

I could leave a note in the journal at the trail head around Rts. 11/30 east of Manchester. I could contact some web sites. I could do all kinds of things that would put me in danger of being killed by some psychopath who preys on the fool who puts his phone number out there and offers a ride in his car to whoever calls.

And then it hit me one day while on Main St. in front of the Mountain Goat. This is a popular store for hikers of the AT that is very expensive, but can provide the occasional clearance sale for scroungers like us.

So I went in and mentioned my ride idea. They liked it. They thought I was swell. Apparently people do this, but no one has offered this year.

It’s a simple system. I leave my number in their files. When someone asks about a ride, they pass along my phone number and I swing by on my lunch break. It will primarly by a one-way shuttle out of town.

I’m excited about this because I’m hoping to meet some interesting people from all over who will hopefully have a story or two to tell.

After one week as an “on call” driver for the AT, no one has inquired at the Goat yet about finding a lift back up to the trail. Maybe they’re afraid I’m a psychopath who preys upon helpless hikers weighed down by 50 lb. packs.

I just finished reading an article over at Wired News on the soldiers who are suffering horrendously after returning from Iraq due to their expossure to depleted uranium. Here’s a clip:

“Reed believes depleted uranium has contaminated him and his life. He now walks point in a vitriolic war over the Pentagon’s arsenal of it — thousands of shells and hundreds of tanks coated with the metal that is radioactive, chemically toxic, and nearly twice as dense as lead.

A shell coated with depleted uranium pierces a tank like a hot knife through butter, exploding on impact into a charring inferno. As tank armor, it repels artillery assaults. It also leaves behind a fine radioactive dust with a half-life of 4.5 billion years.”

It’s a crying shame to read about these men who entrusted themselves to our country and have been stabbed inthe back. First they were not warned about the dangers of depleted uranium before entering into combat. Then they were not informed of its presence in their bodies when they returned to the states in miserable condition.

I have not felt good about the war in Iraq. Now I’m horrified to hear how we’re coating our tanks and bombs in depleted uranium. Not only are we ruining the lives of thousands of civilians, we are also destroying our soldiers. Who is the real enemy here?