As a ministry we recommend one day a month to come away from the normal demands in order to spend time in reflection, rest, prayer. Lyn and I did that yesterday and were refreshed by the beauty of creation in a nearby state park. I will let the pictures tell about the day.
Tulips and daffodils are in bloom!
Vestiges of an old fish-processing plant standing as markers of a former day, while a container ship in the distance arrives from China.
Walks through forest trails, so refreshing.
GOD DIED TODAY AT 4 A.M.
Jobless Jay Leno
Jay Leno is hilarious by every standard. The most important standard is that he doesn’t have to use antics and stupid little gimmicks like bringing monkeys on stage or bringing his camera crew outside to tape interviews on the sidewalks of New York. This is the main reason Jay is clearly funnier than Mr. Letterman. As laugh-worthy as David is, his antics reveal a lack of confidence in his pure joke-telling ability. Or maybe his script writers are just tired.
But today, even Jay Leno is out of work. When he went into the office at noon he was glum but still confident he could pull off the show using either skill or fakery. But Jay found the lights off and only a somber janitor dusting the floor like an automaton.
“What’s going on? Am I early?†blurted Leno. “Where is everybody?â€
The janitor replied, “This is serious.â€
“I can see it’s serious,†agreed the comedian, “but the show must go on.â€
“Why?†queried the janitor as he perched his hands on the chin-high handle of his duster.
“Because people will be coming to the studio this evening and I need to be ready to be funny.â€
“Not today Mr. Letterman.â€
“I’m not David Letterman! Can’t you even get my name right?†Jay retorted with a slight sneer.
Now let us analize why Jay Leno is out of a job by consulting the yet-to-be-published “Idiot’s Guide to Cracking a Sublime Joke.â€Â In chapter 3, beguilingly entitled “The Philosophical Underpinnings of Humor,†we learn that laughter, right alongside love-making, can only exist in a rather complex convergence of realities. Since, coincidentally, Jay’s new janitor friend had been enjoying this chapter as his bedtime reading, its salient points emerged in their conversation in dimly-lit Studio D.
“Sorry, Mr. Leno,†replied the janitor as he steered his duster around the espresso bar. “There are basically two kinds of laughter, sane and insane.â€
“Of course.â€
“The laughter of the insane person is meaningless because there is no cognitive trigger, no mental awareness that something funny, something pleasureful was just uttered or, in Mr. Letterman’s case, performed.â€
“Uh,†stammered the star, “but people often say I’m insanely funny.â€
“That, technically speaking, is not a compliment, Jay…may I call you Jay?â€
“By all means…and you are?….â€
“Bud.â€
“So Bud…â€
“The only other kind of laughter is sane laughter,†Bud continued. “The laughter of the sane human being is rather complex but I’ll break it down for you…â€
“I’m an educated man, Bud. I’ve dusted off a few books in my time, get it?â€
“Whenever someone laughs at one of your jokes, he possesses an awareness of the sadness and angst of mankind’s plight. He laughs as a momentary protest against his burdensome reality.â€
“Yeah,†interjected Leno, “I often think of the humanitarian contribution I’m making with my comedic talent.â€
“I’m sure you do, Jay,†seeking to keep the comedian engaged. “There’s another factor that enters in. For someone to laugh he must desire and believe in the possibility of temporary mental and emotional relief from the burden of the world’s sadness.â€
“Laughter’s the best medicine.â€
“Right, Jay. Good line.†Bud reloaded. “I’m not going to go into the fact that the would-be-laugher must know the language, idioms, tone of voice, and humorous intention of the comedian.â€
“He has to get it,†Jay summarized.
“Got it.â€
“But what if the joke in unintentional?†Leno is on to something.
“All the better,†Bud confirmed as he perched a Marlboro loosely between his lips for a smokeless break. “Observing an unintended joke relieves the pain in our personal world because we can favorably compare ourselves to the bigger problem of the poor guy who is funny without wanting to be.â€
“Man, am I glad I came in today. This is so enlightening.â€
“No, it isn’t, Jay, because this is all theoretical now.â€
“I don’t get it.†Confessed the former comedian.
“I know, Mr. Leno. Nobody does. Which illustrates the final factor that must exist for there to be humor.â€
“I’m listening.â€
Glancing around, Bud broke code and lit up. “We don’t bother to laugh at a joke unless we subconsciously think there is a glimmer of hope for a better future. Our inner self intuitively judges whether or not humor is appropriate and worth the effort.â€
“What?†Jay was in the dark.
“In layman’s terms, laughter is a tiny burst of hopefulness. But if we don’t think things can possibly get better for us, we won’t find anything funny.â€
“You’re wrong on that point, Bud. I know people who get so drunk they’ll laugh at anything, even my lousy joke about the hot-dog-eating-contest that I don’t even think is funny.â€
“Drunks have temporarily joined the ranks of the insane. They’re not engaged in the meaning of the humor, and won’t remember it. So that isn’t really humor, only meaningless laughter.â€
Jay Leno stood up and dug his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
Bud the janitor broke the silence, “So you see, that’s why nobody came into work today.â€
“Real humor is dead.†Leno spoke matter-of-factly as he headed toward the exit. He paused thoughtfully, “Why did you come in, Bud?â€
“I was needed as a character in this chapter.â€
“That’s pretty good, Bud.†Jay Leno pushed the door open to the outside. “Pretty good yesterday.â€
Awhile ago a friend of mine said something to me that, while not new, struck me in a freshly painful way–that if Jesus came and ministered among us today we would likely crucify Him again. Think about it. Would He seem so heretical–would we protect our doctrine, our “law”–would He join the “wrong side” of the political divide? Would He appear so worldly that we would see Him as compromising truth and therefore an impostor? Would His style be so plebeian, so poor and socially unacceptable? Would He be homeless and uncouth, such that we would ostracize Him as a weirdo? Would He stink up our nice sanctuaries, soiling the theater seats? We wouldn’t “crucify” Him literally, but we’d do so creatively by side-lining His impact.
Here’s what we would do–we’d divide like cells. Jesus would become Head of the unseemly part of the body, and we up here would appoint a co-head to lead us. This co-head would not be a human, for that would be heresy. No, he would be an imaginary Jesus, crafted according to our own liking. This compatible co-head would never speak disparagingly of the real Jesus. In fact, we would have selective quotes from Jesus Himself which we would put in the mouth of our preferred Jesus. Occasionally we would bring the two together over a sermon, but for the most part the two Lords wouldn’t get along too well.
Crucifixion would amount to stealing away part of Christ’s body and attaching those parts to a socially acceptable impostor. It would surprise the impostor-followers to realize that the real Jesus doesn’t know them, for in fact they don’t actually know Him. This is a grand deception, especially since these two messiah’s aren’t distinctly seen–they are look-alikes. But, no one can serve two masters, so someone needs to start paying attention to this huge misunderstanding. Someone needs to find out who the true messiah is and work every day to follow Him. Someone needs to recognize the slight of hand going on and face up to the real Jesus.
I’m afraid such a confrontation with reality might happen something like this. A knock would come at my door right at supper time. I answer and the real Jesus is standing there looking nothing at all like my rendition of Him. Suffice it to say He didn’t step out of a painting. Instead, He looks like He just walked 24 miles from inner city Seattle where He’s been in a homeless shelter for quite awhile. The worst happens. He asks if He can come in for supper. Every inch of me screams “No” inside. So I make up some partially true reason why it is really a bad night for visitors but another time would be okay.
But let’s say I didn’t do what I really did, and He is sitting at our dinner table. And let’s imagine I didn’t actually find a convincing reason that He couldn’t stay overnight. Suppose I got through to the next morning with the real Jesus Christ. How might He threaten me so severely that I would mentally check out on Him, that I would step back and decide that I needed to stick with my impostor Jesus? I think it could well happen if He told me to have some of my neighbors over for dinner this weekend–especially the ones who nobody really likes or talks to, or the ones who haven’t mowed their lawn all summer, or those who are black and play loud rap music. I could quietly switch Lords over something like that. Or if He started to get nosy about my finances. If He said I ought to sell my house and live by faith, I’m pretty sure I’d reason inside that He is out of touch with the need for equity as one moves into retirement age. After all He died at age 33 in a society without banks and insurance. What could He possibly understand about financial security these days?
If Jesus invited a bunch of seedy people over to my house–like street-walkers or meth users–that would force me to switch. If He tried to get me to visit homeless shelters, old people’s homes–or if He felt taxes should be raised in order to increase welfare, which is already inefficient and abused. If He came to church and told me I am hanging around in social isolation with people who knowingly seal themselves off from others who make them uncomfortable–even though they say they don’t–this would make it easy to change to a faux master.
No, I wouldn’t put Jesus back on a cross–that was the method of a barbaric time. I would put Him away more subtly; I’d create an alternate reality–sort of like the evolutionists theory. I’d want so badly for it to be true, I’d piece together evidence to prove it. I’d ignore the gaps of logic I couldn’t explain and live by tenacious faith in the messiah I so longed to be real.
All of this brings things into really sharp focus: Someone needs to be crucified again and it isn’t the real Jesus. It’s me.
We praise you today,O God, for your amazing grace toward us.
For we were once outside the wall of your favor
    separated from your covenant love
    strangers to your promises
    aliens without a place in your house
Our lives were in deep distress,
Our eternal destiny hung in the balance, even when we did not know what danger we were in.
But thanks be to you, O Father. You knew our plight, you rose to act.
We worship you, Lord Jesus, for laying aside your glory and coming as a servant. You broke down the wall of separation, you ended the apartheid that once excluded us, and by your shed blood have now included us.
Now, our risen King, all may call upon you for salvation.
All may know the love that passes understanding.
We implore you, O Spirit of the living God, help us live as fellow members of the household of God,
    for that is what we are.
Reconciled to God, we can be at peace with each other.
Draw us near to the cross once again
    for there we recall that everything is by grace.
We are sinners all, needing mercy today, that we may truly live as one body through the cross.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
I was struck by the report of a seasoned American journalist Marie Colvin and photographer Remi Ochlik, a Frenchman, killed in Homs, Syria. I was drawn to this story because I see in them an example of what the Bible means by the word “witness.”
First, a quote from the ABC article.
“Colvin lost an eye from a shrapnel wound in Sri Lanka in 2001, an injury that she said “is worth it” in a 2010 speech on the dangers of conflict reporting.
“Covering a war means going to places torn by chaos, destruction, and death … and trying to bear witness,” she said at a memorial for fallen journalists.
“Someone has to go there and see what is happening. You can’t get that information without going to places where people are being shot at, and others are shooting at you.”
We translate the English word “witness” from the Greek work, martus. When becoming a witness for Christ became a calling that resulted in death, the word took on the meaning of “martyr”.
It is true that a journalist should just report the facts (unless she clearly indicate that she is editorializing). But here is a reporter who hoped that in reporting the facts she could make a difference. She believed that by revealing injustices happening in another part of the world that help would be stirred, the lives would be spared.
Increasingly, being a witness for Christ costs us something, even in America. I feel that cost when I try to turn a conversation to spiritual things. There is resistance. But that is where I must be willing to die to self in order to spare a life. We feel that cost when we choose righteousness when no one is looking.
I pay tribute to Colvin today, and thank her for her service. I pay tribute to brothers and sisters in Christ, around the world and in America too, who are dying to self to bear witness of the change Jesus has made in their lives. Let’s all take courage today.
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