Fully sated and obese, I sit.

We just had a staff lunch which was full of enchiladas and other myriad Mexican delights...like miniature Snickers.  Who was the wise guy who came up for the title of that candy bar anyway?  Were they throwing out some absurd suggestions like "Nougarama" at the end of a long day of brainstorming when everyone was giving half humored chuckles when someone grabbed the incandescent bulb above their head and with full forced shouted "Snickers!  We should call them Snickers!"  Or maybe it was the privately held nickname of their CEO who never even came close to cracking a smile.  It'd be fittingly ironic.  Candy normally doesn't encourage a somber demeanor.

Regardless, I find myself with a pound or so of the finest American Mexican cuisine that you could find at Eastern Hills Bible Church around one in the afternoon, and find myself with nothing really to ponder.  I mean, I imagine I could force a ponder or two, but that'd be disingenuous and I am anything but.  Your sweater is ugly, by the way.  I know you were wondering.  I guess I just miss updating.  I miss having something to update about.  And I don't like feeling like I have to become a superficial spiritual guru to add something.  

Also, I don't like long haired cats.

Jesus was made of styrofoam

I had communion for the first time in maybe two years yesterday.  I had forgotten about communion.  Not that the knowledge of the ceremony had vacated my mind, but I had forgotten how purgative...how restorative it could be.  It's one of the few times that I am actually able to tame my erratic, media blown mind to focus on the misery of who I am and the glory of who God is.  It's a big thing for me.  Pride runs through my veins like stretches of Wallace plaid and with it comes a convenient forgetfulness of my flawed state.  Communion demands that you stop and look deep into yourself and ask yourself the questions that make you want to hide from the ebony pall.  

As a Christian I have found I'm still afraid of the dark, it's just that now I have made my own shadows and I'm afraid to look into them.  I am afraid to sift through all of horrific evils I've inflicted on God, on my wife, my family, my friends, the world.  That's what Easter is for, right?  There's an old hymn that's called "Calvary Covered it All" and somehow deep inside, that's Easter and Communion in one package.  The reason that we can join together in this grand experience, or commune, is because Jesus took it all.  It's the reason that when the plates came around with the "body of Christ," styrofoam wafers trying to pass themselves off as unleavened bread, and His "blood," a tiny sip of grape juice sufficient only to make you want more, that I was able to focus on how Jesus made light of my darkness and performed a brutal assault on the filth of my life.  I was able to sit next to someone I that I've never known and probably never will see again and hold hands with them during prayer because we share in the sacrifice of Christ.  This is our communion.

Earthworms like to die on the parking lots of funeral home and churches.

I rescued an earthworm today.  It's been raining in that soaking sort of way and the worms came out searching for some solace after their homes have been flooded.  Most of them die exposed, like little pink noodles scatter across the walkways.  That's why I was surprised to see one inching it's way towards the grass.  So surprised, in fact, that I was moved by compassion to lift it's limp form and place it among a few verdant blades.  Sarah is the one who is compassionate in our family, not me.  She is the one who cares for our cat even though he strives to find secret places to defecate and urinate around the house.  She is the one who cries at baptisms and funerals of people she never even knew.  I, on the other hand, feel like kicking our cat and for some unbeknownst reason feel like laughing while other people are grieving.  I understand...I'm a horrid person...but I rescued an earthworm today.

For I am Persuaded...

...In Romans Paul talks about how nothing can separate him from God's love.  Nothing.  And I don't think it's just that he was wishy washy, "well, I'm pretty sure that nothing can separate me from God's love, that is if He doesn't have one of His bad temper Sodom and Gomorrah days and I just happen to be the one who screwed the straw on the camel's back" type of belief.  Paul says he's persuaded.  He was convinced by God.  I don't think Paul was sitting around one day and poof, he came up with this brainstorm.  "What if I can't be separated from God's love!  This would be great!  Why didn't I think of this before!"  God somehow persuaded Paul that there is nothing at all that can take him away from the love of God.

That being said, how persuaded am I?  Whenever I do something I fear reprisal, or I turn and try to defend myself to God as if to say, "What now God?  Can you love me in spite of this.  I dare you to."  He can.  I think I take it as a right and not a gift.  I am one of His adopted sons, and therefore I deserve His love.  He said He'd give it, He can't take it away.  It goes along with the consistent pride I pin on my sleeve like a sergeant's stripes.  It should humble me.   I should understand that I don't warrant anything but hell, and the worst bits of it.  There's a song that says "Your kindness Lord, leads us to repentance."  When does it?  Am I so full of myself that I believe that I deserve God's notice in the first place, let alone His grace?  I wish it weren't so.

Blogging is for losers...and the socially inept.

Which is why I have decided to start one myself.  I've always dreamt that the Leviathan is a hideously frightening creature, much like the blog project you see me beginning here.  Chances are, like most things in my life, I'll grow sufficiently apathetic and let the beast die a natural, if abrupt, death and relieve you all (i'm full of myself enough to assume someone will read this tripe) of any obligation you feel to read this.  These things in mind, it's raining outside.  This could be indicative of change if we look to modern art, film and literature. 

Or it could be the calling card of mild depression if we look at it from a Central New York psychological point of view.  Many people decide to treat this by transforming their skin into the same color and consistency of a rotisserie chicken.  Crispy and brown, and just a little bit flaky.

Leviathan Arise, pretentious to the last.  It's still raining.  I bet Noah hated rain.