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Monday, October 28, 2013
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
GUEST POST: Waking up with Leah
Every so often I come across a real nugget of wisdom. Sometimes it's from pastors or seminary professors. Sometimes it's from a layperson. Sometimes it's even from agnostics or atheists. This time it comes from a former pastor and seminary professor who now works for a freight company.
Life as a Christian in the Church can be a lot more complex than one would think. Jesus said, "This is my commandment, that you love one another." Sinners that we are, we have a hard time with all of the commandments of God, but it seems sometimes that we have a very hard time with this one in particular. Chad Bird addresses what happens when one realizes that the Church on earth is not always what we would hope it would be. This post said a lot to me as I continue to struggle with the events of eight years ago. (And I also like how, without directly saying so, it addresses those who say that they won't go to church because of all the hypocrites therein.)
Originally posted in his blog, you can read it here with his permission. If you would like to address Chad directly about his post, click the link in the previous sentence.
___________________________________
Waking up with Leah: Learning to Love a Disappointing Church
In the tiny Texas town where I grew up, sleeping in on Sunday morning was as inconceivable as rooting for someone besides the Dallas Cowboys on Sunday afternoon. Going to church made the list with apple pie and Chevrolet. My dad was a deacon; my mom a Sunday School teacher; and I was the typical daydreaming boy fidgeting in the pew. Fast-forward a couple of decades, and I found myself in a job where sleeping in on Sunday was highly frowned upon since the pulpit would’ve been quite empty without me. There I was: seminary trained, armed to the teeth with confessions and creeds, zealous to convert a world—or, at least, our Oklahoma town—to the faith once for all delivered to the saints.
Looking back at myself as that twenty-something pastor, I have to admit that I was almost as steeped in naïveté then as I was as a twelve year old boy. Sure, I knew plenty about the church, but it was heavily freighted with the good stuff. The good stuff of the ladies’ guild cooking casseroles for grieving families, youth groups pounding hammers in Mexico to build homes for the poor, a rancher showing up on the pastor’s doorstep with half a beef from his own herd to stock the freezer. But as good and giving and beautiful as the church can be, there’s a dark side, too, that at times can be dog ugly. The day I stumbled upon a secret meeting of the church leadership and one of the elders stood up and slammed the door in my face—that comes to mind. Over the years, there were the not-so-veiled threats of violence, pastors who broke the seal of confession, bishops issuing warnings about me, and occasional rumors about me so outrageous they could have been ripped from the cover of the National Enquirer. I learned plenty through those years, the most obvious lesson being that the church can be a place that’s just as mean and nasty and royally screwed up as the world.
Like the patriarch, Jacob, who after his wedding night, awoke to the wrong wife in his bed, I too one day opened my eyes to find that the Rachel with whom I had fallen in love, for whom I’d labored long years, was not the one beside me as the sun rose. I rolled over and came face-to-face with the uncomely, undesirable, older sister. And then I had a decision to make: leave the church, or learn to love Leah.
Have you been there? Maybe you too grew up with a congregation as your second home, perhaps even served in the ministry, but later encountered within its walls abuse or neglect or a whole host of other ills. While going through a divorce, or struggling with a sexually charged issue, you found not clasping hands of support but wagging fingers of accusation. As the shards of your broken life fell about you, when simply having a Christian show you they cared, when that alone would have meant the world to you, all you saw was the church’s back, turned away, walking the other direction. Or maybe you just slowly slipped away, skipping a Sunday here, a whole month there, and eventually never darkened the doors again, but not a single believer took the time to call or visit to reveal they missed you. You have your story, and I have mine, but all such accounts shoulder a common burden: the fellowship that is supposed to be a hospital for sinners can seem more like a religious country club, a xenophobic clique, or a horde of hypocrites. Call it what you may, it’s not been a church to you and for you. So what do you do? Do you leave or learn to love Leah, walk away from the church or stay?
I could’ve washed my hands of the whole affair and walked away. In fact, I gave serious thought to just that, and for several years, rarely planted my butt in a pew for, when I did, I could taste the bile rising up my throat. But over time, and through a whole lot of healing, re-wounding, and re-healing, I finally came to the point where I see and love Leah for what she is: a beautifully ugly church in whose arms I encounter the God who loves beautifully ugly sinners like me.
A beautifully ugly sinner like me—that’s where healing has to start, with an honest acknowledgement that there may be a slew of unattractive things about the church, but I’m no supermodel of holiness myself. Part of the way we humans deal with our grief or anger or guilt is to deflect any culpability from ourselves by blaming others for almost everything that goes wrong. And though there are important exceptions—such as the victims of sexual predators—most of us who’ve had a rocky relationship with the church must fess up to our own failings. There’s a good chance Leah finds me just as ugly as I find her. I see hypocrites in the church, but I see in my own soul times galore when I wore a mask of piety in public and a face of shame in private. I deplore how the church’s tongue can destroy a person’s reputation, but my own tongue loves the desserts of lies and rumors and gossip more than it loves the bread of honesty. In our society, where it seems everyone claims to be a victim, it needs to be said that we are all perpetrators ourselves. We struggle with the same faults with which we fault the church.
In addition to personal accountability, we’ve got to kill and bury any utopian daydreams we have about the church hitting the gym to tighten her glutes and getting a boob job so we have a hotter, sexier Leah. There has never been, nor will there ever be, a time when the church was flawless. Barely had Jesus ascended before the church descended into trouble. Squabbles arose, heresies spread, pastors played favorites, sexual immorality mushroomed, and hearts grew cold. In the last book of the Bible, there are letters from God to seven different churches. Although he commends those congregations for many good things, he also complains of them leaving their first love, holding to false teachers and teachings, spiritual death, and lukewarmness. And this while the church was still basking in the afterglow of the earthly ministry of Jesus! As long as there are people in the church, there will be problems, for if humanity is anything, it is problematic.
Therein is the reason I found my way (or rather, like a lost sheep, was carried) back to the church: because it’s a place pregnant with problems. Because of those imperfections, I fit in perfectly. If you’ve got it all together, have no struggles, live a full and happy life, free of sin, then the church is not for you. But if you struggle with selfishness, greed, lust, addiction, problem children, a cheating spouse, fear, loneliness, or anything else that plagues our race, then the church is the ideal place for you. For Leah struggles with all that crap, too. Don’t let the pretty stained glass and padded pews and vested clergy fool you; all around the church are wounded sinners wheeled about on gurneys, doctors sewing up stab victims, nurses checking IVs, and double amputees carried by the blind who are led by the mute while the deaf sing prayers for healing. The church is messy place for messed up people who are in dire need of a God who cares.
In uncomely, undesirable, older Leah, that’s just what you’ll find: a God who cares. You’ll find a God who was born of an unwed teen whose neighbors likely whispered was a slut. You’ll find a God who hung out with outcasts, welcomed whores as followers, touched untouchables, called bullshit on the holier-than-thous of his day, and walked eyes wide open into the clutches of those who would torture him to death so as to save a world that really didn’t think it needed saving. In the church you’ll encounter the God who takes all his beautiful and exchanges it for your ugly.
And so, after a few years of growing up, maturing in a some areas, and realizing a bit more clearly what life is all about, I can now honestly say, “Leah, just as you are—not who I want you to be, not who others say you should be—but just as you are: I love you.”
Looking back at myself as that twenty-something pastor, I have to admit that I was almost as steeped in naïveté then as I was as a twelve year old boy. Sure, I knew plenty about the church, but it was heavily freighted with the good stuff. The good stuff of the ladies’ guild cooking casseroles for grieving families, youth groups pounding hammers in Mexico to build homes for the poor, a rancher showing up on the pastor’s doorstep with half a beef from his own herd to stock the freezer. But as good and giving and beautiful as the church can be, there’s a dark side, too, that at times can be dog ugly. The day I stumbled upon a secret meeting of the church leadership and one of the elders stood up and slammed the door in my face—that comes to mind. Over the years, there were the not-so-veiled threats of violence, pastors who broke the seal of confession, bishops issuing warnings about me, and occasional rumors about me so outrageous they could have been ripped from the cover of the National Enquirer. I learned plenty through those years, the most obvious lesson being that the church can be a place that’s just as mean and nasty and royally screwed up as the world.
Like the patriarch, Jacob, who after his wedding night, awoke to the wrong wife in his bed, I too one day opened my eyes to find that the Rachel with whom I had fallen in love, for whom I’d labored long years, was not the one beside me as the sun rose. I rolled over and came face-to-face with the uncomely, undesirable, older sister. And then I had a decision to make: leave the church, or learn to love Leah.
Have you been there? Maybe you too grew up with a congregation as your second home, perhaps even served in the ministry, but later encountered within its walls abuse or neglect or a whole host of other ills. While going through a divorce, or struggling with a sexually charged issue, you found not clasping hands of support but wagging fingers of accusation. As the shards of your broken life fell about you, when simply having a Christian show you they cared, when that alone would have meant the world to you, all you saw was the church’s back, turned away, walking the other direction. Or maybe you just slowly slipped away, skipping a Sunday here, a whole month there, and eventually never darkened the doors again, but not a single believer took the time to call or visit to reveal they missed you. You have your story, and I have mine, but all such accounts shoulder a common burden: the fellowship that is supposed to be a hospital for sinners can seem more like a religious country club, a xenophobic clique, or a horde of hypocrites. Call it what you may, it’s not been a church to you and for you. So what do you do? Do you leave or learn to love Leah, walk away from the church or stay?
I could’ve washed my hands of the whole affair and walked away. In fact, I gave serious thought to just that, and for several years, rarely planted my butt in a pew for, when I did, I could taste the bile rising up my throat. But over time, and through a whole lot of healing, re-wounding, and re-healing, I finally came to the point where I see and love Leah for what she is: a beautifully ugly church in whose arms I encounter the God who loves beautifully ugly sinners like me.
A beautifully ugly sinner like me—that’s where healing has to start, with an honest acknowledgement that there may be a slew of unattractive things about the church, but I’m no supermodel of holiness myself. Part of the way we humans deal with our grief or anger or guilt is to deflect any culpability from ourselves by blaming others for almost everything that goes wrong. And though there are important exceptions—such as the victims of sexual predators—most of us who’ve had a rocky relationship with the church must fess up to our own failings. There’s a good chance Leah finds me just as ugly as I find her. I see hypocrites in the church, but I see in my own soul times galore when I wore a mask of piety in public and a face of shame in private. I deplore how the church’s tongue can destroy a person’s reputation, but my own tongue loves the desserts of lies and rumors and gossip more than it loves the bread of honesty. In our society, where it seems everyone claims to be a victim, it needs to be said that we are all perpetrators ourselves. We struggle with the same faults with which we fault the church.
In addition to personal accountability, we’ve got to kill and bury any utopian daydreams we have about the church hitting the gym to tighten her glutes and getting a boob job so we have a hotter, sexier Leah. There has never been, nor will there ever be, a time when the church was flawless. Barely had Jesus ascended before the church descended into trouble. Squabbles arose, heresies spread, pastors played favorites, sexual immorality mushroomed, and hearts grew cold. In the last book of the Bible, there are letters from God to seven different churches. Although he commends those congregations for many good things, he also complains of them leaving their first love, holding to false teachers and teachings, spiritual death, and lukewarmness. And this while the church was still basking in the afterglow of the earthly ministry of Jesus! As long as there are people in the church, there will be problems, for if humanity is anything, it is problematic.
Therein is the reason I found my way (or rather, like a lost sheep, was carried) back to the church: because it’s a place pregnant with problems. Because of those imperfections, I fit in perfectly. If you’ve got it all together, have no struggles, live a full and happy life, free of sin, then the church is not for you. But if you struggle with selfishness, greed, lust, addiction, problem children, a cheating spouse, fear, loneliness, or anything else that plagues our race, then the church is the ideal place for you. For Leah struggles with all that crap, too. Don’t let the pretty stained glass and padded pews and vested clergy fool you; all around the church are wounded sinners wheeled about on gurneys, doctors sewing up stab victims, nurses checking IVs, and double amputees carried by the blind who are led by the mute while the deaf sing prayers for healing. The church is messy place for messed up people who are in dire need of a God who cares.
In uncomely, undesirable, older Leah, that’s just what you’ll find: a God who cares. You’ll find a God who was born of an unwed teen whose neighbors likely whispered was a slut. You’ll find a God who hung out with outcasts, welcomed whores as followers, touched untouchables, called bullshit on the holier-than-thous of his day, and walked eyes wide open into the clutches of those who would torture him to death so as to save a world that really didn’t think it needed saving. In the church you’ll encounter the God who takes all his beautiful and exchanges it for your ugly.
And so, after a few years of growing up, maturing in a some areas, and realizing a bit more clearly what life is all about, I can now honestly say, “Leah, just as you are—not who I want you to be, not who others say you should be—but just as you are: I love you.”
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Monday, October 21, 2013
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Monday, October 07, 2013
2013 Reading List: September
It's that time again. With the beginning of the school year and the resumption of Catechism instruction and Sunday school, I let myself relax my reading schedule a bit this past month. With no ado, here's my list for September. (By the way, despite my usual narcissism, I have to say that my main reason for re-reading "A Great and Mighty Wonder" was because of my appearance on KFUO's BookTalk show. My third novel will probably be on my list for October for the same reason. And then November will be even slower than September because I do intend to work on another in a new genre for NaNoWriMo.)
September
- Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 1998.
- Ferguson, Craig. American on Purpose. Harper Collins Publishers, 2009.
- Quinn, Caisey. Girl on Tour. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2013.
- Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 1999.
- Zelazny, Roger. The Trumps of Doom. Arbor House, 1985.
- Kavouras, Dean. Nine One One: The Aftermath. Lutheran Heritage Foundation, 2002.
- Watson, Galen. The Psalter. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2012. (Awful. How many heresies can one author fit into a 383-page fiction novel and pass them off as truth while writing off the actual truth is the product of conspiracy theories?)
- Kornacki, Alan. A Great and Mighty Wonder. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2012.
- Swank, Denise Grover. Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2013.
- Gunhammer, Jessica. A Summer to Remember. Limitless Publishing, 2013.
- Cagle, Erik. Gross Misconduct. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2007.
Sunday, October 06, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
A Face for Radio, Part 2
A week ago today I appeared on "BookTalk" with Pastor Rod Zwonitzer to discuss my novel A Great and Mighty Wonder, the second novel in my "Thy Strong Word" trilogy. If you listen, you'll notice that I was very chatty. Bad habit of mine when I get nervous, but at least I was chatty about the book.
Pastor Zwonitzer is reading the third book, One Thing's Needful, and he plans to have me back on the show when he's done. Dude! Looking forward to it, and not just because I'm a raging narcissist and love hearing my own voice. (And I don't like hearing my voice on a recording. It sounds so weird to me!)
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
An author's brain after midnight...
Some authors are able to write organically. I think of their process as sitting in a diner with the characters who will be in their novel, and over coffee and runny eggs these characters tell their story while the author dutifully records their account of the events that came to pass. Then the author has to determine which point(s) of view on which to focus and edit the story appropriately. The author has work to do, but it's as if the story is a gift to them from their characters, even if seems like a gag gift sometimes.
I've written three novels, and there has been nothing organic about them. The characters have been carefully profiled to the finest detail so I know how they would or wouldn't react when exposed to certain stimuli. (Even using the same main characters, the profiles have to be redone so I know how the events of the previous novel have shaped the characters.) The plot or storyline is outlined in detail, often resembling the process of recovering a vehicle from the deepest depths of a swamp while dodging the alligators and cooyons. The subplots have to be chased down like Obamaphone recipients who are being asked to show proof that they've tried to find work since the 2008 election. For me, writing is a grind. That's not to say I don't love it, but it will never be the way I make my living. Being a pastor is too important to me to commit too often to that routine. (It's no coincidence that I wrote my first novel while I didn't have a congregation to serve full time.)
I'm giving thought to a writing project with no connection to my trilogy. It would be aimed at a different audience, and the characters and setting would be new to me. The prospect is a bit daunting, I admit. I know I can write a novel. After all, I've already written three. But do I have what it takes to start from scratch again?
Anyone can write a novel. These days you don't even need to be literate to do it as long as you have the right software or enough money to pay a ghostwriter. But to do it more than once? That requires stubbornness, foolishness, at least a touch of masochism...and you have to love to do it.
What do you know? I'm uniquely qualified on all counts. Guess I should get back to it.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
The Word Works: Reflections on 9/11
It's my generation's Pearl Harbor, our JFK assassination. We all remember where we were when the planes struck the World Trade Center. For me, that Tuesday morning found me in Hannover, North Dakota. I'd stayed with a pastor friend and his family for a little extra break after our Monday meeting with the pastors of our Circuit. Usually when I woke up at their house, my friend had already left for his study at the church. This particular morning he was still at home when I emerged from the guest room, and he was watching the television with rapt attention. I wandered over, and I was assaulted with the sight of smoke and flames billowing out of the first of the towers to be struck. My horror increased as we watched the second plane strike. I watched for a little longer, and then I jumped in my car without a shower to make the 150 mile trip back to my own parsonage. While on the road, I did something I never do: I listed to the radio, searching for news reports emerging from New York City--and then Washington D.C. and Somerset, Pennsylvania. I spent time on the phone between no-reception zones trying to get in touch with my sister and her husband who lived outside of New York City. I knew they lived far enough away, but maybe my sister had taken her class on a field trip to the World Trade Center that day? I didn't know, and I didn't hear back from my family until later in the day that they were okay. It's a day I will never forget: the confusion, the fear, the images, the uncertainty, the grief, the anger, and a whole host of other things.
![]() | |
| Chaplain Kavouras |
On this anniversary of that horrible terrorist attack--not to mention the anniversary of the terror in Benghazi a year ago (and I'm sure not mentioning Benghazi today would make the current administration very happy)--I didn't want to just throw out my narcissistic musings on the day and what it means. Instead I picked up and read a book I first read over a decade ago. The book is called Nine One One: The Aftermath--the Word Works. It is a compilation of the chaplain reports of the Reverend Dean Kavouras, an LCMS pastor who also serves as chaplain to the police and fire departments of Cleveland, Ohio, and the Cleveland Division of the FBI. Chaplain Kavouras served the workers in Somerset and those in Staten Island who searched the refuse from the World Trade Center for human remains. His reports show the power of the Word of God at work in the lives of people who spent long hours in an earthly hell in service to the families of those lost their lives on that awful September day.
| Dean with my son Michael |
These days my wife and I are friends with Pastor Kavouras and his beautiful wife, Barb. At the time, however, I only knew Pastor Kavouras from Internet interaction. Nevertheless, I was blessed to read these reports as they first came out. Rereading them today was a potent reminder of the power of God to do mighty work for the good of His people in the midst of the greatest of evil and the greatest of tragedies. Chaplain Kavouras and his faithful words and service guided me as I spoke with acquaintances and family after Hurricanes Katrina and Rita in 2005 and Hurricanes Gustav and Ike in 2008. His example also inspired me as I wrote my Thy Strong Word series of novels, where the main character is both a parish pastor and a chaplain to his local fire department. His guidance helped Pastor Corwin sound like a real pastor and chaplain instead of a bumbling idiot.
The national legacy of 9/11 is a curious one: wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the molestation of American citizens in the name of tightened airport security, political maneuverings, and in some cases the limiting of the freedoms for which this nation was founded. There has been a shift toward watching American citizens who exercise those freedoms with suspicion and fear. Homeschoolers, gun owners, Christians, political conservatives, and others are on terror watch lists. At the same time, the President of the United States refuses view a Muslim soldier who goes on a killing spree on Fort Hood while yelling "Allahu Akbar" as a terrorist or the attack as a terrorist attack.
As an American, as a Christian, as a pastor, as a husband and father, on days like today it's important to remember that "we do not wrestle against
flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against
the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places (Ephesians 6:12)." We are under constant attack from "the old evil foe," as Luther calls Satan, and it is true that "on earth is not his equal." Yet the victory is not the devil's, for our Lord Jesus Christ has defeated Satan with the sacrifice of His body and blood on the cross and with His glorious resurrection. That victory is applied to us in the waters of Holy Baptism, where we are marked with the name of God and clothed with the righteousness of Christ. Nothing this world and its prince can do to us can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
I checked, and Nine One One: The Aftermath by Chaplain Kavouras is available from Lutheran Heritage Foundation. Call 1-800-554-0723 or send an e-mail to info@LHFmissions.org to order a copy. I cannot give this book a sufficiently fervent recommendation compared to what it deserves.
I pray you find comfort on this anniversary from the words of St. Peter, words which Chaplain Kavouras often drew upon in ministering to those entrusted to his care by the Lord:
Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you. Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world. But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while, perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you. (I Peter 5:6-10)
Sunday, September 08, 2013
Thursday, September 05, 2013
2013 Reading List: August
August was a slower reading month with a large number of hospital and shut-in visits, two house guests a week apart, and a renewed interest in playing games on my PSP. Nonetheless, I still had time to do some reading, especially since I wangled for myself a refurbished Kindle Touch. I'm still on pace for right around 200 books for the year, though there's no telling what will happen over the next four months. Anyhow, here's the August list.
- Culbreth, Jennifer. Protect Me. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2013. (I read this to support a Facebook friend.)
- McLay, Craig. Village Books. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2011. (Awful. It’s as if someone took everything he learned from his liberal college humanities professors and tried to cram it into one boring book with smug characters.)
- Ruud, R.J. Lost Creek. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2013.
- Wellington, Janet. Homecoming. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2012.
- Adams, Sayer. Blindsided. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2011.
- Swank, Denise Grover. Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2011.
- Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 1997.
- Brinkley, Richard N. Thy Strong Word: The Enduring Legacy of Martin Franzmann. Concordia Publishing House, 1993. (The picture on the Amazon website is for the wrong product.)
- Mosher, Eric. Lost at Comic Con. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2011.
- Spiva, Heather. The Puzzle Master. Self-Published Kindle Edition, 2012.
Wednesday, September 04, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
PARODY: Our List
In light of recent developments, I thought I'd trot out one of my favorites.
Under a spyglass paperweight
Is our list of those to watch today:
People we think are too hardcore,
People who think God loves them more.
We write their names down as we go,
But when the day is through,
There’s still a bunch we need to watch
That we ain’t got to:
Those who hate Fidel, Tea Party fans?
As bad as those who put bombs in cans.
Should we suspect those who own cats?
It’s time to take them down for that.
Those who want to build a wall
So “illegal immigrants” won’t call,
And vets returning home—they all look pissed.
Gun owners: they’re the next ones on our list.
It might change the course of things
If we can jail the whole right wing.
“Extremists” are quite dangerous,
‘Cause they’re not like the best of us.
We aren’t really confident
That they are fully wrong,
But we’d be safer, that’s for sure,
If we could get them gone.
Those who hate Fidel, Tea Party fans—
As bad as those who put bombs in cans.
Should we suspect those who own cats?
It’s time to take them down for that.
Those who want to build a wall
So “illegal immigrants” won’t call,
And those who don’t like watching gay folks kiss:
Them Christians: they’re the next ones on our list.
Pro-life nut-job whacks, blogging hacks,
Maybe even kids who won’t play jacks,
And Ron Paul fans—who likes that prat?
It’s time to take them down for that.
Watch their moves: who do they see?
And are they who they claim to be?
Surveillance for extremists we might miss.
Right wingers: they’re the next ones on our list.
Written by Alan Kornacki, Jr., and Toby Keith
Our List
(Parody of “My List” by Toby Keith)
Under a spyglass paperweight
Is our list of those to watch today:
People we think are too hardcore,
People who think God loves them more.
We write their names down as we go,
But when the day is through,
There’s still a bunch we need to watch
That we ain’t got to:
Those who hate Fidel, Tea Party fans?
As bad as those who put bombs in cans.
Should we suspect those who own cats?
It’s time to take them down for that.
Those who want to build a wall
So “illegal immigrants” won’t call,
And vets returning home—they all look pissed.
Gun owners: they’re the next ones on our list.
It might change the course of things
If we can jail the whole right wing.
“Extremists” are quite dangerous,
‘Cause they’re not like the best of us.
We aren’t really confident
That they are fully wrong,
But we’d be safer, that’s for sure,
If we could get them gone.
Those who hate Fidel, Tea Party fans—
As bad as those who put bombs in cans.
Should we suspect those who own cats?
It’s time to take them down for that.
Those who want to build a wall
So “illegal immigrants” won’t call,
And those who don’t like watching gay folks kiss:
Them Christians: they’re the next ones on our list.
Pro-life nut-job whacks, blogging hacks,
Maybe even kids who won’t play jacks,
And Ron Paul fans—who likes that prat?
It’s time to take them down for that.
Watch their moves: who do they see?
And are they who they claim to be?
Surveillance for extremists we might miss.
Right wingers: they’re the next ones on our list.
Written by Alan Kornacki, Jr., and Toby Keith
Thursday, August 29, 2013
PARODY: Panicked Sunday
Faith and I were running errands yesterday morning when a familiar song came on the radio. It's already received a Lutheran treatment, but I couldn't resist. So here it is...
Panicked Sunday
(Parody of "Manic Monday")
Five A.M. on Sunday
And I hope I can finally click "Print."
I've been writing now for hours.
I have no clue where last week went.
I'm exhausted but
Of course there's never time for a nap.
These are the days
When you wish you were some other sap.
It's just another panicked Sunday--
My "sermon's not done" day--
"I'm under the gun" day--
"My cassock weighs a ton" day.
It's just another panicked Sunday.
In the study Monday morn,
Knelt down for my daily prayer.
And then I read the lection and
I start pulling out all my hair.
"Law and Gospel" is open and
I read so I know how to preach.
But come Sunday morn
You can bet I'd rather be at the beach.
It's just another panicked Sunday--
My "sermon's not done" day--
"I'm under the gun" day--
"My cassock weighs a ton" day.
It's just another panicked Sunday.
All of those days
Why did my pastor have to say
I should go to sem?
(You should. You should.)
Doesn't it matter
That I thought the Yankees would have me
Pitching for them?
Alarm rings and it's time to go.
C'mon, preacher. Let's drive off the Foe.
Time--it goes so fast
(When there's nothing done.)
It's just another panicked Sunday--
My "sermon's not done" day--
"I'm under the gun" day--
"My cassock weighs a ton" day.
It's just another panicked Sunday--
My "sermon's not done" day--
"I'm under the gun" day--
It's just another panicked Sunday.
Written by Alan Kornacki Jr. and Prince
Friday, August 23, 2013
A Face for Radio
This afternoon I appeared on KFUO AM's "BookTalk" radio show with Pastor Rod Zwonitzer to discuss my novel Love Divine. What a ride! It wasn't my first time on the radio, though it was my first time on KFUO. I'm not all that comfortable talking into a microphone--lovely problem for a pastor to have, to be sure--but Pastor Zwonitzer made it as painless as he possibly could. I had a lot more fun than I thought I would, and I've been invited back to talk about the other two books in the trilogy!
For those of you who weren't able to listen live, here's a link to the audio of the show: BOOKTALK! Just right-click on the link and then select "Save Link As" to download the show!
For those of you who weren't able to listen live, here's a link to the audio of the show: BOOKTALK! Just right-click on the link and then select "Save Link As" to download the show!
Sunday, August 18, 2013
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