Coffee thoughts on a Windy Wednesday

I went on a delicious motorcycle ride today to find a coffee shop.  When I got there, I discovered that I had already been to this coffee shop.  It was disappointing and delightful at the same time.  Kinda like searching Netflix to find a new release to watch and then coming upon a classic that has such wonderful lines like, "You killed my father, prepare to die."

So in I walk, a little disheveled and windblown from the ride, and a polite barista asked me what I wanted.  "Oh, hell, I guess I'll have a pumpkin spice latte," I heard myself say.

He told me I could sit down and he would bring it out to me.  I sat in a handsome leather wingback chair and dove into "Uncommon Grounds" a book about coffee by a guy named Pendergrast.  Delightful.  There's a dad with his little toddler in the couch next to me.  She's proudly exclaiming, "I'll have that!  I'll have that!" to nothing in particular.

Before long the barista showed up, and proudly tells me that he made a leaf in my latte.  "Oh, good job," I state, earnestly, if not enthusiastically.  I take a sip and it's good.  Not jaw-dropping good, but good enough for me, right now.  Sweet, but still coffee-forward.  The milk doesn't taste burnt at all.  The book is getting better and better.

There's a lot going on right now with the business.  Solar panels are being installed, my house is filled with sinks, espresso machines, grinders, and boxes of miscellaneous stuff.  More is on the way.  I have my first employee ready to begin work.  I have a task list that's 2 miles long and a start date that seems impossible to keep.

But for some reason, I'm content.  Maybe it's the robust cigar and glass of whiskey I just had.  Perhaps it's the refreshing conversation I shared with my brilliant wife out in the crisp fall night air.  Maybe that pumpkin spice latte.  Whatever the reason, I am truly content in my soul.  I am embarking on a dream-- a big, scary dream-- and there's a chance that all this could just fall apart.

But there's also a chance that it could succeed.

And that's enough to feel good about right now.

-Tim

Thoughts on Jeff Chu's "Does Jesus Really Love Me?"

I just finished an excellent book by Jeff Chu entitled, Does God Really Love Me? and I love it.  It's really opened my eyes to a new perspective on the spirituality of those in the LGBTQ community.  I have always held that the easiest way to judge someone is to refuse to get to know them.  Reading Chu's interviews with a large variety of "gay-friendly" and "gay-bashing" people and churches allowed me to hear the voices of those that I don't always hear.

My own small house church supports, welcomes and loves gays and straights, athiests and heretics alike.  The "heretics" part is why they allow me to attend.  :)

I went to Durham's Pride Parade last month.  It really was fun and delightful but I did have this little thought.  Well, okay, here it is.  But I'm going to start by comparing it to something else.  Let's say my next door neighbor was a Harley-Davidson rider and he was just really into Harleys and big engines and bar fights and stuff.  But lets say I'm a nerd (not hard to imagine) and motorcycles scare me and I see that whole macho thing as a cover for deep insecurities.  If Mr. Harley and I meet at say, the grocery store, I can see that he is a vegetarian and prefers wheat toast over white.  He's no longer the freak next door, he's a person just like me.

If, however, I only saw him in the context of Harley-Davidson conventions, I would have all these misconceptions about who he really is.  He's only trying to really embrace his identity but to me it looks like he's flipping crazy and a heathen and maybe going to hell.  Tattoos.  Sheesh.  The nerve.

Okay, so here's me tying it together.  The Pride parade looked like a Harley convention to me.  Yes, these are real people expressing themselves and it's fun and lighthearted.  But I don't think it's a fair representation of "gay people" as a whole- more like an exaggeration of one sect of that community.  So if I was a slightly homophobic Christian and I (incorrectly) assumed that this is what all gay people look and act like, I would think myself justified in my prejudices of their lewd behavior and immorality.

ARE YOU SAYING WE SHOULDN'T HAVE PRIDE PARADES??

Hell no.  That's not what I'm saying at all.  I guess I'm just trying to say that Pride parades can confuse straight people into thinking that those exaggerations are the real experiences for all gay people, and this is purely the fault of the straight people.

Jeff Chu was coming into this problem when he was interviewing "gay-bashing" churches and pastors.  They had this phrase that they would use: the "gay lifestyle" (i.e."God does not approve of the gay lifestyle, but it's okay for people to struggle with homosexuality as long as they remain celibate")  And for them, the "gay lifestyle" means the Pride Parade lifestyle as they perceived it: people half-dressed with masks on and multiple sex partners and diseases and probably some witchcraft.  Because they didn't actually know real gay people, they were taking what they saw at these events (or poorly made hollywood films) and applying them to everyone who said they were "gay" "lesbian" "bi" or "transgender."  The truth is that I know many gay and transgender folks who are down to earth and kind and spiritual and committed to one person.  (Why does that sound like I just said "I've got binders full of women"?)  Some of them don't even go to Pride Parade because they don't enjoy it.

MY POINT

is that in order to bridge the gap between the LGBTQ community and the conservative Christian community there has to be the understanding that there is no such thing as one all encompassing "gay lifestyle."  The truth is that these are just real human beings who are expressing themselves in different ways.  Just because you may not understand a Harley Convention doesn't mean that you won't be able to understand a person who enjoys riding Harleys.  And the topic of morality must never be used as a method of judging or condemning someone.

WHAT WE SHOULD DO

as straight people is, after the parade is over, to celebrate with real people in real ways- approving of every human being's attempt to find themselves and walk with God.  Reminding ourselves that no matter how bizarre someone might seem to us- they put their pants, leather chaps, or fishnet stockings on one leg at a time, just like we do.

They don't judge us for being straight, so why should we judge them?

Worshipping God in Prison

This past Sunday we had church in prison.  Butner medium-security prison to be precise.  We go about 3 or 4 times a year.  Last time I was confused/bewildered by how it was that the inmates had so much joy and hope and passion for God- and there were so many!  Approximately 250 men all crammed in to this tiny "Religious Services" room- passing peace to one another and celebrating God and God's work in their lives.

This time was different in that I came to the prison carrying something.  A guitar.  For anyone who doesn't know, I'm a recovering worship leader.  I started sometime around Jr High, I think, and never took a break until I was fired from a small church plant I helped start in Folsom, CA, two years ago.  My wife and I were so devastated from that fall out that I haven't picked up my "worship" guitar (no pun intended) since that time.

In case you are wondering, leading worship went really well.  The inmates have their own full band (we're talking keyboard, guitars, bass, drums, and small choir!) and they just jumped right in and played along with us.  Oh, and I say "us" because I told my pastor, Megan, that if she didn't lead worship with me I wouldn't do it.  Everybody seemed to get into it and I didn't have any major screw ups.  I had quite a few people afterwards tell me I had "the gift."

So, great, right?  I'm back in it?  Back to worship leading?  Maybe I can start leading worship at my small church?

NO FREAKING WAY.

Leading that group on Sunday was fun, and thankfully I had no panic attacks regarding my last church experience in Folsom.  But I also remembered WHY I DON'T DO THIS ANYMORE.

Leading worship in the Evangelical Church for me is like handing Gollum from Lord of the Rings the One Ring.  It's precious.  It's lovely.  It's power.  I mean, it's such an ego trip.  People judge you as "righteous" or "spiritual" because you stand in front of them and just play 4 chords over and over.  For a guy like me who is a bit of a people pleaser anyway to suddenly have the approval and attention of the entire room is like crack.  It's not healthy to have that much power.  Especially with how messed up inside I am.  It gives me this false identity- "worship leader Tim"- a persona that I can just click on and hide behind anytime I want.  I mean, when I am on stage or whatever, it's true that I throw my whole self into it- but that's not me being vulnerable- that's me just being a good performer.  And no matter how much I try to minimize that aspect of it- it's always there-- haunting me and calling me.

I'm done being that guy.  And I'm so glad to know that.

But at least I had a chance to "get back on the horse" that bucked me off 2 years ago and tell that fucker (on my own terms) to go to hell.

-Tim

Throwdown... a winner?

Tonight I went to a latte art throwdown.  For those of you not fortunate enough to attend one of these highly underground events...  I will fill you in.  A bunch of baristas (some good, some bad, some new, some veterans) all throw their names into a hat and compete one on one to see who can pour the prettiest latte art while under the pressure from a large group of devoted customers and friends.  Categories include "make a heart" "make a rosetta" "pour into a tiny-ass cup" and "pour some art blindfolded!"  There were only 6 of us tonight, at a small cafe in North Raleigh.  But it still felt great to get behind the bar and pour my heart out...

The first round came and it was announced that we all literally had to pour a "heart out."  How fitting.  As the crowd cheers and laughs, my own heart started to pound like I was about to go on stage and sing the national anthem in front of Obama or something.  I took a deep breath and approached the La Marzocco Linea espresso machine like I might approach a Grizzly Bear I might find in the wild.  Sure I know all about them, but here I am standing face to face with very limited personal experience.  Please don't eat me.  I test out the steam wand to see how sensitive the twist is.  It's not sensitive.  It's extremely sensitive.  The tiniest extra twist sends another 50+ pounds of pressure blasting into my milk.  I gotta play it safe or risk flipping a ton of nasty bubbles into my shay.

The shot starts pulling.

And there it is.  The stillness.  Suddenly, the sound of the bustling cafe and hipster music just fades into a perfect silence.  Like everything around me just got swallowed into a big fluffy nothingness cloud.  All that exists is this stainless steel steaming pitcher, this lovely milk, and these two ounces of espresso waiting for me in a ceramic love cup.  My competitor is gone, the judges are gone, the room is gone.  I release the steam valve and begin to caress the milk- a little bit of aeration here followed by a gentle spin there...  and after about a minute the temperature feels right so I return the steam valve to its original position and clean the wand.  I reach over and grasp the 8 oz cup with freshly pulled espresso waiting inside.  I tenderly pour the hot milk into the espresso, giving as much flair and panache as I dared-- still needing to meet the requirements of a "heart shape" to pass the judge's watchful eyes.  And then, it's finished.  The cup is full, my pitcher is empty, and the sound of the cafe fills my ears once again.

I set my cup before the judges, a little shy, a little proud perhaps, but still unsure of whether or not they believe my artwork to be the better of the two.  My competitor places his craftmanship beside mine and our eyes meet.

I shake the hand of my opponent before the verdict is called.  We know what we did.  We already know who was the winner.  His artwork had some class, but mine filled the cup with contrast and precision.  I won this time.  But it really doesn't matter.  We were both momentarily locked into a battle of skill and extreme pressure.  Many have strolled up to the bar only to have it smack them mercilessly across the face until they submit to its power and might.  We are the victims, just as much as we are the heroes of this underground game.

Sigh.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, I won some rounds and lost some, but I do remember that first pour, and walking out of that cafe with the first place prize: less than a quarter pound of a whole beans from a roaster I had never heard of.  Nice.

But who does it for the money?  Not us.  Not the few.  The proud.

The barista.

Man, I love my job.

Not sure what time zone I'm in

I think my body hates me.  I sent it 6 hours into the future when we arrived in Rome, then two weeks later I sent it 9 hours into the past when we arrived in California, and then I sent it 3 hours into the future when we got back home.  We've had late nights, early mornings, late mornings, and I got sick when we were in Barcelona.  It's just impossible to explain how freaking amazing the whole trip was, so I'm just going to say check out this link: EUROPE TRIP. 

I mean, I don't think it changed my life (at least not yet), but it definitely scratched that "travel itch" that has been plaguing me for awhile.  You know, that itch that says: "this place feels too small!  You gotta go get OUT there!  See the world!  Spread some wings!"

So Julie and I flew through Italy, France, and Spain- just really digging into the food, culture, and people.  It would have been nice to have more time, but by the end we were pretty dang BEAT!

Hope you are giving yourself the chance to spread out a few feathers and explore a culture different from your own.  It might be on the other side of the world... or it just might be down the road.  I know I want to get to know my neighbors better, and perhaps seek out some of the hidden subcultures in Durham.

Prison Church

Tonight my small house church did not meet at one of our member's houses.  We did not dine on yummy lasagna or tacos or share a dessert and coffee like we normally do.  We did not spend an hour or so talking about how we think we might be able to "serve" in the community.  We did not take turns telling each other about our week- carefully shielding the things that happened to us so that we are not too vulnerable in that limited time period.  We did not sit on the well-cleaned carpet of an upper middle class white family.

We had church in a prison.

There were nine of us- roughly half of our normal attendance-- all white and privileged and a little nervous.  Julie and I were the only ones who had never been to a prison church service before and the inmates let us know that they knew.  Our eyes were probably really wide.

As we made our way past the metal detector and the first series of locked gates and barbed wire fences, the thought crossed my mind: why am I here?  I don't have to be.  Nobody else here wants to be here.  What do you hope to prove to these people?  What do you hope to gain from this?  Who do you think you are??

We were guided out into the Courtyard where the roughly 1,700 inmates were casually milling about- talking, laughing, watching, and waiting.  They eyed us up quick as we shuffled towards the designated "church" room.  There we were greeted by a couple friendly inmates-clad in tan jackets or sweatshirts.  They didn't seem real chatty- just pleasant and helpful.  I was shocked to find expensive instruments (drums, guitars, keyboards- a full band's worth) high tech sound equipment and visual aids.  The ushers began to set up around 200 chairs and as we helped them I had this thought: "there's no way that 200 people from this medium/high security facility are going to want to come to a silly church service."

Boy was I wrong.

By 6:35 that place was PACKED.  Men were greeting one another with smiles and hugs, friendly banter and some tears.  Tattoo-ridden convicts with names stitched into their clothing were "giving peace" to one another without a second thought.  We engaged them as best we could with conversation about where we were from, what church looked like for us, and if they had kids and how old... I was overjoyed at how easy it was to just strike up a conversation with anybody- and how open and honest they were about themselves and their situation.

The Chaplain, Luke, called the service to order and played a few songs on his guitar while these men sang their fricken hearts out.  Some of them were even in the right key.

Next, our pastor, Megan, introduced herself and began to preach on how to respond to Jesus' call to "get up."  I gazed around the room at the predominantly black crowd of men in their mid-30s giving rapt attention to our mascara-clad white female pastor- who is still in her 20's.  I watched them nod their heads and mumble, "Amen!" and "Preach it" and "come on!" in the typical southern Pentecostal style.  Megan finished and a huge round of applause burst forth.  Some men stood. 

And then, as soon as it had begun, the service was over and we put away the chairs and were escorted out.

As we walked away from that prison I realize that although I was technically inside a correctional facility, I didn't walk through their cells.  I didn't have to experience being locked up and held against my will.  I didn't stand in that "church" room with my sins laid bare before me like everyone else.  I could hold my struggles and my sins tight to my chest- with the calm assurance that my secrets are safe.  I realize now that I was the coward in the room.

Before this I felt brave.  I felt that I was being so bold because I was volunteering to walk into a prison to share God's love with these poor incarcerated folk.  What was soon very apparent was that all my bravery meant shit.  These men were the ones who were brave.  These men were the ones who accepted their position and sentence and instead of being bitter at God and men and the world- they were rejoicing and celebrating together that God loved them and that although they were not perfect, they were still going to try their hardest to make him proud.  I should have known that God's love was already there.  I should have known that God's Spirit was already moving amongst the believers.  I should have known that my tiny little world of who I think God is and who is great in His Kingdom would be shattered... but I didn't.  Instead I was pleasantly humiliated and made some great friends.

God will love me when I am cowardly enough to think that I am being extra holy by visiting men in prison- and he will love me when I am brave enough to one day shake hands with a total stranger and tell them my sins even when they do not ask.  God cannot be any more perfect than He is.  This was a good reminder to me of that.  

I hope we are allowed to come back soon.  I hope that I can hear more about my new friends Mike, Saunders, Armstrong, and Roger- how they came to know God and how they can have hope in a place like prison.  I hope to learn more about humility and miracles and punishment- the twisted world of a cold and sterile environment that houses a subculture of brave, broken men seeking after Christ's heart.

Birthday thoughts

I'm so excited to be 28.  You don't even know.

:)

Perhaps I am at the peak of my humanity.  Perhaps my body is the healthiest it will ever be.  Perhaps my brain is the smartest it will ever be.  Perhaps I am as good as a person as I will ever be.

What a scary thought.  I find that with age, most of my understandings for who I am and what my environment is REALLY like has changed.  Quite drastically, in fact.

Marriage to such an awesome person has made me realize that I knew nothing of love before and I am only just barely starting to understand as it is.

Getting fired from a church that I was volunteering at has made me realize that "church politics" will always trump a "good heart" and will hurt more deeply than years of rejection from my secular peers.

Praying to God for Him to do what I want simply because I want it is next to blasphemy.  Accepting what God has given me to endure or enjoy is right living.

When Jesus said, "the last shall be first" he was not telling us that if we humble ourselves, we will get to be in 1st place again (how arrogant!)- he was merely letting us know where we stand.

Riches are, and will always be, in the ones you love and are loved by.  Sucks that Disney caught on to this and have been shovelling it down our throats for awhile, but truth is truth no matter who is saying it.

I'm glad to be alive.  I'm glad that I am in Durham.  I'm glad that my wife is my best friend and lets me hold her hand.  I'm glad we have two cute dogs and 4 chickens.  I'm glad that God manages to love me despite the fact that I am sometimes a jerkwad of a human being.  I'm glad for friends who are real and honest and patient.  I'm glad that my family and extended family is so fricken awesome.  I lucked out there.

Hell, I lucked out everywhere.   I gotta go hug someone.  :)

Easter Blasphemy

I'm sipping a cup of La Golondria from Counter Culture Coffee in the comfort of my home and bathrobe.  This coffee has a mellow front with a citrus twist and a clean finish.  God, I love coffee.

Speaking of God, it's Easter.  The "pagan" holiday that we Christians decided to adopt and make our most sacred celebration: the day Christ "conquered death."  Ready for today's dose of blasphemy?  Of course you are.

Throughout the course of recorded time, there have been reports of men and women coming back to life.  Sure, Christians like to pretend that Christ's triumphant return was the only really important one, but check out a couple of these situations:

The Egyptian god Osiris is said to have died and come back to life.  As well as Baal, Melqart, Adonis, Eshmun, and Dumuzi.

The ancient Greeks had the god Asciepius who was killed by mighty Zeus and then came back to life as a major deity.  Add to that Achilles, Agamemnon, and also a mortal, a 7th century sage named Aristeas of Proconnesus.

And let's not forget that within the Judaistic framework, there are resurrected folks.  Elijah raises a kid from death in 1 Kings.  EliSHa resurrects the son of a Shunammite woman (wonder what happened to these kids later in life...).  Later some dude's dead body is thrown onto the bones of Elisha and he is resurrected.  And lets not forget Lazarus- whom Jesus brought back to life just by telling him to.  The "Lazaras Syndrome" is a modern-day medical term for patients who have been reported as dead and have miraculously come back to life with no scientific explanation.  There have been at least 25 medical reports of this happening since 1982.

The point that I'm trying to make here is that the mysterious act of death and rebirth is not original in Christianity- nor does it really matter on this day.  The Bible was not written with Jesus' resurrection as the climax of the story.  GASP!

Christ did not "conquer death."  If he did, than all men and women after his resurrection would be immortal.  Death is still alive and kicking (couldn't resist).  Christ did, however, come back to life (like others before and after him) to show that death is negotiable, at times, and that the soul is real and will carry on after our bodies have quit.  Life is a cycle of death and rebirth as all naturalists will tell us.

Okay, Tim, so what the hell?  Are you saying Easter is meaningless?  Christ's resurrection is just ho-hum-okay?  Are you a total heathen?

No, but kind of.  Easter/spring season should for the Christian be a comforting reminder that the struggles and sorrows of winter are never permanent- that the pain of seeing Christ die as a blameless, upright human being will be erased by Him who knew no sin.  The poor tree that lost all of its leaves and beauty will fire back with flowering and fresh leaves like never before.  This is true of life in all major religions because it is how we relate to the earth that we live upon.

Christ tried to communicate this truth to his disciples before he was crucified (see Matthew 20, Mark 10, and Luke 18).  Jesus knew that his followers would struggle with this concept because we like to make things definitive-- black or white.  But the Creator has not made the life/death cycle so easy for us to make these snap judgments.

What is true, on Easter, as it is true in every culture in every solar system that can produce and sustain life is this, captured in Jeff Goldblum's brilliant line from Jurassic Park:

Life will find a way.

Even if that means that death must happen- life will return- GOOD will return- and a new dawn is the most holiest of representations of how our God will love us (the collective us) so much that he will allow and arrange deaths to occur so that we may experience a new life like we have never experienced before.

Those who would reject this "not religious enough" sentiment will do as Peter did before the resurrection- they will deny Christ and they will try to force the way of the Divine to function under their own set of foolish principles to which Christ will say warmly, "Get behind me, Satan" (Mark 8:31-33).

I see men and women try to work themselves up into a frenzy over Christ's death by creating such dramatic representations of it in cinema and theater.  Perhaps our time, money, and efforts would be better spent in observing and preserving the growth and circle of life and love on this planet- physically expressing our thanks to our Creator for the gift of death and rebirth for all of us.

Think about it.
-Tim

First lesson...

So I'm wrestling with something.  If your family is anything like my family, there are issues that you do not see eye to eye on.  In fact, there probably isn't a single member of your family that you have more than 25% in common with-- and yet you're of the same flesh and blood so you want so bad to have things in common-- but you don't.  You could be going through the most amazing transformation in your character and soul and there's bound to be someone in your family that thinks you are just wasting your life.

So maybe like me you try to explain yourself to those whom you love.  You think, "Oh, if only I could tell them about this journey I've been on and the people I've met, they would understand why I have broken away from my upbringing!"  So you start off talking calmly and confidently and then suddenly you're exchanging shouts and snide comments and then- then you realize that they don't see what you see- they'll never see what you see- and they are just as passionate about believing in the opposite of what you believe in.  At that point, well, you just shut your mouth and learn to not talk about the things that matter so much to you.

Try to

focus

on

that

25%.

And, who knows, maybe it's a lot bigger than 25%.  Who keeps track of these things, anyway?

All I know is, one of the FIRST lessons my child will learn (pending we have kids at some point) is how to treat people who have a different opinion than you.  How to respect and enjoy others- despite the fact that they might think you are ridiculous or "denying your upbringing" or "becoming a pagan" or what have you.  Alright, maybe the first lesson will be "pee in the toilet" or "don't throw rocks at the car"-- but you get me.

The part I'm wrestling with is: If I'm just avoiding subjects that I know my family doesn't agree with all the time- am I truly loving them or letting them have the chance to love me?  Or, am I just trying to keep the charade going?

What do you think?  Stay true to myself, or keep the peace?

Little by little

Julie and I have chickens.  They hang out in the backyard, clucking and scratching and pooping and laying eggs much as you may have heard chickens do.  Julie actually has them trained to come running out to her every time she sees them and eat out of her hand.

One of the side effects of owning these chickens is that they scratch the ground all day long.  And we have this thick, nasty ivy that takes up most of our backyard.  Slowly, scratch by scratch, these chickens have begun eradicating the ivy.  We didn't really notice a change at first, but now, 3 months later, half of our ivy is gone!

Change can happen suddenly, of course, but in this case, change happens

S

   L
     
      O

         W
 
            L

               Y.

I hope this is an encouragement to you.  If you feel like you are not where you want to be or who you want to be, remind yourself to just scratch enough ivy out for today and when you look back in 6 months, you're going to be amazed at how far you've come.