Nice Poem

Not feeling very inspired to blog lately, I've been writing a lot for work and for school. However, this poem spoke to me today:

"On Swimming" by Adam Zagajewski

The rivers of this country are sweet
as a troubadour's song.
the heavy sun wanders westward
on yellow circus wagons.
Little village churches
hold a fabrid of silenc so fin
and old that even a breath
could tear it.
I love to swim in the sea, which keeps
talking to itself
in the monotone of a vagabond
who no longer recalls
exactly how long he's been on the road.
Swimming is like prayer:
palms join and part,
join and part,
almost without end.

Long Story, Short - October 2, 2009

A cow by any other name...

A USA Today report verifies what wise dairy farmers have said for years: a cow will give more milk if she’s called by name. If the farmer knows the cow and interacts with the cow, she is more productive - to tune of about 68 more gallons of milk per year. These are the findings of Catherine Douglas of Newcastle University in England.

Perhaps that statistic can aid us in our reading of Hebrews 2.11, “...Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters...” You’ll want to read the whole of chapter 2 to see if you agree, but I’m thinking that Jesus calls us brothers and sisters in order that we might know our place as children of God.

And perhaps be more productive as disciples of Jesus.

Admittedly, thinking of ourselves as God’s cows is not all that flattering. But how far off from being the sheep in the “Good Shepherd’s” pasture is this image? How far off would it be to think that God wants us to have productive, meaningful lives?

If you’re in the DC metro area this weekend, why not join the herd for worship this Sunday at First Baptist Church, Gaithersburg? Who knows, you might find the experience very mooooooooving. Worship starts at 10:30 and we’ll observe communion, baptism, and a parent-child dedication! You might even want to audition for a Chick-fil-A commercial afterward!

Udderly excited,
Pastor Gary

Dirty Preacher

This is a photo from "Mud Ball 2009." It's an event our church puts on that basically involves a mud pit for volley ball and a long slide down a hill into a pond.

This is one event that lives up to the hype.

Is the Mission a Success?

I found this little gem of a question in a preaching journal I read called Homiletics. What do you think?


The Book of Heroic Failures contains a story about a 1978 strike of British firefighters, when the army filled the gap. One afternoon, the replacement firefighters got a call to rescue a cat caught high in a tree. The soldiers rushed to the scene, put up a ladder, brought down the cat and gave it back to the owner. The woman was so grateful that she invited them in for tea, an invitation they accepted. After a wonderful time, they said goodbye, got in the truck and backed away — over the cat.

Which prompts the question, “Could that rescue mission really be considered a success?”

—Adapted from George Sanchez, “How to succeed God’s way,” Discipleship Journal (Sept./Oct. 1983).

Selling the House Before the Roof is On

Alexis de Tocqueville was researching the American prison system on behalf of the French in the mid 1800's when he wrote of American culture, "An American will build a house in which to pass his old age and sell it before the roof is on; he will plant a garden and rent it just as the trees are coming into bearing … he will take up a profession and leave it, settle in one place and soon go off elsewhere."

Is it simply part of the American experience to wanderlust? Is he highlighting a kind of stupidity that is still inherent to us? Not every American was or is like his generalization, but is there a common trait amongst us that contributed to our current economic plight? Are we selling the house before the roof is on it when our system seeks an ever expanding economy and encourages the frivolous and extravagant use of credit?

I'm jus wondering.

The Senility Prayer

Ran across this today, thought you aged ones might enjoy this. You know who you are!

Dear Lord,
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway,
The good fortune to run into the ones I do, and
The eyesight to tell the difference.
Amen.

Forever Begging for Just One More Day

May you and I live this day so fully as to find needless the prayer uttered at the end of this amazing poem. Thanks, Billy Collins, for continuing to amaze us.


Statues in the Park

I thought of you today
when I stopped before an equestrian statue
in the middle of a public square,

you who had once instructed me
in the code of these noble poses.

A horse rearing up with two legs raised,
you told me, meant the rider had died in battle.

If only one leg was lifted,
the man had elsewhere succumbed to his wounds;

and if four legs were touching the ground,
as they were in this case--
bronze hooves affixed to a stone base--
it meant that the man on the horse,

this one staring intently
over the closed movie theater across the street,
had died of a cause other than war.

In the shadow of the statue,
I wondered about the others
who had simply walked through life
without a horse, a saddle, or a sword--
pedestrians who could no longer
place on foot in front of the other.

I pictured statues of the sickly
recumbent on their cold stone bed,
the suicides toeing the marble edge,

statues of accident victims covering their eyes,
the murdered covering their wounds,
the drowned silently treading the air.

And there was I,
up on a rosy-gray block of granite
near a cluster of shade trees in the local park,
my name and dates pressed into a plaque,

down on my knees, eyes lifted,
praying to the passing clouds,
forever begging for just one more day.

-Billy Collins