How Applied Theology Applies to the Fantasy Realm--Paper Topics

1. How should our faith inform our social values?

• Should Christians buy coffee harvested with zombie labor?

• Can Christians act as mediators, or peacemakers in the centuries old conflict between werewolves and vampires?

2. How should our faith affect our politics?

• Is it right to support a political party whose social values line up with our own, but ignores or even denies the historical persecution of Centaurs living in American territories?

• In regards to safe needle programs sponsored by the government, should they be expanded to blood-for-teeth vampiric programs as modeled in Eastern Europe? This of course leads to the deeper, more challenging question: how are we, as Christians, supposed to interact with the undead?--a question which has caused deep divisions in the church since at least the time of Augustine.

3. Coming from an evangelical tradition, what stance should we take on the ecumenical movement?

• How can we seek to foster reconciliation between the Western church and the Orthodox Sea People of the southern Mediterranean?

• How have we inherited the divisive legacy of the Welsh Monster Reformed Church and the Swansea Inquisition of the late nineteenth century? Are we in fact continuing that legacy?

4. How do we do mission?

• Does it defile the Gospel to translate the bible into the accursed language of Mordor? Doesn't the translation of the Word in fact redeem the language?

• In the context of Celtic Faery people, where the class system is entrenched deeply in society; in churches, should missionaries allow Elves (traditionally at the top of the class system) receive the eucharist before Goblins and Ledrechauns? Or should missionaries seek to abolish such traditions despite their importance in society and ancient origins?

Psalm 42 (draft 2)

[I think this is a lot better than the original]

As the deer pants for the water
so my soul yearns after you

I remember hearing a sermon on that passage when I was in middle school. The preacher was explaining the word yearn; how in Hebrew, that word had a slightly sexual tone to it. Well, I was 13, that passage really connected with me. Psalm 42 has been one of my favorites ever since.

These things I remember
and I pour out my soul within me
For I used to go along with the congregation
and lead them up to the house of God

It was around that time I first started reading the New Testament. Reading it for the first time, I could hear the excitement in Paul's voice and saw myself on the shore of Galilee listening to Jesus. I used a crayon for a highlighter, and that bible is filled with blue, red, and green scribbles. Those days I raised my hands high in church and sang loud and off key. These days I remember those crayons with a sigh.

Why are you in despair, O my soul?
and why are you disturbed within me?
Hope in God, For I shall again praise Him
For the help of his presence.

I try and remind myself of the promises I have read. I try and sing my insecurities away. But my stomach (or soul, I never took anatomy in college) is suspicious of these attempts. The storm remains.
I remember a story where Jesus and his friends were all on a boat, in the middle of a crazy-bad storm. They were freaked out. Jesus was asleep in the back. They woke Him up, and He told the storm to shut up, and it did.
Sometimes I wonder if God's alarm clock is broke.

Deep calls to deep
at the sound of your waterfalls
All your breakers and waves
have rolled over me

Not all the pictures of life with God are peaceful. It's not all green pastures and still waters. Jonah got swallowed up by a whale because his shipmates thought they were all going to be killed by a storm. On one of his missionary trips, Paul was shipwrecked by a storm.
This storm has soaked me to the bone. There's no drying out. I'm sunk, shivering and waiting.

I will say to God my rock
Why have you forgotten me?

I don't get it. I pray and pray and pray. And He stands aloof, unseen and distant. Am I speaking the wrong language? Am I too quiet? If I stood on a mountain and shouted could He hear me better?
No. My God hears me, but I don't hear Him.

Why are you in despair, O my Soul?
And why have you become disturbed within me?
Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him

I do some of my best thinking in the bath: no interruptions and plenty of time to ponder. It's a good time to reflect on the promises of God, and the good times. When I take bathes, I listen to my favorite album and remember when God spoke to me with a crayon in my hand. I will remember Him and hope, as much as my stomach will let me, because I know He is faithful.

Cicadas

He's working hard at killing his liver
in dimly lit dives
frequented by girls
in tight black jeans,
bullets hanging round their waist.

He smokes in alleys
walks down dirty sidewalks
laughs when he's supposed to
knows the right people
orders the right drinks
and is vaguely liked by most.

His disease is a cicada.
Climbs out from underground
once in coon's age.
When it does
it makes a big noise.

He's doing alright
or at least
he is when he's asked.

He's sipping beer
from a cracked glass
with a slow leak.
He'll find the bottom
faster than he expects.

The Way You Rolled Your Eyes mfw (Blue Line)

[from a ryan johnson prompt]

I could see something in your eyes. You rolled them, but you rolled them softly, as if to say "come on over." I don't feel comfortable moving while the bus is moving, so I stayed put. When the bus finally stopped you left so fast I didn't have a chance to introduce myself. Anyways, you were on the blue line heading downtown. Sultry in a black-fleece vest, hand buried in your purse, clutching something. What were you holding? You were holding on so tight, I wonder if you have lost something, or someone in the past? Are you looking for someone to hold on to you? Would you let me hold on to you? If it helps, I can promise that I would never, ever let you go. No matter how hard you pushed me away; I'm very persistent. I realize that this is forward, but the way you rolled your eyes. . .

Psalm 42

[this is more of an exercise than a poem. I'm trying to pray through the psalms, here the first piece I've written from this. tell me what you think]

As the deer pants for the water
so my soul yearns after you

I remember hearing a sermon on that passage when I was in middle school. The preacher was explaining the word yearn; how in Hebrew, that word had a slightly sexual tone to it. Well, I was 13, that passage really connected with me.

These things I remember
and I pour out my soul within me
For I used to go along with the congregation
and lead them up to the house of God

It wasn't that long ago, was it? When I would stay up late, with a crayon in my hand marking up the New Testament. When I would raise up my hands in church. When I could open my bible and forget my doubts. When this world didn't seem chaotic and utterly confusing. When I sat and waited in expectation for God to show up. It wasn't that long ago, was it?

Why are you in despair, O my soul?
and why are you disturbed within me?
Hope in God, For I shall again praise Him
For the help of his presence

I have these inner dialogues. Debates with myself. My emotions have always been headstrong. It's no more use telling them to calm down than telling the storm to calm down. I try and choke them down. Remind myself of promises I have a hard time believing and stories that I feel completely removed from.
I remember a story where His friends were all on a boat, a storm was raging all around them. They were freaked out. He was asleep in the back. They woke Him up, and He told the storm to shut up.
I wish I could just wake Him up.

Deep calls to deep
at the sound of your waterfalls
All your breakers and waves
have rolled over me

You've soaked me to the bone. There's no drying out. I'm wrecked, shivering and waiting.

I will say to God my rock
Why have you forgotten me?

I don't get it. I pray and pray and pray. And He stands aloof, unseen and distant. Am I speaking the wrong language? Am I too quiet? If I stood on a mountain and shouted could He hear me better?
No. My God hears me, but I don't hear Him.

Why are you in despair, O my Soul?
And why have you become disturbed within me?
Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him

I don't think these debates are going to end any time soon. But I'll remember the God who saves. The God who spoke to me with a crayon in my hand, with my hands held high. I will remember Him, and hope--because I know He is faithful.

Reflecting on Bazan's New Material

The worship leader
is an atheist now
but I still find myself
humming along
and wishing
he'd play an old refrain.

Heaven

In heaven we'll all have floppy hair, v-neck sweaters, tight fitting jeans and vintage Telecasters.
In heaven we'll listen to the Velvet Underground, Devo and Nick Cave.
In heaven we'll be photographed looking altogether disinterested in front of abandoned industrial buildings.
In heaven we'll all eat vegan and smoke hand-rolled cigarettes.
In heaven there will be no dancing; only toe tapping and modest head nodding.

Heaven is a house party two blocks off Broadway on Capital Hill in Seattle.

Heaven is making me sick.

Empty Gym

I don't like the sound of a ball in an empty gym
the sound bouncing back and forth between the walls
if I show up before my friends
I take my ball to the corner
sit down and wait.

On my knees
hands clasped
I'm afraid
of hearing that sound
bouncing back at me
of hearing my own voice
echoing.

I don't want to confuse the voices
I don't want to see Him
at the bottom of a well
looking up puzzled.

I will take my ball to the corner
sit down and wait.

God Got Dirty

[So this is my first Regent inspired post. I haven't been writing much, but I've been thinking a lot. This is something that's been stewing for quite some time. Tell me what you think]

For the moment, my mind is wandering. I have a hard time keeping it in these pews most Sundays. Today I'm having a particularly hard time. The preacher is a guest speaker and her jokes are stale. I find it difficult to have patience for wooden humor.

When my mind wanders it doesn't take long for my eyes to follow. Fortunately, in Church this doesn't get me into half the trouble it does in bars. There's a kid in the corner inspecting the wall. His hands are tickling up and down it. His mother is sitting behind me to the left, she's trying to get his attention to get him to sit down. He's ignoring her. I wonder what the congregation would do if I went over to join him. I can't remember the last time I gave a wall a good feel.

The preacher is talking about the Last Supper. My stomach is churning. I remember one Sunday, during a silent time of confession, my stomach rumbled. I think stomach rumbles in church are more embarrassing than farts. At least with farts most people have been trained to giggle, not so with stomach rumblings. People just try and ignore it, which in my opinion makes it worse.

Now my mind and my stomach are joining forces--Taco Bell. Number 6, the two chalupas with a taco. I lick my lips. It is a particularly severe degree of hunger when I start day-dreaming about Taco Bell.

I'm called out of my day dream by the preacher messing up. She said "Judas" instead of Jesus. I giggle to myself. Pay attention for another five minutes, then my eyes start wandering again. They drift to the back corner, where I see a pile of bread crumbs. The sleuth in me ponders this mystery; they must have been left here from last weeks communion. I smile.

I like that the sanctuary has not been vacuumed in a week. I like that there is a pile left after the Eucharist. I like that it's dirty--it serves as a good reminder.

The peculiar thing about us Christians, is that we believe that God actually stepped down into the mess--our God got dirty. He probably sat through sermons where his stomach rumbled and the preacher got his words mixed up. Our God felt walls with his fingers. Our God had a mother who cleaned him up when he got cuts and scrapes. Our God stepped down out to the ethereal glow of Heaven into our weird-murky-dirty-little world to restore it to its created purpose--to serve as a place where we can commune with God. The Eucharist ought to remind us of this. It ought to remind us that it isn't just in the bread and wine (or grape juice) that we can experience God in physical things; the whole world exists for us to experience his awesomeness. We can experience it in mud-pies, sand castles, beer, mountains and puddles.

As I stare at the pile of dried bread crumbs in the back of the sanctuary I have to thank God for all the ways I can get dirty experiencing God's glory.