A few years ago, my brother asked me if I watched the TV show "24". I'm one of those guys who refuses to pay for TV so I surf on three channels, those I get with my roof antenna. I said, "No". My brother was aghast. He told me I was the most out of touch person on God's green earth. My life went on as I blew him off.
This summer, a friend of mine asked me the same question but rather than mock my cheap, no cable TV policy, he asked me if we would like to watch season one of "24" on DVD. I accepted his offer to loan me the series not knowing what I was getting myself into. After two episodes, we were addicted. During our vacation this summer one rainy day, we started watching "24" at 10 a.m. and watched one episode after another about counter terrorism until 3 a.m. the next morning. I crawled out of my man cave looking like I had been in a "Sleep Deprivation Study".
I will spare you detail but "24" but it is about the life of a government agent, Jack Baur who works for CTU (Counter Terrorist Unit). Each season is composed of 24 episodes, each episode is an hour in real time of Jack's life. In my opinion, the show is absolutely captivating. Anyhow, I'm not trying to sell you on the show as much as I've realized that the main theme of the show is trust or the lack thereof. There is not a character on the show that trusts anyone. And every time someone decides to trust, they pay dearly. Everyone is looking over their shoulder and can't give up their hand. And yet countless times you hear statements like, "You have to trust me." "Don't you trust me?" "I wish you would trust me".
Anne Jackson asked on her blog, “What is one thing you feel you can’t say in church?” She was overwhelmed by hundreds of repressed responses, like, “I’m not sure I believe in hell;” or, “I’m addicted to porn and I can’t tell anyone, not even my pastor—I’m afraid he would ask me to leave the church;” or, “My marriage isn’t working, but I am a pastor—who can I turn to?” or, “After my divorce, nobody called me; it broke my heart … again;” or, “My brother is gay and a Christian. I don’t feel I can talk about it in church.” Those anonymous admissions were the inspiration for Jackson’s just-released book, “Permission to Speak Freely".
Who do we trust with the secrets hidden in the deep inner recesses of our lives? How many of us have people that we could spill our guts and they would stand with us? Could the neurotic nature of our society stem from not being able to trust? Maybe the most direct way I can ask this question would be, "Who do you trust?"
I'd love to hear from you.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Ragbrai: A Taste of God's Kingdom
In February of this year, a friend called and invited me to join him in attending the Super Bowl in Miami, Florida. This was one of those "once in a life time" experiences and even though the wrong team won (in my opinion), the fact that I was there in Shark Stadium watching the Colts play the Saints was mind blowing.
Last Friday, I had another one of those surreal experiences.... sort of. My son, Josh has been after me to join him in Ragbrai. He and his father-in-law (one of my dearest friends) have been riding across Iowa on a bicycle for the past five years. Josh and Scott have continued to hound me and I finally broke. However, I didn't fully dive in. I agreed to ride one "leg", from Waterloo to Manchester.
In June, I got out my blue Diamond Back cross-trainer bike and logged about 50 miles on the beautiful Cedar Valley bike trails in preparation for the 62 mile ride to Manchester. Not enough prep but I was pumped. Our ride began at 8 a.m. My youngest son, Arnold, agreed to go with us and baby sit me along the way.
Our ride started in a torrential downpour of rain. As lightening flashed and the thunder roared, we began our journey toward our first stop in Gilbertville. By the time we arrived, we were soaked and forced to stop and wait out the rain. Of course, we had to knock down some biscuits and gravy, breakfast burritos and home made pie.
The rain began to let up a bit and so we forged on. We got to Brandon and though the rain had stopped, I was pulling on my biking shorts, you know, the ones with the stitched padding in the backside. Scott, my close friend took one look at me and asked, "Are you wearing underwear under your biking shorts?" "Ya", I said, "Aren't you suppose to?" Scott handed me a tube of cream that read "Butt-butter" and pointed toward the cornfield. I walked, head hanging down, into the cornfield, took one article of no longer needed apparel off and I hung it on a corn stalk, I then smeared about a half cup of butter on my behind, put my bike shorts back on and came back a bit more ready for the last 40 miles of our trip. By that time, Arnold had spotted pork chops roasting on the open fire so we ate again, washing it all down with a couple of bottles of Gatorade.
Back on the road to Quasqueton, the "lunch stop town". We pulled in to Quaskey at about 4 p.m. ready to eat lunch. We had Blue Sky ice cream (to die for) and another couple bottles of Gatorade.
Now understand, there is a certain etiquette when riding Ragbrai. All along the way, Josh had been teaching me the Ragbrai lingo. "Biker off" was what you were to yell when you were going to pull over and stop. "Biker on" was yelled as you pulled back onto the road. "Car up" was the call when a vehicle was coming toward you. "Car back" was called when a vehicle was coming up behind you. My favorite was "rumble" announcing to riders there were rumble strips on the highway that could potentially throw a rider off his bike. Every bit of lingo was somehow connected with care for the other riders. Everyone was looking out for everyone else. You could hear people calling out to each other all along the way.
We fought a head wind the last 40 miles and by the time we got to Manchester, it was 8 p.m. We stuck together the entire way. I was exhausted and yet felt fulfilled. Not so much that I had ridden 62 miles on a bike but that I had experienced something very similar the Kingdom of God. People intently watching out for their "brothers and sisters" on the same journey.
It made me think of this Bible verse; Galatians 6:1-2 Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.
I can say I had fun and will do it again. But the thing that is etched in my mind is how dangerously safe I felt on my journey. Not that I was competent as a rider but that my fellow Ragbrai'ers were watching out for me.
Last Friday, I had another one of those surreal experiences.... sort of. My son, Josh has been after me to join him in Ragbrai. He and his father-in-law (one of my dearest friends) have been riding across Iowa on a bicycle for the past five years. Josh and Scott have continued to hound me and I finally broke. However, I didn't fully dive in. I agreed to ride one "leg", from Waterloo to Manchester.
In June, I got out my blue Diamond Back cross-trainer bike and logged about 50 miles on the beautiful Cedar Valley bike trails in preparation for the 62 mile ride to Manchester. Not enough prep but I was pumped. Our ride began at 8 a.m. My youngest son, Arnold, agreed to go with us and baby sit me along the way.
Our ride started in a torrential downpour of rain. As lightening flashed and the thunder roared, we began our journey toward our first stop in Gilbertville. By the time we arrived, we were soaked and forced to stop and wait out the rain. Of course, we had to knock down some biscuits and gravy, breakfast burritos and home made pie.
The rain began to let up a bit and so we forged on. We got to Brandon and though the rain had stopped, I was pulling on my biking shorts, you know, the ones with the stitched padding in the backside. Scott, my close friend took one look at me and asked, "Are you wearing underwear under your biking shorts?" "Ya", I said, "Aren't you suppose to?" Scott handed me a tube of cream that read "Butt-butter" and pointed toward the cornfield. I walked, head hanging down, into the cornfield, took one article of no longer needed apparel off and I hung it on a corn stalk, I then smeared about a half cup of butter on my behind, put my bike shorts back on and came back a bit more ready for the last 40 miles of our trip. By that time, Arnold had spotted pork chops roasting on the open fire so we ate again, washing it all down with a couple of bottles of Gatorade.
Back on the road to Quasqueton, the "lunch stop town". We pulled in to Quaskey at about 4 p.m. ready to eat lunch. We had Blue Sky ice cream (to die for) and another couple bottles of Gatorade.
Now understand, there is a certain etiquette when riding Ragbrai. All along the way, Josh had been teaching me the Ragbrai lingo. "Biker off" was what you were to yell when you were going to pull over and stop. "Biker on" was yelled as you pulled back onto the road. "Car up" was the call when a vehicle was coming toward you. "Car back" was called when a vehicle was coming up behind you. My favorite was "rumble" announcing to riders there were rumble strips on the highway that could potentially throw a rider off his bike. Every bit of lingo was somehow connected with care for the other riders. Everyone was looking out for everyone else. You could hear people calling out to each other all along the way.
We fought a head wind the last 40 miles and by the time we got to Manchester, it was 8 p.m. We stuck together the entire way. I was exhausted and yet felt fulfilled. Not so much that I had ridden 62 miles on a bike but that I had experienced something very similar the Kingdom of God. People intently watching out for their "brothers and sisters" on the same journey.
It made me think of this Bible verse; Galatians 6:1-2 Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.
I can say I had fun and will do it again. But the thing that is etched in my mind is how dangerously safe I felt on my journey. Not that I was competent as a rider but that my fellow Ragbrai'ers were watching out for me.
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