Yesterday I was called to a meeting where the discussion was mainly about youth, their position in the church, their positions in Christ, what should be expected of them, etc. It was brought up that the guys dont have anyone mentoring them and they are for lack of a better term degenerate. We discussed service, what should service entail, and why it is important. I was brought to the realization that the church looks at youth pastors as divine babysitters. Nothing more then staff paid to keep the trouble kids in line while in church. So is this the correct outlook? Are children expendable resources. Are youth children at all? or are they simply that awkward position between grown up and child? I guess that is where the struggle lies, expectations.
In Timothy Paul says "Do not let anyone look down on you because you are young, instead set an example in life, love, faith, and purity." Timothy was a very young man who was given the opportunity to pastor in the early church. And when I say young I dont mean the American definition of young (19-20) I mean 12-13. Obviously their would be major problems with a child that young in any leadership position in the church period right now. But it was pulled off then. There were stipulations of course, the main being that Timothy would not let the elders look down on him or bully him and would prove through his life that he was worthy of being treated with honor and respect. So now comes the inevitable chicken-egg question. Which happened first: did society lower the expectations of its young or did societies young lower the expectations themselves? When did parents and leaders become so empathetic they thought they had to expect less of their children? And when did children become so lazy they rose to the low standards and rose no higher, and indeed even lower the standard to make it easier to attain?
One thing I recommended was having the "Methodist Men" pursue one on one relationships with the teenage guys. The guys act the way they do because nothing more is expected of them or they dont know how to do anything different. But why do we have to ASK for the older men to take the younger under their wings? That should be something that is done everywhere. What the heck is going on with the church?
Well this is my bi-weekly rant.
Nathan
Lore Sjöberg's latest article is particularly good.
And yes. I have a sword on my wall. And several more ready to go when I get around to it.
Here's an excerpt from a great little story by Jason Roeder over at McSweeney's:
DISPATCHES FROM ADJUNCT FACULTY AT A LARGE STATE UNIVERSITY
DISPATCH 7: ON THE UNKOWN
I was glazing the Christmas ham when my son's shrieks of delight, audible over the storm and stress of a busy kitchen, set my parental senses tingling. Out in the living room I found Starbuck in his Buzz Lightyear suit, wings, spats, and flashlight glasses, flying over the heads of our guests in the arms of his uncle Richard. There were a couple of things my brother-in-law didn't know.
Starbuck spends 40 hours a week at an expensive Montessori school poring over superhero taxonomy with his pals. (Is there really a Super Fantastic Strong Man?) He came home the first day and said it was agreed: David was Superman, Inhoo was Spider-Man, and he was Batman. In a way, I was proud. Superman is so obvious, with his square jaw and puritan rectitude, like Ronald Reagan with a spit curl. Spider-Man is OK, but just a kid. Given the choice, I'd be Batman, too. At least he worked for his powers. But I wasn't sure I wanted our 3-year-old emulating an angst-ridden, middle-aged angry guy in latex who calls himself the Dark Knight.
Blame it on my upbringing. My mother was there when Thich Quang Duc immolated himself in Saigon in protest of South Vietnam's anti-Buddhist policies, and she never capitulated on pop-culture violence. For comics I had Richie Rich and Scrooge McDuck, with some Baby Hueys handed down from my sister. (Mom didn't mind MAD magazine, mind you; she was a nonviolent subversive.) Our television broke when I was 4 and was never fixed, so I dropped out of the TV Zeitgeist at Daktari (co-starring a cross-eyed lion named Clarence) and didn't return until the fifth season of Magnum, P.I.—a gap of some 20 years.
Sure, when other grade-school kids, avid as New Yorker critics, parsed the performance of Andre the Giant as Big Foot in The Six Million Dollar Man, I suffered. Then I went home and cataloged all my books by the Dewey Decimal System (William H. McGuffey: Boy Reading Genius, j.921/MCG). And I'm OK.
Still, I thought, maybe Starbuck would benefit from leniency. If we let him hide under the dinner table and gobble Pez from his Batman dispenser, he might become one of those superhumanly cool kids who succeed at everything. He'll be a running back and class president; he'll snowboard Whistler and start a band; every summer he'll build houses with Habitat. Eventually, he'll practice medicine with Doctors Without Borders, where he'll meet a beautiful daughter of France, and together they'll run a clinic and raise babies in Paris while he writes his trilogy on the human comedy, in which there will figure largely a beneficent, wise father.
Before I could enjoy all that, I had to face the first tenet of superheroes, their reason for being: to "poom" bad guys, as Starbuck said. (This is not to be confused with the infinitive "to boom," an intransitive verb: "The dog boomed" means she slipped while running to the food bowl. "Poom" is a transitive verb requiring a direct object. Correct usage dictates: "Starbuck poomed the iPod with a plastic golf club until his father boomed to the floor in a fit of apoplexy.") We sat together and talked about cartoon pooming and real pooming, and how people get hurt, and how the only time we ever hit another person is in certain sports, such as one called boxing, which I don't really watch, because violence of any kind is antithetical ...
"What's boxing, Daddy?" he asked guilelessly.
I try to reward curiosity, so I explained that certain athletes who train very hard to be strong and tough use their skills in carefully monitored sporting events called ...
"What's training?" Starbuck asked.
I said boxers hit punching bags, but we don't have a bag or even a picture of one, so here, hit my palms, like this. He slapped at my hands with an overhand flail that promised to jam his wrists, so I showed him the mechanics of a jab and how to tuck in the thumb. He got the form but was hesitant, and since I want him to embrace physicality, I encouraged him to hit harder and then harder still. He grimaced and punched and grunted and punched. "Harder!" I said. "Come on, hit me!" Only after an hour or two, when he could really drive one in, did we stop to ice my hands.
My brother-in-law, who loves Starbuck as if he were his own son, knew none of these facts; they lay under the surface of happy times like a drowned tree waiting to rip open a riverboat. Richard simply saw that the boy was getting too excited and set him down, making the excuse that he, Uncle Zurg, needed to catch his breath before he destroyed this measly planet. That's when Starbuck, a.k.a. Buzz Lightyear—Defender of the Galaxy—poomed him in the testicles, as superheroes will.
Well, not sure what the deal is, but it seems everyone has lost their mind. At work both bosses and co-workers, at home both parents, at church fellow youth groupies, leaders, and old ladies whom I do not know....and what is the subject of their madness? Setting up Nathan Noah Stone with someone. Apparently I have "I need a girlfriend" emblazoned on my forehead. Or maybe mom and dad attach a sticky note to my back every morning without my knowing that says "Single". No matter what it is it leaves me confused.
From what I see there are three different basic approaches to dating.
Approach #1. I will not date until I feel God himself has communicated that I must date this person and i will spend the rest of my life in matrimonial bliss with this soul mate of mine. If I date before then it will count as cheating on my future spouse.
Approach #2. I am going to start dating at the ripe age of 10, go through girlfriends like I go through gym socks at football camp, and maintain a relationship as a status symbol. Then when I am REALLY serious I will start dating because I am looking for a mate, I will find one and I will marry her and the party of adolescence is over.
Approach #3. I don't care. HA! If I want to date I will date, if I want to stay single I will stay single. I see nothing wrong with dating and see nothing wrong with not dating.
So in effect these are the three positions: Yes, No, and Maybe. I tend to lean toward the latter of these three. All of my siblings married their second boyfriend or girlfriend, with exception for maybe Josh. I can't remember if he dated before Jen or not. They give me reasons for this, and I can respect those reasons. I read "I Kissed Dating Goodbye"
My sister Lydia put it very well that Mom and Dad pressured both Lydia and Anna into "Dating" a guy, but it was a warped perception. I think there are three different types of dating. There is casually dating. Going on a date with a girl you think is fun and you go simply for that reason. To have fun. Then there is serious dating. Mostly this happens as a result of either a casual date that you were interested in or the favorite of high school kids, blowing something WAY out of proportion. Then there is courting, which my siblings tend to be big advocates of. Dating only one girl with the intention of marrying them.
I do not know exactly where I stand but I am pretty sure I am in the maybe category. I think I need to find my own opinion because I have been trying to make everyone happy with what I do with my "Love life" and I have been failing miserably. I cant make everyone happy.
Well I must depart. I have to do some work.
Good Day
Nathan
For some reason, Rolling Stone magazine is convinced that I
am a subscriber. I have no memory of signing up for it, but I get a copy in the
mail every month, with my name and apartment number clearly stamped across the
cover. I generally ignore most of content within, the articles so fraught with
liberal groupthink and bankrupt morality, but it turns out that Rolling Stone
is actually supposed to be a music magazine (who knew?). As such, it
occasionally contains an article that excites me enough to read. Now, as
opposed as I am to the politics of the editors, I cannot deny the skill of the
writers. In fact, I have often wished that I had the ability to write as well
as those magazine types. Then again, I have wished that I could write as well
as any professional writer. This longing has led me to a decision, and that is
to try my hand at a few different venues of professional writing. Up to this
point I have written letters and essays, a little fiction, and one poem that concerned
itself with the origins of the sneeze. In the near future I will venture into
new venues, try some writing that the public at large might read because let’s
face it; the public at large does not read essays.
What they do read, however, are magazine articles, reviews, newspapers, and those clever little quips on Burger King cups.
I’m not going to write anything special today, but I’m going to keep my eye out for some ideas in the near future. If any of you who read this would like to see anything specific, please pitch me the ideas. It’s much easier to find something to write about if people tell you what to do. Trust me, when they said “free write” two semesters ago I think I stared at my computer screen for ½ an hour, waiting for inspiration to strike.
Seriously, your ideas. I wants them.
1. Brussels Sprouts
2. Cannes Openers
3. Amsterdam Yankees
4. Vienna Sausages
5. Belgium Waffles
6. Manila Folders
7. Czech Bouncers
8. Buenos Airheads
9. New Dehli Catessans
10. Seoul Brothers
11. Taipei Personalities
12. Syria Killers
13. Hungary Jacks
14. Dublin Mint Twins
15. Prague Tologists
16. Peking Toms
(from cartalk)
Originally Posted: Wed, 7 May 14:49 PDT
Nemesis required. 6-month project with possibilty to extend
Date: 2008-05-07, 2:49PM PDT
British accent preferred.
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
- Compensation: $350 up front
PostingID: 672031640
Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog Act 1
This is wonderful in so many ways I don't know where to begin. It's a MUSICAL about a SUPERVILLIAN IN LOVE written by JOSS WHEDON co-starring NATHAN FILLION (creator and star of FIREFLY/SERENITY respectively). If that hasn't caused you to stop reading this and start watching the show, I don't know why you're reading my blog in the first place. It's available to watch for free until July 20th, then you can get the episodes for $1.99 on iTunes.
And the fact that this came literally the day that I discovered the Jonathan Coulton song Skullcrusher Mountain (available for free on his website) makes it that much better.
EDIT: Joss Whedon's explanation of this project is both enlightening and amusing.
