Very interesting point! And dead on.

What I hate here is the categorization of people based on their diction, wardrobe, and family dynamics. His heart is in the right place, but he’s looking at it all wrong. In many situations the folks in those bars wearing those bud shirts using the word fuck as a comma are the ones that can show the average church-goer who God really is.

Maybe I’m just cranky today, but this guy’s got it all wrong. I’m not questioning his intentions, but I also know that most of the worst stuff that takes place within every church is done with the best of intentions.

You learn to value the person before your eyes or ears or nose cause you to categorize them and then you can start talking to me about “reaching people for God.” Same ole b.s. Always trying to have a one way conversation with folks. Never once taking into consideration that many of the upper-middle class white collar crowd sitting in your pews are some of the most despicable hypocrites you ever want to meet. Closet alcoholics cheating on their spouses hording money and material possessions while spreading gossip about the “Smiths” and how their poor pathetic teenage daughter is pregnant. THAT is where the vomit smell is coming from.

It’s just wrong…

What’s wrong with crossing your arms? And we used to put ONE dollar in the collection plate, but we tithed either monthly or annually.

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I guess I’m about as far from God as one can be without being actively evil, but I don’t (usually) stink, hang out on the street or frequent the courts or emergency room.

I do drink and smoke. I have been known on occasion to visit bars and porn shops (it was Times Square, whaddaya want?) and I do love the R-rated movies. I also use the “f-word” quite liberally, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Budweiser t-shirt. That’s just uncalled for.

Funny story:
When I was on tour we played one of our shows at St. Joseph’s Abbey in southeast Louisiana (about 30 miles from New Orleans). We had one fundamentalist girl, I’ll call her Laurie, who was just fascinated by the place and didn’t really know how to relate with the monks. I guess it was some kind of reverence brought on by the mysticism of the windows and wood and the cassocks. The ordained brother was really into theatre and was helping us get our lights and sound set up. At one point he dropped something on his foot (probably a light, maybe a wrench) and exclaimed, “God-dammit!” Laurie was floored. She looked at him with her mouth hanging open and she turned bright red. Without missing a beat, he said, “It’s okay. He and I have an understanding.”

Having grown up in New Orleans and been educated by monks who must have had quite an exceptional understanding with the Lord, I totally understood. I had to explain to her later that Catholics are a little different and French Catholics even more so.

Thanks for the awesome post. Too bad Chris took his blog down.

Peace.