Friends (and Not The TV Show)

A Holiday Service on Christmas Day 2018, Portland.

I will tie in the picture at the end...just you wait and see!

I heard from some of you about the blog. Thanks for the kind and encouraging words. Particular shout out to my dad and brother (to keep him from being associated with my blog, which are my thoughts alone) he shall remain incognito. He knows of whom I speak. My dad really wouldn't care. He is an impervious 80 something long past giving a rip what people think and blowback. I have three brothers. Ponder this...

I am fixing to start packing for my travels Buffalo to visit my good friend H. We are going to go to the Eagles vs. Bills game tomorrow. The Eagles got flogged by the Cowboys on national television last Sunday night. I sensed it was going to be a stinker after the first turnover. Only confirmed by the second turnover. Both turnovers lead to touchdowns. Eagles down by 14 points before Joe Philly Six-Pack could chug his first can Natty Ice. I went to bed.

Prior to the game, Coach Pederson predicted a victory over the Cowboys which was about the dumbest thing he has done as the Eagles head coach. The adage comes to mind, "Under promise and over deliver." Even if one thinks that the other teams is going to get lashed, best to keep it under wraps. Be confident and diffident. Now, he just looks like a boob and he is going to have to run from this dumpster fire as fast as he can and never repeat such foolishness again. It can be fatal to a coach to make assertions that back-fire.

Interesting factoid: "Touchdown" comes from rugby where the offensive player needs to actually touch the ball down in the Try Zone to score. Rugby was the progenitor for American Football and this legacy carries over in the term. BTW, just watched England beat the New Zealand All Blacks in the Quarterfinals of the World Cup.  In the rugby world, this is an upset for the ages. England played a superb game.  Woke up at 3:30 AM to watch it (Tokyo time).

Back to Buffalo....maybe. 

H. and I are great friends. He is a lot younger than I. So, our comradeship is probably a combo of him being on old soul and me being young at heart. Or, at least, an immature 56 year-old. It is once in a Blue Moon that the Eagles plays the Bills and the opportunity to go see the game was too cool to pass up on. Also, looking forward to the legendary tailgating with Bills fans in a lot next to the stadium. I bought an Eagles doo rag/bandanna hybrid. We'll see if I have the cajones to wear it. When I mentioned it to H, he laughed that uneasy semi-laugh of "Not a good idea."   If I wear it, I should wear it the entire game. Even if the Eagles get trounced. Go down with the ship. At least I will consume some good wings!

If the Eagles lose, the season is a wash. Being a lifelong Eagles fan, I know that we may never see another Super Bowl win in our lifetime. So, I savor the victory two season ago and sense that it was a year where the ball just bounced the Eagles way. Last time I went to an Eagles game was around 1976 at the old Vet. My key memory was a drunk fan going airborne several steps above me and landing square on my lap as he crashed back to earth, after tripping, beers in hand.

Now, back to rugby...maybe. Back when I played, in the late 80's, I played with my buddy T. A tall black dude from the badlands of Chester and me from the mean streets of Devon (ha-ha) paired up to be the two tallest 2nd row tandem in the EPRU (Eastern Pa. Rugby Union and perhaps the nation). There was talk that we would progress to the next level of competition and become credible players on a regional level if not higher. We were called the Twin Towers. Little did we suspect how that would play out over time on 9-11. We also worked together at a Reform School and were essentially Salt and Pepper twins for two years. Inseparable. 

Alas, I went to Grad School up here in Amishland, played for the Lancaster Roses, and had a career-ending injury. T. continued to play but hung up his cleats a couple of years later. In the crucible of working in a highly-confrontational environment at the Reform School and the brutal ruby pitch, we formed a lifelong friendship. We don't see each much in person but I know that if it came down to it, he would have my back. The test of friendship is Time and Distance. There are friendships that are authentic that bear fruit for a season. And then there are friendships that last despite the ticking of the clock and the miles of separation. I am blessed to have true friends.

In thinking about last week's blog, it likely read "poor me" and that is not what is really the case. I am a blessed man. I love my work with teens, enjoy life here in Molumbia, and have more true friends than the American average. Almost all of them are Christians which makes sense. That is who I am and what I believe. Despite my present disenchantment with the Evangelical American Church, my beef is certainly not with my friends who are Christians (a sincere group of genuine people), and definitely not Jesus. And although I strive to figure out a different way to do Church, I still grant that the current model exists for a lot of good reasons (Sunday morning, Family-centered, Safe and Insulated, etc). It is just not me. I want to be out on the edge, not in the belly of the pews. My calling is primarily to non-Christians and working along side fellow like-minded souls who have the audacious attitude to believe that God still seeks to save the lost.

If it takes beer to bring them in and to meet on a Thursday night, so be it. The idea that we are going to be able to minister on Sunday mornings to the unconverted is implausible. Most will never enter the doors on their own, and where are the contacts and conduits to those people? Find what they already enjoy and redeem it. And do it on their terms and table but don't back down on the truth. Beer is just the bread, so to speak. Theology and Doctrine, soul food.

I was reading in my devotional this week in John 15 where Jesus calls us friends if we do what he commands (John 15:14). Up until that point, there was only one person who was called a "Friend of God." That was Abraham, many centuries earlier. The idea and concept that God is our friend is laden with all kind of uneasiness to me. Like he is my buddy, my equal, my pal. And that is true to a degree. Yet, he is also Transcendent. But, how great the condescension of the Lord to call us his friends. What a compliment, yet what a burden. For when we are true friends of someone, let alone God, we give them permission to know our inner thoughts, our heart inclinations, our hopes and fears. They can call us out on our inconsistencies and hypocrisies. Being friends with God both comforts me and scares the crap out of me.

Now back to the picture. Last Christmas, I was alone in Portland. I found a Dive Bar and hung out with other misfits. Anyone who is hanging out at a Dive Bar on Christmas has something going on of a broken nature. There, I connected to those also hanging out in genuine conversation and caring. I talked about Christ in an organic way as if he is my friend. And is someone that I want them to know. And I do. That is what friends do.