What exactly is my state of mind?

I know it's racing. It's not going anywhere though. I'm running familiar pissed off laps around a mental track or irratibility. My thoughts sound like I'm venting a narration to some omnipotent viewer outside of my own time explaining my actions.

"See! See that?! That's what pisses me off." That and everything else I can see or think of.

"Look at these fucking idiots. All congragating in front of the damn front door. Is there anywhere more obviously inconvenient for people to stand around and drivel to each other? I've got to wade through a bunch of sheltered, naive, smiling, bible thumping christian, incoming freshman just to get inside the coffee house. Standing around wearing their scripted hearts on their strategicly wrinkled t-shirts sleeves. Clogging up the coffee house I would rather have completely empty and absolutely quiet. Wearing an expression of satisfied, scared shitless, pride that says 'I spent last night in my own dorm room without my parents and that means I'm an adult.' "

To be perfectly honest I feel absolutely selfish and base. I am enjoying it, enjoying like we sometimes enjoy small pains. I think I feel like it's honest and real. I'm just letting go of the culture and fears that hold me back from being my perfectly awful self. I want to vent at the top of my lungs and yell and scream and piss everyone off. Piss them off so much that they all attack me. I wandt to start a fight. I want to start such a brawl that I can punch and kick to my heart's desire and then fall down from exhaustion to get my ass kicked till I black out. I always wonder if it's weird how sometimes I feel most alive when I've just fucked something up bad. Go all in and lose it all. Everytime I've endulged myself to losing I can remember leaving the table feeling satisfied. What is that?

Right now I feel like I've got all the right answers and I just want someone to say anything so that I can correct them and crush their misconceived notions. I want some guy to come up to me and get in my face and say, "You're a fucking idiot. You want to know the truth, this is everything that's wrong with you and why everyone in this room is better off than you". He would snarl at me and he would shout out every dispicable thing I've ever done in a room full of codescending sneers from rich little white girls holding martinis and leaning against velour pillow cushions. He would finish and everyone in the room would purse their lips and narrow their eyes in satisfaction and think to themselves, "Yeah, he just got told, dang that was brutal, he must be emotionally destroyed". Is this a desire for home? The final judgement?

Then triumphantly I would stand up and get in the destroyer's face and say, "You think I don't know that? You think I don't intimately know all the sick things about myself? You fucking dunce. Who the hell do you think you are to speak up as an authority on my wickedness? I know my wickedness far better than you do and its bad enough to make you shit yourself in fear. You think you've shocked or impressed me with the giant balls you think it took for you to say those things out loud? You insignificant little shit. Look at you. You smug little shit, so satisfied and patting yoursef on the back because you think that your long thought out dissimilation of my own personal brick wall was devastating and I was helpless to hide all my blemishes from your overpowering truth. Fuck you! You want to shout em out, go ahead, I'm tired of all of you sitting their wondering at my deeds, conjuring up little fantacies of how simple I am and building your own ideas of the evils I've done! Well here they are". Somehow I would then shout out a long list of all my evils and laugh in there faces that are quickly losing their color, "take a good look you little shits, they're far worse than you could have imagined, but these at least are real! These are honest, and real, and nasty, and true, and they're mine so fuck off!"

Then they would all become embarrassed and slink out of the room and leave me alone with quiet so I can do my work.

What are these fantacies? Why do I have them? Why do I feel fine with the state of mind I'm in; knowing that tomorrow I'll be in a completely different state of mind and be able to write something genuinely sweet and endearing?


10 minutes later:

I went outside and had a smoke. I don't really smoke, but every now and then it's just right. I was fancying myself "Mr Bad Ass" taking long slow drags on the sidewalk. Then some women walk out of the coffee house holding their babies. I quickly got up and walked 10 yards out of their way so that my smoke would come no where near their babes. I thought to myself, "Oh yeah, your soo evil aren't you. Mr Bad Ass, afraid to smoke around a baby." My mood quickly deflated.

I sat back down with a wry smile for myself and feeling quite cathartic. At that moment I felt fine. More than anything I wanted be sitting next to a beautiful lady whom I had just viciously vented all that I have written. She wasn't scared or intimidated by my mood and temper. After exhausting my agitation she'd look me in the eye and laugh at my silliness. Then I'd laugh too.

I walked back into the coffee house buzzing and relaxed and was met with song that I somehow felt was just for me. "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad, if it makes you happy, why the hell are you so sad?" I felt like it answered some question that I have been trying to ask, but couldn't find the words for.

I said to myself, "I don't know? Does make me happy? Am I sad? If it does make me happy why the hell am I so mad? What makes me happy?"

I mentally giggle as I return to my seat.

Anybody out there feel me? Am I speaking anyone's language?

Captain Manuel Rivero De Soto: Revised

The heavy ocean winds brush his face and rustle his hair and beard; playfully irreverent and omnisciently familiar. Eyes closed in a familiar greeting to the wind the captain engages only the senses he needs to greet the wind. He feels its press and smells its closeness. He can taste its salty skin and hear the whispers of its breath chuckling in his ears, like shaking hands with a god. The wind and the captain have long been friends, and as such have had their share of disagreements. The wind rips his sails and batters his ship, taking him days off course and bringing the storms. Yet it is always the wind who brings him home again and brings him to port ahead of schedule.

Reminiscing, the captain smiles with careful fondness at the wind’s mischievous rustlings this morning. He opens his eyes to study the horizon and to take in the disposition of his busy crew. The Sea Bwana’s deck is rolling on its ninth day at sea with Luanda, of the Portuguese Angola, to its stern. The crew is working apprehensively. They know the sea well and are also familiar with the wind; today the wind gloats of the approaching storm. The crew works quickly to put the ship in order for a return voyage to Luanda.

The captain began to close his eyes again and entreat the wind. “What makes you so proud of this storm? Maybe it is not so great as my crew and this ship?” The wind gusts to answer and laughs at the captain’s interrogation. The captain has never doubted his crew or his ship. His only doubts are those of his own ability. Anyone, may follow orders faithfully and confidently, but to give them faithfully is difficult.

The captain turns to issue the order to turn back to Luanda. Upon turning he meets the eyes of his entire crew. His crew is on edge and looking at him with fearful, ready anticipation. He breathes and follows his crews gaze with his eyes, then his head, and slowly with his shoulders over his right shoulder.

Standing behind him and to his right a middle-eastern man garbed in middle-eastern peasantry is watching him waiting to be seen. Once the captain sees him the man begins to speak. “Captain Manuel Rivero De Soto, how are you today?”

The captain, being relieved at only finding a stowaway yet worried about his crew’s unease, smiles reservedly and marvels at the confidence that his uninvited passengers exudes. “Who are you? Why are you on my ship, and why should I not hand you over to the ocean?”

Then the man speaks, “I am Jesus, do you know that this is true?”

Captain De Soto’s heart leaps in his chest as he hears the words crash into his world. He knows for sure that this man is who he says he is. This realization is both stunning and frightening to the Captain. Yet despite these feelings he is also unexpectedly and overwhelmingly relieved to see him, to know He is here, and longs to keep him on board. De Soto knows that the crew is watching him and most certainly noticed his change in demeanor regarding the man.

“Yes, I know this to be true, what would you have with me?”

The captain can feel the tension of the crew rage against the gentle rolling of the ocean. He longs to invite the man to stay, but he stifles the fire in his bowels and waits for the man to speak again.

“Captain De Soto, certainly you have considered the approaching storm, what will you do?”

Hesitating at such an simple question, he stammers, “We must return to port, to Luanda.” Unable to stifle the stirring in his bowels he adds, “You are most welcome to accompany us to port if you so desire.”

Jesus smiles and says, “Captain De Soto I tell you assuredly that this approaching storm is the mightiest storm the oceans have ever seen. You would be wise to return to Luanda. There is no possible way in which any captain ever could successfully sail through this storm, ever. However Captain, I have created this storm specifically for you, and for this crew, and this ship. I assure you that if you were to sail straight into that storm, headed for Cape Town as you had planned, you will reach port. You and your entire crew will live through the ordeal. You will all be injured, some severely, and the Sea Bwana will never make it out to sea again once she docks. However, you and your entire crew will eventually make it to Cape Town.”

Jesus’s smile keeps growing while he speaks and he begins to laugh as he continues. “I tell you that this storm will tax every aspect of this ship and its crew beyond any conceivable limits. You will face the impossible many times only to overcome it and face it again. You will encounter the deepest terrors that the oceans have to offer and that the winds may conceive. Furthermore, once you decide I will leave your deck never to discuss your decisions. I will not be here physically to guide you. You doubt and fear, but take courage, I have designed your mind and heart and spirit to endure such storms. It is your decisions that will save this ship and crew time and time again, and you will be faced with impossible decisions constantly. I offer this storm to you as the greatest sailing adventure the world has ever known. I have made your heart to seek adventure and to tear out the very entrails of fear itself. I have made your will strong to master your nerves and make them your own. I do not say that all your decisions will be the best ones, and when you think it can’t get any worse it will get worse seven fold. Your lives are promised though beyond the storm. Lastly Captain, your ears are the only ears which have heard my words today, your crew will need your faith for though they see me they do not hear me or know me. They do not have your memories of my words to rely on.” Jesus steps closer and asks, “So what say you Captain De Soto?”

At this point the captain’s heart is racing and his bowels boiling with anticipation and fear. But he can feel his spirit dancing with confidence and eagerness. He turns to let a slow hard smile rest on each member of his crew. The captain finally lets his gaze rest again on Jesus, “Son of Man, how could any captain deny his crew such a lovely adventure? We will gladly go forward.”

Jesus throws his head back lets loose a triumphant and raucous laugh. He rubs his hands together in anticipation, “The heavens are dancing with excitement and I will be standing and cheering as well.” As his last word leaves his mouth Jesus vanishes.

The captain loudly and calmly gives orders to stay the course to Cape Town keeping his hard smile all the while. His crew does not hesitate at the orders but the mood has changed, it is sober and severe. As the crew carries out his orders he turns to face his promise. He faces a growing darkness and growing sea swells.

His hair and beard rustle with the mounting winds. The wind feels and tastes the same, but the captain can smell his departed passenger. He smiles at the presence and sighs at the whisper he now hears in his ear. A familiar voice, but one he has never heard on the wind before. As the deck begins to heave and the skies grow darker he begins to sing what the Son whispers to him. His crew quickly and loudly joins in.

At the sound of his crew the captain thinks, “This is our song wind, our holy breath. I wonder, how does our breathe feel to you? How does it taste, and smell, and sound to you? Does it confound you, our bravery? You know your masters voice; and as such you shall soon know our voices too. We, His royal brothers, are going forth to defy and command ourselves with authority. Here we come wind, triumphantly, with disregard for all fear and uncertainty. I will hold tight to a promise though I be the only one.”

His own thoughts make him smile. The winds howle with challenge as he orders full sail into darkness and calamity.

"Hey you want to hear something ironically funny and tragic?"

"Yes", she said with a smile.

"I feel like I know more today than I did this day last year, but I don't think most of what I learned is any use. Mostly, I feel like anything useful that I've learned falls under the category of 'what isn't right', or 'I definitely had this wrong', or 'nope that wan't the voice of the Lord'.'

She softly smiles and looked up from her book, saying with her look "don't worry my dear one", and with her voice "Awwww, broken heart and spiritually confused, the Lord loves that doesn't He".

Ignoring the voice I say, "It seems that nothing I've learned is useful for doing, only not doing. Am I just supposed to sit and not do?"

"I don't know maybe you could read a book", insinuating she's heard this before but is willing to work through it again if my heart desired.

"Maybe I could just take your book and pin you to the floor again, you know work of some of my angst."

She unsuccessfully fights her smile. Recognizing my challenge as something that I know she loves to lose to me in, she's always chaffed by my bringing up something that is just as confusing to her as my purpose in life is to me. She hates losing at anything, and is shocked that she loves to lose to me in something so base and silly as wrestling, something I obviously have the upper hand in anyway.

Loosing a devious smile over her book she impersonates Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday, knowing I love the movie and always laugh at her awful impressions, "I know husband, let's have a spelling contest".

Catching the insult I chuckle and pounce across the living room floor at her. Screaming she tries to get away, but was far too slow and really didn't want to escape anyway.

Grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them to the floor with one of my hands in front of her face, I stifle the rest of her struggles by stradling her left hip and holding her legs with my feet. I faciously asks "How do you spell dominated?"

Our night will end with no great insights into my divine purpose and she won't finish her book. It will end sweetly and tenderly, comfortably together. The morning will come as it had the day before. All the while I feel the Lord just smiles. Somehow I know that it is good. Can I take comfort in a good that I don't understand and has nothing to do with my problems? Sure, why not, I can at least for the next few hours; until sleep.

Church: Noun or Verb?

I hear many people today discuss whether or not church is being done right or not. They like to consider how it can be done better. I don't think church is even something you do. It's not a verb. It's a noun. Being a part of the church is like being a person, place, or thing. The grand canyon won't be any better at being the grand canyon tomorrow than it was today, it doesn't have the facility to improve its grand canyoness. Water today is water tomorrow, it can't make itself more efficient at being water. I won't be any better at existing as a male human being tomorrow than I was today. I can't practice having a Y chromosome, or a penis, or a beard, or really hairy legs. These are things that just are.

I am a christian therefore I am a member of the Body of Christ therefore I am the church. Could I be a more christlike person? Absolutely!! But if I'm totally unChrist like one day, it doesn't mean that I was less of a member of the Body of Christ that day, that never changes.

Kingdom living....ahhhh, now there is something that can be discussed, and is discussed quite frequently by Christ himself.

That's it for now.

Disclaim, Disclaim, Disclaim....Blah Blah Blah

Disclaimers and disavowers are really getting under my skin. They get under my skin and then fester. They fester into this fiberglass substance that itches, hurts, and emits an agitating noise the same pitch a poorly aimed fingernail would make grating against a rock. Not only are they getting under my skin, but they are becoming increasingly distasteful to me. Mostly I hear disclaimers and disavows when people broach subjects that are sensative or touchy. They make me want to slam my head in my cardoor.

I see these mostly when people begin talking about church. At this point I can almost forecast a disclaimer.

*Jesus Freak Joe gets a thought in his head that maybe Lucado and Piper haven't written about yet. He thinks about it some more and realizes it wasn't in Blue Like Jazz either. He then realizes that what he's about to say could be a BOLD statement. He starts to wonder, "just how far out on a limb have I gone here?" He finally looks up to face his jury. A circle of white collar bible babies who have no greater idea than he does. (It's this facial expression that I've come to recognize.) Tight mouth, wringing or fidgeting hands, quick steady glances of eye contact around the room, and then starts to raise either one or both of his hands... then the words, "Ok, I'm not sure about this, and i'm not claiming to be an expert on church, and I don't want to offend anyone, and if I'm way off let me know, but (sigh) maybe we should make announcements at the beginning of service instead of the end?" He cleverly poses his statement as a question. The gravity of the words set in with furrowed brows and grunts fo deep thought.

Then Jesus Freak Jerry speaks up, "You know, I'm no Paul or anything, but I THINK Joe MAY be on to something. I think we should consider it, pray about it, offer it up to the Lord, and see what He thinks about it."

Then the circle grunts approval.

Weak Sauce Man!!!

Why can't we just say stuff? "I think ______ about _______. What do you guys think?"

I think our problems stem from a number of areas, such as:
-everyone is scared to death of being wrong, especially about the Lord. Heaven forbid any flawed human being say anything that was the slightest bit off about a perfect omni-multiple of things God.
-many people today don't know what it is to listen to the voice of the Lord, and ACT on it, or BELIEVE in it. Some people don't hear it and think it's all up to their mental understanding, which ends up being alot of stress. Some folks hear the Lord and doubt constantly whether or not they're hearing the Lord, but they don't want to test it dreading that they've in fact never heard the voice of the Lord or that they may have been wrong about something or mess something up, they're basically being spiritual pussies.
-some of us are way too scared to contradict an established creed, doctrine, or some published christian goo-roo with a life advice book. Why? Most of us don't know anything about these book breeding rabbits. Why believe anything they say? So what if nameless doctrine "A" has been around for a hundred years, well maybe it's been wrong for a hundred years.
-We're all afraid of offending someone. Our first ministry is the ministry of reconciliation, but we never practice it because we try our darndest to allow no one to ever be offended with anything we could ever do or say. "So what if the fence I'm sitting on becomes a permanent part of my body, at least I didn't step on anyone's toes. Thank God I never stood up for anything, I might have been wrong, boy not only is being wrong unforgivable but it's embarrassing too. Man o man, that would have been just the worst thing ever."
-some of us are way to afraid of tarnishing our white washed spiritual resumes
-we don't realize that we don't have to be offended by differing beliefs or view points, it is a choice. Even if we are offended we've got a back up: FORGIVENESS!!

Alright, enough ranting. Basically, I'm exhausted by disclaimers, I think they should be banished.

The End.

Immediate Post Pary

To those who doubt and question, and to that one dream who doesn’t know me yet,

(I deleted the previous paragraph or so in consideration of others personal feelings, but the rest is pure venting, enjoy)

... yet I couldn’t cast him aside. Little did I know it but the Lord was teaching me about love. I didn’t know how to love at the time, at least not well. That’s why I was tired all of the time. Somehow I had to let go. I couldn’t explain to you how that happened. I can only say that the impossible with man is possible with the Lord.

For instance, tonight I went to a party where most of the people were gay. Two years ago I couldn’t have stepped into a building with one gay person without feeling this overwhelming responsibility to show them the “ever-changing power of Christ”. The love that overcomes all. How would I have shown them? Instead I drank some and realized that often these people are no more messed up than I am. I just live in a society that accepts my faults as common and natural. Lust, sure every guy deals with it. Pride, well that’s not so bad if it’s for the right things. Secrecy, hey everyone’s got to have a private life right? No, I don’t think so.

Instead I spent most of my tipsy time talking with a human wallowing in the guilt and despair of our faults. You see I live in a town full of pharisees. They’d never tell you as much, but a pharisee never would. Of course I’m humble and holy and all that, I’m a christian after all. Shut, I’m in charge of a ministry. How often did I whisper those words to myself. And, oh, how they came crashing down. I knew this person, wallowing, the moment I saw her. Maybe a year ago. I saw her as well as I see myself in hindsight. Very clearly. As well as I see you sometimes.

This person was wracked with guilt over having been drunk and I’m sure a number of things. I was so relieved though because deep down they knew that their guilt in wrong. Because Jesus saved us from our guilt, of any guilt we should ever have. How foolish it is for any christian to ever feel guilty. Regret, hits us all, and rightfully so most times. But guilt, no, Jesus took care of that. Guilt is a waste of time.

This person had never heard that before. Despite the christian upbringing, despite the many bible studies and high regard, they still felt guilty. I look at them and only see myself. How often I fall...no JUMP into the pits of despair because of something I did or did not do. Something Jesus died for already, sin or not. What an insult for me to try and take on guilt that only Jesus could. That really does need forgiveness.

So this is to you.

You who are highly regarded and don’t know it. You who are beautiful and respected. You who have a great boyfriend/girlfriend. That great relationship that everyone envys. You who are in charge of the ministry and placed over people. You who have changed people’s lives in genuinely powerful ways and then looked back and thought “no...that really had nothing to do with me because I am a nobody. I am only a lowly servant who only WISHES to change peoples lives. Who wishes for more than anything to be seen as I truly am so that I could no longer have what I think I am not worthy of. That, being other peoples regard and respect. If other people could really see me as I am, I think they would loathe me and cast me out. I’m sure of it.”

Then one day I let someone see the best part of me. A part that was so good, and holy, and from the Lord that I didn’t want to show anyone in case of jealousy or envy. Something so purely from the Lord that I felt embarrassed at Him having given it to me. It wasn’t until I showed someone this beautiful part of me that I was ever genuinely cast out. Then I knew abandonment. Then I tasted what it was like to have loved ones turn there backs on you. But I also found out for the first time what it was to have loved ones stand by despite what anyone else said. That...that was great...and a blessing beyond anything I have ever received, ever.

Some people who knew me then have seen me now and said, “yeah, he got a little weird.” So I am. I readily admit that I don things sometimes that don’t make any sense. Things that to a normal person scream, “psycho” or at least “too unconventional for my blood”.

I don’t care that’s what the pharisee screamed about Jesus. That’s what I screamed about him before I knew Him. Well now I piss on most of what I used to debate and stand up for. The only thing I ever want to stand with is the only thing that made a difference to that confused person tonight at that party. The unconditional love and overpowering grace of Jesus Christ. That’s it, to hell with the rest of it.

P.S. I’m still a little tipsy so pardon any grammatical errors. I thought that my genuine nature at this moment is more important than a grammatically sound post I could come up with later. I also wanted to forgo trying to reinvent what I felt the night before, tomorrow morning. At this point I'd rather deal with the consequences of a mistake than publish a "pretty" version of my thoughts tonight.

Obnoxious Manuel

The tinkling bell that announces visitors to such places was taking it easy on this particular day. On occasion it would admit a paying customer to the sunny diner, mainly locals with a slow morning to enjoy and a few thoughts to chew on. The dust motes and quiet clinking of the breakfast plates offers a soothing soundtrack to such times. Sitting at the left end of the bar already is a youngish man whose fame is unquestionable to his self and he is sure most other people. Obnoxious Manuel is a tall man with a strong face and slow eyes that burn with the deceptive and lackluster shine of the hottest coals at the bottom of a fire pit. This morning he is passionately and importantly explaining to his faithful waitress the importance of his initial cup of coffee.

“It must be right. Nothing less than the appropriate cup will do. Not for the first cup of the day.” Flippantly motioning toward his smoking cup of coffee he adopts a hopeless smirk and continues his instruction. “And this, my faithful barmaid, is inappropriate. You certainly, being a bar lass, understand that the first cup of coffee is really the only cup of coffee...”.

The waitress, familiar with his lectures, cautiously keeps her eyes from rolling, and nods along with Obnoxious Manuel’s now monotonously righteous lecturing. Interjecting at random, “is there anything else I can get you Mr. Manuel?”

Feigning emotional injury Obnoxious Manuel cringed and loudly whispered, “I did not interrupt you while you were taking my order did I?! I let you do your job yes?! I don’t cat call you while you peruse your paying gentlemen and ask them if they need their cups filled?! So please return the favor and let me do my job.”

Unable to help restrain her rolling eyes the waitress cut in, “Mr. Manuel Sonny’s diner is not a brothel and I am no winch. Do you want another cup of coffee or not? It’s going to be from the same pot as the first one.”

His emotional anguish now forgotten, Obnoxious Manuel looks for sympathy from his companion, Dancer Douglass, sitting on the stool to his right. Quietly enjoying the shining dust particles dancing on the hot air rising from his cup of coffee Dancer casually remarks “We all make choices”.

Receiving no help from his friend Obnoxious Manuel again turns toward the waitress ready to educate her on the delicacies of the morning’s first cup of coffee only to find a new cup of coffee between his elbows. His consternation is broken by the subtle introduction by the door bell of two gentlemen dressed to kill or baptize.

Mr. Phillips and Mr. Stanley take the booth to the left end of the bar in plain view of Obnoxious Manuel. Once the waitress leaves they both take up their coffees and regard each other with reluctant malice. Both older gentlemen, but they could hardly be more different in mind, soul, or body.

Mr. Phillips is a short older man with an oversized lower body. His cheese log legs and round belly are topped off with polio arms, narrow shoulders and a thin pointy head. Mr. Phillips is an immensely popular preacher at an emergent church a few hours west of the little train-car diner. He was a walking testament to the power of love and the unwavering love of his God.

Across the table sat Mr. Stanley, a man forever and irreversibly changed by the power and faithfulness of his God. He is also a successful preacher, his congregation being a few hours east of the diner. He was a tall man with pole shaped limbs and a slender neck heroically supporting an enormous head which is tragically losing its cover.

Mr. Phillips swallows his coffee first and is first to speak. He spoke with a slow soft central Texas accent.

“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me. Let me first say that I recognize and appreciate your ministry. Certainly the Lord has used you and your heart his for the people of your congregation. I understand that the Lord has delivered you of some incredible trials. He has obviously healed you and brought you to a great understanding of His power in that regard. However I am very bothered with your heart towards some struggling christians. The people you’ve work with are obviously in need of the Lord, and they are certainly in need of His healing and power. More than that though, I believe they need His love. It’s His love which He came to show us. It’s His love which Christ preaches. It’s His love that forever changes us and drives us closer to Himself. The ever passionate and faithful love of the Father for His children, a love too powerful to be held back by the presence of homosexual tendencies or other sexual deviancies within any particular person. What your congregation needs to hear more than anything is about that love. And they absolutely need His healing, but they don’t need to hear another person telling them to change their ways. Certainly the Lord wants them to changes their ways but it has to be the Lord who changes them. You know that you yourself can’t change them, and that none of us really are able to change ourselves into anything truly good on our own. And you say yourself that only God had the power to bring you out of your sins and that you were helpless against them. Until the Father changes his children they are to love and be loved. I only say this because I think that your ministry, though obviously doing well, could really grow in a godly way by emphasizing more the love of the Father, as opposed to only preaching change.”

Mr. Stanley had patiently waited through Mr. Phillips comments, silently proud at having out waited the man and at now getting the chance to possibly get the last word. He took a minute to give the impression of really pondering what Mr. Phillips had just said to him. After a thoughtful nod he began in his strong south east Texas accent, “Well, I certainly appreciate your honesty Mr. Phillips, and I want you to know that I have the utmost respect for you and your ministry. I have heard great things from a number of people about you personally and have never heard a cross comment about you.” Mr. Stanley silently congratulated himself on having out complimented his adversary. He also found some comfort in giving himself the credit for having a better speaking voice and vocabulary.

“The love of Jesus is absolutely the greatest love the world has ever scene. And I don’t doubt for a minute that it’s what drives us to want to change. But wanting to change and actually pursuing that change are two different animals. The bleeding woman would have never been healed had she not braved the crowds how despised her and reached to grab Jesus’s robe. Zacheus was blessed because he called out above the crowd, and the boy lowered down on the mat through the roof was placed at the feet of Jesus because they climbed on top of a house and tore a whole in the roof for their friend. When these people reached out and called out Jesus loved them already, but it was their determination to be changed by Him that ultimately led to their deliverance or healing.” Feeling the power of the argument he was laying down Mr. Stanley pressed on to his own thoughts of Mr Phillips.

“And honestly I think that you are ultimately hindering your own congregation by not encouraging them and pressing them on to the changing power of the Lord. They absolutely need to be loved, but that’s not all the Lord promised us. He also promised us healing, the gifts of the Spirit, and crowns in heaven for our sacrifices.”

Becoming patiently pissed off Mr. Phillips jumped in at a pause by Mr Stanley, his hands held up innocently but his soft spoken accent taking on a crisp edge id lacked earlier.

“Mr. Stanley that sounds awful close to being performance oriented and furthermore it absolutely is the Love of Christ that should be...”

At Mr. Phillips interruption Mr. Stanley’s pride instantly bristled and brought his preaching finger to a point at Mr Phillips face and furrowed his brows. He started to speak, “Mr Phillips I can’t believe...”

“Oh, hush both of you!”

Simultaneously startled the well dressed preachers both turned from their coffee to face an agitated Obnoxious Manuel. Forgetting his all important first cup, Mr Manuel had swiveled his bar stool to his left ant was now perched comfortably for is own speech.

“Gentlemen, allow me the great pleasure to introduce you to one another.”

Both men began to defensively and confusingly explain that they new the other, but Mr Manuel was past the point of allowing either one of them a chance to say anything more. Gesturing for Mr Phillips to look at Mr. Stanely he began, “Screwdriver it is my unwanted duty to introduce you to Hammer.”

Making the same gestures to Mr Stanley he continued, “And Hammer this is Screwdriver.”

At this point both older gentlemen were quite confused and speechless.

“Both of you are absolute tools.”

This remark dropped both preachers’ jaws and they tensed with anger. Mr Manuel allowed them no time to impede his discourse.

“You see tools have no intrinsic value, which is quite obvious with the both of you. Without a hand to use the tool, and an objective to use them for, they are utterly useless. Both of you are such creatures. In fact we all are such creatures, as far as usefulness goes. It is true that we are loved and appreciated despite a lack of need for us. However, I’ve just labored through both of your opening speeches to what was bound to be an epic battle of sound theology and bullshit, and I can assure that both of you are tools arguing over who is better for the job. What nether one of you realizes is that you’re not the same tools.”

Mr. Manuel feigned shock and surprise at his own observation and paused a minute for the heavy truth to set in.

“You sir are not able or meant to do what he does and visa versa. How silly would a man be to use a hammer on screws or a screwdriver on nails? My goodness we got ahead of ourselves, didn’t we? Each of you thinking the other should work as you do. Now I don’t want to hear anymore of the hammer telling the screwdriver how he should work with nails, or the screwdriver telling the hammer to work with screws. Your tools after all and it’s high time you start behaving like it. You’re not builders, or architects. Neither one of you is a grand engineer high and mighty to speak of how others should operate. These are things that tools, like yourselves, should never attempt.”

Supremely satisfied with his lesson Obnoxious Manuel ordered his coffee to go and made his way to the car with Dancer Douglass smirking close behind him.