INSPIRE ME! Artist-of-Month Submissions

ALPHA OMEGA ARTS
By Tahlib

The lives of significant artists are inseparable from their art. Are you willing to share yours? This is your chance! The process is simple: Answer seven questions (25-50 words each) and send images as illustration of those answers. You will then be added to the Artist Advisory Board and to the""Artist" roster" for Alpha Omega Arts News. Lastly, you will be profiled as an INSPIRE ME! Artist of the Month with a permanent link direct to your website site via this profile.

Interested? Here's the format:

1. What is your faith tradition, and how does it impact your art? 
2. Describe your artwork. What style or genre is it? 
3. Have you ever had to defend exploring religious ideas? 
4. Who collects your work, and why? 
5. What "risks" have you taken in creating your work? 
6. Which artists have influenced your style or direction? (Send image as example) 
7. How can A&O readers collect/experience your work?

Please remember: (a) to include each question along with your response on a word document; (b) include list of artwork titles and years of creation for each question; (c) also send the jpegs for each artwork title along with your own photo (7 is the magic number of images). Lastly, (d) and send it all to our Founder: "Ernest(at)DisneyBritton.com", and please keep your writing in first-person to keep the interview personal, and inspirational!

PS. Adding a head shot in your studio helps A&O believers make that personal connection too. If you forget, I will follow-up to make the ask.

Marsden Hartley - July 2014

Andres Serrano - June 2014

Hiroshi Sugimoto - May 2014

Bill Viola - April 2014 

Andrew Kosorok - March 2014

Ernest “Ernie” Eugene Barnes, Jr. - February 2014

Quincy Owens - January 2014

Lalla Essaydi - December 2013

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SABBATH ART | WEEK IN REVIEW

ALPHA OMEGA ARTS 
By TAHLIB

"Crosses" by Robert Longo C. 2010

Untitled from the series God, Shelter, Oil Paintings and Hockey
Mike Bayne
2010, oil on panel, 6” x 8”
Image courtesy the artist and Katharine Mulherin Contemporary Art Projects.

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US Faith Per City

Following the PBS series, "God in America" it only makes sense to explore what is the state of Faith in America, state-by-state? This is different from the question posed by Pew about "religion knowledge" but about identification. Not surprisingly, the Barna Group found that 3 of 4 Americans self-identify as Christians even if they don't have a church home. In their short summary on the groups webiste, they also explore a few of the cities where there are extreme differences. I've sent an email to the Barna Group to find out if there is more I can share about more cities.

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Imam Ali (AS) Religious Arts Museum | Tehran

Poster for “Script of Kindness”, an exhibit of calligraphy works to raise funds for the flood-stricken people of Pakistan. Hosted and organized by Tehran’s Imam Ali (AS) Religious Arts Museum.

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Three Faiths: Judaism, Christianity, Islam | NY

Three Faiths: Judaism, Christianity, Islam leads the The New York Public Library’s fall 2010 exhibition schedule. The exhibition explores these three religions through 200 of the texts they have produced. Three Faiths is on view from October 22, 2010 through February 27, 2011 at the Library’s Stephen A. Schwarzman Building at Fifth Avenue at 42nd Street in Manhattan.

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Movie Review: "Hereafter"

The new Matt Damon/Clint Eastwood film, Hereafter begins with the most thrilling tsunami wave since 1972's Poseiden Adventure and ends with a tearful uniting of broken souls: a psychic, an author, and a little boy. It is the long "inbetween" of slowly unfolding those broken lives which will keep most American audiences away.

To the dismay of many, there are no answers in this movie about what is waiting or is not waiting for us after death so neither Christian fundamentalists or Humanist extremists will be satisfied. Instead, it's a simple telling of the stories of people impacted by death, and is played by a wonderful cast and led by a masterful director.

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Quote about Burning Man

"This is a pagan celebration, not Disneyland!" 

~ ANONYMOUS MAN, 

the Burning Man Festival

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Arguing with myself...

by Charlie Goetz

It occurs to me that my last rant (about freeing art from irrelevant competitive and market forces) needs a postscript to cancel the possible implication that all art works are of equal weight and aesthetic value.  Not true!Certainly the paintings of Van Gogh and Andy Warhol are more impactful than those of the painter who gave us those big-eyed, bug-eyed kids, a generation or so ago.  And to lump the sappy Rod McKuen with master poets like Eliot and Auden is to invite roars of ridicule.

Enter the critic. Artists, particularly those who work in theater, are perhaps rightly suspicious of critics--whom they equate with negativity.  But a good, knowledgable critic can be an invaluable teacher and guide, shining light on important (especially new) work and leading us to fuller appreciation.You want to pick your critic carefully, though.  There are those who are in love with their own words and therefore color their commentary not to illuminate an art work but to dazzle the reader with their own brilliance.  Then there are those who are in love with their subject and that affection shows through in every sentence they write.

Walter Kerr, late of the New York Times drama desk, comes to mind.When newspaper strikes reduced the number of New York dailies to three, Kerr, then head Times theater critic, decided that his paper would wield too much power over the fate of productions entering the arena.  So Kerr split the Times' critical responsibilities, engaging another "chief" and effectively halving his own influence.  Ethics like that deserve attention and emulation. Today, there is a Broadway theater named for Walter Kerr.

PPS-I guess I wouldn't object to Oscars (or Tonys or Emmys) going to, say, the five or so nominees in each category.  Plural winners would acknowledge the excellence of representatives of a year's crop without forcing the alligator pears-and-peaches comparison necessary to choose a single "victor."

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SABBATH ART | WEEK IN REVIEW

ALPHA OMEGA ARTS 
By TAHLIB

Die Gefrässigen (Völlerei), "Lust"
Carl Rabus
C. 1938. Oil on canvas, 128 x 98 cm.
On view: Museum of Fine Arts Bern in Switzerland

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Art Contests & Awards

by Charlie Goetz

One of the oddities about American attitudes toward art is our tendency to cram works into non-relelvant competitions.  The most conspicuous are the Oscars, Tonys and Emmys.  Talk about comparing apples and oranges! 

The Tonys and Emmys try to break things down into categories of "likes," but even so judges are forced to choose among radically different, ultimately incomparable entries.  "Juried" events involving visual arts go down the same erroneous path.  It's kind of like asking parents to pick a favorite child.  In your heart you might have one, but you surely don't set such a preference out there as any kind of gospel. 

The urge to subject art works to win/lose games is probably tied to the idea that artistic activity should be subject to market forces, a notion belied by the European tradition of patronage, underwriting that brought powerful religious subjects powerfully forward for our continuing admiration. 

Some years ago, a librettist friend invited my daughter and me to a premiere performance of an opera for which he had supplied the words.  The event went well and Charlie was taking bows along with the composer and conductor. 

Susan said, "He's famous, isn't he?" 

"If you read Opera News, you know who he is," I replied.

"How come he's not rich?" she asked. 

I explained that because of its demands, opera would always have to be a subsidized art.  'Boheme' can't be run in the same way as Sound of Music; the performers' voices couldn't take a Broadway regimen.    You can't run an opera production long enough to make a profit for investors. (Ezio Pinza's South Pacific contract sharply limited his singing time per performance.)  

Things might be less uphill for artists in the U. S. if we better understood that art, because of its exploratory and pioneering nature, must be free of the standard capitalistic market forces that govern almost all other aspects of our lives. (G. B. Shaw's devil--in the 'Don Juan in Hell' segment of Man and Superman--notes that most of our inventions could have been wrought by a "greedy dog"... "if he had wanted money rather than food.")  Shackling artistic inventions to supply-and-demand systems threatens to geld the creative process.   

Eventually the painting might sell for ten figures, but in all likelihood not until after the artist is long gone, maybe having starved to death. 

Capitalism has its limits, and if we don't understand them, we end up richer, maybe, as "animals" but considerably poorer as human beings.

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Indianapolis Film Festival is a "Truly Moving" Experience

AOA NEWS
By Ernest Britton

INDIANA - Going to New York's Tribeca Film Festival in 2009, founded by Robert DeNiro, was an electric experience even though I was bored by the strange conceptual film on view. So, I had low expectations for the independent film's to be presented at the Heartland Film Festival (HFF) in Indianapolis. Thanks to my friend Ted, I found out I was so wrong! Rather than presenting cutting-edge conceptual NYC-style films, the HFF is loaded with inspirational, heartwarming fare that just makes you feel good. They even have an awards program where they name pictures, "Truly Moving" or not. No, Indiana's HFF doesn't have the gritty, thrills and excitement of a NYC film festival, although I did meet actor Don Moss (Happy Days) and the writer/director of a fantastic religious/baseball film, The Yankles; instead it's just filled with movies you want to talk about because you leave inspired. I only saw three of the 102 films: "Yankles", "The Cafe", and "Among Us" but all three made me cry,  and feel blessed to be there.

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Sleeping In

by James Hipps

If you’ve ever attended a Methodist church, you’ll probablyagree the name is fitting as they definitely have a ‘method’ to how a serviceis run.  It’s almost like clockwork andmany times, if you’ll look around, there will be parishioners watching theclock, knowing that exactly 11:57 a.m. the benediction will commence.  Ah, yes…the beginning of the end.  You’ve done your weekly duty and put in yourhour and now it’s time to head out for lunch.

Growing up in the Midwest, I had the opportunity to visit aMethodist church on many occasions.  Myfather was Catholic, yet my mother was from a Lutheran upbringing and sosomehow, the Methodist church became the compromise.

With the exception of Christmas Eve, every service wasstatus quo.  I could literally walk youthrough a service at the First United Methodist Church in Eaton Rapids,Michigan (the only Eaton Rapids on earth, yet I’m sure not the “first” UMC) aseasily as I could predict what time the six o’ clock news was going to come on.

As with most routine, once we become accustom to it, it’svery easy to be comfortable, perhaps complacent and this seemed to hold truefor a majority of the church members. Each week you could see Sally and Harry sitting in the exact same pew. Infact I’m sure the indentions on the cushions were marked with their DNA.   You knew when to stand and when to beseated to the point that it almost became an involuntary muscle movement.

The demeanor was always quite monotone. Unlike some churcheswhere you’d hear an occasion “Amen” shouted, the congregation remained still.  When the choir sang, it was only the choiraccompanied by the organist.  I alwayswondered if there was a noise ordinance, as the voices never quite reached aheavenly pitch.

But one downfall to all this, at least I’m sure from theReverend’s perspective is that all this predictable monotony allowed certainmembers of the congregation to catch up on the sleep they may have missed thenight before.

That is until one Sunday…when a visiting Pastor came topreach his sermon.  Now I won’t deny Ihave no recollection of the message that was delivered that particular Sunday,but I do remember witnessing a miracle that day, or at least something up untilthat point in my life I honestly didn’t think existed.

When it came time for the sermon all were seated in the pewsand just like clockwork, certain heads began to nod.  One of those heads was of the elderly Mr. Miller who accompaniedby his wife, would always join my family in the exact same pew.  The Miller’s were quite famous in EatonRapids as they were of the same family that founded Miller’s Ice Cream,something families across Michigan enjoyed after church on a regularbasis.  So having them sit in our pewalways made me feel a bit closer to celebrity status as everyone knew who theMillers were and they knew they sat with us.

But I digress.  Asthe sermon began, nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, but then ithappened.  On this particular Sunday a visitingPastor came to deliver the sermon and has he began to speak, his enthusiasmbegan to grow.  You could see it in hisface and you could definitely hear it in his voice as it also grew.  It grew much louder than any voice I hadever heard in church before, and it was at that point I had an “Aha” moment.  I finally figured out why my mother wouldtell my brother and I to use our “church voices” at times.  She wanted us to speak softer and quieter.  However this man must have been from Ohio,or perhaps even Mars because he obviously didn’t know the unspoken code ofconduct as he allowed his fervor and emotions build into a voice that I’m wassure could be heard outside the walls and perhaps even on the street.

I remember sitting anxiously, as I wondered; What wouldpeople say?  This man was really preachingand I knew his conviction, not his sermon would be the topic at dinner tablesacross Eaton Rapids, including our own later that day.

Just as I thought he couldn’t possibly become anymore ardent,his voice grew.  So much so I was surethe roof was going to come right off that church…and how did I know, becausethis man had done something no man (or woman sitting next to him) had everaccomplished…He awoke the napping Mr. Miller.

But when Mr. Miller came to and lifted his head, he musthave been in between the realm of sleep and consciousness because his eyesremained closed and he too shouted to the top of his lungs, but it wasn’t themuch anticipated “Amen” or “hallelujah” that we never heard in the First UnitedMethodist Church.  The words that came fromMr. Miller’s mouth are permanently engrained in my memory….”You don’t have to yell soloud!”

A split second of dead silence was followed by that verymiracle I referenced earlier… an upheaval of laughter.  Oh my goodness, had everyone gone mad?  But as I bit my tongue as hard as I could soI wouldn’t partake, as I would rather endure that pain than the embarrassingslap of my mother’s hand upside my head, I quickly glanced to see my motherwiping tears from her eyes…tears of laughter, so I too let it out.  For the first time in my life I thought;“Maybe church isn’t so bad after all.”

I was quite right in my prediction the Pastor’s convictionwould be the topic at our dinner table, as was Mr. Miller.  But on that particular Sunday, I enjoyed theice cream we had for dessert just a little more.  Somehow as is soothed my tongue that was a bit swollen because Ihad bitten it so hard trying not to laugh that it bled,  Miller’s ice cream tasted just a littlesweeter than it ever had before.

Read More

Sleeping In | MI

By JAMES HIPPS

If you’ve ever attended a Methodist church, you’ll probablyagree the name is fitting as they definitely have a ‘method’ to how a serviceis run.  It’s almost like clockwork andmany times, if you’ll look around, there will be parishioners watching theclock, knowing that exactly 11:57 a.m. the benediction will commence.  Ah, yes…the beginning of the end.  You’ve done your weekly duty and put in yourhour and now it’s time to head out for lunch.

Growing up in the Midwest, I had the opportunity to visit aMethodist church on many occasions.  Myfather was Catholic, yet my mother was from a Lutheran upbringing and sosomehow, the Methodist church became the compromise.

With the exception of Christmas Eve, every service wasstatus quo.  I could literally walk youthrough a service at the First United Methodist Church in Eaton Rapids,Michigan (the only Eaton Rapids on earth, yet I’m sure not the “first” UMC) aseasily as I could predict what time the six o’ clock news was going to come on.

As with most routine, once we become accustom to it, it’svery easy to be comfortable, perhaps complacent and this seemed to hold truefor a majority of the church members. Each week you could see Sally and Harry sitting in the exact same pew. Infact I’m sure the indentions on the cushions were marked with their DNA.   You knew when to stand and when to beseated to the point that it almost became an involuntary muscle movement.

The demeanor was always quite monotone. Unlike some churcheswhere you’d hear an occasion “Amen” shouted, the congregation remained still.  When the choir sang, it was only the choiraccompanied by the organist.  I alwayswondered if there was a noise ordinance, as the voices never quite reached aheavenly pitch.

But one downfall to all this, at least I’m sure from theReverend’s perspective is that all this predictable monotony allowed certainmembers of the congregation to catch up on the sleep they may have missed thenight before.

That is until one Sunday…when a visiting Pastor came topreach his sermon.  Now I won’t deny Ihave no recollection of the message that was delivered that particular Sunday,but I do remember witnessing a miracle that day, or at least something up untilthat point in my life I honestly didn’t think existed.

When it came time for the sermon all were seated in the pewsand just like clockwork, certain heads began to nod.  One of those heads was of the elderly Mr. Miller who accompaniedby his wife, would always join my family in the exact same pew.  The Miller’s were quite famous in EatonRapids as they were of the same family that founded Miller’s Ice Cream,something families across Michigan enjoyed after church on a regularbasis.  So having them sit in our pewalways made me feel a bit closer to celebrity status as everyone knew who theMillers were and they knew they sat with us.

But I digress.  Asthe sermon began, nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, but then ithappened.  On this particular Sunday a visitingPastor came to deliver the sermon and has he began to speak, his enthusiasmbegan to grow.  You could see it in hisface and you could definitely hear it in his voice as it also grew.  It grew much louder than any voice I hadever heard in church before, and it was at that point I had an “Aha” moment.  I finally figured out why my mother wouldtell my brother and I to use our “church voices” at times.  She wanted us to speak softer and quieter.  However this man must have been from Ohio,or perhaps even Mars because he obviously didn’t know the unspoken code ofconduct as he allowed his fervor and emotions build into a voice that I’m wassure could be heard outside the walls and perhaps even on the street.

I remember sitting anxiously, as I wondered; What wouldpeople say?  This man was really preachingand I knew his conviction, not his sermon would be the topic at dinner tablesacross Eaton Rapids, including our own later that day.

Just as I thought he couldn’t possibly become anymore ardent,his voice grew.  So much so I was surethe roof was going to come right off that church…and how did I know, becausethis man had done something no man (or woman sitting next to him) had everaccomplished…He awoke the napping Mr. Miller.

But when Mr. Miller came to and lifted his head, he musthave been in between the realm of sleep and consciousness because his eyesremained closed and he too shouted to the top of his lungs, but it wasn’t themuch anticipated “Amen” or “hallelujah” that we never heard in the First UnitedMethodist Church.  The words that came fromMr. Miller’s mouth are permanently engrained in my memory….”You don’t have to yell soloud!”

A split second of dead silence was followed by that verymiracle I referenced earlier… an upheaval of laughter.  Oh my goodness, had everyone gone mad?  But as I bit my tongue as hard as I could soI wouldn’t partake, as I would rather endure that pain than the embarrassingslap of my mother’s hand upside my head, I quickly glanced to see my motherwiping tears from her eyes…tears of laughter, so I too let it out.  For the first time in my life I thought;“Maybe church isn’t so bad after all.”

I was quite right in my prediction the Pastor’s convictionwould be the topic at our dinner table, as was Mr. Miller.  But on that particular Sunday, I enjoyed theice cream we had for dessert just a little more.  Somehow as is soothed my tongue that was a bit swollen because Ihad bitten it so hard trying not to laugh that it bled,  Miller’s ice cream tasted just a littlesweeter than it ever had before.

Read More

Sleeping In | MI

By JAMES HIPPS

If you’ve ever attended a Methodist church, you’ll probably agree the name is fitting as they definitely have a ‘method’ to how a service is run.  It’s almost like clockwork and many times, if you’ll look around, there will be parishioners watching the clock, knowing that exactly 11:57 a.m. the benediction will commence.  Ah, yes…the beginning of the end.  You’ve done your weekly duty and put in your hour and now it’s time to head out for lunch.

Growing up in the Midwest, I had the opportunity to visit a Methodist church on many occasions.  My father was Catholic, yet my mother was from a Lutheran upbringing and so somehow, the Methodist church became the compromise.

With the exception of Christmas Eve, every service was status quo.  I could literally walk you through a service at the First United Methodist Church in Eaton Rapids, Michigan (the only Eaton Rapids on earth, yet I’m sure not the “first” UMC) as easily as I could predict what time the six o’ clock news was going to come on.

As with most routine, once we become accustom to it, it’s very easy to be comfortable, perhaps complacent and this seemed to hold true for a majority of the church members.  Each week you could see Sally and Harry sitting in the exact same pew. In fact I’m sure the indentions on the cushions were marked with their DNA.   You knew when to stand and when to be seated to the point that it almost became an involuntary muscle movement.

The demeanor was always quite monotone. Unlike some churches where you’d hear an occasion “Amen” shouted, the congregation remained still.  When the choir sang, it was only the choir accompanied by the organist.  I always wondered if there was a noise ordinance, as the voices never quite reached a heavenly pitch.

But one downfall to all this, at least I’m sure from the Reverend’s perspective is that all this predictable monotony allowed certain members of the congregation to catch up on the sleep they may have missed the night before.

That is until one Sunday…when a visiting Pastor came to preach his sermon.  Now I won’t deny I have no recollection of the message that was delivered that particular Sunday, but I do remember witnessing a miracle that day, or at least something up until that point in my life I honestly didn’t think existed.

When it came time for the sermon all were seated in the pews and just like clockwork, certain heads began to nod.  One of those heads was of the elderly Mr. Miller who accompanied by his wife, would always join my family in the exact same pew.  The Miller’s were quite famous in Eaton Rapids as they were of the same family that founded Miller’s Ice Cream, something families across Michigan enjoyed after church on a regular basis.  So having them sit in our pew always made me feel a bit closer to celebrity status as everyone knew who the Millers were and they knew they sat with us.

But I digress.  As the sermon began, nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, but then it happened.  On this particular Sunday a visiting Pastor came to deliver the sermon and has he began to speak, his enthusiasm began to grow.  You could see it in his face and you could definitely hear it in his voice as it also grew.  It grew much louder than any voice I had ever heard in church before, and it was at that point I had an “Aha” moment.  I finally figured out why my mother would tell my brother and I to use our “church voices” at times.  She wanted us to speak softer and quieter.  However this man must have been from Ohio, or perhaps even Mars because he obviously didn’t know the unspoken code of conduct as he allowed his fervor and emotions build into a voice that I’m was sure could be heard outside the walls and perhaps even on the street.

I remember sitting anxiously, as I wondered; What would people say?  This man was really preaching and I knew his conviction, not his sermon would be the topic at dinner tables across Eaton Rapids, including our own later that day.

Just as I thought he couldn’t possibly become anymore ardent, his voice grew.  So much so I was sure the roof was going to come right off that church…and how did I know, because this man had done something no man (or woman sitting next to him) had ever accomplished…He awoke the napping Mr. Miller.

But when Mr. Miller came to and lifted his head, he must have been in between the realm of sleep and consciousness because his eyes remained closed and he too shouted to the top of his lungs, but it wasn’t the much anticipated “Amen” or “hallelujah” that we never heard in the First United Methodist Church.  The words that came from Mr. Miller’s mouth are permanently engrained in my memory….”You don’t have to yell so loud!”

A split second of dead silence was followed by that very miracle I referenced earlier… an upheaval of laughter.  Oh my goodness, had everyone gone mad?  But as I bit my tongue as hard as I could so I wouldn’t partake, as I would rather endure that pain than the embarrassing slap of my mother’s hand upside my head, I quickly glanced to see my mother wiping tears from her eyes…tears of laughter, so I too let it out.  For the first time in my life I thought; “Maybe church isn’t so bad after all.”

I was quite right in my prediction the Pastor’s conviction would be the topic at our dinner table, as was Mr. Miller.  But on that particular Sunday, I enjoyed the ice cream we had for dessert just a little more.  Somehow as is soothed my tongue that was a bit swollen because I had bitten it so hard trying not to laugh that it bled,  Miller’s ice cream tasted just a little sweeter than it ever had before.

Read More

Cartoonists, Christians, and Muslims

ALPHA OMEGA ARTS
By TAHLIB

When Lawrence Parker's "Intolerance" about Park51 (aka the 9-11 Mosque) first appeared in the September issue of The New Yorker the nation was hotly embroiled in the debate including whether or not a southern preacher would burn a copy of the Quran.

When a dozen cartoons satirizing the Prophet Mohammed appeared in the conservative Danish daily Jyllands-Posten, in September, 2005, there was only a muted outcry from the small Danish Muslim community, and little reaction in the rest of the Muslim world. Six months later, however, riots broke out and Danish embassies were burned; more than a hundred people died. Assassination threats were made, and continue to this day. 

Last year, when plans were announced for Cordoba House, an Islamic community center to be built two blocks north of Ground Zero, few opposed them. The project was designed to promote moderate Islam and provide a bridge to other faiths. Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, the Sufi cleric leading the effort, told the Times, in December, "We want to push back against the extremists." In August, the Landmarks Preservation Commission granted Park51, as the center is now known, unanimous approval. A month later, it is the focus of a bitter quarrel about the place of Islam in our society. 

The lessons of the Danish cartoon controversy serve as an ominous template for the current debate. One reason for the initial lack of reaction to the cartoons was that they were, essentially, innocuous. There is a prohibition on depictions of the Prophet in Islam, but that taboo has ebbed and flowed over time, and only two of the twelve published cartoons could really be construed as offensive in themselves: one portrayed the Prophet as a barbarian with a drawn sword, which played into a racial stereotype; the other showed him wearing a turban in the shape of a bomb. Newspapers in several Muslim countries published the cartoons to demonstrate that they were tasteless, rather than vicious. The cartoons, in other words, did not cause the trouble. (Read more) 

Where do you stand?

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MoBIA Director Wins Award

ALPHA OMEGA ARTS
By Tahlib

Ena Heller has been named the 2010 AAR Religion and the Arts Award winner. She is the Executive Director of the Museum of Biblical Art (MOBIA) in New York City. Heller’s professional career has focused on building places of learning within museums. While working on a PhD in art history from the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, with a specialty in medieval art and architecture (earned in 1997), Heller honed her teaching skills through appointments at the College of the Holy Cross (Worcester, MA) and Manhattanville College (Purchase, NY), and learned the workings of various museum departments through jobs at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art.

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Artist Offers Peace Offering

COLORADO - California Artist Enrigue Chagoya and Resurrection's pastor, Jonathan Wiggins, spoke with each other shortly after last weeks destruction of his controversial Jesus art in the Loveland, Colorado museum. Following their conversations, Chagoya says he offered to paint for free a "beautiful" portrait of baby Jesus for the church.

Enrique Chagoya, the artist whose Jesus art sparked a firestorm in the Loveland, Colorado community over the last few weeks says he will try to bring calm by painting a portrait of Jesus Christ for a local church. Chagoya and Resurrection's Christian Fellowship pastor, Jonathan Wiggins, spoke with each other shortly after the destruction of his controversial work by a Montana woman. Following their conversations, Chagoya says he offered to paint for free a "beautiful" portrait of baby Jesus for the church.

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Response to my Q at end of class last night:

Dear Discipleship 101 Folks:

A quick follow-up thought from tonight's class.  At the end of our session, several mentioned anxiety about whether we have what it takes to be able to be like Jesus.  To live like him -- courageous, missional, radical peacemakers, healers, sacrificial love, resurrection power -- represents a radical shift from ordinary living. 

But remember the last thing Jesus said to his disciples in the final film clip: "Receive the Holy Spirit.  I am with you always to the end of time."  (From John 20:22, Matthew 28:20.)

In other words, none of us has the power within us to become like Jesus.  We become like him only with the help of the Holy Spirit.  As we welcome more and more of the presence of the Spirit of Christ into our lives, as we build relationship with Christ, we receive (by grace) the power to be gradually transformed into the likeness of Christ.

So the question is not, "Do I have enough strength to change myself?"  None of us does.  The question is, "Do I want to invite God to change me into a person who is like Jesus?"  If so, we open ourselves to the grace that changes us by spending time in the presence of Christ. 

We can talk further about these ideas in the weeks ahead.

Pastor Jeff

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Video Sermon: "Tougher Than Nails" (Excerpt)

COLORADO - Pastor Jonathon Wiggons speaks to his congregation about his communication with controversial painter, Enrique Chagoya.

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SABBATH ART | WEEK IN REVIEW

ALPHA OMEGA ARTS 
By TAHLIB

Museum at Eldridge Street

Kiki Smith and Deborah Gans

c. 2010, 1,200 individual pieces of glass

Installed: Museum at Eldridge Street, NYC

The Misadventures of Romantic Cannibals
Enrigue Chagoya
12-panel lithograph

ARTDAILY - From (L-R) restorers Andrea Santacesaria, Aldo Manzo, Anna Marie Hilling and Ciro Castelli pose for a group photograph during the press conference presenting the restoration of Giottos Crucifix from Florences Ognissanti (All-Saints) church, at the citys Fortezza da Basso, Florence, Italy.

La Pieta
Michelangelo
C. 1545, 19 x 25-inch
Dispute over authenticity continues while NY owner keeps it in bank vault.

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10 Myths About Islam

1. Muslims worship a moon-god
2. Muslims don't believe in Jesus
3. Most Muslims are arab
4. Islam oppresses women
5. Muslims are violent, terrorist extremists
6. Islam is intolerant of other faiths
7. Islam promote "jihad" to spread Islam by the sword and kill all unbelievers
8. The Quran was written by Muhammad and copied from Christian and Jewish sources
9. Islamic prayer is just a ritualized performance with no heartfelt meaning
10. The Crescent moon is the universal symbol of Islam

(Source: About "Islam")

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Druidry is a Religion with Art

American illustrator Timothy Babulski, who lives in North Carolina has launched a website for a new religious artform, Druid Art. His argument for the art form as religious is backed up by a Time Magazine report last week:

"Next year's summer-solstice celebration at Stonehenge just got a little more interesting. For the first time, the ancient pagan tradition of Druidry--whose adherents worship nature, animist forces--has been recognized as an official religion. The Charity Commission for England and Wales granted the Druit Network, a 350-member group, charitable status, so it can now receive exemptions from taxes on donations, just like other clerical groups. The U.K. has about 10,000 Druids." 

While this news may come as a surprise for some American Fundamentalists, they should note that the US government recognized Druidry as a tax exempt American religion in 1977, long before the UK.

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INSPIRE ME: James Hipps

Today, it's my honor to introduce another member of the God's Art Museums editorial team, Mr. James Hipps, our representative in Florida. He is one of the wittiest writers about the religious experience you'll come across. In his post today you'll see how he doesn't ridicule or poke fun, instead he makes simple moments and observations seem deeply insightful through humor. Hipps is a political activist, blogger, vegan entrepreneur, fitness instructor and beachcomber who will leave you smiling for hours after reading about his adventures with religion. We welcome Mr. Hipps to GAM.

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Extending "God in America"

Now that the PBS special, "God in America" is completed, efforts to extend the reach of the series beyond the television screen, are being conducted in partnerships with The Pew Research Center's Forum on Religion & Public Life, The Freedom Forum First Amendment Center, the Fetzer Institute, Sacred Space International and other organizations. An integrated multimedia campaign set to launch six months prior to broadcast will include community engagement activities, media events and a comprehensive God in America Web site. The campaign will deepen public understanding of religion and spiritual experience in the life of the nation by encouraging the public to explore the history of their own religious communities and their individual spiritual journeys. Our contribution here at GAM to this national effort will be to continue bringing insights through the lens of the arts.

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A&O Meetup: Cross of Hope Lutheran Church | Minnesota

ALPHA OMEGA ARTS
By Ernest Disney-Britton

MINNESOTA---Like most other Lutheran churches built since the 1950s, the Cross of Hope Lutheran Church in Ramsey, Minnesota is simple if not plain especially by Catholic standards. Unlike older Lutheran churches such as Atlanta's St. John's Lutheran, which have reredos, stain glass windows, and ornate sculptural elements (if not statuary), this small but prosperous and fast growing parish even has bare concrete floors.

There are however still flourishes of religious artistry mostly absent from other Protestant churches. The tiered drapes are full and substantial including how they flow over and around the large central cross replacing the more traditional reredos; and the large carved altar and contemporary pulpit are simple yet dramatic. The pipe organ is especially unique in its intricate carvings. Additionally, the walls are adorned with bright handmade quilts reflecting not only spiritual beauty but also as a display of their church ministry work serving the area's homeless. While the display of religious art does distinguish Cross of Hope from other church denominations, the most significant distinction is that they use their artistry to give both the "word" (pulpit) and the "sacrament" (altar) equal prominence.

The carved wood altar, or Communion table recalls the crucifixion; while the sleek Lucite pulpit reminds us of our sinfulness and the blessings of God; and they are side-by-side in the view of the congregation. This contrasts with the Baptist Church where the pulpit (the word) is the sole centerpiece, and the Roman Catholic church where the altar (Sacrament) dominates the front of the sanctuary. Visiting Cross of Hope is a reminder that even in the countryside, Lutherans are more like Roman Catholics than other Protestants in their reverence for religious artistry but unlike their Catholic, and also their Episcopal, first cousins they don't over due it. I gave the church a 4 of 5 rating on ChurchRater.com, and I hope to be back one day soon.

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Sunshine Cathedral | FL

by James Hipps

It’s not too often I get to church.  I really haven’t found one that I feel completely at home in, but it is something that I find important so I continue to search for a place of worship.

Even though I’ve yet to find the house of God that suits me best, I can honestly say I try very hard to maintain objectivity when visiting various houses of worship as I realize not all places are for all people.  However, my most recent visit to a service was the first time I've ever gone to church, then had to go home to pray that I wouldn't go to hell for going…to church that is.

As much as I hate to admit it, if I’m going to be honest, this encounter could be the direct result of my dark side coming to surface.

As I mentioned, on a Sunday not too long ago, I woke up, showered and put on some nicely pressed clothes and headed to the Sunshine Cathedral.  I had read online this was a gay-friendly church and I thought perhaps this may be a good place to look.  Being that I've never attended a service there before, I had no expectations.  I went in with an open heart and mind.

As I entered, I found my way back to the last row of seats in the sanctuary.  I typically like to sit in the back, especially on a first visit as it allows me a better view of what’s going on and how services are conducted.

Shortly after finding my seat, I was a bit startled as I noticed I was chuckling a bit...something I really didn't know I was doing.  But I quickly figured out why, as I noticed not one, not two, but three gentlemen in close proximity that had very bad, and poorly placed toupees.  But, I was quickly relieved as I knew the only reason I was laughing is because this reminded me of an old episode of 'Everybody Loves Raymond' where Raymond bumps the guy in front of him at church to straighten his toupee.  So, as you can see, I was really laughing at 'Everybody Loves Raymond', not the people in the congregation.  Whew, I quickly thought. I'm not going to burn in hell for that one.

Then I forced my observations elsewhere before anyone noticed me snickering under my breath.  But as I look around, what do I see? I see a guy wearing a leather vest (no shirt underneath) assisting the choir as they prepared to parade to the front of the church.  OK, I thought.  Here's diversity, a leather daddy praising God.  Good for him!  But still, it made me wonder.  Did he just leave the bar and come to church?  Although I couldn’t see his lower half, I was keeping my fingers crossed he had on something other than chaps.  Oh Lord, I thought, please forgive me for being judgmental in your house!  It was starting to get warm.

As the service began, it was nothing unusual.  The choir commenced singing and the church leaders paraded down the isle towards the pulpit.  As I watch the procession of the choir and the last members were making their way down the isle, I noticed, just a few rows in front of me, an extremely flamboyant man seated next to a woman.  They were both holding their arms up in praise and seemed more than elated to be in church.  Good for them, I thought as the choir concluded their first hymn.  Finally I felt as though I could settle down into the experience.  Then, all of a sudden, the couple I previously noticed a few rows in front of me started chanting loudly...something I couldn't comprehend.  Perhaps they were speaking in tongues I thought, but whatever it was, I laughed, this time out loud!  I had to bite my tongue (hard) to refrain.  Oh Lord, please forgive me!  I know not why I do what I do.

Being a little red faced at this point, I was happy to hear the voices of the choir commence again, so I closed my eyes for a moment and thought, just breath and listen to the voices.  As I listened however, I couldn’t help but to hear the sound of a guitar and drums, so I simply had to open my eyes to see.  This wasn’t the typical music one may expect to hear in a church, and the choir director was loudly playing guitar and needless to say, the music was, well, let me put it this way. I've been to many predominately Black churches and LOVE the soulfulness of the choir.  I’ve also been to many predominately white churches and have enjoyed the glorious sound of traditional hymns, but for some reason, all I could think of now was that I should be wearing Birkenstocks and smoking pot.  I glanced across the members of the choir and noticed one brown skinned man, and one brown skinned woman in the choir of about 30.  The thought immediately crossed my mind.  Lord PLEASE let them take this choir over.  Lord please make the rest of them stop singing followed by Lord, please forgive me for my sins. 

So I quickly thought, I have to redeem myself by learning a lesson, but what's my lesson?  Then it came to me, I have an appreciation for the wonderful and energized music found at many Black churches I've attended.  I also have an appreciation for the more traditional music one may expect to find in many predominately white churches.  Lord, thank you for giving me that appreciation!  Whew, not all was lost yet...so I thought.  As the choir continued however, the director turned to the congregation and asked everyone to join in by clapping their hands...Lord, thank you for giving me rhythm!  It’s something these white folks simply don't have...and oh; please forgive me for being judgmental in your house once again.

Soon there after, the pastor started his rather bland and generic sermon.  I seriously thought it must be something he found on the back of a Cheerios box while he had his breakfast.  It wasn't too far into the sermon I started to think about a blog post I recently read about people who talk endlessly and how the author had to imagine slowly choking certain people to silence to get through it, which seemed to help quit a bit actually.  But again, feeling guilty I found myself desperately seeking a message in the sermon to take home with me.  I couldn't possibly go to church and not learn something I thought.  When all of a sudden it came to me. Thank you lord for giving me patients to get through this.  Oh, but wait a minute...that may not be a great lesson.  Now I'm afraid I may have just committed another sin in the house of God. I feel the temperature rise.

Then came time for the collection plates to be passed.  I pulled a five-dollar bill out of my wallet, and the thought went through my mind, Lord, please let this money go to someone in need. But as they passed the collection plates, one of the choir members broke out in an operatic solo.  It was at this time I took that same blog posting I mentioned a step further and envisioned putting my head through one of the stained glass windows; something I knew would be far less painful then enduring that voice.  Oh Lord, please forgive me. I’ve sinned again.

After the collection plates were passed, it was time for communion.  I didn't partake.  I wasn't sure what it was, but the Lord knew to keep me seated in silence for this one.  Instead, I closed my eyes, and drifted away to a warm sandy beach.  Thank you Lord for giving me this vision of what I'm going to do after I leave your house today!

When communion was over, I was brought back to the here and now by something I've not been witness to before, a second passing of the collection plates.  I thought geez; I guess they didn't get enough the first time (again chuckling to myself). But this time was different.  The rather 'queenly' Reverend, a heavy set, middle aged, white man, danced the Charleston while the plates were passed.  I really couldn't make this up.  I was amused and confused.  I opted to leave the other five-dollar bill I had in my wallet.  I was absolutely sure I would need it for an adult beverage after this service was over...Lord; please forgive me for my sin.  It’s getting really hot now.

But I wanted to take time to reflect on what I had witnessed and maybe I’d have a different view. But as I summed it up in my mind, I thought, ok, if they'd fire the pastor, fire the choir, ask the congregation to follow a dress code that included shirts and only passed the collection plates once, this may be a nice church.  Oh Lord, please forgive me!

As the Benediction commenced, I felt a huge sigh of relief and was glad I was positioned on the end of the last pew.  I gathered my keys and sunglasses beside me, scoped the exit and as soon as I heard the last amen, I got in my daily dose of exercise by running for the door and sprinting to my car before a bolt of lightning came out of the sunny sky and struck me down.

Fortunately I made it home safe and found my way to the beach.  Lord, thank you for giving me that!

Amen!

Read More

Sunshine Cathedral | FL

By JAMES HIPPS

It’s not too often I get to church.  I really haven’t found one that I feel completely at home in, but it is something that I find important so I continue to search for a place of worship.

Even though I’ve yet to find the house of God that suits me best, I can honestly say I try very hard to maintain objectivity when visiting various houses of worship as I realize not all places are for all people.  However, my most recent visit to a service was the first time I've ever gone to church, then had to go home to pray that I wouldn't go to hell for going…to church that is.

As much as I hate to admit it, if I’m going to be honest, this encounter could be the direct result of my dark side coming to surface.

As I mentioned, on a Sunday not too long ago, I woke up, showered and put on some nicely pressed clothes and headed to the Sunshine Cathedral.  I had read online this was a gay-friendly church and I thought perhaps this may be a good place to look.  Being that I've never attended a service there before, I had no expectations.  I went in with an open heart and mind.


As I entered, I found my way back to the last row of seats in the sanctuary.  I typically like to sit in the back, especially on a first visit as it allows me a better view of what’s going on and how services are conducted.

Shortly after finding my seat, I was a bit startled as I noticed I was chuckling a bit...something I really didn't know I was doing.  But I quickly figured out why, as I noticed not one, not two, but three gentlemen in close proximity that had very bad, and poorly placed toupees.  But, I was quickly relieved as I knew the only reason I was laughing is because this reminded me of an old episode of 'Everybody Loves Raymond' where Raymond bumps the guy in front of him at church to straighten his toupee.  So, as you can see, I was really laughing at 'Everybody Loves Raymond', not the people in the congregation.  Whew, I quickly thought. I'm not going to burn in hell for that one.

Then I forced my observations elsewhere before anyone noticed me snickering under my breath.  But as I look around, what do I see? I see a guy wearing a leather vest (no shirt underneath) assisting the choir as they prepared to parade to the front of the church.  OK, I thought.  Here's diversity, a leather daddy praising God.  Good for him!  But still, it made me wonder.  Did he just leave the bar and come to church?  Although I couldn’t see his lower half, I was keeping my fingers crossed he had on something other than chaps.  Oh Lord, I thought, please forgive me for being judgmental in your house!  It was starting to get warm.

As the service began, it was nothing unusual.  The choir commenced singing and the church leaders paraded down the isle towards the pulpit.  As I watch the procession of the choir and the last members were making their way down the isle, I noticed, just a few rows in front of me, an extremely flamboyant man seated next to a woman.  They were both holding their arms up in praise and seemed more than elated to be in church.  Good for them, I thought as the choir concluded their first hymn.  Finally I felt as though I could settle down into the experience.  Then, all of a sudden, the couple I previously noticed a few rows in front of me started chanting loudly...something I couldn't comprehend.  Perhaps they were speaking in tongues I thought, but whatever it was, I laughed, this time out loud!  I had to bite my tongue (hard) to refrain.  Oh Lord, please forgive me!  I know not why I do what I do.

Being a little red faced at this point, I was happy to hear the voices of the choir commence again, so I closed my eyes for a moment and thought, just breath and listen to the voices.  As I listened however, I couldn’t help but to hear the sound of a guitar and drums, so I simply had to open my eyes to see.  This wasn’t the typical music one may expect to hear in a church, and the choir director was loudly playing guitar and needless to say, the music was, well, let me put it this way. I've been to many predominately Black churches and LOVE the soulfulness of the choir.  I’ve also been to many predominately white churches and have enjoyed the glorious sound of traditional hymns, but for some reason, all I could think of now was that I should be wearing Birkenstocks and smoking pot.  I glanced across the members of the choir and noticed one brown skinned man, and one brown skinned woman in the choir of about 30.  The thought immediately crossed my mind.  Lord PLEASE let them take this choir over.  Lord please make the rest of them stop singing followed by Lord, please forgive me for my sins. 

So I quickly thought, I have to redeem myself by learning a lesson, but what's my lesson?  Then it came to me, I have an appreciation for the wonderful and energized music found at many Black churches I've attended.  I also have an appreciation for the more traditional music one may expect to find in many predominately white churches.  Lord, thank you for giving me that appreciation!  Whew, not all was lost yet...so I thought.  As the choir continued however, the director turned to the congregation and asked everyone to join in by clapping their hands...Lord, thank you for giving me rhythm!  It’s something these white folks simply don't have...and oh; please forgive me for being judgmental in your house once again.

Soon there after, the pastor started his rather bland and generic sermon.  I seriously thought it must be something he found on the back of a Cheerios box while he had his breakfast.  It wasn't too far into the sermon I started to think about a blog post I recently read about people who talk endlessly and how the author had to imagine slowly choking certain people to silence to get through it, which seemed to help quit a bit actually.  But again, feeling guilty I found myself desperately seeking a message in the sermon to take home with me.  I couldn't possibly go to church and not learn something I thought.  When all of a sudden it came to me. Thank you lord for giving me patients to get through this.  Oh, but wait a minute...that may not be a great lesson.  Now I'm afraid I may have just committed another sin in the house of God. I feel the temperature rise.

Then came time for the collection plates to be passed.  I pulled a five-dollar bill out of my wallet, and the thought went through my mind, Lord, please let this money go to someone in need. But as they passed the collection plates, one of the choir members broke out in an operatic solo.  It was at this time I took that same blog posting I mentioned a step further and envisioned putting my head through one of the stained glass windows; something I knew would be far less painful then enduring that voice.  Oh Lord, please forgive me. I’ve sinned again.

After the collection plates were passed, it was time for communion.  I didn't partake.  I wasn't sure what it was, but the Lord knew to keep me seated in silence for this one.  Instead, I closed my eyes, and drifted away to a warm sandy beach.  Thank you Lord for giving me this vision of what I'm going to do after I leave your house today!

When communion was over, I was brought back to the here and now by something I've not been witness to before, a second passing of the collection plates.  I thought geez; I guess they didn't get enough the first time (again chuckling to myself). But this time was different.  The rather 'queenly' Reverend, a heavy set, middle aged, white man, danced the Charleston while the plates were passed.  I really couldn't make this up.  I was amused and confused.  I opted to leave the other five-dollar bill I had in my wallet.  I was absolutely sure I would need it for an adult beverage after this service was over...Lord; please forgive me for my sin.  It’s getting really hot now.

But I wanted to take time to reflect on what I had witnessed and maybe I’d have a different view. But as I summed it up in my mind, I thought, ok, if they'd fire the pastor, fire the choir, ask the congregation to follow a dress code that included shirts and only passed the collection plates once, this may be a nice church.  Oh Lord, please forgive me!

As the Benediction commenced, I felt a huge sigh of relief and was glad I was positioned on the end of the last pew.  I gathered my keys and sunglasses beside me, scoped the exit and as soon as I heard the last amen, I got in my daily dose of exercise by running for the door and sprinting to my car before a bolt of lightning came out of the sunny sky and struck me down.

Fortunately I made it home safe and found my way to the beach.  Lord, thank you for giving me that!

Amen!

Read More

Sunshine Cathedral | FL

By JAMES HIPPS

It’s not too often I get to church.  I really haven’t found one that I feel completely at home in, but it is something that I find important so I continue to search for a place of worship.

Even though I’ve yet to find the house of God that suits me best, I can honestly say I try very hard to maintain objectivity when visiting various houses of worship as I realize not all places are for all people.  However, my most recent visit to a service was the first time I've ever gone to church, then had to go home to pray that I wouldn't go to hell for going…to church that is.

As much as I hate to admit it, if I’m going to be honest, this encounter could be the direct result of my dark side coming to surface.

As I mentioned, on a Sunday not too long ago, I woke up, showered and put on some nicely pressed clothes and headed to the Sunshine Cathedral.  I had read online this was a gay-friendly church and I thought perhaps this may be a good place to look.  Being that I've never attended a service there before, I had no expectations.  I went in with an open heart and mind.


As I entered, I found my way back to the last row of seats in the sanctuary.  I typically like to sit in the back, especially on a first visit as it allows me a better view of what’s going on and how services are conducted.

Shortly after finding my seat, I was a bit startled as I noticed I was chuckling a bit...something I really didn't know I was doing.  But I quickly figured out why, as I noticed not one, not two, but three gentlemen in close proximity that had very bad, and poorly placed toupees.  But, I was quickly relieved as I knew the only reason I was laughing is because this reminded me of an old episode of 'Everybody Loves Raymond' where Raymond bumps the guy in front of him at church to straighten his toupee.  So, as you can see, I was really laughing at 'Everybody Loves Raymond', not the people in the congregation.  Whew, I quickly thought. I'm not going to burn in hell for that one.

Then I forced my observations elsewhere before anyone noticed me snickering under my breath.  But as I look around, what do I see? I see a guy wearing a leather vest (no shirt underneath) assisting the choir as they prepared to parade to the front of the church.  OK, I thought.  Here's diversity, a leather daddy praising God.  Good for him!  But still, it made me wonder.  Did he just leave the bar and come to church?  Although I couldn’t see his lower half, I was keeping my fingers crossed he had on something other than chaps.  Oh Lord, I thought, please forgive me for being judgmental in your house!  It was starting to get warm.

As the service began, it was nothing unusual.  The choir commenced singing and the church leaders paraded down the isle towards the pulpit.  As I watch the procession of the choir and the last members were making their way down the isle, I noticed, just a few rows in front of me, an extremely flamboyant man seated next to a woman.  They were both holding their arms up in praise and seemed more than elated to be in church.  Good for them, I thought as the choir concluded their first hymn.  Finally I felt as though I could settle down into the experience.  Then, all of a sudden, the couple I previously noticed a few rows in front of me started chanting loudly...something I couldn't comprehend.  Perhaps they were speaking in tongues I thought, but whatever it was, I laughed, this time out loud!  I had to bite my tongue (hard) to refrain.  Oh Lord, please forgive me!  I know not why I do what I do.

Being a little red faced at this point, I was happy to hear the voices of the choir commence again, so I closed my eyes for a moment and thought, just breath and listen to the voices.  As I listened however, I couldn’t help but to hear the sound of a guitar and drums, so I simply had to open my eyes to see.  This wasn’t the typical music one may expect to hear in a church, and the choir director was loudly playing guitar and needless to say, the music was, well, let me put it this way. I've been to many predominately Black churches and LOVE the soulfulness of the choir.  I’ve also been to many predominately white churches and have enjoyed the glorious sound of traditional hymns, but for some reason, all I could think of now was that I should be wearing Birkenstocks and smoking pot.  I glanced across the members of the choir and noticed one brown skinned man, and one brown skinned woman in the choir of about 30.  The thought immediately crossed my mind.  Lord PLEASE let them take this choir over.  Lord please make the rest of them stop singing followed by Lord, please forgive me for my sins. 

So I quickly thought, I have to redeem myself by learning a lesson, but what's my lesson?  Then it came to me, I have an appreciation for the wonderful and energized music found at many Black churches I've attended.  I also have an appreciation for the more traditional music one may expect to find in many predominately white churches.  Lord, thank you for giving me that appreciation!  Whew, not all was lost yet...so I thought.  As the choir continued however, the director turned to the congregation and asked everyone to join in by clapping their hands...Lord, thank you for giving me rhythm!  It’s something these white folks simply don't have...and oh; please forgive me for being judgmental in your house once again.

Soon there after, the pastor started his rather bland and generic sermon.  I seriously thought it must be something he found on the back of a Cheerios box while he had his breakfast.  It wasn't too far into the sermon I started to think about a blog post I recently read about people who talk endlessly and how the author had to imagine slowly choking certain people to silence to get through it, which seemed to help quit a bit actually.  But again, feeling guilty I found myself desperately seeking a message in the sermon to take home with me.  I couldn't possibly go to church and not learn something I thought.  When all of a sudden it came to me. Thank you lord for giving me patients to get through this.  Oh, but wait a minute...that may not be a great lesson.  Now I'm afraid I may have just committed another sin in the house of God. I feel the temperature rise.

Then came time for the collection plates to be passed.  I pulled a five-dollar bill out of my wallet, and the thought went through my mind, Lord, please let this money go to someone in need. But as they passed the collection plates, one of the choir members broke out in an operatic solo.  It was at this time I took that same blog posting I mentioned a step further and envisioned putting my head through one of the stained glass windows; something I knew would be far less painful then enduring that voice.  Oh Lord, please forgive me. I’ve sinned again.

After the collection plates were passed, it was time for communion.  I didn't partake.  I wasn't sure what it was, but the Lord knew to keep me seated in silence for this one.  Instead, I closed my eyes, and drifted away to a warm sandy beach.  Thank you Lord for giving me this vision of what I'm going to do after I leave your house today!

When communion was over, I was brought back to the here and now by something I've not been witness to before, a second passing of the collection plates.  I thought geez; I guess they didn't get enough the first time (again chuckling to myself). But this time was different.  The rather 'queenly' Reverend, a heavy set, middle aged, white man, danced the Charleston while the plates were passed.  I really couldn't make this up.  I was amused and confused.  I opted to leave the other five-dollar bill I had in my wallet.  I was absolutely sure I would need it for an adult beverage after this service was over...Lord; please forgive me for my sin.  It’s getting really hot now.

But I wanted to take time to reflect on what I had witnessed and maybe I’d have a different view. But as I summed it up in my mind, I thought, ok, if they'd fire the pastor, fire the choir, ask the congregation to follow a dress code that included shirts and only passed the collection plates once, this may be a nice church.  Oh Lord, please forgive me!

As the Benediction commenced, I felt a huge sigh of relief and was glad I was positioned on the end of the last pew.  I gathered my keys and sunglasses beside me, scoped the exit and as soon as I heard the last amen, I got in my daily dose of exercise by running for the door and sprinting to my car before a bolt of lightning came out of the sunny sky and struck me down.

Fortunately I made it home safe and found my way to the beach.  Lord, thank you for giving me that!

Amen!

Read More

Quoting Glee

"They choose totally go to Jew church and wear those hats and eat that salty orange stuff with their bagels"
-FINN, Glee

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