Be Resolved

We are now in the dawn of a new decade. You may have awakened to a crisp new day or shaken off that hangover. Wherever you are, however you're coming into the new year, and whether or not you've actually made any resolutions, at least resolve to do this: in any way possible, big or small, or any combination of the two, you will do everything you can to avoid giving aid and comfort to HATE.

As I write this, we are still searching for answers in two shattering events on the last weekend of 2019: the stabbing attack on several Jews at a Hanukkah party in New York, and a deadly shooting during a church service in Texas.

I am not here to point fingers at perpetrators beyond those who actually carried out these acts. And let's not even ponder about what may be ahead of us in this election year. But I will set before you an uncomfortable truth: these acts -- and many hateful acts before them -- are carried out partly because the person behind the blade or the trigger believes somebody has their back.

HATE, unfortunately, gets results. HATE gets people to act. HATE gets people elected. HATE tears up communities in the name of accomplishing an ideological goal. HATE motivates in all the wrong ways to achieve an otherwise respectable goal. HATE, we are seeing, is becoming an acceptable and unfortunately beneficial means to an end. And that is why HATEful acts are thriving and multipying, even as we condemn them.

Or are we really condemning them?

Most likely, you are not a HATER, nor are your family and friends. Good for you. You're part of the solution, but you need to be more.

Here's a self-test. Let's start with your social media accounts. Who are you liking and retweeting and sharing? Are they thoughtful analysis or just idological bile? What are you writing in the comments? When was the last time you used any of the following words: snowflake, boomer, libtard, nazi, socialist, dumbocrat, republitard? Do you know where the "block" function is?

Are you getting your news from non-agenda-based sources? Please don't tell me no such creature exists; that's so bush league. We have a word for that: propoganda. It doesn't matter if you agree with it already, like I hear people tell me when I challenge them on why they listen to agenda-driven talk radio. If you already agree with it, why listen in the first place? Why do your own thoughts need verification, espcially from people who are not accountable to you or to the electorate? Mother told you to eat your vegetables for a good reason: they were good for you. Did you tell her those vegetables were raised by enemies of America?

Are you HATING on reporters because you genuinely HATE what they are doing, or because somebody told you to? Are you subliminally taking marching orders and denying it?

Is your circle of friends limited to people who look like you, act like you, believe like you and share your level of woke-ness? Do you dismiss moderates as milquetoast people? How are you going to live in this world if you don't live in it?

Are you willing to excuse detestable people if they give you what you want? Are you willing to allow politicians to play you like a fiddle? Are you willing to write on that ballot, "None of the above?" Are you afraid of people who say you are wasting a vote?

Now add up your scores and responses. I won't give you a number. I will leave that to you and GOD. If you feel convicted, the time to change is now.

This goes beyond what you do face-to-face, beyond the sphere of your relationships. This goes beyond attending vigils, further than promises of thoughts and prayers. This is a mission statement that pervades every corner of your being. It says you will no longer be a tool, either active or passive, for those who use HATE to get what they want. They will not have your back; you will have your back turned to them.

You don't need to go out and change the world. Start small. Let the actions and acts built up. Let math do its work. Be patient. The problem didn't begin overnight, and we will not fix it overnight.

Above all, savor the small victories. Stand up for those who refuse to be HATE conduits. Notice and praise them. Build them up. Give them refuge and quarter, if only in the comment section. GOD is in the big as well as the little. You will not see the big if you don't see the little.

Be a blessing, not a curse.

Stand for righteousness, not "right, just us."

Build and fix.

Let GOD work through you. That is why you are here. Even if you don't believe in GOD, that doesn't matter. HE believes in YOU.

What I Want For Christmas

This time of year, we all pull closer together as families. We come together for Christmas parties, dinner, movies and outings and celebrations.

And yet, some of us have been pushed away by our friends or families. We are not welcome in their homes, in their lives, even perhaps on the phone. This could be for any number of reasons, some more serious than others, and there are legitimate and sensible reasons to keep these people away if they are a danger to your family or friends. Sometimes they should be kept away. This isn't what the following words are about.

This is about brokenness and healing. This involves people who realize they have messed up in their lives, apologize, ask forgiveness, repent, and seek to heal with you as your friends and family. Part of that healing and forgiveness process involves being with you and yours during this time of the year, continuing on and fixing what is broken by rebuilding those relationships that have value.

We hear a running joke at Christmastime about the dysfunctional family gathering, that awkwardness that comes from this person and that person being around. It makes for a great holiday movie. And we also hear and dream of that perfect Christmas celebration, the one with the snow on the ground in the woods and the decorated house with piles of presents surrounding the tree. We smell the gingerbread wafting from the kitchen as our loved ones come through the door in their sweaters -- none ugly -- and embrace with bright countenances. People laugh and smile as they eat and drink and unwrap and make Merry Christmas, a scene as perfect as a Christmas Card. Nothing is wrong, awkward or imperfect. Nothing is dysfunctional, broken or sad.

We are not living in a Christmas card.

We are living in a broken world that needs healing and JESUS, who is the reason for the season in the first place.

This Christmas, many of you are bound to face tough choices as you plan your gatherings about who will and won't be part of your lives at that moment. I challenge you to think beyond hurt and brokenness and consider the lives and the hearts of those whom you might choose to shun because of fallings-out, political differences, or some other pain they may have caused. If those people are willing to ask forgiveness of you, clean up their acts, and mind their words and behaviours, they should be welcome at your gatherings.

JESUS came into this world to wipe away our sins, and heal our hurts and brokenness, provided we give HIM our choice and the opportunity. We follow in that example when we decide that our relationships mean more than our grievances and pain, and we make the choice to forgive when it is asked for, to heal and not to hurt.

If you are not a person of faith, consider this from the perspective of honour. An honourable person realizes that grudges and pain are hypocritical to the theme of a season of love, joy, and giving. Continuing patterns of dysfunctionality do not make this world more honourable at Christmas. We might as well just admit the commerciality of it, as in that line from A Charlie Brown Christmas: "It's run by a big eastern syndicate, you know."

Christmas is a time of coming together. This is a time when we celebrate our SAVIOR and also our relationships. This is a time to rebuild what is broken, just as OUR SAVIOR was sent into the world to do. Let that be on your Christmas list.

Be Blessed!

This post originally appeared on my Facebook page.

On The Road With Sara

A Saturday morning in March 1985. I'm in the back of a church van on a junior high weekend trip to St. Louis from Kansas City. On our agenda: The Magic House, the Gateway Arch, the St. Louis Zoo, Union Station, and a whole bunch of us crammed into a couple of hotel rooms at a Holiday Inn near Lambert Field. For now though, as we roll through Wentzville, on our way to the main destination, I'm in my own world, headphones on, with Countdown America playing in my ear and this song by Starship in the top ten. They had just scored a number one with "We Built This City" a few weeks earlier, and the follow-up single was headed for the top.

A mix of your servant's favourite music
and moves, set to stories and observations.

The lyrics are about a lost love, and I gather I remember this because I was feeling more than a little lost at that time myself. I was part of a church group, yet I was feeling the separation, feeling my church group mates really didn't get me, didn't get the nerdiness phase I was going through and didn't really care. I don't think I helped much, because your servant was prone to mood swings at the wrong moments.

This would be the beginning of my separation from GOD -- being among Christians but feeling you're not really a part of them. It would take many more years for me to return. But here I was on the road with the gang, because I wanted to travel, wanted to get out of the house, wanted a road trip. Adventure topped introversion.

That weekend was memorable, fortunately, for a lot of fun. I don't remember a lot of specifics about it, except for hearing a cool jazz group at Union Station and that attempt by Johnny to take a photograph of a pillow fight in the middle of the night.

"It didn't come out," he later told me. "I got elbows."

Where Is Your Favorite Place To Eat?

Answering the questions people have
asked (or I have asked myself) about
my past, present, or future.

This question comes from Princess Sherri, who has shared many a dinner date with your servant. The answer is In-N-Out, but not for the reason you're thinking.

They have great burgers. I like their fries, even though a lot of people say they taste like cardboard. Before they came to Tucson, I remember taking a few road trips up to Phoenix just to get lunch there in conjunction with doing some other shopping and fooling around.

But In-N-Out has a special place in my heart because the one on Stapley Road in the Phoenix area is the one where I asked my friends for spiritual help and made the commitment towards getting right with GOD.



As I have recounted before, it happened on a Saturday night in 2007, right after a Civil War ball with We Make History, and a few weeks after a horrible experience during a Civil War re-enactment at Picacho Peak, where I fell ill with heat exhaustion and others said they were praying for me. As I wrote more than a decade ago...

Praying for me? I was worthy of prayer? Me, the rookie who could barely get the drill right? I could not comprehend it. In a camp church service the next day, I learned General Robert E. Lee had also fallen into tears upon hearing others had prayed for him. "I am just a poor sinner," he said. When the service ended, tears had streamed down my cheek as well.

A friend of mine who led this service saw the cry for help. After I explained it all to him in an e-mail, he gave reassurance: looking out for me was "simply who we are." He posed a question: "Why has GOD brought you here?"

I already knew the answer, but I still felt the void. Stresses of work still pressed on me and confusion about my purpose gnawed from within. I didn't know where I stood with God and I was afraid of the answer. I remember looking at a knife while making lunch one day and thinking, I don't think I should be holding this.

Several weeks later, after another wonderful ball and a post-dance feast, our commander came to my spiritual aid in a place I least expected: outside an In-N-Out in Phoenix.

"I feel comfortable asking you this because I've known you for awhile. If you're uncomfortable with anything, just say so and I'll immediately back off. Have you asked Jesus to come into your heart?"

"Probably," I said, "but not in exactly those words."

He said he noticed I was being drawn back to GOD, especially after that sermon at Picacho. The truth came out of me then, first in a few drops, then in a cascading waterfall of nervous admissions about the emptiness within me and how journeys into the past were helping me deal with the present. With a few friends by my side, our commander prayed with me as I asked CHRIST to come into my heart -- another poor sinner wanting to get right with GOD and heal.

On Easter weekend, I went back to church on my own for the first time in more than a decade.

My We Make History friends and I still eat there every so often after balls. It's our place -- a place to share a meal and memories, along with prayers. That's food for the soul.

With A Friend Like This...

Last month, I told you how a Facebook "friend" went on a purge, unfriending anybody who was not congruent with her political leanings. I told you how I had written back to her, saying I was still her friend and apologizing for any harm or hurt feelings on your servant's part. I didn't hear back from her.

Today, I sent this person a private message wishing her a Happy Birthday (albeit one day late) as I could not post on her page anymore -- as I do to send birthday wishes to all my facebook friends, with a virtual courtly bow thrown in. Here's how that message exchange went:

My Dearest Lady [Redacted],

A Belated HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you! I still wonder why you have unfriended me -- and it has left your servant more than a bit sad. I apologize if I have hurt or offended you. I love all my Dancing Friends, and I would be horrified to know I have hurt someone. I am still your friend, no matter what.

May GOD Bless You, My Lady!
With a Bow To You From Afar,
Laird Christopher

Her reply came within minutes, hastily typed:

Every time I post about the HORRIBLE NIGHTMARE of the Trump administration, i blame voters like you. YOu and all those who refused to vote for Hilary Clinton (who I didn't "like" either) are responsible for our nation sliding into the abyss. Please don't contact me again.

The iciness of the response floored me.

I quickly wrote back, in sadness:

Dearest Lady [Redacted], I am sorry you feel that way. I would have hoped we could be friends in spite of our differences (which may not be that different at all.) I will respect your wishes... with regrets. --YHS, CF

This is a lady I have danced with, a lady who put politics aside in the historic ballroom, and a person whom I thought had the temperament and enlightenment to carry some of that good nature forward into the present. "More fool me," as Phil Collins once sang. Apparently her good nature is only reserved for people who share her same beliefs, and I didn't know that until she discovered I didn't share all of them.

The bitterness and hate directed at others over the last election cycle continues to depress me. This person would rather be spiteful towards me for the way I voted rather than be grateful for the birthday wishes, which she didn't even acknowledge.

Last week, during Bible study with my church friends, one of them told me he hardly trusts anybody anymore because he has been let down by so many people.

"But wait a minute," I piped up, "Isn't that against GOD's nature? I mean, HE says we're to encourage each other day after day (Hebrews 10:24) and like iron sharpens iron man sharpens man (Proverbs 27:17)."

"You're right, Christopher," he nodded. "You're right."

As I said in the previous post, I don't give up on my Facebook friends because GOD doesn't give up on us. If Facebook is going to call connected people "friends," I am going to treat people like friends. That term needs to mean what it says. And remember, this person was not some obtuse collection of bits on a screen attached to a profile person. This person was a lady I had met in real life and had shared in fellowship. I gather I will see her again in Williamsburg next year. She has always treated me kindly on the dance floor.

And one year ago, when I posted on Facebook about leading a historic ball for a Christian school here in Tucson, she left me this comment:

You have done a wonderful thing! Just know you touched many lives and some will remember it forever!

Apparently, none of that matters now.

Better Living Through Self-Censorship

I know some of you in Facebookland have gone down your friends list doing an ideological purge. You have unfriended anybody who is either too liberal or too conservative for you -- or not liberal or conservative enough. You did this to people you called your friends.

I hope you're satisfied. I hope you've sanitized your feeds to your liking, especially now that one major contentious political standoff has ended, and you won't have to move the finger a wee bit more to scroll through those friends so inconveniently incongruent to your ideology.

Facebook says it is working on a way to filter out fake news. I think it needs to work on filtering fake friendships -- no, not those scam artists who are cloning or falsifying accounts, but those people who say they are friends until the moment they decide they can't separate your humanity from your party affiliation. A lot of people have found themselves unfriended over the past year as politics turned volcanic. Some of these people deserved it for being crude, callous creatures to their so-called "friends." Some people just got caught in the crossfire.

A certain lady decided she was going to purge her facebook rolls of all Republicans, and I found myself unfriended. I don't even consider myself Republican. Officially, I'm not. I had only gotten into a brief debate with this person once over Russian hacking and the election. I had also posted -- in the spirit of sharing some eloquent words versus gunk -- part of a speech by then-candidate John F. Kennedy on the role of his Catholic faith in his leadership and how he wanted to be president for all of America, not just Catholic America.

I can't understand why those words set this lady off. Perhaps it was just bad timing, coming in January, when the debate over you-know-who's travel restrictions were reaching their emotional apex. She vented a little, but then she stepped aside. Two months later, I was off her list with no explanation, no warning, not even a good-bye note.

If it had been a lot of other people on my list, I would've shrugged it off. But I couldn't with this lady. She's one of my dancing friends from Virginia.

If you haven't heard me say this before, I give special value to my friends who share my love of history and dancing. They stand apart from the ugliness of this world. They build other people up -- including your servant. I danced with this lady in Virginia, and I had not the slightest hint anything was wrong, and this was two months after that dander-raising post, which I am choosing not to embed here because I do not want to disclose any names.

But I will disclose what I wrote to my dancing friend, feeling dumbstruck and hurt.

Dearest Lady [redacted],

Your servant was quite shocked to see you had unfriended me. I realize you are trying to rid yourself of toxicity online -- which a lot of people are doing nowadays -- but I honestly did not think your servant fit into that category. If I have insulted you, I apologize. If I have made you angry, I apologize. I want to be your friend -- because I love my dancing friends, and I value them highly.

Why? Because they hold themselves to standards of behaviour we don't see all that much anymore. I love that the people I know who do 18th Century English (and Scottish) Country dance can put all of their cares from the current life and times aside and enjoy the merriment of the ballroom. I have treasured the dances I have shared with you, and I do not want that to end.

You also have to know I feel this way because I was bullied as a child, and square dancing in school was especially tough. The young ladies did not want to be my partner. The young gents (if you could call them that) just laughed. So when I rediscovered English Country Dance a decade ago, and when ladies bowed and curtsied to your servant, it changed my life immeasurably... and put me back on the road to GOD. At last, I had discovered the closest thing -- for me -- to Heaven on Earth.

I don't expect you to understand all of this. And I'm far from perfect. But when somebody unfriends me, it hurts. I see my facebook friends as more than just a couple of clicks and a profile -- because that's the way it should be. I have to wonder, what went wrong? What did I do? What did I NOT do?

Be Blessed, My Lady -- and whether you want to friend me or not -- I will still be your friend. I Love My Dancing Friends!

Your Humble Servant And Friend,
Lord Christopher of Dunans

As of this posting, I have not heard back from her, even though I know she read the note. I tried friending her again. For all I know, she is either ignoring me or blocking me for reasons she will not disclose.

This has pained your servant deeply, and I can't understand why. Come on, I keep reasoning with myself, we are talking about one friend out of oodles on the list. Why is this such a big deal? After considerable wracking of my brain, I think I found the explanation in a Biblical parable.

JESUS talks about the lost sheep in Luke 15:4-7 (NIV): "Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent."

That's followed by the parable of the lost coin and the famous one about the prodigal son. The message, in part, is that GOD doesn't give up on the people HE loves. Why should we give up on the people we love, especially if we want to live up to GOD's expectations for us?

I don't give up on my Facebook friends. I count nearly 600 of them on my list right now, and I have not unfriended anybody since I joined the social network about a decade ago. I refuse to go through and purge, because as I said to my unfriended friend, you're more than just a profile. I labour to treat my Facebook friends as if they were standing in front of me. This is in line with George Washington's first Rule of Civility: "Every Action done in Company, ought to be with Some Sign of Respect, to those that are Present." Not only is that rule easy for your servant to remember, it beats having to fuss with Facebook's privacy settings. Further, if I am going to live as a light for GOD, I can't turn it off on social media.

Last year, I began keeping a quarantine list to restrict a limited number of people from seeing certain political posts I thought might ruffle their feathers. It has worked very well, despite a few extra steps involved in the process. Lately, though, I've used it less and less. I just grew tired of posting an opinion and worrying about somebody deciding to cut me to pieces.

I lost even more of my appetite for political posts after another trip -- and another ball -- in Williamsburg.

(In case you're trying to connect dots -- no, none of the ladies you see here are the ones who unfriended me.)











After such a blessed experience expressed in these postings, I couldn't bring myself to discuss politics, at least not on one of my own posts, and rarely on anybody else's. After drawing closer to GOD and feeling closer to Heaven, why tarnish such beauty by going back to the swamp -- even if that flies in the face of the freedom of speech we are given?

This is not the way it is supposed to be. We can not be a nation of tolerance and freedom if self-censorship is the only reliable way to promote peace among us. But given the junk we see online and the off-the-chart response to it, we are running out of options. Your servant is running out of energy to deal with online drama, and I would rather just scroll on.

Be Blessed, My Friends!

This post has been updated with additional thoughts.

We're All To Blame

Yes, I read it. Yes, I heard it. Yes, I cringed at the frat-boy bile that came from the mouth of you-know-who, a decade before he became a candidate. I have heard how people are recoiling from him, castigating and condemning him, disassociating from him, disavowing him -- and how people are still supporting him.

I have also heard the replies about you-know-her. What about the emails, the speeches, Benghazi and Bill -- especially Bill and his womanizing and sex sins? In their warped comparison of hormonal fiendishness, that guy isn't as bad that former guy.

I am choosing to place those arguments aside because the bigger elephant in the room is this: from sea to shining sea, that thumping sound you hear is consultants, pundits, and political types banging their noggins against hardwood trying to discern how they could have been so wrong, how you-know-who beat a clown car of competition, how all their predictions of imminent implosion failed so spectacularly, and how that guy prospered on insults, lies, bullying and ignorance that would've sunk at least two dozen candidates.

I read every theory of how we got to this lonely junction, and I have a few more. The shortest is we're angry and we don't care. The slightly longer version is we will put up with or give a pass to all the imbecilic rhetoric and causticness so that we may have a candidate who will do what all the others would not. I've also read the theory that our collective ignorance led us to this point. I agree, but only so far. Here is my admittedly unscientific but exhaustively thorough explanation of why that guy is where he is. This builds upon what I have told you already but adds a few more uncomfortable facts. You may not want to read it, and if you don't, fine. This is my opinion; it's not gospel. But I will quote from that great sage Nature Boy Ric Flair: "I don't care whether you like it or not, you better look at it!"

Here's the "too long, didn't read" version of why that guy rose to where he is: we're all to blame. Yes, all of us.

Now, the long version.

Republicans, you're to blame. You wrung your hands about reining that guy in. You feared another Ross Perot. You let him bully you into submission. You let your fat cats with the dark money sit on the sidelines and wait for him to flame out, which he didn't. By the time you all realized that wouldn't happen, the game was over. You didn't have a backup plan. Your candidates complained and cajoled and criticized, but ultimately, they capitulated. Your last best hope, Sen. Ted Cruz, had one bad night in Indiana and he decided to take his marbles and go home. That voter who got in his grille and said "we don't want you" must have really deflated his soul. His fight leeched out of him suddenly and inexplicably. You feared a chaotic convention. Then this senator -- the one who-know-who verbally abused and demeaned -- mysteriously flip-flopped on a non-endorsement because, you know, party unity. Protocol above principle.

Tea Party, you're to blame. You didn't dump the birthers and the haters. You tell us you're not really a party; you're a caucus. Fine -- don't call yourself a "party" then. Or get off your duffs and become one instead of riding the Republican coattails. You made it okay to shout down your opponents. And worst of all, many of you did it in the guise and garb of our Revolutionary War ancestors who fought and died so that you may have the freedom to conduct yourselves like abhorrent parasites. I find that aspect of your so-called caucus offensive above everything else, being a re-enactor who has brought people together in cheering and celebration for the nation we love, regardless of politics, educating them about their heritage, and giving them pride in their heritage whether they've been citizens since birth or since they took an oath.

Democrats, you're to blame. You gave us a president who spent all his political capital in the first half of his first term and left nothing in the tank. He did an end run around Congress when he couldn't get his way. Whether it's legal is a question for the courts. But what's legal isn't always practical, beneficial or productive. You further alienated half of America who didn't vote for you. You let an unabashed socialist run who wasn't even a member of your party. Yeah, he got to caucus with you, but that's not the same. Telling somebody they don't get to milk the cow for free is not in the platform.

Libertarians, you're to blame. You sit on the ballot and take up space every election cycle, not bothering to lift a finger to campaign or put forth effort to win. You blow every chance to show Americans a third party might actually be viable and necessary. A former presidential candidate of yours decided to run for president as a Republican. Shouldn't that tell you how much pondwater you're sucking?

Congresspeople, you're to blame. You still won't do the three things that would show us you are committed to public service over power. Those are 1) ditching the filibuster, 2) passing a balanced budget amendment, and 3) giving the president the line-item veto. You keep kicking the tough issues down the road. You let dark money do your dirty work. You run never-ending campaigns. You don't even read the bills you pass. And in your gridlocked existence, you still get plenty of recess time to do even more of nothing.

Talk radio, you're to blame. You consistently parade before us all the reasons why America stinks with little or no solution to fix things. You say you are exercising a First Amendment right, but you will never admit when you're wrong. You don't care, and you don't have to -- just like Lily Tomlin told us about the phone company. You say you want to restore America's glory, just like that guy, but nobody voted for you, and you're accountable to nobody but your advertisers and management. Who are you really working for?

News media, you're to blame. You let that guy play you like a slot machine in one of his casinos, and he kept on hitting the jackpot. You jumped on every one of his outrageous tweets without pausing to think about whether he was surreptitiously getting free campaign ads out of it. You deployed your army of talking heads to discuss that guy, perhaps exposing his issues and contradictions along the way, but mostly, you just talked. You let him suck up airtime and push other campaigns off the air in a real-life game of "The Apprentice." Even before all this, your cable nets decided to remake themselves more in the image of news-talk radio rather than all-news, all the time -- except for that measly little network with the Arabic name where idealistic journalists went to see their careers die.

Churches, you're to blame. You decided to make GOD's word into a salad bar, picking and choosing what parts of the Bible you would stand on, or misinterpreting and marginalizing it. You decided some sins weren't so bad when it came to getting people in the door and money in the offering plate. You forgot love sometimes has to be tough as well as tender. When you asked, "What would JESUS do?" you forgot getting out the whip was within the realm of possibilities. And many of you support that guy, willing to give him a pass on his despicable behaviour because you think some greater good will come in the end. That's called moral relativism.

Social media, you're to blame. You make hating and incivility convenient and trendy. You reduce complex issues to 140 characters or less. Then, you turn them into hashtags. You allow people to troll without consequence and hide behind pseudonyms. You allow bullies to take their crass craft to new audiences. Then, in the name of stopping bullying, you end up censoring rational-but-unpopular discussions.

Social justice movements, you're to blame. You're so busy being angry, you forget you need to carry an olive branch with that sword. You tell us black lives matter, but you don't have time to seek out and praise police officers who are setting examples of leadership and justice. You say immigrant lives matter, but you forget about those who have put up with the waiting, the bureaucracy and the runaround to do it legally. You say higher wages matter, but you demand those dead-end fast-food jobs pay what you consider to be a living wage rather than demand our leaders figure out ways to create new, higher-paying jobs that are career-focused and don't involve cleaning the grease trap. And too many of you act like posterior orifices in the process, diluting your chances of winning friends and influencing people.

Corporate America, you're to blame. You continuously come up with new ways to unburden yourselves from your pesky employees and customers. You create soulless voice-response systems when we call for help and shove the business of assisting your patrons onto outsourced foreign call-center workers who are given Americanized names and taught a bit of pop culture but are left powerless and clueless to resolve sticky issues. You tell us off the record you would like to hire more people in this nation, but it would hurt your bottom line or stock price or earnings potential or whatever. Did you have one dollar left over after expenses last year? Good. You're profitable. Maybe it wasn't as much as you would've liked it to have been, but any year where you didn't lay people off, close offices, slash salaries or mandate unpaid leave is a good one.

Labor unions, you're to blame. Your mission to protect the dignity and safety of workers has crept into padding their paychecks with benefits your bosses can't afford anymore. Maybe you conceded a few things. Maybe you didn't. Maybe you went on strike. Maybe it worked for awhile. And now, maybe you realize you had a finger, if not a hand, in the outsourcing of America.

Wall Street, you're to blame. You can't kick the derivative habit. You continue to embrace financial instruments that do nothing to create wealth or hedge against risk. You sell investments you don't understand to people who don't understand. You've legalized gambling under the ruse that it's beneficial to our global marketplace. You still can't explain to my satisfaction why bundling up mortgages and selling them as investments was ever a good idea.

Schools, you're to blame. You scream if anybody mentions the word "voucher" and kick teachers around with low pay and obnoxious students. You pepper your boards of education with Congress-seekers who are not ashamed to use kids as pawns to achieve political goals. You teach standardized tests instead of the three R's. You push parents to put kids on Prozac and Ritalin rather than demand the grown-ups engage in drug-free behavior modification, more commonly known as discipline. You have done your best to disillusion the creative and caring and reward the slackers and seat-fillers. You cut music, art and recess. (These kids should run for Congress; they'd certainly get more recess.) And your students aren't educated in civics or history or why they should care about our Declaration of Independence, our Constitution, or our Bill of Rights. Many don't even know what any of those are.

Universities, you're to blame. You allowed political correctness to own you in the all the wrong places. You have wanted a diverse student body, a big and open tent. Nothing wrong there. But is that your number one priority over actually educating and researching? Every incoming freshman should receive a statement similar to this: "This is college, not utopia. Try as you might to create a perfect world here, you still have to face the world out there. That means hard knocks and hard work. We will set standards to combat racism, sexism, and those inexcusable discriminations. But we will not get it right all the time, and you won't either. That's life. We will expect you to understand this is an institution of higher learning, not a petri dish. You did come here for a degree, right?"

Voters, you're to blame. As I have said before, you held your nose and marked the lesser of two or more evils too many times when you should've just gone down to the write-in line and penned any of the following: "None of the above," "Somebody else," "Somebody better," "Somebody wiser," "Somebody with a brain," "Somebody with a soul," "Somebody with a clue," or "Try again." You have discouraged the noble from running and let slimeballs ooze in. You have dashed between parties like a spoiled child who plays estranged parents off against each other, darting to the one who will give you what you want, throwing a tantrum when you don't get it, and then running to the other one. You say term limits are the answer, but less than half of you vote in the first place, making it the lazy alternative to exercising the Constitutional right your Patriot ancestors have died for.

And I'm to blame. I have been the good little Facebook member, largely embargoing myself from political discussions when I should have stood up. I picked my battles because I love my Facebook friends and I don't want to unfriend any of you. I can honestly tell you I have never done that, and I want to keep it that way. But maybe I should've started talking about all these things earlier and brushed off fears of trolling and bullying. I have been bullied before. I can deal with it again. But I didn't want to.

Even so, I'm not lifting my Facebook embargo, except for those occasional breaks. Much of what I have needed to say on the things that have, I have said. People can take it or leave it.

So all the blame has been doled out to all those responsible, to more people than I have fingers for, not even sparing myself, and I probably left out a few. When you blame the other guy, you have to realize you're also the other guy's other guy. In major and minor ways, knowingly or unknowingly, intentional or accidental, we are all contributing to the problem.

Just don't blame me at the voting booth. I'll be casting my ballot for George Washington.

For Those Who Need And Those Who Have

Last year on 30/30, I presented a collection of prayers offered by my beloved Grandfather Francis as a church leader, as gathered by my Dearest Aunt Susan, who has held onto them for years. Since then, she found a few more of his prayers, and she mailed them to me. Just like the originals, they were jotted down on scraps of paper torn from a notebook or a pad. One is also on the back of a "shopping list" memo. Underneath two of them, my aunt attached sticky notes.

One says, "Christopher, I like this one."

Above, Grandfather Francis writes:

We pray, OUR FATHER, for all who are in trouble; for the sick, the poor, the afflicted, for any good cause. Bless the lonely, those who suffer, weep and struggle alone. Grant that they may find companionship and comfort in THEE. Since every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, we thank THEE sincerely and heartily for the good things we enjoy. May this prayer, O LORD, find acceptance with THEE through JESUS CHRIST, who taught us to pray OUR FATHER..."

The other note says, "This one, too!"

HEAVENLY FATHER, for all THOU hast given and all hast forgiven we thank THEE.

For every gift of nature and thy great salvation through CHRIST, we thank THEE.

For every thing by which THOU hast brought good to our lives, we thank THEE.

For our power of understanding, of loving, of sharing friendships, we thank THEE.

Help us, O FATHER, to live and work with the cheer of a grateful spirit, overcoming all trouble by the patience of hope and the wisdom of love. So may we share the fellowship of all who follow CHRIST. These things we ask in JESUS' name who taught us to pray OUR FATHER..."

Grandfather Francis always knew what was important and who was important, distilling it down to the basics. Many of us don't pray with all the "thees," "thys," and "thous," but your humble servant hopes we get the other parts in. I will if you will.

Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness Against Thy Moviegoer

Reel To Reel: Exodus: Gods And Kings

Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: Christian Bale, Aaron Paul, Sigourney Weaver, Joel Edgerton, Indira Varma, Ben Kingsley
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Battle violence and plagues of Biblical proportions

The Ten Commandments is the Bible of your Sunday School class, where GOD is awesome and powerful, and Charlton Heston's Moses has more charisma per square inch than just about anybody in Hollywood (especially the executives at Sony Pictures Entertainment right now). Yul Brenner's Pharaoh's heart isn't just hardened by GOD, it's encased in concrete by that slimy queen Nefretiri. It has that unforgettable parting of the Red Sea. It has GOD as a Pillar of Fire. It's an epic treatment of a epic subject, and its yearly broadcast on ABC testifies to its enduring epicness.

Now let's talk about Exodus: Gods And Kings, that film which aspires to humanize both Moses and Pharaoh. We have a spurned member of Egypt's royal family who just learned a family scandal and a Pharaoh who's a walking Blue Star Ointment commercial for half the film -- both spiritually and morally ambiguous. We have a lavishly effeminate viceroy. We have a Red Sea parting, or falling, or maybe just at low tide. And we have GOD... only it's a peevish, creepy little god-boy of whom I will not give the dignity of capitalization.

The film picks up the story in 1300 B.C., with Egyptian general Moses (Bale) and soon-to-be Pharaoh Ramesses II (Edgerton) routing a Hittite army, establishing them as friends, brothers and warriors. Then comes the grunt work of dealing with problems among the Hebrew slaves. Moses goes to see the aforementioned viceroy and meet with the slaves, where he learns the awful truth about his real family. Even though he tries to hide the truth, it gets back to Ramesses. Moses is banished to the desert, and his former brother in arms ascends to the throne.

You probably know the rest, or you should know it, because this film reduces Exodus to a bad trip. When Moses ventures up the forbidden mountain and first encounters GOD, he gets a bonk on the head and a blue burning bush accompanied by that creepy god-boy. This would be a huge stretch on its own, but we keep seeing god-boy throughout this movie making god-boy pensive statements staged in such a way to suggest Moses still hasn't recovered from that bump on the head. Moses is not a charismatic leader but a reluctant warrior. Pharaoh is not a hard-heartened bully, despite his orders putting slaves to death, but a monarch who seems lost in it all. And wait till you see how god-boy handles the golden calf and the Ten Commandments.

At least the plagues are epic: CGI-enhanced storms, yucky skin lesions, and attacks of locusts, flies, frogs and crocodiles. Crocodiles? Wait, that isn't in the Bible. A lot of this film isn't in the Bible either, as devout Christians and Jews will notice, and as Biblical archeologist Ellen White points out. She doesn't even bother to list all of them, telling you, yes, it really is that bad. The parting of the Red Sea, while it does get some things right, also leaves a lot of room for doubts. Director Ridley Scott leaves open the possibility that it could have been natural rather than supernatural.

Hollywood was going to remake this film eventually, and you can argue it needed a remake. For everything I like about The Ten Commandments, it's also full of cheesy dialogue that's rife for riffing in the style of Mystery Science Theater 3000. But Cecil B. DeMille had a lot more respect for his source material, and he turned to the ancient historians Philo and Josephus for help filling in the gaps.

Exodus: Gods And Kings suffers from the same problem as another historically-inspired Ridley Scott film, Kingdom Of Heaven. I noted that film lacked passion. This one does too... and a whole lot more. You may want to see it just to note all its deficiencies. So let it be written.

Stephanie's Joy

If you've never had to deal with the sudden death of a co-worker, consider yourself extremely blessed.

At Six Flags Over Mid-America, the Britannia section of Games abruptly lost 16-year-old Stephanie Jolly in the summer of 1991. She had just gotten rid of her despised brown tag and was excited about getting a driver's license. She won several Mystery Guest awards, living up to her name, and she was a natural to make Service Superstar. I would've nominated her, if I could've found a way to keep that nomination out of the rumor machine.

One day, in the backroom, she told us she was going in for surgery. We knew she had something wrong with her brain, but she brushed it off as if it were a trip to the dentist. I heard she had a tumor, but later, I heard it was something a lot more precarious -- swelling of certain blood vessels in her head. It didn't cause her much pain, but she once had a seizure during a break.

During surgery, her brain swelled so much that it crushed her skull. She was gone.

The Games supervisors got the word first, and they had the biggest problem: how to break the news to everybody without plunging the entire section into grief. They decided to tell people once they got off shifts, but the news trickled back to people still working.

"We almost had to shut the section down," one co-worker recalled.

This same person had been going out with Stephanie for some time, and worse, the relationship had soured in the last few days. The co-worker was at one of the arcades when another worker with him got a call from management. A boss gave the word to her first with instructions not to tell her floormate until a replacement could arrive. But the news being what it was, her facial expressions gave away dire news.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't tell you."

"What's wrong?"

"I can't tell you until Jim (the supervisor) gets here. He told me not to tell."

"[Bleep] that. What's so [bleep]ing wrong?"

"Steph didn't make it!"

Instantly, the co-worker lost control of the rational forces within him. A guest walked up to him saying he'd just lost a quarter in a machine. The co-worker hurled the keys in his hand at him. "Fix it your [bleep]ing self!"

At that moment, Jim arrived with a replacement. He told the co-worker to take off his till and go up to the Games office, where some other sups were in mourning.

The co-worker declined an offer to be a pallbearer at Stephanie's funeral, noting he was still messed up. Jim took his place.

This all happened while I was away on vacation, and I'm glad I didn't have to see Brit reduced to grief.

"You gotta smile," Stephanie once said to me. "It's Saturday!"

She was born to work this job. Why her? In my scoundrel youth, it reinforced my flawed theory, adapted from Billy Joel, that only the good die young. If I had a relationship with GOD back then, I would've been able to explain it to people. I don't think I would've made a big dent in their grief, but at least I would've kept them from blaming THE LORD.

Laird Christopher In Williamsburg

Your humble servant -- or Laird Christopher Francis Leslie of Edinburgh, if you will -- returns to one of his favourite balls:  The George Washington Ball, presented by the Williamsburg Heritage Dancers in Williamsburg, Virginia.  Here are some of his most memorable recollections of a glorious evening.

A FEW ADJUSTMENTS

For this ball, I have a brand new cocked hat -- gold trim with a gold cockade.  I have a brand new jabot, purchased just this morning in the historic shops.  Instead of my red satin balderic, I wear my Scottish Royal Stewart tartan with my clan pins and a brooch to fasten it.  I think it looks much better than the last time.  It certainly doesn't feel any heavier, and in the cold of the late winter, I do not feel excessive warmth.

COME JOIN US

Once again, I journey to the rehearsal session, where we walk through some 20 dances on the program in 2 1/2 hours.  Venturing into the room, I don't know a soul.  For a moment, I remember what it was like to be the outsider.  But I soon meet a lady, Mary, who is there alone, and we strike up a conversation.  She will be the first of several ladies who will help brighten my evening with their kindness and encouragement.

During the rehearsals, the group goes through a dance that the callers indicate you shouldn't try if you don't know it.

"We just want to practice," one of the explains as the caller questioned why four of us were off to our side.  "We don't want to ruin it for anybody else."

We walk through the steps on our own, messing up without fear of reprisal, but also realizing that the dance is too complicated to walk through in just a small set of four, where we need other couples on either side of us to help guide our steps for some of the complicated square weaving figures that involve other couples.

We would have just stood and watched the rest of the dance, but several in the other long sets then invite us to join them, so that we could dance and learn from one another.  We make it through with the help of the kindness of the experienced, who did not want to see us left out.

A LONG JOURNEY INTO HISTORY

I told several people I was "all in," not content to sit out any dances if I could help it, coming all the way from Tucson, Arizona.

"You came all the way for this?" people reply, jaws dropping.

"Yes," I nod.  "I don't get to do much Colonial dancing in Tucson.  I dance Scottish, which is great cross-training.  But as for English, it's just not there.  And it's not there with everybody dressed up as beautifully as they do here."

With that in mind, I gather the others went a step further.  It's important to find a good dancing group, one that will welcome newcomers.

"Some can be cliquish," one gentleman tells me.  I've heard of others where the amateurs and inexperienced are confined to their own set, the dancing equivalent of eating at the kiddie table.  Not here.  Not now.  And I pray, not ever.

ALREADY THERE

Midway through the practice session, a lady joins us in her Colonial day dress, apron, and mob cap, stepping right out of the pages of time.

"I just got off work," she explains to me, having scurried over from her interpreter role at Colonial Williamsburg.

"You're doing what I want to do eventually," I tell her, referring to a planned future chapter of my life: leaving the news business, becoming a CW interpreter, and joining a historic dance troupe.

GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS

The minuet is always the first dance of the evening, in history and in historical re-creation.  Last time, I faked my way through one.  This time, I have a rough idea of the steps.  That is enough for me to quickly seek out a lady, bow, and lead her to one of the lines.

Unlike last time, whereas I stood in the back, a long way away from those in prime view, I am second in line in the middle row of dancers, meaning I'd better get this right, or at least look like I was.

A bow to "the presence," a bow to my lady, and we are off and minueting, in small steps around each other, three-quarter time, alternating holding left and right hands in a Z-formation.  I know I'm supposed to be stepping right-left-right, left-right-left, but my focus is shifting from footwork to figures.  One thing I have learned from two years of Scottish Country Dancing:  If I get the patterns right, nobody will mind if my footwork is wrong.

I have sympathy for my Colonial ancestors who danced at a ball many times before.  They have to measure up and dance perfectly, or else it is a mark upon their character.  Right now, I can taste their anxiety.

"Other hand," my lady quietly corrects me during a turn.

I have to wonder what people thought of those aristocratic gentlemen who couldn't dance a proper minuet.  Even here in Virginia, where people loved to dance, it's only logical to expect that some people's feet would not measure up to the desires of their heart.  Fortunately, I am with a good group, and my minuet is at least serviceable and elegant if not perfect.

"We honour the presence," she says, cueing me to another bow towards the front before we bow to one another once again.

I thank my lady with another bow and turn to see half the crowded room -- perhaps two dozen at least -- is standing and watching us, some with cell-phone cameras in hand.  I pass the first major test of the evening.

"Dancing a minuet in Williamsburg," I smile.  "Check that box."  Again.



ILLUSIONS OF ROYALTY

His Regalness, sharing a dance
with two beautiful ladies
(Source: Facebook/Williamsburg
Heritage Dancers)

He is the most period-correct in the room:  White ponytail wig, snow-white face powder, blue satin jacket and breeches, brooches and medallions, and rings on his gloved fingers.

I cannot help but compliment him on his attire between dances.  "I am glad to see that the French are with us!"

He recoils.  "The French?  Where are they?  I am King George The Third!"

He displays his regal medallion of England.  All the air escapes my body and I quickly fall into as low and courtly a bow as I can muster.

"My apologies, Your Majesty."  Under protocol, our eyes shouldn't even meet.  "All the portraits I have seen show you wearing gold instead of blue!"

Embarrased, I back away, not thinking it awkward that His Majesty would somehow be in Williamsb
urg, rife with rumours of revolution.  The ballroom is the great equalizer, where rank is set aside so that all might delight in diversion.  Yet that is little insurance for the awkward moment.

I explain to a lady how I might have just hurled Virginia closer to revolution more expediently than Lord Governor Dunmore.

"Oh that's not The King," she explains.  "That's Lord Foppington."

"Really?"

"Yes, Lord Foppington."  He apparently only thinks he's royalty, the classic delusion of comic history, of those macaronis long before Chef Boy-Ar-Dee with their egregious frilliness, buttons and bows.  Only in the 18th Century does gentlemens' fashion approach the beauty of the ladies.  Excess, however, is not elusive.




FOLLOW YOU, FOLLOW ME

Great Scottish dancing is great teamwork, as I have learned.  And such is true for English.  When the invitation for "The Punch Bowl" came forth, I went to sit down without regret, not knowing the dance and not wanting to ruin it for others by attempting a caper of advanced difficulty.

One lady would not have that.

"Would you like to dance with me?" she asks.  In the real 18th Century, ladies did not ask gentlemen to dance, but this is one item of protocol happily dispensed of for the enjoyment and benefit of all -- or perhaps she saw through my eyes into my heart.

"My Lady," I say, "I do not know this dance, and I'm told not to try it on the floor."

She waves off my apprehensions.  "How can you learn it if you don't get to try it?  I can lead you."

And she does.  The beauty of "The Punch Bowl" is that it's highly symmetrical, meaning I can follow my partner, like looking into a mirror, and walk through the moves like I know them, provided I can react quickly enough to the changes.  She knows the dance well enough to lead your humble servant strongly.

"You're doing beautifully!" she cries mid-way through, even as I have made a quick wrong turn here and there.  Nobody in the set minds.  We are at the end, more adept for those adapting.  It ends with the two of us at the bottom of the lines, bowing and curtsying to each other right in front of another person's cell phone camera.

"HUZZAH!  HUZZAH!  Thank you, My Lady!  Thank you for Blessing me with this dance!  Thank you for leading me!"

My words can scarcely contain my gratitude.

A short time later, I return the favour for another lady in a three-couple set during "Trip To Tunbridge," a dance she does not know, but one I can lead her through.

"Do not fret," I tell her.  "I believe in you.  We will get through this.  It's not a mistake, it's a variation!"

The dance is filled with tricky diagonal moves of turning one corner than another.  We watch, wait, dance and try to learn.  This is where I realize I have danced this one before, several years ago at that Playford Ball in Nashville.  Now the steps and the feel of it are coming back.

"Lead down," I say, softly calling to her as we move about.  "Lead up, diagonal, diagonal, to your own side..."

Before we know it, the dance is over, and she has danced it like a champion.  She reaches out and hugs me before I can bow in appreciation.

Minutes later, I lead another lady through a dance with a "dolphin hey," a fancy term for a figure where a lady follows a gentleman around the other two dancers in the set in a weaving pattern.  Normally, the two leading the figure are supposed to change who's in front as we work our way around.  But I quietly simplify things for her, content to let her follow me.  It doesn't ruin anything about the dance for the others, and it looks elegant all the same.

"I believe in you," I tell her, just as I told the other lady, and other ladies throughout this evening who are unsure of themselves and their abilities.

We dance through it with nary an error, and she is abundantly grateful in the closing honours.

"Thank you!"

"Thank you, My Lady!"



ONE GOOD TURN...

After rolling though 21 dances with 21 partners -- plus at least a half -dozen more if one counts the circle mixer -- the final waltz arrives.

I seek out a partner, and I find one in an older lady.

"I was hoping you would ask me for a waltz," she replies brightly as we stroll back onto the floor.

I can't imagine why she might pine for your humble servant.  I give my standard advisory.  "I'm not much of a waltzer, but I am a two-stepper."

We step a few beats from side to side before I continue my thought.  "However, My Lady, I can lead you in a waltz-minuet, which is like a country dance we make up on the fly, where I call the steps and you follow."

In a beat, we are turning and siding to each other, circling around each other in an improvised celebration.  I have danced it many times with many ladies, and it has never failed to uplift.

"It's like a waltz tango!" she proclaims.

With a final bow and curtsy, the ball is suddenly over.  Months of anticipation, like the light at the end of a tunnel, suddenly over.  I have a few more moments to chat with newfound friends, some who did not know I had come all the way from Arizona to pursue my dearest diversion.

All I can think about is how tremendously blessed I feel at this moment: having the opportunity to dance with so many ladies, without sitting out a single dance.  I have not felt so much warmth since my very first 18th Century Ball.

"GOD Bless You!" I keep telling ladies and gentlemen as I bid them farewell.

Laird Christopher with a Lady of the
Jane Austen Society, the next day
(Source: Facebook/Virginia Lee)

A bonus day of dancing will follow tomorrow, as part of a Jane Austen Society meeting at a small women's club up the road, enough to satisfy any remnant afterglow that lasts through the night.

People can ask me why I love this so much.  I tell them it's beautiful, it's uplifting, and it brought me back to GOD.  Few things in this world bring me joy, and this is one of them.  I gather I some recessed Virginia genes somehow made it into me, because I don't know any relatives of mine who have ever enjoyed this.

Thinking about it, I feel the overwhelming presence of GOD in this ballroom tonight, and I realize what we've just done is what GOD calls us all to do.  We're to lift up and encourage others -- keep them from going astray and give encouragement to keep them on the path, not cutting them out, but bringing them in.  Mistakes will happen, but we just continue on.  Everybody gets to dance in this ballroom of life, with OUR HEAVENLY CALLER there to show us the way.

What happens in the ballroom should be happening to you! Find out more about the Williamsburg Heritage Dancers here.

Post by Christopher Francis.

Why Arizona's SB 1062 Deserves Failure

Nearly a year ago, I went on the record explaining why I thought government should ban gay marriage. But when the question is whether governments should allow people to deny services to homosexuals on the basis of religious belief -- and Arizona's SB 1062 is aimed in that direction -- we go off into a dangerous void.

Let's start with the bill itself [PDF]. It broadens an existing religious freedom law to include businesses, along with individuals and religious institutions. It does not specifically mention Christianity, or any specific religion. Neither does it mention homosexuality. Here's where the problems begin: this bill was clearly a response to situations outside of Arizona where people who provide services to weddings, such as bakers and photographers, ran into legal trouble because they refused to provide their services to same-sex weddings on religious principles. But this bill is not tailored that narrowly, and if it were, chances are it would not survive a court challenge, just as many states' gay-marriage bans are not surviving court challenges now.

With a bill so broad, it could potentially apply to situations its authors never intended. Does a hotel have a right to refuse a room to a gay couple, married or not, because the owner considers such conduct sinful? In that case, have the owners refused a single-but-unmarried couple because the owner disapproves of sex outside marriage? It gets worse: could some Christians legally refuse to do business with Mormons if they think the LDS is a cult? Going ad nauseum, could any business refuse to provide any service for anybody simply on the grounds that it violates their religion?

Here's another problem: the bill doesn't contain any language to test whether somebody objecting on religious grounds is actually a faithful practitioner as opposed to being somebody who just claims they believe in something. From the language of the bill:

"Exercise of religion" means the PRACTICE OR OBSERVANCE OF RELIGION, INCLUDING THE ability to act or refusal to act in a manner substantially motivated by a religious belief, whether or not the exercise is compulsory or central to a larger system of religious belief.

In other words, this bill says practicing religion is being religious -- a recursive definition that doesn't even require you to belong to any organized faith.

Laws live and die by loopholes, and this bill has doozies. In order to make it legally non-discriminatory, it's legally vague. Vague laws get challenged in court, leaving judges to deal with the legal heartburn of throwing out flawed legislation and complaints from groups who scream bloody murder about activist gavel jockeys.

Now let's look at the Christian perspective. First, we have to see what GOD actually says about doing business with homosexuals. As I found last year, the Bible references homosexuality nine times, but none of those references deals with rendering goods and services to gay people. So GOD is not telling us to avoid doing so.

Furthermore, we get insight from Mark 2:15-17 (NIV):

While JESUS was having dinner at Levi’s house, many tax collectors and sinners were eating with HIM and HIS disciples, for there were many who followed HIM. When the teachers of the law who were Pharisees saw him eating with the sinners and tax collectors, they asked HIS disciples: “Why does HE eat with tax collectors and sinners?”

On hearing this, JESUS said to them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

Here we learn JESUS knew HIS mission meant trying to minister to sinners rather than avoiding them. GOD doesn't tell us to avoid sinners completely, although 1 Corinthians 15:33-34 says: "Do not be misled: 'Bad company corrupts good character.' Come back to your senses as you ought, and stop sinning; for there are some who are ignorant of GOD — I say this to your shame." However, the context of these verses makes them more of a warning for people to stop hanging around people who are leading them into consistent, definable sin rather than just eating with sinners.

Some of you are asking, "Aren't we complicit in sin if we help others celebrate a sinful union?" Fair question. You can point to James 4:17 (NIV), which says: "If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn't do it, it is sin for them." But, again, the context of the verse talks about those who put off submitting themselves to GOD, as earlier verses in this chapter implore us to do -- not moral dilemmas on whether something is a sin or not. And remember, we haven't even established that serving gays or gay couples is a definable sin in the first place!

With so much left unspoken in GOD'S Word and the wording of the bill, SB 1062 creates more problems than it solves. A lot of you will still have problems offering goods or services to same-sex couples, no matter what the law or the Bible says. You will agonize about it, even if the Bible doesn't say it's a sin. Your conscience will still bother you because you just can't see the perfect answer.  Remember, GOD doesn't expect us to live perfectly, just consistently. And when we confess to GOD we can't do it perfectly, that we need a SAVIOR, that we need forgiveness and guidance and wisdom for the things we're not sure about, GOD will give us all of those things.

Carrying The Message On

Grandfather Francis shared a personal and touching note in some "Words of Institution" he gave before Communion one Sunday, handwritten on a loose-leaf notebook page:

There are many events that are written about JESUS in the New Testament. But to me The Last Supper stands out in my mind as of great importance. Picture a simple table with benches -- a group of men, some followers, a doubter, one a betrayer. There is JESUS, breaking bread, saying 'This is MY body,' then drinking the wine and saying, 'This is MY blood.' sealing the New Covenant; it is poured out to forgive the sins of multitudes. We are quite fortunate to break break and take the cup each Sunday. It is something that seems to bring us closer to JESUS CHRIST, to look back upon those 12 men that started Christianity, who went into all parts of the world to preach and teach. As true disciples, we must carry their message on.

Grandfather was a member of the Disciples of CHRIST. I'm a member of The Cool Church, even though we technically don't have membership rolls. However, we have the same mission, as CHRIST told us in Matthew 28:19 (NIV): "Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the FATHER and of the SON and of the HOLY SPIRIT."

JESUS never told us it would be easy. When HE told Simon Peter and Andrew HE would make them "fishers of men," (Matthew 4:19) notice HE didn't say "catchers." My church got an all-too-painful reminder of that earlier this month when we tried to launch a new branch in the east valley of Phoenix. Our leadership worked for more than a year on this, researching, praying, advertising, praying, planning, arranging, dealmaking, and praying some more. We invested thousands of dollars into the effort.

Then on the launch Sunday, with a band and numerous staffers borrowed from Tucson, with new lighting and technical toys in a rented auditorium, when we were hoping to have 400 to 500 people show up for either one of two services, fewer than 100 made it into the seats. Our leadership sadly but realistically determined that it would simply cost too much and take too long for TCC East Valley to gain the attendance and Phoenix-based staff it would need to sustain itself. The new church lasted only one week.

Yeah, we're bummed out about it. The staff did everything they need to do on our end and trusted GOD to do the rest. But GOD sometimes gives an answer to our prayers that we don't expect or like, and often the answer is "no," or "not yet," or "not here." It's not the first time TCC has tried to launch a satellite church outside of Tucson and failed: a similar effort in Yuma lasted only a few months. We learned some lessons, got some answers from GOD, and moved on.

Even here in Tucson, we've had to deal with reality and hardship. One TCC branch in midtown closed when the pastor faced the need to devote more time to family, and we didn't have another pastor to step into that location. Another branch left us when the pastor developed financial and philosophical differences with the rest of the leadership, and he decided to start his own church. Several years ago, an activist group misrepresented us in a newspaper story.

My pastor has had to deal with huge struggles, setbacks and pain inside and outside of ministry. He lost his first wife to a brain tumor in a matter of days. One of his best friends, one who was a large part of the church, turned his back on him.

But still, we don't give up. TCC still has two thriving locations, and we're looking to expand again in Tucson. I gather Grandpa knew the challenges of getting people to come to church, but he did his end and trusted GOD for further instructions.

And as this edition of "30/30" wraps up, I'm happy to tell you Dearest Aunt Susan has found a few more of Grandpa Francis' prayers. Stay tuned.

In Ancient Times...

On the back of a scrap of a memo from the University of Kansas, Grandfather Francis gives us a history lesson:

In ancient times, all rich men had stewards. They had to be trustworthy, yet have the ability of business managers, because they had full charge of their master's possessions. The Earth is owned by THE LORD. HE gave man the use of it and all living things.

So man is a steward of the LORD'S possessions, all of his to use and trade upon. But of the increase, THE LORD said, a part of that is MINE. So as good Christians, we should return that part to further GOD'S work.

But how much is "a part?" A lot of people how much they should give. JESUS taught us it's not about how much we give, but what percentage, as HE taught in the parable of the widow and the giving box (Mark 12:21-44):

JESUS sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.

Calling HIS disciples to him, JESUS said, 'Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.'"

The take-away from here is NOT that GOD expects us to give everything to HIM, but that HE expects us to give sacrificially. The rich gave in a way that was comfortable to them, not sacrificially.

At the same time, GOD makes it clear in Deuteronomy 8:18 he wants us to have stuff -- provided we don't let stuff get in the way of our relationship with HIM.

Jeremiah 29:11: "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares THE LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Proverbs 28:25: "The greedy stir up conflict, but those who trust in the LORD will prosper."

And In Matthew 6:33 (NIV) JESUS says not to worry about our day-to-day needs: "But seek first HIS kingdom and HIS righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well."

The Bible doesn't mention a specific percentage, but many people use the percentage of 10 percent, calling it a "tithe." Actually, a tithe in the ancient nation of Israel was a tax of 23 percent, of which 10 percent went to the church -- and that was giving under compulsion, which the Bible warns us not to do in 2 Cor. 9:7. We advise people at TCC to aim for 10 percent, because our research has found people who do so are more likely to meet GOD's expectations of consistent and sacrificial giving.

When leading newly baptized people through the ropes of being highly effective Christians, my church compares Christians to bankers -- GOD'S money is on deposit with us, and HE wants to make a withdrawal, we should comply as good bankers. As I have said before in this "30/30" series, Grandpa took stewardship very seriously. My Dearest Aunt Susan found a booklet on stewardship along with the various prayers you've been reading this month.

And here are some other verses on the subject, but be advised, they're not in context, so you will want to read verses around them to get the full meaning.

Are You Expecting?

This is my opinion, so you're free to ignore it, but I find a test in your relationship with GOD is how much you value your time with HIM. Grandpa Francis knew about that in this Communion prayer:

O GOD, our source of life and love, we come with expectant hearts to this table today. Give us the blessing which best fits our needs and help us to be more like OUR MASTER who went about doing good. May the bread and cup which we take be a source of spiritual strength, and may the presence of the living CHRIST hallow the entire experience. This we pray in HIS name, Amen.

Caring For GOD's Gifts

If you haven't figured it out so far this month, or you're just logging into the middle of this edition of "30/30," it's clear Grandpa Francis valued stewardship tremendously. He uses that term consistently in offering prayers re-posted from the scraps of paper he left to a new generation.

OUR FATHER, please accept this offering. May we do a better job of stewardship. YOU have given us many worthwhile things and we are ever so grateful. We realize that all things belong to you. With our stewardship, may we show we care for the privilege of using those things YOU have bestowed on us. This we ask in YOUR NAME.

Cleansed At The Table

Grandpa Francis wrote out a lot of Communion prayers. Here's one I found on a 3-by-5 card talking about how Communion is a cleansing experience:

OUR FATHER, at this sacred table, we thank you for JESUS CHRIST, the nobility of HIS character, the beauty of HIS spirit, the greatness of HIS mission, and the dedication of HIS life. We are humbled that HE invested HIS very body for our spiritual welfare. As we partake of the bread and wine, cleanse us all that is unworthy and make more complete HIS image in us.

Grandpa took Communion seriously, as should all Christians. The bread and wine remind us that we are cleansed of sin by CHRIST's sacrifice. A lot of you don't get or don't understand a lot of church rituals, but this is a sacrament you should understand -- this and Baptism. It's something that's consistent across all denominations. It's like coming home for Thanksgiving, when we're all at the same table. No matter where we're from, we're part of the Christian family, remembering why we're here and why we're thankful.

Guidance

Whether you're offering yourself or your money, here's a prayer from Grandfather Francis this morning:

OUR FATHER, please except this offering this morning. May it help to spread the Gospel here and throughout the world. Guide us as to our stewardship as Christians, and as Christians, may we be able to help those less fortunate. These things we ask in YOUR NAME. Amen.

And if you still need guidance and encouragement...

DEAR GOD, may we serve you out of love and gratitude for these gifts, knowing that it's not how much we have but what we do with what we have that is important. As Christians, we know our lives are sacred trusts; we are stewards of those lives, we know YOU depend on us to use them to accomplish YOUR purposes. Because we love YOU GOD, we dedicate these gifts to serve YOU. Amen.

Be A Light

Feeling a little dim this morning, or any morning? Try this prayer from Grandfather Francis:

O GOD, author of eternal light, lead us in our worshiping this day; that our lips may praise THEE, our lives may bless THEE, our meditations may glorify THEE; through JESUS CHRIST OUR LORD...

Grandpa wrote this for Sunday services. But remember, the word "worship" comes from the greek word proskuneo, primarily used in the original New Testament text, which means "to kiss toward." This reflected how some people would pray -- kissing the ground -- or kissing the hand of somebody they honored and respected. Worship, therefore, is a gesture of honor and respect, not something we do one day out of seven.

Gratitude In Common Things

Grandpa Francis used a notecard to sketch out a short Communion prayer:

DEAR GOD, OUR FATHER, we acknowledge that YOU loved us so much that YOU sent YOUR SON to offer HIS body to the suffering of crucifixion and death for our sins. As we partake of the loaf and cup, we express our gratitude and our love. In YOUR SON'S NAME, Amen.

And then, on a small, yellow scrap of paper barely two inches square:

OUR FATHER, we come in the name of JESUS who found the deepest holiness in common things. Bless this bread and cup and those who partake, that life and sacrifice may stand revealed. We pray this in the NAME OF CHRIST. Amen.