I met a boy named Carlton a couple weeks ago. he showed up at my house with some of the kids from the youth group i help at. His friend had just died in a car accident and he had a lot of digesting to do. He poured out his troubles of fighting with his dad, losing girlfriends and dire financial debts. He had just gotten a new job but he hadn’t paid his insurance and didn’t have gas money to get to work. I offered my extra mattress to him if he needed a place to stay that night. He did and we talked late into the night until he finally talked himself to sleep. Later I rallied some of the kids from the youth group to get some money together to buy him a gas card. I thought that was the best, safest way to supply for him. His most important need, was to be able to get to work.  then he would be able to pull himself out of many of the other problems he was having.  We accrued $130 and bought him a gas card. (more to come on Carlton) Raw Spoon

Christians just don’t seem any different than other people: uncommitted church members, highly realized Just like there are Christians like that.

really good people helping the homeless or starting organizations to end poverty and I hope they are Christians Because then that would validate that Christianity is working and making people better than people who Both Christians and non-Christians alike can do good things. But Christians are different because they do very certain things. I’ll tell you what I mean.

But then I realized, Christianity is the religion that levels this playing field. if some broken part of our brain is leading us to sin more than most, or in more hideous ways, the Christian

He brought two friends and the four of us drove down to the Christian coffee shop in Wichita. Did people expect more at a Christian coffee shop?  they assume a Christians or Christian coffee shops should buy them coffee.  Does the world expect more out of Christians?  I would guess so.  That makes our job harder.  Time to step up our game, Christians.  Live radically.  Be ready to sacrifice. Raw Spoon

I jumped from the roof because my friends had all died. The entire world had been drowned. It was from the roof of the tallest tower in Europe. The crop-producing lands in America, Australia, and Asia had already been swallowed by the rising salt water and the world had starved. And our conquest to live on other planets had failed us. I was the last person. I no longer wanted to be surrounded by the dead bodies of my friends and others who had been starved of food and water on the roof with me. So I jumped into the water looming 70 floors below. And then I woke up. Here. Peace. Free from all the heaviness of the earth. Lots of light. And you were here. I felt like I knew you. Better than anyone I have ever known, but I had never met you. Like you had been in everyone I had met, but I didn’t know it was you. Your smile was knowing, as if you were happy that I was about to discover a secret you had for me. I looked around. “This place seems nice,” I said. “I hope so. I made it for us.” “Just you and me? What about the rest of creation? Everybody else?” “They are in you. It was you who lived every life. Every animal and insect and plant to every last human. It was you. You are now more complete. You are more like me.” And as I thought about it, I remembered everything. It doubled me over at the waist, like a tsunami had crashed over my heart. You were right there with me, your hand on my back. “The pain,” I groaned. “So much pain. So much I did wrong. I’m sorry.” “I know,” you said. “But we will now judge it, my wrath will be your forgiveness. I will burn up your pain and we will make you new. Because there is so much beauty I see in you.” I nodded, because by the way you said it I knew it was true. I looked up and your eyes were kind. I knew this kindness, and tenderness would bring my judgement that would save me. Like a scalpel held in the tender hand of a loving surgeon. You walked me to a river. It was steaming. So, so beautiful. It flowed down from a mountain. You led me up the mountain. All was so beautiful. So much beauty and complexity to explore. “I’ve made it all for you, my son.” I use the word son here, because it is close, but the word you used also included daughter, and brother and sister, and wife and husband, and created, and servant, and every good thing every life on earth had ever been to you and to each other. We came to a spring at the top of the mountain and you stepped in. You beckoned me to follow. You did not force me. But I trusted you. I stepped in. The pure crystal water burned parts of me like a liquid diamond excising to my bones. It carved out the pained and ugly and vengeful parts of me. I looked down and saw dark red dross coming off of me, dispersing and disappearing into the vast spring. “As far as the East is from the West,” you said. It burned badly, but I wanted to be purified. The memories of pain and sin did not leave me, but the water soaked them through with a new flavor, purified them. And I knew that those hard memories, too, had made me into who I am. They had built into me humility, and empathy, and an understanding of how good was your goodness, because I had seen the great darkness in me. And I knew the water was your forgiveness. “Thank you,” I said. “Half of the forgiveness was for yourself; you needed to forgive yourself.” You looked down at my wrists just as they were entering the water. “And now you know the pain I bore for all the forgiveness I have given you. You would be less without knowing this pain as well. This is also how you will know how much I love you.” The blood on the fresh nail wounds stung as my wrists dipped into the water. But as I let them settle in, the water took the pain away. My scars were not removed, but were healed. In fact there were faded dense shapes all over my skin. It made up my skin’s essence. I realized I bore the scars of all people on earth. But it was the scars that made up the material of my skin. And the scars were beautiful, their shapes making beautiful, flat, skin-colored tattoos faded on my skin if I looked close enough. If I did not look so close, I could only see the stigmata on my wrists. I settled into the water, following you, but of my own will. I kept my eyes open as I dipped my head under the water, because there was so much in them that could be purified. But also that way I could see all the pain lifting out of me and spreading out from me toward the edges of the spring. I could see it would become the soil from which things in this world would grow. But the pain in me was replaced by such a deep, understanding and renewal. Your hand found mine under the water, and in that instant I realized this redemption of my suffering was the secret you had wanted to share. We gently floated to the middle of the hot spring, side by side. “I thought there was supposed to be a third among us? The Holy Spirit.” “He is the one that connects us. There is you, and there is me, but together we are more than just you and me. That is he. Our love that is the invisible bond that binds us. You can see him if you look.” I looked at you and saw him in your face. In your smile. But behind you I saw mountains and more creatures moving on the hillsides and the great skies with rolling clouds, like those on earth. And I realized that was the Spirit as well. Every embodiment of the love between us was him.” You said ‘him’, but it also meant the spirit was ‘her’. “What do we do now?” “Well, you no longer operate on the spectrum of Good and Evil. I created you in that world but you have finally graduated. We now operate on the spectrum of love and more love. It is only limited by our creativity. The only tragedy in this story between you and I will be ways we imagine to love each other that we have not yet fulfilled. And that is how we will live anew.” I smiled and knew. I started to back away from you, with a coy smile. And you knew too. You would pursue me. But now I would spend a thousand years creating creatures that could enjoy this love with us. And in that time you would be ever seeking me, and me ever you. Hoping to be with each other like the night before our wedding. But you would learn about me through the beauty in every single thing I could create to give to you. I would learn about you and how you created me. And at the end of that long night you would find me again and you would hold me, like your true created, becoming more and more like the image of you, my creator. — Is this one possible way the judgment day could look? I don’t think this is how it will happen, but I hope this story increases our imagination of God! This story is a fictional concept of mine. But a friend, Therese, showed me “The Egg,” a story by Andy Weir (the author of The Martian) which is super similar to this. So I thought I’d write my version as well! Here is his version. Check it out! http://www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html Raw Spoon, 1-28-16 📷

I have a friend, Manny, who started a church whose goal was to rescue people from traditional Christianity He sees inconsistencies in the Bible, and harmful things in traditional Christian theology, and his family has been extremely hurt by Christianity. And I haven’t lost a brother because of Christianity. scientific earth, then someday the Earth will die and then what would be the point of all of these fading acts

I’ve been thinking lately about why a lot of Christian art seems to be, well, not as good as a lot of Have you seen the Christian movies out there? Christian radio and music is so void of innovation. Christian art doesn’t ALL have to be “family friendly”. I feel like a lot of Christian movies avoid scary things, and bad words and Christian music stays pretty It’s hard because much of the Christian culture promotes this safe mindset.

favorite type of worship song is usually those secular songs which I already love, but which become Christian But I'd love to hear which secular songs you listen to that seem to have a Christian message. following: U2: Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For U2 is known for their secular songs that have Christian

It’s easy to look at Christians who are living very similar to the rest of the world and ask, “If this is Christianity how is there anything true about the spirit that changes people?” But I think looking at the majority of people who call themselves Christians isn’t the right way to identify Christians. I’ve seen a few examples of people who call themselves Christians and actually manage their lives to

Aliza cried into the rough covers of her bed, the bed she used to share with her little sister. Her mother and sister had decided to move to Strausburg to work that summer but had died in a train accident on the way. Her father’s heavy steps came down the hall until he stopped and spoke through the door. “Aliza! You have no idea what you have done to this family. Who is the father?” She held her face in her pillow until she heard the door open. She sat up quickly and straight on the side of the bed, holding her pillow to her stomach and trying to hold back her tears. Her father walked up to her and lifted her chin, his curls of hair hanging from either side of his fedora. “Who is the father, Aliza?” She just shook her head, unable to speak. “Is it one of the boys from your class?!” She shook her head. “Someone in the neighborhood?” She shook her head. He stood up and grunted in frustration, curling his angry fingers above her head. “I have to go to temple now. You must stay tonight so they can’t see your stomach. We will go to the doctor and get this fixed tomorrow.” He started to turn around but then stopped. He stared at her head for a few seconds and then spoke slowly and gravely, “Is it one of the men in the temple?” She didn’t move. He roared again, this time not concerned the neighbors would hear. “It is. And of course you’re not going to tell me who.” She shook her head and he stormed out of the room. After he had slammed her door she squeaked, “I tried to stop it but. . .” It was too late. He didn’t hear. Aliza went to temple late that night after everyone else had gone. She knew how to get in because her father was the rabbi. She crumpled between the pews and cried. It echoed in the empty hall. Then she heard footsteps and a pew behind her creaked. She hesitantly lifted her head until she met eyes with an old gray bearded man. He sat down tenderly at the end of the pew. “Oh, grandpa. Oh grandpa. I’ve ruined us.” Come here darling. His voice was patient and soft. She hesitated. She would not get up or face him: “Oh, are you already showing, my dear? It’s okay.” Her eyes got big and she couldn’t say anything for a long while. His eyes were so accepting and kind. “Did my dad tell you?” He shook his head. “God told me.” He smiled. “It’s okay, Aliza. He told me in a dream your son will bring peace to his people.” She sniffed and turned toward him, still crumpled between the pews. “I’ve felt the need to come and pray for the whole last week,” He said. “And God told me you will carry a child that no one wants to come into this world. But he will save us. That’s what he told me. He will save us and he will bring peace.” Her lips trembled, “Save us from what?” She thought about her dad’s big congregation and the news he had recently told her that a new government party was becoming popular and they had asked her dad to be a consultant. “Who could possibly be against us?” “I have been alive a long time and I sense something in the air. Not this year or next. But maybe in the next decade. And your father won’t listen to me. He just wants the power. Aliza, you have to keep this baby and raise him well. He’s going to save many of us.” The next day her father had said to wait for him, and they would go to their doctor to take care of it after synagogue. But she walked into synagogue with her bulging stomach in full view of everyone. Murmuring competed with her father’s words to the congregation. Both she and her father knew they couldn’t go to the doctor after that. Only the doctor and her grandpa were at her baby’s birth. And even the doctor left quickly so no one would see him. Aliza named her baby Amichai because it means “My people are alive.” She stayed in her basement room because to show her face would be to shame her family. Her grandpa was also alone, but he moved from the temple to the markets for errands, to sitting with Aliza as she fed or rocked her baby boy. He read her the newspaper and told her what he was afraid was happening in the government. As Amichai got older, Amichai watched everything. Until he turned 13 he had only said one thing. It was when he was five, he said one sentence, full and articulate to his mother when she was crying. He said, “Don’t worry mother; peace is coming.” As Amichai got older he walked the streets. Their parents knew who he was but the children loved him. He would watch them from his steps. The girls would look at him and smile. They would send a bold ambassador to talk to him but he would only smile, shake his head kindly, and walk up a few steps and away from her. The girls were perplexed but they giggled and adored him. As he watched the boys play games they could see that he was strong and sharp. And so they invited him to their games. Again he would smile kindly, shake his head, and bow out. Whenever there was a fight among them, he was drawn to it. And as soon as the fighters saw him near, their attention turned to their mysterious friend as he walked by, smiling kindly at them and the fighting would be replaced by awkward laughing and then goodhearted murmuring about this peculiar boy. Aliza and her grandfather taught Amichai as he grew up. He discussed the direction the government was going with Amichai and the growth of the National Socialist Working Party and its concerning philosophies. He also taught Amichai much about the sciences and history, and ancient ways in the scriptures. He taught him to pray and memorize the Torah. Amichai loved Jehovah and spent hours in the temple when Aliza’s father, his grandfather wouldn’t know. To his grandfather, the rabbi, Amichai and his mother were impure. Amichai’s grandfather the rabbi also became more entrenched in the state, and despite its antisemitic policies worked within the party as a representative for the Jews. The day came when The National Socialist Working Party started separating whole sections of Jewish neighborhoods and shipping them away on trains. This, of course, brought Aliza many bad memories and seemed to be the tipping point for her son. He began speaking. And every word seemed to cut right to the heart, as if every year holding them back had aimed and sharpened them to penetrate their hearts. He and his peers were now the rising youth of his neighborhood and the heart of their city. And they all knew of Amichai, for he had spent his days walking the streets of his city and knowing the others. And now he walked with a purpose. He would walk into a group who was simply playing craps or cards to ignore the tensions, and he'd allay their fears. And he would say, “My brothers and sisters, this week will be hard. But do not lose faith in Jehovah, for he will save us. Protect your families with your lives my friends. Peace is still coming.” And they listened. The National Socialist Working Party, now in charge and having more power to arrest and detain for no expressed reason began closing in around their district. Along the fringes of the city Jews were being picked off for being too loud or going into shops they weren’t supposed to. But Amichai could usually be found near as these confrontations were happening and he would speak to the others to stay strong, trust in Jehovah to save, and that “Peace is coming.” As their resistance was felt by the Nazi’s, Amichai was identified as a dissident and targeted by the Nazi’s. But he seemed to instill his people with strength, hope and wisdom, and was never slow or obvious enough to be caught. And the encroaching continued. The whisper in the hearts of every Jew looking on was Amachi’s words, “Trust Jehovah. Protect each other with your lives." And "Peace is coming.” Amichai’s grandfather the rabbi still worked with the Nazis despite these things happening. He had become more like one of them than a defender of his own people. In fact he was assigned to be on the front line of attack as the Nazi regime advanced through the neighborhood one Saturday. They had coordinated a greater push than they ever had before to penetrate and divide what had become known as quite the Jewish stronghold. He was at the front line as they moved in, and the people didn’t resist because they saw one of their kind with them. At least not until he and the Nazi soldiers were deep within the stronghold and began to force families out of their homes. It was unfolding that they had been deceived by one of their own kind, the one that they had been trusting to fight for them. The people were stripped from each other and pulled from their homes, unsure if and how to resist. There was confusion about the brown pressed suits and the mix of languages like steel gun barrels mixing through warm bowls of goulash. The Nazi’s had clear direction and instruction, and the Jews were crumbling under their metal. Once the Nazi’s had stabilized their presence in the town square they brought out many of the town’s folk and lined them up around the perimeter, threatening them to stillness by expressionless men with guns. Before the guns went off the Nazi captain pushed Aliza’s father (Amichai's grandfather) the rabbi out of their group, and into the line of Jews at the other end of the gun barrels. He realized what was happening and frantically objected. But the soldiers were hard and they had been given their instructions. He fell to his knees and begged. His was the only voice that rang out in the plaza, and all realized that their betrayer had even been betrayed. His sobs rattled off of the cobbled stones. The captain seemed so frustrated by the whines of the man that he raised his own gun to shoot him. Everything else was silent. Aliza’s father froze and looked the man in the face, pleading with everything he had left with his eyes and beard and chosen curls. But a young man stepped from the line of his comrades against the wall, walked to behind his own grandfather and put a hand on his shoulder. Amichai told his grandfather, “Go. And preach Jehovah. And preach to our people that peace is coming.” Amichai looked at the captain with his arresting eyes, sent his grandfather to the walls and knelt in front of the gun. He bowed, as if he knew he had arrived at his final bed. The shot rang out but the people spread before the confusion could set in among the Nazi’s. The Jews had heard their singular voice and they escaped into their houses immediately and locked their doors. They defended when they needed to with prayer. They preached the passover to each other. They preached that Jehovah would save them soon. They threw pots and pans onto the guards. They preached to them of Jehovah from the windows and the few times where military men burst through the doors the families would invite them to celebrate passover feast with them. Then other families poured into the room and the soldiers were lost in the sea of people. The soldiers were dumbfounded, and just like the old testament stories the stronger foe was confused. By the end of the night they were completely dumfounded and disorganized. They retreated, confused and bewildered in the morning and did not have a chance to attack again, before salvation came. The Americans and their allies overthrew the Nazi regime within a few weeks and the Jews in Amichai’s little town were saved. All because a little boy had been born to a lonely, crying girl with a prophesy that her child would save her people. Raw Spoon

I realized this weekend that some of us have more luxury to be good than others. For example, I heard from someone who taught kids in inner-city schools that the pressure to be in a gang was so high there that like 5 out of 6 teenage boys were in a gang. With all those pressures those kids just don’t have the luxury of being good all the time. But even apart from our surroundings, doesn’t it just seem like some people are born with meaner hearts than others? You can see it in us even before we are old enough to realize we have a choice. And I know that depending on my surroundings a much better or much worse me can come out, independent of who I’m trying to be. Islam. Hindu. Buddhism. As far as I understand, these religions rank your eternal standing on how good you are throughout your life. Islam: Like an 80 year score card. Buddhism: Score card Karma. Hinduism: you will pay in this life for what you did in the previous one and the bill for the next life is accruing right now. But we say that Christ understands that we sate our hunger in all the wrong ways because we are broken, that our addictions are usually stronger than us, and that we know not much of what we do. And if we’ve been terrible for our whole life He won’t let that keep us out of heaven. It appears the only thing that will get us in or out of heaven is what we believe; that we’ve dug ourselves a humongous hole of debt and that He is the only one compassionate enough and reliable enough and big enough to fulfill His promise to reach down and lift us out. And it looks like there will be rewards in heaven for lives lived well but it will be sad for most of us to get to heaven and realize that with what we were given we wasted most of our lives on fading goals. Raw Spoon