One Of Three

In my youth, there were three great men, who shaped my views on everything from my own Christianity, to fidelity, to politics. This entry is about one of them, Keith Green. Keith Green was more than an artist to me. Between the ages of 16 and 19, I don't know if I listened to any pastor or evangelist or professor, more than I did Keith. That's an amazing thing for me to grasp, given that during large portion of this time, I was a seminary student, and had already embarked on my own ministerial journey. A journey that would end abruptly, just as I was about to attain my highest goals,,,but that's a story for another day. I was in those days, a connoisseur of great teaching, and had been from the cradle. I would seek out men and women who had something of substance (in my opinion), to say. I especially was drawn to great speakers. I loved preachers, who could hold a congregation on the edges of there seats, for a full hour at a time. Being raised in the Pentecostal tradition, I was use to hellfire and brimstone rants, but never had much use for them. I was a kid who wanted to hear a great sermon. I drank great oratory, like a fine from a skin. This was the result of growing up with a great preacher. My late Father, was number one of the three men heretofore mentioned, He also is a subject I'll not go deeply into here, as he would surely become the focus of the article. Suffice to say, he was my favorite preacher. The first time I remember hearing Keith Green was in the home of two friends of my youth, they were brothers. One would someday replace the third man on my list, as pastor of the church I attended. The second was his younger brother. He would one day stand as Best Man for me. They had a brand new copy of the album, No Compromise. I remember just weeping as I listened to the album, and setting the needle back over and over again, on a song titled, Make My Life A Prayer To You. As I wept, I prayed for God's forgiveness. Though I had been a Christian for some time. The artist was challenging me as I had never been before. I felt like I was not living by any sort of standard. I felt I needed to wake up. I needed to stop as Keith put it, "sleeping in the light".From that day forward, Keith has always been with me. I found out a couple of years later that we had some major differences in our theological mindset, and because of the hardheadedness of my youth, and a overriding sense that I was right about everything, I put Keith on the sidelines for a while, but Keith's main message of Christ's love, forgiveness and commandment to service. never left me. Now, the better part of thirty years later, I never go to long without hearing Keith in my head. Our differences no longer matter to me. My love of Christ has grown through the years, but my relationship with the Church, as I knew it in my youth, is all but dead. What remains from those years, are the lessons, learned from those three men. A loving Father, a no nonsense Pastor, and an artist. What prompted me to write this? I saw a video of Keith on line. I sat and watched, and listened, and after all these years, I cried. I never cry anymore, it's not who I've become. That guy died with his ministry. I'm no longer a "foolish dreamer trying to build a highway to the sky",,,or so I thought. Thanks for challenging me again Keith. I still love you Brother.

Nightmare

What shadow brings this sorrow, to my sleeping? What wisp of dark cloud do I see? What minor tone is this I hear? What foul presence I sense? It is all I dread, and all I loath. It is all I fear, and all that has torn those I love. I mean to flee, but running I don't accelerate. I intend rather to fight, but lashing out I cannot find my intended. I Open wide to scream yet no alarm comes forth. What is this then? What lays for me, in the mist? Who stalks me from shadow? Who fingers the minor chord? I strain, but see only the cloud. Feeling an evil presence, I flail against the mist 'til all my breath is gone and snapping back, I recoil from a stone like hand. I can neither run nor fight. Leaping with all my might, I strain to fly, and miraculously seem to take wing, only to feel a claw-like grip 'round my leg, pulling my back to shadow. It has me now, all remaining hope fades. I am beaten to submission,,,I am broken. The ink of the foul darkness sinks from my mouth to my lungs, still no scream will come. I smell the stench, and I hear the creaking gates opening to receive me. The mournful tune plays on.

-Rock

James Joyce and Bloomsday

The following is an ecerpt from The Farmer's Alminac:

"Today is Bloomsday, the day on which the action in James Joyce's novel Ulysses takes place in 1904. Leopold Bloom, the main character of Ulysses, does not have much work to do, spends most of his day wandering around Dublin doing some errands, leaves his house on Eccles Street, walks south across the River Liffey, picks up a letter, buys a bar of soap, and goes to the funeral of a man he didn't know very well. In the afternoon, he has a cheese sandwich, feeds the gulls in the river, helps a blind man cross the street, and visits a couple of pubs. He thinks about his job, his wife, his daughter, his stillborn son. He muses about life and death and reincarnation. He knows that his wife is going to cheat on him that afternoon at his house. In the evening, he wanders around the red-light district of Dublin and meets up with a young writer named Stephen Dedalus, who is drunk. And so Leopold Bloom takes him home with him and offers to let him spend the night. And they stand outside, looking at the stars for a while. And then Bloom goes inside and climbs into bed with his wife."

There are three very freeing words that I live by, and I've shared them with many a friend, and colleague. When the monkey-shit of Joyce worship gets so deep, that all I can barely wade through it, I chant it like a manta. When I do all becomes clear again. The brown veil is lifted and the epiphany comes anew...James Joyce sucks, James Joyce sucks, James Joyce sucks, James Joyce sucks, James Joyce sucks,,,,,,

Solos From Olympus, Part II

The single most enigmatic song of the '90s, is the vehicle for this gem. Mike McCreedy pours emotion into this song, like wine from a bottle. Inspired by the spirit of Hendrix, the guitar work on this song is haunting, beautiful and unforgettable.

The Greatest Hitter Who Ever Lived.

Ted Williams is my favorite ball player. I don't really follow Baseball now. The truth is, I dislike most of what Baseball is these days. It was however the game of my youth, and I had many a smiling argument with my Father, over The Giants and Braves. I don't know why I thought of Ted Williams today, but I'm glad I did.

Imagine a player today, volunteering to take a cut in pay, because he failed to live up to his own standard.