Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

Bad rap + church announcements = train wreck

There are creative, innovative, appropriate ways to blend church and culture in a manner that preserves the integrity of both and keeps the church relevant while remaining honest to its mission in the world.

And then there is this:

Sigh.....

Where to begin?  Let''s start with the song itself.  It's BAD.  And not bad in a good way. To paraphrase Bon Jovi, it gives "bad" a bad name.  I'm not a fan of rap music and even I know this is an offense to the genre.

Beyond that, though, what exactly is being conveyed in the name of "church?"  Hmm.  Well, for one thing it seems to suggest that it's okay to adopt stereotypes in the church, such as the "bling-bling" a rapper wears or the parody of an entire ethnicity, even down to the name (as if all Hispanics walk around wearing sombreros and shawls).  I'd find it hard to think that those being caricatured would feel all that welcome.

And that's not even mentioning the most absurd thing about this video: that the entire four minutes and three seconds is devoted to church announcements.  Church announcements!  I mean, I know church announcements are not always that exciting, but really - do we have to engage in a production like this just to tell people about what's going on in our church?

See, I guess that's my problem with the whole concept.  I don't see the need to resort to these kind of antics.  If we have to make a rap video (and I use that term loosely) to get people to pay attention to what's going on in church, we've probably got other problems on our hands.  I don't want to be too hard on these guys - I'm sure they meant well - but someday the church will have to come to grip with the fact that it is not our job to entertain.  Our job is nothing more than inviting people into the fellowship of the body of Christ and working together to bring about the kingdom of God on earth.  And I sincerely believe that when we make that our focus, the people will come. 

People didn't follow Jesus in his day because he tried to be like everything else in their culture.  In fact, they followed him because what he spoke of was something else entirely - a world where it's the peacemakers who are blessed, where turning the cheek is the way to respond to the powerful, where the sinner gets the best seat at the banquet table, where the thing that separates the sheep from the goats is how they treated those around them.  People followed Jesus because they sensed the man was not only drawing them to himself but to something beyond himself.  And it excited them to be part of that.

That's my continued dream for the church - to realize that we don't need gimmicks to catch people's attention; that we don't need to be in the business of making deals in faith; and that we certainly don't need to instill fear to cajole.  But that's just me.  I'd love to hear from you, especially those who may not be affiliated with a church.  What do you think of the video - does it hold some attraction to you, or does it seem as silly and ill-conceived as it does to me?  Share your thoughts in the comments...

Still Thankful

This past week, with the Thanksgiving holiday upon us, someone reminded me of a blog post I made a year ago appropriately titled "Thankful".  I went back and took a look at it and noticed how almost all of the things I was thankful for then are things I'm still thankful for now.  I don't know if this is a sign of a guy who is continually blessed, or a guy who lives a pretty mundane life where nothing changes all that much.  Either way, I'm cool with it.

At the risk of being redundant I thought I'd revisit last year's post.  Any instances that required updating are duly noted in red.  And don't worry, I won't do this every year.  In 2010 I'll treat you to an entirely new and original Thankful post.

Happy Thanksgiving day, folks.  Here's hoping you have much to be thankful for - and, more importantly, that you take time with the ones you love to celebrate those things.

*******************

I am thankful for coffee.  I'm drinking some right now, actually.  I wish to personally thank the individual who thought grinding up some brown beans and pouring hot water over them would taste good.  They were right.

At the moment I'm thankful for Ryan Adams.  Every time I listen to his music I hear something different I didn't pick up before, and I really like that sensation.  I like it because it stands in stark contrast to the sensation I get when I suffer through the repetitiveness of top-40 radio.  Which is something akin to eating those funnel cakes at the fair - it may taste good on the surface, but you know it's just not good for you.  Ryan Adams is kind of like the homemade ice cream - unique and worth the time and money invested.  That's also why I like Wilco, U2, Death Cab for Cutie, Nickel Creek, Radiohead, and others you don't always hear that much and who rarely get the deserved notoriety.  Which is exactly the point.

Last year it was Ryan Adams, this year it's The Avett Brothers. And Sufjan Stevens, especially his Christmas album.

I'm thankful for my boys.  I wish they could somehow know how much I love them, but I don't guess that's possible.  I'm not even sure I know how much.  Every time I look in their eyes I see my past, present and future all rolled into one, along with theirs.  It's a humbling, exhilarating feeling.

Likewise, I'm thankful for my wife.  I remember in my single days hearing folks describe their spouses as their "best friends."  I didn't get it - shouldn't you want your husband or wife to be something more than your "best friend?"  Now, having been married for just over nine years, I get it.  And I'm so glad that I happen to be married to my best friend.

Ten years.

I'm thankful for my parents, my brother, and extended family.  My life has taken all kinds of twists and turns in my 40 years, and it's humbling to know they've been there with me through it all.

Umm........41.

I'm thankful for the church I serve.  Unfortunately, this realization sometimes comes when I'm in conversation with clergy friends and hear their nightmarish situations.  And then I see that I really have it good.  It's a church that wants to go where the spirit leads; a church that genuinely cares for each other, and a church that puts up with (and even supports) my music and teaching ventures.  Most of all, it's a church that lets me be a real person, and that perhaps is the greatest gift they could ever give.

As if I needed any more reasons, my thankfulness for the church has increased ten-fold with their approval of a sabbatical for me next summer.  More on the sabbatical to come...

I'm thankful for the guys I've had the pleasure of making music with - Ken, Jerry, Les, Gary, David and others.  Acoustic Blend is entering its ninth year of existence, and Ken and I never tire of it.  And I'm more than content with being a so-so Mediocre Bad Guy, playing with some of the finest musicians Mount Airy has to offer.

I'm thankful for modern-day prophets like Shane Claiborne, Jim Wallis with Sojourners, Brian McLaren, David Beckmann with Bread for the World, Marcus Borg and many others who hit dummies like me over the head with the agonizingly simple message of the gospel.

I'm thankful for blogging.  I'd been trying for years to find a journaling outlet, but I never could bring myself to don a spiral-ring notebook and pen.  I'm too much of a keyboard guy.  Then I stumbled upon blogging, and that's pretty much been it (oh, and I'm thankful to you for reading it!)

I'm not blogging as much as I used to - it comes and goes in waves. That's okay, I still get a lot out of it.  And still thankful to you for reading!

I'm thankful for things like Facebook and Twitter.  Call me a geek, but they really are wonderful ways to stay connected with folks all over the place.  Where else can I catch up with that girl who lived down the block from me as a kid, and the friend who happens to be moderator of the denomination I serve in, and my old college professor?  The world really isn't as big as we make it out to be sometimes.

I'm thankful for wireless internet.  Free wireless internet specifically.

I'm thankful for the students in my college classes.  For actually showing up, for one thing, at 8:00 in the morning.  And then listening to me lecture for a solid hour.  They ask questions that keep me on my toes, which is exactly what I need.  And they're a lot of fun to be around too.

I'm still thankful for my students, but unfortunately it's no longer in a traditional classroom setting, as all my classes have been moved online. Not my preferred method of teaching, but we make it work.

I'm thankful for our next president.  I know I wanted Jesus, but I'm happy to settle for Obama.  I really do think he's going to bring the change our country so desperately needs.

I still think that.

I'm thankful for a good workout.  These days my goal is three miles jogging and one mile swimming, 2-3 times a week.  It wipes me out, and it's not taking as much off the waistline as it used to, but it still leaves me with a good feeling afterwards.

Something new I'm doing these days - treading water for 30-45 minutes, with weights.  I know it doesn't sound exciting, but it's one heckuva workout.  I've shed some pounds.

I'm thankful that God has never let me stand in the pulpit on Sunday morning with nothing to say.  This is the stuff of nightmares for us ministers, my friends.  I'm not kidding.

I'm thankful for football.  I live vicariously through the guys I watch on TV or read about in the newspaper or Sports Illustrated.  There's something fascinating about the orchestration that goes on between eleven players, all aimed at moving a piece of pigskin down the field; and another eleven orchestrated to stop them.

I'm thankful for that feeling when I drop the Eldest off in the car line at school in the mornings. The teacher opens the door, and I watch him gather his bookbag and any other stuff he's got.  We give each other a high-five.  Every time I tell him I love him and that I'm proud of him.  And I never, ever tire of watching him step out and walk through the school doors and into his big wide world in there.

So we're not doing the car line this year.  Our youngest is in the Pre-K program at the school and we're required to personally take him to his class.  Which means I actually get to take both boys to their classes.  I love this more than the car line. I get to hug 'em as they walk into their room and begin a day in their never-ending, lightning-fast quest that is growing up. 

I thought long and hard about something I could say to them every day, some words of wisdom to impart.  I guess I remember my mom telling me about what her father, a high school principal, used to always say to her and her two sisters: "Apply yourself."  It took a few weeks, but I finally found mine: "Learn stuff."  I like it.  More importantly, they do too.

Bringing Abbey Road to Life

Two reasons to like Vagabond Saints Society: one, it's one of the cooler band names, ranking right up there with Works Progress Administration, American Analog Set and The Most Serene Republic.  More importantly, they're comprised of some pretty amazing musicians in and around the Winston-Salem, NC area (two of whom I play with regularly in Mediocre Bad Guys). And they're not really a band per se, at least in the traditional sense of the term.  They don't really play together as much as they play around each other.

The Vagabond Saints Society comes and goes like a season: after being AWOL for a while, right around the time you're hoping to see them again, they reappear.  They play other people's songs but it must be made clear: they are not a tribute band or a cover band.  Their modus operandi is choosing some specific project - usually a stellar album by a stellar group or artist - and playing it from start to finish.  In the past they've tackled Fleetwood Mac's Rumours, The Who's Tommy, R.E.M. and a collection of easy rock hits from the 70's (don't laugh, I'm told it's a lot harder than it sounds).

But they do more than simply playing something that sounds like the original - and that's the real magic of VSS.  They learn the songs exactly as they're performed on the original recording, down to the last note.  They painstakingly plug through the minutia of a tune so thoroughly that what you hear is more than just a cover - it is a replica.  And that's something different entirely.

 Confession-time here: For all the years I've heard about VSS, I've never actually made an effort to see them play.  Until they decided this fall to tackle a little album called Abbey Road.  Perhaps you've heard of it?  Made by four blokes out of Liverpool England in the late 60's, #14 on Rolling Stone's Top 500 Albums of All Time (and it should've been much higher in this blogger's humble opinion), vehicle of timeless hits such as "Come Together," "Something," "Octopus' Garden" and "Here Comes the Sun."  Yep. Seven very bold musicians from the heart of North Carolina dared to do something as audacious as replicate a true classic.

I heard about the rehearsals from my VSS friends Jerry Chapman and Doug Davis, as well as drummer Les Slate, all of whom I play with in the Bad Guys.  I heard how the bulk of it happened alone, as each performer was expected to show up at the four full rehearsals fully prepared and ready to go.  You heard right, four rehearsals.  I heard them point out things in the songs I never noticed before: intricate drumming that doesn't sound nearly as complicated as it is, the leg slaps at the beginning of "Come Together," the heavy use of the classic Moog synthesizer.  This, of course, is on top of the incredible songwriting that's whipped up on all the album's tracks, as well as the amazing performances from the Fab Four and others that brought those great songs to life.

Wow.  These VSS guys either know what they're doing or have waaaaayy too much confidence in themselves.

I caught their final show at the Good Life Cafe in Mount Airy - a welcome return of live music to this particular venue after a couple years' absence.  The place was packed.  A few B-rate solo artists opened with a post-'67 Beatles cover each to prepare the palette (I can call them B-rate because I was one of them).  And then the band took the stage: two guitarists, bass player (playing a left-handed Hofner nonetheless!), drummer and keyboard player, along with a viola and cello.  Nice!  They started from the top, and with the first few notes of "Come Together" you knew you were in for a treat.  Lemme show you what I mean:

(for those of you subscribing to this blog via email, click here to view the video).

The band forged straight through the album with no playful banter in between - after all; it's about the music, right?  They finished with a nifty rendition of "Birthday" off the White Album, icing on the proverbial celebratory cake.

As a music lover I left that night with my head filled with some great tunes that sounded as close to the original recordings as humanly possible for people not named John, Paul, George and Ringo.  As a musician I was blown away with the time and preparation that went into bringing all of this to life.  And as a father I loved every minute watching my drummer-inclined son soak up the spectacle, particularly the drum solo on "The End."

The big question, of course, is what Vagabond Saints Society will do for a follow up.  Geez, good luck figuring that out!  In the meantime we'll just soak up the moment and extend tothe seven women and men who made it happen the high praise they deserve.

Some other videos:

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"Gone from my sight...."

It has been a tough month or so - meaning, our church and community have had a lot of deaths lately.  Just in our own church: five funerals in as many weeks, four of which I've officiated.  Some were expected, some not; all were difficult.  As a pastor I've never been one to lament my role in these affairs; I always consider it an honor to walk with others on their "sacred ground" (along with baptisms and marriages).  Besides, any hardship I experience pales in comparison to what the family is going through.  But even I must admit - this recent wave has been hard on me.  Compounding that is the fact that, three weeks ago, our family said goodbye to our beloved Sam, the family dog of fourteen years.  Sam was actually my wife's dog and was in the picture long before I was.  She was her baby; I knew my place.

Ugh.

Instances like these are always roller-coaster affairs; the emotional back-and-forth of celebrating a life and having to say goodbye at the same time.  It's times like these when we cling to those thin silver linings; those glimmers of hope and promise that we find amidst all the sorrow and pain.  There was some special music shared at funeral #4 which touched a deep, deep chord in every person in attendance; there was a heartfelt eulogy given at another that was both lighthearted and serious at the same time. 

And in two of the services a poem was read.  It was the same poem; read first by a minister colleague of mine in a service we shared together.  It was read again today at a funeral our staff attended on behalf of a work colleague whose mother had died.  It's about a ship, but it's about much more than that.  I love the fact that the man who wrote it, Henry Van Dyke, was a staunch Presbyterian and English professor in his time.

I don't know the story behind his poem Gone From My Sight, but it is comprised of some beautiful words that have meant a lot to the people who've heard them over the past few weeks.  If you're lucky enough to not have someone close to you dying right now, tuck these words away in a place you'll remember and pull them out later when you need them.  In the meantime, celebrate life every waking moment of your day, and don't let a day go by without telling someone you love them.

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GONE FROM MY SIGHT

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone"

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

And that is dying...

Twenty years ago today....

....I was probably studying for a Psychology exam or standing on a pool deck coaching some swimmers.  Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, this was happening:

Pretty amazing. Kind of gives you hope for the world, doesn't it?

Then again, that monumental event led to this:

Wow.  Nice jacket, eh?

We'll just remember what the real show was that night - and it wasn't Hasselhoff. It was tons of 28-year old concrete crumbling to the ground and a nation of people reunited.  We all win when freedom wins.

We walk because they walk!

It was a cold, soggy, raw kind of day that greeted the third annual CROP Hunger Walk of Mount Airy yesterday.  Not the kind of weather we were hoping for, but you take what you get, right?  If anything it made the CROP motto (also this blog's title) all the more meaningful.  Every day millions of people around the world - in our little community, in this country and in places far away - have to walk miles just to get a little food or some clean drinking water.  And they do this no matter what the elements are.  So surely we could suck it up for a hour or so.

We had our first walk back in the spring of 2007, along with the help of two other fellow clergy, Roger Gilbert of First Baptist and Wayne Hager of Calvary Baptist.  In so doing we joined thousands of communities across the country who host these annual events.  Just in case you don't know, CROP Hunger Walks are joint ventures between local communities and an organization called Church World Service.  The noble and attainable goal of these walks is to eliminate extreme hunger and poverty in the world.  And, as has been noted before on this blog, we now have the technology and the resources to actually do it.

In a CROP Hunger Walk (which, incidentally, stands for "Communities Responding to Overcome Poverty), a portion of the money stays local, going to whatever agency the local planning team designates; while the rest goes to national and international relief agencies.  This is one of the reasons I'm so fond of these walks - they address the problem with a "both-and" approach, the only real way to achieve meaningful results. This is sometimes hard for people to understand, but it's true.  It does no good if we keep all of our money locally, as there are innumerable communities all around the world who have no means to host their own walks and support themselves.  Likewise, if we direct 100% of our efforts overseas, we are turning a blind eye to the needs right in front of us.  CROP Hunger Walks are a very practical way of doing both.

Folks started gathering at Veteran's Park around 2pm Sunday afternoon, trying to keep warm while listening to the sounds of the Youth Moravian Church Praise Band. At around 3:30, emcee Kelly Epperson of WPAQ radio sent us on our way!  The 3.2 mile walk took us down the Emily Taylor Greenway and then back through town to finish at the park.  Most folks finished the walk in just over an hour, unless your name was "Lindsley," in which case you were bringing up the rear.  Here are some pics for you:

 

  In previous years we had CROP Hunger Walk t-shirts for everyone, paid for by local business sponsors.  With the economy being the way  it is we decided to go without the fancy t-shirts and instead got the kids to make their own walk shirts with plain white tees and fabric markers.  It was such a hit that I imagine we'll do it again in future years, even if we bring the traditional walk shirt back.

One of the things we've tried to do with this walk is make it not just a fundraising experience, but an educational one.  So along the walk we posted signs that had some pretty sobering statistics about hunger and poverty in our world.  Here's a smattering of 'em:

 

This one gets me every time.  The sign reads, "A child dies of hunger-related causes every six seconds."  The man standing beside it is holding a bell that he chimes - you guessed it - every six seconds.  So you're walking along and you hear this ringing and you're wondering what it is.  Then you see this sign, and you know.  And as you walk up the hill and hang a left on Pine St. you still hear it ringing, and you remember long after the ringing stops.

Our walker numbers and dollar totals were down from previous years, but we're figuring the weather had something to do with that.  Any way you cut it, though, less people will go hungry because of our efforts.

I wish I were more regularly cognizant of the hungry in our world.  I just scarfed down a delicious lunch at 308 Bistro as I was typing this and hardly paid attention as the food made its way from the plate to my stomach.  Often on those nights our family sits down for a meal together, the obligatory family blessing is treated more like an obstacle to be hurried through quickly rather than a true pause of reflection and thanks.  For me hunger is nothing more than that nagging feeling I get in the middle of the afternoon at work when lunch is just a few hours in the past - and even then, all I have to do is reach in the drawer desk to grab a handful of almonds.  Like many people I've done a pretty good job of hiding in my ignorance and shielding myself from what's really there.

That's why these walks are a good way of reminding me of two things: one, that I need to be a whole lot more grateful for the food on my plate every day; and two, that I need to do a much better job of seeing that people all around the world get more on theirs. 

In case you missed the show....

8:30pm this past Sunday night.  I logged on to my laptop in anticipation of U2's YouTube-streamed concert, live from the Rose Bowl.  All the publicity had drilled in my head 8:30, 8:30, but instead of hearing the crowd roar at the opening number I was subjected to the background music of a rolling prelim.  And it was then I realized: 8:30pm. Pacific Time.  Oops.

Three hours later, there I was, tucked in bed for the night with laptop on my chest.  I watched it until 1am, although I confess to dozing off from time to time.  Hey, I'm only human. How pleased I was when the entire concert was back on YouTube the next day, and presumably for many days in the future. Now I get to watch it in a full state of consciousness.

So here's my take on the whole "U2 360" circular stage and the "Claw" or "Spaceship" or whatever you want to call it: I'm not the greatest fan of the approach.  It smacks of excess that runs the risk of becoming the show itself, rather than the music.  Honestly, it reminds me in many ways of the PopMart Tour a decade ago that contributed in large part to the band's perceived demise, before All That You Can't Leave Behind rescued them.  It's just hard for an audience to connect to four small guys on a huge stage, no matter how big the video screens are.  I much prefer the Elevation or Vertigo tours which took place in smaller arenas rather than football stadiums, void of the over-reaching flash and glitz this tour has.  A much more intimate feel, relatively-speaking.

But the music....well, that's a different story entirely.  Thank God for the music.  And yeah, I know, the album didn't sell all that well in the States (although I was quite fond of it).  Nor was there a single that latched on to radio playlists for any decent length of time.  But the reality is that U2, in my opinion, is beyond that.  I just don't think they need a hit single that gets plays ad nauseam in order to stay relevant.  That may sound kind of silly in a business that's all "what-have-you-done-for-me-lately," but I still believe it's true.  Over the past three decades U2 has proven that they know how to make good music that speaks to the heart and soul.  Even if it's performed on a ridiculously huge stage.

I missed them when they were in Raleigh a few weeks ago (good thing too, as apparently a significant number of fans missed the entire show due to traffic problems - I mean, how back would that suck??)  They just announced more U.S. dates next summer.  I hope to be at one of them.

In the meantime, take a couple of hours and enjoy the show.  Some highlights: Magnificent, Mysterious Ways, I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, Sunday Bloody Sunday, Unknown Caller, Where The Streets Have No Name.  And how about The Unforgettable Fire and Ultraviolet (Light My Way) - when were the last time they played those live??  Watch it below or click here for a larger screen.

The Real "Glee"

So I watched Glee for the first time the other night.  Afterwards I was informed by people who'd know that it wasn't the best episode and probably not a good one to start with. I imagine they're right.  But still - and with all apologies to my "Gleek" friends out there - I'm just not feeling it.  That's okay, though, because you thought I was nuts for getting into Battlestar Galactica, didn't you?  So we're even.

I imagine that a big part of my ambivalence has to do with the fact that I was actually in our school's Glee club.  And in the same way that football players couldn't get into Friday Night Lights or I never found much reason to read the At Home in Mitford series (about a small-town pastor), it's hard to get excited about a fictional situation that bears a striking resemblance to your real life.  You're already "living it," you see, so what's the point?

We actually called ours a "show choir," which I think sounds better than "glee club."  Think of it as a solid choral ensemble meeting Dancing With The Stars.  We worked equally hard to perfect our four-part vocal arrangements as we did the dancing/choreography.  Trust me, it's a lot harder than it sounds.  And it was a big deal in our school, with around 200 kids in three or four ensembles.  "Carolina Spirit" was the top group and involved a significant time commitment.  It was also a pretty well-traveled group.  I'm not talking about the annual appearance at the local mall, either.  Every year we participated in a regional event in Harrisonburg, VA.  There was also a trip to Pasadena, CA my junior year (including a performance at Disneyland), and another one to Chicago my senior year - both national competitions, both in which we placed in the top three.  

All of which looked nothing like what folks see Wednesday nights on Fox.  There was weight training involved - important when the guys were lifting girls in the air and swinging them around (they tend to prefer that you not drop them).  I already mentioned the hours and hours of rehearsals - not just with vocals but with choreography, down to standing in front of a huge mirror to make sure that thirty-some people have their movements perfectly synched.  And unlike the current TV show (at least the little I've seen of it), there was actually harmony with the jocks, and we had some members of the gridiron in our fold.  So there were no purple slushies.

Here, see for yourself - a video of Carolina Spirit doing their thing a few years after my time (okay, more than a few :)

(note: if you're subscribing to this blog via email the video may not show up - so check it out here).

I realize open talk about this sort of thing typically invites some level of ridicule, especially toward the guys.  Go ahead if you must - it's nothing I haven't heard before.  Chuckle at the sequins and stage makeup, at the dancing and the white shoes.  To which I say a heartfelt, "Whatever."  The fact is that I wouldn't trade this time in my life for anything.  I made some of the best friends in my life, many of whom I keep in touch with to this day.  Thanks to this experience the stage is a second home to me rather than a source of anxiety - something that comes in handy doing the music thing these days.  I'm quite at ease in front of groups, which means I'm pretty comfortable behind the pulpit on Sunday mornings (but sorry FPCMA folks - no jazz hands).  And the vocal techniques I acquired in all those years of training have proved invaluable in keeping my singing voice going strong.

So watch "Glee" if that's your thing - I may tune in from time to time.  But forgive me if I don't jump on the bandwagon.  The real thing is a whole lot better.

PS - I know there are a lot of show choir folks out there, including some "Carolina Spirit alum," and I'd love for you to share your stories in the blog comments below.  What are some of your memories?  How has your show choir experience translated to things you do in your adult life?  Let's hear 'em!

Heene-inspired: my pitch for a Reality TV show

If you greeted the news this past week that Richard Heene's contraption held a six-year old in it, which the cable networks covered non-stop for hours, which was later found to not be true when Falcon was discovered hiding in the family attic, which later turned out to be even more untrue when it was determined that the whole thing was a hoax to garner attention for a supposed reality TV show pitch - if you greeted all of this with either disdain or indifference, then let me say to you:

You're totally missing the point.

Sure, it was despicable what that guy put his family through, especially Falcon, who threw up the following morning during interviews on at least two morning TV shows.  Sure, the guy has a history of all flash and no substance (take a peek at his appearance on Wife Swap to witness his willingness to stoop to any level for shock value).  Sure, the cable networks fell hook, line and sinker for it, demonstrating once again that "news" is fast becoming a relative term.

But think about it: before this happened, no one knew who the guy was.  Before this, none of us had a clue how to pronounce his last name.  And now he's the subject of every news network, thousands of blogs, one of the most popular hashtags on Twitter.  There's a method to the madness, folks. Which is why I've decided to follow suit and make my own sales pitch for a reality TV show.  Of course, I share this in confidence, as the element of surprise is crucial.  So just keep this to yourself, okay?  Thanks.

See, I'm thinking it's time to capitalize on perhaps the most untapped segment in the reality TV show market: ministers. Think about it. Oh, there's been a clergy or two on Survivor or Big Brother.  Maybe even a preacher's kid on MTV's Real World (they're usually the worst of the lot).  But the untapped potential for a group of men (and women) of the cloth is limitless.  Catholic priests, Baptist and Presbyterians, Methodists, Quakers, Primitive Baptists and Episcopalians, Evangelicals and Mennonite and Church of God.  Just imagine the dynamics that would ensue, long before they took off in the spaceship balloon.

You know, the spaceship balloon.  Not an original idea of course (but then, what in the reality TV show world is?)  We'd make it look all accidental, of course, like they were just taking a tour of it. They'd fire it up, just to show it off a bit, except doggone it, they'd forget to tether the bloomin' thing down.  And before you could say "Call the local TV station before 911," that balloon would whisk those ministers up in the air, all the way to the remote island.

You know, the remote island.  No 21st-century creature comforts here; no technology or electricity or plumbing....well, except for the dozens of camera crew, publicity managers, PR folks and attorneys that were there to film the show, of course.  They'd be divided into two teams with cool Biblical names like "The Jacobs" and "The Esaus." They'd have challenges to do, like who can prepare communion the fastest.  All of this would lead to what they'd call "The Inquisition," where everyone would gather around torchlight and suspenseful music would play as they voted each other off the island, one by one, all the way back to the mainland to live in the recently refurbished, over-sized mansion.

You know, the mansion.  The one the TV producers bought and fixed up for them to live in, set in some city like New York or L.A where all the action is.  They'd share every waking and non-waking moment together.  Natural tensions would break out: the Calvinists would get into it with the Arminiasts, the Baptists would poo-poo the sprinkling Methodists.  And there would be cameras in every room of the house to catch every second of it all.  There'd even be a smaller sound-proof room where they'd go to vent frustrations about other clergy - called, of course, the "Confession Booth."  All on camera, of course.  And when they weren't arguing theology or debating doctrine or wondering who swiped their KJV, they'd be preparing for the big race.

You know, the big race.  There'd be teams and they would traverse the country for a few weeks, doing all kinds of stuff.  Conducting a Sunday service on Myrtle Beach during a thunderstorm, cleaning the windows of the Crystal Cathedral in California, attending the Bible burning in North Carolina, paying a visit to the Creation Museum.  And the first team to complete all their tasks would get first dibs in the singing competition.

Except there wouldn't be singing - it'd be preaching, of course.  They'd stand on stage with microphone in hand (no notes) as a slick-looking host would tell them they're on. Afterwards, as the numbers to call or text to vote scrolled at the bottom of the screen, the panel of judges would spare no punches in their review, telling them it was too long or didn't make sense or the pews were uncomfortable.  Except for one judge who never wanted to offend, so they'd always just say that the sermon was "interesting."  The audience would vote one off the show each week, until the final performance when the last two would go at it head-to-head, the winner of which would be the first to go on the date.

Well, it wouldn't really be a "date."  It's a prospective member, you see.  Two clergy vying for one person's membership.  They'd take them out for lunch, get to know them a little.  The stakes would get higher with each episode - maybe their mother would come by for a visit; maybe something embarrassing would rise to the surface.  In the end the person would agonize on camera about who they would choose; and in a special ceremony would present the winning minister with a rose.  Or maybe a Time & Talent sheet.

And after all of this, after the dust had settled and the cameras stopped rolling, each of those ministers would return home to their respective churches and continue with their pastoral duties.  And maybe one or two would get a bit part in some movie; maybe some would provide silly commentary on the sideline at the Super Bowl.  Maybe some of those ministers would get asked to host one of the 986 reality TV shows that have existed or are currently on air. 

Sounds like a great plan, doesn't it?  Because what the world really needs these days is manufactured reality as opposed to the real reality we live in; manufactured problems and drama instead of facing up to the real problems we could be dealing with.  Because life by itself is just not interesting enough without faking to send your kid up hundreds of feet in the air in a homemade balloon in order to get your own fifteen minutes of fame.  Because it's our God-given, American right to get our moment in the spotlight, even if we drag those close to us down with us in the process. 

Besides, pitching your own reality TV show is a great reason to commission your own theme song for the show. Just ask Heene.

So the show is still a work in progress, of course.  But keep it on the down-low, okay?  Don't want the cable networks to get whiff of it too soon.

How the Wild Things Were

So this morning after getting the kids off to school, I asked the wife if she wanted to catch the 11am showing of the new movie Where The Wild Things Are.  She scrunched up her face a bit and made some comment about how the kids would be majorly bummed if they missed out.  Oh, yeah..... Turns out the wife got called to sub anyway.

Later that afternoon, the four of us made our way to the local cinema for a matinee showing.  The boys were excited - and to be honest, so was Dad.  Like them I associate this book with a large part of my childhood.  The storyline never quite made sense, at least in a logical, linear, adult-kind of way.  But the creatures looked great and the wild rumpus seemed like a lot of fun.  And in the end, as we all know, his supper was still hot.  All's well that ends well.

But like many people I was skeptical.  Ten sentences - that's all that makes up this children's classic.  How, pray tell, can anyone hope to fashion a major motion picture around this that a) refrains from taking ridiculous liberties that don't fit or b) sticks too strictly to the book and bores you to tears?  Enter director Spike Jonze, who brought his quirky visual sense to the table and forewarned in at least one interview that this would be different: “I didn’t set out to make a children’s film – I set out to make a film about childhood.”

Score.

I thought the movie was great.  I was pleased with how it expanded the story without changing the underlying theme of the book.  Without giving too much away, the movie hits hard on relationships in turmoil - both in the real world and extending into the "wild world."  Some might charge the movie with overreaching, but I'd disagree.  Remember, there was a reason Max was sent to his room without any supper, just as there was a reason that his room began transforming into a forest (which they didn't try to duplicate on the silver screen, one of my very few gripes with the movie).  Sendak never explained it, but it's classic escapism: of getting away from something and then coming to find, in the end, that the journey was fun while it lasted but it's time to go home.

The movie did an outstanding job of using the wild world as a showcase for Max's internal struggle, the primary subtext in the book (and part of the brilliance of Sendak's writing - again, ten sentences!) The main tool Jonze used to accomplish this was the movie's excellent dialogue, especially between Max and the wild things.  It didn't always flow in logical fashion and make total sense, leaving you to sometimes feel as if you missed out on the front end of a conversation.  But that's the whole point: this fantasy land is Max's psyche working out the angst and unease raging inside a twelve-year old boy. There isn't always going to be a "logical flow."  Throughout the movie there's this constant tug-of-war between the natural repulsion that exists in human relationships and our strong innate desire to just be with one another.  It happens in Max's relationships with the wild things, between the wild things themselves - and again, all of this sets the stage for Max's final trip back home through the turbulent oceans.

The kid who plays Max, ironically named Max himself (Max Records), nails the character dead-on.  You feel his struggle and sense his big heart at the same time.  The wonders of modern movie-making lend to some very believable wild things, seamlessly blending six-foot muppet-like costumes with CGI computer animation that bring their faces and facial expression to life.  Not bad voiceovers either (James Gandolfini of The Sopranos, Paul Dano, Forest Whitaker, among others).  Soundtrack-wise, Karen-O of Yeah Yeah Yeahs fame assembles a wonderfully-eclectic assortment of indie tunes that captures Max's emotional spectrum - and in the process has become one of the very few movie soundtracks I've ever bothered to purchase.

As we sat in the movie theater I was concerned that most of this was going over my boys' heads; too deep for them to comprehend, lying outside their emotional spectrum.  But I was pleasantly surprised when they sat through most of the movie in rapt attention, moreso than a lot of standard kid flicks.  They may not have grasped the specifics of Max's problems at home, but they understood that even people who love each other have hard times and can work to make amends.  Near the end, when Max says his emotional goodbye to the wild things as he boards his boat, I looked over and saw my eldest wiping tears from his face. Umm, yeah, I think they got it.  More and more I'm learning that kids are much more perceptive than we give them credit for.

In short I think Spike Jonze, like my two boys, "got it."  He was able to retell the famous tale using a story line that certainly embellished the original but didn't feel forced or "over the top."  In fact, I imagine it fleshed out some of what was originally going through Sendak's mind when he put paper to pen nearly 50 years ago.  You and your family should check it out, too.  "Bambi" this is not, but its beauty is found in its depth.  Definitely a movie experience worth your hard-earned cash.