The Queen of the Sciences

This day next week I commence a three year Degree in Theology in Belfast Bible College.

Why?

There are many answers to that question. I could start by saying that I already hold an undergraduate degree in Fincancial Mathematics and Economics, but it's as useful for my career advancement as a piece of paper with the words "I'm not that good, but please hire me anyway" written in crayon.

This may sound like sour grapes, but I'm not overly upset that I don't get to crunch numbers at a computer five days a week. Nevertheless, I do wish that my degree was worth something. I regret not applying myself to the course. Enthused or not, talented or not, there is a responsibility on each of us to work as hard as we can in whatever we do. To quote the French economist and philosopher Arsene Wenger,

Nobody has enough talent to live on talent alone. Even when you have talent, a life without hard work goes nowhere.

Coming out of secondary school with good Leaving Cert results, I thought I had enough talent to live on it alone. I didn't. Not even close. What's more, I still don't. I often wish I was more talented. I wish I was smarter, I wish I could memorise tons of great quotes, I wish I could articulate my thoughts in a clearer way, I wish I was a better soccer player, I wish I could do what Clive Carroll does with an acoustic guitar, I wish I could write like David Simon, I wish I was funnier. But I'll tell you what I don't wish - I don't wish that I worked harder.

My life since college has been confusing, through every fault of my own. But a couple of years ago a glimmer of hope emerged. I sat at the feet of Dr Arden Autry -- now Scholar in Residence at First United Methodist Church, Tulsa, Oklahoma -- and passion for something began to enter my bloodstream after a long hiatus. Bad habits die hard, but at least in the area of academic study I did something I hadn't done in a while: I worked. Hard. After eeking my way through four years of Financial Maths and Econmics, getting grades that resembled a selection of temperatures from a spot of cold-ish weather in Massachussetts, I once again had numbers on an end-of-year transcript to be proud of.

Unsure of what exactly to do after the year of Biblical Studies, however, I slipped into old habits once more. I knew what I wanted to do in general (something to do with the Bible), but the desire to take the path of least resistance is not easily surrendered. The grace of God prevailed, however. This is no absract statement, but one with skin and bones, flesh and blood.

The question that began this post was "Why?" Why am I commencing a Degree in Theology? One of the answers is a simple, straight-forward one: My parents. Without their genorosity and grace I would be doing no such thing. I feel like I don't deserve to be doing this course. I have wasted too many years, spent too long in the wilderness to come out of it like this. I'm sure my parents feel partly like fools as they send me to Belfast. To many I'm sure they look like fools. But such is the risk of grace. No doubt the father felt a fool as he threw a party for his prodigal son. No doubt the townspeople thought he had lost the plot. The logic of grace can find no justification in the natural mind. Charismata -- the stuff of grace -- is of the spirit.

That being said, with the grace that has been given to me I now have a fresh responsibility. Talent (and talents, in the New Testament sense of the word!) have been supplied. What will I do? A tatoo on my hand reading "Remember Arsene Wenger" might not be a bad idea.

Richard Hays lays the path before me in another way. Though of course not addressing me directly in the video posted below, I can perform an act hermeneutical gymnastics and hear his words as words spoken to me:

If you're going to follow Jesus on the road to Jerusalem -- or, if you're going to embark on serious Christian study in this place -- be prepared to pay the price. Not just the price of your tuition, though that's challenging enough. But the price of wholehearted devotion to a cause so compelling that it will demand your whole life.

The strange, new world of the Bible has sunk its teeth into me. But "serious Christian study" comes with a price. Nothing less than all of me is required.

Of course, Hays's words apply to all of us who identify with Jesus, and to all aspects of our lives. Only yesterday was I reading about Peter's great confession followed quickly by Peter's great correction. He gets that Jesus is the Messiah, but "may it never be" that Jesus should have to suffer and die. Jesus's response is harrowing: "You don't have in mind the things of God, but the things of man."

So much of modern Christian life is lived though the mind of man. We expect certain comforts, certain securities, a way of life that is far removed from taking up a cross and following Jesus to certain death.

Even -- or perhaps Especially -- as I approach a degree in Theology I can have expectations in complete antithesis to the gospel. Oh how I want to be learned, thought of highly, an authority - all for the sake of ego. The way of the cross stands as a stumbling block to these ends: It is the way of self-empying love, humility, servanthood.

I don't want the fruit of three years in Belfast to be either a stick with which to beat people or shiny object with which to dazzle those "uneducated" Christians. I want this three-year experience to be an instruement of God's "troubling grace" - a grace that shapes me into a person who loves well.

To paraphrase one of the world's leading theologians, I can have all the theological knowledge in the world, but if I have not love then I am nothing.

With A Twist

I liken Hollister to that girl (or "Betty" as the kids are saying these days) who is attractive and knows it. She is super cool, super trendy, and knows she could have any guy she wants. Everything she does annoys you. Everything she stands for goes against all of your principles and values. Whenever you see her, you get all worked up and you tell yourself that she's not even that attractive to begin with.

And yet, and yet, you would give anything to be the guy she strings along. You would hate yourself just to be seen with her. You'd convince yourself that you're making a statement, or that you're teaching her a lesson, but really you're just an amateur in the game she excels in; a pawn to her chess master.

I had my third Hollister experience yesterday, but this one came with a twist. I went there with a guy who had previously told me that whenever he goes into a Hollister store he gets a job offer. I laughed it off, assuming he was exaggerating.

Sure enough, as we went to pay for his stuff, one of the models staff asked him if he worked in Hollister. When he said that he didn't, a job offer quickly followed. This is when we began to have some fun.

My friend said he had an associates degree, so he wondered if he could go straight for a managerial position. I told the girl not to trust his olive skin and stylish hair; beneath the outward beauty he's dead inside. I also told her that I'm Irish, and if they just have me standing in the doorway speaking with an Irish accent I could increase sales by at least 30%.

Then she actually offered me a job! She said I could work there for the summer. I told her that she was just making me a "sympathy offer" - you know, we don't want the ugly friend to feel bad.

Meanwhile, my olive skinned compadre was haggling for a discount, making promises of attending a job interview that he would never keep. His empty words actually worked, because they gave him 20% off of his purchase [!]. I had actually already bought my stuff, but I was tempted to return it and then just get Mr 20% to buy it for me. I wonder how that would have went down...?

Say what you like about Hollister, but they're doing everything within their power to get us out of this recession, and I for one salute them.

5 Days

I'm lying on a bed in Auburn, MA, continuing to sweat despite it being after 9pm. I'm almost done with my first week in the U.S., but it feels like I've been here three times that long. As my brother-in-law remarked, I've probably done more in the past 5 days than in the past year. I've also gone up a coupe of waist sizes, but that's par for the course when you're staying in this wonderful country.

I don't know what all of this will do to my blog. When I do get the time to write I want to focus on keeping in contact with people, so I imagine Charismata will suffer as a result. I suppose I could turn it into some kind of travel journal; a place to document my take on America. Or I could perhaps start a whole other blog for that. I don't know. If I do something like that I would want to do it well, and I'm not sure I'll find the time.

Anyway, that's about it for now. Must go eat ice-cream, or something.

Happy fourth!

Something Odd

I noticed something odd today. I was trying to learn the following little ditty on piano this morning:



There's a part that requires some quick back and forth with the ring finger and the baby finger. I don't know if it's because of my poor playing skills or because I'm just badly put together, but it was like I had no control over what was happening with these two fingers.

Then I did a test.

With my left hand I held the thumb, pointer and middle finger of my right hand, leaving only the two maverick fingers free. I then motioned my ring finger towards my palm. Nothing unusual to report there. However, when I did the same with my pinky, my ring finger just started moving along with it, all on its own! What the mess is up with that? Why can't I move my baby finger without moving the ring finger? Is it a normal bodily function, or is there something wrong with me?

To all you pianists out there, can this deformity be overcome? Can practice give you mastery over your own digits, rendering each one subject to your every command? Do I just have do what the Bride did in Kill Bill, and concentrate all my will power on wiggling my big toe baby finger?

I can't help wondering what Heidi Montag would do...

Out Of The Mouth of Babes

After hearing this story on Sunday, I thought I'd open up a guest spot to my sister (who got an A1 in English, you know). She has a blog of her own (that you can check out here), which is all about her three little boys, and which, sadly from my point of view, can be much more theologically profound than this one. Perhaps that explains the following...


Luke. Our middle child. The second born. Our thinker. His wheels are constantly turning. Always processing something. It's one of those things I don't remember doing as a child. I don't have all these snapshot memories of times when I was thinking. Yet it is one of the things that I probably did most. All inside my little skull. Assimilating my life as it came to me. Imagine watching life from 3 feet. No cynical cloud or pre-disposed dislike. No wound or emotional scar to form your opinion. It must be very freeing.

So here's the brown-eyed boy. Lying in his bed telling his Daddy how much he loves him and how great he is! (He's great for the feel good stuff....) He then muses.....'There are two Gods, aren't there?....Jesus and God the Father' and Ryan explains....'Am...well, no...there is one God.... Jesus is God...and God the Father is God...they are just the same God and...am'....ahh....the awkwardness when you feel stumped and are trying not to show it. Nervous cough and well....Luke is always right. This is one of his many lovely traits! So he insisted in no uncertain terms....'NO...there ARE two Gods'.....Ryan explained again, said the I love yous and goodnight.....

Next day. Beautiful day and we are enjoying it outside on our blanket. Luke is sprawled with his hands behind his head watching the clouds roll by. 'Mammy, you know what.....'....'What Luke?'.....expecting to be told about how fast Opel cars are...but instead...'You know what.....Jesus IS God the Father'.......

What do you say?! Your three year old is grappling with the Trinity. Do I grab a clover and go all St Patrick on him. Do I break it down and pretend I fully and completely understand the mysterious God in Three Person thing....simple....straightforward thing that it is....??!....Type it into Google and hope for the best?! Nah....

I just asked him if he wanted more juice......

Theology and three-year-olds. He is clearly a genius! He then went and pooped. Right in the middle of the backyard grass, naturally.

Lovely....

The Losses

You never hear about the losses.

A poker player will always be more than happy to pipe up about their latest demolition of a cash came, or a big scoop they took in a tournament. What they tend not to divulge is the wads of cash they pumped into a game without so much as a penny to show for it at the end.

Losses aren't easy to talk about, especially when one wants to avoid self-pity and whinging.

For those of you that don't know, I applied to do a Bachelor of Divinity this coming September. My joke was that in three years time I would become the fourth member of the trinity, a sort of demi-god if you will. Well, apparently my divine credentials are not what they should be. I received a reply of "unsuccessful" for my daring venture.

Unsuccessful. That was a tough word to read. I've never been the most ambitious person in Ireland, but I am nothing if not competitive and determined when I put my mind and heart to something. Just ask anyone who has played a board game with me. I'm that annoying guy who takes things way to seriously and will bring friendships to the breaking point in order to win.

Unfortunately this level of passion and zeal hasn't quite transferred from the board game world into, you know, the actual world. But long story short, I wanted to do this course, and I thought I could do it well. My previous stint at undergraduate education did not go swimmingly for various reasons, and so this was to be my academic redemption; my chance to set right the wrongs of previous years.

For now, that chance will have to wait. Perhaps this was never where I was meant to go. Perhaps there is something better just around the river bend (and yes, that is a direct allusion to Pocahontas). Perhaps I'm just not ready for such an endeavour, and maybe I never will be. That's not to sound defeatist. I simply want to be open to wherever I best "fit". My life remains shrouded in mystery and uncertainty, but amidst the fumbling in the dark I know two things: I am loved and I am called. For now that's enough.

Legendary basketball coach John Wooden once said that failure is not fatal, but failure to change might be. Whether I was successful or unsuccessful with this application, my need for change would remain constant. It remains constant. But hope also remains.

With that, have a listen to the following song on your headphones and see if ***Christian jargon alert*** you get a similar sense of hope that I do. The band is called This Will Destroy You; however, this song will do anything but. It's simple almost to the point of insulting, but damn if that crescendo doesn't make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The 13th Disciple

Reading N.T. Wright's Christian Origins and the Question of God series is like hopping through the eternally cool doors of the Delorian and being whisked off to 1st Century Palestine in order to become the mystery 13th disciple who will form the cornerstone of Dan Brown's next novel. Or, it's like taking part in this. Anyway, I've just finished part deux, and continually found my heart strangely warmed as Jesus of Nazareth was portrayed before me as historical.

The next book in Wright's series is his treatment of the resurrection. This is supposed to be the text on the subject. You're basically not allowed to discuss the resurrection unless you've read this book.

But instead of starting straight into it, I'm going to turn to Wright's more popular series, which started off with Simply Christian and continues with Surprised By Hope and the recently released After You Believe.

Are you sufficiently bored yet? No?

So, the light broke on our refrigerator the other day. It was okay during the day because it wasn't dark, but when I came down to the kitchen in the middle of the night to fix up a glass of orange juice I couldn't find the carton, so I had to turn on the light in the kitchen.

Okay, I'll be getting my coat now...

His Morning and Evening Blast

I had what you might call a Corinthian Valentine’s Day.

On Sunday the 14th of February I indulged in not one but two communion services. Like a drug addict getting his morning and evening blast, I got my morning and evening fix of the elements. As in Aspen, this Valentine’s Day the blackcurrant juice flowed like wine, and I drank till I was merry.

I have to say, there was something quite special about breaking bread on Valentine’s Day, the day of love. Saint Valentine, after all, was (allegedly) a martyr for the sake of Jesus, who himself died for the sake of others. And before Jesus died, he had one final meal with the ones he called “friends”.

It was not an especially romantic meal, but love was in the air. True love. The kind of love that compels a master to wash his servant’s dirty, dusty feet. The kind of love that causes someone to dedicate themselves to having their body broken and their blood shed, for the sake of others and for the sake of newness and for the sake of making things right.

(It’s worth noting that there’s not even a hint of sex in the above description, which is so foreign to our thinking today that all but equates love and sex.)

At my evening fix, one of my fellow “young adults” gave a short talk before we shared in The Lord’s Supper which really brought things to life. He had several points, but one in particular resonated with me. It was simply this:

Jesus isn’t afraid of our sin.

So often we think that we have to get ourselves right before approaching God; before being in his presence. But in fact it is the very presence of God that makes us right. As Jesus demonstrated throughout his life and at his death, his wholeness is more powerful than our brokenness. It does not scare him away but rather incredibly, it draws him near; near enough to touch us and to change us. It is we who are afraid, but we needn’t be. We are encouraged to encounter god’s grace boldly, because we are dealing with a prodigal god who just can’t help himself when it comes to loving us.

Communion on Valentine’s Day was a moving way to remember this, and amidst all of the hype and pseudo-love, it helped me to fix my eyes on what love really looks like.

Nail pierced hands, wounded side
This is Love
This is Love

My Own Book

In terms of presents, this Christmas brought the traditional mix of new clothes, books, and several dozen pairs of socks and underwear (you can never have enough, can you?).

However, one thing I was not expecting was my own book. That's right - I got a book authored by me! Has there ever been a more ego-enlarging present given in the history of Christmas? This even trumps giving gold to a new-born baby, so outlandish it is to hand someone a book they wrote themselves.

Of course what makes it worse is that I started reading it straight away and highlighting the good parts...

No, that's not strictly true. But I did scan through it, in what was a very surreal experience. Basically, my sister pieced bits of this blog together on a website whose name escapes me, and formed it into a short book of about 80 pages. You input what you want to the website, and they create your book, complete with bar-code no less [!]. In fact I'm pretty sure you can buy my book should you be foolish enough to think that's a good idea.

Anyway, here are a couple of pictures for your amusement/disdain:

Front Cover

Sandwiched between Walter Brueggemann and N.T. Wright

In The Process of Formulating

Posts have been scarce for the past week, but there will be some blogging goodness coming your way very soon. I'm in the process of formulating my Favourite 20 albums from 2000-2009. This will of course be an unashamedly subjective list, but I reckon I can make a good case for most of the albums that will be included. Some will be popular, some will be more obscure, but all of them have had a role to play in my life over the past 10 years. I've lumped them all onto a big playlist and am very much enjoying the result.

So, yeah, expect the fruits of my labour to be available some time before Christmas. In the mean time, I'll keep doing what I've always been doing - stealing the thoughts of others and selling them as my own.

Philosophy of Eating

As a consequence of unemployment, I've had to make a few adjustments in life in order to keep my bank balance a feint shade of black. In what may be the first of a new series, here is one of those adjustments:

My eating habits have had to be completely reworked. I used to eat mostly for pleasure; a biscuit here, a chocolate bar there, a yogurt somewhere else. I liked to keep things ticking over, because when I get hungry I can be nothing short a huge tool.

Such perpetuity of consumption costs money, however. Money that I simply can't afford to spend. My philosophy of eating had to change. The economics demanded it. Here, then, is my cost-saver solution to the problem.

Instead of keeping things ticking over, I now do the exact opposite. I starve myself until I pass out from the hunger, and when I (hopefully) wake up again, I eat something. Those of you interested in my financial situation will be pleased to know that I've only eaten three meals in the last two weeks at a combined cost of 7 Euro. Those of you worried about my health, rest assured that I didn't cook the meals myself.

God bless you Marks and Spencer.

The Journey

I went hiking last weekend. I woke up to a phone call at 8am, regretted my decision to go hiking for ten or fifteen minutes, packed up some fruit and chocolate, and was on the road by 8.30. Gear wise, I wasn’t quite in hiking mode. I had my ridiculously expensive hiking shoes strapped to my feet, but that was about it. The rest of the ensemble was made up of items such as a soccer jersey, cords, and a laptop bag. I felt like the prissy city girl in a romantic comedy who’s forced to go on a hike as part of her work (or something), and who gets laughed at by a ruggedly handsome local for wearing high heels and bringing her fancy laptop up the mountain. Needless to say, Matthew McConaughey plays the ruggedly handsome local, and after an hour and a half of silly banter mixed with one deep late night chat by the campfire (most likely to do with past lovers), he wins the heart of prissy city girl. The end. Vomit.

Our party of four arrived at the 12 pins in Connemara at around 10:15, and immediately we set out on the trail. Roughly 20 minutes into the hike, we turned around and skipped back to the car in order to head home, stopping only at a local pub for a full Irish breakfast. At least that’s what happened in my head. The reality was something entirely different, involving me, sheep poo, exhaustion, and my will to live abandoning me in my time of need. How much more of this could I take, given that I was almost a broken man -- both emotionally and physically -- before we even got going properly? The answer would surprise me.


Once we hit our first peak things started to improve, mainly because we took an extended break and I got to stuff my face with Lidl’s finest chocolate. Germans - have they ever let us down? Also, the next stage of the hike was all downhill, which gave my withering calf muscles somewhat of a respite. But just as they were reaching full recovery, the journey up began once more. This terrain was harsh, relentless, unforgiving, sheer…something or other.

Three-quarters of the way up Ben Baun we decided to do what every hardened group of men does on a grueling hike like this: we took lots of silly photos. I think at this point I was into my second wind. It didn’t last long mind you, and a third never materialised, but for this 10 minute photo shoot I was able to jump into the air on numerous occasions and muster up some semblance of a smile on my face, giving the outward illusion of good times while inwardly I was wasting away, soon to become just a shell of a man.



We reached the summit of Ben Baun in good time, so all that remained was the journey back to the car. I thought this would be the most pleasant part of the hike, with the four of us prancing along while surveying the conquered terrain with great pride. It turns out the journey back was actually worse than anything that preceded it (including the sight of two of my fellow hikers embrace for an eerily romantic photo*). Getting down to level ground was easy, but unfortunately there were a few mountains separating us and petrol-fuelled freedom. Instead of cutting through the mountains we decided it best to simply walk around them through the bog land. No problem, I thought.

I thought wrong.

Perhaps it was the uneven surface of the bog meaning every step was a potential ankle-breaker, perhaps it was the fact that my legs had stopped working; I don’t know. But for the next hour and a half I was utterly miserable. From the look on my face you’d swear I was watching an Irish soccer game…an away Irish soccer game. I think what had happened was all the adrenaline had left my body what with me thinking the trail was complete, and so mentally and physically I was as unprepared for this as I was for a Financial Maths exam.

In an unexpected twist, we ended up spotting a stag as we negotiated ourselves around the final mountain. The other three were quite wary of its presence and were thus keen to avoid it, even if it meant extending the hike. Me? I had fantasies of climbing atop the stag, shouting “Giddy up!”, and guiding it victoriously through the bog to the Kylemore Abbey carpark, or perhaps right into the city centre. In other words, extending the trail was not a good option at this point. Not for me. It was either potentially cross paths with the stag and risk death, or hike some more and face certain death. It was always going to be the former.

Thankfully we never saw the stag again, although I had a creepy feeling that he was watching us in secret. Perhaps I’ve just seen The Edge one too many times.

It was just after 5pm when we reached that most hallowed tarmac of Kylemore Abbey carpark, a little under 7 hours since we first left its beautifully unsloped surface. I fell into the car almost without saying a word and drifted off to slumberland - a place where hiking is outlawed and pizza is supplied at your beck and call, along with a complimentary massage.

“Never again”, I thought, as I wondered how I’d cope without my legs for a couple of weeks. But hindsight is 20:20, and though there was much pain throughout the day, there was also much gain. The good ol’ fashioned male bonding, the wonderful scenery, the feeling of having endured, the sense of being in a world far bigger than yourself leading to a renewed appreciation for the age-old question, What is man that you are mindful of him? - all of these things were worth it in the end.


“What makes a man a man?”, I asked as we began the hike, in an attempt to focus my attention on anything but the burning sensation throughout my body. “The journey”, replied one of my fellow hikers, who had obviously feasted on a John Eldredge book or two in the past. “The journey?” I thought, in a dismissive manner, not quite knowing what exactly that meant. Roughly seven hours later, however, I think I began to understand what he was getting at.

Maybe John Eldredge isn’t full of s**t after all.

*

Reading

An update on my life in reading:

I finally finished The Divine Conspiracy by Dallas Willard (he's the guy I imagine to look like this). I must have started it about 18 months ago, but I began seeing some other books on the side and we just drifted apart. Anyway, what's done is done. I'm going to have to read it again because there's a lot to take in and digest. In short, Willard portrays a Jesus who has everything to do with real life here and now. That's an exciting and timely message me thinks.

I've also just finished a book called Reading Paul by Michael J. Gorman. If you want an easy-to-understand overview on the apostle's theology, this is an excellent resource. Simple yet full of profound insight. His view on "justification" (which is expanded on in Inhabiting the Cruciform God) is extremely interesting. I'm not saying I agree with it, but it's worth a grapple.

Speaking of "justification", I've set my face towards The Deliverance of God by Douglas Campbell. This is a 1248 page tome on that most topical and controversial of doctrines, so I'm about as excited as you can be before reading a massive book on justification. Don't worry, I won't be starting a blog series on it. [A collective sigh of relief ensued from his three loyal readers].

I've also decided that the time is right to get cracking into N.T. Wright's magnum opus - his Christian Origins and the Question of God series. This will make for slow, studious reading, but given the importance of the author in terms of both scholarship and church life, it will be worth it in the long run.

Finally, as a sort of personal quest I'm trying to take a deeper look at the Cross. I'm scanning through the New Testament, marking explicit and implicit references to Jesus' crucifixion in terms of why it happened, what happened, and what are the consequences - historically as well as theologically. This is especially interesting when it comes to the Gospels, where the crucifixion and resurrection of Messiah Jesus is the underlying reality in most of what was written in these post-cross accounts of the good news about Jesus. I'm also trying a assemble some books on the cross/atonement. Any recommendations would be more than welcome.

An Unexpected Twist

Quick life update:

I'm moving to Dublin in a few weeks. I have a place to live, I don't have a place to go and earn money. This was an unexpected twist in my otherwise banal life. The "plan" was to gain more education in the field of biblical studies, but instead I have decided to postpone any such adventures until a) I have some money under my belt and b) some experience of living away from home and being all independent and what not.

I'll be coming back to Galway every few weeks due to worship team commitments/my mother's Sunday dinners, but for all intents and purposes my life will be packing itself up and moving a couple of hundred kilometers east.

One of my first tasks - find a good church. If anyone has any recommendations I'd be happy to hear them.

First Birthday

It was my blog's first birthday four days ago. On the 12th of July 2008 I decided that I was important enough to write things people would be interested in reading. 145 blog posts leading to 3 reader comments has proved me wrong, but my own self-importance means I just keep cranking them out, one lazily written piece at a time.

145 blog posts in one year. Do the math, and that's 14.5 blog posts every 36.5 days. Not too shabby. Quantity wise I would say I'm doing fine. Quality wise? I think I'm still "finding my niche". If I spent more time in the writing process I could probably churn out better stuff, but my m.o. is to decide that I need to write a blog post, and then basically make one up on the spot with one core idea in my mind. Sometimes what I write drifts way away from that core idea, and sometimes I stick to my guns. It's all a big learning curve, and hopefully I'm improving bit by bit.

Anyway, thanks to all of you who hate yourselves enough to read this. To say that I couldn't do it without you would be a lie, but it is always nice to know that someone somewhere is mildly interested in what is written here. I hope you continue to tune in over the coming while as this thing begins to really take off and become God's main tool for redeeming His creation.

Self-important? Me? Never.

Right Through My Soul

You've got to love the brutal matter-of-factness that children possess. A cousin of mine from Dublin just came over to our house, and with barely an introduction out of the way he asks me, "Are you still in college?" "No" I reply, to which he then asks, "So why are you still living at home then, and why are you dressed like that?"

He could see right through my soul, and I had no answers. All I could do was laugh at was probably the funniest thing I've heard all summer, and the cry alone in my room as I pondered his cutting words.

Sometimes kids are just brilliant.

The Recession

The reality of the recession really hit me today. I was leaving town with what I thought was just enough change to get myself on a bus back home. I counted it up, and to my dismay it only came to E1.58 of the required E1.60. I knew the bus was coming soon since there was a lot of old people hanging around the bus stop (they have a sort of sixth sense for these things), so time was not on my side. I rooted through every pocket on me, eventually resorting to evacuating each of them in the hopes of stumbling across a couple of cents. I couldn't believe it - nothing. Not a cent.

Then along came the bus. Now time was really running out. I caught a break however, with the usually annoying bus driver swap working to my advantage for once, thus buying me a couple of precious minutes. I ran through my options - chance getting on the bus for two cents cheaper, ask someone for a few cents. Neither seemed desirable. The former because of what I know about bus drivers, and the latter because I just couldn't bring myself to ask a stranger for money, even a considerably small amount of money. Perhaps I'm too proud, but is asking a stranger for some spare change something you would be prepared to do in a similar scenario?

It was now too late to go to the ATM and get a quick tenner, so I left myself no alternative but to...[hangs head in shame]...root around the various bus stops for any money lying on the ground. I scavenged up and down the pavement, looking desperately for anything shiny but trying also to look as nonchalant and inconspicuous as possible. The bus was being boarded at this stage so my attempts to remain covert quickly waned, until eventually I was on my hands and knees scooping through dirt just in time to see the bus pull off. A low moment if ever there was one.

I say the reality of the recession hit me partly because of my desperate attempt to find some change, but mainly because of the fact that I couldn't find any. You know times are hard when people are picking up their one and two cent coins after them, leaving me short on both a bus fare and dignity.

Bad day.

A Community Project

The first step towards formulating my best man's speech has finally been taken. It involved typing "tips for best man speech" into google and perusing a few pertinent websites. The next step is Wikipedia, after which I'll have pretty much exhausted by research ideas. I did get one helpful tip from my initial google search, which is why I'm here writing about the speech in the first place. The tip is that the speech should be a community project, with the best man feeding on the input of those who know the subjects in question - in this case, my brother or his bride-to-be.

So with that, I am opening the floor to those who either have an anecdote or observance that can be incorporated into my speech. Or perhaps you just know more about speeches than I do and can give me some generally helpful tips. If these sound like the words of a desperate man bereft of ideas, then make no mistake about it - they are. In six weeks I will be expected to be funny/intelligible in front of a couple of hundred people, many of whom will probably not know who I am (and I include relatives in that).

Your support won't be so much beneficial as it will be necessary, so please, donate generously either by leaving a comment, an email, a text, or whatever. And be as disparaging as you like. The purpose of my speech is to make the bride seriously question her decision to marry my brother*.

* I'm kidding.

Perilous Exercise

I attempted press-ups today -- and I stress the word attempted -- for what was possibly the first time this millennium. It felt that long anyway. I'm not exactly sure why I felt the urge to get down on the ground and lift my less-than-considerable body weight off the ground with my less-than considerable arms. Perhaps I merely wanted to see if my arm "muscles" still work (incidentally, they don't, and if truth be told they never really did); perhaps I was giving into a desperate plea from a long-neglected part of me that is dying to be set loose - you know, that crazy part of you that wants to engage in physical discipline. It's in there somewhere, but thus far I've tamed it quite admirably.

But whatever the reason, I did it. I got on the ground and did some press-ups. 8 of them to be more accurate. Why a strange number like 8? Well, because I would have died if I did one more. If arms could talk then mine would have gone from berating me for my idiocy to begging me to stop, and finally to loud cries of utter despair, not unlike this one; and that would just have been after press-up number one. But like a man who just doesn't know when to stop, who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'quit', who won't take 'no' for an answer, I struggled on and did a whopping seven more of those perilous exercises until I came to within an inch of my life. Then I quit.

The message is clear. My arms don't like this. Though they may be subordinate to my will, the pain they can cause me is quite persuasive. Their voice echoes in my aching muscles. But I must press on with my press-ups. I have done 8; perhaps someday I will scale the heights of 10. Who knows? In time I may have things coming out of my shoulders that actually resemble a pair of adult male arms.

Books Are Cool

I'm developing something of a book fetish lately. I just love acquiring new books, even if I don't get around to reading them for a couple of years. I've been thinking about books lately, and it struck me that there is something almost immortal about them. I mean people were writing books thousands of years ago, and yet we ultra-moderners in the 21st century are still doing the same thing. There is no "new way" to go about it as such. 50 years ago you made a record. 20 years ago you made a CD, and now you release your music on mp3's. However, a thousand years ago you wrote a book, a hundred years ago you wrote a book, and now you write a book, and as long as people are still able to read, your product will be timeless. Do you want to become immortal? Write a book.

I've discovered a couple of websites which let you download some Christian books for free, which is pretty cool. None of them are particularly new, but you can still find some high quality stuff if you search around. I got a couple of G.K. Chesterton books, and so far I'm a big fan. I've just finished 'Orthodoxy', and it's a tremendous read. Extermely insightful, witty, and intelligent. Some of it went over my head, but he gives a very compelling defense of Christian Orthodoxy in the face of modernism and relativism and a lot of other ism's, and yet he manages to do so by keeping things light hearted, and even romantic. Whether you're Christian or not I think it's a compelling read, and written by a man who was exceedingly well respected, even amongst his foes.

I've got a couple of other random books from these websites also: some existentialist philosophy by Soren Kierkegaard, some existentialist theology by Karl Barth, with a few puritan classics thrown in there too. Will I ever read any of them? Probably not, but I bet you're thinking I'm at least slightly more intellectual now given the mere mention of these books on my blog, and so mission accomplished.

Currently -- ignoring mandatory class reading -- I'm ploughing my way through The Cross of Christ by John Stott. It's a magnificent piece of work, carefully detailing the reasons for and achievments of that most important moment of human history - the crucifixion of Jesus. I should be done with it shortly, but given the topic at hand it's a book I shall keep coming back to again and again. Anway, I can't recommend the book enough.

Oh, on a slightly different note, I've set myself a target this year, and I want a couple of people to be aware of it so that I have more motivation to reach it. I'm trying to memorise the Book of Romans, or at least 15 of the 16 chapters. So far I'm almost done with chapter 1. Will it even be possible to memorise the book and still retain information in my head such as what my name is and so forth? I'm not sure, but we shall see. I've never done anything like this before so I don't really know what to expect, but if nothing else it's at least a plan/goal of some sort. You have to start somewhere, right?

That's about it. I really only wrote this because it's virtually impossible to go to sleep after playing Tuesday night footy, but since I'm getting kind of tired now I may just give it a go. For all you loyal readers out there I may get back to more prolific blogging in the near future given that my course is ending in a couple of weeks. I'm not sure though. There are just so many blogs out there similar to this -- only more informed and intelligent -- and right now I'm kind of thinking what's the point in just adding to the clutter. Every Tom, Dick and Harry has a blog, under the illusion that people actually want to read what they have to write. Maybe I'm just indulging in self-pity, given that my hits counter is practically in the negative these days - that's right, people are actually unvisiting my page. That said, it's not as if I've put too much effort in, so you reap what you sow and such. Perhaps I'll get into again after I finish doing Scripture School stuff. And on that suspenseful note...