Making Time to Write

I am about to head out on my lunch walk, a daily ritual without which I should go mad, but I feel driven to write something. It is difficult to find time to write, though much of that difficulty comes from my own choices. Life is full of distractions, and one can consent to them all too easily. I often tell myself that if I can manage a page a day, I can have three hundred sixty-five pages in a year. That is a novel, though perhaps not a doorstopping fantasy epic.

The world is full of stories, some good, some bad. I like to think I have something to offer, something as yet unwritten that will bring a bit more beauty and light into this often dark world. For those of you who write, how do you make the time?

And with that, the walk awaits!

The Latin Mass (Because Me Being Catholic Wasn't Weird Enough Already)

This past Sunday, I attended (participated in? assisted at?) a Traditional Latin Mass. For those not in the know, this used to be the standard form of the Mass (are we supposed to capitalize it?) all over the Western world, until the Catholic Church came out with a new version about fifty years ago. Despite the near universal adoption of the Novus Ordo/Ordinary Form/The One With the Felt Banners, the Old Mass has held on in a few places. Since Pope Benedict XVI issued his apostolic letter Summorum Pontificum back in 2007, the Latin Mass has become a bit more prevalent.

Several minutes before 5:00pm, I walked into Saints Peter and Paul Catholic Church in Tacoma, Washington. The parish has a predominately Polish membership on Sunday mornings, a fact confirmed by the Polish missals in the pews, the Polish text on a painting of the Divine Mercy, and a prominent picture of Pope John Paul II. The Latin Mass group are guests, so to speak, as part of a mission from the main North American Martyrs Parish (FSSP) in Seattle.

There was none of the chatter that fills my usual parish on a Sunday morning. A small group were praying a rosary together, while others knelt or sat in silence. Mantillas were plentiful. The kneelers were already in the down position, which later proved to be convenient. On my initial entry, I forgot the Latin-English missal, so I exited my pew and retrieved one. My Latin skills are unfortunately lacking.

As the Mass progressed, one thing that struck me was how little speaking I needed to do. In the New Mass, the congregation and priest have quite the conversation, but in the Latin Mass, most of the responses are said by the (male only) altar servers. For the most part, I stuck with "amen" and "et cum spiritu tuo." I was able to read along in the missal, so I could follow all the prayers and responses. There was amazing theological depth to it all, and I could not help but wish the Church had just translated the existing Mass back in the Vatican II days.

We did kneel quite a bit more than I was used to, but it seemed right. It is a posture that lends itself well to reverence. When it was time for Communion, everyone who wished to receive went up on their own, without row by row dismissal. There were two small altar rails with kneelers at the front. Two people at a time knelt at each one, and they received the host on the tongue. This was the first time I had received in this way, and it was quite a moving experience. It certainly felt more sacred than having a Eucharistic minister hand the host to me.

I am very glad I attended, and I hope to do so in the future. It is too early to tell if I will "go trad" or not and become a regular, but I am glad that Mass still exists. We shall see what the future holds. I may want to lock in my Al Smith dinner speaker role first.

The Tale of the Goose

This past Friday, as I returned to the Park and Ride at the end of the day, I saw a large goose fly by and land in the parking lot. One often forgets how large geese are, particularly when their wings are spread. "I greet you," I said, or something to that effect, since I am the sort of person who talks to animals when no one is looking. I went on my way, with the goose showing no alarm at my presence.

I reached my car without further incident. As I looked in the rear view mirror, I saw the goose flying straight toward my car. It landed behind me and stayed there. I did not wish to run over the magnificent bird, particularly since I had already conversed with it, so I exited my car and walked toward the goose.

I would likely have discussed any number of matters with the goose, but there were some adolescent young men approaching, and I try to minimize the amount of time I appear crazy in public. The goose waddled a short distance away, so I climbed back in the car, carefully backed up and prepared to move forward. However, the goose decided to stand in the way. I sat there for a moment, as the goose stood defiantly in place and the young men laughed.

In an effort to break through, I slowly began to edge past the goose on the left. The goose finally allowed me to pass, but he began honking and sticking out his tongue. Whether this was a challenge or a fond farewell, I was not able to determine. It may be that I was parked next to a secret nest. For now, the fowl mystery remains unsolved.

Books!

John C. Wright, whose writings I could share daily, posted the following link:
www.sfsignal.com/archives/2014/05/mind-meld-books-weve-worn-out-re-reading/

It made me think of my own list of books I have re-read and intend to re-read in the future. Here it is, for those who are interested:

The Hobbit - Tolkien
The Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
The Pendragon Cycle - Lawhead
The Song of Albion - Lawhead
The Chronicles of Narnia - Lewis
The Hitchhiker series - Adams
Various Dragonlance novels - Weis and Hickman
Treasure Island - Stevenson
A Song of Ice and Fire - Martin

I can see myself reading the Harry Potter novels again, but so far I've only read them once. The same goes for any number of Redwall stories, Edgar Rice Burroughs novels, Robert Howard novels, and Jules Verne classics.

I know I'm missing some, so I will probably add them. What's on your list today?

My Noah Review

I haven't seen Noah, but here is my review:

First of all, this is supposedly a Bible-based movie, and yet there are no Christians in it? What kind of commie nonsense is this? Also, wasn't Russell Crowe in that Gladiator movie? That movie was awesome. Not Robin Hood, though; that movie was all kinds of awful. So was King Arthur, now that I think about it. The Disney cartoon was better. Hey, have you guys seen The Black Cauldron? It's a Disney cartoon with a PG rating. The Star Wars movies were rated PG. Boba Fett, now, he was a gentleman warrior. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was pretty underwhelming. Hellboy was way better. Ron Perlman pretty much makes every movie awesome. So does Thomas Jane.

A Few Lines for each Genre

This is a fun project I have thought about doing for a while, so here it is. I will be posting a few lines each from a variety of genres. None of these are part of my existing stories, though perhaps I may further develop these ideas. Some of these paragraphs will be in medias res, and some will be the beginning of the story.

Fantasy
The ice fields of Narathrandianlithicoretolkienesque stretched to the horizon, and the army of Mekkuppaneim had left a trail the entire way.

"They won't be hard to track, but they could be days ahead of us by now," Haielffenlord said, clutching his silver longbow in his hand.

"Ah, but they must walk, and we will ride upon the wind," Proetagoenist said. "The sail of Mil-Wa-Kee has melded with the sled of Wi-Skaun-Skin."

Science Fiction
"I'm sorry," the android said, his head inclined slightly. His eyes blinked. "Please rephrase your question."

"Can you help me up?" I asked, hanging by one arm from the one hundredth floor balcony of the Asimov building.

"Certainly," it said, and with almost comical ease, it pulled me to safety. Aside from the two of us, the room was empty.

Western
"Put down your gun, friend," the stranger said, "I ain't got no quarrel with you."

He was sitting at a corner table, a glass of whisky in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"You kilt Johnny Davenport!" Sid said, a mean look in his eye.

"Maybe I did," the stranger said, stubbing out his cigarette on the worn table. "I've never been much for names."

Romance
The Highlander pirate highwayman shook out his long, untamed hair, his freshly waxed chest glistening in the morning sun. Cordelia blushed and looked away, but only for a moment. She felt a stirring within her, an unquenchable desire, a flood of passion. She must have this man, she must tame him, she must civilize him, she must change him so thoroughly that no trace of the man she desired remains. There will only be a memory, a bitter memory, and she will come to despise this man for being so easily molded.

Young Adult Paranormal Romance (hey, this is where the money is)
"I will drain you," Aelric said, his fangs glistening. "I will take from you all that is human, and leave you a soulless husk. You will wander this world until the end of time, knowing only hunger, knowing only pain. You will never see the sun, and for you Heaven's gates will never open. Is this what you want?"

"Oh, Aelric!" Lara gasped. "What is eternity in Paradise with God and all the angels and saints, when compared with a few painful and torturous years with you?"

"Umh..," Aelric said. "Have you really thought this through? I mean, I really feel like I'm taking advantage of a stupid person here."

Children
There's a monster in the forest, and I think he wants to eat me. There's a cave inside the forest, where he hides all dark and scaley. There's a fire in the cave, where he cooks his food so tenderly. There's a monster in the forest and it's me.

War
The radio wasn't going to man itself, and so we sat. Hours passed, vehicles left, vehicles arrived, radio checks were made. Sergeant Cortez had a Maxim magazine, and I had Plato's Republic. I don't claim to be more sophisticated, just less honest about what I find interesting.

Around noon, someone brought us chow. This was FOB food, which beat MRE's just about any day of the week. Still, it wasn't home.

"Sar'nt," I said, because no one pronounces the whole word, "the flames are getting a bit closer. Should we move the radios?"

Our company command post was nestled among the wreckage of what used to be our headquarters. The air strike and artillery bombardment had occurred earlier that morning, but I had been so engrossed in the duties of a citizen, I scarcely noticed.

Horror
"We have to keep the blood inside!" she screamed, clawing at the walls of her cell. "The one who comes will see! The one who comes will know!"

"Calm yourself," Dr. Preston said. "What are you talking about?"

At this, she stopped and her eyes focused on the wall behind us. Her voice took on a perfect calm.

"He's already here."

Feminist Zombie Apocalypse Non-Fiction
You may find that in this zombie-filled world, an oppressive system of hetero-normative cis-gendered privilege will attempt to assert itself. It will be tempting to fight against this with knives or guns, but the inherently phallic nature of these instruments is problematic and troubling. The best method is to establish free zones of affirmation, where all forces of oppression, both living and undead, are firmly asked not to enter.

The Parting Glass

I should point out I wasn't driving at the time. That would be most irresponsible.

Election 2014

I'm heading back to the office after a lovely lunch in Seattle. Don't worry, I'm not driving. Did you know some people can play guitar with their hands? I don't even know what to say to that. This one time, I walked all the way to the cake table. Typing on a smart phone is silly. I found a pine cone in the forest once, but I left it there. Removing too much biomass from the forest can cause what some have termed a "total planet kill." Don't forget to zip up your sleeping bag when you go camping. Sure, you're warm now, but there are like a billion bears right next to you.

Thoughts on Lent

Last year for Lent, I gave up video games. It was beneficial, though I must be honest and say I just watched more TV on Hulu instead. This year, I'm giving up fancy coffee, and I am also attempting to read the whole Catechism of the Catholic Church. Why do I tell you this, you may ask? After all, if I tell you what I am giving up, is that not a form of bragging? Am I not earning my full reward here, rather than in Heaven? Ah, but think about this: If I tell you about my Lenten abstinence, it will cause you to think me a bragger, which will cause you to think less of me, which will lower my standing in the eyes of the world, which will make me humble, which will reduce my pride, which will prepare me for Heaven. However, if I am allowing myself to be humbled for the sake of spiritual gain, am I not seeking after glory? And if I am seeking after glory, will this not lead to pride? And, if it leads to pride, will this not lead to a fall? And will this fall not lead to humility?

But, fancy coffee, some will scoff! What kind of thing is that to give up? How easy, how paltry? Ah, but have you tried Nespresso? No? Then you know not of what you speak.

And reading the Catechism? It comes out to a mere seventeen pages a day, when stretched throughout the whole of Lent. This is no great spiritual work.

Indeed, indeed. But if I did a great spiritual work, I might take pride in it, and that would undermine the whole point.

At the end of the Lenten season, I will have been a Catholic for an entire year. It will be quite an anniversary to celebrate. Please join me, if you have not already.

Quick Thoughts on Catholic Traditionalism

I kind of want to be a Catholic traditionalist, but I am also kind of reluctant to be one. Part of it is a form of protest. After all, I am Catholic already; I should not have to move "further up and further in" to find the purely pure "real" Catholics. I am also just a regular man. I try to be a good Christian, but I do not try all that hard to be extra-spiritual. I would rather read a good novel than the Summa Theologica. Many of the saints frighten me, with a level of devotion I find intimidating. We have a wonderful parish that celebrates the Ordinary Form in a fairly reverent manner. For the Latin Mass, I would have to drive all the way to Seattle for a Sunday morning Mass, or wait until 5:00pm for one in Tacoma. For just a regular man, this is crazy stuff (cue the traditionalist complaint that they drive four hundred miles each way for the Latin Mass, and on the way they have to fight hordes of albino monk assassins sent by their own bishop; okay, so I admit to some spiritual weakness here, but I am still new).

I have also heard the horror stories about some of the more "interesting" denizens of traditionalism. "Did you know Jewish Freemasons created the heliocentric heresy in order to more effectively fake the moon landing? If you don't home-school your kids, you will burn in the second deepest level of Hell, right above the women who wear pants and the people who defend Tolkien on Twitter."

Of course, I know most traditionalists are not like this. They simply believe that the Church expressed its teachings more clearly in a pre-Vatican II sense and with a pre-Vatican II Mass. Much of what has been done in the last fifty years has made a mess of the faith. Therefore, like debugging software, it is often best to roll everything back until we get to where everything still works. At least I think that is the idea; I dropped Computer Science and majored in English instead.

As I have said before, I nearly became Orthodox instead of Catholic, because of all the mess. However, as the traditionalists say, the mess is a bug, not a feature. Bishops, priests, nuns, and others in authority decided that the New Springtime of the Church was a great time to turn the Church into something else. It has gone...badly. One should hesitate to attribute malicious intent, and yet...

...........Just adding a few more of these........................

I have observed three (or four; see below) basic camps within the Church (I ask my reader to pardon the repetition from previous posts). There are the liberals, who desperately want the Church to have values indistinguishable from the secular culture. Groups like "Catholics for Wholesale Infant Slaughter" or "Catholics for the Dictatorship of the Proletariat" are popular (I'll take the conspiracy theorist from paragraph two over them any day, since they are not, you know, going around actually killing people). The second camp are the conservatives, as they are often called. They are very loyal to whatever the pope and bishops are teaching right now. If the pope said tomorrow that we are at war with Eurasia and always have been, the conservatives would write untold thousands of words affirming that this is indeed so. The third camp are the traditionalists, who claim to believe what Catholics always have. If their beliefs seem strange, it is because everyone around them has changed. The fourth camp is actually camping, and whatever they are cooking smells far better than the sandwiches we brought.

I do not like that these separate camps exist; I just want to be Catholic, and I wish all these other people could be, too. Of course, the real battle is between good and evil, and the battle lines are drawn through every human heart. It matters not if you follow Paul, Apollos or Cephas, if you do not follow Christ. So, who follows Christ? It is those who do what He says, who live as He lives, who love as He loves. Who is doing that?

It is no secret that most Catholics really are not all that Catholic (and many of them transition to, "I was raised Catholic, but."). I knew this long before joining the Church, so I have not been shocked or disillusioned. However, there is a difference between bad Catholics who know the faith but who do not live up to it, and malformed Catholics who have no idea what the Church teaches and yet are Hell-bent on changing it. The traditionalists would say, I think, that in the pre-Vatican II days, there were plenty of the former, but it has taken the "hope and change" post-Vatican II days to cause such an explosion of the latter. The former may repent, even on their deathbeds, but the latter see no need to repent.

At any rate, this debate and exploration is like a family dispute. Where I fit in this Church family is a matter for debate, but there is no doubt this is my Church. This should be your Church. It really should. There is no such thing as my truth or your truth. There is only truth. And truth is a person, Jesus Christ. And Jesus Christ said, "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church; and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it."

Real Men

It has become fashionable for people to post opinions on what makes a "real man." This is a bit amusing, because the definition is quite simple. First, this individual is real, as in genuine, as in he actually exists. Second, he is of the male sex and has reached the age of maturity. That is it. A real man can be a good man or an evil man, he can be a gentleman or a cad, he can be kind or he can be cruel.

Therefore, a man does not cease to be a real man because he fails to live up to a thirty bullet point list posted by women on Facebook. Being a real man takes no skill or determination. It is simply a matter of biology and age.

Now, what do people actually mean when they talk about a "real man?" My literal definition is not what they have in mind, I think. Perhaps they mean a "desirable man" or a "strong man" or an "admirable man." Why do people not simply say what they mean?

I am, of course, over-thinking this, as I do everything. Therefore, just to play along and have a grand old time, may I present the following list of "real man" qualities:

• Real men have long, flowing beards, because they are wild berserker warriors, untamed by civilization.
• Real men shave regularly, because a real man masters his facial hair in the same way he masters his passions.
• Real men never have hobbies that do not involve their wives and children; all leisure time must be devoted to the betterment of the home.
• Real men have a variety of hobbies and interests; in addition to increasing their own enjoyment of life, this also makes them more intriguing to women.
• Real men have experience with vast numbers of women and antibiotic prescriptions.
• Real men are chaste before marriage and completely faithful within it.
• Real men have nothing to do with the crutch of religion.
• Real men love Jesus.
• Real men can't be tied down by rules and regulations.
• Real men join the military.
• Real men like curves.
• Real men like whatever the [expletive] they want.
• Real men are not tied down by a wife and children.
• Real men are good husbands and fathers.
• Real men hate guns.
• Real men have all the guns.
• Real men lift.
• Real men work hard enough in their everyday tasks that they don't need to lift.
• Real men think sports are for children.
• Real men play sports.

That's enough for now. Take care, everyone, and watch out for snakes.

Hellish Thoughts for the Christmas Season

I would like to briefly discuss a common attitude about Hell. It is a sort of compromise between the “love wins” idea that no one will be damned, and the “God hates you” idea that everyone except the purely pure members of the purely pure church will be damned. This idea is more along the lines of “Well, yes, Hell exists, but it's not really for you and me. It's for particularly nasty people. You know, like Hitler.”

Ah, but why do people think Hitler belongs in Hell? Usually, it is because he did many very bad things. These things were so bad, and of such a significant quantity, that eternal punishment is a just and right consequence. Very well, one might respond. However, those actions, however horrible, were finite in nature, and the punishment is infinite. So, you acknowledge that, at some point, a finite amount of sins merit an infinite amount of punishment.

Let us consider mathematics. If sin is represented by x, and Hitler committed 20,000,000x, to pick a number, and 20,000,000x equals ∞, then what does 100x equal? How about 10x? I am no mathematician, but is there not something about x, or sin, that leads to ∞? Therefore, it is the x that merits damnation, regardless of the number in front of it. After all, when compared with infinity, what is the difference between 20,000,000 and 10? When compared with infinity, all the crimes of Hitler are no different than a single sinful thought.

Therefore, would it not be best to say, “All of us, myself included, are in the same boat. If one of us merits Hell, we all do. Therefore, let us all work out our salvation with fear and trembling, trusting in God's mercy and not in our own righteousness. Many thought to be quite wicked will likely be in Heaven, and many thought to be quite righteous will likely be in Hell. Let us pray for the salvation of all, but assume it for none, especially not ourselves.”

Some of you do not believe in Hell, finding it to be an unjust and monstrous idea. I can respect that. It's certainly an idea I have had from time to time. However, for those of you who hold to Christian doctrine, remember that when it comes to sin, you are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. All of us are the same.

A Veterans Day Tale

The flag rippled and fluttered in the wind, catching the eye of Command Sergeant Major Hill. Another Veterans Day, he thought, and I'm still here. The number of stars on the flag had changed since the first days at Benning, when CSM Hill was PVT Hill. He had been just too young for Iraq and Afghanistan, but he had caught the next one. It had been a short but brutal affair, in a country no one would have predicted in the days of the War on Terror.

He wore the combat patch on his right shoulder. It was from an old division, one that had cased its colors nearly two decades ago. In fact, CSM Hill had the distinction of being the last remaining soldier in the Army to have a combat patch at all. The world had changed after the bombs fell, and concerns had turned homeward.

There were other veterans, to be sure, those who, like CSM Hill, had seen cities disappear and borders change. They, however, had all moved on to civilian life, to retirement, to regular careers. CSM Hill stayed on, though his mandatory retirement age was drawing near.

Decades of peace could be hard on a soldier, though his wife, kids, and grand-kids were glad to have him around. And there was always something to do. Soldiers these days were soft, not like in the old days. CSM Hill gave the flag a sharp salute, and continued on his way, rolling on as the Army ever had and ever would.

Neil Gaiman on Libraries

Hat tip to John C. Wright for the link: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/oct/15/neil-gaiman-future-libraries-reading-daydreaming. I posted the link on Facebook earlier, for those of you who know me in real life.

This is an excellent article, based on a lecture by Neil Gaiman. In our house, he is known primarily as the author of Crazy Hair,which may be my eldest daughter's favorite book. It brought to mind the books of my childhood and adolescence, some of which I have since revisited, and some which still wait on the shelf, always ready to rekindle our friendship.

The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are obvious. If you have only seen the films, you are cheating yourself. Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and The Black Arrow make a great set of adventure stories. Anything by Edgar Rice Burroughs must be added to the list, though I must confess I have only recently landed on the mysterious world of Barsoom. Watership Down prepared me for my later Redwall excursions.

Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn are essentials, and made me want to sail the Mississippi myself. Jules Verne is from the same era, and cruising in the Nautilus beneath the sea, or circling the world in eighty days, is a delight.

I read a selection of Christian fiction, of course. Frank Peretti's stories are incredible, and he has written some entertaining selections for children, as well. The Thoene's interested me in the Middle East, an interest that is perhaps stronger now that I have been there. Gilbert Morris wrote the same story a hundred times, most stating that even Christian women craved men who were tall, dark, and handsome. I eventually became quite content with being short, pale, and interesting.

Stephen Lawhead has crossover appeal, I would say, and Christians and pagans alike should find joy in his work.

If you have not yet read Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker books, stop reading this post, and go read them immediately. Patrick McManus has written numerous short story collections, and he keeps writing them. I have laugh wrinkles already, and they are mostly his fault.

It turns out the library is not open at 11:30pm, so I suppose I shall sleep. Keep reading, and keep supporting your library.

Becoming Catholic

This past Easter, my family and I officially entered the Catholic Church. It has been a long journey getting here. I would like to take a few moments now to look back at the process. Hopefully, what I share will be of some benefit to those of you who might be considering such a step yourself.

For the sake of simplicity, let us say there are three significant groups who really do not care for the Catholic Church. The first kind are the secularists and a fair number of mainline Protestants, who see the Catholic Church as an oppressive, patriarchal organization that is the primary obstacle in the way of the great society. The Church refuses to change its doctrines to match the mainstream's growing wisdom, and they keep trying to save all the babies.

The second kind are the serious Protestants, usually of an Evangelical, Charismatic, or Reformed persuasion. They see the Catholic Church as the Whore of Babylon, a false teacher leading people to Hell with its doctrines. Some of these Protestants are kind enough to think well of individual Catholics, so long as they don't take some of the weirder stuff seriously. They will also partner with Catholics in the pro-life movement, though they may think Catholics are strange and irresponsible for having so many babies.

The third kind are a fairly large subset of Catholics themselves. They like calling themselves Catholic, but they, like the secularists, wish the Church would get with the times. They disagree with a number of doctrines of the Church, but rather than leave for a Protestant denomination, they stay and try to turn the Catholic Church into one. They really wish the Church would stop caring so much about the babies.

I list those groups to make clear that deciding to join the Catholic Church is a decision that may be met with opposition. The secularists will think you are joining the enemy of progress, the serious Protestants will think you are risking your soul, and the dissenting Catholics will be concerned that you might actually take the whole Catholic thing seriously.

Now, many of these people will be acting in good faith, so it is best not to take their objections personally. Just understand that you might not have a large cheering squad lining your road to Rome. However, the Catholic teaching on the communion of the saints means you will have a large cheering squad interceding on your behalf in Heaven. As the writer of Hebrews said, “Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

I used the King James for the quote above, even though it's a Protestant version, because it's awesome. See, you can keep all the good Protestant stuff, even if you make the jump.

So, what about the Catholic Church is an area of difficulty for you? At the very beginning, long ago during the Bush Jr. presidency, I had some of the usual Protestant objections. I thought the devotion to Mary and the other saints was idolatry, I thought there was too much emphasis on works, I thought the Church had complicated the simple Gospel of Jesus Christ with the addition of numerous man-made rules and regulations.

However, all it really took was letting the Catholic Church explain itself. I am not going to rehash every argument here, but I encourage you to do some research. The book Surprised by Truth, edited by Patrick Madrid, was one of the first things I read, and I highly recommend it. It is a collection of conversion stories, just a few pages each, all written by converts far more articulate and knowledgeable than myself. The Catholic Answers website, at www.catholic.com, also has a wealth of information.

Getting past those early difficulties proved fairly easy. I did encounter a second set of problems, however, that took a great deal more time and prayer to resolve. When I was growing up, I had this image of the Catholic Church as this glorious medieval institution, filled with ceremony, Latin, incense, stained glass, and towering churches of stone. Interestingly enough, if this image was still authentic, I would probably have entered the Church much earlier.

However, some changes had occurred in the Catholic Church that had rendered the image in my head obsolete. The Second Vatican Council had closed about fifteen years before I was born, but since the finer points of Catholic councils are not a widely discussed topic in the Free Methodist Church, I had never learned of the changes. The Council itself is still widely debated, with some saying it was a great step forward, others saying it was a catastrophe, and yet others saying it has simply been misunderstood.

I am not an expert theologian, but here is what I understand to have happened. In the aftermath of the Council, the Mass was changed, churches were remodeled (or “wreckovated,” some would call it) to have a more open modern look, and the Church began to have a more ecumenical attitude toward non-Catholics. Latin fell into disuse, the old high altars were torn down or ignored, sentimental modern hymns came into fashion, and priests stopped talking so much about Hell and damnation. Millions of Catholics managed to reach adulthood without knowing even the basics of the Catholic faith.

Now, it would be a mistake to say all was moonlight and roses before Vatican II, and it would be another mistake to say everything since has been a disaster. However, as a prospective convert, I looked at this chaos and I was deeply concerned. I began to consider Eastern Orthodoxy, another ancient Church, though one without a Vatican II. There is so much beauty there, and they profess so much of the same faith that the Catholic Church does.

And yet, I became Catholic rather than Orthodox in the end. I became convinced that the ministry of the pope, the successor of Peter, was vitally important, and the Catholic Church seemed to be doing a better job of holding the line on some key moral issues. The failure of so many in the Catholic Church to live up to its doctrines did not take away from the truth of the doctrines themselves.

It is important to consider the whole history of the Church. Progressives and traditionalists will both often point to Vatican II as a rupture with the past. The progressives may say the Church before was repressive and strict, but now a new day has dawned and soon we will be just like the Episcopalians. The traditionalists may say everything before was marvelous, but now the “conciliar Church” has lost its way, and true Catholics must set out on their own. However, I urge you to keep the big picture in mind. This is not the first crisis the Church has seen. The Church in AD 2013 is the same Church it was in AD 1962, AD 962, and AD 33.

Hope is considered one of the three theological virtues by the Catholic Church, the other two virtues being faith and charity. When I consider the state of the Catholic Church today, I hold onto hope. There is something wild and glorious about hope, even in the midst of trouble. Hope should be the natural state of the Christian, for Christ is the victor, and we are under His care.

So, do not rush off to join the sedevacantists. Instead, work to restore the Church. Be passionate about the faith, and share it with others. Read the writings of the saints. Learn about what was and what may be again.

You may find yourself in an RCIA program, if you actively pursue entrance into the Church. The quality of these will vary immensely, with some being completely orthodox and some not so much. If your instructors start telling you that grave moral evils are simply a matter of conscience, or that two thousand years of theology will be changed any day now, do not be led astray. Getting to the day of judgment and saying, “My RCIA instructor lied to me” is like a soldier saying, “My recruiter lied to me,” when it turns out Fire Support Specialist is not a fireman. Do the research.

Feel free to visit multiple parishes in your area. In a perfect world, every parish would be orthodox, and the same faith would be preached everywhere. Unfortunately, that is not always the case. Even choosing based on aesthetics is not wrong, though beauty and truth tend to exist together.

Pray without ceasing. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself. Radiate the joy of Christ.

Pope Benedict XVI

Pope Benedict XVI began his papacy in 2005, the same year I began studying the Catholic Church. With today's announcement, it looks as if I will be entering the Church during the reign of Benedict's successor. As Benedict was the pope during my time of study, so the next pope will sit upon Peter's chair as I begin the next phase of my journey. May God bless Benedict, his successor, and all who call upon the name of Christ our Lord.

In Which I Write About The Church

All roads lead to Rome, unless there is an ocean in the way or some such thing. However, as we pass through the waters of baptism, perhaps we can cross an ocean or two. With God all things are possible, eh?

You see, we are all in a mess. We have sinned, you see, every last one of us. Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. We have rejected the good, embraced the evil, and wandered down the path of destruction. However, God, by His grace, sent us His Son, Jesus Christ, to die on our behalf. He conquered death, obtained forgiveness for our sins, and opened the way to Heaven.

We are all free to reject this, however, and most of us do, at least at one time or another. Our way seems best, even it takes us through the brambles and stinging nettles, through ditches filled with festering decay and filth, and down through the darkest places below, where there is no light and no hope.

And yet, the path is there, narrow though it may be. Angels guard it, carrying out their unceasing watch in a war as old as time itself. All who seek after God will walk it, step after step, until they stand before the very gates of Heaven.

Those who stay upon the path are safe, whatever may befall their physical bodies in this shadow world we call our home. However, to step to the left or the right is so easy, and there are ever those who would lure us to our doom.

“Come, join us,” they say, grasping with skeletal hands. “The path is hard beneath your feet, and the road is long. Rest with us in the wood, where there is no striving or struggle. Give up the fight.”

For those who stagger off the road and wander into blackest night, some will never be seen again. Some, by God's grace, will make their way back to the path, though only after great pain.

Making it back to the path is not easy, particularly when there are so many guides who insist the straight, paved road is not the path at all. “No, no, good sir,” they say. “The true path is supposed to go through this swamp, you see. The scaly beasts who dragged off Simmons there were probably just inviting him to tea.”

And, of course, many of these guides are quite sincere. They have a guidebook, or part of it, anyway, and they think they have interpreted the way out of the dark forest. Unfortunately, the guidebook was never meant to stand on its own. There were additional instructions and warnings passed down from the master guides of the past, along with the proper interpretation of the more confusing portions of the guidebook. This knowledge is still held by those who patrol the narrow road. However, the independent and often self-appointed guides who wander the forest depths believe those on the road are lost, their authority illegitimate.

Sometimes, in the midst of wading through the muck, or hacking through walls of thorns, some will look in the distance and see the road, its straight and unbroken length lit by torches and candles. Often, the sound of singing can be heard, or perhaps a slight whiff of incense will drift over on the breeze. These travelers may pause and say, “Look, nothing against you lot. I mean, it's clear you're doing your best and you think you're going the right way, but it's pretty obvious that we're heading deeper into the blasted swamp.” Then, with fond farewells, these travelers head for the road, though many trials may still await them before they reach it.

To move away from the metaphor and say it clearly, my family is preparing to enter the Catholic Church. After visiting several Catholic churches this summer, we have started the RCIA program, or Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults, with the goal of entering the Church this coming Easter. I actually used the path analogy in a recent class, saying that I believed I had been looking at the path for some time, and was now finally on it.

It's difficult not to shake people up a bit when proposing the idea of conversion. Even Allison was resistant at first. After all, no matter how polite one tries to be, one is, in a sense, saying, “There is something fundamentally flawed about the beliefs I used to hold, and which you still hold. In order to do the will of God, I must change and move.” So, I do understand why some people might not understand, or why they might even be upset.

What I found, in my own journey, is that I could not remain a Protestant. The longer I remained where I was, the more uncomfortable I became. I didn't agree with the distinctive Protestant beliefs. I didn't believe in salvation by faith alone, I didn't believe in sola scriptura, I didn't believe in a purely symbolic baptism, and I was not content with a symbolic Eucharist. I did agree with all that the Catholic and Orthodox Churches held in common, even if I was not always sure I knew where I stood in the areas where they disagreed.

I feared dying while still a Protestant, and then standing before God and saying, “Well, I couldn't decide, you see, so like the servant with the one talent, I did nothing at all.” It didn't end well for that guy, if you remember.

Even today, I'm still only about 80% sure I should be Catholic, but that will work for now. Part of the purpose of the RCIA program is to help people ensure they are making the correct decision. For the rest, I'd say I'm 15% sure I should be Orthodox, and 5% sure I should sleep in on Sunday morning and forget the whole theological mess. Still, even if I'm not yet at 100%, I would still rather die as a Catholic than as anything else. I'm not sure where the truth lies in all these debates between Christians, but Christ did say to Peter that on this rock He would build His Church and the gates of Hades would not overcome it.

The Catholic Church of reality does not always line up to the Catholic Church of the Protestant imagination. When I thought of the Catholic Church while growing up, I imagined stone cathedrals, Latin chant, incense, and nuns in habits. I have had to adjust the picture a bit, though those other aspects are still there, if one knows where to find them. A great deal has changed in the past forty years or so, and not all of it for the good.

The other day, we participated in a tour of St. Patrick's, in Tacoma. We were told how after Vatican II, the church was instructed to install a new simpler altar and abandon the use of the old. However, the old high altar was too large to move, and so it stands, a reminder of things past and perhaps a sign of things to come again.

All of this seems to move in cycles, anyway. One generation decides the church buildings are too ornate and an offense to the poor, so the decorations are stripped. Another finds that reverence is lacking and people have lost a sense of the majesty of God, so the decorations return.

Where do we want to raise our children, and where do we hope they will raise their children? The average Evangelical Protestant church is likely more full of sincere Christian believers than is the average Catholic church. However, the same could have been said of the Protestant mainline churches a few generations ago, and where are they now? I am far more confident that the Catholic Church will still be teaching the faith one hundred years from now, than I am about any Protestant denomination. Of course, as I said above, I don't agree with the distinctive Protestant beliefs. Therefore, I don't think Protestantism is really teaching the faith now.

So, on we go, following the liturgical year of the Church. The Advent season still awaits, followed by Christmas, another slice of ordinary time, Lent, and finally Holy Week. There is still a long journey just to enter the Church, and then the journey will continue, moving down the road of this life. May we stay true and stay on the path.

God bless you all.

 

The Breastfeeding Controversy

So, this is probably an odd thing for me to write about, but why not, eh? In recent months, there has been a bit of controversy in the news about public breastfeeding. It seems there have been a few cases where breastfeeding women have been asked to cover up, cease and desist, or take their mewling spawn to the depths of the forest with the other beasts (I may have made up the last one). Outrage has often resulted, though articles and Facebook comments defending the original complaints have also been seen.

In all this, I often say to myself, “Just what sort of people are doing the complaining in these situations?” This gets the occasional odd look, but it's not like I'm the only one who talks out loud to himself on the bus.

For a woman, it seems there are a number of normal reactions to seeing another woman breastfeeding in public. One is to see the joyous bond between mother and child, rejoice that there is still love in the universe, and go home with renewed affection for her own children. Another is indifference, because, hey, it's not like there's a mystery about what's going on there.

For a man, one reasonable reaction is to politely avert the eyes, out of respect for the mother's modesty. Another understandable, though less laudable reaction, is to go to one's friends and say, “Dude, this chick totally whipped her boob out right in the middle of the mall! It was awesome!” These two hypothetical men had very different reactions, but neither one of them was offended.

So, who are these offended individuals, who find that the sight of a woman nursing her child in public, particularly uncovered, to be such a grave transgression? What follows is a partial list, unaffected by the biases that tend to accompany actual research.

The first is a young, sexually active woman who fears getting pregnant and becoming a mother. Seeing another women using her breasts for their primary biological purpose strikes to the very heart of her insecurities. Complaining furthers her goal of pushing pregnancy and its associated responsibilities out of her view.

The second is a young, sexually active man, who either is the partner of the woman in the previous example or wants to be. One reason for his complaint is a desire to show his partner that he is of one mind with her in her own complaint. Another reason is that he likes living in a fantasy land where sex is just for fun and never leads to pregnancy, where breasts are for his enjoyment and not for the nourishment of a crying little creature that poops everywhere.

The third is a slightly older woman who desperately wants to become pregnant, but has been without success. It is as if the nursing women are flaunting their own fertility and mocking her lack.

The fourth is a man who is worried that if his eyes inadvertently flit to the area of interest, he is not attractive enough to avoid a sexual harassment charge. To him, public breastfeeding is some kind of entrapment scheme. Complaining helps deflect any accusations toward him, while also preventing future events of the same kind.

The fifth is a prude of either sex. This is the sort of person who shuns art museums and refuses to read National Geographic. He or she is probably religious, but, even if married, is probably not having much sex.

Those are just theories, and if anyone has any other ideas, let me know. If anyone was not offended, let me know what offends you, and I'll try to get it into my next entry.

My own thought on the matter is that a mother should be free to nurse in public. If her beliefs or sense of modesty so dictate, she can cover up in the manner she deems best. It should not, however, be dictated by those around her, who, after all, can avert their eyes, if they find nursing so distasteful.

Cleveland

Within the ghostly depths of the microwave

grew a tree,

its branches reaching farther and growing stronger

than an old battery in a coffee mug.

Indeed, the drawer had been flung wide open

and inside one could see

a petroleum factory.

Well, if the shoe fits, I thought,

but then this shoe contained

a full-length breathing apparatus,

two diamonds,

and a garden hose.

Putting my hand in my pocket

and removing my car,

I took off for Dixie,

leaving behind a trail of mixed memories.

The matchbox on the dashboard

held a regiment of the king’s infantry,

but no one thinks of such things on a Saturday.

My wallet was empty,

save for the spare gas tank,

and I hoped I would have enough to reach Cleveland.

“Give me a sign!”

I said to the man at the station,

but he just took off like a train down a rabbit hole.

The VCR slot was crammed full with U.S. treasury bills

and the garbage can was overflowing with twisted seaweed.

Sure the road is long,

but give me a sunset in Cleveland and we can touch the sky.

Religious Conversation II – The Agnostic in the Coffee Shop

I was talking with my friend Frank at the coffee shop just off Exit 173 in Bellevue. A sea breeze was blowing in from the east, the sun had just risen over Mercer Island, and the members of a geography club at the next table were thoroughly horrified at my description of the location.

Frank generally calls himself an agnostic, though sometimes he will stretch to deist. He is not the type to protest Ten Commandments displays or end zone prayers, and he does not shriek and back away if he sees someone wearing a crucifix. He is quite the skeptic, however, when it comes to dogma or claims of supernatural revelation.

We had been talking about my mysterious journey to England the previous year, when I had found myself in a pub with three Christian men of different communions. Frank was, naturally, interested in the travel bit. He had once found himself in a dumpster in Calgary, after falling asleep during a particularly dull History lecture at Colorado State University. What he found of the greatest interest, however, was the theological element.

“Did you ever consider,” Frank asked, “that you could all have been starting from a faulty premise? You were all going on and on about who was the right kind of Christian, when you hadn't established if one should be a Christian at all.”

“True enough,” I said. “It didn't seem necessary to cover that ground, when we were all in agreement about the basic Christian framework.”

“Okay, I get that,” he said. “Still, in that conversation or at other points in your life, did you ever pause and ask yourself, 'Is this all a bunch of rubbish?'”

“Sure, doubts pop in now and then,” I said, “but never to the point of abandoning the faith.”

“Because the Christian faith is your default,” he said. “It would probably take something very serious to pull you away from that. For me, I was raised with no religion, so it would take something rather remarkable to pull me into it.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Well, nothing likely comes to mind,” he said. “I mean, if God appeared to me said, 'I love you, and I want you to spend eternity in paradise, and this is how you get there,' you can bet I would do what he said. But, you can't hand me a collection of two-thousand-year-old documents, full of ambiguous and hotly disputed passages, and tell me that counts. It's not remotely the same thing.”

“But Christianity is not just what some people came up with because they found a Bible centuries after it was written,” I said. “People who knew Jesus, who had walked with him and seen him, passed this news to others. They established the Church, appointing bishops and teachers and the like. The teaching about Christ and the way to salvation was spread throughout the Roman Empire. These people knew their faith, they were absolutely committed to the preservation of orthodoxy, and many of them went to their deaths, rather than deny the faith.

“And,” I continued, “they wrote and they discussed and they held councils. The Christian religion was not developed in secret; it was proclaimed to the world. We still have the writings of the early Christians, not just what was written in the Bible. Christian tradition, teaching, and practice has continued, without interruption, to the present day. So, it's not as if someone handed you a Bible and said, 'God told me to write this; do what it says.'”

“The history stuff is all well and good,” Frank said, “but it doesn't really prove anything to me, personally. Those early Christians, even those who were martyred for the faith, could have been deceived. Religious people being led astray, deliberately or otherwise, by their leaders, is not exactly a rare occasion.”

“Okay, but we're talking about someone who died and then rose from the dead,” I said. “You can't make that stuff up and get away with it. Jesus didn't just claim to be God and then die like everyone else. As Paul said, Jesus appeared to move than five hundred people, after he rose from the dead. That's the kind of claim that would be seriously challenged, if it was false.”

“Maybe so,” Frank said. “Someday I'll finish the Josh McDowell and Lee Strobel books my aunt sent to me. She is quite convinced I'm on my way to Hell. Good of her to try to stop me, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” I said.

“Still,” Frank continued, “it's not like I wish Christianity was true, and I just can't overcome my skepticism. I strongly hope it is not true.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Well, think about it,” Frank said. “Christianity basically states that most people who have ever lived will spend eternity in indescribably torment. I mean, it would be bad enough if it was just the serial killers and people who create spam e-mails, as even their crimes are finite. But we're talking about the guy who practiced the wrong religion, or even belonged to the wrong version of the right one. We're talking about the teenager who was thinking exquisite, yet forbidden, thoughts about the girl in Algebra class, and then was hit by a bus, before he could repent or go to confession or whatever.

“The best theological system would be some kind of universalism, where everyone goes to Heaven, and maybe Hitler and Stalin and the spam e-mail guy get a stern talking to before they go in the door. I hope for that, to be honest. But, even a system with no afterlife at all is better than Christianity. Sure, the blessed few don't get their eternity on clouds with harps, but at least their fellows aren't getting eternally burned in the fires of God's wrath.”

“I've thought about this,” I said. “For the sake of the many damned, wouldn't it be better to scrap the whole thing and wipe us all out? But, we Christians believe in free will...”

“Aside from the Calvinists,” Frank interrupted.

“Yes, aside from the Calvinists,” I said, “and due to that belief in free will, we believe that everyone in Hell is there because, ultimately, that is where he decided he wanted to be. Should the happiness and joy of those who chose Heaven be taken away from them, just because the damned freely made the wrong choice?”

“There is something there,” Frank said, “but I think the argument is a grasping at straws for those who, rightly, find the idea of Hell horrifying, and need to find a way to justify it in their minds. If the people getting torched chose to be torched, and wouldn't stop being torched if they could, and this makes God sad, but he respects the choices of the damned, we can nod agreement that it is just and right for this state of affairs to exist.

“But, I don't think the idea of self-chosen damnation lines up with what Christian teaching says. In the parable of the sheep and the goats, the goats are surprised that damnation awaits them. It wasn't something they sought out. The non-Christian or the wrong kind of Christian wasn't seeking damnation; He was trying to serve God the best way he knew how. The kid who was hit by the bus didn't want to go to Hell; he just wanted to think about a pretty girl.”

“Our salvation or our damnation isn't just about one choice,” I said. “We choose Heaven or Hell every day through our choices. The goats in the parable had been choosing Hell by the way they lived their lives, in the things they had done and the things they had failed to do. Their eternal state was the full realization of what they had decided to be. The sheep in the parable may not have known they were choosing Heaven, but that was how they had oriented their lives. Their love and service was giving them a foretaste of Heaven, even as the selfishness and sin of the goats was giving them a foretaste of Hell.

“For the non-Christian or the heretical Christian, or the one who stumbles into sin right before the moment of death, we must trust in God's mercy. The sheep were surprised to learn they had been serving Christ all along. That may be the case for these people in your example. And who knows what grace God grants to us at the moment of our death? Do his mercy and forgiveness have limits?”

“Are you saying even a non-Christian might go to Heaven?” Frank asked.

“All who go to Heaven go because of Christ, through his sacrifice on the cross, his defeat of death, and his triumphant resurrection. Perhaps Christ, in his mercy, has a way to bring these souls to him, even if they did not fully know him in life. I say that Christ may save them, not that he will, just as I say that he may save me. I do not know the mind of God, nor do I know if even I will persevere to the end.”

“No 'once saved, always saved' for you, eh?” Frank asked.

“No,” I said. “As much as I would like to hold to that, I'll have to stick with the ancient Church on this one. If 'once saved, always saved' or 'eternal security' is true, it does no harm to persevere in righteousness, anyway. If it is false, one could find oneself walking down a very dangerous road. Presumption can be spiritually fatal.”

“Your hope for the non-Christian is admirable,” said Frank, “though I'm still not convinced it is considered orthodox. I once visited a friend's church when I was a kid. The Sunday School teacher told us that if we did not tell our non-Christian friends about Jesus, they would burn in Hell, and it would be all our fault. Many tears were shed that day, but I never went back to that church. At least my friend can tell God he tried.”

“We do have a command from Christ to preach the gospel,” I said. “And hope is not the same as certainty. Perhaps God has a way of saving the non-Christian, but we still need to spread the word.”

“Yeah,” said Frank, “but what a load to throw at those kids. My friend had nightmares for weeks, that he saw his non-Christian friends in Hell, and then God turned to him with sad eyes and said, 'This was your doing.'”

“It's harsh, I agree,” I said, “but if others are in peril, and we have the power to help them, shouldn't we know about it? Shouldn't we spur each other on?”

“Yes, but I'm not a Christian,” said Frank. “I'm not convinced we are in eternal peril. If it turns out Christianity was wrong about all that, all those kids suffered emotional trauma for no reason.”

“Yes,” I said, “but if Christianity is right about it, those kids could be partially responsible for the eternal salvation of many people. To guide another to salvation is the greatest thing we can accomplish in this life.”

At this point, we paused and sipped our coffee, as the geography club continued work on their State of Idaho puzzle. Mercer Island was now out the north window, and the sun had taken a quick spin to the south.

“So, this sacrifice of Christ bit,” Frank said. “God either caused or allowed us to come into the world as sinful, fallen beings. Then, because we acted like sinful, fallen beings, he became furious with us. Like, furious to the point of demanding our blood. Serious, 'blood for the blood god' kind of stuff, to borrow from Warhammer. And, even our blood wasn't enough, because we were too flawed to be a proper sacrifice. So, the Father sent the Son, as a man, to die in our place. Finally, God's offended honor was satisfied, and the way to Heaven was opened for us.”

“That's the satisfaction theory,” I said, “and I must admit it's pretty popular in Western Christianity. Eastern Christians, such as the Orthodox, have a different emphasis. God sent his Son to save us from sin and death, not to satisfy his easily wounded honor. Death was our enemy, not God. A debt was paid, but it would be accurate to say it was paid to the grave, not to God. I think C.S. Lewis explained it fairly well in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”

“That does sound a bit better,” said Frank.

“And you will see elements of this in the West, as well, as Lewis's case illustrates,” I said. “Christ's sacrifice was a rescue mission, not a participation in an act of vengeance. God wanted to save us, and he still does. As John's gospel states, 'God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.'”

“So, God wants us to go to Heaven?” Frank asked.

“Most definitely,” I said.

“Okay, so let's talk about Heaven,” said Frank. “I mean, that's supposed to be Christianity's biggest selling point. But when someone comes up to me and says, 'Hey, accept Jesus and you can spend eternity bowing down worshiping God. It will be just like church! Also, you won't be having sex. That's just for marriage, which doesn't exist in Heaven.' At this point, I'm already wondering if the flames of Hell are really all that hot, and if it might be the better option, after all.”

“We don't have many details about Heaven,” I said. “And, for the eternal church people, I think it would be more accurate to say that our every act in Heaven will be an act of worship. We don't need to literally be on our faces before Almighty God for ever and ever, amen. We believe in the resurrection of the body, and presumably, we will be using our bodies for any number of things.

“To bring up C.S. Lewis again,” I continued, “he once said, 'If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probably explanation is that I was made for another world.' Have you ever dreamed of something so beautiful, that your heart ached to see it, to know it, to experience it?”

Well, yes, I suppose I have,” Frank said.

“When I imagine Heaven,” I said, “I picture towering mountains, far higher than anything on Earth. I imagine dense forests, stretching on for untold miles. I see rolling hills of the greenest grass, as far as the eyes can see. I dream of a world unspoiled, pure and holy, full of possibility and wonder. And, somewhere in this world, the great city, its spires shining in Heaven's light, its streets filled with singing and laughter. I feel myself running and leaping, rejoicing in the glory of all that is around me. I see my family and friends, and the whole communion of the saints, those who have run the race of the past world and reached the kingdom of their God. My imagination falls far short, I know, but the eternal church crowd aren't even trying.”

“Your imagination is not really a convincing theological argument,” said Frank, “but I hope you're right.”

We both sat in silence for a moment. The geography club walked out the door and were shocked to find themselves across the street from the Seattle Aquarium. Mercer Island was currently in the basement of an art gallery on Capitol Hill, and the sun was taking a tour of Vancouver Island.

“So, do you want to come to church next week?” I asked.