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Former American Press staff writer Sunny Brown Farley writes "Naked Faith," a look at faith in its natural form: lived out in the day-to-day lives of ordinary people. |
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God in the Rubble
Posted January 18, 2010 at 10:23 pm
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When bad things happen in this world, it is natural to question where God is in the midst of those things.
The earthquake in Haiti and the devastating aftermath is no exception.
Why did this happen? Why is there so much suffering and pain? How could this happen to a country already suffering as a result of extreme poverty?
I saw recently that a televangelist attributed the quake to the sins of the Haitian people. I shudder to think someone could believe something so horrific.
Rather, many responsible Christians hold to another doctrine. We believe that we live in a fallen and corrupt world in need of redemption through Christ. This is the result of sin, but not the sin of a few. It is the result of all our sin – from the beginning throughout the ages. “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God!” (Rom. 3:23)
In this fallen world of ours, there is death, disease, natural disasters. None of us are exempt from these things! Bad things happen to all people.
Children get cancer. Nice people get killed in car accidents. Hurricanes, fires, tornadoes happen.
And so where is God in the midst of all of this?
Right by our side.
In Haiti, God is in the midst of the rubble. God is in the tent cities. God is in the hospitals.
God is bringing comfort. God is strengthening those who are weak. God is sustaining those whose lives have been shattered. God is the peace amid the chaos and confusion.
Brothers and sisters, let us pray and help the people of Haiti in every way we can. As Christians, we should be where God is.
Where is God? God is in Haiti.
The Revolution in Here
Posted January 15, 2010 at 7:04 am
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One of my favorite scriptures is Rom. 12:1-2.In it, the Apostle Paul encourages us to offer our bodies a living sacrifice. In some translations, this offering is described as a reasonable “act of worship.”
Author Shane Claiborne talks a lot about what it means to “do” Christianity. He says so often, Christians focus on the “don’ts” instead of the “dos.” Being a Christian is an active way of life. It is about radical love for God and others – a love that is not reserved for friends and family, but one that must necessarily be poured out for all of humankind – even our enemies!
This week, I met with our student leaders and challenged them to live as radical Christians – as revolutionaries for Christ. I asked them to pour out their love to everyone they encounter both on and off the campus at TJC. I asked them to seek out every opportunity to be Christ to the world.
This is, after all, merely a reasonable act of worshipping the One whose life, death and resurrection is our example of how to be a radical.
Viva la revolution!
On Victims and Volunteers
Posted January 9, 2010 at 10:29 pm
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I just finished reading The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.
It is a story set in recent history about the author’s life in family of six with an alcoholic dreamer for a dad and an emotionally unstable artist for a mom.
I could not put this book down. I checked it out at the library this morning and finished it some six hours later.
I just couldn’t believe the circumstances of this woman’s childhood.
Her parents moved the kids around from place to place and they hardly had a bite to eat. They lived in leaky, shanty houses with rats and cockroaches. They shoplifted clothes and stole groceries.
The children ate from the trash.
It was heart-wrenching. And yet, as I read the book, I kept thinking about something someone said to me once: “Up until the age of 18, you are a victim. After that, you are a volunteer.”
The Glass Castle is a book about a child, and her siblings, who endured incredible hardship and survived. It is also a book about a person who, upon reaching adulthood (at age 17, albeit) decided to take control of her situation and lead a better life.
It is nothing short of heart-wrenching to talk to young people who have had to face adversity. They come to colleges like the one where I serve and tell of parents who abandoned them. They tell stories of moms and dads who drank and abused them. They talk about going hungry and having nothing nice to wear.
They talk about having no one to rely on and no one to turn to when things got tough. It is enough to break your heart.
Yet I remind them all that it is now their turn to make the decisions that will affect the rest of their lives.
They no longer have to live in misery. They get to choose. In other words, they may volunteer to remain victims or pick something else.
No doubt, this is hard. There is much to overcome for many, but nothing is impossible with God!!!
One of my mantra scriptures is Phil 4:13: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!”
Of course, it is here that we all must be reminded that WE are the body of Christ in this world. It is up to each of us to rise to the occasion and meet the needs of those who are less fortunate.
As we tell others to get with the program, we must necessarily tell ourselves the same.
God, help us all to be strong and to overcome and to help others do the same in Your power! Amen!
The Dance
Posted January 3, 2010 at 9:45 pm
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Today, I listened to a friend of mine preach on a podcast.
It is a great sermon so I thought I might share it with yall.
There are so many great sermons available online. There are so many great blogs and theological discussions going on out there.
Anyway, after listening to my friend’s sermon, I said a little prayer: “God, dance with me. I am just a dorky, uncoordinated wall flower but I want so much to dance with You. Amen.”
What it’s all about
Posted December 28, 2009 at 10:56 am
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My mom and dad bought my son a digital camera for Christmas.
He’s only three so they got him one of those toddler-proof, plastic-encased ones. It’s really cool. He can look through the two viewfinder holes to line up the perfect shot. He can take pictures and look at them on the little screen on the back.
Then, when he gets a handful of pictures stored on the camera, mommy and daddy can download them to the computer.
My husband and I were curious to see what our son would take pictures of. We handed him the camera first thing Christmas morning and told him he could shoot whatever he wanted. At the end of the day, we downloaded the pictures and had a good laugh.
He took a few pictures of himself. We don’t know if this was an accident or if he simply likes himself. We hope its because he knows he is special!
He took a picture of his mom having a cup of coffee with him at breakfast.
He took pictures of his dad in his favorite Christmas shirt. He took pictures of his Uncle Na Na making funny faces. He took pictures of his Aunt Mel filling her plate with turkey. He shot pictures of his Nana and Popi on an after-lunch walk around the neighborhood. He even took a picture of his best friend – our yellow lab, Sally.
There were a few pictures of Christmas decorations and his breakfast, but mostly he took pictures of family. There wasn’t a single picture of the toys Santa brought.
I like this kid’s priorities. It would seem that he knows what the holidays are all about. They are about relationship.
On Christmas, we come together as families and friends. We spend time together, laughing, sharing and loving one another. And, the very occasion we celebrate is one that demonstrates the importance of relationship to God.
On Christmas, we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior Christ Jesus – the one who makes it possible for us to have a relationship with God.
Praise God for relationships! May we all live in peace and love with one another in the glorious light of our precious Lord! And may our photos and our lives reflect our priorities!
Embracing God
Posted December 24, 2009 at 2:52 pm
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Today I thought about what it must have been like to be the mother of God: Mary the God-bearer.
I can imagine looking into the face of baby Jesus.
In a newborn there is so much hope and potential.
In the face of Christ, I can imagine it would be all the more. What an exciting and incredible event.
I can imagine wrapping my arms around baby Jesus. I can imagine loving him and kissing him and holding him close.
It seems so impossible to embrace God, except in the form of a precious little baby.
In my heart this Christmas, I so want to embrace God the way Mary must have embraced her child and my Savior.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Peace on earth!
Good will toward all of you!
The Storyteller
Posted December 9, 2009 at 8:05 am
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Today the American Press family mourns the death of Hector San Miguel.
Hector fought a long, hard battle with cancer. He was tough and brave, but the cancer proved relentless and overpowering.
On Facebook, friends and colleagues of Hector have been posting memories of the newsman.
Hector had an amazing life and career.
He covered the news in Southwest Louisiana for more than three decades. He was just a teenager when his career in the news business began. He was at the American Press back when the newspaper was located downtown – back when reporters smoked cigarettes at their desks. He was part of the industry when phrases like “cut and paste” literally meant to cut and paste.
He rode out the transitions in the news industry as typewriters were replaced with computers and computers were replaced with laptops. He saw operations move from downtown to the upscale American Press facility on Hwy 90.
Hector worked under managing editors Buddy Threat, Jim Beam, Brett Downer and Bobby Dower – incredible newsmen all.
I am sure every one of these editors would say Hector was the most passionate journalist to ever work at the American Press.
Anyone who knew Hector knew his enthusiasm.
He was full-speed ahead on any assignment. He would recount the details of even the most routine news like an excited kid.
He was most in his element when he covered breaking news. He fed on the energy of elections and unfolding events.
He wasn’t afraid of hurricanes, political scandals, drug busts, anything.
I can still see him rushing out of the newsroom with a notepad in his hand.
I guess what I will remember most was Hector’s ability to tell a story.
He was an amazing storyteller. You could see it in his writing, and you could hear it in his words.
He had so many stories – good stories. Hector told stories to the readers of the American Press and to those of us who were his friends and colleagues. He told the stories from his desk, from a barstool at OB’s and from a seat at a table full of friends at Papania’s (that is, when he wasn’t on the dance floor).
Hector’s stories could top any story, as he sometimes reminded us!
In the news business, we often end a story with “-30-“ The number signifies there is no more news to come.
Some of Hector’s friends have been posting this on Facebook, signifying the end of his life story.
Indeed, his life here has ended. The story is over in some ways. Then again, his work lives on as part of the history of Southwest Louisiana. And for those of us who knew and loved Hector, the story of who he was will forever live on in our hearts.
We love you, Hector, and will miss you dearly.
A Free Gift
Posted December 5, 2009 at 12:53 pm
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Today I ventured to the mall with my three-year-old.
Already the traffic is getting bad. If the economy is slowing shoppers, I can’t tell.
We pulled in the parking lot and almost had a head-on collision with a woman who decided to drive the wrong direction down our row of parking spaces.
When we got into the mall, my son was immediately drawn to the racecar shopping cart/strollers. I vetoed his request because I didn’t want to spend a dollar on a stupid racecar shopping cart/stroller.
We walked through the mall and my son wanted to stop everywhere that I didn’t want to stop. He wanted to look at the build-a-bears. He wanted to play a display video game. He wanted to go in the arcade. He wanted a slice of pizza.
I, on the other hand, wanted to buy Christmas cards and boys socks. I also wanted to look for potential gifts.
At some point, I became frustrated. I think it was when I couldn’t check out of one of the stores because they only accepted credit cards and I have a new, self-imposed, no-credit-card spending rule after receiving a letter from my credit card company announcing an interest-rate increase to 25 percent.
Empty-handed, we left the mall. We made it to the Salvation Army bell ringer when my son announced he had to pee. We went back into the mall. I couldn’t find a close bathroom, so we left the mall again.
And that is when it happened.
We were walking though the parking lot toward our car, when a woman asked me if my son was a boy or a girl.
“What!?!? What do you think?” I responded sourly. First of all, we did not need this intrusion. Secondly, my son was dressed in a bomber jacket, jeans and masculine tennis shoes. His gender seemed obvious.
Truthfully, I really didn’t care what this woman wanted. I just wanted to leave and find a bathroom for my son.
She persisted, “I have some free gifts I got for helping out at the mall today and I just wanted to give one to your child.”
“Look,” I said, “I am trying to teach my son not to talk to strangers.”
At this point, I had become out and out rude to this woman in the parking lot. I fixed my eyes on my nearby car and hoped she would just leave us alone.
“I just want to give him a gift,” she said.
“No thank you,” I said in a sarcastic sing-song voice as I strapped my son in his seat.
I climbed in the car and backed out of the space. To go the right direction down my row of parking spaces, I had to drive past the relentless, gift-giver woman.
She loaded shopping bags into the back of her SUV and now there were a few children standing next to her. They were clearly her children and I wondered if they heard just how rude and hateful I was to their mom.
I felt horrible for treating this woman like she was a stranger-danger. I wondered when I became so leery of others. I wondered why I had been so rude and snippy.
I stopped next to her and rolled down my window. I knew I had to apologize. It was the right thing to do, and I also hoped it would demonstrate to all the children that adults can own up to their mistakes.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was very rude to you.”
She smiled. From the back of her car, she pulled a white gift bag.
“Here,” she said. It was full of little plastic toys for my son.
Then she reached in my car, hugged me and told me she loved me.
I was speechless. I was astounded by this incredible demonstration of grace and love.
This Christmas season, I am reminded of what Christmas is really about and I am grateful for a powerful, amazing and underserved free gift.
O Come, O Come Emmanuel!
Posted November 30, 2009 at 7:27 am
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Sunday marked the first day in the season of Advent.
Many Christian denominations observe this liturgical season. The liturgical calendar serves as a reminder that we are part of a story. We are part of the Christian story.
During advent we prepare our hearts and minds for the birth of our Lord and Savior. We are also reminded to look forward to the return of our Lord.
It is a time of expectation and anticipation. It is a time of great hope!
On Sunday we lit the first candle on the advent wreath – a visual symbol of the coming Light.
As we lit the candle, we read Isaiah 60:2-3, which says “See, darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples, but the LORD rises upon you and his glory appears over you. Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” (NIV)
So now, let us look forward in great excitement toward the coming of our Lord! O come, O come Emmanuel!
One Night without a Home
Posted November 18, 2009 at 10:03 pm
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Last night, I was homeless.
So were about 150 others and we all spent a long, cold night in our city park to gain a better understanding of what it is like to live without a home.
The event was called “One Night without a Home” and it started at our local Salvation Army homeless shelter.
We registered and were directed to the shelter’s cafeteria, where we waited in line for food. One of the ladies serving dinner instructed the men in the room to remove their hats.
We were each given a plastic tray with a square of lasagna, some green beans and three wafer cookies. We drank ice water from small plastic cups.
The lasagna was clearly of the frozen variety and the beans were from a can – nothing special, but we were encouraged to eat every last bite. To do otherwise would have been a tremendous offense to those who were staying at the shelter, we were told. After all, this is their very sustenance.
After dinner, we marched with our sleeping bags a mile-an-a-half to the park. There, we listened to music and testimonies by a man and a woman who survived being homeless.
The man described how he was reduced to homelessness by Hurricane Rita.
He said he never imagined he would be homeless, but the storm took away all he had. He ended up in the Salvation Army in Tyler, Texas, looking for hope. All he wanted was opportunity and hope.
Now, back on his feet, he instructed the participants in the homeless awareness event not to make false assumptions about everyone who is homeless.
The director of an agency aimed at assisting the homeless here in East Texas said about half of the homeless in our area are women and children. Many live in their cars – too proud to seek help from local agencies. Half of the homeless here are also employed, she said.
After the program, we all unrolled our sleeping bags and settled in for hours of shivering sleeplessness.
I slept near a tree with friends – two college students and a fellow clergyperson.
We searched for constellations, played a game where we tried to come up with song titles and talked about profound personal God-moments.
There was really no comfortable position on the cold ground and I am not really sure that any of us slept.
I rolled from side to side. I alternately covered my head so I would be warm, then uncovered it so I could breathe. There were cars passing, people talking and dogs barking. I was disturbed by the sound of leaves crunching. I wondered who was walking around and why.
Mostly, though, I was freezing cold.
Temperatures dipped into the low forties or upper thirties. As a camper, I thought this would be no big deal, but then I am used to being inside a tent.
Not even my mummy sleeping bag, long johns, fleece shirt, gloves and hat could fend off the bitter cold.
Every time I thought about my suffering, I prayed for those who face the cold because they have no other option.
It was a very long night.
Finally, someone announced it was morning. It was still dark outside, but the Salvation Army’s mobile canteen (something that looked like a gutted-ambulance-turned-kitchen) had arrived with coffee and a hot breakfast.
It was a beautiful sight.
This time, there was no need to instruct the participants to eat everything. We hastily spooned steaming oatmeal into our mouths and wrapped our frozen fingers around the Styrofoam cups of coffee.
As the sun rose, we gathered together to reflect on our experience.
A college student remarked that he was sore and could only imagine how much more he would hurt if subjected to the elements night after night.
A woman talked about how hard a night of cold would be on a child.
I thought about how homelessness exists in proximity to the rest of society. Sometimes, poverty is in the very shadows of affluence.
We marched the mile-and-a-half back to the Salvation Army and our cars.
I thought about a hot shower. I thought about brushing my teeth. I thought about my warm bed in my comfortable bedroom.
I could hardly wait to get home.
I think this is how the homeless must feel. I reckon they can hardly wait to get home.
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