The Smoking Gun

CNN is reporting that the Iranian Interior Ministry is acknowledging more votes were cast in the recent presidential election than there are registered voters.

A Great Day.

Yesterday will, without a doubt, go down in Bezner family lore as one of the greatest days of my life.

I had the opportunity to baptized my oldest son, Ben, on Father's Day.

Ben has been discussing faith from a very early age. I suppose this isn't surprising for the son of a pastor. I recall one time that Ben, at the age of three, was sleeping over at a friend's house. In the middle of the night the father heard Ben talking, so he got up and saw Ben looking out the front window speaking into the night. When he asked Ben what he was doing, Ben's reply was simple: "Talking to God," he said.

Ben and I have had many great "God talks," but I suppose I've seen him heading toward this decision for some time.

As he walked down into the baptistry yesterday, he was smiling from ear to ear. I was a little rattled; I could barely remember my words at first. Finally, I got going, managed not to cry, and spoke the baptismal blessing. Upon asking Ben his testimony, he said, "Jesus is my Lord and the Light of my life."

That was incredible.

Oh, and I also had the privilege of baptizing my two teenage neighbors, seeing almost all of my family, and eating a delicious home-cooked lunch by JB.

It was a great day.

There's No Such Thing as Free Kittens

It's been over two months since we found Rosie and Moon. Those are the kittens. They used to be named Black and Moon until Andrew found out that Black was a girl. "You can't name a girl Black," he said. So he changed her name to Rosie.

Rosie is black and white.

Since that time we've often laughed about our "free" kittens. After buying collars, bowls, cat wipes, food, treats, toys, and a house, our free kittens are beginning to look like the world's greatest con artists.

But we sure do love 'em.

They practically live in our cherry laurel tree right outside the breakfast nook, watching for squirrels and cardinals to chase. The boys chase them and run with them. And there's really not much better in this world than scratching the belly of a cat.

Yep, Moon and Rosie have become pretty standard fixtures around the house.

That's not to say that free kittens don't need defending. I'm allergic to cats, so ours are outdoor pets. They live in their cozy home on the back porch, but, from time to time, the country life calls for a small bit of violence.

Just two weeks ago I smote a possum with an aluminum baseball bat that was harassing Rosie. (At the time, she was still Black.)

Not only that, but all manner of animals venture onto the back porch to eat their food. Of particular note is a neighborhood cat that is particularly drawn to Purina Kitten Chow. This gray cat, called Tom for short, keeps eating our kittens' food. I have nothing against Tom; I am sure he is quite a good fellow, but my cats whine at night because he has eaten all of the Kitten Chow.

So over the last week or so we've chased Tom off several times.

Three days ago I had an idea. "Water," I told JB. "Cats hate water. I'll fill up a glass with water, and when Tom strolls up on the porch, I'll douse him."

Perfect plan.

Today I came home from work and changed clothes. I was on the couch, barefoot, when Tom came on the porch. JB filled up a glass and pointed me toward the back door.

Tom heard me coming.

I bolted across the yard, flinging water, trying desperately to stave off starvation for Moon and Rosie.

By the time I got back to the porch, my feet were on fire.

In my excitement to sop Tom, I ran—barefoot, mind you—through a bed of fire ants. And a sticker patch.

JB spent the next ten minutes apologizing and doling out home remedies for stickers and fire ant bites (rubbing alcohol, bleach, WD-40).

There's no such thing as free kittens.

The McNay

Feels like a good day for a double post.

After we wrapped up our business in San Antonio, we headed over to the McNay Museum of Modern Art. The museum, a Spanish-revival colonia home is the oldest museum of modern art in the state and houses works by Picasso, Monet, Renoir, Pollack, van Gogh, O'Keefe, Umlauf, Hopper (one of my all-time faves), Modigliani, Toulouse-Latrec, Rivera, and others that I probably should know, but don't.

It was eight bucks for entry and, in my opinion, worth every penny. The house is gorgeous; the grounds are beautiful; and the collection is fantastic.

This visit, of course, stirred up all sorts of thoughts about the church and creativity, but I'll save that for another day.

One quote from Hopper next to his painting ("Corn Hill," pictured above) at the McNay stirred some thought:

"I wondered if I wasn't even human. Others wanted to do other things, and all I wanted to do was paint sunlight on the side of a building."

Paint sunlight, indeed. There's theological application there, I think.

If you're in San Antonio this Summer, check it out.

The (Non-)Separation of (Rural) Church and School (Board Conferences)

Those who follow my blog are aware of the fact that since May I've been serving on the local school board. I'm thoroughly enjoying my time on the board thus far, despite the fact that much of our conversation centers on administration as opposed to education.

As part of my term, I'm required by TASB (Texas Association of School Boards) to receive at least ten hours of educational workshops this year to become oriented to my task.

JB and I fulfilled that obligation last weekend with a trip to the Summer Leadership Institute at San Antonio. I went to some interesting sessions...and some that were less than interesting, but I wanted to tip my hat specifically to the final session I attended on Saturday morning.

Three superintendents (Brock, Groesbeck, and another school I've forgotten off-hand) held an excellent panel discussion on "Attracting and Keeping Teachers in a Small Rural School District."

While the particulars of the panel were quite interesting, and while I definitely hope to install and implement several of the policies I heard discussed, I was struck by the fact that someone had the foresight to hold this breakout session. I've mentioned the plight of the rural church a few times previously, and I would assume the plight of the rural school to be quite similar. The breakout was held twice; both times it had large crowds (over 100 participants each time). The panel provided great insights; the crowd asked interesting and relevant questions; and the take-aways were immediately applicable.

It was hard not to envision a similar breakout at similar church leadership conferences that are held all over the nation each year.

If you're in charge of one of those church leadership conferences, and you happen to read this...well, I think it could be worth your time.

Vision Thoughts

I'm on Day Two of a three-day orientation to be part of our local school board. The sessions have ranged from inspiring to brutal, but I'm learning a ton and having a great time. Last night the ISD's tax attorneys took us out to Ruth's Chris here in San Antonio.

That's some good food, people.

Quick thought: this morning's session was on the necessity of each local school district having a clearly articulated vision. Obviously, vision is essential. But I took issue with the way it was presented in our session.

It was suggested that we should gather as many opinions as possible and then incorporate these disparate ideas into the vision.

But isn't this counterproductive to having a vision in the first place? If you have a vision statement, isn't it essentially exclusive? Isn't the purpose of vision to remove extraneous thoughts and opinions and special interests and focus on the overriding concern of the organization?

Obviously listening and hearing opinions is central. But shouldn't the vision be something bigger than that?

Or am I missing something here?

Writing a Definition

I'm (very) slowly working through Barry Harvey's book, Can These Bones Live?, attempting to draw as much theological wisdom as possible. It's a fantastic book, particularly if you enjoy reading theology.

Thus far, the most challenging insight has been Harvey's declaration that people outside of the church learn what the term "God" means by watching the church and "how they worshipped and ordered their life together."

Challenging, indeed.

On the one hand, this is excellent news. If we live the Gospel in a positive manner, if we faithfully enact the Jesus-story, if our worship is good and true, if we proclaim the Scripture accurately, if the church is (as the New Testament says) the "body of Christ," then Christians can help people understand what this word "God" means quite well.

Of course, the opposite is true.

How many churches, sermons, blogs, articles, and individual believers have taught a meaning of the term "God" that is quite unlike the God of the Bible?

Too many, I'm certain.

I can't spend too much time worrying about those folks. You can spend a lifetime arguing with others.

Instead, I want to embrace the fact that we are embodied creatures. God has made us with bodies and put us in a physical world in a tangible community of believers, so that we can demonstrate the Gospel right here, right now.

A present Gospel in a physical church. That's what we are called to be.

Hope 2010

Our church is participating in Hope 2010, an effort to invite local churches to share the Gospel with everyone in their community by Easter 2010.

Brent wrote a piece that was featured on the Texas Baptist blog. You can read it here.

CTS/NABPR

The meeting at Notre Dame was phenomenal.

The College Theology Society, a primarily Catholic theology group, holds their annual meetings at various campuses across the country each year. (I believe I was told that they do one meeting on each coast and two in the middle of the country as part of their cycle.) Some time back one of the most influential Baptist theologians of the last century—Jim McClendon—suggested that the National Association of Baptist Professors of Religion should meet with the CTS to forge an alliance of sorts. The result is a cross-pollination of theological thought that is both educational and productive.

Consequently, I had the opportunity to hear David Burrell speak on creation, meet some Catholic theologians at other schools, and walk the Notre Dame campus. I also was afforded the opportunity to meet with some of my theological heroes in the Baptist world—Mike Broadway, Barry Harvey, Brad Kallenberg, Beth Newman, and Phillip Thompson—along with meeting some of the up and coming through the graduate ranks (Looks like good things are happening at the University of Dayton these days). Oh, and I also got to see some of my good friends from Ph.D. days.

The papers I heard were quite good, and it appears as if the first six presentations from the NABPR presentations will be presented for publication in an upcoming journal issue, including my own.

Theology conferences, while pedantic and dense to some, are exceptionally refreshing to me. I love having the opportunity to see the thought that will be shaping our church practices unfold before my eyes and to participate in the dialogue. Truthfully, the ideas shared at CTS/NABPR will be published as articles and books, read by professors, taught in seminaries, and then heard by future pastors. It's fun to be on the front end of that process, hear the ideas, and begin imagining how they might play out in our church.