opening day 2011

well, it's finally here.  opening day.  the day in which chaos hovered over the sports world, but God looked at it and said, "let us bring forth the diamond and we will separate the diamond from the expanse of the stands by a fence."  and continued, saying, "let us fill the diamond with the sound of ash wood cracking, with the smell of leather, grass and hot dogs, and let the foul lines be straight, and let home runs fill the air."  all the grass was made greener than the greatest emeralds, and the sound of stadium organs echoed through the fullness thereof.  And God looked at all that was made, called it good, and said in a most authoritative voice, "PLAY BALL!!!!" 

oh man do i love me some baseball.  the fact that its beginning coincides with all the joy of spring and resurrection hope is no mere coincidence.  baseball is a sort of resurrection, mirroring the seasons with its great march through summer and then it's autumnal fall each october, before it lies dormant like some bulb just waiting for spring to burst forth again.  and here it is, bursting out with all the sounds and smells and sights and stats that make it so magical.   at the end of this day, and for many many days to come, i will become a devout reader of that great genre of literature known as the box score.  i will study pitchers' lines, and argue managerial moves.  i will chart wins and losses and averages all through the summer, and i will spend more than a few nights dreaming about coming up to bat in a big spot with runners on base.  and it all starts right here, right now. 

flying alligators: a random wednesday

each day in school jack does something called kidwriting.  each kid in the class has to think of a sentence and then do their best to write the sentence down phonetically.  he started off quite simple, but as the kindergarten year has progressed, his kidwriting has become more complex.  i was impressed with his story yesterday, which involved an alligator swallowing a balloon, floating in the air, and being shot down to the ground by a bow and arrow.  so, we decided to use his DSi to animate the story.  i turned it into a .gif and present it here for your viewing pleasure.  enjoy it. 

-in other randomocity, shannon made chicken paprikash for dinner on monday night ("excuse me waiter, there is too much pepper in my paprikash.").  she has never made paprikash, and i have never tried it.  oh man, was i missing out.  it was soooooo good, and i don't lightly throw around extra 'o's.'  seriously.  it was phenomonal.  if i was a better blogger i would have taken a really beautiful picture of it and shown it to you, but the truth is that i was too busy devouring it to bother with photography.  so good.  soooooooo.good.  if i had taken a picture, it would have looked something like this:

-hines ward.  oh, hines ward.  really?  i love you, man, but i'm really struggling here.  have i truly sunk so low that my monday night revolves around watching you prance around a stage with in sparkly suspenders?  the 'judges' say you can dance, and i'll have to take their word for it.  all i know is that we might not have football this year, so watching you do the jive in a fedora might be as close as it gets. 

-radiohead's new album came out a few weeks back, but it just hit itunes this week, and if you are a radiohead fan, i totally recommend it. it is called "the king of limbs," and it is right in line with what i think is the best of their catalog (ok computer, amnesiac).  it is certainly a bit more experiential than their previous album "in rainbows," but it has that classic radiohead layering of blips and beeps, all woven together with great guitar riffs.  it's only 8 songs, and just over a half-hour of music, but it'll get a ton of playtime on my ipod. 

shivering for spring

just last week, the flowers in our front yard looked like this:

like they were crying.  covered in their own wet tears, and shivering for spring, death seemed inevitable for these heralds of warmth.

ah, but i underestimated the hopeful power of nature.  they didn't give up.  despite being literally dragged down by the weight of winter, they held their heads high, and persevered.  and their beauty is even more potent for it, now that the sun is shining again.

i'm not much of a flower guy.  i struggle to tell the difference between a daisy and a daffodil, but the one thing that i can't deny loving about flowers is the whole panoply of color.  and never is that more utterly breathtaking than early in spring, when these amazing sentinels rebel against winter's icy deathgrip, and burst from their buried tombs into resurrected life.  the deep purples and vibrant yellows are a beautiful risk, an extravagant display of hope. 

and so, while spring continues its lion-to-lamb spar with winter, i am taking my cue from the flowers.  i will dare to believe, even if our forecast says rain and snow for later this week.  it doesn't even matter.  the color keeps coming; the life keeps being born again,

and i'll keep holding to hope.

2011 lent collage 3: denial

 as i continue my way through lent by wrestling with our sunday texts, i bring you this week's collage, which deals with peter's response to the servant girl in mark 14 when she recognizes him as one of the ones who had been with Jesus.  mark's gospel has him literally saying, "i don't know what you are talking about." 

i love that.  it's a classic lie (which i've used many times...just ask my parents), born of self-preservation and fear.  and while it seems that Christians for centuries have been doing some of our best fingerpointing while looking at this story of peter's denial, the truth is that it is a lie that isn't unfamiliar to any of us.  whether in word or deed, we've lived this lie, to its fullest. 

"lent 2011: denial"

mixed media collage on canvas

gregory a. milinovich

and while some of us may be guilty of disassociating ourselves from the Jesus we see in the bible, the denial that most of us are guilty of is far more insidious.  we deny the Christ in our midst.  Jesus told us that we meet Jesus in those around us who are hurting and hungry, and that we get to know (and be known by) this Jesus by loving them.  the denial, then, that i know i am most guilty of, is the denial of my neighbor. 

what, there are hurting people down the street from me?  i don't know what you are talking about.

the clothes i buy are made by underpaid workers in sweat shops?  i don't know what you are talking about.

the electronics i throw away are dumped offshore in china where they poison the water?  i don't know what you're talking about.

i'm ignoring the love my son needs because i'm a little busy playing "angry birds?"  i don't know what you're talking about.

see what i mean? 

our denial may seem less shameful or deliberate than peter's, but the truth is that peter's was much more desperate than ours.  Peter was just trying to stay alive, for God's sake. 

what are we doing?  just trying to save a few bucks on new jeans? 

we deny God because we worship comfort, and because we are afraid of losing it. 

i don't know, maybe i'm wrong. 

but if you're reading this and saying, "i dont' know what you are talking about," well, maybe you need to rethink. 

i know i do.

saturday song: lovers in japan

as i thought about what song to post for my saturday song today, i kept coming back to japan.  i just can't imagine (or shake the haunting need to try to imagine) facing the literal mountains of debris and broken bits of everyday life, not to mention the insurmountable levels of grief.  it just seems so overwhelming and crushing. 

and yet, there is hope, still.  i have been amazed at the resolve i have seen in the people of japan over these weeks, and i was reminded of this song by coldplay called 'lovers in japan.'  i'm sure it was never intended to be about this type of thing, but it does have a very hopeful message, which is appropriate enough.  i've included this version of the video below simply because it has the lyrics, and the official video made by coldplay can't be embedded into my blog.  the song is about 4 minutes long, and then is followed by another song of theirs called 'reign of love.'  both of these are from their viva la vida album.  enjoy, and don't stop praying for the people of japan. 

the joys of marriage

thy kingdom come: the lost sermon

yesterday i was supposed to preach at a breakfast lenten service at a local lutheran church.  each week, a local pastor is discussing one portion of the lord's prayer, i was scheduled to talk about the part that says, "your kingdom come, you will be done on earth as it is in heaven."  i was really excited about this, since that phrase has captured my interest for a long time.  however, mother nature decided to pretend like it's still winter, and due to snow, the breakfast was cancelled.  so i didn't get to share the message i had prepared.

i'm not big on putting my sermons on the internet, but since i don't know when i'll ever get the chance to actually deliver it, here it is.  just click the "keep reading" link below to read the sermon. 
I want to start off by thanking Pastor Rich and the people of this beautiful church for inviting me to be a part of this Lenten tradition this year. I am the pastor of Catawissa Avenue United Methodist Church, and I am sort of the new kid on the block, so it is a special honor for me to be a part of a community gathering such as this. When Pastor Rich told me that the theme of these meditations was going to be dealing with the Lord’s prayer, my spirit leapt, and I was hoping to be able to get this phrase that we’ll be taking a brief look at this morning. I know you’ve heard it and said it a hundred thousand times before, but just listen again to this passage of scripture from Matthew 6: “this, then, is how you should pray: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us today our daily bread. Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.” Today we are focusing on just one part of that prayer Jesus gave us as a model. It’s right at the beginning when Jesus says, “our father in heaven, hallowed be your name, please get us out of here as soon as possible.” Oh wait, that’s not what he says is it?

But haven’t we prayed that before? I know I have. As I was reflecting on that sentiment I was reminded of an experience my family had at Knoebel’s amusement park this last summer. My wife and I have two young boys, Jackson and Caedmon, who are 6 and 3. Last summer at Knoebels they told us that they wanted to go on the haunted mansion ride. I’ve been on those kinds of rides before, and I know that they are usually so ridiculous that they aren’t even that scary, and so I agreed. Have any of you been on that ride?  It's a great deal more intense than i had anticipated.   In preparing for this devotion, I checked out knoebel’s website to see what they say about it, and here’s what I read:

Named their favorite for 10 consecutive years by the members of Dark Ride and Funhouse Enthusiasts (www.DAFE.org), Knoebels’ Haunted Mansion is known far and wide as one of the best traditional haunted rides anywhere.

I'll say!   It was pretty intense. There were bats flying around and a ghostly breeze on my face and an evil cackling ringing in my eares.  Even I was a bit frightened, as I wrapped my arms as tightly as I could around my son so that he knew I was with him, and all I could hear above the din of the ghosts and goblin sounds of the ride was the shrill cry of my terrified son saying, “Daddy, get me out of here.”

Poor kid. It was traumatizing. But we can identify, can’t we? We’ve been in any number of circumstances and situations in which the prayer of our hearts has been, “Lord, get me out of here.” Whether it be an illness or facing the consequences of some poor choices, or just a terrible tragedy, we’ve prayed that prayer. And, to be honest, that type of prayer has become emblematic of the way Christians have prayed for the last couple of hundred years. We do a lot of looking ahead and thinking about how God will rescue us from this broken world. There has been so much emphasis on the rapture and on going to a place where the streets are made of gold, that Christians have sometimes been rightly accused of being “so spiritual minded that we’re no earthly good.” The Left Behind book series alone, which deals with the idea of the rapture, has sales over 50 million dollars, not including the spin-off children’s series, the three feature full length movies, and the video game. The bottom line is that American Christians in particular have long been thinking, if not outright saying, “lord, get us out of here.”

But that’s not what Jesus prays, is it? Friends, I hope you’re tuned-in to this message this morning because I believe it is one we desperately need to hear: when Jesus taught us how to pray, he didn’t tell us to pray that we might leave, but instead told us to pray that God’s Kingdom – God’s reign – would come into fullness right here where we are. That’s a horse of a different color, as they would say in Oz. The prayer Jesus teaches us says, “Lord, please reign here on earth as you do in heaven.” Do we pray that? I mean, when you and I say the Lord’s prayer each day or each week, is that what we really think we’re asking for? I believe it should be, because it’s what Jesus taught us!

In the time we have left I want to look at three aspects to this little one sentence prayer, “Lord, let your kingdom come,” that it is a prayer of redemption, a prayer of optimism, and finally a prayer of conviction. First, it is a prayer of redemption. Like I said, Jesus isn't teaching us a theology of evacuation, where we all just can’t wait to get off the ride, like my sons. Instead, even though the world is a broken and scary place, full of earthquakes and tyrants, war and terrorists, we don’t believe that God wants to get us out, but that God wants to redeem what is already here. That process already started in the crucifixion and the resurrection. Which is why we already talk about God as King. In fact, we are not strangers to this kind of thinking. The Psalms continually say that the Lord, YHWH, reigns over the earth. According to the poets of Hebrew people, this world is God’s realm, God’s dominion. Of course, sin has twisted and broken the world, but in Christ the redemption of the kingdom began. Jesus told his disciples in Luke 17:21 that the Kingdom of God was among them. Jesus is the cornerstone of that Kingdom, even though the builders rejected it. What we learn about God’s character in the passion story is that God isn’t one to just throw everything out and start over. Instead, God takes what is twisted and broken and even dead, and gives it new life. This has always been God’s way. Remember who God used to lead the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt? Moses, the one with the broken speech. God chose the small and insignificant stone from David’s slingshot to slay the giant. God chose the brokenness of Jesus to be the redemption for all of humanity. So, instead of getting rid of the broken world and starting over, God redeems. I want you to take some time today and meditate on this incredible reality: when we pray the Lord’s prayer, it isn’t a prayer of evacuation – it is a prayer of redemption. In effect we are saying, Lord, come and fix what we’ve broken; come and breath new life into what is dead.

Second, “Let your Kingdom come” is a prayer of optimism, in that when we pray it, we aren’t sort of crossing our fingers and hoping against hope that maybe, somehow, someday, something will happen. Absolutely not. Instead, this is a prayer of confidence that what has already occurred will continue into fullness. So, what Jesus began in the crucifixion and resurrection is still being completed among us. So this isn’t a prayer of desperation, but of great optimism. We pray this prayer in the belief that God’s kingdom really is coming among us! It may take some faith to believe this, when we look at the world around us and all the evil we see in it, but we must sometimes be as honest as the man who asked Jesus to heal his daughter. When Jesus asked him if he believed, the man replied, Lord, I believe, help my unbelief! In other words, it may be hard for us to see sometimes, but that is the nature of faith, isn’t it? Praying this prayer Jesus taught us is to look at the brokenness of the world and to defiantly stand up to it and say, “I believe that there is more than this. I believe that God’s kingdom can come, that’s God’s will can be done here as it is in heaven.” That is a powerfully faithful prayer of optimism and hope.

Finally, when we ask God to establish God’s kingdom and will on earth as it is in heaven, it is a prayer of action, not apathy. You see, when we pray this prayer we have to remember that the Church is body of Christ. Paul wrote clearly that we are the ones who God has chosen to share the love of Christ with this world. Christ has no hands, no feet, but our hands and feet. We are the ones through whom God will drench this dry world with love. So when we pray, Lord, let your Kingdom come, we aren’t just throwing our hands up and saying, “yay, God will take care of everything, now let’s go watch tv.” Yes, God WILL take care of everything, and amazingly, almost unbelievably, God will use those who follow Jesus to do it. So it is a prayer of action, a prayer that convicts us that we need to be busy doing the work of God. And what is the work of God? It is love, quite simply. It is to love God with our entire being as fully and richly and wildly as we can, and to love our neighbor with the same kind of reckless love we’ve been given by God. When we get busy doing that, God will use even us to build that Kingdom, not in some far off corner of the time/space continuum, but right here in our midst, where we so desperately need it. As you continue to make this prayer a regular part of your faith journey, I pray that you’ll find in it new meaning, new hope, and new conviction to continue living your faith in love, not waiting for some distant hereafter, but choosing to be Kingdom builders right here and now, even during these days of Lent. Amen.

strawberry selfishness

yesterday after walking down mount st. sunbury to take jackson to school, and as i was climbing back up, i noticed some garbage on the side of the road, near where people park.  upon closer inspection, i discovered that it was the packaging from a glade brand automobile air freshner.  being the amateur detective that i am, i quickly surmised that someone had placed the air freshener in their car and then disposed of the packaging on the road. 

the question is:  why? 

why would someone care enough to make sure that the environment inside their car is a fresh and lovely strawberry serenade, while the wider environment (which we all share) is full of semi-opaque plastics and smells like 3-year old rain?  i know that whoever casually dropped the annoying packaging out the side door of the dodge, hoping that no one noticed, didn't really think it through quite to this extent, but it comes down to selfishness, doesn't it?  the attitude seems to be: i want my life to smell good, and i don't really care about the rest of you.  someone will clean it up, or it will wash away, and i don't have to think about it anymore.  but it's no big deal, as long as my car smells like artificial strawberries.  yum.

i don't mean to point fingers, because i only wax hyperbolic here to make the following point: our selfishness is ugly.  that's right, i said "our" selfishness.  in other words, i'm just as guilty at times as mr. or ms. air freshener.  i will go to great lengths to make sure that i'm comfortable, that i'm happy, that i'm content.  and part of my happiness is that i don't have to think about the cost of that happiness beyond me.  if i want to feel good, maybe i'll buy a new shirt that i think looks good on me, makes me feel confident and that "i deserve."  nevermind whose overworked, underpaid hands made it, or under what conditions. 

if i want to eat some fast food, i simply go and get my 2-minute meal and wolf it down, so that i'll be temporarily satisfied.  nevermind whose hands grew that food, and under what conditions. 

if i don't feel like walking to the store, i jump in the car.  i use up some more fuel.  nevermind the ongoing effect on the wider environment.  it's just easier. 

if i don't feel like recycling, i might just throw the cardboard in the garbage this time.  or throw the cans and glass and plastic bottles in with the rest of it.  i mean, it doesn't really matter, does it?  really?  after all, i'm just one little person on this earth, like one small grain of sand on the beach.  what difference could it really make?

as long as my little cubic world feels comfortable and smells like strawberries, i'm content.  i don't get too worked up about how it affects others.  i'd rather just drop the packaging on the ground and hope that no one notices. 

but if we all do that, what happens?

so thank you, local litterer.  you helped me see my own selfishness today, and reminded me that my world is bigger than the six square feet around me.  you helped me see myself, and the ugliness of my selfish comfort.  you reminded me that i want to work to see if i can't just do my part to make the whole world smell like strawberries.  the whole world, not just my world. 

and by the way, i put your packaging in my recycling.  you're welcome. 
---------------------------------------------------------
ps.  i'm big on recycling.  the whole "dropping garbage on the ground" thing is mostly just a metaphor for the selfishness that runs rampant in most of us, including (and especially) me. 

random: piston hips and wintry mix

-i'm mad at spring.  under no circumstances should the words "wintry mix" be allowed once spring starts.  and yet there it is, staring at me from it's spot on the forecast right under the words "high of 39 degrees" in tomorrow's' forecast.  it's about this time of the year that i begin wondering if there is as need for methodist pastors in the caribbean. 

grace methodist church, bermuda

-if anyone follows the happenings in the christian culture, then you've undoubtedly read about the controversy surrounding rob bell's new book "love wins," which just came out.  for weeks before its release it has been a hot topic, as many of the more conservative voices have been calling him a heretic (again).  this time the accusations are that he has become a universalist, or that his new book, which deals with topics of heaven and hell, teaches universalism.  i haven't read the book yet, so i comment on that in particular, but i can say this: the words "love wins" do an absolutely fabulous job of summing up my theology.  that's what i believe about God and the universe - that in the end, love wins.  for me to believe that, and yet still believe that God will allow millions of souls to burn in eternal torment and suffering, is a very difficult line to walk theologically.  i'm not saying it can't be done, but it certainly seems like it is something worth asking some questions about, and as i understand it, that's all bell is doing in this latest book.  he's asking questions.  he's looking for truth in the gray areas of our doctrine, and not being afraid to ask the hard questions.  i have no idea who will end up in heaven or hell, and the moment i start to pretend like i do is the moment i need to seriously reflect on the state of my own heart/life, but i do believe this: love wins.  i'll be reading the book at some point, and i'm sure i'll have some more commentary then. 

-tomorrow i'll be teaching on the sevens.  at 7am i'm doing a devotion at one of the lutheran churches in town at a lenten breakfast they'll be holding.  i'll be teaching/talking about the part of the lord's prayer where Jesus teaches us to say, "thy kingdom come."  then, at 7pm i'll be preaching at my own church, continuing my lenten series on experiencing the "5 senses of the passion."  we'll be taking a look at this whole passion narrative through the lens of hearing.  with all of that, plus preparation for more evening services, my regualar sunday services, and maundy thursday and good friday services, i'm going to need a vacation when easter is over.  maybe to bermuda?

- i saw hines ward on dancing with the stars last night.  no, i'm not watching that show.  i just can't bring myself to do it.  but shannon had it on while she was reading and she called me in to see hines when his turn to dance came.  after he finished, the judges said things like, "sparkly," "light on your feet," and "you need to pump your hips like a piston."  sigh.  still, i was happy to see franco there waving a terrible towel, and i hope hines is at least mildly successful, but i sort of hope he doesn't get too far into the competition because then i might actually have to watch, and i'm not sure i can handle that. 

-now listening to: sleeping at last's march ep

-now reading: the girl who played with fire by stieg larsson, the yellow leaves by frederick buechner

2011 lent collage 2: but thine

for this week's installment of my collaging my way through lent, i was dealing with mark's version of the story of Jesus and the disciples in the garden of gethsemane.  as i wrestled with the text, i simply couldn't get away from the symmetry of the story with the garden of eden, which i learned from reading adam hamilton's thoughts on the passage.  both of these stories occur in a garden, and both seem to be dealing with temptation between following God's will, or our own will.  the original adam (who in this case epitomizes all of humanity) chose the will of the self, while the second adam, Jesus, chose God's will.  "not my will, but thine" says Jesus in king james english.  but i can't help but thinking that the agony Jesus went through in the garden wasn't so much about how much crucifixion was going to hurt, as it was about how tempting it was for him to try and rationalize another way of doing this that didn't involve the betrayal of his friends and the whole "becoming sin" thing.  he even seems to try and use logic with God: "all things are possible with you," he says to God.  and yet, as he wrestles with this battle of wills, he finally stands firm against temptation (with the help of his Abba), and chooses to leave the fruit on the tree, so to speak.  it's a powerful and dramatic moment, and one that his best friends slept through. 

 "but thine"

mixed media collage on canvas

march, 2011

for this collage i wanted to make something dark and mysterious looking, and i was trying to make a connection between gethsemane and eden.  you've got hands in the bottom left of the piece that are either reaching for that apple, or maybe reaching out for God's help, but it isn't clear either way.  things are in the balance.  the choice Jesus makes in the garden is a critical one, and i was trying to capture that drama here.  below are some close-ups of the some of the details.  i pray you are having a blessed lent as you make your own journey through these holy days. 

saturday song: you're beautiful

i'll be playing with my church's praise team this morning at a women's conference held at our church, and one of the songs we'll be singing is this really moving phil wickham song.  not only is the song great, but the time lapse photography in this video is also gorgeous.  have a great day, full of the awareness of God's beauty all around you!

my own personal easter

i was in my office yesterday morning, as i always am on thursday mornings, honoring office hours and getting things done.  i was sitting in the same chair i've sat in for 8 months.  i was working at the same computer, following the same routine, and shuffling through a sleepy sameness.  as the clock's big hand finished it's final ascent towards lunchtime, i packed up my things and prepared to make the same walk home that i've done all winter.  i closed the same office door (yawn),  went down the same hallway (snore), and then out the same exit to the outside, like some sort of routinized robot. 

and then...

about five or six steps out the door, i had my own personal easter moment.  it was so overwhelming that i actually spoke outloud as i walked through the parking lot.  i couldn't help it: the sun was shining down on me in such a shower of warmth that my soul felt like it literally rose from the dead, and i felt praise well up in me beyond my control.  it was so spontaneous that i'm not even sure of all that i said, but as i walked i remember that i blurted out, "thank you Jesus!  i believe again!" 

i'm not even sure what i meant by that, but that's what came out.  i guess my soul recognized what i was too blind to really see: that i was in the midst of witnessing a beautiful and natural resurrection.  winter, which has kept me bundled up in sweater-stretched sameness for months, has not won the victory!  the sun, perched as usual in the heavens, wasn't so shy with her winter-crushing warmth.  and my very soul unfolded like a spring flower, full of faith and hope and joy.  it's just a regular miracle, the kind we've grown so accustomed to, but it is a miracle nonetheless; a remarkable resurrection story.  we are yet alive! 

top o' the mornin' to ya!

 top o' the marnin' to ya, friends!  and a happy st. patrick's day, too!

should be a fun one in our house.  shannon is making it look like some leprecauns have played some tricks on us (turning things backwards and upside down in our house), and she's making them all sorts of green food for breakfast and lunch, and then corned beef and cabbage for dinner.  if i get a chance, i'll post a pic of the boys in their green later today.   do you have any fun st. patrick's day traditions? 

***update*** here is a picture, as promised:

this is a picture that jack drew of his friend peter.  we're about to send them a package, and so shannon asked him to draw a picture for peter, so he drew this picture of peter.  and i just thought it was so cute that i had to share it with you. 

in case you're wondering about the quality of my blog these last few days, you need to understand that our church has regualar sunday services all through lent, of course, but adds to that wednesday night services with a full service in which i preach.  so i'm planning two full sermons and liturgies each week.  i'm not complaining, because it's certainly rewarding, but i'm just saying that some of my time has to be redistributed to make this happen. 

last night we had a great worship service, as we are doing a 5-week series called "the five seasons of Lent," and we started with the ability to see.  we used John 9 as our text, when jesus heals the blind man with spit and mud, and tells the pharisees that they are blind.  we discussed how we, too, might be blind, both by being too busy to see God in our midst, and also because we've predetermined what we need to see, so we miss the new thing God is doing.  i challenged each of us to consider how we might be blind this Lent, and how, if Jesus touched our eyes, we might better see.  i know that i, for one, don't want to be like the pharisees who thought that they had already seen all the truth they needed to see.  i want to continually ask God to open my eyes, that i might keep seeing and keep learning and keep growing. 

and noow some irish music: get to heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead!  by the electrics.  fun stuff.

rainboe revived

i shared with you that i had been asked to donate a collage or two to a great cause, a ministry for young people at a church in new jersey.  i readily agreed, and when i found out that the theme of the event will be centered around new life, i immediately began to get inspired.  i made this collage, which i shared with you a couple of weeks ago. 

but i didn't want to stop there.  i was thinking about new birth, about how my art tries to reflect the redemptive nature i see in God, that God takes what is broken - what is refuse - and makes it new.  as i was reflecting on this, it occured to me that i could take an old collage and breathe new life into it.  when i was first starting as an artist, i made several collages that, looking back on them, i really don't like.  for example, ten years ago i made this collage, which i called "rainboe:"

"rainboe"

paper collage on hardcover bookboard

gregory a. milinovich

2/2001

but i really didn't like this collage.  so i thought i would just work on top of it, and recreate it.  i wanted to make it new.  but i didn't want it to entirely lose it's personality, either, so i tried to find a way that the old images would still show through.  i ended up using a technique where i use melted crayon wax.  it is a long process, especially with using so many different shades of wax, but i really enjoyed the way it turned out, and that you can still see elements of the original collage underneath the new one.  it is, quite literally, a new creation. 

"rainboe revived"

mixed media collage on hardcover bookboard

gregory a. milinovich

2/2011

beware the ides of march

-happy ides of march. i'm not really sure what you should watch out for today, other than if you see some of your friends sneaking behind you with knives in their hands, you should probably run or something. don't just say something in latin, though. definitely don't do that. i'd run. or go all kung fu on them and jackie chan those knives right out of their hands. take that, you ides of march.
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-i stumbled upon this incredible book surgeon who makes art out of old books. and not just nice things to look at, but incredible, almost impossible works of art. it will blow your mind.click here to have said mind blown.
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i'm having trouble being creative this week. i'm experiencing that feeling i always get after tragedies. in the face of so much death and loss, how can i write about the stupid ides of march? how can i be dramatic and silly? in the face of hope-crushing reality, how can i make light of the world. i know that part of a healthy response to these things is moving on and staying the course, but i just find myself feeling sheepish about laughing, or being creative. life, to me, in these moments, feels very fragile, like i should just hold my breath and stay very still. or like my heart is so heavy that i couldn't even lift it if i wanted to. just when i think i might, fresh waves of images of women and men looking for their children or their spouses rush over me and pull me under. i feel helpless in the face of such large-scale devastation. i'm not hopeless, but i'm not sure how to apply the hope i have. the world is so big, but it's also a great deal smaller now, and japan doesn't feel all that far away. it's real and those are real people and alot of real people were washed away in the flood, and it breaks my human heart in so many thousands of pieces. Lord, let your Kingdom come. please.
 

2011 lent collage 1: poured out

as i already wrote in this digital space, my lenten discipline this year is to fully interact with the texts that we'll be focusing on in worship each sunday, and to create some physical expression of my response to that text.  i don't typically give things up.  i need to lose weight, of course, but i have a hard time giving up sweets or chips for lent, because my motives are all mixed up.  am i doing it to sacrifice something, or am i doing it because i will lose some weight?  it gets a little blurry in terms of motive, you know what i mean? 

so, last year i decided to dedicate some of my personal time each week to making a collage, expressing my reactions to the texts for worship each week.  i really enjoyed that experience, and thought it made for a much more meaningful lent, so i'm going to try and do it again this year. 

so, yesterday was the first sunday in Lent, and our text was from mark 14:12-25, where we read about the last supper.  there is so much richness in this story, but i am always so struck by the word "many."  Jesus says that his blood represents a new covenant and that it is poured out for "many."  i like that word.  many.  not just some.  not just us.  not just the ones who measure up.  not just the ones who follow your rules.  not just the ones who have some decorum and dignity and who don't stink.  not just those with a job.  but "many."

"many" might include the guy on welfare who could get a job, but would rather not.  "many" might include the college student who is wasting their parents money while they casually trade in their opportunity for education for endless nights of liquor and casual sex.  "many" might include the treasurer of the organization who is scraping a few hundred bucks here and there into her own pocket.  "many" might include the losers and the addicts and the bums and the abusers.  "many" might even include me.  that's what we mean when we sing about amazing grace.  it's not just for some. 

don't forget that Jesus is speaking this "many" into the context of those who really wanted him to be the Messiah, the One who would set things right for the Jews; who would throw the Romans out of town and establish a new rule where Jews - God's chosen people - would be powerful.  this, you see, is salvation for "some."  but Jesus rejects this plan.  he says that his blood isn't just poured out for "some," but for "many."

thanks be to God for that "many." 

and so i made a collage that i've entitled "poured out" which, at least for me, illustrates the point.  it includes not only a map of the world, but about 7 or 8 different languages are represented as well, including english, french, german, welsh, russian, hebrew and more.  the blood that was poured out was for many. 

"lent 2011: poured out"

multimedia collage on canvas

march 2011

gregory a. milinovich

saturday song: broken things

on this saturday, i'm still thinking about brokenness.  it's a pretty common theme for me, as living in a house with two young boys inevitably leads to all sorts of broken toys.  brokenness is a regular part of daily life. 

and it's not just toys, is it? 

with ash wednesday, brokenness is a huge theme, at least for me, and i embrace the opportunity to talk openly about our own brokenness. 

and then i wake up yesterday to discover that the earth has made a very public and deadly demonstration of its own brokenness in japan.  and my heart breaks along with it.  and sometimes, to be perfectly honest, the breaking and the wreckage seems like more than i can possibly withstand.  i simply can't stand it.  in the deepest part of me, i desire wholeness, not just for me, but for everyone - for the world itself.  and i believe (help my unbelief) that brokenness is not the end of the story. 

so, with a hope for redemption, i share this song with you today.  it's originally by julie miller, but here it's being sung by juliet turner, an artist from northern ireland who performed this song after the omagh bombing.  it is about how God willingly receives us in our brokenness, if we would make ourselves such a gift. 



my heart hurts for the people of japan.  hang in there, friends.  even in all the disastrous brokenness, may you sense the hope of a redeeming God. 

one hot mama (and the alien inside her)

i thought we were done with this garbage. on sunday as they were predicting a great deal of rain through the day and into monday, i even said, "at least you don't have to shovel rain!"

ha! i saw the forecast on sunday had said that we might have some snow mixed in with the rain on sunday evening, with some possible light accumulation. fine. i didn't like it, as i'm so over snow this year, but i can deal with a light dusting that will quickly melt. but instead of "possible accumulation," i woke up to this:

really, nature? really? you felt it was necessary to dump ten inches of surprise on our heads, like some great snowy pinata? why? (i'm shaking my fists at the sky here, but it's not listening).

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as i've already written this week, shannon had an ultrasound on monday (after i shoveled 75 inches of snow off of the driveway), and i thought you might want to see a couple pics of the handsome little guy:

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and while he is about as visually attractive as an alien with delusions of world-domination, his mother is smokin' hot. see what i mean?

how do you type a whistle?  she's 2o weeks pregnant and absolutely glowing! 

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we had an awesome ash wednesday service last night at catawissa avenue umc. i am just always so moved by the experience of naming and owning my own brokenness. as a community of faith, it can have some profoundly powerful consequences if we own up to our sinfulness and our inability to do all this on our own. when we start to realize our own frailty and patterns of bad behavior, we finally open ourselves to God's grace and some amazing new things that God can do among us. there can be some incredible hope in this faith of ours, and indescribable glory. but it has to start in brokenness. and so lent begins. i pray yours is holy and meaningful.

ash wednesday 2011: true grit

"ash wednesday 2011: true grit"

mixed media collage on canvas

march 2011

gregory a. milinovich

today is ash wednesday. if you are a long-time reader of my blog, you may recall that this is one of my favorite days in the christian year. i know it seems odd that such a somber and sobering day would be so beloved to me, but it is. for one thing, i've always been a bit odd, so that's not really a surprise, but more importantly, i love the idea that we openly wear our brokenness on this day.

those of you who have heard me preach very much or have been reading these pages for awhile probably realize that brokenness is a common theme for me. i live in the constant awareness of this world's brokenness. even as i type these words, the news is on and they are telling me how bad the budget cuts are going to be in the state of pennsylvania and i quote: "those who are least able to afford it are going to have to bear the biggest part of the burden." oh, great. see what i mean? broken. the world is broken. budgets are broken. souls are broken. hearts are broken. bodies are broken. relationships are broken. my kids' favorite toys get broken.

and we spend so much time - especially in the church - pretending that we are fine and that the brokenness doesn't really apply to us. we hide our addictions and bad habits. we shove our skeletons in the closet and we sweep our ash and dirt under the rug.

except for today. today, for once, we wear our dirt right on our faces, as if we are living signs to the world to proclaim: we are broken. we are not as strong as we think we are.

i wish everyday could be more like ash wednesday, because i think that kind of honesty about our brokenness could make a huge difference in the way we interact with one another and tell the story of our faith. it would make the good news seem like more than a luxury: it would be clear that it is our only hope.

for the last five years i have made a collage as part of my own observance of ash wednesday:

2007

2008

2009

2010

this year my collage is dealing with true grit.  i don't want to give away my sermon, so if you want to find out what i'm talking about, join us for worship tonight at catawissa avenue umc at 319 catawissa avenue in sunbury at 7pm.  i hope you all have a blessed day, fully aware of your own brokenness and the only remedy.