Thursday, May 18, 2017

Reconciling My Sports Fandom

This year I’m starting to experience difficulties in my fandoms of certain teams versus the larger picture of whom I am and what I represent in a new age. Many of you who have read AD&AD over the years know that I was a sports junkie – and unknowingly to you, I really don’t pay attention to the contests anymore beyond what my alma mater and the Miami Heat basketball team do because life is so much more than a game. In case you missed it, we finally cut the cord to save money:  Despite thousands of cable channels, we only watched at maximum twelve shows on a weekly basis and the files saved to our DVR were so extensive that binge-watching each show would’ve been time-prohibitive.

But more of that some other time – just not today.

I’m already enough of a contradiction as are most of us (if you really look in the mirror and admit it to yourselves). For example, I’m the guy who lives in a mostly white neighborhood and wears a Black Lives Matter t-shirt on my days off to smoke ribs in the backyard and practically lives in a white Tommy Hilfiger baseball cap. Then there is also my fandom of two specific Boston-area teams:  the Red Sox and Patriots; I cannot surrender years of loving the Miami Heat for the damned Boston Celtics, and my Starter jacket was the San Jose Sharks NOT the Bruins.  Allow me to explain those before any more castigating happens like this.

Boston Red Sox
Image result for red sox logo
Years ago when I packed up a little red crossover and moved cross-country for a job (big mistake, but I met some pretty great guys and gals – their relationships come in a different blog), I was a typical Arkansan whose own team passions were the club with the tightest ties to the home state (Dallas Cowboys, St. Louis Cardinals/Atlanta Braves) and who once lived for Razorbacks football game days at War Memorial Stadium in Little Rock and have the memories from the old Ray Winder Field which has been converted into another concrete jungle, but this time for state employees. In New England, the Saturday afternoon college football games weren’t the religious blowouts (pit masters and fry daddies cooking those second to none pregame meals along with Arkansans of all stripes unifying for the flagship school to take down Alabama, Ole Miss, Texas, Auburn, Mississippi State, South Carolina, Tennessee, and of course, LSU) that I was accustomed to back home in the South so I drove nine miles into town to catch whatever ESPN was showing that particular afternoon. That also meant calling the Hogs (Woo! Pig! Sooie) was initially met with some crazy looks until Arkansas began playing and as the cameras showed the state’s third largest city* in Razorback red and white raising arms, people understood what I was doing and why I wore my Arkansas t-shirt every Saturday that fall.

*Reynolds Stadium in Fayetteville holds eighty-something-thousand souls to capacity. This is the reason why I consider it Arkansas’s third largest city on game days only after Little Rock and Fort Smith.

Whoops, I digressed. Here’s the real story of how I became a Red Sox fan:

Rewind back to October 2006 with me. Remember two years earlier when the Boston Red Sox ended their 86-year curse between World Series titles? We beat the St. Louis Cardinals to get over the hump and I remembered (at the time) how respectful Cards fans were during the sweep. Perhaps the moment was too big for Albert Pujols and Co., but beating the Yankees alone would’ve been enough much less the way we did it coming back from 3-0 with New York pulling out the brooms in anticipation of a sweep in the ninth inning of Game 4 to winning Game 7! Anyway, I was working for a certain environmental nonprofit organization which implicitly encouraged drinking at its development days (alcohol was discouraged before 4 pm, but no one really observed that rule especially with a few working kegs nearby) and listening to the MLB playoffs during a go-kart race. My car simply happened to be the first one parked past the finish line and as participants finished the race, we all congregated around the tailgate and proceeded to destroy a 30 pack of PBR. It did not matter that the Cards were beating the New York Mets for the NL pennant as much as a country boy switching his team allegiance to Red Sox Nation and having a blast drinking with longtime citizens and Massholes* many of whom are still friends to this day.

*Massholes comes from how Massachusetts residents drive. For further proof, check out I-95 through Boston or the Turnpike, or note any car with the MA license plate.

New England Patriots
Image result for patriots logo
You’d never think of it, but in my family, being a fan of any club aside from the Dallas Cowboys was a bit of sacrilege. Yet one wide receiver made it cool to be a Pats fan:  Randy Moss. Here is Mr. I-Play-When-I-Wanna-Play lining up in the red, white, and blue catching touchdown passes from the greatest quarterback of this era buying into what we all know as the Patriot Way. While I wish that 2007 team could’ve finished the job and become the greatest undefeated team in NFL history, fifteen seconds and one miraculous catch made us 18-1 instead of the 19-0 we were so destined to become. Two things I respected (and a draw to Pats Nation) were the attention to detail and the “do your job” mantra extolled by Coach Bill Belichick that no player is bigger than the system, not even one surefire Hall of Famer Tom Brady.

Now what does this have to do with my fandom?

Simple:  I’m still a black man in a United States of America, and for enough people, my skin color trumps (not funny, but true) the love I have for the Red Sox and Patriots in 2017.

You can also say 45 and the alt-right have forced me to question what I like about New England – the football team, not the region. I’ve also explained to my god-brother just because the racism up North isn’t in-your-face as it is here in the South, it doesn’t mean it you won’t know and feel the covert microaggressions such as having no sales person open a fitting room at the Gap or being ignored at Chili’s and the manager begrudgingly has to comp the other members of your party in spite of your very presence. Let’s not go into why I feel the way I do about law enforcement as a few rotten apples view you as guilty forcing you to prove innocence – and even then, no apologies for the mistreatment or false accusations.

These circumstances, among others, are what brought us to the events surrounding Adam Jones from a few days ago at Fenway. Super fans who had too much to drink threw peanuts at him – and considering how black athletes have historically been treated in Beantown (see Bill Russell’s own comments for why), definitely a reminder not to visit during free agency. Even more than SEC schools, Boston-area fans tend to “own” their players more so than in some of the more segregated cities such as Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Louis expecting them to stick to sports instead of addressing the inequities of society! Although David “Big Papi” Ortiz is best known for the expletive-laced saying after the Patriot Day bombing, one could only wonder about his own legend if he had not transcended race as the outfielder who willed the club to its third World Series crown in a nine-year span in 2013. Would he have just been another Dominican ballplayer without the October heroics?

I know, everyone loves a winner until he loses (Alabama quarterback Jalen Hurts), and to some, does something controversial enough to upset the hierarchy of privilege (when for 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick knelt during the National Anthem – which he was entitled to do within his First Amendment right, or is that a whites-only entity?) leading to scores of criticisms from the so-called morality police in addition to those who supposedly are the arbiters of right and wrong in an unequal nation (Bill O’Reilly, Skip Bayless). You know, the one that claims to have equal rights to all men except for those who pick my cotton or vegetables; value your outspoken nature until it exposes fundamental hypocrisies in how justice is meted; and marveling at your articulate speech and underpaying for your intellect (former President Barack Obama).

Not every sports fan represents the worst of humanity; sadly, they are the ones whose foolishness has come to symbolize an entire fan base. Growing up in the Natural State, it would have been nice to see a black starting quarterback for the Hogs in the past twenty-five years since the University of Arkansas joined the Southeastern Conference, but it’s pretty safe to say boosters have a hand in converting brothers to receivers, running backs, cornerbacks, and any other position simply to prevent seeing them under center leading the offense and otherwise being the face of the program. The talent has always been on the Hill yet the only brother that got serious run was Quinn Grovey – and I was ten years old when he kept Arkansas a regular participant in the Cotton Bowl!

I graduated from a PWI fifteen years ago – Henderson State. It’s pretty safe to say that was an incredibly fun four-and-a-half year period of my life where I met my wife and best friends; cheered on fraternity brothers as the football team barely won one game per season and unconditionally supported the men’s and women’s basketball, baseball, swimming, and softball teams in competition; learned about myself as a manager, mentor, and student alike; and those house parties in the WO! In reconciling my own sports fandom, we play the game not only to win but to also develop life skills that translate into higher levels of teamwork and leadership that will take us further than what some peon across the street yells at us from the free-throw line.

Being passionate can cross into being boorish if we as fans do not police ourselves from showing our worst characteristics.




Posted by at No comments:

Mama Said Knock You Out

My wife and mom will tell all of you not to call it a comeback.
Boxing, Equipment, Gloves, Sports, Fight
Everyone has noteworthy moments to draw from in their life experiences, but my wife has the 3” binder to prove it over the past few years. While we take pictures of Little Miss Sunshine every chance we get, the same luxury isn’t always extended to mom; ditto for good ol’ me time. Because I know how hard Chastity works during the week and she has Caeli alone on the weekends I have to work, I generally try to let her sleep in most Saturday mornings and have some semblance of breakfast ready on Sundays when I get home from the graveyard shifts at work. Most of the time, a box of Dale’s Donuts are sufficient but there are the moments I kind of feel myself and try something else (read: steak and eggs, French toast or rice and bacon, etc.) before they head off to church and I go to bed for a nap before returning to work on those alternating weekends.  

Motherhood is definitely not for the weak at heart – she’s been rocking her peers since 2015, so don’t even think about comparing her parenting style to your own (or your mother’s, for that matter). What works for one parent isn’t always effective for another.

Those of you who are in the business of critiquing for sport…Mama said knock you out.

Being Caeli’s mother has meant taking this itty-bitty world by storm and as our little fighter has proven time and time again, every day is a brand-new adventure starting with the strewn toys along the hallway she didn’t put away from the night before and the extra effort in taking care of her. There is that issue of navigating rush-hour traffic five days a week in addition to managing a busy doctor’s schedule for not only Caeli but also her own health and sanity – I’m not sure if I could remember each appointment and at this point, the very idea of sitting in the parking lots known as Interstate 30 and Stagecoach Road are not my idea of fun AND that’s before even making to I-430, Markham, Rodney Parham, Cantrell, or University. The things she does on a daily basis are nothing short of staggering, and we all know doing hair just isn’t in the realm of things I could possibly be competent at. Thank Chastity the next time you see Caeli with hang time pigtails or the Afro puff days we rarely step out in now because I don’t want to be the one who messes up a good thing. Besides, my biggest effort comes in making sure she is matching before leaving the house that day.

I’m sorry for not picking up the puzzle pieces or blocks you’ve stepped on and for the weeknights she keeps her awake due to an irregular sleep schedule. I promise I’ll do better with both for the next year and beyond so she’ll be prepared for preschool, kindergarten, and the real jungle called life.





If your kid can recite Future or Migos and doesn’t know how to count to ten…Mama said knock you out. Caeli can count to ten!



Thank God for giving you the strength to rock hard daily.

Thank you for who you are and what you do all of the time and not just on the second Sunday of each May.

Thank you for lending me out even when I’d rather be at home with you two. I’m trying to conquer the honey-do list, I swear!

Thank you for helping raise our daughter to be all she is destined to be – and becoming a less picky eater than her daddy was at her age.

Most of all, thank you for being an amazing loving wife to me and mother to Caeli.  There just aren’t enough words to say how much I love you.

In Mom’s case, she’s been here for years with the gray hairs and wrinkles to prove it. After nearly forty years in the motherhood battles, she has that part on lock – as for changing poopy girl diapers, she’d rather defer that to me. Hey, it’s my turn to raise a child and even then, she didn’t have girls only my younger brother and me. Beyond being my mama, she in effect was the community mama:  everyone played basketball or football in our yard growing up, and then there is directing the youth department at church. During a given week, there would be anywhere from six to twenty boys and Nacole or Alisha in the backyard playing 21 kicking up dust and serving as an interim referee those few times we couldn’t police ourselves on the court. Aside from a handful of fights back there (I can only recall three), the rules were pretty standard across the board:  Respect Mrs. Pat or leave. The guys who did get to stay all day when we were younger were blessed with sandwiches, Kool-Aid, and a certain level of freedom that none of us would dare our babies to have today!

Then there are the 8-bit Nintendo tournaments at home. The first one to beat a video game out of the four of us got his (or her) choice of Saturday night dinner! Just so everyone knows, I was not always the king of sticks – sometimes, the cheat codes weren’t enough to get Mega Man through the game with three lives or controlling Luigi’s happy feet in Super Mario Bros. 2 or Tetris after a certain point was simply too fast.

Image result for nintendo controller

If you’re more interested in being a friend than a parent…Mama said knock you out.

My mama was old-school to the core and fortunately for us, she (and dad) parented us like two individual sons versus the comparison mode many parents then and now find themselves engaged in. You know, the “why can’t you be like your brother/sister” mode.

This is the woman who introduced me to Calvin and Hobbes and the satire found in the Far Side. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t all Bible verses and schoolwork for me; I had to learn how to interact with people in the real world even when I really didn’t want to be sociable. In my teenage mind, I’d rather be in the gym shooting baskets on Saturday nights alone so I can catch at least one pickup game on any given Sunday afternoon after church than cavort around folks who roasted me Monday through Friday only to beg for free tacos or to “borrow” money they never paid back.

Thank you for reminding me that there is no future in being a 5’9” power forward and I needed a solid education to offset my ninth-grade dreams of controlling the paint as a rebounding machine. Years after I grew those three inches to 6’, I still couldn’t see the court aside from the occasional pickup contest.

Thank you for not allowing me to have everything I wanted just because I had the money burning a hole in my pocket and the income stream to pay for it.

Thank you for the laundry instructions you sent to me my freshman year at Henderson. I know I would’ve tried to wait it out until I wanted to come home to bring an overflowing basket to the house, but it’s a vital life skill that has kept me from going broke buying clothes every other week.

Thank you for believing in the literary dream after all of these years, and although I’m not a full-time writer yet, I don’t need to be. One of these days I will publish the Dad Chronicles in a hardback version.  

Thank you for introducing me to God as a wee child and for being my mommy!

LL Cool J told you not to call it a comeback.

If you didn’t listen…Mama said knock you out.
Argument, Conflict, Controversy, Dispute
Happy Mother’s Day.


Posted by at No comments:

Understanding Traditions in the Black Baptist Church

In one corner, you have the old-timers who have been in the church since they were yea high to a grasshopper and maintain all of the old ways to the letter.

In the other corner are the new generation radicals who aren’t here for the foolishness.

I stand in the middle as a Generation X husband and father and in my church, the only deacon under 50 years old at age 38. In fact, I am often the link between the older folks (if not specifically those who grew up in the small family church on the corner) and the millennials who are still seeking God in a larger context than John 3:16 or whatever captivated their hearts to know that there is a hope that the daily struggle life is not one of vain.  This opinion post is only one man’s way of bridging the gap between the two factions – and in small family-driven churches, they can almost seem like one and the same.

Praise Service

Depending on the church, two or three deacons or appointed member(s) lead praise service usually comprising of two songs, a scripture, and a prayer. Since I’m not the greatest singer, I typically defer to the brother standing next to me or the musician to begin the worship experience. In this case, we are likened to the hype men you have seen at concerts; unfortunately, we invariably end up looking like clean pieces of furniture if our beginning falls flat. You have to know the congregation and they also need to understand that praise and worship is for EVERYBODY to celebrate God and what He has brought us through from the last time we met in corporate worship. If you don’t know the song, don’t worry; at least clap along or mouth your way through the parts you don’t know – in some churches, the words are hanging from a projector for all to see and read. Don’t let that be an excuse. The order varies with congregations – at my childhood home, we opened with a scripture then song followed by a prayer and another backwoods lyric “Watts” (thanks, Deacon Jerome Polk!) before heading back to our seats. At the Mount, it isn’t as organic:  brief hype man testimony, song, scripture, prayer, another song, and sit that tail down.

I like praise dance teams but not to the effect to where their intrinsic value is discounted due to overuse. It also does not mean bring the twerk team out during “Take Me to the King”!

Visitors

Let’s be real:  Everyone is a first time visitor somewhere. Most churches today are getting away from making new visitors and potential members uncomfortable by standing them up as the head usher or appointed member reads the welcome paragraph yet a few holdouts do remain. In those cases, stand up, identify yourself, home church (or the place you currently worship) with the pastor’s name, and a brief remark of how happy you are to be here and hope to return. The point of this is for the larger congregation to make you feel comfortable in joint worship. I remember the awkward stares from being a first-time visitor in nearly every building – and in one instance, the entire church consisted of visitors! I’ve found the welcoming experience critical if I wanted to return – and ironically enough, my current church did a particularly lousy job of making us feel welcome eight years ago. Imagine my reaction when my wife told me she was attending Bible study there after our pastor left his church!

To the old-school church folks:  People do read the Google reviews and inquire of the services and programs within social media. A current website would be helpful in this regard; for the tech-savvy among us, having a smartphone app is a bonus. As we read the Google reviews, keep in mind most of us are being honest in our experiences and not just stuffing the stat sheet to generate more traffic each Sunday.

Three things I look for as a visitor:  1) meaningful Christ-centered worship, 2) a personal connection, and 3) Wi-Fi. . You can get one without the others, but if the first thing isn’t happening, please believe there won’t be a second visit regardless of how kind the ushers are or how quickly the Wi-Fi syncs to our Androids. Some folks fall in love with the singing or the preacher doing cartwheels down the aisle or how the mothers swoon or the message is sweeter than red Kool-Aid on Independence Day or the freebies in the back but if Christ isn’t the center of morning worship, then it is a time waster. I don’t expect a grand tour of the place, but at least make my family feel welcome to worship freely. As for Wi-Fi, I am pretty tech-savvy and would expect the church to keep up with the times beyond a paper bulletin meaning connectivity indeed matters.

Offering


Shout out to the churches that are doing it right with their tithes and offerings because not everyone will follow Jesus’s teachings in giving. Hopefully there is only one offering instead of the brothers passing the plate around once and again five minutes later without a specific purpose. Of course, if you see an ATM outside of the sanctuary, it may be a cue that true worship doesn’t necessarily happen here.

Who’s doing it right and how will I know that transparency is here?

You could ask to see the books, but that is a privilege only extended to the active members. Read Thom Rainier’s I Am a Church Member to further understand the context of this statement.

Consider the community where the church exists. Is the parking lot open to all or gated only for the staff to park uphill as others double park a block away with no security outside? How are finances handled by the leadership? Without announcing the actual amount collected each Sunday to the entire congregation, a prospective member can follow the money fairly easily by observing how the ministries offered are being run. At least I would hope a doorknob has been replaced once in thirty years if a building fund exists; we are 98% finished with our building renovation from stem to sternum and brought the building into the 21st Century. Malachi 3:8 teaches us to give the first tenth of our fruits as an exercise in faith whereas some pastors push for that ten percent to come from gross income (before taxes) instead of net income (after taxes) in a similar vein if not more.

Some of the older members may gripe about how much money goes out to salaries, but even as a nonprofit, the church has some costs that are vital:  utilities, the van, insurance, outreach ministries, and following that are the salaries. Musicians and pastors don’t exactly come cheap yet both are critical to the worship experience; both require a little bit more than a thank-you and a bucket of fried chicken meaning give properly as God directs you.

Appearance



Tradition also plays into dress codes, as evidenced in the above tweet. While the religious among us expects a certain style of dress for each Sunday, Communion Sunday – often observed on the first Sunday of each month – takes it to another level of customary fashion. Everyone knows that the pastor and deacons wear black suits with white shirts to signify the solemn approach toward Christ’s life and death as 1 Corinthians 11:21-32 is read to the congregation before communion is given and later in outreach ministry to the sick and shut-in members of the community. Yet, the deaconesses and pastor’s wife wear all-white not as a symbol of purity rather to embody the cleansing of souls thanks to Christ’s ultimate sacrifice and resurrection three days later proving that not even death can stop our Savior from being about our Father’s business of soul-saving.

Thankfully, the church has evolved into a position where a “come as you are” dress code is one of acceptance and comfort to bring in the lost versus the parsonage having an implicit fashion show.  To get a further understanding, check out “Come As You Are Sundays Aren’t What We Think. They’re More” from A Dollar and a Dream.

Covenant

Believe it or not, the church covenant that we recite so often each Communion Sunday is cribbed from the Southern Baptist Church denomination – the same one that separated from the American Baptist Association solely on the issue of slavery some 150+ years ago. In a way, using it as a substitute for responsive reading is a strange acknowledgment of how white supremacy still has a stranglehold on our places of worship: 

Having been led, as we believe, by the Spirit of God, to receive the Lord Jesus Christ as our Savior, and on the profession of our faith, having been baptized in the name of our Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, we do now in the presence of God, angels, and this assembly, most solemnly and joyfully enter into covenant with one another as one body in Christ.
We engage, therefore, by the aid of the Holy Spirit, to walk together in Christian love; to strive for the advancement of this church, in knowledge, holiness, and comfort, to promote its prosperity and spirituality; to sustain its worship, ordinances, discipline and doctrines, to contribute cheerfully and regularly to the support of the ministry, the expenses of the church, the relief of the poor, and the spread of the Gospel through all nations.
We also engage to maintain family and secret devotion; to religiously educate our children, to seek the salvation of our kindred and acquaintances, to walk circumspectly in the world, to be just in our dealings, faithful in our engagements and exemplary in our deportment, to avoid all tattling, backbiting and excessive anger, to abstain from the sale and use of intoxicating drinks as a beverage, and to be zealous in our efforts to advance the Kingdom of our Savior.
We further engage to watch over one another with brotherly love, to remember each other in prayer, to aid each other in sickness and distress, to cultivate Christian sympathy in feeling and courtesy in speech, to be slow to take offense, but always ready for reconciliation, and mindful of the rules of our Savior to secure it without delay.
We moreover engage that when we remove from this place, we will as soon as possible unite with some other church, where we can carry out the spirit of this covenant and the principles of God’s word.
Since it is not found in the Scriptures, the covenant is not necessarily indispensable for a church although it summarizes the New Testament expectations of church members and is a generally accepted standard that some churches today will tailor to their congregations. The idea of having a covenant became prominent among the Puritans who settled America namely a trio of John Cotton, Richard Mather, and Ralph Partridge forming a “model for the government of the church” in 1648 in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Note that the concept of separation of church and state did not enter discussion for another century nor did believers of the era think baptism alone was sufficient enough for salvation instead they felt they needed a visible union with a physical group to show allegiance. Signing (rather, call-and-respond in agreement) a covenant indeed makes a church member more serious, committed, and responsible concerning duties which although established in the New Testament can easily be neglected or designated to others.

Staff

Let me make myself crystal-clear with this sentence:  The only two offices designated in the church are pastor and deacon (Acts 6:1-7): Both positions are specifically defined as the pastor teaches while the deacons serve. Any other roles including auxiliary presidents, trustees, coordinators, and clerks are merely ancillary functions that potentially can inflate the officeholder’s egos more than advance Kingdom building in a world that needs to see true Christianity in action. Otherwise, I want no parts of a country club culture where a few diligent souls find themselves so overworked and frustrated they eventually leave sometimes to never return to a church as a result of this experience.

Sermon and Invitation to Discipleship

After all of the singing and extensive praying comes the moment all of us should be preparing for:  the sermon. In today’s Baptist churches (at least the ones I grew up and/or worshiped in at one point or another of my 38 years), the sermon is a set of Biblical texts that relate to our daily living and are intended to serve as a clarion call to continue to serve God or at the very least, provide a source of encouragement after discouraging news or surviving a rough week as a road map. A time limit is not specified although most messages generally last from twenty to forty-five minutes depending on the speaker’s content, the call-and-response shouts from the congregation such “Take your time!” and the obligatory “Amen!” when we hear a point we agree upon. Keep in mind it was not that long ago when you could sit in a church and hear a sermon being preached for several hours at a time; in an increasingly secularization of our society, congregants tend to value time a bit more. Then there is the fact that some popular buffets have limited Sunday hours to take advantage of the churchgoing crowds that otherwise would end up at Big Mama’s house eating racks of smoked ribs or gorging on a pork roast left in the crockpot.

The invitation to discipleship is the moment which everyone throughout the building is extended an invitation to join the Christian faith via baptism; unite with a particular church or worship center of choice to formally make it a new home. For most of us, this period also allows for wayward members to make a public rededication of their lives to Christ as well as presents a moment for special prayer requests that were missed during altar call. Two chairs (or more, depending on how the Spirit moves) are set toward the front of the sanctuary by two deacons who both extend the hands to come to Jesus as you are. If someone is compelled to become a follower of Jesus, he or she walks, runs, skips, does cartwheels, or rolls to the center aisle to make that proclamation and announces that they indeed are believers who accept the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ in addition to a Holy Spirit that lives within all of us. Upon that agreement, the new convert is welcomed and receives all of the rights, benefits, and privileges of membership as any other member INCLUDING voting!

New Members’ Orientation

This is a crash course of the guidelines and expectations within a congregation. Because I teach our classes at the Mount, you’ll have to show up for the estimated 45 minute session to know the extent of what is required of the new member – and merely having your name on the church rolls is not enough. For one, the instructor has to know the procedures and policies fairly well since the majority of members already know the rote rituals of religion and if he or she is unprepared, he could potentially open a can of worms or have your credentials questioned. Orientation courses do vary from one congregation to the next primarily based on the membership’s needs and the ministries available to them. It also helps new members to know what is available to them and a weekly schedule of when events transpire in order for their presence to be made known AND welcomed. For example, someone who is tech-savvy may be interested in running the audio/visual booth and maintaining an active internet presence via website and social media pages or app development; ditto for the cook who has a heart for assisting with a food pantry; and so forth.
The idea of a new member’s orientation course is to not only inundate the neophyte with rules of the road but also presents opportunities for growth and soul-saving that otherwise were ignored or underutilized by the larger group. With the completion of this course and during the session, questions will be answered promptly and succulently; those that do not elicit an immediate response or need an extended answer will be replied to in a short period of time. In addition, any member has the right to ask questions if a concern arises in an appropriate forum.

Conclusion

This is nowhere near an exhaustive detail of the traditions of the black Baptist church by any means, but at 2,800 words, it merely is a summary of my own experiences, frustrations, and standards that most congregations have generally accepted regardless of church size and political affiliation. I’ve been a part of fairly large groups (Mt. Calvary in Hartford), small-to-medium sizes (Greater Friendship, Mt. Zion), and simply small (Mt. Olive, Labannah, St. Paul) all of which have a differing methods of getting to the ultimate prize. Having attended such varying churches has also given an insight of what works for each group:  while security cameras alone may work for one congregation, another may feel the necessity for a security team or rely solely on the ushers as protection.




Posted by at No comments:

Assessing the First 100 Days of the Orange Cheeto

Well, we’re not dead yet.
Image result for orange cheeto trump
Other than not being imprisoned for being an educated black male in Attorney General Jeff Sessions’ America, life with 45 has been the bumpy ride I expected all along.

Obviously, there are a lot of things I disagree with in the Trump Administration (nepotism, finding the worst-qualified billionaires and millionaires setting policies in his Cabinet since Andrew Jackson let his buddies have a run of the place following his 1836 election, how Supreme Court Justice Neil Gorusch was vetted, the chumminess between 45 and Vladimir Putin, and pretty much anything that comes from the House Рthe Senate is by no means exempt) and while I am nothing that resembles a Democrat (in truth, I am a registered independent. I just wish the Saline County and state Republicans would stop sending mail to my house), the United States of America has taken literal value of party over person. In a fit of naivet̩, I simply assumed that we all (well, most of us, anyway) were under the same general premise that we all want to leave this world a better place than we found it without plundering all of its resources and intellectual capital in the name of rosy balance sheets, profits, and promoting propaganda to fit one extreme or the other.

Maybe that America never existed.

I know for black America, the idea of truly being whole has only existed benevolently for perhaps forty-nine years tops and whomever occupies 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is likely to screw us over, so why not forge an independent path toward freedom? This Administration is the last group of people anyone would expect to play by the rules – and our parents lived through the Nixon and Reagan years without returning to Jim Crow!

We are told to vote yet gerrymandering minimizes our potential contributions to society.

We haven’t been exactly disciplined enough to stave off participation in a capitalistic economy that doesn’t want us – notice how some of us still run to certain institutions to apply for loans where they are likely to be denied, and instead are handed credit like raindrops in anticipation of a default or two.
In some cities and towns, police officers see black males and assume the worst by pulling guns on us without any valid reason. A career change should be in order if that is the case.



The American Dream is becoming a nightmare for many of us.

Someone should tell 45 that being POTUS is a 24/7/365 job and not the Monday through Friday morning gig he’s trying to make it out to be. His practices of hitting a golf course or rally every weekend shows that 1)the silence from so many conservatives in comparison to the occasional round 44 played is yet another example of racial hypocrisy; and 2)he is the ultimate snowflake. If criticism warrants investigation and legislators of his own party are demanding jail time for using their voices to disagree, then what have we become? I understand fully that there will always be a safe spot for everyone, but to actively seek it instead of crossing the tracks to hear from those less fortunate or simply of a different persuasion or lifestyle is antithetical to true leadership. But of course, conservatives do not want to hear that; they are too comfortable living in their lily-white bubbles and unappreciative of their privileged lots.


Just as a reminder:  Don’t let your President get your asses whooped. I am not my ancestors, and I’m sure my great-grandfather the late Rev. Fowler would approve of what I just said.

If I had to grade 45 so far, he gets a big fat F. You’re not changing my mind.
"F" grade written in red pen on wrinkled notebook paper.
Let’s talk about the appointees for a second.

Aside from the two I obviously detest (Sessions and idiot Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos), I am still nonplussed by the millionaires, billionaires, and military men of questionable ethics (Michael Flynn) with such important roles. The two that look more like stereotypes fulfilled are the eternally clueless Ben Carson in Housing and Urban Development and Elaine Chao heading Transportation. With the former stuck in the sunken place for the past decade or so and the latter merely the wife of the Senate Majority Leader, vetting out properly qualified men and women has gone out the window in favor of those who donated tons of cash to the campaign or endorsed his candidacy early, as both Rick Perry (Energy) and Scott Pruitt (EPA) did. What was made worse – by welcoming the alt-right and its extreme white supremacy into the mainstream with open arms – was the appointment of Stephen Bannon from Breitbart. Before I put out an APB, has anyone seen Secretary of State Rex Tillerson lately?

What I don’t understand is why he keeps an audience with some of the world’s worst tyrants instead of protecting our nation’s interests. Of course, I’d like to see the connection with Russia openly investigated as congressional watchdogs such as Jason Chaffertz (R-UT) and Trey Gowdy (R-SC) are running away from the glue they helped pour all over the floor starting with Benghazi. Apparently what they know is enough to keep Chaffertz from running for re-election next year although the Utah governorship could potentially be in play as a consolation prize for the morally corrupt clown in exchange of departing Chocolate City.

I bet there are a lot of people who want a do-over of Election Day and would vote differently than along with their skin folk or the spiritually bankrupt leaders who occupy seats in state Legislatures, Congress, and the White House who sparked white fears of a changing nation. Well, we’re all lying in their bed of nails without any protection from the pricks – 2020 cannot come soon enough assuming we make it to that year without the risk of World War III destroying all of us.



I have to say with the ascension of one Donald J. Trump as the 45th President of the United States, cognitive dissonance is now on life support in no small part thanks to the xenophobes in our communities becoming more prominent, and Sadducees and Pharisees alike for making a mockery of their loudly proclaimed religious beliefs by leading lives that run contrary to what lies within the Bible, Torah, Quran, or text of choice. As far as pushing an agenda that works for more than just the one-percenters, he has been nothing but an abject failure with no understanding of how Congress works in relation to how laws are passed yet he is the catalyst for a new generation of activists of all stripes to stand up and take the place of retiring veterans and/or soldiers who are moving up in leadership roles to resist this brand of plutocracy.


For now, we’re still alive. What the remaining 1,361 days in this term leave us with will very well leave us in a permanent sunken place and decades (if ever) of restoration unless someone unleashes a nuclear weapon ending all life on Earth as we know it.




Posted by at No comments:
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)