Mont Mitchell and the team at Westbrook Christian Church in Illinois have created a new blog, Color Outside the Lines, which focuses on multi-cultural church planting. 

Some quotes:

I think it is high time for a blog that is devoted to the church becoming a place of rich diversity. Martin Luther King Jr. was right when he said that the most segregated hour of the week is Sundays at 10:00. I don't know how it affects you, but I think that Christ envisioned a church where all people regardless of their race, color and economic status could come together to worship the One King of all creation.

We have a vision to do a ministry work, support a missionary and do a short-term mission trip to every country that is represented in our church.

If you want to have a multi-cultural church you have to cultivate friendships with people who don't look like you. Are you intentional about that? Have you/Are you willing to cross racial lines to become friends with the people that you want to reach? It's not going to happen until you start there!

Good stuff! Click here to read more.

I was walking down Michigan Avenue in Chicago on Saturday afternoon when a fire truck sped by, sirens echoing off the tall buildings. A few seconds later several police cars flew through the intersection and turned right to follow the fire truck toward the lakefront. Within minutes another five trucks, three ambulances, and countless CPD cars also roared east.

It's pretty normal to witness a parade of emergency vehicles in a big city, but it's not at all typical to see fighter jets circling at the same time. Although this particular crisis seemed to be drawing a higher-than-usual number of response teams, we didn't feel alarmed until the jets showed up. Almost immediately the crowds waiting at bus stops seemed to quiet, and on every corner anxious faces looked up to the sky. A few people began walking in the direction of the activity, and I heard quiet murmurs about the Sears Tower.

After making a few calls, we learned a high rise apartment building near the lake had caught on fire, and a big air show--with fighter jets--was going on in another part of the city. Fortunately, the juxtaposition of the two events was a bad coincidence, not a terrorist attack.

Sometimes it's sad to live post 9/11.

 

Today the good folks in Memphis observe the 30th anniversary of Elvis Presley's death. Last night police closed Elvis Presley Boulevard to cars, and fans filled Graceland Plaza for a candlelight vigil and a walk to and from his grave. Graceland staff kept the gates open until every last fan had a chance to visit the burial site (located conveniently to the right of the house, near the pool and racquetball courts).

I'm not much of an Elvis fan, but I love tacky decorating, crowded gift shops, and 100-degree summer days in the south as much as anyone else, so earlier this month I road-tripped down to Graceland. Even then, fans had surrounded the grave with flowers and gifts. Visitors solemnly shuffled through the "meditation garden"--made less meditative from the click of a thousand digital cameras--and reflected on Elvis' short life.

In her 1985 autobiography Elvis and Me, Priscilla Presley writes, "He taught me everything: how to dress, how to walk, how to apply makeup and wear my hair, how to behave, how to return love--his way. Over the years he became my father, husband, and very nearly God."

I'll leave it to you to find the sermon illustration in all this.

For years, a Sunday night ritual in our family was taking the garbage cans down to the curb so that on Monday morning Chip the garbage man could wildly swing them in the general direction of the Rumpke truck and dispose of our accumulated junk. It was important to remember trash day because no one wanted to smell chicken bones for an extra week. 

It was also an occasion for entertainment--sometimes Chip refused to take something not bundled or wrapped to his liking (sending my mother into fits of fury) and once a squirrel jumped out of the trash can and scared him out of his skin (delighting the entire Taylor family).

First Christian Church in Washington, PA--a Disciples congregation--probably generates its own piles of trash by the end of each weekend, but this past Sunday they disposed of a different kind of mess. FCC dumped its garbage--accumulated resentments, hurts, anger, and pettiness--during a special ceremony yesterday.

An article in the local Observer-Reporter says the church members wrote their feelings on scraps of paper, then threw the papers in a large garbage can on the church altar during Sunday morning services. The ceremony is part of the church's "Attitude Adjustment Month" and key to its healing after years of bitterness and fighting.

"The church interior was destroyed by arson in 1997," the article reports. "Afterwards, disagreements arose over its rebuilding and ministry. But Felty (the church's transitional minister) noted that the congregation has made progress in overcoming its differences and he wants people to know that....Other events planned for this month include a service of reconsecration of church facilities Aug. 19. On Aug. 26, a service of healing and reconciliation will be held."

That's all I know about this story, but kudos to Felty and FCC's other leaders. Whether it's rotting chicken or festering resentment, it's good to get rid of trash on Sunday.

My brother Geoff and his wife Lisa, who live in NYC, were not affected by the tornado that ripped through Brooklyn on Wednesday morning, but Lisa's co-worker Cheri and many others were. Here are a couple of pictures from Cheri's neighborhood. Join with me in praying for these folks!

Last weekend I attended a beautiful wedding. The night before, at the rehearsal dinner, I asked the bride how she met her groom and how long they dated before deciding to marry. She replied the whole thing had been rather quick; she knew she wanted to marry him after several weeks, and they got engaged within six months.

I am cautious and careful in most areas of life (other than cross-country moves) so I find this fascinating. My tendency is to double and triple-check everything, including my feelings, and to overanalyze situations until I'm exhausted. I would love to just "know" that someone is "the one" but I don't experience total certainty in any other important decisions (college major, choice of career, location of home) so I don't expect to in my dating relationships, either. 

You married folks--is that okay?  Did you have a total assurance and sense of peace when you met your spouse, and does the lack of that mean the relationship is doomed for divorce court? You single folks, do you expect to feel 100% sure about someone, and is that a requirement for you to commit to a marriage?

I am back from vacation and thoroughly exhausted.

So today will include no profound thoughts, BUT courtesy of my friend and fellow blogger Jan comes this test to determine the film rating of your blog or website. The site determines your score by scanning the content for certain words and counting how often they're used. 

As expected, I am less pious than Arron; his blog is rated G while mine is PG. And Brian's "speaking out of turn" nets him a PG-13.

In other interesting test results, I am 58% addicted to blogging, my cadaver would be worth $4775, and I passed the celebrity photo quiz with a 75.

I need to get back to work.