Segue – It is more than an odd form of unsuccessful transportation used by Google employees - which they spell "Segway." Segue is a smooth transition from one set of thoughts, scenes, rhythms or scales to another. Sometimes the segue is seamless. Sometimes it is abrupt and offensive. You be the judge as to the relative skill I exhibit in pulling off, in this blog, a smooth segue. Your vote counts!
…But not so much – if you voted Republican. Alas, the man with the beloved Celtic “Mc” in his name was shot down for the second time in his life. Fortunately, there were no angry Viet-Cong waiting to torture him – just a host of finger-wagging Republicans. “Ah, Mac, we barely knew ye.”
My personal props to President-elect Obama - I pray God’s best for you and your family. Your success is our success. May the wisdom that transformed Illinois’ former favorite son – old Honest Abe – be yours in double portions.
To Governor Palin – the woman who can “bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan” (and field dress it when necessary) – take good care of that crude oil up there in the land of Seward’s folly. You might consider hosting a hunting party with some of your media detractors who could think of nothing more important to talk about than your clothing budget. Be sure and invite Dick Cheney. Up to this point, he has only shot his friends. He might jump at the chance to “wing” a left-winger.
And Vice President Biden - what joy you will bring the disenfranchised party for the next four years. As Katie Couric nodded in agreement, you reminded us that President Roosevelt went on national TV during the great stock market crash of 1929 to comfort the nation. (Never mind that President Roosevelt wasn’t inaugurated for his first term until 1933 and that television was in its infancy in 1929.
…But not so much – if you voted Republican. Alas, the man with the beloved Celtic “Mc” in his name was shot down for the second time in his life. Fortunately, there were no angry Viet-Cong waiting to torture him – just a host of finger-wagging Republicans. “Ah, Mac, we barely knew ye.”
My personal props to President-elect Obama - I pray God’s best for you and your family. Your success is our success. May the wisdom that transformed Illinois’ former favorite son – old Honest Abe – be yours in double portions.
To Governor Palin – the woman who can “bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan” (and field dress it when necessary) – take good care of that crude oil up there in the land of Seward’s folly. You might consider hosting a hunting party with some of your media detractors who could think of nothing more important to talk about than your clothing budget. Be sure and invite Dick Cheney. Up to this point, he has only shot his friends. He might jump at the chance to “wing” a left-winger.
And Vice President Biden - what joy you will bring the disenfranchised party for the next four years. As Katie Couric nodded in agreement, you reminded us that President Roosevelt went on national TV during the great stock market crash of 1929 to comfort the nation. (Never mind that President Roosevelt wasn’t inaugurated for his first term until 1933 and that television was in its infancy in 1929.
But, no worries Joe, I’ll send you an MP3 file of the Gettysburg address I downloaded from YouTube. Man, Lincoln rocked at that one!
Oh, and one more…President Bush. Near history is almost always unkind to departing Presidents. Perhaps one day historians will be amazed that you were able to keep another 9-11 from happening for seven years. I read that, last week, one of your dogs bit a White House reporter. Was that one last pre-emptive strike?
Let’s see….where were we? I believe that before the elections and all of that brew-ha-ha, I had set my heart on talking about humor. I need it and our nation needs it. So, let us be done with the wearisome ways of politics, crashing stock-markets, “prop” this and “prop” that, and return to some decent mirth.
And with that, let me just say: sniglets are cool. A sniglet is a word that doesn’t appear in the dictionary, but should. Let me share a few examples…
Nagivator: a spouse who sits by and criticizes the driving or his or her spouse.
Cheedle: the orange residue left on your fingers after eating cheese-puffs.
Bo'zone: the atmosphere surrounding stupid people that will not allow bright ideas to penetrate.
Cashtration: the act of a young couple buying a house, new cars and amassing credit card debt to the extent they become financially impotent.
Hipatitis: terminal coolness.
Reintarnation: coming back to life as a hillbilly.
Arachnoleptic Fit: that crazy dance you do when you walk into a spider web.
Now that you have the hang of it, I thought I would take a crack at a few church sniglets – having logged several decades in and around the brethren. I will offer a brief narrative set-up for each. Here we go…
Potential sniglet combo: Organ + Spasm…I once dated a German Lutheran girl back in my early college days. One Sunday, she invited me to her German Lutheran Church to hear her play the organ. Growing up a low-church Baptist, I was expecting to hear her wail away on a Hammond B3. Much to my alarm, I saw her seated on high, a mere speck in a choir robe, encircled by a monstrosity of an instrument complete with ginormous pipes that ran from floor to ceiling. The music was, to this young lad, somewhat sonorous and depressing. The congregation mumbled along with none of the Baptist zip to which I was accustomed. But the thing that I was totally unprepared for was the ear-shattering burst that took place when the organist put the petal all the way to the floor to signal the congregation that it was time for them to join in with the melody of doom. It nearly shot me out of my chair, this boisterous: organ-asm.
Potential sniglet combo: Spiritual + Stifle…I readily admit that I found church quite boring as a young boy. My eyes were forever casting about to find something interesting or amusing to get me through the service. Highly attuned to the little sinner that I was, I found myself parked snugly between my father and mother each Sunday. My mom always made certain she had her pearl ring turned upside down in order to whack my little butch-waxed head should I momentarily lose control. As I grew older and my parents released me to sit wherever I wanted in church, I found that the little boy in me remained. Because of my powers of observation, I had noticed that a person’s face, in the moment of some deep spiritual revelation, contorted in a way that was remarkably similar to a person attempting to stifle a laugh; i.e. tightly shut eyes, little tears trickling down the cheek, and bent over, shoulder-shaking convulsions. Thus, one Sunday, when in a “Selah” moment of the church service, an elderly gent released a rather garish discharge of gas, I was immediately able to employ the: spifle posture. I was spifling. Many were impressed at the sincerity – and the frequency - of my deep spiritual contortions and thought that I was surely destined for ministry.
Potential sniglet combo: Hippopotamus + Hypocrite…And, I was frequently reminded of those things I should not be doing, thinking, or thinking about doing. It was a lot to remember. In fact, I spent a great portion of my life trying so hard not to do things, I forgot to DO things. Many of the sermons on self-control were delivered by gents who apparently felt that gluttony was sacrosanct to the issue at hand. As they maneuvered their colossal bellies around the pulpit and shouted at the elect to knock it off, I could think of but one word: hippotocrite.
Potential sniglet combo: Prayer + Snooze…Returning for a moment to my incredible powers of observation, this one has come in quite handy over the years. But, alas, it has been a sword that has sliced both ways. During a church service, thoughtful, meditative prayer is always an accepted option. But, it is amazing how quickly prayer can degenerate into a selfish nap. I must admit, I have enjoyed a few refreshing moments myself with the pleasant “white noise” of a dull sermon humming in the background. I have, however, not been so pleased when I have been the speaker and have caught a congregant in the act of: proozing.
Potential sniglet combo: Deacon + Terminator…In the church in which I grew up, the fellowship hall was located in the basement directly under the sanctuary. The flooring of our sanctuary was a hard-wood floor. When I was about eight years old, a friend of mine and I escaped from the church potluck and wandered off to explore the rest of the building – to see what it looked like and felt like without big people around. We went up to the second story and rifled around a bit. We investigated the Pastor’s office. Finally, bored – again- we decided on a game of tag and began tearing around the sanctuary in our little hard-heeled church shoes. The wooden pews, we found, offered a great challenge as we leapt from pew to pew. The waxed wood floor provided a surface like that of an ice-skating rink. It was then that Deacon Grigg appeared. His face was a color similar to that of the purplish red beets which were the customary accoutrement to a Baptist feed. He was doing some heavy breathing from having sprinted up two flights of stairs. It was at that moment that my friend and I experienced the apocalyptic wrath of the: deaconator.
It has been an odd journey to be a churchman these many years; and, moreover, to be one who is so easily and so sophomorically amused. I was rebuked once by a man who I never once saw smile, let alone laugh, that I needed to be more sober – like him. I found the prospect dreadful. I was trying earnestly NOT to be like him. Yet, there have been times when I have prayed with great urgency and fervency that God would help me to hold it together – whether preaching or listening. So far, that prayer remains unanswered. The human condition – mine included – is a never-ending source for material that moves at light speed from observed act to funny bone – with nothing in between. I was born without a buffer. I blame both my parents. They remain in their golden years notorious inappropriate laughers.
Yet, even as I have chuckled and laughed my way through life, it has not been without its costs. I have a permanent callous on the inside of my right lower lip where I have bit down hard while in the act of spifling – hoping that the pain would somehow tame the mirth. It did not. It has not. And, I would not be surprised to find that I may have sacrificed a few blood vessels in my brain, and destroyed a few synapses trying to hold in an incautious and ill-timed guffaw. The pressure of restrained laughter really does hurt. It should be discouraged.
No…I recommend laughing and asking for forgiveness later. Laughter heals us. It is a gift from God. It helps us not to take ourselves all that seriously. That is a good thing. Self-deprecating humor is close kin to humility and God says that we need that to both love Him and to move His hand on our behalf. He is not interested in the proud, and by extension – the humorless.
Be well blessed…
-CJ
Oh, and one more…President Bush. Near history is almost always unkind to departing Presidents. Perhaps one day historians will be amazed that you were able to keep another 9-11 from happening for seven years. I read that, last week, one of your dogs bit a White House reporter. Was that one last pre-emptive strike?
Let’s see….where were we? I believe that before the elections and all of that brew-ha-ha, I had set my heart on talking about humor. I need it and our nation needs it. So, let us be done with the wearisome ways of politics, crashing stock-markets, “prop” this and “prop” that, and return to some decent mirth.
And with that, let me just say: sniglets are cool. A sniglet is a word that doesn’t appear in the dictionary, but should. Let me share a few examples…
Nagivator: a spouse who sits by and criticizes the driving or his or her spouse.
Cheedle: the orange residue left on your fingers after eating cheese-puffs.
Bo'zone: the atmosphere surrounding stupid people that will not allow bright ideas to penetrate.
Cashtration: the act of a young couple buying a house, new cars and amassing credit card debt to the extent they become financially impotent.
Hipatitis: terminal coolness.
Reintarnation: coming back to life as a hillbilly.
Arachnoleptic Fit: that crazy dance you do when you walk into a spider web.
Now that you have the hang of it, I thought I would take a crack at a few church sniglets – having logged several decades in and around the brethren. I will offer a brief narrative set-up for each. Here we go…
Potential sniglet combo: Organ + Spasm…I once dated a German Lutheran girl back in my early college days. One Sunday, she invited me to her German Lutheran Church to hear her play the organ. Growing up a low-church Baptist, I was expecting to hear her wail away on a Hammond B3. Much to my alarm, I saw her seated on high, a mere speck in a choir robe, encircled by a monstrosity of an instrument complete with ginormous pipes that ran from floor to ceiling. The music was, to this young lad, somewhat sonorous and depressing. The congregation mumbled along with none of the Baptist zip to which I was accustomed. But the thing that I was totally unprepared for was the ear-shattering burst that took place when the organist put the petal all the way to the floor to signal the congregation that it was time for them to join in with the melody of doom. It nearly shot me out of my chair, this boisterous: organ-asm.
Potential sniglet combo: Spiritual + Stifle…I readily admit that I found church quite boring as a young boy. My eyes were forever casting about to find something interesting or amusing to get me through the service. Highly attuned to the little sinner that I was, I found myself parked snugly between my father and mother each Sunday. My mom always made certain she had her pearl ring turned upside down in order to whack my little butch-waxed head should I momentarily lose control. As I grew older and my parents released me to sit wherever I wanted in church, I found that the little boy in me remained. Because of my powers of observation, I had noticed that a person’s face, in the moment of some deep spiritual revelation, contorted in a way that was remarkably similar to a person attempting to stifle a laugh; i.e. tightly shut eyes, little tears trickling down the cheek, and bent over, shoulder-shaking convulsions. Thus, one Sunday, when in a “Selah” moment of the church service, an elderly gent released a rather garish discharge of gas, I was immediately able to employ the: spifle posture. I was spifling. Many were impressed at the sincerity – and the frequency - of my deep spiritual contortions and thought that I was surely destined for ministry.
Potential sniglet combo: Hippopotamus + Hypocrite…And, I was frequently reminded of those things I should not be doing, thinking, or thinking about doing. It was a lot to remember. In fact, I spent a great portion of my life trying so hard not to do things, I forgot to DO things. Many of the sermons on self-control were delivered by gents who apparently felt that gluttony was sacrosanct to the issue at hand. As they maneuvered their colossal bellies around the pulpit and shouted at the elect to knock it off, I could think of but one word: hippotocrite.
Potential sniglet combo: Prayer + Snooze…Returning for a moment to my incredible powers of observation, this one has come in quite handy over the years. But, alas, it has been a sword that has sliced both ways. During a church service, thoughtful, meditative prayer is always an accepted option. But, it is amazing how quickly prayer can degenerate into a selfish nap. I must admit, I have enjoyed a few refreshing moments myself with the pleasant “white noise” of a dull sermon humming in the background. I have, however, not been so pleased when I have been the speaker and have caught a congregant in the act of: proozing.
Potential sniglet combo: Deacon + Terminator…In the church in which I grew up, the fellowship hall was located in the basement directly under the sanctuary. The flooring of our sanctuary was a hard-wood floor. When I was about eight years old, a friend of mine and I escaped from the church potluck and wandered off to explore the rest of the building – to see what it looked like and felt like without big people around. We went up to the second story and rifled around a bit. We investigated the Pastor’s office. Finally, bored – again- we decided on a game of tag and began tearing around the sanctuary in our little hard-heeled church shoes. The wooden pews, we found, offered a great challenge as we leapt from pew to pew. The waxed wood floor provided a surface like that of an ice-skating rink. It was then that Deacon Grigg appeared. His face was a color similar to that of the purplish red beets which were the customary accoutrement to a Baptist feed. He was doing some heavy breathing from having sprinted up two flights of stairs. It was at that moment that my friend and I experienced the apocalyptic wrath of the: deaconator.
It has been an odd journey to be a churchman these many years; and, moreover, to be one who is so easily and so sophomorically amused. I was rebuked once by a man who I never once saw smile, let alone laugh, that I needed to be more sober – like him. I found the prospect dreadful. I was trying earnestly NOT to be like him. Yet, there have been times when I have prayed with great urgency and fervency that God would help me to hold it together – whether preaching or listening. So far, that prayer remains unanswered. The human condition – mine included – is a never-ending source for material that moves at light speed from observed act to funny bone – with nothing in between. I was born without a buffer. I blame both my parents. They remain in their golden years notorious inappropriate laughers.
Yet, even as I have chuckled and laughed my way through life, it has not been without its costs. I have a permanent callous on the inside of my right lower lip where I have bit down hard while in the act of spifling – hoping that the pain would somehow tame the mirth. It did not. It has not. And, I would not be surprised to find that I may have sacrificed a few blood vessels in my brain, and destroyed a few synapses trying to hold in an incautious and ill-timed guffaw. The pressure of restrained laughter really does hurt. It should be discouraged.
No…I recommend laughing and asking for forgiveness later. Laughter heals us. It is a gift from God. It helps us not to take ourselves all that seriously. That is a good thing. Self-deprecating humor is close kin to humility and God says that we need that to both love Him and to move His hand on our behalf. He is not interested in the proud, and by extension – the humorless.
Be well blessed…
-CJ
1 comment:
"Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Then it was said among the nations,"The LORD has done great things for them." Psalm 126:2 Do you think perhaps our laughter and joy in the days ahead will be a stronger testimony to the world than our sourpuss "church" faces?
Thanks for making me laugh....
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