The Devil's Thoughts on Chick Fil-a

In recent weeks, Chick Fil-a has been in the midst of public relations firestorm after president Dan Cathy voiced opposition to gay marriage. While the historically conservative fast food chain is bracing for backlash from the gay community and national media, conservatives are rallying in support of the Atlanta-based company. At the center of the hysteria, one has to wonder, “What does the Devil think about all this?” Luckily, I was able to catch up with the Prince of Darkness and ask him myself.

Musing Carnival: Thanks again for agreeing to meet with me. You mind if I record this?

The Devil: Don’t mind at all. But just an FYI, when you play it back, it’ll just sound like white noise.

MC: Noted.

D: Just don’t want you to be surprised.

MC: Are you doing well?

D: Can’t complain. Business is good. Hey, you mind if I smoke?

MC: Not at all.

D: [pulling out a lighter from his coat pocket] So what’s on your mind this time?

MC: I’d like to talk to you about the Chick Fil-a gay marriage debate.

D: I heard about that. What’s the deal again?

MC: Well, Dan Cathy, the president of Chick Fil-a, publically stated a few weeks ago that his company supported the traditional view of the family and opposed gay marriage.

D: [lighting his cigarette] And this guy’s a Christian right?

MC: Oh yeah. Big time.

D: And everyone knew this?

MC: Yes.

D: Hold on. Isn’t Chick Fil-a closed on Sundays?

MC: Yes. Drives a lot of people crazy, actually.

D: Don’t get me started on places being closed on Sundays. Everything is closed on Sundays in hell. Except for Subway. I’m so sick of Subway.

MC: Anyway, yes, Cathy believes closing on Sundays is the right thing to do.

D: Let me get this straight. Someone asked a Southern Baptist who, because of his religious beliefs, closes his restaurants on Sundays, about his views on gay marriage and then they got all worked up because he answered like they knew he would? That’s what this is about?

MC: Well, it’s actually been pretty divisive. The homosexual community is planning a series of protests later this week. A group in Chicago is organizing a “kiss in” at the downtown Chicago location.

D: Ugh. Now listen, I obviously don’t have anything against gay people. And I’m not one to judge. But I don’t need to watch a bunch of people kiss simultaneously. I mean seriously, get a room. Or rooms, I guess.

MC: Some Evangelicals are nervous about the fallout.

D: Well, you guys need to do something to even the score. Have you thought about boycotting KFC?

MC: That won’t solve anything.

D: Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m just brainstorming here… but seriously, have you seen those Famous Bowls? It’s mashed potatoes, corn, chicken, and who knows what else. I should get my friends at Westboro Baptist to hold up “God Hates Waistlines” signs in a KFC parking lot. Talk about an abomination!

MC: Have you tried one?

D: Oh, no. Not with my cholesterol.

MC: Some Christians did try to boycott Starbucks when Howard Schultz said that the company was in favor of gay marriage.

D: [laughs] Riiiight… I knew that wouldn’t catch on. That’s what makes this boycotting thing so silly. At the end of the day, brand loyalty trumps a soapbox.

MC: That’s a little harsh.

D: No it isn’t. Believe me, if a report came out claiming that holding an iPhone up to your ear could potentially turn a person gay, the first thought on most Christians’ minds would be, “But what if I use the earbuds?” Stand up for the sanctity of marriage or play Draw Something? Sounds like a toss up.

MC: Maybe. But a lot of Christians are planning on eating at Chick Fil-a this week as a way to show their support.

D: Yes! This is what makes it so perfect for you guys! I’m sure most Evangelicals are like, “So all I have to do to voice my opinion is eat more fried chicken? Finally! A cause I can get behind!”

MC: Everyone wins.

D: You guys love activism when it earns you cool points along the way. Personally, I think Toms look ridiculous. And the arch support is terrible. But what do I know? I’ve had a handlebar mustache since the 1600’s but no one would ever call me a hipster.

MC: But you can’t argue with Chick Fil-a’s practices. They are a topnotch company, maybe the best in the fast food industry. They treat their employees well and do things the right way. All built on integrity and superb customer service.

D: I know. I love it. But I have to ask, why would a fast food restaurant need to have an official stance on this issue anyway?

MC: Because, for some reason or another, this has become the hot button issue of our time.

D: But why? Everyone has an opinion. Billy Graham recently went as far as to compare America to Sodom and Gomorrah.

MC: That’s true.

D: Believe me. I remember Sodom and Gomorrah. That place was crazy! You guys have Target. A country that has a Target off of every exit can’t be compared to Sodom and Gomorrah.

MC: Graham believes that the government is rebelling against God.

D: [laughs] Of course it is! That’s what governments do. I invented that trick. I just don’t use apples anymore. But really, when did you guys start caring so much about what the government thought anyway?

MC: Most Christians believe that we need to be the moral voice of America.

D: So this is the hill you die on? What about poverty? Or fatherlessness? Those seem to be wrecking the family unit pretty well too. Can I let you in on a little secret?

MC: Yes.

D: I’m off destroying families one at a time while Christians are all bent out of shape because there is a gay kid on Glee. What in the name of Neil Patrick Harris is wrong with you guys?

MC: This is a big deal because most Christians believe that the Bible commands that marriage should only be between a man and a woman.

D: Yeah, I know. I’ve read the Bible. Gets really weird at the end.

MC: And if we are really a Christian nation…

D: [interjects] … But you’re not a Christian nation! Your country was founded on the idea that people could make up their own minds about what to believe.

MC: True.

D: And, to further prove my point, your Constitution grants equality for all people. Doesn’t that include gay people?

MC: It does. But speaking of the Constitution, it’s pretty unconstitutional for local leaders to block Chick Fil-a from opening stores in Chicago and Boston. Seems to be in direct violation of the First Amendment. Thoughts?

D: [shrugs] I’m more of a “right to bear arms” guy, myself.

MC: C’mon. I’m not letting you off the hook on this one. Do you agree with me that preventing Chick Fil-a stores from opening is too far?

D: Yes. But the entire thing is too far. It’s downright comical. Look, I’ll put it this way. I personally love what Dan Cathy said.

MC: You do?

D: Do you see how ironic this whole thing is? Jesus, who I’ll admit, I don’t get at all, ate with whores. And not just the pretty ones either! And you’ve got a guy practically telling gay people that they aren’t welcome to come in and purchase his product and widening the gap between Christians and homosexuals. Dude! Just sell chicken.

MC: In fairness, Cathy does have a right to believe whatever he wants.

D: Absolutely. Which, on the other hand, is what drives me crazy about gay people. I just want to tell them, be as gay as you want to be! But it’s like tolerance isn’t enough for them. Face it. People are going to disagree with you. Everyone has that right.

MC: I think there are some Christians trying to build bridges and encouraging open dialogue.

D: Which is why I love this whole ordeal. It’s bad PR for you Christians, really. You guys have your own music. Now you have your own fast food. Keep building that bubble, guys. My goal is to get the two sides to stop talking.

MC: I’m sure most Christians are a little embarrassed by some of the Christian music out there.

D: Really? Why? Honest to goodness, “Place in this World” gets me every time.

MC: That might surprise a few people.

D: Man, I hate that stereotype. Honestly, most “devil worship” music is too hardcore for me. I can’t even understand what they are saying half the time. But give me some Kenny Chesney and I’m set.

MC: Well, I appreciate your thoughts. Anything you’re working on that you’d like to tell us about?

D: Other than keeping Obama’s Nigerian birth certificate under wraps?

MC: Yes. Other than that.

D: In that case, no. Nothing new. Still trying to get every female between the ages of 15 and 25 to use the word, “presh” a thousand times a day.

MC: You coined that?

D: Totes! That word is straight from the depths of hell.

MC: That explains a lot actually.

D: And here’s a new one. If something is so cute that it makes you sad, call it “depreshing.” Make sense?

MC: I think we’re done here.

365 Days Later

Any writer will tell you that there are paragraphs that write themselves. I can attest to this occurrence. It happens quite regularly, actually. It’s not bragging. No, it can’t be bragging because prose like that is unplanned and seldom controlled. But in these flashes of clarity, the thoughts are so free flowing that you are convinced you could take your hands off of the keys and the words would still line up on the page.

This is not one of these moments. This is the hard kind of writing. It’s the kind where you pull and lure words out from the depths. Kicking and screaming, they come to the page. This very well could be the type of writing that doesn’t make sense a week from now. The kind that causes you to look back on your words like they were written by a stranger. So tonight I’m writing, not because I feel inspired but because I feel like I owe it to myself.

And in some way, I owe it to you too. Yeah, real nice of me, huh? Here I sit, exactly a year after a tornado tumbled through Joplin and destroyed my house. And since you have asked, in several different ways, how we are dealing with the anniversary of the tornado, I figure that you deserve for me to bring the words up to the surface. Oddly, I have felt a parade of emotions in the last 24 hours that I didn’t expect. Thoughts and feelings have crossed my mind that I haven’t felt in 365 days. At least I think.

If there is a little doubt in my voice it is because honestly, I couldn’t write in the days that followed the tornado. God knows that I tried. But when I slid my journal from my backpack, the pen didn’t move across the page like it had been trained.  I don’t know why it betrayed me. And now, a year later, I feel like I cheated myself by not pulling these words out from the abyss. But they wouldn’t emerge. To this day, my journal, as full of scribbles and random thoughts as it is, only contains two paragraphs about the events on May 22.

There was numbness to the experience that was paralyzing. I know that now. In some respects, I really am tired of talking about it. And I assume that you are tired of hearing about it. Moving on and remembering make strange bedfellows. But before we move on, let me say this. Last May was a defining moment in my life. And the things I learned, recorded in the moment or not, will continue to shape me throughout every May 22^nd from here on.

First and foremost, I have come to accept conflict. I used to be afraid that things would never change, that I would somehow stop growing and learning unless I acted and forced fate in my favor. But the reality is that sometimes a spring wind converges on the west side of town and changes everything.

You want a life lesson? Here it is. We have a tendency to shield ourselves from conflict, to resist that which is difficult. But ask any storyteller from a Hollywood boardroom or high school locker room and they will tell you that conflict is the device that moves the story forward. Without conflict, you never get the chance to defeat the dragon, the princess doesn’t need to be saved, and you never get to see what you’re made of. Or how much your friends love you. This year has taught me to embrace both joy and sorrow. We are people who should drink deeply from each cup, knowing that both the good and the bad shape the people we want to become.

If it sounds paradoxical, it’s because it is. In a sense, paradox has been the theme of my year. I’ve been both grateful and bitter. At times, I’ve isolated myself and I’ve collapsed into community. I know God is faithful. He saved my family. But scars are still scars. The friends who showed up the day after to help us dig out were lifesavers. And those who gave me space to speak feelings still unedited in December were life sustainers. Both sets hold a special place in my heart.

Now, a year later, I still drive past the vacant lot of land where my house used to sit on a regular basis. Currently, a handwritten FOR SALE sign sways in the breeze. Soon, this pile of dirt and broken concrete will belong to someone else. In the meantime, I’m not sure why I keep circling back. It is a little out of the way from my semi-daily commute to the YMCA and back. But perhaps I do so to remind myself of what I found in the wreckage beneath grey skies.

In the process of losing everything, I gained a dependence that was so real it was frightening. But it was good. Most of our existence is somewhat of a mirage. We buy security through hardwood floors and two car garages. But those things evaporate quickly in 200-mile winds. I knew I was rich when I had nothing. Something felt right about needing people, really needing people.

Yet I fought against that dependence. We bought new (nicer) furniture and moved out of Chase’s spare bedroom. We became self-reliant again. I’ve been reflecting on the days that followed the storm. The time I spent picking through my damp belongings. In a way, I could do nothing for myself. I was helpless.

Today, I mourned the loss of this dependence. Not because I cling to enablers but because I realized that I’d always been dependent on others. The dependency was always there under the surface. I just spent most of my life trying to convince myself otherwise. There is so much freedom in our helplessness. That's the good stuff in life. So, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to still need you.

We're still here a year later. I'm glad you are too.

Easter Monday

Last Friday afternoon, while spending the weekend at my grandparents’ house, I pulled an old quilt out of a closet, put my kindle under my arm and set up shop in their backyard. I stretched out on the blanket, and allowed my legs to find the warm sunshine that broke through the towering trees that danced above. The earth must rotate a little slower in moments like these, as I rested on blades of green velvet. If this isn’t heaven, it has to be a sneak peek. And though I fully intended to read the book, I don’t think I got through one chapter. The rustling leaves and cool mountain air overtook me and for the next few hours, I took a nap outdoors.

Fast-forward three days to Easter Sunday. The worship leader said yesterday that though we celebrate the resurrection everyday, Easter Sunday is special. He’s right, I thought. We do celebrate the resurrection everyday. Then my mind said to my brain, “but… how?” That’s when it dawned on me. Everyone’s cool with Easter Sunday. Heck, we’ll even put on a tie, but what about Easter Monday? How do we celebrate that?

I love the scene of the angel standing at the empty tomb. “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” the angel asks. That’s epic stuff, and a good excuse to put the choir on stage. We live that narrative one Sunday a year but what about every other day? I wonder what it was like when the stone rolled away, but truthfully, I’d settle for the encounter a few chapters later. I'd settle for eating fish on the beach with Jesus.

I just like the sound of that. Something about that story feels simple and comforting. Like a nap outdoors. No special effects needed. It was just a quiet morning on the beach, the combination of Jesus and the ordinary.

Maybe the key to celebrating Easter everyday is found at that intersection. A place where the divine meets the ordinary. If the stone really did roll away, the implications of Easter stretch far beyond my free ticket to heaven. It’s no longer just an event that will happen one day.  Heck, it’s not just about victory over death. It is an invitation to life.

All too often, I spend my time ringing the bell on behalf of the big issues. How can we change the world? There are injustices to fight and causes to rally behind. Look, all of these are worthy pursuits, but spending an afternoon sleeping outside reminded me that there is good stuff in the seemingly trivial. It’s not about Sabbath. It’s about recognizing that the empty tomb changes the world one passing moment at a time.

The freedom that was found in the resurrection matters now. Easter reminds us that restoration is already underway. There is residue of redemption all over the place. It dangles from the trees like Spanish moss and echoes in the cadence of my baby girl’s laugh. Easter means that the world is slowly being made right again. Yes, people still die of cancer and earthquakes still level cities, but hope of another world is there. Like tiny blades of grass sprouting between cracks in concrete. We just have to pay attention.

Our generation may end up being known for caring about important things and crafting a better world. I’ve stood on stage and called young people to dream big for eight years now. I hope we do change the status quo. But, man, I hope we cling to the little beauties that sprout up in the process. I hope we are present in conversation. That we look up from our phones and look people in the eyes when they talk. And that we don’t let the summer pass by without eating a sno-cone. That we breathe in mountain air and get saltwater in our nostrils when we get the chance. That we’ll dance with the flower girl even when the reception dance floor is empty and that we always find time to take naps outdoors.

Whatever the pursuit, don’t be ashamed of embracing the simple, because these things count too. They are also caught up in the redemption of Christ. There is life in these elements, as tiny as they may be. I’m pretty sure it was NT Wright who said that Easter is God’s invitation to join him in restoring what was lost in Genesis 3. And while you have to move some big rocks to rebuild Eden, you also have to repaint a few rose petals. So let’s grab a paint brush, and make little, delicate strokes all over the place.

But first, a nap.

In Search of Joel Osteen and the Lord's Favor

While speaking at a small church in Houston last weekend, I took the opportunity to skate down the street to the Sunday morning service at Lakewood Church. The church might not sound familiar but the pastor, Joel Osteen, probably does. By the way, I say “small church” only because compared to Lakewood, a church of 2,400 is tiny.

This outing might seem surprising due to my history with Pastor Osteen. I’ve made no attempt to hide my distaste for his ministry and message. Joel isn’t a typical preacher. His books are mainstays on the New York Times Bestseller List. He speaks to millions around the world on TV. His church of 47,000 meets in an arena. But like him or not, he’s one of the most influential religious figures in the world.

Osteen is polarizing but he’s not one of those fire and brimstone-types. He’s guilty of preaching on the opposite end of the spectrum. To be harsh, Joel’s messages are filled with “feel good” antidotes wrapped up in “me-centered theology”. He never addresses sin, and has stated publically that he’d much rather talk about happy things. Joel believes that when good things happen to you, it means you are in the “Lord’s favor”. That’s a slippery slope and the karma-like Christianity rubs some the wrong way.

However, I decided to put presuppositions aside and sit in on a service with an open mind. Let’s see what this guy has to say, I told myself. No matter what, I’ll report the facts and only the facts. Below is a play-by-play record of my morning at Lakewood.

7:59am – I am still a few blocks out when I began noticing the large, mobile signs displaying “Lakewood Parking” pointing worshippers into parking garages. Parking is free on Sunday morning no matter where you park but I decide to try my luck with finding a closer spot. My bet backfires. I circle around and park in a garage a few blocks away. (I am not in the Lord’s favor.)

8:05am – I walk out of the parking garage and hop on an idling shuttle bus. As I search for a seat, the small speakers play worship music. The song is unfamiliar to me but joyfully proclaims, “I am loved, I am blessed, Jesus you are mine.”

8:08am – The bus chugs along the perimeter of the large arena known formerly as the Compaq Center. The Houston Rockets won two NBA Championships in the mid-90’s in this building. Yet the teeming crowd on this beautiful January morning suggests that Joel Osteen might be more popular than Hakeem Olajuwon ever was. As I slide off the bus, the shuttle driver shouts, “Have a blessed day.” Dumbfounded, I simply respond “Okay.”

8:10am – Walking up to the door, I ask a lady, who looks like a regular, what her favorite thing about Lakewood is. She replies, “It just feels like home. Everyone here is so friendly.” Moments later, as we enter the bustling atrium, her theory is proven correct. Greeters, wearing nametags and Secret Service-looking earpieces, stand under a large sign displaying Jeremiah 29:11. This is an organized fleet. Osteen will later claim that 4,000 volunteers make Lakewood run every Sunday. Stationed every ten feet throughout the concourse, the greeters are extremely nice. Maybe the nicest church greeters I’ve ever encountered.

8:12am – Blacks. Whites. Hispanics. Asians. People who are obviously rich and others who are desperately poor. Teenagers in skinny jeans and old black ladies in big hats. They all mingle together. I’ll make a bold statement. Lakewood is the most diverse church I’ve ever been in.

8:21am – An usher escorts me to my seat on the fourth row. So close that I can smell Joel Osteen’s hair product. I say a quick prayer of thanksgiving. (Big time Lord’s favor points.)

8:24am – I flip through the bulletin while waiting for the service to start. It contains the normal activities any church bulletin would. Super Bowl party. Couples date night. An upcoming book signing. Okay… almost any church.

8:29am – Several people around me pull out cameras. One guy down the row will record the entire service on his phone. These people aren’t just churchgoers. They are pilgrims on the road to Osteen Mecca. I begin to grow a little uneasy.

8:30am – The lights go dim. Gungor’s Beautiful Things – a fantastic song, by the way – pulses over the line array speakers, producing bass that rattles my ribcage. The 200-person choir stands to its feet. The band rises to stage level on a hydraulic lift as a five-person worship team sprints out to center stage. Remember the song that played before Bulls games in the 90’s? That is the only thing missing.

8:32am – One of the worship leaders, who looks a lot like Jane Krakowski, jumps around the stage in 6 inch heels during “Free to Run”. I’ve never worn stilettos but I’m still impressed.

8:33am – Okay, let me rephrase that. I’ve never worn stilettos outside of Reno.

8:56am –Joel Osteen emerges and welcomes everyone. His wife, Victoria, flanks him. I’m taken aback by just how warm and personable he is. Look, I consider myself a positive guy but Joel Osteen makes me look like Mark Driscoll with hemorrhoids. Joel says, “I know you have the faith. I can tell.” This seems like a presumptuous statement to me. I’m starting to think he’s full of it. Based on the reactions around me, no one shares this sentiment.

9:01am – Joel begins praying. Lots of "bless us" rhetoric. It’s pretty self-centered.

9:09am – Joel is still praying. It’s still pretty self-centered.

9:12am – The band kicks back in as one of the worship leaders, a gorgeous African-American woman, steps out and belts out “There’s Something About that Name.” It is beautiful, absolutely powerful. Hands down the tightest, most talented, church worship band I’ve ever seen.

9:17 – Bugle solo - yes, bugle solo - brings the crowd to its feet.

9:18am – Joel’s wife, Victoria, begins the communion meditation. She rambles, talks a lot about how God wants us to live the best life. It seems that the “best life” has more to do with happiness and good jobs than submitting to Jesus. She never says the word sin. Not once. Sadly, it’s about what I expected. But then she says, “Jesus came to reverse the curse caused by the enemy’s disobedience in the garden.” That phrase rolls around in my mind during the communion prayer. The enemy’s disobedience?!? So mankind isn’t responsible for sin? Who sent Jesus to the cross? I am as confused as I am offended.

9:19am – The communion bread tastes like notebook paper. (Back out of the Lord’s favor.)

9:20am – A camera crane swings by me, almost hitting me in the head. This is a communion first. (Still out of the Lord’s favor.)

9:21am – As Joel steps up to preach, I look back to gauge how full the arena is. The first two levels are packed all the way around. He welcomes everyone, greets those watching at home, makes a few housekeeping announcements like any preacher would, and begins his sermon. He comes across as being very pastoral. I can see why people are drawn to him.

9:22am – Joel asks everyone to take out their Bibles and hold them high. He has the audience repeat a declaration about how important the scriptures are. Joel puts his Bible down. He won’t pick it up again.

9:24am – There isn’t a sermon text, just a “story from the life of David… a true champion.” The title of his message is “Under Your Feet”, which is based on a misinterpretation of 1 Corinthians 15. The scripture states that God has put everything under his (Jesus) feet. Joel changes “everything” to “obstacles” and “his” to “our” and dives in. I’ll give him this. Joel is such a gifted communicator that few notice he’s preaching an entire sermon on a verse taken out of context.

9:39am – Joel continues to preach, not about what Jesus can do, but about what we can do if we believe. I really did enter this experience wanting to give him a shot. But the more I listen, the more I can’t help but question his message. He tells us that God will cure our cancer, give us a raise, fix our marriages, and bless us if we just have faith. Meanwhile, thousands of Christians put their lives on the line by worshipping in secret across the Middle East.

9:41am – I realize two things. Number one: Joel Osteen is really genuine. Number two: genuine people can be heretics. Don’t get me wrong. I believe that God wants to bless us. But pursuing him only for the blessings isn’t worship. It is idolatry. That’s what this service feels like to me.

9:43am – More music. A prayer time down front. Shots on the big screen show that Joel and his wife are praying with people. Some preachers might disappear backstage as soon as they finish preaching. But there he is, patiently praying with a crying woman. He gets props for that.

9:59am – As soon as the service ends, I bolt from my seat to try to make the “Meet and Greet” near the expansive bookstore on the second level. An estimated 30 people huddle inside a roped off area. I slide past one of the greeters as he zips the stanchion closed behind me. The rest of the crowd is forced to wait on the other side of the rope and snap pictures from a distance. I’ll admit, I feel a little giddy that I got in. (Knee-deep in the Lord’s Favor.)

10:04am – While waiting for Joel to arrive, I initiate a conversation with a Hispanic lady next to me. I ask her if Lakewood is her church. It is. When I ask if she lives in Houston she informs me that she lives in San Antonio. “So do you drive down every weekend?” I ask. “No” she replies, “this is my first time here. I watch on the television.” At this point, I am intrigued and ask if she goes to a church in San Antonio. “No, I don’t like preachers who yell and scream.” She admits, “Joel is so gentle.”

10:05am – I realize two more things. Number one: Joel Osteen is really gentle. Number two: Gentle people can be heretics. 2nd Timothy 4:3 comes to mind.

10:10am – Joel emerges from the elevator. Three handlers escort him down the row. I watch him interact with people. He is extremely warm and caring. I can’t help but wonder if he misses interacting with people on a personal level. The barriers built by super-mega-church ministry are probably exhausting for such an apparent people-person. Joel stops to pray with a family. He gets down on a knee to talk to a woman in a wheelchair. He signs a few books. Next thing I know, he’s shaking my hand.

10:15am – “Good morning, pastor” I say. His big smile causes his eyes to disappear in his eyelids. We make small talk about the service. I tell him that everyone has been extremely nice. He speaks with a disarming Texas accent, “Yes, the people make Lakewood special.” I briefly consider asking a trap question about the persecuted church or questioning how he sleeps at night, but don’t. Maybe I should have. But something told me that this wasn’t the time. Instead, I ask him what advice he’d give a young person in ministry. He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Be a person of integrity.” Dumbfounded, I simply respond, “Okay.”

10:21am – Joel disappears back into the elevator and the crowd dissipates. Using the same tricks I employed during an American Idol concert – another story for another day – I successfully sneak backstage. I talk to a few worship leaders and run into Joel again. He recognizes me and is again extremely polite. The “greeters” begin talking into their cufflinks. I assume that I should be leaving. (Soaking in glorious, glorious Lord’s favor.)

10:23am – A wrong turn leaves me momentarily trapped outside on a loading dock. The freeway hums above me as I pull and bang on every locked door. Moments later, I am rescued by a greeter. (Out of the Lord’s favor and then back in again.)

10:30am – I leave the building through an appropriate exit and start walking the few blocks back to my car. I gave it my best shot. But after seeing Joel Osteen in the flesh, I remain a skeptic. It’s not for a lack of trying to like him. I wish I could. However, I just can’t believe him. There is no doubt that he has a good heart but that doesn’t excuse his message. I need something more to believe in than myself. I need a God that meets me halfway when I don’t have the faith. I need Jesus to invite me in to what he is doing, not the other way around. And when push comes to shove, I need a savior that has everything under “his” feet.

2011 Resolutions: Rewritten

Every December I make a list of things that I am going to do during the upcoming year. It’s noble, of course, to be so ambitious, to stand at the precipice of a new year and dare to claim that you will accomplish anything. Something beckons us to dream. So we make resolutions. We say them aloud.

I made such a list almost a year ago. I promised myself I would learn some new things and develop some good habits. On the surface, they seemed like solid goals. That was, of course, before I knew 2011 was going to be so bat-droppings crazy. Hindsight has caused me to look back on it. And from here, my list is pretty silly.

Here’s the deal. I’m asking for a do-over. I’m asking for permission to write my 2011 resolutions over again. Don’t get caught up in the physics of it all. This isn’t too outrageous. Solid writing is all about rewriting. So let’s just all pretend I was granted the luxury of bending time. Let’s say I could write a letter to “2010 Eric”. If I could, I think I would get my resolutions right this time around.

These are the things I am going to do last year. Here are my 2011 New Year’s Resolutions. Round two.

Make a movie.

Find a good friend. Fly around the world. Tell the stories of the most faithful people you have ever met. Interview people who have given up everything in the name of Jesus. I tell you this in advance, 2010 Eric, since you tend to think you are a pretty solid guy. But you won’t deserve to be in their presence. Work hard. Put in a lot of hours and tell their stories well. This will be one of the most meaningful projects you’ve ever worked on in your life. But don’t get carried away. You’ll enter the film into several film festivals. And you’ll get rejection letters from Sundance, Telluride and Toronto. But their lack of approval won’t matter when you talk to a 17 year-old kid who, having just watched the film, is ready (and capable) to change the world.

Be good to your friends.

Halfway through the year, a tornado will hit your house. Everyone will be okay but you will lose everything. As difficult as the fallout will be, the adjustment to the new normal will be made much easier by the people around you. Help will come from every direction. Old friends from high school. Co-workers. Family. On a rainy Monday morning, you’ll find yourself standing homeless, in a pile of rubble, and you will realize how rich you are. These are good people, your friends. The kind of folks that will take your family in at a moment’s notice and never ask when you are going to move out. They’ll drive from places like Oklahoma City and Cincinnati and fly in from Los Angeles to help you scrub mud off of a semi-salvageable coffee table. They’ll mail you a Kindle when they hear your personal library was soaked and scattered across the neighborhood. Their grandparents’ friends, who live in Illinois or Indiana (you won’t remember) will send you money orders. They’ll make sure you have more diapers than you know what to do with. People will compliment you on your resilience and faith. Say thanks but don’t fool yourself. Your friends will be the real heroes. Make sure you let them know how much you love them. Tell them this often. And every time you go out for drinks, make sure you are buying.

Be good to your wife.

Okay, okay… you’ve known you married a good woman for a while now but be prepared to be blown away. (Excuse the bad pun, which will make sense later.) In January, she’ll run a 5k while 6-months pregnant. In April, the doctors will tell her that she should expect labor to last anywhere between 8-12 hours. She’ll have the baby out in four hours tops. One side note concerning the whole delivery thing… it’s crazy. Just keep spooning ice chips into her mouth and shut up. In May, she’ll make every right decision – instantly – and will save your four-week old baby from a tornado. All summer long, when you are too tired to get up in the middle of the night to tend to the life form you helped create, she will patiently rock a crying baby back to sleep. I tell you all of this now because she will spend the last month of her pregnancy wondering whether or not she is capable of being a good mom. You will often kiss her on the forehead, smile and say, “you’re going to be great.” Well-played, Husband of the Year! But you are full of crap. Because when you say this, you will be wrong. “Great” won’t even begin to cover it.

Make your daughter laugh.

Sometime around September, make sure you are spending a lot of time playing with your daughter. She will be four or five months old at this point. She won’t crawl or do too many useful things. Babies make terrible roommates. They don’t pick up after themselves and you have to wipe their butts. She will recognize you when you walk into a room and, surprisingly, that’s a big deal. Anyway, look her in the eyes and make a bunch of silly noises. Repeat this activity often. At some point, almost magically, she will giggle at you. Real, authentic, toothless-smile, laughter. I don’t care how many people you have made laugh before. When you make Alice laugh for the first time, you will have arrived.

Go to a ballgame with your old man.

On Saturday, October 23^rd, OU will lose to Texas Tech, thus snapping a 39-game home winning streak. Make sure you are at the game. Nothing about the evening will be all that fun. There will be a freak thunderstorm just before kickoff. The kind of Oklahoma storm that sends rain in sideways and turns old men into amateur meteorologists. This storm will cause a two-hour weather delay, which will force you to seek shelter under the stadium with 85,000 other rain poncho-wearing fans. These conditions mean that the game won’t even start until close to 9pm. It’ll get out of hand in the second quarter but you’re committed and will stick around until the very end. All that to say, it’ll be close to 3am by the time you get home. You will endure all this misery just to watch the undefeated Sooners lose to a four-touchdown underdog. But here’s the catch. You’ll get to spend an unforgettable evening with your dad. Trust me. Go to this game. The conversations – about things important and not so important – with a man you are slowly turning into will be worth enduring the bad storm and terrible loss.

Give up on punctuality.

You have a baby now. You won’t be on time anywhere. People will understand. Get used to it.

Don’t be afraid to get things wrong.

You aren’t perfect. It’s not the end of the world. You won’t always get everything right. Things won’t always work out like you thought they would. Or the way you sketched them out in some moleskine journal. You’ll learn that often your plans don’t measure up to what God has in store anyway. It’s for the best. And besides, if all else fails, you can always rewrite it.

The Devil's Thoughts on Tim Tebow

Few players in all of professional sports are as polarizing as Tim Tebow. Fans love him. The media hates him. But what makes Tim Tebow mania so fascinating is that the strong feelings have just as much to do with his personal convictions as his performance on the field. A devout Christian, Tebow credits Jesus for the Broncos miraculous (pardon the pun) streak. With this in mind, I wanted to get to the bottom of the spiritual warfare on the gridiron and caught up with someone who could give some insight, The Devil. Being a busy time of the year, we met at the TGI Friday’s in the Tulsa International Airport before a recent flight.

The Devil: How’s it hanging? Potato skin?

Musing Carnival: No thanks. I just ate. Where are you headed?

D: Nowhere. I hate flying. I just come to the airport every so often and hang out by the TSA body scanners. [laughs] It is a riot!

MC: I see. So, you have a few minutes to talk?

D: For you? Of course. But not too long. I want to get down to baggage claim when the Delta flight gets in from Memphis. Something tells me a few bags are going to be misplaced.

MC: That’s fine. I’ll make it quick. I want to talk to you about Tim Tebow. See if you know why the media is giving him such a hard time.

D: You want to know if I am responsible?

MC: Maybe.

D: Let me put it this way. I’ve been following Tebow closely. But no, I don’t have anything to do with how the media treats him. Not yet anyway.

MC: Do you think the media is being unfair to him? Seems a little biased to me.

D: Of course. The media kills him week after week. And for what? All he does is win football games. But I can promise you one thing. As long as I have connections at FOX…

MC: Wait. You have connections at FOX?

D: [laughs] Do I have connections at FOX? You kidding me? I run that place.

MC: How deep are these connections?

D: Two words. Bo. Bice.

MC: That explains a lot actually. But what about Tim Tebow?

D: Long story short, I hope the media continues to bash him.

MC: So he’ll cave? Quit preaching?

D: Oh no, he won’t shut up. He’s too into the “Jesus thing” to shut up. He seems genuine. No, I hope the media stays after him so you Christians continue to turn him into a martyr.

MC: What do you mean?

D: What do I mean? You should hear Christians talk about how persecuted he is! It’s crazy. Don’t get me wrong, I think people are crazy for what they’ll endure for Jesus but Tim Tebow is not persecuted.

MC: Go on.

D: Don’t people around the world die for Jesus?

MC: Yes.

D: That’s persecution, right? You have real people who are actually dying for their faith. Those people are the real martyrs. I mean, what’s the worst that happens to Tim Tebow? He gets made fun of by Jake Plummer? Really?!? Jake Plummer sucks.

MC: Fair enough.

D: I’ll put it this way. You can’t be a martyr and still have the top selling jersey in the NFL.

MC: Makes sense to me.

D: Seriously, if you are going to hate Tim Tebow, you can’t hate him as a person. Hate him as a football player. Hate him because his third down conversion percentage is terrible. Or because his accuracy is embarrassing. But hating a guy who stands up for what he believes in. That’s low even for me. And I’m the freakin’ prince of darkness.

MC: So you aren’t worried about him preaching? He seems to use his platform to talk about Jesus a lot.

D: You’re telling me! He won’t shut up about it either. Look, I don’t even think Jesus watches football. But my-oh-my, he’s practically winning every game for Denver this year.

MC: You think Jesus is blessing Tebow? Does that explain it?

D: No. I think it has more to do with me being a Raiders fan. Tebow is caught in the middle of a cosmic struggle for AFC West supremacy. Nothing more.

MC: It’s just about football?

D: The Broncos have won six in a row. Meanwhile, still no cure for cancer! You tell me if it’s about more than just football.

MC: What about Tebow’s influence? He’s all over ESPN. He thanks Jesus all the time.

D: I know! It drives me crazy! Don't be stupid. Of course influence is important. Look, I’ve thought about this a lot. Believe me, if I could find a Muslim quarterback or a gay quarterback. Or better yet, a gay, Muslim quarterback! If I could make that happen… wow. I would have it made in the shade.

MC: There’s no such thing as a gay Muslim. You know that, right?

D: You’re probably right. But hey, can’t a guy dream?

MC: It’s highly offensive, but sure. I guess you can.

D: I'd even settle for a halfway decent atheist chicken restaurant so I can stop going to... [Bronco highlights come on the TV above the bar] Ugh. There he is again. Look at him. He’s pointing to the sky. Drives me insane. And Tebowing?!? Have you heard of that?

MC: Where you get down on one knee and pose like you’re praying? Yeah, I’ve seen it. And?

D: Oh nothing. I think it’s hilarious. Just the other day, Hitler was goofing around and…

MC: Please stop.

D: Oh, right. Let me tell you what the worst part of all this is. It’s not like Tebow even does the whole… what do you call it… health and wealth gospel stuff. You know, believe in Jesus and he’ll make you rich? [laughs] Man, that is the best lie I’ve come up with since that one apple thing.

MC: A lot of Christians believe that.

D: I know! And maybe that’s what I can get Tebow to start saying! “Believe in Jesus and you too can throw… err… run for touchdowns like me!” [he jots down a note on a napkin] I should send him some Joel Osteen books or something.

MC: You’re familiar with Joel Osteen?

D: You kidding me? Been around Joel for years. I’m telling you, if I could get Tebow to sound more like Joel, I wouldn’t have to spend half the year in Houston. Good Tex-Mex but man, it’s hot down there.

MC: Wait, aren’t you from…

D: Yeah, I know that sounds a little ironic, me complaining about the heat in Houston, being from hell and all. But hell has more of a dry heat.

MC: Like Arizona?

D: Exactly like Arizona. We’ve got the same gun laws and everything! No In-and-Out Burgers though. Just a Burger King on every freakin’ corner.

MC: So, for the record, you don’t hate Tim Tebow?

D: No, I’ve got nothing against Tebow personally. I think he’s probably the kind of guy we’d all want our daughters to marry. You know what I mean?

MC: You have a daughter?

D: Three actually. Lindsay Lohan, Lady Gaga and Nancy Reagan. Nancy was from a previous marriage.

MC: Nancy Reagan is your daughter? No. I’m not going to believe that. Sorry. Wasn’t she responsible for the “Just Say No” campaign?

D: Ridiculous! That whole thing was supposed to be sarcastic! Like, “Hey kids, who wants to have a good time and be really popular anyway? Being cool is for the birds! Just say no!” Ugh. People totally misinterpreted it.

MC: Okay. I think we’re done here. I have to catch my flight.

D: Wait. Are you on the 7:05 to Atlanta? [smiles] Wouldn’t get on that one if I were you.

MC: Do you mean…

D: [laughs] I’m just kidding! It’s perfectly safe. But I made sure you got a middle seat.

MC: I assumed.