Selling Faith?

So much of ministry is in its marketing. I do a lot of thinking about that -- some talking too -- and I still don't know exactly how I feel about it. It's my job, for crying out loud. And I love it. But it's baffling.

I was talking to a retired businessman some time ago who's done quite well for himself. I casually made a sarcastic greed-is-good comment. Big mistake. He did the vocal equivalent of snapping my neck over it. His emphatic point was that capitalism is not based on greed, it's based on the freedom of mankind. Something he said formed the impression in me: greed is as much a corruption of capitalism as dictatorship is of communism. Each has a unique susceptibility to vice, but is not in itself the cause of it.

But, be all that as it may, mixing faith with money doesn't quite seem to jibe. It just sounds bad. It sounds calloused, or at the very least contaminated by the very secular ideology that we're supposed to be steering clear of. The flickery image of countless fallen, crocodile-tear-shedding televangelists appears in my mind's eye. But again, that's corruption. Is it actually possible that market forces could have something to offer the church?

All my life I've been told from countless pulpits that having money is not, in itself, a bad thing. Y'know, we're told "it's what you do with it that counts". But if you give it all away, spend it or lose it, you don't have it. That's the paradox. So which is it people?

Do you believe that the only reason that we've been blessed in rich North America is to bless others? I'm on the side of the fence that says that's a fallacy. We bless others because we should. That's the policy, and it's not supposed to be conditioned by ability, or lack thereof. And it's not being true to our own culture which was formed so long ago on strong values. Values that have enabled us to achieve so much peace, and prosperity. If we forsake that culture, what do we have to offer any other, practically speaking?

If we all threw up our hands and proclaimed "That's it! I'm giving everything I own to an African village!" I foresee at least two major issues. Firstly, who's going to continue to reach out to Canada/North America on its own terms? In its own language? Need I mention it's expensive to speak that language? And secondly, where did the idea come from that money is going to solve any problem in Africa (or wherever)? There are definite ways that money can help, but it generally causes more distress than it appeases. I'm gradually coining a phrase along the lines of "There's no sum of money so small, or so large, it can't cause pain".

And another that goes "There's no such thing as a perfect decision". I'm starting to accept the implications of that one. It's messy, but that's OK. I'll keep trying to do my best. And I'll keep doing everything I can to point people to the Truth.

Photo: Something Seasonal

Pentax MZ-6 w/ 28-90mm (probably)
Scanned from Fuji Superia 400
Available light (Christmas tree in background, candles, filtered sunlight through window on left)

It's been brought to my attention that everything here so far is automotive. That's not exactly intentional, so to try to make up for it here is a shot to put you (me?) in the Christmas spirit. The sax statuette is a curio from Korea which my brother in law gave me a couple of years ago. It's found its way into a number of pictures so far, but I think I like this one the best.

Photo: Old Chrome

Pentax MZ-6 w/ 5omm
Scanned from Fuji Superia 400
Available light

Abstract made from the fin of an old Dodge in twilight.

In Quotes

I was asking about some of the differences between the Dodge small block and the Chevy small block, and my buddy answered: "Any engine that's running is as reliable as any other".

A Bridge or a Wall

When I was a kid watching the news, I used to think that no matter how bad the story, just knowing it was on TV was calming. I used to think "well at least those guys getting the story can help". As my understanding grew, my comforting thought started to change to "well at least those guys getting the story can survive". Now I wonder at the stories that can't be told because conditions are just too dangerously volatile. There are also many stories that aren't being told simply because, for whatever reason, there's no-one interested in them. Every day.

Recently I talked to a friend of mine at our photo club. We both want to start pushing the boundaries of what photography can mean. The club has been great at teaching us the essentials of photography, but somehow there's something lacking in just using the camera to capture pretty flowers and smiling children (I stagger under the immensity of the brush I'm swinging, but you get my drift).

We're going to start encouraging each other to develop a solid story, or come up with a humanitarian issue to address. If it turns out that we find a common goal, we may even team up. But at this point it's encouraging that I've found someone to push me to use the camera as a tool to passionately engage rather than just impartially observe.

Cultural Skin Punch

How did I become so important that I deserved a capital?

Metaphor for Grace?

One of the tensions in my life is between not wanting to want, and wanting. You may have picked that up if you've been reading. But recently I saw an object that simply bypassed the entire internal debate.

It's a Selmer tenor saxophone. It's called a Reference 54 because it's modelled after what is probably the most famous saxophone model ever produced, the Mark VI, which began life in 1954. (Examples of the ~20-year run of the Mark VI are so sought after that several have been purchased as investments by Japanese bussinessmen, much to the dismay of sax players.) The sound is supposed to be as rich, dark and centred as the original. This particular one is given an antique finish, which means brushed brass covered with a dull laquer. It is so beautiful that it nearly made me cry.

I can't want it because there's nothing I've done to deserve it. If it was offered to me, I would certainly accept it. But honestly, to me it's enough that there's such a beautiful thing, with such a beautiful purpose out there. That's all.

Movie Review: The Weather Man

Friends of mine walked out of this movie, and four people (nearly half the audience) left halfway through while I was there. Take this as a warning if you're looking for pure entertainment: it is not an easy film to watch. But ultimately it is an important one.

David Spritz (Nicolas Cage) is successful in his caeer, but is failing at life. He tries desperately to reconcile with his ex-wife. So desperately that he ends up chasing her further away. And the two kids are excellent in their roles of victims of divorce, both trying to figure out life in their own ways. Michael Caine's performance as Robert Spritz, or Pa-pa, is one of a sad, regretful and disappointed man, trying to catch (or perhaps impart) one final glimmer of light from (to) a bleak family. The equal measure of regret and disappointment in David and Robert has driven a quiet, passive wedge between them.

The not-quite-celebrity status of a weatherman provides the perfect vehicle for the questions this movie asks. Questions about identity and purpose. Spritz realises that he can't measure up to the trust that people have in him. (He's offered several physical reminders in the form of messy fast-food projectiles.) He feels even more like a fraud when he enters negotiations with a much larger network. It's a huge advancement opportunity, and he wants it as deeply as he feels inadequate for it. David believes that if he could just get it, he could put the rest of his life back together around it, but it's destined to not be that easy.

I appreciate that the Hollywood machine dared create a movie like this. In a tide of endless happy endings, this one stands unique. Though sad and frustrating, I agree with Ebert's comment: "Every bad movie is depressing. No good movie is depressing." At the end The Weather Man, if I wasn't so stunned by its reality and depth, I probably would have applauded.

Poem: Thrown-out Unused

our man-made world defines us by our lack,
bruises and abuses us with it,
Works to pump desire in like an anechoic vacuum.

We are abraded by expensive impressions of affluence.
The fear of poverty -- seeing the faces but not the eye of the people in our glossy magazines, their tears, their endless hurt --
by rote we recite what we know of the one-step-away precipice.
(There but by ____ go I)
the fence that became a wall that became a cliff that we climbed up on to see
we got dizzy vertigo
from the chasm
(just one step back)

we wonder at a planet that shudders under the weight of its humanity
we call sin consequence
and try to pass it off as inconsequential
to spin like selfish hurricanes.

Photo: Boulevard Bullet

MZ-6 w/ 18-35mm (might have been 50mm, I forget)
Available light and off-camera flash
Scanned from Fuji Superia 400

Great example of a mid-60s hot rod with modern touches. I caught it with the last glimmer of light in the sky, a technique I've been experimenting with. The paint is a dark blue suede, which gives it a 'kustom' touch. The fat tires and the spoiler suggest some under-the-hood enhancement.

Photo: Space Escape

Pentax MZ-6 w/ 18-35mm
Scanned from Fuji Superia 400
Available light

I really like how this turned out. It's the same Oldsmobile as the prevoious chrome grill, in the same location. Cars are like manufactured sculptures: there's always a new angle to see.

Photo: Chrome Abstract

Pentax MZ-6 w/ 18-35mm
Scanned from Fuji Superia 400
Available light (nearby red neon sign)

One of the reasons I love living in Langley is the automotive culture. Every summer's weekend hot rodders congregate at the local Java Hut. They chat, ask questions, and show what they've been working on all winter. Or what they've just bought to work on in the coming one.

The Passing of a Close Friend, or What I'm Buying Myself for Christmas

It was just there, you know. And now it's not. And life just isn't the same.

I got used to having a 19" monitor on my desk. It's big screen made me feel like I was peering into the eye of the world. It was never one for untoward attention, its end was the same as its life. It blew with a short zzzt sound, and simply wouldn't turn on. It was nearly seven years old, and it has been dragged to the odd LAN party, moved from house to house, and has even been hauled across the country. In the lexicon of the muscle-car crowd, it didn't owe me a thing.

I've temporarily replaced it with a 14" that's been kicking around for a ridiculously long time. I require monitors to run at least at 1024x768, and my techno-pride means that I can hardly read anything on the screen. Its refresh is slow enough to cause serious flicker issues. Furthermore, I can't even stretch the image to fill the width of the screen I do have -- the knob simply doesn't exist. I want to go replace it right now, but this has taught to appreciate the things we take for granted. Remember when you had to buy a monitor and graphics card together? If anything happened to either you'd have to replace both. My first computer had a Hercules Graphics monochrome screen, amber not green, and when you got used to the odd dithering you could even play games on the thing!

Well now I'm shopping. I think I'll go CRT one last time. The technology is more mature, and I simply like the picture better. I'll put up with the extra heft and bulk, and save some pennies even. And maybe I'll skip the whole LCD generation, and go straight to the first generation of "plug-in-brain" monitors. Oh yeah, that's not funny.

Favourite New "Insulpliment"

I just got called a "wierd magnet". If I was the tattooing kind, I think that would go on my forehead!