the ole' jack is back, y pensamientos de iglesia

I got a job that starts tomorrow. After last summer I promised myself I wouldn't do this type of work again, but with the return of my health also comes the return of my brashness, although I'm sure some would rather call it my stubborness. I'm stubborn????? It just feels so good to be able to move again without any pain or tiredness that I want to use it at every opportunity. I've been working out every day, sometimes twice a day, and I feel strong enough to go back and pick up the ole' jack hammer and see how my body reacts. Maybe my back is finally up for the challenge, maybe not. I'm sure most of my students have a smile across their face right now reading that I will be using the gigantic hammer that I described to them in detail, vowing that I would never return to such a torturous mechanism. Well, I am....so wipe that smile off your faces.

One of the most shocking parts of being back in the states is church. Actually, overwhelming is probably a better word than shocking. This last Sunday as I sat there and listened to the music I realized how easy it was to say and sing the words without really understanding the words and without much of a thought as to what the words were saying. It was in English, and I could recite them without so much of a thought. I couldn't help but to wonder how much of the congregation felt the same way. Then came the sermon. I felt like a spectator on the outside looking in on some crazy folk, lined up in pews, comatosed, listening to a guys rambling. For some reason my mind could not stay focused, and just wandered aimlessly back to my churches in Bolivia, to how different it all was. The things people deal with are just so different across cultures, across continents, across ethnicities, etc. At least that's how I felt. The sermon was about Deciphering the Da Vinci Code, part one of four that will be dealt to the congregration over the next month. I assume that there is a need amongst the congregation to deal with the topic, to clear up some questions, and to logically hear responses to the claims (if the author had any) that the book suggests. But I couldn't stay focused as my mind wandered aimlessy. I would bet money on the fact that nobody from my Bolivian Church in El Alto will ever hear of the Da Vinci Code. Even if they did, would they give it more than a moment of their attention? I'm guessing not.

I'm not trying to insinuate that one church is doing something right and another is doing something wrong, or that I enjoy one style over the other, because I understand a little as to why both churches do it the way they do. I've just been struck over and over again on the complex differences that this world shares on worshipping the same God. It blows my mind, and often times saddens my heart, that while one church rejoices over the addition of a hundred bricks to their bathroom, another church rejoices over building a new, multi-million dollar complex. It all seems so different on the outside, doesn't it? One church deals with an adobe wall surrounding the church, mixing cement with their hands and hopefully receiving enough in their offering plates to feed the pastor and buy a few bricks. Another church deals with cleaning their carpets, finding more parking space, and hopefully breaking ground at the site of a new church location. It made me think, though, how different is it on the inside, at the level of the individual, at the level of the human condition, so to speak? Both congregations are worshipping God. One person says, "Te Adorare", and another says "I will worship you". One for the food, the other for a new car. One deals with pride, and so does the other. One tries to control his own life, while the other can't seem to surrender his whole being. Same thing.

While my mind wandered and began to seep in these thoughts, some peace came with it. I guess it still leaves a lot out there for me to think about. All I know is that the overwhelming church experience has only just started for me, the day I visited a church in El Alto that had to little, yet so much to be thankful for.

Chickenlypse- A story from Days at TU

The world loved chicken: chicken and rice, chicken and mushroom sauce, chicken and . . . and anything! The world ate chickens faster than they could lay eggs. There was a depletion that grew into a famine until only two chickens remained. Those two escaped to Peru and lived out their lives safely under the Peruvio-Amerio-Non-Extradition Act.
It was a sunny afternoon in Greenville, Minnesota, and an out-of-work mad scientist named Pete Moss strolled into a local cafe. He took a seat on a stool at the end of the bar. "My good fellow, might I have a grilled chicken sandwich?"
"Ha," sneered the server, "did chickens have lips?"
"Well, no, but they could if they were genetically re-engineered. What are you getting at?"
"Man, we don't have any chicken!" He turned and mumbled, "Crazy fool, chickens could never have lips."
Pete could not help but be hurt at the statement he had heard the waiter mutter under his breath. The scientist had always considered himself an expert at charting the waters of the gene pool. "Anything is possible with science," he grumbled. "Now how about some fried chicken strips?"
"Look man, the chickens are gone! This selfish world ate them all man, without even blinking. It's the chicken apocalypse I tell you. Now, how about some tuna, man?"
The complex mind of the professor raced: "Hmmmmm, half tuna, half man, this would be an interesting experiment . . . . OH! lunch." He squeezed his lips tightly together and squinted, contemplating the question. Like a small child hanging precariously on a cliff stretching for his rescuer's hand, Pete stammered the words that represented his last glimpse of hope, "Chicken salad?"
His feeble attempt for deliverance was met only by a scowl from the cafe employee. Pete wandered home in disbelief. He had read the newspaper articles, but finally, reality struck. At home he poured out his heart with all its sorrows to his wife.
"Oh, honey, that's awful," she sympathized. "What if I fix you some frog legs, dear?"
"Hmmmmmmm, a deer with frog legs? Difficult, but I think I could do it if I . . ."
A half an hour later, his wife placed a plate of frog legs in front of him. He cautiously took a bite with uncertainty. "It . . . It tastes like chicken . . . but it's not!" and he broke down and cried.

These soul-searching events gave Pete a purpose. He must use his scientific expertise to bring back the forever lost, exotic creature, the chicken. His zealous experiments drove him late into the night, working on a seemingly impossible task. Tackling the challenge head-on, he decided not only to genetically re-create chickens, but to improve them as well. The new birds would be bigger, stronger, faster, taller, smarter, louder, prettier, and fly farther.
"He said I was crazy, but now, chickens will not only have lips, but also will talk!"
The scientist's attempts were numerous but eventually successful. After four months he had created the first test-tube chick. This single baby bird was all he needed to raise his new breed of asexual birds. He danced madly around his basement laboratory flailing his arms and singing, "I feel like chicken tonight. I feel like chicken tonight. Moo Hoo Ha Ha Ha."

(One year later)

Pete seemed to have complete control over his growing flock of mutant birds. One day while his battalion of chickens goose-stepped around the laboratory compound, a chicken fell out of formation and accosted him.
"You're no scientist."
"Why, I certainly am."
"Oh yeah, what is the derivative of a polynomial whose limit is the x-axis?"
Pete was impressed; he did not expect such a knowledgeable question from a chicken. Captivated by the problem, he considered the challenge an enjoyable and unexpected perk of his new creation.
Pete pondered the polynomial problem at the kitchen table. Meanwhile, the chickens escaped from their primitive cage of Lincoln Logs and terrorized the city of Greenville. Their plan of attack was simple. One bird would casually walk up to a citizen and ask a tough question. Not wanting to be out done by a chicken, the befuddled victim would soon be deep in thought. Then the wild horde of vicious fowl would drop down out of the sky, devour everything that moved, and leave nothing but a pile of bones. Soon the chickens had complete control of Greenville, and their population grew along with their taste for human flesh.
The Secret Service, FBI, Coast Guard, Air Force, Navy Seals, and KGB all tried to recapture the city but they were powerless. Bullets just bounced off the beasts. Pete realized now that Kevlar feathers were a bad idea. Soon the chicken invasion spread across the state. As their numbers grew, they massed together and struck entire towns. The sky would grow dark as the flock descended upon their prey. Victims never saw the predators because no light could penetrate the swarm.

(Fifty years later)

Joe dropped into a cafe for a quick lunch. "Let me have a burger."
"Wouldn't we all like one, buddy?" said the waiter sarcastically.
"I'd like a steak then."
"You would eat meat from a cow?"
"Of course not, I want a human steak."

"Look, there are no people; we ate them all. We kept stuffing our beaks until they were all gone. They're lost forever."
Joe, the bewildered chicken, flew out of the restaurant window. He had heard the people farms were having a tough summer, but he didn't know they were completely barren. Was there anything he could do? Could he bring back the humans?