On Sept. 4, I'm going to Philadelphia to attend the premiere of The Ordinary Radicals, a documentary directed and produced by Jamie Moffett, co-founder of The Simple Way. The trailer gives a sense of this project.

While I can't speak for the others who were interviewed for this film, I felt my role was to serve as a cheerleader for the ordinary radicals profiled in this documentary. These spiritual souls don't issue manifestos and declarations about their goals to achieve radical shalom throughout the world. But you can find their work etched into the landscape of their communities. There Christ speaks loud and clear.

Check out their Web site for theatrical screening information, updates, and online DVD orders.

In her book, Rising from the Ashes: Rethinking Church, Becky Garrison profiles 33 church leaders who are seeking to reach those for whom church is not in their vocabulary.

The Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) confirmed that players' memberships would be suspended if they don't learn to speak English and pass an oral evaluation. 

Yuck.

In reality, many believed it was inevitable because there are so many South Korean women (45) now on the LPGA tour, and truth be told, they're simply kicking some serious butt. On any given tournament, it's not surprising to see half of the leader board peppered with the names of Korean golfers. And while I know that there are 121 foreign players on the LPGA, this was indirectly aimed at the Korean golfers -- as evidenced by the "mandatory" meeting South Korean golfers had to attend recently.

The LPGA is a private association so they have the right to make certain policies, but suspending memberships isn't the answer. It's a double bogey.  

The LPGA is an association that prides itself as being the premier women's golf tour in the world -- and rightfully so. This is why it attracts the greatest female golf players in the world.  And as long as these international players meet the high LPGA "golfing standards," it doesn't seem right that they also have to pass a language exam.

But, wait -- according to LPGA officials, the international players were hurting the marketability, and thus the bottom-line Benjamins, of the LPGA.

Now, I'm not naïve. I understand this thing called the Benjamins, the mighty dollar, the bottom line, and the economics. So having said that, I fully agree and understand that players ought to learn and attempt to speak a certain level of English and assist in helping "market" the LPGA. But making it mandatory? Suspending their memberships, and thus their livelihoods?   

When you make it mandatory, it stinks of the whole "colonialism" junk so many have complained about from Western powers: "Fit in or else."

Let me put it another way. What if the LPGA started a new policy where a weight limit was imposed on female golfers because LPGA officials complained that heavier golfers can't be marketed -- thus hurting the economics of the LPGA. Wouldn't we all raise a stink? 

This reminds me of when the National Basketball Association (NBA) came down on some of its players several years ago because they didn't dress a certain way. It was a general policy, but it also seemed to be indirectly aimed at the younger black players.

So, we want you to be a part of the NBA -- we'll use you to market the NBA, we'll use you to elevate the game and competition, we'll use you to sell tickets, but we don't want you to look too black. Wear a suit. Take off the chains. Loosen the cornrows. Easy on the tattoos. Blah blah blah.

Fit in or else. Double bogey.

Enough of my nonsense. What do you think?  Here's the article from ESPN:

The LPGA will require its member golfers to learn and speak English and will suspend their membership if they don't comply.

The new requirement, first reported by Golfweek on its Web site, was communicated to the tour's growing South Korean membership in a mandatory meeting at the Safeway Classic in Portland, Ore., on Aug. 20. Connie Wilson, the LPGA's vice president of communications, confirmed the new policy to ESPN.com.

Players were told by LPGA commissioner Carolyn Bivens that by the end of 2009, all players who have been on the tour for two years must pass an oral evaluation of their English skills or face a membership suspension. A written explanation of the policy was not given to players, according to the report.

Eugene Cho, a second-generation Korean-American, is the founder and lead pastor of Quest Church in Seattle, and the executive director of Q Cafe, an innovative nonprofit neighborhood café and music venue. He and his wife are also launching a grassroots humanitarian organization to fight global poverty. You can stalk him at his blog eugenecho.wordpress.com.

One of the great recent joys of my life has been a thing called "Beer and Bible," which happens every other Tuesday night at a small neighborhood pub in Memphis called, appropriately enough, Kudzu's. Kudzu, our bar's namesake, is the South's most ubiquitous form of plant life. It vines its way over almost everything else in sight, giving a vitality and lushness to landscapes that by this time of year would otherwise be sere and faded in our extreme southern heat. Kudzu's, the pub, is a lot like kudzu the plant. It gives vitality and cool to a lot of landscapes that might otherwise have wilted from the heat or just from life in general.

I had heard of Kudzu's over the years, but because it is in Memphis and Sam and I are not, we had never frequented it. But then last May, a call came. There was a group of regulars at Kudzu's who had been kicking around some God-talk for a while.  They'd begun to call the thing "Beer and Bible," though most of them were drinking whiskey or wine, but would I be at all interested in just stopping by one late afternoon during happy hour to let us all talk together about some things that interested them?

You've got to be kidding. Would I be interested? Interested doesn't even begin to touch what I would be and was and, these three months later, still am. We've kicked around everything from hell to salvation, Christianity to Zoroastrianism, the relative validity of experiential truth to that of empirical truth, etc., etc.

There are usually eight or nine of us regulars around the table at Kudzu's on Beer and Bible Tuesdays. Sometimes there are more of us than that, of course, and sometimes we are joined by an in-house "visitor" or two who hear our racket, leave their barstools to eavesdrop, and -- inevitably -- join us. We've had a preacher or two come by to try to figure out what we're up to, and even a trained theologian or two. But by and large, we are just finding our way toward a form of being together that has no pre-existing aims and certainly no set pattern to follow or expectations to fulfill. I can say, however, that in all my years as a professional religionist, I have never heard theology more earnestly or more intelligently talked than it is at Kudzu's.

I spend a lot of my professional time studying and lecturing about 21st century Christianity -- how it got where it is, what in fact it is, where it's going. And one of the things that people are most troubled about as I go around the country speaking is the patent decline in church membership per se as well as in church attendance. It would irreparably offend most of those distressed people if I were to say to them, face-to-face, that the church is not necessarily in churches anymore. In fact, church is increasingly more active and fully present in places other than sacred buildings than it is in them. But I can say so here.

I can say here what I know to be true: Christianity has never been more alive and vigorous than it is right here and right now. And Kudzu's is but one of thousands of  vibrant proofs that that is so. The kingdom of God comes in many forms and many places these days, and what I really want to say is, "Thanks be to God!"

Phyllis Tickle (www.phyllistickle.com) is the founding editor of the religion department of Publishers Weekly and author of The Words of Jesus: A Gospel of the Sayings of Our Lord and the forthcoming fall release, The Great Emergence: How Christianity Is Changing and Why.

Jarrod McKenna's post on the 1968 Olympics witness/protest brought back memories of that event, and the impression it made on me. And there is a sequel to the story.

On October 3, 2006, Peter Norman died from a heart attack. John Carlos had this reaction: "Peter was a piece of my life. When I got the call, it knocked the wind out of me. I was his brother. He was my brother. That's all you have to know." Tommie Smith added, "It took inner power to do what he did, inner soul power. ... He was a man of solid beliefs, that's how I will remember Peter -- he was a humanitarian and a man of his word."

Over the years, the three men had stayed in touch with each other. Though stripped of their medals and criticized by the  U.S. media, Carlos and Smith had returned home as heroes to the black community, while Peter Norman faced ostracism and hostility in Australia for his role in the protest.

Smith and Carlos traveled to Melbourne and were pallbearers at Norman's funeral. They also spoke about their friend there:

Smith described Norman as "a man who believed right could never be wrong" and told Norman's family: "Peter Norman's legacy is a rock. Stand on that rock." Smith concluded: "Peter shall always be my friend. The spirit shall prevail."

Carlos spoke of the hatred they knew would be directed at them. "Not every young white individual would have the gumption, the nerve, the backbone, to stand there. ... Go and tell your kids the story of Peter Norman."

The film McKenna notes, Salute, was directed by Norman's nephew Matt. This spring, Australia's Qantas airlines announced that the film will be shown on all flights to Beijing beginning in late July. The same news story also reported that:

Australian Olympic Committee spokesman Mike Tancred said despite an International Olympic Committee rule prohibiting any form of protest at the Games, Australian team guidelines had been redrafted to permit freedom of expression.

"The team will be able to express a point of view on human rights, Tibet and any other issue in media interviews and, for the first time ever, in blogs,'' he said.

A stand for human rights in the spirit of Peter Norman, John Carlos, and Tommie Smith will be needed in this year's Olympics. The Washington Post reported on Saturday:

The Olympic Games have become the occasion for a broad crackdown against dissidents, gadflies and malcontents this summer. Although human rights activists say they have no accurate estimate of how many people have been imprisoned, they believe the figure to be in the thousands. ... The repressive atmosphere has intensified in part because senior Communist Party officials seem to be just as determined to prevent embarrassing protests -- which could be televised -- as they are to avert terrorist attacks during the Olympics.

As you watch the Olympics this August, remember and tell your kids the story of Peter Norman, John Carlos, and Tommie Smith.

Duane Shank is issues and policy advisor at Sojourners.

"God Is Love," inscribed on the tracksuit of the athlete who would become the second-fastest man alive, is what first caught the attention of Australian Olympic official Ray Weinberg in the early '60s. But it wouldn't be until Peter Norman participated in an act of holy mischief for human rights (which became known as the "Black Power Salute" of the '68 Mexico games) that this Australian would so publicly put 1 John 4:8 into practice with his African-American brothers.

Life magazine said it was one of the most influential images of the 20th century. Two African Americans and one white Australian took to the winner's dais and, motivated by their shared faith, all wore Olympic Project for Human Rights buttons while the black Americans raised their fists.

Gold medal-winner Tommie Smith and bronze medal-winner John Carlos approached Peter Norman after the race. They asked if the Australian believed in God, if he believed in human rights, and if he would join their witness.  Norman explained to Carlos and Smith that he had been raised in the Salvation Army, where service to Christ was never separated from service to the poor and the hurting, that he understood the importance of their cause, and that he would be honored to join them.

Gold medal-winner Dr. Tommie Smith, in his book Silent Gesture, explains the symbols of their prophetic actions that call back to the faithful creativity and holy mischief of Hosea, Jeremiah, Amos, and Jesus himself in confronting the unredeemed "Powers":

• Olympic Project for Human Rights button. "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," said Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who was assassinated earlier that year. With that sentiment in mind, all three men wore Olympic Project for Human Rights buttons connecting the struggle of African Americans to those everywhere suffering for human rights.
• No shoes. What is often missed is that both American athletes took to the podium with no shoes as a prophetic sign of the poverty and suffering of black people.
• Black gloves. The gloves were not simply about people power (though certainly not less than that), but also about the cry for freedom to the God who hears and acts on the cries of the oppressed. Be it in Egypt many centuries ago or in China today.
• Bowed heads. Smith writes that the bowed heads was a sign of prayer. The kind of dangerous prayer that longs for God's reign of justice, peace, and joy "on earth as it is in heaven."

The actions of all three men cost them dearly. As documented in Matt Norman's brilliant new film, Salute, Tommie Smith and John Carlos were kicked out of the athletes' village, suspended and banned from the Olympics. For the Australian Peter Norman, participating in the organised action cost him his athletic career and he was not chosen for the next Olympics despite being one of the fastest men in the world.

Just as Martin Luther King Jr. gave his life earlier in 1968, so these three men lived out the costly truth of the cross. As Dr. King put it,

There are some who still find the cross a stumbling block, others consider it foolishness, but I am more convinced than ever before that it is the power of God unto social and individual salvation.

As the Olympic Games in China draw closer let us remember the witness of these courageous athletes, what it cost them, and how important it is that we cheer on our athletes. Not simply cheer them on in their sporting events, but also in taking what often are unpopular Christ-like actions that prophetically call for the end of injustice. In doing so they witness to another world being possible. A world that reflects the verse that Peter Norman would wear on his tracksuits, that "God is Love" and that in Jesus this love has started to "flood the earth like the waters cover the seas."

Jarrod McKenna is seeking to live God's love. He's a co-founder of the Peace Tree Community, serving with the marginalised in one of the poorest areas in his city, and is the founder and creative director of Empowering Peacemakers (EPYC), for which he has received an Australian peace award in his work for peace and (eco)justice.

[... continued from part one]

And that is my back door into discussing the recent exploits of Rene Marie, an artist based in Denver, Colorado. (I wanted you to understand my presuppositions and how I define my terms.) Rene Marie was invited by the mayor's office in Denver to sing the "Star-Spangled Banner" at the mayor's State of the City address in June. Her artistic offering turned out to be the words of "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing" to the melody of "Star-Spangled Banner" (how's that for a good gut check). Her arrangement is the third movement of a broader, evocative, and elaborate "love song to America." She had debuted the arrangement a month prior, in Denver no less, at the statewide Colorado Prayer Luncheon (for which the mayor was an honorary host), with many of Colorado's political elite in attendance. This second time, however, her contribution was met, days later, with venom and vitriol -- including death threats. Denver's mayor is up in arms and many are seeking to characterize the performance as a cheap publicity stunt. Rene has offered this statement and one interview in response.

Rene Marie was invited to sing precisely because she is a talented artist, and I would wager a guess that no one went out of her/his way to specify that only a specific arrangement be sung. Those who requested her participation just got more than they bargained for. Many have recited the words of the anthem as a poem without music -- and called it the "Star-Spangled Banner." At the Olympics, the music of the anthem is played without words -- and we call it the "Star-Spangled Banner." Marvin Gaye crooned the words of the anthem to an R&B groove at a NBA All-Star game (others from different musical genres have done variations of the same) -- and folks applauded it as the "Star-Spangled Banner." Finally someone has dared to complete the artistic set.

Though some may argue that Rene Marie breached her contract or at the very least showed poor manners, I would suggest that this was, even in the way it was structured by the Denver mayor's office, a "contribution" on Rene's part, not a transaction -- and thus should be understood differently. Rene Marie was solicited to offer her talents as a -- albeit public -- gift. No fee for service exchanged hands. There are no acceptable grounds for consternation concerning gifts given in love. This is the home-training we received every time a birthday rolled around (isn't it?). When we are given a gift, the appropriate response my parents taught me is always, "Thank you." Even if we spent time beforehand coming to terms about what the gift was to be and how it was to be presented (like in our Christmas lists), if we got on a stage and I made a monetary contribution to you, a politician, or charitable organization, it would be considered bad form for you to belittle it afterward on the grounds that it was somehow different than you expected. Why is Rene Marie's contribution any different?

One of the challenges of living in a society that is so fiercely market-driven is that we begin to think of every interaction as a "transaction." And we begin to believe that the appropriate response to interactions that fall short of our expectations is to appeal to the legal reasoning we've set in place to protect our transactions. That is one way of going about it, sure. But I don't see society so much the better for having reduced social interactions (i.e., with spouses, friends, teachers, colleagues -- and yes, even with our political representatives) to economic/legal transactions. Divorce is higher than ever, students certainly aren't learning more just because we now consider school a business, and here we have a mayor acting like a spoiled ingrate, and we don't have the collective good sense to chasten him.

Whatever one may think about what she did, Rene Marie did it in honor of America, not in desecration of her. Intent matters. We can't champion freedom of speech as a national virtue, and then crucify someone for exercising it in honor of our nation -- even if her specific expression of honor may not have been our own. In doing so, we miss the opportunity to see our world in new and living ways and to help shape our world into that beauty.

Those are my thoughts, but I'm open to other respectful points of view. What do you think?

Melvin Bray is a devoted husband, committed father, learner, teacher, writer, storyteller, lover of people, connoisseur of creativity, seeker of justice, purveyor of sustainability, and believer in possibilities.  This post is one of a series of essays titled Home-Training.

I've been on a real art binge of late. Reading, watching, listening to, experiencing, and creating as much as I can. Good art isn't just creative, it's generative -- that is, it inspires creative acts in others. It gives us hands to shape the world in new and living ways. And I've been thinking a lot about how much this world we share needs more of it.

Like any other act of love, I believe art is fundamentally contributive, not transactional. It's not an if-you-do-this-I'll-do-that proposition. By my experience, as soon as it becomes transactional, art more often than not simply becomes entertainment. The difference is the bottom line. The bottom line in entertainment is to perpetuate the transaction. At least they're honest about it, those who transact in performance art. They call it "the biz," show business, business being the operative word. I was chatting with an Atlanta-based artist friend of mine, Patdro Harris, who used to choreograph for Stevie Wonder. He mentioned Stevie once noted that the great thing for him was that when he broke on the scene in the '60s, the industry and the public were transacting for the very art that was stirring inside of him. Sadly, that is not often enough the case. More often, people transact for (give back to) that which affirms and leaves them right where they are, good, bad or indifferent. Art -- love -- says, "Even if you don't give back to me, I'm going to give to you, and it's going to be an attempt to seek your best."

As much as I'm extremely protective of people's right to create and contribute, I'm not one of those anything-for-art's-sake and all-things-are-art kinds of guys. For example, perhaps counterintuitively, I don't find a lot with the marketing label "Christian" to be good art. Don't get me wrong (I can hear some readers' blood pressure rising), brand-Christian has great Jesus-and-me-God-is-awesome-way-to-go inspiration and encouragement (which definitely has its place), but not enough ears-to-hear-tongues-to-taste-new-possibilities for my palate. Like this Christian comedy duo I recently saw on national network television. Fun, campy, entertaining, audience-participation act, but rather than subverting the Christian kitsch that has become the popular caricature of the way of Jesus, they seemed to be promoting it as adorably goofy and secretly cool because ultimately (shhhh!) "We're gonna win." Such triumphalism makes me nauseous. And we also can't overlook how often brand-Christian buys into notions that the Christian narrative totally overthrows. Take, for example, the alternative extreme, tragic hero/ine. Why are there so many tragedies of redemption (one dies a spectacular death so others can live) on brand-Christian shelves, but so few stories of resurrection (one succumbs to death and defeat, to be composted into a new iteration of life)? (I bet there are fewer than you think.) Resurrection (the anti-conclusion that manages to subvert every possible anticipated ending -- triumphant, tragic, cleverly ambivalent -- while being a bit of each and then something more, all at once) is the gift of hope-for-all that those who know the Jesus story have. However, many of the compelling tellings of it are currently coming from outside the brand. While we vacillate between Left Behind and The Passion, some have chosen a more/less _______ path (I couldn't think of a fully accurate word that would be worth the offense).

I don't find degradation very artful either. With art being quintessentially generative as far as I'm concerned, that which is degenerate doesn't do it for me. I can abide the grotesque and dark, but once I heard the story of an exhibit that was closed because of a piece debasing a graphic of The Virgin by placing it in a toilet with feces. I wholeheartedly agree with that decision. On the other hand, I was dismayed when the Secret Service shut down Yazmany Arboleda's installations The Assassination of Hillary Clinton and The Assassination of Barack Obama--which though provocatively titled, are purely symbolic portrayals of the media's treatment of these figures. . Assuming the best until evidence to the contrary surfaces, I think they are brilliant, though undeniably disturbing (á la The New Yorker). Sometimes a good gut punch is the only thing that will blur our vision long enough for us to see.

[to be continued...]

Melvin Bray is a devoted husband, committed father, learner, teacher, writer, storyteller, lover of people, connoisseur of creativity, seeker of justice, purveyor of sustainability, and believer in possibilities.  This post is one of a series of essays titled Home-Training.

This summer, two friends and I are doing something that seems a bit outlandish (especially for 40-year-old guys). We've borrowed a friend's RV, and we're touring the country to talk about our books. Doug Pagitt (A Christianity Worth Believing), Mark Scandrette (Soul Graffiti), and I (The New Christians) are in the midst of a 32-city tour that we've dubbed, "The Church Basement Roadshow: A Rollin' Gospel Revival." We've completed our West Coast leg, and now we're about to roll down the center of the country (click here for dates)

What's a bit more outlandish is that we wanted to make this unlike any other book tour, so we conceived of and wrote a 90-minute show to highlight the core message in each of our books. And in that show, we each play our fictional great-grandfathers, two-bit revivalists from 1908.

Honestly, we stumbled on 1908 because it's 100 years ago, but then we started doing research and discovered what an incredible year it really was. (On the RV we've been reading the book, America, 1908: The Dawn of Flight, the Race to the Pole, the Invention of the Model T and the Making of a Modern Nation by Jim Rasenberger.) At the dawn of 1908 almost no one had heard of the Wright Brothers; by the end of the year they were household names. The race to the North Pole was on, and an automobile race from New York City to Paris (via the Bering Straight!) had captured the American imagination.

But while most Americans were extremely optimistic about the technological advances of the telephone, the automobile, and the airplane; all was not well. That winter, President Teddy Roosevelt (whom many in the country consider deranged for his fluctuations of temper) sent the U.S. Navy's Great White Fleet around the world, most probably to intimidate Japan. And that spring, New York and Chicago experienced frequent terrorist bombings by anarchist groups.

Over two million children worked in factories and mines. And sixty percent of the wealth in America was controlled by a hyper-wealthy two percent of the population (think Carnegie, Morgan, et al).

Things have changed in America in the last century, to be sure, but I keep thinking about a summer 100 years ago when our nation was sending Olympic atheletes overseas (to London) and preparing for a presidential election between a Republican insider (Secretary of War William Howard Taft) and a midwestern Democrat known for his scintillating oratory (William Jennings Bryan).

And the more I think about it, the more kinship I feel with my great-grandfather (the non-fiction one).

Tony Jones is the national coordinator of Emergent Village.

(Spoiler warning--some major plot details are revealed in this article. Stop reading now if you want to see the movie without knowing the outcome. However by the time you've read this article you may not want to see it anyway.)

"Hancock" (the current vehicle for the biggest star in the world, Will Smith) is a superhero story that, on the surface, seems to offer something different to the super-spider-xmen films of the recent past. "Hancock's" protagonist is a drink-sodden flying strongman with amnesia. So far, so not your average underwear-on-the-outside embodiment of truth, justice, etc. Sadly, beneath the surface of this blockbuster beats a hollow heart, that not only adds little or nothing to our vision of what a hero can be, but reinforces the notion that more often than not, popular cinema's vision of heroism begins and ends with whoever can overwhelm the bad guy with the most spectacular force.

The genesis of "Hancock" might have gone something like this:

• Let's do a movie about a superhero who doesn't know where he came from, or why he's here.

• Let's do a movie about a superhero who wakes up regularly drunk and depressed, and causes mayhem every time he tries to save someone, leaving a trail of metallic wreckage throughout the urban landscape.

• Let's make him unique: an unpopular superhero. Let's put him on the receiving end of anger from the public, and in need of some redemption.

• Let's mix things up a bit by making his only friend married to a beautiful woman who feels a little strange around our protagonist.

• Let's make the revelation at the centre of our story be that this superhero is the most truly tragic superhero in movie history. Let's make him a lonely amnesiac who has been suffering an identity crisis for over eighty years; and let's make the beautiful woman his wife of several thousand years, who, like him, does not age because she cannot. She has left him alone because--in a twist that is potentially up there with "The Usual Suspects", "The Crying Game" and "The Sixth Sense"--she is his superhero pair, and they have discovered that even though they love each other, when they are in physical proximity, their powers weaken, and they are vulnerable to attack.

• Let's end the story with both of them nearly dead at the hands of their enemy, and deciding to part in order to save each other.

• If all goes according to plan, it will be that rare thing: a mainstream Hollywood movie that manages to be both entertaining and artful, dramatic and intelligent; honest on its own terms.

And, to a degree, the film succeeds--it's entertaining, a bit of a laugh, and there are some plot elements that haven't been done to death in a hundred other movies of its type. There's also an attempt at presenting the central character as a caricature of US foreign policy, or a ridiculously over-the-top satirical version of President Bush. But this potentially interesting idea is buried beneath the indecision of the rest of the movie.

The potential pathos of a superhero whose actions have real consequences, for himself and the world, sadly, is set aside in favor of a tone of schoolboyish humor, including the most absurd and grotesque bodily function joke I've ever seen, and climaxes with an act of violence that would not be out of place in "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre." It's a pity the completed film squanders its own possibilities, with its treatment of the questions of power and responsibility, and most especially, the notion of how so-called "heroes" and other public figures are often scape-goated by the rest of us. Will Smith is a talented and often enjoyable screen presence; his director Peter Berg has some genuine cinematic flair (and made one of the best sports movies of recent years in "Friday Night Lights"); Jason Bateman is a natural comic and Charlize Theron deserved her Oscar a few years ago; but cinema, produced by industrialists, by way of focus groups, will always reduce to the lowest common denominator. Though I still think a mass audience could have coped just fine with "Hancock" being something other than "Superman III" meets "American Pie."

Gareth Higgins is a Christian writer and activist in Belfast, Northern Ireland. For the past decade he was the founder/director of the zero28 project, an initiative addressing questions of peace, justice, and culture. He is the author of the insightful How Movies Helped Save My Soul and blogs at www.godisnotelsewhere.blogspot.com.

Low is a band that defies easy characterization. Over their 15 years as lauded pioneers of the minimalist brand of indie rock they're so closely identified with (they're not crazy about the oft-applied term "slow-core"), the husband-and-wife team of guitarist Alan Sparhawk and drummer Mimi Parker -- plus a revolving roster of bassists -- has seemed to thrive on juxtaposition. At once reflective of their faith and steeped in the violence of the human condition, Low's music is anchored by the couple's haunting vocal harmonies.

Dutch filmmaker David Kleijwegt's fascinating new documentary about the band, You May Need a Murderer, chronicles their life at home in Duluth, Minnesota, as well as on the road, touring for Low's latest record, Drums and Guns (Sub Pop, 2007). The film opens with Sparhawk dressed for church, reading the words, "Repent, for the great day of the Lord has come." He says to the camera, "The coldness of man to one another is such that, even in modernized, enlightened times, we still find justifications for going to war and killing each other." In the same breath, he says, "No matter what terrible things we do to each other as brothers and sisters, I think we still have a loving God, a parent giving us every opportunity to resolve that."

Drums and Guns covers decidedly darker terrain than most of Low's previous work, concentrating mostly on various types of warfare. Alternately preachy ("Our bodies break/ And the blood just spills and spills/ But here we sit, debating math," Parker and Sparhawk plead on "Breaker") and contemplative ("Where would you go/ If the gun fell in your hands?" asks "Sandinista"), Drums continues to move away from the group's quiet beginnings, enhancing the harsher sonic edge they began experimenting with on Things We Lost in the Fire (Kranky, 2001) and built on with The Great Destroyer (Sub Pop, 2005).

Murderer makes clear that Sparhawk, particularly, has wrestled with identity. "Where's the place of music, in its godly nature, when the lights are flashing and people are drunk and screaming?" he asks of playing in bars and clubs. "I don't know. Jesus went to the temple, but he also spent a lot of time on the edge of town." Its narrative, though, is rooted in the remarkable balancing act he and Parker, who both grew up in the same rural county -- "the poorest in Minnesota," Sparhawk points out -- are able to navigate raising two children and taking a rock band across the world. (One scene depicts the family in their living room, improvising the song "Sharp-Tooth Dinosaur.")

Parker tells a story about members of their church approaching the two after a Low show, asking them about the meaning of their titular song, "You May Need a Murderer," with its lyrics, "One more thing I'll ask you, Lord/ You may need a murderer/ Someone to do your dirty work." Sparhawk clarified, "It's about a moment when a person comes before God, asking to be a tool of God's hand, but as that tool, to be vengeful." Emphasizing the song's theme of extremism, Sparhawk says, "Nobody's listening to God anymore. And the people who say they are are liars."

Whether that answer, or the couple's vocational choice for that matter, satisfied their fellow congregants doesn't seem to concern Sparhawk too greatly. "I don't think the point of church is to gather all the good people, or the perfect people," he says in Murderer. "It's to gather those that are struggling and have the same hope."

John Potter, a former Sojourners intern, is on staff at Bread for the World. He writes about music and movies at On Tape.

Comedian George Carlin died this week. While his humor could often be profane, there was one of his standard pieces that I loved the first time I heard it and have ever since. It was titled "Baseball and Football," and hilariously summarized the difference between the two sports. For a lifelong baseball fan, it confirmed my passion. The piece ended with:

In football the object is for the quarterback, also known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he marches his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack that punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy's defensive line.

In baseball the object is to go home! And to be safe! - I hope I'll be safe at home!

Read the entire monologue (and find an audio link.)

Duane Shank is the senior policy adviser for Sojourners.

Sometimes it's hard to hear justice at first ...Yet we are asked to diligently seek it ...

When you take your big prize home, be sure to tell me
You won it with your bag of tricks, flicks, and candy

And I'll be sure to tell you, you've done a good job
For making yourself feel good from the people you rob

Daniel Ra is a singer-songwriter and a member of theGuild, along with Melvin Bray (language artist), Lisa Samson (novelist), Yaisha Harding (writer), Ercell Watson (comedian), Eugene Russell (singer-songwriter-rapper-actor), Russell Rathbun (storyteller), Daley Hake (photographer), Ed Sohn (multimedia artist), Prisca Kim (writer), and Claudia Burney (novelist). Learn more on theGuild's Facebook page.

Father's Day was especially poignant this year with the shocking weekend news of the death of Tim Russert, the long-time and extraordinary host of Meet The Press. I knew Tim a little, mostly from the times I have been on the show or at Washington events that we both attended. Watching Meet The Press is a Sunday ritual for me; one of the very few things on television that I always tape. Tim Russert's unexpected passing broke the heart of official Washington and the outpouring of emotional remembrances was highly unusual for this cynical city. Listening to so many of the heartfelt tributes to Tim Russert made it painfully clear how much the people in this city and around the country knew him well and loved him dearly. The outpouring of praise from his colleagues spoke of Russert's brilliance as the best--always tough but fair--interviewer on television. They spoke of his consistent and daunting preparation before each show, and how much the leading politicians of our time knew they had to really be prepared for an interview with Tim Russert.

We often hear the words, "speaking truth to power," but in watching Tim Russert each week you got a ringside seat to that "prophetic" vocation. And unlike so many of the television talk show hosts of this era, his show was never mostly about him, but rather about holding politicians' feet to the fire of accountability to their own words and positions, and giving the American people the opportunity to evaluate what they say and what it really means. Russert's work ethic came right from his working class roots in Buffalo, which he never forgot, and helped make him much more likeable and accessible to ordinary people in America than the media elite who often act as if they are celebrities, not journalists who are supposed to ask the hard questions of important people. His producer reported that, after every Sunday show, Tim would call his dad back in Buffalo, "Big Russ," a retired sanitation worker, to get his opinion of that week's Meet The Press which, Russert said, was the cheapest and best focus group a journalist ever had.

Tim Russert was also a man of deep personal faith, a Catholic whose religion meant much more to him, again, than it often does for many of his media colleagues. He regularly had faith leaders as guests on Meet the Press and treated the subject of relgion and public life with both knowledge and respect. I remember one show that I was on, along with Jerry Falwell, Al Sharpton, and Richard Land. Russert kept probing deeper and deeper, often with good insight, trying to avoid the religious food fight that often breaks out in politics. We sometimes discussed how the perspective of faith could help get us beyond the narrow confines of the "right" and "left" political categories and maybe even help the nation to find some common ground on the crucial moral issues like poverty. Russert himself was known for generous involvement in many causes that served the poor.

Many of the tributes went even deeper than the numerous accolades for his many gifts and skills. Tim Russert was not only the premier political journalist in America, as everyone agreed, but was also a real "father figure" to many people, from the whole family at NBC News to the extended community of journalists in this city--even to many of his rivals. And so many of Russert's colleagues and friends spoke of his interest in their children, and how much he meant in the lives of their own families. Story after story recounted how often he would inquire after how someone's children were doing, and how Tim was often "there for you" in times of personal and family crisis. I recall him asking me about my kids, and us smiling when we realized that we both had sons named "Luke."

Tim Russert and I were about the same age when he died so unexpectedly last weekend, a fact that was not lost on my own son Luke. On Father's Day, it was his role as a faithful father to his own son and very attentive "godfather" to so many other people's sons and daughters which most broke through to me. Later on this Father's Day, our Little League baseball team, the Astros, had its last game of the season and a celebration pool party. One of the greatest blessings of my life has been to coach my nine-year-old Luke's team for the last several years, and now also help with five-year-old Jack's as well. Before we passed out the medals to each kid and talked about our season together, I remembered Tim Russert with a few words on Father's Day for the boys and their parents by saying that the premier American journalist of our time would have thought this--kids, baseball, parents, family, community, and celebration--to be the most important thing of all. And in being faithful to that priority himself, in the midst of an enormously busy and significant public life, Tim Russert is a role model for every dad and mom; every uncle, aunt, godparent, teacher, and coach; and every adult who realizes how much kids need people to love and teach them the important things of life. Thanks Tim, we won't forget you.

Some days the material writes itself. As reported by The Washington Post , Mary Stevenson’s son claims that as his mother penned the infamous poem, “Footprints in the Sand,” he seeks any royalties earned from said literary work.

For those of you who tend to walk away from Christian kitsch, “Footprints in the Sand” describes that moment when two sets of footprints morph into one as Jesus goes from walking beside you to carrying you when you are too weak to carry yourself. Inspirational to many, insipid to others, the poem has been plastered on plaques, postcards, posters, prayer cards, and pretty much anything else that can produce a biblical buck.

As a writer, I sympathize with anyone who has found their work used without their consent for commercial purposes.  But in this case, it seems to me that the son is playing footsie with the facts. Raise your hand if you’ve heard different preachers take the same folksy story and then repeat it with only slight variations, without giving proper credit. Such stories become woven into the oral fabric of American Christianity to the point where no one really knows where and when they first heard this theological tidbit. Also, skim the sermons delivered across the country on any given Sunday by priests and ministers who use a common lectionary, and you’ll find very similar themes emerging. Such is the nature of the collective consciousness when guided by the Holy Spirit.

Yes, there are genuine copyright infringement cases, but in this case, I think this dude appears to have stuck his foot in his mouth.  Given a claim by Brooklyn journalist and literary sleuth Rachel Aviv that she can trace elements of "Footprints" to a sermon delivered in 1880, one does question whether or not Mary Stevenson’s poetic footprints are indeed the earliest fossil record on file. Furthermore, I have to question why her son tiptoed around the issue of copyright given this item was allegedly penned during the Great Depression. While I can't speak for Mary Stevenson, it seems to me that if she had intended to commercialize her work, she or her estate would have secured the necessary copyright a long time ago.

To date, at least a dozen people claim that they received the divine spark that set their pen afire to create these words of wisdom, including one Margaret Fishback Powers, a Canadian poet and "itinerant evangelist" whose marketing efforts appear to have legs. To her credit, she claims to direct what little profits she has made toward her youth ministry programs.

So here’s a modest proposal. How about the parties who claim to have penned this prose promise that any profits garnered from the sale of said Footprints be given to, say, the AIDS Walk, where people actually walk the walk?

Becky Garrison will be featured in the upcoming documentary The Ordinary Radicals, directed by Jamie Moffett, co-founder of The Simple Way.

I don’t want to assume that readers automatically know who Steven Curtis Chapman is, but if you’ve been surfing the Web recently, it’s very likely you may have seen the name. Chapman is one of the most visible and influential figures of the Christian music genre. As of 2007, he has sold more than 10 million albums, has nine gold and platinum albums, and won five Grammy awards.

Chapman and his wife, Mary Beth, have six children – three biological and three adopted young girls from China. On Wednesday, May 21, the Chapman family received the worst of news.  In what was meant to be a celebratory week for the Chapman family, their youngest daughter – 5-year-old Maria Sue Chapman – was killed in a tragic car accident. 

“Just hours before, this close-knit family was celebrating the engagement of the oldest daughter, Emily Chapman, and [was] just hours away from a graduation party marking Caleb Chapman’s completion of high school. Now, they are preparing to bury a child who blew out five candles on a birthday cake less than 10 days ago ..." said Jim Houser, Chapman's manager.

As a parent of three myself, my heart absolutely aches and mourns for Steven and Mary Beth and their entire family.  What makes this story more gut-wrenching was that their daughter was accidentally struck and killed in their driveway by an SUV driven by their younger teenage son. Tragic.

I’ve been surprised at how Maria Sue’s death has impacted so many. I figured a handful of Christian news sources would cover the story, but it’s been very widespread and still remains one of the top items on search engines. The last time I checked, 18,301 well wishes, blessings, condolences, and prayers were left on a tribute blog titled, “In Memory of Maria.”  Perhaps it speaks to the many ways Chapman has ministered to so many people through his music.  Or perhaps it speaks to how Steven and Mary Beth have demonstrated the beauty of the gospel through their lives – not just through his music but their advocacy for adoption through Shaohannah's Hope, “a charity organization which offers grants to qualifying families to help defray the cost of adopting, at home and abroad,” along with numerous other expressions of justice and compassion.

No parent ever wants to be in the news because of a tragedy, but nevertheless, it is good that so many have been drawn to the Chapman family story and the loss of their child.  While we lift them in prayer and celebrate Maria’s life and the hope that is found in the gospel of Christ, let’s not stop there. 

Be mindful of the millions -- especially children -- whose lives are as precious in the eyes of God.  As a result of Cyclone Nargis in Myanmar and an idiotic military junta government, at least 80,000 have perished with about 56,000 still missing.  About 2 to 3 million people are homeless.  Relief groups estimate that at least one-third of the perished are children.  Do not forget them.

Be mindful of millions impacted by the earthquake in Sichuan, China, where, as of this morning, these were the “statistics:" 67,183 confirmed dead, 361,722 injured, 20,790 missing, and approximately 5 million people homeless.  About 5,000 children have been orphaned. Do not forget them.

According to UNICEF, 27,000 to 30,000 children die each day due to the complexities of global poverty.  It is true that last year UNICEF reported worldwide child deaths at a record low: 9.7 million per year.  For the first time in modern history, the number of children dying before age 5 fell below 10 million per year.  But that’s still 9.7 million children. 

Let that sink in … deep.  And do not forget them.

I grieve, mourn, and hope with the Chapman family. I’ve found myself randomly crying for their family -- even while I am convicted of the great hope of the gospel of Christ.  But it’s also my hope that the outpouring of care and compassion for the loss of their child also compels each of us to be more HUMAN.  By this, I am simply suggesting that we live as God intended -- to care not only for ourselves [our kind, our nations, our families,