A Response to Bill C-38

You don't need to be a rocket-scientist to see that Canada is in political turmoil. First, talk of mild political scandal caught our attention. Strangely enough, our Prime Minister resigned shortly after. Then, news of an election dominated the landscape. That led to our country's first minority government in a while. Follow that with an eruption of major league political misdealings that left the nations governing party with some serious egg on their collective face. Lost in all the drama that has become Canadian life was the confidence vote in Parlaiment over the proposed budget, which eventually passed by the skin of its proverbial teeth. Throw in the NHL lockout and things really get ugly.

As a country, we've been hurled down this path of political trash-talking, party defection, lies, deception, stealing, and uncertainty among our national leadership longer than we expected or ever wanted. For years, maybe even decades, we've relied on our neighbours to the south to provide us with the humour often associated with political scandal. Now we're finding out that sometimes it hurts when you look in the mirror. It's been a tough and embarrassing road for Canadians to travel. And just when you think the bends in the road will straighten or all of the bumps will quietly disappear, you hit a doozy of a pothole that leaves you reeling for the rest of your trip. Canada's most recent pothole is Bill C-38 which very purposefully legalizes same-sex marriage throughout our land.

It's disappointing, to say the least, but certainly not surprising. When you think about it, same-sex couples have come a long way in 40 years. As recent as 1965, homosexual couples were thrown in prison and often automatically deemed dangerous sexual offenders because of their 'sexual orientation.' In Canada. From University professors losing their job to MP's 'coming out' to Catholic high school kids being banned from their proms, gay and lesbian rights have progressed immensely in a short time. Now, we rarely segragate those who live and endorse a homosexual lifestyle, nor do we demonize those who fight for it under the umbrella of human rights. Instead, we celebrate them. Parades are thrown in their honour. Every small step forward they take is applauded. They even get their own colour. I've always wanted my own colour. What's a guy have to do to get his own colour?

Though many other issues that dot the religious, social, and political landscape because of Bill C-38 are more important, I have some questions. How has the church progressed in the last 40 years? What have we done to move forward since the mid-60's when it comes to dealing with hot-button issues like this? Granted, this is a debate in which many Canadian Christians and Christian leaders let their voice be known, probably in record numbers, even if they did land on opposite sides of the fence. Yet still, Christians are often left with the debilitating reputation of brutally criticizing and harshly condemning those who think differently than they. Sometimes the reputation is deserved, sometimes it isn't.

The Bible makes clear that our call is not to criticize, nor is it to condemn. At the same time, it's not a call to be silent. Our voice must continue to be heard in ways that compassionately deal with the issue. It is a call to be wise and discerning, a call to be loving, a call to stand for Biblical values in an age that feels the freedom to redefine a God-ordained institution, a call to proclaim freedom from condemnation (cf. Romans 8:1-4).

Equally so, it's an opportunity. How much time have we spent praying that the laws of our land would reflect a Biblical perspective? Probably more than we can remember. How often have we prayed to avoid persecution? And why are we praying for that? Is the idea of such persecution so foriegn to us that we run for shelter at the slightest mention of it? Could it not be that this might do the spiritual landscape of Canada some good (cf. Genesis 50:20)?

From where I sit, this is not an issue about the laws - or in this case, a bill - that govern our land. The issue has always been the same since God created the heavens and the earth. The issue is people. People who have been created in the image of God. People who hold as much value and dignity as you and I do. We are called to love people like Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her (Ephesians 5:25). This needs to be reflected in our attitude, our speech, and in our actions. I hope it is in mine. We must be praying that people will recognize both their sin and their need for a Saviour. We have an opportunity to pray that God would bring the hearts of the people back to Him so eventually, a bill like C-38 - and all the supposed ammendments and freedoms it both guards and provides - would no longer apply to our country.

I suppose this whole debate has reminded me of something else I need to be doing. I need to be praying far more frequently for our political leaders. Though I couldn't disagree any more with the decision they have made, I will treat them with honour because God has placed them in the position they currently hold. Their decisions carry huge implications not just for me, my friends, and my family, but for future generations. It may play enormously into my daughter's life in the years to come, and I'll be honest, that scares me more than a little bit. In addition, the evangelical church in Canada is about to face challenges we've never seen before. Many pastors will be pressed into unexpected duty to wage a battle that is completely unfamiliar yet unbelieveably explosive. But even as lawmakers pass this bill, I am confident that God knows both their motives and the future.

One news article I read yesterday suggested that now that the debate is over and the votes have been counted, this issue has finally come to an end. I respectfully disagree. It's just getting started.

A Long Day

Ever feel like these guys? Like you don't have enough of what you need to cover everything? Today was one of those days for me.

I've been busy preparing for a fairly big event at work and the closer we get to the event, it seems there's more and more work that needs to be done. Just like these guys don't have nearly enough pants, it feels like I don't have nearly enough time. But everything is coming together quite well. I have a lot of good people helping me.

However, my day was capped off today when one of the people who has registered for the event contacted me about something very personal. I've exchanged emails with this person on a regular basis over the last couple of weeks, talking in part about the upcoming event and partly about some things that may happen for this person after the event. All the while, I sincerely thought this person was a woman. You can probably guess where I'm going with this.

This person is a guy. Certainly not a woman. When he sent me his last email, I felt absolutely terrible that I had made such a huge mistake. It was like my heart plummetted through the bottom of my chair and created a divot in the floor underneath. I instantly broke into a cold sweat. The whole thing plagued me for the rest of the day. Never have I wanted more to crawl into the above canyon-like cracks and hide from my shame and embarrassment.

Well, maybe it wasn't THAT bad. Come to think of it, that's just plain disgusting. Maybe it's time to wipe the slate clean. Although, now I'm the butt of all the jokes. Just trying to crack my way into a good relationship. If I go any longer with this, I really might have to dig into my arsenal.

So, if this person (who shall remain nameless to preserve their own dignity because I've lost enough for the both of us!) happens to be reading my blog --- something I highly doubt, but you never know --- please accept my apologies. Again.

I'm kinda glad this day is over. Time to pull up my pants and do it all again tomorrow.

Jokes

Q: What did the Mexican fire chief name his two sons?

A: Jose and Hose-B.

This is the beginning of my lame attempt to be more consistent with my blog entries. Tell me some of your equally lame jokes ... post them in comments.

Honk on everybody! (More to follow later...)

So I'm trying to be a little more consistent with posting on my blog. We'll see how that goes. I'm afraid that when it comes to this, the only thing I may be consistent with is being inconsistent.

Congrats to fellow blogger Shane on the new money-maker. Good news that he got a job at Caronport High School as a full-time teacher / Athletic Director / Basketball Coach ... that's a big plate with a lot on it, but he'll do well. Welcome to Caronport, Mr. Sowden. Let's just say it's a good thing that they'll be sticking around this area for a while since Stacey and I will be here for a while too and it really would have sucked a sour lemon if they left before us ... or if we left before them ... or if anybody left without the other. Yup, it's selfish and I'm not afraid to say so.

17 days until we leave for China to get Kaitlyn. I think it's 17 days that aren't going by nearly quickly enough. Let me show you why ...


Ahhhh ya, that's what I'm sayin'. 17 days. It's kind of cool that I can post pictures on here now. I've spent friggen' forever and a day trying to figure it out, I've started another blog so I could do it, I've tried creating a webpage so I could do it, and then I show up here today and it says I can now post pictures directly into my blog. Who's yur daddy?!? I have no idea what that means.

The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat

There is an old sports adage that says, "It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game." This phrase was very obviously coined by someone who lost. A lot.

I played in a co-ed baseball tournament this weekend, the first baseball I've played in a long time. It reminded me that when it comes to playing sports, I'm pretty competitive. I don't want to lose. Playing in a church league co-ed baseball tournament doesn't exactly boost my odds of being successful. Even though some of the 5 games we played yesterday was a real gong show, it was fun to play with some people I knew and many I didn't. We lost four of our five games and all I came away with was a sunburn that only covers about 3/4 of my face. Good times.

On the other hand, I went to my first CFL game last night with a few friends. Going to a Riders game at Taylor Field is a pretty sweet experience especially when its a season opener and the Riders win big. Take away the rain, the howling wind, the chilly temperatures, and that delightful wet sensation I had running through my butt cheeks because I sat in a puddle in my seat as soon as we got there, and hey ... we got a ballgame! Now there's some good times.

So winning and losing does matter. And so does how you play the game. Because how you play the game determines whether you win or lose. And it's a lot more fun when you win. And winning matters. Right? Right. Strangely enough, if given the opportunity, I still think I'd experience the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat all over again (minus the wet butt cheeks part ... maybe).

JW's and Jesus

OK, so it's 6:12am and I'm writing my blog ... see a previous entry ... something about not being able to voluntarily sleep past 7am anymore. Urggh.

I had an experience on the weekend that I haven't really been able to shake, in a funny kind of way. (Don't you love it when people tell you they've had an 'experience' ... like it was some huge mystical encounter with the unknown and you're all prepared for some fascinating tale of adventure and intrigue ... and then their story couldn't be any flatter than a pancake? Well, consider this your warning ... pass the syrup.)

I was getting dressed on Saturday morning when I heard a car door slam in front of our house. I peeked through the curtains of our upstairs bedroom to see a nicely dressed elderly couple crawling out of a minivan. It was everything they could do to persuade all of their limbs to follow them out of the vehicle, only to then have the van speed away into oblivion like this was some top-secret mission and that was their get-away car. As soon as they gathered themselves, I could tell immediately who they were ... JW's! The Jehovah's Witnesses were stoppin' in for a visit.

I watched intently as they went to the house next door but I knew they wouldn't be there long because nobody lives in that house. Lucky house.

So I hustled downstairs trying to pull my shirt over my head and be at least half-presentable just in case Grandma and Grandpa Watchtower were already standing at my door. As it turned out, I sped past our front door to the safety of our kitchen where I could not be seen. I must admit, it's been a little while since I've showed such lightning quick reflexes, but I'm proud to say ... I still got it! And then the doorbell rang.

I stood there in complete silence, straining to hear every movement from our front porch. Nothing. Then Stacey came running up the stairs to do what every other normal person would do ... answer the door. I guess I'm not normal. Strangely enough, I'm OK with that. I used all the hand signals I know to get her attention and re-direct her before her identity was revealed, and then whispered, "Don't answer the door. It's the JW's!"

"Oh," she said, completely understanding. And then she went back downstairs.

I've asked myself a couple of times since then: why didn't I answer the door? Was it because I had clumped this nice older couple into the sweet cultic stereotype that often accompany JW's? I think that was part of it. But then I also conceeded to the fact that I didn't want to spend the next half-hour being preached at by people who are asking to come into my house, who don't know me from the next guy, and will likely forget all about me when they go to do the same thing with my neighbour. As much as I respect the boldness and courage that JW's show every time they go door to door, I also feel incredibly sorry for them. Likely because they've been trained to do something they see as eternally important, but they're stuck doing it in a way that isn't even close to being culturally relevant. Going from house to house and crossing names off a list seems more like a worldly approach to the spiritual than it does a spiritual approach to the worldly.

At the same time, some of that sounds like an excuse. Like I care more about my own feelings than I do about whether or not these people know the real Christ. I do care. About both. But I need to care more about the people than I do about whether or not my own feelings get lost in the fray. "... and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me" (Mt 10:38). Ouch.

I'm still not convinced that means I need to answer the door when I can see Jack and Jill Watchtower coming from a mile away. But maybe I need to start seeking more people who are on a journey but don't know where they're going. They're searching, but aren't sure what they're looking for. People asking questions, but still looking for answers.

My Saturday went on, as usual. But I'm still asking myself these questions. I'm glad for that.

Crazy. The things you learn when you don't answer the door ...

Goin' to the Movies

Last week, I actually bought a movie ticket for Stacey and I to see Mr & Mrs Smith. I think one word adequately sums up this movie: Painful.

Not just painful for the scores of people who get shot in the movie about every 3 seconds; nor was it painful only for Brad Pitt (aka Mr Smith) after getting kicked in the cookies or elbowed in the chops. No, this movie was painful for most everyone. Despite the few one-liner's (emphasis on the word "few") that provided the occasional chuckle, I'm afraid this movie has earned its two thumbs down. In fact, if my thumbs could be any farther down, they'd be my pinkie-fingers.

When the first quarter of the movie is spent introducing "Brangelina" (or whatever ridiculous name the media has given them) and the last three-quarters of the movie is spent enjoying the soothing sounds of rapid gunfire and car crashes mixed in with a meal break - only for Mr & Mrs Smith to figure out they now need to kill each other - the movie doesn't deserve anything less than two thumbs down. Especially when that's the entire plot.

This movie got me wondering if Hollywood is finally running out of good ideas. Some of you may say that happened a long time ago. You're probably right. What saddens me even more is that we saw Angelina Jolie being interviewed on 20/20 the night before we went to see this movie and she was asked point-blank, "Do you think there is too much violence in this movie?" Her answer was a mildly emphatic, 'no.' A follow-up question: hello ... were you there when you made the movie?!?

Now, don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't mind or can't handle some violence in a movie. It happens. Maybe Mr & Mrs Smith is more a case of the violence being completely disconnected from the rest of the movie, thereby causing it to ... hmmm ... how you say ... suck! Sometimes, especially with movies based on true stories, the (realistic) violence pushes the plot forward. Here, there was no plot to push forward.

It may be a while before I go to a movie again. I don't know. But I do know that I'm getting tired of seeing two very big stars punch and shoot their way to a multi-million dollar pay cheque when I'm pretty sure they're capable of more than that. One of my fellow bloggers - Cy Young Sowden - has recommended a movie in one of his recent blogs that, from my limited understanding of it, tells the story of something that is actually an issue. I might watch it. I might not. We'll see ... no pun intended.

Kaitlyn @ 4 months old ... nice trap door in the pants!

Confessions of an Old Newbie

Is it just me or does getting old really suck? Sometimes. Lately it seems like someone has been violently shaking the sand through my hourglass because I feel like I'm missing most of the days of my life. I suppose the main difference between my life and the aforementioned soap opera is that I can still go for two years and something will actually happen in my life. (BTW, how is Sammy doing at getting revenge on Lucas? My point, exactly.)

The fact that I'm even attempting to write a blog - and I'm a complete newbie when it comes to this - tells me that I'm not only a little behind the times if I'm just getting started with this, but it also starts waving the old-person flag in my face. Oh well, at least my wife doesn't have to throw all my food in the blender just so I can eat it ... although I'm not sure I'd refuse it if she did ... hmmm.

Three events - maybe we can call them turning points - have led me to the revelation that I'm getting old. First, I made the rather depressing discovery a few weeks ago that I can't eat pizza before I go to bed. What's up with that?!? Pizza is too good to not be enjoyed right before eight consecutive hours of sleep, giving the gooey crust and extra-greasy toppings more than enough time to congeal in my arteries. I guess it's not that I can't eat pizza ... it's that I shouldn't eat pizza. But I digress ... it's pizza, people! It doesn't help matters that, as I lay in bed, wide awake and feeling the subtle effects of my indulgence, I can only really think of one thing. That's right ... how nice would it be to have another piece of pizza? Eventually I drift off not having counted sheep, but rather counting slices of pizza. Yup, I'm getting old.

The second "take your pills when you have dinner at 4:30 'cause you'll be in bed by 7 ... get a job as a WalMart greeter ... make sure you don't drive any faster than 30 km/h ..." agedly-challenging discovery I made was kind of what prompted this blog entry. I can no longer voluntarily sleep past 7am. And no, it's not because I had pizza the night before. Yes, I get up for work everyday before 7. But I digress ... it's the weekend, people! I should be able to sleep until at least 8:00! And why, all of a sudden, do I feel the overwhelming needs to watch the National News at night and be all tucked in my bed by 10pm? Remember the days when getting up at 8 meant getting up early? And it didn't really count as sleeping-in if you got up before 11? Ahhhh, good times. No more sand in that hourglass. The rules have changed. I guess I'll be writing my blog at 6:45 every morning.

Finally, oldness is setting in because in 35 days, I'll be a dad ... which, of course, will make my wife a mom (and a great mom, I anticipate). As a first-time parent, it's more than a little nerve-wracking to think the entire life of a little baby is now your responsibility. In case you're wondering how I can be so sure that I'll be a dad in exactly 35 days, we are adopting. We travel to China in mid-July to meet our little bundle of joy and begin our new adventure together. So in a month, it won't matter that I can't fall asleep or that I'm up early. I imagine I'll have some pretty cute and busy company. Am I nervous? Absolutely. Scared? A little. Excited? You bet.

And now, everytime I look at her picture on the fridge, I'm reminded of what really matters. Maybe getting old isn't so bad, after all.