Author Archives: Al Cedeno
Christianity, Community, and Side Effects
August 2009 I am lying on my back on a red Target air mattress in a former Victorian convent, which is now the rectory of a white Anglican pastor of a black urban church. They call it the Friendship House after the name of this neighborhood that tells enough stories of the largest and most [...]
Gods of Football: Have Mercy on Us
Gods of Football: (Note: Forgive my concussed brain for any potential errors or anything that makes it seem like I do not love you). It started with Penn State. That is when I first noticed how fickle you can be. Who am I to judge your infinite wisdom. After all, you created things rugby and [...]
Frogs, Puerto Rico, and Three Kings Day
When I think of Epiphany, I think of amphibians. The coquis (onomatopoetically named frogs) densely cover the Puerto Rican island, and when they leave for places like Hawaii, they often do so in packs overtaking their new digs, blasting their disyllabic cry as they did back home. That is to say they are quite loud at night and considered invasive by some. The same has often been said of the Puerto Rican people.
Was I Friends with Adam Lanza?
We became friends in freshman honors Geometry class when Mark stood up to answer a Trigonometry bonus question that the teacher said was well beyond our ability. Mark was a strange kid: the kind of kid who wears snow boots in October; who had a mustache as a freshman; who transferred from another school and claimed that the other school was “St Mary’s Over Looking the Thames.”
Church is for Children
Our mobile church has bought a building after about two decades in a high school. To consecrate the new church, we are reading through the whole Bible and broadcasting a live feed online. I have been fascinated with the live feed image of the new sanctuary. In the first moments watching the video stream, I saw one of our senior pastor’s children walk up to the font and dip in his hands. He was mesmerized by the water overflowing. I said to my wife, “Our girls are going to be playing in that water their whole lives.”
A Very Guilty Advent 1.1
When I was six, I feared that I might become the antichrist.
I remember it vividly: that small house on Morgan Street; that living room where my father fell asleep to Sunday afternoon baseball games; that backyard with the swing set down from which I was too afraid to climb, when finally our mailman—a tall godsend who picked me up and slowly lifted me to the ground. I remember the laundry room vividly, and the bedroom that I shared with my sister. It is still in my mind, though we moved at six. But most of all, most often at least, I remember learning about Jesus Christ from the most influential and maybe greatest preachers that I have heard: my mother.
Weeping Over Dido (Not that Dido)
As a child, I knew that I would be a pastor. It was crystal clear. I remember approaching my pastor as a nine-year-old, which was terrifying for an introverted kid, and telling him I wanted to be baptized. I believed this stuff. I wanted to show it. The Bible said to be baptized. I knew that much. It seemed like a good place for a future pastor to start. A few years later, I remember talking to my dad in sixth grade while walking into Jewel about how Christians didn’t take good enough notes on sermons. For me, sermons were serious business. Real Christians took notes. That same year I went to Wendy’s with my senior pastor. I met with him because I was called not to be a youth pastor, like my friends aspired to, but a Senior Pastor. After all, as a kid with no knowledge of elder boards or publishing companies or denominations or anything outside of my local church, I believed the senior pastor was the great guardian of the Christian faith. They were men who heard the very voice of God through following careful exegetical rules. I had to be one.
Put Down Your Swag and Follow Me
As a follower of Christ how much should I care about my image? I certainly know I shouldn’t spend too much thought or money on clothes. Christ made that pretty clear. Thrift stores help with this. I get to spend my money on important things, like student loans, while maintaining swag. In fact when a student says, “Where did you get that knit tie?” and I say, “From the thrift store,” it builds my ethos and ego.
Am I too Cynical for This: Evangelicalism
I knew it all. I was the king of my youth group, the king of Awana. I led worship (despite my voice). I taught Bible studies at my school. I planned on seminary. I went to a Christian college. I was cynical because I wasn’t sure that the God that was being worshipped (in between so many songs and verses about ourselves) could send the universe spinning and become man and die and be raised again. The God I kept hearing about was too weak.
As Dumb as the Market Demands: How to Be a Crappy State
I spent my childhood summers at a Christian camp in Wisconsin. We made fun of these obese farm brothers Luke and Matt with stretch marks, and Ritalin. Let’s be honest, we thought the locals were dumb, with their stories of bull castration and horse insemination. So we imported 16 inch softball and Deans chocolate milk. [...]
