On the Idea of Confessing

As I’m still processing the rubble of my life, there have been two comments/questions that have popped up fairly regularly. The first is “doesn’t it feel good to be finally free of all the secrets?” My answer is “no”.

I’ve alluded to it before, but I had no intention of confessing. I was pretty content to go to my grave with my entire closet of skeletons. Here’s the thing, there are some situations where you may know they are wrong, but part of you is simply not strong enough to change on your own or, frankly, doesn’t want to give them up. In my case, my confession hand was forced.

Two days before, me and the person I was involved with had decided to “break up” (although, given our history, the emotional affair would have probably continued). Already that week, however, some pastors had confronted me without knowing, simply suspecting that something was going on with me that needed to come to light. The weekend “all hell broke loose”, she had ended up confessing to friends. Two separate prickings of the conscience, walls crumbling down, and guilt finding voice. Coincidence to some, God’s hand in action to others.

[With such a reading of events, it’d almost be tempting to be mad at God for the rubble of my life at the moment, but it’s kind of hard to be mad at God for a self-created mess. Seriously, what am I going to say? “Darn You for letting me get caught!”?]

So the short answer is heck no it doesn’t feel good. Nor does it feel especially good for the soul. It feels painful, ugly. It feels like ripping off a bandage only to find the putrefecation of flesh. Exposed woundedness isn’t easy and doesn’t feel good. That’s the point: we can’t get to that place to begin healing without first cleaning out the wound. So no, it doesn’t feel good, but I know it is good.

The second comment/question revolves around the issue of why would you confess also on your blog? Prudence dictates that the matter ought to be kept private and dealt with it in house (if for no other reason than readers will forever be reading things into my work). But this was a choice my wife and I made after talking it through. The fact of the matter is that this sin didn’t just affect my family. It impacted all of my relationships: friends, siblings, church members. We wanted a sense of public accountability. I can’t just run and hide, nor did we want things swept under a rug. That’s partly how we got here in the first place.

It’s easy to feel so caught up in your sin, so absolutely lost, that you can barely form the question “where do you begin to expose the lie?” Seriously, you’re caught up in the moment of being selfish and doing what you want; doing what feels good at the time, with no regard for long term consequences. Oh, you may think you understand the consequences, but you don’t know them. Part of you is afraid to tell, afraid of consequences, to be sure, because the repercussions can ripple far and wide (Loss of relationships. Loss of trust. Loss of respect.). But you’re also afraid of the reality of who you are, drowning in lies to the point that you don’t know where or how to turn for help.

Confession isn’t easy. You may get to that point where you’re out of excuses. You can’t blame your age, your naivete, your parents, your personal history/baggage, someone else tempting/manipulating you. You can’t play the victim. You can’t “spin” your mistakes. No, you have to start by being truly honest. You look in the mirror and realize you made a decision, your own decision. And you have to put on your big boy pants and own up to it and bear the consequences. Saying it out loud that first time, admitting to yourself what you’ve done while simultaneously trying to get your head around the enormity of it all. The truth may come out in drips and drabs. Sometimes it may even be easier to confess to a stranger or another friend rather than your spouse or whoever it is you may have directly hurt. But to hear it out loud, from your own self, makes it real. You can’t help but begin to own it.

“You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free” (John 8:32).

Just know that the truth also hurts, but the truth is do-able. We don’t like to be reminded that we’re sinners and we bristle at the thought of being told what to do. That wall of pride shoots up because we want to do what we want to do. Repentance is a call to action, to change, and repentance begins with confession. With many acts of healing, things hurt before they get better. However, only then can we be opened up to freedom from the past and be prepared to look forward to the future with hope.

***
Full Disclosure:

Secret Lives, Secret Shame

Walking Through My Failings

Double Lives

For the Record ...

On the Idea of Confessing

Emotional Affairs (aka No Longer "Just Friends")

Good Days, Bad Days (On Despair)

Prayer of Repentance

Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Blog

Harlan County Horrors (Now with Reviews!)

The Harlan County Horrors anthology is out. Its line up includes:

“The Witch of Black Mountain” – Alethea Kontis

“The Power of Moonlight” – Debbie Kuhn
“Hiding Mountain: Our Future in Apples” – Earl Dean
“Psychomachia” – Geoffrey Girard
“Yellow Warbler” – Jason Sizemore
“Kingdom Come” – Jeremy C. Shipp
“Trouble Among the Yearlings” – Maurice Broaddus “Spirit Fire” – Robby Sparks
“The Thing at the Side of the Road” – Ronald Kelly
“Inheritance” – Stephanie Lenz
“Greater of Two Evils” – Steven Shrewsbury
“Harlan Moon” – TL Trevaskis

Afterword: Harlan County: A Short History by Preston Halcomb

Cover art by Billy Tackett

REVIEWS:

Bookgasms

Jeff Cutler

University Chronicle

Monster Librarian

Paladin Freelance

Amazon Reviews

Shroud Magazine

DEVIL’S MARIONETTE

Death comes for the cast and crew of the hit comedy TV Show Chocolate City, impacting not only their personal lives but the prospect of their show’s continued success. As each member sinks into their own past, and the spirits of those that came before, the tragedies continue.

Maurice Broaddus weaves a tale of intimate nightmare and dark discovery in a compelling exploration of humanity’s relation not only to his own mind and soul, but also to the ghosts of days gone by—personal and ancient.

When your terror comes to claim you, who will it be?

Nobody.

"There are fewer greater pleasures in a reader's life than witnessing a writer whose work they have enjoyed reached a new plateau in their storytelling skills, and such is the case here; with The Devil's Marionette, Maurice Broaddus comes into his own as a writer of dark fiction. It is the brilliance we've all been waiting for, and Broaddus delivers in a voice that both whispers and roars and cannot be ignored." -- Bram Stoker and International Horror Guild Award-winner Gary A. Braunbeck, author of Mr. Hands, Destinations Unknown, and Coffin County

Announcing Devil's Marionette, a limited edition novella by Maurice Broaddus, available now from Shroud Publishing.

It started with a stamp.


As with most things with me, this led to a blog. You see, I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. It was an image that spoke not only to a history of how black people were seen, but to attitudes that are all to present today. The ideas, and outrage, associated with this began percolating in the back of my head.

“You can’t consider the history of “racial masking” – or the history of American show business – without talking about Bert Williams.” – David Mills


I ran across an image of Bert Williams in full make up. The burnt cork black face that was a part of his act. A black man who performed in black face. It was a powerful image, this proud man, a sad clown. In one picture, the image managed to capture the dehumanizing aspect of racism and the sacrifice required to muddle through its treacherous waters.

And the responsibility of the artist.

You see, as a black artist, one of the things I struggle with is my responsibility to not perpetuate negative images of my community. However, I have to balance that against being true to my craft. What would you do, what would you sacrifice, to be able to do what you are passionate about? Because at the time, I was seeing some absolute garbage hit the television airwaves and coming out on the big screens which amounted to little more than cooning for a mass audience. And I was angry. Because all black artists should be haunted by the specter of Bert Williams and his dilemma of sacrificing his personal dignity in pursuit of the art he loved so much.

So I raged some more and it became a novella.

Gary Braunbeck seemed to like it. I hope you do too.

For the Record …

I’m not going to apologize for this blog turning personal. It’s my blog. Sometimes I just have to use it as my own therapy, though it’s rare that I write about what should be personal and private issues. Especially when it seems like I should be tending to other issues. But you do what you have to do in order to move forward:

Yes, I’ve stepped down from leadership at the Dwelling Place.

Yes, I’ve made a wreck of many of my relationships and have a lot of work ahead of me if there’s to be any kind of reconciliation.

Yes, Mo*Con is still going on.

Yes, I blew up my old message board. I do have new a small hang out space on Brian Keene’s board.

And I’m writing. It’s not always going to be so personal, but this space has always been about what I’m thinking through. As it stands, I've barely gotten these blogs posted and my inbox is filling up. I don't think I can face it right now, but I’ll leave you with this message I received from a friend (I've been on the phone all week and STILL owe a few people a call):

big tight hug silently claiming all of God's promises for his children who love him,
who love him imperfectly but love him nonetheless, as he continues to love us.
in spite of ourselves.
praying for Christ's light to pierce through palpable darkness.rage.grief.destitution,
praying for an increased measure of faith to minister to unbelief, self-pity, self-mutilation, self-loathing & loathing,
praying for hope,
your sister in Christ who needs God's grace & mercy as much as the next person,
you are loved.
it's absolutely true, you don't deserve it...none of us do.
don't forget to read the end of that sentence, maurice. NONE of us do.
Christ sees us in all of our crapulence
and whispers and shouts and assures us
and waits for us to remember & believe that
yes, we are loved.

And yes, crapulence is now my new favorite theological term.


***
Full Disclosure:

Secret Lives, Secret Shame

Walking Through My Failings

Double Lives

For the Record ...

Double Lives

So I’ve really been stuck on the question “how did I get here?”

Who I am versus who I’m trying to be. It’s not like I set out to become “that guy.” In fact, becoming “that guy”--the cheating spouse--had been what I had always thought I had been striving against being. I’ve seen the statistics of people, ministers in particular, who have had affairs. It doesn’t matter how “far” it went: an affair is an affair.

I’ve always sort of prided myself in my forthrightness and living in plain sight, yet a good chunk of my life was still pushed into and lived in shadows. It’s disconcerting how easy it is to fall into a life of deception. To where lies become not just routine, but reflex. To where you can deceive yourself to startling degrees. I’m disgusted by how easy it is to be so deceptive, just like those closest to me are so hurt by not only being deceived, but also by not having seen it.

Seeing, hearing, remembering what we want—believing things we know not to be true—in order to justify what you want to do. Justifying the secrets by being afraid of losing everything, by claiming to being manipulated, by believing things you knew weren’t true in order to keep pursuing the course you wanted. Looking back, my life has always had a bubble of artifice about it. Nothing about me was honest.

I’ve always kind of hated the phrase “stumbled into sin.” It made things seem so benign. You have an implied image of “oops, I did it again.” But I see the truth behind it. Most people don’t leap into sins. Those sins sort of creep up on you, though we’re rarely innocent prey.

It starts in the little things. A comment here, a gesture there that you let slide, but it grows. Next thing you know, you’re setting traps for yourself (part of you hoping that you fail because that’s what you secretly want). The lies become deeper, telling yourself that you can handle it. How it won’t hurt anyone if it stays secret. You may even spin it into a positive (“you can better minister to or understand people’s sin because of your own”). Like a person who drank too much and has a regretful next morning, you may develop convenient amnesia. It’s a terrible thing to not be able to trust your own mind. Your own memories.

It’s like there are two yous: the true self and the shadow self. One is cognizant of the reality of your state of affairs (pardon the expression). The one that is aware of the sin you’re involved in. The one that cries out for help all the while ignoring life preservers thrown at you.

The other one lies. It buries secrets, even from yourself sometimes. It’s the one that squashes the pricking of your conscience by the Holy Spirit. You latch onto those convenient lies for your own mental and spiritual survival—so you can go through the motions of looking your wife, your children, your friends, your family, your co-workers, your fellow church goers in the eye as if you were a person of integrity—because all the while, the guilt, shame, and sense of dirtiness eats away at you like a cancer. Until it rots all areas of your life—mentally, physically, spiritually—until it erodes everything you touch.

It’s the side you don’t want to face because it means facing some truths about yourself.

The hardest part was coming clean. The “I know you did it, just admit it” conversations. I’d become so practiced at deception, even to myself, that a straight forward conversation became like pulling teeth. It’s reflex to want to minimize. It’s human nature to want to cover your behind as much as possible, blame other people for your own decisions. But there’s no moving forward without first laying it all out there. Naked truth time.

It’s hard to reconcile who we are (and want to be) and what we do. I always saw myself rather like Alan Shore from Boston Legal: a complex mess of hurt and pain who kept everyone at arm’s reach in order to protect them from him. Put succinctly another way by my wife, I don’t know how to be real.

Or let people in.

So the question isn’t just “how did I get here?” but also “where do I go from here?”

***
Full Disclosure:

Secret Lives, Secret Shame

Walking Through My Failings

Double Lives

For the Record ...

On the Idea of Confessing

Emotional Affairs (aka No Longer "Just Friends")

Good Days, Bad Days (On Despair)

Prayer of Repentance

Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Blog

Walking Through My Failings

I have been cautioned, cautioned, cautioned to enter into this gently (because as writers, we give enough of our lives to the public and they don’t need all of it). But I have to come at things a different way. Plus all of these blogs are Sally approved.

I am. For better or for worse, this is part of that tending. It’s about me owning up to things. A pattern had emerged in my writing and in my personal dealings that for all of my ability to communicate … I’m a poor communicator. I don’t share what’s going on with me. I’m about the quick joke or an opinion and moving on. Honestly, I don’t expect that to change anytime soon. But I am trying to be more open on all fronts.

Let’s be straight: I’m also a public persona. If a “secret” is out there, it’s out there. I’ll deal with it. The more public I’ve been in my triumphs, the more accountable I need to be in my failings. Which is what I’m ruminating about right now.

I can’t help but hope that I’ve (tried to have) been cognizant of my own sin when talking to folks about theirs. I know some folks thought that when I’ve talked to them about their sexual sins, they thought I was coming down on them, no matter how many times I may have said “no, believe me, I get where you’re coming from.” I remember one lady in particular who said “you know if you were single you’d be into the same sh*t.” I almost retorted, “no, I’m right with you, that’s how I know.” It’s hard to not feel (or hear) judging 1) when you expect to hear it and 2) when you’re judging yourself for your own poor choices.

It’s not about turning my personal life into blog fodder. Lord knows, I have plenty of other things I’d RATHER be writing about. I’ve seen folks turn their blogs into platforms of blame and finger-pointing. I have no one to blame and point a finger at other than myself. Is this an exercise in salving my conscience? Maybe. I have no answer for that. I’m walking through this. My wife is walking through this with me.

As humans, we’re fallible. None of us are beyond sin. Being a Christian does not make me more/less human. We’re experts on judging sin and walking through sin, but I’m curious to see what the journey of restoration looks like. (My counselor has already informed me that it’s not going to look at all like I might think). It’d be easy to run from my family, my friends, and my church right now. Leaving means I don’t have to face what I’ve done. Leaving means I don’t have to grow or change. Leaving means I get to go through the motions of starting over, a surface repentance, without having to face the person that I am.

We’ll see where this goes.


***
Full Disclosure:

Secret Lives, Secret Shame

Walking Through My Failings

Double Lives

For the Record ...

On the Idea of Confessing

Emotional Affairs (aka No Longer "Just Friends")

Good Days, Bad Days (On Despair)

Prayer of Repentance

Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Blog

Secret Lives, Secret Shame

There’s no point in sugar-coating things or dancing around the issue: I’ve been having an affair with a close friend of mine for nearly four years, a secret shame I probably would have gone to my grave with (telling myself that it was to protect all those who might be impacted, of course).

Folks wanted me to wait awhile before talking about this and I heeded their advice. I needed to tend to my family, however belatedly. I needed to approach a few other people who were at ground zero of all of this, the ones impacted most by my deceit and betrayal of trust. And I needed some time to think about things. It’s not like there’s a “good” time to come out about this. I’m still processing, actually, which is why I’m writing (read: you can feel free to comment, but I may not respond directly).

There’s no excusing it: it is what it is. I’m the hypocrite people think of when they think/talk about Christians, preachers, priests. Saying “at least we never went ‘all the way’” doesn’t ameliorate anything. Only going part way down a road doesn’t make it any better.

I know there will be the pulling away of some relationships. I know well-intentioned folks will be a chorus of “I knew it would happen” or “I knew it was going on.” I know that the … less-than-well-meaning folks will be quick to pick over my bones. Even now, I can feel my pride wanting to be defiant. Not wanting to give those who I’ve rubbed the wrong way over the years (and there are MANY) a moment of gloating. But there’s no room for defensiveness or angry retorts. The only posture allowed is the posture of contrition and accepting what’s coming. And living with it. Owning it.

It’s difficult realizing you’re not the person you thought you were. Or that you’re not the person others thought you were. Or, worse, you are the person some people feared you were. But the fact of the matter is that I have failed. I failed to be the husband I promised to be. I failed to be the father and example I hoped to be. I failed to be the friend I wanted to be. I failed to be the leader I was supposed to be. The worst part is, it’s not like I haven’t been here before. I’ve not made a secret of nearly wrecking my marriage six months into it. Doing the math, that’s half of our nine year marriage spent in one degree of infidelity or another. Which also means that much of what I have built over the years have been constructed on lies so maybe I am long overdue for having it all torn down.

I just wish so many didn’t have to pay the price for my sin.

I think of all the folks I’ve hurt and disappointed. I want to vomit. I’m out of tears. I’m out of lost sleep. I’m out of lost appetite. All the things which would have been a lot better served and thought of before hand. I’ve been quietly praying for some other tragedy to occur to distract from all of this, maybe place me in a sympathetic light, or even my untimely demise to spare me from facing folks. Because at heart, I’m a coward.

I’m weak, I’m corruptible, I’m fallible. I’m human. I’ve made a mess of things. But I have to believe there is hope for redemption.

Part of me doesn’t want to do the whole weeping, “I have failed” type blog or speech. Contrition is easy. Mostly what folks are contrite about is getting caught. After that, everything seems like self-serving spin control. Writing a blog is relatively easy because I’m doing it from the safety of my couch. Alone. Facing those I’ve hurt … there are long days ahead.

No amount of apologizing will make things right. Asking for forgiveness isn’t I’m sorry. It’s recognizing your offense before your Maker and people you’ve sinned against. Just like repentance involves a owning the impact of your actions and changing directions. Right now, I am numb to the point of deadness. I have often been less than sympathetic to self-created messes, even my own. But I’ve been informed that a self-inflicted wound is still a wound.

The bottom line is that I feel like I have no right to ask forgiveness from anyone. But I’m going to ask it anyway.

I’m sorry. Please forgive me.




***
Full Disclosure:

Secret Lives, Secret Shame

Walking Through My Failings

Double Lives

For the Record ...

On the Idea of Confessing

Emotional Affairs (aka No Longer "Just Friends")

Good Days, Bad Days (On Despair)

Prayer of Repentance

Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Blog

Police - by Reese Broaddus

So my oldest son, Maurice Gerald Broaddus II (Reese), has decided to try his hand at writing a story (this AFTER my two boys getting me to write a story about them). Anyway, I warned him that if I put it on my blog, it would be considered published and he wouldn't be able to sell first rights down the road. He told me he'd do a re-write and change the title, for now he just wants the exposure. Young writers.

Ah, good times ... I remember my first story. Looking over Reese's story, maybe we should back away from watching so many Law & Order reruns.

About the author:
At seven years old, Reese Broaddus is in second grade. He's been declared the new master of suspense (I explained to him that many new writers like to make extravagant claims about themselves with no track record to back them up. His response: "what's suspense?"). He once had a thing for Maurila, but now a young lady named Rachel is the love of his life (which I'm not allowed to write about in my blog). He lives at home with his parents and brother (I also explained that many authors tend to include their pets. He informed me that since we no longer have Midnight, his brother would have to do). He doesn't eat paste (I wish that all the professional writers I knew could claim that).

Prison (A Work in Progress)

Chapter 1 – Jail

One day there was a crime at Main Street. Tim robbed the Bank. He took $21,680. Tim went to jail for Thirty weeks. Tim’s wife Broke up with him, Tim was not that mad. Tim was more mad at the Police.

Twenty weeks later Tim’s son turned two years old. Tim was so happy he yelled and was jumping up and down, his face turned red. Tim got in trouble for yelling.

Ten weeks later Tim went to court. Tim’s ex-wife was there. He was so scared because his mom was also there. Tim’s mom was not that happy with Tim.

Tim was found guilty at court. Tim had to stay in Jail one more week. Then his dad came to visit him. Tim got in trouble by his dad.

Chapter 2 – Money

One day it was Pay Day. Tim dropped his money, another man stole his wallet with all of Tim’s money.

Tim was so upset he threw a fit. Tim called 911 and said someone took his wallet. “Someone’s a thief and snatched my wallet and walked away,” Tim said angrily.

Chapter 3 – Not at Jail

Tim was at his own home again. He was glad because he was not at jail. He did not want to find a girlfriend, but one day Tim found a girlfriend her name was Abigail. They are getting married in 20 months. Tim is going to get a job. Tim wants to have six kids.


***
If you want to make sure that I see your comment or just want to stop by and say “hi”, feel free to stop by my message board. We always welcome new voices to the conversation.

Mo*Con IV: A New Hope - Updated 5/12/09

“The Love and Business of Writing”


May 15th – 17th , 2009

What is Mo*Con?

Brought to you by the Indiana Horror Writers, Mo*Con is a friendly convention focused on conversations revolving around horror literature and spirituality (two great tastes that taste great together!). If you enjoy writing, horror, fantasy, poetry, and food, you’ll find plenty to enjoy at this convention

Who Will Be There?


Tom Piccirilli
Tom Piccirilli is the Edgar nominated author of twenty novels including THE COLDEST MILE, THE COLD SPOT, THE MIDNIGHT ROAD, HELLBOY: EMERALD HELL, THE DEAD LETTERS, HEADSTONE CITY, A CHOIR OF ILL CHILDREN, and NOVEMBER MOURNS.






Gary Braunbeck
Gary A. Braunbeck is a prolific author who writes mysteries, thrillers, science fiction, fantasy, horror, and mainstream literature. He is the author of 19 books; his fiction has been translated into Japanese, French, Italian, Russian and German. Nearly 200 of his short stories have appeared in various publications.




Lucy Synder
The author the author of a trilogy of novels that are set be published by Del Rey starting in 2009; the first book in the series is entitled Spellbent. Also the author of Sparks and Shadows, a cross-genre short story collection from HW Press, Lucy A. Snyder may be most known for her humor collection Installing Linux on a Dead Badger (And Other Oddities). With over 70 short fiction sales and over 20 poetry sales, her fiction goes all over the road, although she does tend to write genre stories (science fiction, fantasy, horror, romance, etc.) more often than straightforward mainstream fiction. She also writes a column for Horror World on science and technology for writers.


Linda Addison
Linda D. Addison grew up in Philadelphia and began weaving stories at an early age. She moved to New York after college and has published over 200 poems, stories and articles. Ms Addison is the author of “Being Full of Light, Insubstantial” (Space & Time Books) and the first African-American recipient of the world renowned Bram Stoker Award. She was honored with her second win in April 2008 for her latest collection.

Gerard Houarner
Gerard Houarner is a product of the NYC school system who lives in the Bronx, was married at a New Orleans Voodoo Temple, and works at a psychiatric institution. He's had over 250 short stories, a four novels and four story collections, as well as a few anthologies published, all dark. To find out about the latest, visit www.gerardhouarner.com, or drop by and say hi at www.myspace.com/gerardhouarner or his board at www.horrorworld.org

Wrath James White
Succulent Prey marks his first mass-market release from Leisure Books. If you have a taste for extreme fiction with socio-political and philosophical messages that push boundaries, break taboos, and leave you thinking long after the book has ended then check out Teratologist co-written with Edward Lee, Poisoning Eros co written with Monica O-Rourke, The Book of A thousand Sins collection, His Pain novella, Orgy of Souls with Maurice Broaddus, Hero novella with J.F. Gonzalez, and Population Zero. If you have a weak stomach, a closed mind, rigid morals, and Victorian sexual ethics, than avoid his writing like the plague.


ARTIST GUEST OF HONOR:

Steven C. Gilberts
Steven and his lovely wife Becky now live in a spooky Queen Ann cottage within a small Dunwich-esk village of southern Indiana, near the now abandoned ammo plant of his youth. While hiding from the townsfolk, Steven concocts odd illustrations for the small press industry. His work has graced magazines from Apex Digest to Cemetery Dance, Dark Wisdom to Shroud Magazine.

***NOTE: Due to an unexpected schedule conflict, Gary and Lucy won't be able to make it.***

When/Where is it?

May 15, 16, and 17th

Trinity Church
6151 N. Central Avenue
Indianapolis, IN 46220

There are plenty of nearby hotels MicroTel has served well in the past:

Microtel Inn and Suites Indianapolis
9140 North Michigan Road
Indianapolis, IN 46268 US
Phone: 317-870-7765

There is also the Indy Hostel. This page will be updated as more guests and details are confirmed, though we're capping the guests we can accommodate at 200. [We can also make special arrangements and point you in the direction of other nearby hotels, just drop me a line at MauriceBroaddus@gmail.com]

Programming

Friday
6:00 p.m. Doors open
7:00 p.m. Guest Dinner/Reception
9:00 p.m. Poetry Slam

Saturday
10:00 a.m. Doors open
11:00 a.m. Panels on spirituality, writing, horror, and readings. Lunch.
5:00 p.m. The Dwelling Place Gathering, featuring sermon by Wrath James White. Dinner afterwards.
[After party to be announced]

Sunday
11:00 a.m. Farewell Brunch

Cost: $35 per Person
Money will be accepted at the door or it can be sent to my paypal account [Maurice Broaddus - MauriceBroaddus@gmail.com memo: Mo*Con IV]

There will be several debut projects, so this blog will be updated accordingly. More details to come (as will a re-vamping of my web site to feature a Mo*Con page to include footage of previous Mo*Cons).

Keep up with all details on either Facebook or on MySpace.

*Hosted by The Dwelling Place and Trinity faith communities, both of whom desire to be a refuge or sanctuary, a place of rest and freedom for people to be themselves and be a place where people can connect with God and one another by joining Jesus’ mission to bless the world.


***
If you want to make sure that I see your comment or just want to stop by and say “hi”, feel free to stop by my message board. We always welcome new voices to the conversation.

Mo*Con Ad Space Available

Program ad space for the Mo*Con IV: The Love and Business of Writing program is now available.

Writers, editors, publishers and fans of horror and dark fantasy come from across the country to attend Mo*Con. This year’s special guests are Tom Piccirilli, Gary Braunbeck, Lucy Snyder, Linda Addison, Gerard Houarner, Wrath James White, and Steven Gilberts. Previous guests have included Brian Keene, Nick Mamatas, Mark Rainey, Matt Cardin, and Kim Paffenroth. This year’s guests will be participating in a poetry jam, panel discussions, book launches, and a church service.

Our rates are as follows:

Business card (2 X 3.5”): $20.00

Quarter page (2.25 X 4.25”) $25.00

Half page (5.5 X 4.25”) $50.00

Full page (5.5 X 8.5”) $75.0.

Full page, inside front cover, $100.00

Inside back cover, outside

Back Cover

Deadline for ad purchase will be April 23, 2009.

2009 will be the inaugural year for the Mo*Con program, so we anticipate it becoming somewhat of a collector’s item. Don’t miss this opportunity to be included!

For more information, contact Sara Larson at wlarson[@]indy.rr.com or Maurice Broaddus at mauricebroaddus[@]gmail.com.


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Christ is Risen from the Dead

by George Bebawi

Christ is risen from the dead; love has defeated separation

Christ is risen from the dead; mortality is under our feet

Christ is risen from the dead; the body is redeemed, and the soul freed from condemnation

Christ is risen from the dead; heaven dwells on earth, for the Lord united heaven to earth.

Christ is risen from the dead; in the mystery of the Supper we touch his risen life.

Christ is risen from the dead; our cemeteries became fields waiting for the Harvest Day

Christ is risen from the dead to unite us with him in the Godhead of the Father, by the power of the Spirit of life.

Christ is risen from the dead; by his death he condemned condemnation

Christ is risen from the dead; by his life the Lord granted us a share in his risen life.

Christ is risen from the dead; our prayers are crowned by his victory

Christ is risen from the dead; in him we have the boldness to approach the throne of grace.

Christ is risen from the dead; our peace is sealed by his victory

Christ is risen from the dead and became our living Mediator bringing us to communion with life

Christ is risen from the dead; let us embrace each other for the obstacles of sin and death were removed, and there is no place for fear

April 11, 2009



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Maundy Thursday - The Last Supper

Peter Rollins new book, The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales, is coming soon (April 20th). In Pete's own words, this collection of original parables, "represents my own attempt to explore and testify to the impossible Event housed in faith. In that sense they are deeply personal and relative to my own life." With permission, I share one of the parables, fitting for today.

The Last Supper

It is evening, and you are gathered together with the other disciples in a small room for Passover. All the time you are watching Jesus, while he sits quietly in the shadows listening to the idle chatter, watching over those who sit around him, and, from time to time, telling stories about the kingdom of God.

As night descends, a meal of bread and wine is brought into the room. It is only at this moment that Jesus sits forward so that the shadows no longer cover his face. He quietly brings the conversation to an end by capturing each one with his intense gaze. Then he begins to speak:

“My friends, take this bread, for it is my very body, broken for you.”

Every eye is fixed on the bread that is laid on the table. While these words seem obscure and unintelligible, everyone picks up on their gravity.

Then Jesus carefully pours wine into the cup of each disciple until it overflows onto the table.

“Take this wine and drink of it, for it is my very blood, shed for you.”

With these words an ominous shadow seems to descend upon the room – a chilling darkness that makes everyone shudder uneasily. Jesus continues:

“As you do this, remember me.”

Most of the gathered disciples begin to slowly eat the bread and drink the wine, lost in their thoughts. You, however, cannot bring yourself to lift your hand at all, for his words have cut into your soul like a knife.

Jesus does not fail to notice your hesitation and approaches, lifting up your head with his hand so that your eyes are level with his. Your eyes meet for only a moment, but before you are able to turn away, you are caught up in a terrifying revelation. At that instant you experience the loneliness, the pain, and sorrow that Jesus is carrying. You see nails being driven through skin and bone; you hear the crowds jeering and the cries of pain as iron cuts against flesh. At that moment you see the sweat that flows from Jesus like blood, and experience the suffocation, madness, and pain that will soon envelop him. More than all of this, however, you feel a trace of the separation he will soon feel in his own being.

In that little room, which occupies no significant space in the universe, you have caught a glimpse of a divine vision that should never have been disclosed. Yet it is indelibly etched into the eyes of Christ for anyone brave enough to look.

You turn to leave – to run from that place. You long for death to wrap around you. But Jesus grips you with his gaze and smiles compassionately. Then he holds you tight in his arms like no one has held you before. He understands that the weight you now carry is so great that it would have been better had you never been born. After a few moments, he releases his embrace and lifts the wine that sits before you, whispering,

“Take this wine, my dear friend, and drink it up, for it is my very blood, and it is shed for you.”

All this makes you feel painfully uncomfortable, and so you shift in your chair and fumble in your pocket, all the time distracted by the silver that weights heavy in your pouch.

Commentary from Peter Rollins:

This reflection was on outworking of my first interaction with the enigmatic figure of Judas. Here I wanted to play with our tendency to identify with the favorable characters in the Bible. For instance, when reading about the self-righteous Pharisee and the humble tax collector, we find it all too easy to condemn the first and praise the second without asking whether our own actions are closer to the one we have rejected than the one we praise.

Judas is here a symbol of all our failures, and Christ’s action to demonstrate his unconditional acceptance. Judas helps to remind us of Christ’s message that he came for the sick rather than the healthy, and that he loves and accepts us as we are.

If you purchase The Orthodox Heretic by April 15th you will receive a 40% discount off the retail price.


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I Really Didn't Just Go Randomly Nuts Over the Weekend

For those who follow me on Twitter and thought I was having a random breakdown and became fixated on large motor vehicles, here are some accompanying pics from the site of the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition season finale (as it was being filmed here in Indianapolis):

At the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition site. The limo's about to pull up ...11:59 AM Apr 4th

We're waving to Ty! (well, not me. I'm strictly media, you know)12:32 PM Apr 4th

Move that bus already!12:56 PM Apr 4th

And now ... some cheerleaders are performing (because this day hasn't been long enough)1:01 PM Apr 4th

For the record, me and my film crew would have had this shot by now. Granted, there would be some random dance sequence in it.1:02 PM Apr 4th

I'd have Ty and Paige in the background doing the robot ...1:03 PM Apr 4th


The times are a-changin': First a black president & now black folks move into a neighborhood & the property values go up!1:06 PM Apr 4th

Countdown to security wrestling a Paige stalker to the ground.1:13 PM Apr 4th
Normally when you see this many white folks in a black neighborhood ... they're preparing to move away.1:22 PM Apr 4th

I'm convinced: this bus is never moving. In fact, I think I see the McFarlands unpacking their stuff in it.1:23 PM Apr 4th

I'm really starting to hate this bus.1:54 PM Apr 4th

All the writers are herded together. No, no ... we're definitely not gossiping about our papers...2:15 PM Apr 4th

Media secrets: "It's the last day with the catering tent. Bring the big purse."2:36 PM Apr 4th

The limo's FINALLY here.2:37 PM Apr 4th

MOVE THAT BUS!!!2:39 PM Apr 4th

No, seriously ... move the @+!%#!# bus.2:41 PM Apr 4th

Dear Extreme Makeover, if you know black folks talk in the movie theater, what'd you think would happen when you're filming live?2:45 PM Apr 4th

OMG ... tell me the family didn't just sprint up the street! (with a pack of white cameramen trying to keep up)2:47 PM Apr 4th

Ty's ass didn't move.2:48 PM Apr 4th

You can't stop us from having church out here. "Shout all you want to!"2:50 PM Apr 4th

From Bernard McFarland: "THANK YOU COMMUNITY!!!"2:51 PM Apr 4th

As a member of the media, I neither whoop nor hollar.2:55 PM Apr 4th

"Go on in your house, man. Make all them folks take off their shoes first."2:56 PM Apr 4th



Although, half the fun of my tweets are the fact that they're mostly context free.


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Friday Night Date Place – Stronger Together

“We are all, in a sense, experts on secrecy. From earliest childhood we feel its mystery and attraction. We know both the power it confers and the burden it imposes. We learn how it can delight, give breathing space and protect.” –Sissela Bok

People don’t do friendships well. We don’t lend ourselves well to making friends (or have no idea of what making/being a friend is) and thus call people who should be acquaintances “friends” or BFFs, though they are as disposable as an unfriending on MySpace.

Part of the problem is out inability to handle intimacy well. When we ask ourselves why do we insist on continuing to date after so many heart wrenching, near life-destroying, pain-inducing, love experiences (and then remain hopeful that the next dating experience will be different)? our answer boils down to one word: intimacy.

We know that intimacy can be abused, but some people start off with a fear of intimacy. The idea of becoming close to another human being causes us to (mentally or emotionally, if not physically) flinch. T o run away. To not give people a chance. To let someone in, to care about them and let them care about you can only lead to two things: 1) the laying down of roots as you invest in a relationship and 2) the possibility of future loss, because at best all relationships are til death do we part.

This lack of intimacy can sometimes be the result of self-fulfilling prophecy. Because of your experiences in the past, you’ve become reluctant to meet/let new people in. Not entirely unreasonably, your instinct tells you that they will be like the rest: they will get to know the real you, not like you, judge you, or otherwise abandon you and rather than wait for them to do so, you push and push and push new people until they finally have had enough and move on; then you pat yourself on your back for being right in not trusting them. In effect, you reject them before they can reject you and thus intimacy never occurs.

Some people can go through life as lone rangers, rootless in their life and relationships. However, I basically think that this points to the lie, or at least to the end, of American-styled individualism. That whole “I am an island”, “I don’t need anyone”, “you can only depend on yourself” ethos that eventually runs its course. Just like systematic theology can’t answer some ultimate/basic questions about faith, and when we come to the end of its usefulness and move on; in life, experience often teaches us that there are limits to what our own bootstraps can carry us through.

Yes, in the end, people will fail you. Despite our best intentions, sometimes even for the noblest of reasons, folks will let you down. That’s no reason to never let them in. Life is full of regrets. You, too, will fail others, but I’m sure that failure doesn’t define you, nor your relationships, and you’d like the chance to be forgiven and try again.


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