Red cups at Starbucks cause controversy

By Bob Kopp

Columnist

While riding home from a meeting of Blackhawk Presbytery, I listened to Elton John’s Madman Across the Water.

I really like “Indian Sunset.’

Uh, like is not the right word.

Anyway, I’m sure ideological fascists are befuddled by my tastes in…

@#$%

I stopped for coffee; after all, I was coming home from a clergy meeting.

While drinking Christmas Blend in one of the non-descript red cups, I thought about the irony that has infuriated the ideological fascists about those red cups.

Of course, I’m used to asinine drama.

I’m a pastor.

I’m a Presbyterian pastor.

Ugh.

@#$%

Americans have the luxury of asinine drama.

We’re so spoiled.

Around the world, people are wondering if they can feed their children or if some Islamo-fascist-nutball is gonna chop off their heads.

Americans are OCD about their deodorants keeping ’em dry all day long.

We stink.

@#$%

Presbytery comes back to mind.

Essentially and gracefully – all things considered – we let another church leave.

That’s three in the last few years.

They are free and clear to run off to another denomination that doesn’t stink as bad as ours does right now but will in a few years.

Humanity.

Never gets so good that it outgrows the need for Lord Jesus as Savior.

Moretheless, others will follow.

Some will exit faithfully.

Most won’t.

Some will remain faithfully.

Most won’t.

As for me, I will go down with the sinking ship because…

The cross comes to mind.

Sacrifice before celebration.

He said, “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny…”

He also said, “The servant is not above…”

Well, you know how that goes.

If you’re a Presbyterian or in a sister mainline franchise and can’t complete those sentences because you don’t, find a Bible with red letters in it and read ’em.  It won’t take more than an hour or two.

Getting back to the presbytery meeting, it was really great.

No, I’m serious.

It was really great.

People even mentioned Jesus by name.

Rare.

Cool.

O.K., two interims who, I think, were attending their first meeting had an awful lot to say.  They even lectured us on some stuff; bringing to mind a pastor long ago who was as old as I am now: “Bob, you’ve got to earn the right to speak at presbytery.”  If I have to explain that to you, you wouldn’t understand anyway.  Obviously, the two new fellahs don’t.  Maybe that’s why they’re interims.  Maybe that explains Trump.  Don’t know.  Your guess is as good as mine.

I left the meeting feeling really good/well/healed/whatever.

Just goes to prove that unless you’re a hyper-Calvinist, anyone can be saved because Jesus wants everyone to be saved.

@#$%

I really like the coffee at Starbucks.

Especially the Christmas Blend.

The red cups don’t bother me.

I kinda like ’em.

I guess that says a lot about me – good, bad, and otherwise.

Can’t wait to hear from the ideological fascists.

Not.

@#$%

‘“Indian Summer,” by Elton John:

As I awoke this evening with the smell of wood smoke clinging

Like a gentle cobweb hanging upon a painted teepee,

Oh, I went to see my chieftain with my war lance and my woman

For he told us that the yellow moon would very soon be leaving.

This I can’t believe, I said. I can’t believe our warlord’s dead.

Oh, he would not leave the chosen ones to the buzzards and the soldiers’ guns.

Oh, great father of the Iroquois, ever since I was young,

I’ve read the writing of the smoke and breast fed on the sound of drums.

I’ve learned to hurl the tomahawk and ride a painted pony wild,

To run the gauntlet of the Sioux, to make a chieftain’s daughter mine.

And now you ask that I should watch

The red man’s race be slowly crushed.

What kind of words are these to hear

From Yellow Dog whom white man fears?

I take only what is mine, Lord, my pony, my squaw, and my child.

I can’t stay to see you die along with my tribe’s pride.

I go to search for the yellow moon and the fathers of our sons,

Where the red sun sinks in the hills of gold and the healing waters run.

Trampling down the prairie rose leaving hoof tracks in the sand,

Those who wish to follow me, I welcome with my hands.

I heard from passing renegades Geronimo was dead.

He’d been laying down his weapons when they filled him full of lead.

Now there seems no reason why I should carry on

In this land that once was my land I can’t find a home.

It’s lonely and it’s quiet and the horse soldiers are coming,

And I think it’s time I strung my bow and ceased my senseless running.

For soon, I’ll find the yellow moon along with my loved ones

Where the buffaloes graze in clover fields without the sound of guns

And the red sun sinks at last into the hills of gold

And peace to this young warrior comes with a bullet hole.”

@#$%

Blessings and Love!