Ed Spivey Jr. was working as art director of the Chicago Sun-Times Sunday Magazine in 1972 when God called him to join the fledgling Sojourners community and work for its publication, then called the Post-American. The fact that Ed has not heard from God SINCE is not what's important here, because Ed figures God had other things to do, what with making the world a more peaceful place. Why the world is still NOT a more peaceful place is none of Ed's business and he would never think to criticize God for slacking off since, who knows, God could have been sick or something.
But, 36 years later, Ed is still with Sojourners, still the art director, still happy with his life-long dream of working hard for very little money. The only down side is that Ed is beginning to feel his childhood plans of being either a cowboy or an astronaut may not be realized in his lifetime. But such are the sacrifices one makes when one responds to the call of the Lord, even if immediately after that the Lord apparently changed His phone number.
Of a more biographic note, Ed holds an Associate in Arts degree from Vincennes University. He was denied a Bachelor's Degree from Indiana University because of a disagreement with his psychology professor who did not appreciate Ed's refusal to complete his rat experiment. Apparently, Ed's was the only laboratory rat that bit, so Ed insisted on wearing huge motorcycle gloves when handling the animal, which, the professor insisted, skewed the rat's response to stimuli. Ed told the professor what he could do with his stimuli, which unfortunately did not put the professor in the mood to accept Ed's alternative suggestion, which was to study the response of rats being loudly cursed at while simultaneously being flushed down university toilets.
Since his college days he has made a bit of a name for himself, and not just “You, There,” which is the name his mother calls him when she forgets. Ed has won numerous awards for his design of Sojourners Magazine, and his monthly humor column consistently garners top honors from both religious and secular media associations. His recent book, A Hamster is Missing in Washington, D.C. won the top prize in humor at the Independent Publisher Book Awards in New York City. (Due to scheduling conflicts, Ed was unable to attend the gala tribute and banquet, but had he gone he would have ordered the fish.) Now in its second printing, Ed’s book is available at store.sojo.net and at on-line booksellers near you.
Ed is married and has two daughters, all of whom refuse to walk in public with him, on account of the little whoop-whoop sound he makes when he sees a fire truck.
Posts By This Author
A Heartfelt Apology from Wells Fargo
WHEN I RECEIVED an email from the president of Wells Fargo bank—expressing remorse for years of financial malfeasance—I looked forward to reading words crafted by highly paid public relations professionals. Given the depth of the bank’s abhorrent irregularities—such as altering depositors’ records and pressuring employees to open bogus accounts—Wells Fargo needed to set just the right tone when apologizing to a potential nationwide jury pool (and feeling the squeeze from several boycotts).
But I set the email aside. At that moment, I was preoccupied with helping my granddaughter negotiate the new challenges of first grade. Unfortunately, this critical time in a child’s life is not helped by the institutional bias of public schools against adult family members sitting in the classroom. (I even offered to bring my own chair.) From that vantage point I could have guided my granddaughter’s tentative first steps in establishing enduring social relationships. (“Don’t sit next to that girl. Powerpuff Girls lunch boxes are SO last century.”) But this was not allowed.
As a consolation, I was told, I’d be welcome at something called “Family Day,” a dubious-sounding event of unspecified significance scheduled for the distant future.
Corporations are People, and So are I
Funny Business by Ed Spivey Jr.
A Visit to the Home of Jerry Falwell Jr.
Jerry Falwell Jr.: Jesus Christ!
Jesus: I’m going to assume that’s not an expletive.
Falwell: No, that would be Jesus H. Christ, which I would never use.
Jesus: Good. He’s a cousin on my mother’s side, and I’m still ticked at my aunt for that.
Falwell: But you’re HERE! In my own house! It’s the Rapture, the Second Coming! And you’re taking me home to my reward! PRAISE THE LORD! Just let me throw a few things in a suitcase and we’ll ...
Jesus: Relax, and put down your shaving kit. This is not the Second Coming. It’s more like a check-in.
Falwell: It’s not the end times?
Jesus: No [looking at his watch], not even close.
Falwell: But it’s so gratifying you’ve chosen to reveal yourself to me! It confirms that my good works have been recognized and recorded in the Lamb’s Book of Life, where the names of all the righteous are ...
Jesus: Actually, we use Excel now, and if your name is in there, it’s with an asterisk, Mr. Falwell.
Busted: Grassley’s ‘Booze or Women or Movies’ Comments Hit Close to Home
When Sen. Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa) accused the non-rich of squandering their money on “booze or women or movies,” my progressive friends quickly denounced him, as they should. Sen. Grassley is clearly suffering from the senility of a political dogma long past its freshness date. But me, I kept my mouth shut.
Dog Days (plus cat)
WHEN I WAS a young man, colds were minor annoyances, though less annoying than colleagues responding to every sneeze with an automatic “God bless you,” despite lacking the ecclesial authority to do so. (What, you’re pope now?) Colds were temporary things, easily overcome by the strong immune systems of youth, and I never stayed home from work.
The Nashville Statement
I SPENT THE PAST several weeks worrying about hurricanes—and the maddening way some people keep denying any connection between these storms (aka extreme weather events) and climate change. (I have this mental picture of me throwing these people into a flooded Houston neighborhood and shouting, “Is that science enough for you!?”)
Anyway, as a result, I totally missed the release of The Nashville Statement. After some research, I realized that this important document has been insufficiently ridiculed by an award-winning humorist. But since Dave Chappelle won’t return my calls (or answer my emails, or reply to those notes I left on his bedside table when he was sleeping; he looks so peaceful ...), I’m going to give it a shot.
The statement reaffirms conservative evangelicals’ belief that marriage is between a man and a woman (and presumably their lawyer when, you know, it doesn’t work out half the time), despite the fact that no one was confused about their stance, or needed reminding that this particular limb of the body of Christ makes God blush with embarrassment whenever they come up in conversation. (I heard that God doesn’t even make eye contact on elevators anymore.)
Nor was anyone surprised that the statement came from the Bible Belt, a region known for churchgoers who think Jesus was simply off-message when he preached the Sermon on the Mount. In their view, Jesus should have stuck with the PowerPoint on personal salvation, not that whole thing about “those” people being blessed.
The statement originated in Nashville, but it could just as easily have come from Shreveport, La., or Tallahassee, Fla. I also would have accepted The Dallas-Fort Worth Statement, The Tuscaloosa Statement (Roll Tide!), or The From-My-Cold-Dead-Hands Statement.
The Brooklyn Statement, not so much.
THERE ARE FEW times in life when we experience absolute clarity.
Normally, with the unrelenting rush of time, we live more from a sense of accidental encounter than with a plan, our decisions prompted by necessity instead of resolve. When that pattern is interrupted by an unexpected revelation, we stop and take note.
Recently, I experienced such a moment, a searing flash of certainty that changed the direction of my life: Under no circumstances will I ever walk on a high wire.
This summer’s Folklife Festival in D.C. featured the Flying Wallendas, a family of circus performers with a 200-year-old legacy of defying death high above ground uncluttered by unsightly things, such as nets. They perform in massive arenas, including three-ring circuses (circi?), their legendary mental focus undisturbed by the elephants on their left or zany clown cars to their right.
The Folklife Festival, however, presented more of a challenge to their concentration since, at any given time, no fewer than eight different venues—each with its own blaring sound system—were competing for attention. While Wallenda family members walked across a high wire with no net, an amplified voice from a demonstration in the next tent spoke of culinary techniques for outdoor cooking. The contrast was disturbing.
Appearances Can Be Deceiving
AS A CHRISTIAN social justice magazine, Sojourners maintains very high standards. We take seriously our prophetic role of holding political leaders accountable, but we also adhere to important social norms when calling out an individual. We would never consider commenting on a person’s physical appearance, such as the fact that Jeff Sessions is too short for his ears. No, we take the high road. It’s what’s inside that counts, and we would never stoop so low as to denigrate someone’s dress or demeanor. That would be wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Is it just me, or have you noticed that Ivanka Trump and her husband seem to be possessed by aliens?
The Other Side of the 'News'
BEFORE WE BEGIN, I want to state unequivocally that I have never attempted to open back-channel communications with the Kremlin. I wouldn’t even know where to look for a back channel, although I’m guessing it’s down by the river. I state this partly as an admission that, in this city of nonstop intrigue, this cauldron of shocking and possibly treasonous revelations, this constant stream of leaks and denials, this torrent ...
... I’m sorry, where was I going with this? Oh, now I remember: I live in a city where each day brings another bombshell of treachery and betrayal, but I’m always the last to know. As a journalist, this hurts.
Justices Should Be Seen and Not Heard
SUPREME COURT Justice Samuel Alito recently gave a speech predicting challenging days ahead for people of the Christian faith, although he didn’t seem too concerned about people of other faiths, you know, the godless ones. “It is up to all of us to evangelize our fellow Americans about the issue of religious freedom,” he told a gathering of the Advocati Christi, a group of Catholic lawyers and judges which—and they will deny this—you just know is the secret society that chased Tom Hanks all over Rome in The Da Vinci Code. (They never caught him because he couldn’t be late to the set of his next movie. Secret Vatican sects may be powerful and nefarious, but they’re no match for Hollywood’s more unforgiving God of Staying on Schedule.)
Alito was referring to the current “onslaught” against the freedom of American Christians to practice bigotry and discrimination (italics mine; actually, so are the words), such as refusing to do business with gay people or provide comprehensive health care to women. As you may recall, giving employees access to contraception offended the Christian owners of Hobby Lobby, one of the nation’s largest purveyors of arts and craft items—mainly high-end pipe cleaners and crepe paper that the Dollar Store doesn’t carry. (I’ve never shopped at Hobby Lobby, although I’m a frequent patron of the Dollar Store, mainly for food items past their freshness date. But with Twinkies it doesn’t matter.)
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