Monthly Archives: June 2006

Mixing It up with the Techies

This week Pam and I are attending a church media conference in Indianapolis, sponsored by ChurchMedia.net. Pam runs the sound at Anchor, handles DVDs, and often pinch-hits with song slides. I do our websites and Powerpoint slides. The idea of spending time together in a learning environment, particularly when the learning will benefit our church, appealed to us.

The discussion forum at ChurchMedia.net, henceforth to be known as CMN, is known as being technical oriented. This sure came through in their seminars today. The presenters threw around techie lingo with reckless abandon. It’s kind of amusing when people do that. Do they feel a need to impress, or are they just oblivious to the fact that they’re speaking above people’s heads? (In this case, an innocent case of the latter.) They flaunted acronyms, referenced web technologies without explanation, used technical terms as if everybody knew what they meant…you get the idea. My coworkers contend that I do exactly the same thing, with equal oblivion, around them.

Despite our occasional cluelessness, Pam and I enjoyed ourselves and learned some things which may prove useful at Anchor. We attended the same seminar at the end of the afternoon, on “Blogging and Podcasting.” Pam’s been turning Tim’s sermons into MP3 files, and I’m administering five blogs at present. That was a good session. Pam attended sessions on Easyworship and using projectors. My other seminars were on digital photography (a very poor start) and doing websites (ah, now we’re talking my language!).

We’ll go back down tomorrow. The afternoon features two seminars on running sound, so that’s where Pam will be. I’ll take a seminar on using metaphors in worship (try to make that technical!), and I forget what the other two are about. But it’ll be fun. These techies are good guys (and let me repeat: guys). And may I add that they are cheap. They don’t like to spend money, but always recommend open-source software which they can get free. My experience is that open-source software is rarely easy to get up and running unless you’re a techie. Me–I go for user-friendly. I can figure things out, but I’d just as soon not have to.

Meanwhile, some of you are wondering, “What’s open-source software? Why doesn’t Steve explain what he’s talking about?” In my case, I’m just trying to impress.

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DQ Depression

I ate at Dairy Queen today. Haven’t been there in many months. I like their chicken strips basket…and the Pecan Cluster Blizzard. I thought I could muster resistance, but alas, I succumbed and must now repent in dust and ashes (preferably with a cherry on top).

About five people–one adult, the rest teens–were working. As I waited for my order, I watched them with some amusement. Everyone wore a bored expression. They even looked a bit grumpy. It was obvious that none of them enjoyed working there. It was just a job–a summer job, probably. They were just going through the motions, and forcing a smile as they said “Have a nice day,” since they obviously weren’t having one.

I realize it’s Monday. But hey–perk up! Working around ice cream can’t be that bad!

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Does Your Christian Life Require an Explanation?

Jordi has an insatiable appetite for being outside. If we are home, and there is an ounce of daylight, he believes he is entitled to be outside. And he meows incessantly until we (usually I–Pam’s tougher than me) give in. Jordi cannot be allowed outside unattended, because he will wander into neighbors’ yards, or run full-speed into them in pursuit of a rabbit or chipmunk. So we put a purple collar on him, with a bell which alerts us to his movements, and then go sit on the patio or in the grass to watch him while he stalks innocent animals, occasionally ushering him back within the boundaries of our property.

Thanks to Daylight Savings Time, we spend enormous chunks of time outside watching Jordi. A thunderstorm is a welcome treat, because he detests getting wet and shows no desire to go outside. But those are rare treats, it seems. And besides, I actually enjoy watching him. I grab a book and pen and go lay in the grass out back.

I spent a big piece of Friday outside with Jordi. Pam gets off at noon on Friday and I get off at 1 pm, so that’s nice. The temperature was in the 90s, too hot to do yardwork. So, with Jordi following me around the house, meowing and rubbing against me–not so much marking his territory as trying to subjugate it–I chose a new book, located a pen, and headed outside. And whiled away much of the rest of the day there, just laying in the grass. (Jordi, by the way, raced into the neighbor’s yard and caught a robin, which we convinced him to release after he had proudly carried it into our yard. It appeared unharmed.)

The book was Jim Wallis’s Call to Conversion, a 1981 book which he updated after 9/11. I read the whole thing on Friday. Now, I’m not gonna give it a ringing endorsement. The first chapter, the foundational chapter, didn’t totally click with me. And neither did the last two chapters. But in between was some great stuff, particularly as Wallis addressed poverty, injustice, peace-making, and the church in general. I’ve always appreciated Wallis’s writings. He founded the Sojourners community in Washington D.C., a “commune” type thing which focuses on social matters while remaining doctrinally evangelical (though many evangelicals dismiss them as liberals). He’s good on TV news shows. I’d much rather have him representing Christians than Dr. Jerry.

His second chapter deals with how Christians and churches have conformed to the world. And he takes this to an extent which would make most United Brethren either uncomfortable or guilt-ridden. Walls says what we’ve all heard countless times–that the lifestyle of Christians isn’t much different than that of nonChristians. He then calls for the church to be a community of believers that is noticeable to outsiders, noticeable because they are different–different enough to require an explanation. We notice the Amish; people ask questions about how they live, and the reasons behind their lifestyle must be explained. But who asks questions about how Christians live? NonChristians can look at the typical evangelical church without ever thinking, “These people are different. I wonder why?” Very little about us cries out for explanation.

It would be easy to gang up on the larger, richer churches, pointing to them as having conformed to the world. I certainly felt the world’s seductions (materialism, status, pride) more strongly at a large church. But I admit–very reluctantly–that there’s nothing special about how people at my smaller, poorer church live. Nothing about us that hints at a “peculiar people.” I doubt that unsaved visitors leave our doors wondering, “What makes Anchor people so different?”

Wallis says, “Modern evangelists must go through endless contortions to convince people that they are missing something that Christians have. Without the visible witness of a distinct style of life, evangelists must become aggressive and gimmicky, their methods reduced to salesmanship and showmanship.”

Wallis isn’t calling for Christians to adopt legalistic rules or for everyone to form communes. He’s more interested in Christians emulating the love and community of the early Christians, who “were known for the way they lived, not only for what they believed.” At Anchor, we’re probably known for being friendly and accepting, but I doubt that we as a people are known for how we live. Walls says our contemporary worship includes God, but also includes other “gods” with which we’ve made Christianity compatible, particularly the pursuit of wealth (which you do see more in some churches) and a sense of being culturally relevant. “We want God’s life, but we want the good life, too. We seem to believe that we can pay homage to our many cultural idols and still retain our integrity as God’s people.” I don’t know about you, but that cuts deep in my niche of the world.

In our quest for converts, we water down the gospel, make it easy and attractive. But Wallis points to the conversion of Zaccheus, who immediately made reparations to the poor. Zaccheus obviously heard, from Jesus, more than “accept me into your heart and you’ll go to heaven.” He turned his life over to Christ, but also radically changed his lifestyle. And for years to come, people no doubt asked, “I’ve known Zaccheus for years. What made this change in his life?” An explanation was needed.

Do people ask why I’m different? Why my church is different? Is an explanation needed?

Well, that was among the best chapters in Call to Conversion. I can’t begin to describe the power and prophetic nature of his chapter on injustice.

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The Non-Tortured Confessions of a Weenie

One of the great surprises of my life is that my country has become a champion of state-sponsored torture. I know my wording makes you grimace. But the USA is a world state, we do commit or allow torture (while denying it), and our top leaders oppose legal restrictions on torture, so what can I say? Our wimpy allies in other Western nations are disturbed and dismayed, failing to see the redeeming qualities of torture, a practice with a long and distinguished history. I’m proud to belong to a country unafraid to buck world opinion and do what it feels is right.

But at the same time, I’m having bouts of guilt, inexplicable difficulty accepting the obvious merits of torturing foreigners. As much as I fight these impulses, desperately trying to follow the moral leadership of Cheney and Rummy, I find myself too often succumbing to feelings which can only be described as those of a bleeding-heart, raghead-loving, weak-kneed, misguided moralist. So many of our great religious figures, like Jerry Falwell and Tom Delay, fully support the application of torture. And where are the Christian voices speaking out against torture? Nada. My misgivings obviously betray a faulty conscience.

I remember a quote from one military officer who said, “After 9/11 we opened the door to a little torture, and a whole lot of torture walked through.”

To defend torture, people always trot out the “burning fuse” argument: if a nuclear bomb will explode in an hour and a guy definitely knows where it’s located, shouldn’t you be able to torture the information out of him? My response: yes. On that I agree with Cheney et al.

But this is an extreme scenario which, as far as I know (and what do I know?), hasn’t occurred. Yet we’ve tortured a lot of people, and create secret prisons in other countries to facilitate it. Are all of these people sheltering atomic bombs? Well, no. We are torturing for lesser reasons, sometimes just going on fishing expeditions to see if the poor bloke does, indeed, know something useful, which the interrogator discovers upon finding the proper mixture of question and electrical stimuli. If we only tortured people when there was an imminent threat, hundreds of shadowy CIA patriots would be out of work. They need to ply their trade, to keep in practice for when a true burning fuse situation arises. And so they round up hapless Iraqis and Talibanis who might know something about somebody who might know something about something else…or might not. How can we know without the use of creative coercion?

Fortunately, our enlightened Administration determined that we’re exempt from the Geneva Conventions in this case. Astute legal rationalizers like Attorney General Alberto Gonzales determined that the Taliban and Al-Qaeda fighters don’t technically qualify as Prisoners of War, so we’ve got our butts covered. When some ignoramus (like me) offers an objection about how the Geneva Conventions forbids the torture of POWs, Cheney or Rumsfield will set them straight about the true legal status of these detainers. “They aren’t technically POWs,” Cheney says. And the proper response is to nod and say, “Oh, okay.”

I, on the other hand, being wimpy and unenlightened, find myself asking, “Therefore…?” Therefore…we can string them up with piano wire and attach electrodes? Apparently so. Therefore…all morality constraints are out the door? Yep. Since they aren’t technically POWs, we are excused from humane treatment. “Get the pincers out! These guys don’t qualify!” If the Geneva Conventions doesn’t apply, torture is obviously justified. Why can’t I get that through my skull?

Then there’s the “rendition” program, where we secretly send victims to Egypt or Syria or Saudi Arabia and let them brutally extract the information we want, thereby keeping our own hands clean. Because of unenlightened world opinion concerning the valuable role of torture, our Administration feels compelled to wrap itself in multiple layers of deniability, but it’s easy to turn up information about the rendition program. The New Yorker, Time, and Newsweek have all carried stories about it. I’ve read lots of documented stories on the internet. Amnesty International can tell many such stories. Cheney and Condi will look you in the face and say, with carefully parsed words, that we don’t do this kind of thing. And how can anyone not believe Condi? I mean, she’s a concert pianist! But the evidence is overwhelming. We just can’t openly fess up as a nation, and I understand that.

The New Yorker (some of the best reporting in any magazine; a publication renowned for its fact-checking department) ran an in-depth story about a year ago which told story after story about rendering Arabs to other countries. American officers (speaking off the record) bragged about the efficiency of the Egyptians. They could give the Egyptians a list of questions in the morning, and by evening they would have written answers. And suddenly, Tom Ridge is raising the color threat level due to “reliable” information. A few people, innocent or not, happened to die while in foreign prisons. I realize that, hey, that’s just the cost of Freedom. But my defective conscience plagues me.

The Clinton administrative started the rendition program. But lacking the moral backbone of the Bush Administration, they used it only with people already under indictment. The Bush Administrative is less inhibited. Just about anyone is fair game. They’ll say, “This fellow isn’t a bad guy, but we think he might know something about a bad guy. So let’s abduct him, spirit him away to Egypt for a few months, and let the Egyptians see what they can find. If it turns out the guy doesn’t know anything after all…well, sorry about that. Water under the bridge?” Again, it’s a matter of fishing expeditions, torturing people to learn stuff that has nothing to do with a burning fuse.

Sometimes it’s not technically “torture,” but just plain cruelty. That’s what we saw at Abu Ghraib. That’s what seems to have happened in the early days of Gitmo. Just plain, unadorned, gratuitous cruelty. That’s what my country does nowadays, and I’m sure it’s somewhat of a “trickle-down” consequence of allowing actual torture. Oh, I’m not so naive as to think it didn’t happen in the pre-9/11 world. But the open defense of torture (while denying that it happens) is a new wrinkle in our national conscience. And shame on me for doubting the wisdom of our leaders, all of whom talk shiningly about their faith in God, and no doubt force themselves to refrain from using the F-word when they pray.

What would Jesus do? That’s always an interesting question. Jesus would probably say, “Sure, douse him in water and hook up the electrodes. But let’s build a secret prison in Thailand and do it there. Don’t want to pollute my Most Favored Nation.” Of course that’s what Jesus would say. When he looks down on a 19-year-old Talibani, laying naked on a stone floor in a dank cell in some east European country, hungry and alone and scared, taken from the cell twice a day for lengthy interrogations with the added bonus of torture and general physical abuse–do you think Jesus is bothered by that? Of course not. Jesus is a patriot. Jesus loves the USA. He would support our president, who talks to Him regularly.

Nevertheless, while my mind understands why torture is necessary and good, I find myself inexplicably embarrassed by my country’s embrace of redemptive torture. The na√Øve wimp inside me argues that, as the only remaining superpower, we had the unprecedented ability to assert moral leadership in the world, but that our embrace of torture has sacrificed that ability in the eyes of the world. I’d like the other nations of the world to know, “Hey, we’re better than this.” But shame on me. I’m just a hopeless idealist, totally removed from the Real World.

I realize that we evangelical Christians are supposed to follow the Republican lead in taking a hard line against terrorism and supporting our Christianese-talking President. That’s why our evangelical leaders remain silent about the use of torture (silent, in fact, about anything the Bush administration does which may seem questionable). Sure, John McCain has spoke out against torture, but he was probably brainwashed during his years in North Vietnam, so you can’t really trust him. All things considered, I should just shut up.

I know that Jesus would support torturing people who might (or might not) know something that could lead to someone else who needs their own dose of pain infliction until they cough up another name just to “Make it stop!” I realize that Jesus would support the secret detention centers, that he would fly the plane to Cairo himself to unload some anonymous dude with a hood over his head. I realize that Jesus doesn’t care how we treat children of God if they have embraced Islam. I realize that Jesus, like George and Rummy and Cheney, believes that these fellows don’t qualify for humane treatment under the Geneva Conventions, and that we can therefore torture them to our heart’s content. I realize that our spiritual leaders agree with Jesus on all of this.

I guess I’m just a carnal, sniveling, unspiritual excuse for a Christian. I need to try harder.

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Prayer and Community on a Hot Summer Night

We suspended our Wednesday night activities for the summer, but Mark and Tami, two of the original core group members at Anchor, felt led to start a Wednesday night prayer time. We started last night. Pam and I joined them.

A young single mom with a difficult story I don’t know yet joined us, along with her baby son. She moved up from Florida a year ago, sometime recently walked over to the Friday night youth center to see what was going on, and found community. I don’t know that she’s a Christian yet. One of the teen guys was there. He really wants to grow. I appreciated the chance to get more acquainted. Good guy.

Eight of us total. We talked around a table in the sanctuary for a while, then broke up to pray individually for ten minutes, and then regrouped for some corporate prayer. It was a quality time. Pam and I will be in Indy next Wednesday, but on the way home, Pam said she felt it would be important for us to be there, so we’ll make sure we get back in time.

I’m no prayer warrior. I stink at prayer. As an elder I should be setting this wonderfully disciplined example, but I don’t. There, I said it. I’m tired of acting more spiritual than I am (and let me tell you–I’m good at it). But last night…that was really special. Pam and I both felt it. We connected with God, but also connected in community with some other neat people.

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Dave the Methodist Guy

Last night at the table tennis club, I talked for a while with a United Methodist minister named Dave, a tall, gregarious fellow you have to like. I’ve known for months that he was a minister, but I hadn’t yet outed myself as another fulltime ministry guy. So after I gave him a 3-1 whooping, we sat down and launched into an interesting discussion. I explained our common roots, how we split off in 1889 with a group that later merged with the Methodists to become today’s United Methodist Church.

Dave admitted that the UMCs have been losing members regularly for a long time. He said the same was true of many other denominations, and he assumed we were probably experiencing the same thing.

“Actually, we haven’t been losing members,” I told him. “We’ve just been staying at the same basic level for way too long.”

Dave asked how many members we have in the United States. “Probably less than you have just in Indiana,” I told him.

“Well, how many?”

“About 23,000 members,” I said.

“Oh, wow, you are small,” he said. He actually grimaced. “We have 200,000 members just in Indiana.”

For the record, at that point I felt like I was part of something that was excruciatingly small. A carnal, pride-driven feeling, I know.

Dave mentioned something about a large Missionary Church near him. I told him that we had recently considered merging with the Missionary Church denomination, but our group voted against it.

“What was the issue that stopped it?” he asked. “Ordination of women? Homosexuality?”

I chuckled. “No, there was no big issue,” I said. “On just about everything, we line up almost perfectly.”

“Then what stopped it?” he persisted.

And I had to think. What did stop it? It seems like the distant past at this point. I honestly drew a complete blank. I couldn’t articulate anything, and even now, I can’t identify any Overarching Prevailing Objection why the thing failed. I guess I’ve moved on. Don’t want to think about it.

Instead, I began telling Dave about the whole “joining” thing–that we proposed to the Missionary Church that our group disband and become part of the Missionary Church. “Rather than have both groups dissolve and form something completely new to both groups, with study committees and strict attention to proportional representation and all that stuff, we wanted to just give ourselves up and become part of them. We would merge into what they already have in place, so there would be as little disruption as possible.”

Dave thought that was really cool. Imagine that–a United Methodist admiring us for something. But you would expect that from a United Methodist. You know how they are, all ecumenical and stuff. “So why did your members vote against that?” It seemed to him like such a great idea, and he wouldn’t quit until I provided an answer.

Fortunately, someone came along and challenged him to a match, and our conversation ended.

For the record, Dave and I have played many times, and he has beaten me only once. So I can hold my nose high.

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The NBA’s 50 Greatest

I’m a big NBA fan. The purists prefer NCAA basketball, decrying the NBA as too commercial. Yeah, it is. But I still like it because, as Richard Gere says in “Pretty Woman,” “It’s the best.” The best players in the world, the Olympics notwithstanding.

I was fascinated when, in 1996, the NBA published its list of the 50 greatest players of all time. I put that list on a separate page for your viewing pleasure. This being ten years later, a few players need to be added–five of them, by my estimation: Duncan, Iverson, Kobe, Garnett, and Payton. I’m not definite about Payton.

Tonight the Mavs will deal Miami their third defeat. I hope. You see, I’m also a Mark Cuban fan.

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Freakin’ Freezin’

I went to Taco Bell for lunch today. It was freezing in the dining area. Being astute and thin of skin, I’ve noticed that this is common of many fast food restaurants. Why do they keep the temperature so cold for diners? My theory, formed many years ago, is that the thermostat is housed in the kitchen area. To the teens who dwell there amidst griddles and fryers, it’s uncomfortably hot. Since they hold dominion over the thermostat, and the last thing on their minds is customer comfort, they crank up the A/C. It’s not about us; it’s about them. This has been my theory about Fast Food Frigidity. I believe it with all my heart.

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Rethinking My Ten Years Alone

Sometime during my senior year of college I met Steve Charles, a new reporter for the Huntington Herald Press. I don’t remember how we met, but our personalities clicked, we touched base a few more times, and I asked him if he’d be interested in getting an apartment together after I graduated in May 1979. He liked the idea.

We called around, checking possibilities. One lady kindly asked, in sort of a roundabout way, if we were white. Steve grinned at me, and then launched into a speech about federal housing laws and the inappropriateness of refusing to rent to blacks and that he might report her to the appropriate state commission (which he named; being a reporter, he knew that stuff). The poor lady backtracked, the conversation ended, and Steve and I had a good laugh. This, I knew, would be fun.

We found a second-level, two-bedroom apartment beside the river, behind Johnny’s Drive-In. I enjoyed Steve’s company. We talked about writing and sports and politics and all kinds of fascinating stuff. It was a continuation of my senior year, when I lived off-campus with Clyde and Rick. Steve and I had a great time together…for one week. Then he was offered the editorship of a newspaper in Wickenburg, Ariz., and quickly took off. Johnny let me move into one of his one-bedroom apartments. And thus began ten years alone. Ten years before I married Pam, in 1989.

I’ve always considered those good years. And they were: full of ministry, lots of accomplishment, lots of productivity. It would be easy to say, “I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.” But this afternoon I found myself reflecting as I lay in the grass outside reading the chapter “Alone” in the wonderful book Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller. Miller describes himself as a recluse who functions well by himself, who leaves parties and church early because he’s not real social. “The presence of people would agitate me. I was so used to being able to daydream and keep myself company that other people were an intrusion. It was terribly unhealthy….The soul needs to interact with other people to be healthy.”

It’s not his best chapter. But it sure made me rethink those ten years. When I came home from work or church each night, my interaction was done. I read lots of books. I watched lots of TV. I wrote freelance articles. But wouldn’t a roommate have been great–some guy with whom I could talk about world events, Big Ideas, and Christ? As I lay in the grass this afternoon, looking up from the book, I decided, “Yes, that would have been better.” It’s a new admission.

I’ve always eaten lunch alone. In those first few years after graduating, I found that difficult. I would go to Arby’s and see a group of Huntington College employees eating together, laughing, discussing Big Ideas. Some would be peers I had attended college with a year or two before. My heart would yearn–I cannot tell you how strongly it yearned–for one of them to say, “Steve, come eat with us. Pull up a chair.” Then I could participate in the intellectual stimulation that I had enjoyed throughout college. But as I discovered, though we had been classmates, we now inhabited different worlds, and I was not part of their world. I was never, not once, invited to join them. It hurt. It puzzled me. But after a few years, the yearning stopped. I would read my magazine in one booth while they crowded around a couple tables and made merry. I made peace with eating alone, with not engaging in stimulating discussion about politics and what-have-you.

I’ve now eaten by myself for 27 years. To an extent, I now value eating alone, viewing another person’s presence almost as an intrusion. I take a magazine–The New Yorker, Wired, Newsweek–and read. Just me and the written word. I absorb tons of information. But is this solitariness healthy? If I had 27 years under my belt of interacting with other people over lunch, wouldn’t I be better off? And wouldn’t it be great if Pam and I worked in the same town and could meet for lunch?

Miller writes, “Jesus wants us interacting, eating together, laughing together, praying together. Loneliness is something that came with the fall. If loving other people is a bit of heaven, then certainly isolation is a bit of hell.”

I’m amazed at how much I talk to Pam. This guy who spent so many years alone now becomes Mr. Chatterbox when I get home and Pam asks how my day went. I never tire of talking with my wife. Is this the real me? I think so. At least, it feels more comfortable than the guy who spent so much time alone. It’s good that I realize that. Was I perhaps lonely during those years, and just didn’t realize it? I always told people I enjoyed being alone, that I functioned just fine by myself. But I now suspect I was a bit self-deluded about that. I function better when I’m engaged with other people.

Tonight Pam and I will watch the NBA finals together. It will be more fun than watching alone. And tonight, I will appreciate that fact a little bit more.

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Pick and Choose

Pam and I just returned from the church. Actually, from the little house next to the church, which serves as our Friday night youth center. They were having a little party for the two high school graduates. That meant food and cake and other goodies. We spent three hours there. The group has become a young adult group, rather than a purely high school group. Two of the girls are unwed and pregnant. Three of the guys have spent time in jail. The group, in general, seems to walk with God in shallow, stale water, though I’ve proven repeatedly that my evaluation of what God is actually doing in people’s lives can run equally shallow.

I spent tonight trying to determine who God might be laying on my heart in some special way, persons God may want me to invest something extra in. Turns out it was pretty much all of them. And yet, there were two in particular. They’re the ones I mentioned to Pam on the way to the car.

I’m really not sure what to do next. And in such situations, surrounded by other worthy causes and worldly distractions and my own uncertainty, I tend to fink out and not do anything.

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