It's been a great 12 months or so on blogspot, but my blog is moving on to (hopefully) more adventurous climes.
It's a very, very, very rough start, but I took a plunge into the domain name waters, bought genxrev and now have a new home at:
www.genxrev.com
In addition to all this newness, the blog has my first attempt at a podcast where I've recorded this Sunday's sermon. You can also go to iTunes, click on the "Podcasts" button on the upper left, type in "genxrev" in the search engine and you can listen to me there.
Frankly, I'm sick of myself and wouldn't be surprised if you are too, but, here it is. I'm going to keep this blog up, however, if you want to read earlier posts.
Thanks for reading!
Friday, September 15, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Krispy Kreme grace
This must be a dad kind of thing, but I enjoy taking the kids out for doughnuts, though I try to limit it to once a week. (My 21-month-old now says "dough-dough.") For some reason, my daughter likes Dunkin Donuts the best even when there are much better doughnuts at a local bakery in Deerfield. So we take turns. One time, my bakery, the other time, hers. Other times, we really splurge and drive about 20 minutes to a Krispy Kreme. Krispy Kremes are everywhere now, but I first had one before they migrated north in Birmingham, Alabama. That was an epiphany. The highlight for the kids, though, are seeing them made. One of the things I like about KK is the sense of abundance. Whenever we go in, we all get a free glazed right off the conveyer belt, hot and soft. The people there are always happy to see us and appear to be so eager to please.
Contrast that attitude with a trip to Radio Shack later that day (last Monday). I shouldn't pick on Radio Shack because so many other businesses do this, but I simply wanted to buy a cable that would connect my computer to a TV. As I waited to pay, watching Ethan try every radio-controlled car in sight and Caroline ogle a Barbie computer, the salesperson slid a mobile phone in front of me. "Have you seen the new Motorola phone?" (There was a name for it that I can't recall--probably something Razr because doesn't Motorola make Razr phones?) I smiled weakly and said, "It's nice." He then engaged me in discussion about my cell phone carrier and whether we were happy with it and this brought out my frustration with suggestive selling. Suggestive sellers are never satisfied. It wasn't enough that I was buying this cable. I had to buy more to satisfy the salesperson.
It was such a contrast between these two experiences and it has something to do with being the church, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe there's a Prodigal Son thing going on here. When we return to Krispy Kreme, we're welcomed and given the fatted calf/doughnut. That's a great feeling. When we go to other businesses where there's suggestive selling, there's a sense that one has to earn grace or love or satisfaction. One can never purchase or do enough.
Contrast that attitude with a trip to Radio Shack later that day (last Monday). I shouldn't pick on Radio Shack because so many other businesses do this, but I simply wanted to buy a cable that would connect my computer to a TV. As I waited to pay, watching Ethan try every radio-controlled car in sight and Caroline ogle a Barbie computer, the salesperson slid a mobile phone in front of me. "Have you seen the new Motorola phone?" (There was a name for it that I can't recall--probably something Razr because doesn't Motorola make Razr phones?) I smiled weakly and said, "It's nice." He then engaged me in discussion about my cell phone carrier and whether we were happy with it and this brought out my frustration with suggestive selling. Suggestive sellers are never satisfied. It wasn't enough that I was buying this cable. I had to buy more to satisfy the salesperson.
It was such a contrast between these two experiences and it has something to do with being the church, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe there's a Prodigal Son thing going on here. When we return to Krispy Kreme, we're welcomed and given the fatted calf/doughnut. That's a great feeling. When we go to other businesses where there's suggestive selling, there's a sense that one has to earn grace or love or satisfaction. One can never purchase or do enough.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
A different kind of remembrance
Millions of people will do some significant remembering next Monday, the 5th anniversary of 9/11. I must confess I'm a little surprised at the amount of attention this anniversary is getting. I don't know if this is a media-driven thing or if I still am not grasping just how jarring this event was to our nation. Maybe some of both.
What really struck me today, though, was in reading about what happened on today's date 66 years ago. This is from the Writer's Almanac (www.writersalmanac.publicradio.org):
"It was on this day in 1940 that the German Luftwaffe began dropping bombs on London, in what became known as the London Blitz. On the first night, 600 German bombers came in waves, dropping explosive and incendiary devices over East London. St. Paul's Cathedral, Buckingham Palace, Lambeth Palace, Piccadilly, and the House of Commons were all hit. And that was just the first night.
"Over the next eight months, Nazis dropped tens of thousands of bombs on the city. At one point during the bombing raids, Germans attacked every night for fifty-seven consecutive nights. In addition to London, they bombed fifteen other British cities. By the end, more than 30,000 Londoners had been killed, and more than 100,000 houses were destroyed."
As awful as 9/11 was, I simply can't comprehend being bombed 57 nights in a row. It put a few things in perspective for me. That, and the fact that dozens/hundreds of Iraqis are dying every day due to various forms of conflict. The war over there has been so wrong.
If you think of it, pray for my cousin Tyler, a Marine who's serving his second tour of duty in Iraq. Thanks.
What really struck me today, though, was in reading about what happened on today's date 66 years ago. This is from the Writer's Almanac (www.writersalmanac.publicradio.org):
"It was on this day in 1940 that the German Luftwaffe began dropping bombs on London, in what became known as the London Blitz. On the first night, 600 German bombers came in waves, dropping explosive and incendiary devices over East London. St. Paul's Cathedral, Buckingham Palace, Lambeth Palace, Piccadilly, and the House of Commons were all hit. And that was just the first night.
"Over the next eight months, Nazis dropped tens of thousands of bombs on the city. At one point during the bombing raids, Germans attacked every night for fifty-seven consecutive nights. In addition to London, they bombed fifteen other British cities. By the end, more than 30,000 Londoners had been killed, and more than 100,000 houses were destroyed."
As awful as 9/11 was, I simply can't comprehend being bombed 57 nights in a row. It put a few things in perspective for me. That, and the fact that dozens/hundreds of Iraqis are dying every day due to various forms of conflict. The war over there has been so wrong.
If you think of it, pray for my cousin Tyler, a Marine who's serving his second tour of duty in Iraq. Thanks.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Labor Day thoughts
Sights and sounds from a Labor Day in Matteson and Park Forest, Illinois...
I ran in a 10-mile race today down on the southern suburb of Park Forest. We decided to make an overnight of it and stayed in a hotel in Matteson last night.
--I realized while staying at the hotel how white the area in which I live is. I'm not often in a situation when I'm in a social setting with members of other ethnic groups and I'm in the minority. The key phrase here is social setting. I'm occasionally in the minority in other instances, but I'm usually in a position of a servant helping others who are poor. I have the label of servant, but, really, I'm still in a position of power. Yesterday in the hotel pool, though, we were swimming with Hispanic and African-American families all simply wanting to have fun with their children. There are Hispanic families who live in Highland Park, but, again, it's rare to be in a social situation with them when we're on fairly equal social ground. What can I do to foster these opportunities?
--We went to Olive Garden last night so I could do a little carbo-loading. About 30 minutes after we sat down, another family sat down, too. He had on running gear and, to be honest, looked African so we assumed he was running in the race, which has become nationally known and draws some international runners. I asked him if he was running, he said he was, and we engaged in some small talk throughout the evening. The next day, we discoverd he was Gilbert Tuhabonye, an American citizen who is from Burundi. He's a top international runner who also had a book written about him and his survival of an incident of genocide. Check out his amazing story at www.gilbertsgazelles.com.
--It was a fun race wih a lot of different musical ensembles along the way, including a string quartet, polka band, church choir, and bagpipes. A little rainy and a little hilly, but a great way to spend Labor Day.
--Speaking of Labor Day, here are a couple ways to honor the day. The first is to go to www.hotelworkersrising.org and learn about the effort to earn better pay and rights for hotel workers. If organizing isn't your thing, here are some things to consider doing the next time you're in a hotel (I got these suggestions from my clergy colleague, Rev. Dr. Marti Scott):
1. The day you check out, strip your own bed(s)
2. Put your used towels on the toilet seat to save the worker from having to bend down too far
3. Tip your housekeeper each day anywhere from $1-$5, more if you're really messy
4. Leave a note of appreciation and, if you're comfortable doing this, tell them you'll pray for them that day.
These are small acts of kindness and compassion that will help a person who does an enormous amount of work for not a lot of pay.
I ran in a 10-mile race today down on the southern suburb of Park Forest. We decided to make an overnight of it and stayed in a hotel in Matteson last night.
--I realized while staying at the hotel how white the area in which I live is. I'm not often in a situation when I'm in a social setting with members of other ethnic groups and I'm in the minority. The key phrase here is social setting. I'm occasionally in the minority in other instances, but I'm usually in a position of a servant helping others who are poor. I have the label of servant, but, really, I'm still in a position of power. Yesterday in the hotel pool, though, we were swimming with Hispanic and African-American families all simply wanting to have fun with their children. There are Hispanic families who live in Highland Park, but, again, it's rare to be in a social situation with them when we're on fairly equal social ground. What can I do to foster these opportunities?
--We went to Olive Garden last night so I could do a little carbo-loading. About 30 minutes after we sat down, another family sat down, too. He had on running gear and, to be honest, looked African so we assumed he was running in the race, which has become nationally known and draws some international runners. I asked him if he was running, he said he was, and we engaged in some small talk throughout the evening. The next day, we discoverd he was Gilbert Tuhabonye, an American citizen who is from Burundi. He's a top international runner who also had a book written about him and his survival of an incident of genocide. Check out his amazing story at www.gilbertsgazelles.com.
--It was a fun race wih a lot of different musical ensembles along the way, including a string quartet, polka band, church choir, and bagpipes. A little rainy and a little hilly, but a great way to spend Labor Day.
--Speaking of Labor Day, here are a couple ways to honor the day. The first is to go to www.hotelworkersrising.org and learn about the effort to earn better pay and rights for hotel workers. If organizing isn't your thing, here are some things to consider doing the next time you're in a hotel (I got these suggestions from my clergy colleague, Rev. Dr. Marti Scott):
1. The day you check out, strip your own bed(s)
2. Put your used towels on the toilet seat to save the worker from having to bend down too far
3. Tip your housekeeper each day anywhere from $1-$5, more if you're really messy
4. Leave a note of appreciation and, if you're comfortable doing this, tell them you'll pray for them that day.
These are small acts of kindness and compassion that will help a person who does an enormous amount of work for not a lot of pay.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Is this heaven?
I ran in a 5K three weeks ago down in the city that celebrated (?) the anniversary of Elvis' (alleged) death. It's quite a party--held at 6 p.m. on a Saturday with plenty of runners dressed as Elvis, music, food, drinks, etc. It's a nice route, too, that skirts around the Lincoln Park Zoo and goes along Lake Shore Drive for awhile.
Many bigger races these days have professional photographers snapping shots of runners with the hopes that each runner will purchase a memento of their looking hot, sweaty, and a little pained. Who wouldn't line up to buy one of those? I almost always pass on the purchase, but there was one shot of me that I simply couldn't resist.
Iowans are trained now to answer the question, "Is this heaven?" with "No, it's Iowa!" That's a line, of course, from "Field of Dreams." But I wonder if this photo also captures a sense of what heaven might be like. There's a crowd along the side cheering me (and others) on. I'm crossing the finish line (with the big "FINISH" sign above me). Someone's there to greet me. More specifically, someone's there to give me a high five. It isn't just anyone, though. It's the king. The king is there awaiting my finish to say, Well done, good and faithful runner. In this case, the "king" is a professional Elvis impersonator, but I kind of like the idea of a different King greeting me when my time comes to cross the final finish line.
I'll try to get around to scanning the shot and putting it up soon.
Many bigger races these days have professional photographers snapping shots of runners with the hopes that each runner will purchase a memento of their looking hot, sweaty, and a little pained. Who wouldn't line up to buy one of those? I almost always pass on the purchase, but there was one shot of me that I simply couldn't resist.
Iowans are trained now to answer the question, "Is this heaven?" with "No, it's Iowa!" That's a line, of course, from "Field of Dreams." But I wonder if this photo also captures a sense of what heaven might be like. There's a crowd along the side cheering me (and others) on. I'm crossing the finish line (with the big "FINISH" sign above me). Someone's there to greet me. More specifically, someone's there to give me a high five. It isn't just anyone, though. It's the king. The king is there awaiting my finish to say, Well done, good and faithful runner. In this case, the "king" is a professional Elvis impersonator, but I kind of like the idea of a different King greeting me when my time comes to cross the final finish line.
I'll try to get around to scanning the shot and putting it up soon.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Holy ground
Written last Friday...
There’s a “religious” song that I guess you could call contemporary called “Holy Ground” and the first part goes like this: “We are standing on holy ground/And I know that there are angels all around.” It’s not Bob Dylan, I know, but I’ve been humming that song the last 24 hours because I’m currently at a place that is holy ground for me, St. Procopius Benedictine Abbey in Lisle, IL. I’ve been coming here to hang with the monks for spiritual retreats for about 10 years now and I always leave with a peaceful heart. Sometimes the sacredness of the place is overwhelming for me. Yesterday as I walked into my room (or “cell” as the monks would call it), I was surprised at how emotional I felt as I looked out my window at the familiar surroundings. When I was pastor at Riverside UMC, I would come here almost every month. Since my children have come along, though, I’m lucky if I come out once a year. This is my second time this year—if I could come out quarterly, I’d be thrilled. I am unbelievably blessed to have an understanding wife who affirms my desire and need to be here.
There are two main reasons why this is holy ground. One is that I unplug myself from everything and feel myself naked before God. I don’t have anywhere to run or hide and so I’m confronted with my life and questions: Am I fulfilling my call? Am I loving God and neighbor with all my heart, strength, and mind? Am I allowing myself to receive love from God and neighbor in the same way? All of these questions pop into my head as I read, sleep, and walk.
The abbey is not a total escape from society. It’s still in the middle of suburbia so you can hear the cars and airplanes, but it’s secluded enough so I feel like I’m away. There are nice wooded areas with paths that I can lose myself in. There’s an apple orchard and vineyard that I can wander in and admire the literal fruits of some of the monks’ labors. I used to keep myself on a schedule as far as what I did on my retreat—reading Scripture, journaling, praying. Now I’m a lot more flexible and kind of just do as the Spirit leads. As one who is too regimented in his day-to-day schedule, that’s very freeing.
The second reason is to experience bountiful and beautiful hospitality. My liaison is Father Thomas, who is the Guest Master here. I guess you could call him a concierge of sorts. He usually greets me within a couple hours of my arrival (I know the place well enough where I can go to my room right away and start retreating) with a big smile and warm handshake. I’m comfortable enough now where I can go to the various times of prayer (Morning Praise at 6 a.m., Noon Prayer at 12 p.m., Conventual Mass at 4:50 p.m. and Evening Praise at 7 p.m.) by myself, but I need his guidance at mealtimes where he shows me where I should sit. Breakfast is eaten in silence, lunch is a buffet where we can visit with one another, and dinner is also eaten in silence with holy reading. Yesterday was a feast day (the Feast of St. Bartholomew), however, so dinner was extra nice and we could talk. As soon as I sat down, a monk with a heavy Eastern European accent offered me half his red, garden-fresh tomato. I gladly accepted. Next to me was Fr. Paschal, whom I love because he is overjoyed at the smallest things. Soon Fr. Michael came by and offered me a bit of liqueur called Benedictine and Brandy (or B&B as everyone called it) made by a monastery in France. It was Fr. Michael’s birthday so I supposed I couldn’t have refused though I’m a bit of a novice when it comes to drinking anything stronger than beer or wine (not that I’m an expert at drinking those!). It was pretty strong stuff so I took Fr. Thomas’ advice and sipped it after the meal of turkey, stuffing, squash, and chocolate cheesecake.
Many of the monks remember me, a few call out my name, and a few note that I don’t come around as much any more. They don’t say it with judgment but with regret. I agree with them, mention my children, and they smile in understanding.
I’m about to end my time here and though it was only a 24-hour retreat and I leave content. Sometimes I’m fired up to go back out and follow Christ’s example and call. Other times, I’m simply at peace and try to ease myself back into “normal” life. But I am changed every time I come to this holy ground. I hope you have those places, too. Maybe I’ll go through some others in another post.
There’s a “religious” song that I guess you could call contemporary called “Holy Ground” and the first part goes like this: “We are standing on holy ground/And I know that there are angels all around.” It’s not Bob Dylan, I know, but I’ve been humming that song the last 24 hours because I’m currently at a place that is holy ground for me, St. Procopius Benedictine Abbey in Lisle, IL. I’ve been coming here to hang with the monks for spiritual retreats for about 10 years now and I always leave with a peaceful heart. Sometimes the sacredness of the place is overwhelming for me. Yesterday as I walked into my room (or “cell” as the monks would call it), I was surprised at how emotional I felt as I looked out my window at the familiar surroundings. When I was pastor at Riverside UMC, I would come here almost every month. Since my children have come along, though, I’m lucky if I come out once a year. This is my second time this year—if I could come out quarterly, I’d be thrilled. I am unbelievably blessed to have an understanding wife who affirms my desire and need to be here.
There are two main reasons why this is holy ground. One is that I unplug myself from everything and feel myself naked before God. I don’t have anywhere to run or hide and so I’m confronted with my life and questions: Am I fulfilling my call? Am I loving God and neighbor with all my heart, strength, and mind? Am I allowing myself to receive love from God and neighbor in the same way? All of these questions pop into my head as I read, sleep, and walk.
The abbey is not a total escape from society. It’s still in the middle of suburbia so you can hear the cars and airplanes, but it’s secluded enough so I feel like I’m away. There are nice wooded areas with paths that I can lose myself in. There’s an apple orchard and vineyard that I can wander in and admire the literal fruits of some of the monks’ labors. I used to keep myself on a schedule as far as what I did on my retreat—reading Scripture, journaling, praying. Now I’m a lot more flexible and kind of just do as the Spirit leads. As one who is too regimented in his day-to-day schedule, that’s very freeing.
The second reason is to experience bountiful and beautiful hospitality. My liaison is Father Thomas, who is the Guest Master here. I guess you could call him a concierge of sorts. He usually greets me within a couple hours of my arrival (I know the place well enough where I can go to my room right away and start retreating) with a big smile and warm handshake. I’m comfortable enough now where I can go to the various times of prayer (Morning Praise at 6 a.m., Noon Prayer at 12 p.m., Conventual Mass at 4:50 p.m. and Evening Praise at 7 p.m.) by myself, but I need his guidance at mealtimes where he shows me where I should sit. Breakfast is eaten in silence, lunch is a buffet where we can visit with one another, and dinner is also eaten in silence with holy reading. Yesterday was a feast day (the Feast of St. Bartholomew), however, so dinner was extra nice and we could talk. As soon as I sat down, a monk with a heavy Eastern European accent offered me half his red, garden-fresh tomato. I gladly accepted. Next to me was Fr. Paschal, whom I love because he is overjoyed at the smallest things. Soon Fr. Michael came by and offered me a bit of liqueur called Benedictine and Brandy (or B&B as everyone called it) made by a monastery in France. It was Fr. Michael’s birthday so I supposed I couldn’t have refused though I’m a bit of a novice when it comes to drinking anything stronger than beer or wine (not that I’m an expert at drinking those!). It was pretty strong stuff so I took Fr. Thomas’ advice and sipped it after the meal of turkey, stuffing, squash, and chocolate cheesecake.
Many of the monks remember me, a few call out my name, and a few note that I don’t come around as much any more. They don’t say it with judgment but with regret. I agree with them, mention my children, and they smile in understanding.
I’m about to end my time here and though it was only a 24-hour retreat and I leave content. Sometimes I’m fired up to go back out and follow Christ’s example and call. Other times, I’m simply at peace and try to ease myself back into “normal” life. But I am changed every time I come to this holy ground. I hope you have those places, too. Maybe I’ll go through some others in another post.
Friday, August 18, 2006
I fought the law...
I received an important letter yesterday. I opened it carefully. There, in black and white and ALL CAPS, was the stark heading:
CITY OF CHICAGO, a Municipal Corporation,
Petitioner.
v.
COON, CHRISTIAN T.
HIGHLAND PARK, IL
Respondent
It was The Man against little ol' me, humble servant of the community, preacher of the gospel, well-meaning father and husband. And I won.
In April, I went downtown to the Adler Planetarium (which is a pretty average destination IMHO) with my aunt, uncle, and cousins (who are not average, in case they're reading this--they are very much above average) and I parked on Columbus Drive so we could all go over to Adler in the same car. We drove separately because they were going to leave to Michigan from there. There were signs noting that there was no parking from 7 am-4 pm because of a special event, but when I parked, it was after 4 pm. I even figured out the new parking meters and paid my fair share. A few weeks later, however, I received a letter and parking ticket from the city saying I had committed a violation.
Not true! I thought to myself. I debated whether it was worth the hassle of fighting it and decided it was. I photocopied my credit card statement, which showed I had paid for the parking. It was a pretty flimsy defense because it didn't necessarily prove anything, only that I had paid for parking that day, but it didn't say what time I had paid or where I had paid. I sent it along anyway, thinking that they would give me a break.
Someone did. The letter I received yesterday stated that a very important "Administrative Law Officer" (a Martin J. Kennelly, Jr.) had reviewed my "evidence" and it was the officer's finding "that the violation does not contain all the required information as set forth in the ordinance." In other words, I don't have to pay.
My first victory in court and I certainly hope it's the last time I have a "v." in front of my name (as in City of Chicago v. Christian T. Coon). I'm not sure why or how I got off. I'm not one to abuse my position, but I seem to recall signing my name Rev. Christian T. Coon. Just in case.
CITY OF CHICAGO, a Municipal Corporation,
Petitioner.
v.
COON, CHRISTIAN T.
HIGHLAND PARK, IL
Respondent
It was The Man against little ol' me, humble servant of the community, preacher of the gospel, well-meaning father and husband. And I won.
In April, I went downtown to the Adler Planetarium (which is a pretty average destination IMHO) with my aunt, uncle, and cousins (who are not average, in case they're reading this--they are very much above average) and I parked on Columbus Drive so we could all go over to Adler in the same car. We drove separately because they were going to leave to Michigan from there. There were signs noting that there was no parking from 7 am-4 pm because of a special event, but when I parked, it was after 4 pm. I even figured out the new parking meters and paid my fair share. A few weeks later, however, I received a letter and parking ticket from the city saying I had committed a violation.
Not true! I thought to myself. I debated whether it was worth the hassle of fighting it and decided it was. I photocopied my credit card statement, which showed I had paid for the parking. It was a pretty flimsy defense because it didn't necessarily prove anything, only that I had paid for parking that day, but it didn't say what time I had paid or where I had paid. I sent it along anyway, thinking that they would give me a break.
Someone did. The letter I received yesterday stated that a very important "Administrative Law Officer" (a Martin J. Kennelly, Jr.) had reviewed my "evidence" and it was the officer's finding "that the violation does not contain all the required information as set forth in the ordinance." In other words, I don't have to pay.
My first victory in court and I certainly hope it's the last time I have a "v." in front of my name (as in City of Chicago v. Christian T. Coon). I'm not sure why or how I got off. I'm not one to abuse my position, but I seem to recall signing my name Rev. Christian T. Coon. Just in case.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The difficulty of delighting
My post a few days ago about how we change as we get older has been a topic I sometimes (often?) reflect on, especially in regards to my personality. Can a person truly change his or her personality?
Throughout my life, a consistent comment I hear from people is that I'm quiet and/or serious. I'm pretty much resolved to the fact that I won't be hanging from the chandeliers at parties, but I also don't want to be a stick in the mud. What really got me thinking about this was three things last week (outside of the reunion). First, I was meditating on a psalm and a verse struck me: Delight in the Lord. Delighting is something I'd like to do more. Second, later in the week, a friend commented that I looked weary. I didn't necessarily feel real weary, but something about my body language must have been projecting weariness. Third, Caroline was "reading" her children's Bible and was entertaining me with a story about Jesus putting his children in car seats (she hasn't read or seen the "DaVinci Code," I swear) when she noted that Jesus was from the Land of Serious. If you think about it, "Serious" sounds like a good biblical word for a 5-year-old. Not the adjective necessarily, but as a geographic location. Anyway, I kind of laughed when she said it, but then I wondered, am I from the Land of Serious? If so, how do I acquire an exit visa?
So, this week, I've been going back to that verse from the psalms and working on delighting. I must say it's gone pretty well. This goes hand in hand with my sermon last Sunday about thinking about whether our daily decisions bring us closer or take us away from a relationship with God. I've been paying particular attention to my decisions and trying to delight when I can, but it isn't always easy. I walked into my office today around 5 p.m. and right outside my window were four teens. One had a video camera and the others had skateboards. Our church's deck is a favorite place for skateboarders and I've had to make a few phone calls to the police about it. When I saw them, I immediately told them not to skateboard on our deck. They innocently denied doing it. Later, I wondered if there was a different way to handle it. I don't know if I can delightfully tell these guys not to skateboard on the church grounds, but maybe some sort of conversation could have happened. Delighting can be difficult.
Throughout my life, a consistent comment I hear from people is that I'm quiet and/or serious. I'm pretty much resolved to the fact that I won't be hanging from the chandeliers at parties, but I also don't want to be a stick in the mud. What really got me thinking about this was three things last week (outside of the reunion). First, I was meditating on a psalm and a verse struck me: Delight in the Lord. Delighting is something I'd like to do more. Second, later in the week, a friend commented that I looked weary. I didn't necessarily feel real weary, but something about my body language must have been projecting weariness. Third, Caroline was "reading" her children's Bible and was entertaining me with a story about Jesus putting his children in car seats (she hasn't read or seen the "DaVinci Code," I swear) when she noted that Jesus was from the Land of Serious. If you think about it, "Serious" sounds like a good biblical word for a 5-year-old. Not the adjective necessarily, but as a geographic location. Anyway, I kind of laughed when she said it, but then I wondered, am I from the Land of Serious? If so, how do I acquire an exit visa?
So, this week, I've been going back to that verse from the psalms and working on delighting. I must say it's gone pretty well. This goes hand in hand with my sermon last Sunday about thinking about whether our daily decisions bring us closer or take us away from a relationship with God. I've been paying particular attention to my decisions and trying to delight when I can, but it isn't always easy. I walked into my office today around 5 p.m. and right outside my window were four teens. One had a video camera and the others had skateboards. Our church's deck is a favorite place for skateboarders and I've had to make a few phone calls to the police about it. When I saw them, I immediately told them not to skateboard on our deck. They innocently denied doing it. Later, I wondered if there was a different way to handle it. I don't know if I can delightfully tell these guys not to skateboard on the church grounds, but maybe some sort of conversation could have happened. Delighting can be difficult.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
My week in Iowa
A few random thoughts about my week in Iowa...
First, I was struck by two kinds of signs I saw in northeast Iowa. The first were abortion (pro-life) signs. Were these there when I was growing up? The second were sweet corn for sale signs. The juxtaposition of these signs certainly spurred some reflection. Life at its most complicated and most simple.
Second, I'm always taken aback when someone says they read this blog. I don' t know why I'm surprised--after all, I certainly hope that some people read it, but, still, it's pretty humbling. This is really an introduction for a public thank you to Melissa, one of the organizers of our reunion, for her kind words about it. They've stuck with me.
Third, I will never get tired of going to Adventureland, Iowa's version of Six Flags. I have nothing but great memories of going there growing up and it was such a thrill to take my kids. Caroline and Anne rode the log ride and, of course, they have pictures there at the end that you can purchase. I almost always look at them and then pass on by (tourist trap!), but I simply couldn't resist buying the shot of Caroline in front with a look of pure fear and joy and Anne in back with a huge smile. It was worth the $8.
Fourth, we drove by a Maid-Rite restaurant in Marshalltown and I couldn't believe the sign out front. They are now making ketchup available to customers. For the uninitiated, Maid-Rites are loose meat sandwiches, kind of like beefburgers, but really, really good. And putting ketchup on a Maid-Rite is like putting ketchup on a Chicago-style hot dog. You just don't do it. Call me a fundamentalist on this one.
First, I was struck by two kinds of signs I saw in northeast Iowa. The first were abortion (pro-life) signs. Were these there when I was growing up? The second were sweet corn for sale signs. The juxtaposition of these signs certainly spurred some reflection. Life at its most complicated and most simple.
Second, I'm always taken aback when someone says they read this blog. I don' t know why I'm surprised--after all, I certainly hope that some people read it, but, still, it's pretty humbling. This is really an introduction for a public thank you to Melissa, one of the organizers of our reunion, for her kind words about it. They've stuck with me.
Third, I will never get tired of going to Adventureland, Iowa's version of Six Flags. I have nothing but great memories of going there growing up and it was such a thrill to take my kids. Caroline and Anne rode the log ride and, of course, they have pictures there at the end that you can purchase. I almost always look at them and then pass on by (tourist trap!), but I simply couldn't resist buying the shot of Caroline in front with a look of pure fear and joy and Anne in back with a huge smile. It was worth the $8.
Fourth, we drove by a Maid-Rite restaurant in Marshalltown and I couldn't believe the sign out front. They are now making ketchup available to customers. For the uninitiated, Maid-Rites are loose meat sandwiches, kind of like beefburgers, but really, really good. And putting ketchup on a Maid-Rite is like putting ketchup on a Chicago-style hot dog. You just don't do it. Call me a fundamentalist on this one.
Changes
I'm sure sociologists have studied thousands of different groupings, observing how individuals behave and respond in those unique settings. I'd really love to know if any sociologists have studied class reunions because they would have to make some fascinating case studies. My 20-year reunion was last weekend and it was a great experience. It had been several years since I'd been back to my hometown of Manchester, Iowa, population 5,400 or so.
Despite the fact that my high-school classmates have all aged 20 years, it's still difficult to not see each and every one of them as 16, 17, 18. It's difficult not to see myself that way, too. Why is that? I suppose one reason is that a gathering like that one really gives me freedom to see myself as a teen-ager, which is how I feel sometimes. When I first started in the ministry and someone would come to me with an issue or if they needed comforting or advice, my first reaction was, are you kidding me? Why would you want that from me? I'm only 15! At least that's how I perceived myself. When you get together with a group of friends who knew you when you were 15, it's even easier to see yourself that way, just as you see others that way, too.
One classmate told me that she didn't think she'd changed at all, but that others had. I thought that was interesting. After she made that comment, I looked around the room at the Cedar Lodge in Manchester, Iowa. I'd guess that most everyone there came that evening at least a little self-concious about some way in which they'd changed. Maybe (in my case) it's a receding hairline. Maybe it's a change in weight or hair color. Maybe it's a mannerism or an accent they've picked up. Those are the easy changes to spot. It's pretty hard to spot the other kinds of changes. Has that person gone through trauma? How did he handle the divorce? How is she coping with that death? How are they doing--really doing--in the raising of their children? Is he happy with his job? Does she like where she lives? Does he believe in God? You might know those answers with your closer friends, but it's difficult with everyone else. But those life experiences have changed us all. And yet when we entered that room, we laughed about our memories, remembered popular songs and movies, shook our heads at the clothes we wore. And for a few hours, I suppose, my classmate was right. We hadn't changed at all.
Despite the fact that my high-school classmates have all aged 20 years, it's still difficult to not see each and every one of them as 16, 17, 18. It's difficult not to see myself that way, too. Why is that? I suppose one reason is that a gathering like that one really gives me freedom to see myself as a teen-ager, which is how I feel sometimes. When I first started in the ministry and someone would come to me with an issue or if they needed comforting or advice, my first reaction was, are you kidding me? Why would you want that from me? I'm only 15! At least that's how I perceived myself. When you get together with a group of friends who knew you when you were 15, it's even easier to see yourself that way, just as you see others that way, too.
One classmate told me that she didn't think she'd changed at all, but that others had. I thought that was interesting. After she made that comment, I looked around the room at the Cedar Lodge in Manchester, Iowa. I'd guess that most everyone there came that evening at least a little self-concious about some way in which they'd changed. Maybe (in my case) it's a receding hairline. Maybe it's a change in weight or hair color. Maybe it's a mannerism or an accent they've picked up. Those are the easy changes to spot. It's pretty hard to spot the other kinds of changes. Has that person gone through trauma? How did he handle the divorce? How is she coping with that death? How are they doing--really doing--in the raising of their children? Is he happy with his job? Does she like where she lives? Does he believe in God? You might know those answers with your closer friends, but it's difficult with everyone else. But those life experiences have changed us all. And yet when we entered that room, we laughed about our memories, remembered popular songs and movies, shook our heads at the clothes we wore. And for a few hours, I suppose, my classmate was right. We hadn't changed at all.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Reunion, Part I
I go back to my hometown tonight for the first part of my 20-year reunion. Think of me around 9 p.m. as I reminisce with my classmates at Beaver's Lounge in Manchester, Iowa.
On your right
Acedia is kind of a spiritual sloth and I'm guessing just about everyone goes through at various points, some more than others. I've been kind of going through acedia light lately, finding it difficult to pray and be attuned to God.
I'm in Waterloo, Iowa, now visiting my dad and stepmother. He just moved here as he's taking over as pastor of Kimball Avenue United Methodist Church. Waterloo is also right next to Cedar Falls, home of the University of Northern Iowa and the birthplace of Christian T. Coon. He and his wife live on the edge of town very close to the Cedar Valley Nature Trail, a bike/hike path that goes from Waterloo to Cedar Rapids. I ran over there this morning and ran along the path, a very lovely trail that takes you through residential and farm areas. I came upon a gazebo that overlooked the Cedar River and decided to plop down on a bench and have some 1-on-1 time with God. I literally had an out-loud conversation, expressing my hopes, frustrations, anxieties, fears. I got up and started heading back, still in my own little world when all of a sudden...
(One of my favorite movies to draw from in sermons is "It's a Wonderful Life." I've never used the every-time-a-bell-rings-an-angel-gets-its-wings scene, though. Smart People may smile at that, but we know, of course, it's not true. Don't we?)
...Ring-ring! I literally jumped as a woman came past me on her bicycle. Ring-ring! went her bell. "On your right," she called as she came by me. That scene from "It's a Wonderful Life" came into my mind. I don't know if an angel got his or her wings at that moment, but I did feel as though I did.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Reviews
You may have noticed a change I made to the layout to the blog a few weeks ago, including adding the "Books I'm Reading" section to the right.
I've been meaning to give my two cents to books and movies that I take in, but obviously haven't gotten around to doing it. Here, though, are a couple:
I'm joining millions of others in my real enjoyment in reading "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. It's been a while since I've read a gripping novel, one I couldn't put down, but I finished it pretty quickly during my few days off last week. It can be gruesome at times so be aware of that, but what a great read, in addition to enlightening me at least a little bit on the culture of Afghanistan.
A neat documentary for all ages is one we watched last weekened called "Mad Hot Ballroom" about a ballroom dancing class offered to 5th-graders in New York. I would have liked a little more background on the kids they focused on and a little less dancing, but, still, I'd give it 4 out of 5 stars. Pretty inspiring.
A book that I'm currently reading is "Praying for Gil Hodges." It's just OK unless you're a rabid Brooklyn Dodgers fan. More than a few editing mistakes, which annoys me, and his writing style, for some reason, just isn't very engaging.
I probably won't be posting for another week as I'm off to Iowa for my high-school reunion (#20). Should be a very interesting experience, to say the least, and will hopefully give me some grist for the blog.
I've been meaning to give my two cents to books and movies that I take in, but obviously haven't gotten around to doing it. Here, though, are a couple:
I'm joining millions of others in my real enjoyment in reading "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. It's been a while since I've read a gripping novel, one I couldn't put down, but I finished it pretty quickly during my few days off last week. It can be gruesome at times so be aware of that, but what a great read, in addition to enlightening me at least a little bit on the culture of Afghanistan.
A neat documentary for all ages is one we watched last weekened called "Mad Hot Ballroom" about a ballroom dancing class offered to 5th-graders in New York. I would have liked a little more background on the kids they focused on and a little less dancing, but, still, I'd give it 4 out of 5 stars. Pretty inspiring.
A book that I'm currently reading is "Praying for Gil Hodges." It's just OK unless you're a rabid Brooklyn Dodgers fan. More than a few editing mistakes, which annoys me, and his writing style, for some reason, just isn't very engaging.
I probably won't be posting for another week as I'm off to Iowa for my high-school reunion (#20). Should be a very interesting experience, to say the least, and will hopefully give me some grist for the blog.
On turning 10
A parishioner asked me to write a few words to her daughter who will turn 10 next week. Here's what I wrote:
I came across a poem a couple of weeks ago by Billy Collins, who used to be our country’s poet laureate. The poem is called “On Turning Ten,” so I was very excited, thinking I could use this for your book. The poem, however, is a little sad. He writes that when one turns 10, a young person gives up a large piece of his or her childhood. Imagination is lost. Playfulness is left behind. Wonder is discarded. I suppose there is a little truth in that. As one gets older (and especially when you hit double digits!), there is an expectation to mature and these days adults (including myself) may have an unrealistic expectation that we need to “grow up” children faster than we should.
You are already a very bright young person, full of delight and wisdom, and what a joy for me to get the chance to know you. But I hope as you get older, hitting 11, 12, 13 (!), 16, 20, that you don’t give up all of your childhood, especially a sense of wonder. This is the highlight of being a child, I think, wonder. Having a sense of awe in the face of all we come across because there is holiness in everything. There’s a story in the book of Acts where Peter heals a disabled homeless man. When the people realized what had happened, “they were filled with wonder and amazement.” May God continue to fill you with wonder and amazement, no matter how old you are.
I came across a poem a couple of weeks ago by Billy Collins, who used to be our country’s poet laureate. The poem is called “On Turning Ten,” so I was very excited, thinking I could use this for your book. The poem, however, is a little sad. He writes that when one turns 10, a young person gives up a large piece of his or her childhood. Imagination is lost. Playfulness is left behind. Wonder is discarded. I suppose there is a little truth in that. As one gets older (and especially when you hit double digits!), there is an expectation to mature and these days adults (including myself) may have an unrealistic expectation that we need to “grow up” children faster than we should.
You are already a very bright young person, full of delight and wisdom, and what a joy for me to get the chance to know you. But I hope as you get older, hitting 11, 12, 13 (!), 16, 20, that you don’t give up all of your childhood, especially a sense of wonder. This is the highlight of being a child, I think, wonder. Having a sense of awe in the face of all we come across because there is holiness in everything. There’s a story in the book of Acts where Peter heals a disabled homeless man. When the people realized what had happened, “they were filled with wonder and amazement.” May God continue to fill you with wonder and amazement, no matter how old you are.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
An important list
My wife and her siblings have put in a lot of hours these past few months getting their mother’s (and their former) house ready to sell. For those who don’t know, Anne’s mom passed away last September. She’d lived in that home in northwestern Evanston for 40 years and was a saver so there was a lot to go through. They’ve come across many treasures, all kinds of odds and ends, and quite a few things they had completely forgotten about. So many emotions packed into so many boxes.
One of my favorites, though, is a little slip of paper that Anne came across. There’s no title on it, but it’s a list of events and dates that occurred in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Most of the events are fairly significant. A trip to Greece. A granddaughter is born. A tree is cut down. The boyfriend of her daughter asks for a blessing so he can propose (that would be me and the date was July 26, 1993). She also listed a couple of things that don’t seem too terribly important. November 1993 was the time that she got her dog’s teeth cleaned, for example. I don’t know why she chose the things she did to write down on this particular piece of paper, but it’s fascinating to see them next to each other. So many things make up our lives and when we sit down to think about them, we usually start with the major, life-changing events. We probably don’t list a big ash tree being cut down or taking a dog to the vet. But those everyday occurrences fill in the framework of our lives.
One of my favorites, though, is a little slip of paper that Anne came across. There’s no title on it, but it’s a list of events and dates that occurred in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Most of the events are fairly significant. A trip to Greece. A granddaughter is born. A tree is cut down. The boyfriend of her daughter asks for a blessing so he can propose (that would be me and the date was July 26, 1993). She also listed a couple of things that don’t seem too terribly important. November 1993 was the time that she got her dog’s teeth cleaned, for example. I don’t know why she chose the things she did to write down on this particular piece of paper, but it’s fascinating to see them next to each other. So many things make up our lives and when we sit down to think about them, we usually start with the major, life-changing events. We probably don’t list a big ash tree being cut down or taking a dog to the vet. But those everyday occurrences fill in the framework of our lives.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Gone fishin'
My mom is in town visiting so we played tourist this morning and trekked down to the Shedd Aquarium. I usually have mixed feelings about going there. My memories of previous visits (and my wife concurs with me on this) are very dark rooms with creepy fish and a fear that the tanks are going to break at any moment and we'll all get eaten by some strange fish that should be in the Amazon. But this is not your father's Shedd Aquarium.
It really is a remarkable place (despite the $23 fee for adults and $16 for kids) and put me in continuous awe of God's creation. Beauty and ugliness (in the eye of the beholder, I suppose) are right next to each other, existing peacefully, I would imagine.
A tourist tip for those visiting Chicago and Chicagolanders going downtown: if I had to do it over again, I'd skip the dolphin show and spend most of my time in the Wild Reef section, which was, for lack of a better word, inspiring. The dolphin show? Eh. Unless you have kids who are dying to see the dolphins do a few jumps, you'd be better off doing something else.
I must say, though, that the whole thing made me want to buy an aquarium. I know now, though, to wait a few days on those impulses.
It really is a remarkable place (despite the $23 fee for adults and $16 for kids) and put me in continuous awe of God's creation. Beauty and ugliness (in the eye of the beholder, I suppose) are right next to each other, existing peacefully, I would imagine.
A tourist tip for those visiting Chicago and Chicagolanders going downtown: if I had to do it over again, I'd skip the dolphin show and spend most of my time in the Wild Reef section, which was, for lack of a better word, inspiring. The dolphin show? Eh. Unless you have kids who are dying to see the dolphins do a few jumps, you'd be better off doing something else.
I must say, though, that the whole thing made me want to buy an aquarium. I know now, though, to wait a few days on those impulses.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Humbled by prayer
Pastors quite naturally talk a lot about prayer. Whether they actually pray themselves is probably a topic for another time, but I was struck a couple different ways today when thinking about prayer.
There's some long-range planning going on this summer in our church and that always brings (for me) a lot of excitement and also some anxiety. Our family went down to the dog beach in Highland Park yesterday and as I was coming back up to our car, out of nowhere, a thought came to me: Am I intentionally praying about these hopes/objectives? A more penetrating question came this morning: If I am, do I really believe in the efficacy of these prayers? I was humbled and a little embarrassed by my initial answers.
Later today I received a wonderful voice mail message from a long-time member of our church who moved to warmer climes last year. In the midst of her message, she said, quite emphatically, "I'm praying for you every day." I have no doubt that she does and I am unbelievably moved by that. It's amazing what someone else's prayers can do for your own.
There's some long-range planning going on this summer in our church and that always brings (for me) a lot of excitement and also some anxiety. Our family went down to the dog beach in Highland Park yesterday and as I was coming back up to our car, out of nowhere, a thought came to me: Am I intentionally praying about these hopes/objectives? A more penetrating question came this morning: If I am, do I really believe in the efficacy of these prayers? I was humbled and a little embarrassed by my initial answers.
Later today I received a wonderful voice mail message from a long-time member of our church who moved to warmer climes last year. In the midst of her message, she said, quite emphatically, "I'm praying for you every day." I have no doubt that she does and I am unbelievably moved by that. It's amazing what someone else's prayers can do for your own.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Quiet, please--baseball game in progress
I went up to Milwaukee again today to watch another baseball game, this time against my favorite team, the Reds (who lost, by the way, in truly ugly fashion--their bullpen is so, so bad). But the thing that made me ponder did not take place on the field.
The ticket I used was a Father's Day gift and it was a great seat--seven rows behind home plate. The crowd was pretty genial and somewhat sedate around where I was sitting. There were a few of us Reds fans and the Brewer fans didn't seem to mind our occasional cheering for the opposition. Until the top of the 9th. There was a guy (a Reds fan) a few rows behind me who started screaming at the Brewer pitcher. He kept calling the pitcher a "muppet" (he did kind of look like one) and kept saying over and over that he needed to throw harder. It was a weird sort of heckling and a little annoying, but nothing outrageous. After a while, however, a Brewer fan turned around told him to knock it off. The Reds fan made his case quite well: He wasn't swearing; he was simply cheering for his team. The Brewer fan then started to educate him on how he was supposed to cheer. It was OK to cheer for the Reds, apparently, but not OK to say anything bad about the Brewers. They went back and forth on this topic for a few minutes, to the chagrin and amusement of the people sitting around them. I thought the Brewer fan was making kind of a ludicrous case, but then he said something that made me think of church. He said to the Reds fan, "You're too exuberant."
Ah, yes. Exuberance. Passion. Excitement. So many in our society look askance at people of faith if they show a little too much exuberance. Keep it quiet. Keep it to yourself. Keep me out of it.
"We shouldn't put down people who show great euphoria and excitement after a born again or religious experience. They're right. Suddenly the world makes sense for them. Suddenly it's okay, despite the absurdity, the injustice, the pain. Life is now so spacious that we can even absorb the contradictions. God is so great, so bottomless, so empty, that God can absorb even the contraries, even the collision of opposites. Thus salvation often feels like a kind of universal amnesty, a total forgiveness of ourselves and all other things."
--From "Everything Belongs" by Richard Rohr
The ticket I used was a Father's Day gift and it was a great seat--seven rows behind home plate. The crowd was pretty genial and somewhat sedate around where I was sitting. There were a few of us Reds fans and the Brewer fans didn't seem to mind our occasional cheering for the opposition. Until the top of the 9th. There was a guy (a Reds fan) a few rows behind me who started screaming at the Brewer pitcher. He kept calling the pitcher a "muppet" (he did kind of look like one) and kept saying over and over that he needed to throw harder. It was a weird sort of heckling and a little annoying, but nothing outrageous. After a while, however, a Brewer fan turned around told him to knock it off. The Reds fan made his case quite well: He wasn't swearing; he was simply cheering for his team. The Brewer fan then started to educate him on how he was supposed to cheer. It was OK to cheer for the Reds, apparently, but not OK to say anything bad about the Brewers. They went back and forth on this topic for a few minutes, to the chagrin and amusement of the people sitting around them. I thought the Brewer fan was making kind of a ludicrous case, but then he said something that made me think of church. He said to the Reds fan, "You're too exuberant."
Ah, yes. Exuberance. Passion. Excitement. So many in our society look askance at people of faith if they show a little too much exuberance. Keep it quiet. Keep it to yourself. Keep me out of it.
"We shouldn't put down people who show great euphoria and excitement after a born again or religious experience. They're right. Suddenly the world makes sense for them. Suddenly it's okay, despite the absurdity, the injustice, the pain. Life is now so spacious that we can even absorb the contradictions. God is so great, so bottomless, so empty, that God can absorb even the contraries, even the collision of opposites. Thus salvation often feels like a kind of universal amnesty, a total forgiveness of ourselves and all other things."
--From "Everything Belongs" by Richard Rohr
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Outcasts on wheels
For the third year in a row, our church has done amazingly well in raising money and awareness in the fight against multiple sclerosis. We had more than 90 people participate (either volunteering or biking) in the "Tour de Farms" MS 150, a two-day bike ride around DeKalb. Our goal was to raise $40,000 and, at this point, we've topped that by $4,000.
I rode 35 miles on Saturday with probably about 20 folks from Christ United Methodist Church (others rode longer distances). As we were gathering for our 7 a.m. send-off, I noticed again the numerous businesses who were present. They weren't hard to miss because they had employees/representatives wearing very nice biking gear with their company names emblazoned on them. Allstate was there. So was CDW, Walgreens, Harlem Furniture, and others I can't recall. I remember noticing them last year and wondering how expensive it was to buy those outfits and whether we could find someone to buy some for us.
(I had the same hang-up in high school. When I ran cross-country my first two years, we had these pretty ugly uniforms and old sweats. Other teams had the latest, greatest gear. I jokingly (?) complained to our coach that we needed new uniforms. On the contrary, he said, he loved it that we looked the worse. That way other people would underestimate us.()
CUMC had nice cotton t-shirts and some people wore them. We were actually a mish-mash of different clothing, abilities, and bicycles. I heard one of our youth say, "We're like a bunch of outcasts." I'm not sure if he meant that in a bad way, but his comment was right on. We were a bunch of outcasts in more ways than one. We weren't all dressed the samewe didn't have the best gear in the world, but we were a community of faith on wheels, people proclaiming (and huffing and puffing) that Christ is Lord. That makes us outcasts, and I was so proud to be a part of it.
I rode 35 miles on Saturday with probably about 20 folks from Christ United Methodist Church (others rode longer distances). As we were gathering for our 7 a.m. send-off, I noticed again the numerous businesses who were present. They weren't hard to miss because they had employees/representatives wearing very nice biking gear with their company names emblazoned on them. Allstate was there. So was CDW, Walgreens, Harlem Furniture, and others I can't recall. I remember noticing them last year and wondering how expensive it was to buy those outfits and whether we could find someone to buy some for us.
(I had the same hang-up in high school. When I ran cross-country my first two years, we had these pretty ugly uniforms and old sweats. Other teams had the latest, greatest gear. I jokingly (?) complained to our coach that we needed new uniforms. On the contrary, he said, he loved it that we looked the worse. That way other people would underestimate us.()
CUMC had nice cotton t-shirts and some people wore them. We were actually a mish-mash of different clothing, abilities, and bicycles. I heard one of our youth say, "We're like a bunch of outcasts." I'm not sure if he meant that in a bad way, but his comment was right on. We were a bunch of outcasts in more ways than one. We weren't all dressed the samewe didn't have the best gear in the world, but we were a community of faith on wheels, people proclaiming (and huffing and puffing) that Christ is Lord. That makes us outcasts, and I was so proud to be a part of it.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Cold-call evangelism
I tell people in my congregation this and I never know if they believe me, but, when it comes to evangelism—communicating and conveying the good news of Jesus Christ—they have it much harder than I do. The very nature of my profession gives me an “in.” People expect me to be able to talk about God and, sometimes, they feel comfortable asking questions about God or whatever. It’s harder if you’re an accountant or teacher or dishwasher. People expect you to talk about numbers or your subject or whatever’s on your mind, except maybe religion. But I got a chance to do a kind-of evangelistic cold call Wednesday and, even though I have no idea if it will bear fruit, I’m glad I did.
We had dinner with another family last weekend and the mom mentioned that their neighbors had told them that they were looking for a church and that they had grown up in the Methodist church. I didn’t know what to do with this information so I just figured I’d leave it up to the Spirit to handle it. The Spirit did. Wed. night we were at an ice-cream social at the preschool my daughter went to and my wife noted (she evidently had met them before) that the aforementioned family (the one without a church) was present. At least part of them were--the dad and three kids. I surprised myself a bit by feeling somewhat confident in approaching them. I introduced myself, said I’d heard from their neighbor that they were looking for a church and gave him my business card. He was a bit taken aback, I think, and didn’t know quite what to say, but he said thanks and I left.
Who knows where this will lead or if they’ll even pay us a visit? But the encounter was a blessing to me.
We had dinner with another family last weekend and the mom mentioned that their neighbors had told them that they were looking for a church and that they had grown up in the Methodist church. I didn’t know what to do with this information so I just figured I’d leave it up to the Spirit to handle it. The Spirit did. Wed. night we were at an ice-cream social at the preschool my daughter went to and my wife noted (she evidently had met them before) that the aforementioned family (the one without a church) was present. At least part of them were--the dad and three kids. I surprised myself a bit by feeling somewhat confident in approaching them. I introduced myself, said I’d heard from their neighbor that they were looking for a church and gave him my business card. He was a bit taken aback, I think, and didn’t know quite what to say, but he said thanks and I left.
Who knows where this will lead or if they’ll even pay us a visit? But the encounter was a blessing to me.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
God is dog spelled backwards
We've had our dog, Stella, now for about 7 1/2 years. She really is very friendly (most of the time) and, I suppose, considered part of the family. Most of the time. She's also gone through what many dogs go through in her situation--demotion in the family hierarchy. Before kids, she got many walks, play times, belly rubs, etc. Now, she's nice to have around, but doesn't get the TLC she used to. Unfortunately, sometimes she's only really noticed when she does something bad, like yesterday, for instance.
Stella barks at dogs when they walk by our house, but she really loses it when a dog comes by that's not on a leash (which is a violation of a Highland Park ordinance, fyi). She really, really loses it when a particular dog comes by. She has a history with this dog. Before yesterday, there have been two instances when Stella got loose and chased after the dog much to our chagrin and much to the anger of the other dog's owners. That's a long story I won't get into. Yesterday was Incident 3 with this dog. The front door was left ajar, the dog (off leash) comes trotting by with its owner, Stella gets out, chase ensues. Anne was upset about it after telling me about it and I kind of stressed about it, too. Would the owners confront us? Call animal control? My anxiety level was too high for the rest of the day.
That's the point I'm making in all this. One of my growing edges is my inability to give things to God, especially seemingly minor things. I fret too much rather than being in prayer. I try to control rather than letting loose. Dear Lord, help me with this one.
Stella barks at dogs when they walk by our house, but she really loses it when a dog comes by that's not on a leash (which is a violation of a Highland Park ordinance, fyi). She really, really loses it when a particular dog comes by. She has a history with this dog. Before yesterday, there have been two instances when Stella got loose and chased after the dog much to our chagrin and much to the anger of the other dog's owners. That's a long story I won't get into. Yesterday was Incident 3 with this dog. The front door was left ajar, the dog (off leash) comes trotting by with its owner, Stella gets out, chase ensues. Anne was upset about it after telling me about it and I kind of stressed about it, too. Would the owners confront us? Call animal control? My anxiety level was too high for the rest of the day.
That's the point I'm making in all this. One of my growing edges is my inability to give things to God, especially seemingly minor things. I fret too much rather than being in prayer. I try to control rather than letting loose. Dear Lord, help me with this one.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Let's just watch the game
Some (many?) blogs are by their very nature exercises in selfishness. When folks ask me what my blog is about, I have to be pretty honest. Me. There's more to it than that, I guess. I'd like to think it's God and me, but the me is definitely in there. Anyway, I try to avoid navel gazing as best I can, but today's post will fall into the selfishness category..
As I was running last Sunday morning, I tried to think of a fatherly thing to do with my kids and wondered if the Milwaukee Brewers were in town so I could take my 5-year-old to a game. I came home, checked the paper and the Brewers were playing at home. I actually prefer going to Milwaukee to see baseball these days. It's only about 75 minutes away, the parking is better, it's a new park, and seats are available. Most of the time.
We headed north right after church, I only answered "How much longer?" four times, we played some intense games of "I Spy," and made it there about 20 minutes before the game started. But it took forever to get into the parking lot. I decided to pay more ($12) for "Preferred Parking" so we wouldn't have to walk as far, but we were stuck for quite some time in a long line of cars. I turned on the radio to listen to the game and Bob Uecker (the announcer) noted the size of the crowd. He wasn't surprised, after all, because "it's a sell-out." I couldn't believe it. I didn't even check before I left because Brewer games are never sold out. We waited another 20 minutes or so to park (and the parking wasn't that preferred) and I wondered if we'd wasted $12 for a game we couldn't attend. They did have standing-room-only tickets so I bit the bullet and decided we'd chance it.
We made our way up to the top level of the stadium and came upon a kids area with a playground. They had a special kids concession stand there, too, so we ordered our food, found a spot on a bench and ate our hot dogs. I watched the game on a TV monitor and Caroline eagerly awaited to play in the playground. We finished, made our way over there and the woman stopped Caroline.
"She has to have socks on."
"What?"
"She has to have socks on to go in there." Caroline was wearing sandals so was barefoot at this moment.
"How about if she puts her sandals on?"
A shake of the head. "Nope. Only socks."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"You can buy some socks the gift store."
Of course you can. Caroline took this better than I did. I was muttering as we walked away and then a roar from the crowd came through the gates. I grabbed Caroline's hand and we ran out to see what happened. A Brewer home run and Bernie the Brewer sliding down his special slide. I spotted a couple of empty seats, asked the guy if we could sit there and he nodded. So, we actually watched some baseball for a couple innings and Caroline seemed to be enjoying it. We took off to explore some more and, at one point, Caroline said to me, "Daddy, can't we just watch the game?" Beautiful words to my ears. If only we had seats.
There was another kids area with one of those enclosed trampolines and she had fun doing that while I had a great view of the scoreboard and a bit of centerfield. After the 7th, I asked if she wanted to go home and she said yes pretty quickly.
I rarely have had such a frustrating and completely enjoyable experience. Hmmm, a little like fatherhood, perhaps.
As I was running last Sunday morning, I tried to think of a fatherly thing to do with my kids and wondered if the Milwaukee Brewers were in town so I could take my 5-year-old to a game. I came home, checked the paper and the Brewers were playing at home. I actually prefer going to Milwaukee to see baseball these days. It's only about 75 minutes away, the parking is better, it's a new park, and seats are available. Most of the time.
We headed north right after church, I only answered "How much longer?" four times, we played some intense games of "I Spy," and made it there about 20 minutes before the game started. But it took forever to get into the parking lot. I decided to pay more ($12) for "Preferred Parking" so we wouldn't have to walk as far, but we were stuck for quite some time in a long line of cars. I turned on the radio to listen to the game and Bob Uecker (the announcer) noted the size of the crowd. He wasn't surprised, after all, because "it's a sell-out." I couldn't believe it. I didn't even check before I left because Brewer games are never sold out. We waited another 20 minutes or so to park (and the parking wasn't that preferred) and I wondered if we'd wasted $12 for a game we couldn't attend. They did have standing-room-only tickets so I bit the bullet and decided we'd chance it.
We made our way up to the top level of the stadium and came upon a kids area with a playground. They had a special kids concession stand there, too, so we ordered our food, found a spot on a bench and ate our hot dogs. I watched the game on a TV monitor and Caroline eagerly awaited to play in the playground. We finished, made our way over there and the woman stopped Caroline.
"She has to have socks on."
"What?"
"She has to have socks on to go in there." Caroline was wearing sandals so was barefoot at this moment.
"How about if she puts her sandals on?"
A shake of the head. "Nope. Only socks."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"You can buy some socks the gift store."
Of course you can. Caroline took this better than I did. I was muttering as we walked away and then a roar from the crowd came through the gates. I grabbed Caroline's hand and we ran out to see what happened. A Brewer home run and Bernie the Brewer sliding down his special slide. I spotted a couple of empty seats, asked the guy if we could sit there and he nodded. So, we actually watched some baseball for a couple innings and Caroline seemed to be enjoying it. We took off to explore some more and, at one point, Caroline said to me, "Daddy, can't we just watch the game?" Beautiful words to my ears. If only we had seats.
There was another kids area with one of those enclosed trampolines and she had fun doing that while I had a great view of the scoreboard and a bit of centerfield. After the 7th, I asked if she wanted to go home and she said yes pretty quickly.
I rarely have had such a frustrating and completely enjoyable experience. Hmmm, a little like fatherhood, perhaps.
Friday, June 09, 2006
I once was lost...
I was unbelievably happy a few weeks ago when I received a particular item in the mail--the announcement for my 20-year high school reunion. It wasn't the announcement itself that had me excited (though I am going and will write about that in my next entry), it was the fact that the organizers knew where I was.
I graduated with a class of about 130 which, in Iowa, is a pretty good size. I was active in different things so I felt like I knew most of my classmates pretty well; I keep in touch with a few of them. It was disheartening, then, for our 5-year class reunion when a friend of mine called and told me (a little too gleefully, I thought) that I was officially lost. Huh? Apparently in the local paper, the reunion organizers had put together a list of people they had no address or phone for. There were about 10 listed. The lost. I couldn't believe it. I kept in touch with quite a few of my classmates and I was still lost. The same thing happened for my 10-year reunion and 15-year reunion (which I didn't attend). Part of the problem, I'm guessing, is that my parents don't live in my hometown any more, but it's still pretty humbling to be on the list of the lost.
But not this year.
I don't know why things have changed, but somebody knows where I am. In fact, when I called that friend to ask if he'd received the reunion announcement, he said he hadn't. Now he was lost! What a great feeling to be found.
"And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!" And they began to celebrate.--Luke 15:23-24
I graduated with a class of about 130 which, in Iowa, is a pretty good size. I was active in different things so I felt like I knew most of my classmates pretty well; I keep in touch with a few of them. It was disheartening, then, for our 5-year class reunion when a friend of mine called and told me (a little too gleefully, I thought) that I was officially lost. Huh? Apparently in the local paper, the reunion organizers had put together a list of people they had no address or phone for. There were about 10 listed. The lost. I couldn't believe it. I kept in touch with quite a few of my classmates and I was still lost. The same thing happened for my 10-year reunion and 15-year reunion (which I didn't attend). Part of the problem, I'm guessing, is that my parents don't live in my hometown any more, but it's still pretty humbling to be on the list of the lost.
But not this year.
I don't know why things have changed, but somebody knows where I am. In fact, when I called that friend to ask if he'd received the reunion announcement, he said he hadn't. Now he was lost! What a great feeling to be found.
"And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!" And they began to celebrate.--Luke 15:23-24
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Advertising in the police blotter
Our marketing team has been getting together to talk about another publicity campaign in September about our church, including mailings, banners, and newspaper ads. We have an ad coming to us from the local paper because of a mix-up at Easter and a previous ad didn't make it in. I noticed during Easter that the Willow Creek megachurch advertised in our local paper only they didn't do in the special religious section, they advertised in the Entertainment section. I assume it's to differentiate themselves and also with the belief that people look at ads more closely in that section (I'll leave the comments alone about megachurch worship being simply entertainment).
We discovered something, however, when talking to one of the newspaper reps. The most widely read section in the newspaper is actually the police blotter. I can think of no better place to put an ad. A place that signifies at least a little brokenness. It's the broken places that the church needs to be.
We discovered something, however, when talking to one of the newspaper reps. The most widely read section in the newspaper is actually the police blotter. I can think of no better place to put an ad. A place that signifies at least a little brokenness. It's the broken places that the church needs to be.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Nightmare on Elm (was it Elm?) Street
I know I'm stressed when I have one of four dreams. There's the classic, attending a class for my final and realizing I haven't shown up all semester. That seems to be a universal dream. I have three others are are fairly similar. One is basic, which goes back to my days in theatre in college. That dream has me forgetting or not knowing my lines. Another is more recent and usually entails a packed sanctuary and me unable to get my robe on or being late for the service. The final one is one that actually came true last Saturday. I was running in a 10K race in Western Springs. I was feeling pretty good through the first two miles (a 10K is 6.2 miles) and had a sense that mile 3 was coming up. There were about 10 people ahead of me and we were running down a street when a guy next to me stopped and said, "I think we need to turn there." I yelled out, "Turn!" and a few of us turned around to go down a different street. Another woman was there, however, and said, "No, no, the lead guy kept going straight. You've got to go straight!" A quick decision had to be made. Bad dream coming true--running the wrong way during a road race. The guy who first said we need to turn turned. I decided to keep going straight. I should have followed him. I ended up (along with a few others) running about 3/4 of a mile out of the way. When I finally realized that, it was disheartening and my energy got sapped pretty quickly (the heat probably had something to do with that, too).
What a struggle when you have a feeling that you're going in the wrong direction. Wasted energy, loneliness, anger at innocent people. I've been reading Psalm 25 this week, which seems to apply: "Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth, and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all day long" (Ps 25:4-5).
Make me know your ways, O Lord, even when I go the wrong way.
What a struggle when you have a feeling that you're going in the wrong direction. Wasted energy, loneliness, anger at innocent people. I've been reading Psalm 25 this week, which seems to apply: "Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth, and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all day long" (Ps 25:4-5).
Make me know your ways, O Lord, even when I go the wrong way.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
You're so vein
I’ve never had anyone openly ogle me before, but I’m beginning to be a bit sensitive about a certain physical characteristic that I have. It’s always, and I mean always, commented on, even admired, by a particular group of people and I never know what to say because I don’t think I’ve done anything to enhance it.
Blood drawers of the world love my veins.
I’m going in for a routine physical Friday and went in for some blood work last week. The nurse/lab technician invited me to sit down and I put my arm up and, I kid you not, the first thing she said was (forgive the mild profanity), “Daaaammmnn! Look at those veins! You don’t even have to clench your fist, just sit back and relax.”
Now, how does one respond to this? This also happens when I give blood. A simple thank you, even though I don’t think I’ve done anything to (pardon the cardio-pun) pump up my veins? I know I don’t want to say the wrong thing because, after all, this woman is about to stick a needle in my arm. I just smiled. Maybe next time I can let the person know that I’m doing all I can to make her/his job easier.
Jesus tells us that even the hairs on our head are numbered by God. Maybe our veins, big or small, are too.
Blood drawers of the world love my veins.
I’m going in for a routine physical Friday and went in for some blood work last week. The nurse/lab technician invited me to sit down and I put my arm up and, I kid you not, the first thing she said was (forgive the mild profanity), “Daaaammmnn! Look at those veins! You don’t even have to clench your fist, just sit back and relax.”
Now, how does one respond to this? This also happens when I give blood. A simple thank you, even though I don’t think I’ve done anything to (pardon the cardio-pun) pump up my veins? I know I don’t want to say the wrong thing because, after all, this woman is about to stick a needle in my arm. I just smiled. Maybe next time I can let the person know that I’m doing all I can to make her/his job easier.
Jesus tells us that even the hairs on our head are numbered by God. Maybe our veins, big or small, are too.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
All-access pass
One of the remarkable things about being a pastor is that, in some instances, it’s like having an all-access pass to a people’s lives. I don’t take that privilege lightly. Clergy can sometimes go where others can’t, physically and emotionally—hospital rooms, troubled relationships, an individual’s psyche and soul, “backstage” at weddings. These are intimate moments because people drop their masks. If you’re in a hospital bed, you couldn’t be any more vulnerable, especially with that lovely gown that opens in the back. If you’re nervous or anxious or joyful or depressed, you're probably not be as concerned about how you look or sound to someone you trust.
I’m sometimes still amazed that people invite, even welcome me into those moments. They bare themselves a bit and that’s scary. If I can just for a moment convey God’s presence, who knows us more intimately than anyOne, what a miracle that is.
I’m sometimes still amazed that people invite, even welcome me into those moments. They bare themselves a bit and that’s scary. If I can just for a moment convey God’s presence, who knows us more intimately than anyOne, what a miracle that is.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
The voice of God
What does God sound like? What an interesting question to consider. Is it a voice? Male or female? It is a sound like you'd find in nature? There are countless possibilities. For my 17-month-old son, though, I have a feeling God sounds like a woman.
His sleeping has been a little erratic lately and if Anne gets up with him in the middle of the night, I try to get up with him when he wakes up in the morning, usually between 5:30 and 6. It's the same routine. I walk in, he looks at me, throws himself on his mattress and cries because I'm not who he wants. He carries on for about 30 seconds, then gets up again, thinking, hey, maybe this guy will take me to who I really want. I pick him up, he lunges toward our room, but as I walk by our room and head downstairs, he cries again. Obviously I didn't get the message. He'll usually stop, though, after a minute or so. This morning, I was downstairs and had him on my lap and he was a little more distraught than normal. He was on my shoulder, clinging to me, when all of a sudden, a voice was heard. A soft, feathery voice, "Ethan..." He knows that voice. It's the voice of one who loves him, is always there for him, will help him when he's sad and laugh at him when he's funny. He whirled around and there in the doorway was his mother. He lunged for her and she took him in her arms. I was a footnote, which I've gotten used to.
A voice that he knows and is always there. No matter what it sounds like, that's God's voice.
His sleeping has been a little erratic lately and if Anne gets up with him in the middle of the night, I try to get up with him when he wakes up in the morning, usually between 5:30 and 6. It's the same routine. I walk in, he looks at me, throws himself on his mattress and cries because I'm not who he wants. He carries on for about 30 seconds, then gets up again, thinking, hey, maybe this guy will take me to who I really want. I pick him up, he lunges toward our room, but as I walk by our room and head downstairs, he cries again. Obviously I didn't get the message. He'll usually stop, though, after a minute or so. This morning, I was downstairs and had him on my lap and he was a little more distraught than normal. He was on my shoulder, clinging to me, when all of a sudden, a voice was heard. A soft, feathery voice, "Ethan..." He knows that voice. It's the voice of one who loves him, is always there for him, will help him when he's sad and laugh at him when he's funny. He whirled around and there in the doorway was his mother. He lunged for her and she took him in her arms. I was a footnote, which I've gotten used to.
A voice that he knows and is always there. No matter what it sounds like, that's God's voice.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Pink and Yellow Butterflies
We signed our daughter up for soccer this spring and she's been having a fun time doing it though, for some reason, her game last Sunday made me realize something potentially discouraging.
It's pretty tame stuff, this 4/5-year old soccer. Six girls are out there (three on a team) running around kicking the ball in their bright uniforms (Caroline's are pink and yellow and their team name, they decided, is the Pink and Yellow Butterflies. If that doesn't bring the fear of God into another team, I don't know what will!). A little soccer education is thrown in which, at first, I thought was a good idea, but now I'm not so sure. It doesn't take long for the ball to be kicked out of bounds and then someone has to throw it in and coaches (who are great) have to show girls where to stand and part of me is thinking, just throw the ball out there and let them kick it around!
One of the things that struck me last Sunday, however, me was, as far as I can tell, the inability of kids these days (OK, now I'm definitely getting older by using the phrase "kids these days") to organize themselves for recreation/entertainment. Caroline's too young for this to happen, but I rarely see older boys and girls getting together on their own for a game of baseball or any other kind of game. Actually, I take that back. I see Hispanic boys and girls doing this, but not Caucasians.
Why is this? Older generations are probably partly to blame. Who can blame children and youth for not wanting to organize themselves if someone else will do it plus they get cool uniforms, trophies, and snacks? Now, I say that as one who participated in Little League and loved it (with the uniforms, trophies, and snacks), but we also would call each other up to go do something, as well. I'm not sure if that happens any more. It has to be organized.
Part of all this may also be the "Bowling Alone" syndrome, meaning it's a cultural thing--people just don't get together/join things as much any more, adults or children.
Am I overreacting? Maybe. Maybe some of this self-organizing goes on and I'm just blind to it. I hope that's the case.
It's pretty tame stuff, this 4/5-year old soccer. Six girls are out there (three on a team) running around kicking the ball in their bright uniforms (Caroline's are pink and yellow and their team name, they decided, is the Pink and Yellow Butterflies. If that doesn't bring the fear of God into another team, I don't know what will!). A little soccer education is thrown in which, at first, I thought was a good idea, but now I'm not so sure. It doesn't take long for the ball to be kicked out of bounds and then someone has to throw it in and coaches (who are great) have to show girls where to stand and part of me is thinking, just throw the ball out there and let them kick it around!
One of the things that struck me last Sunday, however, me was, as far as I can tell, the inability of kids these days (OK, now I'm definitely getting older by using the phrase "kids these days") to organize themselves for recreation/entertainment. Caroline's too young for this to happen, but I rarely see older boys and girls getting together on their own for a game of baseball or any other kind of game. Actually, I take that back. I see Hispanic boys and girls doing this, but not Caucasians.
Why is this? Older generations are probably partly to blame. Who can blame children and youth for not wanting to organize themselves if someone else will do it plus they get cool uniforms, trophies, and snacks? Now, I say that as one who participated in Little League and loved it (with the uniforms, trophies, and snacks), but we also would call each other up to go do something, as well. I'm not sure if that happens any more. It has to be organized.
Part of all this may also be the "Bowling Alone" syndrome, meaning it's a cultural thing--people just don't get together/join things as much any more, adults or children.
Am I overreacting? Maybe. Maybe some of this self-organizing goes on and I'm just blind to it. I hope that's the case.
Friday, May 05, 2006
The perfect Mother's Day gift
Mother's Day is only about a week away. Wondering what to get her? If you're the president of a former Soviet republic, you can honor her with the best kind of gift: name a month after her. (All this info from the May 1, 2006 "New Yorker")
Saparmurat Niyazov is a former leader in the Soviet Union's Communist Party and is now the president of Turkmenistan. Only now his name is Turkmenbashi (Leader of all the Turkmen). Among other things he has done as president: forced doctors to say an oath to him rather than Hippocrates; named the month of January after himself; banned opera, ballet, beards, long hair and gold-capped teeth; demanded that drivers pass a morality test; and, for his mother, named the month of April for her. So make sure you call it Gurbansoltan eje when you're there next Easter.
The best thing he did, though was to create a 250-foot statue of himself that automatically rotates to face the sun. I think I'll bring that up at the next trustees meeting.
Saparmurat Niyazov is a former leader in the Soviet Union's Communist Party and is now the president of Turkmenistan. Only now his name is Turkmenbashi (Leader of all the Turkmen). Among other things he has done as president: forced doctors to say an oath to him rather than Hippocrates; named the month of January after himself; banned opera, ballet, beards, long hair and gold-capped teeth; demanded that drivers pass a morality test; and, for his mother, named the month of April for her. So make sure you call it Gurbansoltan eje when you're there next Easter.
The best thing he did, though was to create a 250-foot statue of himself that automatically rotates to face the sun. I think I'll bring that up at the next trustees meeting.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Of this I am sure
There are a handful of things that I am absolutely convicted of and it would pretty much take Jesus coming again to make me change my mind. Sweet corn should only be eaten July 20-Aug. 10. Lane Smith writes the best children’s books. Wrigley Field is overrated. These are just a few. Another is this: The death penalty is wrong and should be abolished. Of all the hot-button issues out there, this is the one I feel the most strongly about.
There are certainly instances that challenge that assumption. Yesterday was one of those times when Zacarias Moussaoui was given a life sentence, rather than the death penalty. That appeared to surprise just about everyone.
Should a man who played a key role in the deaths of thousands on 9/11 deserve to live? I can certainly understand those who give a resounding “no” to that question. But I don’t believe that his death would solve anything. It may give comfort to some family members. It might give many others a sense that justice has truly been done. I think it mostly satisfies our desire for vengeance, which is dangerous.
The problem with the death penalty is the big “what if” question. What if an individual is innocent? That leads into many other issues like whether a person can afford a good defense attorney. Too many innocent people have died because of a need for vengeance (Someone must pay for a crime and should pay quickly). That’s a disturbing state to be in.
But what if something happened to your children? a person might ask. What if, God forbid, something unimaginable happened to them? Wouldn’t you want vengeance? Absolutely. If someone hurt my child, my instinct would probably be to do all I could to inflict the same pain on them. Which is why I need a society that won’t allow me to do that.
There are certainly instances that challenge that assumption. Yesterday was one of those times when Zacarias Moussaoui was given a life sentence, rather than the death penalty. That appeared to surprise just about everyone.
Should a man who played a key role in the deaths of thousands on 9/11 deserve to live? I can certainly understand those who give a resounding “no” to that question. But I don’t believe that his death would solve anything. It may give comfort to some family members. It might give many others a sense that justice has truly been done. I think it mostly satisfies our desire for vengeance, which is dangerous.
The problem with the death penalty is the big “what if” question. What if an individual is innocent? That leads into many other issues like whether a person can afford a good defense attorney. Too many innocent people have died because of a need for vengeance (Someone must pay for a crime and should pay quickly). That’s a disturbing state to be in.
But what if something happened to your children? a person might ask. What if, God forbid, something unimaginable happened to them? Wouldn’t you want vengeance? Absolutely. If someone hurt my child, my instinct would probably be to do all I could to inflict the same pain on them. Which is why I need a society that won’t allow me to do that.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Hard hospitality
Random thoughts after reading the Tribune this morning…
On page 2 of main section there’s an article about a woman and her campaign to get people in Boston to smile more. Not a bad idea. Hospitality in action.
On page 3 there’s an article about people in Houston who are weary of having New Orleans Katrina evacuees in their city. Strain on the city budgets, schools, hospitals, etc. A reminder that true hospitality goes beyond smiling (though a grin is certainly a start). Hospitality is hard, hard work and can often force sacrifice.
Finally, there was a blurb after the article about the president’s attempts to lower gas prices about how one can save on gas. I skipped over it at first assuming I’d know the answers. But I went back and was surpised by the omission of a couple things. There was advice about going the speed limit, not having excess weight in the trunk, etc. But some obvious ones were missing like, oh, I don’t know, maybe riding a bike or walking once in a while, carpooling or taking mass transit, you know, actually being in close proximity with people. The fact that some find that difficult to do (even me, sometimes) is even more painful, I think, than paying $3 per gallon.
On page 2 of main section there’s an article about a woman and her campaign to get people in Boston to smile more. Not a bad idea. Hospitality in action.
On page 3 there’s an article about people in Houston who are weary of having New Orleans Katrina evacuees in their city. Strain on the city budgets, schools, hospitals, etc. A reminder that true hospitality goes beyond smiling (though a grin is certainly a start). Hospitality is hard, hard work and can often force sacrifice.
Finally, there was a blurb after the article about the president’s attempts to lower gas prices about how one can save on gas. I skipped over it at first assuming I’d know the answers. But I went back and was surpised by the omission of a couple things. There was advice about going the speed limit, not having excess weight in the trunk, etc. But some obvious ones were missing like, oh, I don’t know, maybe riding a bike or walking once in a while, carpooling or taking mass transit, you know, actually being in close proximity with people. The fact that some find that difficult to do (even me, sometimes) is even more painful, I think, than paying $3 per gallon.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Jealousy on Good Friday
It's Good Friday and I'm feeling a bit weary. I suppose that's the norm for religious types this time of the year as we prepare for the Big Day on Sunday while also preparing and conducting other worship services (for me: one last night and two today). I should also be thinking and reflecting about the cross and Jesus' sacrifice and what it means to me and the world (which I did do during our prayer vigil this afternoon), but right now, interestingly, I'm battling jealousy, aka that Deadly Sin, Envy.
I got back from our Maundy Thursday service last night and was doing dishes, listening to the sports radio show on WGN. The show is over at 9 p.m. and then a show called Extension 720 with Milt Rosenberg is on. It's a public affairs kind of show that takes on all kinds of topics. I wasn't done with the dishes yet and was actually battling an ant problem we seem to have in our kitchen when Milt gave a preview of his show. It caught my attention: religion in the news.
For those of you who don't know, I was a burgeoning religion journalist in a former life. I was a part of a program at Northwestern U. for folks interested in this field and we got master's degrees from the Medill School of Journalism and Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary. I'm not sure if I was part of the very first group of people going into this, but I was probably pretty close. One of my classmates was Cathleen Falsani. We started out at Garrett together, went over to Medill together, and came back and finished at Garrett together, though by the time I came to Garrett, God was nudging me to consider another vocation, namely, the ordained ministry. Cathleen, however, has gone on to big and bright things. She's the religion writer/columnist for the Chicago Sun-Times and just published a book called "The God Factor," a series of interviews with "culture shapers," celebrities in their respective fields (Bono, Hugh Hefner, Hakeem Olajuwon are just a few of the more than 25 in the book). I found out about the book because she was one of the guests on Extension 720.
I couldn't help but listen and fight all kinds of envy which, as you can tell, am still fighting. Rubbing elbows with the interesting and famous. A column in a major newspaper. A book. A book tour.
Could that have been me? I don't know. She was probably a better reporter than me so if I had stayed with this field, there's no telling where I might have ended up. But it causes me to stop and wonder nonetheless.
I got back from our Maundy Thursday service last night and was doing dishes, listening to the sports radio show on WGN. The show is over at 9 p.m. and then a show called Extension 720 with Milt Rosenberg is on. It's a public affairs kind of show that takes on all kinds of topics. I wasn't done with the dishes yet and was actually battling an ant problem we seem to have in our kitchen when Milt gave a preview of his show. It caught my attention: religion in the news.
For those of you who don't know, I was a burgeoning religion journalist in a former life. I was a part of a program at Northwestern U. for folks interested in this field and we got master's degrees from the Medill School of Journalism and Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary. I'm not sure if I was part of the very first group of people going into this, but I was probably pretty close. One of my classmates was Cathleen Falsani. We started out at Garrett together, went over to Medill together, and came back and finished at Garrett together, though by the time I came to Garrett, God was nudging me to consider another vocation, namely, the ordained ministry. Cathleen, however, has gone on to big and bright things. She's the religion writer/columnist for the Chicago Sun-Times and just published a book called "The God Factor," a series of interviews with "culture shapers," celebrities in their respective fields (Bono, Hugh Hefner, Hakeem Olajuwon are just a few of the more than 25 in the book). I found out about the book because she was one of the guests on Extension 720.
I couldn't help but listen and fight all kinds of envy which, as you can tell, am still fighting. Rubbing elbows with the interesting and famous. A column in a major newspaper. A book. A book tour.
Could that have been me? I don't know. She was probably a better reporter than me so if I had stayed with this field, there's no telling where I might have ended up. But it causes me to stop and wonder nonetheless.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Soaking in the Spirit
Pastors (for obvious reasons, including self-preservation) often talk about the need for people to both worship and be in worship. It's community building and, hopefully, also gives people spiritual nourishment, but, more importantly, I think we were created to worship, to give thanks, to sing praises, to lift up prayers, to confess our sins, to read God's word, all in response to God's goodness. Now, pastors talk this talk, but too few of us (sorry for the use of this cliche), walk the walk.
It's not impossible for pastors to worship while they are also leading worship. Some can do it with no problem and, at times, I do, too. But I also have other things on my mind, like making sure the liturgy is moving along smoothly and that I don't miss any of my own cues. Because of that, I occasionally worship on Wednesday mornings at 9:30 at Trinity Episcopal Church in Highland Park. There's a part of me that has a real love for time-tested liturgy and the Episcopalians do it as well as anyone. I went again this morning, though it has been months since my last visit. I made my way through the back door (the front was locked) and maneuvered my way through the maze of hallways until I darted in the side door of the chapel. There were probably a dozen of us there, reciting prayers out of the Book of Common Prayer, hearing the word read and (briefly) preached, and sharing in communion. I was the only male there. Most of the people were older women, but I enjoyed being a part of that community for 30 minutes or so. I could simply let myself worship and soak in the Spirit. It was a great feeling.
It's not impossible for pastors to worship while they are also leading worship. Some can do it with no problem and, at times, I do, too. But I also have other things on my mind, like making sure the liturgy is moving along smoothly and that I don't miss any of my own cues. Because of that, I occasionally worship on Wednesday mornings at 9:30 at Trinity Episcopal Church in Highland Park. There's a part of me that has a real love for time-tested liturgy and the Episcopalians do it as well as anyone. I went again this morning, though it has been months since my last visit. I made my way through the back door (the front was locked) and maneuvered my way through the maze of hallways until I darted in the side door of the chapel. There were probably a dozen of us there, reciting prayers out of the Book of Common Prayer, hearing the word read and (briefly) preached, and sharing in communion. I was the only male there. Most of the people were older women, but I enjoyed being a part of that community for 30 minutes or so. I could simply let myself worship and soak in the Spirit. It was a great feeling.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
It's who you know
Rick Majerus was partially right. The former college coach noted in yesterday's Tribune that Warren Buffet, Nostradamus and the Amazing Kreskin couldn't have picked George Mason to make it to the Final Four. Probably not, but at least one person could and did. My 4-year-old daughter, Caroline.
I organize a NCAA pool for my extended family and the winner receives a coveted bobblehead traveling trophy. The last couple of years, to make it a little more interesting for myself and to increase the size of the pool, I've had my wife and daughter pick teams, too. My daughter's system is pretty simple. She goes with what she knows. For example, she's been to North Carolina on vacation so she usually picks them to win at least a couple of games. Iowa also gets preferential treatment since that's where I grew up and where her grandparents live. She also picks teams because they just sound neat. Monmouth was a word she liked saying so she picked them to go the finals this year. But the real winner this year was George Mason simply because she has a friend named Mason in her pre-school.
My wife and I chuckled when she kept picking them to win. Every time I asked her to choose between George Mason and another school, she kept saying, "Mason." So, Mason, it was, and I silently wished that she had a friend named Duke in her school, too. But, of course, George Mason won the first game. And they won again and again and again.
I tried to explain the significance of this to her on Sunday when the Patriots made it to the Final 4. But she didn't seem surprised. She simply announced that she was going to pick Mason again next year. It's as sound a system as any. As a graduate of this school, I hope she'll meet someone named Northwestern in her kindergarten class next year.
I organize a NCAA pool for my extended family and the winner receives a coveted bobblehead traveling trophy. The last couple of years, to make it a little more interesting for myself and to increase the size of the pool, I've had my wife and daughter pick teams, too. My daughter's system is pretty simple. She goes with what she knows. For example, she's been to North Carolina on vacation so she usually picks them to win at least a couple of games. Iowa also gets preferential treatment since that's where I grew up and where her grandparents live. She also picks teams because they just sound neat. Monmouth was a word she liked saying so she picked them to go the finals this year. But the real winner this year was George Mason simply because she has a friend named Mason in her pre-school.
My wife and I chuckled when she kept picking them to win. Every time I asked her to choose between George Mason and another school, she kept saying, "Mason." So, Mason, it was, and I silently wished that she had a friend named Duke in her school, too. But, of course, George Mason won the first game. And they won again and again and again.
I tried to explain the significance of this to her on Sunday when the Patriots made it to the Final 4. But she didn't seem surprised. She simply announced that she was going to pick Mason again next year. It's as sound a system as any. As a graduate of this school, I hope she'll meet someone named Northwestern in her kindergarten class next year.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Mail bonding
I'm certainly not saying anything new when I say that writing notes and letters is dying practice, especially among younger generations (including mine). I admire my wife, however, who is doing her best to keep this practice alive. She devotedly writes letters to her 104-year-old grandmother (who also writes her back) every 2 to 3 weeks and also drops notes to other friends and acquaintances. I read one of the responses to one of her notes this morning and it was jarring because it was really a note about nothing and, here it was, something that had actually been sent in the mail.
It was from her cousin, Amy. The note wasn't long, but Amy started off by discussing the wind outside her home ("I love a strong east wind, a 'Mary Poppins' wind as my mom used to say") and then asked Anne if she'd seen the movie, "The Chronicles of Narnia." Amy hadn't because she loved the books too much. That led to a comment about not watching the "Lord of the Rings" movies. She finished with another comment about the wind. That was it. It was so delightfully random, something you might send an e-mail about, but here it was with stamps on it and everything. It's the kind of note you save. I'm not sure how many e-mails are being saved these days.
It was from her cousin, Amy. The note wasn't long, but Amy started off by discussing the wind outside her home ("I love a strong east wind, a 'Mary Poppins' wind as my mom used to say") and then asked Anne if she'd seen the movie, "The Chronicles of Narnia." Amy hadn't because she loved the books too much. That led to a comment about not watching the "Lord of the Rings" movies. She finished with another comment about the wind. That was it. It was so delightfully random, something you might send an e-mail about, but here it was with stamps on it and everything. It's the kind of note you save. I'm not sure how many e-mails are being saved these days.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Biscuits for Stella
My new favorite person is a man named Andy. I don' t know his last name. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know me, but he knows my dog and my dog loves him. Three or four times a week I take our dog for a run around the park near our house. On Sunday mornings, we sometimes come across Andy. He works (or volunteers) for the Highland Park Park District and he's probably at least 70. I know his name because his official Park District name tag tells me so. Our exchange is the same every time we see him. His face lights up when we approach (though I'm not sure if we remembers us) and he immediately focuses on Stella (the dog). He looks up at me with a smile and asks if he can give her a couple dog biscuits. He always has biscuits. I say, of course, and Stella wags her tail with glee and wolfs them out of his hand. He chuckles, rubs her head, and we go on our way.
I wish I knew why this exchange makes me feel so good. Truly joyous people seem to be in the minority, and I myself sometimes simply slog through my day. But Andy is joy personnified. That makes me (and Stella) happy.
I wish I knew why this exchange makes me feel so good. Truly joyous people seem to be in the minority, and I myself sometimes simply slog through my day. But Andy is joy personnified. That makes me (and Stella) happy.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Show your work
I think I've mentioned before that I go in on Thursdays to tutor two Hispanic fifth-grade girls. One is from Mexico and the other is from Guatemala. The task I've been given is to help them with their English and, for the most part, it's been a pretty easy task to follow. Sometimes we can't understand each other (we speak different languages...in more ways than one), but we can usually laugh about it. Last week, however, we delved into territory that made me break into a cold sweat. Story problems.
I was never a wiz at math. I stuck with it in high school, but it was tough. Story problems, then, are those great ways to try to get students to think differently. Instead of 2+2=4, it's "Bobby has two apples and then goes to the store and buys two more. How many apples does Bobby have?" Except story problems are rarely that easy. The only thing more challenging, then, in trying to explain story problems to fifth-graders is explaining story problems to fifth-graders whose first language is Spanish. As we looked at the second problem, it had something to do with bags of chocolates and boxes of taffy and each student was supposed to get one piece of candy and I can't remember the rest. I do know it took me a good five minutes to figure it out. Once I did, I then saw those dreaded words: Show your work. Why? I wondered. I can get the right answer, why do I have to show you? I regressed 27 years or so and then had the challenge of trying to explain this to the girls. It was a tough day.
You might see where I'm going with this. Christians might wonder sometime, why should I show my work? Isn't it enough that I simply have the "right" beliefs? Accepting Jesus as my savior and all that? Doesn't that get me the one-way ticket to heaven? Some people don't like the book of James, but there it is: "So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead" (James 2:17). We've got to show our work, too.
I was never a wiz at math. I stuck with it in high school, but it was tough. Story problems, then, are those great ways to try to get students to think differently. Instead of 2+2=4, it's "Bobby has two apples and then goes to the store and buys two more. How many apples does Bobby have?" Except story problems are rarely that easy. The only thing more challenging, then, in trying to explain story problems to fifth-graders is explaining story problems to fifth-graders whose first language is Spanish. As we looked at the second problem, it had something to do with bags of chocolates and boxes of taffy and each student was supposed to get one piece of candy and I can't remember the rest. I do know it took me a good five minutes to figure it out. Once I did, I then saw those dreaded words: Show your work. Why? I wondered. I can get the right answer, why do I have to show you? I regressed 27 years or so and then had the challenge of trying to explain this to the girls. It was a tough day.
You might see where I'm going with this. Christians might wonder sometime, why should I show my work? Isn't it enough that I simply have the "right" beliefs? Accepting Jesus as my savior and all that? Doesn't that get me the one-way ticket to heaven? Some people don't like the book of James, but there it is: "So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead" (James 2:17). We've got to show our work, too.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
What's in a name?
I recently purchased a new laptop computer (Mac) and also bought something called ProCare, which gives the buyer numerous tutorial sessions, among other things. I tried signing up for my first session online like it told me to, but it would never accept my reservation. I informed the people at the store where I bought the laptop and they gave me another registration number. I tried again and the same thing happened so I informed the store again. The woman there went to work on it and found the answer. Apple has put into its database numerous words that will get rejected to weed out the folks who want to be offensive with their registration name. The woman informed me that part of my name got rejected. My immediate thought was, which one? Christian? Or Coon? I thought it would be really interesting if Christian would have been rejected, but, no, it was Coon, which, as I am sometimes reminded, has been used (and is still used) as a slur against blacks. As much pride as I take in my family, that fact about my last name is something I'm certainly not thrilled about.
The woman, though, had to put in a last name for me so, in Apple's records, I am known as Christian Christian. Now if that doesn't spur some self-reflection, I don't know what will.
The woman, though, had to put in a last name for me so, in Apple's records, I am known as Christian Christian. Now if that doesn't spur some self-reflection, I don't know what will.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Faithfulness is consecration in overalls
From, "The Fruits of the Spirit," by Evelyn Underhill:
"Faithfulness is consecration in overalls..."
"The fruits of the Spirit get less and less showy as we go on. Faithfulness means continuing quietly with the job we have been given, in the situation where we have been placed; not yielding to the restless desire for change. It means tending the lamp quietly for God without wodering how much longer it has got to go on."
"Faithfulness is consecration in overalls..."
"The fruits of the Spirit get less and less showy as we go on. Faithfulness means continuing quietly with the job we have been given, in the situation where we have been placed; not yielding to the restless desire for change. It means tending the lamp quietly for God without wodering how much longer it has got to go on."
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Smaller than a Hummer
I had to drive into Chicago for a meeting yesterday. I pulled into a parking lot (this is not relevant to my post today, but I will never get over the parking prices in Chicago. I was there less than two hours and paid $27) and started the search. I made my way to the 7th level and saw a few spaces that were reserved for "small cars." I had to make a quick decision. I have a 4-door Toyota Camry. Not exactly small, but I also didn't want to be late. I pulled in saying to myself, "small enough." As I made my way to the elevator, however, I noticed something interesting. One, two, three minivans. One Jeep. And, yes, one Hummer. All parked in the "small car" spaces. The Hummer, you might imagine, took up almost two spaces. I immediately felt justified. My car may not technically be "small," but it's a heckuva lot smaller than some of the others!
I justify more often than I'd like to admit. Perhaps we all do. If we feel guilty about a certain behavior or if we know we're not taking on something we should, instead of repenting (turning away from the behavior and turning toward God), we justify. We can always find someone else who is doing something worse than we are. That's very handy, but it can impede our spiritual growth.
Matthew 7:3: "Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?"
I justify more often than I'd like to admit. Perhaps we all do. If we feel guilty about a certain behavior or if we know we're not taking on something we should, instead of repenting (turning away from the behavior and turning toward God), we justify. We can always find someone else who is doing something worse than we are. That's very handy, but it can impede our spiritual growth.
Matthew 7:3: "Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?"
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Being prayed for
There are days when you cling to the hope that other people's prayers can carry you, when you simply feel too tired to pray. I had one of those days yesterday.
I agreed a few months ago to act as a co-leader of a group of pastors who are on probation. Not the "bad" kind of probation, but pastors who have been commissioned and who are in the process of putting in 3-4 years of time in a ministry setting before they are ordained. We met yesterday.
It's usually not a good thing for me to do things on Mondays. I'm a creature of habit and Monday is my day off. Having to do something as "pastor" on a Monday, then, really throws me. In addition to that, the nature of my role is to subtly guide and listen. That sounds pretty easy, but when I do it for a full day I'm exhausted by the end of it. We were at the end of our day yesterday and we finished with a communion service. It was fairly brief, but, I must confess, I wasn't in a worship mood at all. I was concerned about traffic, wanting to get home, wanting to simply not be there. Because of that, I found it hard to pray.
But I read somewhere that that's when others' prayers are so necessary. Perhaps there are those who are eager to pray all the time. I can't claim that. When I can't pray, though, I should be thankful that others can.
I agreed a few months ago to act as a co-leader of a group of pastors who are on probation. Not the "bad" kind of probation, but pastors who have been commissioned and who are in the process of putting in 3-4 years of time in a ministry setting before they are ordained. We met yesterday.
It's usually not a good thing for me to do things on Mondays. I'm a creature of habit and Monday is my day off. Having to do something as "pastor" on a Monday, then, really throws me. In addition to that, the nature of my role is to subtly guide and listen. That sounds pretty easy, but when I do it for a full day I'm exhausted by the end of it. We were at the end of our day yesterday and we finished with a communion service. It was fairly brief, but, I must confess, I wasn't in a worship mood at all. I was concerned about traffic, wanting to get home, wanting to simply not be there. Because of that, I found it hard to pray.
But I read somewhere that that's when others' prayers are so necessary. Perhaps there are those who are eager to pray all the time. I can't claim that. When I can't pray, though, I should be thankful that others can.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Customer service
I don't know why this is (somebody should do a study on it because there's always an article about it), but customer service reps bring out the worst in me.
We're switching our local phone service and our new company made a mistake which delayed the delivery of our DSL package. We also were without phone service for a while yesterday so I spent an hour or so calling both our new and old phone companies, getting disconnected, receiving unanswered questions, etc. Most would agree this is a frustrating experience, but I act in such unkind ways when I don't get the answer I want. I expect perfection when I spend money for something. I'm glad my parishioners don't hold me to the same standard! (At least I don't think they do).
This "problem" is a problem of affluence. They're minor inconveniences as I live in my house, eat my food, drink my clean water, wear my clothes. We were without phone service for a few hours yet we had a cell phone, I could make calls from the church. I cringe when I think about my behavior.
My actions in these little daily events matter. I can't only be concerned with how I'm doing with the big-picture things, doing justice, proclaiming the Gospel, etc. My interaction with everyday individuals in everyday conversations form my faith, too. God shows up everywhere.
We're switching our local phone service and our new company made a mistake which delayed the delivery of our DSL package. We also were without phone service for a while yesterday so I spent an hour or so calling both our new and old phone companies, getting disconnected, receiving unanswered questions, etc. Most would agree this is a frustrating experience, but I act in such unkind ways when I don't get the answer I want. I expect perfection when I spend money for something. I'm glad my parishioners don't hold me to the same standard! (At least I don't think they do).
This "problem" is a problem of affluence. They're minor inconveniences as I live in my house, eat my food, drink my clean water, wear my clothes. We were without phone service for a few hours yet we had a cell phone, I could make calls from the church. I cringe when I think about my behavior.
My actions in these little daily events matter. I can't only be concerned with how I'm doing with the big-picture things, doing justice, proclaiming the Gospel, etc. My interaction with everyday individuals in everyday conversations form my faith, too. God shows up everywhere.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Ash crosses
It's always a bit of a challenge imposing ashes on people's foreheads. I think I've finally got the right recipe (one teaspoon of ash for every vial full of olive oil), but it certainly isn't a smooth and creamy mixture. The ash mixture has little bumps in it and it's it not necessarily a pleasant feeling on the skin when it's imposed. When I put my finger in it and made the sign of the cross on a person's forehead last night, I had to quickly let go of attempts of making the "perfect" cross. Some of the crosses I made were pretty clear. Others didn't turn out very well so I quickly would try it again.
All of this, I suppose, is symbolic of Lent. As we peer into our souls, we often find that they're bumpy, a little messy, less than perfect, maybe even black. It's a reminder of our mortality and our ultimate dependence on God.
All of this, I suppose, is symbolic of Lent. As we peer into our souls, we often find that they're bumpy, a little messy, less than perfect, maybe even black. It's a reminder of our mortality and our ultimate dependence on God.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Ash Wednesday: Buechner on Lent
From Frederick Buechner, "Whistling in the Dark: An ABC Theologized":
Lent
"In many cultures there is an ancient custom of giving a tenth of each year's income to some holy use. For Christians, to observe forty days of Lent is to do the same thing with roughly a tenth of each year's days. After being baptized by John in the River Jordan, Jesus went off alone into the wilderness where he spent forty days asking himself the question what it meant to be Jesus. During Lent, Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves.
"If you had to bet everything you have on whether there is a God or whether there isn't, which side would get your money and why?
"When you look at your face in the mirror, what do you see in it that you most like and what do you see in it that you most deplore?
"If you had only one last message to leave to the handful of people who are most important to you, what would it be in twenty-five words or less?
"Of all the things you have done in your life, which is the one you would most like to undo? Which is the one that makes you happiest to remember?
"Is there any person in the world, or any cause, that, if circumstances called for it, you would be willing to die for?
"If this were your last day of your life, what would you do with it?
"To hear yourself try to answer questions like these is to begin to hear something not only of who you are but of both what you are becoming and what you are failing to become. It can be a pretty depressing business all in all, but if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end."
Have a blessed Lent.
Lent
"In many cultures there is an ancient custom of giving a tenth of each year's income to some holy use. For Christians, to observe forty days of Lent is to do the same thing with roughly a tenth of each year's days. After being baptized by John in the River Jordan, Jesus went off alone into the wilderness where he spent forty days asking himself the question what it meant to be Jesus. During Lent, Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves.
"If you had to bet everything you have on whether there is a God or whether there isn't, which side would get your money and why?
"When you look at your face in the mirror, what do you see in it that you most like and what do you see in it that you most deplore?
"If you had only one last message to leave to the handful of people who are most important to you, what would it be in twenty-five words or less?
"Of all the things you have done in your life, which is the one you would most like to undo? Which is the one that makes you happiest to remember?
"Is there any person in the world, or any cause, that, if circumstances called for it, you would be willing to die for?
"If this were your last day of your life, what would you do with it?
"To hear yourself try to answer questions like these is to begin to hear something not only of who you are but of both what you are becoming and what you are failing to become. It can be a pretty depressing business all in all, but if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end."
Have a blessed Lent.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Devotions with my (sick) daughter
Getting sick always throws me off my routine. My cold subsided last weekend so I was able to get back on track this week, which includes getting up for my morning devotions. I think I've mentioned before the challenges I've had with this since our son was born 14 months ago. He likes getting up pretty early though recently he's sleeping a little later, which affords me the chance to spend at least 20 minutes in prayer and reflection. That didn't happen last night/early this morning, though.
Our daughter has been sickly lately and last night she cried out to my wife around 12:45 that her stomach hurt. A few minutes later, a trip to the bathroom bore that out. She appeared to be in pretty intense pain, moaning and holding her stomach while lying on the bathroom floor. Is there a more helpless feeling when a loved one--especially your child--is sick? To compound this, I sometimes think the worst. My wife got out a medical book to see if it was something more than the stomach flu and she turned to the "appendicitis" entry even though it said that children younger than 6 rarely have it. Of course, our minds were racing to the point where I briefly wondered, what if she has leukemia? Hey, what can I say, you don't think rationally at 1 a.m. when your child is in pain. Anne stayed with her a while, came back to bed, and then Caroline got sick again around 5 and I went in with her. She wasn't in the intense pain that she was earlier and was, in fact, kind of sweet. I read her some stories, thought about my day, and, yes, held the bucket in front of her while also holding back her hair. I also wondered about my devotions. I realized, however, that I was having them right there. Caring and supporting another person, especially one who is dependent, is about as close an encounter with God that we can have.
Our daughter has been sickly lately and last night she cried out to my wife around 12:45 that her stomach hurt. A few minutes later, a trip to the bathroom bore that out. She appeared to be in pretty intense pain, moaning and holding her stomach while lying on the bathroom floor. Is there a more helpless feeling when a loved one--especially your child--is sick? To compound this, I sometimes think the worst. My wife got out a medical book to see if it was something more than the stomach flu and she turned to the "appendicitis" entry even though it said that children younger than 6 rarely have it. Of course, our minds were racing to the point where I briefly wondered, what if she has leukemia? Hey, what can I say, you don't think rationally at 1 a.m. when your child is in pain. Anne stayed with her a while, came back to bed, and then Caroline got sick again around 5 and I went in with her. She wasn't in the intense pain that she was earlier and was, in fact, kind of sweet. I read her some stories, thought about my day, and, yes, held the bucket in front of her while also holding back her hair. I also wondered about my devotions. I realized, however, that I was having them right there. Caring and supporting another person, especially one who is dependent, is about as close an encounter with God that we can have.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Again and again and again
Once a month I get together with a group of other clergy folks to touch base, see how things are going, pray for each other, and laugh with each other about this crazy vocation we've all taken on. Today, we were led through some lectio divina (http://www.beliefnet.com/story/38/story_3879_1.html to learn more about that) and heard the story from John about Jesus in the Temple and some authorities bringing him a woman caught in the act of adultery. What struck me in listening to this passage, though, was the word "again." It comes up twice. First, in the beginning when it says that early in the morning, Jesus went to the Temple again... Second, at the end of the passage, Jesus tells the woman to go on her way and not sin again.
Our lives are filled with agains, aren't they? We go to work again. We come home to our spouse and children again. We eat meals again. We do so many seemingly hum-drum things again and again and again. And yet Jesus also did many mundane things again and again and again.
Our society doesn't necessarily like agains. It likes new and improved and we fight the temptation to see only dreariness in our agains. But it is in the agains, I believe, that Jesus breaks in and makes our agains meeting places with the sacred.
Our lives are filled with agains, aren't they? We go to work again. We come home to our spouse and children again. We eat meals again. We do so many seemingly hum-drum things again and again and again. And yet Jesus also did many mundane things again and again and again.
Our society doesn't necessarily like agains. It likes new and improved and we fight the temptation to see only dreariness in our agains. But it is in the agains, I believe, that Jesus breaks in and makes our agains meeting places with the sacred.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Pump you up
It’s a common joke that I make about myself that I’m not terribly handy around the house. I can change lightbulbs with the best of them and can occasionally take on a plumbing job, but, unfortunately, it doesn’t come naturally. Last weekend, the water pumped out from our sump pump froze in the discharge pipe outside our house. That caused our backup pump to let us know that something was wrong. All this caused much consternation on my part in trying to figure out what was wrong with our regular pump and our back-up and it wasn’t solved until the plumber came on Monday. But one good thing came out of this mini-emergency. I learned something. I now have a better handle on the whole sump pump process and the actual sump isn’t a mystery any more to me.
The sump is kind of scary, to be honest. It’s in the corner of our basement and it has a black cover on it. When you take the cover off, all you can see is dark and water, which, in my mind, is a frightening combination. I imagined a bottomless pit with all kinds of mysterious things lurking at the bottom. But this "emergency" meant I had to unhook the backup and take it in to check the battery and see if it was broken. That meant looking into the sump. When I shone the flashlight down there, I realized that the sump is only a couple feet deep and at the bottom was just water. Your run-of-the-mill home owner probably knows this, but it was a revelation to me. No longer is the sump mysterious. I know what the dark hides. And all it took was shining some light into it. Kind of reminds me of Jesus: “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).
The sump is kind of scary, to be honest. It’s in the corner of our basement and it has a black cover on it. When you take the cover off, all you can see is dark and water, which, in my mind, is a frightening combination. I imagined a bottomless pit with all kinds of mysterious things lurking at the bottom. But this "emergency" meant I had to unhook the backup and take it in to check the battery and see if it was broken. That meant looking into the sump. When I shone the flashlight down there, I realized that the sump is only a couple feet deep and at the bottom was just water. Your run-of-the-mill home owner probably knows this, but it was a revelation to me. No longer is the sump mysterious. I know what the dark hides. And all it took was shining some light into it. Kind of reminds me of Jesus: “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Wishes for my children
I suppose it’s at least somewhat normal for parents to want their children to have some of their same interests. As my two children get older (though they’re still fairly young), I keep telling myself that I want them to realize their own gifts and interests and then support them in those pursuits. But there’s still a little excitement I feel when one of them seems to take an interest in something that I really enjoy.
Case in point and a classic case at that: Volumes have been written about pressures that fathers place on sons to, for example, pursue a certain career or a particular activity, especially sports. Just because I was involved in sports as a youth, though, doesn’t mean my son or daughter will be so inclined and I’m already cognizant of not trying to forcefully steer them to a place they don’t want to go. It’s a struggle, I must admit. My 4-year-old likes to go over to the track near our home and run around it (great!), but when I told her about the opportunity to play t-ball this spring, she expressed little interest (why not?!?). I was probably a little too pleased when I watched my 1-year-old, who has recently taken to saying “bah” when he sees any kind of ball, having great fun putting a soccer ball in his clothes hamper. He’s 1, for goodness sake, and he’s delighting in simple play. But I briefly got caught up in, Oh, he’s going to be a basketball player! What it comes down to, I suppose, is knowing what you want for your child, making sure that that desire is healthy, and staying true to your own desires and dreams, i.e. your child’s life doesn’t completely become your life.
Our church administrator is a great writer and she recently wrote a letter to the editor at the Chicago Tribune in response to a question that the Tribune posed: If you could give any (Christmas) gift, what would it be? She powerfully wrote about her desires for her teen-age children, one of whom has autism. What it came down for her was this: “The gift I most wish for my son, for both my children, is that they will always know how deeply they are loved, how profoundly they are cherished, just the way they are.” What a wonderful wish for any parent, no matter what interests their children have. I have a sense that God wishes the same thing.
Case in point and a classic case at that: Volumes have been written about pressures that fathers place on sons to, for example, pursue a certain career or a particular activity, especially sports. Just because I was involved in sports as a youth, though, doesn’t mean my son or daughter will be so inclined and I’m already cognizant of not trying to forcefully steer them to a place they don’t want to go. It’s a struggle, I must admit. My 4-year-old likes to go over to the track near our home and run around it (great!), but when I told her about the opportunity to play t-ball this spring, she expressed little interest (why not?!?). I was probably a little too pleased when I watched my 1-year-old, who has recently taken to saying “bah” when he sees any kind of ball, having great fun putting a soccer ball in his clothes hamper. He’s 1, for goodness sake, and he’s delighting in simple play. But I briefly got caught up in, Oh, he’s going to be a basketball player! What it comes down to, I suppose, is knowing what you want for your child, making sure that that desire is healthy, and staying true to your own desires and dreams, i.e. your child’s life doesn’t completely become your life.
Our church administrator is a great writer and she recently wrote a letter to the editor at the Chicago Tribune in response to a question that the Tribune posed: If you could give any (Christmas) gift, what would it be? She powerfully wrote about her desires for her teen-age children, one of whom has autism. What it came down for her was this: “The gift I most wish for my son, for both my children, is that they will always know how deeply they are loved, how profoundly they are cherished, just the way they are.” What a wonderful wish for any parent, no matter what interests their children have. I have a sense that God wishes the same thing.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Pray without ceasing
Even though I was only gone a couple days, it’s always hard coming back from time away. At least for me anyway. There’s something attractive (I assume for most folks) about being in a place where you have no responsibility and no schedule. When we got back home on Sunday afternoon, there was a bit of a lull and I thought about the various things I could do around the house, but I had little ambition to do them. That sluggishness has stayed with me this week and it's seeping into my devotion time. It is a challenge to do my devotions in the first place these days because many times I’ll take our talking/crying son with me in the morning. He used to play or wander in our basement when I read, but now he immediately heads for the stairs and wants to explore elsewhere. But I can usually get a little bit of prayer and reflection in. This week, though, it’s been easy to give a cursory read and mumble a few prayers to myself.
The command in 1 Thessalonians to pray without ceasing is helpful here. Even though I’ve read this advice many times, I still sometimes get discouraged when my prayers don’t fling open the doors of my heart and the exuberance of the Holy Spirit comes rushing in. Sometimes it feels as if I’m simply calling out and I only hear an echo. But prayer doesn’t always usher in a particular feeling. Prayer fosters faithfulness.
The command in 1 Thessalonians to pray without ceasing is helpful here. Even though I’ve read this advice many times, I still sometimes get discouraged when my prayers don’t fling open the doors of my heart and the exuberance of the Holy Spirit comes rushing in. Sometimes it feels as if I’m simply calling out and I only hear an echo. But prayer doesn’t always usher in a particular feeling. Prayer fosters faithfulness.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
That toddlin' town
I haven’t been very devoted to the blog lately, so for the handful of you who occasionally check in for entertainment (inspiration?), my apologies. Things have been hectic. I also do appreciate responses to what I write, but, again, often don’t have time to respond to the responders so I encourage other readers to engage with what others have to say/write.
My wife and I spent our annual winter weekend in the city last weekend, which has become something we both look forward to as much as any time of the year. My mom comes out to stay with our kids and we traipse downtown to eat out, get some uninterrupted sleep, and experience the arts. This time around, we stayed at the Hotel Allegro, watched “Wicked” (which has had an interesting impact on me—many great themes of grace, exclusion, and call are in this musical and, for the life of me, I can’t get the songs out of my head) and “Good Night, and Good Luck,” ate breakfast at Ina’s and Orange, ate dinner at the Mambo Grill, and spent about three hours at the Art Institute Saturday morning. We decided to get the headphone self-guided tour at the Art Institute and it was the best $6 we ever spent. A new world opened up to me when I was able to get some context and background for a lot of the pieces.
Someday I hope we can move into the city—there’s a vibrancy there that you simply can’t get anywhere else.
My wife and I spent our annual winter weekend in the city last weekend, which has become something we both look forward to as much as any time of the year. My mom comes out to stay with our kids and we traipse downtown to eat out, get some uninterrupted sleep, and experience the arts. This time around, we stayed at the Hotel Allegro, watched “Wicked” (which has had an interesting impact on me—many great themes of grace, exclusion, and call are in this musical and, for the life of me, I can’t get the songs out of my head) and “Good Night, and Good Luck,” ate breakfast at Ina’s and Orange, ate dinner at the Mambo Grill, and spent about three hours at the Art Institute Saturday morning. We decided to get the headphone self-guided tour at the Art Institute and it was the best $6 we ever spent. A new world opened up to me when I was able to get some context and background for a lot of the pieces.
Someday I hope we can move into the city—there’s a vibrancy there that you simply can’t get anywhere else.
Friday, January 27, 2006
My wife won't get horses, cattle, or sheep
Googling yourself might be one of the more self-indulgent things a person can do. I don' t do it often (really, I don't), but today I was checking up on a high school classmate of mine (Susan Werner) who has recorded a few CDs. I knew her a little bit, but actually graduated with her brother, Mark, who I knew well. I tried finding Mark, but there are a lot of Mark Werners out there. Anyway, it's almost 5 p.m. on a Friday and my energy is draining so I googled myself to see what I'd find. Interestingly, the first thing that came up for "Christian Coon," was the last will and testament for a Christian Coon in 1795. He left most of his land to his children, Christian, Henry, Gertrout, and Lovice. Yes, Lovice. To his beloved wife, Elisabeth, he left his household goods (or, rather, the goods he hadn't already left to his son, Christian) and horses, cattle, and sheep. Sadly, my wife will be empty handed when it comes to livestock if I die before her.
One other interesting thing I found. Apparently there are a few coon hunters out there who like to get together and share the faith. Yes, that's right, Christian coon hunters. I wonder if I should be concerned. Probably not, though a t-shirt from one of those groups would be nice. Oh, the fascinating ways one can waste time on a Friday afternoon.
One other interesting thing I found. Apparently there are a few coon hunters out there who like to get together and share the faith. Yes, that's right, Christian coon hunters. I wonder if I should be concerned. Probably not, though a t-shirt from one of those groups would be nice. Oh, the fascinating ways one can waste time on a Friday afternoon.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Yes, OK, yes, it's my birthday
I never know what to do about my birthday. By that I mean to I trumpet it so that others will wish me a happy birthday or do I just keep quiet about it, secretly hoping that others will somehow just know that it's my birthday. I've done it both ways so I figure this will be a year that I trumpet.
38 years ago today, a very young husband and wife (18 and 20) welcomed me into the world in Cedar Falls, Iowa. A few days later we went home to our trailer home while my dad went to college and worked at a meat packing plant. Mom stayed home with me. From humble beginnings, new life can be formed. And it was. And I'm thankful, so very thankful, for God's presence in my life from those first moments and the way God guided my parents as they guided me.
I have a beautiful wife, two cherished children, and I get paid to preach, pray, and pontificate. What more could I ask? Happy birthday to me, indeed.
38 years ago today, a very young husband and wife (18 and 20) welcomed me into the world in Cedar Falls, Iowa. A few days later we went home to our trailer home while my dad went to college and worked at a meat packing plant. Mom stayed home with me. From humble beginnings, new life can be formed. And it was. And I'm thankful, so very thankful, for God's presence in my life from those first moments and the way God guided my parents as they guided me.
I have a beautiful wife, two cherished children, and I get paid to preach, pray, and pontificate. What more could I ask? Happy birthday to me, indeed.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
God's P.R. people
God needs a good public-relations person right about now. Two articles in the last two days make me think that.
The first article came yesterday morning and it was about, of all things, the football game between the Indianapolis Colts and Pittsburgh Steelers. The last quote of the article was from the Colts' kicker Mike Vanderjagt: "I guess the Lord forgot about the football team." Let's review where this comes from. First, let me say for the record, and I don't think I'm going out on a theological limb here, I don't believe God really has a rooting interest in any sports event. Let's just say for fun, however, that God wanted the Colts to win last Sunday. That wouldn't be a big stretch, especially considering the Colts' coach is Tony Dungy, by all accounts a strong Christian, who has gone through one of the most horrendous things a parent can go through--his 18-year-old son committed suicide about three weeks ago. I can see God thinking, "Hmm, it would be great if the Colts could win this thing. Let's see if I'm needed. The Colts are favored to win anyway so maybe they won't need My help." But the Colts did need help. They fell behind, but were trying to make a valiant comeback. Fairly late in the game, however, the Colts' quarterback was intercepted by one of the Steelers who caught the ball, fell down, got up, fumbled the ball and then recovered it. The instant replay showed pretty conclusively that he caught it and then fumbled and recovered it. It should have been the Steelers' ball, but the referee said, no, he never intercepted it and it was still the Colts' ball, much to the surprise of everybody at the game. I could see God being a part of that one (if God wanted the Colts to win, that is). Near the end of the game, things were looking bleak for the Colts. They were behind by three points and the Steelers only needed one yard for a touchdown with about a minute left. God the Colts fan might say at this point, "OK, they really need My help now." The Steelers gave their ball to their running back Jerome Bettis who hadn't fumbled the ball all year. Guess what? He fumbled, the Colts recovered got the ball down field with just a few seconds and brought in the aforementioned kicker, Mike Vanderjagt, who is one of the most accurate kickers in the league, to kick a field goal. God might say, "OK, I've done enough, Mike, you can make this, it's up to you." But he missed and missed badly. Colts lose. Imagine God being disappointed. After all, God wanted the Colts to win and obviously intervened a couple different times to make sure they did win. And then Vanderjagt says, "It's extreme disbelief. From the..interception reversal to Jerome's fumble, everything seemed to be lined up in our favor. I guess the Lord forgot about the football team." If I'm God the Colts fan, I have a little talk with Mike Vanderjagt.
The second article was in today's paper. New Orleans mayor C. Ray Nagin said this: "As we think about rebuilding New Orleans, surely God is mad at America. He's sending hurricane after hurricane after hurricane. And it's destroying, it's putting stress on this country. Surely, he's not approval [sic] of us being in Iraq under false pretenses. But surely he's upset at black America also. We're not taking care of ourselves. We're not taking care of our women. And we're not taking care of our children."
Is God mad at America? It's a perfectly good question to ask. Is God mad at the world? If I'm God, I use my PR person (which may be you and/or me) to put out this statement: "I'm very mad that there's war, hunger, poverty, injustice, depression, and loneliness. Who wouldn't be? But please do not infer that my mode of punishment is killing innocent people via natural disasters. I thought people knew better. Sadly, people do too good job of punishing themselves. I'm doing all I can to help you put a stop to that. That is, when I'm not helping the Colts."
The first article came yesterday morning and it was about, of all things, the football game between the Indianapolis Colts and Pittsburgh Steelers. The last quote of the article was from the Colts' kicker Mike Vanderjagt: "I guess the Lord forgot about the football team." Let's review where this comes from. First, let me say for the record, and I don't think I'm going out on a theological limb here, I don't believe God really has a rooting interest in any sports event. Let's just say for fun, however, that God wanted the Colts to win last Sunday. That wouldn't be a big stretch, especially considering the Colts' coach is Tony Dungy, by all accounts a strong Christian, who has gone through one of the most horrendous things a parent can go through--his 18-year-old son committed suicide about three weeks ago. I can see God thinking, "Hmm, it would be great if the Colts could win this thing. Let's see if I'm needed. The Colts are favored to win anyway so maybe they won't need My help." But the Colts did need help. They fell behind, but were trying to make a valiant comeback. Fairly late in the game, however, the Colts' quarterback was intercepted by one of the Steelers who caught the ball, fell down, got up, fumbled the ball and then recovered it. The instant replay showed pretty conclusively that he caught it and then fumbled and recovered it. It should have been the Steelers' ball, but the referee said, no, he never intercepted it and it was still the Colts' ball, much to the surprise of everybody at the game. I could see God being a part of that one (if God wanted the Colts to win, that is). Near the end of the game, things were looking bleak for the Colts. They were behind by three points and the Steelers only needed one yard for a touchdown with about a minute left. God the Colts fan might say at this point, "OK, they really need My help now." The Steelers gave their ball to their running back Jerome Bettis who hadn't fumbled the ball all year. Guess what? He fumbled, the Colts recovered got the ball down field with just a few seconds and brought in the aforementioned kicker, Mike Vanderjagt, who is one of the most accurate kickers in the league, to kick a field goal. God might say, "OK, I've done enough, Mike, you can make this, it's up to you." But he missed and missed badly. Colts lose. Imagine God being disappointed. After all, God wanted the Colts to win and obviously intervened a couple different times to make sure they did win. And then Vanderjagt says, "It's extreme disbelief. From the..interception reversal to Jerome's fumble, everything seemed to be lined up in our favor. I guess the Lord forgot about the football team." If I'm God the Colts fan, I have a little talk with Mike Vanderjagt.
The second article was in today's paper. New Orleans mayor C. Ray Nagin said this: "As we think about rebuilding New Orleans, surely God is mad at America. He's sending hurricane after hurricane after hurricane. And it's destroying, it's putting stress on this country. Surely, he's not approval [sic] of us being in Iraq under false pretenses. But surely he's upset at black America also. We're not taking care of ourselves. We're not taking care of our women. And we're not taking care of our children."
Is God mad at America? It's a perfectly good question to ask. Is God mad at the world? If I'm God, I use my PR person (which may be you and/or me) to put out this statement: "I'm very mad that there's war, hunger, poverty, injustice, depression, and loneliness. Who wouldn't be? But please do not infer that my mode of punishment is killing innocent people via natural disasters. I thought people knew better. Sadly, people do too good job of punishing themselves. I'm doing all I can to help you put a stop to that. That is, when I'm not helping the Colts."
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