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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.