Reading through the psalms

If I was really on the ball, I'd be blogging daily about this new excursion into the Bible, but I'm about 11 days late.

I felt like I was in a bit of a devotional slump a couple weeks ago (sorry "When You Pray") and decided on a whim to see if I could read 150 psalms in 150 days. Because, as you may know, there are 150 psalms. As soon as I made that decision, it was like a weight had been lifted. My prayer time seemed (and is) simpler and it has freed me to be more silent and centered. So that's all good, but, and this may sound really odd coming from a pastor, it's amazing what happens you actually read sections of the Bible straight through.

I'm through Psalm 11 and while I've enjoyed this immensely and have reveled in some wonderful passages (Psalm 8 is always a favorite--it tells that we're made a little lower than God/the angels and that we're crowned with glory and honor), so far, the main message is: (a) God likes good and righteous people/things and (b) God really, really doesn't like (choose your negative adjective) evil/wicked/bloodthirsty/deceitful people and things. And the call from the psalmist is for God to either smite these evil/wicked/bloodthirsty/deceitful people or make it so they trap themselves in their own deceit. I knew this was a theme throughout the Scriptures, but I didn't realize it was so rampant right off the bat in the psalms.

The themes will change as I go along and I don't necessarily oppose reading these. It's caused me to think about my own enemies (I tend to think of things like needless anxiety or harmful fear though, if I'm honest, there are days when my enemies have flesh and blood) and it's caused me to pay closer attention to the oppressed (the psalmist speaks on behalf of the oppressed a fair amount) and reflecting on what I'm doing or not doing on their behalf. I'll see if I can blog more regularly along the way on these.

Potluck plenty

I grew up in a town of about 5,000 in northeast Iowa and the notion of homelessness was foreign to us. There were no overnight shelters and we didn't see any evidence that there was anyone (unlike Jesus) who had no place to lay his or her head. Except Lester. Lester was an older man who wandered our streets. He didn't appear to have the best hygiene and usually wore the same clothes. Apart from some youth in the community (and I fear I may have been one) who would tease him, our town simply got used to him. Like a streetlamp. Or an abandoned building. Lester, however, introduced me to ecumenism. That is, when it came to church potlucks, he had no religious preference. Lutheran, Presbyterian, Catholic, my own United Methodist Church. It didn't matter. He made his way in and made himself at home. To their credit, I think most churches welcomed him. They gave him a plate, offered him a seat, and encouraged him to stay. When we say there is room at the table at Urban Village, we mean that figuratively. From our first worship service a year ago and every Sunday since, we emphasize that all are welcome. We also mean that there is literally room at the table. We're having a potluck this Sunday after our worship service in Wicker Park. We want you to come. We want you to bring friends. We want you to invite the Lesters of our city. Because, friends, there is more than enough to offer to all.

Sacrifice

A few months ago, I went to an elementary school in Humboldt Park with another person from Urban Village to talk to the school's principal about ways that our church could volunteer. As the principal described the highlights and challenges of leading that school, she mentioned that they sometimes have issues with children making frequent trips to the school nurse and having to leave the classroom When I asked why, I learned that many of the students aren't sick, they're hungry. That was jarring. People sometimes talk about giving something up for Lent and there are lots of reasons to do so. That process often is a sacrifice, which isn't a word that people usually like to hear or use. One reason we sacrifice, however, is to draw closer to another person or to God. Going without something (like intentionally skipping a meal or going without food for a day) affects our bodies and can remind us that there are others who have to do this every day. That, then, can be a reminder that we must never forget those who go without and we must work to make sure that all have their daily bread. Sometimes sacrifice can bring abundance.

Eh, what's the difference?

I'm pretty sure I've written about my love of newspapers (which probably stems from my delivering the Des Moines Register every morning at a young age) before and it still saddens me to read articles about the demise of an integral part of my morning ritual.

Yesterday was a case in point. This headline says it all: "More Americans get news from Internet than newspaper or radio." Sigh. Of course, this is not news and I've been steeling myself for the day when I may have to read the news from sort of e-reader over my eggs and cereal.

But this morning, I had to cringe and laugh at the same time at an awful grammatical error in the Chicago Tribune. On the front page of the sports section, there's a headline in the lower right-hand corner that promotes the kick-off of the NCAA basketball tournament. The headline should have read, "And they're off..." Instead, it read, "And there off..." I can accept typos, but this was such a bad error that I imagined some editor at the Tribune seeing this error and thinking, "Eh, so what? Nobody reads this anyway."

One of the many reasons I love my wife is that she shared in my incredulity. Our daughter didn't quite get why we were so up-in-arms (though I think she understood the difference between there and they're), but we suggested that she take it to class and she dutifully did so. Anne noted that her mom would have given me a dime for spotting this error.

I'm all about the little things. This is so unbelievably inconsequential in the face of the tragedy in Japan, conflict in Afghanistan, etc. And yet I can't stop reflecting on it in the hopes that people will also continue to care about the little things, too.

Something at the table.

I've been gone a few nights lately so I haven't been home for dinner as much. My wife told me a couple nights ago that my absence really affects how everyone eats because, understandably, she's not quite as motivated to cook a more elaborate meal because she'll get hit with all kinds of questions.

"What are we having for dinner?" our 6-year-old will ask.

"Chicken stir fry."

"I don't like that," he'll often say.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know. What do we have?"

And on and on it goes. Kids can be picky eaters and I speak from personal experience because I was a picky eater. My kids actually do pretty well compared to me. But there was and is always something at the table.

It's easy to drown people with statistics when it comes to hunger, but one that stuck out to me recently is that there were 286,310 children who lived in poverty in Cook County last year. 286,310 children who probably didn't necessarily know if there would be something at the table.

There are so many ways that we can make a difference in Jesus' name. Remembering all those children when we pray, "Give us today our daily bread," is a good place to start. Remembering and also acting.