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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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."

Home in the evening

Pastors have non-traditional schedules. Of course, there's the having to work Sunday morning gig, but many also are out a few nights a week because of meetings or classes. I usually have something that's church-related three nights a week. Ideally it would be two, but I rarely schedule four. My wife gets a special place in heaven for being so patient and understanding with this schedule.

That's why this week has been somewhat odd. I have no meetings. No classes. For the last four nights, I haven't had to rush to the church after dinner. I can help give my son a bath (Caroline used to let me give her a bath, but now I can only run the water for her and maybe help wash her. Maybe. Otherwise, it's all mom), read a book or two, wash the dishes, and have some time to do whatever. Last night I read a bit, continued to learn about my new watch (see yesterday's blog), watched the end of a documentary ("The Fog of War") I started Tues. night. I have to admit, it's been very nice. It will be tough to get back in the swing of things when we're back from our trip to Iowa. They say right before women give birth, they go through a nesting phase. That's what I think I'm doing right now.

Something's watching from above

My favorite toy this Christmas was a watch. Not just any watch, mind you, but a watch that, well, watches. I don't recall the exact name of it, but it's more like a system that has two parts. One part is a little device that you clip on your arm or shorts and it has a global positioning system inside it that connects with a satellite. The other part is the watch that communicates with the device and tells me how far and how fast I've run. I'm still learning how it works, but I took it out this morning and it was pretty amazing. At first, it wasn't doing anything and then I wondered, Hmm, maybe I need to press this "start" button and, voila!, something beyond the gray clouds was tracking me, telling me how far I was running. It was a dreary morning and I thought the clouds might impede the signal, but, sure enough, it followed me through the park, through downtown Highland Park, past the library, and down Sheridan Road. No matter where I went, something up there was tracking me and giving me updates on my progress. It doesn't take an ordained pastor to figure out some connections here:

"Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast. If I say, 'Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,' even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you."
--Psalm 139:7-12

The best part of that heavenly tracker? No batteries needed.

Making room for memories

Boxing Day (Dec. 26 to Americans) has so many emotions. I'm sure for millions of kids around the world, a kind-of depression sets in. That's not surprising. They've been geared up for so long for Dec. 25 that the day after has to be some sort of let down. For our household, it was a day of rest. Christmas was busier than normal for us with the addition of a church service and we had some folks over for brunch afterward. Add the opening of gifts before church and a trek down to my sister-in-law's later in the day and we were glad to sit in our mess yesterday. To a point. I was a little more willing than my wife was and last night while I was watching a DVD of "The Sopranos," she was busy throwing out boxes and straightening up.

Another emotion that may come up is guilt or at least a sense of uneasiness. Christmas brings more things into our lives, most of which, if we're honest with ourselves, aren't needed. For example, I got a brand-new coffee maker that does everything except file my taxes. It's a pretty slick machine, but then we have to find a place for our old, simple coffee maker, which still works, but doesn't have all the gadgets that the new one does. As we search for more space, two things may go through our minds: 1. We need a bigger house or 2. We have way too much stuff. I'm guessing most Americans choose option #1.

In addition to our things, though, Anne (my wife) had to make room for some conflicting memories. She gave our daughter the doll house she played with as a little girl and it's an impressive structure, quite large with many rooms and appliances (this family has no problem finding room for their stuff). We had to figure out a way to put in our daughter's room which meant spending time doing some major rearranging. But I think Anne had a little difficulty truly giving it up. I can understand that. She spent hours playing with these dolls and now she has to let our daughter use them, maybe break them, maybe lose some pieces. In addition, there are the memories of her mother infused in every little room in the house. Those memories are rife with joy (spending wonderful times with her mother) and pain (realizing she's no longer here). Those are the hardest ones, perhaps, to come to terms with. It's much harder making room for these than an old coffee maker.

My Christmas letter

I'm not writing a Christmas letter this year and there are various reasons why, mainly because the creative juices just aren't there. I've had a lot of fun with writing these letters in the past(one of my favorites was when I summarized our year in haiku), but nothing seemed to jump out at me this year.

There seems to be a Christmas letter pattern with people my age, especially if they have kids. Three areas are covered. First, an update on what the kids are doing and what they enjoy. The problem with most parents (and I include myself in this) is that we're blinded by this remarkable thing we've done: create life. Now, it is a remarkable thing indeed. I wouldn't argue if someone wanted to say it's miraculous, if you think about it. But that sometimes translates into thinking that we have miracle children and want to tell the world how they're developing. By my unofficial survey of letters, though, kids are pretty much kids. Certain-aged children read particular books, like particular things, get involved with particular activities. My daughter does things that a lot of 4-year-olds do and the same with our 1-year-old son. My wife and I marvel at this, but others may not. (They should, though, because our children really are gifted. Really.)

The second area is travel. We used to be able to write about some interesting trips, but in 2005, other than Boston, it wasn't a terribly interesting year in travel. The Iowa State Fair was probably #2 on our list, if that gives you an idea. As a native Iowan, of course, that's a journey worth taking, but, again, doesn't really get anybody else's pulse racing.

The third area is summarizing one's vocation. Ours have pretty much stayed the same. I still really enjoy being a pastor at this church. Anne still really enjoys staying at home the kids. We could have said something about Anne's mom passing away, but most people know that and it's kind of hard to put into words how that affected us.

So, this year, I did a very radical thing. I took out a pen and wrote notes to people. Not long, especially to people I keep in touch with pretty regularly, but still, I worked on my penmanship (such as it is) while telling people the above information in shorter prose.

Summarizing a year in the life can be a challenge and maybe that's why I'm doing this blog so if anyone's interested in what I'm doing they can read it on a somewhat daily basis. Now THAT should get your pulse racing. Especially when I write about my oh-so gifted children. That reminds me of an amazing thing Ethan did the other day...

Marshmallow menorah

We live in an area that has a significant Jewish population and there are many reasons to celebrate this. We learn about customs, traditions, and viewpoints that we might not be exposed to.

I have no idea if Christians are in the minority in Highland Park and Deerfield (most unscientific estimates I hear say it’s about 50-50), but every once in a while I get a small sense of what it must be like for someone who is a religious minority. Our daughter goes to a local non-religious preschool, but it’s one that does discuss different religious traditions. Obviously this is a time of year when those traditions are discussed. Last week they talked about Hanukkah and this week they’re talking about Christmas. I had an odd feeling, I must confess, when my daughter brought home her art creation from last week. She walked up to me with a big smile on her face as she held up a menorah. Not just any menorah, of course, but a marshmallow menorah. The marshmallows were the candlesticks, toothpicks were the candles, and jellybeans were the flames. I’m not sure how the Maccabees would have survived with marshmallows instead of lamps, but you get the idea. I have to sheepishly confess that my first thought when she presented this to me was fear that we hadn’t done a good enough job instructing her in Christian symbols and traditions. Does she know about Advent? Why have we been so lax about lighting our Advent wreath? The fact that she’s a pastor’s kid, goes to church every week, participates in prayers every day, etc. probably means she’s getting enough of the whole Christian thing, but it was a weird, fleeting feeling nonetheless.

I wonder what it must be like for a true religious minority? This goes beyond the silly debate about whether the phrase “Merry Christmas” is being excised from our vernacular. It gives me a new appreciation for the devout Muslim or Jew or Sikh or Buddhist or Christian who lives in a place where there is either subtle or forced pressure to not exhibit or hold true to their faith. That is a kind of tenacious faith that I admire and strive for.

Almost getting arrested (well, not really)

I went to a prayer vigil/rally today at Rep. Mark Kirk's office in Northbrook. It was a very interesting experience.

I'm kind of a novice when it comes to political types of gatherings. I've walked in a couple of marches, but that's really about the extent of it. For some reason, though, the proposed federal budget has really caught my attention. As I've stated before on this blog, I find the combination of spending cuts for our society's most vulnerable and tax cuts for the society's wealthy to be very disturbing and against family values, if I can steal that phrase. Another member of my church came along and we drove down to Rep. Kirk's office. There were about 25 or so of us and I was one of about six clergy, three Christian and three Jewish. We had a brief prayer service outside the doors of the office building which upset the building's manager since we were technically on private property. There was some back and forth about that since a congressman's office should be public property, but we eventually went up to Rep. Kirk's office and spoke to his chief of staff. The clergy group went up together and wondered who was going to be the spokesperson. No one jumped at the opportunity at first. Since I was so new to this, I was hesitant to take that responsibility even though I have done a fair amount of reading on this budget. Finally, one of the rabbis took the lead and when we all crammed into the lobby of the office, many people took turns speaking. I called on my journalist background and asked the chief of staff how Rep. Kirk is going to be voting and he kept saying, "I'll pass this information onto the representative" without giving any commitments. He looked a tad bit anxious. That's the thing that was a real learning for me. Most everyone involved seemed a little nervous. I assumed I was there with seasoned pros (there were a few there), but I think just about every one there may have had the same anxieties I did. Do I know enough? Will I say something dumb?

After about 10 minutes, the Northbrook police showed up. Apparently the building manager called them in (we must have been quite the imposing presence what with our prayers and all), but Rep. Kirk's staff said everything was fine and there were no problems until we left and the police refused to let us pray outside the doors again. We ended up having to go stand in the cold and snow along a busy street so we could be on an unshoveled public sidewalk.

It was a great learning experience and helped build a little courage within me so I can do a little more the next time this kind of thing comes up. There was a man there from www.atcenternetwork.com who was shooting video of the proceedings. Apparently this is a grass-roots organization that puts video blogs about community events so check out that site in a few days if you want to see us in action.

Life and death (mostly death) situations

I was watching a little bit of "Blue's Clues" with my daughter yesterday and it was an episode where they explained the three (Christmas, Hanukkh, and Kwanzaa) holidays coming up. Their explanation of Christmas was pretty bland, as one might expect. All they really said was that we celebrate a special birth. No mention of whose birth, but I suppose that's a given. I think. Anyway, that pretty much sums up. We celebrate a special birth. We anticipate the coming of a new life. It's a pretty important subject during this time of the year.

I've been dealing with a lot of death, however, the last couple of days. They're different kinds of death, though. We've had a mouse problem since Saturday and two little mice have gone to mouse heaven since then. Our dog killed one Saturday and the other was caught in a trap this morning. As I dumped Mouse #2 in the garbage and then had a discussion with my wife about our garbage disposal dying, our daughter called out from the other room: "There's a dead squirrel in the backyard!" We both answered: "What?" and then went to inspect. Sure enough, there it was on its back. We're not sure why, but our dog may be on a killing spree though the squirrel looked fairly peaceful. So I went back outside, shoveled the squirrel up, dumped it in a bag, threw it away, and came back inside. When I got to the office this morning, I was told that a long-time member of the church had passed away. She was in her late 90s.

I'm not sure what to make about all this. All kinds of death happens daily, but despite that, so many yearn for this birth that we celebrate in less than two weeks. New life is constantly hoped for, no matter what the circumstances.

Magnificat?

I find it more than a little disturbing that during this season when so many will be reading or hearing the Magnificat, Congress is cutting programs for the poor while considering cutting taxes for the wealthy.

Luke 1:52: "He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty." This is one of the things that Mary sings after getting the remarkable news that she will be carrying the Son of God. Unfortunately, it is the lowly who will be left with nothing after the cuts passed by Congress a couple weeks ago. The rich, if all these tax cuts are passed, will receive good things.

For the faithful few who read my blog, I encourage you to contact your representative and urge them to oppose any final bill, or conference report, that cuts services for the needy. Those in the Deerfield area can contact Rep. Mark Kirk at 202-225-4835.

Three little letters

Sin is such a short word. Three letters. I'll always be amazed at how one can put just a few letters together to create such different and strong feelings. S-i-n.

I've been thinking about sin the last few days for different reasons, but what got me really thinking was a note in my mother-in-law's Bible. She had written down an acronym for the definition of Reformed theology: TULIP. I don't remember all the letters off the top of my head, but I do remember the "T" and the "U". The U was "Unmerited grace." The "T" was "Total depravity." What little I know about the Reformed faith, I do know that the total depravity is a key part of it. We can do nothing on our own. We are lost without grace. There is truth in that, but I also compare that to Psalm139:14: "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." Would a totally depraved person make that comment? As in most things, I believe a balance is called for. Some Christians err too far on the depravity (without acknowledging that God created us and, at least initally, saw that we were good) and others on the "fearfully and wonderfully made" (without acknowledging that we are indeed fallen).

Regardless, I have felt the need to reinstate a regular time of confession and examination in my life, which I haven't been very disciplined about. Confession can indeed be good for the soul. It can even restore a belief that we are fearfully made.

Missed connection in India

I had to call India today and I dreaded it.

Actually, I had to call Dell Computers because I need a new CD-ROM drive, but, like many (most?) technology-based companies, Dell has moved its customer service offices to India. Whenever I talk to someone there, it’s a struggle for a variety of reasons. The progressive, inclusive part of my brain wants to be open to discussing my computer issues with them. S/he obviously needs the work, one hopes s/he’s getting paid well (I don’t have time today to go into the fact that jobs are being lost in the U.S. because of this exportation of labor), and every customer service rep is very sincere as s/he tries to help me. But it’s all very forced. They’ve probably been coached on how to respond to customers, been given some instruction on how to make small talk, and attempts are made at humor or empathy, but it’s kind of a hollow conversation and I hang up feeling frustrated.

I suppose I feel that way whenever I don’t make a connection with someone in a conversation, especially if he or she is a person of faith. We both call ourselves “Christian,” strive to follow Jesus in our daily walk and claim him as Lord, but our vocabulary and our viewpoints are a little (sometimes a lot) different. That can be frustrating, too, because we’re both probably thinking, why can’t that person just believe the same things I do? Does s/he know s/he’s wrong? The woman from India probably thought the same thing about me today as she heard my sighs of frustration and less-than-friendly tone over the phone. Building relationships, even superficial ones, can be hard.

There Goes the Neighborhood

Throughout my life, there has always been a house in whatever neighborhood I was living in that drew scorn from the neighbors. It might have been because the owners or tenants didn't keep their house very clean or because they were poor and "not like us." Whatever the reason, it was a good lesson for me on what exactly Jesus might have meant when he told us to actually love our neighbor, even those neighbors who don't cut their grass or have old appliances in their yard.

Our current home had the same issue, though not any more. There was a house in the neighborhood in desperate need of an extreme makeover: the yard was out of countrol, they had Christmas ornaments up year-round, and they had at least a dozen cats running around, too. Living on the North Shore as we do, this house stuck out even more. I kind of liked it, though, (well, except for the cats) because it passed for some diversity in the neighborhood. A few weeks ago, however, the family moved out and it was only a matter of time before the house was torn down and a behemoth of a house took its place, especially since it was on a corner lot. Sure enough, yesterday the destruction started. There's a "sold" sign in front with a rendering of what the new house will look like. I heard it went for around $1.5 million, which isn't outrageous in this area since new houses usually start at $750K-$1 million. It's big and perfect with a putting-green lawn. I'm sure the new family will be pleasant enough. They'll have no cats. They'll probably have a lawn service. All of these things mean property values go up and that is how it should be, isn't it?

I guess I'm not in that camp. I'll miss the house, eyesore that it was. It's hard enough living in this area and being out of touch with a significant segment of society that doesn't have what we have. In a few weeks, a new house will make it even harder.

Thanksgiving pies

I have no way of knowing how my wife feels today. I know people mean well (I confess to doing this, too) whenever they say, "I know how you feel," even when it seems like they're going through a similar situation, but nobody can ever really, really know how another person feels. Those unique pains and joys, though, are gifts.

It's been a little more than two months since Anne's mom died and Thanksgiving is tomorrow and her mom should be baking pies right about now. That was her task and it was her gift. Pies for Thanksgiving. Pies that she would take down to Ft. Wayne, Indiana, where her children and her children's families would spend time with her sister and her sister's children and their families. Over 48 hours, they would spend time out at the bonfire and talk and drink wine and listen to a ghost story and laugh and eat pies. But Anne is making pies this year, along with her sister. She's following her mother's recipe, which I saw on our counter over lunchtime. Her mom sent it to Anne and Anne's siblings a couple years ago via e-mail and there were the specific instructions from what kind of apples to choose (Jonathans) to how long to let it cool. Her sign-off was, "I love you all."

Anne has been peeling green apples all day to get ready. Green apples, the tart kind, the bittersweet kind. You see where I'm going with this. Tomorrow may be more bitter than sweet as her mother's memory will be everywhere. There will be laughter I'm sure and sniffly noses, too, as we share stories and compare notes on memorable thanksgiving with mom/Aunt Gail. The meal may taste different without her there. Tears and turkey probably make an odd mix. But there will be pie.

Generous with change

I like to think I'm a generous person. I/we tithe to the church. I/we support other non-profits like our alma maters, NPR, various cancer organizations, Bread for the World, among others. But when it comes to the small stuff, I'm sometimes a little cheap. I probably too often ignore tip jars and consider it a hassle to tip some in the service industry (like the person who carries my suitcase 5 feet or the person who retrieves my umbrella in the coat check room). That may make me a cheapskate or, worse, insensitive, but maybe after today I will change.

Today was a kind of unofficial kick-off to the whole holiday season for me. The last three years or so, I've participated in the Potbelly's food drive, which means if a person brings in three non-perishable food items for Second Harvest, you get a free sandwich (I'm partial to the "Wreck"). I was buying three cans of soup (the good stuff) to take in and a wave of generosity came over me and I decided to buy a box of mac and cheese, as well. My "generosity" was rewarded. Not only did I get my sandwich, but the guy gave me a free drink, too, because I brought in four things, not just three.

I can't always expect to be rewarded like that for any small altruism I may exhibit, but, for some reason, it convicted me a bit to be a little more giving in my daily life. Not just with change for the coffee shop server, but in other ways, too. Maybe a smile for the Walgreen's cashier who doesn't get to have a tip jar or a "good morning" to people I come across while running (most people have heads down with earphones on). All of these things won't do anything about making sure Congress doesn't cut programs to those in need or housing earthquake victims in Pakistan. Those take a different kind of courage and effort. But while hopefully doing those things, I can't ignore that grace can be amazing in simple ways.

Blowin' in the wind

Each season has its own sounds and the crunch of leaves is perhaps the pinnacle sound of fall. It's getting hard to hear the crunch these days, however, over the sound of the loud hum of leaf blowers.

I can be anti-technology when it's convenient for me and leaf blowers seemed to be taking away a nice tradition of leaf raking. However, I came home on Saturday and Anne eagerly asked me to look out in the backyard. It looked like someone had been doing some raking and that's when she told me that our neighbor had loaned us his leaf blower--Anne appeared to be a quick convert (It's a lot of fun!). I was leery, but agreed to try it on Monday. My reaction was mixed. I will confess that the blower makes gutter cleaning much, much easier. I don't have much of a soft spot for cleaning the cold black muck out of my gutters and the blower got rid of that in no time.

I wasn't overly impressed, though, with the blower on the actual lawn. When I tried blowing the leaves out from behind bushes, it just seemed to blow them to a different spot behind the bushes and I would have to do it again. Blowing the leaves in the open lawn saved a little time, I guess, but it lacks the satisfaction of a rake. With a rake, you feel like you're accomplishing something. With a blower, you're really just making noise, blowing the leaves into the street, maybe blowing them into another neighbor's lawn so he or she has to deal with it. Your neighbor, in turn, gets his/her blower out and blows the leaves right back. Really, then, a blower comes close to breaking the love thy neighbor commandment because how neighborly is it to blow leaves in his or her yard? Consider me, then, a blower agnostic. I'm not sure if I really believe in it or not.

Of course, as much as I wax on about the joy of raking, perhaps my favorite verse in relation to this activity is tied to the parable that Jesus tells about an "enemy" who comes and plants weeds in a field in the middle of the night. The slaves of this household want to pull the weeds. But the owner of the field essentially says, "Let them be." You can argue, of course, that this parable is about the kingdom of heaven. I say it's also about letting leaves stay on the ground.

Learning from our Jewish friends

We had a unique and Spirit-filled worship last Sunday (one hopes, of course, that our service is always Spirit-filled) as we welcomed 60 or so people from Lakeside Congregation, a local Reform synagogue, to our service. Their rabbi, Isaac Serotta, gave the message. Ike and I have established a neat relationship over the last couple of years and this exchange is a fruit of that relationship. I (and others from my church) will be going to Lakeside on Jan. 20 to for the second part of this exchange.

We had a typical service, at Ike's encouragement, including communion which we hope was a way to give our Jewish neighbors some idea of what we do on Sunday. The people from Lakeside seemed to be appreciative of our hospitality. As people were going through the "sermon line" (when people made their way by Ike and me, shaking hands, giving nice comments about the service, etc.), one older gentleman stopped and thanked me for the service. I gave him my token, "It was our pleasure, we're so glad you could come" response, but he held onto my hand, and was silent as if he tried to muster up words and just couldn't. In that brief exchange, I sensed a real appreciation of what we tried to do, but also at least a few untold pains and prejudices that he may have experienced in his long life.

As a white, married, Protestant male with children, I am pretty much always in the majority and, in a sense, always in a position of power. I have little idea of what prejudice is. I can read about it, watch movies, listen to stories and all of that is necessary and helpful. But I'll never know it at its core unless I experience it myself. The important thing is what I will do with my standing in this society. The exchanges like the one we had on Sunday are great, but it's only a beginning. I pray for the courage to do more and stand up to others who have power when prejudice and injustice is evident. Even these words that I type will be hollow if I simply live a life of nice intentions. Intentions must transform into expectations.

Catching leaves, dude

I was pushing my son in the stroller yesterday and we made our way through a large park near our house. As I looked ahead, I saw two teen-age boys running around, diving on the ground, laughing up a storm. Both had longish hair and seemed to be acting pretty juvenile (which, of course, makes sense since that's what they are). My first reaction when I saw them, though, was, "Hmmph, slackers." But then I got closer and when I did, I felt pretty stupid because they were engaging in an activity that has got to be centuries old. They were chasing leaves. They were looking up at leaves that were falling off trees and running around trying to catch them before they fell to the ground. True statement heard: "Got one, dude!"

They paid little attention to me as I walked by, as it should be. I don't know why, but this scene gave me a little hope for the future (I suppose it's every generation's responsibility to cast aspersions on younger generations and wonder about the future of our country/world/society). I figured these guys would be spending their time transfixed by video games and maybe later on that afternoon, they did. But on this particular day, at that moment, they were doing something so simple and so silly and they were having a ball doing it.

Why, oh why, do I make assumptions? Why do I label people upon a first impression? To make it easier on myself? You would think having spent some time in the Bible that I'd learn my lesson. God almost always chooses the least likely people to get his point across. But that fact is as difficult to grasp as chasing a leaf, falling from a tree, blown by the wind.

Mourning my mother-in-law (archives)

From the archives, Sept. 21, 2005

I’ve felt a little off since last Tuesday, Sept. 13. My mother-in-law died on that day, sooner than anyone anticipated. She battled cancer for a few years and the doctors told her in July that she had months to live, but we assumed it would be several months rather than less than two.
It still seems a little surreal that she’s gone and if I ponder it too much, the emotional weight is too much to bear. This is my first real experience of grief in losing a loved one. In my almost-eight years of ministry, I’ve never had a parishioner die a real tragic death. In my personal life, I’ve never had a close friend or family member die prematurely. Three of my grandparents are still alive, in fact, which, I guess, is the advantage of having young parents.
One thing that strikes me is the number of people who ask what they can do. That’s a natural reaction. It’s something that I say when I express my condolences and offer comfort. We want so much to help ease pain and if there’s something we can actually do, so much the better. But there really isn’t. Prayers are obviously welcome and needed. But what I usually tell people when I have my pastor hat on is to call the one who mourns a month or two later and invite them to lunch or a movie or whatever. Ask them then, after the deluge of sympathy has subsided, how they are doing. If they say, fine, ask them again. They may very well be fine, but they may also need some prodding. And then the only thing you can do, but it is such a profound thing, is just to sit with them and be. Listen to them. Try to stay away from pithy Hallmark quotations. Avoid talking about yourself for a time. Just listen, offer them a tissue, and tell them you will be there for them. That is how God’s comfort comes through in the world. Not necessarily in inspired words, but in the intimacy of human contact.