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.