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.