Leftovers

As a kid I was always fascinated by the comic strip called "Blondie."  I never understood what the point of the comic was (still don't) but the main character, Dagwood, has this thing with food that is unbelievable.  Rail thin, Dagwood creates and then consumes massive sandwiches made out of all sorts of meats, cheeses, and heaven knows what else.  I knew, and know, that it is a cartoon, but what this guy did with food is just amazing (and antithetical to every known healthy eating plan in the universe).  These sandwich creations that border on works of art (okay, maybe not art, but definitively pop culture icons) have spilled over into the real world.  You and I can pile up whatever we want (the more layers the better) and create our very own Dagwood.  And who said Western culture was in decline!

Dagwood's are attached in my imagination with leftovers.  Yes, most people make sandwiches out of processed meats, but for my money nothing compares with raiding the fridge after a big meal and seeing what gastronomical tour de force you can create.  This is one of the great joys of Thanksgiving.  The actual meal is great, but there are "rules" to eating it.  Not so with the leftovers.  You are free to create an endless array of sandwiches, casseroles, soups, stews and deserts.  Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce with whipped cream on rye might seem uncouth on Thursday, but by Friday the gloves are off.  As long as it does not kill you or send you to the ER, it is fair game.  Creativity is highly valued when it comes to leftovers.  The more original the creation the better, and the more leftovers you can use at one time is equally important.  Anyone can take some turkey and mashed potatoes and make a meal.  But how about turkey, sweet potatoes, green beans, relish, cheese cubes, and apple crisp and combine them all into one dish?  That, dear reader, requires a lot of moxy and no small about of talent.

Leftovers are not only important from a culinary standpoint, but also from a theological one.  Leftovers remind us of God for God is a God not just of the main meal but also the leftovers.  Our lives are filled with bits and pieces of good and bad things.  Very little in life has a neat beginning or ending.  Rather, old relationships, successes, mistakes, and unexplored opportunities are always resurfacing, working their way back into our world.  Sometimes we might see this as a good thing (the chance to connect with a long lost friend) but every once in a while we might not be so thrilled at being reminded of that job we lost or the relationship that ended in a really bad way.  Yet there it is, staring us right in the face, demanding our attention. 

Life is not, in my opinion, what we make of it.  It is what God makes of it.  And God is really, really good at taking the leftover and creating something new and life giving.  Not to long ago I was watching a program about two men who traveled around to schools talking to kids about love and forgiveness.  One of the men's grandson had killed the other man's son.  Out of the guilt, anger, fear, and sense of loss God was able to create reconciliation, respect, love, and healing.  Not just for these two men, but for countless young people.  That, to me, is the greatest thing about how God uses our leftovers.  The new creation is meant for others as much as for us.  Our leftovers feed so many people, some of whom we may never meet face-to-face. 

Welcome with open arms the leftovers in your life, even the not so positive ones.  Take heart that your pain, in the hands of God, will be transformed into joy, your loss into gain, and missed opportunities into new futures.  And celebrate that all of this will be shared with others.  Because that is something else that is so great about leftovers - they are meant to be enjoyed by everybody.

Canary in a Coma

Now if I tell you that you suffer from delusions

You pay your analyst to reach the same conclusions

You live your life like a canary in a coalmine

You get so dizzy even walking in a straight line

Canary in a Coalmine by the Police

A few weeks ago the family was out running errands and, as is custom, we had some tunes playing in the background.  The song Canary in a Coalmine by the Police came on and when it was over my oldest asked my why someone would sing a song about a canary in a coma.  It took me a second to realize that she had misunderstood the lyrics - though in her defense the way Sting sings the song I can see how she could hear "a coma" instead of "coalmine".  When I stopped laughing (about 10 minutes later ) I explained what the words to the song actually were and what they meant.  I laughed so long and hard because my daughter's mistake reminded me of the many, many song lyrics I have not heard correctly over the years.  I am fairly certain that each of you have, on a least one occasion, messed up the lyrics to a song or two.  My question is - who's fault is it, yours or the singer with the diction of a two year old?

I was a communications minor in undergrad.  Most of my course work on the subject eludes my conscious memory, but I do clearly remember a statement my professor made in COMM 101 - if someone does not understand what you are saying the fault lies with you, the speaker, and not the listener.  I think I found that statement so profound because as a child I was always told that I needed to be a good listener, that I should have my "listening ears" on, that I had better pay attention.  If I misunderstood something a parent or teacher said, 99% of the time it was my fault, not the speaker/adult.  I always thought that was unfair...until I had children of my own.  Kids really don't listen well, do they?  I am certain that "go clean your room" can mean only one thing, yet my offspring can derive a thousand different interpretations out of that command, none of which match my intent that they clean their room.

This past election cycle I heard a number of politicians claim that God was on their side.  They were certain, they told us, that their candidacy was the will of the Almighty and because of this fact they would prevail at the polls.  Some did win, others did not.  Assuming, for the moment, that these individuals believed what they said (I know, its hard, but try to imagine a politician being honest) some of them were wrong.  Or were they right that God wanted them to run but wrong about the outcome?  Maybe they were correct on all accounts and it was God who messed up?  Who is a fault, the speaker (God) or the listener (the politician)?

Growing up in church I was taught that God speaks to me, the trick is learning how to listen.  If I could not hear or understand God it was not God's fault, but mine.  I took all of that to heart until that fateful day in COMM 101 when it dawned on me that if my teacher was correct, and I could not understand whatt God was saying to me, then the blame had to be placed squarely on God, the speaker.  This idea turned everything I ever believed on its head.  Rather than blame myself for not clearly understanding what God wanted me to do with my life I could pin it all on God. Or at least that is what I told myself for a couple of weeks.

The truth is that communication requires the speaker to be clear and the listen to pay attention to what the speaker is trying to say.  If I mumble my words like Keith Richards on a two-week bender, or am not clear in my thoughts, than it will be hard for people to understand me.  Likewise, if I am not really listening (like when my kids start whining at me about something their sibling has done) or I opt to hear what I want to hear, then I will miss out on what the person is saying.  But hey, this is basic stuff you already know.  You read this blog for earth-shattering, deeply profound insights (and occasionally I deliver).  So here it is - the rules of communication apply to our relationship with God as well.

God is, I believe, still learning how to communicate with us, the creation, even as we are trying to figure out how to hear what God is saying.  There are times when God has not been the most effective speaker, when "coalmine" comes out sounding like "a coma."  While this thought might be a bit unorthodox for some people, think about your own experience talking with children (assuming you have, at some point, attempted to engage a youngster in conversation.  If not, just pretend that you have).  As an adult you are aware that life is complex and complicated.  You know that fast food restaurants advertise toys in kids meals that they often don't have in stock.  Just because a toy is in the display case does not mean it is behind the counter.  Children don't get this.  All they know is they see the toy, want the toy, but did not get the toy in their meal (they remain blissfully unaware that food plays any part in going to the restaurant because it is all about getting a cheap plastic toy).  How do you explain marketing principals to a three year old on the verge of a major meltdown...no, really, I want to know.  If you have had an success at this please share since I have yet to figure it out.  Now, try nuclear physics or constitutional law.

My point is this - God, the creator of the vast and unfathomable universe, is sort of stuck in the same position with us.  How do you communicate with humans when they don't understand the complexities of all of creation?  Burning bushes- check.  Prophets - been there, done that.  Mountaintop encounters - yep. Story, myth, parable - tried them all.  There is no limit to the ways that God has tried to communicate with us, but the issue is content, not medium.  And yet, for some strange reason, God wants, needs, to speak to us.  So God keeps trying, like a good parent, to talk to us at our level about things that are way over our heads.  And we, like good children, try to pay attention and understand.  But it is hard, for us and for God.  Becuase sometimes we don't undertand why we did not get the toy we wanted.

Communication is a necessary, rewarding, and at times frustrating experience.  My hope and prayer for you this day is that you will clearly hear and understand God, if even just for a brief few moments.  And in those other times, when the message is not clear, I encourage you to cut yourself, and God, a little slack.  We are all still learning how to communicate with each other.

What Would Charlie Brown Think

Last year, towards the end of the December, I laid eyes on one of the most hideous, revolting, sights I have ever seen (and folks, after working in a fast-food restaurant, the bar for disgusting is pretty high).  There, at the end of the aisle, in a medium-sized triangular box, sat a replica of the Christmas tree from the animated Peanuts Christmas show.  I could not believe my eyes.  Someone at some company decided to produce an artificial, artificial mind you, scraggly tree, bent over by the weight of just one ornament, and wrapped in a blanket like Linus carries in the cartoons.  Then, many someones mass produced these abominations.  Worse yet, many other someones representing a number of retail outlets purchased these affronts to nature and slapped a $19.99 price tag on them.  And then some other people were forced to put them on the shelves.  The unspeakable horror!

The sickness I felt deep down in my stomach was soothed with the knowledge that it was just a temporary lapse of judgement.  A combination of common sense and short attention spans by consumers would ensure that these "holiday treasures" would not see the light of another Christmas season.  Lulled into believing that good will prevail, I channeled my righteous anger into other worthy causes (ie.  blogging about school pictures).

My faith in the American free enterprise system took another bone-crushing blow when I discovered that these things...these "trees"...are back.  Not only did they not get discarded into the trash heap of history, they are now in more stores than last year.  Why?  How?  What in the world is wrong with people in this country?

The poor little tree in the Charlie Brown Christmas show was a statement, a symbol, a rebellious cry to break free from an artificial and consumerist understanding of the season of giving.  In a world of plastic and metal, Charlie Brown found the one living thing and saw in it the meaning of Christmas.  Yes, it was weak and scrawny and not nearly as attractive as Snoopy's dog house, but that was the point.  The spirit of Christmas that leads us to acts of loving and compassion, that leads to life, is always in danger of being lost in a society that is fascinated with buying stuff just to buy stuff.

Gift giving is not wrong or bad.  Every culture throughout history has elevated the giving of gifts to a high and sacred place.  A present for newlyweds, or a new baby, or a house warming, or as a sign of respect, or love or just everyday care and concern is right and good and honorable.  There is nothing wrong with exchanging gift at Christmas (or any other holiday).  Gifts, however, are a means, not an end.  They are a way of expressing feelings.  Where the problems begin to creep in is when the buying of the gift is more important than the relationship the gift is supposed to celebrate.  That was what Charlie Brown, in his own block headed way, was trying to say.

The Charlie Brown Christmas show remains so popular because it reminds us that the spirit of the season (and thus the real reason that we give gifts) is vastly more important than the trappings of the holiday.  We do not need glitter and glitz to celebrate love (though all the lights and decorations are not in and of themselves bad).  The little tree that Charlie Brown buys, and his friends mock him for, is one of the most potent symbols of anti-commercialism in American pop-culture.  But now, it has been turned into just another product we can buy for Christmas.  Stripped of its meaning and power, it looks just plain silly and stupid sitting on store shelves.

So, what to do about it?  A class-action lawsuit was briefly considered, but when all eight lawyers I spoke with hung up on me I figured it would not go far.  A letter to the editor seemed like a good idea, except no one reads newspapers any more.  Short of praying for a massive product recall there does not seem much I can do.  Other than vent my spleen to you, my loyal readers.  And hope that the never ending attempts to turn Christmas into a complete consumer orgy fails.  That is what Charlie Brown would want, I think.

Coat Pockets

Much to my dismay, it is now jacket/coat season where I live.  Sure, the changing of seasons is kind of fun, and Fall is a very pretty time of year.  Colder weather means football and Halloween and football and Thanksgiving and football, all of which I enjoy (especially football).  Sadly, it also means defrosting the car and shoveling the drive and being cold, which I do not enjoy.  I am not a big fan of being cold and I would rather sweat than freeze.  However, since I cannot stop the earth from rotating and for some reason cannot convince my significant other that life in Southern California would be oh so wonderful, I have broken out the coats.

The advent of coat season brings with it a few surprises.  I have a habit of sticking things in my pockets and each year I discover all sorts of little treasures that have been tucked away for the last six months.  Before you ask, no, I never seem to find any money (stupid wallet).  However, my heavy winter coat yielded an amazing variety of stuff this past week.  First, there was the wrapper from a candy bar (chocolate!!!).  Then two of my wife's pay stubs (no clue how those got there), some napkins from a fast food restaurant, a receipt from a different fast food restaurant, a pen (which never seems to be around when I really need it) and another receipt, this one from a gas station.

While not quite as exciting or relevant as, say, the opening of King Tut's tomb, the contents of my coat pocket allow me the opportunity to play a little game I like to call "Where and when did this come from?"  Looking at the dates on the receipt is permitted but comes with a mandatory reduction in style points.  There are, however, serious bonus points available if I can remember not only what restaurant the napkins came from but when I went there and what I had to eat.  Believe it or not there have been occasions in which I could reconstruct an entire Thursday afternoon in February based solely on the items found in my coat pocket.  This is all the more remarkable considering that I can't often remember what I had for lunch three days ago.

Once the initial thrill of discovery is over (usually the euphoria wears off in about 30-45 seconds) I find myself feeling a bit melancholy.  Last winter I wore my coat pretty much all the time, which means I had it on at least 100 days.  Most of those days were average, ordinary, unremarkable.  Just another day in the life of me.  And what do I have to show for them, what evidence of the 2400 hours I walked the face of this earth?  A couple of receipts proving that I consumed some incredibly unhealthy food and bought some gasoline for my car.  Oh, and that my wife went to work for a couple of weeks in January and and got paid for her time and energy.  That's it.

Granted, my life cannot and should not be reduced to the contents of my winter coat pockets.  Yet, my coat pockets remind me of how much of my life seems to be lost in the day-to-day grind of just living.  I have a friend who will tell you that today is the best day of his life.  I have no reason to doubt him when he says it.  I wish I had the same approach to living.  Instead, the vast majority of my days are spent doing the basics of life - eating, sleeping, working, eating, parenting, being a spouse - not really noticing what I am doing and wondering if anybody else is paying attention either.

Scientists tell us that our universe is billions of years old and that there are hundreds of billions of stars and planets out there in space.  As a human being, I get to live on one of these planets for a tiny fraction of time, not even a blink of the proverbial eye.  How in the world can anything I do matter?  What difference does it make?  Even if you accept the butterfly in the Amazon flapping its wings and making it rain in Texas theory (which I do because it just sounds so cool) in a universe as massive as ours can I say or do anything that will have any influence?

I really want to be able to tell you something uplifting here, that each day is a gift (that is why they call it the present) and that we should value every second we are alive.  I really, honestly do.  Yet, I know that for many of us Tuesday morning will come and we will go off to work, our kids to school, and we will come home and have dinner and three weeks from now we probably won't remember any of it.  The day will come and go and no one will really care what we said or did - not our grandchildren, or their children or the people that write history books about famous people and their remarkable accomplishments.  No one, except God.

See, I think that the present is a gift not just for us but also for God.  It took billions of years to get to this point, for the universe to evolve so human life can exist.  How long will it last?  Who knows.  But I am sure that God savors each and every moment of it.  Our mundane lives are anything but pointless and boring to the One who waited so long for the chance to see us live and breath and eat and pray and love and work.  Our lives are so short that I don't think we appreciate how long God has been anticipating and working for this moment.  After billions of years of waiting, I honestly can't imagine God missing out on a single second of our lives.  All those minutes and hours and days and weeks of our lives that got lost because they are just ordinary, average days, are not lost to God.

So, as you are taking out the trash this week, or making coffee, or typing up that report, or doing anything that you do day after day, week after week, remember how long God has been waiting to see you do it.  Maybe, just maybe, that makes even the most average of days seem a little more extraordinary.  Even the trips to get gas in the middle of winter.