Every so often we are forced to go to places that we find intimidating and scary. If you have ever had to go to the bathroom, I mean really go, and the only option for miles around was the restroom at a rundown gas station, you know what I mean. You think about finding a bush to hide behind, or just how embarrassing it would be to wet yourself, but your pride compels you to enter that dark, disgusting, outhouse from hell.
Well, recently I had to go to one of those places that freaks me out as much, if not more, than a gas station bathroom. I was required to go to an art and craft store. Laugh if you will, but these establishments are a house of horrors for me. All that glue, glitter, paint and Popsicle sticks...I shudder just thinking about it. I am not artsy or crafty. I possess no discernible skill or aptitude for such things. I make my living with words (and my awesome good looks). I like words and I think they like me as well. Spoken or written does not matter, I am able to create pretty much anything I want from words. Put a piece of construction paper in my hands, however, and it can get ugly. Fast.
My lack of talent was identified early on by my elementary school teachers. My artwork never won any awards, in fact nothing I drew or sculpted ever made it past the "Nice Job" sticker that everyone got just for trying. I am not blaming my teachers for my phobia of arts and crafts. The truth hurts and they had nothing to gain by pretending that I possessed even a shred of ability. At least they were kind enough to not laugh in my face.
I have recently decided that it is time to conquer my fear. So, not only did I go to the art and craft store without the security of my wife and youngest child (both of whom have significant artistic ability. Nothing like getting an artistic beat down by a 6 year old to help the old self esteem!) I also registered for an art class. I still am trying to figure out why I decided to get brave and subject myself to a humiliating reaffirmation of my dearth of artistic talent. The first night of the class was consumed by several drawing projects so the teacher could get a feel for our talent level. When she looked at my work her face betrayed no shock or disappointment, but her words said it all, "What an, er, interesting artistic rendering." I am certain that she is even now reevaluating her desire to teach the likes of me.
There are many things that I am not good at. Home improvement projects, making the bed, and appreciating any film with Hugh Grant top the list, but they are not alone. Over the last four decades I have,through trial and err, discovered many areas that are not my strong suits. I am willing to venture that you are aware of those things that you are not very good at. Sometimes we feel more defined by what we can't do as by what we can. So we tend to limit ourselves, staying away from tasks that require math or music or public speaking or even a modest understanding of plumbing. We turn down opportunities because we know with great certainty that, well, we just plain suck at what every skill is required to play basketball or knit or watch Hugh Grant flicks.
Dear reader, today I would like to affirm your inabilities. In fact I want to challenge you to spend a significant chunk of your day thinking about those many things you don't do well. Forget about what you are gifted at, I want you to make a list, and check it twice, of everything you know (and everybody else knows) you lack the skills and competency to do. Study it. Memorize it. Frame it (unless, like me, you are not so gifted at sticking a piece of paper in a frame without getting at least one corner all crumpled up). Acknowledge your limitations, celebrate your deficiencies, revel in your skilllessness. And then, get ready.
Get ready for what? Something extraordinary. See, for all of human history God has taken delight in taking people and using them to accomplish great things. From time to time God uses our gifts and skills, but God really enjoys taking our weaknesses and turning them into strengths. Illiterate shepherd boys become great kings, cowards who stutter are turned into freedom fighters, and average Joe's and Jane's are transformed into leaders who inspire others. The greater the weakness the more interested God is in using it. That is just how God rolls. With God all things are not only possible, they happen. Everyday. In and through people who have no business doing what God calls them to do.
There is one catch - you have to be willing to let God work. It is hard, I know. Our instinct is to shy away from things we are not good at. We don't want to go to scary and intimidating places. But, if you are willing to take the risk, well, watch out!
So, I want to you to do something. Look at your list of can nots. I promise you, nay I even double your money back guarantee you that at some point in your life God will use at least one of those things you really suck at and turn it into something that will change your life and the life of people you don't even know. And what a great day that will be!
Copyright © 2011, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Jesus, Democracy, and Violence
This is a sad time for the United States. Our system of government is based on the assumption that individuals in our society will sacrifice of their time, energy, and talents to provide leadership at the local, state and national levels. Rule by the people only works if the people are willing to step forward and help lead the way. Those who enter the political realm know they will not be universally liked or appreciated. As the old adage goes, if you want a friend in Washington, get a dog. But, and this is a big but, they should never, ever, have to fear for their physical safety or the safety of their family and staff. Now it seems that is no longer the case.
What do those of us who follow Jesus have to say to a nation in which public servants are targets not just of toxic rhetoric (which comes from all sides, parties, and news outlets) but also assassins bullets? What can we offer to a country increasingly intolerant of those who think differently than we do? Where violence, both at home and abroad, seem to be the new standard for solving political problems.
First, we must confess that the "What Would Jesus Do?" approach will be of little use. Jesus, the one who walked the earth some 2000 years ago, had absolutely no experience with what we call democracy. He lived in a hierarchical world, one in which political leaders ruled as emperors and kings and the religious establishment worshipped a God of strict commandments and rigid, top down, order. There was nothing democratic about his world, no place for the people to elect their leaders or for the masses to have any role in providing leadership. Save for the occasional revolution. Even when they succeeded (which was not often) violence only served to replace one king with another. Democracy as we understand it did not emerge until the 18th Century.
Yet, even though Jesus had no understanding of democracy, nor any agenda to set up a democratic political or religious community, he understood two things that I think are of help to us. First, he stood firmly within a religious tradition that taught that we, humans, are created in the image and likeness of God. Not some humans or most humans, but all humans. There have always been people who have tried to deny that certain families or tribes or groups were fully human, and thus could be treated in inhumane ways. But then a prophet would appear and remind folks that even though you may dislike or even hate your enemies they are still human, still created in the image and likeness of God. That means we must treat them as we would God.
To the politicians and the political commentators and the average citizens we, the followers of Jesus, have to say enough with the demonizing of those who think differently than you and have a different vision for America. This is not acceptable. It does not matter if a person is a liberal or moderate or conservative, they are still created in the image and likeness of God. Republican, Democrat, Communist, Tea Party, no party it does not matter. Everyone is deserving of respect, dignity, compassion and love. The era of hate filled speeches, of talking heads who make a fortune off of dehumanizing their political opponents, and out right insensitivity to the basic humanity of those who seek and hold elective office must end. Now. Vigorous debate and impassioned discussion are part and parcel of democracy. Treating those who differ with you as if they were somehow less human than yourself is not only antithetical to everything democracy stands for, but it is an affront to God. We the people are better than this. We the people must be better than what we have let ourselves become.
Second, Jesus understood, no Jesus proved through his own life that violence is not the way forward nor is it the way of God. Those who hated Jesus and his teachings sought to have him killed. If you don't like an idea, kill the messenger of that idea. If you disagree with someone and they will not come over to your way of thinking than take them out. That will solve the problem, or so they thought. We, the followers of Jesus celebrate the fact that through the resurrection of Jesus God said an emphatic "NO!" to violence. Death does not get the last word, God does and God's last word, like God's first word, is life.
Murder of elected government officials is not the answer to our problems. We cannot kill off the issues that we confront as a society. It is a joke and a farce to pretend that gunning down a Congresswoman, or a judge, or the President, or bombing a daycare full of children in an Oklahoma City government building will make everything right. Democracy does not work that way. God does not work that way. Nothing works that way.
Those who have taken part in polarizing the body politic will be quick to say they never encouraged or endorsed anyone to resort to violence. Strictly speaking they are correct. Yet, the constant, 24 hour attacks, false statements, blatant lies, and exaggeration of fears and prejudices help to contribute to a climate of violence. Their words and tone have helped lead us to this point. When every side in a political debate envokes the name of Hitler or the ghost of the Nazi party when talking about their rivals, violence is not far in the offing.
And those of us who listen or watch their programs or vote them into office are equally at fault. We encourage them by our tuning in or casting our votes and they tell us what we want to hear - that our problems are the fault of the other side. As the anger and the suspecion grows (and grow it has) we don't even realize how far down the road towards violence we have traveled. The young man in Arizona just got to the place many of us were headed first. Yet it is a path to nowhere.
Out of the ashes of the tragedy in Arizona God will affirm life and create life. That is what God does. The question we as a nation face is whether we will be working with God in bringing forth something redemptive from this horrible situation, or whether we will continue to delude ourselves into believing that a little more bloodshed from our democratically elected leaders will force everyone else to think and act like we do. We, the followers of Jesus, hope and pray it is the former and not the latter. Otherwise, or democracy is doomed to failure.
Copyright © 2011, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved
What do those of us who follow Jesus have to say to a nation in which public servants are targets not just of toxic rhetoric (which comes from all sides, parties, and news outlets) but also assassins bullets? What can we offer to a country increasingly intolerant of those who think differently than we do? Where violence, both at home and abroad, seem to be the new standard for solving political problems.
First, we must confess that the "What Would Jesus Do?" approach will be of little use. Jesus, the one who walked the earth some 2000 years ago, had absolutely no experience with what we call democracy. He lived in a hierarchical world, one in which political leaders ruled as emperors and kings and the religious establishment worshipped a God of strict commandments and rigid, top down, order. There was nothing democratic about his world, no place for the people to elect their leaders or for the masses to have any role in providing leadership. Save for the occasional revolution. Even when they succeeded (which was not often) violence only served to replace one king with another. Democracy as we understand it did not emerge until the 18th Century.
Yet, even though Jesus had no understanding of democracy, nor any agenda to set up a democratic political or religious community, he understood two things that I think are of help to us. First, he stood firmly within a religious tradition that taught that we, humans, are created in the image and likeness of God. Not some humans or most humans, but all humans. There have always been people who have tried to deny that certain families or tribes or groups were fully human, and thus could be treated in inhumane ways. But then a prophet would appear and remind folks that even though you may dislike or even hate your enemies they are still human, still created in the image and likeness of God. That means we must treat them as we would God.
To the politicians and the political commentators and the average citizens we, the followers of Jesus, have to say enough with the demonizing of those who think differently than you and have a different vision for America. This is not acceptable. It does not matter if a person is a liberal or moderate or conservative, they are still created in the image and likeness of God. Republican, Democrat, Communist, Tea Party, no party it does not matter. Everyone is deserving of respect, dignity, compassion and love. The era of hate filled speeches, of talking heads who make a fortune off of dehumanizing their political opponents, and out right insensitivity to the basic humanity of those who seek and hold elective office must end. Now. Vigorous debate and impassioned discussion are part and parcel of democracy. Treating those who differ with you as if they were somehow less human than yourself is not only antithetical to everything democracy stands for, but it is an affront to God. We the people are better than this. We the people must be better than what we have let ourselves become.
Second, Jesus understood, no Jesus proved through his own life that violence is not the way forward nor is it the way of God. Those who hated Jesus and his teachings sought to have him killed. If you don't like an idea, kill the messenger of that idea. If you disagree with someone and they will not come over to your way of thinking than take them out. That will solve the problem, or so they thought. We, the followers of Jesus celebrate the fact that through the resurrection of Jesus God said an emphatic "NO!" to violence. Death does not get the last word, God does and God's last word, like God's first word, is life.
Murder of elected government officials is not the answer to our problems. We cannot kill off the issues that we confront as a society. It is a joke and a farce to pretend that gunning down a Congresswoman, or a judge, or the President, or bombing a daycare full of children in an Oklahoma City government building will make everything right. Democracy does not work that way. God does not work that way. Nothing works that way.
Those who have taken part in polarizing the body politic will be quick to say they never encouraged or endorsed anyone to resort to violence. Strictly speaking they are correct. Yet, the constant, 24 hour attacks, false statements, blatant lies, and exaggeration of fears and prejudices help to contribute to a climate of violence. Their words and tone have helped lead us to this point. When every side in a political debate envokes the name of Hitler or the ghost of the Nazi party when talking about their rivals, violence is not far in the offing.
And those of us who listen or watch their programs or vote them into office are equally at fault. We encourage them by our tuning in or casting our votes and they tell us what we want to hear - that our problems are the fault of the other side. As the anger and the suspecion grows (and grow it has) we don't even realize how far down the road towards violence we have traveled. The young man in Arizona just got to the place many of us were headed first. Yet it is a path to nowhere.
Out of the ashes of the tragedy in Arizona God will affirm life and create life. That is what God does. The question we as a nation face is whether we will be working with God in bringing forth something redemptive from this horrible situation, or whether we will continue to delude ourselves into believing that a little more bloodshed from our democratically elected leaders will force everyone else to think and act like we do. We, the followers of Jesus, hope and pray it is the former and not the latter. Otherwise, or democracy is doomed to failure.
Copyright © 2011, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
A Very Yoda Christmas
Time for an informal readers' poll - assuming you have a Christmas tree, how is it decorated? Are you all about themes? Does everything match? Or are you a believer in what I like to call the Christmas tree as a catch all? There is a little bit of everything on your tree and you like it that way.
We are most definitely part of the catch all clan. Don't get me wrong, thematic, symmetrical, and color coordinated trees are not bad, it is just not what I grew up with. Our trees have always been a testament to our...how to say this...eclectic nature. Yeah, that's it, eclectic!
At this moment our tree is covered with ornaments of all shapes, sizes, colors, and textures imaginable. There are glass globes, shinny (oooh, shinny) metal snowflakes, felt ribbons, as well as ornaments made from ceramic, plastic (some of them light up and move) and various paper and clay projects constructed by our kids at school.
Each year we carefully (meaning don't let the kids touch the fragile ones) unwrap our ornaments and hang them on the tree. Within the first two and a half minutes someone (usually me) is asking where a particular ornament came from. It is truly amazing how my wife or children can remember, in great detail, the events surrounding the acquisition of a particular ornament, events I was supposedly present for, but I have absolutely no recollection of. There are days when I wonder if they are making it all up to mess with me, but then I realize that it would require more time and effort than they are willing to invest just to prank me. So, I take them at their word, nod along as if it is all coming back now, and silently search for an ornament that looks familiar.
Some of our ornaments were bought in the store (often after-season clearance), while others came as gifts from friends and family. Some are filled with memories, some remind us of long-standing jokes, and a few we keep around because our children made them in preschool and we are not sure how to get rid of them without hurting someones feelings. There are a couple, however, that no one knows where they came from or why we continue to put them on the tree. One of such ornament is a 4-inch tall plastic Yoda.
I like Star Wars. A lot. So do my kids, which fills me with all sorts of warm and fuzzy feelings. Still, I return to the key word here, like. You know, I like you as a friend but not as a boy/girl friend sort of thing. It is cool that we hang out and stuff, but I don't see us picking out china patterns and raising a family. Yes, we own all the movies, and of course I have most of the dialogue from the original three films memorized, but let's put things in perspective here. I am not obsessed with Star Wars and even if I did have a problem (which I don't) my favorite character is not Yoda. So how did this replica of Yoda leaning on his walking stick end up on my Christmas tree?
I have this weird vision that a thousand years from now some archaeologists will be digging up the remains of what was our house and discover our Yoda ornament (perhaps they will be ape-like creatures and someone who looks like Charlton Heston will be walking around in a loin cloth as well). From this one artifact, this one cast-off item, these archaeologists will begin to tell a tale of me and my family, one that involves Yoda, an alter, a liturgy designed to win the favor and blessing of master Yoda, and perhaps even animal sacrifices. No one will know, or probably even care, that Yoda was not a deity (at least not in our house) but an ornament that we hung on a tree in the month of December every year.
Objects can tell stories, but not always the right ones. How often do we look at the kind of car a person is driving and make assumptions about who they are and what they do for a living? We do the same thing with clothing, houses, shoes and various other items (including Christmas trees). I like to go for walks in the evening when it is quiet and I can think. Often people will have their blinds or curtain open and their television sets on. Try as I might, it is really hard not to see a 48 inch plasma filling up a living room and not make some ill-informed observations about the people who live in that house.
There are a number of people in this world who seem, on the outside at least, to have it all together. The perfect job, family, friends, house, car, etc... Yet, inside, they are really hurting. And, there are people who do not have much but are very happy and content with their lives. And folks who are happy and wealthy, poor and in a lot of pain, and everything in between. My point is that possessions, or the lack thereof, are not always a good indication of need. To really know what is going on in someones life we have to make and take the time to get to know that person. And that is so hard in a culture that values owning things over making time for other people.
This is the season of giving. Let me encourage you to give something very important this year - your time to someone else. Get to know them, what they long for as well as what they fear (you can even learn if they have a 4-inch plastic Yoda hanging on their Christmas tree). And if they are willing, let them get to know you. Learn someone else's story and allow it to transform your life. For that is the power in the gift of relationships. Our joys become complete when we share them with someone else, our pain can be eased by the loving care of another. That is what Christmas is all about, God's willingness to enter into our lives and allowing us to truly enter God's. It is what life, true life, abundant life, is all about. What a gift!
Copyright © 2010, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved
We are most definitely part of the catch all clan. Don't get me wrong, thematic, symmetrical, and color coordinated trees are not bad, it is just not what I grew up with. Our trees have always been a testament to our...how to say this...eclectic nature. Yeah, that's it, eclectic!
At this moment our tree is covered with ornaments of all shapes, sizes, colors, and textures imaginable. There are glass globes, shinny (oooh, shinny) metal snowflakes, felt ribbons, as well as ornaments made from ceramic, plastic (some of them light up and move) and various paper and clay projects constructed by our kids at school.
Each year we carefully (meaning don't let the kids touch the fragile ones) unwrap our ornaments and hang them on the tree. Within the first two and a half minutes someone (usually me) is asking where a particular ornament came from. It is truly amazing how my wife or children can remember, in great detail, the events surrounding the acquisition of a particular ornament, events I was supposedly present for, but I have absolutely no recollection of. There are days when I wonder if they are making it all up to mess with me, but then I realize that it would require more time and effort than they are willing to invest just to prank me. So, I take them at their word, nod along as if it is all coming back now, and silently search for an ornament that looks familiar.
Some of our ornaments were bought in the store (often after-season clearance), while others came as gifts from friends and family. Some are filled with memories, some remind us of long-standing jokes, and a few we keep around because our children made them in preschool and we are not sure how to get rid of them without hurting someones feelings. There are a couple, however, that no one knows where they came from or why we continue to put them on the tree. One of such ornament is a 4-inch tall plastic Yoda.
I like Star Wars. A lot. So do my kids, which fills me with all sorts of warm and fuzzy feelings. Still, I return to the key word here, like. You know, I like you as a friend but not as a boy/girl friend sort of thing. It is cool that we hang out and stuff, but I don't see us picking out china patterns and raising a family. Yes, we own all the movies, and of course I have most of the dialogue from the original three films memorized, but let's put things in perspective here. I am not obsessed with Star Wars and even if I did have a problem (which I don't) my favorite character is not Yoda. So how did this replica of Yoda leaning on his walking stick end up on my Christmas tree?
I have this weird vision that a thousand years from now some archaeologists will be digging up the remains of what was our house and discover our Yoda ornament (perhaps they will be ape-like creatures and someone who looks like Charlton Heston will be walking around in a loin cloth as well). From this one artifact, this one cast-off item, these archaeologists will begin to tell a tale of me and my family, one that involves Yoda, an alter, a liturgy designed to win the favor and blessing of master Yoda, and perhaps even animal sacrifices. No one will know, or probably even care, that Yoda was not a deity (at least not in our house) but an ornament that we hung on a tree in the month of December every year.
Objects can tell stories, but not always the right ones. How often do we look at the kind of car a person is driving and make assumptions about who they are and what they do for a living? We do the same thing with clothing, houses, shoes and various other items (including Christmas trees). I like to go for walks in the evening when it is quiet and I can think. Often people will have their blinds or curtain open and their television sets on. Try as I might, it is really hard not to see a 48 inch plasma filling up a living room and not make some ill-informed observations about the people who live in that house.
There are a number of people in this world who seem, on the outside at least, to have it all together. The perfect job, family, friends, house, car, etc... Yet, inside, they are really hurting. And, there are people who do not have much but are very happy and content with their lives. And folks who are happy and wealthy, poor and in a lot of pain, and everything in between. My point is that possessions, or the lack thereof, are not always a good indication of need. To really know what is going on in someones life we have to make and take the time to get to know that person. And that is so hard in a culture that values owning things over making time for other people.
This is the season of giving. Let me encourage you to give something very important this year - your time to someone else. Get to know them, what they long for as well as what they fear (you can even learn if they have a 4-inch plastic Yoda hanging on their Christmas tree). And if they are willing, let them get to know you. Learn someone else's story and allow it to transform your life. For that is the power in the gift of relationships. Our joys become complete when we share them with someone else, our pain can be eased by the loving care of another. That is what Christmas is all about, God's willingness to enter into our lives and allowing us to truly enter God's. It is what life, true life, abundant life, is all about. What a gift!
Copyright © 2010, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Evil (or not so evil) Ex's
I finally got around to watching Scott Pilgrim vs. the World a few weeks ago. Yes, I know, it came out over the summer but I have been really busy. Besides, that is why God invented DVD's. If you have not seen Scott Pilgrim I highly recommend it. It is one of those rare films when Hollywood fantasy actually nails human reality.
The "hero" is a bit of a loser, a twentysomething who plays bass in a band, has no place of his own and is dating a high school student. That is until he meets the girl of his dreams. Literally, the girl he was dreaming about suddenly shows up in his life. There is one small problem. In order for Scott to make this relationship work he has to defeat, in mortal combat, his dream girl's seven evil ex's.
The fantasy part of this flick is that every time Scott duels it is like a video game, complete with his adversaries turning into game tokens whenever he defeats them. The reality is that Scott, and his would be girlfriend, each come with a past that has to be dealt with (yes, even one of Scott's old girlfriends shows up to create problems).
Call it "baggage" or whatever pop psychology term you like best, but all of us carry around the effects of previous relationships on our lives. This is not necessarily a bad thing, for some of our relationships have been healthy, happy and a very positive influence on who we are and how we relate to other people. Love, trust, respect, and compassion are not just ideas, they are lived and learned in relationship with other people. Sometimes. Suspicion, selfishness, indifference and even hatred are forged in the fires of dysfunctional and unhealthy relationships (and middle school). And they linger around, ready to make a mess of any relationship at any time.
Perhaps you are one of those rare and fortunate individuals who has not been involved in a bad relationship. Your parents loved and cared for you, your siblings got along, your teachers nurtured and encouraged you, you have not been stabbed in the back by your boss or coworkers, and you heart has never been broken by a lover. If so, congrats! You are most blessed (resented by many, but blessed).
The rest of us...well, we have not been so lucky. We know firsthand about abusive or absent parents, brothers and sisters who don't get along, educators who spent a lot of time telling us what we would never be able to accomplish, really messed up work environments, and love affairs that ended in a great deal of pain. Truth be told, we have not just been the victims of bad relationships, but on a few occasions have been part of the reason they did not work out.
All of this - the good, the bad and the really ugly - impacts how we relate to other people in the here and now. What I liked about Scott Pilgrim was the movie's playful, yet really insightful acknowledgement that we have to deal with other peoples previous relationships if we are going to have any sort of meaningful relationship with them ourselves. Granted, most of the time we will not have to mortally wound the evil ex's (or parents, teachers, or coworkers) of those we care about. But there are days when it feels like you are in pitched combat with old ghosts, ones you cannot see and don't always understand.
Scott is so smitten with his fantasy girl that he keeps fighting, even when he gets his butt kicked (check out the scene where Scott has to battle the vegan rock star. Classic). Yet, something about this girl makes it worth all the hassle. In true Hollywood fashion, when all the dust settles, Scott emerges victorious and, of course, walks off hand in hand with his dream girl. Oh, if life were so neat and tidy!
As I was watching Scott Pilgrim I kept thinking, "Would I really go through all of this for a girl?" Forget the girl, is any relationship worth fighting for? Am I worth it to someone else?
I can, in all honesty, say that yes, I have spent the past 17 years dueling it out with my wife's evil ex's. And she has been battling for me just as long (though I am sure there are days when it seems more like a million years). Since we are being candid here I have to confess that there have been more than a few relationships that I failed to put up enough of a fight for. For whatever reason (and I am sure at the time I thought I had a least one really good reason) I did not feel that the person was worth the effort. It is cold and crass, but true. There have been a number of people who have bailed on me as well (and one occasion when I got back into a relationship simply to pay the person back for dumping me. Not one for the highlight reel).
What makes a relationship worth fighting for? How do we determine whether someone is worthy of our strength and patience? Is there a time when a relationship with another person is simply not possible, no matter how hard we work at it? Are we always worth the effort?
There are truly abusive relationships that one or both parties should walk away from for their own health and safety. Yet, on the whole, I think that the answers can be found in God's relationship with us. Or, to put it another way, perhaps we should do to others as it has already been done to us. I know, this sounds like the inside of some cheap greeting card. And that is where it should stay, except that I can bear witness to the fact that God has indeed hung in there with me far longer than I could have ever hoped to imagine. Through all of my miscues, mistakes, and out right stupidity God has refused to abandon me. God continues to reach out to me, use me, call me, love me, "baggage" and all. God keeps sending people into my life to help heal the wounds of past relationships and provides me opportunities to make right the people I have hurt.
In return, God asks that I extend the same willingness to battle to my relationships with other people. And not just the people I love and care for, but also the ones who I just really don't like. Especially the ones I really don't like. It is not easy, but it is worthy it. For I have discovered that it is often in the relationships that I truly want to bail on that I found love, hope, and compassion in greatest strength and measure.
Copyright © 2010, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved
The "hero" is a bit of a loser, a twentysomething who plays bass in a band, has no place of his own and is dating a high school student. That is until he meets the girl of his dreams. Literally, the girl he was dreaming about suddenly shows up in his life. There is one small problem. In order for Scott to make this relationship work he has to defeat, in mortal combat, his dream girl's seven evil ex's.
The fantasy part of this flick is that every time Scott duels it is like a video game, complete with his adversaries turning into game tokens whenever he defeats them. The reality is that Scott, and his would be girlfriend, each come with a past that has to be dealt with (yes, even one of Scott's old girlfriends shows up to create problems).
Call it "baggage" or whatever pop psychology term you like best, but all of us carry around the effects of previous relationships on our lives. This is not necessarily a bad thing, for some of our relationships have been healthy, happy and a very positive influence on who we are and how we relate to other people. Love, trust, respect, and compassion are not just ideas, they are lived and learned in relationship with other people. Sometimes. Suspicion, selfishness, indifference and even hatred are forged in the fires of dysfunctional and unhealthy relationships (and middle school). And they linger around, ready to make a mess of any relationship at any time.
Perhaps you are one of those rare and fortunate individuals who has not been involved in a bad relationship. Your parents loved and cared for you, your siblings got along, your teachers nurtured and encouraged you, you have not been stabbed in the back by your boss or coworkers, and you heart has never been broken by a lover. If so, congrats! You are most blessed (resented by many, but blessed).
The rest of us...well, we have not been so lucky. We know firsthand about abusive or absent parents, brothers and sisters who don't get along, educators who spent a lot of time telling us what we would never be able to accomplish, really messed up work environments, and love affairs that ended in a great deal of pain. Truth be told, we have not just been the victims of bad relationships, but on a few occasions have been part of the reason they did not work out.
All of this - the good, the bad and the really ugly - impacts how we relate to other people in the here and now. What I liked about Scott Pilgrim was the movie's playful, yet really insightful acknowledgement that we have to deal with other peoples previous relationships if we are going to have any sort of meaningful relationship with them ourselves. Granted, most of the time we will not have to mortally wound the evil ex's (or parents, teachers, or coworkers) of those we care about. But there are days when it feels like you are in pitched combat with old ghosts, ones you cannot see and don't always understand.
Scott is so smitten with his fantasy girl that he keeps fighting, even when he gets his butt kicked (check out the scene where Scott has to battle the vegan rock star. Classic). Yet, something about this girl makes it worth all the hassle. In true Hollywood fashion, when all the dust settles, Scott emerges victorious and, of course, walks off hand in hand with his dream girl. Oh, if life were so neat and tidy!
As I was watching Scott Pilgrim I kept thinking, "Would I really go through all of this for a girl?" Forget the girl, is any relationship worth fighting for? Am I worth it to someone else?
I can, in all honesty, say that yes, I have spent the past 17 years dueling it out with my wife's evil ex's. And she has been battling for me just as long (though I am sure there are days when it seems more like a million years). Since we are being candid here I have to confess that there have been more than a few relationships that I failed to put up enough of a fight for. For whatever reason (and I am sure at the time I thought I had a least one really good reason) I did not feel that the person was worth the effort. It is cold and crass, but true. There have been a number of people who have bailed on me as well (and one occasion when I got back into a relationship simply to pay the person back for dumping me. Not one for the highlight reel).
What makes a relationship worth fighting for? How do we determine whether someone is worthy of our strength and patience? Is there a time when a relationship with another person is simply not possible, no matter how hard we work at it? Are we always worth the effort?
There are truly abusive relationships that one or both parties should walk away from for their own health and safety. Yet, on the whole, I think that the answers can be found in God's relationship with us. Or, to put it another way, perhaps we should do to others as it has already been done to us. I know, this sounds like the inside of some cheap greeting card. And that is where it should stay, except that I can bear witness to the fact that God has indeed hung in there with me far longer than I could have ever hoped to imagine. Through all of my miscues, mistakes, and out right stupidity God has refused to abandon me. God continues to reach out to me, use me, call me, love me, "baggage" and all. God keeps sending people into my life to help heal the wounds of past relationships and provides me opportunities to make right the people I have hurt.
In return, God asks that I extend the same willingness to battle to my relationships with other people. And not just the people I love and care for, but also the ones who I just really don't like. Especially the ones I really don't like. It is not easy, but it is worthy it. For I have discovered that it is often in the relationships that I truly want to bail on that I found love, hope, and compassion in greatest strength and measure.
Copyright © 2010, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved
Monday, December 6, 2010
A Real Passion For Family
A few days ago John Grimes passed away after 92 years of living and being on this earth. Many of you who read this blog never met John, so an introduction is in order. John was born and raised and lived his days in west-central Indiana. He was a farmer, and later in life a salesman. He and his wife, Lil, had three children and their second child, their only daughter, is the mother of my wife.
John's life will not, in all likelihood, be the source of a bestselling biography or a Hollywood blockbuster staring George Clooney, or even spawn a reality TV show. This is not to say that John did not make a mark on his world. He did. It is just that our culture does not tend to elevate to the status of celebrity a man who taught Sunday School for decades, was an elder of his church, a Mason, a Gideon, and for a number of years was active in a prison ministry. Even Jimmy Cater had to become President before he got noticed for doing many of the same things that John did.
In so many ways John was just an average man, a product of his time and place, a solid representative of his generation of Americans. His passing will be celebrated and mourned by his family and friends and then he will fade into obscurity like so many average people do. If so, that will be a real tragedy. John may not have saved the world from a nuclear holocaust or invented a life-altering medical procedure or even left behind a body of work that people will read or watch or listen to for decades. But John had a passion, a deep, real, burning passion for something that all of us need - family. John did not talk about family he lived it. And in his own way he taught his granddaughter, and her husband, just how valuable family is.
In the back room of his home John had something of a study. In it he keep a number of books, the kind that make professional historians and theologians roll their eyes. They were popular books, not the "serious" work preferred by those of us who make our living writing "serious" books that men like John have no use for. His study also contained his collection of Native American arrowheads he had found throughout west-central Indiana, some records and tapes, a least one calendar he got from a farm implement company every year, a desk, and a couple of chairs. It also was home to his most prized possession - his family genealogy. John had traced his family history back, way back, to Europe at the time of the Reformation. He knew the names of his fore parents, where they lived, and that some of his kin were leaders in the newly created Protestant church. This genealogy was a labor of love and a source of great pride to John. I am not sure, it has been 18 years after all, but I believe that I was introduced to this genealogy on my very first visit to his home - when his granddaughter and I were still just dating!
John's passion for his family history infected my wife. I am not even sure where some of my cousins, first cousins, are living, and yet John's granddaughter can tell you about people who lived hundreds of years ago. And mind you, I am the professional historian! That genealogy has always humbled me. It reminds me how I have allowed myself think that the world begins with me, or goes back no farther than my parents. So often in our culture we forget that we do have ancestors. And while we are not restricted to follow in their path, we are a product of those who went before us. Not knowing their story only impoverishes our lives.
If there was anything that exceeded John's obsession with his ancestors it was his love for the living members of his family. John needed to be surrounded my his family. For a number of years he organized a yearly Grimes Family Reunion. He knew all the family gossip and certainly had his favorites. But if you did not make it to the reunion you were missed (and made to feel no small amount of guilt. Trust me.) What always amazed me about John was that he seemed to genuinely be glad whenever family came by. Even when my wife and I were dating he welcomed me into his home as a long lost relative. His face would light up when you came to the door and then we would reach out with his old farmers hands, place one on your shoulder and with the others grip your hand so tightly and strongly that you thought your bones would break. This greeting was not a display of power but a authentic expression of his joy at seeing you.
John would talk your ear off, telling you about what was going on with other family members, show you any new photos he had of his ever growing family tree, and still find time to tell you a story from his past that you had heard about a hundred times before. And yet, he always seemed interested in what was going on in your life. He wanted to know how things we going. Part of this was paternal caring, but a good bit had to do with his need to keeping adding to the family lore.
John redefined for me what it means to be gracious and welcoming. Never once was I in his presence and made to feel like an outsider. John made me feel loved and important from the first moment I meet him until our last visit on Thanksgiving night. He taught me that family is not a burden but a gift. And he lived that belief out in his own life. He and Lil were more than grandparents to my wife. They helped raise her and would even drive her back and forth to college (and eight hour drive each way). John made time for family. Nothing, short of his faith in God, was more important to him. Family was an expression of his faith in God.
I miss John already. I am so proud to be part of his family and so grateful that my children will benefit from his wisdom and example.
John's life will not, in all likelihood, be the source of a bestselling biography or a Hollywood blockbuster staring George Clooney, or even spawn a reality TV show. This is not to say that John did not make a mark on his world. He did. It is just that our culture does not tend to elevate to the status of celebrity a man who taught Sunday School for decades, was an elder of his church, a Mason, a Gideon, and for a number of years was active in a prison ministry. Even Jimmy Cater had to become President before he got noticed for doing many of the same things that John did.
In so many ways John was just an average man, a product of his time and place, a solid representative of his generation of Americans. His passing will be celebrated and mourned by his family and friends and then he will fade into obscurity like so many average people do. If so, that will be a real tragedy. John may not have saved the world from a nuclear holocaust or invented a life-altering medical procedure or even left behind a body of work that people will read or watch or listen to for decades. But John had a passion, a deep, real, burning passion for something that all of us need - family. John did not talk about family he lived it. And in his own way he taught his granddaughter, and her husband, just how valuable family is.
In the back room of his home John had something of a study. In it he keep a number of books, the kind that make professional historians and theologians roll their eyes. They were popular books, not the "serious" work preferred by those of us who make our living writing "serious" books that men like John have no use for. His study also contained his collection of Native American arrowheads he had found throughout west-central Indiana, some records and tapes, a least one calendar he got from a farm implement company every year, a desk, and a couple of chairs. It also was home to his most prized possession - his family genealogy. John had traced his family history back, way back, to Europe at the time of the Reformation. He knew the names of his fore parents, where they lived, and that some of his kin were leaders in the newly created Protestant church. This genealogy was a labor of love and a source of great pride to John. I am not sure, it has been 18 years after all, but I believe that I was introduced to this genealogy on my very first visit to his home - when his granddaughter and I were still just dating!
John's passion for his family history infected my wife. I am not even sure where some of my cousins, first cousins, are living, and yet John's granddaughter can tell you about people who lived hundreds of years ago. And mind you, I am the professional historian! That genealogy has always humbled me. It reminds me how I have allowed myself think that the world begins with me, or goes back no farther than my parents. So often in our culture we forget that we do have ancestors. And while we are not restricted to follow in their path, we are a product of those who went before us. Not knowing their story only impoverishes our lives.
If there was anything that exceeded John's obsession with his ancestors it was his love for the living members of his family. John needed to be surrounded my his family. For a number of years he organized a yearly Grimes Family Reunion. He knew all the family gossip and certainly had his favorites. But if you did not make it to the reunion you were missed (and made to feel no small amount of guilt. Trust me.) What always amazed me about John was that he seemed to genuinely be glad whenever family came by. Even when my wife and I were dating he welcomed me into his home as a long lost relative. His face would light up when you came to the door and then we would reach out with his old farmers hands, place one on your shoulder and with the others grip your hand so tightly and strongly that you thought your bones would break. This greeting was not a display of power but a authentic expression of his joy at seeing you.
John would talk your ear off, telling you about what was going on with other family members, show you any new photos he had of his ever growing family tree, and still find time to tell you a story from his past that you had heard about a hundred times before. And yet, he always seemed interested in what was going on in your life. He wanted to know how things we going. Part of this was paternal caring, but a good bit had to do with his need to keeping adding to the family lore.
John redefined for me what it means to be gracious and welcoming. Never once was I in his presence and made to feel like an outsider. John made me feel loved and important from the first moment I meet him until our last visit on Thanksgiving night. He taught me that family is not a burden but a gift. And he lived that belief out in his own life. He and Lil were more than grandparents to my wife. They helped raise her and would even drive her back and forth to college (and eight hour drive each way). John made time for family. Nothing, short of his faith in God, was more important to him. Family was an expression of his faith in God.
I miss John already. I am so proud to be part of his family and so grateful that my children will benefit from his wisdom and example.
Friday, November 26, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
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.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
"But" - Conjunction Junction 3
Quick survey. How many of you have actually read, from beginning to end, one of those Terms and Conditions documents? You know, the ones that come with credit cards or other financial arrangements. You did not have to understand it, just read it. Anyone? Don't be shy, we won't make fun of you or comment on your obvious lack of a social life. Promise.
Terms and Conditions are easy to mock (as are the people who write them). The length of these documents can give any Russian novel a run for its money. And they are not any easier to comprehend. Yet, Terms and Conditions are required by law as a form of consumer protection. Back in the day banks and other institutions did not have to disclose all of the ways they could terminate an agreement or expect additional fees or interest. Now it must all be stated up front. Granted, there are probably five people in the whole world who understand the ins and outs of these documents, still it is all there in black and white. You know what to expect from the lender and what is expected of you. The bank can't end its relationship with you unless you violate one of the stated terms and/or conditions. Nor can you. Kind of makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, doesn't it (cue Barry White).
Relationships with human beings are a bit more complicated. Aside from the occasional prenup, most of us don't spell out in elaborate detail the terms and conditions of our relationship with other people. That does not mean that we don't have expectations (realistic and otherwise). We do. It is just that they are not always clear and are frequently subject to change (Hmmm...sounds and awful lot like those long winded legal documents).
What does it take to keep a couple married or cause a divorce? What are the limits of friendship? At what point will you disown a son or daughter, mother or father, brother or sister? It all depends on the person and the type of relationship they want to have. For every relationship there are terms and conditions. I will care for you, love you, but if you ever...then it is over. That ... may be something trivial (think high school here, people, where relationships can change at the wearing of the wrong kind of socks) or it may be very serious (cheating on your spouse). For almost all of our relationships there are limits, conditions, buts.
This includes our relationship with God. Whether we want to admit it or not, each of us has, at one time or another, explored the terms and conditions of our relationship to God. I will believe in you, but... For some people the buts are not a major part of their relationship with God (they are there, however) for others it defines their relationship. One of my favorite books in the Bible is Job in which one man's faithfulness to God is tested and tested and tested to find its limits, to discover when the buts kick in. (If you have not read Job before I will not spoil the ending for you.)
Having buts as a part of our relationship with God is normal. Relationships require time and energy and commitment and from time to time we ask if it is worth it. Besides, the Bible is full of but statements attributed to God. The writers of some books believed that God operates just like we do. God will love and care for us, but if we are unfaithful, then God will turns us out.
The vast majority of Biblical writers, however, believed that God is not like us. God's love for us contains no buts. Yes, God can get disappointed, frustrated, and angry with us. Our behavior has consequences, but there is nothing, nothing we can do or say that will cause God to stop loving us. There are no buts. Even when we put conditions on our love for God.
Does this mean that we don't get frustrated or even angry with God? No. What it means is that our calling as people of faith is to love as God loves. Without buts. We may not always understand God, we may disagree or question God. That is part and parcel of a relationship. Unconditional love does not gloss over misunderstanding or confusion. It does give us reason to continue to work things out.
Terms and Conditions are easy to mock (as are the people who write them). The length of these documents can give any Russian novel a run for its money. And they are not any easier to comprehend. Yet, Terms and Conditions are required by law as a form of consumer protection. Back in the day banks and other institutions did not have to disclose all of the ways they could terminate an agreement or expect additional fees or interest. Now it must all be stated up front. Granted, there are probably five people in the whole world who understand the ins and outs of these documents, still it is all there in black and white. You know what to expect from the lender and what is expected of you. The bank can't end its relationship with you unless you violate one of the stated terms and/or conditions. Nor can you. Kind of makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, doesn't it (cue Barry White).
Relationships with human beings are a bit more complicated. Aside from the occasional prenup, most of us don't spell out in elaborate detail the terms and conditions of our relationship with other people. That does not mean that we don't have expectations (realistic and otherwise). We do. It is just that they are not always clear and are frequently subject to change (Hmmm...sounds and awful lot like those long winded legal documents).
What does it take to keep a couple married or cause a divorce? What are the limits of friendship? At what point will you disown a son or daughter, mother or father, brother or sister? It all depends on the person and the type of relationship they want to have. For every relationship there are terms and conditions. I will care for you, love you, but if you ever...then it is over. That ... may be something trivial (think high school here, people, where relationships can change at the wearing of the wrong kind of socks) or it may be very serious (cheating on your spouse). For almost all of our relationships there are limits, conditions, buts.
This includes our relationship with God. Whether we want to admit it or not, each of us has, at one time or another, explored the terms and conditions of our relationship to God. I will believe in you, but... For some people the buts are not a major part of their relationship with God (they are there, however) for others it defines their relationship. One of my favorite books in the Bible is Job in which one man's faithfulness to God is tested and tested and tested to find its limits, to discover when the buts kick in. (If you have not read Job before I will not spoil the ending for you.)
Having buts as a part of our relationship with God is normal. Relationships require time and energy and commitment and from time to time we ask if it is worth it. Besides, the Bible is full of but statements attributed to God. The writers of some books believed that God operates just like we do. God will love and care for us, but if we are unfaithful, then God will turns us out.
The vast majority of Biblical writers, however, believed that God is not like us. God's love for us contains no buts. Yes, God can get disappointed, frustrated, and angry with us. Our behavior has consequences, but there is nothing, nothing we can do or say that will cause God to stop loving us. There are no buts. Even when we put conditions on our love for God.
Does this mean that we don't get frustrated or even angry with God? No. What it means is that our calling as people of faith is to love as God loves. Without buts. We may not always understand God, we may disagree or question God. That is part and parcel of a relationship. Unconditional love does not gloss over misunderstanding or confusion. It does give us reason to continue to work things out.
Friday, October 22, 2010
"Or" - Conjunction Junction 2
There are an endless variety of parenting strategies designed to help kids become mature, responsible adults. After an exhausting three year, double-blind study my wife and I opted to employ what we affectionately refer to as the Privilege Policy. The concept is rather simple (well, at least we understand it, our kids...still working on it). Everything, short of breathing and Mom and Dad's undying love, is a privilege. Doing what is expected and behaving in an age appropriate manner leads to a treasure trove of privileges - movies, TV, sleepovers, birthday parties, and dinner. Yes, mealtime is on the table, if you will. Ask my youngest. She can tell you that temper tantrums over what we are having to eat results in being sent to bed sans supper.
Parenting is not for wimps.
While the Privilege Policy may sound rather draconian (I do recall reading some Dickens prior to our first child being born) it is not as heartless as it might seem (though my kids would beg to differ). Privileges are not earned in our house, but they can be lost. Once taken away they must be reacquired, but we begin with the understanding that all of the special things in life are going to happen. Our children are the ones who make the choices that determine whether the day goes on as everyone hopes, or whether privileges get taken away.
We try to connect the privilege with the behavior, but it is an art not a science. Yes, there are times when my wife and I get things out of sync. Take last night when, surprise-surprise, my youngest was unhappy about the vegetable de jure. One hour after everyone else had finished their meal she was still at the table, plate full of green beans. It took the threat of not going Trick-or-Treating on Halloween to get her to finally consume the unwanted beans. Not one for the highlight reel, but fruits and veggies are non-negotitable in our family...especially when you were hungry enough to eat the sugary snack given to you at the end of soccer but then complain about being too full to eat green beans at dinner.
The Privilege Policy is built around the idea of consequences. What you do, or do not do, has an affect on what happens next. Life is full of choices and, no matter how small, all the choices matter. The key is knowing what the consequences are. So, before a privilege is lost, we explain what will happen if certain behaviors or attitudes continue. Don't want to clean your room? OK, but know that if you are not responsible enough to take care of your room then you are not ready to have a sleepover. You decide what you want more-the sleepover or not cleaning your room. Your call, your choice.
The concept of clear cut consequences for our actions is not without Biblical warrant. There are many pages of Scripture in which the writers tell us what the rules are. If we do the things God asks us to do, then certain things, often good things, will happen. Or, if we opt not to listen to God's commands, then there are consequences. More often than not, these are not good. The choice is ours. This or that. Good or bad. Blessing or curse.
There are lots of folks in the world who live their lives and understand their relationship with God as an "Or". Each day there are choices to be made and consequences for those choices. Direct consequences. If you are sick, then you did something wrong and you are suffering the consequences of your prior decisions. Problems with your spouse or children? Poor? Unemployed? Country going through a recession? New York attacked by terrorists? All can be explained as consequences for not following the will of God. The Bible contains all of the rules, all of the "or's" that we need to know. There is no one to blame but ourselves if we get the "or" that was promised.
I do believe that all of our actions have consequences. Yet, most of the time we are not the ones who experience them and we don't often know what those consequences are until they happen. When executives at Enron bankrupted that company some of them went to jail. But thousands of employees, who had no idea what was going on and played no part in the illegal scams, lost their jobs, retirement, savings, homes, everything. When Haiti was devastated by and earthquake earlier this year tens of thousands of people lost their lives because most buildings were not able to withstand the shock. Yet, millions of people around the world reached out with money and food and water and medical care to help. The consequences of the building codes in Port-a-Prince reached out across the globe in ways no one could ever imagine.
"Or" should be part of our relationship with God. But it has to go beyond ourselves. If we limit our understanding of consequence to just what we do and how it impacts our lives, then we have missed the point. The "Or" is about others, not just us. What we choose to do, or not do; say, or not say, needs to take into account the far reaching consequences of our actions and words. Lives can be changed, for good or ill, by what we say and do. The choices are ours, even if we can't always control the consequences.
Here is something else to consider about God and "Or". God is never limited by the "Or". The consequences of my actions, even the negative ones, are not the end of the story. God is always at work redeeming and transforming that which is broken. Every consequence is an opportunity for God to bring hope and life and love into the world that God created. Does God want us to make good choices? Absolutely! Does God want us to think about the ramifications of our actions on others? Without question! Is God able to take even our worst decisions and transform them, resurrect them? Yes, yes, and yes! That, dear reader, is what Easter is all about.
"Or" should encourage us to think. "Or" should motivate us to care about other people. "Or" is a part of how God relates to us and God's world. Yet, "Or" should not paralyze us nor should it lead us to live our lives out of fear. Rather, "Or" is an invitation to a deeper relationship with God and with all of creation.
Parenting is not for wimps.
While the Privilege Policy may sound rather draconian (I do recall reading some Dickens prior to our first child being born) it is not as heartless as it might seem (though my kids would beg to differ). Privileges are not earned in our house, but they can be lost. Once taken away they must be reacquired, but we begin with the understanding that all of the special things in life are going to happen. Our children are the ones who make the choices that determine whether the day goes on as everyone hopes, or whether privileges get taken away.
We try to connect the privilege with the behavior, but it is an art not a science. Yes, there are times when my wife and I get things out of sync. Take last night when, surprise-surprise, my youngest was unhappy about the vegetable de jure. One hour after everyone else had finished their meal she was still at the table, plate full of green beans. It took the threat of not going Trick-or-Treating on Halloween to get her to finally consume the unwanted beans. Not one for the highlight reel, but fruits and veggies are non-negotitable in our family...especially when you were hungry enough to eat the sugary snack given to you at the end of soccer but then complain about being too full to eat green beans at dinner.
The Privilege Policy is built around the idea of consequences. What you do, or do not do, has an affect on what happens next. Life is full of choices and, no matter how small, all the choices matter. The key is knowing what the consequences are. So, before a privilege is lost, we explain what will happen if certain behaviors or attitudes continue. Don't want to clean your room? OK, but know that if you are not responsible enough to take care of your room then you are not ready to have a sleepover. You decide what you want more-the sleepover or not cleaning your room. Your call, your choice.
The concept of clear cut consequences for our actions is not without Biblical warrant. There are many pages of Scripture in which the writers tell us what the rules are. If we do the things God asks us to do, then certain things, often good things, will happen. Or, if we opt not to listen to God's commands, then there are consequences. More often than not, these are not good. The choice is ours. This or that. Good or bad. Blessing or curse.
There are lots of folks in the world who live their lives and understand their relationship with God as an "Or". Each day there are choices to be made and consequences for those choices. Direct consequences. If you are sick, then you did something wrong and you are suffering the consequences of your prior decisions. Problems with your spouse or children? Poor? Unemployed? Country going through a recession? New York attacked by terrorists? All can be explained as consequences for not following the will of God. The Bible contains all of the rules, all of the "or's" that we need to know. There is no one to blame but ourselves if we get the "or" that was promised.
I do believe that all of our actions have consequences. Yet, most of the time we are not the ones who experience them and we don't often know what those consequences are until they happen. When executives at Enron bankrupted that company some of them went to jail. But thousands of employees, who had no idea what was going on and played no part in the illegal scams, lost their jobs, retirement, savings, homes, everything. When Haiti was devastated by and earthquake earlier this year tens of thousands of people lost their lives because most buildings were not able to withstand the shock. Yet, millions of people around the world reached out with money and food and water and medical care to help. The consequences of the building codes in Port-a-Prince reached out across the globe in ways no one could ever imagine.
"Or" should be part of our relationship with God. But it has to go beyond ourselves. If we limit our understanding of consequence to just what we do and how it impacts our lives, then we have missed the point. The "Or" is about others, not just us. What we choose to do, or not do; say, or not say, needs to take into account the far reaching consequences of our actions and words. Lives can be changed, for good or ill, by what we say and do. The choices are ours, even if we can't always control the consequences.
Here is something else to consider about God and "Or". God is never limited by the "Or". The consequences of my actions, even the negative ones, are not the end of the story. God is always at work redeeming and transforming that which is broken. Every consequence is an opportunity for God to bring hope and life and love into the world that God created. Does God want us to make good choices? Absolutely! Does God want us to think about the ramifications of our actions on others? Without question! Is God able to take even our worst decisions and transform them, resurrect them? Yes, yes, and yes! That, dear reader, is what Easter is all about.
"Or" should encourage us to think. "Or" should motivate us to care about other people. "Or" is a part of how God relates to us and God's world. Yet, "Or" should not paralyze us nor should it lead us to live our lives out of fear. Rather, "Or" is an invitation to a deeper relationship with God and with all of creation.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Conjunction Junction
So, I am watching the TV last night and this strange commercial comes up. There is some guy dressed like Willy Wonka talking about the land of and (I won't mention the name of the product he was pushing because at The Blog we have a moderately firm policy of not doing product placement without serious financial compensation...which sadly never seems to come our way).
For some unknown reason this weird commercial got me thinking about my childhood. It may have been the use of that one word, and, that set me off down the hallways of days gone by. "And" reminds me of Saturday mornings, a bowl of sugar coated sugar, and cartoons. During the commercial breaks one network (again, no free product placements) would run the greatest PSA's of all time- Schoolhouse Rock. Who said nothing good came out of the 70s (wait, I did. Oops.)
A bit of context is in order here. For a reason that I have never understood my family lived in a part of town where we could not receive the local PBS station. Remember, this is pre-cable/satellite, so we were held hostage by those little rabbit ear on top of the tube. Did my parents have an axe to grid with PBS? Were they unwilling to pay when Big Bird came by to shake everyone in the neighborhood down? Or did we really just not get the station? I do not know, but I am certain that PBS was not part of my childhood. Which means no Sesame Street, no Electric Company, nothing. Any educational programing that my siblings and I received came on Saturday morning. Thus the disproportionate influence that Schoolhouse Rock had on my life.
For those of you who are regular readers of The Blog, the following statement will come as no surprise - I am not very good with English grammar. Whatever gene is required to diagram a sentence is missing in my DNA. What little I know, and it is little, I learned on Saturday mornings. Schoolhouse Rock was the beginning, middle, and end of my education in grammar. Deeply impressed in my psyche is the ditty known as "Conjunction Junction." Whenever I hear or read the words "and" "but" or "or" I think of a railroad yard. Conjunctions connect things, or at least that is what the little conductor on "Conjunction Junction" told me. Over and over again. I had no reason to believe that the TV would lie to me. Then again, it was Saturday morning, I was hyped up on processed sugar, and thus susceptible to believe most anything.
I still hold to the conviction that conjunctions connect things. Yet, I also think that these simple words can define people and their relationship to God. There are 'and", "but", and "or" relationships. All three exist in Scripture, yet they are very different ways of understanding how God interacts with us, and how we live with God. How? Well, that is what we will be exploring over the next few days. In the meantime, grab a bowl of your favorite kids cereal (once again, no free product placements). A good sugar high is not just for kids.
For some unknown reason this weird commercial got me thinking about my childhood. It may have been the use of that one word, and, that set me off down the hallways of days gone by. "And" reminds me of Saturday mornings, a bowl of sugar coated sugar, and cartoons. During the commercial breaks one network (again, no free product placements) would run the greatest PSA's of all time- Schoolhouse Rock. Who said nothing good came out of the 70s (wait, I did. Oops.)
A bit of context is in order here. For a reason that I have never understood my family lived in a part of town where we could not receive the local PBS station. Remember, this is pre-cable/satellite, so we were held hostage by those little rabbit ear on top of the tube. Did my parents have an axe to grid with PBS? Were they unwilling to pay when Big Bird came by to shake everyone in the neighborhood down? Or did we really just not get the station? I do not know, but I am certain that PBS was not part of my childhood. Which means no Sesame Street, no Electric Company, nothing. Any educational programing that my siblings and I received came on Saturday morning. Thus the disproportionate influence that Schoolhouse Rock had on my life.
For those of you who are regular readers of The Blog, the following statement will come as no surprise - I am not very good with English grammar. Whatever gene is required to diagram a sentence is missing in my DNA. What little I know, and it is little, I learned on Saturday mornings. Schoolhouse Rock was the beginning, middle, and end of my education in grammar. Deeply impressed in my psyche is the ditty known as "Conjunction Junction." Whenever I hear or read the words "and" "but" or "or" I think of a railroad yard. Conjunctions connect things, or at least that is what the little conductor on "Conjunction Junction" told me. Over and over again. I had no reason to believe that the TV would lie to me. Then again, it was Saturday morning, I was hyped up on processed sugar, and thus susceptible to believe most anything.
I still hold to the conviction that conjunctions connect things. Yet, I also think that these simple words can define people and their relationship to God. There are 'and", "but", and "or" relationships. All three exist in Scripture, yet they are very different ways of understanding how God interacts with us, and how we live with God. How? Well, that is what we will be exploring over the next few days. In the meantime, grab a bowl of your favorite kids cereal (once again, no free product placements). A good sugar high is not just for kids.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Last One Standing
As I write this my mother is facing a very sad time in her life. Her little brother recently suffered a massive heart attack and his family made the difficult decision to remove all life-support systems. He is likely to pass from this world within a few hours. Her older sister is in a nursing home after having had a stroke that has left her in a coma. She is not expected to ever regain consciousness and her sons are struggling to figure out when it is time to say goodbye. My grandfather, her Dad, died before I was born and my grandmother passed almost 20 years ago. Soon, my mother will be the last member of her family left in this world.
When I was a kid I relished those few occasions when I was the only one at home. With three siblings, quality "me" time was hard to come by. I would pass up going places just so I could be home by myself, free to watch what I wanted on TV, or take a nap, or raid the kitchen. What made those times so special was the knowledge that within a few hours my family would be back home. I could enjoy the peace and quiet in part because I knew I was not going to be alone forever. The idea that my Mom, brother, or sisters would never come back again seldom crossed my mind, unless I was really mad in which case I might fantasize about the whole lot of them being abducted by aliens. Even those desires were short lived (most of the time).
Eventually all of my siblings left home for good. At one point my brother lived in Alaska, I lived in Kansas City, my mother and younger sister in St. Louis and my older sister in New York. Family reunions were and are rare. Yet they are possible. Even though my parents are divorced they are still alive. I can call either one up at will or trek to Kansas or Florida to see them. That is a nice feeling (even if I don't do it nearly as often as a good son should).
Only in her mid-60s, my mother is now alone. The memories or family vacations, holidays, and other events that were important to the Davis clan reside only with her. There is no one left to reminisce with, no one else who can recall the sights, sounds, smells and tastes. As the middle child, I doubt that my mother ever dreamed that the day would come, so early in life, when she would be home alone. For good.
Not only is she alone, but everyone else is together someplace else. What they are experiencing I don't know. One day I will find out for myself, so will my Mom. But for now, they are enjoying it without her. The longing to be reunited is a strong emotion, yet so is the desire to live a long full life. There are kids and grandkids to be loved and enjoyed. A husband to spend time with. Friends who need her. Yet, the pull must be there, to a place unseen, but real. A dearly adored Dad gone for too many years, a Mom and brother and sister and the promise of restored relationships. The communion they are all sharing at this moment will have to wait for my Mom.
One day I too may be the last one standing. I do not hope for that day. I want to live a long life, a good life, but for some reason I have no desire to be the one who gets left turning off the lights. I will happily leave that task to my younger brother or sister. At my passing they can tell all the old stories of our childhood (and a few made up ones as well) and relive the good and bad times, if they choose. I don't mind going ahead and getting things ready for them. At least I will know that there is someone to say goodbye who remembers a different me, the one that still believed in Santa, hunted for Easter eggs, and pretended to be Luke Skywalker when we played in the basement.
I love my mother more than she may realize. I hurt for her right now. I hope she can take some comfort in the promise that there will come a day when she will not be alone. Selfishly, I pray it does not come too soon. When it does, I know I will find a way to rejoice that her family is together again in the loving embrace of the God who created and loves them.
When I was a kid I relished those few occasions when I was the only one at home. With three siblings, quality "me" time was hard to come by. I would pass up going places just so I could be home by myself, free to watch what I wanted on TV, or take a nap, or raid the kitchen. What made those times so special was the knowledge that within a few hours my family would be back home. I could enjoy the peace and quiet in part because I knew I was not going to be alone forever. The idea that my Mom, brother, or sisters would never come back again seldom crossed my mind, unless I was really mad in which case I might fantasize about the whole lot of them being abducted by aliens. Even those desires were short lived (most of the time).
Eventually all of my siblings left home for good. At one point my brother lived in Alaska, I lived in Kansas City, my mother and younger sister in St. Louis and my older sister in New York. Family reunions were and are rare. Yet they are possible. Even though my parents are divorced they are still alive. I can call either one up at will or trek to Kansas or Florida to see them. That is a nice feeling (even if I don't do it nearly as often as a good son should).
Only in her mid-60s, my mother is now alone. The memories or family vacations, holidays, and other events that were important to the Davis clan reside only with her. There is no one left to reminisce with, no one else who can recall the sights, sounds, smells and tastes. As the middle child, I doubt that my mother ever dreamed that the day would come, so early in life, when she would be home alone. For good.
Not only is she alone, but everyone else is together someplace else. What they are experiencing I don't know. One day I will find out for myself, so will my Mom. But for now, they are enjoying it without her. The longing to be reunited is a strong emotion, yet so is the desire to live a long full life. There are kids and grandkids to be loved and enjoyed. A husband to spend time with. Friends who need her. Yet, the pull must be there, to a place unseen, but real. A dearly adored Dad gone for too many years, a Mom and brother and sister and the promise of restored relationships. The communion they are all sharing at this moment will have to wait for my Mom.
One day I too may be the last one standing. I do not hope for that day. I want to live a long life, a good life, but for some reason I have no desire to be the one who gets left turning off the lights. I will happily leave that task to my younger brother or sister. At my passing they can tell all the old stories of our childhood (and a few made up ones as well) and relive the good and bad times, if they choose. I don't mind going ahead and getting things ready for them. At least I will know that there is someone to say goodbye who remembers a different me, the one that still believed in Santa, hunted for Easter eggs, and pretended to be Luke Skywalker when we played in the basement.
I love my mother more than she may realize. I hurt for her right now. I hope she can take some comfort in the promise that there will come a day when she will not be alone. Selfishly, I pray it does not come too soon. When it does, I know I will find a way to rejoice that her family is together again in the loving embrace of the God who created and loves them.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Bumper Stickers
People who place bumper stickers on their cars are a unique breed. They seem not to care that the resell value of their vehicle might be compromised by using fairly strong adhesives to plaster messages across the back bumper. No, these bold road warriors have something to say to you and me and they are willing to sacrifice a few bucks and their cars to get the word out. They know that we will look at their stickers, especially if they have bright colors or they are shinny. Ohhhh, shinny... We can't help it. It is a Pavlovian reflex. We will slow down, speed up, and even risk creating a four-car pile up just to make sure we get a good look.
Some bumper stickers are pretty straight forward. They tell us what political candidate the owner supports or what school they or their children attend. They obviously feel passionate enough about these things to drive around town and tell everyone about them. And they are mildly interesting, yet easily forgotten.
The bumper stickers that most interest me, besides the really shinning ones, require a bit more thought. Not about their meaning, but about the emotional state of the driver. Let me give you a few examples:
MY CHILD BEAT UP YOUR HONOR ROLE STUDENT
Where to begin with this one? How about Prozac! Obviously, someones child is not an ace in the classroom and they are feeling just a bit insecure about it. However, given the recent anti-bullying emphasis in most schools I am not sure that you want this plastered on your car. Especially when the cops come by. Plausible deniability is a good thing when Family Services gets involved. Trust me.
DO NOT MEDDLE IN THE AFFAIRS OF DRAGONS FOR YOU ARE CRUNCHY AND GOOD WITH KETCHUP
Just as guess here, but if the owner of the vehicle is over 40 they played lots of Dungeons and Dragons as a youth. Lots. If they are under 40, many a weekend night has been spent online with World of Warcraft. In either case, I have just a few question, like how do you know humans taste good with ketchup? And when did the dragons start talking to you about their dietary habits? And why didn't they eat you..with ketchup? Just asking.
ASIDE FOR YOUR HUSBAND, HOW WAS THE THEATRE MRS. LINCOLN
I saw this in a parking lot and had to stop and make sure I was reading it correctly. And I thought I had a dark sense of humor. Someone is not yet over their dog running away from home when they were 8,are they? Nothing like this bumper sticker to announce to the world that we are dealing with some serious abandonment issues.
It is truly amazing that a few words can tell us so much about a person (or at least get us started on filling in a whole lot of blanks). So, I was wondering, what if our lives were put on a bumper sticker. I know this sounds crazy, but stay with me here. Is the message on your average tombstone really longer than a bumper sticker? Here lies Frank Smith, beloved husband and father. For at least the next 100 years that is all that most people will ever know about Frank. And the only people that will even know that scant amount of information will have to wander through the cemetery to learn it. But a bumper sticker will be viewed by thousands and thousands of people. While you are alive! Plus, you get to control the message (we all know the risks of allowing your children, who may be very disappointed to discover that their inheritance won't even cover a trip to McDonald's, the ability to choose the words that will stay with you for eternity).
So, where do you begin? What is it that defines who you are? Is it your occupation? Your marital status? Sexual orientation? Being a parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, brothers, sister, niece, nephew? How about a hobby? Perhaps a pet? Political beliefs? Dreams? Disappointments? Successes? Failures? Faith, or the lack thereof?
Tough, isn't it. Still, I think this is a useful little game to play. In all honestly, we already create mental bumper stickers for most of the people in our lives. And they do it to us. Our impressions of others are summed up in simple words and labels that make it possible for us to place them in our universe. Mary is our co-worker, single mother, and obsessed with Brad Pitt. Of course her life is more complex and complicated, but these are the first things that come to mind when we think of her. And they are about bumper sticker length. The challenge comes not in making up bumper stickers for others, but in doing so for ourselves.
Defining ourselves is a difficult task and most of us avoid even attempting to do it. We often rely on others to tell us who we are and what we believe and what is important in our lives. Don't get me wrong, community is a blessing from God and our identities are going to be shaped by the communities we are a part of. Still, do we know ourselves well enough to even come up with a few simple, yet accurate words, to describe who we are? And are we willing to risk sharing those words with others? Or is the last thing we want to see in this word is a 2001 Honda Accord running around town advertising the very essence of who we are?
Maybe that is why many of us opt not to put bumper stickers on our cars. Sure, we are worried about the resell value, but what we are ultimately concerned with is exposing ourselves.
Some bumper stickers are pretty straight forward. They tell us what political candidate the owner supports or what school they or their children attend. They obviously feel passionate enough about these things to drive around town and tell everyone about them. And they are mildly interesting, yet easily forgotten.
The bumper stickers that most interest me, besides the really shinning ones, require a bit more thought. Not about their meaning, but about the emotional state of the driver. Let me give you a few examples:
MY CHILD BEAT UP YOUR HONOR ROLE STUDENT
Where to begin with this one? How about Prozac! Obviously, someones child is not an ace in the classroom and they are feeling just a bit insecure about it. However, given the recent anti-bullying emphasis in most schools I am not sure that you want this plastered on your car. Especially when the cops come by. Plausible deniability is a good thing when Family Services gets involved. Trust me.
DO NOT MEDDLE IN THE AFFAIRS OF DRAGONS FOR YOU ARE CRUNCHY AND GOOD WITH KETCHUP
Just as guess here, but if the owner of the vehicle is over 40 they played lots of Dungeons and Dragons as a youth. Lots. If they are under 40, many a weekend night has been spent online with World of Warcraft. In either case, I have just a few question, like how do you know humans taste good with ketchup? And when did the dragons start talking to you about their dietary habits? And why didn't they eat you..with ketchup? Just asking.
ASIDE FOR YOUR HUSBAND, HOW WAS THE THEATRE MRS. LINCOLN
I saw this in a parking lot and had to stop and make sure I was reading it correctly. And I thought I had a dark sense of humor. Someone is not yet over their dog running away from home when they were 8,are they? Nothing like this bumper sticker to announce to the world that we are dealing with some serious abandonment issues.
It is truly amazing that a few words can tell us so much about a person (or at least get us started on filling in a whole lot of blanks). So, I was wondering, what if our lives were put on a bumper sticker. I know this sounds crazy, but stay with me here. Is the message on your average tombstone really longer than a bumper sticker? Here lies Frank Smith, beloved husband and father. For at least the next 100 years that is all that most people will ever know about Frank. And the only people that will even know that scant amount of information will have to wander through the cemetery to learn it. But a bumper sticker will be viewed by thousands and thousands of people. While you are alive! Plus, you get to control the message (we all know the risks of allowing your children, who may be very disappointed to discover that their inheritance won't even cover a trip to McDonald's, the ability to choose the words that will stay with you for eternity).
So, where do you begin? What is it that defines who you are? Is it your occupation? Your marital status? Sexual orientation? Being a parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, brothers, sister, niece, nephew? How about a hobby? Perhaps a pet? Political beliefs? Dreams? Disappointments? Successes? Failures? Faith, or the lack thereof?
Tough, isn't it. Still, I think this is a useful little game to play. In all honestly, we already create mental bumper stickers for most of the people in our lives. And they do it to us. Our impressions of others are summed up in simple words and labels that make it possible for us to place them in our universe. Mary is our co-worker, single mother, and obsessed with Brad Pitt. Of course her life is more complex and complicated, but these are the first things that come to mind when we think of her. And they are about bumper sticker length. The challenge comes not in making up bumper stickers for others, but in doing so for ourselves.
Defining ourselves is a difficult task and most of us avoid even attempting to do it. We often rely on others to tell us who we are and what we believe and what is important in our lives. Don't get me wrong, community is a blessing from God and our identities are going to be shaped by the communities we are a part of. Still, do we know ourselves well enough to even come up with a few simple, yet accurate words, to describe who we are? And are we willing to risk sharing those words with others? Or is the last thing we want to see in this word is a 2001 Honda Accord running around town advertising the very essence of who we are?
Maybe that is why many of us opt not to put bumper stickers on our cars. Sure, we are worried about the resell value, but what we are ultimately concerned with is exposing ourselves.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Free Samples
I consider myself lucky. Most days I am not afraid to take my kids to the store. They are reasonably well behaved. Sure, they have had theirr moments when, were it not for surveillance cameras, I would have bolted for the car without them. What parent has not felt that way. Yet, 9 times out of 10 I know that we can go to the store and I don't have to worry about being asked to leave because my kids are freaking out the other patrons. That all changes, however, if they get the faintest hint of free samples. Imagine the hoards of Genghis Khan about to plunder, or a plague of locust descending on an open field of wheat, and you get a sense of what my offspring are capable of.
I have no real clue where their approach to free samples comes from. It is not like I starve them at home. We don't deprive them of sweets (though they do have to clean their plate of fruits and veggies to get desert). I have tried to instill in them to value of that which is free. We were walking down the street last fall and some local merchants had hired a DJ to stand on the sidewalk and promote their businesses. When the DJ saw my kids and I coming his way he called us over, asked us our names, and then gave us a $10 gift certificate to the local candy store. To this day, if you ask my children, they will tell you that they only thing in the world better than chocolate is free chocolate. Still, the gusto with which my kids attack free samples goes beyond anything I can take credit for. It is instinctive, primal, and at times a bit scary.
At least their enthusiasm for free samples does not spill over into their being selfish. They each take only one and then move on to their next target. What is interesting to watch is their reaction when there are not enough samples to go around. If there is one sample available, the rules are pretty simple - whoever gets there first wins. Since two-thirds of my children are shut-out it somehow seems fair in their minds. The majority lost out, so time to look for the next free cookie sample. But when there are two samples left, well, three kids and two pieces of cake creates an interesting dynamic. Someone, and the key word here is one, is going to get left out. Misery loves company. None of my kids enjoys being the only one without icing on their face.
It is at these times that something very, very strange happens to my kids. Something that I am not sure how to handle. In the dark days of yesteryear, when I was a lad, watching one of my siblings miss out on a free sample was half the fun. Free piece of candy - great. Free piece of candy while watching your little brother have a meltdown because he did not get one - absolutely priceless. This is the type of behaviour I expect from my kids, only they don't seem all that interested in rubbing salt in an open wound. Don't get me wrong, they know each others buttons and spend countless hours pushing them, but when it comes to free samples they get all...I don't know...compassionate.
When one of my kids misses out on the free sample lottery, the others will often start searching for some other freebie (after they have devoured their free sample, of course). If they find one they call out to their sibling and then, and this is the part that really confuses me, if there are not enough to go around they will let the one who did not get the last sample go first. I am not making this up people. I have seen it with my own eyes. I tell you these kids would never have survived growing up with me as their brother. So how is it that they seem to be doing so well with me as their dad?
Naturally, many of you will want to credit my significant other for any displays of kindness and caring that our children exhibit. While not completely unfounded, this explanation would require you to ignore my wife's own childhood exploits (she has three siblings as well). The stories I could tell (but won't because she reads this blog and I want to sleep in my own bed tonight). Suffice to say she was no angel.
Parenting is an unfathomable mystery. Obviously there are direct connections that can be made between the actions of a parent and the behavior of their child. Yet, some things about raising children are beyond the realm of simple explanation. I am convinced that there is a God for no other reason than my children seem to be able to transcend so many of the issues that plague my own life. They are not perfect, believe me. Still, I watch them and realize that in spite of my own deficiencies they are turning out to be people who embody so much of what I preach about (I know God has to be involved because they never, never, listen to me preach. Ever. Under any circumstances. To be honest, I am at a loss to name a time when they do listen to me...about anything).
So, as bizarre as it may sound, I actually look forward to taking my kids to places where there are free samples. Not only do I get a tasty treat to eat, but I get to bask in the glow of my children being compassionate. Oh, and if there are enough free samples I might not have to make dinner. Sweet.
I have no real clue where their approach to free samples comes from. It is not like I starve them at home. We don't deprive them of sweets (though they do have to clean their plate of fruits and veggies to get desert). I have tried to instill in them to value of that which is free. We were walking down the street last fall and some local merchants had hired a DJ to stand on the sidewalk and promote their businesses. When the DJ saw my kids and I coming his way he called us over, asked us our names, and then gave us a $10 gift certificate to the local candy store. To this day, if you ask my children, they will tell you that they only thing in the world better than chocolate is free chocolate. Still, the gusto with which my kids attack free samples goes beyond anything I can take credit for. It is instinctive, primal, and at times a bit scary.
At least their enthusiasm for free samples does not spill over into their being selfish. They each take only one and then move on to their next target. What is interesting to watch is their reaction when there are not enough samples to go around. If there is one sample available, the rules are pretty simple - whoever gets there first wins. Since two-thirds of my children are shut-out it somehow seems fair in their minds. The majority lost out, so time to look for the next free cookie sample. But when there are two samples left, well, three kids and two pieces of cake creates an interesting dynamic. Someone, and the key word here is one, is going to get left out. Misery loves company. None of my kids enjoys being the only one without icing on their face.
It is at these times that something very, very strange happens to my kids. Something that I am not sure how to handle. In the dark days of yesteryear, when I was a lad, watching one of my siblings miss out on a free sample was half the fun. Free piece of candy - great. Free piece of candy while watching your little brother have a meltdown because he did not get one - absolutely priceless. This is the type of behaviour I expect from my kids, only they don't seem all that interested in rubbing salt in an open wound. Don't get me wrong, they know each others buttons and spend countless hours pushing them, but when it comes to free samples they get all...I don't know...compassionate.
When one of my kids misses out on the free sample lottery, the others will often start searching for some other freebie (after they have devoured their free sample, of course). If they find one they call out to their sibling and then, and this is the part that really confuses me, if there are not enough to go around they will let the one who did not get the last sample go first. I am not making this up people. I have seen it with my own eyes. I tell you these kids would never have survived growing up with me as their brother. So how is it that they seem to be doing so well with me as their dad?
Naturally, many of you will want to credit my significant other for any displays of kindness and caring that our children exhibit. While not completely unfounded, this explanation would require you to ignore my wife's own childhood exploits (she has three siblings as well). The stories I could tell (but won't because she reads this blog and I want to sleep in my own bed tonight). Suffice to say she was no angel.
Parenting is an unfathomable mystery. Obviously there are direct connections that can be made between the actions of a parent and the behavior of their child. Yet, some things about raising children are beyond the realm of simple explanation. I am convinced that there is a God for no other reason than my children seem to be able to transcend so many of the issues that plague my own life. They are not perfect, believe me. Still, I watch them and realize that in spite of my own deficiencies they are turning out to be people who embody so much of what I preach about (I know God has to be involved because they never, never, listen to me preach. Ever. Under any circumstances. To be honest, I am at a loss to name a time when they do listen to me...about anything).
So, as bizarre as it may sound, I actually look forward to taking my kids to places where there are free samples. Not only do I get a tasty treat to eat, but I get to bask in the glow of my children being compassionate. Oh, and if there are enough free samples I might not have to make dinner. Sweet.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Fear-fest
Halloween is just around the corner, which is a good thing. My family loves Halloween. We don't go all in like some folks (recreating Nightmare on Elm Street in their front yards) but we do like some age-appropriate decorations. This year we picked up a foam, ready to assemble haunted house. The task of putting this project together fell to my wife, as I am neither artsy or crafty (some day I will tell you about my misadventures with model airplanes). When she finished, with some help from our two youngest kids, I was a bit concerned. Everything seemed askew. Again, since I don't art or craft, I opted to hold my tongue and assume that she knew what she was doing. Which, of course she did, since the whole point of the haunted house was to look dilapidated and broken down.
For some reason our culture assumes that people get scared by things that look off kilter. Perhaps, but truth be told I am not freaked out by things that look messy or not properly centered. No, what sends chills up my spine, what really makes me want my mommy, is neatness. Compulsive, unnatural neatness. Nothing gives off the scent of the unholy like a perfectly organized desk. Or a closet with everything lines up and arranged by color, pattern, and/or season. Or books in perfect alphabetical order...even the children's books and the L.L. Bean catalogues. In a public library it is alright, but in a private home, well, I need to find myself some garlic and a wooden stake. If any of the above situations fits you, I just want you to know that I have nothing but love for you, but I still think you might need an exorcism. And if I splash you with Holy Water, it is nothing personal, okay. I just don't want to become part of the living dead and end up spending my days making my bed and deep cleaning the freezer.
Each off us have things that make us feel afraid. That is part of the fun of Halloween, allowing ourselves to experience fear in a safe, controlled environment. Fear works well for haunted houses, slasher flicks and trick-or-treating. Fear does not, however, have a place in the Christian faith. Unfortunately, some well-intentioned brothers and sisters in the faith don't understand this. They rely on a steady diet of fear in order to convince people to accept Jesus. Just yesterday I was driving on the interstate and on the east side of the road were two large billboard. The first said "If you died today, where would you spend eternity?" and the one a few feet after it read "Hell is real."
Evangelism by fear is not new. People have been doing it for centuries. Sometimes they tell stories about the consequences awaiting sinners, or create elaborate paintings of the eternal suffering in Hades. There are even movies that try to warn you about the chaos that will happen if the Rapture comes and you get left behind. I know, I was forced to watch such a film when I was only 10. I don't think I slept for a week.
There are a number of problems with using fear to encourage people to get right with God, but two really stick out to me. First, anyone with a elementary understanding of psychology will know that fear is a bad motivator for behavior. Sure, you get that initial bust of OMG, but it does not last. And the damage done to people who live under a constant threat of fear is well documented. Jesus preached Good News full of hope and promise and joy and love, not everlasting fear.
But the biggest reason that fear is a horrible tool for evangelism is that it encourages people to approach God for all the wrong reasons. Take our lovely billboards. What is the real point they are trying to convey? If you want to avoid hell, accept Jesus. Where is the focus? On Jesus? No. The center of the universe is you. Any actions you take will be based out of protecting yourself. Evangelism by fear encourages people to be self-centered and self-absorbed. It is all about you. Yet, the Good News that Jesus preached and lived was about turning our attention to God and to others. Our actions are not motivated by fear but gratitude and thanksgiving. We come to God and offer our lives because we are full of joy for all that God has done for us. This is what Jesus came to show us. Every time Jesus reached out to someone it was to bring a positive change to their lives and then, in response, he encouraged them to follow him and serve others. Faith in Jesus frees us from living out of fear. Eternal life is a gift, not a sledgehammer to be used to bludgeon people into submission.
If you are new to the faith, let me encourage you to experience the love and peace that Jesus offers. It is truly liberating! Don't be afraid, for there is nothing to fear. God's love for you is rooted in something deeper and more powerful than fear or death. For that is the whole point of the resurrection, that with love Jesus was able to conquer death. The first word from God was life, and the last word is life. Not fear.
For some reason our culture assumes that people get scared by things that look off kilter. Perhaps, but truth be told I am not freaked out by things that look messy or not properly centered. No, what sends chills up my spine, what really makes me want my mommy, is neatness. Compulsive, unnatural neatness. Nothing gives off the scent of the unholy like a perfectly organized desk. Or a closet with everything lines up and arranged by color, pattern, and/or season. Or books in perfect alphabetical order...even the children's books and the L.L. Bean catalogues. In a public library it is alright, but in a private home, well, I need to find myself some garlic and a wooden stake. If any of the above situations fits you, I just want you to know that I have nothing but love for you, but I still think you might need an exorcism. And if I splash you with Holy Water, it is nothing personal, okay. I just don't want to become part of the living dead and end up spending my days making my bed and deep cleaning the freezer.
Each off us have things that make us feel afraid. That is part of the fun of Halloween, allowing ourselves to experience fear in a safe, controlled environment. Fear works well for haunted houses, slasher flicks and trick-or-treating. Fear does not, however, have a place in the Christian faith. Unfortunately, some well-intentioned brothers and sisters in the faith don't understand this. They rely on a steady diet of fear in order to convince people to accept Jesus. Just yesterday I was driving on the interstate and on the east side of the road were two large billboard. The first said "If you died today, where would you spend eternity?" and the one a few feet after it read "Hell is real."
Evangelism by fear is not new. People have been doing it for centuries. Sometimes they tell stories about the consequences awaiting sinners, or create elaborate paintings of the eternal suffering in Hades. There are even movies that try to warn you about the chaos that will happen if the Rapture comes and you get left behind. I know, I was forced to watch such a film when I was only 10. I don't think I slept for a week.
There are a number of problems with using fear to encourage people to get right with God, but two really stick out to me. First, anyone with a elementary understanding of psychology will know that fear is a bad motivator for behavior. Sure, you get that initial bust of OMG, but it does not last. And the damage done to people who live under a constant threat of fear is well documented. Jesus preached Good News full of hope and promise and joy and love, not everlasting fear.
But the biggest reason that fear is a horrible tool for evangelism is that it encourages people to approach God for all the wrong reasons. Take our lovely billboards. What is the real point they are trying to convey? If you want to avoid hell, accept Jesus. Where is the focus? On Jesus? No. The center of the universe is you. Any actions you take will be based out of protecting yourself. Evangelism by fear encourages people to be self-centered and self-absorbed. It is all about you. Yet, the Good News that Jesus preached and lived was about turning our attention to God and to others. Our actions are not motivated by fear but gratitude and thanksgiving. We come to God and offer our lives because we are full of joy for all that God has done for us. This is what Jesus came to show us. Every time Jesus reached out to someone it was to bring a positive change to their lives and then, in response, he encouraged them to follow him and serve others. Faith in Jesus frees us from living out of fear. Eternal life is a gift, not a sledgehammer to be used to bludgeon people into submission.
If you are new to the faith, let me encourage you to experience the love and peace that Jesus offers. It is truly liberating! Don't be afraid, for there is nothing to fear. God's love for you is rooted in something deeper and more powerful than fear or death. For that is the whole point of the resurrection, that with love Jesus was able to conquer death. The first word from God was life, and the last word is life. Not fear.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Second String
For those of you who have been following The Blog, you know that my son tried out for the travel soccer team. Well, he made it. Which is great because being part of this team is real exciting for him. He is, in every sense of the word, a team player. Last year he was part of a Destination Imagination group. During the DI competition his team went bowling as a way to kill time until the awards ceremony. It was something to watch my son. He was giving everybody high-fives after they bowled, shouting out words of encouragement and in general seemed more concerned about his teammates than himself. Cool kid (now if he could only treat his little sister so well!)
My son is a decent soccer player, but without question there are better players on his team. His coaches know this, so do his teammates, and my son is aware of it as well. He does get playing time, but he has yet to start a game. I am not one of those parents that believes my child is entitled to be treated as a superstar just because he has a pulse. If I were his coach I would not start him either. What I can't wrap my mind around is the fact that not only does my son know he is on the second string but he is okay with it. It does not bother him. He plays when his coach tells him to go and sits and cheers when he is on the bench.
My son has many of my personality traits, but we are very different when it comes to how we handle not being on the first team. Now, before you jump to conclusions, I too am very much a team player. If I am not in the game I don't pout. I want whatever team I am on to win and if my presence on the bench will make that happen then so be it. But, I want to be on the first team. Always. Badly. Not being one of the best motivates me to work harder. I am never okay with being second string (or third or, gulp, fourth). I want to be good enough to be out there when it matters. This applies not just to sports but almost any activity I am part of. If I am auditioning for a play, I want the lead part. That is who I am.
I have spent a good bit of time trying to figure out my son. Is his acceptance of being second string a sign of an emotionally secure young man who is comfortable with who he is and what he can, and cannot, do? I would like to think so, but I also wonder what it says about his motivation. Part of me wants him to be a bit upset with not being the best, to use it as an incentive to work harder and push himself to see just what he is capable of achieving. Then I wonder if I am projecting my own insecurities and issues on the poor boy. Just because I have this aching feeling when I am not the best at something does not mean he has to. What if I am the messed up one here, unable to accept who I am? Just because you are not the best at everything does not mean you are a failure. Or at least that is what I have been told.
So, as I am trying to sort this all out I begin to ponder why it is that God has given us these seemingly conflicting ideals - contentment and desire. Neither one is inherently bad, though both can be misused. I do believe that you can become too comfortable and that the need to be the best can consume you. What I don't know is where the balancing point is. How much contentment and how much desire? When is it time to work harder and when is it okay to say this is as good as it gets? Does God love me the way that I am? If so, why does so much of scripture talk about trying to be more holy, more faithful, more just, more loving? I am not perfect, and never will be, but what limitations are acceptable and what needs to be changed?
I wonder if the answer lies in why we strive (or don't try) to be better than we are. If the driving force is insecurity, the need to be the best because deep down you don't believe in yourself (the flip side of this is not trying because you don't think you will ever be good enough) then we are likely chasing after the wind. No matter what we do it will never be enough. If however, we are trying to be the best we can be out of gratitude to God, then we just might find that we can do more than we ever thought possible. Work hard, push yourself as an act of joy to see what is just over the horizon, but do so with the knowledge that at the end of the day God loves you no matter if you are in the starting lineup or on the bench. And because God loves you, it is okay to love yourself regardless of what string you are.
This is what I hope and pray motivates my son. God gave him some athletic ability and he is happy to do what he can with it. It may never make him millions of dollars (so much for my early retirement) but that was never the point of playing soccer. He just loves to run and play. He likes the coaching, loves being part of the team, and knows that his self-worth is not tied up in his place in the lineup. I hope that he can live his whole life like this. May you live your life in this joyful frame of mind as well.
My son is a decent soccer player, but without question there are better players on his team. His coaches know this, so do his teammates, and my son is aware of it as well. He does get playing time, but he has yet to start a game. I am not one of those parents that believes my child is entitled to be treated as a superstar just because he has a pulse. If I were his coach I would not start him either. What I can't wrap my mind around is the fact that not only does my son know he is on the second string but he is okay with it. It does not bother him. He plays when his coach tells him to go and sits and cheers when he is on the bench.
My son has many of my personality traits, but we are very different when it comes to how we handle not being on the first team. Now, before you jump to conclusions, I too am very much a team player. If I am not in the game I don't pout. I want whatever team I am on to win and if my presence on the bench will make that happen then so be it. But, I want to be on the first team. Always. Badly. Not being one of the best motivates me to work harder. I am never okay with being second string (or third or, gulp, fourth). I want to be good enough to be out there when it matters. This applies not just to sports but almost any activity I am part of. If I am auditioning for a play, I want the lead part. That is who I am.
I have spent a good bit of time trying to figure out my son. Is his acceptance of being second string a sign of an emotionally secure young man who is comfortable with who he is and what he can, and cannot, do? I would like to think so, but I also wonder what it says about his motivation. Part of me wants him to be a bit upset with not being the best, to use it as an incentive to work harder and push himself to see just what he is capable of achieving. Then I wonder if I am projecting my own insecurities and issues on the poor boy. Just because I have this aching feeling when I am not the best at something does not mean he has to. What if I am the messed up one here, unable to accept who I am? Just because you are not the best at everything does not mean you are a failure. Or at least that is what I have been told.
So, as I am trying to sort this all out I begin to ponder why it is that God has given us these seemingly conflicting ideals - contentment and desire. Neither one is inherently bad, though both can be misused. I do believe that you can become too comfortable and that the need to be the best can consume you. What I don't know is where the balancing point is. How much contentment and how much desire? When is it time to work harder and when is it okay to say this is as good as it gets? Does God love me the way that I am? If so, why does so much of scripture talk about trying to be more holy, more faithful, more just, more loving? I am not perfect, and never will be, but what limitations are acceptable and what needs to be changed?
I wonder if the answer lies in why we strive (or don't try) to be better than we are. If the driving force is insecurity, the need to be the best because deep down you don't believe in yourself (the flip side of this is not trying because you don't think you will ever be good enough) then we are likely chasing after the wind. No matter what we do it will never be enough. If however, we are trying to be the best we can be out of gratitude to God, then we just might find that we can do more than we ever thought possible. Work hard, push yourself as an act of joy to see what is just over the horizon, but do so with the knowledge that at the end of the day God loves you no matter if you are in the starting lineup or on the bench. And because God loves you, it is okay to love yourself regardless of what string you are.
This is what I hope and pray motivates my son. God gave him some athletic ability and he is happy to do what he can with it. It may never make him millions of dollars (so much for my early retirement) but that was never the point of playing soccer. He just loves to run and play. He likes the coaching, loves being part of the team, and knows that his self-worth is not tied up in his place in the lineup. I hope that he can live his whole life like this. May you live your life in this joyful frame of mind as well.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Trip to the Zoo
Warning - what follows may not be for the faint of heart or those with weak constitutions!
So, our family headed off to the zoo the other day. I am always torn about the ethical implications of zoos. Some of the habitats are so small it just seems wrong to keep the animals all penned up. Then again, conservation efforts are more successful when we can see animals up close and some of the more entree prone creatures (I'm looking at you Mr. Antelope) just might have a longer life-span within the friendly confines of the zoo.
On this particular day I successfully repressed my moral quandaries and joined my wife and kids on a trek to see all that nature had to offer. At the far end of the zoo was a large complex devoted to primates, the not-so distant cousins of we human beings. "Let's go check it out," my wife and I suggested. The kids did not seem that excited about our impeding family reunion. But, being the outstanding parents that we are, my wife and I chose the path of least resistance and told them that we were going to the primate house because...because...we said so. Yeah, because we said so! Being the outstanding children that they are, my kids complied in body while leaving their spirits back with the elephants.
The primate house is in a big building. The animals have indoor and outdoor areas in which they can play, eat, just hang out or do their business. Our zoo has a large gorilla population so we went inside and proceeded to watch the young gorillas leap and fly all over their habitat. My two youngest children loved it (so did my teenage daughter, but she was never going to let me see her enjoying herself). This was such a great family moment, my wife, our kids, and hyper-active primates. If ever there was a Norman Rockwell moment, this was it.
Then it happened. An adult female gorilla was sitting with her back to us. Suddenly, she turned herself around, looked directly at my oldest daughter and myself, and then promptly vomited into the palm of her hand. Then, before we had time to experience the appropriate amount of disgust, the gorilla began to eat that which she had just regurgitated. Welcome to the primate house, humans!
I am happy to report that neither my daughter or myself lost out own lunch (but for a few seconds it was close). After the initial shock wore off we wondered if the gorilla was sick (mentally and physically). We started to look around for an employee to tell them about the problem, but could find none. It was at this point that I decided to do what all good middle-class Americans do when we can't report a problem to the authorities - we opted to flee the scene. Unfortunately, my youngest kids, who had not witnessed the gorilla enjoying its own version of fast food, were having too much fun watching the juvenile gorillas to leave.
I returned my attention to the female gorilla who was still sitting in the same place, only a new group of people were standing in front of her. Once again, she looked them in eye then regurgitated her regurgitation. This family was not as discrete as my daughter and I and started freaking out, which of course drew my two youngest over to see what was up. When they saw the gorilla eating its own vomit they started screaming. You can't plan this kind of family fun, dear reader. Some gifts just come your way by chance.
Because the gorilla's actions involved bodily emissions my kids really did not want to leave, hoping to see the animal puke in its hand again. The gorilla did not disappoint. By now it began to dawn on me that this gorilla may not have been physically ill, or even that mentally unbalanced. On the contrary, the look in her eyes convinced me that she knew what she was doing. You want a show, I'll give you a show! Having fun at the zoo now? Make sure you stop for a snack on your way out!
Yes, I believe that the gorilla was messing with us. Whether she was doing this out of boredom, frustration, or because she needed some professional psychological help is not clear. What was apparent was that the one in control of the situation was on the side of the glass with all of the other gorillas. I was the primate on display, the one held captive by the whims and gag reflexes of this gorilla. She knew it, even before I did.
Control can be really deceptive. You might think you have it, only to discover that it was just an illusion. The ability to walk upright and create zoos (with gift stores and over-priced food vendors) does not mean that we humans are really in control. God gave us stewardship over this earth and with that comes some influence over other parts of creation. But it is not absolute or universal. We are not God, even if we think we are. To remind us of this fact God has conveniently given us a few reality checks including upchucking gorillas.
That to me is the most important function zoos can play. In the midst of the artificial environments we create, in spite of our best efforts to control our world, we come face to face with the simple truth that we cannot make the creation do what we want. We can guide it, nudge it, even sedate it, but if the gorilla wants to puke in her hand as a sign of independence then she is going to do it. All we can do is watch. Or walk away. Most of us with small children will be forced to watch even though we really want to walk away.
Thank you, Ms. I-will-eat-my-own-vomit-just-to-gross-you-out Gorilla. You may have churned my stomach and put me off my dinner, but you taught me an important lesson - stay away form the primate house!
So, our family headed off to the zoo the other day. I am always torn about the ethical implications of zoos. Some of the habitats are so small it just seems wrong to keep the animals all penned up. Then again, conservation efforts are more successful when we can see animals up close and some of the more entree prone creatures (I'm looking at you Mr. Antelope) just might have a longer life-span within the friendly confines of the zoo.
On this particular day I successfully repressed my moral quandaries and joined my wife and kids on a trek to see all that nature had to offer. At the far end of the zoo was a large complex devoted to primates, the not-so distant cousins of we human beings. "Let's go check it out," my wife and I suggested. The kids did not seem that excited about our impeding family reunion. But, being the outstanding parents that we are, my wife and I chose the path of least resistance and told them that we were going to the primate house because...because...we said so. Yeah, because we said so! Being the outstanding children that they are, my kids complied in body while leaving their spirits back with the elephants.
The primate house is in a big building. The animals have indoor and outdoor areas in which they can play, eat, just hang out or do their business. Our zoo has a large gorilla population so we went inside and proceeded to watch the young gorillas leap and fly all over their habitat. My two youngest children loved it (so did my teenage daughter, but she was never going to let me see her enjoying herself). This was such a great family moment, my wife, our kids, and hyper-active primates. If ever there was a Norman Rockwell moment, this was it.
Then it happened. An adult female gorilla was sitting with her back to us. Suddenly, she turned herself around, looked directly at my oldest daughter and myself, and then promptly vomited into the palm of her hand. Then, before we had time to experience the appropriate amount of disgust, the gorilla began to eat that which she had just regurgitated. Welcome to the primate house, humans!
I am happy to report that neither my daughter or myself lost out own lunch (but for a few seconds it was close). After the initial shock wore off we wondered if the gorilla was sick (mentally and physically). We started to look around for an employee to tell them about the problem, but could find none. It was at this point that I decided to do what all good middle-class Americans do when we can't report a problem to the authorities - we opted to flee the scene. Unfortunately, my youngest kids, who had not witnessed the gorilla enjoying its own version of fast food, were having too much fun watching the juvenile gorillas to leave.
I returned my attention to the female gorilla who was still sitting in the same place, only a new group of people were standing in front of her. Once again, she looked them in eye then regurgitated her regurgitation. This family was not as discrete as my daughter and I and started freaking out, which of course drew my two youngest over to see what was up. When they saw the gorilla eating its own vomit they started screaming. You can't plan this kind of family fun, dear reader. Some gifts just come your way by chance.
Because the gorilla's actions involved bodily emissions my kids really did not want to leave, hoping to see the animal puke in its hand again. The gorilla did not disappoint. By now it began to dawn on me that this gorilla may not have been physically ill, or even that mentally unbalanced. On the contrary, the look in her eyes convinced me that she knew what she was doing. You want a show, I'll give you a show! Having fun at the zoo now? Make sure you stop for a snack on your way out!
Yes, I believe that the gorilla was messing with us. Whether she was doing this out of boredom, frustration, or because she needed some professional psychological help is not clear. What was apparent was that the one in control of the situation was on the side of the glass with all of the other gorillas. I was the primate on display, the one held captive by the whims and gag reflexes of this gorilla. She knew it, even before I did.
Control can be really deceptive. You might think you have it, only to discover that it was just an illusion. The ability to walk upright and create zoos (with gift stores and over-priced food vendors) does not mean that we humans are really in control. God gave us stewardship over this earth and with that comes some influence over other parts of creation. But it is not absolute or universal. We are not God, even if we think we are. To remind us of this fact God has conveniently given us a few reality checks including upchucking gorillas.
That to me is the most important function zoos can play. In the midst of the artificial environments we create, in spite of our best efforts to control our world, we come face to face with the simple truth that we cannot make the creation do what we want. We can guide it, nudge it, even sedate it, but if the gorilla wants to puke in her hand as a sign of independence then she is going to do it. All we can do is watch. Or walk away. Most of us with small children will be forced to watch even though we really want to walk away.
Thank you, Ms. I-will-eat-my-own-vomit-just-to-gross-you-out Gorilla. You may have churned my stomach and put me off my dinner, but you taught me an important lesson - stay away form the primate house!
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