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

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

Leftovers

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

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

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

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

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

Canary in a Coma

Now if I tell you that you suffer from delusions

You pay your analyst to reach the same conclusions

You live your life like a canary in a coalmine

You get so dizzy even walking in a straight line

Canary in a Coalmine by the Police

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

"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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

Comfort Objects

All of my children have had comfort objects.  These were soft things, a couple of animals and a blanket, that they received when they were very young.  In times of stress out came the comfort objects.  Road trip - get the comfort object.  Bed time - OMG where is that thing!  Hours of my life have been lost looking for these precious possessions so that my children could go to sleep. 
The thing about comfort objects is that only the child can really choose it.  Like most middle-class American kids my children had more than their fair share of stuffed stuff.  We could open an outlet mall with all of the furry animal-like things they collected over the years.  But only one made the cut and achieved the status of comfort object.  Call it the childhood version of Survivor.  Or a less-violent Highlander (There can be only one).
I too had a comfort object as a youngster.  I believe it was a bear.  Age and a general tendency to repress most childhood memories makes it difficult for me to recall its name.  After all, comfort objects have to have names.  You cannot spend hours upon hours of time - very emotional time at that, with a nameless thing (unless of course you named your comfort object Thing, in which case Dr. Seuss called and he is going to sue you).  At some point in my life, again I can't remember when, I no longer needed my bear.  I do recollect a feeling of sadness when I let it go to that great bear round up in the sky.  It was a difficult decision, but that is what growing up is all about - painful emotional choices.
My willingness to part with my bear did not mean that I was done with comfort objects.  On the contrary, I merely replaced furry animals with roasted ones.  And carbohydrates.  Lots and lots of carbohydrates.  Comfort objects have become comfort food.  Feelings of stress or uncertainly can easily be avoided with some pasta or pizza or fried (insert any food item).  But my go-to food group in tough times is candy.  Thank God for Halloween...and Christmas...and Easter.  Did you ever notice that major holidays (prime producers of stress) are filled with sweets?  Without them I am not sure how I could ever get through a family function. 
Comfort objects (or food) make us feel good and safe (and occasionally bloated and gassy).  They are reassuring and don't make too many demands of us.  They don't argue or talk back (hint-if your comfort object has in the past or is currently talking to you seek medical help NOW!)  and allow us to reaffirm the world as we want it.
There are some people who contend that religion is nothing more than a comfort object.  We create religious systems to protect us from the outside world, to make a safe space (sanctuary) and to enable us to escape from reality.  Know what - they are right.  Sometimes.  As a minister I have seen firsthand how folks, good folks, can turn religion into their own comfort object.  And woe to the one who tries to take it from them.  Think a two year old throws a fit if you try and take their blankie, well just try changing something in the church and you will see some major temper tantrums.  Not from everyone, just those who need religion to provide them with a safe and secure place to turn to.
Church as comfort object never appealed to me.  While my faith offers me great comfort in the face of life's many trials there is more to being a follower of Jesus.  If anything, I have come to believe that being a disciple of the living Christ means being uncomfortable a lot of the time.  Having faith is a risky business and this Jesus, he lives out on the edge.  When I want the comfort of only being around people who think and act the way I do, Jesus pushes me out into a world in which I have to accept, no love, those who may not like me.  Right at that moment when I am full and warm and dry Jesus asks me what am I doing for those who are hungry and homeless and naked.  And when I clearly see the sinful nature of my adversaries I am invited to take a look in the mirror in case there are a few of my own blemishes I might have overlooked. 
The Christian faith has the power to transform lives.  Through it God calls us to new life beyond anything we could ever imagine.  But that process of transforming can get uncomfortable because we start looking at the world in a whole new way, with God at the center instead of ourselves.  That can take some getting used to.  But it is worth it.  It is so very worth it.

Marching Band

In the fifth grade my oldest child began to play the baritone, which looks something like a tuba but is smaller.  She started out on the trumpet but that did not work out too well.  The sounds that came out of the instrument when she tried to play it were haunting.  The Exorcist haunting.  It was not her fault that her lips were not the right shape or size.  Blame Mom and Dad (she did).  The baritone was a better fit, at least on the lips front.  Poor kid, the instrument was almost as big as she was.  Yet, she stuck with it even when she was the only girl playing in the low brass section of the band.
Now she is a freshman in high school and has joined the marching band.  Not any band, mind you, but the Grand Pacer Marching Band.  What makes it Grand is not clear.  But is is, since the word Grand appears on the shirts, uniforms and assorted literature that the school churns out.  I guess I will have to take the band teacher's word on this one.  It turns out there are two sizes of the baritone: the full-sized concert version and a smaller marching one which she can easily carry (the tuba players still seem stuck in the musical equivalent of hell since they still have to tote that monster of an instrument no matter where they go).  My daughter's challenge now is playing and marching...at the same time.  Prior to joining the marching band she sort of had the playing part down.  If she had, I don't know, practiced, she would be much better.  She is musically inclined but adverse to anything that resembles practicing.  I like to think she got that trait from her mother but even I am not that delusional.  Marching, however, was the real concern.  My daughter is an amazingly fantastic kid, full of so many gifts and skills I can hardly believe she is related to me.  But she is not the most coordinated human to ever walk the earth.  Walking without tripping over something is a challenge most days.  Marching in time with a bunch of other kids, well that is tempting fate.  Playing while engaging in said march, Lord, help us all.
The first couple of weeks of marching band were rough.  Band camp started the first of August when it was really hot and humid (my daughter does not like hot or humid).  But as she, I don't know, practiced, she got better and more comfortable.  When they had a marching drill contest she lasted longer than over half of the other band members.  She was proud.  So was I.  Only problem was, I really don't know what the point of the marching band, even the illustrious Grand Pacer Marching Band, is.
Let me rephrase that - I know what the point used to be.  Long before Jerry Jones and his $100,000,000 video screens people wanted entertainment at sporting events.  What evolved to fit that need, especially at football games, was the marching band.  Marching bands had it all.  They could play music (and play it loud) throughout the game.  They could also put on a show that would give the crowd something to watch while the players were in the locker room.  Honestly, can you think of anything more captivating than watching dozens of people, in uniforms, marching together in time and making all sorts of shapes and sizes. 
In our video age the role of the marching band has been reduced.  Yes, they still show up at football games, especially college and high school.  But massive video screens and PA systems have put the squeeze on marching bands.  They seem to still exist for one reason -tradition.
Tradition has its place.  It is just that in American society that place is often behind whatever is new.  Our culture loves innovation and we put a greater value on that which is brand new than we do the tried and true.  Right or wrong, that is who we are. Forget the flavor of the month, we are all about the flavor of the moment.  Age-old traditions and practices are fine until something new crops up to challenge them.  Then the onus is on that which is established to justify its continued existence.  If it can't then out it goes.  And in comes the Jumbo-tron (which was replaced by something bigger and better years ago).
I often wonder where God is in this tension between the old and new.  Traditionalists (the minority in our culture but well represented in the church) will talk of the Rock of Ages, the God who is the same today as God was yesterday.  God's greatest characteristic is God's unchanging nature.  What is is what should be.  If it is not broken, don't fix it (and if it is broken, well just leave it alone and maybe it will fix itself).  Advocates of change will point to a God who is always revealing Godself.  The universe is constantly changing, always in flux.  God is at the heart of this evolutionary process.   Preserving tradition boxes God in and denies fresh, new revelations of the Divine.
I do not claim to know where God falls in all of this.  If I had to guess, and it is just a guess, is that God values both tradition and innovation.  And respect.  Respect for those who need something predictable to hold onto and respect for those who desire the unknown.   God can be found in the ancient and the new, the stable and the still evolving.  Where God begins to disappear is when we stop respecting those who need something different than we do.  God gets pushed out and replaced by our own desires.  That is called idolatry.  And it is a bad thing.
May your day be filled with respect, for yourself and for others.  May you experience something new and unexpected as well as a little bit of the familiar and established.  Oh, and if you have the time, check out the Grand Pacer Marching Band.  It is a Grand tradition.  But always changing.

Sometimes It Really Is Just Junk

I did something yesterday that I have not done in a long, long time.  I went into an "antique" store.  I write "antique" because when I was a kid these places would have been called second-hand shops or flea markets.  Antique was not a word applied to old Coke cans or Smurf figurines.  Things are different in the 21st century.  In a world full of euphemisms, antique now means anything used that the seller wants to unload.
My absence from the world of flea markets, oops, my bad, antique stores had nothing to do with a dislike of shopping.  I actually enjoy looking through stacks of old CDs or books in the hopes of finding a real treasure.  To be honest, antique stores, at least the ones like I went to yesterday, just freak me out.  They give me a feeling of sensory overload.  There is simply too much stuff to look at.  Then I start thinking about where all of these items came from, and what happened to the 3.2 million other Alf dolls that used to be in peoples homes but is now priced to sell for $45, and how in the world did one culture make so much garbage, er, antiques?
There are three antique stores within a block of each other not far from where I live.  I paid a visit to all three yesterday.  Why, I don't know.  I think I was looking for something and it crossed my mind that these stores might be the place to find it.  I was wrong, or a least I never found whatever it was I started out looking for.  What I did encounter was thousands upon thousands of things - furniture, books, dishes, DVD's, family pictures from the 19th century where everyone looked absolutely miserable (which is not that different from most family photos today), cans, jewelry, and, my personal favorite, those old jelly jars that had cartoon characters on the sides.  You know, the ones you used to pay like a $1.50 for in the grocery store and now, sans jelly, will run you $5 each.
In one cabinet was an old Six Million Dollar man doll.  This particular homage to Lee Majors was not in a box nor was it in mint condition.  The previous owner appeared to have gotten at least Five Million Dollars worth of their Six Million Dollar Man.  Yet there he was, right next to his rocket ship (which looked as if it had seen more than a few trips to the moon) ready for someone to buy him up.  Provided, of course, that they chunk over $15.  When I saw the price tag I about freaked.  I had one of those dolls as a kid and brand new it cost less than that.  Why would anyone pay that kind of money for a beat up action figure?  Then again, why would people pay for most of the stuff in these stores?  Call it will you will, but sometimes junk is really just junk.
I think that what must drive the "antique" industry (besides a desire for money) is nostalgia.  People go into these stores and see things that remind them of the past, of happy feelings and memories.  They buy things in the hopes that the doll or picture or record will help reproduce something powerful that is missing in their lives.  Antique stores remind me of that scene in Field of Dreams when James Earl Jones tells Kevin Costner that if he keeps the baseball field people will come and willingly pay $20 a head because they are longing to connect with something in the past.  Of course today it would be more like $40 ($24.99 for the kids 12 and under) but it is amazing what nostalgia will make us do.
I respect the power of nostalgia and understand the role that memories play in our lives.  I just wonder if sometimes we get so caught up in recapturing a feeling that we start to do some really silly things and I don't just mean overpaying for a well worn action figure from a 1970s TV show.  Sometimes we allow the past to block out the present and future.  We ignore what is going on around us and end up turning our current life altering experiences into junk that we just throw away. 
God is at work in our lives all of our life.  Yes, let's remember the glories of the past (which is why God invented DVD's so we could watch entire seasons of The Six Million Dollar Man) and buying a trinket or two to help us do that is fine.  But also celebrate now and look forward to all of the wonderful blessings that God has lined up for you in the days ahead.  They may not produce the same emotions as I felt on my 8th birthday (when I got my Six Million Dollar Man action figure) but then again Lee Majors has nothing on what I experienced when I met my wife or when my three kids were born.
I have no idea what it will feel like when my children graduate from high school and college (though my wallet will feel much lighter) or when I retire or get to be a grandparent (which better not happen anytime soon!) Will I find something in an antique store that will remind me of how I felt on those days?  Perhaps...oh, who am I kidding, most likely not.  I will indulge my feelings of nostalgia in different, less costly ways. 
Give thanks to God for the past.  Just don't get lost in it...and try not to get overcharged when you want to remember the good old days!

Talk to Homer (cont., still)

As a kid we used to play the If You Were Stranded On a Island What One [Blank] Would You Take game.  The [Blank] could be anything - food, books, music.  When my friends and I played this game the food question was fairly easy - pizza, nature's perfect food.  Books got a little tricky.  I remember once at church camp our counselor asked us what book we wanted with us.  Everyone thought we were supposed to say the Bible, which we did, even though none of us had actually read most or all of it.  Music ended up being whatever was the flavor of the month.  Sadly for one young man that was Air Supply.  No, I was not that foolish and I don't think the poor kid ever regained his standing with the rest of us boys.  Hollywood turned that game into a movie called Cast Away (did you ever think you would say ripped and Tom Hanks in the same sentence.  Weird.) 
So, just for old times sake, let's play.  You are stranded on an island and you can have one person with you.  Just one.  Oh, and they have to be alive right now.  None of this picking Jesus so he can turn all the water into wine business.  Is it going to be your spouse (so romantic) or, if you have them, one of your children (and you kept telling them you did not have a favorite.  Well the gig is up).  A best friend (thus sticking the knife in the back of a spouse and/or children)?  Parent? Sibling? Boss (really, there is no need to suck up anymore, you are on an island)?  Or will you opt for someone famous whom you don't know on the off chance that they really are as cool in real life as in the media?  Take a few moments and think it over.  I'll wait...
My guess is that for most of us choosing just one person out of all of our friends, family or celebrities is not easy.  Each person and/or media creation brings something to our lives.  So how do you pick?  Who gets left and who gets to go?  And why is it that we tend to value people and celebrities more when we think we won't get to see them again (think Elvis or Michael Jackson, both left on the curb of pop culture until they died)?
The other night I finally sat down to watch a movie called The Road.  A very disturbing post-apocalyptic flick about a man and his son trying to survive.  At one point the father rummages through an old vending machine and finds a can of Coke.  His son has never had one and the father takes great delight in watching him drink it.  The scene works because soft drinks are so common in our culture we take them for granted.  Can you imagine a day when Cokes, or pizza or TMZ no longer exist?  When they are not commonplace but rare and valuable (I know, TMZ being valuable is a bit of a stretch, but just go with me for now).
Our dismissive culture is rooted in abundance.  We can dismiss people or things because we have so much.  There is always another product to buy, place to go, movie to see.  If I don't like this brand of dish soap no problem, there are a dozen other brands to choose from.  And with billions of people in the world we can dismiss each other all we want.  There are simply too many people to care about and there will always be someone else entering our world. If scarcity brings value abundance brings indifference. 
I suppose we could try and play mind games and imagine that everything around us is scarce.  Yes, our days on this earth are numbered, but most of us don't really think of them as finite, especially when the average American gets around 30,000 of them.  People are all around us.  TV and radio stations keep growing in number.  Grocery stores are not scaling back in size.  It would be a tough trick to play on our mind.
No, the answer lies, I think, in our approach to abundance.  People are a gift.  I will concede that other people are not always what I would consider the perfect gift, but then again, neither am I.  What we, people, are to each other are blessings.  See, I believe that each person who enters my life has some gift that I need.  And I have something that they are looking for.  Often our giftedness is not immediately apparent.  And not infrequently the gift is wrapped up in a person who has, shall we say, flaws.  My task is not to dismiss the person because of their imperfections, but to embrace them and cherish them because I need them in my life.  And they need me.
Think of it this way.  It is Christmas or your birthday.  Do you tell people that you have too many presents?  No!  At least not if you are sane.  You keep unwrapping until the last gift.  And then, if you are like me, you take a good look around all of the boxes and paper to make sure you did not miss anything.  That, dear reader, is how God calls us to treat each other.
I am glad my wife the minister said "NO!" to my Homer sign.  Perhaps she should have suggested I make another one - "Homer was a gift.  So are you."

Rhythm of Life

It's early August, which means back-to-school time.  Or at least that is what the retailers keep telling me.  It is 95 degrees outside, 1000 percent humidity, and Wal-Mart is showing me pictures of cute kids in sweaters surrounded by autumn leaves.  Right.  I sweat like a stuck pig just walking out to get the mail and somehow I am supposed to think about fall and school.  Do I look like I want to worry about such things in the dead of summer?  Pour me another lemonade and talk to me about school in September.
In our house back-to-school actually starts in July.  My wife is a fanatic about getting school supplies early. Normally I would be repulsed by such behavior, after all I believe that there should be a constitutional amendment banning any Christmas advertising before Thanksgiving.  However, in this case I suck it up since we save a fortune.  One of my kids has to take 12 glue sticks to class this year (are they going to eat it?) so better get it for a quarter a pop when you can.  Even if they are still selling firecrackers and sunscreen in the next aisle.
Summer is sacred to me, even though my favorite season is fall.  I am not a big fan of oppressive heat (though it beats freezing cold) and still have emotional and physical scares from hot plastic seats in station wagons when I was a kid.  But summer is about freedom and I resent anyone or anything that tries to take it away from me (except my wife, of course, whom I love and who saves us money with her school supplies on sale obsession).

My attitude about summer is a reflection about how thoroughly ingrained the American educational calendar is in my life. September-May is for getting up early, working, and then getting up early the next day.  Summer, summer is about sleeping late, playing, going to the pool, sweating, and going to bed late. Little wonder the rhythm of school rules my world. Since 1973 I have been a student, teacher, or had a child in school all but three years. That's right, 34 of the past 37 years if you are keeping score at home.  On top of that, almost every institution and organization I am associated with is influenced by the school calendar.  Activities are delayed because of mythical holidays like Spring Break or Christmas Break or Fall Break.  The program year starts in the fall, the new season starts in the fall, don't even think about planning anything before Labor Day (except school which now starts in mid-August for some kids.  Hope they all have AC).

Even churches are under the spell of the academic calendar.  Most Christian education takes place from September to May.  Then many congregations have this little thing called Vacation Bible School.  I never understood VBS.  Why, in the middle of summer, do you expect kids to want to go to something with the word school in it.  VBS always seemed like false advertising to me.  It's not a vacation if it is school.  Even I know that.
I realize that the American educational calendar took its shape and form from rural life.  That is why there is no school in the summer, kids were out in the fields.  Even though we stopped being an agricultural society almost a century ago the calendar remains unchanged.  For the most part.  There are a few school districts that want year-round education.  They may well succeed.  And our children may be smarter for it.  But changing the school calendar will force us to give up a powerful symbol.

Ponder this - fall is about death.  The growing season is over and we harvest what we can.  Leaves die and fall off the trees.  The warmth and greenness of summer are gone.  Even the days get shorter.  In the middle of all of this contraction and decay comes the excitement of newness and beginning.  Pretty cool, don't you think.  The rhythm of the school year reminds me of God (who knows, God may have even thought it up).  What looks like the end is really God creating a new beginning.  Death gives way to life, uncertainty to excitement.  It is so like God to find a way to remind us that life, not death, will always prevail.  Yes, the freedom of summer passes away, but in its place comes new opportunities for growth and learning (and football, le'ts not forget football!) 

So, I don't mind the end of summer or the beginning of the school year.  But please, all you retailers, chill out.  Let me enjoy my summer.  The school year will start soon enough.

The Passion of the Chiefs

For NFL fans August is a month of hope. Unlike baseball, where only a handful of teams really have a shot at winning, in professional football almost every one of the 32 teams starts the season with a legitimate chance. Granted, some team's path to glory is more difficult than others, but fans have hope. This is the year my team will raise the Lombardi Trophy. Let the celebrations begin!

As a devoted fan of the Kansas City Chiefs, reasons to celebrate have been in short supply lately. Over the last two seasons we have aspired to suck. Sometimes we have reached that lofty plateau, but frequently we have wandered in the sub-sucking nether world. Things have been even bleaker for the KC Royals, who have not been to the post-season in 25 years. That's right, a quarter century of futility, disappointment, frustration and failure. At least the Cubs have been to the playoffs. Come to think of it, almost everyone else has been to the playoffs. Ouch.
I am not a casual fan, at least not when it comes to football. I watch or listen to every Chiefs game and have, on a number of occasions, scared my children with my yelling at the radio/TV. Oh, the vocabulary they have learned from me on Sunday afternoons. All three of them are now ready for a stint in the Merchant Marines. Did I mention I was a minister?
I am not sure what compels me to be a fan. Unless you subscribe to the butterfly in the Amazon flapping its wings and making it rain in Kansas theory, then the fortunes of the Chiefs have nothing to do with my support. Sure, the club will get a few bucks every year from the merchandise I purchase and the tickets I buy (once every five years or so I make it to a game. This is one of those years!!!!) My beloved Chiefs win or lose no matter what I do. So, why do I invest so much emotional energy (and this year, so much money into one ticket)? What difference does it make? Why should I let the outcome of a game I have no control over dictate my mood for a whole week? And why, every August, do I hope?
I am not the only one asking these questions. My wife has no clue as to why I get so passionate about Chiefs football. Her uncle presided over our wedding and during his meditation encouraged her to develop an interest in the things I care about, including sports. She loves her uncle but completely ignored his advice (supposedly he said something to me about her interests. At least my wife claims he did. I don't remember any such sage counsel.) On Sunday afternoons she would rather take a nap than listen to Hall of Famer Lenny Dawson do color commentary for the Chiefs. And she generally reserves her screaming and yelling for me (I guess I am her Kansas City Chiefs. Cool.)
I am sure there are some deep seated psychological reasons for being a fan. No doubt I am either working through, or avoiding, some issues in my life via the NFL. So be it. For me, I am content to enjoy being passionate. Its fun to care about things, to share in the successes and failures of those things I attach myself to. The great thing about passion is that there is plenty of it to go around. I am intensely passionate about my kids, my wife, my faith community, and my God. For the record, yes, I have been known to swear like a sailor when I get upset with all of my other passions. That just comes with the territory.
Unlike the Chiefs, however, most of the other things I am passionate about I can participate in. I can make a difference in the life of my kids, my spouse, my community and even God. Sure, being passionate, actively passionate about someone or something will open me up to being hurt. But it is worth it. Life without passion, without caring and loving and yelling and colorful vocabulary is not really life. I would rather suffer through the disappointment of a 4-12 season than not care at all. Of course if the football gods were to bestow upon my Chiefs a 16-0 regular season record and a Super Bowl championship who am I to complain. Hey, it's August. I can hope.

Losing Bites

This past spring I started playing in an over-30 soccer league.  Even though I did not play soccer as a kid I love sports and thought this would be a great way to get some exercise and meet some new folks.  Keep in mind this is a recreational league, so win or lose we are all supposed to be out there having fun.  Only, I hate losing.  Losing is not fun.  Losing bites.
My wife is capable of playing a game and, win or lose, enjoying herself.  I envy her.  I don't understand her because, as I mentioned before, losing sucks and takes the fun out of whatever I am doing.  Still, I wish I had her capacity to not be so competitive about everything.  I am getting better.  In the not so distant past if I lost a game I would spend a significant amount of time trying to figure out what went wrong (aka brooding).  On more than one occasion I have been accused, wrongly I might add, of altering the rules of a game to ensure victory.  Today, I only obsess about a loss for one or two hours, tops.  I am a model citizen when it comes to following the rules and have even learned how to let my kids beat me at some things.  Sometimes.  Losing, however, still sucks the life out of me.
Yesterday afternoon I was out on the soccer pitch, in the middle of a brutal summer day, getting my butt kicked by a guy who was at least ten years younger and twice as fast as myself.  Fun is not a word I would use to describe the experience.  My age and life-long lack of foot speed are not excuses.  I got beat, repeatedly, and I am still mad about it (give me a break it's only been what, 18 hours.  It's not like I can't let go). What really ticks me off is the fact that 100 times out of a 100 this guy is going to outplay me.  I did not have an off day.  Yesterday was about as good as it gets when I play soccer.  Which means every time I play against this guy I am going to lose.  Did I mention that I hate losing.
Being competitive is not a bad thing.  Imagine what the world would be like if people did not have a little drive, a desire to push themselves and others to achieve great things.  But it can go too far and rather than trying to make the world a better place a desire to win can become an obsession with not losing.  My need to win at everything I do is, I think, tied to a need to be perfect.  Any chink in the armor is unacceptable.  Every loss a sign that my best is not good enough.  What I don't understand is why I feel like I have to be perfect, why I am afraid to lose.
Maybe it has to do with a fear that unless I never mess up God will not like or love me.  Yes, in some really warped way getting beat on the soccer field ( or at Monopoly, or Guitar Hero) threatens my relationship with God.  Or so I think in the deep dark places of my mind.  Some Christian communities worship a God who is very strict.  There are laws to be obeyed, perfection to be obtained and punishment for those who miss the mark.  I am not part of one of those communities.  I do not believe that is the nature and character of God. I believe in a God of grace and forgiveness and who knew from the beginning that we, humans, would never be perfect.  That is until I lose.  Then the God of compassion and understanding gets replaced by the demanding judge.  Strange, I know.
Slowly I am getting to a place where I understand that my losses in life, rather than undermining my relationship with God, actually strengthen it.   Yes, I still strive to get it right all the time.  I doubt that I will ever, ever enjoying losing.  Yet, through my failures I have grown to appreciate and value grace and understanding and see how God allows them to transform my life.  God uses my losses to make me more compassionate and caring towards others and, eventually, towards myself.  One day I might even begin to love myself as God loves me.  What a great day that will be.  In the meantime I will try to stop being afraid to lose and use my competitive desires in positive ways.  But losing still bites.

God's iPod

I am an iPod voyeurist.  I am completely and utterer fascinated by what music people have on their iPod (or MP3 player or phone or whatever other device they use to play music).  Before you call the cops I have never done anything about this obsession other than occasionally ask close friends what they are listening to.  Ok, maybe I have also inquired about the playlist of a few acquaintances...and perhaps once or twice approached a complete stranger.  But I have it under control.  Really.
It does not matter what the person looks like or what they are doing while listening to music, I am interested in what they have flowing through their headphones (or earbuds).  Last night a man in his late fifties was walking by my house.  He still had on his work uniform (looked like he worked for an auto repair shop) and was moving at a moderate pace.  I so wanted to run up to him and ask what he was listening to.  But I didn't.  Instead I sat there, watching him walk by, imagining.  Was it country?  Soft rock?  Folk?  Or, and this is the romantic in me, was he blasting through some Black Sabbath or Iron Maiden?  I hope so.  Justin Bieber would just be so very, very wrong.
My greatest temptation is stopping a runner and asking them what gets them moving.  See, I hate running.  Put me on a field or a court playing a sport and I am happy to run till I drop (which takes much less time than it used to).  But to run just to run, well, I think I would rather have a root canal.  Without pain medication.  Thus, I am fascinated by people who actually do run.  Most of them listen to music while they run and I want to know what it is.  Maybe it will help me get out there and pound the pavement.  Then again, maybe it won't.  I still want to know.
What music people listen to can tell you a lot about the person.  Not everything mind you.  My oldest daughter's iPod is filled with music from my iTunes library.  One day she asked me to put some songs on and I agreed, with one condition.  She had to listen to every song in its entirety the first time it played, even if she did not like it.  She did (or at least she told me she did.  Teenagers don't lie, right?)  Even if the music is not of their choosing that can tell you something about the person and who their friends are.
Music also tells stories.  Songs get tied to events in our lives and form a soundtrack that is unique to each person.  The song Ironic brings back powerful memories for me - October 1996, it is morning and I am sitting in the airport in Amsterdam.  We just arrived a few hours ago from Nairobi (we left Kenya at midnight).  I was tired, cold, and could not wait for my next flight because my wife and I were headed home to introduce our brand new baby girl to her family.  I had not heard any new western music in over a year and the first song I heard (and saw, it was a video) was Ironic.  Everytime I hear that song I feel cold, tired and excited.
The playlist I really want to listen to, however, is God's.  I imagine that over eternity God has mixed up a little (I would.  How many times can you listen to Thriller before it just gets old?)  but I want the original.  I want to know what God was listening to when God created the universe.  Sure, some of you might argue that there was no music yet, but we don't know that.  Besides, I do most of my creative work with tunes blasting and so why not God?  Just think about it.  The moment before anything existed, right before the Big Bang, God flips on the iPod and out comes....
Oh, the possibilities! Was it something classical?  Perhaps Motown (the Queen of Soul?)  Queen's We Will Rock You?  Or something that we have not even heard yet?  That playlist, those songs, imagine what they could tell us about the character and nature of God.  And the memories of those moments of creation. 
So, if you have nothing better to do on a warm summer weekend, ponder what God was listening to.  Don't be afraid to show your own personal bias.  And, if you wish, share your thoughts with the rest of us.  Because, as an iPod voyeurist, I really want to know what you are listening to as well.

Changes part 3

She is an angel, she is in him
She's got my big toe, and her mother's lips
She gives fishy kisses, and great big bear hugs
42 pounds of pure love
Then one day she'll be 17, feelin' too big for her home
Seems she was just only 3, oh how our children they grow
You watch them grow, then you let 'em go

Watch Them Grow Zach Gill

There are some things in life you cannot understand until you experience them. Marriage would be one. Parenting another. You are welcome to read all the books you want, but it will not help (yes, this even applies to the What to Expect series). Until you have kids you have no idea what you are in for.

I am a big fan of having multiple children, though I prefer to have them one at a time. Why? Well, the tax write-off is not a bad thing, but really it has to do with practice. See, the first go-round you have no clue what the hell is going on. Everything is a mystery, from diapers to teething to school to soccer to dating to going off to college to... You make mistakes. Child number two comes along and you have a vague idea of what you are doing. Only, this child is different from the first and it takes you a while to figure this fact out. So you make more mistakes, though they are different than with your firstborn. Here is why number three is crucial. With your third child you get a chance to put your all-pro parenting skills on display. The five-second rule, which showed way too much paranoia on your part, matures into the if-nothing-is-on-it-go-ahead-and-stick-it-in-your-mouth rule. By child number three even that is really more of a guideline than a rule. You panic less, take fewer pictures, stop putting every finger painting on the fridge door, and accept that your children will eventually understand that ranch dressing is a condiment not a food group.

There is, however, always lurking in the back of your mind the knowledge that at some point in time you will run out of children. If you do your job right your kids will grow up into adults. And this, dear reader, makes me feel very uncomfortable. I love my kids. I love who they are and where they are right now. I have one going into high school. We go to the movies together and share our love of Green Day and Monty Python. My son is old enough to have his own interests but still wants to hang around with me. I can not tell you how much I treasure that. My youngest is not a baby anymore, but still of an age where she gets into things for free (and remember, free is our friend.) She likes it when I read to her, though she is learning to read on her own. I am at a perfect place. It's like a parenting buffet. I don't want it to change.

So, of course, it is changing. There is a part of me that can't wait to do adult things with my adult children (my oldest and I already have a date at a pub on her 21st birthday.) Yet, most of me does not want to lose what I have right now. I guess I could try and freeze my relationships with my children, always treating them like I do right now, but I doubt that it would work out well and the therapist bills would bankrupt us all.

As I ponder (read obsess) what to do I think about my relationship with God. God has watched children grow up billions of times, so there must be some great wisdom and insight I can glean (of course, God gets to keep making new children, which does not seem entirely fair, but who am I to complain?) What I keep coming back to is that I do not need to fear losing my children. They were of God before they were a gift to my wife and myself. They are God's children created in God's image and that will never change. I also don't need to be afraid of growing old myself, for I too will always be a child of God. Finally, it is okay to miss holding my kids hands when we walk across the street, but there will be other hands to hold. Perhaps my own grandchildren. If not, then the hand of another child who needs someone to care and love for them. There are a million different ways that I can interact with children each and every day and participate in the joy and wonder of their lives.

The fact that my children are growing up has helped open me up to God's call to live beyond myself. Instead of lamenting what I sense I am losing, I can reach out and share my love for children in new and exciting ways. Of course, I they are not "my" kids then I will lose the tax break. I will need to find a way around that little problem...legally, of course.

Changes part 2

I have always been told that if you put a frog in a pot of boiling water it would jump out (what creature, given arms and or legs, would opt to stay in? Really). If, however, you put said amphibian in a pot of water and slowly turn up the heat the frog will not notice and boil to death. Hmmmm. This sounds like an urban legend. I have not met a single person who has ever tried this out. Why would you want to boil a frog anyway? I always thought you fried their legs.
This illustration has been used to explain a number of different things in our world including marriages (I know, the image of a frog slowly boiling to death in a pot of water is oh so romantic. I feel a Hallmark moment about to happen!) Yes, in some marriages there are major events that happen that can threaten the relationship (death of a child, infidelity, major illness). Yet, for most of us, the changes happen very slowly and without our noticing it our marriages slowly die out.
I think there might be some truth to this (the marriage part, not the frog). I remember a decent chunk of the day my wife and I got married. Her uncle is the one who performed the service. There were people there. My wife wore white. After that, it's a blur. I do, however, recall what I was thinking as her uncle was giving his homily (oh, like you paid attention to what the minister said at your wedding. Please.) I looked at my wife and thought "yeah, I can grow old with this person." What can I say, I'm a helpless romantic.
The problem is, that person I married on a cold December day is not the one I am married to now. Nor is she likely to be the one I will be enjoying senior discounts with in the not too distant future. Want to know something else - I am not the same person she married, either (though I still have my incredible green eyes that make me irresistible to her. Most of the time. Well, some of the time.)
In seventeen years we have lived in two countries, four states, had three children, changed jobs a number of times, each of us has had experiences with unemployment, buying houses, selling houses, and a couple of medical problems that, while not major, still mattered. Oh, and did I mention we have three kids. Only an idiot in his twenties could stand up on his wedding day and think that the person he was looking at was not going to be changed by life. And I am that idiot.
I am convinced that there are certain times in every relationship where you have to fall in love with your spouse all over again. Fall in love with the person they are now, not the one they used to be. Some people don't do this. They stay married, for their own reasons, but at some juncture they chose not to love the person they are married to. I am not judging those folks, but I can't do that. I really am a romantic. I want to be in love with my wife. And that means at various times in our life together I have had to fall in love with her. And she with me. It will happen again, somewhere down the road, maybe many more times in the future.
I also believe that we have to fall in love with God many times in our life. The Bible is full of marriage language to describe God's relationship with God's people. As I change so my understanding of God changes. At various points in my life I have had to come to grips with this "new" God, the one I did not know before. I have to be honest here, I have not always liked the new God, much less loved the new God. Not at first anyway. I want what is comfortable, predictable, familiar. I want God to stay the same as when we first met. But then I would be missing out on so much because the new God is full of so many surprises and wonders and levels of love I never knew before. So, I say turn up the heat and let the water boil. OK, maybe just warm it up, about hot tub temperature, if you will. But let the changes come.