Yes, there are more Advent sonnets, and yes, I will post them soon and very soon. But first...
The subject of kids and teaching has been a big one for me lately. Not too surprising, when you consider that I work four afternoons a week with a delightful group of kindergartners at an after-school program. And...we're trying to do things differently.
You see, the temptation when there are two or three adults and a lot of precocious, if sometimes hyper, little ones is to throw any attempts at substantive after-school programming out the window. Not enough people to enforce discipline; can't be done. Let's just go out and play for endless stretches of time...well, as endless as the weather in Chicago will allow any given day. When that's over, go inside, have a snack, and monitor the organized chaos as the kids move on to free play with Legos, etc.
I don't mean to sound like I'm knocking outdoor play, snack time, and Legos...they all show up in our afternoon, too. But...what if early child after-school programming focused on forming community in the classroom? And on talking about peace, and did so concretely through work around sharing and respect? What if we boldly talked about issues of identity and difference, and did so in a way intended to affirm the humanity of all people? What if our stories for group time illustrated these things? What if time outside involved emphasizing ecological consciousness and respect for plants, animals, and the earth? When we play, what if we tell them "you can't say you can't play" and encourage them to play together and use their shared imaginations to create new games? What about making snack time into a chance for community meal - eating as a rainbow-tinged family of different people celebrating being human together? How about using art and opportunities for creativity as ways to help express some of these things? And, quiet reading - how will the children be formed by being shown that reading for oneself or with a friend should be a part of daily routine? How will they grow up to be if we teach them how to tell stories with wordless books, and ask them to imagine what might happen next in our story before we turn the page? What would it look like if, when children break rules, the response is to engage in dialogue around the issues involved rather than simply rush to judgments and punish? And, when they quarrel with one another, why don't we teach them how to talk through their problems together, express their feelings with considerate honesty, and arrive at mutually beneficial solutions?
These are the things we try to do with the kids in Green Group. It's hard some days...really hard. It's not how we're programmed to do things. But, I genuinely believe that if we're ever, EVER, going to change life in this world for the better, then the process is going to start with a million groups like this teaching people, from day one, how to be the world we all say we want to live in.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Advent Sonnet Three
A candle flickers in the wind that blows
With fury, and with frigid teeth that gnaw
Away at skin and bone; the tree that grows
Outside my window creaks and groans, the maw
Of winter wrapped around its soul. The light
That day by day grows dimmer as the wick,
Aglow with flame, fights on against the might
Of icy rain and snow that falls in thick
White layers on the ground. The sun has set;
An endless night has fallen on our lives
As sin-black evil taints us. We have met
Our deepest fear, the death of soul it gives.
But even in the dark our light shines on -
A hope to face our night until the dawn.
With fury, and with frigid teeth that gnaw
Away at skin and bone; the tree that grows
Outside my window creaks and groans, the maw
Of winter wrapped around its soul. The light
That day by day grows dimmer as the wick,
Aglow with flame, fights on against the might
Of icy rain and snow that falls in thick
White layers on the ground. The sun has set;
An endless night has fallen on our lives
As sin-black evil taints us. We have met
Our deepest fear, the death of soul it gives.
But even in the dark our light shines on -
A hope to face our night until the dawn.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Advent Sonnet Two
O rend the sky and dwell with us, o Lord -
The old refrain, the tired plea we make
In all our weary moanings o'er the sword
Of hostil times - old enemies that take
Away our joy and sense of You. And in
The absence that we face, we look to see,
But cannot see, the love we feel within
Our quickened beating hearts - the joyful glee -
When you, our God, are with us in the mess
And brokenness that we call life. With sad,
Pathetic lamentation, we address
The hole we find; in it we are made glad
For in the hidden places You do dwell,
The secret space is where we are made well.
The old refrain, the tired plea we make
In all our weary moanings o'er the sword
Of hostil times - old enemies that take
Away our joy and sense of You. And in
The absence that we face, we look to see,
But cannot see, the love we feel within
Our quickened beating hearts - the joyful glee -
When you, our God, are with us in the mess
And brokenness that we call life. With sad,
Pathetic lamentation, we address
The hole we find; in it we are made glad
For in the hidden places You do dwell,
The secret space is where we are made well.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Advent Project - Day One
You know what makes blogging hard? Being a full-time student and working four days a week. But, to try and get myself back into the swing of blogging regularly, I'm going to share here my Advent project - a sonnet a day for all of Advent.
This is the age of waiting and of hope,
Yet in the darkness there is no way out
But to walk in blinded steps and to grope
With eager expectation past the doubt.
This is the day of wonder and of fear
Of all the grumbling noises in the dark
That scratch and tear and bite the mindful ear
Which strains to find the song of distance larks.
This is the hour of once and future pasts,
The present gloom a curtain from the light.
We stumble on in fearful pain that lasts
What looks to weary eyes an endless night.
But in the inky midnight of our way
Will come a dawn, the birth of endless day.
This is the age of waiting and of hope,
Yet in the darkness there is no way out
But to walk in blinded steps and to grope
With eager expectation past the doubt.
This is the day of wonder and of fear
Of all the grumbling noises in the dark
That scratch and tear and bite the mindful ear
Which strains to find the song of distance larks.
This is the hour of once and future pasts,
The present gloom a curtain from the light.
We stumble on in fearful pain that lasts
What looks to weary eyes an endless night.
But in the inky midnight of our way
Will come a dawn, the birth of endless day.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Guy Fawkes Day
It is indeed the 5th of November - but no Gunpowder Treason and Plot this year. Instead, there are other protests - against our corporate banking institutions who take our money, use it to fund the oppression of the poor (Sub-prime mortgage crisis, anyone?), waste it on increasingly byzantine speculative financial deals (see point #2 again), and then demand to be bailed out with our tax money. Thousands of people are pulling their money from their banking institutions today and moving them to community banks, where their money can be used for local investment projects.
If this were happening even a month later, I would be joining them...and probably will join them here in a few weeks when loan money clears. If we're going to sit around and talk about how awful these big corporate interests are, and how they contribute to the economic wreck that is life in the U.S. now by continuing to plunder the general public in the name of increasing the already bulging profit margins of the wealthiest people in this nation, then the very least we can do is take the reasonable steps that we can to guarantee that our money stays out of this process to the largest extent possible. Easiest way - don't do your banking with Bank of America, Chase, etc. Take your money out, and find a local bank or credit union.
I will, however, be joining the movement physically - there are nationwide protests happening in front of Bank of America, and I'll be joining the one in the Loop later today. It is no longer the time to sit back and complain about the way things are from the comfort of home; it is time to, collectively, put our money where our mouths are and join in the resistance. If we are going to criticize the emergent U.S. American oligarchy - the corporate class and their marriage to the bloated political establishment - then we have no choice but to craft an alternative vision by living it out in our homes, in our churches, and on our streets. Now is the time, now is the moment - "My heart shall sing of the day you bring - let the fires of justice burn! Wipe away all tears for the dawn draws near, and the world is about to turn!"
If this were happening even a month later, I would be joining them...and probably will join them here in a few weeks when loan money clears. If we're going to sit around and talk about how awful these big corporate interests are, and how they contribute to the economic wreck that is life in the U.S. now by continuing to plunder the general public in the name of increasing the already bulging profit margins of the wealthiest people in this nation, then the very least we can do is take the reasonable steps that we can to guarantee that our money stays out of this process to the largest extent possible. Easiest way - don't do your banking with Bank of America, Chase, etc. Take your money out, and find a local bank or credit union.
I will, however, be joining the movement physically - there are nationwide protests happening in front of Bank of America, and I'll be joining the one in the Loop later today. It is no longer the time to sit back and complain about the way things are from the comfort of home; it is time to, collectively, put our money where our mouths are and join in the resistance. If we are going to criticize the emergent U.S. American oligarchy - the corporate class and their marriage to the bloated political establishment - then we have no choice but to craft an alternative vision by living it out in our homes, in our churches, and on our streets. Now is the time, now is the moment - "My heart shall sing of the day you bring - let the fires of justice burn! Wipe away all tears for the dawn draws near, and the world is about to turn!"
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Article from CPT's latest newsletter
(Written for, and edited by, Christian Peacemaker Teams. In other words, if it doesn't sound QUITE like how I normally write...it's been tweaked lovingly by others.)
On the last day of our Christian Peacemaker Teams delegation, we had big plans. We wanted to do a public action in response to the U.S.-Colombia Free Trade Agreement (which is now a done deal). We brainstormed, we strategized, and we agonized over the best time and place and finally, we planned the street theater- a scene of two tables to be held in front of the U.S. Embassy in Bogotá.
One table is the world of free trade, in which Colombia is being devoured by its free trade partners (such as Canada and European Union), while the Colombian resistance tries to hold back the monster of U.S. corporate greed. This table was based on stories we heard during the delegation, stories of violence and displacement fueled by multinational companies robbing the resources of Colombia.
The other table is God's table, a table marked by equality, mutuality, and abundance.
With this vision in our minds, we got to work, spending hours assembling costumes, writing prayers, and calling Colombian partner organizations.
![]()
Soon, the big day arrived. And... it rained. A lot. This was not a shower or a drizzle. It absolutely poured. As they say in Spanish, llovió cántaros. It was obvious that our original plan wasn't going to work.
Soon, the big day arrived. And... it rained. A lot. This was not a shower or a drizzle. It absolutely poured. As they say in Spanish, llovió cántaros. It was obvious that our original plan wasn't going to work.
And then, God showed up. Earlier in the day, we had briefly met a group of former General Motors employees who were on strike outside the U.S. Embassy. These were workers who had been injured on the job and then fired by G.M. as a way of escaping their obligation to pay the healthcare costs. These workers wanted justice and so they camped out in front of the diplomatic entrance. They put a few tents together and occupied the space in shifts. When we met them, they had been there for sixty-four days. We decided to brave the rain and go join them.
What we found there was the table of God's abundance that we had planned to demonstrate in the second half our action. But instead of just a symbolic handing out of bread, we found a living, active sharing. We shared a little about ourselves, and then we heard their stories - stories of lives derailed by preventable injuries in unsafe work environments, stories of just compensation denied to "the least of these." One man had to sell his house to pay for hospital bills after a back injury he received in the factory.
We heard God's vision for humanity from Isaiah 25 - a vision of abundance for all, and the destruction of death and injustice, and we prayed and broke bread. As these stories - these sacred tales of brokenness, injustice, and holy resistance - hung in the air over us like holy incense, we brought out the loaves of bread we'd bought to share during our action, and the G.M employees made agua panela (a hot beverage made water and local unprocessed cane sugar).
God was there present among us as we shared in the least likely of Eucharists. For a few minutes in a couple of tents in front of the U.S. Embassy, the Reign of God broke into the world, and we shared the feast of victory for our God. It was beautiful.
Now, back in Chicago, I reflect on that afternoon in light of the Occupy Wall Street movement that has blossomed in Chicago and so many other cities. I think of new tents cropping up in equally unlikely places, and I see God continuing to break into our reality around tables every bit as unlikely as the one we stumbled upon in Bogotá. And maybe across this world, God's Kingdom is continuing to come in the places where it is most needed, but least expected. And maybe one table is being cleared so that a new one might be set.
Now, back in Chicago, I reflect on that afternoon in light of the Occupy Wall Street movement that has blossomed in Chicago and so many other cities. I think of new tents cropping up in equally unlikely places, and I see God continuing to break into our reality around tables every bit as unlikely as the one we stumbled upon in Bogotá. And maybe across this world, God's Kingdom is continuing to come in the places where it is most needed, but least expected. And maybe one table is being cleared so that a new one might be set.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Where is my mind?
The Pixies seem to be asking the question that I've been wondering about for the past...well, three months or so. Where is my mind? Times of radical transition in life are not always conducive to clarity of mind and focus for some of us, and it feels like I've done nothing but transition since the end of July. First, it was leaving Iowa to move back to Chicago. Then, the insane first month back of reconnecting with people, and flying down to Texas long enough to say hi and then coming back, and forming a new community that then was scattered across the world for a year, and guest preaching, and tying up loose ends with paperwork and such for first call...while trying to figure out what I feel called to do for that first call, which entailed extra paperwork as an application went in to Global Mission. Then, right as a relationship ended (largely due to the paperwork going in to Global Mission), school and worked began anew...but there was no time to get comfortable, because I left two weeks into the semester to spend two weeks in Colombia, just in time to get back for reading week. In some ways, it feels like the semester has only now gotten started. I can finally be here now.
But...my mind hasn't caught up yet. It's still in Webster County, and a million places in Chicago other than the black building at 55th and University, and all over the world with the YAGM, and in future places where I might be called but can't yet imagine. It's why I've struggled to blog for the past few months; I have a million things to say, but my brain is saying them all at once. I wish my mind would settle the hell down.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
An open letter to President Obama
Dear President Obama,
This is not a letter I imagined that I'd be writing back in 2008 when I, rather enthusiastically, cast my ballot for you here in your own home neighborhood in Chicago, Hyde Park. I felt pretty connected to your campaign - I managed to watch your victory speech after the Iowa caucus in (of all places) southern Chile during a year of global service with my church, I moved to an apartment four blocks from your house in Chicago to begin my seminary studies, and I took a job working at an after-school program at the Lab School here. You're the hometown hero in these parts - our neighbor down the street, our friend, our best chance for vindication.
In 2008, you campaigned reasonably left of center - you're no Bernie Sanders or Paul Wellstone, but you convinced us progressive-minded folk that you were one of us. So, we turned out and voted for you...and now, we're not sure if you are, in fact, the person who we voted for. You've compromised, time and time again, with the right-wing leadership of the Republican Party. You have backed down from genuine systemic reform, and settled for putting expensive band-aids on gaping wounds, such as our miserable failure of a healthcare system. In the process, you've lost a lot of people like me's trust. Mr. President, I don't trust you, or your word, when it comes to policy decisions and core principles. The man I voted for in 2008 appears to have been a fictitious character.
I will confess that I have little knowledge of the inner workings of the Washington political world. For those of us on the outside, it is a giant mystery - most of suspect it's a beast fed by corporate money, but it could run on any number of equally odious things for all I know. However it is fueled, I grant that it is a system that you know better than I do. That said, I feel as if we have seen not only a lack of conviction, but a lack of leadership. Time and time again, as you have abandoned campaign promises and progressive ideals in the name of "compromise" with an increasingly blood-hungry Republican Party, you have fumbled as a leader. You've lost those of us on the left by forgetting that we helped elect you. You've lost the right by being a black liberal who doesn't reference Jesus every fifth word...though to be fair, you can't lose what you never had. And, you've lost the center by presenting yourself as elitist, aloof, unconcerned with the goings-on of daily life for most U.S. Americans, inept, and unreadable. You've lost us all, Mr. President, and I'm sorry to say that you've got nobody to blame but yourself.
And so, Mr. President, I ask you - as just one little voice coming from your own neighborhood, as one person who genuinely respects you and your life story even while being disappointed with your presidential leadership - not to run for re-election. I will name the elephant in the room - most of us are terrified that you are incapable of winning. Yes, the election is a year away (and much can change), but there's been no evidence of change on the wing to give us hope that it's possible. The closest to hope we have is that the Republican Party can't seem to find their ass with their hands right now, either. The nightmare scenario - you versus one of the lunatic fringe candidates, such as a Rick Perry or currently flavor-of-the-month Herman Cain...and you losing. Pair that with losing the Senate, and this country will be set to go back to the "good ol' days" of fine leaders like Warren G. Harding and Herbert Hoover.
Don't run to save face, and then wax poetic as you lose on election night. Back out, now, and give the 3/4 of us who don't share the corporate-funded Tea Party's nightmare vision of laissez-faire economic hell a chance to keep that beast at bay. Please, Mr. President - if you can't deliver the goods, then nobly step aside to make room for someone who can, whoever that may be.
This is not a letter I imagined that I'd be writing back in 2008 when I, rather enthusiastically, cast my ballot for you here in your own home neighborhood in Chicago, Hyde Park. I felt pretty connected to your campaign - I managed to watch your victory speech after the Iowa caucus in (of all places) southern Chile during a year of global service with my church, I moved to an apartment four blocks from your house in Chicago to begin my seminary studies, and I took a job working at an after-school program at the Lab School here. You're the hometown hero in these parts - our neighbor down the street, our friend, our best chance for vindication.
In 2008, you campaigned reasonably left of center - you're no Bernie Sanders or Paul Wellstone, but you convinced us progressive-minded folk that you were one of us. So, we turned out and voted for you...and now, we're not sure if you are, in fact, the person who we voted for. You've compromised, time and time again, with the right-wing leadership of the Republican Party. You have backed down from genuine systemic reform, and settled for putting expensive band-aids on gaping wounds, such as our miserable failure of a healthcare system. In the process, you've lost a lot of people like me's trust. Mr. President, I don't trust you, or your word, when it comes to policy decisions and core principles. The man I voted for in 2008 appears to have been a fictitious character.
I will confess that I have little knowledge of the inner workings of the Washington political world. For those of us on the outside, it is a giant mystery - most of suspect it's a beast fed by corporate money, but it could run on any number of equally odious things for all I know. However it is fueled, I grant that it is a system that you know better than I do. That said, I feel as if we have seen not only a lack of conviction, but a lack of leadership. Time and time again, as you have abandoned campaign promises and progressive ideals in the name of "compromise" with an increasingly blood-hungry Republican Party, you have fumbled as a leader. You've lost those of us on the left by forgetting that we helped elect you. You've lost the right by being a black liberal who doesn't reference Jesus every fifth word...though to be fair, you can't lose what you never had. And, you've lost the center by presenting yourself as elitist, aloof, unconcerned with the goings-on of daily life for most U.S. Americans, inept, and unreadable. You've lost us all, Mr. President, and I'm sorry to say that you've got nobody to blame but yourself.
And so, Mr. President, I ask you - as just one little voice coming from your own neighborhood, as one person who genuinely respects you and your life story even while being disappointed with your presidential leadership - not to run for re-election. I will name the elephant in the room - most of us are terrified that you are incapable of winning. Yes, the election is a year away (and much can change), but there's been no evidence of change on the wing to give us hope that it's possible. The closest to hope we have is that the Republican Party can't seem to find their ass with their hands right now, either. The nightmare scenario - you versus one of the lunatic fringe candidates, such as a Rick Perry or currently flavor-of-the-month Herman Cain...and you losing. Pair that with losing the Senate, and this country will be set to go back to the "good ol' days" of fine leaders like Warren G. Harding and Herbert Hoover.
Don't run to save face, and then wax poetic as you lose on election night. Back out, now, and give the 3/4 of us who don't share the corporate-funded Tea Party's nightmare vision of laissez-faire economic hell a chance to keep that beast at bay. Please, Mr. President - if you can't deliver the goods, then nobly step aside to make room for someone who can, whoever that may be.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Where I'm At
One of my favorite songs, and one with which I have a long and colorful history, sums up where I'm at these days. Actual details to come; for now, Third Eye Blind can do the talking.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
And now for something completely different
Just so that everybody will be reminded that I am not, in fact, a Democrat (Green Party ftw!) after my last post...have I mentioned lately that I've been exceptionally unimpressed with President Obama's leadership, or rather lack thereof?
In 2008, when I voted for him, I suspect I was one of millions who cast my ballot for him with a certain sense of hope and optimism. After the eight years of the George W. Bush presidency, I think a lot of us were desperately hungry for someone - anyone - who was willing to put forward a progressive-minded agenda that seemed the antidote to the doldrums in which we had found ourselves as a nation. Bonus points for being able to speak in coherent, complete sentences.
And now, pushing three years later, the buyer's regret is strong with with this guy living in Chicago. While I appreciate Obama's community organizing model of leadership, I think it is obvious after three years that...it doesn't work in DC. You cannot "community organize" the half of Congress that wakes up every morning and throws darts at a picture of you over their coffee and Cheerios. Furthermore, while I respect the President's attempts at staying "above the fray" and not getting down into the mudpit with the partisan bulldogs...that also hasn't proved remarkably successful, either. What should have been three years of telling us very direct truths about who's to blame for the pathetic state of this nation's economy - rampant deregulation, tax policies principally designed to let the rich pay lower taxes, percent-wise, than the rest of us, expensive wars marked by questionable ethical justification and little practical payoff, corporate empowerment that threatens to send us back to the "good ol' days" of robber barons and wage-slaves - was instead spent dithering spinelessly, failing to explain matters and, in the process, losing the rhetorical battle on nearly every key issue.
And the chickens are coming home to roost - the 2010 election was, let's be honest, a dumpster fire. The recent debt ceiling agreement was a Tea Party-orchestrated coup that never should have happened. A NY Times article recently compared Obama's leadership, very unfavorably, with FDR's during the Depression. FDR, from the get-go, named the culprits responsible for the economic collapse, took them to task, and - most importantly - COMMUNICATED THIS OFTEN AND WITH CLARITY TO THE PEOPLE OF THIS COUNTRY. Fireside chats, anyone? But...we don't get this with Obama. We get the aloofness that comes from being above the fray. We get a cool operation who leaves us wondering what key values he might be willing to throw under the bus next (remember how he almost gutted Social Security and Medicare/Medicaid to appease the Tea Party?). We get a man who seems to have an almost pathological aversion to conflict, in a time where we could really stand a chief executive who will NOT roll over and play dead.
If we end up with a President Perry or President Bachmann...it will be nobody's fault but Obama's.
In 2008, when I voted for him, I suspect I was one of millions who cast my ballot for him with a certain sense of hope and optimism. After the eight years of the George W. Bush presidency, I think a lot of us were desperately hungry for someone - anyone - who was willing to put forward a progressive-minded agenda that seemed the antidote to the doldrums in which we had found ourselves as a nation. Bonus points for being able to speak in coherent, complete sentences.
And now, pushing three years later, the buyer's regret is strong with with this guy living in Chicago. While I appreciate Obama's community organizing model of leadership, I think it is obvious after three years that...it doesn't work in DC. You cannot "community organize" the half of Congress that wakes up every morning and throws darts at a picture of you over their coffee and Cheerios. Furthermore, while I respect the President's attempts at staying "above the fray" and not getting down into the mudpit with the partisan bulldogs...that also hasn't proved remarkably successful, either. What should have been three years of telling us very direct truths about who's to blame for the pathetic state of this nation's economy - rampant deregulation, tax policies principally designed to let the rich pay lower taxes, percent-wise, than the rest of us, expensive wars marked by questionable ethical justification and little practical payoff, corporate empowerment that threatens to send us back to the "good ol' days" of robber barons and wage-slaves - was instead spent dithering spinelessly, failing to explain matters and, in the process, losing the rhetorical battle on nearly every key issue.
And the chickens are coming home to roost - the 2010 election was, let's be honest, a dumpster fire. The recent debt ceiling agreement was a Tea Party-orchestrated coup that never should have happened. A NY Times article recently compared Obama's leadership, very unfavorably, with FDR's during the Depression. FDR, from the get-go, named the culprits responsible for the economic collapse, took them to task, and - most importantly - COMMUNICATED THIS OFTEN AND WITH CLARITY TO THE PEOPLE OF THIS COUNTRY. Fireside chats, anyone? But...we don't get this with Obama. We get the aloofness that comes from being above the fray. We get a cool operation who leaves us wondering what key values he might be willing to throw under the bus next (remember how he almost gutted Social Security and Medicare/Medicaid to appease the Tea Party?). We get a man who seems to have an almost pathological aversion to conflict, in a time where we could really stand a chief executive who will NOT roll over and play dead.
If we end up with a President Perry or President Bachmann...it will be nobody's fault but Obama's.
Monday, August 15, 2011
President Crotch
I learned earlier, (thanks to this article posted by my friend Kaleigh: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2011/08/13/rick-perry-a-candidate-who-will-do-anything-to-beat-romney-and-obama.html) that Rick Perry's old nickname, among certain folks in the Texas political world, was Crotch thanks to his tight jeans and tendency to adjust himself very publicly.
I have never been a fan of people declaring that they'll leave the country if so-and-so is elected president, but...Global Missions will look a LOT more appealing if the phrase "President Perry" becomes a reality. Take it from someone who lived in Texas for most of the man's political career - he's scum. This is a man who has never had an adult career - he is as smooth-operator-career-politician as they come. He has no love for, or interest in, serving the people; his primary interest, as far as I can tell, has been in maintaining his own political power and position. Again, he's never had an adult job other than politics. He also, as I learned in this article, managed a C in Animal Breeding. Not only is he a career politician, he's not even a bright one.
As for the claims that Perry has saved the Texas economy, consider that most of the job creation during his time as governor has come either from the surge in energy prices (he had nothing to do with that), or in the form of minimum jobs without benefits (he likely had plenty to do with that). Also consider that, during his time as governor, Texas' budget has been gutted, at least when it comes to education and providing services for poor Texans...and, by the way, there are a lot of them thanks to the superabundance of low-paying jobs with no benefits. Look up the numbers - Texas leads the nation in uninsured residents, uninsured children, and children living below the poverty line, at last I checked. As for worker's rights, well...it's telling that at least one company which set up shot in Texas will only build facilities in developing nations...and Texas.
Have jobs been created in Texas? Sure. Are they the kind of jobs which we need as a country to move forward? Nope. Have Perry's "screw the poor" policies kept the state out of fiscal trouble? Nope; the state is $27B in the red for this fiscal year, and as the list of cuts shows, the problem is Texas' reluctance to overhaul its tax code or invest wisely in the future rather than loads of wasteful spending. Is this what we want for the rest of the country? Is this presidential leadership? Will this make us a better, stronger union? Please vote "no" when it comes to Crotch Perry.
I have never been a fan of people declaring that they'll leave the country if so-and-so is elected president, but...Global Missions will look a LOT more appealing if the phrase "President Perry" becomes a reality. Take it from someone who lived in Texas for most of the man's political career - he's scum. This is a man who has never had an adult career - he is as smooth-operator-career-politician as they come. He has no love for, or interest in, serving the people; his primary interest, as far as I can tell, has been in maintaining his own political power and position. Again, he's never had an adult job other than politics. He also, as I learned in this article, managed a C in Animal Breeding. Not only is he a career politician, he's not even a bright one.
As for the claims that Perry has saved the Texas economy, consider that most of the job creation during his time as governor has come either from the surge in energy prices (he had nothing to do with that), or in the form of minimum jobs without benefits (he likely had plenty to do with that). Also consider that, during his time as governor, Texas' budget has been gutted, at least when it comes to education and providing services for poor Texans...and, by the way, there are a lot of them thanks to the superabundance of low-paying jobs with no benefits. Look up the numbers - Texas leads the nation in uninsured residents, uninsured children, and children living below the poverty line, at last I checked. As for worker's rights, well...it's telling that at least one company which set up shot in Texas will only build facilities in developing nations...and Texas.
Have jobs been created in Texas? Sure. Are they the kind of jobs which we need as a country to move forward? Nope. Have Perry's "screw the poor" policies kept the state out of fiscal trouble? Nope; the state is $27B in the red for this fiscal year, and as the list of cuts shows, the problem is Texas' reluctance to overhaul its tax code or invest wisely in the future rather than loads of wasteful spending. Is this what we want for the rest of the country? Is this presidential leadership? Will this make us a better, stronger union? Please vote "no" when it comes to Crotch Perry.
I took a plane out to find some truth, but all I found, I can't seem to leave behind
Well, distinguished readers, this homesick adopted Chicagoan has returned to the city of his dreams. If you've never dreamt of Chicago, I encourage you to do so at the soonest possible opportunity. To give you something to dream by...
Yes, the song is a re-post...so sue me. It's gorgeous. In other news, it has been an insanely busy month, in case the dearth of updates did not give that away. Since mid-July, I have....
-gotten back together with Emily
-ridden my bike most of the way across Iowa
-said goodbye to Dayton, Iowa
-driven a moving van across Iowa and Illinois back to Chicago
-settled into a new apartment
-Gotten pink eye, which caused me to miss a good friend's wedding
-flown to Texas to visit family and friends-who-are-family-in-my-mind
-preached at a Lutheran church on the SW Side
Now, I get to catch my breath...for a couple of days. YAGM orientation starts on Wednesday, and it will, no doubt, be an insanely wonderful busy week of 18 hour days spent with 50 outstanding young adults who are getting ready to spend the next year of their lives abroad, being surprised by how God meets them wherever they land. Then, another few days of breath-catching, and then returning student retreat/fall registration, then a long weekend, and then classes. Senior year.
It doesn't quite feel real, yet, that I'm nearly done with my seminary, and candidacy, journey. By the end of tomorrow, I'll have sent my edited approval essay to my candidacy committee chair (knock on wood); by the end of December, I'll (knock on wood) be approved to take a call and will have turned in first call paperwork, including geographic preference forms. More than ever, the future is looming over me - and this time, it's not just short-term choices that affect where I land for a year. I'm watching the birthing of a career, of living in the same place for an extended period of time, without moving around and spending summers elsewhere only to come back to a new apartment and new roommates, for the first time in my life.
It's exciting, mostly. As much as I love wandering, I'm ready to settle down somewhere for a while. I'm ready to find another congregation, like Emanuel, full of people who want to find ways to proclaim the Gospel and form Christian community...and, this time, be able to put down roots. I'm ready to arrive at a point in life where I can actually look at marrying and starting a family and say that, realistically, it's feasible.
Of course, the nervousness comes with it. Where will I land? I'm planning to make it clear that I want to stay in the Upper Midwest; will I actually get to do that? What if I get sent back to Texas (dear God, please no....)? What if I get sent to another extremely rural area because I have ministry experience in that sort of an environment? What'll I do? Even if I do get to be where I'd like geographically speaking, what sort of congregation will I find? Will I get to lead a group of mission-minded, progressive-thinking Christ-followers who are willing to embrace all of the scandal and risk that the Gospel entails, or will I find myself at a church where lutefisk and krumkake take precedence over serving others and sharing the Good News?
Then again, even as those thoughts fill my head, I remember that, a year ago, I was two weeks into my year in the last place on earth I'd have ever chosen to live. Not that I really want to dive deep into rural living again, but God found me there in southeast Webster County and equipped me for the things to which I was called to do there. Same goes for Bethlehem in Beverly, Boulder, Montevideo, Ghana, Seguin, and Lake Jackson. Wherever the Wind of God (no coincidence that "spirit" and "wind" are the same word...) blows me, I know I'll find what I need. Here's hoping it blows to Regions 3 or 5, but even if it doesn't...I'll have what I need.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Boxes
And, once more, my life is a bunch of boxes sitting on a living room floor, waiting to be taped shut and loaded into the back of a truck.
I've moved an average of once a year since my 18th birthday. Off to college, back to my mom's house, back to college, across campus for the summer, across campus for a semester, to Ghana (via Mom's house), back to campus (via Mom's house), then back to Mom's house, then to Uruguay, then to Chicago (via Mom's house), then to Boulder, then back to Chicago, then down the street in Chicago, then to Iowa, and now (once more), to Chicago. Fifteen moves, if you don't count sojourns of less than 6 weeks at my mom's house. I've nearly averaged TWO moves a year. Have I mentioned I'm really, REALLY good at packing?
There's a smiley face, and a frowny face, version of my practically nomadic existence. The smiley face: I love going new places and doing new things. Even by the pretty-mobile standards of a 21st century North American young adult, I've gotten around quite a bit. I truly am free to go where I want, do what I want, and experience the width and breadth of life in this world. I'm a better, more thoughtful, more open-minded person for all my moving around. I now have a network of friends that literally spans the entire world. I've learned that home is about more than four walls and a roof; it's about people, and connectedness. I think of "stuff" as a millstone around my neck, just a collection of semi-necessary evils, and I try to minimize and simply how I can, when I can...I like to travel light through life. I am a better person for all of these moves.
Now, the frowny face: The one thing I want, more than anything, is to be settled someplace. I'm sick of saving my moving boxes because I know I'll need them again soon. I'm tired of living with one foot here, and another foot over there. I'm hungry for the rootedness and sense of place that comes from settling down in the same spot for a while. I want to meet children, and youth, and watch them grow, become grown-ups, settle down and have kids, and then watch those kids grow. I long to feel like an old salt in a community rather than always the new guy.
But, for now, it's boxes. I pack them up, I move them, I open them, and I find that what I put in them is more than just dishes and clothing and books; I put my dreams, my heart, my life in them, and as they come out of those boxes, I plant them, once more, in new soil and wait to see what fruit they bear.
I've moved an average of once a year since my 18th birthday. Off to college, back to my mom's house, back to college, across campus for the summer, across campus for a semester, to Ghana (via Mom's house), back to campus (via Mom's house), then back to Mom's house, then to Uruguay, then to Chicago (via Mom's house), then to Boulder, then back to Chicago, then down the street in Chicago, then to Iowa, and now (once more), to Chicago. Fifteen moves, if you don't count sojourns of less than 6 weeks at my mom's house. I've nearly averaged TWO moves a year. Have I mentioned I'm really, REALLY good at packing?
There's a smiley face, and a frowny face, version of my practically nomadic existence. The smiley face: I love going new places and doing new things. Even by the pretty-mobile standards of a 21st century North American young adult, I've gotten around quite a bit. I truly am free to go where I want, do what I want, and experience the width and breadth of life in this world. I'm a better, more thoughtful, more open-minded person for all my moving around. I now have a network of friends that literally spans the entire world. I've learned that home is about more than four walls and a roof; it's about people, and connectedness. I think of "stuff" as a millstone around my neck, just a collection of semi-necessary evils, and I try to minimize and simply how I can, when I can...I like to travel light through life. I am a better person for all of these moves.
Now, the frowny face: The one thing I want, more than anything, is to be settled someplace. I'm sick of saving my moving boxes because I know I'll need them again soon. I'm tired of living with one foot here, and another foot over there. I'm hungry for the rootedness and sense of place that comes from settling down in the same spot for a while. I want to meet children, and youth, and watch them grow, become grown-ups, settle down and have kids, and then watch those kids grow. I long to feel like an old salt in a community rather than always the new guy.
But, for now, it's boxes. I pack them up, I move them, I open them, and I find that what I put in them is more than just dishes and clothing and books; I put my dreams, my heart, my life in them, and as they come out of those boxes, I plant them, once more, in new soil and wait to see what fruit they bear.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Word up
I've been thinking a lot about devotional practices and scripture lately. I grew up in an environment (church and school, at least; there was a lot more grace at home) in which having a daily "quiet time" was considered as important as breathing or eating...and if you weren't doing so, then you were a sinner who probably wasn't saved. PROVE your salvation; read the Bible in the most slavishly literal way possible! Then, go vote Republican, wisely invest your money, and live a nice, plastic middle class existence because that's what God likes best.
Not surprisingly, my adult life has been a bit of a give-and-take in my trying to come to terms with how best to DO daily devotional practices so that they feel like a joy rather than an item on my "getting to heaven" checklist. Predictably for a Bible nerd, I've never gotten much out of non-scripture-based devotional practices - I don't dislike things like centering prayer, but they don't do much for me. I need scripture - even when I'm reading Joshua (my personal vote for "least favorite book in the Bible," as in my eyes it's nothing more than an atrocious record of ancient Israel's version of "manifest destiny," complete with the bloody slaughter of innocents for the crime of being in the Promised Land), I find my own faith nourished by the comfort, and the challenge, offered up by the words of the Bible.
So, then, how to liberate it from "read the Bible because you have to" syndrome? That was my big issue in college - how can I read this book (that's more than just a book...) when the very act of sitting down with it brings back nothing but bad memories of Kevin, the kid with the world's biggest guilt complex for no good reason? Finally, I had to cast my devotional reading as being specifically liberational - I had to make a deliberate choice to read the scriptures differently, as a testimony to God's grace revealed in freedom and justice in direct opposition to the legalistic endorsement of the American Dream that I had been told was the "right" way to read the Bible. It was still a struggle sometimes, but it helped free me from my own mental barriers to reading the scriptures.
Over time, that became less of a struggle, and then I woke up one day and I realized that I was beginning to be almost as doctrinaire in MY reading of the scriptures as those who I'd come to resent for how THEIR reading of the scriptures got shoved down my throat. I'm perhaps not entirely past that stage, but I decided as a means of working through and past the rigidness, to shift my focus toward getting a sense of the broad sweep of scripture. After all, I figured, I'm going to be a pastor, right? I need to read it all! So, I read a psalm, a chapter of Proverbs, a selection from another Old Testament work, a Gospel selection, and an Epistle selection...every day. What began as a great means of seeing the sheer sweep of the biblical witness eventually became a speed reading contest, as my schedule stopped allowing me to spend an entire hour a morning in scriptural reflection...unless I started to get up earlier, which, frankly - not gonna happen. It was like an eating contest - I was gorging myself on the Bible, and it was as much to prove a point ("look how much of the Bible I've read!") as to grow in faith.
So...I stopped that, too. Now, I read a chapter a day. I will not let myself read more. I read it three times - once through normally, the second time while consulting the study notes, and the third time again per normal. I also read a selection from the Book of Concord, Luther's works, or another spiritually edifying theological work. And...it's done a lot for me. It's finally starting to become about faith being fed, about asking questions as I patiently work my way through some of the works I'd just as soon ignore (1st Timothy, anyone?). I find myself wrestling with what to do with language and images that seem inconsistent with the Gospel, but...I think I'm growing through that. It's harder to be brash and doctrinaire when you force yourself to read the verses of scripture that we'd rather put in the dark corner of the closet and forget all about, and it's hard to brag about how well you know the Bible when your daily volume of consumption isn't particularly noteworthy. I'm sure I'll find the pitfall in this devotional style, too, and maybe even fall into it headfirst, but for now...slowly, patiently, and in conversation with the Confessions and other works is just what I need.
Not surprisingly, my adult life has been a bit of a give-and-take in my trying to come to terms with how best to DO daily devotional practices so that they feel like a joy rather than an item on my "getting to heaven" checklist. Predictably for a Bible nerd, I've never gotten much out of non-scripture-based devotional practices - I don't dislike things like centering prayer, but they don't do much for me. I need scripture - even when I'm reading Joshua (my personal vote for "least favorite book in the Bible," as in my eyes it's nothing more than an atrocious record of ancient Israel's version of "manifest destiny," complete with the bloody slaughter of innocents for the crime of being in the Promised Land), I find my own faith nourished by the comfort, and the challenge, offered up by the words of the Bible.
So, then, how to liberate it from "read the Bible because you have to" syndrome? That was my big issue in college - how can I read this book (that's more than just a book...) when the very act of sitting down with it brings back nothing but bad memories of Kevin, the kid with the world's biggest guilt complex for no good reason? Finally, I had to cast my devotional reading as being specifically liberational - I had to make a deliberate choice to read the scriptures differently, as a testimony to God's grace revealed in freedom and justice in direct opposition to the legalistic endorsement of the American Dream that I had been told was the "right" way to read the Bible. It was still a struggle sometimes, but it helped free me from my own mental barriers to reading the scriptures.
Over time, that became less of a struggle, and then I woke up one day and I realized that I was beginning to be almost as doctrinaire in MY reading of the scriptures as those who I'd come to resent for how THEIR reading of the scriptures got shoved down my throat. I'm perhaps not entirely past that stage, but I decided as a means of working through and past the rigidness, to shift my focus toward getting a sense of the broad sweep of scripture. After all, I figured, I'm going to be a pastor, right? I need to read it all! So, I read a psalm, a chapter of Proverbs, a selection from another Old Testament work, a Gospel selection, and an Epistle selection...every day. What began as a great means of seeing the sheer sweep of the biblical witness eventually became a speed reading contest, as my schedule stopped allowing me to spend an entire hour a morning in scriptural reflection...unless I started to get up earlier, which, frankly - not gonna happen. It was like an eating contest - I was gorging myself on the Bible, and it was as much to prove a point ("look how much of the Bible I've read!") as to grow in faith.
So...I stopped that, too. Now, I read a chapter a day. I will not let myself read more. I read it three times - once through normally, the second time while consulting the study notes, and the third time again per normal. I also read a selection from the Book of Concord, Luther's works, or another spiritually edifying theological work. And...it's done a lot for me. It's finally starting to become about faith being fed, about asking questions as I patiently work my way through some of the works I'd just as soon ignore (1st Timothy, anyone?). I find myself wrestling with what to do with language and images that seem inconsistent with the Gospel, but...I think I'm growing through that. It's harder to be brash and doctrinaire when you force yourself to read the verses of scripture that we'd rather put in the dark corner of the closet and forget all about, and it's hard to brag about how well you know the Bible when your daily volume of consumption isn't particularly noteworthy. I'm sure I'll find the pitfall in this devotional style, too, and maybe even fall into it headfirst, but for now...slowly, patiently, and in conversation with the Confessions and other works is just what I need.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Let's get homiletical, homiletical - I want to hear your preacher talk...
Lameness aside, the two most recent sermons here at Emanuel are up for your viewing pleasure!
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Let me sleep all night in your soul kitchen...
So, as we all know, I live to cook. Actually, I love to cook. There is something intensely gratifying about not only creating something, but being able to share it with others...and in a way that meets a basic human need. Gotta eat to live, after all.
My (mis)adventures in the world of online dating have led me to think a little bit about cooking as a realm loaded with faith metaphors. Let me explain. I've done eHarmony off and on for a few years now, and I've found one big problem with the logic of their matching system. You see, if you list faith/religion as a big priority for you in your life, you don't get a whole lot of control about setting belief parameters. I can't, for example, check the "progressive Christian" box rather than the "rigidly traditionalist Christian" box. Sometimes, eHarmony does a good job of matching with me with women who believe that following Jesus is an invitation to be crucified daily as we follow the call to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God. Other times, and more often than not, I get matched with people who understand their faith to be best proclaimed by using "God," "Jesus," "Lord," "Christ," and "the Bible" as often as possible in their profiles, just to make sure you know they pass the Christian litmus test of scarily obsessing about churchy stuff as a sign of dedication to God.
Here's where the cooking metaphor comes in. For me, faith is a marinade. I soak in it, I steep in it. It permeates who I am and what I do. I don't have to splash it all around for others to see, because they know its there when they experience who I am, what I do, and how I live, and it enriches my authentic, God-given self. For these girls on eHarmony, and I'm sure plenty of guys, faith is a sauce. You pour as much or as little of it onto the food as you'd like. It feels, sometimes, like a separate dish from the real meat of who you are, and pouring it on thick masks the flavor of the meat. All you can taste is the sauce; no matter how delicious it is, the beauty and integrity of the main dish is obscured. I know, when I make the official WORLD'S BEST PORK ROAST (ask me about it), that the pork is going to be the star, because it's flavored up just right, cooked well, and will taste like a well-cooked, delicious piece of pork. I can, and sometimes do, make a sauce to go with it...but the more of it you ladle on, the less you taste the pork, and I didn't sit down for supper just to eat some gravy with a nondescript, personality-free piece of pig meat. Give me the substance, and I'll tell you if it tastes like it's been flavored by faith, and serve the WWJD-bracelet-and-I-only-read-the-Bible gravy on the side, please.
My (mis)adventures in the world of online dating have led me to think a little bit about cooking as a realm loaded with faith metaphors. Let me explain. I've done eHarmony off and on for a few years now, and I've found one big problem with the logic of their matching system. You see, if you list faith/religion as a big priority for you in your life, you don't get a whole lot of control about setting belief parameters. I can't, for example, check the "progressive Christian" box rather than the "rigidly traditionalist Christian" box. Sometimes, eHarmony does a good job of matching with me with women who believe that following Jesus is an invitation to be crucified daily as we follow the call to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God. Other times, and more often than not, I get matched with people who understand their faith to be best proclaimed by using "God," "Jesus," "Lord," "Christ," and "the Bible" as often as possible in their profiles, just to make sure you know they pass the Christian litmus test of scarily obsessing about churchy stuff as a sign of dedication to God.
Here's where the cooking metaphor comes in. For me, faith is a marinade. I soak in it, I steep in it. It permeates who I am and what I do. I don't have to splash it all around for others to see, because they know its there when they experience who I am, what I do, and how I live, and it enriches my authentic, God-given self. For these girls on eHarmony, and I'm sure plenty of guys, faith is a sauce. You pour as much or as little of it onto the food as you'd like. It feels, sometimes, like a separate dish from the real meat of who you are, and pouring it on thick masks the flavor of the meat. All you can taste is the sauce; no matter how delicious it is, the beauty and integrity of the main dish is obscured. I know, when I make the official WORLD'S BEST PORK ROAST (ask me about it), that the pork is going to be the star, because it's flavored up just right, cooked well, and will taste like a well-cooked, delicious piece of pork. I can, and sometimes do, make a sauce to go with it...but the more of it you ladle on, the less you taste the pork, and I didn't sit down for supper just to eat some gravy with a nondescript, personality-free piece of pig meat. Give me the substance, and I'll tell you if it tastes like it's been flavored by faith, and serve the WWJD-bracelet-and-I-only-read-the-Bible gravy on the side, please.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Decline and Fall of the American Empire
This is not an original thought, by any means, but it appears as if the signs of the end of U.S. American global hegemony are legion these days. China, not the U.S. is now widely expected to be the economic savior of a euro in grave danger of a major collapse thanks to the economic crises in Greece, Portugal, Ireland, and Spain. For that matter, the last year has been marked by all kinds of currency issues - China, among other nations, has suggested that maybe the U.S. dollar is not the best de facto global currency anymore. Meanwhile, in another hemisphere, the economies of Brazil, Chile and Uruguay have thrived while the so-called developed world has suffered through three years of stagnation.
Meanwhile, in the homeland, we have elected a president incapable of communicating over the partisan din. This partisan din has become such a self-parody that, I suspect, John Boehner and Nancy Pelosi could be looking out the same window at the Capitol, and if Pelosi said it was sunny, Boehner would immediately protest that he's never seen such a ferocious rainstorm before...and then probably accuse Pelosi's closet Marxism of distorting her view of reality. Pelosi would then accuse Boehner of being a capitalist toady of Wall Street, and it would then sound like every C-Span transcript from the past several years. Perhaps it is small wonder that a community organizer, like Obama, has appeared to struggle as a leader - community organizing rests upon the notion that a leader shouldn't do anything that the community can do for itself, and God knows this community inside the Beltway seems incapable of doing anything, let alone anything sensible. Maybe I sympathize more than I think with those who insist that government is the problem; at the very least, this government seems more a problem than a solution.
And what do we find when we go beyond the glorious Capital? We find our financial leaders engaged in the buying and selling of campaign promises - the Koch Brothers, for example, purchased the finest public union-busting bill that money could buy in Wisconsin. Of course, George Soros is, no doubt, funding the policy efforts of the other end of the ideological spectum...provided, of course, that they don't regulate HIS fortune too much. This can't stand without seeming like the voice comes from Main Street as much as Wall Street, however, and so the Tea Party watches the nouveau Robber Barons as they gobble up profit however they can...and then squawks that it's those teachers and their extravagant salaries that are driving us to the brink of fiscal annihilation.
Then, we go to the hinterland provinces - combine-patrolled expanses of prairie and small towns that feel abandoned by the world. The great cities could not possibly care less about Gopher Prairie and Grover's Corners; Garfield and State, or 110th and Broadway, have too many problems of their own right now to be bothered with those damn rurals. Meanwhile, the residents of flyover country and the Rust Belt are treated to the shrill histrionic displays of the Becks and Bachmanns, the pompous bloviating of Gingriches and O'Reillys, and the slippery antics of Romneys and Pawlentys.
And so, we turn on our televisions for whatever opiate we fancy, be it the salvation salesmen and their silk suits and Rolexes on Sky Angel and TBN, or the mind-numbing profusion of opinions presented as facts on Fox News and MSNBC, or Paula Deen and Guy Fieri helping us dull our minds by exploding our waistlines, or enough spouted statistics about the arcane batting average of AA minor league players to fill our brains so full of sports figures that we can easily leave behind the world outside the green grass of the playing field. We go online, and read articles about LiLo's latest escapade, and whether or not Paris and Brittany have "accidentally" treated the paparazzi to a a view of what's not being covered by panties, and if Kim Kardashian's butt is real (breaking news: there's an X-ray of it).
In the meantime, our effective unemployment rate hovers between 15 and 20 percent. Record numbers are on food stamps. An average job search has gone from a matter of weeks to a matter of months...or years. Health care costs have skyrocketed, while average accessibility to effective health care has dropped. The same brilliant minds who brought you the near-collapse of the stock market in 2008 insist that social security and access to medical care are better left in their hands, for as much profit as they can make off them, than in the hands of the government (talk about being between the devil and the deep blue sea...). Racism, sexism, homophobia - all alive and well. Christian religious extremism is reaching fever pitch, right alongside the perceived threat of Islamic extremism. We look at X-rays of a talentless twit's butt...and forget. We forget that injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We neglect the poor and worship the rich and famous, even as they throw their financial weight around in order to piss on our leg and then tell us it's raining. I'm beginning to suspect that, when the inevitable happens and all we wake up one day and realize that China, or Mercosur, is the new U.S....we'll have nobody to blame but ourselves, our greed, and our foolishness. And may God have mercy on us.
Meanwhile, in the homeland, we have elected a president incapable of communicating over the partisan din. This partisan din has become such a self-parody that, I suspect, John Boehner and Nancy Pelosi could be looking out the same window at the Capitol, and if Pelosi said it was sunny, Boehner would immediately protest that he's never seen such a ferocious rainstorm before...and then probably accuse Pelosi's closet Marxism of distorting her view of reality. Pelosi would then accuse Boehner of being a capitalist toady of Wall Street, and it would then sound like every C-Span transcript from the past several years. Perhaps it is small wonder that a community organizer, like Obama, has appeared to struggle as a leader - community organizing rests upon the notion that a leader shouldn't do anything that the community can do for itself, and God knows this community inside the Beltway seems incapable of doing anything, let alone anything sensible. Maybe I sympathize more than I think with those who insist that government is the problem; at the very least, this government seems more a problem than a solution.
And what do we find when we go beyond the glorious Capital? We find our financial leaders engaged in the buying and selling of campaign promises - the Koch Brothers, for example, purchased the finest public union-busting bill that money could buy in Wisconsin. Of course, George Soros is, no doubt, funding the policy efforts of the other end of the ideological spectum...provided, of course, that they don't regulate HIS fortune too much. This can't stand without seeming like the voice comes from Main Street as much as Wall Street, however, and so the Tea Party watches the nouveau Robber Barons as they gobble up profit however they can...and then squawks that it's those teachers and their extravagant salaries that are driving us to the brink of fiscal annihilation.
Then, we go to the hinterland provinces - combine-patrolled expanses of prairie and small towns that feel abandoned by the world. The great cities could not possibly care less about Gopher Prairie and Grover's Corners; Garfield and State, or 110th and Broadway, have too many problems of their own right now to be bothered with those damn rurals. Meanwhile, the residents of flyover country and the Rust Belt are treated to the shrill histrionic displays of the Becks and Bachmanns, the pompous bloviating of Gingriches and O'Reillys, and the slippery antics of Romneys and Pawlentys.
And so, we turn on our televisions for whatever opiate we fancy, be it the salvation salesmen and their silk suits and Rolexes on Sky Angel and TBN, or the mind-numbing profusion of opinions presented as facts on Fox News and MSNBC, or Paula Deen and Guy Fieri helping us dull our minds by exploding our waistlines, or enough spouted statistics about the arcane batting average of AA minor league players to fill our brains so full of sports figures that we can easily leave behind the world outside the green grass of the playing field. We go online, and read articles about LiLo's latest escapade, and whether or not Paris and Brittany have "accidentally" treated the paparazzi to a a view of what's not being covered by panties, and if Kim Kardashian's butt is real (breaking news: there's an X-ray of it).
In the meantime, our effective unemployment rate hovers between 15 and 20 percent. Record numbers are on food stamps. An average job search has gone from a matter of weeks to a matter of months...or years. Health care costs have skyrocketed, while average accessibility to effective health care has dropped. The same brilliant minds who brought you the near-collapse of the stock market in 2008 insist that social security and access to medical care are better left in their hands, for as much profit as they can make off them, than in the hands of the government (talk about being between the devil and the deep blue sea...). Racism, sexism, homophobia - all alive and well. Christian religious extremism is reaching fever pitch, right alongside the perceived threat of Islamic extremism. We look at X-rays of a talentless twit's butt...and forget. We forget that injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We neglect the poor and worship the rich and famous, even as they throw their financial weight around in order to piss on our leg and then tell us it's raining. I'm beginning to suspect that, when the inevitable happens and all we wake up one day and realize that China, or Mercosur, is the new U.S....we'll have nobody to blame but ourselves, our greed, and our foolishness. And may God have mercy on us.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Elysian Fields
I've written, at least once before, about my deep love for baseball, especially as a Christian. It's easy - oh so easy - to do that at the outset of baseball season, when the newness of it all gives every game a sense of tremendous excitement. You win? Great! You lose? Well, there's always tomorrow, and the friendly bar down the street from Wrigley to get you through until the next first pitch at the friendly confines.
It is a much colder and more broken hallelujah that is my refrain come this point in the season. The Cubs (and Astros and Twins and Royals and whoever your team of preference that's underperforming might be) can't seem to do anything right. You win? You can hardly enjoy it, because you know it's not going to be happening again soon. You lose? The friendly bar down the street from Wrigley feels more depressed than friendly these days.
Somehow, though, it's possible to take the long view. As a Cubs fan, that view has to be particularly long - all the way back to 1908, if you need a World Series win to be cheered up. This year isn't The Year. Next year - who knows? But, maybe winning isn't everything. It seems like a strange thing to say in a society obsessed with winning and losing (just think about Charlie Sheen's outbursts of some months ago, or Sarah Palin's insistence in calling the Democrats "the losing party" since the midterm elections), and in a sport where there are never ties because you play until somebody wins...but maybe baseball, and life, and faith, aren't ultimately about winning. You hear that, Yankees fans?
Well...what does life look like when it's not all about winning? It might look like a small town church softball team that loses by 20 runs, and laughs about it over a friendly beer afterwards. It might look a life measured not by how attractive our partner is, or how much money we have in the bank, or how many spectacular achievements our factory-made overachiever children have under their belts, but in laughter and memories and love. It might look like a God who embraces the sheer barking madness of incarnation, becoming fully human in Christ Jesus to give us our only shot at ever being able to relate to God...and then experiencing the most profound suffering and injustice the world can dish out to further bridge that gap and invite us, through faith, into the neverending relational dance of the Trinity.
Maybe it's small wonder that the first true game of baseball was played at a riverside park in Hoboken, New Jersey called the Elysian Fields.
It is a much colder and more broken hallelujah that is my refrain come this point in the season. The Cubs (and Astros and Twins and Royals and whoever your team of preference that's underperforming might be) can't seem to do anything right. You win? You can hardly enjoy it, because you know it's not going to be happening again soon. You lose? The friendly bar down the street from Wrigley feels more depressed than friendly these days.
Somehow, though, it's possible to take the long view. As a Cubs fan, that view has to be particularly long - all the way back to 1908, if you need a World Series win to be cheered up. This year isn't The Year. Next year - who knows? But, maybe winning isn't everything. It seems like a strange thing to say in a society obsessed with winning and losing (just think about Charlie Sheen's outbursts of some months ago, or Sarah Palin's insistence in calling the Democrats "the losing party" since the midterm elections), and in a sport where there are never ties because you play until somebody wins...but maybe baseball, and life, and faith, aren't ultimately about winning. You hear that, Yankees fans?
Well...what does life look like when it's not all about winning? It might look like a small town church softball team that loses by 20 runs, and laughs about it over a friendly beer afterwards. It might look a life measured not by how attractive our partner is, or how much money we have in the bank, or how many spectacular achievements our factory-made overachiever children have under their belts, but in laughter and memories and love. It might look like a God who embraces the sheer barking madness of incarnation, becoming fully human in Christ Jesus to give us our only shot at ever being able to relate to God...and then experiencing the most profound suffering and injustice the world can dish out to further bridge that gap and invite us, through faith, into the neverending relational dance of the Trinity.
Maybe it's small wonder that the first true game of baseball was played at a riverside park in Hoboken, New Jersey called the Elysian Fields.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
On the merits of dating a nerd: An open letter to the women of the world
I begin this with a note on who I have chosen as the addressees of this message. There's no doubt, in my mind, that the general message of what I am writing applies across gender divides. However, rather than present myself as some sort of bold prophetic voice, I want to upfront in saying that, as a single male who most (myself included) would categorize as at least somewhat nerdy, there is a certain amount of "agenda" in my writing - namely, convincing Emma Stone, or someone like her, or not necessarily like her, of the value in men such as myself, by which I principally mean "me." Call me noble, call me self-serving; just don't call me good at keeping my trap shut.
As I was driving to Fort Dodge this morning for an early lunch, I had cause to reflect upon the timeless question of dating and mating. As a single 26 year old, this is not an uncommon line of thought for me, but today, things took a different turn than normal. Namely, I found myself thinking about the tie between our 21st century neoliberal capitalist market mentality, and dating. Buying and selling. Selling and buying. Investing wisely and diversifying. Thinking about retirement in our twenties. Bonds, stocks, mutual funds, money market accounts. Isn't dating just one more big commodities market? Isn't a first coffee date just another consideration of the merits of investing time and money in the hopes of a return? Isn't a first kiss fundamentally the same as investing in a nice, safe mutual fund - low risk, potential payoff down the road...even though you can easily extricate yourself if things look to be going south? Isn't picking up a stranger at the bar just a sexier form of day trading, and marriage a major long-term investment strategy?
Since, clearly, we're just human commodities in a volatile buyer's market, I began to think about strategies for promoting my long-term goals. Advertising is, of course, key - the public's got to know why I'm worth the investment, after all. So, let's first consider the product. One male, 26, 5'7", 194 lbs, stocky build, olive complexion, dark hair and eyes, excessive body hair, IQ of 150 (with 140 being the genius mark on the scale), moderate (mostly social) drinker, non-smoker, non-drug user, well below average eyesight, moderately active and in good health. Those are the technical specifics; feel free to inquire for more details about featured software.
So, why you should you, attractive female with discerning taste, consider investing in a product such as this? This question becomes particularly important when one considers that other, top-selling models often feature, as standard, increased height (usually more in proportion with weight), decreased hair, no glasses, and lower IQ. What makes this make and model stand out positively when compared to, say, FratBoy 3.0? I invite you to consider the following as you make your selection:
-You're smart, and you want somebody smart. Imagine you have a successful career in a field that requires at least one specialized degree for an entry level position - let's say nursing. You come home from the hospital after a long, hard shift full of Latin and Greek medical terms being slung around like curse words on a Jersey Shore boardwalk. Would rather come home to someone capable of understanding what you're talking about as you vent about the frustrations of working in the medical field, or someone who thinks that "medulla oblongata" is an Italian appetizer? Smart might not be as immediately sexy as firm biceps, but smart doesn't turn to flab once your metabolism crashes, either. Smart is also funnier - Harold and Kumar might sell movie tickets, but it's Woody Allen and Monty Python that will be watched in century.
-He won't be hot forever. He will be paunchy with male pattern baldness by 40. It's like a car; the market value will depreciate. On the flipside, if hotness is off the table to begin with, there's going to be less depreciation. In fact, kinda-cute-and-smart-and-funny is likely to be worth more in 20 years, as "cute" changes less than "hot," "smart" is likely to continue growing in value, and "funny" gets better with familiarity. Think long-term investment strategy here.
-Sex. Yes, I'm going there. It is understandable that there is more immediate turn-on, for you, when you think of (for example) the men featured in shows such as "Thunder From Down Under." Muscular, handsome features, clean-cut appearances - the allure is obvious. And, to immediately attractive men whose sizzle sells the steak (as it were), you are just one more warm, willing body. You are not special. You are probably not the most beautiful girl in the world, or the hottest body on the planet. You're just another woman who meets a base standard of attractiveness, and the sex will reflect that. Is the turn-on more immediate? Of course. Does Nasty McHotstuff have any real reason, or depth of feeling, in taking you on a business class flight to O-town? It's just a commuter flight to Pittsburgh for him, and if you're not willing to let him come on up the jetway, then he'll just wander down to gate C-12 and catch the flight to Buffalo. Easy come, easy go...as it were.
But let me tell you what sex with a nerd is like. I preface this by saying that I speak much more from feeling than experience here. But, what I can say - making out, and presumably sex, with a nerd is much more rewarding, because the average nerd will come to the act of lovemaking with a profound sense of gratitude that, for once, someone recognizes in him that there is more than just a summation of either attractive or unattractive components. The nerd will not just boff you; the nerd will make every kiss, caress, and motion into a self-sacrificing "thank you." The nerd will do whatever it takes, however long it takes, to make your body feel as spectacular as his emotional state at, finally, being told in the most primal way possible that, yes, he is somehow special and unique. And, considering the level of wounding of most nerds (who have, more likely than not, had their egos battered for most of their lives over all the things they're not), I have every reason to suspect that the passionate "thank you for seeing me for me" isn't likely to die out after the second date.
So, all of you in my target demographic, keep these things in mind. We're all consumers in this glorious day and age, so - be an educated consumer. Invest strategically. Check out the goods before you buy them. Think long-term. And...think that, perhaps, your purchasing power might have the ability to do good not only to yourself, but to others, as well. And, if you're Emma Stone, or perhaps a woman who is (to quote Cee-Lo Green) less an X-Box and more an Atari, and you're reading this, I will totally take you to a Cubs game and then buy you drinks all night long.
As I was driving to Fort Dodge this morning for an early lunch, I had cause to reflect upon the timeless question of dating and mating. As a single 26 year old, this is not an uncommon line of thought for me, but today, things took a different turn than normal. Namely, I found myself thinking about the tie between our 21st century neoliberal capitalist market mentality, and dating. Buying and selling. Selling and buying. Investing wisely and diversifying. Thinking about retirement in our twenties. Bonds, stocks, mutual funds, money market accounts. Isn't dating just one more big commodities market? Isn't a first coffee date just another consideration of the merits of investing time and money in the hopes of a return? Isn't a first kiss fundamentally the same as investing in a nice, safe mutual fund - low risk, potential payoff down the road...even though you can easily extricate yourself if things look to be going south? Isn't picking up a stranger at the bar just a sexier form of day trading, and marriage a major long-term investment strategy?
Since, clearly, we're just human commodities in a volatile buyer's market, I began to think about strategies for promoting my long-term goals. Advertising is, of course, key - the public's got to know why I'm worth the investment, after all. So, let's first consider the product. One male, 26, 5'7", 194 lbs, stocky build, olive complexion, dark hair and eyes, excessive body hair, IQ of 150 (with 140 being the genius mark on the scale), moderate (mostly social) drinker, non-smoker, non-drug user, well below average eyesight, moderately active and in good health. Those are the technical specifics; feel free to inquire for more details about featured software.
So, why you should you, attractive female with discerning taste, consider investing in a product such as this? This question becomes particularly important when one considers that other, top-selling models often feature, as standard, increased height (usually more in proportion with weight), decreased hair, no glasses, and lower IQ. What makes this make and model stand out positively when compared to, say, FratBoy 3.0? I invite you to consider the following as you make your selection:
-You're smart, and you want somebody smart. Imagine you have a successful career in a field that requires at least one specialized degree for an entry level position - let's say nursing. You come home from the hospital after a long, hard shift full of Latin and Greek medical terms being slung around like curse words on a Jersey Shore boardwalk. Would rather come home to someone capable of understanding what you're talking about as you vent about the frustrations of working in the medical field, or someone who thinks that "medulla oblongata" is an Italian appetizer? Smart might not be as immediately sexy as firm biceps, but smart doesn't turn to flab once your metabolism crashes, either. Smart is also funnier - Harold and Kumar might sell movie tickets, but it's Woody Allen and Monty Python that will be watched in century.
-He won't be hot forever. He will be paunchy with male pattern baldness by 40. It's like a car; the market value will depreciate. On the flipside, if hotness is off the table to begin with, there's going to be less depreciation. In fact, kinda-cute-and-smart-and-funny is likely to be worth more in 20 years, as "cute" changes less than "hot," "smart" is likely to continue growing in value, and "funny" gets better with familiarity. Think long-term investment strategy here.
-Sex. Yes, I'm going there. It is understandable that there is more immediate turn-on, for you, when you think of (for example) the men featured in shows such as "Thunder From Down Under." Muscular, handsome features, clean-cut appearances - the allure is obvious. And, to immediately attractive men whose sizzle sells the steak (as it were), you are just one more warm, willing body. You are not special. You are probably not the most beautiful girl in the world, or the hottest body on the planet. You're just another woman who meets a base standard of attractiveness, and the sex will reflect that. Is the turn-on more immediate? Of course. Does Nasty McHotstuff have any real reason, or depth of feeling, in taking you on a business class flight to O-town? It's just a commuter flight to Pittsburgh for him, and if you're not willing to let him come on up the jetway, then he'll just wander down to gate C-12 and catch the flight to Buffalo. Easy come, easy go...as it were.
But let me tell you what sex with a nerd is like. I preface this by saying that I speak much more from feeling than experience here. But, what I can say - making out, and presumably sex, with a nerd is much more rewarding, because the average nerd will come to the act of lovemaking with a profound sense of gratitude that, for once, someone recognizes in him that there is more than just a summation of either attractive or unattractive components. The nerd will not just boff you; the nerd will make every kiss, caress, and motion into a self-sacrificing "thank you." The nerd will do whatever it takes, however long it takes, to make your body feel as spectacular as his emotional state at, finally, being told in the most primal way possible that, yes, he is somehow special and unique. And, considering the level of wounding of most nerds (who have, more likely than not, had their egos battered for most of their lives over all the things they're not), I have every reason to suspect that the passionate "thank you for seeing me for me" isn't likely to die out after the second date.
So, all of you in my target demographic, keep these things in mind. We're all consumers in this glorious day and age, so - be an educated consumer. Invest strategically. Check out the goods before you buy them. Think long-term. And...think that, perhaps, your purchasing power might have the ability to do good not only to yourself, but to others, as well. And, if you're Emma Stone, or perhaps a woman who is (to quote Cee-Lo Green) less an X-Box and more an Atari, and you're reading this, I will totally take you to a Cubs game and then buy you drinks all night long.
Monday, June 20, 2011
An important post
Dear friends,
Grace and peace to you! As many of you know, I am participating in this year's Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa - hereafter referred to, as all Iowans do, as RAGBRAI. This year's route is a 452-mile, week-long trek from Glenwood, in southwestern Iowa, all the way across the state to Davenport. It promises to be a great week!
Many of you probably do not know, however, that I will be participating in the fall in a Christian Peacemaking Team that is headed to Colombia for two weeks. My experiences abroad - particularly my time in West Africa and Latin America - have given me a deep appreciation both of God's desire that those of us who bear the name of Christ in this world work for peace, and of the lack of peace that defines life in much of the world. Over the past few years, I have tried to use my voice and public witness to draw attention to the intersection between our nation's foreign policy and the perpetuation of violence in other parts of the world. This has not always made me popular, but I feel that it would be unfaithful to God's call in our lives to "work for peace and justice in all the world" to keep silent about that which I've seen and heard.
In March, I was blessed to participate in the biennial Congress on Urban Ministry, where I heard Shane Claiborne speak about, among other things, his experience serving as part of a Christian Peacemaking Team that visited Iraq. I was deeply moved by his testimony, and felt moved to consider prayerfully how I might also deepen my commitment to the work of peacemaking. The opportunity has arisen for me to serve for two weeks on a Christian Peacemaking Team in Colombia; during my time there, I will meet with church and human rights campaign leaders who have been working to address to the various forms of violence which have engulfed the nation since 1964. My time will be spent in Bogota, Barrancabermeja, and a currently to-be-determined location in the countryside.
As part of my participation in this delegation, I have been asked to engage in fundraising, both as a means of defraying CPT's costs and of raising awareness about the Colombian conflict. I will be raising $2,100.00; this is a substantial sum of money, but certainly not beyond reach!
And this is where RAGBRAI comes in. I am dedicating my RAGBRAI ride to raising money to support my time in Colombia. Your help is vital, and here's how you can give it!
-PRAY. This is probably the most fundamental piece; please pray for me as I prepare for two very intense weeks in Colombia, for the peace and safety of the Colombian people, and for our delegation's safety.
-DONATE A SET AMOUNT. You can decide a set dollar amount to help me on my way. Just remember, $2,100 seems like a lot, but all it takes is 21 people giving $100, 42 giving $50, 84 giving $25, or 210 giving $10 to make that happen. Every penny you give makes a difference!
-DONATE BY MILEAGE. Since RAGBRAI is going to my main fundraiser, you can donate a set amount for every mile I ride. The total ride is 452 miles, so a $1/mile donation would be $452, 50 cents/mile would be $226, 25 cents/mile would be $113, 10 cents/mile would be $45.20, and 5 cents/mile would be $27.60.
-GET THE WORD OUT. You have my permission to share my story and fundraising goal with anyone and everyone who you'd care to share it with! The more people who hear about what I'm up to does a great deal to raise awareness about the over-40 year long conflict in Colombia, and hey, if it nets me an extra donation...I will take it.
In return for your support, I'll provide:
-BLOGGING. I will dedicate space in my blog (believablebaker.blogspot.com) for reflection upon the experience
-PERSONALIZED REPORTS. For individuals who are able to contribute financially, I would be happy to meet in person, skype, or via e-mail and give you a more personalized account of my time in Colombia.
-PRESENTATIONS. For congregations or groups who contribute financially, I would be very happy to put together a presentation about my experiences in Colombia; I'm very open to what form this presentation could take!
Thank you for taking the time to read this and to consider supporting me. Even if you are not able to provide financial support, your prayers are very welcome and appreciated!
Peace,
Kevin Baker
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
May they be one as we are one
I confirmed my first youth on Sunday. Anyone who knows me has, no doubt, figured out by now that I have a soft spot for youngsters. Once they no longer need help to wipe their butts, I love hanging out with them...at least until they start buying sensible shoes and investing in mutual funds. Maybe this makes me Pastor Peter Pan, but I'll take it. I come by it honest, too - my dad was one of the "cool" parents at my junior high and high school who genuinely enjoyed spending time with us teens, and without being overbearing or boring or strict.
And, like my dad, I find a lot of joy in spending time with teenagers. So many "grown-ups" can't stand the noise and the energy and the goofiness; I say those "grown-ups" need to redefine what it means to be an adult and pull the stick out of their butt. In the immortal words of my father, being an adult isn't about being serious - it's about knowing when you need to be serious, and then having fun the rest of the time. I LIKE the joking around. I LIKE the oft-inappropriate humor. I LIKE the somewhat irreverent attitude toward authority...even as an authority figure. And...I LIKE trying to model what it means to take the best of those things, combine them with earnest (but self-aware and honestly vulnerable) faith, and live the sort of life I feel called to in Christ.
So, for the first time in my blossoming vocation in parish ministry, I've journeyed with a group of young people to a faith crossroads and seen them say YES to the promises God made in their baptisms. Sure, I've worked with others on their way to that moment...but this is the first time that I've gotten to be the one walking with them, in and outside of Confirmation class, for the whole journey. It's the first time I've gotten to invite them to renounce the devil and all his empty promises, confess their faith in the triune God, pray that the Spirit guide them, ask the assembly to support them, and then say that, yes, they are now adults in the eyes of the Church. It is one of the deepest honors I have had in my life.
I was thinking, earlier, about a thought I had when I was finishing up my year in Montevideo, about how the people I know and have built relationships with aren't separate from who I am - we belong to each other. That mystical relationship within God that we see in the Trinity, and that we experience in faith, isn't just between God and Godself, or between us and God; it's between us and the people around us. We belong to each other in Christ; we carry each other within ourselves. Josie, Cameron, Chaz, and Ryan are a part of who I am, and vice versa. The other people here, and across this world, who have touched my life are a part of me, and I'm a part of them. We are not separate.
I wonder, of course, what will happen to these four as they keep on walking - as I leave in six weeks to go back to Chicago, as they become high schoolers, and college students, and spouses and parents and grandparents and teachers and coaches and doctors and pastors and farmers and who knows what else. I know what the numbers say - the odds aren't the best that they'll stay active in church, or that they'll even necessarily cling to this faith, or any other. They'll doubt; they'll wonder if God even exists at all. I mean, hell, I did. All of this makes a part of me scared - as a pastor, I wonder if I did a "good" enough job of bearing witness to the Gospel, or what the future might look like if I'd taught this instead of that, or if I'd prayed 10 minutes a day for them instead of 5, or if I'd made one less sarcastic response and one more grace-filled statement about how we see Christ active in our world.
But, at the end of the day, I have to trust that the same Spirit whose coming we celebrated yesterday is still alive and active in the world, and in those kids' hearts - that no matter where they go or what they do, that God will still be present with them. It's not always easy to trust that...but I'm going to try, even as I learn how to let go and watch them start to grow as this little farm town moves closer to being my past instead of my present.
And, like my dad, I find a lot of joy in spending time with teenagers. So many "grown-ups" can't stand the noise and the energy and the goofiness; I say those "grown-ups" need to redefine what it means to be an adult and pull the stick out of their butt. In the immortal words of my father, being an adult isn't about being serious - it's about knowing when you need to be serious, and then having fun the rest of the time. I LIKE the joking around. I LIKE the oft-inappropriate humor. I LIKE the somewhat irreverent attitude toward authority...even as an authority figure. And...I LIKE trying to model what it means to take the best of those things, combine them with earnest (but self-aware and honestly vulnerable) faith, and live the sort of life I feel called to in Christ.
So, for the first time in my blossoming vocation in parish ministry, I've journeyed with a group of young people to a faith crossroads and seen them say YES to the promises God made in their baptisms. Sure, I've worked with others on their way to that moment...but this is the first time that I've gotten to be the one walking with them, in and outside of Confirmation class, for the whole journey. It's the first time I've gotten to invite them to renounce the devil and all his empty promises, confess their faith in the triune God, pray that the Spirit guide them, ask the assembly to support them, and then say that, yes, they are now adults in the eyes of the Church. It is one of the deepest honors I have had in my life.
I was thinking, earlier, about a thought I had when I was finishing up my year in Montevideo, about how the people I know and have built relationships with aren't separate from who I am - we belong to each other. That mystical relationship within God that we see in the Trinity, and that we experience in faith, isn't just between God and Godself, or between us and God; it's between us and the people around us. We belong to each other in Christ; we carry each other within ourselves. Josie, Cameron, Chaz, and Ryan are a part of who I am, and vice versa. The other people here, and across this world, who have touched my life are a part of me, and I'm a part of them. We are not separate.
I wonder, of course, what will happen to these four as they keep on walking - as I leave in six weeks to go back to Chicago, as they become high schoolers, and college students, and spouses and parents and grandparents and teachers and coaches and doctors and pastors and farmers and who knows what else. I know what the numbers say - the odds aren't the best that they'll stay active in church, or that they'll even necessarily cling to this faith, or any other. They'll doubt; they'll wonder if God even exists at all. I mean, hell, I did. All of this makes a part of me scared - as a pastor, I wonder if I did a "good" enough job of bearing witness to the Gospel, or what the future might look like if I'd taught this instead of that, or if I'd prayed 10 minutes a day for them instead of 5, or if I'd made one less sarcastic response and one more grace-filled statement about how we see Christ active in our world.
But, at the end of the day, I have to trust that the same Spirit whose coming we celebrated yesterday is still alive and active in the world, and in those kids' hearts - that no matter where they go or what they do, that God will still be present with them. It's not always easy to trust that...but I'm going to try, even as I learn how to let go and watch them start to grow as this little farm town moves closer to being my past instead of my present.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)