So, I've been thinking a fair amount over the past couple of days about the intersection between liturgy and context. One big trigger for this avenue of thought came in the form of a video put up at badvestments.blogspot.com (a favorite of mine for a laugh...coughchurchnerdcough), highlighting a long list of supposed liturgical vagaries. Some of them (e.g. the clown mass) bother me. A lot of them (things that reflected their environmental or cultural context) don't. So...it's time for YOU to add your voice to the discussion.
There are two extremist views - one is that the Church's liturgy trumps any and all human cultural considerations...God chose a specific cultural milieu for self-revelation, and the purpose of the liturgy is to transform culture. The other - it's all entirely relative, and culture/context ought to directly determine the entire shape and form of the liturgy...even if tradition says to do this, throw it out if it doesn't seem like it fits with the local realities. What do YOU think? How do YOU find a healthy synthesis between these two diametric poles...or do you? Add your comments and let's talk!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Sailing by ash breeze - Kevin's favorite semi-obscure 18th century nautical term!
I've found that, fairly often, I use this strange term, "sailing by ash breeze," to describe how my life is going, particularly if I'm not exactly the world's happiest camper. I realized a little bit that I am probably one of the only people who uses that phrase in every day speech. So...here's what it means.
In ye olde days of yore when sea travel was about the only way to get from point A to point B, sailing ships would, sometimes, get caught in the doldrums and be left motionless. No wind, no sailing, after all. So, in order to get back to favorable winds, they'd have to bust out the ship's boats, and the crew would have to go down in the boats and actually pull the ship by rowing...think Ben Hur levels of exertion here. Since most oars in those days were made out of ash, they playfully nicknamed this "sailing by ash breeze."
The term came into my lexicon from one of my favorite books as a kid, Carry On Mr. Bowditch. Yes, a book about a world traveling, language loving intellectual from a working class family was my favorite book as a child...go figure. Nate (the Mr. Bowditch of the title) comes from a nautical family in Salem - his dad used to be a sea captain until a horrible wreck killed his desire to sail, and his bank account, and so he turned to barrel-making. Young Nate's life is full of hardship and setbacks, and during rough times, he's told to "just sail by ash breeze" to keep himself going. I've always loved the phrase, and I use it often to describe how I'm doing when I'm in a bit of a dry spell of one sort or another.
So, now you know...when I'm sailing by ash breeze, it means I'm pulling through the only way I can - sheer determination.
In ye olde days of yore when sea travel was about the only way to get from point A to point B, sailing ships would, sometimes, get caught in the doldrums and be left motionless. No wind, no sailing, after all. So, in order to get back to favorable winds, they'd have to bust out the ship's boats, and the crew would have to go down in the boats and actually pull the ship by rowing...think Ben Hur levels of exertion here. Since most oars in those days were made out of ash, they playfully nicknamed this "sailing by ash breeze."
The term came into my lexicon from one of my favorite books as a kid, Carry On Mr. Bowditch. Yes, a book about a world traveling, language loving intellectual from a working class family was my favorite book as a child...go figure. Nate (the Mr. Bowditch of the title) comes from a nautical family in Salem - his dad used to be a sea captain until a horrible wreck killed his desire to sail, and his bank account, and so he turned to barrel-making. Young Nate's life is full of hardship and setbacks, and during rough times, he's told to "just sail by ash breeze" to keep himself going. I've always loved the phrase, and I use it often to describe how I'm doing when I'm in a bit of a dry spell of one sort or another.
So, now you know...when I'm sailing by ash breeze, it means I'm pulling through the only way I can - sheer determination.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sermon from 2.20.11
Well, we put our heads together and found an easy solution for our camera placement problem - one more LBW added to the pile did the trick. Scriptures for today's message: 1 Corinthians 3:10-23, Matt. 5:38-48.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Birth of an activist...or at the very least, of a gadfly
It was probably in the cards from early on that I would wind up a twentysomething social justice lovin' progressive with a full blown case of the righteous anger blues. One of the most common phrases out of little Kevin's mouth was "But that's not fair!" It always bothered me to no end when something didn't seem fair...and a whole lot just never seemed fair.
Of course, little Kevin grew into slightly bigger Kevin and entered the awkward middle school age range, and two episodes come to mind as proleptic foretastes of the proverbial feast to come. In 5th grade, we had to keep assignment books and get them signed every day. One day, when we had an early dismissal and no homework, several of us in the class assumed that meant there was no need to get the assignment book signed...and so, the next day, we wound up having to sit out recess for our crime against good classroom order. I wasn't having any of that, so I wound up organizing a (rather strongly worded) petition drive to stick it to the proverbial man over the lack of any sort of flexibility with the assignment book rule, as well as the lack of our having any say in the classroom's ways of operating. Our school counselor's solution was to organize a show trial in which our classmates got to decide our punishment. I still get pissed off when I think about the whole affair.
Meanwhile, in 6th grade, my teacher hung a sign up on her wall that said: "Rule 1 - The teacher is always right. Rule 2 - If the teacher is wrong, see Rule 1." I wasn't a big fan of that, either; I only challenged it once (when she was blatantly, factually wrong about something), and then referred back to the rule, I shut up and sulked the rest of the day. Junior high and high school occasionally organized a few attempts at bucking the system, and I always patted myself on the back for my infrequent attempts at being subversive.
And then, I became an adult...and I discovered that the Christ I follow is a subversive, subversive kind of guy. Jesus never left the status quo alone - the Gospels tell a story of the living God dwelling among us, and shaking the cages of everyone who thinks that the social order of the day is the best of all possible worlds. We're not given permission to blithely pledge our allegiance to an American dream of white picket fences and comfortably numb middle class pleasure - the cross we are called to take up in our following after Christ is the burden of having lost the right to demand comfort and ease...and the loss of our right to keep our mouths shut in the face of injustice. After all, how do you die to yourself more than in yielding the the privilege (which we pretend is a right) of being comfortable and "happy" in that fake, plastic sense of the word that we've embraced as a society?
And so, as I start the second quarter century of my life, my prayer is this: God, you call me to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with you. Help me never to turn a blind eye to injustice, help me share the abundant grace and love you've shown me with all people everywhere, and help me have a heart and mind that know that my identity rests in you and you and alone. Amen.
Of course, little Kevin grew into slightly bigger Kevin and entered the awkward middle school age range, and two episodes come to mind as proleptic foretastes of the proverbial feast to come. In 5th grade, we had to keep assignment books and get them signed every day. One day, when we had an early dismissal and no homework, several of us in the class assumed that meant there was no need to get the assignment book signed...and so, the next day, we wound up having to sit out recess for our crime against good classroom order. I wasn't having any of that, so I wound up organizing a (rather strongly worded) petition drive to stick it to the proverbial man over the lack of any sort of flexibility with the assignment book rule, as well as the lack of our having any say in the classroom's ways of operating. Our school counselor's solution was to organize a show trial in which our classmates got to decide our punishment. I still get pissed off when I think about the whole affair.
Meanwhile, in 6th grade, my teacher hung a sign up on her wall that said: "Rule 1 - The teacher is always right. Rule 2 - If the teacher is wrong, see Rule 1." I wasn't a big fan of that, either; I only challenged it once (when she was blatantly, factually wrong about something), and then referred back to the rule, I shut up and sulked the rest of the day. Junior high and high school occasionally organized a few attempts at bucking the system, and I always patted myself on the back for my infrequent attempts at being subversive.
And then, I became an adult...and I discovered that the Christ I follow is a subversive, subversive kind of guy. Jesus never left the status quo alone - the Gospels tell a story of the living God dwelling among us, and shaking the cages of everyone who thinks that the social order of the day is the best of all possible worlds. We're not given permission to blithely pledge our allegiance to an American dream of white picket fences and comfortably numb middle class pleasure - the cross we are called to take up in our following after Christ is the burden of having lost the right to demand comfort and ease...and the loss of our right to keep our mouths shut in the face of injustice. After all, how do you die to yourself more than in yielding the the privilege (which we pretend is a right) of being comfortable and "happy" in that fake, plastic sense of the word that we've embraced as a society?
And so, as I start the second quarter century of my life, my prayer is this: God, you call me to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with you. Help me never to turn a blind eye to injustice, help me share the abundant grace and love you've shown me with all people everywhere, and help me have a heart and mind that know that my identity rests in you and you and alone. Amen.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
We're the lifers, until the bitter end
Since I'm such a commie pinko bastard, I follow Mother Jones on Twitter. One of their biggest stories this week revolved around a legislative initiative in South Dakota, which (until it was officially shelved) would have classified taking the life of another person to save the life of a fetus as "justifiable homicide." In other words, killing an abortionist could quite possibly be construed as justifiable homicide provided that the act of killing could be tied directly to saving the life of a fetus.
Now, I am a rare breed in the liberal/progressive circles in which I run - a pro-life progressive. There aren't a ton of us; most of my fellow faith-driven left-leaning brothers and sisters tend to fall into the "I would never get one, but it's better to keep it safe, legal, and rare" camp...and I totally get the argument behind that stance. It acknowledges the reality that abortion is as old as unplanned/undesired pregnancy, and that even when it is illegal, it still takes place in clinic back rooms or, worse, dark alleys. In the interest of saving the life of the women who would be seeking out an abortion regardless of its legality, it should be kept legal so that the procedure can be carried out in a sanitary way without fear of reprisal. I totally get that.
I do, however, disagree on one fundamental point, which is the notion of "you can't legislate morality." Yes, you can - and do. Most legislation is, at the end of the day, morality. My commitment to human life, based out of my conviction that taking the life of another human is almost never justifiable, compels me to condemn a system of thinking in which a being that ought to count as a human (albeit one in utero) is somehow less deserving of life. Of course, the waters get muddied once issues of medical necessity, rape, and incest come into play, and at the end of the day, barring abortion in cases of medical necessity doesn't scan well with my life-ethic, either...if it's a choice between one death or two, sacrificing one life to save another is a marginally better option in an entirely tragic scenario.
Of course, being pro-life for me doesn't mean I'm just opposed to abortion in most cases. It's why I'm against the death penalty, opposed to armed conflict in almost all cases, in favor of reasonable laws about usage and possession of firearms, in favor of finding an effective means of providing universal healthcare, and dedicated to working for peace and justice in our nation and world. Life isn't just something inside a womb; it's perhaps the single greatest testimony to the existence of God, and it seems to me that the deepest expression of our human sinfulness is in our silencing that testimony.
I read an article earlier today talking about the shift for many in the pro-life camp in the opposite direction of the shelved SD bill - toward acknowledging that most pro-choice advocates are interested in quality of life rather than in promoting abortion-on-demand as retroactive contraceptive. Kudos for those with the integrity to really, truly stand up for life rather than just a political agenda by extending a pledge to people of other beliefs that we can work together to make the causes of abortion disappear...that'll save a lot more lives than declaring war on abortion clinics.
Now, I am a rare breed in the liberal/progressive circles in which I run - a pro-life progressive. There aren't a ton of us; most of my fellow faith-driven left-leaning brothers and sisters tend to fall into the "I would never get one, but it's better to keep it safe, legal, and rare" camp...and I totally get the argument behind that stance. It acknowledges the reality that abortion is as old as unplanned/undesired pregnancy, and that even when it is illegal, it still takes place in clinic back rooms or, worse, dark alleys. In the interest of saving the life of the women who would be seeking out an abortion regardless of its legality, it should be kept legal so that the procedure can be carried out in a sanitary way without fear of reprisal. I totally get that.
I do, however, disagree on one fundamental point, which is the notion of "you can't legislate morality." Yes, you can - and do. Most legislation is, at the end of the day, morality. My commitment to human life, based out of my conviction that taking the life of another human is almost never justifiable, compels me to condemn a system of thinking in which a being that ought to count as a human (albeit one in utero) is somehow less deserving of life. Of course, the waters get muddied once issues of medical necessity, rape, and incest come into play, and at the end of the day, barring abortion in cases of medical necessity doesn't scan well with my life-ethic, either...if it's a choice between one death or two, sacrificing one life to save another is a marginally better option in an entirely tragic scenario.
Of course, being pro-life for me doesn't mean I'm just opposed to abortion in most cases. It's why I'm against the death penalty, opposed to armed conflict in almost all cases, in favor of reasonable laws about usage and possession of firearms, in favor of finding an effective means of providing universal healthcare, and dedicated to working for peace and justice in our nation and world. Life isn't just something inside a womb; it's perhaps the single greatest testimony to the existence of God, and it seems to me that the deepest expression of our human sinfulness is in our silencing that testimony.
I read an article earlier today talking about the shift for many in the pro-life camp in the opposite direction of the shelved SD bill - toward acknowledging that most pro-choice advocates are interested in quality of life rather than in promoting abortion-on-demand as retroactive contraceptive. Kudos for those with the integrity to really, truly stand up for life rather than just a political agenda by extending a pledge to people of other beliefs that we can work together to make the causes of abortion disappear...that'll save a lot more lives than declaring war on abortion clinics.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sermon from 2.13.11
Someday, we will find a way not to cut my head off...preached at Emanuel Lutheran Church in Dayton, Iowa. Scriptures: 1 Corinthians 3:1-9, Matt. 5:21-37
Friday, February 11, 2011
Democracy matters, even somebody else's
I've got my iTunes streaming WBEZ (Chicago Public Radio), listening to the news from Tahrir Square in Cairo. For those of you who have been under a rock, the big news today is that, after 18 days of mass protests by the Egyptian people, their dictatorial president of the past 30 years (Hosni Mubarak) has resigned from his presidency and handed over power to his vice president and head of the military, Omar Suleiman.
The significance of this event cannot be overstated. Last month, when the same sort of protests drove out Tunisia's similarly dictatorial leader, it started a chain reaction of protests across the Arab world, and now we see the first major power shift in a serious world political player. There is much that can be said about all of this, but two things from this blur of a past three weeks come to mind.
First - the failure of the old way of doing things in the realm of foreign policy. A key reason that Mubarak stayed in power for as long as he did was the open support of his regime given by the US government thanks to Mubarak's willingness to at least recognize the legitimacy of the Israeli government. It's only one example of our government's willingness to support anti-democratic dictators with poor human rights records as long as they do what we want them to do. It's the story of Latin America in the 1970s and 1980s (Pinochet, anyone?), of sub-Saharan Africa throughout the Cold War (The Congo and Angola being shining examples of this sort of foreign policy philosophy), and of the Middle East from the creation of the state of Israel on. It creates a hypocritical dynamic in our supposed dedication to promoting democracy around the world. More accurate - we support our own democracy, and are willing to tacitly deny other people their democracy if we think their subjugation will somehow uphold our privilege. Even the much-tauted commiepinkobastardmarxistmuslim President Obama was awfully reluctant to really, truly express support for the Egyptian protestors - consider the mixed messages which have come from the upper echelons of the government over the past three weeks. I won't even go there with Glenn Beck's paranoid whackjob conspiracy theory soup de jour about how this is the beginning of "a new caliphate" which relies on an alliance between forces which are in absolutely ideological opposition to one another.
Second - the antidote to stale, outdated, hypocritical, oppressive Cold War era foreign policy is...people power. That's right; actual democracy can, in fact, accomplish things - and among those things, an open door to liberty for people who've been sorely deprived of it for far too long. If we're really, truly as a nation going to commit ourselves to supporting democracy across the world, then our support for those seeking democracy in the face of authoritarianism must be unwavering. Yes, democracy is a complicated, messy affair which can be as much the tool of reactionary nonsense as actual good government, but...that's the risk we take when we embrace freedom and self-realization as cardinal virtues. Much like love, you can't really control democracy - you just have to embrace it for what it is, and rest in the knowledge that, yes, the world really is a better place for it.
The significance of this event cannot be overstated. Last month, when the same sort of protests drove out Tunisia's similarly dictatorial leader, it started a chain reaction of protests across the Arab world, and now we see the first major power shift in a serious world political player. There is much that can be said about all of this, but two things from this blur of a past three weeks come to mind.
First - the failure of the old way of doing things in the realm of foreign policy. A key reason that Mubarak stayed in power for as long as he did was the open support of his regime given by the US government thanks to Mubarak's willingness to at least recognize the legitimacy of the Israeli government. It's only one example of our government's willingness to support anti-democratic dictators with poor human rights records as long as they do what we want them to do. It's the story of Latin America in the 1970s and 1980s (Pinochet, anyone?), of sub-Saharan Africa throughout the Cold War (The Congo and Angola being shining examples of this sort of foreign policy philosophy), and of the Middle East from the creation of the state of Israel on. It creates a hypocritical dynamic in our supposed dedication to promoting democracy around the world. More accurate - we support our own democracy, and are willing to tacitly deny other people their democracy if we think their subjugation will somehow uphold our privilege. Even the much-tauted commiepinkobastardmarxistmuslim President Obama was awfully reluctant to really, truly express support for the Egyptian protestors - consider the mixed messages which have come from the upper echelons of the government over the past three weeks. I won't even go there with Glenn Beck's paranoid whackjob conspiracy theory soup de jour about how this is the beginning of "a new caliphate" which relies on an alliance between forces which are in absolutely ideological opposition to one another.
Second - the antidote to stale, outdated, hypocritical, oppressive Cold War era foreign policy is...people power. That's right; actual democracy can, in fact, accomplish things - and among those things, an open door to liberty for people who've been sorely deprived of it for far too long. If we're really, truly as a nation going to commit ourselves to supporting democracy across the world, then our support for those seeking democracy in the face of authoritarianism must be unwavering. Yes, democracy is a complicated, messy affair which can be as much the tool of reactionary nonsense as actual good government, but...that's the risk we take when we embrace freedom and self-realization as cardinal virtues. Much like love, you can't really control democracy - you just have to embrace it for what it is, and rest in the knowledge that, yes, the world really is a better place for it.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Commandment Numero Ocho
"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.
What does this mean? Answer:
We should fear and love God that we may not deceitfully belie, betray, slander, or defame our neighbor, but defend him, [think and] speak well of him, and put the best construction on everything."
This nugget from the Small Catechism has been killing me over the past week or so. In all of the fighting and fussing that, pathetically, seems to be life in the Church these days, I think we've all (and by "all," I mean "me as much as anyone") forgotten about this. I can't remember the last time I defended, spoke well of, or put the best construction on anything that the folks with CORE or the NALC came up with. As a matter of fact, I believe I have used a variety of phrases, some of them too colorful to use in this blog, to describe both of these organizations and their adherents - probably the most consistently used phrases revolved around their lying, being schismatic, not knowing how to read the Bible, being racist-sexist-homophobic, and being a bunch of old people uninterested in actually doing the work of the Kingdom so much as preserving the illusion of Christendom until the wheels fall off. The reverse is true; I've heard the Church that I love so much called apostate, a deceiver, a failing institution, a lover of the world rather than God, unfaithful to the scriptures or Lutheran confessions, and the source of no good whatsoever during its history.
And so, as I look at the Catechism, I wonder - what does the world see when it looks at this? Does it actually see some sort of dynamic change, a power shift, like we try to tell ourselves, or does it just see, yet again, a group of Christians failing to follow Christ in how they treat one another? And so I cry - forgive me, Lord, for what I've done and how I've failed to proclaim the Gospel with my words and attitude toward my brothers and sisters in Christ.
What does this mean? Answer:
We should fear and love God that we may not deceitfully belie, betray, slander, or defame our neighbor, but defend him, [think and] speak well of him, and put the best construction on everything."
This nugget from the Small Catechism has been killing me over the past week or so. In all of the fighting and fussing that, pathetically, seems to be life in the Church these days, I think we've all (and by "all," I mean "me as much as anyone") forgotten about this. I can't remember the last time I defended, spoke well of, or put the best construction on anything that the folks with CORE or the NALC came up with. As a matter of fact, I believe I have used a variety of phrases, some of them too colorful to use in this blog, to describe both of these organizations and their adherents - probably the most consistently used phrases revolved around their lying, being schismatic, not knowing how to read the Bible, being racist-sexist-homophobic, and being a bunch of old people uninterested in actually doing the work of the Kingdom so much as preserving the illusion of Christendom until the wheels fall off. The reverse is true; I've heard the Church that I love so much called apostate, a deceiver, a failing institution, a lover of the world rather than God, unfaithful to the scriptures or Lutheran confessions, and the source of no good whatsoever during its history.
And so, as I look at the Catechism, I wonder - what does the world see when it looks at this? Does it actually see some sort of dynamic change, a power shift, like we try to tell ourselves, or does it just see, yet again, a group of Christians failing to follow Christ in how they treat one another? And so I cry - forgive me, Lord, for what I've done and how I've failed to proclaim the Gospel with my words and attitude toward my brothers and sisters in Christ.
Monday, February 7, 2011
I just feel so...VULNERABLE
When I was young, and had even more questionable taste in movies than I do now, I was a big fan of Eddie Murphy in the two Nutty Professor movies that he made. The family dinners from the first movie are still pretty much classic, but (justifiably) the second movie has pretty much dropped off of everyone's radar screen. One scene, however, still sticks in my mind: Buddy Love, the evil and skinny alter ego character, is nosing around Sherman Klump's family's house, but gets caught by the grandma, who thinks he's a male stripper on his way over for a bachelorette party. The take away moment - Grandma slipping out of all of her clothes to put on a bit of a show for the stripper, talking about how she feels so "vulnerable" standing naked in the garage.
It seems to me that trying to live a life of faithfulness to God and love for God and others is a lot like stripping down to nothing and standing, naked, in the garage. Vulnerability is this central piece in the whole puzzle; if we're going to trust, if we're going to love, then all the layers of concealment we put up to mask all that we are have to start coming off. Frankly, that scares the daylights out of me, and most people - there's a reason why Adam and Eve were ashamed of their nakedness. Contrary to the lurid little fantasies we like to indulge in, nobody actually looks perfect with their clothes off...we've all got scars, pimples in improbable locations, stretch marks, bruises, unseemly hair, and all kinds of other things that you don't see at 2 AM on Skinemax thanks to lots of airbrushing and strategically applied makeup. Nakedness, ultimate vulnerability, shows us just as we are...and we don't necessarily like what we see in the mirror.
And yet, there's no point in the pretense, at least on the God side of things. To steal a quote from The Crucible...when God's involved, "we burn a hot fire here that melts away all concealment." Our shows, no matter how good the acting, don't play in Peoria when God's the audience. It might be a little easier to get away with it in real life, to make ourselves up as our preferred character of the week, but...who really wins that game? Real love, real faith - they hinge upon a willingness to stand as naked as the day we were born in our own proverbial garage.
Of course, easier said than done. I think that's where the promise of 1 Cor. 2:16, that "we have the mind of Christ," comes into play. We find in Christ the ultimate vulnerability, the willingness to be silent as a sheep before the slaughter...and we find in us the Holy Spirit at work, helping us let go of ourselves and make room for relationship by taking off the fakeness that stands in the way.
It seems to me that trying to live a life of faithfulness to God and love for God and others is a lot like stripping down to nothing and standing, naked, in the garage. Vulnerability is this central piece in the whole puzzle; if we're going to trust, if we're going to love, then all the layers of concealment we put up to mask all that we are have to start coming off. Frankly, that scares the daylights out of me, and most people - there's a reason why Adam and Eve were ashamed of their nakedness. Contrary to the lurid little fantasies we like to indulge in, nobody actually looks perfect with their clothes off...we've all got scars, pimples in improbable locations, stretch marks, bruises, unseemly hair, and all kinds of other things that you don't see at 2 AM on Skinemax thanks to lots of airbrushing and strategically applied makeup. Nakedness, ultimate vulnerability, shows us just as we are...and we don't necessarily like what we see in the mirror.
And yet, there's no point in the pretense, at least on the God side of things. To steal a quote from The Crucible...when God's involved, "we burn a hot fire here that melts away all concealment." Our shows, no matter how good the acting, don't play in Peoria when God's the audience. It might be a little easier to get away with it in real life, to make ourselves up as our preferred character of the week, but...who really wins that game? Real love, real faith - they hinge upon a willingness to stand as naked as the day we were born in our own proverbial garage.
Of course, easier said than done. I think that's where the promise of 1 Cor. 2:16, that "we have the mind of Christ," comes into play. We find in Christ the ultimate vulnerability, the willingness to be silent as a sheep before the slaughter...and we find in us the Holy Spirit at work, helping us let go of ourselves and make room for relationship by taking off the fakeness that stands in the way.
Sermon from 2.6.11
Alright, my dear ones...here is my first sermon to make its way to the internets. We're still working on camera placement, which is made painfully obvious by the fact that the top of my head is cut off for the duration of the video. Oops. We'll get that figured out by next week, hopefully...
Friday, February 4, 2011
We've got five years, what a surprise
I was reminded last week that five years now has a significance for me beyond just being a David Bowie song. On this day in 2006 - five years ago - I was an exchange student at the University of Ghana in Legon, on the outskirts of Ghana's loud, polluted, bustling, seedy capital, Accra. The past few weeks have been a long, colorful parade down Memory Lane as every little thing has started reminded me of West Africa...even the perennial jokes about lutefisk that seem to grown so naturally in the rich topsoil of rural Iowa have made me think of the neverending stench of dried, smoked fish that permeates every market and food stall in southern Ghana.
Somehow, though, even more than the goings-on of five years ago and the colorful, vibrant misadventures I inexplicably survived (check out malariamonday.blogspot.com sometime), my mind keeps going back to how my remembering of my time in Ghana has changed over time. In the first few months after getting back, it was constant, and I think I probably bored everyone to death with one story after another about how, "when I was in Ghana," I did something that I thought was really cool, and that most other people thought was cool, too, the first ten times I told them that story. After a few months, though, the deeper, darker experiences started to come back into my mind - one particular scene, involving a group of (literally) starving children in Burkina Faso asking me for money, came into my mind almost every night as I was trying to go to bed. When people proved even less interested in hearing about that, I found myself nearly losing my faith in God, and partying as much as possible.
Then, I went to Uruguay after graduating from college, and year two rolled around. There was a lot of healing; I found my own sense of guilt and powerlessness in the face of a cruel world which preserving my own privilege helped create start to fade away and grow into a positive commitment to working for justice as I spent a year NOT just trying to make myself happy. I did have the occasional West Africa daydream, though, especially when it was cold and rainy...it's so easy to picture myself on a camel in the Sahara outside of Timbuktu when it's raining.
When I moved to Chicago, I found that my time in Ghana suddenly had to take a backseat to my time in Uruguay; I had a lot from Montevideo to process, and so Ghana just fell off the radar screen, except when I'd be reminded of one random adventure or another. And so years three and four went by pretty quietly.
And now, here I am in Dayton, Iowa, and suddenly...it's been five years. It still feels strange saying that - it's been five years since I had my entire world flipped over and shaken out like a dirty, sandy rug. And...well, here I am, living in the middle of Iowa farm country for an equally bizarre experience of the cross-cultural variety...but a much more, well, vanilla one. It's Iowa farm country - lots of nice people (all of them white enough to make me look like James Brown in comparison) working the land and going about their small town lives. The city kid in me is grateful for the experience, but is screaming for a little more excitement.
So now, five years on, I'm finding myself fighting almost the opposite battle I fought while I was in Ghana. In Ghana, it was all too easy to live in the present, to savor the exotic flavors and bright colors and loud Ghanaian belly laughs, and forget that all good things must pass. There was no past (except when it nosed its way in, usually uninvited), and there was no future - there was just the open road of today, holding who knows how many adventures. These days, though, I find it difficult to anchor myself in present because of how often my mind heads in the other direction. It's just easier to think back to the times when my life was a little more colorful, and to the people not here with me who I'd be downing pitchers with at Jimmy's on 55th Street if it were this time last year. More than anything, I think about Chicago - my past there, and my future there when I move back in six months. What will it be like? Who will be in it? What new stories will come from one more year of life in Hyde Park?
It's a struggle, it really is - how do I keep myself active and engaged here? How do I make the present something more than just the waiting room between the past and the future? I'm finding that, when I try, I can usually find at least something every day that anchors me down enough to at least be present in the now rather than off floating in the ether of what was or what will be. Sometimes, it's the actual work - sermon writing, meetings, and the like. Sometimes, it's in the relationships - conversations that remind me that I'm not alone out here. Sometimes, it's in just writing about how sometimes I struggle to be here now. One way or another, I'm sailing by ash breeze until the wind picks up and I'm on the way again...and I think I'm pretty OK with that.
Somehow, though, even more than the goings-on of five years ago and the colorful, vibrant misadventures I inexplicably survived (check out malariamonday.blogspot.com sometime), my mind keeps going back to how my remembering of my time in Ghana has changed over time. In the first few months after getting back, it was constant, and I think I probably bored everyone to death with one story after another about how, "when I was in Ghana," I did something that I thought was really cool, and that most other people thought was cool, too, the first ten times I told them that story. After a few months, though, the deeper, darker experiences started to come back into my mind - one particular scene, involving a group of (literally) starving children in Burkina Faso asking me for money, came into my mind almost every night as I was trying to go to bed. When people proved even less interested in hearing about that, I found myself nearly losing my faith in God, and partying as much as possible.
Then, I went to Uruguay after graduating from college, and year two rolled around. There was a lot of healing; I found my own sense of guilt and powerlessness in the face of a cruel world which preserving my own privilege helped create start to fade away and grow into a positive commitment to working for justice as I spent a year NOT just trying to make myself happy. I did have the occasional West Africa daydream, though, especially when it was cold and rainy...it's so easy to picture myself on a camel in the Sahara outside of Timbuktu when it's raining.
When I moved to Chicago, I found that my time in Ghana suddenly had to take a backseat to my time in Uruguay; I had a lot from Montevideo to process, and so Ghana just fell off the radar screen, except when I'd be reminded of one random adventure or another. And so years three and four went by pretty quietly.
And now, here I am in Dayton, Iowa, and suddenly...it's been five years. It still feels strange saying that - it's been five years since I had my entire world flipped over and shaken out like a dirty, sandy rug. And...well, here I am, living in the middle of Iowa farm country for an equally bizarre experience of the cross-cultural variety...but a much more, well, vanilla one. It's Iowa farm country - lots of nice people (all of them white enough to make me look like James Brown in comparison) working the land and going about their small town lives. The city kid in me is grateful for the experience, but is screaming for a little more excitement.
So now, five years on, I'm finding myself fighting almost the opposite battle I fought while I was in Ghana. In Ghana, it was all too easy to live in the present, to savor the exotic flavors and bright colors and loud Ghanaian belly laughs, and forget that all good things must pass. There was no past (except when it nosed its way in, usually uninvited), and there was no future - there was just the open road of today, holding who knows how many adventures. These days, though, I find it difficult to anchor myself in present because of how often my mind heads in the other direction. It's just easier to think back to the times when my life was a little more colorful, and to the people not here with me who I'd be downing pitchers with at Jimmy's on 55th Street if it were this time last year. More than anything, I think about Chicago - my past there, and my future there when I move back in six months. What will it be like? Who will be in it? What new stories will come from one more year of life in Hyde Park?
It's a struggle, it really is - how do I keep myself active and engaged here? How do I make the present something more than just the waiting room between the past and the future? I'm finding that, when I try, I can usually find at least something every day that anchors me down enough to at least be present in the now rather than off floating in the ether of what was or what will be. Sometimes, it's the actual work - sermon writing, meetings, and the like. Sometimes, it's in the relationships - conversations that remind me that I'm not alone out here. Sometimes, it's in just writing about how sometimes I struggle to be here now. One way or another, I'm sailing by ash breeze until the wind picks up and I'm on the way again...and I think I'm pretty OK with that.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
History is just like sex - you wouldn't be here without it, and neither would I.
Welcome, distinguished visitor, to the Magic Theatre (madmen only; price of admission your mind).
Not really. Do feel free to congratulate yourself on being well-read if you can cite the source of that line, however. In all seriousness, welcome to "From The Files of Believable Baker", the official blog of Kevin Baker, ELCA seminarian. If you know me in real-time, you know that I'm the kind of guy who is....1. usually up to something (good, bad, or ugly), and 2. never without thoughts, opinions, and occasionally earthy outbursts about life, God, the world, politics, philosophy, literature, and booze, often in collusion with one another. I also happen to be a good little Irish-American who already had a way with words before kissing the Blarney Stone in 2006 while on pilgrimage to the Emerald Holy Land, and has not found this tendency diminished in the subsequent years. So, why NOT enter the blogosphere (again)? Why NOT subject you, o most noble reader, to my rants and raves, to my insights and opinions into the inner workings of all manners of things, to my rather unique sense of phrasing and rather droll outlook on life? Why NOT, dear reader - why the hell not?
And so a new little blog is born somewhere off in a quiet little corner of the internets, a new ship sets sail across the high seas of cyberspace. "But why the name?," you might be asking yourself. Well, for starters, I'm honest. I am perhaps too honest for my own good, at moments. So, yes, there is that - this member of the Baker family is one whose word you can take to the bank. Beyond that, however, is history - I am the third man-child of the Baker clan to bear this title proudly. The first - my grandfather, Steve. During the 1972 strike at Dow Chemical's complex in Freeport, Texas, the first Believable Baker documented the oft-crazy goings-on inside the plant as the non-union workers attempted to keep North America's largest single company chemical plant complex running. My father, John Robert, became the second Believable Baker during his time in the Air Force and with the Alexandria, Virginia Police Department as he helped chronicle the oft-crazy goings around him. And so, now - it's time for the next generation to take up the proud family banner and let it fly, stretched proud against the winds of time...or something suitably pretentious and dramatic.
So, my friend, I invite you to follow me on my brash, bold, and perhaps even blustery journey through the uncharted waters of all my tomorrows, as I courageously keep on calling 'em like I see 'em. Is it pretentious to assume I have something to say worth reading? Probably...but hey, what's a little pretense between friends, right?
Not really. Do feel free to congratulate yourself on being well-read if you can cite the source of that line, however. In all seriousness, welcome to "From The Files of Believable Baker", the official blog of Kevin Baker, ELCA seminarian. If you know me in real-time, you know that I'm the kind of guy who is....1. usually up to something (good, bad, or ugly), and 2. never without thoughts, opinions, and occasionally earthy outbursts about life, God, the world, politics, philosophy, literature, and booze, often in collusion with one another. I also happen to be a good little Irish-American who already had a way with words before kissing the Blarney Stone in 2006 while on pilgrimage to the Emerald Holy Land, and has not found this tendency diminished in the subsequent years. So, why NOT enter the blogosphere (again)? Why NOT subject you, o most noble reader, to my rants and raves, to my insights and opinions into the inner workings of all manners of things, to my rather unique sense of phrasing and rather droll outlook on life? Why NOT, dear reader - why the hell not?
And so a new little blog is born somewhere off in a quiet little corner of the internets, a new ship sets sail across the high seas of cyberspace. "But why the name?," you might be asking yourself. Well, for starters, I'm honest. I am perhaps too honest for my own good, at moments. So, yes, there is that - this member of the Baker family is one whose word you can take to the bank. Beyond that, however, is history - I am the third man-child of the Baker clan to bear this title proudly. The first - my grandfather, Steve. During the 1972 strike at Dow Chemical's complex in Freeport, Texas, the first Believable Baker documented the oft-crazy goings-on inside the plant as the non-union workers attempted to keep North America's largest single company chemical plant complex running. My father, John Robert, became the second Believable Baker during his time in the Air Force and with the Alexandria, Virginia Police Department as he helped chronicle the oft-crazy goings around him. And so, now - it's time for the next generation to take up the proud family banner and let it fly, stretched proud against the winds of time...or something suitably pretentious and dramatic.
So, my friend, I invite you to follow me on my brash, bold, and perhaps even blustery journey through the uncharted waters of all my tomorrows, as I courageously keep on calling 'em like I see 'em. Is it pretentious to assume I have something to say worth reading? Probably...but hey, what's a little pretense between friends, right?
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