attending the spirit

The Fourth Talent

2008-11-14T13:38:00.004-05:00

This Sunday's lesson, from Matthew, is what is commonly called the Parable of the Talents. I've always gotten a little unsettled by the ending of the story when the one who had merely buried his money must surrender it to the one who had made the most. That God prefers the wealthy and powerful is a concept/heresy - prevalent in churches - that makes me sick.

A colleague shared the following story with me yesterday by William White. I like it.

Once there was a businessman who entrusted his property to his employees. To one servant he gave $5,000, to a second, $2,000, and third $1,000. The first two invested the money and returned 100 cents on the dollar, while the third employee buried the money in the earth. On the day of accounting he returned the original money to the master and was soundly chastised for failing to invest wisely.

A fourth employee was given $3,000 to invest. He returned several days after the accounting took place and approached the master cautiously. "I invested the money that you left with me," he confessed, "but the investment turned sour. Not only has your money gained no interest, I have lost nearly $1,000 of the amount you entrusted to me."

The master smiled at his worried servant. "Well done, good and faithful servant. You invested as you were commanded. You have been found faith over a little, I will set you over much."

2008-11-01T13:47:00.002-04:00

At least once every day this summer I waited for a C- 17 to land from Iraq or Afghanistan. If we timed it right, we sat for about 15 minutes before we saw our "bird" arrive and taxi to its parking spot. When the pilot signaled it was clear, we rolled onto the flight line, a caravan of blue modified school busses painted with large red crosses. We'd park near the tail of the aircraft and I was among the first people out of the vehicles who headed into the plane. As soon as I was onboard, I started talking with patients.

"Welcome to Ramstein Air Base. You are in Germany and you are safe. I'm Chaplain Marvel, I work with the people who are going to transport you today into the next level of medical care. In a moment, the back of this plane will open up and you'll see our ambulance buses. You might want to put on your coat - it's probably a little colder than where you came from. Once we are all on the buses, we'll drive you to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center where we'll get you some breakfast and a chance to meet some of the finest docs in the world who are here to help you.
"As you work your way through this process, I and other chaplains are here. Remember that what you tell us stays with us - we don't report what you say to anyone without your permission. If you need to talk, I or others have chosen to be here because we want to listen."

I assured snipers they are forgiven. I swapped out crutches for some more comfortable. I listened to cries of "Where was God when my sergeant was blown up?" I arranged phone calls to tell parents what's happened to their children. Some people were going home to broken marriages, some to infants they'd never met; many had seen or experienced such horrible events "downrange" that they just wanted to talk with another human being. As a chaplain, I provided Holy Communion, I prayed with people, I anointed them and prayed for healing. But my most effective ministry was often in listening to and holding their stories - hopefully, therefore, making them Holy. My job wasn't to fix anything, but to rely on the Spirit to mend their brokenness.

Since coming home, I've had a difficult time relating my experience, which I've discovered is true for many military members. Often, it's been difficult to clarify that my military duty is in no way related to a particular political agenda. I serve as a military chaplain not because I like war, but because I am that visible reminder many of us need at some time or other that there is no place we can go where the Holy would abandon us.

Talking on the bus

2008-08-08T10:53:00.002-04:00

Patients are, for the most part, moved around on busses. Some busses are equipped to hold litters, some are set up like I remember in third grade. Patients laying down on litters often have little to look at other than the roof and a whole lot on their minds. I'll get on the bus and ride with patients when I can to offer an ear.

All in a day's work

2008-08-03T08:55:00.000-04:00

Paris Trip

2008-07-30T22:10:00.000-04:00

My days are blending together

2008-07-26T08:51:00.001-04:00

My days are blending together to the point that I’m not always sure which day of the week it is here. There’s not been a day here yet without and inbound flight, so I’ve come to divide our time into one of two categories: Outbound days and MTD days.

MTD is our abbreviation for Medical Transportation Detachment, or something like that. On these days, in addition to greeting the inbound flights of the day, which generally arrive in the mid morning or mid afternoon, we host the folk who are flying back to the States the following morning. They have been in the hospital at Landstuhl and are healthy enough to spend the night out of the hospital. Sometimes they have minor injuries, maybe a broken arm or leg, sometimes they have minor psychological issues like depression. The docs have cleared them to go home and the hospital wants to open beds and make the next day’s loading go faster. We’ve had as few as few as five one of these nights since I’ve been here, but generally there are closer to twenty or twenty five.
On MTD nights, which start when the bus from the hospital arrives at about 7pm, these patients come into our facility and meet with a nurse and a doctor for one final evaluation. The process usually takes a few hours. I greet them and amid all the information they receive tell them that as a chaplain, I am here to listen to their stories and anxieties if they care to share them with me. I have found this night, and the time I spend with them the following morning, the most productive ministry I’ve ever experienced. Some guys are going home to broken marriages, some to infants they’ve never met, many have seen or experienced such horrible events “downrange” that they just want to talk. I never know what will happen on a given night: I’ve assured snipers they are forgiven. I’ve swapped out a pair of crutches for some more comfortable. I’ve listening to cries of “Where was God when my sergeant was blown up?” I’ve done relationship counseling. I’ve helped people call home to tell a spouse what’s happening to them. I’ve assisted the Red Cross in telling someone her grandmother was in a car accident.
I leave these evenings emotionally exhausted, but with a feeling that I’ve helped some folk make steps closer to health or faith.

I get to sleep in a bit on Outbound days: the day starts traveling one exit on the autobahn so that I can arrive no later than 8am (it’s about a 15 minute drive to work). I’ve already met most of the patients who are flying out that day, though we get at least one more busload about 10am. I offer Holy Communion and anointing for healing; sometimes I get a big group who want to receive, more often only a few. I’m around again to hear stories, I end up spending a lot of this time escorting guys to the smoking area where tongues tend to loosen up a bit more. I have an official “briefing” in the midst of all this that is intended to offer some tools to help them move into their new lives at home.
We load the busses in time to be on the flight line usually by 11am. I continue listening and encouraging and counseling as we load them onto the plane. I’ll help carry patients on a litter, maybe carry a backpack for someone with a bad back. Often an ambulance will arrive from the hospital with critical care patients. Once all the patients are onboard, the crew will begin to close up the plane. I’m often among the last people to walk off the aircraft, climbing down the steps the pilots use because the loading ramp in the back of the plane is already closing up.
Inbound flights can come at any time and we’ve not had a day without at least one. Some come early in the morning, most in the middle of the day. For inbound flights, I get on the aircraft as soon as I can and begin to meet the patients. I welcome them to Germany – some have no idea where they are – and explain to them what the next hour or two of their life will be like. We offload patients onto busses again and they drive the 20 minutes to Landstuhl where they are met by a team of volunteers who help get them off the bus and into wherever they are headed in the hospital. Some go straight to ICU, some walk to the dining hall for a meal. All are met by someone from their branch of service who is assigned to be their liaison through the chaos – paperwork, briefings, signatures, ID cards, new clothes, appointments with specialists – they experience before they are checked into their rooms. I sometimes ride to the hospital with patients, but generally at that point head back to the CASF with the staff.

Of course, often these things happen at the same time. I’ll leave for work in about ten minutes to meet the MTDs for the night. I’ll come home for the first half of my night’s sleep and then turn around to help meet an inbound scheduled to arrive at 2am. After that, I’ll get the second half my night’s sleep and then do the Outbound work. Tomorrow another inbound aircraft will be on the flight line right about the time we are done sending off the Outbounds so we’ll just stay out there to greet them. Since tomorrow is Sunday, I offer a worship service for the CASF staff who are unable to attend the Base Chapel on Sunday because of our schedule. I should be back to my room tomorrow night by 7pm at which point I’ll probably crash in bed so I can be ready to meet a morning inbound on Monday and the MTD patients Monday night.

I’ve returned from the MTD work and discovered that we have additional missions tomorrow. Within fifteen hours, we have five missions. That’s the bad news. The good news is that I’m not alone.
The military has taught me the value of teamwork.
Jerry called tonight. He’s the enlisted Chaplain’s Assistant. We don’t have any backup other than each other when we deploy. We also don’t have any other team to back us up: there are two docs, two pharmacy techs, and four shifts of nurses/medics. But only one chaplain team. And so we haven’t had much as far as days off. I’ve been more faithful to Jerry’s days off than to my own, to be honest: I’ve worked ten days straight now without a day away. Today is Jerry’s day off and I didn’t want to call him to ask him to do the 2am flight, mainly because I wouldn’t want him to do that to me. Nonetheless, he checked in with the CASF tonight, found out about the 2am mission, and then called me offering to do it. Offering. I agreed, and that means I get a full night’s sleep – if I can fall sleep tonight.

Emptying my pockets after work...

2008-07-22T20:57:00.000-04:00

My diet in Worms

2008-07-16T21:08:00.000-04:00

I know that I should always ask prices before I order, but… we’ll see what this costs me.
I’m sitting in a café, I guess you’d call it, in the Jewish quarter of Worms. I made it to the synagogue as it was closing for an hour, so I’m here for lunch. The owner is offering some kind of eggs and potatoes dish (maybe there’s a reason everyone here suggests Italian food for meals?). I’ve a darker beer than I’ve had so far. Black and white tiled floor, two tone yellow walls, modern paintings on the wall for sale. There’s a kitchen in back, I can’t tell how large, but the seating area has seven tables, probably about 800 square feet. American blues music. There are four of us in here and a woman at a table out front.
Martin Luther’s plaque where he made his stand is in a garden that’s currently being used to stage a play or film a movie, so I can’t get in there.
When the official part of the tour ended, I buggered out, not wasting much time. I have a train ticket that leaves in three hours if I stay with the tour. It’ll cost me e8 to stay longer. The tour is ok, but some of the people drive me nuts – the South Carolinian especially. There’s a guy who started knocking Catholicism for building “huge empty churches” and I just walked out of hearing range. Doesn’t he realize the role this city plays in his ability to be Assemblies of God? And the South Carolinian certainly didn’t appreciate that we were in the oldest Jewish cemetery in Europe. There’s so much spiritual history here... They feel a need to compare it with Indiana or wherever they are from. I do that, too, but there’s more I hope I have – an openness to something different. I pray Charis and Bekah will appreciate other places and cultures.
Lunch is here, I’m going to eat.
This is tasty. It will certain fill me up. Two more guys just walked in – both long hair and glasses and beards. The owner has the grey pony tail, but no glasses or beard.
The churches are beautiful. In the first, Magnus Church, there are indications that people worship – posters advertising what I’d like to think is a VBS. There’s a lot of gilt – very bright – but mostly brick walls and pillars. They are dark, but so vast as to not be oppressive. I climbed into what I guess is the pulpit in St Martin’s church – powerful to be able to stand where everyone could see. Despite being so high off the ground, it felt more intimate with the pews than standing in the front by the altar.
The place is filling up – two more arrived. I sure smell like smoke now.
I’m remembering one of the many “cafes” we would stumble across in China. I miss traveling.
Oh: I’m in the “Kunstler Café” on Judengasse (that means “Jewish Street” I think) in Worms.
My plan after lunch: tour the synagogue and possibly the museum there. Then to the train station to see when the trains go home. I do want to see the museum (e2) and then probably back to the Cathedral. Actually, I’ll probably go to the Frederick Church before the museum & cathedral. Frederick Church is a Reformed Church and significantly younger than the other buildings here: 1774.  We Americans are so young.
I’m off to explore.

Entry a bit later: the meal, with the beer which was at least e2, came to e8,20. I was happy with the price.
Jewish museum: by 1945, there were no Jews in Worms. For nearly a 1000 years before that, they had thrived here, enjoying special privileges from the Emperor to maintain their trade. The museum felt strange, like remembering dinosaurs or something: here’s a diorama of a seder meal, ‘here’s what their holidays were,’ ‘here’s a menorah which was important to them,’ ‘here’s a torah scroll; notice the fancy handles.’ The synagogue was a bit better except to note that Jews gather to worship every other week, but there is no Jewish Community in Worms.
Frederick Church isn’t an historical site. Someone let me in and was very nice about it, but gently pointed me toward some more historical churches.
There’s a church erected to support Luther in the shadows of the Cathedral. Turns out that was the one completed in its current form in the late 18th Century, though it dates to Luther’s time. The congregation there started pretty soon after the Diet in 1521 and the entire town at many times was more Protestant than Catholic. I read something about a significant moment in the history when the Lutherans and Calvinists joined up to build the church.
The city museum was a neat stop primarily for the “Luther Room” which holds two Luther Bibles. Pretty cool to be there, though I couldn’t read a thing. After I’d seen that, I paid a bit more attention to the rest of the museum and then actually paid attention to some more of the history: Romans built a town here. I walked some of the same roads that the Romans laid. Not far from the current Cathedral was a Temple to Jupiter.
I took the train home with the tour group rather than pay the extra money. I could spend more time here, especially touring and praying in the churches.

From the Heidelberg Castle

2008-07-10T08:53:00.000-04:00

Greetings from Ramstein, Germany!

2008-07-03T08:51:00.000-04:00

I’ve been here for a week now and am able to stop and take a breath, so thought I’d send a note to let y’all know what and how and I’m doing. Many of you have sent emails and I appreciate hearing from you. I’m not often able to reply to messages because I may have just a few minutes to get online. I hope this will catch you up.
I’m the chaplain for what the Air Force calls a Contingency Aerospace Staging Facility, or CASF, at Ramstein Air Base in southwestern Germany. A CASF is a bit like a holding area for anyone moving into a higher level of medical care. We have resources to care for just about any patient, but not for a long period of time. Most patients we encounter come from Afghanistan or Iraq and have been sent here for the hospital at Landstuhl, an Army base about 20 minutes away. Other patients move from here to the States for more care, which can range from significant burn treatment to physical therapy in a hospital in their hometown. Some patients stay in our facility, but usually not for more than a few days.
The CASF meets each plane with nurses, maybe a doctor, and several EMTs. Some patients on the plane can walk off, others we carry on litters with equipment that looks right out of an Intensive Care Unit in a hospital. As chaplain, I might be the first person they’ve seen in days whose only goal is to listen to them and be present without an agenda.
Outbound planes carry all kinds of patients. Most patients that are able to walk come from the hospital to the CASF the night before outbound flights. I have the opportunity on days of outbound flights to once again be present with patients. I offer communion and try to prepare them for resources and some of what they will face returning to the states. (For example, for outbounds this week, we’re suggesting they be purposeful about how they celebrate the Fourth: some of the skills that will keep them alive in a war zone might lead to an awkward moment in a town park’s fireworks show.)
I have brief contact with patients on inbound flights but I’ve been surprised at how much pastoral care I can provide in that time. On outbound days, I get more time with patients and by letting them talk have heard all kinds of stories of what they have faced. Some of these stories humble me to in the presence of such a fine human being, some of these stories make me cringe, some lead me to cry with someone, some make me, too, question where God is. War is brutal and ugly. The men and women we ask to conduct our wars are never the same.
The staff here is amazing. They have volunteered to be here and feel tremendous pride in their work, which they do very well. There are about a 100 people who work here, around a quarter of them are stationed here and this is their job for three years. Those in the permanent party end up doing a lot of admin and oversight. Most of the direct care is provided by the people, like me, who are here temporarily. Some come for as short as two weeks, most are here for four months. There are four rotating shifts, but some positions only have two shifts so they take turns being on call. I’m the only chaplain, but I have an enlisted “Chaplain Assistant” with me. We’ve split up the job so that we are seldom together and therefore able to multiply our resources. For example, I slept in this morning and Jerry handled the inbound mission. Because we’re on call so much, I won’t have much of a chance to travel a lot in Europe. I plan to make some day trips here and there as I’m able.
I’m living at Vogelweh, a former base that is now nearly exclusively housing for folk who commute to Ramstein. Because I’m not at Ramstein, where the CASF is, I have a rental car and get to drive a bit on the Autobahn to work every day. (That sounds more exotic than it is.) I’m living in what is best called a hotel suite, a couple rooms with a microwave and tiny refrigerator. I happen to be in a quiet part of the base, with my back windows looking into a forest, on the other side of the woods is an elementary school for families working here. It’s raining today, the first since we arrived. The weather is much like New York, but feels hotter here since we are often out on the flight line where the sun can beat down pretty hard and since none of the buildings I work or live in have air conditioning.
For the rest of this morning, I’m going to explore a bit more to get my bearings. We’ve been working hard since we arrived – generally two missions a day, plus I’m still absorbing and processing everything from the previous chaplain who stayed on to get us trained up.
Peace be with y’all. Have a great Independence Day and please take time to pray for the physical, mental and spiritual health of the men and women we have sent into harm’s way.

Jake

2007-09-03T14:22:00.000-04:00

my name is known to you

2007-08-24T14:30:00.000-04:00

God of many names,
my name is known to you.
I am held in the hand of your life,
and I do not know what you will make of me.
All I know is that I cannot make myself
any more than I could in my mother's womb.
But this I can do,
this I choose,
to give myself into the hand of your continuing creativity.
My past, with its joys and triumphs, its failures and regrets.
My present, with its struggles and accomplishments, its hopes and setbacks.
My future, with its fears and freedom, its pain and promise.
To loose and to bind, to stretch and to shape,
to become what I will,
trusting the hand that made the world
trusting the spirit that breathes life
trusting the love that will not let me go
trusting the promise of the Word made flesh.
--Kathy Galloway, Talking to the Bones

"How Shall I Pray?" by Ted Loder

2007-08-11T19:32:00.000-04:00

I returned a few hours ago from a week with my family in Iowa. Months ago, we planned a reunion, but my grandmother's declining health and pending death gradually overshadowed our expectations for the week. She "rallied" for the time together and was physically present quite often, though she is not always lucid. When she was alert, she enjoyed participating in or hearing about other events of the week: we updated our family portrait, we celebrated birthdays, my sister flew back from Japan, my brother surprised us, my wife and I celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary. When it was time to leave, I struggled to wave goodbye to my grandmother; I do not expect to see her alive again in this life. The trip was an emotional roller coaster.

The day after I left for Iowa, a member of the congregation died, a dear man who has wrestled disease with such dignity that many people didn't know he was dying. Then, later in the week, another member of the congregation, a devoted wife, mother, youth leader and church leader didn't wake up Thursday morning. This is devastating news for the church.

I'm preparing a sermon for worship tomorrow and am at a loss. I found the prayer How Shall I Pray? by Ted Loder (in the collection Guerrillas of Grace) which I pray tonight. This is the entire prayer; the first half really resonates.

How shall I pray?
Are tears prayers, Lord?
Are screams prayers,
or groans
or sighs
or curses?
Can trembling hands be lifted to you,
or clenched fists
or the cold sweat that trickles down my back
or the cramps that knot my stomach?
Will you accept my prayers, Lord,
my real prayers,
rooted in the muck and the mud and the rock of my life,
and not just my pretty, cut-flower, gracefully arranged
bouquet of words?
Will you accept me, Lord,
as I really am,
messed up mixture of glory and grime?
Lord, help me!
Help me to trust that you do accept me as I am,
that I may be done with self-condemnation
and self-pity
and accept myself.
Help me to accept you as you are, Lord:
mysterious,
hidden,
strange,
unknowable;
and yet to trust
that your madness is wiser
than my timid, self-seeking sanities,
and that nothing you've ever done
has really been possible,
so I may dare to be a little mad, too.

Loving your (uninvited) neighbor

2007-07-13T15:57:00.000-04:00

Wow. Did you see this story?

Sunday's gospel reading is the parable of the "good Samaritan." Talk about loving your neighbor: a robber's potential violence is averted when he's treated like a human being, not like a threat. Wow.

Here's an interesting take on it. And who knows? You might hear it again in Sunday's sermon!

Confirmation Camp... in a word?

2007-07-07T12:21:00.000-04:00

I invited the kids who went to Confirmation Camp to capture their experience in a single word. I didn't realize how hard that would be! I couldn't keep it to one word, so decided to post compilation I came up with:

Mosquitoes
Chipmunks
Beaver dams
Muddy Nuke-em
Passing notes
Lakeside lodge
Cold swim test
One pair of pants for the whole week!
Boom chicka boom!
Super “person”
Giggles
Eggs
New friends
Old friends
ADK Museum
Mean-looking mascara
Wet towels
Muddy baby playing in the puddle
Camp fire singing
“Ode to Becker”
Game-Playing Rock
Pirrrrrates
Family trees
Hawk Clean Cabin
Woodpecker up late
So many Cardinals
Eagles asleep early!
Storytelling
Canoes
Low ropes
Tie-dye, candle-dipping, sketching
Eating “Indian cucumbers”
Polar Bear
Moose-kissing
Moose-napping
Spiders in the showers
Night hike moon rock sparkles
Stargazing
Bed time stories
Quiz Shows

Church Math

2007-06-25T09:30:00.000-04:00

For the Children's Sermon yesterday in worship, I introduced the kids to a little "church math:" though 1 + 1 = 2 in school, in church 1 + 1 = 3 (based on Matt 18:20 where Jesus promises to be with us when we gather in his name). I was trying to teach the kids that God is with us at all times, including when we gather together in prayer or worship.

Whether or not the kids got it, I can't say, but - as often happens - there was a big kid (a.k.a. adult) paying close attention. This person, later in the day reading the paper, ran across the following ad, which might not have stood out had they not heard the "church math" story earlier in the day.

Isn't it great how sometimes the Spirit gives us a little nudge to remind us of simple truths?

Early Father's Day

2007-06-19T16:45:00.000-04:00

On June 3, as Deacon Ann delivered the children's sermon in worship, my youngest daughter Rebekah saw me sitting up front. The previous day I hadn't seen her very much: military duty, a funeral, a wedding, and planning for the worship service during which we welcomed fifteen children to their first communion and eleven new members.

Bekah squealed "Dada!" and toddled over to sit on my lap. I didn't realize Richard had caught it on his POP Camera.

School of the Prophets, 2007

2007-06-15T14:21:00.000-04:00

I'm returning from a week in the Great Smoky Mountains with three other friends from seminary. Seven years ago, we met doing a chaplaincy internship in a hospital near our seminary in New Jersey. We've maintained a great relationship and meet together every 18 months or so to encourage each other, share concerns, listen deeply: in short offer each other the pastoral care we seek to give others. We all admit we need this relationship in order to remain balanced and healthy.

We started calling ourselves "The School of the Prophets" when we read Under the Banner of Heaven together for one of our gatherings.

Here are some photos of our week together:

It seems most years we get together, there ends up being a sport of some sort that occupies a lot of our time. Previous highlights have been foosball and basketball. This year was the recently installed Waynesville Disk Golfcourse.

This is where much of our work was accomplished: the view off the front porch at sunset. Four of us on deck chairs sharing stories, listening and encouraging each other.

In the Smoky Mountains, after a hike.

Getting ready to kayak down the Tuckaseegee.

Thoughts of a solitary Yankee driving through North Carolina

2007-06-09T10:48:00.000-04:00

1. Sign at the North Carolina Welcome Center:

So they may approach us?

Isn't it that the law prevents solicitors, not the courts? Do you think someone is a sore loser?

2. Bluegrass isn't so bad if they don't sing too much.

3. Sign at gas station: (Read with a southern drawl.)

If paying by cash, please pay cashier on inside [sic] before pumping. "Thank You"

4. Any Starbucks north of the Mason-Dixon line would be embarrased of what passes for a bagel down here.

5. It took some searching, but they DO have NPR!

6. There might be something to this global warming thing. The oceans evaporating might account for this humidity.

7. I'm grateful that my mother in law loaned me her car, with Virginia license plates. It's a bit easier to pass for someone who knows what's going on than it would be if I had the minivan with New York plates.

Washington DC

2007-06-08T10:51:00.000-04:00

We left Wednesday night to begin my Continuing Education time. We're still traveling, I'm eventually headed for the Smoky Mountains to retreat with three other seminary friends, Misha and the girls will stay in Richmond with her family while I drive on to Western North Carolina.

Today we are in Washington DC participating in an ELCA conference advocating for a moral and just Farm Bill - the law, re-written every five years, that has the most impact on food stamps, emergency food pantries, and other domestic anti-hunger legislation. We're juggling child care (I'm back in the dorm room at American University where we slept last night with Bekah napping and Charis and I hanging out listening to music and watching movies) so we both can participate in the conference - Misha in her professional capacity as an advocate, and me as a church pastor.

For more information about the conference and the Farm Bill and Bread for the World, click here.

Yesterday, we arrived earlier in DC than we'd planned so we had time to Metro down to the Mall to visit some of the Smithsonians (Charis chose Air and Space, which was my top vote, also). We pushed a stroller and herded a toddler through the Mall, with views of the monuments and the Capitol. We navigated buses and the subway through a city that we each have great memories of: I spent three summers here working as a journalist and Misha began her advocacy work with her first job out of college at the National Head Start Association. We even have memories of the dorm we slept in last night: my first summer here, when we had started dating, I lived in this building and we met here once or twice to go out into the city for a date (most of the museums here are priced for college students: free).

This city represents so many things to me: memories of courting Misha, my brief career in journalism (I covered the Supreme Court and went to White House press briefings a few times), representative government by the people and for the people. I'm thrilled to be here again, even if for a day, and glad to share it with my girls. They are too young to know it now, but I hope to instill in them, as my Dad did for me, a respect for citizenship.

You thought they were extinct?

2007-06-06T05:35:00.000-04:00

I had registered and intended to attend the ELCA's Upstate NY Synod meeting earlier this week. However, last week was quite busy and later this week I leave for continuing education retreat so I opted to take a day to breathe. I got a cell phone call Monday night from Isaac and Roeg saying if I didn't show up soon to drink the beer they'd bought for me, one of them would have to do it for me.

Not sorry I missed the Synod; I am sorry I missed Dinosaur.

Great article about the 109th Airlift Wing...

2007-06-05T04:50:00.000-04:00

The Times Union ran a great article yesterday about my unit.

2007-06-03T09:00:00.000-04:00

Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant, John. Acknowledge, we pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.

Fruit Smoothie

2007-06-02T17:45:00.000-04:00

This is a fun series of pictures that Misha captured of Bekah enjoying a fruit smoothie.

2007-05-30T01:00:00.000-04:00

Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant, Ray. Acknowledge, we pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.

Camping

2007-05-28T10:00:00.000-04:00

We set up our tent over Memorial Day weekend and Misha and I took turns camping out in the back yard with Charis. Here's a couple highights for you: the first picture is Bekah working her way through a s'more (it rained, so we had to make and eat them indoors). The second picture is Charis and I in the tent before settling in for the night.

Memorial Day

2007-05-28T05:41:00.000-04:00

Nearly 3,500 dead and 27,000 wounded in Operations Iraqi and Enduring Freedom. May God shed his grace on all who mourn.

2007-05-27T18:00:00.000-04:00

Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant, Fred. Acknowledge, we pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.

Rose

2007-05-25T18:13:00.001-04:00

Rose lost her house today. Out mowing, stopped to unload a bag of grass and heard something strange. I arrived while it was still smoking, but it was three hours later that we walked around the outside and into the back yard to see what had been her deck furniture and home. Nothing to speak of seems to have survived other than her two dogs and the lawnmower. Her cat, Kelly, is missing, hopefully out in the woods scared and hiding.

Please pray for her.

2007-05-23T17:00:00.000-04:00

Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant, Margaret. Acknowledge, we pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive her into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.

2007-05-22T18:09:00.000-04:00

Greetings from Greenland!

Here's a tour of our "campsite."

Partner

2007-05-09T15:00:00.000-04:00

It was hard to leave my Partner this morning. I drove in silence for several hours after we'd said I love you to each other and goodbye. I think I had imagined it might be harder -- don't get me wrong, it wasn't easy by any stretch -- but I'm glad I got to say goodbye now.

On vacation with the family in the mid-80's Grandma had joined us for much of the drive from Iowa to the east coast. We each needed a "partner" to cross the street in Philadelphia or some other large city and so Grandma and I ended up as regular partners: the nickname stuck and we've been "partners" ever since.

We've had a great relationship; I've learned much from her wisdom and perspective. I particularly remember sitting at her kitchen table while she'd make lunch (I remember egg salad distinctly for some reason) and she'd listen intently to whatever I was talking about. When she spoke, they were obviously words she had measured carefully and put a lot of thought into. In my family, most adults treated me this way, but because I didn't get to see her every day, I think I gave more weight to her words.

A planned angioplasty a month ago resulted in the doc determining she was too weak for the needed operation; she was admitted into hospice care. She might be with us for many more months, maybe more years, but in case not, I made space to go visit her. We spent a day driving around town, eating together, napping together, sharing pictures, stories and laughs. We got to tell some stories a few times because her memory isn't so great...

I went to visit her this morning before I drove to the airport to fly back to New York and Confirmation class. She was wide awake in bed, waiting for me. Great hug, great smile. We said we loved each other. She said she was sorry she couldn't see the girls, but understood they couldn't make the trip. It was hard leaving. My dad timed a phone call pretty good: on the road to the airport we talked and had a good chat. Thanks, Dad.

2007-01-24T12:05:00.000-05:00

I've intended for about a week now to post a comment about my county's Department of Social Services. A week ago, a woman our congregation has been helping off and on for several months, was at a real low point and needed more help than we could offer. Estranged from her children, it seemed she didn't know where to turn. It was cold outdoors and she didn't know where she was going to stay that night.

I made a few calls and figured the DSS could help her and offered to have her follow me for the 20 minute drive to their office. We arrived 15 minutes before they were set to close, she tried to screw up as much of her pride as she could maintain while going to ask for a level of help she had admirably sought to avoid for several years. We walked in the building and not knowing where to go started wandering and obviously looking a bit lost. A custodian (!) stopped and asked us if she could help and very politely directed us to the correct office. The staff who then helped us arrange for a warm and safe bed for the night were SO wonderfully kind and helpful. They joked with her getting her to calm down, they treated her with tremendous diginity and kindness. The entire office had to stay past closing time to help us but I didn't notice anyone look at a clock or imply any need for hurry. They arranged for a warm and safe bed for her and took the actions required to start the ball rolling for her care.

I was so very impressed with the way the staff interacted with us. They treated this woman as a human being, not a "client" or "vagrant" or object. Thanks.

After leaving the county office building, we drove together as far as a gas station to make sure she could get to her bed that night and then back to DSS in the morning. Then I left her. She was grateful and had been able to retain her dignity through a situation I know she had feared.

We heard from her the next day that things looked good for her. Then we heard nothing for several days, but this was not unusual.

We heard today that she is dead. We aren't sure the circumstances or reasons.

I have every reason to think that the care and dignity she received that first night at DSS was maintained. I know that we at church showed her unconditional love and support, even though we eventually had to help her look to the county for support. I hope she died knowing that some people cared for her very much.

Into your hands, O God, we commend your servant.
Acknowledge, we pray,
a sheep of your own fold,
a lamb of your own flock,
a sinner of your own redeeming.
Recieve her into the arms of your mercy
with all the saints in light.

Skin

2007-01-23T11:35:00.000-05:00

A good friend of mine in ministry is facing a tough time in his congregation right now. I talked to him today and could sense the cloud hanging over him and the church. As denominations make stands on public issues, some congregations and pastors struggle to decide how or if they fit in with those stands. That turmoil can lead to fighting and accusations and name-calling and conflict and a whole bunch of other struggles. My friend is in the middle of just one such conflict now.

The song Skin, by the Vigilates of Love, is one of those songs I put on repeat now and then when I need to hear the truth of the words: sometimes you can't please everyone / sometimes you can't please anyone at all / you sew your heart onto your sleeve / and wait for the ax to fall

(I'm not sure how to share the audio of this song with you, so here are the lyrics...)

Skin

now i'd seen him despondent
a few times as of late
sometimes the answer that love gives
is the hardest one to take
i know he was prone to paint
the voice of his own fear
so vincent he picked up the blade
and he put it to his ear

look at yourself in the mirror
you're all rumpled red stubbled and gaunt
you walk a dead end path in a dry corn field
and now this morose response
your princess she don't wanna see you
no your princess she don't wanna hear
so vincent he picked up the blade
and he put it to his ear

now look if you're gonna come around here
and say those sort of things
you gotta take a few on the chin
you talking about love and all that stuff
you better bring your thickest skin
sometimes you can't please everyone
sometimes you can't please anyone at all
you sew your heart onto your sleeve
and wait for the ax to fall

you there with the paint box
you there with paper and pen
me i got this blunt instrument
i'm gonna play on 'til the end
and you know you come with empty hands
or you don't come at all
you deal your best hand out in the marketplace
and let the chips fall

the package it comes wrapped up
there is a lesson here
vincent he picked up the blade
and he put it to his ear

now look if you're gonna come around here
and say those sort of things
you gotta take a few on the chin
yeah you're talking about sin and redemption
well you better wear your thickest skin
sometimes you can't please everyone
sometimes you can't please anyone at all
sew your heart onto your sleeve
and wait for the ax to fall

2007-01-14T22:31:00.000-05:00

The other day, driving on the Northway, Charis spotted a stand of tall grass along the side of the road. Usually this time of year, the grass would be under several inches – if not feet – of snow… this winter has been devoid of snow so far and no maintenance crew intends to mow in New York in January. So, as we are driving along the Northway, Charis and I are negotiating whether we will go to the Children’s Museum (my choice) or the carousel at the mall (her choice). I change my plans to go ahead to the carousel and she’s silent for a moment until I hear, “Daddy, grains of wheat! Communion!” as she points to the stand of tall grass.

Then she starts to sing, “As the grains of wheat, once scattered on a hill…”

I have to back up for the non-POP folk who read this: at Prince of Peace, we celebrate communion every week. I was raised in a church that celebrated communion every three months and accompanied this ceremony with stoic faces, a dirge on the organ, and a dismal cloud that descended into the sanctuary. Prince of Peace is a bit different: we celebrate every week. Kids are a welcome part of our worship so we tend to have giggling, crying, scurrying and squirming as we gather for communion. Charis is among the kids who scurry and squirm – she tends to be kinda quiet – as she comes forward each week for communion.

Usually, Charis describes this a time for “bread and juice.” Last week, I was able to sit with her in worship and as the elements were brought forward I said "Now it's time for communion." She wanted to know more about that word and settled for Jesus being with us at this special time.

We often sing a cheerful song as the bread and wine are brought forward during the worship service. Charis has often sung this song at home or other times: “As the grains of wheat, once scattered on a hill, are gathered into one to become our bread, so may all your people, from all the ends of earth, be gathered into one in you."

And so, after negotiating a carousel ride from her dad, my not-yet-three year old looked out the window of our minivan to a stand of grass, taller than it generally grows, and associates that grass with pictures of wheat fields she has seen and then connects that to a song she likes and draws a connection to communion.

I am proud to come from traditions that choose to let children come to the communion table. This was not the case in the congregation in which I grew up. To be “admitted” to the table, we had to complete class time with the pastor and be interviewed by the Consistory, something so daunting most kids put it off until well into high school. We were told we shouldn’t come to the Lord’s Supper until we “understood” what it was about.

Phooey. I’ve got a Master’s Degree in Divinity now and I STILL don’t understand everything about the Lord’s Supper. But I do know that my daughter already understands more than I thought she did – she can look out the window of a car and be reminded of worship and sacrament. That’s cool.

Love the one you're with

2007-01-04T21:42:00.000-05:00

The story of how the pigs made it to Grandma's house is a family favorite involving misunderstandings, assumptions, a road trip to Tijuana, (bad taste) and many, many laughs. The short version of the story has these two ceramic pigs in Grandma's apartment and Charis fascinated with them... and not so sure why my sister and brother in law aren't there...

2007-01-01T21:34:00.000-05:00

The first winter I spent in New York, after moving here from Arizona, I bought a natural daylight bulb for my desk lamp because the January days here are so short and dark. (Little did I know that later I’d join the air guard unit that spends our winter in a land where the sun never sets!) Though I’ve adjusted pretty well to the seasons here, winter can be a tough pull for me. Somewhere in the back of my head I know the days are getting longer, but it’s hard to notice the pace of just a minute or two per day. When the natural daylight bulb blew out sometime that summer, I replaced it with a generic white frosted. I realized I’d hardly noticed the gradual lengthening of sunlight but that the days were as long as I’d wished they’d been in January.

New Year’s Day and January come on us with sudden fireworks and the illusion that maybe this year will be different. The newborn 2007 shakes his rattle and pushes old man 2006 off stage. But, in the words of one of my favorite theologians, Bono: “nothing changes on New Year’s Day.” Of course that’s not entirely true: New Year’s Day has a minute more of sunlight than New Year’s Eve. But the sentiment of the lyric is that dramatic changes in our lives seldom happen overnight.

U2 wrote the song “New Year’s Day” in part to support the nonviolent movement Solidarity in Poland. Founded in 1980 as a labor union in a communist country, Solidarity could not be crushed by the regime in power. It took nearly a decade, but this labor movement was able to leverage enough influence to spark the first of five overthrows of Eastern-bloc countries in 1989. Nothing changed in one day.

Our lives require constant small choices that gradually steer us into our values. I can choose today to be more attentive to my daughters for a few extra minutes, to tell my wife one more time that I love her, to make that extra effort at work beyond what is merely required. The changes in our lives that last are the changes we work on little by little, a minute here and a minute there. Then, gradually, we notice the sky is brighter and we are in the place we had hoped to be in months ago.

Sister Lauria said she accepts Johnny for who he is.

2006-12-24T06:04:00.000-05:00

NEW YORK REGION | December 24, 2006
Coming Out of His Tunnel and Helping a Bronx Nun
By MANNY FERNANDEZ
A man in a cave and a Catholic nun have come to rely on each other to deliver food to the homeless each Christmas.

2006-11-25T13:26:00.000-05:00

I'm so proud of my wife! And now Bekah is getting in on the activist gig, too! You have to sit through a bit to see them, and they voice over Misha's great briefing, but with any luck, this won't be their only fifteen seconds...

2006-11-21T11:11:00.000-05:00

People notice peacemakers because they dress funny. We know how the people who make war dress - in uniforms and medals, or in computers and clipboards, or in absoluteness, severity, greed, and cynicism. But the peacemaker is dressed in righteousness, justice, and faithfulness - dressed for the work that is to be done.
- Walter Brueggemann

Election Day

2006-11-07T07:29:00.000-05:00

Six or seven months into our stay in China 10 years ago, Misha and I went to the market to buy her a pair of shoes. We went to “The Mall,” a four or five story building with several kiosks and departments. Like much of China at the time, appearances could be deceiving – “The Mall” looked like Macy’s but sold items you’d find at a Dollar Store.

Buying shoes was a chore that day, the clerks at that counter were deep in conversation and cigarettes and didn’t acknowledge our presence. It was as if they knew that if they helped us, it might mess up their shelves of beautifully displayed shoes. I’m not sure how we finally got their attention, I might have just walked around the counter incurring their wrath and forcing the issue. I do remember standing there, frustrated, knowing that whether or not they helped me they would receive their full paycheck for that day. But then I suddenly felt sorry for them: the economic and political system in which they live created apathy in these disenfranchised women.

I remember being grateful that in my country, there was no room for that same apathy because, unlike these women, we can participate in our political system. I promised myself that day that I would vote at every opportunity when I returned to the States.

Please vote today. Please take advantage of this opportunity, most of the world does not have this freedom.

Halloween

2006-11-01T06:54:00.000-05:00

Initially pretty freaked out when we started walking around last night – “What’s that, Daddy?” “She’s dressed like a witch.” What’s that, Daddy?” “He has a mask on.” “Hold me Daddy, I’m scared.” “Will you wear your crown again or should I still hold it?” “You hold it, Daddy.” – by the sixth or seventh house Charis figured out that people were actually giving her candy and that maybe this whole Halloween thing wasn’t so bad. She loosened up considerably, and after an hour of walking door-to-door – “Charis, say thank you.” “How about we go to another house now?” – Bekah went to sleep and Charis manned the candy bowl on our front stoop.

Satire

2006-10-27T09:46:00.000-04:00

Pronunciation: 'sa-"tI(-&)r
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle French or Latin; Middle French, from Latin satura, satira, perhaps from (lanx) satura dish of mixed ingredients, from feminine of satur well-fed; akin to Latin satis enough -- more at SAD
1 : a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn
2 : trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly
synonym see WIT
(From the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary)

This song is not a rebel song. It was released as a single in 1983 and remains one of U2's most popular protest songs speaking against the violence in their Irish homeland. I posted the lyrics (from U2.com) beneath the video.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

I can't believe the news today
I can't close my eyes and make it go away.
How long, how long must we sing this song?
How long, how long?
'Cos tonight
We can be as one, tonight.

Broken bottles under children's feet
Bodies strewn across the dead-end street.
But I won't heed the battle call
It puts my back up, puts my back up against the wall.

Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Oh, let's go.

And the battle's just begun
There's many lost, but tell me who has won?
The trenches dug within our hearts
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters
Torn apart.

Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.

How long, how long must we sing this song?
How long, how long?
'Cos tonight
We can be as one, tonight.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.

Wipe the tears from your eyes
Wipe your tears away.
I'll wipe your tears away.
I'll wipe your tears away.
I'll wipe your bloodshot eyes.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.

And it's true we are immune
When fact is fiction and TV reality.
And today the millions cry
We eat and drink while tomorrow they die.

The real battle just begun
To claim the victory Jesus won
On...

Sunday, bloody Sunday
Sunday, bloody Sunday..

Mutt begets mutt

2006-10-05T09:53:00.000-04:00

I suspect God giggles when I drink from my John Calvin coffee mug.

When I was called to a new ministry position earlier this year, the fact that I’m ordained in a different denomination than the congregation I was called to wasn’t a barrier to the Holy Spirit.
Recently, while explaining to a former Catholic married a former Congregationalist, that though I’m working in a Lutheran church, I’m ordained in the Reformed church, he affirmed me: “The people in the pews move among denominations all the time. It’s about time pastors caught up and did the same.” As my mother reminds me, I was baptized in a Lutheran church. Of course, I was also confirmed Reformed, met my Southern Baptist wife while attending an Episcopal parish, and attended a non-denominational seminary while serving in a Presbyterian congregation. Like others, I’m a denominational mutt.

Don’t get me wrong: I believe denominations are important. Yes, denominations provide a connection to a particular theological and ethnic heritage. But more importantly to me, denominations are the means by which we agree not to be the church by ourselves; they provide the means for accountability. But I believe that God calls me to serve the Church, not any denomination.

The night my youngest daughter was baptized by a Lutheran pastor, Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, United Church of Christ, and Reformed Church witnesses stood as my daughter’s sponsors. Among the many emotions swirling within me that night was pride that, through the Ecumenical Witness program, my daughter was clearly being baptized into the Christian church, not the Lutheran church. I suspect that, like me, Rebekah will be a denominational mutt. That’s ok with me; it’s more important that as she grows in faith, she’s connected to others who seek JC – Jesus Christ, not John Calvin.

Do not repay evil for evil

2006-10-05T07:06:00.000-04:00

The following was the first story in a weekly Sojourners email I get. I had to read it twice before the facts sunk in: the community of the five murdered and five injured girls not only says "we will forgive you" but backs that up with action by establishing funds not only for the grieving, but for the murderer's family as well. What a great example of how we of faith should live in the world.

What was it Jesus said? Something about loving enemies? And Paul had something to say about this too, right?

"We will forgive you."

- unnamed Amish neighbor, while embracing the father of Charles Carl Roberts IV, the gunman who killed five Amish schoolchildren and injured five others before taking his own life Monday morning. (source: Lancaster New Era)

Members of the community have established funds both for the families of those killed and wounded (the Amish do not have health insurance), and for the family of Roberts, who leaves behind a wife and two young children. Mennonite Central Committee and Mennonite Disaster Service are also coordinating support for those affected.

Pick yourself up off the ground!

2006-10-04T09:58:00.000-04:00

Just a week bit of humor from our household.

Visit to the Mosque

2006-09-21T15:35:00.000-04:00

Last night, 51 of us from the church's confirmation program visited a local mosque. I want to capture a few thoughts from the visit:

1. Imam Ahmed Kobeisy of the Islamic Cultural Center of the Capital District was a wonderful host, fielding questions and prompting discussion in a most respectful and helpful manner. There were about as many kids as parents and adults, which we had not expected but which he rolled with very well.

2. I was SO proud of our kids for their respect and demeanor during the visit. I'm new to this church and these kids so I was a bit nervous about how they would behave; I'm pleased to say they were fantastic and I feel comfortable taking them on other trips this year.

3. What an honor for Imam Kobeisy to invite us to watch one of their prayer services. I have participated in such prayers before, in a mosque in Tucson, and find the ritual powerful. Indeed, as the Imam said, if we come before God five times daily with the right spirit, we will certainly be reminded of God's consistent presense in our lives (much more, I might add, than if we only pray to God on Sundays!).

4. I am again struck by the significance of Jesus Christ in our lives. Christ's offer of grace marks Christianity as unique among world religions and is a stark contrast to Islam. So many of the facts about Islam that we were presented with last night were related to what we should DO in our lives (help the poor, pray daily, fast regularly, honor God). The divinity and grace of Jesus Christ allow Christians to spend more energy around who we ARE -- loved and accepted by God, warts and all!

5. In high school, once when we had free tickets to Disneyland, JJ and I rode the "It's a Small World" ride and got out of our boats to "dance" with the little dolls and figures singing that song over and over and over... Imam Kobeisy reminded us again how small this world really is: many people paint him with the same brush as
bin Laden.

6. On a relatively unrelated (and irreverent) note, click here for a Daily Show poke at interreligious dialogue. I'm glad last night didn't turn into this.

2006-09-11T06:37:00.000-04:00

I’ve spent a significant part of this past weekend with emergency first responders. On Saturday, I participated in a community-wide emergency drill which simulated a military airplane carrying 40 people and some dangerous cargo which happened to crash in the backyard of the East Glenville Fire Department. For several hours, volunteer fire fighters from at least four departments coordinated efforts for rescue and recovery with each other, local ambulance companies and the military. About half the “injured” (played by more volunteers from the Civil Air Patrol, the Boy Scouts, and the military) were carried to local hospitals.

As a chaplain, I can’t actually “simulate” praying with the injured or counseling the medic who has to amputate a leg in the field. Instead, I met as many people as I could, shaking hands and thanking them for participating the exercise and for their work in their fields. One fire fighter raised his arms to the beautiful sunny morning and said, “I could be home finishing my deck!” Each of us in that drill chose to be a part of the machinery in our society that prepares and responds to disasters and emergencies in our community.

On Sunday, we held a memorial service for Joe Longobardo, a member of our unit and state trooper killed last week during a hunt for an escaped convict. Later in the afternoon, I waited with hundreds of other people to pay condolences to his family and friends and respect to Joe’s memory at his casket. Troopers and police and fire departments and Marines and Air Guardsmen uniforms seemed as prevalent as civilian clothes. I watched as troopers tried to balance their job with the overwhelming emotion of the event. Several gathered around a slideshow flipping pictures of Joe as a child, on duty in the desert, holding his year-old son and dancing with his wife. When pictures of strength contests or around a bar were displayed, those in uniform would laugh and nudge each other. When pictures from barracks or on patrol were displayed, those in uniform would nod their heads in memory. But when pictures of Joe’s young son and wife came on the screen, the reactions of those wearing uniforms was completely different. Some tensed up, some showed open grief and pain, some looked away. These are human beings, these are fathers and brothers and mothers.

After my first year of college, I took an EMT course in Los Angeles. Part of the on-the-job training I spent with an ambulance company responding to calls. I remember a pretty beat up bicyclist who had need ambulance transportation to a hospital after a fall; I remember the screaming of someone on an LSD trip that needed to be restrained; I remember weaving through traffic when the sirens suddenly stopped and we became just another car on the road because the person we were going to help had been declared dead on the scene and the crew I was with was not needed. Because of that one day I spent in an ambulance, every time I hear sirens, I stop and offer a prayer for the safety and wisdom of the emergency responders and the health of whoever is the focus of their call. I’ve taught this to Charis who now pipes up with every siren she hears, “There go the helpers!”

It’s September 11… I’m going to Joe’s funeral today… There are thousands of our neighbors who choose to live as helpers among us. I am grateful for what they are willing to do. May their strength give us strength.

Katrina

2006-08-29T14:59:00.000-04:00

This story resonated with me; I heard many like it when I was in Mississippi a year ago.

2006-08-23T12:32:00.000-04:00

We often assume we have only two options. Either God ordains/permits everything that comes to pass, and we simply have to accept that fact, or there are some things that happen even though God does not want them to. There is at least one other option, and it is the one I argue for: God ordains/permits everything that comes to pass, but we don't simply have to accept that fact. We can complain to God rather vigorously about the things we have a hard time accepting. - Richard Mouw

2006-08-14T17:18:00.000-04:00

The gospel reading this week is yet another in the long speech in which Jesus identifies himself as the bread of life. But paired with the Old Testament lesson for the week, Lady Wisdom's invitation to dinner, Jesus' insistence on eating and drinking his flesh and blood drove me to study anew how the church understands the ultimate dinner invitation: The Lord's Supper.

Charis on a balance beam

So here I sit at Starbucks reading representatives of both traditions I am balancing: The Heidelberg Catechism and Luther's Small Catechism. I started in a non-denominational seminary where the discussion of theology around Communion was quite diverse. In a more “proper” reformed education, I had to learn the intricacies that separated Calvinists from Lutherans from Catholics from Zwinglians and Anabaptists. Today, it's no longer an academic question to compare and contrast Luther and reformed understanding of the sacrament. By Sunday, I have to something to say to God's people. And these people, unlike some seminary professors, are more interested in life than historical debates.

Here is the genesis of where I'm going with this:

At the Table, we are invited to forgiveness, real life and Christlikeness.
Something real and mysterious happens here. Something beyond reason.
These two traditions have a lot more in common with each other than they do with a bubble-gum church where worship is synonymous with singing and emotions drive sermons more than a thirst for wisdom.

When I moved in to my office a couple months ago carrying Calvin’s entire commentary set packed in a box for Huggies diapers, I knew I’d be in for a balancing act. Surprisingly, or maybe not so, I’m discovering so much more that we share in common than should separate us. For 500 years, we’ve looked at each other skeptically, but I think it’s time to look ahead to what we can do together rather than focus on our historical separation.

2006-08-11T11:24:00.000-04:00

This week at Vacation Bible School, the kids (and adults) dress up as if they lived in Bethlehem at the time of Jesus' birth. I'm playing the part of the Roman Census Taker; I get to see each kid each night to teach them a bit about the Roman Empire at the time of Christ and then to ask them questions about their God and what all the ruckus is about shepherds and angels and stables. It's great to listen to them tell me that they can talk to God themselves - some have even offered to teach me how they pray - and that they don't need to offer food sacrifices to certain roman gods. As a pastor, I listen to them talk about their faith and feel such hope and joy in their prayers.

Each night, the kids and adults start with singing songs, many of them dressed in "Bible times" clothing we dragged out from the leftover Christmas pageant boxes. The kids circle up and follow the leader in hand motions and dancing as they sing.

The other night - actually our wedding anniversary - when Misha, Charis and Rebekah joined the festivities, Charis asked for her costume.

As a father, it's great to watch my older daughter get into the group's activities. She watches the older kids and slowly joins in with the hand motions. Her mouth moves as she tries to keep up with the lyrics (though all the next day, she sings over and over the few words she does remember!).

This is an important part of how faith is formed in kids. Of course, I'm not talking about the costumes, or even the songs. Early faith is formed by watching the rest of our "tribe" go through the motions of religion. Neither the motions nor the religion are what actually creates faith, but kids watch and will learn what they see. If they see others celebrating their faith and praising God, their world will be shaped around the reality that God loves them and is a part of their lives.

2006-08-04T15:41:00.000-04:00

Let each person proceed according to our given ability and continue the journey we have begun. There is no one so unhappy who will not make some progress, however small. Let us not cease to do the utmost, that we may incessantly go forward in the way of the Lord; and let us not despair because of the smallness of our accomplishment. Though we fall short, our labor is not lost if this day surpasses the preceeding one.

From Calvin's "Golden Booklet of the True Christian Life"

Fowler

2006-08-04T15:33:00.000-04:00

This summer, I am not volunteering at Camp Fowler, but was able to visit today. Stepping out of the car, I was nearly overwhelmed with emotion to again walk the trails, smell the pines and hear the laughter of Christian community. I hugged and was encouraged to see campers, staff and volunteers whom I love dearly. This camp is one of a few places on earth where each time I visit I am nourished merely by smells, sights and sounds.

Work should work

2006-08-03T10:21:00.000-04:00

This morning's Times Union runs an editorial about last week's House vote on the minimum wage and the subsequent decision facing the Senate now: to accept the minimum wage increase along with the repeal of portions of the estate tax, or to reject both proposals. Increasing the minimum wage is intended to help the working poor in our society; repealing parts of the estate tax benefits only the wealthiest of the wealthy. The TU states that this type of politics happens all the time but Congress "counts on the public's inattention." Well, I'm paying attention and I'm upset.

I try to get the Y at least three times a week to spend some time on the treadmill. Running outdoors doesn't work as well for me: but the monotony of the treadmill, my mp3 U2, and sometimes the television makes the monotony of running a bit easier for me to take. Last Friday on the treadmill I saw 25 minutes of Oprah whose topic engaged me more than my music: she interviewed a couple who spent 30 days living on minimum wage and trying to survive. I missed the first and last parts of the show, so I don't know a lot of the details or how it turned out for them, but I watched it because earlier in the day I had called my congressman to ask him to support the increase of the minimum wage.

Tony Campolo and Brian McLaren teamed up to write "Adventures in Missing the Point." In a chapter on Social Action, Tony says, "When we talk about Jesus, we must make it clear that he is not just interested in our well-being in the afterlife. He is a Savior who is at work in the world today trying to save the world from what it is, and make it into a place where people can live together with dignity." In short, Jesus cares a whole lot about how we treat the least of these who live among us.

And so I've signed on to Jim Wallace's Covenant for a New America which seeks to bring issues of poverty to our leadership and ask that they work to eliminate the injustices of the current system. Specifically: people who work should be able to live off what they make, children should not have to suffer the consequences of being poor, and we should take steps to end extreme global poverty.

Jesus said "by their fruits you shall know them" or "how you treated the least of these you treated me." Church should point to a Savior at work in the world ... and then go about helping Christ make a place where people can live together with dignity.

My Olive Wood Cross

2006-07-30T05:32:00.000-04:00

A few years ago I began to wear an inexpensive cross around my neck that I purchased through SERVV. The simple cross is carved of olive wood in the West Bank. Everytime I put it on, I remember that this this cross of my own calling, this cross created from a plant often associated with peace, that Christians continue to eek out a life of faith amid the violence and clashing cultures of the Middle East.

As war continues in Lebanon and Isreal again today, I join my prayers with those around the world asking God to grant wisdom, courage, and clear, loud voices to peacemakers who would discover ways for Abrahams' children to live in peace.

Beginning to Bloom

2006-07-20T09:43:00.000-04:00

This will be the third season I see these day lilies bloom. They were a gift from a former parishioner and made the move with us to our new home. This morning, we walked outdoors and several were blooming. Their stems are growing at odd angles from the week they spent in plastic bags during the move, but thanks to Hank from church, they are transplanted, blooming, and on their way to becoming established here in Malta.

Thanks to all the folk who helped us pack, load, unload and continue to unpack. It’s a reminder when we see these lilies and see the gradually increasing pile of empty boxes that an entire community is adopting us, praying for us, and pitching in to help us bloom in our new home.

Vacation

2006-07-09T06:56:00.000-04:00

The first week in July, the day after we closed on our new house and two days after loading and unloading a moving truck, we left for a week-long vacation with my family near Glacier National Park. We stayed in Whitefish, Montana in a ski cabin with my parents, sister, brother and their spouses. It's been a fast-paced few months since coming to Prince of Peace and a vacation was a wonderful Sabbath. I thought I'd share a few pictures and highlights of the trip.

This is the first that Dad has seen his new granddaughter. I'm not sure that smile evaporated the entire time we were there.

My parents watched our girls one of the days while the siblings and inlaws Walked in the Trees near Big Mountain Ski Resort. Guides led us on a short mountain bike ride, hike with a naturalist, and then strapped us to steel lines and walked us on platforms among the trees.

My sister wondered why Bekah seemed to be having so much fun even though all she did was lay on her back and grab her heels. Thinking she might be missing something, Jana convinced her husband Vince to join her on the sofa, flanking Bekah, and assume that position. Fortunately, or not, we captured the moment on the camera. You can almost hear Bekah asking, "What are these fools trying to do?"

A highlight of my vacation was spending time with Charis as she gets older. The former science teacher in me thoroughly enjoyed pointing out plants and bugs to my own daughter. God has made such a wonderful world and I am honored to help another generation appreciate its beauty and intricacy.

Homosexuality and the Church

2006-06-14T15:41:00.000-04:00

We miss the forest for the weeds when we church leaders spend our energy drawing lines around who can be in our club.

Lenses

2006-06-13T11:07:00.000-04:00

A day off! I wanted to hear about the General Synod meeting this morning so I sought the internet. Google shows nothing, of course, of this 19th century church, so I resorted to the RCA’s website. Information here is neutered and filtered through the lenses of whatever leadership has decided is Our Goal. I look to Blogger and find several entries, each of which is more disturbing that the other. These Chicken Little’s have their own lenses through which the news is filtered: lenses of sexism, fear, gnosticism and a heretical cocktail of LaHaye, Bright and Darby.

Frustrated, watched “Saved!” which I borrowed from Isaac and thoroughly enjoyed. It's cathartic to watch the fear-based, gnostic, heretical wing of the church satirized. Maybe if the girls nap at the same time, I'll put in Constantine, cathartic in its own way...

Missing the Point

2006-06-12T06:11:00.000-04:00

If you had asked the apostle Paul, "If you were to die tonight, do you know for certain that you would be with God in heaven?" I'm certain Paul would have said yes. But he probably would have given you a funny look and wondered why you were asking this questions, because to him, it missed the point. To Paul the point of being Christ's follower was not just to help people be absolutely certian they were going to heaven after they died. Paul's goal was to help them become fully formed, mature in Christ, here and now -- to experience the glorious realities of being in Christ and experiencing Christ in themselves.

After hearing Tony Campolo speak a week ago (after hearing Len Sweet a few days before that) I'm treading water in ideas, trying to sort out and process what I've heard. At the Campolo display, I picked up a book he wrote with Brian McLaren, from which the quote above is taken. Our faith is not given to us for warm fuzzies by some Cosmic Care Bear (that's Derek's image and one I really like). Our faith is given to us so that God can get to work through us.

When Misha and I were married in the States, after our Chinese wedding(s), my mother preached at the ceremony in Virginia. The liturgy we chose was a "Blessing of Civil Marriage" in which we did not exchange vows but rather to affirm the vows we had made in a previous civil ceremony, and ask God and the congregation to bless those vows. One of the clearest memories I have of that ceremony is Mom's sermon: we had been blessed with an amazing start to our relationship but God asked now that we use our relationship to bless others. Mom used the stories of Abraham and Sarah at our wedding, McLaren conveys much the same essense in Jesus' hypothetical tyrade in his book with Campolo:

God's promise to Abraham was not limited to Abraham's descendents: his promise was to bless Abraham and make him a blessing, to make Abraham's descendents a great nation, so they could bless all other nations. So by being preoccupied only with your own blessing, your own liberation, your own concerns -- you are missing the whole point about salvation.

The church exists primarily for the benefit of its non-members. God, strengthen me to lead such a church.

Not the God we would have chosen

2006-06-09T16:11:00.000-04:00

The following prayer is from Walter Brueggemann's "Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth" (Augsburg Fortress 2003). Since hearing that this collection of Brueggemann's prayers was published, I have wanted to read them. At the Upstate New York Synod (ELCA) assembly I attended earlier this week, I found the book while wandering in Augsburg's display after I left yet another denomination's discussions about sinking finances. (By the way, who out there can I talk with about the wealth of information and experience I'm collecting by having feet in two denominations?) Several prayers jumped at me, but this one in particular addresses the awe I frequently feel when considering the freedom and opportunity God has given me to work in this unique environment.

Not the God we would have chosen

We would as soon you were stable and reliable.

We would as soon you were predictable
and always the same toward us.

We would like to take the hammer of doctrine
and the nails of piety
and nail your feet to the floor
and have you stay in one place.

And then we find you moving,
always surprising us,
always coming at us from new directions.

Always planting us
and uprooting us
and tearing all things down
and making all things new.

You are not the God we would have chosen
had we done the choosing,
but we are your people
and you have chosen us in freedom.

We pray for the great gift of freedom
that we may be free toward you
as you are in your world.

Give us that gift of freedom
that we may move in new places
in obedience and in gratitude.

Thank you for Jesus
who embodied your freedom for all of us. Amen.

God mend thine every flaw

2006-05-29T07:19:00.000-04:00

The nature of a democracy is that each citizen bears responsibility for the actions of the nation. Today, we send men and women into battle on our behalf. Yet our national discourse is as much about whether Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie chose a good name or that at least gas is cheaper than $3.00 than it is about the sacrifices our military and their families are making. And, oh, yeah, there was an earthquake somewhere.

Is there any chance there will be more votes for the next American President than Taylor Hicks got last week? What are the chances of congress getting as upset about health care as they are about an FBI warrant?

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern, impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!

Her middle name is Miriam

2006-05-23T15:38:00.000-04:00

I’ve heard time and again that kids grow up faster than parents realize. My work takes me among older people often so as I seek their wisdom about life I hear time and again to enjoy parenting because it goes so quick. I had no idea how quickly Charis Miriam has grown.

Misha has returned to part time work so today I’m home alone with the girls. While both are asleep, I continued planning a lesson for the confirmation kids about Moses and that story of the exodus. I cued the opening music scene from the film Prince of Egypt. Before I could start watching, Charis woke from her nap and wiping sleep from her eyes, came down the stairs and crawled into my lap. I know she misses Misha – whenever her baby sister Rebekah starts to cry, Charis says it’s because “she misses Mommy” – so it’s nice when she just crawls into my lap like this. She doesn’t watch a lot of television, but since she’s barely awake, I figure I'd watch this scene with her. I didn't expect her to understand the story.

I got pretty involved emotionally in the film: they do a great job of depicting the inhumanity of slavery and the cries of the Hebrews for God to "Deliver Us." Amid several scenes of forced labor, we see Moses' family escaping and his mother's (Yachoved?) final lullaby as she gently floats him toward what she hopes is safety. As I'm watching this, I glance at my other daughter, three months old, napping, and I'm overwhelmed with emotion as I imagine the difficulty of the decision to seek a child’s safety at such risk. I brush away a tear from my own cheek and notice that Charis, with her back to me, seems stiff. I reach out to hug her and realize she completely understands what she's watching and is crying that a baby is floating away from his mother.

I wrap her in my arms trying to console her. In a few moments as she looks back at the screen, I decide to keep watching because Moses is safely drawn from the river and Miriam offers a prayer for his safety and the Hebrew's deliverance. I point Miriam (her middle name-sake) out to Charis as we both weep. I wipe her tears as Moses is safely adopted into a new family.

The preacher and English major in me so wants my children to understand stories. Stories shape our identity. Stories help us find our own place. A significant part of my responsibility as a father will be to tell my daughters stories that teach them about the world and their place in it. I had no idea Charis was old enough yet to follow a story with such intensity as she did on this film.

So one part of me is thrilled to reach this landmark in parenting. Now I can begin nurture that is not only physical and emotional but spiritual as well. But another part of me feels horrible that the first story I saw her understand is so tragic.

Great Mother's Day

2006-05-22T12:45:00.000-04:00

Three years ago, Mother's Day was a bit tense for us. Painful actually. We weren't certain that we would ever be parents, and dreams of carrying a child to term were distant and unrealized. This year, as you can see, is different. A bit hectic, yes, with no time to clean off the table and take real pictures! But a much better celebration.

Visible reminder of the Holy

2006-05-02T16:05:00.000-04:00

A week after Hurricane Katrina hit the gulf coast last fall, I buckled into the back of a Blackhawk helicopter and tried to find room for my feet amid bags of ice, bottles of water and cases of meals ready to eat (MREs). Through the open doors I saw what could have been fields of grass bending in the wind – except they were whole forests with tree tops still windblown from the force of the storm. We landed in elementary school playgrounds and volunteer firehouses to distribute food and water and ensure people had diapers, prescriptions or whatever they needed.

Later that day I was assigned to a battalion of engineers who had rolled in to Hancock County, Mississippi as the last of the storm passed over them to open the roads for emergency and utility vehicles. For two weeks I was chaplain to these men and women of the Mississippi National Guard. These fathers and sisters from the north part of the state were called to duty before Katrina arrived and had not yet been to their own homes to survey damage. I counseled, led worship, helped clear roads and rubbish, shared MREs and slept in an abandoned paint warehouse with the rest of the battalion. In the words of the Air Force Chaplain Service, I was a ‘Visible reminder of the Holy’ to those men and women.

As a military chaplain, I am trained and therefore able to accompany our troops wherever they work. The men and women we send into harm’s way on our behalf need to know that God is with them – chaplains are visible reminders to service members of all faiths that a loving, forgiving God is indeed present in all circumstances. Military chaplaincy is a unique opportunity for a Christian: St Francis taught that we are to ‘preach the gospel at all times, if necessary using words.’ I have the opportunity to live as a faithful Christian in such a way that people of any faith see God at work through me.

I can't lay eggs...

2006-04-27T17:32:00.000-04:00

Charis’ Ugly Duckling picture book differs from the original version. Not only are her illustrations in color, the original includes an episode I haven’t read to my daughter at her evening bedside. Hans Christian Andersen describes a scene in which the late-hatching “duck,” after running away from teasing brothers and sisters, after escaping hunters and their dogs, now seeks shelter from a storm in a ramshackle cottage occupied by a tom cat, a hen, and a blind old woman.

The duck assumes a place at the bottom of the house’s self-absorbed society. The tom cat is master of the house because he can purr, arch his back, and throw off sparks if his fur is rubbed in the wrong direction. The hen who can cluck and lay eggs is mistress of the house. The duck, unable to do any of these things, is again mocked and ridiculed, especially when he tries to strike up conversation.

“If you can’t lay eggs, have the goodness not to speak,” says the hen.
“If you can’t raise your back, or purr, or throw out sparks, then you have no right to express an opinion when sensible people are speaking,” says the cat.
So the duckling sat in a corner, feeling very low spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air came into the room through the open door, and then he began to feel such a great longing for a swim on the water, that he could not help telling the hen.
“What an absurd idea,” said the hen. “Ask the cat, he is the cleverest animal I know, ask him how he would like to swim about on the water, or to dive under it. Don’t imagine such nonsense, child, and thank your good fortune that you have been received here. Are you not in a warm room, and in society from which you may learn something? But you are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. I may tell you unpleasant truths, but that is a proof of my friendship. I advise you, therefore, to lay eggs, and learn to purr as quickly as possible.”
“I believe I must go out into the world again,” said the duckling. So he left the cottage, and soon found water on which it could swim and dive…

The story continues as the duckling survives the first miserable year of his life and discovers in the new spring that he is one of the beautiful swans he has admired from afar.

This episode of the fairy tale intrigues me. We are each gifted in unique ways to make our world a better place. We each have talents and skills and abilities and passions that are different from everyone around us. Just because we can’t lay eggs doesn’t mean we have nothing to contribute to society. Our world needs warriors and peacemakers, we need flyers and finance folk, we need experience as well as new insight.

I am in the midst of a lot of transition in my life right now (new child, new job, buying a new house). In trying to maintain an even keel, I hear again and again a question my coach asked me recently: “What gives you energy?” The transitions themselves don’t necessarily produce energy, but the opportunity to swim and dive among all this newness gives me great energy.

i went to "war" last week...

2006-04-15T10:08:00.000-04:00

Brother Lawrence he's not...

2006-03-29T14:38:00.000-05:00

Vonnegut again. Describing a day in which, with paper-clipped, type-written, pencil-marked pages in hand, he walks outdoors to buy a single envelope and then walk further to wait in line to purchase the exact postage to send it to a typist, a day in which he initiates random conversations about bluebirds and the lottery because "I love to talk to people," I hear echoes of my faith.

In a conversation he recounts with Joe, a young man from Pittsburg who pleads "Please tell me it will all be okay," Vonnegut responds:

'Welcome to Earth, young man,' I said. 'It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, Joe, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of: Goddamn it, Joe, you've got to be kind!'

OK, Brother Lawrence, he's not. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, but this feels like an irreverant version of Life Together. As we seek God's presence, we will find it most completely not in seclusion, but among others. "A purely spiritual relationship is not only dangerous but also an altogether abnormal thing." And time among others will often feel unproductive and wasted if we focus our agenda on what we seek to accomplish. However, sometimes by farting around we genuinely encounter another person because we have put aside our agenda for that moment.

reading vonnegut

2006-03-22T07:49:00.000-05:00

Because the radio reception is so bad up here, and because cell coverage isn't reliable (or free), I stop in the library once every six weeks or so to settle up fines from overdue items and select another book on tape to listen to in the car. Last month was Umberto Eco's The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loanna; this month is some Fox-news-inspired Tom Clancy-esque knock-off.

As I was getting ready to check out, I noticed Kurt Vonnegut's memoir A Man Without a Country published last year. It's not a deep read, but when I can snatch 10 minutes here and there, it's entertaining. From this morning's lesson, a brief meditation on addiction: cigarrettes are "a fire on one end and a fool on the other." But the paragraph that grabbed me is this one:

Can I tell you the truth? I mean this isn't the TV news is it? Here's what I think the truth is: We are all addicts of fossil fuels in a state of denial. And like so many addicts about to face cold turkey, our leaders are now committing violent criems to get what little is left of what we're hooked on.

The Lit Major in me wants to analyze the sentences to dissect and determine how he tricked me; the Lit Major in me admires the movement of the essay. I wanted to laugh that he's making a joke, but as soon as the chuckle began, I realized he'd pulled a fast one on me and just maybe he's not joking. The human in me, the military chaplain in me, the pastor in me wants to weep that maybe he's on to something.

psalm like it hot

2006-03-15T10:30:00.000-05:00

Explaining belief has always been difficult. How do you explain a love and logic at the heart of the universe when the world is so out of kilter with this? Has free will got us crucified? And what about the dodgy characters who inhabit the tome known as the Bible, who hear the voice of God? Explaining faith is impossible: vision over visibility; instinct over intellect. A songwriter plays a chord with the faith that he will hear the next one in his head.

Good stuff.

The “I” in Team

2006-03-14T11:36:00.000-05:00

My high school football team was good. Not as good as the Amsterdam Rams this year, but a match-up would have been close. Our football coach was obviously at the school for the football team; but to make a living, he taught some classes and in the spring coached track and field.

I didn’t play football, but since I did run track for a season I got to know Coach’s style and pithy little sayings. A typical track practice might begin with some of us wondering if he knew which season he was in. “Men!” he’d call us (and wow, did we like to be called “men!”) “Line up in the end zone.” At other times, we would hear his gruff voice booming a proverb across the field: “There’s no I in team!” This also left many of us baffled: we could spell; of course we knew there was no “i” in team! A football-player-turned-shot-putter explained to us that Coach meant we each were to remember we were a part of the team, not individual players out on the field. I recognized his point: even though we competed in the individual-event-oriented nature of track and field, we did so as part of and to benefit the whole team.

As I travel through the season of Lent and approach Easter, I have been spending my devotional time in the Psalter. Psalm 22, scripture that Jesus quoted from the cross, takes on new meaning when I remember Coach’s “No I in Team” proverb. I think the way he applied that to track and field was wiser than he may have realized.

When Jesus cried out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” his anguish was as real as the psalmists’: God’s only begotten son felt his father had abandoned him. But both Christ and the psalmist, by saying “my God,” are still engaged in their relationship with God. They may feel abandoned, but they do not walk away, they still address my God. I also at times feel abandoned and frustrated by God, but must remain in relationship with him whether it’s by wrestling, complaining, speaking, yelling, weeping or laughing. I think that’s the “I” thing that Coach was getting at: I have a responsibility for my own relationship with God.

The other way Psalm 22 relates to Coach’s proverb is talking about the Team. As this prayer progresses, it rides like a roller coaster: from deep anguish (verses 1-2), through times of hope (verses 3-5 and 9-11), back into despair (verses 6-8 and 12-21), and finally into trust and celebration of God’s faithfulness (from verse 22 to the end). In the course of this roller coaster, the psalm shifts perspective away from the individual person struggling with faith. The last third of this prayer addresses groups of people: the assembly, the descendents, the families, the future generations. I find it difficult to pray these words and feel alone; the end of Psalm 22 evokes the chorus of witnesses who have gone before, who are gathered now, and who will follow. What began in such personal anguish (verse 1) ends in public praise among other people (verse 31). The psalmist discovers that we reach the fullness of faith only when we join with others.

What Coach was trying to say is that: Yes, we are individuals, but we are also members of a team and must do everything in our power to participate in the life of the team. For Jesus, this meant a willingness to suffer separation from God for a time, so that his followers would not have to suffer separation from God at the end of time.

My individual faith must benefit God’s work in the world.

do not conform to the pattern of this world

2006-03-01T14:56:00.000-05:00

How is the body to become a sacrifice?
Let the eye look on no evil thing,
and it has already become a sacrifice.
Let the tongue say nothing filthy, and
it has already become an offering.
Let your hand do nothing evil, and it has
become a whole burnt offering.
But even this is not enough,
for we must have good works also.
The hand must do alms,
the mouth must bless those who curse it,
and the ears must find time to listen
to the reading of Scripture.
Sacrifice allows of no unclean thing;
it is the first fruits of all other actions.

John Chrysostom

ash wednesday

2006-03-01T14:07:00.000-05:00

Merciful God, you called us forth from the dust of the earth;
you claimed us for Christ in the waters of baptism.
Look upon us as we enter these forty days bearing the mark of ashes,
and bless our journey through the desert of Lent to the font of rebirth.
May our fasting be hunger for justice;
our alms, a making of peace;
our prayer, the chant of humble and grateful hearts.
All that we do and pray is in the name of Jesus,
for in his cross you proclaim your love for ever and ever.
Amen.

thank you

2006-03-01T13:17:00.000-05:00

I will extol the LORD at all times;
his praise will always be on my lips.
I will glory in the LORD;
let the afflicted hear and rejoice.
Glorify the LORD with me;
let us exalt his name together.
I sought the LORD, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame.
This poor man called, and the LORD heard him;
he saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him,
and he delivers them.
Taste and see that the LORD is good;
blessed are those who take refuge in him.
Fear the LORD, you his holy people,
for those who fear him lack nothing.
The lions may grow weak and hungry,
but those who seek the LORD lack no good thing.
Come, my children, listen to me;
I will teach you the fear of the LORD.
Whoever of you loves life
and desires to see many good days,
keep your tongue from evil
and your lips from telling lies.
Turn from evil and do good;
seek peace and pursue it.
The eyes of the LORD are on the righteous
and his ears are attentive to their cry.
The face of the LORD is against those who do evil,
to blot out their name from the earth.
The righteous cry out, and the LORD hears them;
he delivers them from all their troubles.
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
The righteous may have many troubles,
but the LORD delivers them from them all;
he protects all their bones,
not one of them will be broken.
Evil will slay the wicked;
the foes of the righteous will be condemned.
The LORD redeems his servants;
no one who takes refuge in him will be condemned.

Psalm 34 (TNIV)

2006-03-01T09:46:00.000-05:00

Commenting on Rebekah Hope Marvel's new name, a friend said how wonderful, in a time of war and such anger, to be reminded that Hope still walks the earth.

too tired to write more

2006-02-25T20:44:00.000-05:00

Please welcome Rebekah Hope Marvel, born February 24, 2006. Bekah is great and Misha is now much better.

good things that come from waiting

2006-02-21T07:34:00.000-05:00

eventually stewart's puts chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream on sale
there's more time for Charis to be an only child

a prayer during a time of anxiety

2006-02-15T07:11:00.000-05:00

Father of mercies,
God of all comfort,
God of love and Author of life,
in whom we live and move and have our being,
comfort our minds that they may concentrate on you
in hours of sickness and when we are plagued by fears.
Let us be still and know that you are God.
Quiet our anxious thoughts.
Take from us all worry and care.
Give us rest of spirit.
Good Shepherd, make us to lie down in green pastures.
Lead us beside quiet waters, and restore our souls.
Hear us in this our prayer, through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord. Amen.

shaking the tree

2006-02-14T05:47:00.000-05:00

Listened to Peter Gabriel's shaking the tree the other day and realized that fathers of daughters leave a far greater legacy than our name.

lost and broken and so loved by God

2006-02-08T09:06:00.000-05:00

Now, the Lord said, "Church, you better love,
'Cause it's a wounded world that needs a healing touch."
And he gave us a promise and he gave us a job;
He'll be with us but the rest is up to us.
(Rich Mullins, Alrightokuhhuhamen, c. 1989)

it IS about justice

2006-02-03T16:31:00.000-05:00

Bono spoke at the White House prayer breakfast Thursday, Feb 2. Here's the speech.

the night i slept with chairman mao

2006-02-03T15:46:00.000-05:00

Misha and I had a fight ten years ago. What is significant about the fight is not what it was about, but when it happened.

We were traveling in China at the time and by train and then by bus had found our way to Lijiang, in the southeast corner of the country, near Sichuan, Tibet and Burma. We took a room in the newer part of town, in a hotel overlooking Mao Square (named for its three-story tall statue) and, according to my journal, planned to catch a bus the next morning to hike parts of Tiger Leaping Gorge, larger than the Grand Canyon and arguably the deepest gorge in the world. But our argument went late into the night so by the time we were making up, it was late and we decided to sleep in and go on the hike the following day. We spent the next day exploring the old part of the city and were eating dinner at Mimi's Cafe when the cook and kitchen staff suddenly ran yelling through the dining room toward the front door. Backpackers from around the world started pointing and yelling and talking and I heard in English over the babble: “Earthquake!” Diners elbowed our way outdoors and streets emptied out of Old Town, our paths lit by sparks from falling power lines.

We slept the night in Mao Square, every aftershock rattling people’s nerves. In the morning, a couple of us crawled into our hotel to get our gear, jumping over an 18 inch gap where two parts of the building were separating. We bought tickets on the second bus out of town and while waiting, walked back into the rubble that had been Old Town. At that time, I hadn’t seen death before an undertaker cleaned it up. When I saw a mourning family carrying a body, I realized how fortunate I was to be alive.

Stories, some of them true, travel quickly among backpackers. We heard the earthquake was a 7.0. We heard thousands of people died. We heard people who were hiking Tiger Leaping Gorge during the earthquake had to be airlifted out. We also heard not everyone hiking the gorge got out alive. If we hadn’t been fighting, we might have been camping in that gorge when the quake hit.

Ten years ago I missed my chance to take a hike, but on that day, when I came close to death, I realized the life I have is a gift of which I should take full advantage. Every moment I have is an opportunity to touch another person, to push myself further, to experience more of this wonderful world God has provided. I try to live each day in gratitude and wonder and joy. And someday, I hope to return back to Lijiang, catch that bus to Tiger Leaping Gorge, and hike deeper into this beautiful world.

Disruption

2006-02-01T11:01:00.000-05:00

Remember the faith that took men from home
At the call of a wandering preacher.
Our age is an age of moderate virtue
And of moderate vice
When men will not lay down the Cross
Because they will never assume it.
Yet nothing is impossible, nothing,
To men of faith and conviction.
Let us therefore make perfect our will.
O GOD, help us.
(From Eliot's Choruses from 'The Rock,' VIII)

I prefer being the deferential, cautious and politic attendant lord... but I'm called to disturb the universe.

"Will you baptize my baby girl?" ... "Why don't you come to church sometime and we'll talk about it?" (i.e.: "Break bread and coffee cake with us and then we'll talk some more.")

I struggle to balance the tremendously high calling of faith with the tremendously rare gift of grace. In the church, baptism isn't something we sell or perform; it is a celebration of a beginning. The beginning of a life of faith, the beginning of nurturing relationships; this is the high calling. Yet we are called to compassion and love and grace and other ethereal, less measurable outcomes; these are increasingly rare. In an age of moderate virtue, I am called to the faith that takes us from our homes to assume our crosses. How can I promise to give the strong support of God's family to one I will see again only when she wants her baby baptized? How to balance faith and conviction with grace and love?

I'm not sure there is a balance. Maybe there is only a disruption that somehow transcends our too small ideas of the universe. Where stands the Invisible Church?

Perfect my will and help me, O GOD.

Happy 2!

2006-01-29T20:43:00.000-05:00

Our gift is two today and enjoyed directing her birthday wishes!

Earth's the place for love

2006-01-28T11:35:00.000-05:00

Since moving to Upstate New York, Robert Frost's imagery and characters have become quite real. Hikes with Laura and Rudy and Bruce and Kent taught me their respect for these woods and revealed to me how these woods had shaped them.

It's winter now, and the birches' thin straight white trunks are scattered among new forest and new snow. Couple this with Misha’s continuing pregnancy - the greatest of the new promises of new beginnings in our life recently - and this morning I remembered, "Earth’s the right place for love." I like the end of Birches:

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

The new beginnings offered to Misha and I are a relief from the webs of weary considerations we have spun for months. We aren’t entirely sure what God has in mind for us, though for the first time we can see time past and time future converging in the new present available to us. I’m scared, but excited to once again climb up a snow-white trunk toward heaven. Eliot lamented men of his age "will not lay down the Cross because they will never assume it" (Choruses from The Rock). I'm scared, but willing to assume the cross and let it shape me.

I was among the few, Gavin another, who advocated "Omle" nights in the house: late night poetry readings lubricated with beer or cheap wine. Birches was one of my frequent contributions; on these nights we shared our dreams and hopes and fears and desires. I have always wanted to remain a swinger of birches, dancing that delicate (incarnational) balance between heaven and earth.

Spirit, may I be found worthy of the calling you have placed upon me. Spirit, may the faith and conviction you nurture within me draw me toward you even as I am rooted on Earth. Show me your ways, and teach me your paths. Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my savior and my hope is in you all day long.

attend

2006-01-25T08:51:00.000-05:00

at•tend \e-‘tend\ vi 3 a: to be ready for service b: to be present syn see accompany – at•ten•dant n – at•ten•ding adj