Now that I accepted the fact that I will not be on the edge of film watching again in my lifetime, I can title my film blog entries, "Really Behind The Movies."
"Slumdog Millionaire" was interesting to follow leading to the Academy Awards in 2009--so many other films appeared to be destined to win, like the Benjamin Button film. I was glad that Slumdog won so many awards, only because it expanded cultural discourse in the United States, if but only for a short time and by a small percentage. I think the nation benefits from expanded perspective, especially from a place to which Americans do not pay attention, and is becoming more of a force on the world stage.
The depictions of poverty, life as an orphan, life in India, crime, pop culture, the lure of money, the captivation of love, and sibling bonding are each powerful in their own right. What makes this story so gripping is how events shape the life of Mumbai orphan Jamal Malik, and how they are revealed through the pop culture sensation of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. It is the craft of layering these stories and the camera work capturing the effects of these events on Jamal that left me still thinking about film after I watched it. I am also reflecting on how I tell stories, both my own and the stories of God's people. Slumdog Millionaire made me reflect on the power and scope of relationships--these were not caricatures in the story, but people that I both cared about, yet also frustrated me with their actions. It was easier to see sinner and saint, joy and pain in these characters.
The music only enhanced the story; I downloaded the song "Jai Ho." A song that means "Victory, hooray," and pulses as it does belongs on my running mix as soon as possible.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Maher: worthy atheist or merely a comedian dabbling into theological inquiry?
I confess--my mind is tied to nesting activities, caring for my children, trying to find a job, and mediocre comfort-food radio. Or, I am too lazy to read the neo-atheists Hitchens, Dawkins, Harris. I declared hope and intent for reading some of this philisophical strain, but it's so much easier to go to my local Hollywood Video and rent Bill Maher's comic religion documentary Religulous.
I have disappointed myself that I am intellectually lazy and procrastinating working with the aforementioned authors. However, at the very least, Maher has made me think more about contemporary agnostics and atheists than I have in a long time. Before anyone takes Maher too seriously, one must remember throughout the film that he is primarily a comedian. Yes, he has some of the best guests in the field of mainstream news commentary--I am continually amazed who he is able to get as a guest on his show, Real Time With Bill Maher. Even if you do not subscribe to HBO, you can get a podcast of his full show, plus extras on iTunes. I listen to the show every week. I can't tell if Maher is disingenuous, but his mix of comedy and serious inquiry falls flat. He calls for atheists (which he claims is 16 percent of the US population) to be more part of the public discourse on religion. Maher has a poor foundation in that he claims he is an athiest, though he also proclaims that he doesn't know about God, that God cannot be proved or disproved. This is an agnostic view. The purpose of this call is that the Earth hangs in the balance--that the good that religion produces is not worth the danger and terror created in the world by religous fundamentalists of all faith traditions. Maher may have been better off if he would have explained his call and his intentions at the beginning of the film, but then again, I have to remember that Maher is a comedian trying to get people to buy and watch his film--he wouldn't have been able to do that if he was authentically trying to do a scientific study of religion and its affect on society. But I will bite on what I believe is his foundational premise (though I don't want to put words in his mouth): agnostics and athiests should be part of public discourse regarding religion and society.
Instead, Maher exposes several fools of many different faiths, skewed more toward Christianity. Only one of Maher's many interviewees seemed to carry on an intelligent conversation with Maher (an astonomer from the Vatican). Maher cherry-picked these numerous conversations so that almost all of his interviewees looked like boobs, and Maher displayed a look of gotcha, followed by some kind of funny clip to highlight the gotcha. My dear wife looked at me and said, "Couldn't he have at least interviewed some intelligent Christians?" Maybe an intelligent Christian wouldn't dare talk to Bill Maher on Maher's terms, because the only result is that an interviewee will look like a boob. Maher even got the lead scientist of the Human Genome Project (a Christian) to look like a boob. I probably would have also looked like a boob if interviewed by Maher. This may be part of Maher's point--that intelligent religious folk really don't amount to enough societal benefit to offset the fools and sometimes dangerous fools that he highlights. It's especially not worth it, when it goes back to Maher's foundational understanding that God cannot be proven or disproven.
My summary response to the film:
1. Remember, Bill Maher is primarily a comedian..
2. The movie has some very funny parts.
3. Bill Maher is an agnostic and uses comedy to provoke people of faith, other agnostics and atheists into public discourse regarding religion--it really can't be seen as a scientific study of religion or even a journalistic venture, and it's hard to say it's a documentary. The closest identification I can make is: Religulous is a non-fiction religious comedy (and definitely in the Rated R category).
4. If Maher was really making a genuine academic or at least journalistic effort, he would have at least had some appropriate advisors checking his facts and pointing out that the last book in the Bible is not "Revelations (a mistake he made at least 3 times.)"
I have disappointed myself that I am intellectually lazy and procrastinating working with the aforementioned authors. However, at the very least, Maher has made me think more about contemporary agnostics and atheists than I have in a long time. Before anyone takes Maher too seriously, one must remember throughout the film that he is primarily a comedian. Yes, he has some of the best guests in the field of mainstream news commentary--I am continually amazed who he is able to get as a guest on his show, Real Time With Bill Maher. Even if you do not subscribe to HBO, you can get a podcast of his full show, plus extras on iTunes. I listen to the show every week. I can't tell if Maher is disingenuous, but his mix of comedy and serious inquiry falls flat. He calls for atheists (which he claims is 16 percent of the US population) to be more part of the public discourse on religion. Maher has a poor foundation in that he claims he is an athiest, though he also proclaims that he doesn't know about God, that God cannot be proved or disproved. This is an agnostic view. The purpose of this call is that the Earth hangs in the balance--that the good that religion produces is not worth the danger and terror created in the world by religous fundamentalists of all faith traditions. Maher may have been better off if he would have explained his call and his intentions at the beginning of the film, but then again, I have to remember that Maher is a comedian trying to get people to buy and watch his film--he wouldn't have been able to do that if he was authentically trying to do a scientific study of religion and its affect on society. But I will bite on what I believe is his foundational premise (though I don't want to put words in his mouth): agnostics and athiests should be part of public discourse regarding religion and society.
Instead, Maher exposes several fools of many different faiths, skewed more toward Christianity. Only one of Maher's many interviewees seemed to carry on an intelligent conversation with Maher (an astonomer from the Vatican). Maher cherry-picked these numerous conversations so that almost all of his interviewees looked like boobs, and Maher displayed a look of gotcha, followed by some kind of funny clip to highlight the gotcha. My dear wife looked at me and said, "Couldn't he have at least interviewed some intelligent Christians?" Maybe an intelligent Christian wouldn't dare talk to Bill Maher on Maher's terms, because the only result is that an interviewee will look like a boob. Maher even got the lead scientist of the Human Genome Project (a Christian) to look like a boob. I probably would have also looked like a boob if interviewed by Maher. This may be part of Maher's point--that intelligent religious folk really don't amount to enough societal benefit to offset the fools and sometimes dangerous fools that he highlights. It's especially not worth it, when it goes back to Maher's foundational understanding that God cannot be proven or disproven.
My summary response to the film:
1. Remember, Bill Maher is primarily a comedian..
2. The movie has some very funny parts.
3. Bill Maher is an agnostic and uses comedy to provoke people of faith, other agnostics and atheists into public discourse regarding religion--it really can't be seen as a scientific study of religion or even a journalistic venture, and it's hard to say it's a documentary. The closest identification I can make is: Religulous is a non-fiction religious comedy (and definitely in the Rated R category).
4. If Maher was really making a genuine academic or at least journalistic effort, he would have at least had some appropriate advisors checking his facts and pointing out that the last book in the Bible is not "Revelations (a mistake he made at least 3 times.)"
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Stimulus Package (Worn Out Language: June 4, 2009 Edition)
Stimulus Package just pushed me over the edge. As I was clipping coupons, I saw an ad for Newman's Own Dressing that stated its greens condiment was a "Stimulus Package for your salad." I thought this usage was wearing thin in February--it's not so much annoying as it displays a lack of creativity. If you're going to get money out of my wallet to spend on your product, I deserve a little more creativity. I would expect such lack of creativity from all of those male amateur comedians and political humorists who have probably uttered in the last 4 months: "I've got your stimulus package right here!"
Listening...(June 4, 2009 Edition)
Today's edition of Listening...comes with a twist and a story.
Even though I have plenty of music to which I can listen, sometimes my collection seems a little stale and needs some lift. How do I do this while living by the Frugal Rule? Though the beginning of this new personal trend met the Frugal Rule, I don't think it's sustainable, especially when it involves picking up new and free music at a place Dave Ramsey affectionately calls, "FiveBucks." I use Keith Law's "Charbucks (probably not an original coining)."
A few years ago, my dear wife, who basically lives by the Frugal Rule without too much thought, had one big hole in her Rule living: coffee. After beginning intentionally living the Frugal Rule a few years ago, she dropped splurging on coffee--buying smaller sizes, and less expensive drinks and definitely less frequent stops at coffee merchants while packing her own in reusable container full of her java drink of choice. She still finds stopping at a coffee merchant a simple pleasure and a jolt for her day. We came to a mutual conclusion--skip greeting cards for special occasions (birthdays, anniversaries, other card holidays) and put that money toward a coffee card. I have strategically made these coffee card purchases throughout the Seattle-Tacoma metro so that my dear wife can get her jolt in strategic locations and be reminded that her husband is thinking of her.
Back to the direct music reference: Charbucks started giving away free iTunes songs in their stores (uh-oh), and while taking a trip to get my wife a coffee beverage a few weeks ago, I found the iTunes songs, and I am just about hooked. It seems to happen about every other year or so, I buy something to get attached to something that is supposed to be free. I can be a real sucker: 4 years ago I ate boxes of crappy cereal so I could collect a pile of "free" mini baseball bobbleheads that I ended up selling at my garage sale for 7 bucks. At least, collecting "free" music from Charbucks doesn't take up the physical space that bobble heads do. And, if I want to create a coffeehouse ambiance in my house, the songs I have collected fit the bill:
Jailer--Asa
The Rake's Song--The Decemberists
Who Will Comfort Me--Melody Gardot
Sunset--Gomez
What is it about a song that makes it scream, "play me in a coffee house (although a coffee house song would never scream, screaming is not cool--maybe a sub-muted loud)!"? My sample size is still small, and we will see how much of a sucker I am for "free" music before I can answer this question. I don't know if Coffee House music can be its own sub-genre, but I can tell you one thing about some of these songs--it makes me smile to look at a picture of the band and their pose and remember South Park's Eric Cartman (satirizing) naming the essentials of posing for an album cover in the episode Chrisitan Rock Hard. (Watch the full episode here) The Decemberists and Gomez essentially fall into the Cartman trap--bands should avoid being pictured on most promotional materials.
After a few listens, Melody Gardot has the best song, but it's damn depressing. I don't mind depression affirmation or drifting into melancholy, but a steady diet outside a time of mourning is a little tough to digest. All of these songs may get a little more play with me over the next few weeks in order to validate my fabulous find (ha). If they make a regular rotation, I'll let you know.
Post Script
Now I know why the Melody Gardot song is so depressing even though the music isn't necessarily that way. This biography and song is authentically depressing and hopeful. This song would resonate with me during a theological reflection in a church service than any crappy praise song ever could. This is a good song.
Even though I have plenty of music to which I can listen, sometimes my collection seems a little stale and needs some lift. How do I do this while living by the Frugal Rule? Though the beginning of this new personal trend met the Frugal Rule, I don't think it's sustainable, especially when it involves picking up new and free music at a place Dave Ramsey affectionately calls, "FiveBucks." I use Keith Law's "Charbucks (probably not an original coining)."
A few years ago, my dear wife, who basically lives by the Frugal Rule without too much thought, had one big hole in her Rule living: coffee. After beginning intentionally living the Frugal Rule a few years ago, she dropped splurging on coffee--buying smaller sizes, and less expensive drinks and definitely less frequent stops at coffee merchants while packing her own in reusable container full of her java drink of choice. She still finds stopping at a coffee merchant a simple pleasure and a jolt for her day. We came to a mutual conclusion--skip greeting cards for special occasions (birthdays, anniversaries, other card holidays) and put that money toward a coffee card. I have strategically made these coffee card purchases throughout the Seattle-Tacoma metro so that my dear wife can get her jolt in strategic locations and be reminded that her husband is thinking of her.
Back to the direct music reference: Charbucks started giving away free iTunes songs in their stores (uh-oh), and while taking a trip to get my wife a coffee beverage a few weeks ago, I found the iTunes songs, and I am just about hooked. It seems to happen about every other year or so, I buy something to get attached to something that is supposed to be free. I can be a real sucker: 4 years ago I ate boxes of crappy cereal so I could collect a pile of "free" mini baseball bobbleheads that I ended up selling at my garage sale for 7 bucks. At least, collecting "free" music from Charbucks doesn't take up the physical space that bobble heads do. And, if I want to create a coffeehouse ambiance in my house, the songs I have collected fit the bill:
Jailer--Asa
The Rake's Song--The Decemberists
Who Will Comfort Me--Melody Gardot
Sunset--Gomez
What is it about a song that makes it scream, "play me in a coffee house (although a coffee house song would never scream, screaming is not cool--maybe a sub-muted loud)!"? My sample size is still small, and we will see how much of a sucker I am for "free" music before I can answer this question. I don't know if Coffee House music can be its own sub-genre, but I can tell you one thing about some of these songs--it makes me smile to look at a picture of the band and their pose and remember South Park's Eric Cartman (satirizing) naming the essentials of posing for an album cover in the episode Chrisitan Rock Hard. (Watch the full episode here) The Decemberists and Gomez essentially fall into the Cartman trap--bands should avoid being pictured on most promotional materials.
After a few listens, Melody Gardot has the best song, but it's damn depressing. I don't mind depression affirmation or drifting into melancholy, but a steady diet outside a time of mourning is a little tough to digest. All of these songs may get a little more play with me over the next few weeks in order to validate my fabulous find (ha). If they make a regular rotation, I'll let you know.
Post Script
Now I know why the Melody Gardot song is so depressing even though the music isn't necessarily that way. This biography and song is authentically depressing and hopeful. This song would resonate with me during a theological reflection in a church service than any crappy praise song ever could. This is a good song.
Getting Together with Stay-At-Home-Dads
Yesterday I drove 90 minutes round trip to meet with a group of stay at home dads (aka SAHDs). I will limit my comments on this segment of the population until I can observe a larger sample size. But I have a few comments on the day.
1. The heat yesterday was almost torturous. I would have never gone outside in this kind of heat while living in South Dakota unless I was going to work or executing an essential errand. The limited waterfronts didn't seem worth visiting, the air conditioning was oh, so inviting, and trying to get sunscreen on the moving targets that are my children did not seem worth the effort. But the natural surroundings of the Pacific Northwest beckon. Even the promise of tall trees or a breeze offers some respite from the sun (in case you haven't noticed, I'm not a big fan of the sun).
2. Sports radio personality Colin Cowherd reminds his listeners to say things out loud before engaging in a particular activity. Saying out loud yesterday's activity would not have fit in South Dakota on multiple levels, but for some reason, it worked here: "Get together with other stay-at-home-dads, walk in 90 degree heat over 3 miles, and have a beer at the brewery." Say that out loud--does that work in your context? In South Dakota, I imagine the thought process might be: a) stay at home dads? b) dude, let's drive... c) what would people think if we were caring for our children while drinking a beer in public?
3. I'm having a hard time judging the worth of traveling to meet with other SAHDs. They seemed like good enough guys. Economics 101 taught me about opportunity cost. Monetary cost of yesterday's activity: about 40-50 dollars in gas, food and beverage. I could lower that cost significantly by packing my daughter and I better for provisions. I missed out yesterday on applying for jobs, cleaning the house, taking a nap (like I really could with our home like an oven). It will take me at least two more meetings before I can judge whether I'm contributing to the conversation and I could actually make a few friends.
In conclusion, I need to gather a larger sample size and percolate my observations. At the very least, this story is worth telling from a sociological and writing standpoint. Stay cool.
1. The heat yesterday was almost torturous. I would have never gone outside in this kind of heat while living in South Dakota unless I was going to work or executing an essential errand. The limited waterfronts didn't seem worth visiting, the air conditioning was oh, so inviting, and trying to get sunscreen on the moving targets that are my children did not seem worth the effort. But the natural surroundings of the Pacific Northwest beckon. Even the promise of tall trees or a breeze offers some respite from the sun (in case you haven't noticed, I'm not a big fan of the sun).
2. Sports radio personality Colin Cowherd reminds his listeners to say things out loud before engaging in a particular activity. Saying out loud yesterday's activity would not have fit in South Dakota on multiple levels, but for some reason, it worked here: "Get together with other stay-at-home-dads, walk in 90 degree heat over 3 miles, and have a beer at the brewery." Say that out loud--does that work in your context? In South Dakota, I imagine the thought process might be: a) stay at home dads? b) dude, let's drive... c) what would people think if we were caring for our children while drinking a beer in public?
3. I'm having a hard time judging the worth of traveling to meet with other SAHDs. They seemed like good enough guys. Economics 101 taught me about opportunity cost. Monetary cost of yesterday's activity: about 40-50 dollars in gas, food and beverage. I could lower that cost significantly by packing my daughter and I better for provisions. I missed out yesterday on applying for jobs, cleaning the house, taking a nap (like I really could with our home like an oven). It will take me at least two more meetings before I can judge whether I'm contributing to the conversation and I could actually make a few friends.
In conclusion, I need to gather a larger sample size and percolate my observations. At the very least, this story is worth telling from a sociological and writing standpoint. Stay cool.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Does place really make a difference for the Church (Part 2 of an occasional series)?
The relationship between between place and religion is more than an academic question--it's also personal.
Last night my family and I traversed up Washington Highway 16, across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge and to Port Orchard with a colleague and his family (friends?). Our daughter is not the only one trying to make new friends, we are making our way through the friendship field as well. Vocationally, our observations of the region and its communities carry a lot more weight than they used to. We had a great exchange on the trip, not to mention the pure beauty of what we saw.
My experience with travelling up the Washington Peninsula in my youth usually involved baseball. My most frequent visits included Port Angeles and Bremerton. My team usually kicked Bremerton around, but Port Angeles represented a strong challenge. They were our equals in talent, each of our teams had some low level college and pro talent. I loved going to Port Angeles for the hotel stay, some extended time of comeraderie with my teammates, and the great views of the Puget Sound and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. I liked playing Port Angeles because they were a hard working team and had players with good sportsmanship. I appreciate quality competition.
All of these thoughts came to mind as we travelled up WA-16, and I heard the new observations of my dear wife. She has a great knack for challenging assumptions about the relationship of place and religion. Her skepticism and willingness to inquire is an asset to my own thoughts and to the Church as a whole. My dear wife is more vocationally engaged in the Church these days, I am dealing with keeping our daughters healthy, giving them every opportunity to learn and thrive, while managing the household and its resources. Someday I will be more vocationally engaged in the Church, though I'm not really sure about the timeline or capacity.
In the meantime, while my wife attended a leadership meeting, the girls and I sauntered toward Downtown Port Orchard. Though not remembering the particulars of that town, I have a common memory of coastal towns--the variety of boats, the briny air, the presence of good old salts working on their trade and/or avocation with the sea, the whitewashed buildings of merchants and restauranteurs, the cheap, nautical-themed decor, and the hospitable breeze. The girls and I examined tiny crabs, barnacles and seaweed. While the girls later played on park toys, I examined the horizon. The Olympics, the bay, and the sunshine hitting the Puget Sound accentuated the blessings of the day and a stunning backdrop for our exploration and play. What I appreciated most about the day was the discoveries for my girls. What are they thinking about the difference of the land that we inhabit now? What are they learning? They pick around the land with their hands and examine its parts more than I have ever seen--jagged crab claws, ovalesque clam shells, contitents of bumpy and sharp barnacles, squishing wet sand in hands and toes. Why did we not do this kind of thing in South Dakota? Was it the climate? Was it the hospitality of the terrain? Did it have to do with my own lack of familiarity and how to explore the land with a child's eyes? I made sure that I took our eldest daughter to memorable tours of South Dakota. I want her to remember something. I feel I can teach her more in this region about the land--but our time in South Dakota is a unique part of her history where her memories are important for who she is.
I am interested in how our new place is affecting who we are. The relationship with place and religion is both an academic and personal pursuit--regardless of how the academic path goes the value and power of my seeking will never be stripped, and the life my family and our relationships will always live in appreciation of where we live and God's blessing of life.
Last night my family and I traversed up Washington Highway 16, across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge and to Port Orchard with a colleague and his family (friends?). Our daughter is not the only one trying to make new friends, we are making our way through the friendship field as well. Vocationally, our observations of the region and its communities carry a lot more weight than they used to. We had a great exchange on the trip, not to mention the pure beauty of what we saw.
My experience with travelling up the Washington Peninsula in my youth usually involved baseball. My most frequent visits included Port Angeles and Bremerton. My team usually kicked Bremerton around, but Port Angeles represented a strong challenge. They were our equals in talent, each of our teams had some low level college and pro talent. I loved going to Port Angeles for the hotel stay, some extended time of comeraderie with my teammates, and the great views of the Puget Sound and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. I liked playing Port Angeles because they were a hard working team and had players with good sportsmanship. I appreciate quality competition.
All of these thoughts came to mind as we travelled up WA-16, and I heard the new observations of my dear wife. She has a great knack for challenging assumptions about the relationship of place and religion. Her skepticism and willingness to inquire is an asset to my own thoughts and to the Church as a whole. My dear wife is more vocationally engaged in the Church these days, I am dealing with keeping our daughters healthy, giving them every opportunity to learn and thrive, while managing the household and its resources. Someday I will be more vocationally engaged in the Church, though I'm not really sure about the timeline or capacity.
In the meantime, while my wife attended a leadership meeting, the girls and I sauntered toward Downtown Port Orchard. Though not remembering the particulars of that town, I have a common memory of coastal towns--the variety of boats, the briny air, the presence of good old salts working on their trade and/or avocation with the sea, the whitewashed buildings of merchants and restauranteurs, the cheap, nautical-themed decor, and the hospitable breeze. The girls and I examined tiny crabs, barnacles and seaweed. While the girls later played on park toys, I examined the horizon. The Olympics, the bay, and the sunshine hitting the Puget Sound accentuated the blessings of the day and a stunning backdrop for our exploration and play. What I appreciated most about the day was the discoveries for my girls. What are they thinking about the difference of the land that we inhabit now? What are they learning? They pick around the land with their hands and examine its parts more than I have ever seen--jagged crab claws, ovalesque clam shells, contitents of bumpy and sharp barnacles, squishing wet sand in hands and toes. Why did we not do this kind of thing in South Dakota? Was it the climate? Was it the hospitality of the terrain? Did it have to do with my own lack of familiarity and how to explore the land with a child's eyes? I made sure that I took our eldest daughter to memorable tours of South Dakota. I want her to remember something. I feel I can teach her more in this region about the land--but our time in South Dakota is a unique part of her history where her memories are important for who she is.
I am interested in how our new place is affecting who we are. The relationship with place and religion is both an academic and personal pursuit--regardless of how the academic path goes the value and power of my seeking will never be stripped, and the life my family and our relationships will always live in appreciation of where we live and God's blessing of life.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
The weather is playing tricks on me...
Of course, I move to Washington and it's in the mid-80's today, and back in Summer Sweaty Swelterville, South Dakota, it's only supposed to reach 70. Still little humidity here in Washington, and the cool breeze should be coming off the Puget Sound in a few hours...so that keeps my crabbiness at bay (pun intended).
Hey! I don't have air conditioning!
Hey! I don't have air conditioning!
A powerful moment for a faceless bureaucrat: a base desire or admiration of analysis?
What is it that appeals to me about the story of U.S. Government bureaucrat Brooksley Born?
An abstract before my list of reasons: for over a decade, Born warned some of the highest economic officials in the U.S. about the financially shaky foundation of the then growing economy, over-the-counter derivatives. She wasn't merely crying wolf, she gave details based on experience and research about the dangers of the economic conditions during her term of service. Current economic advisers to President Obama also decried this Born's theory. Now that Born's insight is celebrated, she declines the "I told you so" utterance.
This story's appeal to me?
1. I like stories that contradict the pejorative term of the faceless "bureaucrat." I don't necessarily celebrate the expansion of government, but those who make their living off of making the government their punching bag make an army of mountebanks.
2. I admire reading about someone who a split their working life in the public and private sector.
3. I admire the cooperative use of experience and research that benefit the public good.
4. I appreciate the example of courage--Born stood resolute and in contrast to some very intelligent and powerful people and graciously told them they were wrong.
5. This story appeals to base desires. If this story is true, I would love to be able to say "I told you so" related to a discovery backed by testing, theory, knowledge. I would love to be able to say those words of vindication, but also help in creating a better, healed world as a result of those tested ideas.
The financial content of the story doesn't interest me as much as the relational and vocational aspect. I love the world of ideas--testing, discussing, theorizing, and picking the ideas apart, imagining and planning application of those ideas. I admire Born's analytical skill and execution. I hope to use my analytical skills in the same way--to serve God in the world and make it a better place. I needed a little optimism today in my job search and my work as a father and home economist. I'm generally an optimistic person, but I have noticed it's hard not to navel gaze on the tail end of moving, transitioning, parenting at home and home economizing. I believe Manuel Roig-Franzia of the Washington Post executed a piece of journalism at its best: the story provided detailed information while providing insight for living. For me, that is well worth the $1.50 I paid for my Sunday newspaper.
An abstract before my list of reasons: for over a decade, Born warned some of the highest economic officials in the U.S. about the financially shaky foundation of the then growing economy, over-the-counter derivatives. She wasn't merely crying wolf, she gave details based on experience and research about the dangers of the economic conditions during her term of service. Current economic advisers to President Obama also decried this Born's theory. Now that Born's insight is celebrated, she declines the "I told you so" utterance.
This story's appeal to me?
1. I like stories that contradict the pejorative term of the faceless "bureaucrat." I don't necessarily celebrate the expansion of government, but those who make their living off of making the government their punching bag make an army of mountebanks.
2. I admire reading about someone who a split their working life in the public and private sector.
3. I admire the cooperative use of experience and research that benefit the public good.
4. I appreciate the example of courage--Born stood resolute and in contrast to some very intelligent and powerful people and graciously told them they were wrong.
5. This story appeals to base desires. If this story is true, I would love to be able to say "I told you so" related to a discovery backed by testing, theory, knowledge. I would love to be able to say those words of vindication, but also help in creating a better, healed world as a result of those tested ideas.
The financial content of the story doesn't interest me as much as the relational and vocational aspect. I love the world of ideas--testing, discussing, theorizing, and picking the ideas apart, imagining and planning application of those ideas. I admire Born's analytical skill and execution. I hope to use my analytical skills in the same way--to serve God in the world and make it a better place. I needed a little optimism today in my job search and my work as a father and home economist. I'm generally an optimistic person, but I have noticed it's hard not to navel gaze on the tail end of moving, transitioning, parenting at home and home economizing. I believe Manuel Roig-Franzia of the Washington Post executed a piece of journalism at its best: the story provided detailed information while providing insight for living. For me, that is well worth the $1.50 I paid for my Sunday newspaper.
Monday, June 01, 2009
The ELCA in Wichita endures extraordinary pain
The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America has experienced tough times as a member of the Body of Christ in Wichita, Kansas. The infamous "BTK Killer" was a leader in his ELCA congregation in Wichita while he wreaked havoc, fear and panic in the Wichita metro for over a decade, while the memory of his terror remains. Abortion practitioner Dr. George Tiller was serving as an usher at his ELCA congregation in Wichita when he was shot and killed yesterday--right before worship. My dear wife and I pondered together the scenario.
We were once considering relocating to that area, so I imagined the ramifications of this occurrence a little more deeply than most news stories, wondering how my family would be affected, how we would respond. The thoughts scramble my mind.
I have a hard time imagining the pain in those congregations--I have cared for congregations as an interim pastor that were torn apart by sexual misconduct by their former pastors. The pain is palpable and the healing seems incredibly far away--basic trust and faith are intertwined in a way that little in a faith community can be achieved, let alone the simple grace of God be felt when the most basic trust of safety is violated. For some reason, fatal violence goes beyond even sexual misconduct. Sometimes we tread with God in places we never thought we would go. My dear wife and I never would wish to go into a place where such suffering as in Wichita has occurred, but we do know that God is there. Shivers went up my spine when I read the news of Dr. Tiller's death, and I pray for the people of Resurrection Lutheran Church, its pastor, the bishop and the staff, and the people of Wichita in general. Healing seems too far off to imagine.
We were once considering relocating to that area, so I imagined the ramifications of this occurrence a little more deeply than most news stories, wondering how my family would be affected, how we would respond. The thoughts scramble my mind.
I have a hard time imagining the pain in those congregations--I have cared for congregations as an interim pastor that were torn apart by sexual misconduct by their former pastors. The pain is palpable and the healing seems incredibly far away--basic trust and faith are intertwined in a way that little in a faith community can be achieved, let alone the simple grace of God be felt when the most basic trust of safety is violated. For some reason, fatal violence goes beyond even sexual misconduct. Sometimes we tread with God in places we never thought we would go. My dear wife and I never would wish to go into a place where such suffering as in Wichita has occurred, but we do know that God is there. Shivers went up my spine when I read the news of Dr. Tiller's death, and I pray for the people of Resurrection Lutheran Church, its pastor, the bishop and the staff, and the people of Wichita in general. Healing seems too far off to imagine.
Radio is the sound salvation
Though not my first media love, radio is a powerful medium. Though I don't pay attention to the ratings game, it looks like radio ratings methodology is changing. What I love about the early results of this tabulation is that political blowhards from all points on the spectrum and sports blowhards are not doing well. Many talk products are junk food. Sure, I can consume this stuff like sitting down and eating a bag of chips or box of cookies, but I feel dumber and less healthy after I'm done consuming.
When satellite radio came to the market, I was an early customer. Satellite almost seemed like a necessity when I moved to South Dakota and was driving in rural areas with little choice, if any, for radio. Sometimes the road was so long, I forced myself toward poor selections of country music or a regional Jesus station. Eventually I loved the selection on Sirius, though when we moved to the Frugal Rule in our household, Sirius was one of the first things to go. Though I haven't driven like a trucker or someone who drives for a living, I have put on plenty of miles, appreciating the companionship, information and provocation from the radio.
Bill Simmons from espn.com wrote that satellite radio could not compete with mp3s and podcasting and will eventually fail. I don't want to believe it, because I hope to return to satellite someday, but the argument makes sense. Though satellite radio can specialize and meet my interests more deeply while also expanding my musical horizons--podcasting and music subscriptions are a powerfully market driven force. I've been further driven away from expensive television subscriptions because I can get free podcasts of Bill Maher, Pardon the Interruption, Rachel Maddow, and Keith Olbermann (my favorite radio junk food).
Sometimes the radio junk food has some social worth. Seattle sports radio is celebrating the 30 year anniversary of the only major professional sports championship in Seattle--the Supersonics' NBA title won on June 1, 1979. Today I reflected upon beloved players, watching the games with my dad and friends, and the jubilant screams as we rushed to the street, shouting at the top of our lungs and jumping up and down. Having a favorite team win a championship is a unique elation. I'm so glad it happens on the court or field in so many sports--I wish it could happen in major college football. That title for the UW Huskies in 1991 was fun, but having voters with a role stinks.
Since my return, I haven't found my radio groove in the Seattle metro. I didn't miss the static that seems to plague the radio around here. I can't believe that I struggle pick up the NPR outlet clearly even though I live in King County. I'm living off of Mariners coverage, podcasts, and mp3s like Elvis Costello's Radio, Radio reminding me that radio is the sound salvation, while I play with my youngest daughter, unpack our boxes, and try to find where things go.
When satellite radio came to the market, I was an early customer. Satellite almost seemed like a necessity when I moved to South Dakota and was driving in rural areas with little choice, if any, for radio. Sometimes the road was so long, I forced myself toward poor selections of country music or a regional Jesus station. Eventually I loved the selection on Sirius, though when we moved to the Frugal Rule in our household, Sirius was one of the first things to go. Though I haven't driven like a trucker or someone who drives for a living, I have put on plenty of miles, appreciating the companionship, information and provocation from the radio.
Bill Simmons from espn.com wrote that satellite radio could not compete with mp3s and podcasting and will eventually fail. I don't want to believe it, because I hope to return to satellite someday, but the argument makes sense. Though satellite radio can specialize and meet my interests more deeply while also expanding my musical horizons--podcasting and music subscriptions are a powerfully market driven force. I've been further driven away from expensive television subscriptions because I can get free podcasts of Bill Maher, Pardon the Interruption, Rachel Maddow, and Keith Olbermann (my favorite radio junk food).
Sometimes the radio junk food has some social worth. Seattle sports radio is celebrating the 30 year anniversary of the only major professional sports championship in Seattle--the Supersonics' NBA title won on June 1, 1979. Today I reflected upon beloved players, watching the games with my dad and friends, and the jubilant screams as we rushed to the street, shouting at the top of our lungs and jumping up and down. Having a favorite team win a championship is a unique elation. I'm so glad it happens on the court or field in so many sports--I wish it could happen in major college football. That title for the UW Huskies in 1991 was fun, but having voters with a role stinks.
Since my return, I haven't found my radio groove in the Seattle metro. I didn't miss the static that seems to plague the radio around here. I can't believe that I struggle pick up the NPR outlet clearly even though I live in King County. I'm living off of Mariners coverage, podcasts, and mp3s like Elvis Costello's Radio, Radio reminding me that radio is the sound salvation, while I play with my youngest daughter, unpack our boxes, and try to find where things go.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
As if I was going to join anyway
A friend of mine suggested that if I want another angle at trying to find employment, I should join Facebook and/or MySpace. I am plenty skeptical about the value for me to use these sites (this is my most googled entry, I think I touched a nerve) , and I enjoy finding reasons why I'm glad I haven't joined.
Granted, I don't fit in to the target demographic mentioned in this article. Also, while I trust my identity theft insurance product, I am still a little bit creeped out by the social networking site concept, on top of which I have heard some compare using the sites to crack usage. I'm saying no.
Thanks, Nancy Reagan!
Granted, I don't fit in to the target demographic mentioned in this article. Also, while I trust my identity theft insurance product, I am still a little bit creeped out by the social networking site concept, on top of which I have heard some compare using the sites to crack usage. I'm saying no.
Thanks, Nancy Reagan!
North American Atlas Blackout Bingo
I like to take drives to places I have never visited--I like the perspective of a place where I have not viewed the particular topography, commerce, and institutions. If I end up talking with someone and hearing a unique local story, that is considered a bonus--though I don't seek out that interaction. This informal study of place is an introverted activity for me. I was blessed to be able to travel all over North America and especially South Dakota in my first season of ordained ministry. As I highlighted in my atlas all the places I had visited, my South Dakota map looked like a personalized bingo card: if I was playing blackout, I had one gaping hole in Harding County and surrounding counties. I knew I wasn't going to get there on a family trip, so I took the opportunity when I had it. The opportunity didn't just appear, and the trip wasn't along the way. I made the opportunity when I was close enough to rationalize the journey.
The Western Dakotas display their own kind of beauty, an inter-Badlands region, with impressive geologic formations and tiny ranch towns with one room school houses and fantastic views. The views are difficult to photographically capture, unlike the view I see whenever Mount Rainier is "out" just outside my townhouse complex, or like going to the Grand Canyon or to the cliffs of the Isle of Wight or the Aran Islands. Maybe there is a lack of color contrast in the Western Dakota. Mt. Rainier is easier to see. It's big. It's white. It's up against a blue sky. The bluest sky, as Perry Como used to sing. Thousands of evergreens enhance the coloring and contrast. The Dakotas, though drab, are an acquired taste of browns, yet still beautiful, though more wonderfully sloped than the Eastern Dakotas.
Buffalo was an enjoyable little town--staying longer would have been nice--but I was thankful to take a peek and move closer to playing a game of blackout that I will never complete, but I will enjoy playing. Part of writing this today is that I miss South Dakota a little. I never would have imagined that feeling 6 or 7 years ago--but a lot happened there. Not that I want to return, but because so many great and important things happened there for my dear wife and me, I am glad to say that I miss it in a good way, and that ministry gave me the opportunity to know it well.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A great evening at the beach
My dear wife spontaneously called some friends this week and suggested a picnic on the beach last night. I was a little surprised: not that my wife suggested the outing, but that we picnicked. We didn't picnic often in South Dakota--I was probably the road block most often. Spring doesn't last long in South Dakota (give or take 2 weeks), and by the time the summer roars in, it's usually too hot, too humid and too windy for the lack of water close by. With no air conditioning or fans in our new residence, my body temperature approached uncomfortable at 80 degrees outdoors (though by no means suffering), but merely planting my feet in a stream running to the Puget Sound set my body right. The sunshine and the light breeze off the sound set me at a temperature I have not experienced in 20 years. I was comfortable, as was my dear wife. To have both of us enjoy the temperature was a small miracle, and deeply appreciated.
Our daughters can't get enough of the Sound--with a relatively sparse crowd and lots of places to explore, they easily stayed occupied for over two hours. I am amazed how children don't seem to care about where the sand goes--they even seem willing to eat it. The tired youngest girl in our group led us to decide to break up for the evening. With enjoyable company and our girls active then pleasantly tired, it was easy to overlook the annoyance of the sand clinging to everything. The girls slept well--and though our bedroom became stuffy in the evening, what transpired earlier at the beach led us into pleasant rest.
Our daughters can't get enough of the Sound--with a relatively sparse crowd and lots of places to explore, they easily stayed occupied for over two hours. I am amazed how children don't seem to care about where the sand goes--they even seem willing to eat it. The tired youngest girl in our group led us to decide to break up for the evening. With enjoyable company and our girls active then pleasantly tired, it was easy to overlook the annoyance of the sand clinging to everything. The girls slept well--and though our bedroom became stuffy in the evening, what transpired earlier at the beach led us into pleasant rest.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Anecdotal Cost of Living Differences--South Dakota vs. King County, WA
The cost of living in the Pacific Northwest has a reputation of being high--I was reminded (though not surprised) that moving from South Dakota would involve a big cost of living increase. Housing is definitely more expensive, as is gasoline. However, our utilities are cheaper, and our food bill is significantly less. The produce is better and the selection in general is better. My eyes about popped out of my head when I paid $1.79 for a gallon of milk recently. We were still paying about 60 cents more in Sioux Falls last month, and that was if we went to (gulp) Sam's Club (we're glad to be going to Costco).
My father (in the grocery business) said that prices will probably going lower in the coming months because of price wars. The Northwest has some big players in the grocery business trying to flex their muscles and create their mark in the marketplace. Costco is a big Northwest company. Sam's Club/Walmart is trying to make its way around here, and they have the resources to do it. WinCo is an aggressively priced warehouse-style, no frills chain. Safeway's size and willingness to go below cost on certain items to draw customers is a big player--at which we will have to take a closer look as we move our household to a restrictive diet to help our oldest daughter (more on this at a later date). Top Foods/Haggen and Albertson's also seem willing (forced) to compete. We also have a Trader Joe's and Metropolitan Market nearby. Fred Meyer draws us in because one can buy just about anything there. They have good prices (they probably rank in the middle), good specials, and we can (and often do) walk there. Fred Meyer also gives loyalty rebates and gas discounts. King County is a very competitive grocery market. With no food tax in Washington (my dear wife and I advocated for dropping the food tax in South Dakota--to no avail), one can feed their family well on a tight budget. The capitalist in me is pleased to watch this market for markets at work.
I often wondered with my father about why groceries were so expensive in Sioux Falls. We hypothesized that transportation costs and lack of competition drove prices up. Wal-Mart and Hy-Vee dominate the market in Eastern South Dakota. Each retailer has their market niche (Wal-Mart-price; Hy-Vee-service) These two big chains have some meager competition from Sunshine Foods, Econo Foods and local independent grocers (a dying breed in Washington, my father informed me). King County dwarfs the entire state of South Dakota in population--more people probably creates more competition.
I might develop an expanded anecdotal comparison at a later date as I learn more about specific costs. I really am a geek.
My father (in the grocery business) said that prices will probably going lower in the coming months because of price wars. The Northwest has some big players in the grocery business trying to flex their muscles and create their mark in the marketplace. Costco is a big Northwest company. Sam's Club/Walmart is trying to make its way around here, and they have the resources to do it. WinCo is an aggressively priced warehouse-style, no frills chain. Safeway's size and willingness to go below cost on certain items to draw customers is a big player--at which we will have to take a closer look as we move our household to a restrictive diet to help our oldest daughter (more on this at a later date). Top Foods/Haggen and Albertson's also seem willing (forced) to compete. We also have a Trader Joe's and Metropolitan Market nearby. Fred Meyer draws us in because one can buy just about anything there. They have good prices (they probably rank in the middle), good specials, and we can (and often do) walk there. Fred Meyer also gives loyalty rebates and gas discounts. King County is a very competitive grocery market. With no food tax in Washington (my dear wife and I advocated for dropping the food tax in South Dakota--to no avail), one can feed their family well on a tight budget. The capitalist in me is pleased to watch this market for markets at work.
I often wondered with my father about why groceries were so expensive in Sioux Falls. We hypothesized that transportation costs and lack of competition drove prices up. Wal-Mart and Hy-Vee dominate the market in Eastern South Dakota. Each retailer has their market niche (Wal-Mart-price; Hy-Vee-service) These two big chains have some meager competition from Sunshine Foods, Econo Foods and local independent grocers (a dying breed in Washington, my father informed me). King County dwarfs the entire state of South Dakota in population--more people probably creates more competition.
I might develop an expanded anecdotal comparison at a later date as I learn more about specific costs. I really am a geek.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
A Dictionary of Useless Information
I've been having a lot of fun with the website from the magazine Mental Floss. I am having a great time with the quizzes. I tend to do a little bit better than average, but am also reminded about how much I don't know. My favorite baseball journalist and blogger Keith Law has contributed some great quizzes this week--#1 songs written by Prince (note the trick written), and the ASEAN countries (Association of South East Asian Nations).
Though I can be a dictionary of useless information, it's clear I'm on the lower echelon of those dictionaries. It's still fun.
Though I can be a dictionary of useless information, it's clear I'm on the lower echelon of those dictionaries. It's still fun.
The State of the Mariners, Jack Zduriencik's Leadership, and my Vocational Life
Jack Zduriencik, Seattle Mariners General Manager can evaluate talent and has a plan that will not bankrupt the organization. He is building the team based on pitching and defense, and will eventually develop a few power hitters or find one in the right place. He's already finding some low-risk, high reward hitters (see Russell Branyan), just not enough at this point to carry the club this season.
I admire Zduriencik on many levels, because he has made the Mariners a much more interesting team to follow in terms of grit, effort, strategy, player development and acquisition. He also exudes the qualities of a leader who can develop a plan that is clear about the ends and flexible about the means, while developing strong relationships with colleagues and players. My quota of Mariner yammering each day is higher than it should be these days, but the angles about this baseball club are exciting. The only angle under Bill Bavasi involved slapping my forehead over his latest move, making it hard to follow the team.
My admiration of Zduriencik becomes a reflection for today because watching him work reminds me of what I miss about serving a congregation. I am looking for work these days, and the search is painful. We haven't reached the point where I need to deliver pizzas or work as a night custodian. I deeply value my time at home with my daughters, helping them adjust to their new surroundings and managing the entire family's transition. Sometimes I wonder what God is up to with me here--but I've been down this road before. When we moved to South Dakota over 8 years ago, I struggled with my place for about 3 months before I embarked on a fulfilling eight-year path. I trust that provision can happen. Sometimes I just don't happen to like God's timing in the present moment. Forgive my impatience.
I admire Zduriencik on many levels, because he has made the Mariners a much more interesting team to follow in terms of grit, effort, strategy, player development and acquisition. He also exudes the qualities of a leader who can develop a plan that is clear about the ends and flexible about the means, while developing strong relationships with colleagues and players. My quota of Mariner yammering each day is higher than it should be these days, but the angles about this baseball club are exciting. The only angle under Bill Bavasi involved slapping my forehead over his latest move, making it hard to follow the team.
My admiration of Zduriencik becomes a reflection for today because watching him work reminds me of what I miss about serving a congregation. I am looking for work these days, and the search is painful. We haven't reached the point where I need to deliver pizzas or work as a night custodian. I deeply value my time at home with my daughters, helping them adjust to their new surroundings and managing the entire family's transition. Sometimes I wonder what God is up to with me here--but I've been down this road before. When we moved to South Dakota over 8 years ago, I struggled with my place for about 3 months before I embarked on a fulfilling eight-year path. I trust that provision can happen. Sometimes I just don't happen to like God's timing in the present moment. Forgive my impatience.
Jeopardy with Will Farrell--still funny
My father used to judge entertainment by telling my brothers and me that certain forms were not worthy of time because they had "no socially redeeming value." At first glance, Saturday Night Live may lack that quality. But a tip of my hat to the Jeopardy spoof from SNL. I've learned two words from Sean Connery that I hope appear someday on my GRE.
Mountebank and poltroon--my Granddad would also be pleased I'm still picking up vocabulary words. But first he would want me to spell the word.
Tom Hanks and the versatile Kristen Wiig as Kathie Lee Gifford are good replacements for Jimmy Fallon as French Stewart. The show doesn't really succeed without the Sean Connery and Burt Reynolds characters.
Mountebank and poltroon--my Granddad would also be pleased I'm still picking up vocabulary words. But first he would want me to spell the word.
Tom Hanks and the versatile Kristen Wiig as Kathie Lee Gifford are good replacements for Jimmy Fallon as French Stewart. The show doesn't really succeed without the Sean Connery and Burt Reynolds characters.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Target (Entry #4 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)
The word target may mean something to shoppers all over the United States (except those in Vermont, and Target apologizes for not having a store there). South Dakota has its four Target stores where people travel sometimes hundreds of miles to shop there. I know this because I could look in the parking lot of the Sioux Falls Target and find license plates from all over South Dakota, and also from many counties in surrounding states.
For all of Target's popularity in South Dakota, it may not be the most popular target. Outside of Sioux Falls, almost any inanimate object can become a target for shooting practice. The most frequent targets are public trash receptacles and road signs. If I knew earlier I was building a photo lexicon of South Dakota, I would have taken photos of more examples of target practice. Even though South Dakota is a very gun friendly state, one doesn't see many gun racks in South Dakota, just evidence that guns are present in less obvious places like garbage cans and speed limit signs.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Seven Pounds, watching films in this life chapter, guilt and redemption
Before I reflect upon this film, I realize I do not live on the cutting edge of film reviews. Months have passed since this film has faded from public discourse. A perfect storm must rise before I see a film of consequence. How rare is it that I can get the kids to bed on time, have me or my dear wife be home from work and not be mentally or physically occupied, be awake enough myself, and have something available at the video outlet that I care to watch? Digital cable is not the answer with the household frugality rule. My dear wife and I (pre-children) viewed about 4-8 movies per month--stories that sparked discussion, wonder, and became grist for the homiletical mill.
The reviews for Seven Pounds are almost as interesting as the film. Reviewers felt manipulated, confused, and one wrote he felt "beaten to a pulp." I happen to like vague story lines and teasers. I don't watch films for certainty or comfort, and not necessarily to be entertained. I look for a good story, for perspective, to have my thoughts and assumptions provoked. Seven Pounds accomplishes this provocation in rare form addressing themes from the core of human existence--especially guilt and redemption. I won't tell too much about the story, because surprise is an important factor of the film. I think in this day and age of anxiety and uncertainty, people might look for something more certain and entertaining in their films. I do not relate to the feeling of most of the reviews I read.
From my own faith tradition, guilt is best addressed in the context of a relationship with God through Jesus Christ, in the context of a congregational community. I couldn't imagine how the guilt expressed in this film could ever be healed in the communities of which I have been a part. For all the bad things said and written about Christian communities, I see that we can be woefully inadequate in sharing a peaceful presence or a word of hope to the guilty. I don't know if I could be a voice of guidance and peace for people crippled by guilt. Considering my sermons over the years, I have high hopes that God does something with the word I speak, because the word I share at my examination seems meager to address the guilt I saw in Seven Pounds and the guilt I have seen in Christian communities (most frequently while doing prison ministry).
The open ended reflection coming out of Seven Pounds for me is "what does redemption look like?" As a Christian, on my good days I believe in redemption through Christ. What I saw in Seven Pounds was a strong desire for human control of redemption. Even though we humans may be able to control some factors in redemption, our sense of justice is flawed, and often tragic. As I said, on my better days I trust that God is at work. Redemption for us humans in the end doesn't come down to our trust or actions, but the actions of God. Such is grace--we cannot control it--and when we receive it, even then we don't want to believe it.
The reviews for Seven Pounds are almost as interesting as the film. Reviewers felt manipulated, confused, and one wrote he felt "beaten to a pulp." I happen to like vague story lines and teasers. I don't watch films for certainty or comfort, and not necessarily to be entertained. I look for a good story, for perspective, to have my thoughts and assumptions provoked. Seven Pounds accomplishes this provocation in rare form addressing themes from the core of human existence--especially guilt and redemption. I won't tell too much about the story, because surprise is an important factor of the film. I think in this day and age of anxiety and uncertainty, people might look for something more certain and entertaining in their films. I do not relate to the feeling of most of the reviews I read.
From my own faith tradition, guilt is best addressed in the context of a relationship with God through Jesus Christ, in the context of a congregational community. I couldn't imagine how the guilt expressed in this film could ever be healed in the communities of which I have been a part. For all the bad things said and written about Christian communities, I see that we can be woefully inadequate in sharing a peaceful presence or a word of hope to the guilty. I don't know if I could be a voice of guidance and peace for people crippled by guilt. Considering my sermons over the years, I have high hopes that God does something with the word I speak, because the word I share at my examination seems meager to address the guilt I saw in Seven Pounds and the guilt I have seen in Christian communities (most frequently while doing prison ministry).
The open ended reflection coming out of Seven Pounds for me is "what does redemption look like?" As a Christian, on my good days I believe in redemption through Christ. What I saw in Seven Pounds was a strong desire for human control of redemption. Even though we humans may be able to control some factors in redemption, our sense of justice is flawed, and often tragic. As I said, on my better days I trust that God is at work. Redemption for us humans in the end doesn't come down to our trust or actions, but the actions of God. Such is grace--we cannot control it--and when we receive it, even then we don't want to believe it.
Monday, May 25, 2009
On Faith
I took this picture of the entrance to Faith, South Dakota (in Ranch Country--which is not far from another exit/entrance to Faith) with thoughts I may use it for a sermon illustration or presentation some day. I try to keep a small bank of images for that purpose. I will stay away from the faith journey image (ugh--old and tired). Faith is actually a challenging discussion for a pastor, because parishioners who come to me to discuss faith are usually looking for assurance. Assurance is only a fraction of faith as far as I am concerned. Assurance is an important topic--but not the only topic.
A good friend and I shared lunch recently. He makes his living as a philosopher/teacher. We enjoy asking each other questions about our craft/academic specialty. He is a far better philosopher than I am a theologian--he reads and writes to the point where I wonder if he ever sleeps. Yet he still is devoted to his wife, family and faith, and still has time to dissect episodes of House with me.
I may not see him for awhile, so I should probably continue this stream of conversation via email. During our last talk we touched on the recent wave of neo-atheist authors. First of all, they (Hitchens, Dawkins, Harris) seem more interested in selling their books than working on their craft. Then guys like Bill Maher (whom I happen to enjoy his commentary on the news) makes a movie lampooning religion and supposed adults who have an "imaginary friend (a god)." Though I have read only excerpts of their work, I am initially persuaded by their critics in that the neo-atheists are not necessarily intellectual heavyweights, but people who are more pissed off at God, or at the state of the world because of religion, or a combination thereof. I asked if Nietzsche was a better atheist--one with teeth. My friend was interested in my question, but we didn't finish the thought. We had so many topics to cover that day, and at least initially we found that House was a much more worthy topic of discussion regarding atheism than Hitchens.
My hope for the writers of House is that they do not give House faith, but that they give him a better direct challenge from a person of faith to his thoughts on faith or religion than the two I've seen in five seasons: a diminutive nun, and a crackpot Christian faith healer were probably the worst possible matches for House's intellect.
The next step for me is to read more of Hitchens, Dawkins, or Harris. Rather than raise their rating on Amazon or give them more money by buying their book from Barnes and Noble, I'm going to head to my local library. My faith and theology always need work--I subscribe to the idea that resistance training, even on matters of faith, is good for the body.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
One more sign of the Apocalypse:Yuniesky Betancourt at the plate 5/24/09
Sometimes I attempt to build up family events only to be later disappointed. Earlier today I lived in bloated anticipation for my eldest daughter's first Mariners game. She did pretty well--played on the Mariners playground, stood in line for an Ivar Dog (more on this later), picked up a bag of Cracker Jack, scared off by an order of garlic fries, scoped out Safeco Field with binoculars, took a trip to the bathroom, stood up an cheered for the final out--all this took about 2 hours and 45 minutes. Not bad for a first game. This will not be a normal trip for our family--at least not to any place more expensive than the bleachers.
This was a fun game today--a beautiful sunny day. All of the Mariner heroes performed well, Felix Hernandez, Ichiro!, Ken Griffey, Jr., and Adrian Beltre laid the foundation for the win with good pitching and hitting. In addition, some important role players stepped up. David Aardsma shut down the Giants in the ninth without really flinching, and Yuniesky Betancourt actually walked--twice. He laid down an ugly bunt that barely did the job. He did his job. A good Norwegian wouldn't applaud this work. I noticed in my time in the Midwest that some subcultures don't give affirmations for doing your job, and sparingly even if one executes with exceptional quality. But I'm glad for him, because Betancourt is not a good situational hitter and struggles to take a pitch, move the runners and do what is good for the team. Today, he performed. The debate I've heard on the radio and on my frequented Mariner blogs is whether Betancourt can actually change his behavior. A good question for humanity. Can we really change our behavior?
I always feel some satisfaction where preparation and strategy produces results. A little history, a little pride, a little relational joy and I let loose and scream for my favorite team. Friends, family and complete strangers giving each other high fives. I can't imagine giving a stranger a high five in church...but then again I'm not from the more charismatic persuasions where this kind of interaction is encouraged. Though I'm not sure what my daughter experienced on this day, she saw the best of what a baseball game has to offer.
Post Script
I will tell you the story about "The Ivar Dog" from a Seattle favorite Ivar's. My daughter asked for a hot dog for her game meal. I saw "Ivar Dog" on the menu and thought--ah, yes, I can get some clams, and with one stop shopping, get my daughter a hot dog as well. The server slung toward me fried clams and chips and a gourmet bun with something I didn't expect inside: a MOUND of cole slaw and two pieces of fish, laid out like a hot dog. It had some appeal, but, this meal wouldn't do. No way would my daughter eat this. She's the more adventurous eater of the two girls, but I knew this would not pass for lunch. I gritted my teeth and gave her the clams. She loved them. Only in Seattle would something be called an Ivar Dog and consist of fish. I was stupid and made a novice mistake. It was a tasty mistake, and we both ended up happy with our lunch. It was a good laugh for my family and added to the charm and blessings of the day.
This was a fun game today--a beautiful sunny day. All of the Mariner heroes performed well, Felix Hernandez, Ichiro!, Ken Griffey, Jr., and Adrian Beltre laid the foundation for the win with good pitching and hitting. In addition, some important role players stepped up. David Aardsma shut down the Giants in the ninth without really flinching, and Yuniesky Betancourt actually walked--twice. He laid down an ugly bunt that barely did the job. He did his job. A good Norwegian wouldn't applaud this work. I noticed in my time in the Midwest that some subcultures don't give affirmations for doing your job, and sparingly even if one executes with exceptional quality. But I'm glad for him, because Betancourt is not a good situational hitter and struggles to take a pitch, move the runners and do what is good for the team. Today, he performed. The debate I've heard on the radio and on my frequented Mariner blogs is whether Betancourt can actually change his behavior. A good question for humanity. Can we really change our behavior?
I always feel some satisfaction where preparation and strategy produces results. A little history, a little pride, a little relational joy and I let loose and scream for my favorite team. Friends, family and complete strangers giving each other high fives. I can't imagine giving a stranger a high five in church...but then again I'm not from the more charismatic persuasions where this kind of interaction is encouraged. Though I'm not sure what my daughter experienced on this day, she saw the best of what a baseball game has to offer.
Post Script
I will tell you the story about "The Ivar Dog" from a Seattle favorite Ivar's. My daughter asked for a hot dog for her game meal. I saw "Ivar Dog" on the menu and thought--ah, yes, I can get some clams, and with one stop shopping, get my daughter a hot dog as well. The server slung toward me fried clams and chips and a gourmet bun with something I didn't expect inside: a MOUND of cole slaw and two pieces of fish, laid out like a hot dog. It had some appeal, but, this meal wouldn't do. No way would my daughter eat this. She's the more adventurous eater of the two girls, but I knew this would not pass for lunch. I gritted my teeth and gave her the clams. She loved them. Only in Seattle would something be called an Ivar Dog and consist of fish. I was stupid and made a novice mistake. It was a tasty mistake, and we both ended up happy with our lunch. It was a good laugh for my family and added to the charm and blessings of the day.
A Seattle Mariners Tradition Passed On
I believe it was June, 1977, when my Dad took me to my first Major League Baseball game in Seattle's Kingdome. The Seattle Mariners' first season. It was picture day, and I had a blurry Polaroid taken with cast off Diego Segui. I was equipped with my fairly new Catfish Hunter signature baseball glove and my trident Mariner M cap.
I felt like it was time for my oldest daughter to see her first Major League game, to see local baseball heroes and take in the atmosphere of Safeco field. Even though the Mariners are not quite as bad a team as they were that first season with Glenn Abbott, Bill Stein, Dan Meyer and Rupert Jones (though they are bad enough), the entire baseball experience in Seattle is better. Safeco Field is a great venue. The Mariners have actual baseball heroes in their history and on the club today. Ichiro, Ken Griffey Jr, and some developing stars--one whom we will see pitch today in Felix Hernandez. The club is heading in a better direction with General Manager Jack Zduriencik--who appears to have the baseball and leadership acumen along with a plan--a step up from former GM Bill Bavasi. These points, of course, matter little, if any, to my daughter. Though she may never be the baseball fan I am, female baseball fans may have a genetic link in our family. My Gram and I share love for baseball, a love she learned from her father listening to the Portland Beavers from their home across the Columbia River in Camas, Washington. Occasionally they would make the trip to watch the games as well. I imagine that most of the day will involve taking in the sights and sounds, while looking forward to the next treat. These treats have advanced as well, as have the prices. I'm still amazed I can buy a piece of sushi called an Ichi-roll (with a third mortgage to do it).
We will attend the game with my father and cousin, so they have a chance to witness my daughter's reactions to all she sees and hears. My only hope is that she remembers some of the experience, and that the experience is a joyful one.
I felt like it was time for my oldest daughter to see her first Major League game, to see local baseball heroes and take in the atmosphere of Safeco field. Even though the Mariners are not quite as bad a team as they were that first season with Glenn Abbott, Bill Stein, Dan Meyer and Rupert Jones (though they are bad enough), the entire baseball experience in Seattle is better. Safeco Field is a great venue. The Mariners have actual baseball heroes in their history and on the club today. Ichiro, Ken Griffey Jr, and some developing stars--one whom we will see pitch today in Felix Hernandez. The club is heading in a better direction with General Manager Jack Zduriencik--who appears to have the baseball and leadership acumen along with a plan--a step up from former GM Bill Bavasi. These points, of course, matter little, if any, to my daughter. Though she may never be the baseball fan I am, female baseball fans may have a genetic link in our family. My Gram and I share love for baseball, a love she learned from her father listening to the Portland Beavers from their home across the Columbia River in Camas, Washington. Occasionally they would make the trip to watch the games as well. I imagine that most of the day will involve taking in the sights and sounds, while looking forward to the next treat. These treats have advanced as well, as have the prices. I'm still amazed I can buy a piece of sushi called an Ichi-roll (with a third mortgage to do it).
We will attend the game with my father and cousin, so they have a chance to witness my daughter's reactions to all she sees and hears. My only hope is that she remembers some of the experience, and that the experience is a joyful one.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Not abandoning content on Memorial Day weekend--recent finds for my Google Reader
How irritating that my favorite blogs take a holiday on Memorial Day weekend. Not here at madhousegazette.
My household is mostly in recovery this long weekend. My youngest had a trip to the ER last weekend when her fever would not go down. I think waiting in the ER during the wee hours of the morning took my immune system over the hedge. Excuse me while I hack up some lung butter...
My oldest daughter is struggling the most, not necessarily with her health, but with the change in routine and place. South Dakota was all she ever knew outside of vacations, and that is gone. I think she appreciates seeing her grandparents more often, and she is doing her own form of nesting and verbalizing the changes in her life: "here we are in our new house," she announced as we returned from a trip to the park. Can't say I felt like an outing today, but I knew life would be worse this weekend if we didn't get outside at some point today.
My dear wife is off with her college girlfriends for the Memorial Day weekend--so we get to make a few more choices this weekend. Hot dogs, chips, cookies and lemonade for lunch--the menu chosen by the oldest child. Naps for #2 and me. #1 continues her nesting.
BLOGS RECENTLY ADDED TO MY GOOGLE READER
John Paget Films Blog John makes some great stuff. We played basketball together years ago--he was interested in film years ago, and he's taken his work to many higher levels. Check out his piece on sprawl and cul de sacs.
Patchwork Nation on the Christian Science Monitor website. I can play with this demographic information for hours on end. I appreciate how the Monitor digs deeper than simply blue and red states.
My household is mostly in recovery this long weekend. My youngest had a trip to the ER last weekend when her fever would not go down. I think waiting in the ER during the wee hours of the morning took my immune system over the hedge. Excuse me while I hack up some lung butter...
My oldest daughter is struggling the most, not necessarily with her health, but with the change in routine and place. South Dakota was all she ever knew outside of vacations, and that is gone. I think she appreciates seeing her grandparents more often, and she is doing her own form of nesting and verbalizing the changes in her life: "here we are in our new house," she announced as we returned from a trip to the park. Can't say I felt like an outing today, but I knew life would be worse this weekend if we didn't get outside at some point today.
My dear wife is off with her college girlfriends for the Memorial Day weekend--so we get to make a few more choices this weekend. Hot dogs, chips, cookies and lemonade for lunch--the menu chosen by the oldest child. Naps for #2 and me. #1 continues her nesting.
BLOGS RECENTLY ADDED TO MY GOOGLE READER
John Paget Films Blog John makes some great stuff. We played basketball together years ago--he was interested in film years ago, and he's taken his work to many higher levels. Check out his piece on sprawl and cul de sacs.
Patchwork Nation on the Christian Science Monitor website. I can play with this demographic information for hours on end. I appreciate how the Monitor digs deeper than simply blue and red states.
Does place really make a difference for the Church (Part 1 of an ongoing series)?
I consider the question of place and the Church to be the driving question of my life. The answers to this question will often be subjective and anecdotal, but I also hold on to the belief that the social sciences can lend something objective to the discussion. Though I have yet to be able to follow my dream of studying this theme in the halls of academia, the discussion has become more immediate in my household because my dear wife has her own questions and observations about Church and place. For only the 2nd year of her life now, she is living outside the Midwest. It is a large part of her work to interpret the context of the Pacific Northwest and use that interpretation for the benefit of the Church. What I appreciate about my dear wife's new curiosity is that she has already begun to challenge my assumptions about the relationship between place and Church.
I still hold on to my hypothesis that the Pacific Northwest has some unique variables in relationship to the Church, but I also recognize that the way that PNW Church folk sometimes address this information in a narcissistic way, with a chip on their shoulder, an excuse for not fulfilling their calling, or in extreme cases--with a nihilistic despair. After only 3 weeks here, my wife and I have heard the statement, "THIS is the PACIFIC NORTHWEST" when attempting to be ambitious about our callings. I can see that the struggles of Mainline/Oldline Protestants in this region create a certain amount of defensiveness. Though we in the Church work with such high abstractions as theology and ideas, we also deal with livelihoods and a basic sense of belonging. As we have observed closely, our denomination can no longer just throw money at a situation and hope congregations spring up. A literalist reading of the Parable of the Sower is not operative (or is it?). Throwing seed willy-nilly appears to be bad stewardship. Mainline/Oldline Protestant congregations are hurting financially as in many sectors of the nation. The level of anxiety for stewards of Christ's Church is rising. I hope we don't lose our way by failing to ask good questions about context and place.
The relationship of place and Church is not without humor. During my tour of South Dakota Ranch Country, I found a congregation in Perkins County with a feature I had never seen. Maybe this configuration was more common in pioneering days--but check out the outhouse for this Catholic Church. I can count on 2 hands how many times I've had to use an outhouse, and stories of outhouses are part of various local legends. I thought it interesting that the outhouse was still there--though I was afraid to open the door and see if it was still operational. Though I came to know and love many people in South Dakota Ranch Country, if I didn't know some of the locals, I still had visions of someone coming after me with a rifle and shouting "get off my land!"
I am looking forward to all of the comparisons and contrasts of place and Church as I reexplore the Pacific Northwest--and learning what my dear wife's eyes see as well.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Frugal Living With A South Dakota Cell Phone
I recall a feeling of pride when I purchased my first Treo smart phone. I must admit having felt a mild inferiority complex about the semi-Luddite culture I live in with the Church; whenever I could acquire a piece of newer technology, my complex subsided. Is 450 dollars worth the complex-calming effect?
Frugality is the household rule, inferiority complexes are in remission, and higher priorities and the bigger picture guide purchases today. I pause to remember an artifact for the transition into frugality. The phone you see above cost 10 dollars. I rarely used it, but it helped when I traveled for part-time ministry opportunities in Iowa and South Dakota Ranch Country. Cost of use for the Treo over 2 years: about 1800 dollars. Cost of use for the Tracfone over two years: less than 400 dollars. The switch was good for the budget. About 6 months ago, the battery cover popped off the Tracfone. If South Dakotans taught me anything, it was to be resourceful--not everything is readily available in South Dakota. Sometimes duct tape is the way to go. They may not be attentive to recycling as my fellow Pacific Northwesterners, but duct tape as a make shift battery cover provided the bridge. I regret buying a new crappy/frugal cell phone upon arrival to the Pacific Northwest--I was too lazy to figure out if I could change numbers on my tracfone. Maybe I still can.
Someone will always be able to one-up my technology (more like 10 or 12-up). No one will be able to better my South Dakota duct tape cell phone.
They're listening...
Today I was taking the dog out for a morning constitutional. My youngest didn't appreciate my departure. When I returned, she greeted me with a scowl and said, "get back in here, MISSY!" Where did she get something like that?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Finding the center of the nation
If this collection was part of fundamentalist blog land, I could wax poetic about how God is the center of this nation...
Sorry, you can look elsewhere for that--not my belief system. Allow me to be a geographic literalist/geek for the center of the nation.
Here is me trying to manage my crappy tripod in the wind (remember, South Dakota wind) and not quite getting it right. As one of my favorite avocations of geography geek, the geographic center of the United States took a shift in the 20th century after Alaska and Hawai'i were added to the Union, placing the spot firmly on some one's ranch, just off a gravel road on a central road of Northwestern South Dakota (I had to write it that way, I thought it sounded funny). Not much time is given maintaining this exact spot. It's one of those spots on a Rand McNally marked with a red square that lends a little historical and/or geographical perspective to the locality and region. Though it's not a spot filled with much information and pageantry, to get an idea of the literal center of the United States and its place on the Earth lends to me a sense of awe about the land mass of the United States, the Earth, and the realm of creation. I connected to these thoughts of my April trip after reading Psalm 19: "The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork."Where is the simple place of wonder? As the crow flies, about 25 miles northeast of Belle Fourche (pronounced Bell Foosh) on US Highway 85 (ahh, a blue highway). Look for the signs pointing you toward a gravel road. Don't be shy--it may look like a place where someone will show up with a rifle and say, "Get off my land!" But you will find a nice little drive and a stop for a meditation, ponderance, reflection, or whatever your favorite method of pause.
Though a lot more time and effort was placed on the monument for the center of the US in Belle Fourche proper, it doesn't seem to inspire the wonder of the makeshift monument and painted sign. I suppose it's something to attract tourists, which I'm not totally against. I merely have a different preference for my time apart to explore. The time alone to take these geeky little side trips has been reduced since my life of fatherhood. I doubt my children will find these interesting in the years ahead, though I will certainly try.
Today's post represents my most recent geeky escapade--with plenty of photos creating a backlog of writing from moving and nesting. Knowing my history, I won't get to them all, but one is a good start.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Wind (Entry #3 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)
I find current public discourse on differing views of global climate change tiresome. I still find fascination in climate and humanity's relationship with the Earth and its atmosphere. I know I'm not the only one--how else would The Weather Channel been able to survive so long? I suppose it was on the leading edge of reality television.
Wind is a term relative to region. In the Pacific Northwest, it's something that cools your house down in the evening after a warm summer day. Wind makes the guardian evergreens dance in the near sky. Wind occasionally challenges the floating bridges across Lake Washington. Wind can kick up the sand in your face during an otherwise chilly day at a rocky beach. But wind is an accessory in the Northwest. It kicks up, but it dies down.
Though I have never lived in hurricane country, wind is more associated with violence. As the Atlantic waters warm, so comes the potential of evacuation and damage to homes and businesses.
In South Dakota, the wind really doesn't stop. A South Dakota weather forecaster shouldn't point out that it's windy, rather, they should point out that it's not windy. There is nowhere to hide from the wind. It alters a human's walking course. It chafes skin. To an uncovered set of ears, the wind in South Dakota bears a sharp edge, like needles to the brain. Even on warm summer days when I ran, I would wear some sort of headband/ear covering to protect my hammer, anvil and stirrup from torment.
South Dakota may be on the edge of Tornado Alley, but the wind does not mess around. There may not be as many tornadoes compared to Kansas and Oklahoma, but the wind won't let you forget it's presence. Matching God with the wind and my Pacific Northwest experience was always a simple connection. South Dakota was different. Wind is an agitator. Wind is a destroyer (as in this photo from South Dakota Ranch Country) And there was no place to hide. I tried to plant trees for a refuge, and the wind would bend those trees to the brink of their survival. When I hid in my house, I could hear the wind howling outside.
The wind moves--sometimes in ways I don't like. Such is the power of God. I can't hide from it.
Wind is a term relative to region. In the Pacific Northwest, it's something that cools your house down in the evening after a warm summer day. Wind makes the guardian evergreens dance in the near sky. Wind occasionally challenges the floating bridges across Lake Washington. Wind can kick up the sand in your face during an otherwise chilly day at a rocky beach. But wind is an accessory in the Northwest. It kicks up, but it dies down.
Though I have never lived in hurricane country, wind is more associated with violence. As the Atlantic waters warm, so comes the potential of evacuation and damage to homes and businesses.
In South Dakota, the wind really doesn't stop. A South Dakota weather forecaster shouldn't point out that it's windy, rather, they should point out that it's not windy. There is nowhere to hide from the wind. It alters a human's walking course. It chafes skin. To an uncovered set of ears, the wind in South Dakota bears a sharp edge, like needles to the brain. Even on warm summer days when I ran, I would wear some sort of headband/ear covering to protect my hammer, anvil and stirrup from torment.
South Dakota may be on the edge of Tornado Alley, but the wind does not mess around. There may not be as many tornadoes compared to Kansas and Oklahoma, but the wind won't let you forget it's presence. Matching God with the wind and my Pacific Northwest experience was always a simple connection. South Dakota was different. Wind is an agitator. Wind is a destroyer (as in this photo from South Dakota Ranch Country) And there was no place to hide. I tried to plant trees for a refuge, and the wind would bend those trees to the brink of their survival. When I hid in my house, I could hear the wind howling outside.
The wind moves--sometimes in ways I don't like. Such is the power of God. I can't hide from it.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Listening...(May 19, 2009 Edition)
Only The Good Die Young--Billy Joel
Yesterday's News--Whiskeytown
Feeling No Pain--Jason Falkner
Dani California--Red Hot Chili Peppers
Folsom Prison Blues--Johnny Cash
And When I Die--Blood, Sweat & Tears
Misery Business--Paramore
Billy Joel appeared several months ago on Oprah (yes, even Mr. Moms like myself watch Oprah (maybe once per week), except I don't do the Oprah nod like the women in the audience). Billy was appearing with his wife, some 20-30 years his junior, talking more about his new family life first and his music. I'm not the biggest Billy Joel fan in the world, but I decided to take another look/listen at some of his songs from my collection after this interview. He was candid about his music, saying that he was disappointed in some of his songs that didn't have staying power--though he recognized this state of his repetoire is reality. What gives music staying power? Not being a musician myself, I would guess that staying power is rooted by a musician being a student of their craft, passion, persistence, an openness to critique, and a healthy dose of reflection (which I think comes naturally to an artist). I have settled on Only The Good Die Young as a favorite. I struggle to think of a better philosophical look at young love related to religion, culture and values--with some signature great lines: "Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait, Catholic girls start much too late." Though the piano is well represented in this song, it's not piano driven. Though an amazing pianist, Joel's pounding piano can be exhausting--probably the reason Jerry Lee Lewis is not a personal favorite.
On the subject of musical staying power, my dear wife and I had a great evening listening to the music of Chicago and Blood, Sweat and Tears on a double date. It was one of those pleasantly surprising evenings that I wasn't dreading, but I also wasn't imagining how great it was going to be, either. We had a fabulous Middle Eastern meal in Sioux Falls (yes, it's possible at a place called Sanaa's) good conversation where our companions for the evening were interested in us beyond being pastors, and a great evening of music. We were going to the Symphony--something I appreciate, but don't crave. What I did not know is that we were attending a pops concert, featuring symphonic accompaniment to the two aforementioned bands. I was in awe of the two musicians who composed the accompaniment for all those classical instruments. These two bands are rather horn heavy--and with the strings, the music was positively beautiful and stirring. This is also staying power--music can contain some underlying quality--where style doesn't particularly matter. Maybe this is the core of music theory--where math, creativity, beauty and sound meet to provide musical interpretation that can span the generations. The vocalist during that evening of pops was also a dead ringer for the B,S & T singer--fascinating. I've admired his voice since I was a child hearing their songs on the radio.
I wonder how often music theory has influenced music used in the life of the church? At this point, I'm only wondering, though considering developing the thought...
I had a dream recently about Johnny Cash coming to a congregation I was serving, and he opened the worship service with "Folsom Prison Blues." Of my thousands of dreams in my lifetime, why do I remember this one?
Yesterday's News--Whiskeytown
Feeling No Pain--Jason Falkner
Dani California--Red Hot Chili Peppers
Folsom Prison Blues--Johnny Cash
And When I Die--Blood, Sweat & Tears
Misery Business--Paramore
Billy Joel appeared several months ago on Oprah (yes, even Mr. Moms like myself watch Oprah (maybe once per week), except I don't do the Oprah nod like the women in the audience). Billy was appearing with his wife, some 20-30 years his junior, talking more about his new family life first and his music. I'm not the biggest Billy Joel fan in the world, but I decided to take another look/listen at some of his songs from my collection after this interview. He was candid about his music, saying that he was disappointed in some of his songs that didn't have staying power--though he recognized this state of his repetoire is reality. What gives music staying power? Not being a musician myself, I would guess that staying power is rooted by a musician being a student of their craft, passion, persistence, an openness to critique, and a healthy dose of reflection (which I think comes naturally to an artist). I have settled on Only The Good Die Young as a favorite. I struggle to think of a better philosophical look at young love related to religion, culture and values--with some signature great lines: "Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait, Catholic girls start much too late." Though the piano is well represented in this song, it's not piano driven. Though an amazing pianist, Joel's pounding piano can be exhausting--probably the reason Jerry Lee Lewis is not a personal favorite.
On the subject of musical staying power, my dear wife and I had a great evening listening to the music of Chicago and Blood, Sweat and Tears on a double date. It was one of those pleasantly surprising evenings that I wasn't dreading, but I also wasn't imagining how great it was going to be, either. We had a fabulous Middle Eastern meal in Sioux Falls (yes, it's possible at a place called Sanaa's) good conversation where our companions for the evening were interested in us beyond being pastors, and a great evening of music. We were going to the Symphony--something I appreciate, but don't crave. What I did not know is that we were attending a pops concert, featuring symphonic accompaniment to the two aforementioned bands. I was in awe of the two musicians who composed the accompaniment for all those classical instruments. These two bands are rather horn heavy--and with the strings, the music was positively beautiful and stirring. This is also staying power--music can contain some underlying quality--where style doesn't particularly matter. Maybe this is the core of music theory--where math, creativity, beauty and sound meet to provide musical interpretation that can span the generations. The vocalist during that evening of pops was also a dead ringer for the B,S & T singer--fascinating. I've admired his voice since I was a child hearing their songs on the radio.
I wonder how often music theory has influenced music used in the life of the church? At this point, I'm only wondering, though considering developing the thought...
I had a dream recently about Johnny Cash coming to a congregation I was serving, and he opened the worship service with "Folsom Prison Blues." Of my thousands of dreams in my lifetime, why do I remember this one?
Monday, May 18, 2009
Gathering rulings on Puyallup pronunciation
After around 20 years away from the land of my birth and rearing, I'm not sure if this is the land of the familiar for me anymore (more on this later).
I know how to pronounce Puyallup. I also taught my dear wife to share her pronunciation knowledge in public as a tool to make her way in conversation--something in which she has greater gifts than me, but it doesn't hurt to learn the lingo. However, someone told me I pronounced Puyallup incorrectly (pew-Al-up) at a dinner gathering last weekend. Washingtonians are passionate about their place names--gatherings in my Granddad's living room only solidified this point. I even have the textbook of our discussions from his library in my own collection. Puyallup is a pronunciation like potato/potato, tomato/tomato, like the song. I think this place name pronunciation is a matter of preference, not law or rule (Pew-awl-up and Pew-Al-up are both correct) South Dakota has Huron (Hyur-on and Urine are both correct). The dinner partner tried to argue with me--he hinted that because I just moved from South Dakota I didn't know what the hell I was talking about. I'm collecting pronunciations from my fellow native Washingtonians. Feel free to comment.
I know how to pronounce Puyallup. I also taught my dear wife to share her pronunciation knowledge in public as a tool to make her way in conversation--something in which she has greater gifts than me, but it doesn't hurt to learn the lingo. However, someone told me I pronounced Puyallup incorrectly (pew-Al-up) at a dinner gathering last weekend. Washingtonians are passionate about their place names--gatherings in my Granddad's living room only solidified this point. I even have the textbook of our discussions from his library in my own collection. Puyallup is a pronunciation like potato/potato, tomato/tomato, like the song. I think this place name pronunciation is a matter of preference, not law or rule (Pew-awl-up and Pew-Al-up are both correct) South Dakota has Huron (Hyur-on and Urine are both correct). The dinner partner tried to argue with me--he hinted that because I just moved from South Dakota I didn't know what the hell I was talking about. I'm collecting pronunciations from my fellow native Washingtonians. Feel free to comment.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Loving the air
The Pacific Northwest brings a lot of enjoyment to my life for several reasons. Certainly, mountains and water are great physical features to view on a daily basis. When I turn on to the main road to travel anywhere in the region, on a partly sunny day or clearer I can see Mt. Rainier in all its splendor. This peak is like a magnet to even the longest term resident of the area. However, I will no longer be a West Coast person who reduces the Midwest to fly-over land. The Plains states have their own beauty. Though I knew I would enjoy a return to this PNW climate, I forgot the way the air fills my nose and lungs, and how it feels against my skin.
Midwest air is filled with oppression about 40 weeks per year, whether its the humidity that lasts from late May to early October, or the wintry dry air that makes my hands bleed. Life indoors is an important consideration (maybe this is why Midwesterners have such a reputable work ethic). Not to mention the mosquitoes that the cities attempt to keep at bay, but bugs that will terrorize your flesh at any opportunity. When talking about weather with PNW locals, they always wonder how I could stand the winters. No problem, just put on more clothes and keep my hands bathed in hand lotion. New snow on the rolling prairie and its few trees is quite beautiful--like watching a child slumber sweetly. The land takes a sweet nap in the winter.
I love the air here. Though we have our share of smog here, it feels like it is always being brushed clean by the evergreens and rinsed by the rain.
Midwest air is filled with oppression about 40 weeks per year, whether its the humidity that lasts from late May to early October, or the wintry dry air that makes my hands bleed. Life indoors is an important consideration (maybe this is why Midwesterners have such a reputable work ethic). Not to mention the mosquitoes that the cities attempt to keep at bay, but bugs that will terrorize your flesh at any opportunity. When talking about weather with PNW locals, they always wonder how I could stand the winters. No problem, just put on more clothes and keep my hands bathed in hand lotion. New snow on the rolling prairie and its few trees is quite beautiful--like watching a child slumber sweetly. The land takes a sweet nap in the winter.
I love the air here. Though we have our share of smog here, it feels like it is always being brushed clean by the evergreens and rinsed by the rain.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Discombobulated web life and forgiveness
I thought of titling this post: "Qwest sucks"
But I decided not to because everyone has a bad day, including those in the customer service business. Qwest had a horrendous day with me, and like a true neanderthal I snapped at my two-year-old child because of it. With tears running down her face I apologized profusely, ran my fingers through her hair and said, "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the computer people. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?" She smiled and gave me a hug. If that wasn't the sweetest thing and the best grace...
I am borrowing my parents' computer tonight because I am receiving poor customer service in getting connected, and I have another week to wait. The story is not that interesting. One company continued to pass me off from department to department, while another company said expediently, "I can help you with that."
I miss my web life. I am hopeful it will return next week.
I miss writing online. I suppose I could get all primitive and type out a few thoughts on Word.
Keeping up with writing can be hard enough--dealing with adversity on top of that challenge is too much to take as I am recovering from this move.
But I decided not to because everyone has a bad day, including those in the customer service business. Qwest had a horrendous day with me, and like a true neanderthal I snapped at my two-year-old child because of it. With tears running down her face I apologized profusely, ran my fingers through her hair and said, "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the computer people. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?" She smiled and gave me a hug. If that wasn't the sweetest thing and the best grace...
I am borrowing my parents' computer tonight because I am receiving poor customer service in getting connected, and I have another week to wait. The story is not that interesting. One company continued to pass me off from department to department, while another company said expediently, "I can help you with that."
I miss my web life. I am hopeful it will return next week.
I miss writing online. I suppose I could get all primitive and type out a few thoughts on Word.
Keeping up with writing can be hard enough--dealing with adversity on top of that challenge is too much to take as I am recovering from this move.
Monday, April 20, 2009
I will only dream about the blue highways
Some trips are made for the blue highways. For all you road trip buffs out there, pick up a copy of William Least Heat Moon's Blue Highways This is a great non-fiction book. Probably on my never-published list of best non-fiction. I'll put that list together at a later date. My homiletic inspiration during Holy Week came from blue highways in South Dakota and a little bit of North Dakota. I'm not a highway snob--I'll take any highway I can get.
The interstates are their own cultural distinction. First of all, the change of terrain is compelling on its own. The trip with my family, for all its frustrations and lack of peace coming from the back seat is an opportunity to stay connected with my dear wife and ponder the road before us--both literally and figuratively.
We are moving from South Dakota and headed west. This was a long-imagined dream, now a reality. Not the kind of dream that on which I hang hope, but something to paint in my mind; a family gathered and nurtured with a grand background of outdoor beauty. For those who communicate with me regularly, the details need not be discussed here. Nor does the word "journey" need to be used. I loathe that word and all of its self-fulfillment connections in pop theology and "Christian" music. I am only thankful I can more easily gather with extended family, show my family value in some of the places I enjoyed growing up, while discovering more with them. This is only possible because My Dear Wife has a calling to follow and people willing to use her gifts. There would have been no other way to head west.
The interstate will be a good road to travel. I don't lament missing the blue highways--we need to reach our destination efficiently. I will only dream about the blue highways and travel them when I am invited to travel them.
You may not read any updates for longer than I have in several months--I worry about losing my momentum and getting caught in the seemingly urgent transition moments. I have high hopes to return to writing soon.
The interstates are their own cultural distinction. First of all, the change of terrain is compelling on its own. The trip with my family, for all its frustrations and lack of peace coming from the back seat is an opportunity to stay connected with my dear wife and ponder the road before us--both literally and figuratively.
We are moving from South Dakota and headed west. This was a long-imagined dream, now a reality. Not the kind of dream that on which I hang hope, but something to paint in my mind; a family gathered and nurtured with a grand background of outdoor beauty. For those who communicate with me regularly, the details need not be discussed here. Nor does the word "journey" need to be used. I loathe that word and all of its self-fulfillment connections in pop theology and "Christian" music. I am only thankful I can more easily gather with extended family, show my family value in some of the places I enjoyed growing up, while discovering more with them. This is only possible because My Dear Wife has a calling to follow and people willing to use her gifts. There would have been no other way to head west.
The interstate will be a good road to travel. I don't lament missing the blue highways--we need to reach our destination efficiently. I will only dream about the blue highways and travel them when I am invited to travel them.
You may not read any updates for longer than I have in several months--I worry about losing my momentum and getting caught in the seemingly urgent transition moments. I have high hopes to return to writing soon.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Garage Sale
Nothings reveals personal failures or bad investment of resources quite like a garage sale. A trip to the Goodwill is different--more anonymity, also the scant feeling of giving to the public good. As if the public is better off with the redistribution of my crap.
"Come see my failed fitness program! Come see what I haven't read, or couldn't fit on my body in my more optimistic days! Come see my half-hearted attempt at a hobby! Come see my fizzled-out work toward a collection! And get it at a low, low, humilitingly low price..."
The only reason I'm doing it is that the cash will be helpful, and my mind can rest a little easier with less clutter. That purging of junk is almost better than the cash. Almost.
"Come see my failed fitness program! Come see what I haven't read, or couldn't fit on my body in my more optimistic days! Come see my half-hearted attempt at a hobby! Come see my fizzled-out work toward a collection! And get it at a low, low, humilitingly low price..."
The only reason I'm doing it is that the cash will be helpful, and my mind can rest a little easier with less clutter. That purging of junk is almost better than the cash. Almost.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Spicy (Entry #2 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)
I previously wrote on this topic over three years ago, but I continue to build my anecdotal evidence to support a SPICY entry into my new and developing lexicon. Please forgive me for my repetition to the throngs of loyal readers.
SPICY is a relative culinary term no matter where one travels. Spicy is often associated with a type of hot pepper; a jalapeno, chipotle or a habanero for the daring awakens the mouth for a party in some, drives others toward a state of panic. I consider myself one who enjoys a risky level of hot, though I didn't realize that this particular gastric joy would be repressed in South Dakota. Urban legend in Sioux Falls has it that some nascent ethnic restaurants have failed or changed their preparation because word gets out that the food is too spicy. I don't know this for a fact, but Thai food can't seem to gain any traction around here, and Indian food is rare.
So how does one assess the palate tolerance of the average South Dakotan? While serving a congregation in a small South Dakota town, I ate at one of two places available in town--the local Senior Center. After eating at this spot for several months, a few of the locals asked me about my favorite meals at the Center. I tried to avoid the local favorites of liver and onions, and scalloped ham and potatoes. The Center doubled attendance for those meals. I declared my love for the lasagna--it was well above average. It was a good meal to which I looked with positive anticipation. One woman responded to my proclamation, "ooooh. exotic!" Another tersely stated, "lasagna is too spicy for me." Several nodded in agreement. I never knew oregano could be such a tongue scorcher. Though not a South Dakotan, my mother-in-law has some similar feelings about spicy food, though she is much more willing to try new things than most South Dakotans. However, when she describes a food, I have developed a two-tiered system of spice: "Is it spicy? Or is it Norwegian spicy?" Some Norwegian-Americans are insulted by this distinction. However, almost all of them seem to get it. I referenced my Norwegian Spicy distinction out in South Dakota Ranch Country, and that inspired the most laughter I had ever received from that crew.
I wondered if the spice anecdote was confined to one town. Probably not. In another town over a meal I talked with a couple about dining favorites. After I shared my preferences, the wife stated that her husbands preferences were simple; he would only eat food that was white or brown. Maybe I should publish a cookbook called "White and Brown Favorites." Maybe it would only be a leaflet.
SPICY is a relative culinary term no matter where one travels. Spicy is often associated with a type of hot pepper; a jalapeno, chipotle or a habanero for the daring awakens the mouth for a party in some, drives others toward a state of panic. I consider myself one who enjoys a risky level of hot, though I didn't realize that this particular gastric joy would be repressed in South Dakota. Urban legend in Sioux Falls has it that some nascent ethnic restaurants have failed or changed their preparation because word gets out that the food is too spicy. I don't know this for a fact, but Thai food can't seem to gain any traction around here, and Indian food is rare.
So how does one assess the palate tolerance of the average South Dakotan? While serving a congregation in a small South Dakota town, I ate at one of two places available in town--the local Senior Center. After eating at this spot for several months, a few of the locals asked me about my favorite meals at the Center. I tried to avoid the local favorites of liver and onions, and scalloped ham and potatoes. The Center doubled attendance for those meals. I declared my love for the lasagna--it was well above average. It was a good meal to which I looked with positive anticipation. One woman responded to my proclamation, "ooooh. exotic!" Another tersely stated, "lasagna is too spicy for me." Several nodded in agreement. I never knew oregano could be such a tongue scorcher. Though not a South Dakotan, my mother-in-law has some similar feelings about spicy food, though she is much more willing to try new things than most South Dakotans. However, when she describes a food, I have developed a two-tiered system of spice: "Is it spicy? Or is it Norwegian spicy?" Some Norwegian-Americans are insulted by this distinction. However, almost all of them seem to get it. I referenced my Norwegian Spicy distinction out in South Dakota Ranch Country, and that inspired the most laughter I had ever received from that crew.
I wondered if the spice anecdote was confined to one town. Probably not. In another town over a meal I talked with a couple about dining favorites. After I shared my preferences, the wife stated that her husbands preferences were simple; he would only eat food that was white or brown. Maybe I should publish a cookbook called "White and Brown Favorites." Maybe it would only be a leaflet.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Gumbo (Entry #1 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)
I should have started this series a long time ago, which would have been especially good for days like these when I know I need to force through days of sparse motivation. The day after Easter for some pastors feels like a Grade A hangover.
GUMBO is a mixture of gravel, farm debris (which can include various species of poop, hay, corn kernels, feed, etc.) mud, and whatever the constant wind brings in from the corners of the Continental United States that gets on your shoes, clothing and hair. However, Gumbo's most cacophonous appearance comes after driving through a gumbo patch on a dirt road. After parking your vehicle, the raw gumbo bakes on the vehicular underbelly. Upon departure, the roasted gumbo releases from its baking area and is redeposited over the next several hundred yards toward the driver's new destination. Gumbo is a close cousin of sand from the beach (for all of you Pacific Northwest readers); traces of gumbo can be found for sometimes months at a time after initial exposure.
Sometime gumbo looks like beef stir fry if it is served over a nice plate of spring snow.
I almost always found traces of gumbo on my clergy robe after a Sunday in South Dakota Ranch Country.
GUMBO is a mixture of gravel, farm debris (which can include various species of poop, hay, corn kernels, feed, etc.) mud, and whatever the constant wind brings in from the corners of the Continental United States that gets on your shoes, clothing and hair. However, Gumbo's most cacophonous appearance comes after driving through a gumbo patch on a dirt road. After parking your vehicle, the raw gumbo bakes on the vehicular underbelly. Upon departure, the roasted gumbo releases from its baking area and is redeposited over the next several hundred yards toward the driver's new destination. Gumbo is a close cousin of sand from the beach (for all of you Pacific Northwest readers); traces of gumbo can be found for sometimes months at a time after initial exposure.
Sometime gumbo looks like beef stir fry if it is served over a nice plate of spring snow.
I almost always found traces of gumbo on my clergy robe after a Sunday in South Dakota Ranch Country.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
A New Dimension To The Northern Great Plains Vehicular Hand Greeting
Today was my last day serving out in South Dakota Ranch Country:
4 days.
6 services.
1 session of Confirmation. This Easter Sunday was a conclusion to a pleasant, thoughtful and prayerful 3.5 months of ministry in SD Ranch Country. I was thankful for the time, people and ministry. This was certainly not a big Holy Week schedule for some pastors, but it was plenty for me. I'm about ready to pass out.
I took in as much Ranch Country as I could during the spare time I had, hitting some of the small towns and topography in the region. It turned into sermon preparation; I drove around with an altered perspective compared to my usual tooling around my house, herding my children. I never would have thought SD Ranch Country as beautiful country growing up, but I appreciate it now like I enjoy a good Scotch or a well-aged cheddar. Not something I would take in every day, but certainly a lift to the senses, helpful for perspective and a celebration of God's varied creation.
That changed perspective alerted me to a new Vehicular Hand Greeting (VHG). While in Harding County, I came upon a mustachioed man waving at a string of cars as we all slowly approached a four-way stop (could have been the only one in Harding County). There was something different about his motion. Ah...an accessory. A cigarette. Raymond Carver taught me to notice accessories when crafting a scene and enhancing dialogue. The cigarette was a great accessory for Carver, creating a more tangible reading of non-verbal communication. The greeter man in the blue Chevy S-10 held the cigarette between his two-fingers; he waved upwards in a nonchalant, yet friendly manner. He led with the back of his hand, yet the motion was intentional enough that his hand angle never varied much from 45 degrees, as to not lose control of the cigarette ash. Unfortunately, I missed whether he added the nod combo--I was fixated on the use of an accessory in the greeting. I was so glad about this discovery, I wonder if I smiled accidentally and violated the rules of VHG's. I have yet to receive a VHG with a smile. I'm not sure I have the VHG experience to add a component to the repertoire or make a ruling. Who is the governing authority of the VHG?
The kick off to Easter was better than I could have imagined. I might even go so far as to say it was one of my more fulfilling Lenten seasons. My Holy Week produced an unexpected book reading (I will review it at a later date), a good run, thankfulness, some rich prayer time, photography, exploration and a time away from my television. Unfortunately pillow talk with My Dear Wife took place on the phone and I didn't get to put my girls to bed. But those late days of the week were good soil time for both my sermon preparation and me. I hope to integrate that growth into my time at home.
4 days.
6 services.
1 session of Confirmation. This Easter Sunday was a conclusion to a pleasant, thoughtful and prayerful 3.5 months of ministry in SD Ranch Country. I was thankful for the time, people and ministry. This was certainly not a big Holy Week schedule for some pastors, but it was plenty for me. I'm about ready to pass out.
I took in as much Ranch Country as I could during the spare time I had, hitting some of the small towns and topography in the region. It turned into sermon preparation; I drove around with an altered perspective compared to my usual tooling around my house, herding my children. I never would have thought SD Ranch Country as beautiful country growing up, but I appreciate it now like I enjoy a good Scotch or a well-aged cheddar. Not something I would take in every day, but certainly a lift to the senses, helpful for perspective and a celebration of God's varied creation.
That changed perspective alerted me to a new Vehicular Hand Greeting (VHG). While in Harding County, I came upon a mustachioed man waving at a string of cars as we all slowly approached a four-way stop (could have been the only one in Harding County). There was something different about his motion. Ah...an accessory. A cigarette. Raymond Carver taught me to notice accessories when crafting a scene and enhancing dialogue. The cigarette was a great accessory for Carver, creating a more tangible reading of non-verbal communication. The greeter man in the blue Chevy S-10 held the cigarette between his two-fingers; he waved upwards in a nonchalant, yet friendly manner. He led with the back of his hand, yet the motion was intentional enough that his hand angle never varied much from 45 degrees, as to not lose control of the cigarette ash. Unfortunately, I missed whether he added the nod combo--I was fixated on the use of an accessory in the greeting. I was so glad about this discovery, I wonder if I smiled accidentally and violated the rules of VHG's. I have yet to receive a VHG with a smile. I'm not sure I have the VHG experience to add a component to the repertoire or make a ruling. Who is the governing authority of the VHG?
The kick off to Easter was better than I could have imagined. I might even go so far as to say it was one of my more fulfilling Lenten seasons. My Holy Week produced an unexpected book reading (I will review it at a later date), a good run, thankfulness, some rich prayer time, photography, exploration and a time away from my television. Unfortunately pillow talk with My Dear Wife took place on the phone and I didn't get to put my girls to bed. But those late days of the week were good soil time for both my sermon preparation and me. I hope to integrate that growth into my time at home.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Good Friday for any of us who aren't Jesus...
One of my favorite lines from a country song, by Randy Travis:
"The road to hell was paved with good intentions."
I may have intended for Holy Week to be more peaceful than usual--but in my crazy preparation this morning for my last day of substitute teaching and my 200 mile trek--I screamed at a ringing phone and a blue-haired lady driving 25 in a 40.
My eldest daughter said, "Dad, you don't have to be so grumpy..."
That's right, I don't.
Good Friday, the day where good intentions go to die.
"The road to hell was paved with good intentions."
I may have intended for Holy Week to be more peaceful than usual--but in my crazy preparation this morning for my last day of substitute teaching and my 200 mile trek--I screamed at a ringing phone and a blue-haired lady driving 25 in a 40.
My eldest daughter said, "Dad, you don't have to be so grumpy..."
That's right, I don't.
Good Friday, the day where good intentions go to die.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Podcasts and Sermon Preparation
Today is crunch time for my Holy Week sermon preparation:
1. I drive 200 miles tomorrow afternoon to South Dakota Ranch Country to begin a series of 6 worship services and one session of confirmation.
2. That 200 miles means several things logistically: I do not have reliable access to a computer, web, or a theological library of any consequence.
3. My family is in the midst of a big change (more on that on another post), not to mention the flurry of activity associated with Holy Week in a two-pastor household.
Granted, I could have been preparing for these sermons for weeks: I know a pastor who plans out their sermons for 6 months, locking himself in a hotel room for a week. I don't think I could sanely work like this.
I don't think the value of the podcast for preachers can be understated. Sitting down for extended hours and studying is not really an option for me these days. Between audio Bible passages and Sermon Brainwave on workingpreacher.org I have accessed good thought provocation while I do the less mind occupying tasks of the day. Though I am not a huge proponent of multi-tasking, as long as I don't gorge myself on this practice, I find it quite reasonable. I think the consequences of homiletical multi-tasking preparation depend on how the rest of the preachers time is filled. If I continue to pray, read the Bible, attend to my primary relationships, write and read generally, I am still living the student and preacher life faithfully. If I watch too much television, play too many video games, watch too much sports (these are my vices--if you are a video game programmer or work for ESPN, then please, take these pursuits on to feed your family) then I am starving my sermon preparation.
I actually have some angles to work with for this weekend--and I am caring for my family.
May the remainder of your Holy Week be a blessed connection with God and with your communities.
1. I drive 200 miles tomorrow afternoon to South Dakota Ranch Country to begin a series of 6 worship services and one session of confirmation.
2. That 200 miles means several things logistically: I do not have reliable access to a computer, web, or a theological library of any consequence.
3. My family is in the midst of a big change (more on that on another post), not to mention the flurry of activity associated with Holy Week in a two-pastor household.
Granted, I could have been preparing for these sermons for weeks: I know a pastor who plans out their sermons for 6 months, locking himself in a hotel room for a week. I don't think I could sanely work like this.
I don't think the value of the podcast for preachers can be understated. Sitting down for extended hours and studying is not really an option for me these days. Between audio Bible passages and Sermon Brainwave on workingpreacher.org I have accessed good thought provocation while I do the less mind occupying tasks of the day. Though I am not a huge proponent of multi-tasking, as long as I don't gorge myself on this practice, I find it quite reasonable. I think the consequences of homiletical multi-tasking preparation depend on how the rest of the preachers time is filled. If I continue to pray, read the Bible, attend to my primary relationships, write and read generally, I am still living the student and preacher life faithfully. If I watch too much television, play too many video games, watch too much sports (these are my vices--if you are a video game programmer or work for ESPN, then please, take these pursuits on to feed your family) then I am starving my sermon preparation.
I actually have some angles to work with for this weekend--and I am caring for my family.
May the remainder of your Holy Week be a blessed connection with God and with your communities.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
A New Holy Week Experience
This year, Lent has not been a seemingly endless series of extra tasks and groanings about the work load. My former spiritual director tried to assure me that that was not how Lent was supposed to be. Rather than set out a plan that neatly fit into the 40 days of the season, I now look back and see what God has given me. I have used this time to write more, read more, and pray more--a serendipitous gift--something I could not create for myself through planning. This has not been a classic 40 days of Lenten discipline; I know that Lent doesn't mean drudgery, it's supposed to mean growth. Maybe growing through writing, reading and prayer--though I didn't read Augustine or Paul and did not pray the Daily Office or from the Book of Common Prayer, I believe that God and I met.
The discipline actually began in December last year; I have read more, written more, prayed more, attended to my primary relationships (finding profound joy in my wife and children) more and exercised more than I have in years. Though I haven't deeply planted my activity in congregational life in the past 2 years, I have still been able to attend to the word of God and preach and still speak something of value to congregations. I honestly don't know how pastors grow in their faith while they attend to the work of congregational life. Maybe it is because I have a preference for introversion and congregational life is more often an extroverted life style. My wife and I moved to South Dakota eight years ago not holding a solid idea of how God was going to use me. It took me about 3 years to get an idea and 5 more to live that idea out vocationally, all while raising two children we didn't have when we arrived. Because that vocation in both my family and in ministry now feels like my own skin, the next few years will be a deeper discernment of how the next season of my life will form.
Maybe this new discipline and reflection will come out in my Holy Week sermons. For the first time in many years, I am responsible for all the sermons of the week (maybe the first time--I don't fully remember). I have always approached Good Friday with the most trepidation. I don't care to make excuses for the challenges of the texts (a pet peeve of mine), yet I never thought that my words can somehow do justice to the ethos of the day. Maybe I have residual pastoral authority issues from the early days of making sense of my calling. Maybe it is this Holy Week that the theological soil I have turned and tilled will bear fruit. For the first time in over 10 years of ministry I have come to this Holy Week not completely spent from Lenten activities. I know better than to expect a great epiphany from my time of reflection--but I have great hope that God will use me to provide a word that reaches people in a place of peace.
The discipline actually began in December last year; I have read more, written more, prayed more, attended to my primary relationships (finding profound joy in my wife and children) more and exercised more than I have in years. Though I haven't deeply planted my activity in congregational life in the past 2 years, I have still been able to attend to the word of God and preach and still speak something of value to congregations. I honestly don't know how pastors grow in their faith while they attend to the work of congregational life. Maybe it is because I have a preference for introversion and congregational life is more often an extroverted life style. My wife and I moved to South Dakota eight years ago not holding a solid idea of how God was going to use me. It took me about 3 years to get an idea and 5 more to live that idea out vocationally, all while raising two children we didn't have when we arrived. Because that vocation in both my family and in ministry now feels like my own skin, the next few years will be a deeper discernment of how the next season of my life will form.
Maybe this new discipline and reflection will come out in my Holy Week sermons. For the first time in many years, I am responsible for all the sermons of the week (maybe the first time--I don't fully remember). I have always approached Good Friday with the most trepidation. I don't care to make excuses for the challenges of the texts (a pet peeve of mine), yet I never thought that my words can somehow do justice to the ethos of the day. Maybe I have residual pastoral authority issues from the early days of making sense of my calling. Maybe it is this Holy Week that the theological soil I have turned and tilled will bear fruit. For the first time in over 10 years of ministry I have come to this Holy Week not completely spent from Lenten activities. I know better than to expect a great epiphany from my time of reflection--but I have great hope that God will use me to provide a word that reaches people in a place of peace.
Hyperbolic video game violence
Hot New Video Game Consists Solely Of Shooting People Point-Blank In The Face
This Onion clip doesn't rank in the pantheon of Onion greats, but I put forth a hearty guffaw after I watched this. The more I thought about the topic, it's funny on multiple levels:
1. This piece highlights the progression of video game violence over the past two decades and takes it to its absurd conclusion--I've noticed this as I play our family Wii and add on old games from the NES basic system from the late 1980's. Does the humor highlight desensitization to violence, or does it merely lampoon moral outrage?
2. I find it interesting that The Onion has taken on topics the last few days that get buried in this endless news cycle of apoplectic economics: video game violence and that Pope Benedict decides to accept abortion. Not that I wish for more discussion about abortion or video game violence, but these recent stories satirize media tunnel vision about economic issues.
On another Onion note: quite a coup for the Onion News Network to sign on former CNN veteran Bobbie Batista. Nice work ONN--you are a media PLAYA.
Monday, April 06, 2009
My relationship with the CFL's of the world
Today I share with you some thoughts not about my third favorite pigskin sporting organzation (the CFL known as the Canadian Football League--LOVE those Edmonton Eskimos), but the CFL known as Compact Fluorescent Lights. I am not one to agree with George Will on much. He's an intelligent man who shares my love for baseball and writing--but I often want to scream at him when I read his columns.
Will confirms some of my own observations and feelings regarding CFL bulbs and the misplaced frenzy to incorporate them in our lives. Though Will disagrees with the notion of earthly environmental distress, he still works to dismantle actions taken to address that distress--in this case the foolishness of the incorporation of CFL bulbs by law. I think the basic industriousness of people and a desire to act in the face of an anxious situation has produced foolish actions in a love fest with CFL bulbs. For some households and businesses, these lights may make sense. However, my household is occupied by 2 Tasmanian Devil-like children and a dim bulb of a dog who often has no real understanding of his surroundings. Not to mention I have been known to attempt to swing a golf club in my own house. The likelihood of a broken bulb in my household is high. This is not good for a product containing mercury. I have enough worries about my children and their exposure to neuro-toxins; CFL's only add to my madness. It seems like the tradeoff isn't all that good in the first place, and here we are, mandating these kinds of products in to law. The disposability of the CFL's don't seem to enter in to the conversation about environmental impact. I'm not sure why.
I have much higher hopes for some LED style bulbs, but it seems like CFL's are the flavor of the month. I hope the mercury issue will enter into the discussion more often, and I'm thankful that Will continued to direct this toward the mainstream, even if I believe his enviromental discourse is off.
Will confirms some of my own observations and feelings regarding CFL bulbs and the misplaced frenzy to incorporate them in our lives. Though Will disagrees with the notion of earthly environmental distress, he still works to dismantle actions taken to address that distress--in this case the foolishness of the incorporation of CFL bulbs by law. I think the basic industriousness of people and a desire to act in the face of an anxious situation has produced foolish actions in a love fest with CFL bulbs. For some households and businesses, these lights may make sense. However, my household is occupied by 2 Tasmanian Devil-like children and a dim bulb of a dog who often has no real understanding of his surroundings. Not to mention I have been known to attempt to swing a golf club in my own house. The likelihood of a broken bulb in my household is high. This is not good for a product containing mercury. I have enough worries about my children and their exposure to neuro-toxins; CFL's only add to my madness. It seems like the tradeoff isn't all that good in the first place, and here we are, mandating these kinds of products in to law. The disposability of the CFL's don't seem to enter in to the conversation about environmental impact. I'm not sure why.
I have much higher hopes for some LED style bulbs, but it seems like CFL's are the flavor of the month. I hope the mercury issue will enter into the discussion more often, and I'm thankful that Will continued to direct this toward the mainstream, even if I believe his enviromental discourse is off.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Snowed out
For the fourth time in over 10 years of preaching, I got snowed out from a worship service. Spring snow storms are a shifty bunch. We were told last weekend 6-12 inches of wet, heavy snow was on the way. Nothing for us, but 30 miles to the west received 14 inches. I prepared for my weekly trek with a survival kit (snow shovel, kitty litter, salt, snacks, blankets), only to be told by the good people of South Dakota Ranch Country to stay home. No forecaster even bothered to tell us how many inches. Only a blizzard warning. I-90 was closed around 4:30 pm. They knew better out on the ranches. This is my first relaxed weekend in over 3 months.
I like preaching, but the adrenaline rush and tension are noticeably absent this evening in a good way. I'll probably wake up at 4am wondering if I missed church. Sabbath is a good thing--I think my bodily hard drive needs defragmentation. I'll feel it at about 10 am tomorrow when I finally get around to dressing myself for the day.
I like preaching, but the adrenaline rush and tension are noticeably absent this evening in a good way. I'll probably wake up at 4am wondering if I missed church. Sabbath is a good thing--I think my bodily hard drive needs defragmentation. I'll feel it at about 10 am tomorrow when I finally get around to dressing myself for the day.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
"Alas, poor Theology"
An extended period of reading time (the thankful portion of air travel) finally led to my second encounter with Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles. After reading the introductory commentary to this edition by David Galef of the University of Mississippi, I perceived another struggle with this book, another failed academic exercise. Surpising to me, I worked through about 100 pages, though it wasn't much work. There's a reason this book ranks so highly--the prose flows well, with just enough notes and commentary to not be encumbered by the anachronisms. The settings are sometimes hyper-descriptive, but not painfully so. The dialogue is about as close to perfect as possible. The social commentary doesn't approach preaching, for which I am thankful.
My review will not be posted today, I still have a long way to go before completing the book--but I found a quote about which I cannot stop pondering:
"Alas, poor Theology [from the narrator]" Tess of the d'Urbervilles. This describes a scene where Tess meets a young man who paints Bible verses on steps with red paint. I won't dissect the scene quite yet, but I love the way this quote can be interpreted in so many ways. I've considered renaming my blog by this quote, but, alas, I shall use it to describe my writings. I don't think I'll finish the book by the time I return home, but I am well on my way.
My review will not be posted today, I still have a long way to go before completing the book--but I found a quote about which I cannot stop pondering:
"Alas, poor Theology [from the narrator]" Tess of the d'Urbervilles. This describes a scene where Tess meets a young man who paints Bible verses on steps with red paint. I won't dissect the scene quite yet, but I love the way this quote can be interpreted in so many ways. I've considered renaming my blog by this quote, but, alas, I shall use it to describe my writings. I don't think I'll finish the book by the time I return home, but I am well on my way.
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