Living word by word

When universes collide

More evidence that the parallel universe of West Wing (the fantasy world that has sustained Will and me for the last 8 years) and our real world may be converging:  during McCain's acceptance speech at the RNC last week, the backdrop that read "Walter Reed" was in fact Walter Reed Middle School, which is in North Hollywood. This is the spot that served as the on-screen backdrop for Matt Santos' speech as he entered the race for President.

We have to assume that somebody on the RNC staff flubbed that one, intending to get Walter Reed Medical Center, but I'm not putting it past some diabolical soul who might be trying to subliminally persuade us that McCain is the real Santos -- just as he has tried to co-opt Obama's message of change all along.

More than once Will and I have commented on the odd parallels of that show and our current situation:

• A young, dynamic Democratic candidate-of-color who wins the nomination despite a field of much more well-monied opponents, and an older VP candidate with tons of inside Washington experience.
• An old moderate Republican from the West (though I no longer think McCain can call himself a moderate), who picks a strong pro-life VP candidate just to mollify the religious right.

I don't think it will come as a surprise to anyone reading this that I am hoping that the real-life election turns out the way West Wing's did -- minus the nuclear accident and the election day death of a VP.  On November 5 I hope to wake up and pinch myself -- this is really happening!

another lectionary thought; 23A and 24A, Matthew 18

   Our lectionary skips over the beginning of chapter 18, which seems to me to have key relevance whenever we talk about forgiveness:

"Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."

Gordon Atkinson wrote beautifully recently in the Christian Century about his experiences on a mission trip, how the dependence of being a guest in a foreign land reminded him of childhood. I can relate, since our trip to China was -- for me as a leader anyway -- largely about relinquishing control and learning to trust my hosts, even when I didn't know what was next on the agenda.

I wonder if there is a connection between the childhood necessity of depending on others and the readiness of children to forgive. My children are certainly as easy to upset or offend as anyone. They get angry with me, with each other, with their father all the time. And yet every offense, even the ones I mull about for days, feeling like a bad parent, is quickly forgiven and forgotten not long after.

Forgiveness gets a lot messier, a lot harder as we get older. We refuse to give people the benefit of the doubt, we remember past disappointments, we worry that we are "giving up too much" of ourselves if we let something go.

Oh to be like a little child again, quick to forgive and ready to embrace.

Lectionary blog: Matthew 18

   In my early ministry days at Spirit Garage, I spent a lot of time with Baptists and other young evangelicals, because they were the only other ones reaching out specifically to Gen X'ers. I quickly learned that Matthew ranked much higher on their "canon-within-the-canon" than in most Lutheran's. Passages like this Sunday's gospel, on the surface, make it clear why. Matthew seems to deal with the practical matters of community life more than, say, John. If you view the Bible more as a manual on church discipline than classic literature about the human condition, Matthew has a certain appeal. On the surface, this gospel  seems to draw black-and-white lines more than the other gospels. In the words of one of my college profs, "Matthew plays hardball."

 I used to not like Matthew so much for this, but the more I read this gospel, the more I find that it's more ambiguous than it appears. What do we do with a gospel that is the favorite of Southern Baptists, but also of Anabaptists? 

I'm increasingly convinced that Thomas Long is right when he says that one of Matthew's core convictions is God's puzzling generosity, and it's here too, in Matthew 18, hidden away in that seemingly hard verse, 18:17:

"If the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector."

The trouble is, Jesus healed Gentiles and regularly ate with tax collectors. In fact, the traditional author of this Gospel was a tax collector. It seems that Jesus is constantly calling the church to reconciliation, even when our first attempts have failed.

yes, it's about the future

Thomas Friedman's excellent piece on the contrast between  China and the U.S. is spot on. You can't get on the Beijing subway without thinking, "why can't we do this?" 

Of course, we can. There's no reason we can't build a better transit system, and re-make our energy policies, and  renew our cities with infrastructure that looks forward instead of repeating past mistakes.

I'm all for nationalism, if it makes us look at measurable things that make us a better nation -- not gold medals, but whether our air is clean, our streets are safe, our kids are educated and every citizen can live with dignity and hope for the future.

lectionary 22A: Exodus 3

I hate it when a set of  really great lectionary texts fall on a holiday weekend. It's hard to gear up a sermon when you know a big hunk of your congregation will be away.

The alternate Old Testament reading from Exodus 3 is so rich, I hate to see it lost amidst the other good texts this week. I love the old translation of 3:3: "I will turn aside and behold this wonder." There is something wonderful about Moses' call following on his simple curiosity about something he beholds in the wilderness, out there watching sheep. The University of Kansas used this image in their official seal to embody the link between curiosity and calling.  (Now the seal has been downplayed in the interest of religious inclusiveness, but it's still a wonderful interpretation). How wonderful would it be if we all trusted that God can speak to us when we are pursuing what draws our attention, those things that demand that we "turn aside."

There's a link here to Romans 12, in which Paul embarks on exhortations about how we are to love one another in community. This is on the heels of his remarks on spiritual gifts. Whether it's Paul or Moses, God seems to have a penchant for calling the passionate, and directing and forming those passions so that they serve God's people. Learning to love in the midst of that is never easy, but when we pay attention to the concrete needs of those around us, God begins to turn our curiosity into calling.

Having The Talk

     Sandra Steingraber, one of my favorite environmental writers, has a great piece in the newest Orion about how we talk to our kids about global warming. Will and I are so often laid low by the constant drumbeat of Bad Climate News -- and the public's apparent immunity to it --   we've been reluctant to be upfront with our daughter as she approaches the age of reason. How do we explain how the massive stuffed polar bear she lugs around the house has become the emblem of an endangeered species? We'd love to put off the conversation, but she's reading well enough to decipher the newspaper now, so we can't wait much longer.

Steingraber notes that there is a crop of books for kids out there on the issue, and that somehow most of them end on an upbeat note, a can-do approach introducing kids to  many people in the world who are working on the problem. It's a distinct contrast to the we're-all-going-to-die fatalism of most adult literature on the subject.

 Like Steingraber, I'm still not sure how to approach this with my daughter, but reading her essay prompted me to make two vows for the months ahead: (1) I will stop reading the speculation that passes for analysis in the newspapers about the election before us. It's not a "horse race," and so much is at stake that people who treat it as such are not worth my time. (2) I'll stop worrying and just do something -- in this case volunteering my one free morning a week between now and the election.

Whatever happens in November, whatever happens to our climate, I want to be able to tell my children that I did the most faithful and hopeful thing I could think of:  I prayed, and I worked.

on evil. . .again

Here's a little more on what was said at the Saddleback forum. Scroll down a bit to see the responses on the question about evil and the author's helpful use of Scripture.

I might also add an upcoming lectionary text to the mix, Romans 12:20-21

"If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.' Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

what you mean, we?

    Brian Unger had a satirical piece on NPR today about Rick Warren's question to the presidential candidates at Saddleback Church: "Does evil exist? Should we ignore it? Contain it? Defeat it?"

    Unger asks if Warren thinks he's interviewing superheroes instead of political candidates. He then asks if he shouldn't be asking about the existence of jobs, or affordable health care.

   I didn't hear what the candidates' answers to this question were, but here's what I would say: "What you mean, we, Reverend?"

  It's fine for a pastor to ask a theological question -- especially when it echoes a current President's justification for war --  but it gets dicey for a candidate to answer the question, because a personal philosophy of resisting evil and a political philosophy may not be the same thing.

  And, the most theologically appropriate answer, a Jimmy Carter-esque acknowledgment that there is evil lurking at the doorstep of every one of our hearts--that evil is not just something "out there" that we can name and fight -- that hasn't proven to be the most politically savvy answer over the years.

what I learned in my kids' swim school

 

I’m still developing a parental philosophy of extracurriculars, but generally speaking, one of our family rules is that if the Parks & Rec program near our home teaches something, there’s no need to pay more money or drive further to get it somewhere else.

 

 We made an exception, however, for swimming, mainly because my daughter was phobic about water until recently. Washing her hair could turn into an epic battle.  (Fortunately, she didn’t have much hair until recently either.)

 

 Swimming is a life skill, and a pretty important one for a normal social life in this Land of Lakes, so last year we decided to shell out for the expensive swimming lessons at a private swim school. The water is warm, the classes are small, and they more or less guaranteed that our kids would learn.

 

  I’m still a bit sheepish about this decision, particularly among our friends who’ve heard us go on about how we don’t want to become “that” kind of parent. But this swim school has taught me a lot about how to treat parents and kids in learning situations – lessons the church could stand to learn too. I have no idea what their actual company manual says, but here's what I imagine is in there:

 

1. Inspire confidence.  Even if I wasn’t spending lots of money on these lessons, I would be spending precious time and gas, so I sure want to feel like it’s worth it, from day one. Everything from the cleanness of the facility to the clearly laid out expectations of each class says, “We know what we’re doing, and this will be worth your time.”
2. Train the heck out of your teachers. Our kids have never had the same teacher twice, and no doubt there’s a good deal of turnover in a place where most of the staff are barely adults, but the quality of teaching is amazingly consistent. They all use the same methods, they all clearly love kids, and every single one is both courteous to the parents and respectful to the students.
3. Have a clearly laid out system, but treat every individual like, well, an individual. This school is a big operation – they must conduct thousands of classes a year in the metro area. And yet the registration process is clear and simple, and when you arrive in a class, you know that your child will get the attention they need.  My children are known by name and greeted enthusiastically – every single time.
4. Evaluate like crazy.  Every child is assessed by someone other than the teacher every term, and I have never been in a class when I was not asked to fill out an evaluation as a parent. The one and only time I wrote something out of the ordinary on an evaluation (and it wasn’t a criticism, just a “it would have been nice. . .”), it was responded to the next day, in person.
5. Failure is not an option. This summer my son had a sudden and inexplicable case of stranger anxiety. He refused to get in the water without me. He cried through most of the first three classes. His group instructor couldn’t persuade him and still treat the other students fairly, but in a flash another teacher was there to give Johann 1-1 attention. No one blamed us, ignored the problem, or shrugged and said, “he’s just not ready.” No questions asked (and at no extra charge), he was given undivided attention until his anxiety abated, and by lesson five he was right in there with his classmates, progressing rapidly. 
6. Believe that this is important – and really fun too.  The school reminds parents – before they register and during the course of a term – that swimming is serious business, a skill that can save lives and is worth teaching at a young age. They clearly know that there’s a huge responsibility when little ones are in the water. At the same time, every instructor knows how to calm nerves and make the hard work a whole lot of fun. There is tons of silliness, usually at the instructor’s expense.  My kids are allowed to forget that we’re doing this so they don’t die.

 

As Sunday School is about to start up, I’m pondering how the church can learn a few things from these people. Surely, we have the most important life skills of all to teach: prayer, life in community, stewardship, living with hope.   Parents need to feel it is  worth their time, and kids just want people who respect them and who will just plain have fun with them.  My church doesn't have the resources per student that the swim school has, but our mission is just as vital.

Lectionary blog Proper 15: No exceptions

God bless the world, no exceptions.

I don't have the bumper sticker, but I wish I did, especially in this political season when it feels like every politician wants to claim God's blessing. I'm afraid to put it on my car, however, because as much as I believe that God wishes to bless the whole world, I know I  personally can only pay attention to small corners of it at a time. I've been from Iceland to China in the last 6 weeks, and it's clear to me that there's a whole lot of need in this world -- and I didn't really have to leave town to know that.

Both the gospel and the Isaiah text for this coming Sunday wrestle with the problem of the boundaries of God's mission. In Isaiah, the old definitions of the clean and unclean get smashed as the exiles return and God composes a new people. There, sabbath observance and faithful worship of YHWH become the new guidelines for who's in and who's out.

But there's no evidence that the Canaanite woman in Matthew's Gospel does anything like sabbath observance. She has no ethnic claim on Jesus' ministry, and she makes no argument on the basis of her ritual observance either. All she does is cry out to him, in such a loud and persistent way that she finally gets attention. Jesus uses the same strategies we all use when we're overwhelmed -- he ignores her, then makes a theological argument, then uses an ethnic slur, perhaps hoping she'll just go away.

Her only prayer is "Lord, help," and her only argument is that there is plenty of God's power to go around.  "Great is your faith," Jesus says, the only time he utters such a compliment.

There still is plenty of power to go around. I may not be able to help the whole world, no exceptions, but like this woman I can continuously and consistently pray, on behalf of others, "Lord, help." Jesus' own life showed that not even death could get in the way of God's intention to bless the whole world, no exceptions.