Living word by word

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.

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.

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.

the integrated life

We like to think that work is the reason we are miserable. If only we had less of it, perhaps, we would be satisfied. We romanticize the places we visit and imagine that life there is slower, more peaceful.

 

For a month we’ve been on sabbatical (well, I have – Will has continued to work) at Weingut Landmann, a family-run winery and farm. As far back as anyone has been able to trace, both sides of this family have produced wine, in this corner of Baden. Twelve  years ago, the two sons of the family took over the business, one serving as the oenologist and the other as the business manager. They run a farm stand seven days a week during asparagus season (April – June), rent out five vacation apartments, offer wine tastings with food on arrangement, and produce 100,000 bottles of wine a year.

 

The irony for us is that this sabbatical on the farm in fact puts us right in the middle of a lot of very hard working people. With Spargel (asparagus) season in full swing, the tractors and work crews start heading out by at least 7 a.m. every morning, the farm stand is open by 8 and people do not shut down until sundown, which is 9  p.m. or later. Frequently there are people in the office, which is just outside our front door, until 10 or later. We are surrounded by people working very, very long hours, and mostly we feel its our duty  to stay out of their way. The lush green landscape that for us is a picture of peace and tranquility must look very different through their eyes, where a good portion of the year’s profit must be removed from the ground and gotten into saleable form in a relatively short time.

 

Is the rural life more peaceful? Certainly one couldn’t say that if you count work hours,  noise levels, or the numbers of people and vehicles coming and going. There is a sense, though, that life here is more integrated than the equivalent life would be for us back at home. When we work 60 hour weeks at home, we are away, in the office, and if at home, often barking at the children to keep their fingers off the computer. Here, three generations are all engaged in the common work, except when the children are in school.  The oldest child in the family is drafted into service washing and peeling asparagus. The youngest ones may not be working, but they are very much about the place as their parents work. Three generations plus a lot of neighbors and helpers are part of the effort, from dawn until dusk. Long days, no doubt, but days in which they are together -- or at least together in a common endeavor.

 

David Wood of the Fund for Theological Education has argued that the pastoral life (the ministerial kind) also offers some of that same integration, though it is limited to the degree that we operate the church like a business. My children have no idea what Will does for a living (even I have difficulty understanding it sometimes), even when he’s working from home, because the projects are abstract and the communities he serves are miles away. My work, at least a good part of it, is tangible and visible. My kids see me lead, preach, sing, preside. Katie insists on going with me at 7 every Sunday morning to church and knows many members of our community by name – and nearly everyone knows their names. I do not take them to the office much, because they would be as disruptive there as in any office setting, but the public element of my ministry and its communal nature offers them an access point that few children have to the work world in urban places. Every Sunday is Take Your Children to Work Day for me. That’s a gift.

Signs your children have been in Germany for a while

1. Your son insists on wearing socks with sandals.
2. They anticipate receiving a piece of Lyoner ("Kinderfleisch) at the butcher's.
3. Your three-year-old has learned the usage of "Doch," the contradictory "yes."
4. You're on your third jar of Nutella.

another fascinating developmental phenomenon

I would love to have a child development expert tell me if the following makes sense:

Both my kids have participated in early childhood music classes ( Music Together, about which I can't say enough good things), almost all of them over six years taught by the same wonderful teacher. Myra is not only a good musician in her own right, she relates to kids wonderfully. My son has taken to giving her running hugs at the end of every class.

Katie has not been in these classes since she turned four, but her brother has. Last month she had a release day and got to attend again for the first time in, oh, maybe a year. She was happy to see teacher Myra again, but commented to me later that "Her skin has changed?"

"What do you mean?"

"Her skin is different now. It's black now."

Now, of course, Myra has always been African-American, and she has usually been the only African-American (besides her own kids) in these music classes. Yes, we live in a really white part of town, but Myra has not been the only African-American adult in Katie's life up 'til now. . . .

Maybe it's public school that has taught her to pay attention to this (we just got through Black History month) maybe there's just some new categorization going on because she's six? I think it's fascinating that, prior til now, she had no memory of Myra's skin color being any different from hers.

politics at age six

Will and I are trying to maintain a little emotional distance from this year's primary race -- not because we don't care who wins, but because after the last eight years we're just not sure how much more disappointment we can take. I'm kind of glad we'll be across the ocean for part of the year just so we won't have to deal with the daily over-analysis of every remark.

Nevertheless, Katie has picked up on the excitement/ anxiety and declared in the car last night, "I'm going for Hillary."

Oh boy, we thought. We've always known she'll be an independent thinker. (Just wait 'til she finds out there are Republicans). Remain calm.

"Why do you say that Katie?"

"I don't know."

"Is it because she's a girl?"

"No. I didn't know she was a girl at first. I just liked her before that, because she has a nice simple name. And I think she'd look good being our president."

There you have it. Unfortunately, I don't think her reasoning exceeds that of a fair amount of our electorate. I hope to be proven wrong.

more kid evangelism

    My daughter got REAALLY into Valentine's Day this year. I have to admit I was less than enthusiastic about guiding her through writing twenty-five Valentines, since on her own she'd make lovely personal creations -- for about 3 or 4 kids. But 25? This calls for mass production, so we were reduced to a very basic "to" and "from" on each one. Most of these she wrote on Wednesday night in the middle of Lenten vespers -- in the front row.
    But the pay-off was this morning, when somehow she got hold of a pad of little Post-its, and went around writing love notes to all ages and manner of folk at church and sticking them on them. An ambush of affection. It was quite sweet.

another case of early liturgical learning

Never let it be said that children are too young to pick up something in church.

We were at our favorite restaurant recently, the Italian one Johann refers to as the "olive oil store." The place was packed, and the table next to us appeared to be a grandmother's birthday party complete with other small children. Johann looks over that direction halfway through the meal and declares,

Johann: "I want to pee-suh-ga "

Parents: "Excuse me? You just went potty" (public restrooms are a big attraction for this kid).

Johann: "No, I want to pee-suh-ga"

Us (still clueless) "You want pizza? But you asked for noodles."

Johann: "No, I want to peace of God!!"

Oh, of course. Several generations (albeit perfect strangers) are gathered around the table. Surely we can go over and greet them with the the peace of the Lord.

my son the evangelist

The thing about having a toddler is that you teach them a few things just in the course of living, and -- look out -- you're stuck with it for good! It's true, of course, for those unguarded moments when you say something you wish you hadn't: "Where did he learn that word? Oh, yeah. From me."

But fortunately, it's also true of the better things. Johannes has become our family evangelist, both of his mother's vocation and his father's. As a one car family, we've slipped into the pattern that the "girls" go to church at the drack of cawn before the first service -- usually with the car. Johannes and Will follow later on the bus, which conveniently runs in a direct  line from our block to church. It works out well because Johann LOVES the bus.

Now, once in a great while, my DH would prefer to, shall we say, worship according to the First Article of the creed. Or, maybe, celebrate Sabbath with a truly long nap. But Johann will not stand for it. Skip church! God forbid!

I'm not sure, to be honest, whether it's the bus ride or church he is really insisting on. But a) he gets his father to worship and b) once there, he tells anyone who listens that he RODE THE 6B BUS!!  Good news all around!