It's a mystery

Last spring while I was in the middle of dealing with that obnoxious and prolonged illness and had lots of time on my hands, a good friend sent me an article about a site that posts reports from "Mystery Worshipers" -- because I was bedridden and looking for diversions, I applied to be a Mystery Worshiper. I was "accepted" and sent a link to the "MW" site. Oh, that I would have had my stuff at hand when we went to that horrid service this summer (scroll down to "Thing-a-ma-Jewif you haven't read it and want the gory details).

So, I've gone to two different churches in the past several weeks. I haven't seen my reports posted yet (and maybe they won't see the light of day), but it does raise a bit of the ongoing debate about modern day Christianity that made people like my grandma nuts. Should worship really be a consumer-driven deal? How often we hear the phrase "church shopping" when people move to a new area. Long gone are the days when you either went to the closest church to your home (if you were a "C&E" Christian) or hunted down the congregation from your denomination.

Nowadays, churches are bombarded with tips and hints from their denominations on how to attract new members -- coffee shops on the church campus, evening worship, contemporary worship -- a seemingly endless way of slicing and dicing demographics and trying to create a worship experience that is meaningful to each audience. Of course, others argue that that much splintering off means too homogeneous an assembly. There's no opportunity to intermingle with the older / younger / traditional / contemporary folk if you never see them. I think my sermon on Samuel and Eli probably tips my hand on the value I place of at least the intergenerational aspect of worship. (I can email the sermon to anyone who is interested.)

So, isn't a mystery shop a little like "botique-ifying" how one chooses a congregation? Well, maybe, but here are some common threads I've found in my own church-shopping and mystery worshiping experiences that would be important no matter the denomination or belief set.

• When you gotta go -- If your bathrooms aren't CLEARLY marked, then do so. Seriously. You don't want to have to track down an usher/greeter just because you had too much coffee on the way in. You want someone to feel welcome, making it easy for them to stay is a good first step.
• Assume we know nothing of your traditions 'cause we don't. I don't care if you're going from one church within your denomination to another. There isn't really as much of a common thread as you think. I've been to probably a dozen ELCA churches and more than a handful of UCC and UMC churches over the years (not to mention a few Missouri Synod Lutheran churches). Sometimes you'll find more similarities between churches of different denominations than you do within those that are supposed to be cut from the same cloth. You know that little ditty you sing after the offering (doxology for the fancy types)? Yeah, just because you've sung it for 20 or 30 years doesn't mean EVERYONE has. Really. If it's important enough that you sing it, print it in the bulletin or at least announce where you can find it.
• So what time do you meet, anyway? I cannot even begin to tell you how many churches (including an embarrassing number of churches I've belonged to) don't list their worship times on their answering machines. If we were omnipotent, we wouldn't need to go to church. But, since we're mere humans, how 'bout telling us when you meet? Oh, and if you think the newby is going to feel comfortable enough to leave a message so that (gasp) the minister needs to call the visitor back with the time, I would like you to give me more than one instance (heck, I'll settle for one) instance where that has actually happened.
• Cut the chatter. If you want to catch up with another person in the church, save it for fellowship. I'm not kidding when I tell you how many times there has been full-out conversations going on during worship, including supper plans, beefs with the choir, vacation highlights, DETAILED information about health conditions -- both mystery worship experiences had one form or another of this. Yes, there are places where this is acceptable. They're called coffee shops.
• Precious Lord, you can take my hand. Everyone else, cool it. I know there's something to be said for a warm handshake or even a hug from time to time. But when I'm a stranger in your midst, I may not be nuts about hand-holding and song-singing. These activities should be optional. Don't make them feel like a requirement. It comes off as aggressive, not warm and friendly.
• Lost and found -- While I don't want you to hug me if I don't even know your name, the other extreme is letting me wander around, like it's my personal wilderness experience. If I've got the wrong hymnal in my hands (which shouldn't happen, if it's announced in advance), feel free to lend a hand. If I'm walking around aimlessly before or after worship, feel free to ask if I need something or am just looking around. You don't need to be pushy, but at least check in.

Finally, as I've said before. Thing-a-ma-Jew is not an appropriate phrase to use before, during or after worship. I'd go back and give the fella a piece of my mind when I'm back in the area again, but he didn't have the worship times on his answering machine. Maybe there is a method to that madness after all...

Hey, hey, hey! It's word vs. sacrament!

If for no other reason, I'm grateful to be in seminary to get to the root of why the things about "the church" whizz me off. Here's one that's gotten under my skin for years. Why is it that in so many denominations, you need to be ordained to administer the sacraments (or get a special "hall pass" from an ordained person or church authority)? In lecture this week, we were discussing (okay, the professor mostly talks and we mostly listen, so discussing is probably not an apt verb) the role of scripture and sacraments for Roman Catholicism, Lutheranism and various flavors of Zwingli/Calvinism.

The crude way of looking at it is if we were to be playing a variation of rock, paper, scissors with the Roman Catholics, sacrament beats scripture/word. In the reformed traditions, it's supposed to be the reverse. If we Protestants place such importance on the word/sacrament (in which the readings and sermon are the main players of worship, as opposed to communion at a mass), then why is it any ol' fool can get up and "do the sermon" at many churches, yet there are a zillion hoops to jump through to administer the sacraments (of which there are two: baptism and communion).

I have to say, having my professor spell out what I hadn't gotten around to articulating was helpful. It also places the sermon I'm preaching tomorrow on a new level. I'm administering something more important than the sacrament, according to my denomination. At least that puts the drinking game I proposed in a lower level of egregiousness, since it's more closely aligned with a sacrament than having anything to do with the word ... except the words my listeners may choose for their little game. On the plus side, it would encourage a closer listening of the sermon, so in the immortal words of Fat Albert, "If you're not careful, you just might learn something before it's done!"

Taking attendance

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, evil has been lurking close to home for me and mine. So much so that some family members have questioned the existence of God or at the very least, have noted God’s absence.

Now, in instances like that, I suppose I could toss out some quasi-pastoral line about not seeing footprints in the sand because God is carrying you or some such noise, but I don’t find that comforting myself, nor do I believe it. So, what can I say when I’m hearing about an AWOL God? How ‘bout the truth? What I responded to one family member was, “Oh, yeah. That. God hasn’t really been present for me in years.” So, the follow-up question I received was, “Um, where are you driving home from tonight?” Yeah. The seminary. See, that’s a little secret you don’t often hear. Lots of us “God-types” aren’t exactly tight with God.

The most notable example of this living-in-God’s-absence-and-soldiering-on type of minister is Mother Teresa. A batch of letters came out after her death that chronicled a span of more than four decades in which she just wasn’t feeling it. Yet, every day she’d get up, put on her clothes and get out there doing her job. Isn’t that what we all do? Okay, most of us aren’t exactly drumming up dough to feed, clothe and educate gobs of hungry orphans. But we still do our own acts of heroism every day, attending to the needs of family and friends in their times of suffering, making cookies for a bake sale to benefit a neighbor or school, letting someone merge onto the highway from the on ramp. Acts of kindness. It’s what we do. It’s our way of bringing humanity into an often cruel and inhumane world.

The God thing? Well, that’s a leap of faith.

Faith, hope and love abide, these three, but the greatest of these is love.*

St. Augustine argued that love was the most important of the big three, ‘cause the Bible sez so. I disagree. Sure, love’s great. But, I think most of us have a handle on love. We get it. What’s harder for us everyday schmucks is having faith in an absent God when those we love are hurt. It’s also having faith that maybe God’s absence is a clue that we really do need to rely on each other to carry forth the work of God and feel God’s work being acted out on our behalf by others. So what is this work? It’s the work of stewarding and caring for our planet and the creation that resides within it – whales, dogs, cats, turtles, redwood trees, tulips, ferns, polar bears and humans. We do it out of love; we do it as an act of faith.

*That’s my top of mind recollection of 1 Corinthians 13 for those keeping track at home. Most folks recognize it from about a zillion weddings they’ve attended.

What makes me crankier than Twins losing? God bless America

Yes, you've heard it here first. I'm a commie pinko, un-American freak. Almost 48 hours later and what makes me crabbier than the Twins losing Sunday's game was the "requirement" we all stand in the 7th inning and listen to some way overdressed chick sing "God Bless America." WTF???

Needless to say, I practiced my First Amendment right to not stand and to not have some sense of phony reverence for a cheesy song made popular by yet another overdressed chick back when my mother was still in diapers (and it was an old, dusty tune then).

That's not to say I don't pray for my country. I do. Fervently. A lot. Do I need to somehow prove my American-ness in the company of 50,000 beer drinking, baseball-watching fans? Heck no. While I'm not opposed to a song that asks the almighty for guidance, I am opposed to and offended by the forced patriotism that resides behind the action being done in a public venue like a major league baseball game. In a post-9/11 world, I completely agree our nation needs guidance. I just question the motivation behind and appropriateness of the action, not to mention it's a pretty dumb tune.

That's not to say that I didn't spring to my feet when "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" was sung. Now that's a bit of group think I can live with. Right motivation. Right venue.

The question of evil

Unwittingly, I have looked evil in the face and survived, although the swath of destruction in the wake of what's unfolded will run deep and wide for years to come. It's cases of bad, indeed truly horrible, things happening to good and innocent people that solidify my thoughts on intercessory prayer. If God were truly hanging out just waiting to jump on the scene, if only enough people were to pray about it, that puts a lot of power on individuals and shows a lack of faith in God. (These folks seem to think God doesn't know God's business without a little micro-managing from humanity.) Not only that, but if God were to be following marching orders dictated by us humans, there would be a lot of folks who would suddenly go up in puffs of smoke because God would be pulling double shifts in the smiting business. But, I guess when humanity has lost faith in itself, it needs to turn somewhere. I'm just not convinced this placing of human desires on the human construct of God is healthy for anyone.

Thank God for dogs!

While most of my posts are seminary-related, this one's a bit of a stretch. I guess it is in the roundabout sense that Bob and I have always embraced stewardship of creation as a shared value.



What could celebrate the gift of creation and stewardship more than a totally gratuitous video I just created with some software I found on my computer? (And irritatingly, it won't post on Facebook; I think FB hates the Allman Brothers.) Being caregivers for abandoned doggies in need of medical attention seems like a pretty good way to make the most of creation.



Call this my holiday sermon and moment of thanksgiving...

I think it's no coincidence that God and Dog share the same letters. Dogs make terrific preachers and praise-singers.

Thing-a-ma-jew? Really???

It's been yet another event-filled week, once again culminated by bizarre, homicidal vehicles on interstate highways. After our most recent brush with death, complete with failed brakes, flaming engines and merging semi-trucks in Scranton, Pennsylvania, Bob and I decided "what the hell?" we'd go to church on Sunday morning. While we weren't expecting any conversion experiences, a la The Blues Brothers, we were mildly surprised at how the service went...and it wasn't like this.




You could say we did see the light, or that it was an enlightening experience, but only in that it reinforced why it is that I'm still less than enamored with Christianity, even though I'm about 1/6 of the way through seminary with the ultimate goal of being ordained. I know I write entirely too many LONG posts, so I'll give you the truncated version and let you fill in the blanks.

A minister's "Don't list" of how to conduct Sunday service

• Don't meander in during the gathering time whistling an entirely different tune than the organist is playing...better still, don't whistle at all.
• Don't spend the first 10 minutes of what's supposed to be worship telling personal stories that are only loosely related, in that they all have to do with you.
• Don't humiliate your children in front of the congregation by airing your dirty laundry.
• Don't think that bullying the local police, breaking down a door, threatening a group of teenagers in the name of "rescuing" a child who is hanging out drinking a couple of beers is acceptable.
• Don't confuse patriotism with Christianity. God's got the whole world to pay attention to. What makes you think that God should play favorites, or if God does, that our country would be it?
• Don't act proud when you tell the congregation you "didn't come from monkeys" -- it's offensive to the monkeys that you try to associate yourself with them at all.
• Don't forget that the God that we worship is the one who originated from the Jews. By demeaning them, you spit in the face of the one you believe is your creator.
• Don't have at least 7 times more mentions of yourself than you do of God, or even of "The Kid" -- it's just plain tacky.
• Don't, for the love of God, DON'T ever, EVER use the phrase Thing-A-Ma-Jew. Ever.

These really shouldn't be too difficult to follow, especially the last one. Really.

Mama knows best: A sermon on Numbers 11 and Johnny Cash

Mama knows best
The book of Numbers did strange things during my sleep state. I’m not generally one to have dreams, much less vivid ones, but I’ve had very striking dreams related to Numbers 11. One dream is somewhat easier, in that at least it seems connected – I dreamt of the vast numbers of quail that seemingly dropped from the sky and made up an ocean of food within the desert. I was struck with the juxtaposition of the image of vast abundance in a land of scarcity.

Then there’s a less-easy-to-connect dream. This one is a little more puzzling. It follows the story line of the Johnny Cash tune “Five Feet High and Rising.” I cannot make this up. Sometimes dreams are just weird. In short, the song is loosely based on Cash’s childhood experience with a flood great enough that his family had to flee to safety from their rural Arkansas home. So with these images in my head, I’ll try to walk you through what’s happening in Numbers 11, but more importantly, given the bad rap the Older Testament tends to get in modern day progressive Christian congregations, we’ll work toward making this old, but important text relevant here and now.

First, what’s up with Johnny Cash and how does it compare to Numbers 11?

• "Five Feet High" is set in a flood. Well, okay, as I said before and was highlighted in my other dream, I guess you could say there was a flood in Numbers, too...a flood of quail – at the very least, there was an abundance in a land of scarcity.
• Johnny's song has chickens sleeping in willow trees, hives under water, cows with water up to their knees, railroad tracks washed out. In short, things aren’t as they should be. Not unlike today’s reading. Rather than the assembly preparing to move ahead, the people of Israel find themselves stuck in the muck of discontent.
• Cash's song is about a family journey. The family starts out to evacuate by train, the tracks are washed out, and they seek the refuge of higher ground. Both the biblical text and the song are about family dynamics, one figuratively, the other in a more literal sense. That’s where I was getting stuck. "How high are the quail mama?" just doesn't have the same ring. Or does it? We’ll get back to that in a little bit. First, let’s take a closer look at the reading.

Contrary to what is sometimes noted about this text, the people of Israel haven’t been wandering the wilderness for years, eating three squares of manna. It’s been a matter of months at best, and this immediately after we read a long (and admittedly somewhat boring) catalog of sacrifices. Sacrifices aren’t about killing animals; they’re an opportunity for the assembly to commune with each other. Through these sacrifices, the people would have had the opportunity to partake in a little meat. Given the typical fare of the times, they had already had what would have been a substantial dose of protein. Yet, the people wanted more. More.

What more could the people want? They have a God who has taken care to provide not just a food that drops from the heavens on a daily basis, but also a sufficient water source to give the people not just enough to drink, but also to use to boil the manna to make it a more palatable, cake-like substance. Given the circumstances of being out in the wilderness, these people have it made: food, water, and most importantly, they have God on their advance team.

Yet, they grumble. The manna’s boring. There’s no excitement with manna. It’s just…there. Every day it’s there for the people. Every day. It’s there for the people. Its presence is as predictable as God’s. And some of the people reject the manna. It’s not hard to make the leap between the rejection of the God-given source for continued life in the wilderness and the rejection of God. A yearning for something more, for something exciting, has clouded the people’s vision to the point where they have forgotten about who led them to freedom. Their God is angered. Moses is angered. The people are angered. Small wonder nothing good comes from this situation, or does it?

In the middle of this story of discontent: the people’s with the food, God’s with the people, Moses’ with, arguably, both parties – the people for their complaints, and God for placing Moses in this situation to begin with, we hear of a gathering of people to help Moses out. We hear of an administrative task force that, at least for a moment, receives a flash of inspiration. Some of the spirit of Moses is lifted from him and it settles on the assembly he’s gathered. While the spirit is fleeting (not unlike us today – we don’t have a full-voltage blast of the spirit every moment of our lives), their ability to do the work of the people continues.

Also, not unlike today, if the spirit of God wishes to reach you, there’s no hiding place. The two who remained in camp during this initial administrative assembly, are visited from the spirit of God and prophesy to the people there. This is not unlike the many ministries your own congregation takes part in. They aren’t tied in to a government agency, but they’re ad hoc and manage to further your community’s cause of justice and caring for all. The interesting thing about these two is that unlike the assembly with Moses, it’s not indicated that these two, Eldad and Medad, stop prophesying. In fact, you could say that the charge that was sparked within them continues through to people within our own pews. Maybe, most likely, it’s you. Don’t believe me? You’re here, aren’t you?

This would be a nice place to end, this team of Moses’ helpers, but we have an unresolved and somewhat troubling piece: we still have the hungry (or at least desiring) people and God’s promise to give them what they ask for. At first it appears the people’s cries have been answered. A wind carries a massive flock of quail (likely on a migratory path, perhaps on what we’d now know of as the jet stream) over the camp. Suddenly the quail fall from the sky. The word for wind and spirit are the same in this passage. It’s as if the spirit-wind has momentarily exited the vicinity, causing the travel-weary birds who were using its force to stay airborne to fall from the sky … at the same time, some within the camp lose their spiritual grounding.

The people don’t seem to see the importance that this food source is delivered outside of their community. The people have abandoned God’s designated community prior to this passage by their rejection of God’s food. Now they are abandoning God in a more literal sense. They are leaving the community to gather the objects of their desire. In one way or another, at some time, each of us has perused our own quail and abandoned our communities. Fortunately, we are afforded the opportunity to change. We can return from our travels outside of camp in pursuit of the almighty buck (I mean quail) and rejoin the community. Again, isn’t that why we’re here today?

While this is where the biblical text for today ends, you’re probably wondering what happened to the Cash family. Remember, when we left them, they were in a state of disorder? The waters were rising; the chickens were in the trees. The family tries to leave by train and the rails are washed out. They’re in dire straits. Left with no alternative, the Cash family is left to wander the wilderness (or at least move to higher ground farther from home) in their flee to safety.
For the Cash family, the path isn't clear where they are to go, but they know they cannot remain where they are. The people of Israel keep getting pulled in new directions at Yahweh's instruction. The only clear message both “tribes” seem to have is that they cannot remain where they are, at least not for long. There is no sense of permanence for the people of Israel, nor for our modern day exiles.

There’s another similarity between the two stories that wasn’t obvious at first: within each story is a strong leader and a strong reliance on that leader’s relationship with God. In Numbers, even after the installation of 70 assistants, it’s clear Moses is still the CEO. For the Cash family, it’s mama. Both leaders use their faith and close relationship with God to guide their moves and lead their families to safety.

Both the song and this chapter of Numbers ends in a spot that leaves the listener thinking nothing good could possibly come out of this situation. And if we look at this moment in time, there’s no getting around the dismal finishes. There’s no upbeat sounding of the trumpets, no snappy guitar solo. They just end with a crowd of misguided people dying in the wilderness in Numbers and a family who is left homeless and wandering the country thanks to an “act of God.”

But, the story does not end with this chapter. Moses eventually does lead the people to a new land (although he doesn’t enter it himself). Mama, who observed in the middle of the chaos at the Cash farm "looks like we'll be blessed with a little more rain," does get her family to safety; but there’s more to mama’s faith. Here’s the back story to “Five Feet High and Rising.” Mama was right. What seemed disastrous at the time for the Cash family had an upside. As the musician later recalled, “We couldn’t see much good in the flood waters when they were causing us to have to leave home, but when the water went down, we found that it had washed a load of rich black bottom dirt across our land. The following year we had the best cotton crop we’d ever had.”[1]

In our faith community, we’re all exiles – each of us has our own personal wilderness story. Like the community of Israel, we can journey together, in relationship with God. Like the Cash family, we can gain from the richness that washes in from the tumult of our personal brushes with God. Together, we can reap a stronger harvest. We just need to be prepared that the journey isn’t quite going to be what any of us anticipate, and we may arrive at an unexpected place, God willing. While the end result of both stories is important, it’s not hard to see that the journey itself in the company of God is what binds them together. And now it’s our turn. Our journey together continues to enrich us and bind us. It continues to reinforce our relationship with God. It continues to remind us of the importance of our greater family.

[1] http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/j/johnny_cash/five_feet_high_and_rising.html

It would be long, but...

If anyone's interested in reading the sermon I came up with based on Numbers 11 and the Johnny Cash tune, let me know. (A couple of folks have commented on it in other avenues this week-thanks for the words of encouragement. I decided to run with it and see what happened.) I'm not sure if there's a word count on this thing, and there doesn't appear to be a place to attach a Word doc, but I'll figure it out. If you don't know what I'm talking about, read my earlier post.

How high is the water, mama?

I'm in a three-week accelerated class this month (just finished week one) and need to write a paper this weekend on Chapter 11 of the Book of Numbers. No biggie; the weather sucks anyway. BUT, that was before I had what I'll call my "prophetic dream." I'm not much of a dreamer, but I did have one last night and it clearly told me I needed to work a Johnny Cash tune into my paper. And not just any Cash tune...Five Feet High and Rising. WTF???

Here's the deal about chapter 11: Moses and company are in the desert in the earlier part of their 40-year journey. Key thing to remember here -- the desert. The people (some translations say "the rabble") are complaining/lusting/desiring food. They've had manna which presumably is so nutrition-packed that it's sufficient for survival for years on end. While it sounds as if it doesn't taste all bad, as my instructor noted, "how many different ways can you make a casserole with just one ingredient." Anyway, Yahweh (Israel's God) hears the complaining, gets pissed, and tosses out a little fire, probably a bolt of lightening, and takes out a few Israelites.

The griping continues, Moses appeals to the LORD for help. He's got two complaints: the unsatisfied masses and also that he's the mayor of this big, moving city and is in charge of setting up the departments of sanitation, education, transportation, and religious affairs with no help. (Okay, so he's got his brother and sister, but sometimes with friends like that, who needs enemies?) Even our small township is run by a group of supervisors and other administrators. Yahweh takes care of the administrative issue first and tells Moses to find 70 guys (women don't play much of a role in the Book of Numbers except to have curses tossed on them and bear the burden of childbirth and the occasional bout of leprosy) and Yahweh will transfer some of the burden from Moses to them. (Curious note: the "burden" is translated as "spirit") Two guys stay in camp, but the spirit finds them, anyway, and they commence to speaking in tongues and such. So complaint 1 is covered. Now about the food...

To the complaint about the food, Yahweh says sure, I'll help you. I'll feed them quail. Yeah, they'll get quail all right. Lots of it. Yahweh ain't kidding. They get several bushels of quail apiece because of a shifting wind (the Hebrew for "wind" is the same word as "spirit" noted above). The migrating quail must have been knocked off course or something. That part's not explained. So, the rabble put the first bits of meat to their mouths and, ZAP. Yup. Yahweh changes course and the people are afflicted by a plague. A bunch of people die and the people pick up camp and move on. End of story.

Yeah, that has a lot to do with Johnny Cash. Let's see...Numbers is set in the desert. "Five feet high" is set in a flood. Well, okay, I guess you could say there was a flood in Numbers, too. A flood of quail. With all the sacrificing that went on in that book, you could say there was a flood of blood, too.

Johnny's song has chickens sleeping in willow trees, hives under water, cows with water up to their knees, railroad tracks washed out...and mama observes "looks like we'll be blessed with a little more rain." But, like the people of Israel, the family is left to wander the wilderness and flee to safety. The path isn't clear. Israel keeps getting heading in new directions at Yahweh's instruction or because of other nations not being too keen on this mass of people crossing their boundary. Cash's family starts out to evacuate by train, the tracks are washed out, and they seek the refuge of higher ground. Both songs are about family dynamics, one figuratively, the other in a more literal sense.

Okay, there are some similarities. But still...what in Yahweh's name am I supposed to do with this in my paper? "How high are the quail mama?" just doesn't have the same ring.

Chance of clouds: 100%

Whoo, it's been a busy month. This 'occasional' blog had been even more infrequent, BUT finals are over and I have a couple of weeks before the fun begins with a three-week intensive class (while working 3/4 time at the office).



So, to prepare for the grudge-match of a summer session, I'm reading ahead for my class "Preaching and Teaching the Book of Numbers." To be sure, on the surface it's not a page-turner. But it seems about the time I've almost completely zoned out, something gets my attention. That's what happened with Numbers 9:15-23.



For those of you not keeping track at home, this is the tidbit in which Moses and company have set up the tabernacle and this cloud thingy appears over the tent of the covenant. Whenever the cloud lifts, the assembly packs up and moves to its next destination. How do they know when they've arrived? The cloud appears again. It looks like a cloud by day and has a firey appearance by night.



So, the people of Israel had a personal realtionship with Yahweh that would have them move ahead and take a rest, then the cycle would continue again...and again...and again.

Whether it was two days, or a month, or a longer time,

that the cloud continued over the tabernacle, resting upon it,

the Israelites would remain in camp and would not set out;

but when it lifted they would set out. ~Num 9:22 (NRSV)

I've glossed over this passage before, but this time it got me thinking of the individual human analogy, more directly, my own sometimes shaky relationship with Yahweh. It occurred to me that even in my cloudy days/years, I've never doubted the presence of God. Irritated by God, sure, but never in doubt that there was a very annoying God out there/in me somewhere. Then there's some subtle breakthrough, a lifting of the clouds, as it were, and I pack up my baggage and bumble along again until I've reached a foggy place where I have to hang out for days, months or even years before there's a breakthrough and I can journey further into the wilderness.

Carl Jung would be most pleased that four decades into life, I've been able to see the connection.

Jesus is Just Alright

It's Easter morning. Props to my buddy Jesus. Party on. I went old school today and decided to go to the little country church down the road where I was a member until my theological meltdown a few years back. I still like to sneak in from time to time to a place where I can do the liturgy rote and let my mind focus on the real part of worship without worrying about keeping up with the words on the page. I also miss the people. God love 'em and their "we've always done it this way" ways. Not all of them, to be sure, but enough that more times than not I wanted to bonk my head repeatedly on the external brick wall. A wailing wall of a totally different variety.

Anyway, it was a real nice service. Nice. It's always hard to come up with the appropriate adjectives for worship services, especially the biggies like Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday. It's even harder when you hear the poor preachers trying to make relevant the events of Easter Sunday to a contemporary audience. You've got a guy who caused a lot of trouble to the establishment and was beginning to be a nuisance to the Roman Empire (threat might be pushing it). Dude was executed on a Friday and something happened on Sunday morning. Something. This is where I have to lean on the gospel attributed to Mark. That's the one where the chicks to to the tomb, the rock is rolled away and a dude in white says he's gone. The women make a hasty exit. End of story.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. When it comes to the gospels, Mark is the one that makes the most sense to me. Less editorializing, more letting the reader figure it out. Way less exposition. Considering the end times weren't as immanent as the first and second century followers of Christ would have liked, I prefer the ambiguity of Mark to have us work out what Jesus absence that Sunday morning means to us today.

Honestly, I don't care whether Jesus physically came back to life and physically hung out making cameo appearances to upwards of 500 people for 40 days before being whisked up into the sky to return another day. What does that story have to do with any of us today? What's remarkable to me is the story that from its early beginnings was only a generation away from extinction, yet it carried enough weight to make it to the next generation and the next. And the next. The core teachings, as Bill and Ted would say, being "excellent to each other" is pretty groovy on its own.

Party on, dudes!

Rainbow wigs and being an agent of the state

It's been a while since I've said anything particularly heretical, so maybe we can rectify that in this (crabby) post.

I went to Sunday School today before church. I kinda like that it's called Adult Sunday School and not "Adult Bible Study" because it acknowledges in the 45 minutes or so that we actually meet we aren't going to hit on anything too heavy. "Bible study" is one of those terms that makes me queasy.

Anyway, we were taking a look at the John reading from the lectionary (here's a link for those who need an explanation of the term). Part of the reading included John 3:16 "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (King James Version)

Now, it seems like people will turn themselves inside out with this particular verse. I recently heard a former bishop relay a story about another bishop who said the entire contents of the Bible could be summed up within that passage. Can't really say I share the enthusiasm. For one thing, the "gospel" of John chills me to the bone. If you're not with the writers of John, you suck. No middle ground. Plus, do we have to have every freakin' thing spelled out and explained to us? How 'bout letting us figure some stuff out on our own?

Of this passage I could only say two things:

1. Any time I run across this passage, I can't help but think about that dude from the 70s who wore the rainbow wig and was frequently shown in the back ground at sporting events. (By the way, the fella has a name, Rollen Stewart, and a pretty freaky story. Check it out if you're interested.)


2. I swear to God, I may implode if I hear one more person talk about "believing in Jesus" as if we were talking about Santa, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny. Sparing you the rant I broke loose with this morning, suffice it to say that I was in a cranky mood, especially about folks who try to force a historical Jesus on me and make me try to suspend a lot of reality to get there. Isn't it revolutionary enough to believe in the radical teachings to an oppressed people that managed to live on despite an oppressive regime that tried to blot it out? That's the miracle. Let's not niggle over the details. Oh, I could go on about what's irksome about this verse and how it's interpreted, but that's enough for now.

The other tidbit that came out during Sunday School was a bit left field, and it caused me to out myself on a particular stand, but might as well put it out there right away, I guess. The question was quite roundabout, but it sort of had to do with the role of clergy in civil and religious capacities. Without getting into details about the actual function that clergy plays in marriages by denomination (it can vary), the up shot is within my particular denomination, clergy can perform marriages between two consenting people at the minister's discretion.

Performing marriages is the minister's choice and is based on the minister's convictions and ability to support the couple in this important step. In addition to the marriage ceremony, clergy within this denomination can sign marriage certificates...or not. (I'm talking about the legal kind here, not the suitable-for-framing versions some churches hand out as a "parting gift" after the ceremony.) While my particular minister does opt to sign marriage certificates when performing marriages, he mentioned that there are a number who have chosen not to sign any certificates, so if the couple wants to be legally married, they need to have a civil ceremony. (We did that - it's about 5 minutes' time at the courthouse.) As my pastor put it, these clergy refuse to be agents of the state by signing the legal document.

It was clear a number of folks were having trouble wrapping their heads around what the pastor was saying and why someone would refuse to do the legal part. Because I happen to be the only seminarian in the class (okay, in the church when you get down to it), they asked me what I thought. I told them I hadn't gotten to that particular class yet (as if there is one), but I would likely not be one to sign certificates. "But why?" they asked. Well, I'm not a big fan of the state dictating the meaning of marriage to the church. I disagree with the stand that gay and lesbian couples who choose to make a public and (hopefully) life-long commitment cannot be recognized legally, even though they can be united in my church. So, why would I want to be party to a government-sanctioned act of discrimination?

It's not just separation of church and state, people. It's separation of state FROM church that I'm an advocate for. The government really needs to get out of the marriage business. Y'all want to define marriage, get your own damn ordination papers. Nuff said.

Wouldn't it be more helpful if Jesus were a tad less miraculous?

For one of my midterms (I cannot believe it's already midterms, nor that I've been on and off ill the entire semester), I was asked to tell a story from my internship experience and reflect on it theologically.

Briefly, the story I told was about a woman who comes to the weekly community dinner and was "caught" one time carrying bags of food collected for a different ministry out to her car, ostensibly for her own use. Because of this experience, the food is now hauled into the office and locked up if staff are not present. The woman showed up on my watch last week and asked what the food was for and could she take some. I told her I thought it was being collected for "Ministry X" and wasn't available for distribution. She told me it wasn't for her but rather for a "very poor friend" who could use even a can or two of soup. I told her to stop back after dinner when some of the staff would be back to see if anything was available. She did and both the staff person and the minister turned her away. No one seemed upset about the situation and it appeared this was almost a weekly ritual in which the only one not clued in on the script was me.

The situation left me thinking about a number of things:

• Was there really a "friend" in need? If so, why didn't she bring him along to the community dinner for a hot meal?
• If there was no "friend" why would she feel the need to invent one? Does the story of a friend do anything to further her cause to others or is it a way for her to "save face" and distance herself from her own poverty?
• What is to be gained by hanging onto every bit of food collected for some other ministry that feeds hungry people when there may have been a case of someone being hungry and in need right in front of us. Were the unrepresented hungry people somehow more important than the ones in our presence?

Then I got to thinking about some of the famous stories of the mythical Jesus feeding hungry people. In the loaves and fishes stories there are varying numbers of loaves, fishes and people, but the end result is the same -- gobs of people are fed until satisfied from a meagre amount of food. Not only that, but there are plenty of leftovers. While that tells a pretty amazing story, that does little to help us today. What about these community outlets where there are plenty of hungry people but only so many bags of groceries. I would have liked to see how the Jesus depicted in these gospel stories would have triaged the situation.

While the loaves and fishes stories are supposed to give us hope and inspire all of us to share our resources, and I totally agree that we could do a much better job of sharing and no one would go hungry, what about the very real daily struggles of feeding the masses now who don't have time to snack on a pretty story about what could be? Would it really have killed the gospels if once in a while Jesus were a tad less miraculous so we could see how the human Jesus would have handled the situation without the God-part jumping in?

We're all part God and part human, but I don't see a whole lot of people who can take a couple of cans of beans and some rice, feed a few thousand people, and still end up with a stack of to-go boxes at the end of the meal. The coordinator of the community dinner I participate in is good, but even she isn't a miracle worker.

So, where did I see God today?

Warning!! Really long blog below. That's what happens when you take the month off I guess...

In one of the classes Bob and I are taking this semester (yes, we're actually taking two classes together this semester and it's going remarkably well), we are frequently asked "So, where have you seen God today?" or this week or whatever. We're both a little crawly about the question so we've tried "practicing" on each other here to see if we can muster up a plausible answer.

You see, we're both in seminary and both believe in God (no, actually, that's not a prerequisite). But the seeing God thing is somewhat problematic for both of us. I've mentioned before that I have a co-worker that tries to insinuate God in EVERYTHING that happens. (Remember my J-term class was canceled because God thought I was too tired?) Or there are people like my mother-in-law who say silly things like "two seconds later and that could have been us" when we witnessed a car accident immediately in front of us. (As if God said, "Oh look, it's Bob's mom and family, better get that accident going right now before they get there.") That sort of thing makes me nuts.

So tonight Bob and I were practicing our "where did you see God" exercise and Bob relayed a story from his internship today. I was a little more hard pressed, as I've been secluded for several days with a mysterious illness (more on that later). Finally I came up with the relaying of a coworker whose father recently had a stroke and didn't appear to have much use of his body, save for being able to stick out his tongue at nurses. Out of the blue, he picked up a small glass and shakily brought it to his lips and drank its entire contents.

Because it was Bob I told the story to, he was quick to understand what I meant when I said I thought it was miraculous. It's not that I think God said, "well, I've been carrying this airplane safely to the Twin Cities, while I'm in the neighborhood, I'll help this fella get a drink of water." No, to me the miracle is in creation itself -- that the body was designed in such a way that when it goes haywire, the synapses sometimes can sort themselves out even weeks later and rewire the shorted systems and allow muscle memory to take over. Perhaps my sense of seeing God in the creation is as much of a twist of what's going on as the whack-a-mole God that pops up unpredictably to do God's magic before popping up in another location. Truth be told none of us know the real truth, we just hold our own "big T" Truth about what things mean to us.

So, the God that I continue to recognize is the God that's in the shadows. It's the God that got things started, got the elements in place and then the real miracles happened -- what we do with what we have, whether consciously or unconsciously. In my internship, I had to answer where I saw God and the most concrete example I could come up with was the person who coordinates the community dinners and barks out orders to individuals for the sake of feeding the many slowing down time to really pause and consider how the woman with a brain tumor, who is actually a danger to herself and others in a busy kitchen, can have some dignity by not just receiving the meal but making a contribution to it, as well. The coordinator, knowing her limited abilities but wanting to give this woman "real work" finally settled on letting her set up the plates and napkins and making sure the table looks welcoming to those who will be sharing the evening's meal.

The act of hospitality shown by each person in this act is where I saw God -- the woman with limited abilities being able to welcome others but also the hospitality shown by the coordinator in recognizing the dignity of everyone and giving someone a job so they feel a part of something beyond themselves. How much easier it would have been for her to simply say, "You know, we don't need a thing. Why not just sit down and relax until we bring the food out?"

***

I have been challenged myself this past month. There's a reason I haven't posted in nearly a month. I've been sick in one way or another for the past four weeks. The symptoms were pretty nonspecific and seemed to progress from a cold to a sinus infection to bronchitis to something else. By last weekend I made my first trip to the emergency room (maybe not my first -- seems to me I was probably dragged there as a toddler when I needed stitches after the infamous "dumped from a wagon" episode). Anyway, I was reluctant to go because even though I was clearly having a hard time breathing, I was pretty sure they wouldn't find anything really wrong. Still, about halfway through my Saturday class, I was feeling a real sense of panic and slipped Bob a note that I would go to the ER after class.

So we went to the town where my parents live on the way home and I had my lungs listened to and x-rayed and exhaled into a tube and was given the verdict: "probable pertussis." Yup. Whooping cough.

This diagnosis isn't as far-fetched as it seems. One of my co-workers was diagnosed a few days earlier and we had been on the same timetable with our cold/sinus infection/bronchitis trajectory so it was plausible to the ER doc. (Although I had been to the clinic the week before and was already being treated for bronchitis and called to check in after I heard of the pertussis exposure to get cleared to go to class over the weekend.) Still, the diagnosis made me almost literally sick to my stomach. Pertussis is a nasty illness. It's contagious. And it never goes away. Leastwise not for about 100 days.

The doc ordered a nose swab that would go to the lab and then cryptically said it could come back negative, but he's still sure that I have pertussis regardless of what the lab results say. (So, I guess there's a payola to order lab work even if the false negative ratio is high?) Oh yeah, and because it's so infectious and potentially lethal to infants, I was placed on quarantine for five days. Yup. Just like that Little House on the Prairie episode where there's that anthrax episode. All you children of the 70s totally know what I'm talking about here. Fess up.

Anyway, the last week has been miserable. I didn't have horrible coughing jags like my co-worker, but I was also placed on a couple of inhalers because "sometimes when I run I get short of breath...sometimes when it's cold too" -- we don't use the "A" word around here. You know, the one that rhymes with "hasthma" -- verboten. I was also already on a narcotic cough medicine for the "bronchitis" I was diagnosed with the week previous. So, I was on four prescription drugs and still felt as bad as I've felt in most of my adult life. There were even a few "breakthrough" coughing episodes that sounded suspiciously like whooping when I was gasping for breath. So after 5 days of waiting for the lab results, I finally decided I'd call the hospital and see if they actually did anything with the nose swab deal or if it was just for looks. The guy trotted off to find them. Ironically enough, while I was waiting I actually started a coughing jag where I thought I was going to barf up a lung, and the guy comes back and says, "negative."

While I had been prepped for that, it still made me feel awfully foolish. More than that. I felt a little crazy. Is it possible I actually had bee fooling everyone including myself for an entire month. Did I seriously burn through almost two weeks of vacation time for nothing? My saner side says, do I really need validation that I am sick? Not really, but still, when the chest x-ray didn't show an evil troll hanging out by a burn barrel, I thought at least I could get someone to throw me a friggin' bone about the whooping cough.

I said to my wonderful mother today that I seriously would have been much happier if I were diagnosed with pneumonia. It's got a name and a fairly certain end time. Pertussis or whatever mystery ailment I have (maybe it IS the SARS I was claiming last week...) may never go away. This could be my new permanent state. I don't believe it really, but there are some panicky moments where doubt enters on so many levels: I'm not sick at all, I'm crazy, I'm REALLY sick, whatever. It has given me a little more sympathy for people who get diagnoses for what I consider "fake" illnesses. I won't name them here, lest someone know someone with one of them, and also because how the hell do I know that they're not real.

So anyway, relaying this epic gets me to the point where I need to get back to why am I blogging about this? What does it have to do with my experience at school? Well a couple of things. For one, I'm learning more about the extenuating circumstances policy for my school. Obviously, if you're quarantined, you can't go to class or your internship. It's part of my learning experience. Secondly, since the class I misses is the one where we have to answer the question "so, where do you see God in this?" I got to thinking. The easy answer would be to say that going through even a mini period of uncertainty and precarious health (and if you don't think not being able to breathe is precarious, try holding your breath and going up a flight of stairs at the same time and tell me how you feel afterward) will give me a better understanding of the people I minister to if I become a chaplain or even a pastor.

That answer seems a little too neat and tidy to me. What about marveling at the slow but sure healing that appears to be happening in my lungs after 10 days and two different kinds of antibiotics? That's kind of miraculous, sure. The health care workers in emergency rooms? They always rock. Not many people can do their jobs. The fantastic support of friends and family who have lifted my spirits this whole time, including my mom who understood that I couldn't talk without getting short of breath and spent many a session with me on the Facebook chat application? They were all fantastic and I truly feel blessed to have had them.

Still, in all honesty, is seeing God in this so simple? Are these the answers I'll give to those with whom I'll walk in their lonely and scary hours? Maybe. Sometimes I wonder if I spend as much time and energy discounting God in what's around me as the ones who seem to fabricate God in every single moment of their lives. Could it be that God's a moderate? All I know tonight is that each breath I take that isn't a gasp feels like a small miracle and whether it's from a God who took a break from holding an airplane up in the sky or a God who placed the idea of my medications in a dream or mathematical equation of the scientist who developed it, I don't know. And as long as the breaths keep coming, I'm not sure if I really care. Survival baby. That's what I'm talking about.

Dogs and cats, too!

Last time I posted was because I had heard the weird question posed on the radio about whether test tube babies had souls, since they were man-made and not God-made. I answered to the affirmative to that question, but I'd like to put out my thanks to the "fundies" who argue that only "man" (although I think we chicks can be included in that, too) has a soul.

If Louise Brown and the thousands of other test tube babies born in the past few decades are found to indeed have souls, then I think it's safe to say that puppies and kitties easily have as much of a shot at their own piece of better-than-James-Brown soul, as well. (At least the woebegone variety we acquire at the casa de Lefty and Bob -- the ones that are conceived in vitro are another story all together.)

The reason this is still stuck in my craw so many days later probably has to do with the fact that we just marked the first anniversary of the passing of one of the best dogs the universe has ever seen. Gynnady was one of a kind -- weird-looking and not very bright, to be sure, but with one of the biggest hearts known to humanity. God we miss him.

This week also marks the transition to "hospice" care for our Sassy cat. She's probably not been on the top of anyone's list for anything, but she's been an okay cat (most of the time) and has taught us a few valuable lessons in the past few years about how even those who haven't always been the nicest around can turn around and become good citizens. Some of us just take a little longer for redemption, but it's possible, whether you're young or old, man or beast. So, we're not sure how long ol' Sassy-cat is with us, but we're managing her pain and making her final days as comfortable as we can, and when the time comes, we'll do for her the final great gift of honoring her life by not making her suffer beyond the point where the pain has no purpose.

Ya know, I think not only do these little buggers have souls, but our caring for them has made us a little more human and appreciative of the many shapes and sizes of the souls around us. Here we're spending thousands of dollars at school and some of our best teachers are curled on our laps and at our feet.

Test Tube Babies - My shortest post to date

I heard this question posed on the radio this morning: Do test tube babies have souls?

Uh, yes. Next question?

Intelligent design and other tidbits this week

"Beta" body parts -- While talking with my doc this week (just a check-up) we went through the laundry list of ailments and oddities that seems to grow with each year and I made the comment that if there really was such a thing as intelligent design, we would have been given cheekbones with hinges to accommodate swollen sinuses. He agreed saying no offense to God and all that, but from his viewpoint there were a lot of body parts that didn't seem to have moved beyond the beta version. We both had little chuckle about the foibles of the human body and moved on through the rest of the exam, but it got me to thinking that it must be simultaneously easy and hard to be a medical professional and be a person of faith. Daily there are those "gee whiz" moments where doctors and nurses encounter life's big and little miracles. Yet, at the same time, on the same days oftentimes, they also see those moments where they must wonder what kind of a God would have anything to do with horrible diseases, accidents and demons in people's heads and lives. I admire those medical folks and am grateful for their ministry (yes, they are ministering to humanity, which is a very real way of honoring creation).

Roe v. Wade -- There was an anniversary of this ruling last week. Abortion is one of those things where words have really gotten in the way of the heart of the matter. Words I've seen and heard surrounding the anniversary include: pro-life, pro-abortion, pro-choice, celebrate, mourn, and more. I can't really say that any of these words speak to me. Bob and I have done everything in our power to avoid pregnancy, yet, we decided years ago that should I ever get pregnant, we would be having a baby. Thankfully, our efforts to thwart pregnancy have succeeded. But, that doesn't mean that I land in the camp that says that you should practice birth control, but if you get pregnant, well, too bad. I don't think any woman wakes up in the morning and says "by golly, I think I'll go out and get me one of them abortions, since they're legal and all that." No, I don't think it's an easy decision and my heart goes out for those who despite their best efforts (or not) end up pregnant and choose a pretty invasive medical procedure for reasons that are their own. There's a group I've heard about at the seminary that's called something along the lines of religious people for reproductive rights (or something like that). I've picked up the occasional flier at info tables, but for my own sanity, I just can't get involved in one more thing right now.

Dogs are people, too -- We had some wonderful house guests this weekend and it sounded as if the two of them had been having an ongoing discussion about whether dogs have feelings or not. I don't think that the one who was scoffing at the notion was necessarily implying that dogs don't have some sort of a reaction to what's going on around them, but I think the thought was that they aren't human, so don't attribute human emotions to them. I often think along those same lines when it comes to God. When we get to trying to impose human emotions and reactions on God, we've crossed the line of creating God in our own image. I often stumble when I read the bits that go along the lines of "I am a jealous God...blah, blah, blah..." I get to those parts and my ability to see the inspired word of God tunes out. People have this weird tendancy toward anthropomorphism, rather than appreciating creation (and the creator) for what it is. But, still, aren't dogs people, too?

When I grow up, I'm gonna be...

It's funny, for a blog by a seminarian, I spend very little time talking about life after seminary. Perhaps that's because I don't have a friggn' clue what I'll be doing. Most often, I think about doing a chaplaincy somewhere, most compelling to me is hospice chaplaincy. Still, there are some things about the parish ministry that appeal to me.

As a lay person, I'm no slouch when it comes to church administration. I've made my way around the block when it comes to council meetings, reading financial statements, writing policies and even drafting and ratifying a constitution and some bylaws. While this sort of thing puts most people into a coma, I've found I've been able to further my lefty agenda under the radar, yet within plain viewing, by how things are put into a congregation's constitution or other important, but boring-sounding documents.

I would love the visitation part. I loved doing home visits in my past life when I was schlepping insurance for a "faith-based organization." Hanging out with the elderly has never been an issue for me. These folks deserve our time, and we have lots to learn from them, if we'd only slow down and be patient.

The writer in me would actually appreciate the exercise of writing a weekly sermon. I say this as I'm coming down from the high of delivering one of my better sermons to date -- at my old home congregation, no less. Without sounding all big on myself or anything, I think it went pretty well. It was a little light on the academic side of theology, but it was pretty strong in terms of pointing out what this particular congregation is doing well and challenging them to do more.

So, what's holding me back from embracing the idea of a full-time parish ministry? A lot of things. Some people are still surprised to hear I'm an introvert, but just because I can sometimes fake it doesn't mean I can consistently do so. I can seem aloof and uncaring sometimes. I think my personality probably wouldn't be great for a long-term relationship with a church community.

But, I have been toying with another idea...I mentioned it over a couple of beers after last semester's finals to some of my classmates, and they seemed to think it might work, too. I sometimes think being an interim minister might be a good solution. I can do a lot of the things I'm interested in, yet I can keep a little distance from some of the things that make me nuts (or at least be able to point them out to the congregation and know that I won't be there forever). I need to do more investigating about what I can do in this vein in my current denomination. I know the "other" denomination has "intentional interims" but I also know I'd probably lose my mind if I went back to that tradition on a full-time basis.

This particular posting isn't really going to be too interesting to others, but it dawned on me that I needed to spend at least a little time thinking through this question before the insanity of working full-time and going back to school part-time begins again. After all, I'm spending a ton of money and time to do this. I really should have at least a bit of a clue what I'm going to do with this education when I'm done, shouldn't I? Then, why do I have this funny feeling that any preconceived notions are going to be chewed up and spit out by the time I'm done?

If I were a believer in intercessory prayer, I'd ask you to say a prayer for me. What the hell, if you're the praying type give 'er a whack!

Giving to Caesar

19Show me the coin used for the tax.’ And they brought him a denarius. 20Then he said to them, ‘Whose head is this, and whose title?’ 21They answered, ‘The emperor’s.’ Then he said to them, ‘Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.’ ~Matt 22:19-21

I'm usually freakishly on top of our personal finances, but since going back to school, I've let some things slip. No, I still hold my four decades and holding track record of no bounced checks, but I didn't take Thanksgiving weekend to start doing pre-work for our taxes. I didn't even do it on New Years Eve. Nope, here it is January and I haven't even started to organize tax-related stuff. Well, that's not entirely true -- I did have a minor meltdown on my birthday and ran a quick report from Microsoft Money to see where we were standing in terms of charitable giving. To be sure, with two of us in seminary, the number was low, but I just couldn't stand the thought of 2008 go by without "throwing more money away" to charity.

My 40th birthday present to myself was to give a not-so-insignificant chunk of change to the local food shelf. This was our second gift this year. We were absolutely sickened at the thought of taking that cash rebate late this spring and gave half of it to the food shelf. Selfishly, we took the other half and used it to pay for part of another class for Bob. Yeah, we're THAT kind of liberal couple. We actually pay our taxes and wonder why it is we're not paying more.

Okay, here's a little confession about the above statement. When I say we pay our taxes without much of a fight, it's because we have this sort of Disney-esque vision of what happens with our tax dollars. Ours don't go to one of the zillions of government-backed activities that we don't agree with. Nope, our tax dollars are magically carried by little bluebirds to things like roads, schools and health care. We have the magic electronic funds transfer in which our money goes only to things we back.

I know our thoughts on taxes puts us WAY far out there. Heck, even my wonderfully socialist mother, who I've used without much irony the phrase "good for the collective," started having issues with taxes in the past two presidential terms, saying she could understand sheltering some money so "Bush couldn't get it to buy more bombs." But, lest you think we wouldn't funnel money to the military, our little bluebirds made sure that at least a portion went to things like sufficient equipment to protect the soldiers and sailors who were ordered to put themselves in harm's way for reasons we disagree (and if you asked them, I suspect at least a few of those service folks would also have their doubts).

So, when I finally start doing my preliminary work tomorrow to get our financial house in order, I'll remember the reason I have a Monday in January off in the first place. MLK Day marks a day of remembrance for not just one individual but for the actions of many who sacrificed to further the cause of equality to ALL people. If at the end of the day, I find I'm going to give a little something back to Caesar, I'll give a quick prayer for the leadership, who will be overseeing the gigantic ledger of funds coming in from the millions of bluebirds across this nation, to have the wisdom to spend it wisely. I'm hopeful that my annual exercise in paying my share will shift from wishful thinking to doing real good. I'll see your Caesar and raise you another.

The morality of cars

Figured I'd finish this post that I started several days ago before it's totally outdated...

*** ***** ***
Let me just start by saying I'm fully aware that it is only because I have the privilege of being firmly in the middle class that I can even have such a "dilemma" as this. "What's the issue?" you ask. (No, no one really asked, I like the rhetorical device.)

Well, here's the deal. Bob and I are both quite uncomfortable about owning a new car. The phrase we've used is that we don't "deserve" a new car. We don't mean this in the sense of my mother-in-law who will sometimes use the phrase "I'm not deserving" of XXX. We're not saying that we have low self-esteems and believe that we as individuals don't deserve a new car. We're looking at it more as a societal thing. With so many out there with substandard homes and erratic modes of transportation, do any of us deserve to have a leather-wrapped steering wheel and lots of buttons and such so that one need not move her hands to turn up the satellite radio?

That's not to say that I don't appreciate having reliable transportation on one of the coldest weeks of the last decade. After having a breakdown last week and waiting for what felt like an eternity, I did think there might be something more fiscally sane in getting a newer car with a warranty, rather than dumping thousands of dollars into another used car and the subsequent repairs, only to find myself again sitting on the side of the road in the dark. (Yes, I fully understand depreciation of vehicles and all that, but I also understand that I'm a person who stops watches merely by wearing them -- I'm an anomaly when it comes to mechanical things and have always been the one who's gotten my money's worth out of warranties.)

Still, we do have a little bit of that "liberal guilt" over having something a little more than we need (or maybe a lot more) when there are so many who have way less. But on the same token, I don't want to be one of those people (and we all know them) who works themselves into a bitter old age where they've never fully appreciated what they have because they've been too busy trying to square up some artificial construct of what they see as their "debt to God."

It's not like God issues a bill and there's a bean counter at the pearly gates with an adding machine who's going to see if you've paid off your share. Well, at least, I don't think there is. But, still, I wonder what the going "do-gooder" rate is for a volume control on the steering wheel?

Message from God in the form of a broken down Saturn?

Remember the earlier post about mosquitoes? The precipitating event was my car breaking down while I was driving it. Well, it happened again last night. The car that is, not the mosquitoes. This time, it didn't restart, and I had to cool my heels (literally) for nearly 2 1/2 hours waiting for a tow. (Fortunately, Bob managed to arrive about an hour into the ordeal, so I got to sit in a sorta warm car for the second half of the wait.)

Well, I know a lot of people who try to superimpose God's hand on everything. I'm not one of them, but I kinda like the mental exercise involved with that line of thinking, so what would last night be saying about me and about God? Hmmmm...

God's pissed at me -- While I have no doubt the almighty has a bone or two to pick with me, I don't think the punishment would be meted out via a decrepit Saturn. Not enough symbolism.

God wants me to be more thoughtful -- Uh, I dunno. I do tend to find the cheapest alternative out there and live with the consequences. I buy the cheapest house on the market when I'm looking and live with the repair bills. (But I also don't have any real fears of not being able to make my mortgage payments which are awfully low.) I take cheap vacations and while I don't have the cushy seats on the plane or the fluffiest comforter, I manage to get to my intended locale and sleep reasonably well. So it's the cars. Yeah, I suck at buying cars. But I don't know how much more thoughtfulness would play in. I've had more luck with my impulse bargain purchases than the ones I've researched. I take pretty good care of my cars, yet as Bob gleefully points out, he gets an oil change about twice a year, and he's had relatively few problems. Maybe instead of being too thoughtful in the car department, I over think it. But then, I have to go back to wondering why God would give a monkey's butt about my decision making process for car purchases.

God wants me to know I have friends -- Maybe. I certainly am fortunate to have a spouse who was willing to drop what he was doing and drive out to keep me company during my long, dark wait. This isn't the first time he's come to my rescue. Not only is he a good spouse, he's a good friend. That's cool and maybe I needed to be reminded of it. Maybe. Then, after more than two hours in the car, on a fluke, I turned on my Palm Pilot and scanned for a wifi signal. Darned if there wasn't a pretty decent signal. So I posted a note on Facebook and got a number of responses to my comment and even a couple of notes in my in box. There was a lot of kidding, but also some concern. I most certainly wasn't fishing for reinforcement that I have friends, but it was nice to be reminded of it. So God takes an active role in making sure I know I have friends? Not so sure. It's not like I was down and could really use a morale boost. I was simply trying to go home and have a bite to eat. So, I ended up a little hungry, but not in a state of despair. It seems to me that God would be more concerned for those who are hopeless and in real need to give that reminder. Seems like a bit of squandered grace to me.

But, maybe that's the point. I willy nilly purchase cars, sometimes with great thought and care and it doesn't pan out. Other times, on a whim I make a purchase that seems like it's squandering money only to find later on that it worked out pretty well in the long run. Is there a connection? Who's to say what's a squandered effort, anyway? Maybe there's something to be said for throwing caution to the wind. Maybe I should over-think that for a while.