Money...

Yesterday was a sad day for the Presbytery of Des Moines. It was a sad day for the staff, who have suffered from our budget struggles for three years. It was a sad day for CROSS Ministries, who appear to be the next target for cuts. It was a sad day because those brothers and sisters who don't carry their own weight would rather stick their nose in the air than offer solutions to our problems. I must admit, I was not feeling all that connectional yesterday.

You can't see me...I am wearing camo...well, I guess I have a bright orange hat on so you can see me.

I was born in a small town. I grew up in small town. Believe or not, I now live in an even SMALLER town. I love it. I didn't know if I would miss having the conveniences of life in the city. For the most part I am adjusted to paying $5465 for a gallon of milk at the only gas station in town and walking across the street without taking my life into my hands. There are lots of things I like about small town life. But I haven't learned to shoot things yet.

It might come as a surprise, but just because you grew up in Iowa does not automatically make you an Outdoorsman. In general, I try to avoid being outside as much as possible. If I have to go outside, I prefer to do so in the comfort of my automobile so I can look at nature without actually having to be in it. I am the ultimate Indoorsman you might say. Needless to say I was surprised last fall to find a deer carcass hanging from the tree in my neighbors tree, the carcass being processed before my very eyes. My dog was fascinated. She also eats rabbit poop. I was kind of grossed out. But, when it came time to fight over deer jerky at Fellowship Time, I was the first in line.

Its not that I am against eating animals. They taste good. And it is not that I am against people who hunt animals. Better a rifle kill a deer than my Toyota. I just don't know that I could do it. I have no bo staff or nun-chuck skills. I am very impatient and would either get too engrossed in my book or fall asleep in a deer stand. And as I found out in Mr. Hupke's P.E. class, I am a terrible shot. Add to the fact that hunting happens outside (I mean, if I could shoot things from helicopters, it might be different), I just am not too interested. But I like camo.

It started as a way to fit in. The local Sportsman's Club opens itself to civilians on Sunday nights for some of the best pizza north of the South River. Jenn and I hate to miss it. But every time we walk in, I feel a little intimidated by all the animals on the wall and also by the general fact that everyone is wearing camo. It makes sense. Most people in my small town enjoying being outdoors and that is just what they wear. It is only natural that I wanted to fit in...so I got the idea in my head that I should get some camo, too.

My problem was trying to find the right kind of attire. I chose a hat because I like hats. I have a lot of them. And if I could get a camo hat, that would be perfect. Sorting the through the selection at my local Wal-Mart, I had a dilemma. Most of the hats featured logos for gun manufacturers or auto manufactures. Needless to say, Toyota did not feel the need to sign off on making camo hats. I hemmed and hawed until I finally found it...the perfect hat!

There in the back was a hat with a big number 3 on the front. No weapons, no cars, just a number. I thought, wow...that could be like 3 for the Trinity, or 3 for the number worn by ex-Broncos kicker Rich Karlis. Kidding...I know 3 stood for the car driven by Dale Earnhardt. I also knew that...well, Dale is no longer with us. Understanding that wearing the number 3 is a powerful statement about one's affinity for motorsports, I also knew that he wouldn't be driving anymore so I wouldn't have to pretend like I knew anything about how he finished in the last race. I had found my hat.

Oh man, was I excited to wear it to pizza. Jenn looked at me and laughed. "You look like you are from Hartford," she said between giggles. I got some laughs when I walked in the door. I also got an offer to go skeet-shooting. So win-win.

I am addicted to camo. I have since bought another hat (to wear at the Miller Farm). Now...we need to get Jenn some camo. Black and pink? Perfect for a Mary Kay lady from Hartford!

Angry Chair

Well, I haven't kept up with my own enthusiasm for writing. I had promised that I was going to commit to this blog, and try my best to keep it current. Well, there were some bumps on the road, some obstacles in the way, some Decepticons raining on my parade. Anyway, I found out something about myself this last month or so...something profoundly true. I am tired of being angry.

Yes, I am tired of all this anger. I know there are a lot of people who come home and vent about their jobs. They might be mad at the boss, at a co-worker, or whoever. Well, imagine being mad about something that happened hundreds of miles away in another 'branch' of your office. Imagine this happens two or three times a week. It is kind of silly to be mad, as it doesn't directly affect you. But inevitably it is all anyone wants to talk about. Such is life in the Presbyterian Church.

Well, I won't go into detail. That would violate my 'no-anger' policy. Let me simply say that I am tired of having peoeple try to force other people to think, pray, act, live, worship, and serve as they do. I am tired of being told that justice is this or that the gospel is that and that if I don't agree with 'X' I am part of the 'lunatic fringe' (a term one of my seminary professors used to describe people who didn't agree with her theological perspective). I am just tired of seeing the word 'embarrassing' and 'Presbyterian' used in the same sentence.

So, I will abide by the old rule of 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all'. Or maybe in my mind, it is more 'if you can't state your opinion nicely, then maybe you should be quiet until you can find a nice way to say it.' I like that better. Because, you know...I am a nice guy.

There is a Balm from Memphis

Anyone who knows me that I came away from our Memphis honeymoon obsessed with Elvis Presley.* How can you help it? Elvis is everywhere in Memphis. Our soundtrack for driving around town was the album 'Elvis in Memphis'. Anytime I hear the words "I had to leave town for a little while/You said you'd be good while I's gone" it takes me back to one of the best weeks of my life. The only reason that album is not still in my car is that it got mistakenly carried out with some other CDs. Truly, it is a masterpiece.

Now I always considered myself primarily a fan of heavy metal music. Whenever I was angry or upset, I would grab some Cradle or Dimmu Borgir and turn it up loud. I swear, it used to calm me down! But now, when I am about ready to lose it I toss in some Elvis. Whether it is C.C. Rider, Bridge Over Troubled Water, Suspicious Minds, or In the Ghetto there is something about that voice that soothes my troubles like honey soothes a sore throat.

I have read up on Elvis and yes, I know he was kind of weird. I don't endorse his bizarre personal life or his habits. Yet everything I have read about the man suggests that Elvis spent a lot of time wondering 'Why me?' Why did God make Elvis...Elvis? He struggled with this his whole life. Some even claim that for a period Elvis thought of becoming a preacher, but a preacher friend of his told him that God meant for him to use his gift of singing. Well, I don't know that I can verify that story, but I can testify that there is a lot of good in that voice. Hearing Elvis sing gospel songs makes me a staunch believer in 'common grace', that God bestows his gifts on the regenerate and degenerate alike. Only God knows what has in Elvis Presley's heart...but as for his voice, I am convinced it was one of God's greatest gifts.

*This is really funny considering that while Jenn and I spent 2 hours looking for a friend chicken joint we saw on the Travel Channel, we decided not to go to Graceland. Granted, we were both not feeling the greatest that week and didn't get off to an early enough start to go to all the places we wanted. We did drive by the Graceland parking lot in the shuttle bus that goes the Heartbreak Hotel. At least we got to see the Lisa Marie!

The Act of Penitence

Lent must be here. All the new McDonald's billboards are advertising fish sandwiches. I don't know who at McDonald's gets a hold of the liturgical calendar every year, but right around this time of year you can expect marvelous deals on fish. And for those who are reluctantly giving up meat on Friday, why not try a DOUBLE fish fillet sandwich. If you are going to be properly penitent, you might as well enjoy it for all its worth.

Penitence is a rather foreign concept in our culture, even though guilt is quite prevalent. We feel guilty about a lot of things: drinking, smoking, overeating, watching dirty movies, etc. But rarely do we do actual penance for the little evils we have done. We are conditioned to feel like our needs and desires are good, or at least normal. Though we feel guilty, we are told there is nothing to feel guilty about. A few 'my bads' will usually cover it. If we persist in guilt, it is called a complex. And if that complex continues, then we need some help to get over our issues. The last resort is to actually stop doing those things we feel guilty about. Unfortunately the guilt cycle only seems to numb us as to what guilt is and what we should feel guilty about, even as we persist in the behavior that made us feel that way in the first place! Then we wonder why we are so down all the time.

Perhaps Ash Wednesday is the one time a year that we Protestants come face to face with the solemnity of our guilt. As we confess we are reminded of our mortality, which is presented in all of its stark beauty with a cross of ash. While giving up chocolate or soda pop might seem like a trivial nod to the penitential spirit, I believe it is at least a good start. For once we stop glorifying our desires and set aside those things that tempt us, however small. In theory, we also devote our time to prayer and meditation. Even if we aren't successful, we can admit that we have failed and place the blame on our own shoulders for we are the ones who made the choice to give up something in the first place.

Yes, Lent is, if anything, a good start. It is a good habit. Above all we know that with our failures comes not condemnation but grace. And it is grace, not self-pity or hollow guilt, that should get us by.

Angry polar bears? Or my imagination?

All right. I know that God does not sit up in heaven pulling levers on some giant weather machine. I tend to believe that God set Creation in order and, for the most part, sets it to run like clockwork. But lately I have secretly wondered if there is some malevolent force in the universe that gets joy out of this horrible winter. Someone must be doing something to deserve this. I know its not me, so I'm pointing fingers!

Seriously, is there anything as aggravating as shoveling WHILE it is snowing? The other option is to let the snow pack down and open up a luge track in my driveway. Trying in vain to keep the concrete clear so that it might melt off at some point has merely resulted in creating an invisible sheen of ice underneath the snow. The results might be comical to some divine spectator, but my knees are killing my and I think I pulled something as many times as I slipped on the snow.

I have heard "So much for global warming" so often this winter, it has lost all sense of irony. Personally I know that Climate Change is much bigger than a winter in Iowa. We are still in the midst of a global warming, polar bear genocide. But this winter is terrible! I am tired of it. So please tell me who is responsible for this! Is it one of Skeletor's spells? Or maybe a scheme hatched by C.O.B.R.A.? Or maybe it is those vindictive polar bears....hmm...do they have access to weather machines or a few pages from the Necronomicon?

All I have to say is please, please make this weather go away! We will give in immediately to all of your brutal demands! Just make it stop snowing!

Narratives, narratives, narratives...

Narrative. It is essential to good story-telling. Set up a good background, give the characters manageable goals and enough conflict to make it interesting, put in a happy ending and voila! You've got a great story on your hands. Of course narrative is not the sole possession of some romance author sitting in a picturesque wooded villa where fairies dance and eat lollipops.

Last night I was watching the evening news. I know, a terrible habit to get into. The lead story was the celebration in New Orleans as the Saints returned home to the welcoming throngs. The gist of the story is that this football team represents all the hopes and dreams of the people of New Orleans. Now that they won their trophy, the recovery is over and New Orleans will soon be better than ever! (I didn't say that, some woman in a bar did). Thankfully the producer of this story did include a few pans of the 9th Ward.

It would be a little bit too perfect, wouldn't it, to have such a fairy tale ending? The papers declared in bold 'AMEN!', yet New Orleans is still a city in shambles. Admittedly I haven't followed local news in Louisiana, but I assume the levies and bridges and infrastructure would fail again if there were to be a major weather event. There are still thousands of people who have not returned to their homes, hundreds of businesses that are still shuttered, and areas that have become ghost towns. But NBC likes its happy ending. And so the narrative concludes...the Saints lived happily ever after.

Personally, I hope all the best for the people of New Orleans. I truly hope that city can return to the city it once was. But the whole "We Are Marshall" angle on this story really bothers me. It seems more of a product of 'public interest story' than hard news. I mean, the fact that the Superdome was completely refurbished and the 9th Ward was not should rankle any true journalist, shouldn't it? I don't follow local news, but things aren't exactly back to normal in 'Nawlins, are they? But the fairy tale ending is certainly a better bookend to the story than the one that probably should be written. "Saints Win Super Bowl, Thousands of Fans Who Fled City Missing Celebration".

Reboot!

Okay, I will admit I miss blogging. It seems that I go through spurts, just as I do with everything else...collecting plastic toys, buying Elvis movies, getting breakfast pizza everyday at Casey's. It has been over a year since I updated my old blog and wow...I sound like a crazy person on that thing! So it is time to start over.

I know a lot of pastors who blog about church-y stuff, the last book they read, theology...nuh-uh. I am done with seminary and I don't need to read any books that don't feature a) Wookies b) killer robots or c) relatives of Elvis telling what he was really like. All kidding aside, I hope this blog isn't a cheesy retelling of the subject of the week. Instead, I want it to be an open conversation with friends and whoever. I don't have an agenda or even much to say. But whatever I am going to say, I am going to try to say it here if only to make sure I still have the rudiments of grammar that are necessary for basic communication.

As with everything else, modern technology has made our lives easier. It would fabulous if there was a machine that could suck my thoughts out of my mind so that I didn't have to type them out via my lightning speed 'hunt-and-peck' method I learned from my dad. But alas, to the lament of so many Springfielders who were tired of taking out their own garbage, "Can't someone else do it?" The answer to that is a resounding 'no'. So I am stuck writing my own blog while hyper-intelligent computers spend their energy manipulating stock prices and plotting to take over military systems to create a future dystopia run by robots. *Sigh*

So...it begins.