Last days, first days - Sunday evening catchup

May you live through interesting times.
(Ancient Chinese curse)

It has been an interesting weekend.

First, a disclaimer: October 8th was the 15th anniversary of my firing from my former employer...it actually took from October 8th to December 12th to actually find the community of recovery. So while I appreciate the many well-wishes I received, even fractional rigorous honesty requires me to say that the "woo-hoo!" moment is, in fact, two months away. The accountant would say "it's materially fifteen years ago," but that kinda stuff just doesn't cut it in my sober experience. Having said all that...

Thursday was my last day at my former temporary place of employment. It seemed like everyone was Barbra Streisand in "The Way We Were" - my accounting supervisor saying "What am I going to do when you're gone?", and everyone saying how much I'd be missed - which was nice to hear, even if I have some trouble believing it.

My "farewell" card was a little weird - often, the staff will take a large leaf from a tropical plant (like a banana-tree leaf) and have everyone sign it. But for some reason, they decided to sign what looked like a cross between a plantain and a banana (it's the size and shape of a banana, but the coloring of a plantain). This is particularly funny, because (since it's a fruit) it simply will not last very long - nor would the dried banana-peel fit well in whatever scrapbook I might happen to keep. So perhaps the message is, "We wish you well, but don't rely on these memories, 'cause they won't last." Hmmm...

Friday was a weird day - some highs and lows. I started off very early, to do a dry-run taking the Metra train and CTA bus down to my new place of employment at Hewitt Associates. It's a beautiful location - right on the Chicago River at Adams St., 17th floor. The commute shouldn't be bad at all - although since the starting time at the old job was around 9:30, and this one is an hour earlier, with a somewhat longer commute, I need to be up and going by 6 AM, which is a big shock to the system. It was good I did it - not because getting downtown was hard, but because I got on the wrong train coming home and ended up at 93rd St. in the South Shores, which wasn't good. It took an extra hour-and-a-half to recover from that little "oops" - so I'm glad I didn't have anything else scheduled for the afternoon.

On that erroneous train ride, I was derailed by a voice saying, "Steve? Steve, is that you?" It turned out to be an LSTC student whom I'd hosted for lunch during one of the "Seminary Sampler" weekends 18 months ago. He told me briefly what was up with him, and then said, "So where are you in school?"

I felt myself freeze-up for just a moment - and then, I got a burst of grace, and I said, "Well, I'm not in school any more - I didn't make it through the candidacy process." There was a brief look of embarrassment (and pehaps a flash of pity), and after a brief "Sorry to hear that," I asked him what he was taking this semester, and allowed his answers to take the focus off me. And I found myself surprisingly at peace with that answer.

I spent some time on Sunday afternoon at the Fulton St. Market's Artists Weekend. The Fulton St. Market area is just west of the Loop, and it's been portrayed as a SoHo-in-process for Chicago. Industrial warehousing, food processors, and art-galleries and lofts are side-by-side in this unusual area. Several friends share studio space in a converted warehouse near Ashland & Fulton, and it was neat to both see some of their work and meet their families and partners.

It was just a little annoying, though, since several folks who had planned to go with me ended up crapping out at the last minute. But I really wanted to see this show (especially my buddies' stuff), so I went by myself. I saw some beautiful stuff - most of which cost way more than the Blue-Book value of my car.

I've continued to struggle with staying focused in my time off - which is definitely a cosmic "joke's on you," considering the bi-polar antics of one of my friends (and the definite negative effects it's had on me, recently). My motivation to do much of anything this weekend has been zero, plus or minus 5% - reading, writing, blogging, cleaning, you name it. I've caught up on a good deal of sleep (which ain't all bad, given my sleep patterns for the last two weeks) (which I'm also kind of undoing by still being up at this hour!). But all I can do is start again later on today, and try to be of maximum service to my employer and fellow employees.

For now, clothes are ready, the day is truly done, and it's time to hit the hay before my "new first day at work."

Seeing what God can do...

...we were eyewitnesses of his majesty.
(2 Peter 1:16b, NIV)

[We] came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. (from "How It Works," in Alcoholics Anonymous, chapter 5)

It is absolutely astonishing to see what God can do.

I mean, fall foliage is wonderful. A baby is God's testimony that the human race should go on. Bumblebees flying defy all we know about aerodynamics. The Grand Canyon is, from what I've been told, grand. But sometimes, God's majesty and transforming power shows up in far more powerful ways.

Like in a diner in Hyde Park, where a friend of mine made the point-blank declaration that he was beginning to believe that there was Something out there that wanted something good for him.

Now, to many folks who have studied deeply the intricacies of Judeo-Christian practices, this may not seem like much. But to see this person, so broken and damaged a few months ago, so bound by intellectual pride and rational determinism and the like, make these kinds of admissions was like seeing Plato wake up and say, "Wow! I can still HAVE a V-8!"

It started simple. "Try believing that there is Something or Someone who wanted you to get sober more than you wanted to kill yourself drinking." "Well, OK, I guess I can believe that." Sometimes the steps were itty-bitty baby steps; sometimes they were quantum leaps of faith...like today. My friend had been struggling - on a number of fronts - physical and emotional challenges.

And it suddenly came to him - "Any one of these problems would have sent me screaming to the bottle four short months ago! And yet, here I am dealing with several of them, and doing it dead sober! There just has to be Something Else that is doing this - because left to my own devices, I'd be loaded, for sure!"

I've been talking to this fellow about my own understanding of God - as a loving, caring, accepting, forgiving, very personal presence. And at the start, my buddy would say, "It's hard to believe that you aren't completely around the bend on this religious crap about God." But he kept showing up, and kept listening. And all I could do was show how this God was working in my life - sometimes against my better judgement.

Just like I was, nearly 15 years ago, he is starting to believe that there is a God - one that is concerned, loving, caring, accepting and forgiving. And in his looks of astonishment, of wonder, and of relief, I can see my own experience echoed and mirrored for me.

In the depths of my despair at having to leave the seminary, several people suggested that there were "other reasons" that I'd been drawn to Chicago: other experiences to have, other people to meet, other spiritual encounters and lessons. But in the last week, I've seen ever more clearly the truths of those promises.

Fifteen years ago, on October 8, 1990, I was fired from my job and escorted from my then-employer's offices. That dismal failure was the blasting cap that started the implosion of my old life, and the beginning of my new life out of the rubble of the old. In the days and weeks following that devastation, I could have never predicted this evening's events. Nor could I have imagined it nearly two years ago, when I was told that ordained ministry had no room for me.

It will be interesting to see what this weekend looks like a year from now...

Wednesday morning mulligan stew

Well, it's been a busy forty-eight hours here on the South Side... lots of thoughts roiling, and lots of news.

First, after being on the ropes for two weeks, I found out last night that I start a new temp-to-perm job with payroll outsourcing giant Hewitt Associates. I've been hoping against hope that the Accountemps folks would get this to connect right after the gig at the Park District ended, so I'm very relieved, from a financial standpoint. My prayer is that I can step up to the levels that this job will require - but right now, it's all good.

Second, a friend of mine who is bi-polar is going through a very rough patch of manic behavior right now, and it's been taking it's toll on me. Being a helper and a "wounded healer," I want to help him - but the insanity (for me) is trying to reason and be rational with a person who is clearly irrational. It doesn't help that he's been hospitalized for manic bouts before - and so his primary motivation is to seem solid, sane, and in-control - which means HUGE amounts of denial.

I kind of hit the wall last night, and had to tell him that I couldn't help him in a number of areas which he said he wanted help, but continues to do his own thing. I'm more than glad to invest the time to help someone - but if it's just going to be ignored, well, I've got plenty of things to spend time on. It's just frustrating - and I wish I could do more, but there's only so much of me to go around (even though there's definitely a LOT of me, by any measure...).

Needless to say, by the time I got home it was after 11, and I just ran out of gas, mentally and emotionally. I'm thinking that Thursday and Friday might be a good time to take off, and get some stuff done before the new work-situation begins. The work that I'm doing really isn't critical any longer, so I'll see what the boss-lady thinks.

A couple fascinating articles in the New York Times - one, on the Great Robot Race, won by a sturdy little robot Volkswagen for a $2 million prize. This race has always fascinated me, because of the great technology that's involved. Interesting stuff.

And, for those of us who are on the digital-photography revolution, there's this article about why printing color photos at home may not add up cost-wise for us. Definitely worthwhile reading.

It's interesting - commuting to the new job will mean spending time on the train into downtown. I may actually have to invest in subscribing to a real hard-copy newspaper...wow...

One bread, one body...or not....

The sacrament of the Eucharist, as the sacrament of the presence of Christ among and within us, has the unique power to unite us into one body, irrespective of age, colour, race or gender, emotional condition, economic status, or social background. The Eucharist breaks through all these boundaries and creates the one body of Christ, living in the world as a vibrant sign of unity and community.

Jesus prays fervently to his Father: "May they all be one, just as, Father, you are in me and I am in you, so that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe it was you who sent me" (John 17:21). The Eucharist is the sacrament of this divine unity lived out among all people. (Henri Nouwen, Bread for the Journey, October 10th - emphasis added)

God evidently has a massive sense of humor. I'm sure it's just a coincidence that this devotion from Br'er Nouwen came just a day or two after an AP news release I saw in the Chicago Sun-Times on Friday about communion. In part, it said this:

The head of the conservative Roman Catholic movement Opus Dei suggested Thursday that the church consider not giving out Holy Communion during huge Masses because it cannot be done ''in a dignified way.''

Monsignor Javier Echevarria Rodriguez also criticized Masses that have what he called an excessive number of priests celebrating together, saying it can confuse the faithful and diminish the link between the priest and the altar.

All right, Monsignor - are we missing the point, perhaps?

If it is true that in the Eucharist we encounter the "real presence of Christ" in the transformed bread and the wine, why should we care about how far the bread and wine (or the priest holding them) is from the altar? Or how many priests are con-celebrating? I'll admit that I may very well be talking out of my nether-regions here - but where should the focus be in this sacrament? The altar? The priest? The crucifix? Or on the one whose Presence is the reason we do all this, anyway?

In my own tradition, there is a fundamental understanding that in the sacrament of Holy Communion, we are communing not only with the folks in the sanctuary with us, but with everyone who shares the bread and wine everywhere in the world - regardless of denomination, blue or red state, straight or gay, or anything else! The Lutherans stole these words from the Catholic liturgy: Send your Spirit upon these gifts of your Church; gather into one all who share this bread and wine... The intent, as I misunderstand it, is to see the church as small-"c"-catholic (read: universal), united through the communion elements.

We won't even go into the concept of the communion rail extending beyond the front wall of the sanctuary - encompassing what (in older days) was the crypts of the departed faithful. This image allowed us to be united in the eucharist with those who have "gone on before us" - which, if you think about it, makes the idea of "huge Masses" seem pretty petty and picayune, eh?

I've never attended one of the huge Masses done under the previous pontiff - but I've seen videos of several of them on the news. Everything I've seen pointed toward dignity and reverence for the elements. Yes, there were an army of priests involved - but in the end, the only relevant distance was between the celebrant's hand and the worshiper's mouth. It wasn't like priests were flipping communion wafers into the crowd like mini-Frisbees or anything...

You may well ask, "What's the big deal? Why do you care what Opus Dei - or the Pope, or anybody else in the Catholic world - think about how they should be doing communion?"

For me, it comes down to that very simple 12-step concept: first things first. If one is focused on Christ, resurrection, and salvation, then the number of priests, or the distance of the priest from the altar, or the vestments, or whether the wafers are made of wheat or rice or graham-crackers makes absolutely no difference. And if those other things start making a difference, then it seems we've put something else in the place of Christ as the "First Thing" in the sacrament. And there's a simple definition for putting things in place of Christ.

It's called idolatry. And last time I checked, that was considered to be a major "Bozo-no-no," even for those who consider themselves the "workers of God."

They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, with a request. "Sir," they said, "we would like to see Jesus." (John 12:21, NIV)

So would I, boys...so would I.

Healer of Our Every Ill

You who know our fears and sadness,
grace us with Your peace and gladness.
Spirit of all comfort, fill our hearts...

Healer of our every ill,
Light of each tomorrow,
Give us peace beyond our fear,
and hope beyond our sorrow.

(Marty Haugen, "Healer of Our Every Ill," in the Gather and With One Voice hymnals)

This last weekend, I came across Marty Haugen's CD "Turn My Heart" again, and it seemed that every song had some powerful meaning for me as I listened. But this classic hymn - one that is sung by Lutherans and Catholics and Christians of every flavor - just seemed to be Monday's prayer, somehow.

So many people I know - myself included - face some significant uncertainty in their lives. Several of my friends are struggling with their physical health, and there are loads of very natural concern about how each of them will face the next steps in their treatment.

Other friends are facing dramatic changes in their employment, their housing, and their careers - and it's hard for them not to find fear and doubt about how they will survive financially. Still others are facing a long road back from mental illness, and trying to re-establish credibility in a world that doesn't tolerate weakness or imperfection well.

That's why saying, "Spirit of all comfort, fill our hearts" is a powerful idea for me this morning. Earlier on Sunday evening, I needed to be graced with the gift of hope and encouragement, and not very long after I asked for it, I got it - in a phone call with a person nearly a thousand miles away.

In fact, every time that the darkness of trouble or challenge are turned back, I have had to look back and see so clearly how God has blessed me (and continues to bless me!) in every moment, despite the challenges that seem foremost in my life at the time.

Trusting in the One who said, "I will never forsake you," we pray this morning from our pain and our despairing to You, God of healing and of hope. Rekindle the flame of hope in each of us who despair, and lift up the feet of every person who stumbles.
Amen!

An interesting photo

Here's Wil Wheaton wearing the t-shirt I want for Christmas - if not sooner. (Maybe it would inspire me to write more often...)

Endings, and more transitions....

Well, I got a kind of answer to prayer late this afternoon. There has been part of me that has said, "Dear God, let the insanity at this job-site end," even as I've been fearing the possibility of going without gainful employment. Well, The Temp Agency that Starts With "A" called today to say that their client is actually interested in bringing me on for the temp-to-permanent position as of October 17th. Given the fact that the current gig had every sign of ending October 15th, this is a very, very good thing.

I should be ecstatic, I guess, and I don't know why I'm not. Perhaps it's just that this existing gig has sucked the joy-glands dry; perhaps it's just the thought of leaving anything (even when it's been mostly miserable) has been such a serenity buster for me (fear of the unknown having been a deeply-rooted character defect of mine).

But part of me has struggled - even with the accounting portion of my current job - because I just didn't feel like I'd been given enough information to do my job right, and consequently never felt I did the best job I could have. And there are some niggling doubts that maybe my mind is just slowing down, that I'm just not as clever or as bright a bulb as I used to be. The fear is compounded a bit by the insinuation from a couple people I know that the future employer is known for having a fairly high turnover rate - and that I'd just be going from "annoying work site #1" to "son-of-annoying-work-site."

But we'll see. In the end, even an annoying job that actually is fractionally climate controlled (as opposed to working in a tropical rain-forest) with equipment that works more than half the time will be a significant step up from what I've been doing. And I think (though I'm not sure) that travel to the new site will be easier because of the chance to take the train into downtown, which would be great. (I have to admit that the drive from the way-South-Side to the West Side has started to get a bit old.

My friend Dave asked the question via email:

I was wondering - Have you asked God for a great job? Or to send some money your way? I know it sounds trite but I don't think most people simply ask God for what they want. Like "Daddy, would you please give me a great job or send some money."

Paul tells us to come boldly to the throne, and that we have not because we ask not (I think that's James) and if it's within his will he'll give it to us.

It's been working for me quite well in several areas.

And the answer, if I'm rigorously honest, is, "No, I haven't...primarily because I was somewhat unimpressed with the last couple answers I've gotten to prayers related to changing careers." In fact, it was praying for a change of career that brought me here in the first place... It's kind of felt like seeing thunder-clouds gathering, and not being entirely willing to pray the words, "Show me your power, Lord!" I'm not sure I want to see what's behind door number three, given what was behind doors 1 & 2....

I know there's some deeply erroneous belief and theology behind those kinds of thoughts. But hell, I never said they were rational thoughts, did I?....

For tonight, I think the best thing is to thank God for the end of one challenge, and to ask for strength for the next one, and go to bed while there's still several minutes before midnight.

Hitting both extremes

I have felt strangely adrift lately - I'm not sure whether it's poor sleep, or my allergies, or some kind of mildly creeping crud, or just depression (nah, couldn't be that...) but my energy levels have just flat-lined the last week or so. I have felt becalmed - not "calm" as in "serene," but "becalmed" as in "the wind has gone out of my sails." And I'm not really sure why, to be honest.

I am grateful for many things - for the extension of the existing job, for the possibility of a couple successor jobs (although none of them have gotten to the "marry-me" stage of the game, yet), for a roof over my head (even if the plumbing is kinda funky), for the gift of sobriety and even somewhat reasonable health. But my mental acuity is really suffering - to the point that I forgot to take my blood pressure and diabetes medications two mornings in a row. (Yes, I did take the evening doses, and I'm back on track now.) But trust me - that's not a good sign for me.

And, to be honest, it's been hard to pray about it. There are times like now when the voice that says, "This is the fruit of living a sinful life, you yo-yo - so just shut up and live right, and it will get better" sounds pretty strident. But I know that's not the answer, any more than the recurring voice that says, "Don't worry - nothing will be all right..."

Yes, I'm disappointed about not going to Kansas this weekend - but to be honest, I'm a little relieved about that from a financial standpoint, too...so that's not it.

But then, this morning, I had just come under the old Chicago post-office on the Eisenhower Expressway (I-290 for you out-o-towners) when David Bowie's Rebel, Rebel came on the radio, and I could just feel myself start to smile...and step down a little harder on the gas pedal. I don't know what it is about those five simple chords, but they bring back memories of a wilder, happier time in my life, and somehow life just looked better.

And on the way home tonight, the same experience happened on Lake Shore Drive with REO Speedwagon's Roll With The Changes, which got me to a very pleasant dinner with my friend Matt in Hyde Park a little sooner than I would have normally made it. In fact, I'd recently read about the new Volkswagen Golf R32 with a 240-hp. turbocharged engine in it (a galvanized washtub witha tornado strapped to the front). Reading about that just made me long for a wide-open highway, an R32 with a full tank of gas, and a CD sampler including REO's Roll With The Changes and Ridin' The Storm Out, Kenny Loggins' Danger Zone, Triumph's Magic Power, ELO's Fire On High, Gary Wright's Power of Love, and Billy Joel's Travelin' Prayer, to name just a few. (There's probably a blog entry on how music affects my spirituality and my emotional state - but it ain't gonna happen tonight.)

So I can get back to the "happy highs" even though the "grungy lows" seem to be more prevalent. The end result is that I've scheduled a trip to the doctors to get checked out. I'd much rather figure this out on my own - except that I've been trying that for two weeks or so, and it just ain't happening. So "surrender" and "acceptance" mean that I get to get the hell out of the way and let someone who might be able to at least buy a clue give me some answers - or at least some possibilities.

For now, I'm just checkin' in, letting folks know I'm still around - though it would take two weeks straight to catch up on all the blog-reading I've missed. For now, all I can do is climb back on the bicycle and start pedalling, I guess.

Thinking about "barren prayer"

I remember the day so clearly. Actually, I remember plenty of them, and I continue to experience my fair share of them. Days of barren prayer. On that specific day, more than anything, I desired communion with God. Alone in my room. Bible open. Schedule cleared. Heart expectant.

Yet only silence. My prayers seemed to drop to the ground. The pages of my journal remained empty. There were no tears of longing. The Word did not tenderize my heart. One hour turned to two as I watched the clock.

Why am I here? What am I doing? Have I missed it entirely? Is this all a waste?(Dana Candler, "The Nobility of Barren Prayer," in the July/August NavPress Pray! magazine)

If you haven't yet had the experience that author and prayer minister Dana Candler, either it will come to you eventually - or you're not praying.

Actually, having this experience for days in a row can encourage one to stop praying. I know - I've done it. The image I received was not of my prayers falling to the ground - but of them going up a chimney, and simply dissipating like chimey-smoke blown away on the wind. People would say, "Just keep praying and have faith," and every part of my mind and soul would say, "Why bother? Nothing's happening, anyway."

It's at times like this that the one I know as the Tempter starts talking loud and strong. "You've finally crossed the line, haven't you, Steve? You've finally sinned enough that God can no longer hear you. You've failed God and your fellow human beings so completely that your Divine phone line has been disconnected. No dial-tone on the land-line, no 'bars' on the cell-phone. God's home-page has gone -404, brother - and you did it to yourself."

I have been there more times than you can imagine. Especially in the last two years. Chicago has been a great teaching-ground for my experience with barren prayer. I have never heard the words, "Maybe you just missed what God had for you entirely," as often as I have since I got here.

The worst part is, I know what it's like to be connected, to feel like I was "online and real-time" with the Spirit of God - so the absence of any connection is a palpable loss. For me, these times of empty prayer seem most like having an ear infection. When I have one of those painful events, I can't really hear anything external from the infected ear. On the other hand, what I can hear is the pounding of my own pulse echoing painfully behind the infection...each beat singing some variation on the dirge, "Abandon hope..."

Dana Candler, who is a teacher at the Forerunner Ministry School and one of the leaders of the International House of Prayer in Kansas City, MO, has some interesting images to help us through the dry times of barren prayer. She echoes the feelings of discouragement, of seeming failure, that come from these times. But she also points out that the very weakest, emptiest, shakiest prayer is heard by God, even if it feels almost imconceivable that they are being heard by anyone other than the Devil, whom (it seems) is laughing his/her lungs out.

She points us back to Scripture - to pillars of the Church like David, who wrote, "How long, o Lord? Will you forget me forever?" (Psalm 13:1). For me, it's easier to go through "the dry and barren lands" if I know that I'm not alone in my journey. And she writes a powerful challenge for each of us: On days when emptiness lurks and voices of condemnation threaten, our feeble hearts captivate Him as we choose to believe an absurdity: that He is for us, and that our prayers, though weak, are meaningful to Him. God will surely, certainly reward those who earnestly seek Him (Hebrews 11:6). Or, to quote Bill W. from the text of recovery, "Thus was I convinced that God is concerned with us humans when we want Him enough" - note, not when we sense God's presence, enough...

The problem is, I hate hearing that "faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen" (Hebrews 11:1). I want to see, want to feel, want to see fireworks and feel ecstacy and a live-wire connection with the Power of the universe. And it's just not often like that. But the answer is so often what I heard that first week of being sober: You don't have to believe, Steve - you simply have to 'act as if...'

God, grant me the willingness to pray to you even when every fiber of my being declares that you cannot or will not hear me. Then help me share that glorious truth with those who need to hear it most!

Outta my mind on Monday moanin'

Well, it's been a busy weekend in the Windy City, my hometown...and a busy week. I have been moving so fast, recently, it's seemed hard to just sit down and write. So this week's goal is to slow down some, and spend a little time each day getting reconnected - with what's happening with me, and around me in the bigger world. A sampling for this issue of Monday moanin' -

The apartment is getting both worse and better, thank you very much. I spent a bunch of time unpacking stuff, which was good - but not necessarily finding final-resting-places for all of it, so the effect is that the mess (temporarily, at least) looks worse than it was on Friday. But I've managed to find some critical pieces, like the lamp harps (bet you didn't know that's what the things that hold up lamp shades are called!), and the glass carousel for the microwave. So the level of civilization is improving, even if the general chaos is still a little severe.

Metrosexual matrimony is the title of an article in the October 3rd issue of Time magazine. A sample is worthy of note:

By the time Pasquale Pignatelli visited luxury clothier Hickey Freeman for the final fitting of an $1,800 custom-made worsted-wool suit, he had devoted as much time perfecting his wedding outfit as his fiancee' had spent selecting her bridal gown. Pignatelli, 29, a cargo salesman, also carefully chose his groomsmen's and ushers' outfits and bought white-gold bracelets to accessorize them. He arranged for them to get eyebrow waxings and manicures on the day before his September 18th wedding. "It's not about what's superficial," says Pignatelli of his fastidiousness. "It's about making this artistic."

The article goes on to describe how "bridezillas" (women who obsess about every detail of a wedding) are being joined by "groomzillas," who go about hiring "engagement consultants," and having $30,000 fantasy bachelor-parties.

I just have to ask: is this consumerist crap really what James Dobson and his homies are trying to preserve from the deadly devastations of same-sex unions? Seems straight folks have done a pretty good job of trivializing their marriage ceremonies into a first-run spectacle that has less than a 50% chance of succeeding, long-term.

The Judith Miller affair got me a little more than annoyed over the weekend, as a number of media spokespeople tried hard to paint her as her own worst enemy as she was released from jail and testified on Friday. I'm sorry, but I'm old enough to remember that it was only the media in the early 70's that was the primary savior of democracy back in the Nixon/Watergate affairs, so I tend to cut the media more slack than others would. The president is backing away from his earlier claims that law-breakers would be punished - now that they're all from his own camp. So far, the only one who has gone to jail did so for protecting someone's identity - not for revealing it illegally. Why aren't more people screaming about this?

Topics for this week:
- a great article about "barren prayer"
- Rosh Hashanah, and why Christians and non-Christians alike could benefit from observing it
- what we are "called to do" for a living, and how often we miss it
- hiding out in the digital wasteland.

That's all for now!

Oh, well, it was a nice try...

Well, that's too bad.

My home church, Atonement Lutheran in Overland Park, KS, is still hosting a concert with Denver & the Mile-High Orchestra on Friday, October 7th. But they have cancelled the encounter with Len Sweet - basically because it would be impossible to justify his fee, even if registration doubled over the weekend (they had only 22 confirmed registrants as of this morning).

I understand the church's decision - even though I really regret it. It kind of takes me off the hook, though, since I was really struggling with the cost of the trip. I may still take a Thursday and Friday off to go to West Des Moines to experience the Immersion post-modern worship service at the Lutheran Church of Hope. But it won't be this coming weekend.

Well, I left at 8:30 to pick up a guy and go to my regular Saturday morning meeting up in Wicker Park. Thanks to some kind of marathon downtown, and road closures elsewhere, it took nearly two hours to make it back to Hyde Park to drop him off - so it's now 3 PM and I haven't even begun to start my Saturday routine. Oh, and I'm committed to a gig tonight from 6-9:30.

Tomorrow - nothing, absolutely NOTHING is happening tomorrow. I am taking care of me, and my stuff, tomorrow - period, paragraph.

Livin' for the weekend...

I knew a man - back 20 years ago - who was curator of antiquities at the Toledo Museum of Art. He was reasonably well-compensated, but frequently would say that he would do his job for free, because he loved what he did. He often said that he was one of the luckiest people in the world, because he got paid to 'play' for a living.

I envied the snot out of him then. Still do, to a degree.

Chuck Chamberlain, author of A New Pair of Glasses, talked about the men who worked for him in his retail-store-fixture company. There were the men who loved what they did - who found joy in creating and building - for whom work was not a burden. And then there were the people who were "living for the weekend" - slogging through five days of "workin' for the Man" to get two days of joy. That, he said, was a lousy place to be in.

Don't I know it.

This last week, I have allowed myself to get sucked dry - both by work and by social requests from friends. For ten days straight I've worked longer hours than usual, and then every night I have been gone doing something - and my life shows it. My laundry isn't done, the boxes I have unpacked are sitting untidily piled in a corner - it's just a mess. And I woke up this morning, knowing that my boss will be out of town this weekend, and this weekend will be just for me. My thought was, "One more day..."

I'm not sure the next job will be the one like my former friend at the museum. But I hope I can find one that is less of a joy-vampire than this one. Still, it is a job - and it looks like they're going to be able to meet payroll this week (it wasn't at all certain, as late as yesterday morning). So I'll take it and run with it. I'm not enjoying work, but I am grateful for it. It beats the hell out of not working...

God, help me to find strength to do what needs to be done at work this day - and then to spend the time this weekend to clean up the wreckage of my immediate past. I need your guidance, and your strength, to change my heart and my attitude. There is both heaven and hell ahead in this day - help me keep my eyes focused on "the hills from whence come my strength." Amen.

A late night catch-up

Well, it's been an insane week here - I just seem to be pulled a half-dozen different directions, and the proof is that I still have half-a-dozen phone calls to return, and it's 11:22 PM already. Yeesh. Still, these are fairly high-quality problems, so I won't whine much.

Lots of stuff to think about, and write about...so each entry will necessarily be brief:

The Celebration blog has brought up some interesting comments, and experiences. I'm actually looking forward to a weekend fast - although it goes against virtually every fiber of my being to even consider it. It will be interesting...

By the way, if you check out this week's program notes for This American Life on public radio (consult your local listings!), you'll see that one of the featured articles will be about fasting as a spiritual discipline, which should be interesting. In Chicago, we can hear TAL on Friday night and Saturday at 11 - but for our international contingent, it will be available for free as a RealAudio download in a week or so. TAL tends to be fairly secular, yet at the same time willing to encounter the divine, so it will be interesting to see which way this plays.

The Katrina/Rita aftermath - First, if you didn't get to listen to "After the Flood" on This American Life, detailing three powerful stories of the horrors of surviving Katrina, you can either listen to it in RealAudio, or you can read the transcript via this Adobe PDF file. I'll say it again: you really need to do this.

In all the blaming and finger-pointing and scapegoating going on, the larger issues of how people in power dealt with people of lower economic status seems to have been shunted to one side. There is a quote from this transcript that is informative:

TAPE OF BILL O'REILLY: If you're poor, you're powerless. Not only in America, but everywhere on earth. If you don't have enough money to protect yourself from danger, danger's gonna find you. The aftermath of Hurricane Katrina should be taught in every American school, if you don't get educated, if you don't develop a skill and force yourself to work hard, you'll most likely be poor, and sooner or later you'll be standing on a symbolic rooftop waiting for help. Chances are, that help will not be quick in coming.

This may sound stupid and simplistic - but this should not be happening the world in the faith-based United States of America, boys and girls. Red state, blue state...wherever you are, we need to get angry, and stay angry, about this.

And I don't care how expedient it may seem to use the armed forces for disaster recovery...the folks who passed the posse comitatus act did so for a reason. And it's still a good one - especially given the power that a president could wield by moving the military into one area or another for whatever reason. Don't screw with what's not broken, folks...

Working in limbo - I've been putting in long hours to do three weeks worth of bank-reconciliations in one week - and until tonight, I truly believed that this Friday was going to be my last day at my current employment. But no one was saying anything...so tonight, I finally said to my supervisor, "Is it a safe assumption that I'll be done here after Friday?" And she said, "No...not really... if you don't have anything else going on, there's probably a couple weeks worth of stuff to do around here." Well, there are a couple strong "maybe's" but no definite "yes" on the horizon, so this was a blessing. But it also ended up strengthening my resolve to find something else - anything else.

In related news, I heard through several folks who are connected in the accounting world that the payroll-outsourcing firm that sounded like my best bet so far "has a tendency to have some high turnover," as one person put it. While there's lots of reasons for why employees leave after relatively short durations, mostly it's because the employer tends to chew people up and suck them dry - which is exactly not the environment I'd like to get into. So it's "just keep looking..."

A tragic situation - my home congregation, Atonement Lutheran in Overland Park, KS, has been promoting their Power In The Spirit conference, which was slated to have Leonard Sweet as the keynote speaker and Denver & The Mile-High Orchestra as the Friday-night opening concert. Well, ticket sales for both have been slow, but for the conference it has been, well, abysmal. So the organizers are asking questions about "what's plan B" if there isn't a stampede of folks in the next 48 hours who want to attend the conference. It's been pretty heartbreaking for them - they were dreaming big, and so far their hopes and dreams have not been fulfilled. I'd believe that any person in ministry within a hundred miles of KC should want to be there - but evidently no one's listening to me out there.

That's it - it's after midnight, and time to put my sorry butt to bed. More tomorrow, hopefully...

Living "between the times of plenty"

Once there was a river in the valley
With water clear as crystal casting diamonds in the sun,
Now the river bed is dry and empty
And no one knows where all the water's gone...

But somewhere from the East there come the memory
That weaves the morning sunrise with the river's sacrifice
And those who trust the movement of the centuries
Can still see the river's flow between the times...

Between the times of plenty,
When the water's just a trickle in our lives,
At the time that we must grieve
Because the words that we believe
aren't coming true...
What shall we do between the times?

(Marty Haugen, Between the Times, from the CD
Turn My Heart: A Sacred Journey from Brokenness to Healing, GIA Music)

I was sharing Marty Haugen's CD Turn My Heart with a friend on Friday, and somehow this song just struck me powerfully. Earlier that day, I'd been listening on Chicago public radio to an emergency services worker from Texas talking about having been nearly drained by one hurricane relief effort, and now facing yet another natural disaster in their back yard, and wondering where the strength will come to deal with this new crisis.

God help me, but I understand just a tiny bit of that.

I would never be so grandiose as to compare the mini-dramas in my life to the challenges of leaving house, home, job, and possessions to flee for one's life. (Let's face it - I am grandiose, but that's just a bit much, even for me...) But in talking with my friend Tom last night, it came to me that I've been living in a state of "not-really-there and yet not-really-here either" for a year and a half. And to be honest, it's getting damn old.

A year ago, I was so annoyed that I couldn't be present for my home congregation's Power in the Spirit conference on evangelism and outreach, and I really hoped I would be able to attend this year's conference (a two day extravaganza with noted author Leonard Sweet and a concert with Denver and the Mile-High Orchestra).

But with the potential of my current work ending as soon as this Friday, and the one possible/probable position I have not starting for two or three weeks, it really seems like "the next right thing" would be to stay put, to save my sheckels, and continue to work to find the next new position (or find another temporary position in the interim). It just doesn't seem to be the right thing to be spending $150-plus in gas alone to drive to KC (although it would be preferable to flying, and not having a car when I got there).

The damndest part of this is that I was really looking forward to some time away. I haven't been out of the Windy City since Easter - I'd hoped to be in Toledo for Memorial Day, but then the whole move drama started, and now, all of a sudden, it's the eve of October. And to be honest, as much as Chicago can be a fun place, I'm just ready for a break that doesn't have to do with unpacking or boxes or job-hunting or anything else. It woulda been nice to have some real "sabbath time" to rest, relax and worship - not to mention seeing some great friends.

The other annoying part was that I'd been inspired recently to plan the trip so I could stop in West Des Moines to visit Lutheran Church of Hope, pastored by my late mentor's son Mike Housholder, and to experience their Thursday night Immersion post-modern worship service. (To be honest, I've wanted to do that since before I left the seminary.) But while this time away could be restful and encouraging and all that crap, it just doesn't seem very damn responsible to do it. And recognizing all this just makes me kinda cranky...

Now, before any of you start with the "Well, you certainly have some high-quality problems in your life, Mr. Whiney-Pants" comments, trust me - I've already said them to myself. Daily, in fact. I know my own tendency to be "King Baby" when I don't get my way, and I really do try to resist it. I really, really, reeeeaaaaaalllllly do appreciate that there are no dead bodies (or parts thereof) floating in my street or alley-way. I really do give thanks for employment, and cash flow (be it ever so meager) and a place to live that's not threatened by either man-made or natural disaster. I'm grateful to be sunny-side-up, suckin' air and sober (that one's for you, Tom...).

And maybe this is just me being a whiney ass. God knows, I've had enough practice that it should be second-nature. When I was sharing these thoughts with my friend Natalie by phone earlier tonight, I said, "Yeah, well, folks like me need to do some bitchin'-n-moanin' at times, just to keep our 'chops' in shape."

Staying here would be the adult, responsible thing to do. I just don't want to do it.

The answer to the questions Marty Haugen asked in his beautiful song and meditation, Between the Times is sometimes simply to get still, quiet down my thinking, and accept that I am "between the times of plenty." Hopefully this is not my last stop on the merry-go-round, but it's also probably not the time to do something rash, no matter how well I can justify and rationalize away the objections.

For now, the "next right thing" to do would be to clear off my bed, get to sleep, and get the day started ealier than usual tomorrow. And to offer up a heart-felt prayer for serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change thing things I can, and the wisdom to know the differece.

The latest "Celebration" posting...

...is up over at A Virtual Celebration. It will be an interesting week's read, given it's a topic that I know next to nothing about...

Today's posting....

...is actually over here, at A Virtual Celebration. Talking about prayer, and the need for simplicity and honesty. Check it out.

It's gonna be a busy weekend - I've got two AA committments Friday night and Saturday night, and a friend from school whose grandfather died - the visitation and funeral both occuring during the two previous committments. And the job that's supposed to end in a week wants me to work all weekend. Never rains but that it pours, eh?

But I'm not fleeing for my life today, so I can't help but give thanks for safety, and offer prayers for those in dire straits. God, clear a path to safety for all of them...

No, I haven't died....

...or been hospitalized, or anything else. It's just been four very busy days.

My last day in my old job was Monday, and I was there until almost 11 pm tying up loose ends and making things a little easier for the transition, if they ever get enough funds to hire a membership person again. For now, their highly-compensated development director is going to be taking time from her work to do the clerical stuff. I feel sorry for her - she was hired to do a nearly-impossible job, and now faces the same drought of fundraising that happened after 9/11. The organization is not yet talking about cutting staff - but their payroll is very much in doubt at this point. Which makes me a little nervous about my next check...

I've had a couple of what seem like good interviews, even though the potential positions won't start until mid-October. Part of the goal for this weekend, besides apartment-stuff, is blasting out more e-applications (especially on the government side). And praying a lot more....

I had a late night Tuesday talking with two AA sponsees, and Wednesday had dinner with another sponsee that lasted until 9:30, so I got home about 10:15, and just kinda crashed. I've had my fall allergic problems, which means that my CPAP isn't helping me breath as well at night, which isn't helping my energy levels. So I'm just running on low battery.

Tonight is the AA meeting I chair on the U of C campus, tomorrow I'll be with a friend shopping for our men's meeting breakfast on Saturday. But Saturday afternoon and Sunday are mine, and I hope to get a lot of cleaning and organizing done. So more will be coming, soon....

Love, belief, action

In the Scriptures, belief works in tandem with action. Our actions are reflective of our beliefs, but our beliefs drive our actions. So what I'm interested in reclaiming is the importance of these two together.

Sometimes faith becomes all about what people believe, and how you act doesn't really matter. But in the Scriptures, how you act very much matters. Like it says, what does God require of you but to love justice and mercy and to walk humbly? Those are all actions. (Rob Bell, author of Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith, quoted in a Dallas Morning News interview. Hat-tip: emerging sideways

Luv is a verb. (from a song by dcTalk)

The definition of love is the same at seven AM as it is at midnight! I believe that you can't prove love...if you love someone, you do things for them. Love is not a feeling; it is an action. (Chuck C., excerpted from A New Pair of Glasses).

This weekend, in between unpacking boxes (yes, dear God, there are still more than a few of THOSE to be dealt with!) I've been checking out a number of blogs that seem to have this theme of love, belief and action involved.

First, Rick Luoni's powerful post at a new life emerging talks about using love to heal the results of unloving actions or attitudes. Then Damien's Spot has an interesting interview with the pastor whose church sign announces that THE BIG EASY IS THE MODERN DAY SODOM AND GOMORRAH, and how escapees from New Orleans - who, I'm sure, often include faithful Christians - are justifiably irked by this Texas welcome.

[Theological aside: most discerning students of scripture will tell you that the "sin of Sodom" is not gay sex, but lack of hospitality - which, it seems, would make Woodland Hills Baptist Church in Tyler, TX the "modern day Sodom."]

Also, this weekend, in the process of following a Google bunny-trail I stumbled across Recoveries Anonymous over here. This group seems to believe that the mainstream of AA has ceased being about having a spiritual awakening through the practice of the 12 steps of recovery. They even believe that the book Alcoholics Anonymous has become somehow corrupted, and instead they favor using the original "multilith copy" of the AA textbook - which is, presumably, more closely aligned to wha the 12-step programs should be than the final draft of the text.

I've not read the "original manuscript," and so I won't comment there. But I understand that it's important to actually pick the book up and follow the original instructions in it, rather than just sitting around moaning about problems and buying into psycho-babble solutions to immediate problems. One of the many truisms in the 12-step community is that the 6th chapter of the "Big Book" is not titled "Into Contemplation," or "Into Preparing to Plan to Consider..." but instead Into Action. Another salty old-timer would often say to me, "Steve, if nothing changes, then nothing changes..."

That's what I see in these postings, and in so much of what surrounds the struggles to help people in the Gulf Coast. The things that have been most hurtful are the posturing, the sound bites, empty claims of concern and promises of action. The only thing that will heal that, as Rick points out, will be actions of service and restoration that will demonstrate love and care, rather than just talk about it.

God, in everything we do today, help each one of us put our talk into action. Let actions of love and kindness demonstrate what our words, in the end, will never show. Amen.

Anybody got air-sickness bags?

My friend Sandy M. is looking for about 200 airline/bus airsickness bags (vomit bags, to be crude). She needs then before October 5, 2005, and would prefer that someone who had a mess of 'em donate some to Atonement Lutheran Church in Overland Park, KS. Anyone got a clue?

Not "What am I?" but "Whose"...

To quote my friend Poor Mad Peter, "ohforgodssake."

In the Harry Potter world, I'd be in Gryffindor house. In Emeril's world, I'd be southern-style garlic mashed potatoes. In the James Bond world, I'm a wore-out Aston Martin. In the M*A*S*H world, I'm Father Mulcahy.

Maybe it was the tag that did me in...you know, the one that says, "I took the LAME M*A*S*H quiz, and I'm..."

Maybe that's the real fear. I took the LAME M*A*S*H quiz, and according to it, I'm...lame.

The first couple times I took these on-line quizzes, it was kinda cute. A couple were even theologically challenging, just to see if I could really either support or reject the reasons why I got labelled as "post-modern/Emergent," or whatever.

But the thrill is gone, it seems.

Or maybe I just see this as an extension of the world's effort to rubber-stamp and pigeon-hole me. "You're a liberal." "You're a Democrat." "You're a Christian." "You're one of those pro-life nuts." "You're one of those pro-choice nuts." So many people are more than willing, based on some sound-bite or some comment or some affiliation I've had, to label every part of my life as pertaining to some stereotypical image they hold dear.

I'm all of those things. And a lot more.

My friend Tom loves to razz me about being Lutheran; there are times when it feels like he really believes I buy into the whole Lake Wobegone BS. Yet there are a number of Lutherans who feel I am anything but one of them. There's more than a few people who call themselves Christians who look at my attitude toward gays and lesbians, or any number of categories of so-called "sinners" in general, and conclude that I'm not really a Christian. There are an equally large group of folks outside of the church community who hope that I'm the way most Christians ought to be.

They're probably all at least partly right, depending on the day. But there's one thing I know I am.

I am a child of God. A child of a loving Power and Life that says to me every moment of my life, "You're my kid. I love you, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

I am a lot of other things - based on my employment, my credit score, my age, my physique, my sexual orientation, and my personal history, to name a few. But in the end, none of them matter. Millionaire or struggling ex-student, 48 or 28, with a physique that is stacked or one that is just piled - none of it matters. Because what I am doesn't mean nearly as much as Whose I am.

Some of my deepest spiritual struggles and weaknesses have been around the phrase, "Gee, I wish I was..." And the sickness begins. And then I start filling in the blank, and the sickness grows. "I wish I was" younger, thinner, richer, smarter, more entertaining, better endowed...the list goes on ad infiniteum. None of these things draw me closer to God, but only to the world and its hollow expectations.

The God of my misunderstanding, of course, doesn't care anything about any of that. God just says, "You're Mine." Not "Get yourself right with Me, and then I'll admit to holding your soul."

So, unless I see one of these little blog-side tests that is really hysterical, you won't find me spending my time on 'em. Because, in the end, there's only One opinon that matters. God, help me focus on that opinion, and not anyone else's, just for today.