Memories, farewells, and next steps

On Friday August 22nd, 2003, at about 12:30 AM, an aging Toyota Camry and a bright yellow 17-foot Hertz/Penske rental truck left Shawnee, KS headed for Chicago, carrying with them every item I owned and several truckloads worth of both dreams and memories.

It was a long drive to Chicago. It's been a much longer journey since I got here, even though (in many ways) I haven't gone nearly as far as I would have wanted...

I've always been a kind of anniversary-laden guy. Part of that habit has been the connection that I have with people at certain dates-and-times. But part of me also sees those anniversaries as mile-markers along the journey of life - times to review, to give thanks for gifts received, to make amends and ask forgiveness for sins of omission and comission, and to re-set my sails.

This weekend has been a lot of all three of those things.

I spent a significant part of the weekend digging through the boxes that are still stacked in Jamie's garage - sorting through some of the stuff I should have ditched before I moved, rearranging stuff that needs to come into the apartment next weekend, adding things to the take-to-KC boxes and the donate-this-stuff boxes. I probably moved a third or my belongings in one way or another this weekend, and it was hard work (despite the very moderate temperatures, for which I give much thanks!).

I found a bunch of pictures - from my youth, from my "old life," and from my former church and AA community. There were some beautiful memories, and some twinges of regrets - friends I've not kept in touch with and the like. I got pretty ruthless with my class notes from the two sets of seminary classes I've attended - tossed a bunch of stuff that I'd rationalized, "You'll want to look at this again, some day." The fact that I still kept some stuff is proof I probably wasn't ruthless enough - but I'm not ready to toss that stuff, just yet. And I got a bit more realistic about just how many books I should keep, and how many either need to go to my former church or to the seminary libraries.

This has been a weekend of farewells - notably of my friend Craig H., who is moving to LA with his wife both to work on his doctoral disseration and to be closer to their families. We had a beautiful cookout tonight down at a friend's absolutely-fabulous condo in the South Loop. The food was fantastic, the fellowship was fantastic - and it was a very enjoyable send-off for Craig and his wife Jackie.

In some way, I missed having that kind of closure with the seminary community - to have a farewell cookout, do the "so long, it's been good to know ya" thing. But in many ways, my relationships with folks at the seminary had been atrophying for a year - and by the time I left for Pullman, I was ready to be gone. Perhaps, once we get the apartment painted and nominally moved-into, I'll be able to invite those few with whom I've remained connected to a apartment warming party. Maybe in late September or early October, when it's cooler and prettier around here.

Tomorrow, I'm going to be going downtown to register for a set of potential jobs. It's stuff that I've done before (admittedly, 15 years ago) but it sounds (a) like fun and (b) a lot closer to commutability than my current position. It's scary - but I'm definitely in the "nothing ventured, nothing gained" mode, that way. I've also found a number of positions on the Chicago CraigsList site. This is yet another next-step kind of journey, one that would be far scarier if I hadn't just posted this about not being afraid.

Topics I need to write about...
- how Cindy Sheehan is shattering the silences about the war;
- how hard it is for us to really, really hear the Gospel;
- whether my choice to change jobs was the result of listening to God or Satan; and
- reflections on the ELCA churchwide meeting, and their choosing not to choose.

But for now, I need to be up at 5:30 to get ready to leave at 6:45 AM to be at the Accountemps office at 8 - so it's just bedtime. Peace, y'all...

Eternal rest grant unto Brother Roger...

I haven't been following the news much, and so was shocked to hear of the brutal murder of Brother Roger, the founder of the Taize' movement in France. You can read a good summary of the tragic events here.

The founder is gone on to glory - but the movement, and its work here on earth, continues. "Well done, good and faithful servant..."

A bit of this, a bit of that...

It's been a busy week - in some ways, it seemed like Friday would never get here, and in other ways, I've wondered where the week has gone. A week full of the Chinese curse - "May you live through interesting times." So I thought I'd just play catch-up before the weekend...

The preaching gig down in Danforth, IL last Sunday was very nice. I took the time to drive down Saturday night, and had a good, leisurely drive down (rather than get up at 4:30 to be ready to leave by 6 to get there by 7:45 for an 8:30 service). The congregation was very friendly, very welcoming, and affirming - and generous. The pastor and his wife (who were down at the now-infamous ELCA churchwide meeting in Orlando) had left me with several wonderful books. Not only did I get a copy of the Lutheran Book of Worship Minister's Desk Edition (I'd lost mine during Worship class a year ago) but a wonderful prayer book, a mini-devotional by Max Lucado, and a delightful volume by Craig Nessan titled Many Members, Yet One Body: Committed Same-Gender Relationships and the Mission of the Church (2004).

I thought the sermon went well, although I've done just enough preaching to know that "nice sermon, pastor" doesn't necessarily mean much - it can oscillate in meaning between "you finished before I actually fell asleep" and "God actually spoke to me through you." There were no tongues of fire visible, but no one actually burst into flames, either. As either Stan Hauerwas or Will Willimon once said when a parishoner said, "Good sermon, pastor," I'd have to say, "Well that remains to be seen..."

The living situation is still good - my landlord returns either Friday or Sunday, and the work on the upstairs apartment will begin in earnest. There is a bunch of painting and just general sprucing up that needs to be done - but my landlord seems genuinely ready to do the deal, for which I am grateful.

The work situation is still unsettled - but the amount of stress I'm enduring over it is decreasing. There's probably a blog post still waiting on the topic of whether I was really led by God or the Devil to self-impose a departure deadline. It may be the biggest mistake of my life...but the level of peace certainly doesn't feel like it, somehow. There are a couple of options that I've found quite by accident, while pursuing some "more traditional" job sources. Here's hoping, and praying...

The weekend is going to be unpacking and repacking boxes, a trip to the Chicago Air Show, and a return to Fourth Presbyterian. It seems I may get the chance to meet one of my sponsee's lady friend - which is a huge step for him as far as being "out" about his recovery. I'm just ready to get some real sleep - for some reason I just haven't been really getting the sleep I need lately.

All that to say this - I'm grateful to be here, sunny side up, suckin' air and sober - but for now, I think the "growing closer to sanity" thing would be to head for bed. Happy weekend, y'all...

Jesus Outed in Megachurch, Film at 11

You really, really need to check out this incredible set of posts by Mac. It's particularly poignant if you've ever visited a megachurch or mega-wannabe, and heard some of the watered-down drivel that oozes out of some of them.

(To be fair, I've been to a number of churches that seat thousands of people, where the Gospel has been preached in it's purest forms and where faith and the world meet every single week. But I've also experienced the other, too.)

Thanks to Rick at a new life emerging for the hat-tip...

Some simple, clear Biblical teaching

Looking for a central theme to the Bible, apart from God's love? I wish I could take credit for this, but it's inspired by a meditation by Elizabeth Stuart:

God said to Abraham, "Do not be afraid" (Gen 15:1)
God said to Hagar, "Do not be afraid" (Gen 21:17)
God said to Jacob, "Do not be afraid" (Gen 46:3)
God said to Moses, "Do not be afraid" (Exodus 14:13)
The Lord said to Joshua, "Do not be afraid" (Joshua 11:6)
Jonathan said to David, "Do not be afraid" (1 Samuel 23:17)
Elijah said to the widow, "Do not be afraid" (1 Kings 17:13)
God said to Israel, "Do not be afraid" (Isa 41:10)
God said to Jeremiah, "Do not be afraid" (Jer 1:8)
God said to Ezekiel, "Do not be afraid" (Ezekiel 2:6)
An angel of the Lord said to Joseph, "Do not be afraid" (Matthew 1:20)
An angel of the Lord said to the shepherds, "Do not be afraid" (Luke 2:10)
Jesus said to Peter, James and John, "Do not be afraid" (Matthew 17:7)
Jesus said to the disciples in the boat, "Do not be afraid" (John 6:20)
The angel said to the women at the tomb, "Do not be afraid" (Matthew 28:5)
Jesus said to the disciples, "Do not be afraid" (Luke 12:7)
The Lord said to Paul, "Do not be afraid" (Acts 18:9)
The angel said to John on the isle of Patmos, "Do not be afraid" (Rev 1:17)

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
(John 16:33)

I needed to hear that, today.

A bit of terror, a bit of joy

My former roommate, Erkan, was wandering around the University of Chicago about a month ago when he heard the most amazing sounds - bells, ringing in what sounded like music. He came back and, in his halting English, attempted to describe what he heard. After a while, I figured out he was hearing the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial Carillon, installed at the University of Chicago's Rockefeller Chapel.

Then, about a week ago, I read on the UC website about the Carillonathon - a series of free recitals featuring various arillonneurs from around the world. And before each recital at 5:30 PM, there would be a tour of the chapel tower and the "guts" of the carillon itself. So I made sure I'd be back from my gig down south, and I met up with Erkan this evening and went to to check it all out.

Well, I really hadn't considered that to see the carillon, we'd have to climb almost all the way up the bell tower - up a narrow stone spiral stairway, across a wooden walkway suspended over the nave of the chapel and just under the roof, and then up another spiral staircase. Two hundred and twenty-six steps - I was literally gasping for air as I made it into the carillon "playing room."

It was not the sort of thing I would have chosen to do - I hate heights, closed spaces, and climbing stairs - especially spiral staircases. You see, with size 12-EEEEEE feet, about the only place I can get any real traction on these spiral staircases in on the very outside of the steps - so every other step feels like I'm going to fall all the way down to the bottom.

And for a person who's not particularly excited about heights, falling down 226 steps - or imagining dropping through the creaking, squeaky wooden walkway over the ceiling of the nave and falling to my death - were about the worst panic-inducing events in which I could have participated.

But between my late mother's voice saying, "When are you ever gonna get the chance to do something like this again?" and the voices of a whole bunch of AA folks talkin' in my head, saying, "What part of one step at a time don't you understand?", I made it - both up and down. Seeing the thing in operation was an amazing process - since actually playing the carillon is all-mechanical, with no technology boost for its operation. (There is an automatic-ringer for the chimes on the quarter-hours, but it gets turned off for recitals).

Now, don't get any fancy ideas - I didn't go up the last three flights of stairs, and go out onto the Chapel roof or anything. But I made it, saw the second largest carillon installation in the nation, and lived to tell the tale.

That's pretty cool, I'd say.

But by the time I had dinner and got home, I was done. I mean, done like dinner. I had no energy left for any of the stuff I was supposed to do this evening. But I have an indelible memory of this adventure, which is probably the best way to be connected to my immediate past...

So tonight I give thanks - for the gift of a good friend, and the combination of courage and endurance enough to experience what had been so freely given to me. Those are two great gifts, God - along with "Advil for serious pain" in my legs and knees...

Matters of trust, matters of hope

It has been an interesting week in the Windy City, to be sure. For some reason, I have been struggling with sinus problems that have really affected my ability to sleep soundly - which has affected just about every other part of my life (I just don't do well when sleep deprived). And I'm still in a kind of transition - the apartment upstairs has been vacated, but it's in desperate need of cleaning and paint (which should be addressed early next week when my host and landlord returns).

The main deal has been in my employment. For more than three months, I've been in limbo as far as a permanent position with my current temporary employer - and at each month-end, the story has been, "Well, I don't think we're going to be able to make this position full time until next month..." Needless to say, this hasn't helped my serenity very much at all, and it surely has not done much for my attitude or productivity. It hasn't helped that a couple times, there have been subtle digs - like being told that there's no need for me to attend staff meetings (because, of coure, I'm not staff).

Finally, I was speaking with one of my AA sponsees on "a matter of the heart," and he asked me what I should do. "I know you're not a relationship counselor," he said, "but just tell me what to do, OK?"

Well, I try hard to never tell people what to do - that would assume that I know what's best for them, when I have very little indication that I know what's best for me on any given day. But I told him that if something would bring more truth, more love, more joy, and more peace in the world, it would probably be good - and if it brought more resentment, fear, anger, doubt, or jealousy in the world, it was probably bad. And way back in my head, this tiny little voice said, Oh, really? And what side of this divide does your work situation come down on?

Isn't it funny that what we would share with other people is so often what we need to hear ourselves?

A little spot-check inventory on this particular deal showed me that I'd been holding on, waiting for them to do what I needed them to do, and alternating between "I'll just be a star, so they'll be amazed with me" and "what the hell, why bother - they're not going to hire me, anyway." And I came to see that I had been allowing them to become my higher power, at least as far as financial security had been concerned. It just wasn't real pretty...and I was going to work resentful, and coming home the same way.

So I "hit bottom" Thursday night, and the words I'd given to my sponsee echoed in my head all the way home, and all the way to work the next day. So I asked to meet with my boss, and told her (a) I'm not finding any enjoyment in what I do, (b) I'm not doing a good job of it, as a result, and (c) I'd like her to plan to have me replaced by September 15th.

She took it well - and was grateful both for the notice and, I think, secretly grateful for my bringing resolution to the situation. It's strange - because even though the idea of cutting off my own employment in 30 days is somewhat terrifying, it also felt freeing in an amazing way. The sense of at least knowing there's a working deadline, rather than endless delay and uncertainty, seems more tolerable somehow. My friend Neil L. in Kansas called shortly afterwards, and said, "So - is the sky a little bluer? The birdsong a little brighter? That's how it was for me..."

So that's going to be interesting. I'm back to trusting that I can't fall outside of God's grace, and that if I just do the footwork that I'll find some peace and serenity (and permanent employment, hopefully!).

Sunday morning (tomorrow) at 8:30 AM, I will have the blessing of leading worship and preaching at St. John's Lutheran Church in Danforth, IL. I'm driving down tonight to stay (as opposed to getting up at 4:30 AM and driving down at the crack of dawn). So it should be a good time. There is a little irony in that I had to move off the seminary campus before I got another lay-preaching gig...but I'm no stranger to irony in God's plans for me...

God of enduring power, help me remember that you are always present to strengthen me in my weakness. Grant me the words to speak, and the willingness to seek your will for my speaking, for my working, and every part of my life. Amen.

The search for "good dying"

An excellent article in the New York Times about the evolution of hospice care, and the idea that a "good death" is starting to edge out the "preserve life at any cost, no matter how much it hurts" idea in medicine. Check it out here. Well worth reading - the story on page 6 of the article is a powerhouse one.

Compassion for the outsider

A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, "Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is suffering terribly from demon possession." Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, "Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us." He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel." The woman came and knelt before him. "Lord, help me!" she said. He replied, "It is not right to take the children's bread and toss it to their dogs." "Yes, Lord," she said, "but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table." Then Jesus answered, "Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted." And her daughter was healed from that very hour. (Matthew 15:22-28, NIV)

By a fluke of blessing, I'll be preaching on this text in a little church in Danforth, IL this weekend. (You can start prayin' for 'em now...) It's a challenging text, as it reads. In the past, I've heard so few satisfactory explanations of Jesus' reactions, but I've got an idea...

In the passage immediately before this, Jesus is talking about the fact that food and dietary purity (something the Jews were really good at) wasn't going to make them pure. Then this woman comes and says, "Help me!"

Frankly, I don't like the explanations of this text that says Jesus was teasing or jesting with the woman, nor do I like the image of God-with-us saying, "Hey, here's a little test - a little hoop to jump through. Let's see if you can convince me before I save your daughter." That just doesn't sit well with my understandings of Christ as sacrifice to the whole world.

I'd suggest that Jesus believed that the Jews needed to get this message more than anyone else. After all, in those days they relied so heavily on this kind of works righteousness, even though the practical upshot of their actions was to cause all kinds of hurt in Yahweh's name. The story of the Bible in the "first testament" is the story of God's relationship with the people of Israel - so why wouldn't Jesus be sent to them, first? How would miracles for an outsider advance his case with the Jews?

I can easily fall in love with the idea of God-with-us that can be spoken with, and pleaded with, and a Savior whose eternal mind can be changed. Once again, Jesus breaks every social barrier - Jew speaking to Canaanite, rabbi/teacher speaking to (and listening to) a woman, the One with power acting to benefit one without any power at all. The example that God-come-to-earth gives us is breaking comfort-zones and trampling social barriers to share love and compassion with those with whom the "church society" of the day would not even bother themselves.

Who are the groups that today's church would shun, and not want to serve, in this day and age? To whom would the disciples of this age say, "Send them away?" Who are the Canaanites among us today who need miracles of compassion? I'd be interested to hear your lists...

God of power and love, let the church that claims to follow your Son stop deciding who is going to Hell in Your name, and let them reach across every social and moral barrier to share Your kingdom here on earth. Amen.

Thank you, Tony Blair....

Recently, the self-styled "reverend" Fred Phelps has started organizing protests at the funerals of soldiers killed in Iraq. His premise is that since America has chosen not to condemn homosexuals, that God has therefore withdrawn any blessing from the US, and in fact now hates the entire nation. Thus it serves the soldiers right, for fighting for a queer-loving nation like the US.

This sickens me. Phelps always has sickened me, to be honest; when I think obsess about the evil he spouts, I can feel my blood boiling (which is exactly what the bastard wants...dammit). He uses the Bible just as Hitler did - to kill, hate and destroy. There are very few people who I believe truly fit the description of "pure evil" - but Phelps is one of 'em.

But help has come from across the Big Pond, from our British cousins. In an interesting exercise, I took this article from CNN.com, and modified it ever so slightly. (I was originally going to link to Phelps' website to show some of the most awful protest images - with the poor saps smiling as they hold signs like "God Sent The IEDs" - but to be honest, I don't want to give them a way to link back here. You can see the horrific images yourself...)

British Prime Minister Tony Blair has announced new measures to deport and exclude from UK those advocating hatred and violence.

Blair, speaking nearly a month after deadly bombings on London's transit system, said Friday the UK's human rights act would be amended if necessary to counter Islamic religious extremists.

The government also plans to draw up a list of extremist Web sites, book shops and organizations that promote these extremists, he said.

"Let no one be in any doubt that the rules of the game are changing," Blair told a London news conference, his last before breaking for a summer holiday.

The prime minister said the Government plans a one-month consultation period to determine new criteria for excluding and deporting people from Britain.

"We will establish, with the Muslim religious community, a commission to advise on how, consistent with people's complete freedom to worship in the way they want, and to follow their own religion and culture, there is better integration of those parts of the community presently inadequately integrated," Blair said.

Blair said new legislation, which is expected to be passed by the end of the year, will also outlaw "indirect incitement" of terrorism.

The measure is seen as an effort to crack down on extremist Islamic pseudo-religious clerics who glorify acts of terrorism.

Oh, and Mr. Phelps - there are lots and lots of Marine and Special Forces men and women who are friends of the soldiers whose funerals you've been picketing. And may your so-called God help you if some of those folks ever catch up with you...

Outta my mind on Monday moanin'

Yes, since it's 12:09 AM, it's definitely Monday moanin' time...

Good moanin' - I've been asked by a little Lutheran church about 90 miles south of here to be a lay preacher whilst the pastor is away at the ELCA churchwide assembly. My buddy Mike Willis met the pastor's wife in Gettysburg, of all places, and suggested me as a sub for the good Rev while he's outta town. So that will be interesting. And it's a great text - Matthew 15:10-20, 21-28. The downside is, it's an 8:30 service (meaning 6:30 AM departure!) and it's not air-conditioned. But hey, given the fact of my current status, this is very cool.

Moanin' - the folks upstairs moved out this weekend, and I went up to see the apartment I'm supposed to move into. The way it looks now - dirty, icky walls and floors that haven't been cleaned or painted in what looks like forever - is pretty depressing. But I'm gonna talk to my buddy about getting some plain Killz (stop-stain white, to those of you from out east) on the walls before I move in. But it's gonna take some heavy-duty cleaning to get it done - and I'll be gone most of next weekend. So that sucks.

Good moanin' - I started sorting through some of my stuff in the garage, and figuring out where it's gonna go - upstairs, or in a storage area downstairs. The answer (especially given the cleaning/paint needed upstairs) is probably "downstairs." Well, at least I'll know what to get rid of if the boxes are unopened this time next year!

Good moanin' - a delightful young man has been corresponding with me about issues of faith and Christian life. He's from way south-n-east - but his questions are quite powerful, and remind me of the questions of faith that I had (which remained devastatingly unanswered for years). He may not know it - but he's given me much more than I could ever give him as we've volleyed emails back and forth. Thank you, God, for someone with whom I can share my faith!

But it's 12:30, and it's time to hit the hay. Peace -

Sixty Augusts ago...

...a President, a bunch of scientists and even more soldiers ended up opening Pandora's Box for all time. (And if I'd been there, I'm afraid I would have done exactly the same thing.)

On August 6, 1945, a specially-fitted bomber called the Enola Gay dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan. It ended the war, but opened a box of ultimate evil, and for sixty years we've been trying in vain to stuff it all back in the box.

Today, in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago, a ceremony will be held on the University of Chicago campus, where the first controlled nuclear reaction occurred in the first atomic reactor. A Henry Moore sculpture marks the site; unfortunately, the marker for the first controlled nuclear chain reaction is clearly symbolized by the first tragically uncontrolled reaction.

In the exuberance of my youth, I found atomic power to be the dream of the future. No emissions, highly efficient, I saw it as the triumph of science and technology over the needs of culture, and I trusted in the technology to keep us safe. I even remember touring the yet-unfinished Millstone Point nuclear power station with my dad as part of an IEEE conference on nuclear reactors.

Interestingly enough, Millstone 1, finished in 1970, was shut down in 1996 after a series of safety issues and releases of radioactive gas. It's going to be dismantled, and this is where the problem comes. The "waste" products from commercial atomic energy remain radioactive for tens - even hundreds - of thousands of years (see this link for a good article about radioactive half-lives). Technology failures (think Three Mile Island and Chernobyl) would cause devastation which could literally wipe out civilization. If you can find it, an old sci-fi book called The Prometheus Crisis offers a great way to see how the world could very well end.

I didn't mean to get off on a nuclear-safety rant...but, as I listened to survivors retell the stories of the hideous effects of radiation poisoning, and the incredible devastation of the blast itself, I sure as hell wish we could have done differently. The problem today is that not only does the tiger still have 24,000-year teeth, but it's not in the cage - nuclear material is being actively sought by terrorists. While I couldn't bring myself to see the movie, I found the book The Sum of All Fears to be terrifyingly accurate as far as what I understood of the process for nuclear destruction.

On this day, I mourn the lives lost, and the innocence lost. We will never be able to stuff Pandora's evil back in the box - and living with it is going to require more courage than most of us can imagine. I've lived with the air-raid drills - hiding under desks in elementary school forty years ago - and I can't go back to living in that kind of fear. I can only go forward in faith, and work for a better way. And pray...

To comfort, or to clobber?

Six hundred miles southwest of me, a man named Shorty died about 3 AM this morning.

I didn't know him - he was my dear Kansas City friend Mike M's sponsee. He'd lived a hard life - alcohol and drugs had helped him throw away a lot of dreams in his forty-five short years. And when he was diagnosed with a massive brain tumor eight months ago, he threw away what sobriety he had and spent two months drinking over it. Then his lady intervened, and he spent the last six months sober and active in AA.

It's interesting that as death approaches, people get a little crazy, and start forming debating societies and splitting into camps of doctrine and dogma. Was Shorty really Christian? He was still living with his girlfriend (although I'm not so sure how much sin you are capable of while having chemotherapy...); more than one voice, I'm sure, asked "Can you really be a Christian while 'living in sin'? He's not gonna go to heaven like that..."

The debates weren't limited to the religious side of the house, either. In his last month, when the tumors started metastatising just about everywhere, the pain became unendurable for Shorty, and they put him on morphine. "That sumbitch ain't sober if he's taking morphine," said more than one legalistic AA voice, who was talking without the benefit of sharing Shorty's experience. "I'm not gonna hang around and watch while they juice up some damn junkie."

And then there were the people who just came to comfort, and be a blessing to a dying man...the ones who listened to him yell about the pain, and the injustice of dying at 45 (as if there is less injustice in dying at 55, or even more for dying at 12 or 22). They listened, they talked, they helped take care of his girlfriend, Lisa Jo, and they loved Shorty, knowing that they wouldn't get the chance much longer.

With his death this morning, the camps are lining up again. "He's in a better place," my friend Mike said this morning. "He's sitting having coffee with Bill W. and Dr. Bob, and our buddy Steve, and Doug K...and laughin' at all of us." Then there's the group preaching, "he should have repented of his sins, he's burning in HELL! And YOU need to repent RIGHT NOW and accept Jesus Christ..."

A friend often says that "Death makes universalists of all of us," and I agree wholeheartedly. My only prayer for this man I didn't know is, "May God be merciful to him, and comfort his family and friends," and trust that when I die, that my God is greater than my theology and my dogma.

Staying in the construction zone

To become neighbours is to bridge the gap between people. As long as there is distance between us and we cannot look in each other's eyes, all sorts of false ideas and images arise. We give them names, make jokes about them, cover them with our prejudices, and avoid direct contact. We think of them as enemies. We forget that they love as we love, care for their children as we care for ours, become sick and die as we do. We forget that they are our brothers and sisters and treat them as objects that can be destroyed at will.

Only when we have the courage to cross the street and look in one another's eyes can we see there that we are children of the same God and members of the same human family. (from Henri Nouwen's daily meditations, Bread for the Journey, July 22)
---
A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. (John 13:34-35, NIV translation)

In physics, the strength of a signal (radio, TV, electrical current) degrades over distance. Bill Hybels believed that this concept applied to human communication, as well - that the distance between the pulpit and the first pew was much greater than the distance across a dinner table. To steal Henri Nouwen's idea, the shorter the gap, the easier it is to bridge it.

For the last month of my stay at school, I lived with a Turkish Muslim man named Erkan, who arrived in the US for the first time July 1st. Whenever I would mention this in company, at least one child-of-God would say, "You're living with a terrorist?" And my first reaction (which, thankfully, I never voiced) was "No, but I'm talking to a moron..."

Folks who spoke like that simply refused to bridge the gap between their prejudices about one group of people who happen to have the same faith as my former roommate, and the real-life experience of a devout, kind, gentle, Allah-loving doctoral student. They haven't seen his revulsion at violence, his sadness at the death of any creature, or his belief that there is One above us all, even though we understand that One differently. Thirty days of talking - and listening - showed me this truth, and Erkan is a friend with whom I hope to remain connected. We met as strangers - we parted as brothers. I hope that bridge remains strong for the long haul.

Even in the midst of the chaos of moving, I saw this happen. Several (not all) of the people who helped me move were guys from AA - but two were fellow Lutheran seminary students, and one of the AA guys was definitely not hiding his sexual orientation. One of my sponsees talked to me over dinner last night, and told me again how he really enjoyed meeting the two seminarians, and how they really seemed like neat people. And he found a lot of powerful connections with my gay friend, as well - both are farm boys at heart, and both long to return to the joys of rural life. It was neat to be able to see bridges being built, even as we watched.

I firmly believe that if I refuse to see and hear my neighbors - my sisters and brothers - then I cannot love them. I can talk about them; I can even contribute to their welfare. But if I refuse see the person across the dinner table (or the U-Haul loading ramp!) as they are and not as I suppose them to be, then to it is impossible to bridge the gap between us - gaps built by ignorance, fear, and prejudice.

God, grant me the willingness to continue to build bridges with the neighbors I do not yet understand. Help me to see Your presence in all of them.

"Houston, the Eagle has landed..."

(...or, is it as Benjamin Franklin suggested in 1776, not the Eagle but the Turkey?...)

Five-twenty PM Tuesday night, and the last load of clothes and detrius left Hyde Park. I am more tired than I have been, probably, since I actually moved to Chicago two years ago. What a ride.

I promise something more substantial in the days to come - but right now, as my sister Sue would say, "I'm done like dinner."

Better, and worse

Good news - I managed to get into my doctor about my move-related leg injury today. Bad news is, it took 2-1/2 hours that I couldn't really afford. Good news is, it didn't require stitches after all, and the doctor said it was gonna get sore, but it would be fine in the end.

Of course, it didn't really get sore until about 1/2 hour after he was poking and prodding around the puncture, so I didn't get much of what I needed to do today done. Which means I'm going into work for a bit tomorrow, and then back to the apartment to finish what I needed to do today.

Nothing deep or theological today - I'm sure it's coming, but not tonight. For now, I'm doing the only sensible thing and going to bed...

Feeling a bit like Dr. Smith....

Oh...the pain...the pain.... (the dark voice of Lost in Space)

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. (James 1:2-3, NIV)

When I woke up this morning, Dr. Smith's signature phrase was on my lips. And I have to admit that at lease initially, I didn't even consider considering the aches and twinges in my muscles pure joy, but rather the reverse. I ache in places I didn't think I had places...

But I slept well, and I need to get off into the day - not only do I have a number of things yet to move, I have a MESS of other stuff to take care of. Not to mention about two weeks of blogs I haven't read to catch up on...

I've also been gratified to read the responses to my invitation to blog through A Celebration of Discipline starting Labor Day. So far, the best response has been from Spencer at Staying Straight Edge: I'm sceptical as I am not 'a christian' and have no real desire to become one ... but I'll read anything that's thought provoking and so I will get a copy and play 'devils' advocate with you :) That was the best gift I got today, actually.

On a different topic, something I've been noticing is how spartan others lives are - and how cluttered mine has been. I have some time, while my new landlord is out of town and the folks living in my apartment-to-be are getting out, that I need to go through my stuff and ask (yet again), "Do I really, really, really need this? Or is this the same I'll need it someday thing that my parents bought for years, and sold to me?"

First things first, though - gotta make the bed, put some clothes away, and get into the day. Still "a long way to go, and a short time to get there..."

A euphemism for "almost done"

Ninety percent of the stuff takes ninety percent of the time. And the last ten percent of the stuff still takes 90 percent of the time, too.

Well, it's almost done, I guess. The majority of my stuff - more than 90 percent - is now residing in the Pullman neighborhood. The remainder is still in Hyde Park, and that is tomorrow's work.

It's been a long, long, long damn day. I managed to hurt myself - tripped on the bare bed-frame and fell (with about half my weight) on the exposed corner of the bed-frame, resulting in a fairly severe (and bloody) puncture wound. Freaked me out, to be honest - not to mention that it was half an hour before I was supposed to get the U-Haul truck. But, some pressure, some ice, some hydrogen peroxide, and an improvised pressure bandage later, it seems to be some better.

So when I finally dragged myself south to get the truck, I found out the truck was available, and ready - but the KEYS had gone home with the former renters, who were not responding to their phone. I could either take a 26-foot truck - that I couldn't even turn corners with, in our neighborhood - or I could wait until 3 PM (my helpers were scheduled to arrive at 1). What could I do? I said I'd come back.

The people who I asked to help me were absolute guardian angels - they swept up the boxes I'd packed, got them to the street while we waited for the truck to become available, and then my friend Craig H. was God's own loadmaster, and packed that truck so not a single thing shifted in the 11 mile journey to the real South Side.

There's clothes, computer stuff, and 3 months worth of dust and whatever to clean up - so I will have a busy, busy day tomorrow (as busy as I can be, that is, as a hop-along). But for now, I'm going to take a goodly dose of Advil, and put my butt to bed.

Thanks for your prayers - I wouldn't have made it without 'em. And thank you, God, for the gift of great friends, reasonably good weather, and the beginning of the next great adventure.

Ever get the feeling someone has been reading your mail? Well, this would be one of those times, for me. Here's the July 29th devotion from the Henri Nouwen Society:

Spiritual Dryness
Sometimes we experience a terrible dryness in our spiritual life. We feel no desire to pray, don't experience God's presence, get bored with worship services, and even think that everything we ever believed about God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit is little more than a childhood fairy tale.

Then it is important to realise that most of these feelings and thoughts are just feelings and thoughts, and that the Spirit of God dwells beyond our feelings and thoughts. It is a great grace to be able to experience God's presence in our feelings and thoughts, but when we don't, it does not mean that God is absent. It often means that God is calling us to a greater faithfulness. It is precisely in times of spiritual dryness that we must hold on to our spiritual discipline so that we can grow into new intimacy with God. (from Bread for the Journey)

Thank you, God, for people like Henri who had enough guts to describe the struggles openly and honestly enough for the rest of us to be able to say, "Wow...even he felt like that? Then maybe I can pull out of this, too..."

An absolute must-read

My friend Natala has written an incredible account of her relationship with a girl who was a porn performer. Check out Seeing Jesus Through a Porn Star. I'd make the time to read it through from the beginning, here - but do not end this day without reading the part 8 post, here

I daresay that if you don't identify, you haven't been a Christian long - or have been a much, much better one than I have been.

Offline for a couple days...

The move is in earnest - the push to the finish line is 1 PM tomorrow (a change due to UHaul, for those who have been keeping score this is the 3rd change!!). Sometime today, the computer and peripherals will be unplugged and moved to the new setting, so I'll be offline this afternoon sometime.

While you're wondering how I'm doing (and praying earnestly for no damage, no injuries and no rain!), check out this article by a guy I found quite by accident. I don't agree with everything he writes, but his "next church" sounds a lot like the one I'd like to find...and there are several other interesting posts on his blog. I'd love to see his movie when it comes out.

So, until we next meet...

Pray for me and I’ll pray for you
Pray that we will keep the common ground
Won’t you pray for me and I’ll pray for you
And one day love will bring us back around...again.
(Michael W. Smith)

A night off - and a new project

It's Thursday night, and I just couldn't face more packing tape - or little mite-sized spiders everywhere - so after the AA meeting, I went to the Medici (a popular Univ. of Chicago hangout) for a burger with sauteed onions and fellowship. I rationalized this by (a) knowing that I was taking half of Friday off, and (b) because I couldn't stand it any more. It helped my frame of mind, a lot. Didn't do much for the cumulative percentage of possessions packed ratio (say that three times fast!), but as a mental health activity it was great. And the burger was pretty good, too...

But the new project is one I'm actually stealing from my Malaysian friend Messy Christian, via an Austrailian connection on Baggas' Blog. I have to thank them both for inspiring me to action...

At least a hundred years ago, I picked up a copy of Richard Foster's spiritual classic, A Celebration of Discipline. My friend Collin Freeman recommended it, and I was all hot to run right through it - and then, like so many good spiritual ideas I've had suggested to me, I just ran out of gas with it.

I'm ready to make another run at it, I think. But, being a wee bit wiser these days, I'm not gonna do it alone.

A month or more ago, I read that Messy Christian and Paul B. were part of a group blogging their way through Celebration - just about the time a group from my home church in Kansas went to a Renovare' conference in Denver. And I thought, "Gee, blogging our way through this would be a great way to (a) go through this book, slowly savoring it and sharing the experience with others, and (b) to actually develop some spiritual disciplines (as opposed to letting them rust, as I have been doing for a while, now).

Then surprise, surprise...I came across my copy of the book as I was beginning the packing process, and I thought, "You really need to do this." And then my friend Cherri from Kansas wrote today and said, "What about the Celebration of Discipline study you talked about?..."

OK, so I get the hint...

For those of you not familiar with the book, discipline in this sense is not "you better behave or I'll rap your knuckles with a ruler," nor is it intended as a "gotta make the donuts" kind of works righteousness. The Disciplines as Foster describes them are practices which help us grow spiritually. His list of 12 disciplines are broken into three groups:

Inner disciplines: meditation, prayer, fasting, study;
Outer disciplines: simplicity, solitude, submission, service; and
Corporate disciplines: confession, worship, guidance, and celebration.

And the good news for y'all is, I'm lousy at almost all of them. This is not a study that I'm undertaking to show you how good I am, or what a spiritual Goliath I have become - but an invitation from a guy whose spiritual muscles have gotten pretty darn flabby to journey together towards a life lived in the disciplines. No superstar pray-ers, meditators, or other spiritual rocket-scientists need apply. In short, this is not an adventure for people who already have mastered these spiritual disciplines; it's for the folks at the other end of the spectrum. So if you're saying, "I could never get to be good at those kinds of things," I have just two words for you:

Welcome aboard.

So here it is:

I'm suggesting starting the reading on Labor Day (Monday, September 5th). That gives everyone a month to find a copy of the book (as you can tell from the Amazon.com link above, there are used copies available from $5 and up). It will also give those of you who aren't bloggers a chance to create your own blog (Blogger is really kind of idiot-proof in that regard). For this project, blogging can be just as simple as an online place to journal and reflect - and it can be as anonymous as you want it to be. (As I am, for the most part...)

We'll read one chapter a week, and you'll be encouraged to post on your own blog (a) what strikes you about the topic at hand and (b) how you succeed (or struggle, or fail outright) in the practice of that particular discipline. Honesty - especially about the areas where you struggle - will really be the best policy. I'm betting you'll be surprised how much company you'll find....

My job will be to provide a place to comment for those who really, really, really can't bring themselves to set up a blog, and also to provide links to folks who are part of the circle who have posted on the topic in the last week (which I'll probably do either late Friday nights or on Saturdays).

The one thing I want to be fairly firm about - if you are one of those people who think Richard Foster is tied to Eastern mysticism because he encourages meditation, or those who think that the Renovare' movement is one step removed from Harry Potter worship, just move on by, please. There are millions of other blogs to read and comment upon; pick one of them, and leave us alone.

I can't find anything evil or New Age about any of the 12 disciplines - in fact, they seem to be at the heart of a renaissance in Christianity, where they are being practiced. And I have remarkably little patience with folks that do have problems with it. (Probably something I'm gonna get to work on, over the next 13 weeks...) But for now, trust me - it's like strawberries, or ragweed, or science fiction - if it bothers you, stay the heck away from it (and us!).

So - if you're interested, post a comment below and join us!

T-minus 4 days and counting

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me...(Philippians 4:13)

If it's gonna get done, You're gonna have to do it
Then this world will come to see Your power thru it
Father, I trust you - I believe it's true
If it's gonna get done, it's gonna have to come from You...
(The Martins, "If It's Gonna Get Done," from the Experiencing God CD)

Can I hand you the packing tape, Lord?

Gads, I hate this. I'm at the "find a box and throw crap in it" stage of the game - because while I have 97% of this kind of book and 99.5% of the CD's and 96% of the videos in boxes, I've got at least five boxes worth of "it just won't fit where it's supposed to, but I'm not ready to throw it out yet." Gaaaaagh....

The shelves and the dresser drawers are getting emptier...I'm finding things I thought I'd lost forever (or thought I'd already thrown out), and it's just insane. I know "this, too, will pass..." but so far, it seems like gallstones. I think I'm gonna have to take off part of Friday (though I really don't want to) if I have a prayer of getting this done in time.

The weather is a great break - at 7:15 AM, it was a blessed 56 degrees outside. I slept with the windows open for the first time since, oh, May, I think. It was beautiful. These old brick buildings sure know how to hold the heat, though...

It's funny - as I was driving into work yesterday, hitting the scan button, I caught a bit of David Jeremiah's study of the book of Revelation on his Turning Point radio program. Dr. Jeremiah was discussing the whole Tribulation discussion - whether the church will be raptured before the Tribulation, in the midst of it, or after it. His arguments were clear, cogent, seemingly well-reasoned....

...and God help me, but I could really care less.

And it has nothing to do with the move, or being distracted, or short of patience, or anything like that. But people who argue about how and when (and whether) the church is going to be taken up to Heaven before everything here on Earth goes to Hell has never engaged me much before, and engages me even less now.

Why, you ask?

It comes down to this: Jesus told us that "But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only" (Matthew 24:36, NRSV). And I get kind of tired of arguing about how the world ends, because it's so easy to get distracted from the very real challenges of the here-and-now, and focus on the supposedly sweet-by-&-by, when all the Godly people get swept up to Heaven.

And part of it, I suppose, comes from the legalistic scorekeeping faith I had as a kid, that said if I'd confessed just enough of my sins to be 50.000001% good and 49.999999 bad, I'd get taken up. My fear, for a great deal of my life, was knowing there was just one too many sins that I'd forgotten to confess, and I'd be "left behind." (Actually, it wasn't a fear - it was pretty much a certainty.)

Today, I know that the absolute knowledge of my sinfulness, and faith in Christ, is at the heart of my salvation. In short, I know I'm a schmuck, with no hope of heaven except for a loving and merciful God. I can't buy into the "Oh, I'm a pretty good person" defense - because I know I'm not.

I have to trust 1 John 1:8-9 - If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. 9 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just, and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. Because I know that with my dying breath, I'll probably manage to utter some blasphemy that a just God could use to keep me out of the Kingdom - but that a merciful God has already sent his Son to redeem.

So you can study Revelation to your heart's content. I happen to love the first three chapters - the letters to the churches. But the rest? It's an amazing, powerful vision, but whatever calling I have is to sharing God's love right now, in this world, and leave the end of it in the very capable hands of the One who formed it in the first place.

Back to the boxes...

Holy freon, Batman!

Dig this: 8:24 AM, and only 78 degrees! And down to 71% humidity!!

I awoke to tolerable morning conditions for the first time in what seems like weeks, and it sure feels like mercy, and grace to me. The rains yesterday - about a tenth of what we need, unfortunately - made yesterday seem like the most ghastly sauna, but there is promise of highs in the middle 80's (never thought that those numbers would be bringing a Woo-HOO!, but it's a pleasant switch from the 100's!). Even better, the forecast for move day on Sunday is much the same (at least for now).

I finished Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince last night over an extended dinner hour. It was worth the wait, and worth delaying the boxing effort to finish. One less obsessive distraction, anyway...

For all my local friends, I found this really cool map of the neighborhoods of Chicago. The Loop (the heart of downtown) is 32; where I currently live (Hyde Park) is 41; where I'm moving to, Pullman, is 50 (down south) and where I work in East Garfield Park is 27.

That's it - gotta run!

Oh, the things you'll find...

It's been a busy weekend in Hyde Park...I've haven't been in full "warp-core breach imminent" kind of panic, but enough to motivate me to get some serious packing done. A significant portion of the books and CD's have been gone through, and boxed up - a box of theology books will go to my home church in Kansas, and there will probably be more later. I'm just not ready to part with the others, just yet. Maybe moving them one more time will do the trick...

There is also a significant throwing-out component of this - the things I swore I'd get around to fixing, the notes and programs from workshops that I swore I'd put together into a document at some point...I'm trying to be brutal about this stuff. There are lots of memories going into the trash - but there are plenty of memories out ahead, on the horizon, I'm thinking...

But I have to admit - as I did several times over the weekend - that while I will probably grow to love my new location, that I'd really rather not do this. I've gotten quite skilled at whining about moving, and it's like everything else - the answer is, "Shut the hell up and just take the next indicated action. Mature people do this kind of thing all the time, cheerfully and happily. Try acting like one of them, maybe?...."

There is an old story - which I quoted sometime back - about the man who said he had two wolves inside him, one of light and good, and one of dark and evil. His son asked him, "Which wolf will be victorious in the end?" The father responded, "The one that I feed..." It's the same way with this. I can see this as seven days of hell to get through, or see it as a healthy transition to the next part of my life - whatever that is going to look like. But I won't be able to do anything until I make this change.

For now, we pray for rain, with thunderstorms looming on the horizon. Come Lord, and wash this place in your healing rain! (But wait until I get to work, please!)

Harry's house-mate....

Seems I qualify for Gryffindor! Want to get Sorted?

Thanks to Poor Mad Peter for the hat-tip on this one!

What do we do with the weeds?

OK, so I should be furiously packing boxes - because I have, as the old "Smokey & The Bandit" song says, "a long way to go & a short time to get there." But I wrote these notes during a powerhouse sermon on Sunday morning, and they're burning a hole in my mind. So here goes...

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to hear two different takes on the "weeds among the wheat" parable in Matthew 13:24-30,36-43. The first approach, which I heard down in Hutchinson on Saturday evening, might have been something fairly grace-filled and I just misheard it (wouldn't be the first time). But what I heard was a fairly straight-forward call to right living as a path to salvation - "the wheat goes into the master's storehouses, the weeds are bundled to be burned. Where do you want to end up?" A lot of righteousness, but not much hope for folks like me.

You see, there's at least one big problem with the whole "wheat goes to heaven, weeds go to hell" approach. It assumes that I can always choose to be wheat, and not a weed. And while many Christian denominations will tell you that a person can just "turn away from sin," and stay that way, that just has not been my experience.

You see, I'm with my soul-mate Martin Luther on this one. By nature, it seems, I'm a weed. Left to my own devices, I'm a creator of disharmony, chaos and pain; it seems it's just where I boot up, even on the best of days. I do not normally wake up singing God's praises; whereas a lot of folks I know are "Good morning, God" kinds of people, I'm more of a "Good God, it's morning" guy.

That's why last Sunday's sermon by my hometown preacher-man, Dr. Joe Crowther at Atonement Lutheran in Overland Park, really hit close to home for me. He cast this parable in at least three ways I'd never heard before. And he asked some powerful questions I'd never heard asked in this parable.

Do we really want to pull up the weeds? At first, it sounds like a stupid question. There's all kinds of similes for this one. It's the parental admonition from childhood: "Stay away from those kids - because one bad apple will spoil the whole barrel." It's the medical image - cutting out the cancerous tissue to save the rest of the body. Shouldn't we take a stand against the weeds, after all? They'll ruin the rest of the crop. It just makes sense...

Or does it, really? It reminds me of several science-fiction stories (episodes from Star Trek: The Next Generation and Babylon 5 come to mind) where machines were designed to destroy everyone but the "pure" members of a race or a world. But who among us is pure? In the sci-fi world, the machines end up killing everyone - and no one wins.

So many Christian churches see the battle as simply cleansing the culture of whatever passes for weeds. In my pre-teen years, the Protestants fought us Catholics; white supremacists fought blacks. Back in the 50's and 60's, people would go so far as to burn their own house down before they'd sell out to a black family - making the neighborhood a walled fortress to keep out the weeds.

Gays (even celibate ones) need not apply to some churches; their kind aren't wanted, no matter in whom their faith resides. Even in my own life, I need not apply to have communion with my sister and brother-in-law on Christmas Eve, because I don't believe what her church believes about Eucharist. So I commit my one act of blatant heresy (and my one blatant lie) every Christmas Eve, because I love my sister more than I care about the supposed "Christian" church she attends.

And if my sister were to leave her church, because her brother couldn't share communion with her, she wouldn't be missed. After all, it's OK to just pull up the weeds - the wheat around the weeds are just "acceptable losses" - collateral damage, if you will. Pastor Joe pointed out that when we are "cleansing" the weeds, we often come to look like weeds ourselves.

What can be done with these weeds? The cry goes up often in the church: Are you really crazy enough to leave those weeds in there? What's gonna happen if we let them grow, and thrive, in our wheat field? What happens if we leave the weeds in the field? So often, we forget that in God's kingdom, weeds can become wheat by the transforming power of Christ.

But even more than that, we often find that in allowing the weeds to stick around, the weeds start to look more like wheat, and some of us wheat stalks seem to look a little weedy. So often, the church that welcomes the "outsiders" (the active alcoholic, the drug addict, the unwed mother, or the gay couple) will soon see the face of Christ in the most "weedy" among us - and see true brokenness in the seemingly most-upright among us.

The last question is what the servants ask the landowner: Did you not plant good seed? It seems that the servants think the landowner is responsible for the weeds. "After all, this weed-pulling is gonna be a pain - and it won't be you sweating it out in the fields. You bought cheap seed, full of weeds, and now we have to pay the price."

What about the goodness of the seed - or the landowner, for that matter - if the seed has weeds in it? What does it say about the goodness of creation if so much evil comes out of it? And what about things which seem to point to the heart of a weed, but which in reality are truly wheat? If "they" are really "like that," how can they be like us? How can what "they" are really be "fearfully and wonderfully made"? And what does it say if we paint God as the creator, and yet there is even the tiniest hint that this very same God could have made "them" like "that"?

For so long, my primary fear of Christians was (and, God help me, still can be) this: What if they find out how "weedy" I really am? Won't they just yank me up by the roots, and throw me on the fire? That's why so many Christians hide what they feel is most true about them - for fear that others will only see thistles, and bring a torch...

The Landowner I know is not afraid of me, nor of my weedy nature. While I was yet spreading my weedy seeds in the field, the Landowner sent his very best Seed to grow, and be uprooted, that I (the hopelessly weed) might live forever in his field. You know what that is?

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.

Thanks, Joe. I really needed to hear that. And thank you, God, for giving your servant a message of grace like that.

Divesting myself of masterpieces

The pain and the longing,
The joy and the moments of light
Are the rhythm and rhyme,
The free verse of the poem of life...
(Michael Card, "The Poem of Your Life," from the Poiema CD)

I need to apologize to my online community - the combination of being gone last weekend, being in the midst of turmoil at my day job, and dealing with the challenges of preparing to move has just not left a lot of time or energy for blogging. The fact that it's 12:51 AM on Thursday, and I'm just beginning a post - means that I'm just running flat out of time. So I'll try to keep you posted on what's happening here - but I'm not gonna promise any great inspiration between now and about August 5th or so.

And it's not because of a lack of anything to say. I could write about a dozen topics, already sitting on the desk in front of me. But I really, really need to just clear the bed off, and hit it, big time. I was actually starting to nod off at work today, and that's not a good sign.

I am still coasting on the glow of being in Kansas, and some of the powerful spiritual awakenings that occurred over the trip. But those thoughts are coming, gentle readers. For now, it's off to bed...

A golden blessing

The pictures cycled through on the screen...an eager young man with a dashing smile, a stylish young woman with glasses, three children (a girl, and then two boys), and a series of ever changing settings and outfits. The PowerPoint slide presentation showcased fifty years of memories for my "adopted parents," Neil and Mary Lou, as together family and friends celebrated their golden anniversary in Hutchinson, Kansas on Saturday.

Neil and Mary Lou have always been teachers - Neil as a string-instrument teacher and orchestra director for elementary and junior highs in and around Hutchinson, and Mary Lou as a elementary teacher. For years, Neil has also taught Suzuki violin, and together they ran the Montessori school in Hutch. So the crowd contained a number of students - some with kids of their own, now - and even parents of students who were grateful to have been a part of this family's "great adventure."

I came into Kansas City last Thursday night, about 11 PM. My Friday morning started by meeting up with the men's Bible study I'd been a part of for years (yes, at 6:30 AM on my "vacation day"), and then led into a deep and powerful discussion with my buddy Eric, an all-too-brief visit with my pastor, and lunch with Eric and Sandy. Then, way before I could even imagine it was time, my dear friends Nathan and Laura picked me up to drive me down to their "ancestral homestead" in Hutchinson.

Friday night, they celebrated Nathan and Neil's birthday. A year ago, in the depths of my worst financial straits, Nathan made the extraordinary gesture of asking his family to take what they'd have spent on birthday presents, and put it together to send to me to help me make it through the summer. Their gifts made it possible for me to stay in Chicago last summer and fall - which set in place another whole set of gifts and blessings. So it was a double blessing to be able to share their birthday celebration, and their anniversary celebration today.

But the real blessing was Saturday afternoon - to see brothers and sisters, students and parents of students, and musicians of every caliber joining us in the fellowship hall of Emmanuel Lutheran Church to celebrate the lives of this couple and their families. I got to see a tiny slice of the reward of lives of servanthood, lives of love and compassion and grace - and it looked very much like a slice of Heaven on Earth.

As the "let's eat" and the "let's showcase our musical talent" portions of the program ended, the family opened the microphone up for reflections from friends and family. So I had the blessed opportunity to share how, for my first solo Thanksgiving a dozen years ago, Neil and Mary Lou welcomed me into their home, their family, and their lives. I don't remember all that I said - but I do remember saying that this couple has never seen a stranger at their table or in their home, and that I've always seen God's fingerprints at the end of their fingers.

It's still true.

God of wonder, and power, and strength, and endurance, thank you for the gift of your love, channeled through these two servants. I am a life that was changed through their actions, their attitude, and their love for each other. I thank you for a season in their past, Lord - and trust that, together, we will remain part of a greater fellowship of believers that only You can create!

A time away - a time of celebration

I am really not AWOL - or MIA - but am on a 4-day journey to Kansas City and Hutchinson, Kansas to celebrate the 50th wedding anniversary of my dear friends (and adoptive parents) Neil and MaryLou Lentz. It's already been an eye-opening, butt-kicking, blessed time - but I am laptop-impaired, so posting will have to wait until Sunday or Monday night. But God is definitely giving me PLENTY of material to work with! So peace, y'all!

Who knew....?

Following up on my earlier post about Biblical messages, Damien sends me God's clear teaching about shrimp. Thanks for the hat-tip, brother. Now, I know...

Kill your stubborn sons

That's the advice I heard as I was punching car-radio buttons on Sunday, and heard a portion of program oddly titled Grace to You, in which radio preacher John MacArthur was talking about raising children. Here, according to this fellow, is what God's plan for your kids is:

I can sum up all you need to know about raising your children, all you need to know about parenting in just a couple of sentences. One, teach them the truth about God and His law all the time. That's the first sentence...

Second sentence, demand that they obey that law and punish them physically when they don't. Those two sentences sum up what the Bible teaches about raising children. Teach them the truth about God and His law all the time. Demand that they obey that law and punish them physically when they don't.

And then a little later, the good reverend dropped this little gem:

I take you back to Deuteronomy 21:18 to 21, "If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and that when they have chastened him will not listen to them, then shall his father and his mother lay hold of him, bring him out unto the elders of his city unto the gates of his place and they shall say unto the elders of his city...This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice, he is a glutton and drunkard." By now you can tell he's at least a teenager. "And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones that he die."

Take his life. Why? Because the infection of this in the nation is devastating, an infection we experience even at this time. So, says Deuteronomy 21:21, "You shall put away evil from among you, and all Israel shall hear and fear."

This, from a program entitled Grace To You. (Don't believe me? Just go to the broadcast transcript and see for yourself; the Deuteronomy 21 passage is down about half-way on the "Side 2" portion.)

In my more paranoid, terrified moments, I wonder, "How many idiot fathers and mothers will take that little reference to heart, and kill their disobedient, willful children 'cause the Bible tells me so, so to speak?"

It reminds me of Rev. Ed M., a recovered alcoholic turned Methodist minister, who used to say "I make it a point to give 'em Heaven on Sunday morning, 'cause they've been getting Hell all week long." Preach on, Rev...

Of course, this particular line of reasoning irks me most because I am a stubborn and rebellious son. I'm sure that if my father own had heard this little discourse (especially in the last years of his battle with brain cancer, when he wasn't firing on all cylinders) he might very well have acted on it - because, at that time, I would have deserved it. He and I butted heads for years, and I'm sure he died thinking I had been an entire waste of genetic material.

And who knows? Perhaps the people who were hurt, financially and emotionally, by my active alcoholism and insanity would have agreed. At one time, in between the time my wife asked me to leave and the time our divorce was final, I remember thinking that a caring God would have killed me, and leave my wife a stainless widow rather than a tainted divorcee'...

But this kind of irresponsible preaching would have deprived me of the last 15 years - years when I truly think I've done more good than harm, and restored at least a part of "the years that the locusts have eaten." God knows, I haven't been able to make as much financial restitution as I'd like - but I think I can say the "more good than harm" measure is a good thing. I think I've shared the peace and love of God with folks who could only hear it from me, and have brightened the lives of others.

And all that would have been lost, if my parents had listened to this so-called preacher.

Now, to be honest, there are a number of ideas in this transcript of John MacArthur's that I do agree with. I agree that discipline and teaching is lacking in many of our youth, as it was with me. I agree that there is an appalling tendency to use mind-affecting drugs to deal with behavior problems than to reach children and teach them. I'd even agree that we need to teach our children about God, and his law, and his grace, all the time. And I'm sure there are broadcasts of MacArthur's which truly are instruments of grace.

But when I hear this kind of careless, let's shock the people in the pews kind of preaching, I have to call it for what it is, and tell the world that this is not what a God of love, who sent his Son to die for us, would choose.

Busy, and multi-cultural

It's been a good weekend here on what some friends call the north-side of the "south side of Chicago." At least for now, it's not "the baddest part of town"...

I have a relatively new AA sponsee, who is 18 days clean - so talking with him, and listening to him (much more the latter, at this stage of the game) is a big part of my non-work time. And I started the process, this weekend, of trying to compress down my belongings into what would fit into a studio apartment. So the mess has, if anything, increased slightly, but order has also increased fractionally. I've still got a long way to go to get to "ordered," but I'm on the way.

This week, I am starting another study group down at Fourth Presbyterian Church on Monday, packing Wednesday and leaving Thursday night for four nights (3 days) on Thursday night. So life is pretty, well, chaotic - to put it mildly.

But beyond that, a lot of my non-work, non-AA time has been spent with my new LSTC roommate, Erkan.

Erkan arrived on July 1st from Istanbul, Turkey. He is a fascinating man - 33, a Turkish Muslim working on his doctoral dissertation on (as best I can understand, so far) understandings of creation across various faiths. In some ways, we are as different as can be - he is as thin and bony as I am, well, not; he speaks passable English, whereas I am 100% Turkish-impaired. His full-time salary as a teacher in Istanbul would be about $600 a month - well-below poverty levels on my scale. So in our backgrounds, we are vastly different. But he seems to have a great heart, and a desire to learn all he can about this country and how we live and love. And so our first week together has been fun.

Over the summer, Erkan is taking a class in English for international students - which he's finding quite challenging. So as we try to talk about our respective days, the mini-Turkish/English translator gizmo gets a workout - even though Erkan would say it knows very little!

I can't imagine what it would be like to leave family and friends for that kind of duration. Yes, I left family and friends when I came here, but it's not a big deal to get back to Kansas - let alone Ohio. But with Erkan, Istanbul is literally the other side of the world from Chicago. He's called his mother, who lives about 500 km. away from where he lived in Istanbul, 3 times since he got here. She effectively lives as far away from his home in Turkey as I live from my friends in Kansas City. She's cried each time he's called - which only reinforces his belief that "there's nothing like a mother."

So we talk - about food, about the neighborhood, about Chicago, and about the twists and turns of our respective faith journeys. It will be an interesting thing to watch this relationship blossom and grow, for however brief it is. But for now, it's late, and I'm going to bed!

A story worth repeating

I may have posted this story before; I don't know. But today, facing a number of decisions about how this day will go, I needed to hear it, and I needed to share it. It comes from the distant past, but I remember hearing it first from storyteller Doug Lipman at the first National Storytelling Festivals I attended, and found it again on the web last night. You can quibble with the theology - being grilled about my life by angels - but it's a powerful lesson nonetheless.

Once, the great Hasidic leader, Zusia, came to his followers. His eyes were red with tears, and his face was pale with fear.

"Zusia, what is the matter, you look frightened!"

"The other day, I had a vision. In it I learned the question the angels will one day ask me about my life."

The followers were puzzled. "Zusia, you are pious. You are scholarly and humble. You have helped so many of us. What question about your life could be so terrifying you would be frightened to answer it?"

Zusia turned his gaze to heaven. "I have learned that the angels will not ask me, "Why weren't you a Moses, leading your people out of slavery?" His followers persisted. "So what will they ask you?"

"And I have learned," Zusia sighed, "that the angels will not ask me, "Why weren't you a Joshua, leading your people to the promised land?"

One of his followers approached Zusia and faced him squarely. Looking him in the eyes, the follower demanded, "But what will they ask of you?"

"They will say to me, "Zusia, there was only one thing that no power of heaven or earth could have prevented you from becoming." They will say, "Zusia, why weren't you Zusia?"

--From The Storytelling Coach by Doug Lipman

Lord God, give the willingness and the strength to grow toward that which you have exclusively created me to be. Amen.

That's what we're supposed to do

Driving from work to an AA meeting this evening, I was listening to NPR's coverage of the London attacks when it seemed I heard Jesus speaking on the radio. Amidst all the discussion, there was a brief (but extraordinary) interview with a 94-year-old Red Cross worker, who had walked many blocks to show up and be of service at one of the hospitals treating the wounded.

The interviewer asked her what made her walk all those blocks, at her age. "Yes, well, I rather expect that's what we're supposed to do - don't you?" she said, clearly expecting an affirmative response. "You just show up and do what you can to help calm people down a bit. Even a nice cup'a tea helps, I s'pose..."

There was more of the interview, but I don't remember much else of it - perhaps because I'd heard all the testimony I needed already. This woman, just a hair shy of twice my age, didn't know what was needed; didn't wait to be asked; didn't wait for a message from a calling tree, or an email from her pastor or accountability partner. She heard there was trouble, got up, and walked to where there was a need - and then did her best to meet it.

Two things kept echoing in my mind as I drove south. The first was a very simple prayer: "God, make me more like that." The second was a question...

"What would the world look like if this woman's attitude was the response of every person who calls themselves a Christian? If we - you, me, all of us - could just set down the scales of righteousness and let go of the self-appointed role of Heaven's gatekeepers, and just take care of people who are in need? What would that look like?"

Well, a quick glance at the end of Matthew 25 tells me that it would look like the Kingdom of God.

I have no idea whether this anonymous Red Cross grandma believes in Jesus Christ as her personal savior, or has said "the sinner's prayer," or anything else. I don't know if she even believes in God. To me, it doesn't matter at all. The improbable picture of a 94-year-old women walking through the melee of post-attack London to be of service is one I hope to hold onto for a while as a "gold standard" of what it should mean to be a God-follower in this world.

The first time I remember experiencing that kind of love for one's neighbor was almost 27 years ago. My dad died in August, 1978, after an ugly struggle with cancer. We arrived at my dad's brother's farm outside of Hornell, NY about midnight the night after he died for the memorial service. Already, people from farms "up and down the hill" had brought everything we could need - food for an army, folding chairs, you name it. And it continued the next morning - as I dragged myself downstairs, one of my uncle's neighbors had just dropped off what could only be described as a pile of fresh sausage...and his was obviously not the first delivery of the morning.

When I introduced myself to him, I thanked him for what he brought, but asked him why the extravagant outpouring? He looked at me, and smiled, and said, "Son, when one of us up here on the hill runs into trouble, that's just what we do. We bring what we can, and we do what we can. That's just our way."

Lord God, let that be my way, too. Let that be "just what we do."

In the face of hatred, in the face of pain and loss and disaster, in the face of everyday struggles to suit-up-and-show-up to life, let me think like that, and act like that. I sure don't always live to that standard, Lord - but I'd sure appreciate your help to get closer to it.

Send your comfort, endurance and strength to those who mourn the death of loved ones, to those who have suffered injury and trauma, and to those who labor to help, heal, protect and restore. In the midst of pain, loss, and chaos, let them know You are there, and they are not alone.

Amen.

An undeclared, but very real, war

My brother [rhymes with kerouac] has written a challenging post that has crystallized a lot of my thoughts about the G-8 summit, Live-8, and a lot of the recent strident voices in the so-called "evangelical right."

It seems we're at war, all right.

[rwk] says it so very clear: this is a war between the rich and poor, between the powerful and the powerless. This great divide, sooner or later, forces all of God's children into a no-man's land between two equally adamant world views: that in which expedience merely serves our self and that in which the love of Christ is expressed in a surrender of self for a world full of 'others'.

He is so very right. The battle between "I want what I want" and "I'm called to take care of my neighbor" has become very much like the Cold War - shaping the way we look at everything, and everyone. The big difference, of course, is that there isn't some hulking evil super-power "over there" working to destroy us. The opposing side is likely my next-door neighbor, or the person in the apartment two floors up. They attend my church, pray to my God, love their kids, and are probably great employees.

But when it comes to a choice between an iPod and giving money (or time) to caring for those who are "the least of these," the two sides of this battle react very differently. I have often wondered, as I see a bazillion-dollar Hummer rolling down Michigan Ave., whether the driver's contributions to charity total even a tithe of the payments on that thing. In fact, I wonder what the world would look like if every CD, every DVD, every product you'd buy at BestBuy or CompUSA, carried a mandatory 10% contribution to charity...

And yet this battle is also very much like the war in Iraq. The government and the media seem to be very focused on ensuring that the casualties in both battles are invisible to the average Mary and Joe. One of the reasons the Vietnam War ended when it did (when it could have easily run for years and years) was because we saw the body-count every night on the news. We saw the bodies of dead servicemen and women coming back; we saw the carnage.

And a whole lot of people started saying, "This HAS to stop. NOW." And it stopped.

But there are no images of wounded and dead soldiers coming from Iraq...and no pictures of homeless or hungry people on the front page of our newspapers. In fact, in Chicago the process of "gentrification," of clearing out low-income properties and building $359,000 condos, has become its own kind of religion. In this city, the answer is clear: "we don't want them around here; we don't want them visible. And the way to move 'em out is to buy up where they live, and drive them somewhere else." No outcry, no protesting - and the steamroller just rolls on, flattening those who get in its way...

Now, I have to confess - I spend time on both sides of this battle. I have driven past the Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago without ever stopping to volunteer, or contribute. I try to help out folks when they ask, but I have also been a schmuck to panhandlers at times, too. And there have been plenty of times that I have come out of a restaurant, having had a good meal with good friends, and found myself annoyed by the homeless people asking for handouts. Given the day, you might wonder which side of the battle for "the least of these" I'm on.

But I know what side I want to be on. I'm not all the way there, yet - but with God's help, I can be a voice that says, "This HAS to stop. NOW."

A blessing from a friend

A hat-tip to Keith Brenton for pointing me to this incredible post in response to my post about my Catholic heritage.

I am not as far away from my seminary experience as he is - so my perception is probably a little warped. But I identified, big time. It's well worth the read.

The 46th percentile...

"Raised Catholic, can you tell?
I'm goin' to Cat'lic heaven 'cause
I been to Cat'lic....school." (storyteller Ed Stivender)

On one of those mini-quizzes, I scored heavily in the Emergent, Lutheran, Calvinist categories, but only in the 46th percentile as a Catholic. Which is pretty funny, because I spent the first 17 years of my life going to Catholic church weekly, including a period where I was going to Mass every day before school. In fact, I even won the "Most Valuable Altar Boy" award at St. Agnes' RC Church in Niantic, CT.

A while back (June 8th, to be precise), my friend Well Woman asked me a seemingly simple question:Can I ask a personal question? Maybe I should email you...I am just wondering when and why you left the Catholic church?

Well, it's like this...I didn't so much leave, as fade away, and then be refused re-admittance.

In the 1965-72 timeframe, my father was still working very hard to be a righteous Catholic man - kind of a Kinghts-of-Columbus poster guy. In all the churches we had been members of, up to that point, Dad had been an usher, retreat leader, Holy Name Society officer, you name it...ol' Joe Flower was there.

Then, in the winter of 1971, Dad lost his job with General Dynamics/Electric Boat. By the spring of 1972, he'd found a new job in Syracuse with Prestolite - so he moved to Syracuse, and we stayed behind (so I could go with my high school band on a tour of Europe that summer). We moved to Camillus, NY in August, and in October, Dad was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer. He made it through - but it was a long, hard surgery and chemo treatment afterwards. And three months later, he got the word that his work was being transferred to Toledo, OH, and he could either go - or lose his job...again.

When we got to south Toledo, we started going to St. Patrick's of Heatherdowns RC church - but the folks there didn't need Dad's ushering, or retreat-leading, or any of the other "just let me help you" behaviors. And Dad got mad - officially, about the "morons" who were still collecting pew tax (for you heretics: a 25-cent per seat collection before the collection). And so he just stopped going to church - period. And when he stopped, we stopped, too. And that, at age 17, was the end of my "practicing Catholic" phase of my life. To the best of my knowledge, the only other time I was in a Catholic church was for Dad's memorial service in 1978. (Amusingly enough, since Dad had donated his body to science, he himself was not "in church" for his memorial service...)

When my life and marriage were blowing apart in October 1990, I tried reaching out to the Catholic church - to three different churches. When I called and said I desperately needed to talk to the priest, each of the three rectory aides told me (in no uncertain terms) that Confession was on Saturday at 8 AM. (As this was Tuesday, that didn't seem at all likely to me.) When my friend Jeff connected me with his Lutheran (ELCA) pastor, and he shared the gospel with me, I knew I was home.

Of course, it was 11 years later that I encountered Richard Foster's Renovare' movement, and found Catholicism's contemplative strains to be a linchpin of the way the Renovare'movement is to be lived.

Wish there was more drama than that, sister. But there was no cosmic "screw you, Charley" moment - just simply falling apart from my old life, and definitely feeling "a part of" rather than "apart from" in the land of the Protestants. But, like everything else in my journey, my life among the Roman Catholics has played its part. And I'm glad to say that the anger and resentment have faded - I'm no longer "a recovering Catholic," as I once was. And for that, I am grateful.

Four days filled with life

It has been a weekend filled to overflowing with both rest and activity. Lots of changes in the last ninety-six hours...

God smiled on Chicago on Friday - cool breezes and temperatures in the low seventies. By 2 PM Friday, I had a severe, near-fatal case of spring fever - somehow, sitting and printing off donor thank-you letters seemed completely useless while a respite from the summer heat and humidity waited outside. My boss had left for the weekend, and my "other boss" was amenable, so I left early, and drove straight downtown to the "Taste of Chicago" festival.

"The Taste" (as it is known here) is a big deal - lots of food and entertainment down at Grant and Millenium Parks downtown. I hadn't been too drawn to the entertainers - Donna Summer, Clint Black, LeeAnn Rimes, etc. - but in a way, I wish I'd stayed for Steve Winwood. But to be honest the food was plentiful, but pretty lame - not much above what you'd find at a good-sized county fair midway (and sometimes below!). And the crowds were, well, stifling, even at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. So I walked through it all, did my best to find non-lame food, people-watched a bit, and then headed out. I can check the "Taste of Chicago" box off my list...

Friday night at 10 PM, I got the phone call from school that my new roommate had arrived. He was supposed to have arrived the prior Monday, and was rescheduled for Saturday - but anyway, here he was. Erkan Kurt is a Muslim teacher and doctoral student from Istanbul, Turkey, doing his thesis on understandings of creation across faith traditions. He'd been on the plane for 11 hours, and had been taken out to dinner by 3 of the other Turkish students at LSTC, so he got settled, and went to bed.

There isn't much visual evidence for it, but I did a goodly amount of cleaning this weekend. All the winter clothes are clean, and waiting to be put away; all the summer clothes are clean (and mostly hung-up or put away!). I've emptied a dozen boxes, and have been filling several more - a box of theology books to send to my former sponsoring church, a box of clothing to be donated, a box of miscellaneous books to go to the local library, and a box of heavy stuff that's going to the trash. It still looks bad...but there is progress.

Sunday afternoon, I took Erkan on a driving tour of the lakeshore - just to give him a sampling of what's available in Chicago. A couple Turkish students had taken him on a walking tour around the University of Chicago - but I thought it was worthwhile to let him see the bigger picture. He has a pretty good handle on English - vastly better than my handle on Turkish - so our conversations were good, if a little slow.

I had the blessing to be able to spend time with folks from Fourth Church on Sunday evening - a massive potluck organized by my new friend Larry Nicholson. Then the special treat was going to one of his friends' luxury condo a couple blocks away, and going up on their rooftop patio to watch the city's massive fireworks display. It's the first time I've seen live fireworks in, oh, forever - so that was a really good time. The travel back home on the El and CTA buses was a nightmare; even after waiting an hour for the crush to die down, it didn't. Add to that enough personalities fortified by alcohol (or whatever) and it was..."interesting." But worth it - and the CTA was vastly preferable to driving...

I made several journeys down to the apartment I was going to rent in the way-south parts of Chicago - and determined that it's just not the right fit. I'm putting in an application for a studio apartment in Hyde Park, and only if that doesn't work will I take that one. In fact, I think that if I had to choose between that apartment, and staying in Chicago, I'd head back to Toledo instead. I wish it were different, but it's just not the right choice. More on that later.

Through a post on Bagga's Blog, I just discovered a cool term - "liminality" - which describes the state of being on the threshold of something, or at the beginning of a process. Jodi McLaren, on whose blog Bagga found the term, defines it as "this in-between state of letting go of the past, but being uncertain of the future." Of course, this didn't sound familiar to me at all...

I've had two offers recently - both to "pack up and go home," to leave the Big Bad City and run away. And frankly they sound terrifyingly tempting. Except...

Except that whatever I have been brought here to see, to do, to learn...I haven't done it yet. In fact, in some ways, I've been running away from it for a year and a half. I can't live life the way that I was - and I've been too afraid to live life the way I'm called to. All I know is that there is more honesty, more being "real" to do - and I don't think I can do it where I came from.

It seems I've been brought here not to study, not to be ordained, but to wrestle - perhaps with demons, perhaps with the better angels of my nature...I don't know. But I haven't wrestled with anything, yet - or perhaps I've just started. I don't think I'm going to escape Jacob's outcome - but perhaps a limp (or a different kind of limp) is what I'm going to need in order to improve my walk. But I've been doing the "float like a butterfly" part - avoiding the fight for fear of the punches - for far too long.

I'm really starting to feel this, strongly - it's time to make contact. It's time to come out swinging - knowing full well that it's going to hurt, and knowing I'll be limping at the end of it. But having really "lived" this last weekend, I know this - living in limbo sucks. The alternative is far preferable.

Look to this day, for it is life,
The very life of life,
In its brief course lies all the realities
And verities of existence:
The bliss of growth, the splendor of action,
The glory of power...

For yesterday is but a dream
And tomorrow is only a vision.
But today, well lived, makes every yesterday
A dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well, therefore, to this day.
(a Sanskrit proverb, from the Twenty-Four Hours a Day devotional)

That will be my goal for today...and all I can add to it is, "Amen."

A week of "trudging"

Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.

I've always loved this last paragraph of the "recovery instructions" part of the AA text - particularly the idea of "trudging the road of Happy Destiny." I have to admit that the first time I read it, "the Road of Happy Destiny" sounded too corny - like a movie with Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. But over the years, it has become the image for doing the "left-foot, right-foot" thing: just moving forward, and trying to do the next right thing, trusting that God will guide me when my own wisdom seems mostly inoperative.

Within 90 minutes of the end of my visit with my former wife on Sunday, I started to come down with all the signs of a classic summer cold - constantly running nose, sneezing my damn head off, and a complete energy crash. The fact is, I just don't have time for this - but that doesn't seem to matter, somehow. It's just what is...

I'm also envying several of my AA friends who are headed to Toronto for the 70th anniversary AA International Conference. I had the opportunity to be at the 60th, in San Diego in 1995...it was amazing beyond description, but I just couldn't justify it financially this year - too many other balls in the air. (If you want a view of how Toronto sees the onslaught of 50,000 recovering alkies (not to mention families!), you can see this article at the Toronto Star website. Pretty cool.)

The last week has provided several opportunities-for-growth at my place of employment, all pointing to the fact that I need to be somewhere else...period. The fact that I don't want to change horses mid-stream just doesn't seem to matter, right now; it's just time to get really serious about heading somewhere else. No sense in whining (though I do anyway); it's Nike-time (just do it!). :::sigh:::

I've had this image of a great place to live, and I've had to come to terms with the fact that it's just wrong. I've been trying to tell myself that my sense of discomfort about it was simply that I just don't want to leave the quasi-comfort of the known situation I'm in. But I've done the drive down south to the location a couple times - and though it's about 9 "surface" miles away, it's really about half-a-world away, for me. (For my Kansas City friends, it's like the difference between being at Zarda BBQ in Lenexa and Rosedale BBQ on Southwest Blvd. - about the same distance and driving time.)

Moving to this location has many advantages - one of which is that I wouldn't have to "simplify" or pare down my life; I could just move it all there. There'd be space - to entertain, to have overnight guests, you name it. The problem is, it just seems wrong. It seems like I'm headed in the wrong direction. And there is this sense that I need to just get rid of the baggage that I've been carrying, and get even more "simple" than I did when I got here two years ago.

And then I think, "Well, you thought you were doing the right thing when you moved here, bubba. Look how well that turned out..." (Even though I know there have been many blessings about coming here...it's just weird.)

So I turn and twist. I need to commit to one place or another, soon. God, grant me the serenity...and the wisdom...and the courage. Especially the courage.

The one thing I know is this; either way will not be fatal. And if it turns out I've made a hideous decision, well, I can make another decision. And maybe it will be less painful than this one seems to be.

There's one thing that feels right: anything which makes me more mobile, and less anchored to "stuff," seems to be a good thing. My friend Damien moved into a studio apartment when he first left his order - and he highly recommended it...but it was a bit easier, I think, because he started out with nothing. Separating from "stuff" seems more of an uncomfortable spiritual exercise, somehow. And maybe that's what this whole adventure is supposed to be teaching me...I don't know. I feel like I'm in a game of Jeopardy - "Could I have 'Tablets of Stone' for $300, please?"

Meanwhile, this Saturday I'm scheduled to get a new roommate at the seminary housing. A student coming from Turkey; he was supposed to be here Monday, but plans changed at the last minute. Maybe he'll be here Saturday...maybe not. Anyway, I have much laundry and housecleaning to do this weekend in anticipation of losing my "solo bachelor" status.

High points for the weekend seems to be a run down to "Taste of Chicago," and watching the big fireworks with some friends from Fourth Church on Sunday. One of the folks has access to a rooftop access, which should be cool.

For now, the sniffling and sneezing seems to have slowed down enough to get some desperately needed shut-eye, so I'm off to bed.