Do you believe in the Church?

First, words from a wiser man than I:

The Church is an object of faith. In the Apostles' Creed we pray: "I believe in God, the Father ... in Jesus Christ, his only Son … in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting."

We must believe in the Church! The Apostles' Creed does not say that the Church is an organization that helps us to believe in God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. No, we are called to believe in the Church with the same faith we believe in God.

Often it seems harder to believe in the Church than to believe in God. But whenever we separate our belief in God from our belief in the Church, we become unbelievers. God has given us the Church as the place where God becomes God-with-us.
(Henri Nouwen, Bread for the Journey, daily meditation for October 18th)

In the Henri Nouwen Society's email devotions, there have been several postings recently (including this one) about having faith in "The Church." I'm sure it's no coincidence that they're showing up now, precisely whenI’ve been having some real trouble with that concept.

As I remember it, Mike Housholder, pastor of the Lutheran Church of Hope in West Des Moines (and a man I deeply admire and respect) once said in a sermon that the local congregational church is a broken, often sinful entity – but at the same time, it’s also the very best answer for encountering the living presence of Christ on earth. At the time, I agreed with him – but back then, I was much more hopeful about the power of the Holy Spirit to work in and through the local church.

I’m not so sure about that, any more. I am sure that the Spirit can work in the local church. I’m just not so sure that it does.

The thing that makes me wonder at this particular time is my friend Eric, and his church’s ongoing challenge with battles over styles and times of worship. And while I’d like to tell him to just have faith, and “be strong and courageous while working to change the hearts and minds of the congregation,” I really can’t do that. In the end, I’m not sure I actually think we can change the hearts and minds of established congregations.

I’ve been through this with one congregation – hoping specifically NOT to change the congregation, but to create another entry-way into the congregation through alternative worship in a completely separate service. Despite some support, there was significant resistance to it from a number of older members of the congregation, who felt that the new worship service violated the tradition of the church (which it did) and was therefore un-Lutheran (which it was emphatically not).

The struggle ended with a highly-conservative, traditionally-anchored pastor putting the kibosh on the whole project, with a whole lot of name-calling and extraordinarily questionable actions taken in order to justify his position.

In the end, it was the ethical failures and the autocratic practices of the senior pastor (and not the lack of worship alternatives) that drove a significant chunk of members away from that congregation. The last I heard, the congregation had shrunk by 70% since the exodus began in 2001 – and to combat the numeric slide, they had actually begun another contemporary worship service. (The irony in that still amazes me.)

In Eric’s church, as I understood it, they had voted to change their worship services as part of their move to a new building – and in a very short time after moving into the new building, it was absolutely full to capacity. But once again, a group of folks who had grown up with a specific tradition of worship have put significant pressure on their senior pastor, who (despite earlier assertions to fight rather than switch) seems to have caved-in almost entirely on the subject.

The congregation seems poised to make some fairly illogical choices (like having two differently-styled services at the same time, when they are already fighting issues of parking) in order to preserve the supposed status-quo. I listened – but in the end all I could do is sigh, and wish him luck.

This may sound cynical - if so, I can't help that - but I have come to believe that church dynamics are governed by one very deeply human and very real truism of sociology, and not of spirituality: Birds of a feather flock together.

People naturally gather together based on shared experience and tradition – period. If they came to a church where pipe organs and hymnals and 10-minute sermons are the norm, that’s what they want, and that’s what they expect. And by definition, they will mightily resist any action that seeks to move them away from their expectations – no matter how logically those actions are presented, and no matter what possible spiritual adventures might come from them.

The final answer almost always is, “This is the way in which we choose to experience God. You may not find this uplifting, or stimulating, or even Biblical, to your way of seeing it. But this is how we are – and these modes of worship are the ways in which we define sacredness and holiness in this place. Stay if you like; go if you like. But deal with it.”

To make the point absurdly clear: I wouldn’t ever consider driving up to Willow Creek Community Church, joining there, and then insisting that they install a pipe organ, or that they start using a given liturgy in their weekly services or hang a cross in the front of their worship space. Why should I think that the answer should be any different for the little traditional church that I may be attending?

In retrospect, I'm sore afraid that the answer for me was as simple as “I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too.” I had experienced worship at other congregations which seemed to me to be a much more powerful experience than that to which I’d been accustomed. In my own mind, I wanted the folks I’d grown fond of to have that same experience – and blindly assumed they would want it, too. (Of course, when I found that some of my fellow church members were like-minded, that realization only fueled the fire…)

But after some distance and reflection, I’m coming to believe that the heart of my motivation was simple selfishness and self-centeredness. I wanted to have the same worship experience I’d had elsewhere, without giving up my constellation of church friends, many of whom had become as close as family. I believed that the “either/or” choice was unacceptable.

I now believe that “either/or” is not the only way - but it is the best way.

Interestingly enough, this is exactly how the 12-step/12-tradition folks do it, too. There’s a standing truism in AA – to start a new meeting, all you need is two members, a resentment, and a coffee-pot. As a leader of my original former congregation said to me once, “We simply do not care what you think. If you don’t like how we do things here, there’s the door – don’t let it hit’cha where the Good Lord split’cha!” (And in the end, that’s exactly what a good number of us did.)

I’m coming to believe that “church unity” is not necessarily a good thing. I think that focusing on Christ needs to be the central thing – and questions of liturgy, of music, of decorations, and of doctrine and dogma should all end up being what the AA folks would call “outside issues.”

In the end, it’s Christ that matters – and not whether the bread is made of wheat or rice, leavened or unleavened, or whether the music is plainsong or chant or this song in this hymnal or that praise chorus on that PowerPoint presentation. To me, it’s like sitting around a campfire – there is one fire, but each of us will see the flames differently, depending on where we’re sitting.

While I used to pray for unity in the various mainstream churches over acceptances of gays and lesbians, I no longer pray for that at all. I look forward to the day when those who want to welcome gays go one way, and the rest go the other. Then maybe they’ll stop fighting over this stuff, and get back to doing something about loving their neighbors and feeding the poor and fighting for justice and against war.

And in the process, maybe they’ll spend enough time in the Word to figure out that “those fags” (or "those poor people," or "those cross-towners," or that minority group, or whatever) are their neighbors – and treat ‘em as Christ told them to treat them.

Or maybe they’ll just create a place where resentment, hatred and fear can fester and grow. I don’t know.

I wish Eric well with his congregation - but I’m glad I’m not in it, to be honest. And I’m still looking for someplace I can call home. The old U2 song says it best:

You broke the bonds
You loosened the chains
You carried the cross
And my shame
You know I believed it

But I still haven’t found what I’m lookin’ for…

Last days, first days - Sunday evening catchup

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

It has been an interesting weekend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing what God can do...

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

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

It is absolutely astonishing to see what God can do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday morning mulligan stew

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Healer of Our Every Ill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An interesting photo

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

Endings, and more transitions....

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

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

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

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

My friend Dave asked the question via email:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hitting both extremes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thinking about "barren prayer"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Outta my mind on Monday moanin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's all for now!

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

Well, that's too bad.

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

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

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

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

Livin' for the weekend...

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

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

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

Don't I know it.

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

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

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

A late night catch-up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Living "between the times of plenty"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The latest "Celebration" posting...

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

Today's posting....

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

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

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

No, I haven't died....

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

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

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

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

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

Love, belief, action

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anybody got air-sickness bags?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the thrill is gone, it seems.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A quick catch-up

I have been working more the last couple days, as my time at my current employer is winding down. Tomorrow was originally supposed to be my last day. Then, one of my two bosses asked me to work Friday and Monday. Then she intimated that boss #2 might have work for me for another week or more, working on the firm's audit preparations.

Then I get a call from a major temporary-to-permanent firm here in Chicago, saying they have openings for a temp-to-perm payroll specialist position - that could be an ASAP hire. Add this on top of seeing an ideal position - in Columbus, OH, of all places - and I just don't know. There's part of me that hates to even think about finishing unpacking, because I'll just have to leave again. (How's that for projection?) Of course, part of me just doesn't want to unpack because I'm the epitome of sloth...

Last night, at 10:15 it was still 83 degrees. Tonight, after a light rain and a cool front, it is 64 F, for which I give great thanks to God. Woo-HOO!

I have no idea what tomorrow may bring - endings, beginnings, who knows. So I'm just going to trust that God will walk with me through it all, and go to bed. Peace, y'all.

Does God have a targeting system?

Then Abraham approached him and said: "Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked? What if there are fifty righteous people in the city? Will you really sweep it away and not spare the place for the sake of the fifty righteous people in it? Far be it from you to do such a thing—to kill the righteous with the wicked, treating the righteous and the wicked alike. Far be it from you! Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?"
The LORD said, "If I find fifty righteous people in the city of Sodom, I will spare the whole place for their sake." (Genesis 18:23-26, NIV)

Joe Klein wrote an article (which appears in the Sept. 12 Time magazine and here on CNN.com) quoting a group called "Columbia Christians for Life," who looked at satellite images of hurricane Katrina and saw an unborn fetus in the image. Based on this revelation, they sent out a storm of emails proclaiming God's judgement on New Orleans for operating abortion clinics, and their website has two articles praising God for the destruction of the clinics. (Thanks to Eileen for the hat-tip about Joe Klein's article.)

On a lark, I went to SuperPages.com, an online "yellow pages" site, and found that there were more than 1,200 churches in New Orleans, most of which (I would assume) suffered the same fate as the abortion clinics.

I only point this out because the passage I opened with, from Genesis, seems to indicate that God understood the concept of "collateral damage" a lot better than we do. The concept that hundreds, if not thousands, of people would die and hundreds of places of Christian worship would be destroyed so that five abortion centers would be shut down is an obscenity of massive proportions. Not only is it obscene, it's just not Biblical.

The idea of a God who knows us so intimately that God knows the number of hairs on our heads (Luke 12:6-8) having a Smiting-Target-Acquisition-System that has to take 1,200 churches with it in order to wipe out five dens of iniquity is beyond stupid. It's just a variation on the same crap which I wrote about in January that John Piper was preaching about the tsunami - that the deaths of thousands of believers was an "acceptable loss" to the Almighty for the privilege of sweeping infidels and pagans to their death.

The blog Eve's Apple has a good sample of the backlash from this nonsense.

If there were half as many people preaching God's love, forgiveness, and acceptance as there were people loudly proclaiming that they know who God is going to smite, there would be a whole lot more Christians around.

Just so you know: God does not have a targeting system. This, instead, is what God has for you:

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV)

It's just so damn sad, because the message of Christ is so vastly different than what what these folks are hearing from morons like the so-called "Columbia Christians for Life."

Your actions speak so loud, I can't hear what you're saying. (anonymous)

The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians, who acknowledge Jesus with their lips and walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable. (Brennan Manning)

We all need to hear this

Today...or tonight...set yourself up with the beverage of your choice, and go to the website of the NPR program This American Life. Go down to "Last Week: After The Flood," click on the RealAudio (RA) link, and start listening. It will take about an hour.

No political ranting here - just the stories of real people in the heart of the storm. These are not sound bites, but extended narratives of the experiences of people walking through hell.

A woman who was at the convention center talks about some things she says were widely misreported and misunderstood. Two people explain how armed police from neighboring Gretna actually prevented them from leaving New Orleans at the height of the crisis. A teenager talks about what it actually feels like to go without water for two days. And more.

These are stories that need to be heard. It will be a difficult, but worthwhile hour - trust me.

A holy moment with Garrison Keillor

Well, I have yet another reason to envy my friend Natalie back in Kansas. It seems that she and her parents managed to both worship and have dinner with Garrison Keillor today. Even though they served lutefisk, it would still be enough to envy her.

Keillor, host and main-man for A Prairie Home Companion, was in Hutchinson, KS (Nat's ancestral hometown) for another stop in the PHC late-summer state-fair tour. Last weekend, they were in Minneapolis, pulling everyone's leg about cheese curds. But this week, they were at the Kansas State Fair, always hosted in Hutch. I didn't even know about it until I heard a sliver of the radio broadcast Saturday night, with a song about Hutchinson set to "Down in the Boondocks." I've seen Keillor live a couple times, and just seeing that would have been worth it. But here's where the fun came in...

Evidently, when the original announcement came out that Garrison Keillor was going to be in town, Emmanuel Lutheran Church (one of two ELCA congregation in town) started negotiations to have him come to worship with them on the Sunday after his performance. Since he's gotten so much mileage at the expense of Lutherans over the years, it seemed only fair to make the appearance. So it was that the bard of Lake Wobegon was reading Scripture in Hutchinson this morning ("a reading from the letter of the Apostle Paul to the Kansans..."), and singing along with the children's choir and the rest of the congregation. Given that "Singing With the Lutherans" is one of his better mini-monologues, it only made sense that the congregation would end up singing "Children of the Heavenly Father."

I'd bet there were smiles in heaven. I'm told (by Natalie) that there were smiles in Hutchinson.

Ah, but into every scene from heaven, it seems a bit of hell must sneak in. And Hell, in this case, appeared during the Scandinavian dinner, where I am told they actually served lutefisk. Now, they served lots of other Scandinavian delights - Swedish meatballs, lefsa, you name it. But lutefisk...gaaah.

(Lutefisk, for those who are blessedly unaware, is an absolutely ghastly concoction that is basically salted, jellied cod. An interesting side-note is that they "jelly" it by soaking it in lye. Yes, as in drain cleaner. Want to know more? Here's a classic, if somewhat vulgar, description of an innocent's close encounter with lutefisk.)

And to be honest, I have only smelled the vile stuff; I have never tasted it, and purely hope to go home to Jesus without having that experience, thank you very much. As far as I can tell, 25% of all lutefisk is eaten once a year by 1st-or 2nd-generation Scandinavian residents; 25% is eaten by unsuspecting friends of those Scandinavians; and the rest is thrown out by decent folk everywhere.

But from the sound of it, even the presence of lutefisk didn't dampen the enthusiasm at the dinner, nor did it cramp Br'er Keillor's monologue afterwards. I think the Lutherans had the last laugh - they gave Keillor a t-shirt with a cute message (and a great play on Philippians 4:7): "Lutefisk - The Piece of Cod That Passes All Understanding."

So not only do I really wish I'd been in Hutchinson this weekend, but just sitting here writing tonight I've had a truly awful craving flung on me for Swedish meatballs. [Yes, I know, they're almost as bad as sausage-gravy-n-biscuits from a nutritional standpoint. I don't care. I love Swedish meatballs; I could sit down with an entire crockpot full of them, all by myself. For me, it's one of the universe's all-time great comfort foods.]

Somehow, that refernce (along with the yo-yo's in my former home state trying to teach creationism alongside evolution) reminded me of a wonderful scene in one of my favorite sci-fi series, Bablyon 5. In the scene, one of the main characters, the alien warrior and philosopher G'Kar, is having a meal with a fellow Narn. The other alien looks down at his plate, smiles, and they have this exchange:

"You've managed to import breen from our homeworld. How?"
"It ... isn't actually breen."
"But the smell! The taste!..."
"It's actually an Earth food. They are called Swedish meatballs. It's a strange thing, but it seems that every sentient race in the galaxy has its own version of these Swedish meatballs. I suspect it's one of those great universal mysteries which will either never get explained or which will drive you mad if you ever learned the truth."
(Na'kal and G'Kar in the Babylon 5 episode "Walkabout")

To me, if ever they found this to be true, it would be the clearest, firmest piece of scientific proof for intelligent design throughout the universe.

That's it. We've had just a few commenters on the Celebration of Discipline blogging adventure, but it's been good for me to be reading (along with digging back into "How It Works" from the AA recovery text). I'm posting a couple links over there later on this evening/morning. That, along with finally starting to deep-clean the apartment enough to cook in the kitchen, has taken a bunch of time this weekend. But it's been time well spent.

The good news is that there may be a temporary reprieve on the end-day at my current place of employment - which is good, because there are still only dribs and drabs of things showing up to replace the job, as of yet. I did find one seemingly perfet position - that would be very akin to what I'd been doing for Sprint for years. But it's in Columbus, OH - and I'd like to avoid having to move (again!) if I don't REALLY have to.

It's 9:22 PM, and still 82 degrees and humid. Not what I would choose - and it's supposed to be even hotter Monday and Tuesday. Yuck. (I know there's some otherwise-sane folks who love hot weather, and delight in humidity. God bless 'em - but I'm sure not one of 'em. If I could put in an order for weather, it would definitely be for 70s, breezy and dry.)

As far as I'm concerned, this is an "Indian summer" that wouldn't even be enjoyable in India, let alone among my Native American friends. Oh, well. For all my sweating and whining about the humidity here in south Chicago, there is no standing water - and there is a significant lack of water damage, raw sewage, or bloated dead bodies in my neighborhood. So I'm still gonna call my weekend incredibly, incredibly blessed.

A stunning indictment of the so-called "rescue efforts"

I've taken time out to follow just a few of the links in the blogosphere about the reaction to the Katrina relief efforts (or the lack thereof). An amazing indictment of the government's reaction comes from Shakespeare's Sister. In part: Take a look at the international analysis of what’s happening in America right now—the entire world is appalled, watching the richest country in the world let its people die of thirst, and yet that is the inevitable result of a ruling party who feels little obligation to its citizens.

But then I read this post by ThinkProgress, where the president of Jefferson Parish in New Orleans, Aaron Broussard, issued an emotional appeal on NBC’s Meet the Press. By the end, he was completely broken down, sobbing uncontrollably. Read the post. I did - and then I followed this link to watch the video feed (the QuickTime link is faster).

If you're not angry after hearing this, I don't know what to say.

Way too blessed to be stressed

It's been an interesting day - certainly not the day I would have chosen, but all in all, a challenging yet good day.

The events of the day have been tragicomic - everything technological I touched at work broke today (copier, PC, internet connection, network printer) at the precise moment of maximum need/urgency. It was yet another confirmation of the sign I saw on a copier twenty years ago...

WARNING: this machine has been equipped with an automatic criticality detector designed specifically to cause breakdowns, jams and other interruptions of service at precisely the times of greatest need for functionality. If the machine can sense that you're really desperate to use it, it will almost certainly fail. So just stay calm...

Of course, the more the machine fails, the more unlikely it is for me to remain calm (or to not act desperate)...so it's a losing spiral, after a point.

And the adventure continued - delays getting out of the office, insane traffic on the way down to Hyde Park to the AA meeting... just a series of classic potential serenity-busters. By the time I picked up my sponsee to get the meeting set-up, I was 15 minutes late, and my mood was somewhere between Oh, for God's sake! and WTF?

And that's when I had to laugh. It's all about my perception, after all. A week and a half after Katrina, just shy of the 4-year anniversary of 9/11, and I'm whining about finances, traffic and technology. I had a warm shower, two good meals, plenty of gas in my tank, and lodging that is absolutely devoid of rats, corpses, E.coli, or heavy-metal contamination. Yet I could easily have talked myself into believing I was having a bad day.

And that's when God reminded me of exactly what I needed to hear...

Nearly eleven years ago, as an on-site consultant for Sprint working in Des Plaines, IL on their Centel merger, I was in an AA meeting at the First Step House in downtown Des Plaines. At work, I was the new-guy-in-charge, and things were not going well. I was afraid of failing, afraid of a high-profile failure, you name it. Fear was everywhere. And I made the mistake of bringing it up in a place where we were literally meeting between the cots in a men's halfway-house...a setting that should have inspired gratitude from the get-go, but didn't, somehow.

The old-timer sitting next to me was the next person to speak. I don't remember his name, but I'll never truly forget what he said. It was exactly what I need to hear, that day and this one, too:

Boy, let me tell you a little secret. If you haven't been drunk, high, naked-in-public, or shot-at, and you haven't used the word "asshole" in the final draft of a memo, then you're still havin' a good day. Because most folks that are still out there qualifyin' for our little club here would take any three of the five I just mentioned. So get over your cheap self and find some gratitude, y'hear?

I've lost sight of that thought any number of times, over the years - but I've never truly forgotten it. And by that man's simple measure, I've had a very good day.

Now, I don't want to blue-sky the situation, however. After all, I have (at best) 7 days of assured paid employment at my current position, and a dearth of alternatives. Living here in Pullman will eventually be cheaper than living in Hyde Park - but the first month of moving out has been an expensive one. Just because God loves me and I'm sunny-side-up, suckin'-air-n-sober doesn't mean I don't have lots of "opportunities for growth" that I have thus far failed to rise up to.

But I'm a very, very blessed man. As I told my young friend on the way home tonight, I've had an awful lot of 24-hours "in the bonus round," and it's all been a gift. If I shuffle off this mortal coil tonight, my financial record will read all in red ink - but I'll still be one of the richest men I know. In my youth, I had to memorize a poem, which contained one of the best scorecards for my life:

So count your garden by the flowers,
and never by the leaves that fall.
Count you days by golden hours,
and don't remember clouds at all.
Count your nights by stars, not shadows,
count your life by smiles, not tears.
And on this night, when you we honor,
count your age by friends, not years.

Thank you, God, for the reminders. I needed to hear 'em.

Need a little more Life in my day

There's a song by the Christian group Newsong (I think) that talks about the need for more time - which is definitely what I'm struggling with, right now. There's just too much to do, and too little time to do it.

Of course, their answer is that I don't need "more time in my life," but that I "need a little more Life in my day." The fact is, I could have come home and unpacked and wrote for an hour and a half, rather than taking a car-less co-worker grocery shopping and to get food for her dog. That was a choice I made; but this morning, needing at least 90 minutes between now and 9 AM, it's just a little annoying to see the price of my choices.

In the meantime, check out today's post at Damien's Spot about a young gay man who set fire to himself in St. Peter's Square. The portion of Alfredo Ormando's letter posted there is the secret cry of many, many closeted gay and lesbian Christians, and explains a lot about why he took the action he did. While I never believe that suicide is the answer, I certainly understand how one can get to that place. I've been near there a time or two myself...

Oh, well...gotta run. "God, grant me the serenity..."

Blogrolling problems?

Is anyone else having problems with Blogrolling.com? It seems that it's just no longer available in the morning or late evening - the Blogroll just times out each time I try. Suggestions? Alternatives?

Rev. Shanks and God's bad targeting

Rev. Bill Shanks, pastor of New Covenant Fellowship of New Orleans, also sees God's mercy in the aftermath of Katrina -- but in a different way. Shanks says the hurricane has wiped out much of the rampant sin common to the city.

The pastor explains that for years he has warned people that unless Christians in New Orleans took a strong stand against such things as local abortion clinics, the yearly Mardi Gras celebrations, and the annual event known as "Southern Decadence" -- an annual six-day "gay pride" event scheduled to be hosted by the city this week -- God's judgment would be felt.

“New Orleans now is abortion free. New Orleans now is Mardi Gras free. New Orleans now is free of Southern Decadence and the sodomites, the witchcraft workers, false religion -- it's free of all of those things now," Shanks says. "God simply, I believe, in His mercy purged all of that stuff out of there -- and now we're going to start over again." (from this article in the Agape Press)

Of course, Rev. Shanks, New Orleans is free of just about everything - including almost all of the Christians, who seemed to get washed away just as often as the sinners in this supposedly-holy deluge.

My favorite response to this particular proclamation was over the weekend, from the folks on Chicago Public Radio's Wait, Wait - Don't Tell Me!, the NPR weekly news-quiz program. They noted that while Rev. Shanks is proclaiming that Katrina is God's vengeance for all the sinfulness of New Orleans, that somehow God's devastating blow somehow didn't hit the French Quarter as bad as some of the rest of the city, because the FQ sits on slightly higher ground than the rest of New Orleans.

So the suggestion was that if God was really behind all this, He needed to tighten up the sights on His targeting computer - because the most sinful areas were the ones that got hit the least. (Or at least throw in an earthquake to level it all before flooding it...)

If my choice is to be with the "sinners and sodomites" or Rev. Shanks and his brand of godless, loveless Christianity, I'll take the S&S crowd.

On a related issue, check out Rick Luoni's post about Led Zepplin, Jesus and Love. Once again, Rick's reading my mail in a big, big way.

Plenty of work on this Labor Day

I don't come from a union background - but I hold a great deal of respect for the work of organized labor for creating much of the prosperity of the 20th century. Even as it seems that the labor movement is up against the ropes these days, with corruption and conflict threatening unity, and government and international commercial giants like Wal-Mart working hard to break the power of unions, I still celebrate the accomplishments of organized labor - and I'm grateful for their work to protect those who individually would not have a voice.

Today begins another labor - as we begin the task of blogging our way through Richard Foster's classic Celebration of Discipline. In the upper right corner of this page is the link to A Virtual Celebration, which will be where I will be writing my reflections (though I will also be linking to it from here, as well). If you're part of the group that said, "Yeah, sure, I'll do it," welcome. I'm excited about it.

The last three days have been pretty labor-intensive around here - moving my belongings out of the garage, up a very steep flight of stairs, and dumping them in the "somewhat ready for habitation" new apartment. I did 90% of the hauling upstairs myself - with the result that my lower back is somewhat more tender than it should be, and my knees and lower arms are both screaming. But at least it's now a task of putting things in place, and cleaning, and not of living as a transient, as I have for the last four weeks. I'm sure I'll still be living out of boxes for a while, anyway, but as the Beatles wrote, I've got to admit it's gettin' better - it's gettin' better all the time...

The move tasks have pushed my job search back to job #3, but that will have to change in short order, too. I've had some interviews, and sent out a bunch of resumes. We'll see. The next ten days are going to be busy ones in any number of ways...

For now, back to the boxes, assembling the bed, and the fun tasks of re-establishing residence...

It's not really ALL about me...

I promise, after the weekend - especially with the beginning of the Celebration of Discipline study - you'll be hearing more spiritual stuff and less of the mundane day-to-day stuff from me (at least for a while). It's been kinda frustrating, but the process of getting this apartment ready for human habitation has been more time consuming (and more frustrating) than I could probably describe.

I know it will be good when it gets done (95% of which will happen this weekend), but it's just really annoying right now. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...courage to change the things I can...and the wisdom to know what the heck to do next...

I had the opportunity last night to talk to a person newly back in recovery - after more than 15 years of dry time. (Needless to say, as a guy coming up on that mark, I found his story a little scary.) He'd moved to Chicago a couple months ago, and was visiting for the first time at the Thursday night meeting I've been chairing. He'd been to some other meetings in town, but this was his first time at that particular meeting.

I was told, a long time ago, that when someone's new, that I need to get them my phone number and a chance to talk - which I did. But I was surprised when this fellow called me last night - usually the new guys aren't that eager to get connected.

It's strange - this fellow still has much that I could envy - at 36, he's still a good lookin' fellow, very fit, with a great deal of brain power still remaining, and ready to take on a 1-year masters' degree at the University of Chicago. He's got enough money to be living in a high-rise in Hyde Park overlooking the lake, despite being unemployed for a while. All in all, what folks in recovery might call "a high bottom."

But he made the point-blank declaration that his addictions had "kicked his ass," and I know that feeling. So I wouldn't trade lives with him - not today, anyway. And God gave me enough sense to just shut up and listen. The result seems to be that I have a new friend. And since those who know me are well aware that "just shut up" is not something I often do, I choose to see that as the proof of God still being able to "get through" to me...

For now, it's back to getting ready to get to work. I'll leave you with this meditation from Henri Nouwen's Bread for the Journey, this one from August 6th:

Being Joyful Witnesses

To speak about Jesus and his divine work of salvation shouldn't be a burden or a heavy obligation. When we go to people feeling that unless they accept our way of knowing Jesus, they are lost and we are failures, it is hardly possible to be true witnesses.

It is a great joy when people recognise through our witness that Jesus is the divine redeemer who opened for them the way to God. It is a true cause for gratitude and celebration. But we should also be able to live joyful and grateful lives when our witness with deeds and words does not lead people to accept Jesus in the way we do.

Amen, br'er Henri - amen.

Tragedy, saints, and bastards

One of the things I haven't moved into the apartment yet has been the TV...it's packed in the back of the garage where my stuff is stored (safe, but inaccessible). So most of my news about the tragedy in Louisiana and Mississippi this week has been through the colorful imagery of public radio. Thankfully, one of the NPR flag-ships, WBEZ-FM, is here in Chicago (think of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me! and This American Life).

Several images I heard yesterday touched me deeply - either with joy or anger. The first was a fellow who lived well out of the blast-zone of the hurricane, but who had a small motorboat. He heard how the search for survivors was happening by helicopter, but mostly by boat, and told how he'd thought about disasters in the past: "If I could get there, I'd be glad to help out." Well, it seemed he could get to this one - and his wife said, "If just one person could be helped, it would be worth it, wouldn't it?" So off they rode, bass boat in tow, and he's probably out on the waters in New Orleans, even as I write this.

The images of power and utility workers from all over the country streaming into the affected area - just because there's a need - makes me tear up, as well. Yeah, I'm sure there's bonus money involved - but the folks I know don't do that kind of work (and risk those kinds of risks) because they're hungry for money. In any storm situation I've ever been in - the hideous ice-storm of several years ago in Kansas City, where more than a third of a million people were without power for a week comes to mind - I've always given thanks for the men and women who wade through the water, climb the icy poles, working in the worst of conditions to restore power to an electric-dependent community. They, too, are saints to me.

And then there was the image of a little girl, coming out of the broken door of a beauty supply shop - with beauty supplies with which her mother had clearly filled her arms. As so many commenters yesterday said, I can understand and accept people stealing food, formula, flashlights, batteries, grocery items - the survival stuff. But the people who broke into a Wal-Mart and were carrying off vacuum cleaners, TVs, DVRs, and the like - those are the folks I'd love to slap into stocks and publicly spank...for about a week. Maybe more.

I saw on the ELCA's website that their Disaster Response team was there - but I haven't heard yet a Matthew-25 call from the churchwide office to feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty. I heard the McCormick Tribune Foundation was already coordinating fundraising and matching donations 50% - but I haven't heard any of the Christian denominations standing up and saying, "We are called to serve - and this is what we're going to do." (I am, of course, waiting to hear that Pat Robertson has declared the hurricane to be the judgement of God against the sinful city and all the homosexuals that live there - but that's old news, any more...)

It's so easy for me, in a dry (if chaotic) apartment, under sunny skies, with power and clean drinking water, to judge what I would and wouldn't do. At best, I can hope for what I might do, and pray against what I hope I wouldn't. For now, all I can do is pray for everyone down there - especially for the ones who are displaced, homeless, hungry and thirsty...and hope that people of faith will vote both with their feet, their wallets and their prayers to help.