blog a day in review

First of all, I'd like to point out something that's been bugging me for a while now:

It occurred to me about three days into my lenten blogging experiment that calling it "a blog a day" makes no sense - it's a post a day on the same blog. I don't want to go back and change it now, but the English minor side of me will always cringe when I read that phrase.

Anyway, blogs are tricky, because when scrolling through, the posts appear backwards. Unless you're checking in every day, it's virtually impossible to easily read one in chronological order. Therefore, I offer my lenten posts with a list of what I wrote for easier access.

Here's the forty posts, from Ash Wednesday to Black Saturday, with the main topic and title:

1) introducing the fast (a blog a day for lent)

2) nicknames (fire ant bites)

3) Facebook (facebook-stalking people you knew in elementary school)

4) Scott Pilgrim Gets It Together by Bryan Lee O'Malley (getting it together)

5) celebrity sightings (normal here vs normal there; or, a lesson from batman)

6) In-n-Out Burger (why is it called in-n-out when the lines are so long)

7) spirituality (if all my posts are lame, then none of my posts are lame)

8) Austin Johnson (the muse from bowie)

9) my songs (#1) - awkward parties (on the wall at the junior high dance)

10) dentist appointments (deep cleaning)

11) hymns (good old fashioned hymns)

12) earthquakes (the big one; or, a choice between living and pancakes)

13) Lance Berkman (why lance berkman will always be a houston astro) 

14) my songs (#2) - "The Dead" by James Joyce (would you walk away from me)

15) 1943 copper penny (a conversation with an american 1943 copper small cent)

16) Diplomacy (diplomacy; or, how to have an enjoyable day with your friends and almost lose them in one fell swoop)

17) caffeine addiction (hello, we are those people whose orders still psychologically traumatize former baristas years later)

18) teaching English (the abcs of teaching oral english)

19) Andrew Johnson's impeachment (peachy keen)

20) Audio Lessonover? by delirious? (take me away - ruminations on audio lessonover?)

21) wanting to quit a fast (phoning it in)

22) my songs (#3) - Calvinism (in which andy, perhaps unwisely, declares a side in the predestination debate)

23) Once Upon a Time (you say you want a resolution)

24) the Robert F. Kennedy assassination site (walk and gawk)

25) Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (because the world needs yet another blog post about the ninja turtles)

26) greeting cards (words that strangers put in our mouths)

27) Revelation (revelation, not revelations)

28) Funzone Freddy (welcome to the funzone)

29) Trayvon Martin (trayvon)

30) my songs (#4) - the 2005 NLCS (feelings of despair wrought by a ninth inning home run in game 5 of the 2005 national league championship series)
31) Unicru test (why introverts don't get job interviews)
32) Allie the guinea pig (allie: a eulogy for a guinea pig)
33) Breckenridge, Colorado (those wild and crazy colorado nights)
34) the 110 Freeway (my first time on the 110 freeway; or, i see death fast approaching in my rear view mirror)
35) Communion (a failure to communi[on]cate)
36) Funzone Freddy (again) (welcome to the funzone [#2])
37) youth ministry (why i shouldn't be a youth pastor; or, why i should be a youth pastor)
38) Maundy Thursday (thursday maundy thursday)
39) The Seven Last Words of Jesus (stare into the void)
40) my songs (#5) - the Prophet Jeremiah (in spite of all cruel odds)


Incidentally, I love statistics. Perhaps that's one reason I'm such an avid baseball fan - no other sport features such copious and rigorous keeping of records. (I doubt sabermetrics would ever have developed first in football or basketball.) So I was intrigued to see what I would discover if I looked at the stats behind my blog a day experiment. Here's the quick overview:

- 40 posts
- 28,496 total words
- 712.4 average words per post
- longest post: take me away - ruminations on audio lessonover? (#20) - 1,309 words
- shortest post: in spite of all cruel odds (#40) - 315 words

If I'm not mistaken (and I may be), that's roughly equivalent to a 95 page research paper (assuming 300 words per page).

I'll admit here that a few posts were actually composed in part before my lenten posting experiment. #3 and #20 were unfinished posts I finally fleshed out, and #30 was adapted from part of a chapter for an unfinished book I was working on several years ago. (Of course, #39 was the homily I gave at a Good Friday service, as I mentioned in the post.)

I am surprised at the extremes in terms of word count. Apparently I had more to say about delirious? than Trayvon Martin, introversion, or any biblical topic. Granted, I included several wordy quotes from band members in that post, so that ramped up the word count. I am also surprised that the very last post was the shortest, but most of the posts where I shared songs were brief by design.

As I look back, I am also aware of many typos and grammatical errors in my posts. I want to go back and fix them all, but I'll try to refrain, simply because of the nature of the practice. The whole point of posting consistently during Lent was to present my ideas and thoughts unpolished, and I think going back and correcting every error would undermine that purpose.


So, what next for this blog?

I've enjoyed sharing random stories and memories, in addition to occasional responses to media and current events. I'm going to shoot for an informal goal of a post per week, but I won't be too rigid about it. My wife has been gracious with me on the nights when she's been getting ready for bed and I've been frantically typing away, trying to finish my daily post. I think she'll appreciate not being put through any more of that.

in spite of all cruel odds

I feel pretty bad for the prophet Jeremiah. Christians cite the call of Jeremiah often because it sounds so poetic and meaningful: "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you..." The only problem is that Jeremiah's life pretty much sucked; by the time we're twenty chapters into the book, he's cursing God and wishing he'd never have been born. This is a prophet of the Lord speaking.

The Christian life is hard. It's not the easy thing many of us are taught it is when we're children. I think what makes it so complicated is that it's hard for reasons we don't expect. You might hear warnings about persecution or having people mock your beliefs, but unfortunately, in my experience, I've gotten that a lot more of that from fellow Christians than from non-believers or adherents of other faiths. When I think about Jeremiah, I realize that if I'm really following God, I may be walking down a very lonely road.

Perhaps Black Saturday (that being today, the awkward in-between after Good Friday and before Easter Sunday) is the biggest sign of that: the son of God doesn't come as a conquering hero, but as a common man who ends up killed. Who would have written that script?

To end my lenten posts, I'm sharing one more of my songs. It's pretty long, but this is actually the abbreviated version (iMovie wouldn't let me make a file longer than ten minutes). I was heavily inspired both by the story of Jeremiah and by my favorite theology book: No Handle on the Cross by Kosuke Koyama. Koyama argues that we try to make the cross easy to carry, attaching a handle to it so we can carry it like a briefcase. That's not the lifestyle Jesus models at all. But in the end, God remains faithful, even when it seems like we've been forsaken.

stare into the void

Today is Good Friday, the darkest day in the Christian calendar. Tonight my church is having a joint service with another local body in which we will be remembering the Seven Last Words of Jesus, the seven sayings attributed to Jesus on the cross in the four gospels. I have been asked to speak about the last of the seven sayings, which comes from Luke 23:46: "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."

I'm going to share with you the short reflection on "The Word of Reunion" (as it is sometimes called) that I will be giving tonight. (**Thus: Spoilers ahead if you're coming tonight!**) I am honored  to be part of the Good Friday gathering, as this marks one of the most important, contradictory, and confusing aspects of the life of Jesus: his death. It's easy to talk about the resurrection, since it's all about triumph and happiness and final victory. It's harder to really sit with the bleakness of Good Friday and be humbled by the strange and powerful love of a God who reaches out to us.

***

When I was a child, I was taught a simple blessing to say before every meal. Without fail, every time we ate, we would bow our heads, fold our hands, and pray, "God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food. By his hands we are fed, thank you God for daily bread. A-men." And, of course, the "A-men" had to be said with a sing-song inflection.

It's easy as an adult to look back on that and think, "That's kid stuff." As we get older, we can brush off those childhood rituals as if they have no place in a mature person's life. However, I thank God for those foundational customs I learned as a child. I don't care how "mature" or "intellectual" you become, the truth found in memorizing these prayers and reciting familiar verses like John 3:16 or Psalm 23 remains truth - and often deep, foundational truth that really matters.

In Luke we find the seventh of the Jesus's seven sayings on the cross, and it's one of two in which Jesus quotes from a Psalm. (The other is the fourth word.) Here, Jesus recalls Psalm 31. It's a psalm attributed to King David when he was fleeing for his life, oppressed and scared. I'll go ahead and recite the first five verses:

"In you, Lord, I have taken refuge; let me never be put to shame; deliver me in your righteousness. Turn your ear to me; come quickly to my rescue; be my rock of refuge, a strong fortress to save me. Since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me. Keep me free from the trap that is set for me, for you are my refuge." And here's the money verse: "Into your hands I commit my spirit; deliver me, Lord, my faithful God."

You may not have noticed that Jesus on the cross adds one very important word here: "Father." "Father, into your hands, I commit my spirit." Jesus isn't crying out to some distant deity or some spiritual idea that he doesn't really know; he reaches out to God the Father, a very personal, intimate relationship. And perhaps the most important thing about Psalm 31 is that, according to some scholars, it was a prayer sort of like that dinner blessing I learned as a child. Jewish mothers would teach their children the words of this psalm: "Into your hands I commit my spirit." In times of sadness or uncertainty, Jewish children were taught to say these words.

So we see here Jesus, at his most vulnerable, at his weakest, at his loneliest, at the point of his death, and he goes back a prayer he may well have learned as a young Jewish boy. These aren't theologically profound words, these aren't the great words of a scholar or a rabbi or a political figure. This is an expression of the truth Jesus has known since he was a child - that God does not abandon, that God is a refuge and a rock and a fortress: today we might say a bunker or a storm shelter. God is the one to whom we run when we have no more strength and no idea where to go next.

Luke also tells us that the curtain in the Jewish temple was ripped in two at the time of Jesus's death. That curtain was the symbol of a divide - only the priests could enter, for beyond that boundary was the presence of God. It was kind of like the velvet rope at an awards ceremony with security standing by - beyond this was forbidden territory. At Jesus' death, the curtain falls - God is accesible to all. Jesus, as he dies, commits himself to the will of the God who does not let his followers slip through his fingers.

As we go into the dark night of Friday, not yet entering the light of resurrection, let us stare into the void and defiantly but confidently say with the faith of a child, "Father, into your hands, we commit our spirits."

thursday maundy thursday

When I first learned about Maundy Thursday, I think I had the same reaction many uninformed Baptists do: "Monday Thursday? That doesn't make any sense." I have since learned the proper spelling and pronunciation, and have learned more about the holiday (or, rather, holy-day). Now Maundy Thursday has become one of my favorite days in the liturgical calendar.

Two years ago, my church decided to celebrate this day by hosting a scaled-back Christian version of a Seder meal. I was an intern at the church and was tasked with putting together the event, along with some members of my small group. The only problem was that, while I had heard of the Seder and had conversations with people who had participated in one, I myself had never taken part in one. We ending up piecing together a meal passed on several different versions we found online. In the end, it wasn't so much a historically or culturally accurate approximation of the Jewish festival, but a patchwork ritual event somewhere between Passover, Communion, and just hanging out. In other words, I think it turned out pretty well.

I remember putting together the script and being kind of scandalized by what these different churches had done to the original Jewish version. In a traditional Seder meal, a wine cup is left for Elijah. In the Seder we practiced, there comes this part, where the presider (in this case, myself) takes Elijah's cup and says these words:

"I have taken Elijah’s cup because we no longer wait for Elijah. We celebrate in joy today not only because Elijah has come, but because Messiah has also come!"

This part of our Christian ceremony honestly bugged me. I try to be sensitive to other religious traditions, and there is a long history of Jews having their culture and history manipulated by Christians. I didn't want to contribute.

However, this brought home to me some of the scandal of Jesus's message. It's easy to forget that Jesus wouldn't have been executed if he had been this nice, cheery guy that everybody liked. He was a provocative, polarizing figure that made people (especially people with power) uncomfortable. His disciples must've gotten pretty antsy when he started telling them to eat his body and drink his blood. I never appreciated that until I went through a Christian Seder.

At the end of the day, though, Maundy Thursday teaches me about community. We gathered together that Thursday night around a couple of tables in our pastor's home and joined in eating and drinking as we remembered the story of our faith. One couple brought their child, and as we passed around a basin to wash our hands, the little boy (maybe two years at the time) reached in and rubbed his hands in the water. His mother later commented that she started crying as she watched her son, since this was one of the first times her child actively participated in a church ritual.

I am thankful for the remembrance of Maundy Thursday and the heart of communion. My prayer is for believers to find unity in the scandalous story of Jesus.

why i shouldn't be a youth pastor; or, why i should be a youth pastor

I once read a job description for a youth pastor position which specified  that applicants should have "an athletic background." I read that and thought to myself, "I suppose I need not apply." It made me sort of angry, but then I thought, why shouldn't a church want an athletic youth pastor? Isn't the youth pastor supposed to sort of be the jock of the church staff?

I remember that I first felt a call to ministry when I was in high school. I knew that I felt God was calling me to honor him with my career, but I had no idea what that looked like. As I thought about it, though, there were two ministry careers I had no desire to pursue:

1) Worship Director - mostly because I do music only casually and had neither the passion nor the skills to step into a musical lead role

2) Youth Director - for reasons below:

Youth ministry seemed like something that could never work for me - I felt like it was a bad fit for me, and I was a bad fit for it. Even as a high schooler I didn't particularly enjoy going to Youth Night every Wednesday night at the church gym - I went because I felt I should, but on the nights when everybody played basketball or volleyball I just felt awkward. This wasn't what I liked to do, I wasn't good at it, and I just felt like I didn't fit. So when I looked into doing ministry, I thought, "Put me behind a pulpit, put in an office, even put me in another country - just don't put me in youth ministry!"

Low and behold, one faithful day I was sitting in Panera Bread typing away on my computer when Jonathan Tarman, an acquaintance of mine from Fuller, walked by. Full disclosure: At first I ignored him. I wasn't trying to be rude, I was just focused on what I was doing and didn't want to be distracted by small talk. (This is a fairly common occurrence at that Panera - while studying at Fuller, I probably saw people I knew from school there nine times out of ten.)

Jon saw me anyway. He waved and made it over to where I was sitting. I sighed and thought, "Well, I guess I'm not getting out of this one."

After a few moments of chit-chat, Jon said, "Hey, a friend of mine told me that you're looking for a job." This was true, so I nodded. Jon said, "Well, I'm the youth director at a church down in Torrance, but I'm going to be leaving in a few months and the church needs to find my replacement. I know you worked with Filipinos last summer, and the youth group is mostly Filipino. Would you be interested in applying?"

I perked up at this piece of news - not at the word "youth director," but the word "job." At this point I'd been looking for a while with no leads, so anything was welcome. I did have experience working in a Filipino setting, and I'd be able to use my Cross-Cultural Studies degree. I told Jon I'd like to hear more and e-mailed him my résumé later that week.

As I went forward with the application process, I had a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. The doubt was this: I'm not the youth minister type. I didn't take any classes on youth ministry, and had very little experience doing it. But more than that, I just came circling back to this thought: I'm not that guy. I'm not the guy with the soul patch and the backwards baseball cap who has a ton of hilarious stories from college. I'm not the guy who talks to everyone about everything and gets to know all the intimate and exciting details of everyone's life. I just didn't feel like I fit the mold.

All that being said, I did feel called to look into this opportunity. And it turns out that I actually got the job.

Since then, I've learned that in not being that guy, I have other strengths to offer. It turns out that youth really appreciate spiritual practices such as prayer stations, something few of those guys might consider.   It also turns out that when you let kids have a conversation about points of faith and what it means to be the church, God works in them and they draw closer to him and each other - so apparently I don't just have to preach at them. It also turns out that I know enough silly games and diversions to keep the kids entertained... so maybe I'm like that guy a little bit.

My point isn't to bash the stereotypical youth pastor - my point is to not bash myself. God calls all kinds to different works, and some churches need people who break the mold. I'm grateful that the young people of Torrance First UMC are teaching me how to use gifts I never knew I had. I'm grateful that they open my eyes to the wideness of God's purpose for my life. I hope I make a difference for them as well.

welcome to the funzone (#2)

In my former post, Theophilus, I told you about the time when I was a big yellow dog called Funzone Freddy. I was drafted into the position unexpectedly, forced by the hand of fate.

As it happens, my Funzone antics were well-received, and I was asked to don the sweaty, hot costume again on a few different occasions. One such time came just before Easter of 2010, at the school my church had adopted.

This story is going to take a somewhat shocking turn, so I want to spell out the moral right now: Respect people wearing full-body costumes. They are very vulnerable and uncomfortable and may resort to drastic measures in the name of self-preservation.

OK? I want you to keep that lesson in mind.

Anyway, our church was planning a large-scale party for the kids of the elementary school on Easter Sunday, complete with singing, dancing, an Easter egg hunt, and so on. The most buzz-worthy event of the day, however, was that we would be having a drawing for a free Nintendo Wii.

In order to drum up interest, Pastor Rodney asked me to join him in visiting the classrooms at the school and telling the children about the Wii giveaway. I would be appearing not as myself, however, but as Funzone Freddy.

So Rodney and I got to the school and I donned the yellow costume. He then led me from classroom to classroom, sharing with the kids the news of Easter extravaganza. The response was near-unanimous across ages and grades – gasps of wonder and awe as the children saw me enter, then Rodney would announce the Wii drawing and the kids would erupt into cheers, applause, and top-of-their-little-lungs shrieking as they jumped up and down.

After an hour or two of this, we had made our way through the whole school and were trying to walk back to where I could remove my Funzone disguise and return to my street identity. On the way, we stumbled upon a rowdy group of kids on recess. Most of them were fifth grade boys, but for some reason a three or four year old was in their midst as well. (As I remember the story, this detail doesn’t seem to make much sense, but the toddler was there.)

Now, fifth grade boys aren’t as easily won over by mascots. They do like big animals, but more in the way that they like piñatas – they want to see how much abuse they can inflict before the character collapses.

Somehow I got separated from Rodney, who, in addition to being my guide, had sort of been my bodyguard. The next thing I knew, the fifth graders had surrounded me, and they pulled on my tail, punched my ribs, and tugged at my big dog-nose. “Hey, who is that inside there?” they yelled. “Hey, does this hurt?” one boy screamed as he tried to rip off Funzone’s head. I considered fighting back but didn’t want the news to get around that the church’s dog mascot had punched an eleven-year-old in the face.

In the midst of the chaos, the four-year-old somehow got into the midst of things and just wanted to touch Freddy. I looked down at the little guy and noticed that in spite of the madness, the older boys graders were being protective of him. So, I resorted to a last-ditch doomsday plan.

I reached down and grabbed the little toddler and hugged him. I held him close to me and he giggled. And as long as I held him in front of me, the fifth graders wouldn’t touch me. They tried to push the baby away, but I just pulled him back. The little one was my only hope.

Finally Rodney found me and dispelled the fifth grade mob, and whisked me to the supply room where I changed back into my regular clothes.

And that’s the story of when I used a four-year-old baby as a human shield for my own protection against a mob of fifth grade boys.

a failure to communi(on)cate

My sophomore year of college I spent a semester studying abroad in Malaysia. While there, I became involved with a Christian student fellowship, attending worship meetings and becoming connected with local churches through the friends I made. Two American friends of mine were also spending the semester in Malaysia and most Sundays we went to church together, but one Sunday they were out of town and I went to church with a few Malaysian friends instead.

Now, to say that I stood out is a bit of an understatement. While I was at the school with two other white Americans, both of them were girls, and while the college had numerous international students from Africa, the Middle East, and other parts of Asia, the three of us were the only white students. This made me the only white male on the campus, and one of very few in the city. I'm also fairly tall, especially when compared to most Malaysians, so when walking to classes I would make eye contact with male African students over the heads of everybody else.

Anyway, I went to this church one Sunday morning, and was the only non-Asian in attendance. Before the service started a deacon at the church introduced himself to me; he was a transplant from the Philippines, so we talked a bit about being foreigners. Also, the sermon that day was delivered by a visiting pastor from yet another country.

It was Communion Sunday, and after the guest speaker's sermon, the pastor got up to prepare for the distribution of the bread and juice. He spoke about how God's message is for people from every nation and culture. He then invited the guest speaker to help serve communion, as well as the Filipino deacon.

The pastor then said, "Oh, and we have another guest, from the US. He's going to help serve communion as well!"

Everyone turned and looked at me, and he gestured for me to come up. To say that I felt awkward as I stood and slowly walked toward the front of the church is a bit of an understatement.

Many traditions have strict restrictions on who can serve communion. At my current church I regularly help distribute the elements (in fact, I did so yesterday), but I am paid staff and serve in a ministering capacity. At my home church, the deacons serve the elements to the congregation. I had never before, and have never since, been recruited to help serve communion as a lay person, and certainly never off the cuff.

I had very mixed emotions as I helped pass the baskets of bread to the people in the pews. I felt a hint of resentment at being singled out, but strangely I also felt honored, validated even. As I reflected, I liked that someone could be called out of the pews to help initiate one of the central rituals of the Christian faith. I liked the acknowledgment of diversity in the Kingdom of God, and wondered what this would have looked like in an American church with visitors from another country. Would we be as welcoming and trusting of believers from somewhere else?

After church, I went out with a group from the church for lunch, and we sat for a few hours, talking and laughing. It felt like everything Communion should be - it felt like home among strangers in a far away place.