Today was a weird 4th of July for me. I'm a normally a very patriotic person. I've spent 4ths of July at baseball games and fireworks shows--I even dumped tea into the English Channel the year I was at Newbold College (1991). This year, it was just tough to get into the spirit.
I did my patriotic duty by supporting Germany in the World Cup semifinal this afternoon. But that was for naught, as Italy scored two goals in overtime to rout the Deutschen and move on to the World Cup Finals. I'm now rooting for France because their star player, Thierry Henry, plays for my favorite English soccer team, Arsenal.
Our budget for fireworks this year was quite modest, $10. We bought a pack of bottle rockets and another pack of sparklers. Ellie loves sparklers. She waves them back and forth and sings patriotic songs. This year Owen used his allotment of three sparklers to try to set fire to the front yard. Clearly, he's a pyromaniac like his daddy.
Jonah sat out the fireworks tonight. He enjoyed dancing among the smoke bombs this afternoon, but when I set off a pack of firecrackers, it kind of freaked him out. I burned my hand trying to light a sparking tank.
I hope your holiday was great. I'm sorry I haven't posted anything about our return trip. I've been working like crazy, trying to finish a 6th draft of my manuscript, The Sandal on the Obelisk. I'm a month late on when I was hoping to get it out to my agent.
04 July 2006
23 June 2006
Canyon Views
We made it back to Tennessee 1/2 hour late!
I'm joking, of course. We arrived home around 6:30 on Wednesday. "Highland Drive looks so different!" Owen exclaimed as we turned into our pine-shaded driveway. He was right. It was hard to believe, but we had been gone for 16 days. Amazing.
I'm not sure I've sorted through everything yet. There is much to write and many more thoughts to think before I can get some perspective on the whole matter. I just tell people I've been all over Arizona and New Mexico, and I keep quiet about the things I learned about Ellie, Owen, Jonah-Bear, Jenny and myself. (I'm still trying to figure those things out.)
Anyway, I wanted to post some more pictures from our trip. I'll focus on my friends the Van Eyks, and our trip to Grand Canyon.
I'm joking, of course. We arrived home around 6:30 on Wednesday. "Highland Drive looks so different!" Owen exclaimed as we turned into our pine-shaded driveway. He was right. It was hard to believe, but we had been gone for 16 days. Amazing.
I'm not sure I've sorted through everything yet. There is much to write and many more thoughts to think before I can get some perspective on the whole matter. I just tell people I've been all over Arizona and New Mexico, and I keep quiet about the things I learned about Ellie, Owen, Jonah-Bear, Jenny and myself. (I'm still trying to figure those things out.)
Anyway, I wanted to post some more pictures from our trip. I'll focus on my friends the Van Eyks, and our trip to Grand Canyon.
On Sunday, John took the kids and me to Canyon de Chelly. This canyon is famous for two things: first, it was where Owen had his meltdown of the trip. It started when we were doing the very stressful activity of having our family picture taken. When Owen didn't smile for the picture, I threatened to take away a promised candy. He screamed, he cried, he even threatened to throw himself over the edge of the canyon. It really ruined the day for me. We left him in the car to see the spectacular view of Spider Rock (left). It's the most spectacular vista in the canyon. I found it interesting, because it doesn't look like a spider at all. Its name comes from its resemblance to the weaver's shuttle used by the Navajo women. The Navajo believe that their people were born in Canyon de Chelly (two cliff dwellings predate the Navajo). It was here that the Spider Goddess gave mankind the shuttle and inaugurated the practice of weaving.
John and Kellie (along with Brooke and Baby Josie) 
were our hosts on The Rez for five nights. After our last night, we drove to Albuquerque and picked Jenny up at the airport, returning through Gallup, New Mexico, where they got to meet Jenny for dinner, and where we got this picture. My first thought when I see this is--man, there are a lot of kids! How did we handle all of them? I'm not sure why Jonah and Owen look so crazy in this picture. I'll assume it's because of all the grape juice they drank at Kellie's house. I regret that I didn't get a good shot of Baby Josie, although you can see by the picture that Ellie and Brooke had become good buddies. We ate at Earl's, a local Gallup diner which was chock full of Native Americans selling jewelry. There were tables outside where you could browse, and if that weren't enough, Navajo young and old circled among the tables as we ate, offering to sell us rings, necklaces, belts, and all manner of brikabrak.
Our first stop with Jenny aboard was Grand Canyon. We camped at Desert View, where we took in the sunset (right). We liked Desert View because it was a little off the tourist track (the roads from the entrance to Mather Point were really clogged). It also helped that the lower elevation kept us from freezing overnight. It was quite cool when we awoke, and we kept the kids bundled all morning.
Later, after a tip from a ranger, we returned to the Rim Trail and took the kids a short way (about 1/4 mile) down the Bright Angel Trail, which Jenny and I have taken before to the bottom of the canyon. The kids cruised down with little trouble. Jonah gave us heart attacks every time he got close to the edge of the trail. We also saw two bighorn sheep grazing on a ledge just below the trail. The way up, however, was predictibly tough. Jonah only made it about 100 yards before holding up his arms and saying, "Hold me, Mama," a request which Jenny never seems to be able to refuse. Owen made it about 1/2 way back out of the canyon (a pretty steep climb) before he told us: "I am completely out of energy!"
I'm happy to report that we made it out of the canyon safely. We had a great time--although Jenny made the kids and me swear that we would return to backpack to the bottom together. She really hated missing out on the hiking/backpacking experience.
19 June 2006
Viewing Cars and Getting Kicks Along Route 66
I’d like to blame my kids, but I’m responsible: I’m a sucker for summer marketing gimmicks. Does McDonald’s have a new Happy Meal toy? Is there a special at Target featuring a summer movie? OK, OK, I’ll buy it!
The hype for Pixar/Disney’s Cars reached a crescendo in the weeks leading up to its opening June 6. By the time we got to see the movie, we already had the Cars movie soundtrack (for my road trip CD), two speaking Cars toys (Mater and Lightning McQueen) and a McDonald’s Happy Meal plastic Lighting—whose name Jonah shortened to “Queem.”
Monday, June 12, was our last day on The Rez. We wanted to finish with a service project. Kellie identified a Navajo woman for whom we could prepare a food basket. We took John & Kellie’s daughter, Brooke, with us, and journeyed into Gallup, New Mexico to buy some food and catch a viewing of Cars.
By now you probably know that Cars is about a me-first racecar who gets sidetracked from I-40 into the Route 66 town of Radiator Springs. The yokels of the town—and a hot-looking Porsche—change the racecar and teach him the new meaning of friendship and racing.
The kids and I identified with the Route 66 experience (much of our trip had taken place along the I-40/Route 66 corridor). This was the main point of interest, as the boys lost interest in the romantic and racing plot lines. If I had one critique of the movie, it would be that it missed the “kid” demographic in pursuit of adult story lines.
The cool thing about our experience was that we watched it at Gallup’s Red Rock 6 Cinemas, which is about 50 yards away from historic Route 66, among canyons and rock outcroppings similar to those created for the movie. In fact the next day, as we drove to Albuquerque to pick Jenny up from the airport, Owen noted how the landscape was similar to the movie we had seen together.
Route 66 (for those who haven’t traveled through the American Southwest) doesn’t really exist anymore. It’s a marketing ploy, not a real road. But it conjures up images of the times when cars had big fenders, lots of chrome, and no air conditioning. Since it was replaced by Interstate 40, it exists only in two ways: the main streets of countless western towns like Gallup, Amarillo, and Tucumkari, today identified as “Business Route 40,” and in remote stretches, where I-40 goes straight while the old Route 66 takes a sauntering loop through deserts, as it does in western Arizona and eastern California.
Gallup’s Route 66 is a fascinating drive through time and place. The most identifiable piece of history is the El Rancho Motel, a place that claims to be the resting place of the stars of Hollywood westerns from the 30s and 40s. The street is lined with diners, fast food restaurants, and Native American jewelry outlets. It also features a number of other unique elements of American iconography.
One significant feature of the American road in the glory days of the automobile was the motel. It was a low-slung, one-story building right next to the road. There was a “vacancy” sign in the window of the office (or on the marquis, if it had one), and there was a parking place in front of every painted, numbered door. The more memorable motels featured rooms shaped like teepees or Airstream trailers.
Among the once-thriving towns of Route 66. these motels are still there, but they are seldom still in business. The motels that are still open advertise “weekly rentals” or “rooms from $16.99/single.” In places like Gallup and Albuquerque, I saw some of these motels still open. However, shuttered old-fashioned motels gave Tucumkari, New Mexico, the looks of a ghost town. There must have been eight motels there along Business Route 40 whose “vacancy” signs had been replace by faded “Property For Sale” signs. I noticed that the old roadside motels had almost completely disappeared from Flagstaff, Arizona, including the Evergreen Inn, where Jenny, my sister, Julie, and I had stayed on our first cross-country drive in 1993.
People just don’t take four days to cross the country anymore, spending nights in places like Oklahoma City, Grants, New Mexico, and Barstow, California. I-40 and 75 mile-per-hour speed limits make it possible to drive from Nashville to Los Angeles in two, 12-hour days.
(OK, OK, I took four days to get from Tennessee to Arizona, but that was crazy, remember?)
The other mark of Route 66 is the hype—the abundant American desire to sell—and buy—nostalgia, even of the country’s recent past. Signs along the interstate proclaim “Historic Route 66” at almost every other exit. Erick, Oklahoma, announces “Home of the National Route 66 Museum.” The road sign is plastered across post cards and businesses in every town between Oklahoma City and San Bernardino, California. The traveler can even gamble away money at the Route 66 Casino about 30 miles west of Albuquerque.
I even spotted a sign in Santa Fe, New Mexico (about 50 miles north of where Route 66 ran through Albuquerque), which proclaimed, “Part of pre-1937 Route 66.” Now if the nonexistent Route 66 is historic, would that make Santa Fe’s street prehistoric?
Route 66 may be gone, but the ethic of the open road, the romance of the road trip is alive and well in the Southwest and throughout the 50 States. In fact, if the autographs of Spanish friars, conquistadors, and American pioneers on El Morro National Monument’s Inscription Rock are any indication, this romance predates the 50 States by many hundreds of years. It is what led me west with three kids in tow. It’s what sparks the imagination of those of you reading this blog. It is what enables the American spirit to get its kicks—whether that be on Interstate 40 or Route 66.
The hype for Pixar/Disney’s Cars reached a crescendo in the weeks leading up to its opening June 6. By the time we got to see the movie, we already had the Cars movie soundtrack (for my road trip CD), two speaking Cars toys (Mater and Lightning McQueen) and a McDonald’s Happy Meal plastic Lighting—whose name Jonah shortened to “Queem.”
Monday, June 12, was our last day on The Rez. We wanted to finish with a service project. Kellie identified a Navajo woman for whom we could prepare a food basket. We took John & Kellie’s daughter, Brooke, with us, and journeyed into Gallup, New Mexico to buy some food and catch a viewing of Cars.
By now you probably know that Cars is about a me-first racecar who gets sidetracked from I-40 into the Route 66 town of Radiator Springs. The yokels of the town—and a hot-looking Porsche—change the racecar and teach him the new meaning of friendship and racing.
The kids and I identified with the Route 66 experience (much of our trip had taken place along the I-40/Route 66 corridor). This was the main point of interest, as the boys lost interest in the romantic and racing plot lines. If I had one critique of the movie, it would be that it missed the “kid” demographic in pursuit of adult story lines.
The cool thing about our experience was that we watched it at Gallup’s Red Rock 6 Cinemas, which is about 50 yards away from historic Route 66, among canyons and rock outcroppings similar to those created for the movie. In fact the next day, as we drove to Albuquerque to pick Jenny up from the airport, Owen noted how the landscape was similar to the movie we had seen together.
Route 66 (for those who haven’t traveled through the American Southwest) doesn’t really exist anymore. It’s a marketing ploy, not a real road. But it conjures up images of the times when cars had big fenders, lots of chrome, and no air conditioning. Since it was replaced by Interstate 40, it exists only in two ways: the main streets of countless western towns like Gallup, Amarillo, and Tucumkari, today identified as “Business Route 40,” and in remote stretches, where I-40 goes straight while the old Route 66 takes a sauntering loop through deserts, as it does in western Arizona and eastern California.
Gallup’s Route 66 is a fascinating drive through time and place. The most identifiable piece of history is the El Rancho Motel, a place that claims to be the resting place of the stars of Hollywood westerns from the 30s and 40s. The street is lined with diners, fast food restaurants, and Native American jewelry outlets. It also features a number of other unique elements of American iconography.
One significant feature of the American road in the glory days of the automobile was the motel. It was a low-slung, one-story building right next to the road. There was a “vacancy” sign in the window of the office (or on the marquis, if it had one), and there was a parking place in front of every painted, numbered door. The more memorable motels featured rooms shaped like teepees or Airstream trailers.
Among the once-thriving towns of Route 66. these motels are still there, but they are seldom still in business. The motels that are still open advertise “weekly rentals” or “rooms from $16.99/single.” In places like Gallup and Albuquerque, I saw some of these motels still open. However, shuttered old-fashioned motels gave Tucumkari, New Mexico, the looks of a ghost town. There must have been eight motels there along Business Route 40 whose “vacancy” signs had been replace by faded “Property For Sale” signs. I noticed that the old roadside motels had almost completely disappeared from Flagstaff, Arizona, including the Evergreen Inn, where Jenny, my sister, Julie, and I had stayed on our first cross-country drive in 1993.
People just don’t take four days to cross the country anymore, spending nights in places like Oklahoma City, Grants, New Mexico, and Barstow, California. I-40 and 75 mile-per-hour speed limits make it possible to drive from Nashville to Los Angeles in two, 12-hour days.
(OK, OK, I took four days to get from Tennessee to Arizona, but that was crazy, remember?)
The other mark of Route 66 is the hype—the abundant American desire to sell—and buy—nostalgia, even of the country’s recent past. Signs along the interstate proclaim “Historic Route 66” at almost every other exit. Erick, Oklahoma, announces “Home of the National Route 66 Museum.” The road sign is plastered across post cards and businesses in every town between Oklahoma City and San Bernardino, California. The traveler can even gamble away money at the Route 66 Casino about 30 miles west of Albuquerque.
I even spotted a sign in Santa Fe, New Mexico (about 50 miles north of where Route 66 ran through Albuquerque), which proclaimed, “Part of pre-1937 Route 66.” Now if the nonexistent Route 66 is historic, would that make Santa Fe’s street prehistoric?
Route 66 may be gone, but the ethic of the open road, the romance of the road trip is alive and well in the Southwest and throughout the 50 States. In fact, if the autographs of Spanish friars, conquistadors, and American pioneers on El Morro National Monument’s Inscription Rock are any indication, this romance predates the 50 States by many hundreds of years. It is what led me west with three kids in tow. It’s what sparks the imagination of those of you reading this blog. It is what enables the American spirit to get its kicks—whether that be on Interstate 40 or Route 66.
The Way Back
I'm in the Satellite Inn in Almogordo, New Mexico, as I'm sending this. It's nice how many motels now have free, high-speed Internet services. This hotel definitely fits the "roadside" moniker described in the post above.
We left Globe yesterday morning, and made it to White Sands National Monument by sundown. The kids had a great time there, making sand angels and sliding down the steep slopes of the dunes.
Our plan for our return trip is as follows
Sunday: Globe to Almogordo, New Mexico (check)
Monday: Almogordo, New Mexico to Red Rock State Park, Oklahoma
Tuesday: Red Rock State Park to Lake Conway, Arkansas
Wednesday: Conway, Arkansas to Portland, Tennessee
We left Globe yesterday morning, and made it to White Sands National Monument by sundown. The kids had a great time there, making sand angels and sliding down the steep slopes of the dunes.
Our plan for our return trip is as follows
Sunday: Globe to Almogordo, New Mexico (check)
Monday: Almogordo, New Mexico to Red Rock State Park, Oklahoma
Tuesday: Red Rock State Park to Lake Conway, Arkansas
Wednesday: Conway, Arkansas to Portland, Tennessee
16 June 2006
New Pictures
I had some more pictures developed, and I wanted to share them with you. I'm still using a 35mm dinosaur--er, I mean camera--so I had to get a CD along with developing so I could share these with you as soon as I could.
Here are the kids and me in Santa Fe, New Mexico. You can see the pueblo architecture around us that makes this such a charming city.
This is Ellie with two Navajo friends, Alexis and Ashley, after church on Saturday. The girl on the far right is Brooke, the daughter of our friends, John and Kellie Van Eyk.
Here are the kids and me in Santa Fe, New Mexico. You can see the pueblo architecture around us that makes this such a charming city.
This is Ellie with two Navajo friends, Alexis and Ashley, after church on Saturday. The girl on the far right is Brooke, the daughter of our friends, John and Kellie Van Eyk.
12 June 2006
Trip Pictures
I got some pictures developed today, and I wanted to share some with you. Enjoy.
The kids in front of the Five Civilized Nations in Muskogee, OK.
Here's Ellie in front of the historic buildings at Seay Mansion/Chisholm Trail Museum. You can see the schoolhouse to the left of Ellie. The entrance to the bank is over her left shoulder. To the right, you will notice Jonah letting himself into the town jail--his favorite site in the city.
Ellie examines the cowboy chuck wagon at the Seay Mansion/Chisholm Trail Museum in Kingfisher, OK.
The kids in front of the Five Civilized Nations in Muskogee, OK.
Here's Ellie in front of the historic buildings at Seay Mansion/Chisholm Trail Museum. You can see the schoolhouse to the left of Ellie. The entrance to the bank is over her left shoulder. To the right, you will notice Jonah letting himself into the town jail--his favorite site in the city.
Ellie examines the cowboy chuck wagon at the Seay Mansion/Chisholm Trail Museum in Kingfisher, OK.
10 June 2006
Window Rock and the Navajo Reservation
The Navajo Reservation is awash in contradictions: it is a Navajo state stretched across three states (Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado); there are nearly as many churches/missions per capita (maybe more) in the Bible Belt capital of Hendersonville, Tennessee, yet alcoholism, drug abuse and gang graffiti are everywhere; the Navajo are proud members of Navajo Nation, yet they are some of the most patriotic Americans I have ever met.
How can I explain this? I might better ask, what business do I have explaining a complex and ancient culture based upon three days on the Reservation (despite the scores of reservations in the American West, when you say, "The Rez," out here, it can only refer to the monstrous Navajo Reservation the size of West Virginia or England).
Within an hour of our arrival, John had taken the kids and me out on his pastoral rounds, visiting two far-flung members (each lived about 45 minutes away from each other). The first compound was about15 miles from the highway on a wide road of red dirt. On Tuesday a terrible forest fire had ripped through this area (which is in the middle of a three-year drought) and burned everything. When we arrived, we found the houses safe but their inhabitants were not yet returned from the mandatory evacuation.
Navajo compounds are interesting. There is always a small, prefabricated 600-square-foot house (I would estimate that over 70% of the homes on the Rez are trailers or prefabricated houses). Next to some houses is a hogan (pronounced ho-gahn) of either six or eight sides, depending upon whether it was built by the son or daughter respectively.
Traditionally, Navajo property is matrilineal. A young man will move in with his wife's family at marriage--or he will build a hogan on their property.
I would guess that the average distance between homes/hogans once you get off road on The Rez is about eight miles. These people support themselves with sheep farming and subsistance agriculture. There is no electricity, no running water. One could call it abject poverty. One could also proudly call it an ancient way of life that has has been proudly preserved. I will suspend judgment. John says that 90% of the roads on The Rez are dirt roads. John has a 4X4 Surburban that certainly comes in handy with visits and picking up parishoners for church.
Window Rock is the capital of the Navajo Nation. It's a town of no more than 12,000, set at the base of a number of spectacular red rock pillars. A natural arch north of town gives Window Rock its name.
Our first stop in Window Rock Friday was the Navajo Zoo. It's a small zoo, and all of the animals were native to the Southwest. The kids really enjoyed the bear and the bobcat. A male turkey took a particular liking to Ellie and Brooke (John's daughter) displaying its tailfeathers and gobbling loudly. We spied a poor porcupine who was beset by wild prairie dogs--who snuck under the fence into his cage and raided his food. As we arrived, they retreated to the safety of the desert, and the porcupine desperately tried to finish his meal without having another bite stolen. There are two hogans at the zoo--one made of mud and another of logs--and the kids climbed in and around each one.
Our second stop was the Window Rock Flea Market. This is a colorful experience with all kinds of wares on display, from used clothes and books to Navajo blankets, jewelry, and native medicines. The kids all got snow cones, and Ellie really emerged into her element, carefully perusing the booths and finally selecting a beautiful eagle-feather necklace. I also bought some gifts, but the fun part was just looking around, trying pinion nuts for the first time, shepherding the kids through the crowds, and watching Navajo being Navajo (including the guy who hit me up for a "donation" as I was leaving).
Today we worshipped at the Window Rock Seventh-day Adventist Church. I sang special music, and Ellie found herself up front leading out in the song service with some other kids. One of the songs she sang was "Jesus Loves Me" in Navajo, and it was really neat to see her getting her own taste of this fascinating culture. The director of Native Ministries from the North American Division spoke for church, and many church members had come in native costumes (which they quickly shed for T-shirts and jeans before potluck).
I have three more days on The Rez before continuing on our trip. Jenny arrives Tuesday, and we will set off Wednesday for some more AZ adventures. Keep checking in!
How can I explain this? I might better ask, what business do I have explaining a complex and ancient culture based upon three days on the Reservation (despite the scores of reservations in the American West, when you say, "The Rez," out here, it can only refer to the monstrous Navajo Reservation the size of West Virginia or England).
Within an hour of our arrival, John had taken the kids and me out on his pastoral rounds, visiting two far-flung members (each lived about 45 minutes away from each other). The first compound was about15 miles from the highway on a wide road of red dirt. On Tuesday a terrible forest fire had ripped through this area (which is in the middle of a three-year drought) and burned everything. When we arrived, we found the houses safe but their inhabitants were not yet returned from the mandatory evacuation.
Navajo compounds are interesting. There is always a small, prefabricated 600-square-foot house (I would estimate that over 70% of the homes on the Rez are trailers or prefabricated houses). Next to some houses is a hogan (pronounced ho-gahn) of either six or eight sides, depending upon whether it was built by the son or daughter respectively.
Traditionally, Navajo property is matrilineal. A young man will move in with his wife's family at marriage--or he will build a hogan on their property.
I would guess that the average distance between homes/hogans once you get off road on The Rez is about eight miles. These people support themselves with sheep farming and subsistance agriculture. There is no electricity, no running water. One could call it abject poverty. One could also proudly call it an ancient way of life that has has been proudly preserved. I will suspend judgment. John says that 90% of the roads on The Rez are dirt roads. John has a 4X4 Surburban that certainly comes in handy with visits and picking up parishoners for church.
Window Rock is the capital of the Navajo Nation. It's a town of no more than 12,000, set at the base of a number of spectacular red rock pillars. A natural arch north of town gives Window Rock its name.
Our first stop in Window Rock Friday was the Navajo Zoo. It's a small zoo, and all of the animals were native to the Southwest. The kids really enjoyed the bear and the bobcat. A male turkey took a particular liking to Ellie and Brooke (John's daughter) displaying its tailfeathers and gobbling loudly. We spied a poor porcupine who was beset by wild prairie dogs--who snuck under the fence into his cage and raided his food. As we arrived, they retreated to the safety of the desert, and the porcupine desperately tried to finish his meal without having another bite stolen. There are two hogans at the zoo--one made of mud and another of logs--and the kids climbed in and around each one.
Our second stop was the Window Rock Flea Market. This is a colorful experience with all kinds of wares on display, from used clothes and books to Navajo blankets, jewelry, and native medicines. The kids all got snow cones, and Ellie really emerged into her element, carefully perusing the booths and finally selecting a beautiful eagle-feather necklace. I also bought some gifts, but the fun part was just looking around, trying pinion nuts for the first time, shepherding the kids through the crowds, and watching Navajo being Navajo (including the guy who hit me up for a "donation" as I was leaving).
Today we worshipped at the Window Rock Seventh-day Adventist Church. I sang special music, and Ellie found herself up front leading out in the song service with some other kids. One of the songs she sang was "Jesus Loves Me" in Navajo, and it was really neat to see her getting her own taste of this fascinating culture. The director of Native Ministries from the North American Division spoke for church, and many church members had come in native costumes (which they quickly shed for T-shirts and jeans before potluck).
I have three more days on The Rez before continuing on our trip. Jenny arrives Tuesday, and we will set off Wednesday for some more AZ adventures. Keep checking in!
09 June 2006
Trip Recap
We arrived.
(That sentence was so satisfying to write, I want to give it its own paragraph. Let me pause while I contemplate it further…)
Ellie, Jo-Jo, Owen and I arrived at the Van Eyk residence in Fort Defiance, Arizona, Thursday evening at 5 p.m., 1,663 miles, three days and ten hours after our departure from Portland. Everyone is safe—if a little grump from too many hours on the road. We are a little sunburned from a two-hour scramble atop the cliffs at El Morro National Monument. Alas, we are also trying to dry out from the fact that it rained and poured—mostly when we were ensconced in our accursed tent.
How can I describe the trip in one blog entry? It has been an epic journey in many ways: long, full of passion, intrigue, despair, hope, and heartbreak. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen any Iliad-length blog entries, so I’ll have to get started with this.
I had planned to travel about 450 miles a day with the kids, stopping at a number of attractions along the way to break up the monotony. For the most part, things went according to schedule.
On Monday we drove to Memphis and visited the zoo. It’s a wonderful place with some of the most fascinating zoo exhibits I’ve seen anywhere. They do a good job there incorporating architecture and statuary with the exhibits. We had planned to visit the pandas, but we were distracted by other fascinating sites including penguins, hippos, and komodo dragons. We met a polar bear named Cranberry who was the same age as Jo-Bear, but outweighed him by more than 300 pounds.
We continued into Arkansas and left I-40 to climb into the Ozark town of Ozone to camp for the night. I hadn’t visited the Ozarks before, so it was virgin territory. Sadly, the skies opened up after we arrived and rained on our shoddy efforts to put up the tent. Moreover, three exhausted kids also felt very homesick for their incredible mama, adding tears to the raindrops. The next morning I awoke to the sounds of thunder, so we hurriedly packed and zipped on down the road to Oklahoma.
Our Tuesday drive through Oklahoma featured visits to two museums. In Muskogee, we visited the Five Civilized Nations Museum, which traces the paths of the Cherokee, Creek, Chippawa, Choctaw, and Seminole nations in their exoduses from the southeastern states to Oklahoma in the 1830s and 40s. The exhibits were spare, but the art gallery on the 2nd floor was amazing, providing unique insights into the spirit and the imagination of Native America.
We drove from Indians to cowboys. The second museum in Kingfisher was the highlight of the drive for me. The Seay Mansion and Chisholm Trail Museum was the ultimate hands-on exposure to the cowboy experience along the Chisholm Trail. There were a number of restored buildings that were open to explore, so the kids got to look around two cabins, a frontier bank, an old schoolhouse, and even a jail! Ellie took orders at the chuck wagon and dipped water for us to drink. It was just an awesome, awesome place.
Wednesday we zipped through Texas and entered New Mexico, eating lunch at a Chinese restaurant in Tucamcari and getting Route 66 souvenirs at a teepee-shaped curio shop. Then we left I-40 to take state highway 104 from Tucumcari to Las Vegas (New Mexico, it’s a cow town on the foothills of the Rockies, not the gambling mecca in Nevada). We drove over 100 miles, and I probably passed six other cars on the highway the whole way. It was amazing how, when we zipped over the edge of a mountain range, we could see miles and miles of highway. It reminded me of the classic Pete Seeger song,
Wednesday night we cruised the historic district of Santa Fe, window shopping at high-end jewelry and pottery stores. The boys played in the square outside the Palace of the Governors, running laps around an obelisk that honors soldiers killed in the Indian wars. It was amazing to be in an American city that is almost 500 years old.
Thursday, after camping in an RV park outside of Albuquerque, we crossed the Continental Divide at high noon and visited El Morro National Monument. This place has always been a favorite for Jenny and me. At the base of the cliffs is Inscription Rock, a sandstone face that features 1000-year-old Native American petroglyphs as well as the autographs of 17th-century Spanish explorers and 19th-century American pioneers, soldiers, and railroad men. At the top of the cliffs is cliff dwelling known as Atsinna, abandoned 600 years ago by the waning Pueblo culture.
That’s the trip in a nutshell. All I’ve listed above are points of interest. I haven’t mentioned the fascinating things I’ve learned about Ellie, Owen, and Jonah. I haven’t talked about the challenges I’ve faced as a father and a family manager. I haven’t even begun to describe the interesting people and offbeat sites I encountered along the way.
That’s where the Epic part of this journey comes in. That’s what will take many, many further pages of writing to figure out for myself.
We will be in Fort Defiance until Wednesday. I’ll blog further about the Navajo Reservation in upcoming days. My friend, John, is a lay pastor here, and he’s taken us out on his pastoral rounds, introducing us to the fascinating people, customs and traditions that make up Navajo culture.
(That sentence was so satisfying to write, I want to give it its own paragraph. Let me pause while I contemplate it further…)
Ellie, Jo-Jo, Owen and I arrived at the Van Eyk residence in Fort Defiance, Arizona, Thursday evening at 5 p.m., 1,663 miles, three days and ten hours after our departure from Portland. Everyone is safe—if a little grump from too many hours on the road. We are a little sunburned from a two-hour scramble atop the cliffs at El Morro National Monument. Alas, we are also trying to dry out from the fact that it rained and poured—mostly when we were ensconced in our accursed tent.
How can I describe the trip in one blog entry? It has been an epic journey in many ways: long, full of passion, intrigue, despair, hope, and heartbreak. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen any Iliad-length blog entries, so I’ll have to get started with this.
I had planned to travel about 450 miles a day with the kids, stopping at a number of attractions along the way to break up the monotony. For the most part, things went according to schedule.
On Monday we drove to Memphis and visited the zoo. It’s a wonderful place with some of the most fascinating zoo exhibits I’ve seen anywhere. They do a good job there incorporating architecture and statuary with the exhibits. We had planned to visit the pandas, but we were distracted by other fascinating sites including penguins, hippos, and komodo dragons. We met a polar bear named Cranberry who was the same age as Jo-Bear, but outweighed him by more than 300 pounds.
We continued into Arkansas and left I-40 to climb into the Ozark town of Ozone to camp for the night. I hadn’t visited the Ozarks before, so it was virgin territory. Sadly, the skies opened up after we arrived and rained on our shoddy efforts to put up the tent. Moreover, three exhausted kids also felt very homesick for their incredible mama, adding tears to the raindrops. The next morning I awoke to the sounds of thunder, so we hurriedly packed and zipped on down the road to Oklahoma.
Our Tuesday drive through Oklahoma featured visits to two museums. In Muskogee, we visited the Five Civilized Nations Museum, which traces the paths of the Cherokee, Creek, Chippawa, Choctaw, and Seminole nations in their exoduses from the southeastern states to Oklahoma in the 1830s and 40s. The exhibits were spare, but the art gallery on the 2nd floor was amazing, providing unique insights into the spirit and the imagination of Native America.
We drove from Indians to cowboys. The second museum in Kingfisher was the highlight of the drive for me. The Seay Mansion and Chisholm Trail Museum was the ultimate hands-on exposure to the cowboy experience along the Chisholm Trail. There were a number of restored buildings that were open to explore, so the kids got to look around two cabins, a frontier bank, an old schoolhouse, and even a jail! Ellie took orders at the chuck wagon and dipped water for us to drink. It was just an awesome, awesome place.
Wednesday we zipped through Texas and entered New Mexico, eating lunch at a Chinese restaurant in Tucamcari and getting Route 66 souvenirs at a teepee-shaped curio shop. Then we left I-40 to take state highway 104 from Tucumcari to Las Vegas (New Mexico, it’s a cow town on the foothills of the Rockies, not the gambling mecca in Nevada). We drove over 100 miles, and I probably passed six other cars on the highway the whole way. It was amazing how, when we zipped over the edge of a mountain range, we could see miles and miles of highway. It reminded me of the classic Pete Seeger song,
“As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway,
I saw below me the golden valley,
This land was made for you and me.”
Wednesday night we cruised the historic district of Santa Fe, window shopping at high-end jewelry and pottery stores. The boys played in the square outside the Palace of the Governors, running laps around an obelisk that honors soldiers killed in the Indian wars. It was amazing to be in an American city that is almost 500 years old.
Thursday, after camping in an RV park outside of Albuquerque, we crossed the Continental Divide at high noon and visited El Morro National Monument. This place has always been a favorite for Jenny and me. At the base of the cliffs is Inscription Rock, a sandstone face that features 1000-year-old Native American petroglyphs as well as the autographs of 17th-century Spanish explorers and 19th-century American pioneers, soldiers, and railroad men. At the top of the cliffs is cliff dwelling known as Atsinna, abandoned 600 years ago by the waning Pueblo culture.
That’s the trip in a nutshell. All I’ve listed above are points of interest. I haven’t mentioned the fascinating things I’ve learned about Ellie, Owen, and Jonah. I haven’t talked about the challenges I’ve faced as a father and a family manager. I haven’t even begun to describe the interesting people and offbeat sites I encountered along the way.
That’s where the Epic part of this journey comes in. That’s what will take many, many further pages of writing to figure out for myself.
We will be in Fort Defiance until Wednesday. I’ll blog further about the Navajo Reservation in upcoming days. My friend, John, is a lay pastor here, and he’s taken us out on his pastoral rounds, introducing us to the fascinating people, customs and traditions that make up Navajo culture.
01 June 2006
Summer Soundtrack
I'm getting ready for my epic road trip with the kids next week. I'll try to keep everyone posted via the blog.
The plan is to leave early Monday morning. We will take four days to get to our destination: Fort Defiance, Arizona (near the New Mexico border and close to the capital of the Navajo Reservation).
Let me know what you think about this list. I haven't burned it to CD yet. I think I have plenty of cowboy songs, but my Indian songs are a little tacky to say the least.
If you have some suggestions for songs I could add to this list, let me know!
The plan is to leave early Monday morning. We will take four days to get to our destination: Fort Defiance, Arizona (near the New Mexico border and close to the capital of the Navajo Reservation).
- Monday. Leave Portland, stop at the Memphis Zoo, camp in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas
- Tuesday. Leave Arkansas, stop at museums in Muskogee (five Indian nations) and Enid (Chisholm Trail), Oklahoma. Get through the Texas Panhandle and camp in eastern New Mexico.
- Wednesday. Las Vegas, Santa Fe, and Albuquerque, New Mexico. Camp at El Morro National Monument.
- Thursday. Leave El Morro. Get to the Van Eyk residence.
Let me know what you think about this list. I haven't burned it to CD yet. I think I have plenty of cowboy songs, but my Indian songs are a little tacky to say the least.
- "Get'cha Head In the Game," Troy (from Disney's High School Musical, a huge hit among the teenybopper set this summer).
- "A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes," Disney Channel Stars (teenybopper version of the Cinderella classic).
- "One Little Slip," Barenaked Ladies, from the movie Chicken Little, Owen's favorite at the moment
- "Real Wild Child," Everlife, when I was in high school this was on the Pretty Woman soundtrack, now it's been updated for the cartoon, The Wild
- "Everybody's Changing," Keane, a band I discovered this year, and I love 'em
- "Route 66," Nat King Cole, "If you've got plans to motor West, take the highway that's the best"
- "On the Road Again," Willie Nelson
- "Happy Trails," Roy Rogers and Dale Evans
- "King of the Road," Roger Miller
- "This Land Is Your Land," Pete Seeger
- "Indian Outlaw," Tim McGraw
- "Just Around The Riverbend," Alan Menken & Stephen Schwartz
- "God Bless America," Celine Dion
- "America The Beautiful," Frank Sinatra
- "Whoopee Ti-Yi-Yo," Various Artists
- "The Cattle Call," Eddy Arnold
- "The Old Chisholm Trail," Michael Martin Murphy
- "Carry Me Back to the Lone Prairie," Johnny Bond
- "Mammas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys," Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings
- "(Ghost) Riders in the Sky," Riders in the Sky
- "Back in the Saddle Again," Gene Autry
- "El Paso," Marty Robbins
- "God Bless The USA," Lee Greenwood
If you have some suggestions for songs I could add to this list, let me know!
29 May 2006
May 29: A Special Day
I love May 29. It gives me a chance to do the following things:1) Go out on a real date with my Bride,
2) Recycle old jokes like "we've decided to stick it out another year" or "it sure feels like 23 years, are you sure it has only been twelve?" or "we've been married X bitter years" (12 to be exact).
3) Celebrate a wonderful marriage with the most perfect woman God could have possibly given me.
At lunch last Sabbath, Jenny was recounting one of the Newbold myths: about how her interest in me was unrequited. The kids all looked at me like "were you stupid or something?" (Ellie in particular gives me that look five times a day--as regularly as Muslim prayers.)
What could I do? I just took my palm and smacked it against my forehead three times.
Happy Anniversary, Jenny George!
25 May 2006
Water and Wine: Thoughts on John 2
Summer is almost here, but I must admit that Easter still has me in thrall. Bear with me, then, while I reflect a little longer....
A dark night, an upper room. The Son of Man slips into an anteroom before the meal arrives, carrying a wooden bucket and a ladle. He finds a tall, 30-gallon jar of water reserved especially for the ceremonial washing of the guests. He puts the bucket down, picks up the ladle. As his free hand touches the rim of the water jar, he pauses--thoughts invade his mind.
It was another anteroom, full of cleansing jars. It was a wedding, and he had been a guest. For weeks, he had been praying, pleading with God to lay out his mission before him. He had gained followers. He had felt the Spirit draw close to him, so close it was ready to pour out at any moment!
Yet this wedding--this party--seemed the wrong place to start such a mission. "They have no more wine," were words that didn't sound like marching orders. The words came from his mother after all--not God. He wasn't here to perform mere party tricks, couldn't she see that?
"My time has not yet come." They were his words--they are the words God hears almost every time he calls me, too.
Yet he followed, and his mother led him to an anteroom full of empty cleansing jars--jars that had been emptied in the cleansing of the hands and feet of the wedding guests. Suddenly, the Spirit struck: Jesus straightened, shook His head, opened his mouth and spoke the first words of Miracle: "Fill the jars with water."
A dark night, again, the flashback is finished. He fills the bucket with water and returns to the banquet room to wash his disciples' feet. He kneels before them, pouring water over their feet--water that washes away the dust of Jerusalem.
Next comes the miracle with the wine. He blesses it. "This is my blood," he tells his astonished audience, "Poured out for you for the remission of sins." His work has come full circle; His mission is nearly complete.
We cannot understand the Last Supper without a clear picture of the Wedding of Cana and those empty cleansing jars. They bookend the Gospel of John, perfectly explaining Christ's mission. For even as every observant Jew cleansed his hands and feet with water before eating, every observant Christian would cleanse his soul with wine after this night. Water cleanses the body; wine cleanses the soul. The wine is the miracle--Christ's first and his last.
Like the master of the banquet, I am amazed by this miracle--stunned, almost drunk. "You have saved the best till now," I whisper as I drink the cleansing blood, and I feel my spirit break free.
A dark night, an upper room. The Son of Man slips into an anteroom before the meal arrives, carrying a wooden bucket and a ladle. He finds a tall, 30-gallon jar of water reserved especially for the ceremonial washing of the guests. He puts the bucket down, picks up the ladle. As his free hand touches the rim of the water jar, he pauses--thoughts invade his mind.
It was another anteroom, full of cleansing jars. It was a wedding, and he had been a guest. For weeks, he had been praying, pleading with God to lay out his mission before him. He had gained followers. He had felt the Spirit draw close to him, so close it was ready to pour out at any moment!
Yet this wedding--this party--seemed the wrong place to start such a mission. "They have no more wine," were words that didn't sound like marching orders. The words came from his mother after all--not God. He wasn't here to perform mere party tricks, couldn't she see that?
"My time has not yet come." They were his words--they are the words God hears almost every time he calls me, too.
Yet he followed, and his mother led him to an anteroom full of empty cleansing jars--jars that had been emptied in the cleansing of the hands and feet of the wedding guests. Suddenly, the Spirit struck: Jesus straightened, shook His head, opened his mouth and spoke the first words of Miracle: "Fill the jars with water."
A dark night, again, the flashback is finished. He fills the bucket with water and returns to the banquet room to wash his disciples' feet. He kneels before them, pouring water over their feet--water that washes away the dust of Jerusalem.
Next comes the miracle with the wine. He blesses it. "This is my blood," he tells his astonished audience, "Poured out for you for the remission of sins." His work has come full circle; His mission is nearly complete.
We cannot understand the Last Supper without a clear picture of the Wedding of Cana and those empty cleansing jars. They bookend the Gospel of John, perfectly explaining Christ's mission. For even as every observant Jew cleansed his hands and feet with water before eating, every observant Christian would cleanse his soul with wine after this night. Water cleanses the body; wine cleanses the soul. The wine is the miracle--Christ's first and his last.
Like the master of the banquet, I am amazed by this miracle--stunned, almost drunk. "You have saved the best till now," I whisper as I drink the cleansing blood, and I feel my spirit break free.
24 May 2006
Ellie's Birthday
I'm still recovering from Ellie's birthday party this past Sunday. She wanted a Red Carpet birthday theme, so we had our invitees dress up like starlets, and we even spent $8 at WalMart to cover four yards of the sidewalk with red.
I hosted the red carpet walk--at least my alter ego, Tres Gay Jay, hosted the event (2nd picture).
After we cut cake, we filmed a movie called Scheme for Hollywood. The girls pretended a Hollywood director was looking for talent in their town, so they all pretended to do silly things like cry, die, and perform a romantic scene with Owen's oversized Bob the Builder doll.
In the end, the part went to Shoeless Jo (Jonah). I worked the next two nights editing the movie--and a bonus music video--which we gave to the invitees. Now I'm ready for bed! 
15 May 2006
Family Crest Update
I've gotten a little more done on our Dittes family crest. I'd like to hear some feedback on this one, so let me know what you think.
I added two points that have real significance for Jenny and me. In the background on the right is Pennard Castle, a ruin on Wales's Gower Peninsula that Jenny and I discovered on the Most Awesome Hitchhiking Trip of our Lives in April 1991. We were camping along the beach there, and we hiked up to the top of some bluffs, where we found this beautiful castle overlooking the Bristol Channel. It's ours now.
On the top left is Picket Post Mountain, which watched over our first home in Superior, Arizona. We climbed it a number of times (Ellie climbed it once in utero), and it brings back some fond memories of our early married years.
In the foreground is a pine tree from our house in Tennessee. A trail connects the foreground to the background (my obsession is finding and building trails).
All that's left is some color. I also plan to add some dogwood branches to the lower right corner--again from our home here in Tennessee. I wasn't originally planning to have a 3-D effect in the crest, but I think it's really cool. It's as if we're looking through the trees at our home, back on the great events and places that brought us together as a family.
Let me know what you think!
12 May 2006
Book Review: A New Way to Look at Someone You've Always Known
I don't remember exactly what my pastor and I were discussing that Sabbath four weeks ago in his office. I do remember looking over at his bookshelf and jumping up with a start: "You have Chilton's Rabbi Jesus!" I blurted. "Can I read it?"
I'm a big fan of Bruce Chilton, an Anglican priest and college professor. A few years ago I bought his book, Rabbi Paul, and that book has been real food (both intellectual and spiritual)--I've read it twice, and now I'm going back through it, cross-referencing the texts that he cited. It let me into Paul's writings in a number of dramatic ways: (1) providing a convincing narrative that connected his travels and his writings; (2) providing a well-researched context for the communitites in which he worked (pharisees, school of Gamaliel, Tarsus, etc.); and (3) giving unique analysis to Paul's writings.
I come from a literalistic theological background which has traditionally focused solely on scripture without getting bogged down on scholarly criticism or the social/philosophical context of the writings of the Bible. For the most part, this is a good thing. I haven't spent time wondering if the Resurrection was physical or metaphorical; I haven't tried to disprove the clear message of the Bible based on some scholar's hypotheses.
But my fascination for scholarly, Bible-related works has grown over the years. Much of what is out there, thanks to people like Crossan, Pagels, and Ehrman, is recycled 2nd-century heresies, repackaged to show "oppressed, alternate strains" of Christianity and supposedly trump the testimony of the New Testament (written within 70 years of Christ's death--and the single-most vetted book in the history of literature).
Chilton could easily be lumped together with the afore-mentioned writers. I would not call him orthodox by any means, yet his arguments are usually well-supported and enlightening. His books are worth the read, particularly if you're up to a challenge. I'll review the book based on the three points I mentioned above.
The Teaching/Travel Narrative. Traditional readings of the gospels have the birth story, the temple scene and then a big gap between Jesus at age 12 and the beginning of his ministry around his 30th year (John mentions four trips to Jerusalem, while the other three gospels mention only the final, climactic visit). Chilton gets rid of most of the gaps, starting in Jesus' adolescence, theorizing that Jesus (a mamzer rejected by the community because of his questionable parentage) went to Jerusalem around age 14, along with his devout, legitimate brother, James. He dropped away from his family in the busy streets of Jerusalem and spent the next six to eight years as a disciple of John the Baptist. Chilton shows Jesus leaving John's side just a few months prior to John's arrest and picking up disciples of his own in Galilee--per the Gospel of John.
He also stretches the traditional three years of Christ's ministry out to ten or more, including a number of years spent back at home, working as a handyman in Nazareth, and more years in Capernaum. He then sends Jesus wandering as Herod Antipas grows wary of this "new John" and pursues him throughout Galilee/Syria. The fear of arrest, the need to differentiate his mission from that of John, the great desire to see fulfilled the prophecies of Ezekiel and Zechariach--these are used to explain Jesus' motives for his travels as well as his teachings.
I find some of it persuasive--the close connection with John, the fear of Herod, the final mission to Jerusalem--but some leaps are too far for my orthodoxy. For example, he mentions the temptations of Christ as coinciding with the aftermath of the Feeding of the 5,000, rather than earlier in Christ's ministry. Also, Chilton as a secular-oriented scholar explains things like Christ's walking on water, the Transfiguration, the Resurrection, as "shared visionary experiences" rather than literal ones. I'm not bound by book sales or scholarly criticism to affirm my faith in each of these.
One fascinating divergence Chilton takes is incorporating the story of Barnabas. Using tradition and some mid 2nd-century sources, he writes that Barnabus (whose family was from Cyprus) had a home in Jerusalem where Jesus might have stayed--and he may have even been the host for the Last Supper. The Bible does show that Barnabus was one of the first apostles, and that he later sold his lands and donated the proceeds to the Jesus Movement.
Context for 1st-Century Communities. Chilton's description of the temple as it appeared in Jesus' day is vivid and breathtaking in its scope. I also appreciated his explanation of Ezekiel's fiery chariot visions and how they informed both the worldview of John and Jesus. Most interesting was the dichotomy between John's practice of watery baptism and Jesus' meal-oriented sacraments--although Jesus directed his disciples to baptize, I had never before wondered why he, himself, never baptized anyone until I read this book.
Chilton is an astute observer of the political dynamics of 1st-century Galilee and Judeah, tracing Pilate's vacillations back to a Roman political scandal involving his mentor, Sejanus, and explaining how the forces of Pilate, Caiaphas, and Herod united against Christ after his cleansing of the temple. He spends six pages reflecting on the duties of a 1st-century handyman. My orthodox sensibilities were offended, however, by his repeated use of the term "illiterate peasant" to describe my Savior. Personally, I see it as a derogatory term--I think there are ample mentions of Christ reading or quoting scripture in the gospels--but he may have intended it more to reflect historical/class details than prejudice.
Finally, Chilton is able to give unique analysis to Christ's teachings. The most fascinating was in the dichotomy with John's message. Jesus believed that the Spirit of God was available to everyone at any time--not necessarily through baptism but through remembrance and thanks, best typified by the way Christ remembered his heavenly Father at meal times. (Chilton focuses a lot on Christ and food--even speculating that at the end of his stay in Capernaum, just before Herod's pursuit, Jesus had developed a paunch.) To me, this was the revolutionary idea of Christ's work. The Kingdom of God was a community of believers--one very effectively set up by Christ.
I also appreciated the discussion of the Ezekiel and Zechariah texts--two books that I haven't studied sufficiently before. Ezekiel speaks of envisioning a flaming chariot (the throne of God), and Chilton writes that this vision was ever before Jesus, fueling his mission. Jesus' gift to his disciples, then, was the incorporation of this vision within them--along with others, as I have mentioned above.
Finally, the Zechariah prophecies that showed a cleansed temple at which the world would worship helped to explain the impetus for Jesus' final trip to Jerusalem, his dramatic demonstration in the temple, and his combative demeanor with the pharisees he debated there.
There are really two kinds of narratives for the life of Jesus: those where he walks among men, and those where his feet barely touch the ground because of his godliness. Rabbi Jesus belongs among the former type: every idea may not please the orthodox among us, but the view will give us a compelling portrait of the man we know as the Son of God.
I'm a big fan of Bruce Chilton, an Anglican priest and college professor. A few years ago I bought his book, Rabbi Paul, and that book has been real food (both intellectual and spiritual)--I've read it twice, and now I'm going back through it, cross-referencing the texts that he cited. It let me into Paul's writings in a number of dramatic ways: (1) providing a convincing narrative that connected his travels and his writings; (2) providing a well-researched context for the communitites in which he worked (pharisees, school of Gamaliel, Tarsus, etc.); and (3) giving unique analysis to Paul's writings.
I come from a literalistic theological background which has traditionally focused solely on scripture without getting bogged down on scholarly criticism or the social/philosophical context of the writings of the Bible. For the most part, this is a good thing. I haven't spent time wondering if the Resurrection was physical or metaphorical; I haven't tried to disprove the clear message of the Bible based on some scholar's hypotheses.
But my fascination for scholarly, Bible-related works has grown over the years. Much of what is out there, thanks to people like Crossan, Pagels, and Ehrman, is recycled 2nd-century heresies, repackaged to show "oppressed, alternate strains" of Christianity and supposedly trump the testimony of the New Testament (written within 70 years of Christ's death--and the single-most vetted book in the history of literature).
Chilton could easily be lumped together with the afore-mentioned writers. I would not call him orthodox by any means, yet his arguments are usually well-supported and enlightening. His books are worth the read, particularly if you're up to a challenge. I'll review the book based on the three points I mentioned above.
The Teaching/Travel Narrative. Traditional readings of the gospels have the birth story, the temple scene and then a big gap between Jesus at age 12 and the beginning of his ministry around his 30th year (John mentions four trips to Jerusalem, while the other three gospels mention only the final, climactic visit). Chilton gets rid of most of the gaps, starting in Jesus' adolescence, theorizing that Jesus (a mamzer rejected by the community because of his questionable parentage) went to Jerusalem around age 14, along with his devout, legitimate brother, James. He dropped away from his family in the busy streets of Jerusalem and spent the next six to eight years as a disciple of John the Baptist. Chilton shows Jesus leaving John's side just a few months prior to John's arrest and picking up disciples of his own in Galilee--per the Gospel of John.
He also stretches the traditional three years of Christ's ministry out to ten or more, including a number of years spent back at home, working as a handyman in Nazareth, and more years in Capernaum. He then sends Jesus wandering as Herod Antipas grows wary of this "new John" and pursues him throughout Galilee/Syria. The fear of arrest, the need to differentiate his mission from that of John, the great desire to see fulfilled the prophecies of Ezekiel and Zechariach--these are used to explain Jesus' motives for his travels as well as his teachings.
I find some of it persuasive--the close connection with John, the fear of Herod, the final mission to Jerusalem--but some leaps are too far for my orthodoxy. For example, he mentions the temptations of Christ as coinciding with the aftermath of the Feeding of the 5,000, rather than earlier in Christ's ministry. Also, Chilton as a secular-oriented scholar explains things like Christ's walking on water, the Transfiguration, the Resurrection, as "shared visionary experiences" rather than literal ones. I'm not bound by book sales or scholarly criticism to affirm my faith in each of these.
One fascinating divergence Chilton takes is incorporating the story of Barnabas. Using tradition and some mid 2nd-century sources, he writes that Barnabus (whose family was from Cyprus) had a home in Jerusalem where Jesus might have stayed--and he may have even been the host for the Last Supper. The Bible does show that Barnabus was one of the first apostles, and that he later sold his lands and donated the proceeds to the Jesus Movement.
Context for 1st-Century Communities. Chilton's description of the temple as it appeared in Jesus' day is vivid and breathtaking in its scope. I also appreciated his explanation of Ezekiel's fiery chariot visions and how they informed both the worldview of John and Jesus. Most interesting was the dichotomy between John's practice of watery baptism and Jesus' meal-oriented sacraments--although Jesus directed his disciples to baptize, I had never before wondered why he, himself, never baptized anyone until I read this book.
Chilton is an astute observer of the political dynamics of 1st-century Galilee and Judeah, tracing Pilate's vacillations back to a Roman political scandal involving his mentor, Sejanus, and explaining how the forces of Pilate, Caiaphas, and Herod united against Christ after his cleansing of the temple. He spends six pages reflecting on the duties of a 1st-century handyman. My orthodox sensibilities were offended, however, by his repeated use of the term "illiterate peasant" to describe my Savior. Personally, I see it as a derogatory term--I think there are ample mentions of Christ reading or quoting scripture in the gospels--but he may have intended it more to reflect historical/class details than prejudice.
Finally, Chilton is able to give unique analysis to Christ's teachings. The most fascinating was in the dichotomy with John's message. Jesus believed that the Spirit of God was available to everyone at any time--not necessarily through baptism but through remembrance and thanks, best typified by the way Christ remembered his heavenly Father at meal times. (Chilton focuses a lot on Christ and food--even speculating that at the end of his stay in Capernaum, just before Herod's pursuit, Jesus had developed a paunch.) To me, this was the revolutionary idea of Christ's work. The Kingdom of God was a community of believers--one very effectively set up by Christ.
I also appreciated the discussion of the Ezekiel and Zechariah texts--two books that I haven't studied sufficiently before. Ezekiel speaks of envisioning a flaming chariot (the throne of God), and Chilton writes that this vision was ever before Jesus, fueling his mission. Jesus' gift to his disciples, then, was the incorporation of this vision within them--along with others, as I have mentioned above.
Finally, the Zechariah prophecies that showed a cleansed temple at which the world would worship helped to explain the impetus for Jesus' final trip to Jerusalem, his dramatic demonstration in the temple, and his combative demeanor with the pharisees he debated there.
There are really two kinds of narratives for the life of Jesus: those where he walks among men, and those where his feet barely touch the ground because of his godliness. Rabbi Jesus belongs among the former type: every idea may not please the orthodox among us, but the view will give us a compelling portrait of the man we know as the Son of God.
06 May 2006
Da Vinci Code: Ignore the Hype and Enjoy
I'm trying to get a book published. Last week, I got a very constructive "no thanks" letter back from an editor at Penguin Books, and I've decided to rewrite key sections of The Sandal on the Obelisk to ramp up the action and make the conflict clearer.
Of course, if I wanted to be published that badly, I would put Da Vinci or Opus Dei in the title. Then it would get plenty of attention! It's amazing to me how easily our country's polarized Culture of Outrage can be perverted to sell books and movie tickets. There is much money to be made--hey folks, how about cutting this aspiring author in on the racket?
I read The Da Vinci Code about a year ago. I loved it. It was a thriller that I just couldn't put down from Chapter Two onward. It begins with a spectacular murder in the Louvre. Three sets of people focus on the crime: the granddaughter of the murdered man, who, with the help of an American scholar, races through France and Britain to unravel the secrets of her lineage; the French police, who believe the aforementioned pair are responsible for the murder; and a reclusive English baron who is on his own search for the Holy Grail.
There are so many clues, so many excellent plot twists, your head is spinning and spinning until the end. I must say that I thought the end was disappointing. Brown fumbles the romantic element of the story and the discovery of the Holy Grail...well, it can't live up to the hype.
Speaking of hype, the Culture of Outrage" has really bought into the hype, driving sales of the book to 30 million (most of any novel, ever). Why the hype? Well, one of the plot elements is that Sophie (the granddaughter) is a descendant of Jesus and Mary Magdalene (whose womb, according to Brown, is the real Holy Grail--can you understand the letdown, now?).
To me, these are plot twists, just like other thrillers I've read revealed the location of Hitler's secret child, the passcode to the secret Enigma machine, or evidence of a conspiracy by the FBI to assassinate JFK.
I am a devout Christian, but I don't believe in the holiness of a Grail or in the survival of any clay cup used at the Last Supper. I am mildly offended by allusions to a sexual relationship between Jesus and Mary, but Christ's virginity isn't exactly a cornerstone of my theology. What is the big deal? If a thriller about the Holy Grail is enough to make a Christian lose their faith in Christ's holiness, then by the same logic, a ghost story would be enough to make them lose belief in the Resurrection.
No, it's the usual suspects at work again in our Culture of Outrage. Just like Mel Gibson tweaked the usual suspects (Jews and secularists) to drive movie sales of The Passion of the Christ to over $300 million; Brown and movie director Ron Howard are tweaking the usual suspects (Christian fundamentalists) to drive controversy and sell books & movie tickets.
Will I see the film? Probably not. As a rule, I ignore overhyped movies. The only movies I see nowadays are kid flicks anyway. I've read the book--and I enjoyed it--and that's why I shared this with you.
Of course, if I wanted to be published that badly, I would put Da Vinci or Opus Dei in the title. Then it would get plenty of attention! It's amazing to me how easily our country's polarized Culture of Outrage can be perverted to sell books and movie tickets. There is much money to be made--hey folks, how about cutting this aspiring author in on the racket?
I read The Da Vinci Code about a year ago. I loved it. It was a thriller that I just couldn't put down from Chapter Two onward. It begins with a spectacular murder in the Louvre. Three sets of people focus on the crime: the granddaughter of the murdered man, who, with the help of an American scholar, races through France and Britain to unravel the secrets of her lineage; the French police, who believe the aforementioned pair are responsible for the murder; and a reclusive English baron who is on his own search for the Holy Grail.
There are so many clues, so many excellent plot twists, your head is spinning and spinning until the end. I must say that I thought the end was disappointing. Brown fumbles the romantic element of the story and the discovery of the Holy Grail...well, it can't live up to the hype.
Speaking of hype, the Culture of Outrage" has really bought into the hype, driving sales of the book to 30 million (most of any novel, ever). Why the hype? Well, one of the plot elements is that Sophie (the granddaughter) is a descendant of Jesus and Mary Magdalene (whose womb, according to Brown, is the real Holy Grail--can you understand the letdown, now?).
To me, these are plot twists, just like other thrillers I've read revealed the location of Hitler's secret child, the passcode to the secret Enigma machine, or evidence of a conspiracy by the FBI to assassinate JFK.
I am a devout Christian, but I don't believe in the holiness of a Grail or in the survival of any clay cup used at the Last Supper. I am mildly offended by allusions to a sexual relationship between Jesus and Mary, but Christ's virginity isn't exactly a cornerstone of my theology. What is the big deal? If a thriller about the Holy Grail is enough to make a Christian lose their faith in Christ's holiness, then by the same logic, a ghost story would be enough to make them lose belief in the Resurrection.
No, it's the usual suspects at work again in our Culture of Outrage. Just like Mel Gibson tweaked the usual suspects (Jews and secularists) to drive movie sales of The Passion of the Christ to over $300 million; Brown and movie director Ron Howard are tweaking the usual suspects (Christian fundamentalists) to drive controversy and sell books & movie tickets.
Will I see the film? Probably not. As a rule, I ignore overhyped movies. The only movies I see nowadays are kid flicks anyway. I've read the book--and I enjoyed it--and that's why I shared this with you.
Luke 5
Bible study this morning: Jesus get into Peter's boat and teaches crowds from around Capernaum. When he is finished speaking, he turns to Peter and says, "Put out into deep water and let down the nets for a catch."
Peter answers, "Master, we've woirked hard all night and haven't caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets" (Luke 5.4-5). Peter goes out to deep water, and the catch is so great that it almost sinks his boat. He calls for help and James & John come to help.
It's a wonderful story--and a wonderful allegory for this season between Easter and Pentecost. Jesus' message had been proclaimed and sealed with His blood. It was at Pentecost that Peter finally overcame his fears and went out into the "deep water," far outside his comfort zone in Galilee. It was at Pentecost that Peter became a "fisher of men."
And the catch! Thousands upon thousands upon thousands! It took help from the SS John, the SS James, the SS Paul, and it continues to pour in through the efforts of believers today.
Peter answers, "Master, we've woirked hard all night and haven't caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets" (Luke 5.4-5). Peter goes out to deep water, and the catch is so great that it almost sinks his boat. He calls for help and James & John come to help.
It's a wonderful story--and a wonderful allegory for this season between Easter and Pentecost. Jesus' message had been proclaimed and sealed with His blood. It was at Pentecost that Peter finally overcame his fears and went out into the "deep water," far outside his comfort zone in Galilee. It was at Pentecost that Peter became a "fisher of men."
And the catch! Thousands upon thousands upon thousands! It took help from the SS John, the SS James, the SS Paul, and it continues to pour in through the efforts of believers today.
03 May 2006
Modern War or Ancient?
This is a short post. I spent the morning grading papers. One of the questions about Kipling's ballad, "Danny Deever," asked about the time period in which the title character lived.
One answer: "The Evolutionary War."
One answer: "The Evolutionary War."
01 May 2006
I-65 Live with Owen Mike
The older my kids get the more I see them passing developmental milestones that I remember passing. Ellie’s first day on crutches last month took me back to the two weeks I flailed around on crutches after a particularly nasty bike wreck.
Owen’s reading has caught up with some of my memories, too. Of course, the first book I remember reading was a book about Jairus’ daughter, while Owen’s choice of books tends more towards encyclopedias. He’s got me there, definitely.
Recently, Owen has taken to reading street signs whenever we drive somewhere. “Speed Limit 45, Dad,” he chirps from his place in the middle section of the minivan. “Are you going 45?” Now he has figured out how to read the speedometer, so it often sounds more like this: “Dad, you’re going too fast. The speed limit is 35. Slow down!”
The first weekend in March our family shook off some winter weariness by taking a road trip. The road trip is an essential and unique aspect of American culture—a time when the family gathers together, shares experiences, and has some bonding time. In other countries families do this at meal times, but here in the States, we strap on the seat belts and burn a few gallons of Saudi Arabia’s finest.
The whole togetherness thing didn’t happen right away. Ellie buried her nose in a book in the back seat, and Jonah perched the portable DVD player on his lap and watched “Jay-Jay the Jet Plane.” Owen began a play-by-play, sign-by-sign routine that would last the whole two-hour trip.
As we approached the on-ramp, Owen noted, “Interstate 65 that-a-way.” He paused. “Yield,” he intoned deeply.
Our minivan bounced through the hills of southern Kentucky. “Road construction 1500 feet,” he announced as we passed an orange sign. He took a quick breath and added, “Road construction 1000 feet, [another quick breath] Road construction 500 feet.”
Exit signs showed what a good reader Owen has become. “Mumfordville,” “Bonnieville,” and “Lietchfield” rolled out of his mouth without a hitch. Mile markers became chances to practice his knowledge of numbers. Owen, who can read his numbers up to 99, got the chance to practice the higher numbers. “Mile one-one-seven,” he said.
“One hundred seventeen,” I corrected him. Owen refused to take the bait. He looked at me for a second. “That’s right,” he grinned. Quickly he turned his face away and announced, “Mile one-one-eight!”
He even found ways to read signs that didn’t say anything. Again and again he would say, “Bumble-bee sign!” I couldn’t tell what he was talking about until we passed a bridge. At the sight of the diagonal yellow-and-black striped sign, he said it again: “Large Bumblebee Sign!”
“Narrow road,” I instructed. “It means the road narrows.”
Owen didn’t think much of my reading ability. “It’s a Bumblebee Sign, Dad,” he said with a tone of disparagement in his voice.
We were driving through a construction zone just north of Bowling Green, Kentucky, when the whole speed limit thing came up again. “Speed limit 55,” he proclaimed. I admit I wasn’t paying much attention—I was trying to listen to a book Jenny was reading to me.
A few minutes later, he said it a little louder, “Speed limit 55!” I looked in the rearview mirror. I could see him looking past my shoulder at the speedometer. “Dad!” he said, “You’re going too fast!”
“It’s OK,” I tried to reassure him. “You can drive a little faster than the speed limit here.”
“You’re going 65 and the speed limit says 55!”
“OK, fine.” I let my foot off the gas pedal as we reached the crest of a hill. I looked back at Owen. He was still scrutinizing the speedometer, but he was silent. As the van careened down the other side of the hill at exactly 55 miles per hour, I spotted the front end of a police car peering around a corner. I was safe, and I had a five-year-old to thank for it.
28 April 2006
The Bible's Least Romantic Verse
"Enjoy life with your wife whom you love, all the days of this meaningless life that God has given you under the sun--for all your meaningless days." --Eclesiastes 9.9
23 April 2006
Ecclesiastes Made Easy
I had this message in my Inbox yesterday:
"Could you and would you have time to do an introduction to Ecclesiastes? This is an unusual and fascinating book and you could do it justice. Please confirm that you receive. I hate to call you on Sat... Johnny"
I'm a teacher through and through, but there are some times when I don't mind being the student. That tends to happen when the lesson is on something that I don't understand very well--such as the book of Ecclesiastes. All week I'd been studying my Sunday School lesson, thinking, "I'm sure glad I don't have to teach this." Of course, all week, Johnny had been down in Nashville working as a lobbyist in the state legislature, too busy to prepare a full lesson. (Watching Tennessee's legislature takes as much energy and fortitude as watching teenagers, I believe.)
Even Johnny's flattery, "You could do it justice," couldn't break through the hopelessness of my goal. Then again, hopelessness is the theme of the book. I thought I'd share some of the insights with you.
First some context for the study. Prior to Easter, our class was studying the book of Job--man suffers injustice, keeps his faith in God, gets rewarded in the end. It closed with Christ's suffering, first in Gethsemane and then on the cross, and we made parallels between Job and Christ.
This week we began Ecclesiastes, and closed with a study of some of the Resurrection appearances of Jesus. The book of Ecclesiastes reads like an "inside-out" version of the Book of Job. Rather than being a testament of suffering, it is a chronicle of excess--reflections of a man who gained the whole world, only to find the meaninglessness of a life without God's leading.
At the end of Job, the main character has been vindicated by God. By the 2nd chapter of Ecclesiastes, the writer has almost eviscerated all the hope, all the love, all the grace that a believer might expect from God.
Most people believe that Ecclesiastes come from Solomon--and it is fascinating to consider them in light of Solomon's own life story. His kingdom had an auspicious beginning: God appeared to him in a dream and promise to grant any one wish he could make. Solomon asked for wisdom--a wish granted by God, along with wealth, splendor and empire (1 Kings 3.1-15; 4.29-34). Only a few stories of Solomon's wisdom survive in the Bible: his judicious judgment of two women arguing over a surviving child, and his epic encounter with the Queen of Sheba.
The high point of Solomon's career was the dedication of the temple. His prayer of dedication is one of the greatest speeches found in the Bible (1 Kings 8), yet a critical study of the speech shows the seeds of the fall that will soon come. By 1 Kings 11, we learn that Solomon's excesses--his enslavement of his own people, his 700 wives, his 300 concubines have attracted God's wrath. "The Lord became angry with Solomon because his heart had turned away from the Lord," (1 Kings 11.9).
God raises two opponents to harass Solomon in his final years. The mysterious King Hadad of Edom (a survivor of the genocide through which Joab wiped out the nation of Edom in 2nd Samuel 8) gains the sponsorship of Shishak, Pharaoh of Egypt, and tries to invade.
Closer to home, the prophet Ahijah promises Jeroboam ten of the twelve tribes of Israel. When Solomon learns of Jeroboam's goals, he tries to murder him, but Jeroboam escapes to Egypt to await Solomon's demise and the rule of his inferior, vain, and incompetent son, Rehoboam.
This, then, is the context for the book Ecclesiastes. Solomon is hedged in by enemies, and Egypt is on the rise, ready to seize any opportunity to invade and take away everything Solomon has built. Such excess would seem meaningless in this context, wouldn't it?
Wise as he was, Solomon knew the game was up--that his glorious building projects and his wide-ranging empire were "a chasing after the wind." Hindsight shows that within five years of his death, ten tribes would split away under the rule of Jeroboam, leaving the rump nation of Judah to stumble forward another 250 years. Within 15 years, Pharaoh Shishak would sack Jerusalem and carry away many of the treasures so lovingly stored in the temple (including the Ark of the Covenant so celebrated by Solomon's father, David).
Eight chapters in the first book of Kings tells the story of Solomon--only eleven chapters. He appears to me to be a man whose life was squandered with excess and shallowness. Ecclesiastes bears this theme out, leaving us with wisdom, yes, but also a health share of regret for all that Solomon wasted.
"Could you and would you have time to do an introduction to Ecclesiastes? This is an unusual and fascinating book and you could do it justice. Please confirm that you receive. I hate to call you on Sat... Johnny"
I'm a teacher through and through, but there are some times when I don't mind being the student. That tends to happen when the lesson is on something that I don't understand very well--such as the book of Ecclesiastes. All week I'd been studying my Sunday School lesson, thinking, "I'm sure glad I don't have to teach this." Of course, all week, Johnny had been down in Nashville working as a lobbyist in the state legislature, too busy to prepare a full lesson. (Watching Tennessee's legislature takes as much energy and fortitude as watching teenagers, I believe.)
Even Johnny's flattery, "You could do it justice," couldn't break through the hopelessness of my goal. Then again, hopelessness is the theme of the book. I thought I'd share some of the insights with you.
First some context for the study. Prior to Easter, our class was studying the book of Job--man suffers injustice, keeps his faith in God, gets rewarded in the end. It closed with Christ's suffering, first in Gethsemane and then on the cross, and we made parallels between Job and Christ.
This week we began Ecclesiastes, and closed with a study of some of the Resurrection appearances of Jesus. The book of Ecclesiastes reads like an "inside-out" version of the Book of Job. Rather than being a testament of suffering, it is a chronicle of excess--reflections of a man who gained the whole world, only to find the meaninglessness of a life without God's leading.
At the end of Job, the main character has been vindicated by God. By the 2nd chapter of Ecclesiastes, the writer has almost eviscerated all the hope, all the love, all the grace that a believer might expect from God.
Most people believe that Ecclesiastes come from Solomon--and it is fascinating to consider them in light of Solomon's own life story. His kingdom had an auspicious beginning: God appeared to him in a dream and promise to grant any one wish he could make. Solomon asked for wisdom--a wish granted by God, along with wealth, splendor and empire (1 Kings 3.1-15; 4.29-34). Only a few stories of Solomon's wisdom survive in the Bible: his judicious judgment of two women arguing over a surviving child, and his epic encounter with the Queen of Sheba.
The high point of Solomon's career was the dedication of the temple. His prayer of dedication is one of the greatest speeches found in the Bible (1 Kings 8), yet a critical study of the speech shows the seeds of the fall that will soon come. By 1 Kings 11, we learn that Solomon's excesses--his enslavement of his own people, his 700 wives, his 300 concubines have attracted God's wrath. "The Lord became angry with Solomon because his heart had turned away from the Lord," (1 Kings 11.9).God raises two opponents to harass Solomon in his final years. The mysterious King Hadad of Edom (a survivor of the genocide through which Joab wiped out the nation of Edom in 2nd Samuel 8) gains the sponsorship of Shishak, Pharaoh of Egypt, and tries to invade.
Closer to home, the prophet Ahijah promises Jeroboam ten of the twelve tribes of Israel. When Solomon learns of Jeroboam's goals, he tries to murder him, but Jeroboam escapes to Egypt to await Solomon's demise and the rule of his inferior, vain, and incompetent son, Rehoboam.
This, then, is the context for the book Ecclesiastes. Solomon is hedged in by enemies, and Egypt is on the rise, ready to seize any opportunity to invade and take away everything Solomon has built. Such excess would seem meaningless in this context, wouldn't it?
Wise as he was, Solomon knew the game was up--that his glorious building projects and his wide-ranging empire were "a chasing after the wind." Hindsight shows that within five years of his death, ten tribes would split away under the rule of Jeroboam, leaving the rump nation of Judah to stumble forward another 250 years. Within 15 years, Pharaoh Shishak would sack Jerusalem and carry away many of the treasures so lovingly stored in the temple (including the Ark of the Covenant so celebrated by Solomon's father, David).
Eight chapters in the first book of Kings tells the story of Solomon--only eleven chapters. He appears to me to be a man whose life was squandered with excess and shallowness. Ecclesiastes bears this theme out, leaving us with wisdom, yes, but also a health share of regret for all that Solomon wasted.
17 April 2006
Easter Thoughts
There is a reason why I worship from church pews rather than from the pulpit: my ideas tend to come a little late, usually while my mind and my spirit are interacting with the message of the sermon. Although these Easter thoughts are technically a day late, they were inspired yesterday, and I hope they will inspire you, too.
In the year 63 BC, Jerusalem welcomed the greatest general to ever set foot in that ancient city. For all the warcraft of Nebuchadnezzar or David or Sheshak (the pharaoh who looted the Ark of the Covenant from Reheboam), Pompey the Great was a general at the height of his glory, welcoming comparisons to Alexander the Great (who had bypassed Jerusalem in his conquests).
In full glory--his armor was coated with gold for his triumphs--Pompey strode through the city, advancing to the steps of the Temple, the very temple rebuilt by Nehemiah about 400 years earlier. Pompey, the Roman governor responsible for the eastern provinces, had joined the Hasmonians in a bitter civil war that had divided the ancestors of Judas Maccabees, who had gained independence from the Hellenistic Seleucid Empire. As power broker, he would usher in Roman suzerainty that would dominate the region for another 400 years.
His bodyguard shoved aside a group of Jewish protesters and held wide the temple doors for Pompey to enter. The general climbed the steps and entered as a Hasmonian guide described the significance of the altar and the Holy Place. At the far end of the hall hung a great curtain. Much to the horror of his hosts, Pompey advanced, reached out, and slipped through the curtain into the Holy of Holies, a room entered only by the High Priest once every year on the Day of Atonement.
He looked up into the square chamber, gazing at its four walls and smooth cobblestones. He looked back at his aides and grinned quizzically. "It is empty," he observed.
He turned, strode hurriedly through the temple to the exit, and left Jerusalem for more conquests and an eventual showdown (13 years later) with the only man in the world who could surpass his military genius: Julius Caesar.
No doubt the Most Holy Place became a punchline in the stories that Pompey told thereafter: such reverance and adoration given to a room that was completely empty!
The same observation was made by two women, who had hurried to a room carved out from the base of Golgotha, "Skull Hill," early on a Sunday morning nearly 100 years later. They had gone to adorn the body of a fallen Teacher, yet they had found that room empty: an empty cave that would become every bit as holy to believing Christians as the Most Holy Place had been to the Jews.
What would Pompey have thought? What's the big deal about an empty room?
After all, is religion just the worship of empty chambers? The ancient Minoans worshipped caves, I read, viewing them as portals, dwelling places of the gods. I don't know enough about Islam or Buddhism, but I would expect that there are empty rooms there, too. Perhaps empty rooms are the most obvious sign that faith is empty, the objects of believers' adoration are simply nonexistent.
Another question came this weekend at men's Bible study: what does it mean to be "poor in spirit" (Matthew 5:3)? My Bible commentary showed that this was "in contrast to the spiritually proud and self-sufficient."
One who is "poor in spirit," then, is someone with an empty room deep within themselves. Spiritual hunger, spiritual thirst, the longing for reunion with Christ--all come from the Empty Room of the heart. And Christ promised to bless these rooms with the "kingdom of heaven."
We worship empty rooms because there is a spiritual longing within each person that the God of Empty Rooms can only fill. Had the Holy of Holies been packed to the ceiling like a pharaoh's tomb, it could not have honored God before Pompey any more than it did. (As it was, the Holy of Holies became the first holy place Pompey couldn't loot.)
On Easter Sunday this year, I peered into the tomb with Mary and with Peter and with John. It was empty. Christ was risen. I broke bread and drank juice. On my knees in the silence thereafter, I hear echoes in the Empty Room within me. I begged to be filled.
15 April 2006
A Funny Story Set in Sweden
My favorite Christian music singer, Andrew Peterson, just got back from a trip to Sweden. We've been discussing Sweden on a message board on his web site (he actually responded to one of my posts), and I just had to post the story on my own blog.
I hope you enjoy this.
I hope you enjoy this.
I understood AP's story about the Swedish meatballs, but I would love to
hear any other examples of culture shock that he went through. Do Swedes still
drive on the left-hand side of the road? Did he find anything over there he
wished that we had here in the States? Were the churches and methods of worship
similar to ours here? That's what I would love to hear about.
I'll tell one more story, which will hopefully be funnier than the lame
joke I posted above. I spent a week near Gothenburg, Sweden, celebrating
Midsummer's Day in 1991. (Two close friends are Danish, hence the joke above. My
grandmother was actually full-blooded Norwegian.)
Anyway, Midsummer's Day is a big celebration there, especially considering
the length of the year's longest day in those high lattitudes. I remember that
the sun went down at 11 p.m. and rose again around 2:30 a.m., and the
"nighttime" was more of a dull, gray dusk.
My hosts held a bonfire and set off fireworks to celebrate the holiday.
Then they took me to a Swedish sauna that was set right next to a beautiful
lake. "You're going to love the sauna," they told me.
Well, since I had been hitchhiking, I didn't exactly have a bathing suit,
so I borrowed one from a Swede. The Swedes translate the American word, "bathing
suit," as "embarassingly tiny, near-immodest, loin purse" or, more familiarly,
"Speedo."
We went to the sauna, talked, laughed, and roasted until somebody said,
"Let's jump in the lake!" Before I knew what had happened, I had leaped from the
120-degree sauna into 60-degree lakewater. We returned to the sauna, and
repeated this every 20 minutes for about two hours.
I remember two things about the experience. First, it felt really good.
When I went to bed that night, my skin felt really soft and healthy. I'll always
remember that first great sauna, even if I haven't sauna-ed since.
Secondly, I'll never forget the embarassment I felt when I got out of the
lake the second time and looked down at my, er, bathing suit. I won't go into
gory details describing the effects of cold on the male anatomy, but ...
Those are the kinds of stories I love about Sweden--a most excellent
country, I must say. Let's hear more!
12 April 2006
Beautiful Creatures
I developed my first rolls (yes, I'm still doing the old 35mm thing) of film this week in about six months! I wanted to share some with you. We spent a Sabbath in March visiting Jenny's patients and adventuring at Barren River Dam, which led to the picture you see above.
Here's a test: stare at the above left photo for ten seconds, and just try to keep from grinning back. Come on! It's not working!
I bought a laptop computer last month. Rather than finally getting a computer of my own, it was quickly seized by the kids. The picture above is almost a Norman-Rockwell-style portrait of a 21st-Century American family. Big Sister was playing a game, but she got to a rough part and had to get help from 5-year-old Brother. Meanwhile, Baby Brother uses the distraction to pull people's hair!
09 April 2006
No School Tomorrow
I'll be home tomorrow, and the weather will be perfect.Sadly, most people and businesses in my school's district will spend their day recovering from the single most devastating weather attack I have witnessed in my area in my lifetime.
Last Friday, around 2:15 p.m. Two tornadoes ripped through southern Sumner County. One passed within about 200 yards of my high school, while another ripped through the administration building at Volunteer State Community College and made the car dealerships on the other side of highway 31E look like my sons' bedroom floor.
I was away from school when it struck, supervising students at a Youth in Government conference in Nashville. I did get to visit my school on Saturday morning, and I captured some photos from the video I took.
This is one of the electrical poles behind the school. Along with this light pole, one of the light towers on the baseball field also was knocked down.
The storm also tore down the goalposts in the end zone of our football field. Of course, our team was 1-8 this year, so it would take a tornado for that to happen! To the front right of the goalpost, you will see the scoreboard. The building behind the field was the baseball/softball scorehouse, concession stand.
Apparently the roof was ripped off the top of the gym. Some windows were also broken. Hopefully we'll be back in school on Tuesday.
02 April 2006
Family Goals, Family Crest
Jenny and I are going through a lot of changes right now, developing some new relationships and refocusing our attention on the relationships that matter most: our time with our kids.
One of the things we have developed is a set of goals for our family. We have chosen two German words, "Abenteuer, Dienst," as our family motto. They mean "Adventure, Service."
Now we're working on a new family coat of arms. It is a fun project that involves choosing colors, flags, and symbols that represent our goals for our family. It is clearly a work in progress. Here it is to date:
We need to add a number of family symbols. I will put a river through the middle. It's a symbol that comes from the ancient Dittes family coat of arms (from Germany). The creek that flows through our familienstadt of Diedelsheim, Germany, is called the Saarbruecke. Beyond the Saarbruecke, there are other rivers that Jenny and I love: the Wye in Wales, is a place where Jenny hiked to find her ancestors. I tell people, "The Ohio is my mother, and the Danube is my father."
Otherwise, we're considering other symbols: something to do with Christianity, the pines along our driveway, Penard Castle (another special place in Wales), a glove with an extended thumb (for hitchhiking). Those are just some of the ideas.
If you can think of any, I would welcome your comment.
23 March 2006
New Internet Fun
According to my students, I'm one of the last to pick up on this, but I've had fun experimenting with Pandora over the past two days.
If you're not familiar with it, Pandora is an online music cache that will stream a unique radio station through your computer. You simply fill in a number of artists you like, and it selects music for you based on those tastes. Furthermore, you can set up separate accounts. I have three accounts. Girls Rock Radio was set up by Ellie to sample teenybopper songs from Hilary Duff and Aly & A.J. and others. I listen to JD Pop during the day and evenings. It features BritPop along with some Bruce Hornsby, U2, and Five for Fighting for a pretty crazy mix. In the morning I listen to an Inspirational/Bluegrass mix to get my day started right.
The cool thing is I don't have to choose the music. Pandora acts as my brain!
If you're not familiar with it, Pandora is an online music cache that will stream a unique radio station through your computer. You simply fill in a number of artists you like, and it selects music for you based on those tastes. Furthermore, you can set up separate accounts. I have three accounts. Girls Rock Radio was set up by Ellie to sample teenybopper songs from Hilary Duff and Aly & A.J. and others. I listen to JD Pop during the day and evenings. It features BritPop along with some Bruce Hornsby, U2, and Five for Fighting for a pretty crazy mix. In the morning I listen to an Inspirational/Bluegrass mix to get my day started right.
The cool thing is I don't have to choose the music. Pandora acts as my brain!
19 March 2006
I Want 'Owen" Things--a 2-year-old's guide to Covetousness
I never had a little brother. A little sister, yes, but I never had the "Clone Wars" experience that happens between younger and elder brothers.
My sister and I spent most of our growing up years abhorring the "girl ways" and "boy ways" of each other. It wasn't until high school that she began stealing from me regularly--my green polo shirts were an obsession for her.
On the other hand, I watch Jonah mimic every move of his elder brother, Owen. Goslings cannot imprint any stronger on their mother than Jonah has fixated on his elder brother. Toys, baths, even books: where one is, I'm sure to find the other. And Owen's influence on Jonah is so complete, that if I so much as see Jonah doing something illicit--blowing bubbles in his juice or spitting water around the kitchen--I know that the only way to end the behavior is to stop Owen's example first. (I should add that these brothers share EVERYTHING with each other, so Jonah's mimicry seldom instigates sibling battles.)
Last month, Jonah began using his brother's name in a context that had never occurred to me before. We were at supper. Jonah pointed across the table and said, "I want Owen corn."
I thought he was pointing to his brother's plate. "You can't have that," I said. "Owen is going to eat it."
Jonah fussed a bit. Then he pointed again and said, "I want Owen corn!"
I looked at his plate and noticed that it was clean, so I spooned another serving of corn out of the bowl and gave it to him. He smiled broadly and said, "Thankooo."
'Owen corn' hadn't referred to Owen's corn. It had been used in a context that could mean "more" or "another." Jonah had wanted what Owen had on his place--he always wants the things he sees around his brother.
Since then, I have heard Jonah ask for "owen candy" or an "owen piece of bread," even when his brother isn't even around. His passion to have everything like his brother's has added a new adjective to the growing Dittes Family Vocabulary.
Instead of 'keeping up with the Joneses,' we say, "I want owen this and that."
I spend many of my own energies trying to imitate others around me, failing to be satisfied with the incredible blessings I have been given. So long as these desires are in the abstract, they are palatable--even honorable. I want a laptop computer, a Mini Cooper, new windows in my home, money for travel and leisure.
There's nothing wrong with that, is there? Well...there is.
I smile about a two-year-old who imitates every jot and tittle of his big brother's life. Does God smile at me in the same way?
I spend my energies wanting a Lee computer, a Jon car, some Smith windows, and a Meggan trip. I don't put it this way, because I've been tricked into believing that I'm "thinking for myself" in these areas.
In the end, the person I am called to imitate isn't Lee or Jon or Meggan but Jesus. My life must be devoted to the One who acts as my perfect "Big Brother" and beckons me to follow Him.
Could I ask for a Jesus laptop, a Christ car, some Messiah windows or a Savior trip? I could, but it sure would seem funny, since He never had any of those. No, once I have given up the ones I emulate in favor of the One who calls me, I will lose the desire for those worldly things as well.
My sister and I spent most of our growing up years abhorring the "girl ways" and "boy ways" of each other. It wasn't until high school that she began stealing from me regularly--my green polo shirts were an obsession for her.
On the other hand, I watch Jonah mimic every move of his elder brother, Owen. Goslings cannot imprint any stronger on their mother than Jonah has fixated on his elder brother. Toys, baths, even books: where one is, I'm sure to find the other. And Owen's influence on Jonah is so complete, that if I so much as see Jonah doing something illicit--blowing bubbles in his juice or spitting water around the kitchen--I know that the only way to end the behavior is to stop Owen's example first. (I should add that these brothers share EVERYTHING with each other, so Jonah's mimicry seldom instigates sibling battles.)
Last month, Jonah began using his brother's name in a context that had never occurred to me before. We were at supper. Jonah pointed across the table and said, "I want Owen corn."
I thought he was pointing to his brother's plate. "You can't have that," I said. "Owen is going to eat it."
Jonah fussed a bit. Then he pointed again and said, "I want Owen corn!"
I looked at his plate and noticed that it was clean, so I spooned another serving of corn out of the bowl and gave it to him. He smiled broadly and said, "Thankooo."
'Owen corn' hadn't referred to Owen's corn. It had been used in a context that could mean "more" or "another." Jonah had wanted what Owen had on his place--he always wants the things he sees around his brother.
Since then, I have heard Jonah ask for "owen candy" or an "owen piece of bread," even when his brother isn't even around. His passion to have everything like his brother's has added a new adjective to the growing Dittes Family Vocabulary.
Instead of 'keeping up with the Joneses,' we say, "I want owen this and that."
I spend many of my own energies trying to imitate others around me, failing to be satisfied with the incredible blessings I have been given. So long as these desires are in the abstract, they are palatable--even honorable. I want a laptop computer, a Mini Cooper, new windows in my home, money for travel and leisure.
There's nothing wrong with that, is there? Well...there is.
I smile about a two-year-old who imitates every jot and tittle of his big brother's life. Does God smile at me in the same way?
I spend my energies wanting a Lee computer, a Jon car, some Smith windows, and a Meggan trip. I don't put it this way, because I've been tricked into believing that I'm "thinking for myself" in these areas.
In the end, the person I am called to imitate isn't Lee or Jon or Meggan but Jesus. My life must be devoted to the One who acts as my perfect "Big Brother" and beckons me to follow Him.
Could I ask for a Jesus laptop, a Christ car, some Messiah windows or a Savior trip? I could, but it sure would seem funny, since He never had any of those. No, once I have given up the ones I emulate in favor of the One who calls me, I will lose the desire for those worldly things as well.
24 February 2006
Book Review: Gilead
The Presidents' Day weekend gave me an opportunity to finish a good book. Usually I have to read piecemeal: 10 to 20 pages a night before I go to sleep. That's the way I'm working through the unabridged Count of Monte Cristo, all 1,500 pages of it. This weekend, though, I found time for Marilynne Robinson's Gilead, and I'm glad I did.
Set in Iowa, it is a story told by a dying Congregationalist preacher, John Ames, to his seven-year-old son. It begins as a diary, strays into family history, and ends with a focus on Ames's namesake, Jack Boughton, a prodigal son who has returned home burdened by an unspoken past.
The diary style of the book is fascinating as it examines Ames's grandfather, a zealous abolitionist who had moved to Kansas in the 1850s and had justified the use of violence to eradicate slavery. Robinson has a sly way of enlightening the reader about Ames as well as the grandfather at this time.
Where the diary style completely fails is in the frank discussion of contemporary events. It's fascinating nonetheless, but hard to justify telling a son about.
What I liked about Gilead was Robinson's treatment of faith. Ames is a solid, grounded Believer who has been tempted and tried. His brother had become an athiest at university in Germany, and his father (also a minister) had even encouraged him to get out of Iowa. Ames had stayed, and I really enjoyed his voice--his faith.
I want to reflect upon a few quotes from the book that really were powerful.
Now I'm a serious Homer-phile, but I like the treatment of earth's history as Troy--the most celebrated battle of all time.
Robinson also makes a sublime connection between the 10 Commandments and Creation.
I just know I'm going to use the following quote many times in the future:
On the issue of doubt, there is more sage wisdom:
Finally, I'll include Ames's ruminations on the issue of memory. They are beautiful, touching and heartbreaking:
Set in Iowa, it is a story told by a dying Congregationalist preacher, John Ames, to his seven-year-old son. It begins as a diary, strays into family history, and ends with a focus on Ames's namesake, Jack Boughton, a prodigal son who has returned home burdened by an unspoken past.
The diary style of the book is fascinating as it examines Ames's grandfather, a zealous abolitionist who had moved to Kansas in the 1850s and had justified the use of violence to eradicate slavery. Robinson has a sly way of enlightening the reader about Ames as well as the grandfather at this time.
Where the diary style completely fails is in the frank discussion of contemporary events. It's fascinating nonetheless, but hard to justify telling a son about.
What I liked about Gilead was Robinson's treatment of faith. Ames is a solid, grounded Believer who has been tempted and tried. His brother had become an athiest at university in Germany, and his father (also a minister) had even encouraged him to get out of Iowa. Ames had stayed, and I really enjoyed his voice--his faith.
I want to reflect upon a few quotes from the book that really were powerful.
"I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and
sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its
eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us,
but it is only lovelier for that, when we have all been changed and put on
incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and
impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the
whole world to us. In eternity this world will by Troy, I believe, and all
that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in
the streets. Because I don't imagine any reality putting this one in the
shade entirely, and I think piety forbids me to try." (57)
Now I'm a serious Homer-phile, but I like the treatment of earth's history as Troy--the most celebrated battle of all time.
Robinson also makes a sublime connection between the 10 Commandments and Creation.
"[The 10 Commandments] to me seem almost a retelling of Creation--First there is
the Lord, then the Word, then the Day, then the Man and Woman--and after that
Cain and Abel--Thou shalt not kill--and all the sins recorded in those
prohibitions, just as crimes are recorded in the laws against them. So
perhaps the tablets differ as addressing the eternal and the temporal." (139)
I just know I'm going to use the following quote many times in the future:
"How do you tell a scribe from a prophet...? The prophets love the people
they chastise, a thing this [scribe] does not appear to me to do" (142).
On the issue of doubt, there is more sage wisdom:
"Don't look for proofs. Don't bother with them at all. They are
never sufficient to the question, and they're always a little impertinent, I
think, because they claim for God a place within our conceptual grasp. And
they will likely sound wrong to you even if you convince someone else with
them. That is very unsettling over the long term. "Let your woks so
shine before men," etc. It was Coleridge who said Christianity is a life,
not a doctrine, words to that effect. I'm not saying never doubt or
question. The Lord gave you a mind so that you would make honest use of
it. I'm saying you must be sure that the doubts and questions are your
own, not, so to speak, the mustache and walking stick that happen to be the
fashion of any particular moment" (179).
Finally, I'll include Ames's ruminations on the issue of memory. They are beautiful, touching and heartbreaking:
"I wish I could give you the memory I have of your mother that day. I
wish I could leave you certain of the images in my mind, because they are so
beautiful that I hate to think they will be extinguished when I am. Well,
but again, this life has its own mortal loveliness. And memory is not
strictly mortal in its nature, either. It is a strange thing, after all,
to be able to return to a moment, when it can hardly be said to have any reality
at all, even in its passing. A moment is such a slight thing, I mean, that
its abiding is a most gracious reprieve" (162).
18 February 2006
Mardi Gras and More
We can expect much coverage this week of the Mardi Gras carnival in New Orleans. This city, devastated by Hurricane Katrina last August, has long been a target of media attention and Mardi Gras on February 28th will be a chance for many to reflect--as well as party.
Mardi Gras or Carnival has been celebrated since the Dark Ages. It's English name is Fat Tuesday, the day before Lent, the day people emptied the larders and consumed the last of the sweets before an extended period of fasting.
As much as I have always loved the city of New Orleans, I have never been there for Mardi Gras, and I doubt I ever will. My idea of reveling is, I'm sure, quite different from the spirit of Mardi Gras. It tends to be alcohol-free, for one.
One element that I have practiced for the last seven years has been Lent. Mine has been a learned practice, since I didn't grow up in a church that practiced 40 days of fasting prior to Easter. Back in 1998, as I was preparing to go to the mission field, I felt that Easter deserved to be a religious focal point--it was far more deserving than Christmas for that title. I also felt a great need to practice Lent. I didn't eat meat (which is what most Catholics fast from), so I determined to find something else to forego--a spiritual and physical challenge that could lead to development. I determined to focus on one personal "vice" or another as well as spiritual renewal.
What Worked. The first year, when I was still living in Arizona, I gave up TV during Lent (Sabbath is the day I take off from fasting). When the experience was over, I felt better. I had had more time for God, my Bride, and my baby daughter. Later I focused on my addiction to computer games. It was a time when my love for "Age of Empires" was really frustrating Jenny. I would start playing and be unable to stop unti 2 a.m. sometimes. Giving up the games for 40 days, gave me perspective, new habits, less addiction. Since my 2nd 40-day "fast" from computer games, I haven't been tempted by them since.
What Hasn't. There have been Lenten blunders, too. I have tried to fast by enforcing a certain behavior: worship and exercise have been two. I tried daily exercise the past two years, and each time it failed. I think it was a little too me-focused. Sorry, but I still can't bring myself to imagine that I'm glorifying God by exercising.
This Year. I'm planning to focus on diet. My appetite has gotten away from me since mid-January. I need to bring it under control and dedicate all of myself to God. I'll abstain from sugar or sugar substitutes over the month (except Sabbaths). Furthermore, I'll devote the six Fridays to fasting and prayer for choices Jenny and I are making about where and how we worship.
Why am I revealing this on a blog? I need to be help accountable, for one. I do this for myself by talking about my beliefs. Just seeing this written down gives me hope that Lent, this year, will begin a lifelong change--and continue a lifelong adoration of Jesus Christ.
Mardi Gras or Carnival has been celebrated since the Dark Ages. It's English name is Fat Tuesday, the day before Lent, the day people emptied the larders and consumed the last of the sweets before an extended period of fasting.
As much as I have always loved the city of New Orleans, I have never been there for Mardi Gras, and I doubt I ever will. My idea of reveling is, I'm sure, quite different from the spirit of Mardi Gras. It tends to be alcohol-free, for one.
One element that I have practiced for the last seven years has been Lent. Mine has been a learned practice, since I didn't grow up in a church that practiced 40 days of fasting prior to Easter. Back in 1998, as I was preparing to go to the mission field, I felt that Easter deserved to be a religious focal point--it was far more deserving than Christmas for that title. I also felt a great need to practice Lent. I didn't eat meat (which is what most Catholics fast from), so I determined to find something else to forego--a spiritual and physical challenge that could lead to development. I determined to focus on one personal "vice" or another as well as spiritual renewal.
What Worked. The first year, when I was still living in Arizona, I gave up TV during Lent (Sabbath is the day I take off from fasting). When the experience was over, I felt better. I had had more time for God, my Bride, and my baby daughter. Later I focused on my addiction to computer games. It was a time when my love for "Age of Empires" was really frustrating Jenny. I would start playing and be unable to stop unti 2 a.m. sometimes. Giving up the games for 40 days, gave me perspective, new habits, less addiction. Since my 2nd 40-day "fast" from computer games, I haven't been tempted by them since.
What Hasn't. There have been Lenten blunders, too. I have tried to fast by enforcing a certain behavior: worship and exercise have been two. I tried daily exercise the past two years, and each time it failed. I think it was a little too me-focused. Sorry, but I still can't bring myself to imagine that I'm glorifying God by exercising.
This Year. I'm planning to focus on diet. My appetite has gotten away from me since mid-January. I need to bring it under control and dedicate all of myself to God. I'll abstain from sugar or sugar substitutes over the month (except Sabbaths). Furthermore, I'll devote the six Fridays to fasting and prayer for choices Jenny and I are making about where and how we worship.
Why am I revealing this on a blog? I need to be help accountable, for one. I do this for myself by talking about my beliefs. Just seeing this written down gives me hope that Lent, this year, will begin a lifelong change--and continue a lifelong adoration of Jesus Christ.
14 February 2006
Poem: Empty Me of Me
I'm in the middle of teaching poetry at the moment: my freshmen are writing song lyrics for their latest writing project. It gave me an excuse to finish up a lyric I've had on the brain for a few years now.
"Empty Me of Me" deals with the Communion Service, a service which means more and more to me as my faith grows. I have taken to repeating the chorus while I am praying after taking the bread & the wine. Enjoy.
CHORUS
Empty me of me, Lord, fill me with You
Cover all that I've done with what You can do
Instead of all that I know, teach me the truth
Empty me of me, Lord, fill me with You
This morsel in my hand, this bread,
I take, I eat, I'm filled.
As deep within my soul it wakes
Like winter daffodils.
The bread--green shoots; my life--the snow,
The barren, frozen ground.
This morsel blooms within, a living
Body all its own.
CHORUS
And now a sip of wine, I drink
Though thirsty I remain.
The sweetness of the vien bemasks
A twinge of bitter pain.
The pain of sacrifice, a Man
So just and kind and good,
A Man whose death fills up this cup
With His redeeming blood.
CHORUS
BRIDGE
A bite of bread, a sip of wine, a moment on my knees.
You said, "Take these things as a rememberance of me."
CHORUSE
"Empty Me of Me" deals with the Communion Service, a service which means more and more to me as my faith grows. I have taken to repeating the chorus while I am praying after taking the bread & the wine. Enjoy.
CHORUS
Empty me of me, Lord, fill me with You
Cover all that I've done with what You can do
Instead of all that I know, teach me the truth
Empty me of me, Lord, fill me with You
This morsel in my hand, this bread,
I take, I eat, I'm filled.
As deep within my soul it wakes
Like winter daffodils.
The bread--green shoots; my life--the snow,
The barren, frozen ground.
This morsel blooms within, a living
Body all its own.
CHORUS
And now a sip of wine, I drink
Though thirsty I remain.
The sweetness of the vien bemasks
A twinge of bitter pain.
The pain of sacrifice, a Man
So just and kind and good,
A Man whose death fills up this cup
With His redeeming blood.
CHORUS
BRIDGE
A bite of bread, a sip of wine, a moment on my knees.
You said, "Take these things as a rememberance of me."
CHORUSE
30 January 2006
World Famous Video Clip
I'm probably one of the last to discover this guy, but I'm still cracking up over Crying Pro Wrestling Fan. If you haven't seen this video clip, you just have to.
It's a testament to the well of emotion springing up inside your typical Southern White Male--particularly when it comes to Professional Wrestling.
It's a testament to the well of emotion springing up inside your typical Southern White Male--particularly when it comes to Professional Wrestling.
Living Water
Tonight Owen, Jonah and I reviewed Owen's Bible lesson for the week: the Woman at the Well. I tried to focus on making friends with people who are racially, religiously, or socially different from us.
The lesson progressed in a typical disjointed fashion (sadly) for our worship. When I mentioned that Jesus had asked for a cup of water, Owen jumped up and raced to the kitchen. "I'm going to get a drink," he chirped.
"Sit back down," I told him. "You won't get up until worship is over."
"Awww!" he protested. "I haven't had a drink in minutes!" (Owen has little guile. Even when he's trying to manipulate me, he usually tells the truth in a precise, scientific manner.)
We finished the story, and I went to Plan B. What is living water? I asked. We talked about Jesus and how His friendship can make us happier than Sprite can.
We prayed, and I went into the kitchen and got a cup. "Who wants water?" I asked.
Jonah started toddling around the living room in his stagger-like jog. "I want living water!" he yelled, "I want living water!"
In one sentence he had taught a better worship lesson than I had in a whole story.
The lesson progressed in a typical disjointed fashion (sadly) for our worship. When I mentioned that Jesus had asked for a cup of water, Owen jumped up and raced to the kitchen. "I'm going to get a drink," he chirped.
"Sit back down," I told him. "You won't get up until worship is over."
"Awww!" he protested. "I haven't had a drink in minutes!" (Owen has little guile. Even when he's trying to manipulate me, he usually tells the truth in a precise, scientific manner.)
We finished the story, and I went to Plan B. What is living water? I asked. We talked about Jesus and how His friendship can make us happier than Sprite can.
We prayed, and I went into the kitchen and got a cup. "Who wants water?" I asked.
Jonah started toddling around the living room in his stagger-like jog. "I want living water!" he yelled, "I want living water!"
In one sentence he had taught a better worship lesson than I had in a whole story.
The Moral Majority
I haven't seen much opinion on this (I admit that I don't view too many blogs or opinion sites), but I think it's interesting to point out that--as of the Senate vote tomorrow--the Supreme Court of the United States will have a majority of Catholics on the bench: Roberts, Thomas, Scalia, Alito, and Kennedy.
This bugs me on a number of levels--so many so that I won't even dwell on typical Adventist end-time interpretations. First, it is interesting to note that a perverse religio-political movement of befuddled evangelical protestants made this development so. I don't know how many Catholic congregations joined in the "Justice Sundays" that were broadcast nationwide, but I have a hard time believing there were that many, considering the liberal bent of Catholic leadership in America. Even more offensive is that some of the most blinded right-wing evangelicals I know are Adventists--close friends of mine, even.
Secondly, I value diversity in every place. Sandra Day O'Connor, whom Alito will replace, was the second great "diversity nominee" after Thurgood Marshall. Her presence on the Court dramatically shifted the Court to relevance and full representation of the American polity. On the other hand, Alito merely becomes the second Italian-American, the eigth male, and, yes, the fifth Catholic to climb. Was it a brave pick? No. It was the choice of a weak president in thrall to the Religious Right.
Finally, with this kind of ideological goose-stepping on the Supreme Court, is it safe to say that a woman's right to an abortion isn't the only right that will be lost on a court with only TWO Democratic nominees as opposed to seven Republicans. Thanks to President Bush, our country's Constitution will soon be devastated on a par with New Orleans, the World Trade Center and the Islamic Republic of Iraq.
So far, I've been good at avoiding political posts on this blog. I'll get back to faith and family on a subsequent post, but this was important.
This bugs me on a number of levels--so many so that I won't even dwell on typical Adventist end-time interpretations. First, it is interesting to note that a perverse religio-political movement of befuddled evangelical protestants made this development so. I don't know how many Catholic congregations joined in the "Justice Sundays" that were broadcast nationwide, but I have a hard time believing there were that many, considering the liberal bent of Catholic leadership in America. Even more offensive is that some of the most blinded right-wing evangelicals I know are Adventists--close friends of mine, even.
Secondly, I value diversity in every place. Sandra Day O'Connor, whom Alito will replace, was the second great "diversity nominee" after Thurgood Marshall. Her presence on the Court dramatically shifted the Court to relevance and full representation of the American polity. On the other hand, Alito merely becomes the second Italian-American, the eigth male, and, yes, the fifth Catholic to climb. Was it a brave pick? No. It was the choice of a weak president in thrall to the Religious Right.
Finally, with this kind of ideological goose-stepping on the Supreme Court, is it safe to say that a woman's right to an abortion isn't the only right that will be lost on a court with only TWO Democratic nominees as opposed to seven Republicans. Thanks to President Bush, our country's Constitution will soon be devastated on a par with New Orleans, the World Trade Center and the Islamic Republic of Iraq.
So far, I've been good at avoiding political posts on this blog. I'll get back to faith and family on a subsequent post, but this was important.
23 January 2006
Picture
I'm going to post this picture just to prove what an awesome family I have. (And because I can't figure out how to send it to my friend, Robyn, in Kenya!)
The picture was taken at Cheekwood Gardens in Nashville, Tennessee last September. The statue in the background depicts St. George--also the maiden name of my beautiful bride, Jenny.
20 January 2006
Book List
My cousin Norman had a great blog idea about identifying all the books we're reading at the moment. I think I'll chime in--as my bedside table is full of books!
1. Romeo & Juliet, by William Shakespeare. Sorry, but January is Shakespeare month for my classes. My advanced honors students are working their way through R&J, and they are watching different productions of the play and analyzing the differences. Every time I read it, I get something new like Romeo's line: "He jests at scars that never felt a wound." Everyone has a friend like Mercutio who can't help but make fun of us when our hearts are impassioned. If only we could dismiss them so eloquently.
2. 1 Timothy. I'm studying the qualities of a leader--and I find myself wanting in many respects. God has seen fit to give me some unique positions of church leadership at the moment, and I am struggling to find myself worthy.
3. Wicked, by Gregory Maguire. Righteousness in the morning; wicked at night! It's about the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz. Maguiare has created a fantastical world and really fleshed out this character. Is she "wicked" or just a misunderstood Animal rights activist? I'll have to let you know how it turns out, but it is a yellow brick road of adventurous fun and great characterization.
4. Homeric Moments, by Eva Brann. One letter removed from Hitler's mistress, Brann--a classics professor--has wonderful insights into The Odyssey and The Iliad, two of my favorite books. She exposes wrinkles in the Greek versions and insights into the characters I had never thought of--and that's something to say, considering I've read The Odyssey six times and The Iliad three! I am a Homerphile.
5. Six Questions of Socrates, by Christopher Phillips. I found this book at school. His chapters follow the six basic questions of the great Greek philosopher: What is virtue? What is courage? What is justice? What is piety? What is moderation? and What is good? Personally, I would rather focus on what is good than what is Wicked.
6. The Life All Around Me by Ellen Foster, by Kaye Gibbons. I have an exceptional student who has grown up in Tennessee's foster care system with whom I'm working on a book project. Gibbons's Ellen Foster is a wonderful character who takes you into her tragic life and somehow makes you feel whole. It's a story about survival and much, much more--a miracle considering the child's upbringing in an abusive home and, then, foster care.
That's it. I'm aching to get my hands on more books. I have yet to start Thomas Friedman's The World is Flat, but as you can see, I have much to finish first.
1. Romeo & Juliet, by William Shakespeare. Sorry, but January is Shakespeare month for my classes. My advanced honors students are working their way through R&J, and they are watching different productions of the play and analyzing the differences. Every time I read it, I get something new like Romeo's line: "He jests at scars that never felt a wound." Everyone has a friend like Mercutio who can't help but make fun of us when our hearts are impassioned. If only we could dismiss them so eloquently.
2. 1 Timothy. I'm studying the qualities of a leader--and I find myself wanting in many respects. God has seen fit to give me some unique positions of church leadership at the moment, and I am struggling to find myself worthy.
3. Wicked, by Gregory Maguire. Righteousness in the morning; wicked at night! It's about the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz. Maguiare has created a fantastical world and really fleshed out this character. Is she "wicked" or just a misunderstood Animal rights activist? I'll have to let you know how it turns out, but it is a yellow brick road of adventurous fun and great characterization.
4. Homeric Moments, by Eva Brann. One letter removed from Hitler's mistress, Brann--a classics professor--has wonderful insights into The Odyssey and The Iliad, two of my favorite books. She exposes wrinkles in the Greek versions and insights into the characters I had never thought of--and that's something to say, considering I've read The Odyssey six times and The Iliad three! I am a Homerphile.
5. Six Questions of Socrates, by Christopher Phillips. I found this book at school. His chapters follow the six basic questions of the great Greek philosopher: What is virtue? What is courage? What is justice? What is piety? What is moderation? and What is good? Personally, I would rather focus on what is good than what is Wicked.
6. The Life All Around Me by Ellen Foster, by Kaye Gibbons. I have an exceptional student who has grown up in Tennessee's foster care system with whom I'm working on a book project. Gibbons's Ellen Foster is a wonderful character who takes you into her tragic life and somehow makes you feel whole. It's a story about survival and much, much more--a miracle considering the child's upbringing in an abusive home and, then, foster care.
That's it. I'm aching to get my hands on more books. I have yet to start Thomas Friedman's The World is Flat, but as you can see, I have much to finish first.
17 January 2006
Word of the Day
My trips with the kids to the Portland library are always an event. Owen races to the collection of Magic School Bus videos to pick out two that he hasn't seen recently (he's checked out all of them four times, and the same can be said of most of the nature books).
Jo-Jo toddles everywhere after him, hoping to hold one of the videos--and giving the librarians dirty looks when they take them for check out.
Ellie searches for unread Nancy Drew mysteries. Today she checked out four. Between 5 p.m. and 10 she had read the first one. (Why is Ellie awake at 10 p.m? Snow day!)
When Jonah showed me his latest MSB find--a science video about volcanoes, I told him, "Jonah, I think you are a Magic School Bus expert!"
He grinned at this idea, twisted his lips together, and tried to copy me (with his adorable lisp, no less).
"Eppthert!" he said.
"Expert?" I asked. "Eppthert!" came the reply.
Jo-Jo toddles everywhere after him, hoping to hold one of the videos--and giving the librarians dirty looks when they take them for check out.
Ellie searches for unread Nancy Drew mysteries. Today she checked out four. Between 5 p.m. and 10 she had read the first one. (Why is Ellie awake at 10 p.m? Snow day!)
When Jonah showed me his latest MSB find--a science video about volcanoes, I told him, "Jonah, I think you are a Magic School Bus expert!"
He grinned at this idea, twisted his lips together, and tried to copy me (with his adorable lisp, no less).
"Eppthert!" he said.
"Expert?" I asked. "Eppthert!" came the reply.
16 January 2006
Music Review: Derek Webb "Mockingbird"
There are a lot of words that come to mind when one considers "Contemporary Christian Music." I can say that it has brought about a revolution in worship music--akin to the other great eras currently enshrined in church hymnals. Much of this is forgetful, but some of these choruses will be sung for generations--and criticized by my great grandchildren for being "for old fogies."
Can you imagine? Just like people a century ago might have said, "There are churches that might sing 'Softly and Tenderly,' but ours isn't one of them!" People a century from now will say, "'We Fall Down?' what kind of a boring song is that?"
One word that is seldom used in connection with contemporary christian music is the word, "progressive." These artists are cris-crossing the country, singing in megachurches, signing albums at the Family Life Store for a white, Republican, SUV-driving public. The songs are upbeat, encouraging--in other words totally devoid of the social responsibility that got thrown out with the bathwater of Christ's gospel as evangelical churches guzzled the snake oil peddled by Right-Wing politicos.
Thankfully there is Derek Webb. I have to say that his last album, "I See Things Upside Down," gave me one of the most mind-blowing moments of 25 years of listening to music. His lyric, "I repent, I repent of America's dream," in the song was so abrasive--so revolutionary--I had to sit down before I could listen to the rest of the song (I Repent).
Now comes "Mockingbird," his latest release on Epic records. Clearly, Webb hasn't let up. Indeed, I saw him in concert last December, when he performed "Rich Young Ruler," a song that berates Christians for trying to ignore poverty while justifying our own excesses. The song begins: "Poverty is so hard to see when it's only on your TV 20 miles across town/ we're all living so good, we've all moved out of Jesus' neighborhood."
In "A King and a Kingdom" he pokes fun at people who try to imagine Jesus as "a white middle-class Republican" before they can begin to imitate Him. It is a pretty funny thought, isn't it?
The CD isn't all heavy-handed preaching. I have to hand it to Derek for writing a song glorifying his wife's kisses, "Please, Before I Go." His wife, Sandra McCracken, is also an acclaimed Christian singer-songwriter.
To be contrary, I could point out that the production on the album is sometimes unpolished, which detracts from some songs, but Webb is on target and on message. While not as mind-blowing and revolutionary as "I See Things Upside Down," "Mockingbird" is a solid and much-anticipated follow-up that I will have in my CD player for weeks.
09 January 2006
When I Was Young...
I'm old--halfway to my "threescore and ten" as of the 28th of this month, my 35th birthday.
I could wail about the usual signs: I can't play a game of softball without pain. I go to bed before 10:00 (so I can get up to grade papers at 4:30 a.m.). I talk about walking to school through the snow in bare feet, etc.
When we were returning from our Christmas vacation to Florida, I had a big episode of age shock. It took place at Taco Bell, where I ordered two bean burritos, only to be charged $2.25. What????? I went into a coma of sheer nostalgia.
It was my freshman year in college when the Taco Bell Value Menu first came out. Burritos that had cost $0.85 were slashed to $0.59 each and stayed that way for the next five or six years. They were so cheap, my friends and I could eat two meals at Taco Bell for the price of one meal at the cafeteria. For $2.85 I could get three bean burritos, a drink, and a chance to talk with my favorite Taco Bell employee, Johnathan George, whose sister, Jenny, I had the hots for.
"Have you heard from Jenny?" I asked him every time I was there. He usually smiled and stammered and said something about not having her address (she was serving in Africa as a volunteer my junior year). Of course I always recited her address from memory.
I remember how my roommate Calvin claimed he was "saving money for his wedding" by ordering water with his Taco Bell orders and then sneaking over to fill the cup with soda--a 75-cent savings every visit. Classic times, those.
So when I paid $1.05 per burrito two weeks ago in South Atlanta, I knew an era had come to an end.
Alas, there is no free lunch; and there are no 59-cent burritos. Life is a bitter, bitter thing, man.
I could wail about the usual signs: I can't play a game of softball without pain. I go to bed before 10:00 (so I can get up to grade papers at 4:30 a.m.). I talk about walking to school through the snow in bare feet, etc.
When we were returning from our Christmas vacation to Florida, I had a big episode of age shock. It took place at Taco Bell, where I ordered two bean burritos, only to be charged $2.25. What????? I went into a coma of sheer nostalgia.
It was my freshman year in college when the Taco Bell Value Menu first came out. Burritos that had cost $0.85 were slashed to $0.59 each and stayed that way for the next five or six years. They were so cheap, my friends and I could eat two meals at Taco Bell for the price of one meal at the cafeteria. For $2.85 I could get three bean burritos, a drink, and a chance to talk with my favorite Taco Bell employee, Johnathan George, whose sister, Jenny, I had the hots for.
"Have you heard from Jenny?" I asked him every time I was there. He usually smiled and stammered and said something about not having her address (she was serving in Africa as a volunteer my junior year). Of course I always recited her address from memory.
I remember how my roommate Calvin claimed he was "saving money for his wedding" by ordering water with his Taco Bell orders and then sneaking over to fill the cup with soda--a 75-cent savings every visit. Classic times, those.
So when I paid $1.05 per burrito two weeks ago in South Atlanta, I knew an era had come to an end.
Alas, there is no free lunch; and there are no 59-cent burritos. Life is a bitter, bitter thing, man.
01 December 2005
Research Findings
Teaching is fun because I get to learn so much about myself.
Today Keith, a freshman, asked me, "Did you ever notice that big piece of lettuce you had in your teeth yesterday after lunch?" He is in my 5th-period, post-lunch class.
"Uh, no," I replied.
"It was really big. I felt sure you would notice it."
I mentioned that my sophomores are working on research. We just finished John Hersey's Hiroshima. Now they are researching civilian victims of war or terrorism.
I learned that their idea of history was a lot different than mine.
Rachel, a good student in my 6th-period class, chose to research the Oklahoma City Bombing. There was only one problem: she had never heard of it before.
Never heard of it? I couldn't believe it.
Then I did some math.
My sophomores were born in 1989 and 1990 (I graduated from high school in 1989). They were five years old at the time Timothy McVeigh launched the then-worst terrorist attack in U.S. history. Of course Oklahoma City would seem like history to her.
I really feel old when I'm trying to describe the Berlin Wall, the Cold War, and the Soviet Union to high school students. These were the greatest threats to my country when I was in high school. I tell them that in order to understand 1989--when Communism collapsed and Eastern European countries began to embrace Capitalism--they would have to imagine Osama bin Laden converting to Christianity and seeking to become a missionary!
Today Keith, a freshman, asked me, "Did you ever notice that big piece of lettuce you had in your teeth yesterday after lunch?" He is in my 5th-period, post-lunch class.
"Uh, no," I replied.
"It was really big. I felt sure you would notice it."
I mentioned that my sophomores are working on research. We just finished John Hersey's Hiroshima. Now they are researching civilian victims of war or terrorism.
I learned that their idea of history was a lot different than mine.
Rachel, a good student in my 6th-period class, chose to research the Oklahoma City Bombing. There was only one problem: she had never heard of it before.
Never heard of it? I couldn't believe it.
Then I did some math.
My sophomores were born in 1989 and 1990 (I graduated from high school in 1989). They were five years old at the time Timothy McVeigh launched the then-worst terrorist attack in U.S. history. Of course Oklahoma City would seem like history to her.
I really feel old when I'm trying to describe the Berlin Wall, the Cold War, and the Soviet Union to high school students. These were the greatest threats to my country when I was in high school. I tell them that in order to understand 1989--when Communism collapsed and Eastern European countries began to embrace Capitalism--they would have to imagine Osama bin Laden converting to Christianity and seeking to become a missionary!
Schedule Craziness
Jenny and I are taking turns in one-upmanship. It's hard to imagine that I was on vacation just a week ago. With all the work this week, I feel like I should have spent eight hours a day working during vacation!
It's essay week, which means getting sophomores ready to write a research paper (a labor sort of like that of Sisyphus in Hades) and teaching a short story unit to freshmen. Every night this week I have had a four-inch-high stack of homework to grade.
This year I have adjusted my schedule to grade papers early in the morning. I awaken at 4:30, finish shower and worship by 5, and then grade until 6:30. It helps me to budget my time, and it is better than staying up all night, which often takes longer.
With Jenny putting in 11-hour days this week, though, it has been rough. Last night, she got home about 9 p.m. Fifteen minutes later, I was in bed! This morning, she awoke at 6:30. I was off to school 30 minutes later.
Teaching isn't a breeze, that's for sure. Working 5 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. with 20-minute breaks for breakfast, lunch and driving to work. Whew! Is it Christmas yet?
It's essay week, which means getting sophomores ready to write a research paper (a labor sort of like that of Sisyphus in Hades) and teaching a short story unit to freshmen. Every night this week I have had a four-inch-high stack of homework to grade.
This year I have adjusted my schedule to grade papers early in the morning. I awaken at 4:30, finish shower and worship by 5, and then grade until 6:30. It helps me to budget my time, and it is better than staying up all night, which often takes longer.
With Jenny putting in 11-hour days this week, though, it has been rough. Last night, she got home about 9 p.m. Fifteen minutes later, I was in bed! This morning, she awoke at 6:30. I was off to school 30 minutes later.
Teaching isn't a breeze, that's for sure. Working 5 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. with 20-minute breaks for breakfast, lunch and driving to work. Whew! Is it Christmas yet?
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