Spring in TN

Tennessee is a fantastic place to live if you love spring and fall. Tennessee falls are among the most vibrant in the country, with the colors beginning in early October and lasting through November. Temperatures get cool, but not so cold that we cannot enjoy ourselves outdoors right up until Christmastime, when the clouds come and mire our region in gray, wet winters.

Spring is even better. In early-to-mid February, daffodils start blooming (I had some come up at the end of January, but their boldness was stifled by a strong cold snap in mid-February). From February through early June (four, long, wondrous months), there is blooming, greening, breezing...all the best parts of spring.

Last Saturday, we loaded up the minivan and went down to the Natchez Trace, an historic route that runs from Nashville, southwest 470 miles, all the way to the Mississippi River at Natchez Mississippi.

Ellie just finished a school unit on Lewis & Clark, explorers of America's northwester wilds. Merriwether Lewis died at an inn along the Trace at the tender age of 35 from a gunshot wound. Most reliable accounts report that it was self-inflicted, although murder mysteries are a dime a dozen.

I wanted to post some pictures and let everyone around the world share in the beauty of our Tennessee spring.

Redbuds are the surest signs of spring. On Saturday, they were the only tree-things out. None of the leaves had yet emerged from the trees..
This brick house was built in 1817 by the Gordon family, who leased rights from the Chickasaw Indians to run a ferry across the nearby Duck River.

Owen and Jo-Jo checked out the minnow and crawdad action in the creek from a safe distance. Life is just bursting out everywhere. The Saturday before it was a blustery 50 degrees. Seven days later, it was 83!

Jenny and Ellie went wading in the creek, but still took time out to look beautiful.

Making the Grade as a Teacher

My principal gave me an envelope today which contained my Tennessee Value Added Assessment Score. It tells me whether I'm a good teacher or not (an opinion that shifts from week to week, I assure you, as far as I'm concerned).

Of course America is addicted to tests. George W. Bush, in his quest for easy answers, blamed "failing schools" on teachers and their powerful unions, so now teachers are held accountable--even if students, parents, and politicians are not.

Anyway, my 9th-grade and 10th-grade students take tests at the end of each year they spend in my class. These scores are compared with scores from tests they've taken in previous years, and these scores demonstrate whether or not I've taught the kids enough. They call it the TVAAS Teacher Effect.

Here it is:
English 1 (2005)
TVAAS Teacher Effect = -4.69
TVAAS Percentile: 23%
Teacher versus State Average: Not detectably different

English 1 (2006)
TVAAS Teacher Effect = -0.77
TVAAS Percentile: 46%
Teacher versus State Average: Not detectably different

English 2 (2006)
TVAAS Teacher Effect = +2.33
TVAAS Percentile: 76%
Teacher versus State Average: Not detectably different

What does this mean? Considering that I was teaching Advanced Honors English 1 each year, it isn't a big deal. I didn't teach grammar to those kids, I taught The Odyssey and historical fiction and didn't give a patootie about tests. All the same, I consider myself a below-average English 1 teacher.

In English 2, I did a better job: a whopping above average, 76th percentile!

I guess you could say that I'm a below-average to above-average teacher for my students. Faint praise, I guess. Numbers don't lie, right?

A Tribute to My Grandfather

My Grandpa died Tuesday, just one month shy of his 95th birthday. (That's him to the right 36 years ago, holding a most wonderful baby grandson. Just guess who!)

One month ago, I was called away from a church project. Grandpa was in ICU with an infection, a blood pressure of 60/30. My dad and his sister, Francie, had responsibilities at church that day, and they couldn’t stay with him. I dropped everything and hurried to the hospital.

Along the way, I stopped at home and chose a thick binder. It is one of three collections of letters Grandpa wrote my grandma in the early years of their marriage, and it was marked “War Letters 1941-42.”

I’m not sure why I felt compelled to bring these with me to the hospital. Grandpa was on the edge of death. Perhaps I felt that I could transmit some of the spirit of these letters back into the man who seemed an empty shell of himself, ravaged by his current condition as well as several years of dementia.

When I got to his room, I was struck by how sick he looked. His cheeks were pinched in, his eyes were glazed, and his open mouth took irregular, raspy breaths. The letters were disorganized. I rearranged them until I could have a sense of order. I skipped over the letters from March Field in Muroc, California, and looked for the letters that marked his journey across the Pacific in January of 1942. I began to read to him.

I read of his trip from San Francisco to Australia (it is hard to determine how long it took, because the dates were all cut out by Army censors). He performed an appendectomy on board the boat, but it was an otherwise uneventful trip, with so many medical personnel on board, that he was only on duty every third day. There was much of the mundane: requests for Grandma to send him razors, magazines, and socks.

There was one letter that I was unable to finish that day: a letter that left me too emotional to continue. It was postmarked January 11, 1942, the day he shipped out with little warning. It was a fond, eloquent goodbye to my grandma. Yet reading it there, amidst the constant beep of the monitors, it felt like a goodbye to me, too, along with anyone else who had loved him.

The spirit of 29-year-old Grandpa poured out of the pages I read: his sarcastic sense of humor (he admonishes Grandma, a saintly Christian woman if I’ve ever known one, to “BE NICE!”); and his love of wordplay. These things helped me to love all the more the 95-year-old shell of this great man.

Lt. A.G. Dittes
C 426499
APO 909
C/o Postmaster
San Francisco
608th Engineering

January 11, 1942

Dearest Elinor,

Well, I guess the time has come for me to say that the time has come for a little boat to go sailing over the blue waters, etc., etc. I am glad that I was able to get you off on the train as I did, because the next day (today) we were advised not to bring our wives over on the island. So, you can see that it was for the best…..you would have been sitting over there at the hotel wondering what to do, and it would have been quite heart-breaking all the way through. As it was, it was bad enough. I saw some people come off the train just before the train went off, indicating that I could have done the same thing myself. I waited on the outside till the train left. I looked into all of the windows, and behind the curtains, as best as possible, but was unable to see you behind any of them. When the train finally left, I really felt quite bad. I knew that the person who meant the most to me in this world had just pulled away for a long long time. Well, I guess I might say that it is all my fault in having joined the army in the first place; but I realize that it would have been only a mater of time until I would have had to go, and probably be taken in an outfit that would be a very dangerous one. As I have told you previously, the head officers of this outfit take a rather jovial outlook of it all, and from that I gather that we won’t be going anywhere’s near a dangerous zone of action.

I am hoping very much that we do get stationed in South America, near a large city,
as was suggested by the colonel. That would make the problem of your coming down to see me easy, as we discussed in the restaurant on our last day together here yesterday. As I have already told you, the thing to do is to get a book on Spanish, and learn the stuff, and find out how to get a plane to south American countries. Once we get stationed, we will be at our location for quite some time, and if things are going then as they are at present, it won’t be long until they send us back to the states. Well, let’s hope for the best for the country, and for our own personal selves. I know that I want to do what is expected of me, and do my ordinary duty like any other honest citizens, but I also want to be home with you, and to make a nice home for you, so that you won’t be alone as you are now. Well, as I see things, it won’t be too long until that happy event takes place.

I want you to take good care of yourself physically, as well as in every other way. Eat three good meals each day, and get good exercise, and visit with all of your nice female relatives, and have a good time with them. Go to all the amusements that you want to go to. Buy all the clothes that you see and desire. Travel to Colorado, and to your mother in Chicago, and have a good time. Be happy, and gay…..do your work as a nurse as you desire, and as you see a need for your services. No doubt you will see several situations where nursing care is a real necessity and the people can’t pay, and I think that it would be very nice if you would help out, since you are not entirely dependent (if at all) on a nurse’s salary…

[The letter breaks into a discussion of receiving shares of Grandpa’s army checks, recollections of their time in San Francisco together, and directions on how to handle family members.]

…Above all, I want you to be NICE (Just as I have always said it!)

Well, Elinor, sweetheart, I hope that you get my many cards, and that you soon become adjusted to not having me around all the time. Remember what I told you about how nice a job I have, and the conveniences that are given me, and all of that…..you saw most of it for yourself…..so don’t worry too much about what a mess I am in, etc., etc. I sort of take this like a little spot of adventure to brighten up an otherwise orderly medical life. I also consider it a terrible shattering blow to my present marital status, and condition, but know that it won’t be too long until that situation is remedied.

So, little Elinor sweetheart, for the moment I say so-long, “till we meet again” and so
forth, and so on. Give my regards to your mother and father, and to Aunt Lou and Genevieve and Pudd, and to Uncle Tony and Aunt Elizabeth, and all…..also remember me to the Dybdalls, and tell them that we will go on that weekend trip some day when he finishes interning. Saw the show tonight at the post theatre, and it was one of those gangster thrillers, in which the gangsters rounded up a bunch of fifth columnists, and everybody had a good time. There was lots of shooting and fighting, and in the end, all of the bad people were very unhappy.

I hope you are very happy at Glendale, and that you keep busy and active, and happy, and above all, keep in good spirits, and keep in good physical shape, because we want to do a lot of things when I get back.

[Handwritten]
--don’t forget that I love you very, very much and will be always thinking of you.

Very best wishes, and very best love
Al.

P.S. I think I love you
2 P.S. I am pretty sure
that I love you
3 P.S. I am quite certain that I love you
4 P.S. I am very certain that I do love you.
5 P.S. I know I love you.
6 P.S. Be sure to be nice, and to talk nice—for ever in ever [sic] be seeing you soon, little pal

Your sweetheart, etc., etc.------Al.

[As it would turn out, Grandpa went first to northern Australia. His unit was an engineering company, which built roads, ports and airstrips as the front against Japan moved north. Eventually finished his service overseas in Papua New Guinea. He returned home in 1943.]

Book Review: Abraham, The First Historical Biography

My hero of the Bible is Abraham, plain and simple.

Jenny tells the story of a conversation we had in college. She asked me what my life's goal was, and I told her it was to be a "Patriarch."

I'm not sure what got into me at the time. Perhaps it was a love of history and a fixation on greatness. Part of it must have been the admiration I have for my own grandfather, who anchored my family all of my life and gave me much to emulate in my own life (and much to improve upon, too, I should add).

When I look back on the 15 or so years since I said that to Jenny, I realize that "Patriarch" is about the only college-era goal that I have achieved. I enjoy teaching, but my goals of law school and organizational leadership bit the dust years ago. My writing hasn't taken off. The one job I have done well has been to care for three kids and support Jenny in her own, successful, professional endeavors.

I don't focus on unfulfilled dreams, really, because I sit here surrounded by the luxurious trappings of patriarchy: I live in my grandparents' home, the Dittes family seat for over 50 years; I have positions of ministry within my church and service within my community; I am a father to three kids--Jenny nixed the whole "Twelve Tribes of Dittes" idea years ago, sadly. So when I study the Bible, I study Abraham.

When I saw the title to David Rosenburg's book in my book club, I jumped at the chance to read it. It is an outsider's look at Abraham. Rosenburg brings a strong knowledge of Sumerian literature, and from this base in Sumer (the culture which Abram and his father, Terah, left for Haran). He also speculates on the authors whose versions of the Abraham story became enshrined in our Bible. Finally, he introduces a fascinating concept, the "Cosmic Theater," which encapsulates the inheritance that we draw from Abraham.

I had known little about the culture of Sumer aside from a passing knowledge of "The Epic of Gligamesh." Yet it was one of the world's first great civilizations, carried over from India, whose mountains are represented in its pyramid-like ziggurats. By the time of Abram's birth in 1750 BC, Sumer was in decline, upstaged by Babylonians northwest along the Euphrates River. Under the energetic leadership of Hammurabi, Babylonians had coopted Sumerian culture, while elevating the minor Sumerian god, Markuk, to supremacy.

This revelation highlights one of the real ironies of the Old Testament: it begins in the same way it ends: with the exile of the first Hebrew from his home in Ur--a journey from Sumer to Canaan; and with the exile of the Hebrews from Canaan back to Babylon. It makes the Old Testament a complete idea, doesn't it?

Rosenburg doesn't find the God of the Hebrews among those of Sumer. He describes the Sumerian religious festivals and traditions--their penchant for dressing up their idols and feeding them every day. Rosenburg notes that Sumerians believed in gods who interacted with man: watching us even as mankind scans the heavens trying to understand them. He describes this as the "Cosmic Theater." Abraham and his descendants invented the idea of a God who takes an interest in the individual, interacts with men, and asks people to interact in this theater that transcends dimension, time, and death itself. He believes that Yahweh was a family god in Abraham's family who was elevated by Abram's faith--and who rewarded Abram in return.

(Consider the Egyptian gods, who ruled the sky and the afterlife, yet had little to do with daily life; or the gods of Gilgamesh who try to hide from him the secret to everlasting life.)

Rosenburg has written previously on the authors of the Old Testament. This is an area of theology that I'm not sure of, but Rosenburg makes the case that one author, J, was actually a female scribe in the court of Reheboam. She comes out in the strong female characters of Sarah and Rebekah, and in the unique voice of Abram's faith experiences. She is also a well-educated author, drawing from earlier Hebrew sources for the story of Abraham as well as a library of texts from Sumer and Babylon. She is named "J" because she uses the name "Yahweh" for God (which starts with a J in German, where this theory originated).

The other major author Rosenburg identifies is "E" for "Elohim," an author writing in the northern kingdom of Israel 200 years later. E is concerned with procedure and hierarchy, and he tries to fill in the blanks with numbers (the ages of Abraham and Sarah when they conceived and died). In reading these sections, it occurred to me that we have to realize that we use two lenses to understand history and the Bible: we try to understand these stories using our own cultural parameters, the cultural parameters of the people who wrote down the stories many years after they happened, and finally the factual circumstances that are told in these stories.

Rosenburg mentions one other author of the Abraham story: Isaac. The fact that he plays such a small role in Genesis may imply that he was the one responsible for recording his father's journeys and transmitting them to the next generation. Abraham never gives up the feeling of being an immigrant in Canaan (he buys a field to bury Sarah in, stating explicitly that he has no land of his own). In a way, it was through Isaac that Sumerian culture was transmitted to the Hebrew people and down into our lives today.

As you can see, Abraham is a pretty ambitious project--trying to connect so many divergent ideas together into the story of one patriarch. At some points, it sags under the weight of its ambition. I would have been satisfied with a mere discussion of Sumerian culture and its echoes in the Old Testament or with a dissertation on J and E and the authors of the Old Testament or a reflection of the history of the "Cosmic Theater." All in all, however, this is a fascinating book, one that I'm happy to add to my collection of Abraham readings.

Diddy Gras and the Season of Lent

I'll admit something strange: I've really been looking forward to Lent this year.

Perhaps it is because I have already been fasting each Monday for my friend, Johnny (he has responded miraculously to treatment, far above our fondest expectations). Maybe I'm finally getting the hang of Lent in my ninth year of celebrating it. I'm not sure what it is.

I do know that I longed to fast. I longed for 40 days to get away from the gunk in my life and focus on God. I longed for the darkness of Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. I long to experience the luxurious joy of Easter at the end of these 40 days of deprivation.

About two weeks ago, I started asking the kids what we should fast from. We're celebrating Lent as a family this year. I mentioned sweets & desserts. Our home has been covered with candy ever since Halloween. We were finishing up the last of the junk food when Christmas rolled around. Then there was Valentine's Day. Yuck!

The kids didn't like the idea. But it was Owen who brought it up three days later. He had told his friends at school that he would fast, and he seemed to like the idea. Ellie bought in too. Everyone agreed once I told them we would celebrate Diddy Gras on Fat Tuesday: we would take all of the candy and ice cream out of the cupboards, and we would eat as much as we could stuff our guts with!

In cleaning out the cupboards, I filled a whole grocery bag full of junk food. We stopped at Food Lion and bought pints of Ben & Jerry's. We pigged out that night until we were sick (everyone but Owen, who was too obsessed with his GameBoy game to notice the food). To be honest, it hasn't tempted me since.

To me, the goal of Lent is casting aside vanities. Whenever I'm tempted to think of what I've given up for Lent, I merely remind myself of the things Christ gave up for me. It really puts things into perspective and gives me more reasons to thank God for the gift of Christ.

Praise God, Hallelujah, Hip Hip Hooray!

My cousin, Norman McNulty, is engaged. He has posted the exact date and time--even some video on his blog if you're interested.

We haven't had a wedding in the Dittes family (Norman's mom is my dad's sister) since Julie walked down the aisle almost six years ago!

Whoopeee! Congratulations Norm and Joelle. I can't wait to see you wed!

Valentine's Thoughts

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone.

Jenny and I got a night out at a Valentine’s dinner at our church. It was fun, but it followed the rigorous and stressful negotiations that involve finding childcare. A number of people on our “list” had other plans, and when we finally did find someone, Ellie entered intensive negotiations to have her moved to a third home for the evening. The fact that this added an extra 20 minutes to our evening didn’t seem to faze her.

In honor of Valentine’s Day—and the lovely Bride with whom I celebrate it each and every year—I want to write a true love story. I’ll try not to make this long, but posterity demands some record of the love between the former Jenny George and me.

I fell in love with Jenny when I was on a date with a different girl.

It was my junior year at Southern Adventist University, about six months after Jenny and I had parted a final time, following one last epic hitchhiking trip through Wales (the details of which would take up a whole blog, so I’ll summarize: Betwys y Coed, Mount Snowdon, Harlech Castle). I had returned to Tennessee to finish my teaching degree; Jenny was in Africa, volunteering at a dental clinic in Cameroon. Our connection was a deep, abiding friendship.

That’s why I was on a date with the other girl.

Jenny’s brother, Johnathan, worked at a Taco Bell near my college. I probably ate there with my friends three times a week (the value menu was decidedly cheaper than our cafeteria). Every time I saw John, I would ask him, “Have you heard from Jenny yet? Have you written to her?”

He always stammered and said something about losing her address. I always grabbed a pen and wrote it on a napkin for him: Jenny George, Clinique Dentaire Adventiste, Cameroon, West Africa. Only the zip escapes me now. This must have happened six times. I was clueless to the fact that my weekly letters to her were anything more than trying to live her African adventures vicariously. Jenny was the best kind of friend: the kind who wasn’t going to break my heart, because I had no intention of risking that friendship on a romantic entanglement.

So I went out with Leslie when I got the chance.

I had harbored a secret crush on her since academy—she didn’t go to my school, she went to Jenny’s, although she was three years below Jenny’s grade. When I saw my chance, I asked Leslie out for coffee and cake at an International House of Pancakes (my cousin, Donnie, had a name for my dates: “cheap and deep”).

We had a great time, sharing stories and talking about our grand ideas. I felt so comfortable with Leslie that I finally revealed my Grand Truth of Dating: romance was a great way to lose a good friend; that’s why I never dated my friends.

Leslie wasn’t impressed. “I just think that’s a bad idea,” she said. “You’re eliminating a group of people that could be the best options for you. Romance is nothing without friendship.”

It wasn’t the first time that one of my grand ideas had crashed and burned under closer examination. As I drove Leslie home, I remember thinking, “She’s right. She is so right.” Then two words echoed in my mind: “Jenny George.”

It would still be eight months before Jenny returned from Africa. It took another three months for me to get up the nerve to ask her to consider taking our friendship into the realm of a serious relationship. Eleven months later we were engaged; nine months after that we wed; 12 ½ years later our love is vivacious.

Instead of dooming our friendship, I think romance enhanced our friendship and grew slowly and enduringly throughout the course of our marriage. Jenny would probably say that I am more romantic with her today than I was in the first days of our relationship. (Part of the explanation lies in the fact that I have to compete with two handsome boys for her affections, no doubt.)

Five years ago I saw Leslie at Jenny’s academy reunion. She is married now, with a little boy of her own. We spoke cordially about our experiences since college, our families and our shared friends. I was never able to bring myself to thank her for the romance that my date with her had engendered—a lifelong romance, only not with her.

Neo-Nazi Concerns

I haven't been posting here as much recently because of MySpace. I joined it on a lark--to keep up with the gossip of my Cousin Stephen and his ridiculously loony love life. My students found me there, and I've been using it to keep up with present and former students in really unique ways.

Sometimes I get a little antsy. There are many social stigmas associated with public school teachers in America today--the primary one being close relationships with students. Of course, this is a terrible thing when it leads to inappropriate sexual relationships, but it really scares teachers like me from burying too much into students' lives.

I've become "MySpace teacher." If the 6:00 news eventually leads off with the headline, "Teacher investigated for MySpcace contact with student" about my case, so be it. I want to be a leader for my students. I want my relationship with some of them to grow and last a lifetime.

That leads me to a student whom I'll call "Jim." In my sophomore class last year, Jim made leaps and bounds, transforming before my eyes from a kind of rebelious kid into a straight-A student--but still a wild card as far as his personality is concerned. He joined the Youth in Government club I sponsored, and we have kept in touch over the summer and this year--when he isn't in any of my classes.

Jim is interested in Germany. Since I am a German teacher, he's asked me about German history, and I've shared books and materials with him. He had a particular interest in Hitler, which concerned me a little. I decided to engage him intellectually on the matter, hoping to use my considerable influence with him to divert any temptations to the "dark side."

MySpace has given me a chance to keep up with Jim and his cousin, Kurt, who took my class for awhile last year, but dropped out of school. Kurt is the lead singer for a "death metal" band. He has played some of his music for me, and I would describe it as something between a low moan and a loud roar. Strange, yes--I would almost describe is as alarming to listen to.

I was following Jim on MySpace last week. He had been absent one day, so I contacted him. I also noticed that he had left the comment on another student's page, "I just saw Satan!" At a club meeting, he behaved erratically and irrationally, as if he had a chip on his shoulder against the world--as if he were trying to push me away from him.

Immediately I scheduled a lunch with him. It occurred to me: Jim is a junior, and I fear that he is at a crucial point where he doesn't really have a plan for a future beyond high school, and he is growing frustrated with home and "kid life."

As we spoke, Jim told me that Kurt was really into National Socialism. He said he had read tons of books about Hitler and Socialism (I don't think he really understands the tremendous gulf between National Socialism and Socialism). Kurt, who has dropped out of school, is some of the influence I'm having to counter.

We talked about his dreams. He's a lot like I was at 17: tired of Tennessee, desperate to get out and see the world. Jim would like to get an English degree and get overseas to teach English and learn about how the rest of the world works. I really tried to imprint upon him this vision, so he might have something to carry him through some of the tough times.

Please keep me in your prayers as this new technology gives me new means to minister to these kids. Kids like Jim desperately want a future that includes hope.

Warming up with Colbert

I'm engaging some friends in debate over Climate Change, and I just loved Stephen Colbert's take on the topic in the video below.

Snow Day

For the record: this is my 100th post in Point Pleasant. It's taken me about 14 months to get here. I'd like to thank my seven or eight loyal readers. How are y'all doing?

Thursday was a typical "Snow Day" for my county's public schools. All day Wednesday the forecasters blanketed the news with predictions of 1 to 2 inches of snow. On the 10:00 news, many school systems, including mine, closed school in advance of a winter storm.

Thursday morning, we awoke, looked out the window, and saw the same brown, muddy gloom that we've experience all winter! About 9:30, a shower of snowflakes drifted by, but otherwise, the day was a wash: the storm had shifted and passed to the north of us!

I was delighted, however, when Thursday night, they announced that my schools had been closed because of a minor flu epidemic. I was even more delighted when I awoke the next morning to find two inches of snow on the ground (none of the weather forecasters had predicted it, this time).

In honor of Megan, who is currently sweltering through a summer heat wave down in Melbourne, Australia, I'll post the following images.

Jenny and Jo-Jo posed outside our show-covered log hogan. Jenny used to look that happy when she hugged me, I might add.

Since she could barely walk, Ellie has celebrated snow by pelting me with snowballs. He she goes again. All I can do is gaze into those gorgeous eyes, savor that glamorous smile and beg (with apologies to Britney Spears), "Hit me baby, one more time!"

These are the sleds we use here in Tennessee (where it only snows once or twice a year, unfortunately). When I was growing up in Ohio, I had these luxurious, long sleds and skeds that sped down the slopes. Here, we are lucky to get four or five runs in before the snow melts. Jonah sure looked bundled up, didn't he?

Thirty-Six

January 28 is both the coldest, most god-forsaken day of the year...and my birthday.

I was born in Toledo, Ohio, in the middle of a snowstorm. The guy who helped me out was, no kidding, Dr. Bills. The omens weren't good, I must admit, but I've made it to 36. There is still some breathing room before the big four-oh (which is also the year Ellie will become a teenager).

At birthdays I like to take stock of aspirations and expectations. We had a Superman-themed birthday cake (which was cool). I had asked for--and received--presents that I'll use on my summer road trip down the Santa Fe Trail: hiking shoes, digital voice recorder, maps and books. Ellie goofed around, rearranging the numbers on my cake to read "63" insead of "36." We had a great time.

But if 36 is a waymark, what is it to me? Looking at the picture above, I'm heavier than I'd like to be, but with more hair than I expected to keep. My three kids are beautiful, simply beautiful, and my bride is still as gorgeous as she was the day I married her.

It's good to be here at 36, I guess.

There is Surreal and then there is...

Last night. Friday nights in the Dittes family mean a trip into Portland for Oasis, a group of progressive Adventists who meet in the office of Dr. Taylor.

It's an improvement on a group that I tried to start at the Highland Church about a year ago. That group never got off the ground, but after I was off the scene, more Highland members got Oasis together, and it has proven to have legs, with an attendence of between 55 and 105 every Friday night for about nine months!

To date, I've been leery of helping as I burrowed into my new Methodist church community in Bethpage. A few weeks ago, I noticed that the music of the services had been sketchy. People resonsible for organizing the music hadn't been responsible. I felt God calling me to work with the music and build it up if I could. So on Thursday night, I went to practice. I took my dulcimer with me, thinking that I could play the strings if the whole keyboard thing didn't work out.

Instead I got drums. I've never played a drum set in my life, but they had a better keyboardist (my dad), and no one cared to hear my dulcimer. We were halfway through practicing the second song when the thought hit me: I'm a drummer in a band with my dad!!!!!!!

My dad's life revolves around music, and I'm lucky to have inherited a small portion of his enormous musical talents. But I remember growing up about how horrible the drums were. If my dad heard drums on a song, he turned off the radio--stuff like that. "If this were 25 years ago, I'd get a spanking," I told everyone there.

We had a great time, however. People weren't too critical of my beginning skills. I still look forward to turning over the drum set to someone else and picking up a real instrument, but this will have to do for awhile.

Another Step Forward with Technology

Last week I set up a MySpace page. It's my cousin's fault, I guess--although I shouldn't complain too much about cousins. Norman was the one who got me started with Blogger. Look at me now!

I didn't mention this to anyone, yet a few days later, my Inbox was full of "friend" requests from my students. I'm not sure how they found me, but I was flattered. Hey, anytime you have someone asking to be your 'friend,' how can you say no?

Yesterday, Corey--a student I'd taught two years ago and a MySpace 'friend,' encouraged me to upload video. I had never done this--either on YouTube or MySpace--so I decided to begin by uploading footage of my students' performances in class.

The video below is one of the presentations. I'll need to explain because (like most things having to do with teenagers) a lot of it is an 'inside joke.' We had read a story called "The Monkey's Paw" that used sound effects to build the suspense and tension of a thriller-style short story. Students had to use sound effects. They could not use words. The performances didn't quite turn out how I liked, but I'll share them anyway.

The video below features four of my female students performing "The Monkey's Paw." It probably won't make much sense to you, but it will give you an idea of what my classroom looks like and who some of my silliest sophomore students are. (My favorite is Kristen, the girl whose hand plays the role of "The Paw!"

Enjoy.

Monkey's Paw 3

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Trying with Comedy Central

When I figured out how to post videos from YouTube, I think it made this blog a lot better. Now I'm going to try and embed videos from ComedyCentral into the blog.

Why? Two words, Stephen Colbert.

YouTube owes this guy, big time. People posted his rants all the time, and he was always one of the most popular. The demons at Comedy Central got him yanked for copyright reasons, but I'm bringing him back, my friends.

Colbert is the brilliant satirist who is the joy of American liberals like me. The post below includes a recent "rant" against the incoming Democratic congress, which touches on many of the highlights of his spiel--including the claim that he doesn't need to use his brain when he's thinking with his gut.

Considering that he's only marginally off the script of the right-wing nutcases that he's making fun of, Colbert is must-see viewing.



Let me know if you could see this--and tell me what you think.

New Old Post

I had started a blog about our family's visit to the Georga Aquarium one month ago that I didn't finish until today. Since it was saved so long ago, it doesn't even show up on the front page!

Here's a link.

Sermons from a 3-Year-Old

Jonah is three. He has been three for almost six months now, but he is really into the best part of being three--the part where everything he experiences gets turned into a question.

(Aside: the cool thing about having three kids instead of two is that I'm ready for these developments. I guess you could say that I'm much more acclimatized to the pace of parenting, as well as all the other stuff.)

We were at church last weekend. Jonah used to go to the nursery during church, but in recent weeks, he has insisted on going to "Big Church" with the rest of the family. (My church still has a children's church during the sermon, so Jenny and I can still get our weekly blessing uninterrupted. The boys are gone for about 20 minutes, then they return and join us for the Communion service.)

During the song service, Jonah was listening. As I was singing the first song, I felt him tugging on my leg. "Daddy, Daddy!" he said.

"What?" I asked.

"What means 'holy'?"

I had to pause for a moment. That's a pretty profound question to explain to an adult or a teenager, much less a three-year-old.

"It means good, Jonah, really really good--so good that no person can be that good. It means so good that it's God, because only God is holy."

Jo-Jo nodded his head. "Ahh!" he exclaimed.

A few minutes later we were singing, How Great is Our God. Jonah tugged at my leg again. "Daddy, what means 'trembles'?" he asked.

I thought about the lyrics I had been singing.

He wraps himself in light,
And darkness tries to hide
And trembles at his voice,
And trembles at his voice
How great is our God,

I held out my hand and shook it back and forth. It means to shake.

"Ahhh!"

Awe, I might add, was what I was left with as I reflected Jonah's questions and the God whose praise had inspired them.

The Monday Challenge

On New Year's Eve, I received some stunning news. Johnny, a good friend of mine at church, told us that he had stomach cancer. It was a stunning revelation. Johnny has been a real help to both Jenny and me, guiding me into a position of leadership at church and donating quite a bit of money to Jenny's clinic.

He was the closest person to me that has ever gone through cancer treatment. My grandmother on my mom's side died of cancer when I was three, but I have no memory either of her or her ordeal. I've lived a charmed life for 36 years, one might say.

What is interesting about this experience with Johnny is the kind of church we belong to--an environment where Christ's love permeates everything from worship to fellowship to interactions in the parking lot. Immediately after we heard this, we called Johnny up to the front of our classroom, we all laid hands on him, and we waited for the Spirit to summon prayers of hope from each one of us. I cried. It was an incredibly emotional experience.

On New Years' Day I pondered what to do about Johnny--how I could be a spiritual support for him as he undergoes a month of chemotherapy. I felt impressed to fast for him. Tuesday, I lengthened my worship, instead of eating breakfast. Whenever hunger pains struck, I replaced the thought, "I need food," with this prayer: "Johnny needs healing."

It must have worked. The report from the radiologist on Friday found that the cancer hadn't spread outside the tumor in Johnny's stomach--quite the miracle. Now he will undergo treatment at Vanderbilt University Medical Center for the next four Mondays in January, trying to get the tumor to the size where doctors can remove it completely.

I plan to fast for him every Monday in order that my spirit can strengthen him in his weakness--and that God's healing may be ever certain. Johnny is about 70 years old. He is very active--only retiring this past November from a 30-year career as a political fundraiser for the likes of Al Gore, Bill Clinton, Ned McWherter and Phil Bredesen (the last two were Democratic governors of Tennessee).

I would appreciate your prayers on his behalf. If you have any experience with fasting, I would love to hear about that, too.

A New Year's Wish: U2's "40"

Happy New Year, everyone. I think this music video is most appropriate for this time of year, U2's "40." This song came out on their 2nd or 3rd album, New Year's Day, and it isn't recognized as one of their hits, but they have a tradition of ending every concert with it. The chorus is haunting: "How long to sing this song? How long to sing a new song?" If you make it to about minute 5 of the video, you will see how the crowd picks up the chorus. A friend of mine told me about a U2 concert he attended in Los Angeles where the crowd had continued singing this chorus for about 20 minutes after the band left the stage. They simply couldn't get enough of the wishes expressed in this song. You can see what an event it is to be at a U2 concert--almost a religious experience.

"40" is based on the 40th Psalm:
You set my feet upon a rock,
you make my footsteps firm,
You lifted me out of the pit
out of the muddy clay.
Many will see and fear and put their trust in You.
How long to sing this song?
How long to sing a new song?

This song is transcendant. And for your new year of 2007, I look forward to new songs of faith and victory, despair and redemption, comfort and happiness that will be sung in your household, even as we look forward to a singing a new song in a new heaven and a new earth.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Guest Blogger: A Poem from Jenny

JD asked me to write a guest entry for his blog, so I am putting up the poem I wrote last night. I was inspired by Phillip Yancey's book, Prayer: Does it Make Any Difference?. in which Yancey states that prayer could be defined best as helplessness before God. Only in our helplessness, he believes, can God replace our worldview with his own and become a true source of power in our lives. As I was in prayer last night, the idea for the poem came into my head and I wrote it down right away. I include it in the hope that the ideas will bless someone as they blessed me!


Helpless

If prayer is a state of helplessness
Let me constantly be praying.
Then
I will recede to make way for Your
Torrent-rush
Of Light, Love
Healing, Hope,
Abundance,
Peace.

I will shrink
So You can grow, flourish, occupy
The space inside my heart –
Pushing, Stretching, Reaching,
Till my heart,
Like Yours,
Has room to hold
the weakest,
Poorest, most un-loved . . .
Hold them tight until
That torrent-rush
Surrounds them, heals them,
Makes them Whole.

I will die
So, like a seed dropped in the ground,
My faith will burst, break, branch on branch,
Leaf on leaf,
A fully-riped, lovely tree
From whose topmost branches
I can glimpse where we are going:

A land of impossibles
That are real;
Of ugliest
Who are beautiful;
Of unloved
Who are precious, dear,
The apple of Your eye;
Of sickest, most in pain
Running, dancing, and in health -

A place we only find
When we are helpless.

-- Jenny

All Creatures of Our God and King

David Crowder seems too cool to be a Christian musician. He looks like a 90s-era grunge rocker from Seattle with his fuzzy hair and his long goatee. But he makes some of the most compelling Christian music out there.

I find myself returning again and again to his version of "All Creatures of Our God and King." First, it's one of my favorite hymns of all time. Yet with Crowder, it seems really cool. We sing this version at my church pretty regularly, and it always brings me close to God in praise.

Enjoy!

One Christmas Tradition

I like to refer to my home as the "Ole Manse."

It's the place my family has always come home to.

When I was growing up, I would sing, "Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother's house we go," and I would picture this place: the driveway lined with tall pines, the quiet brook at the bottom of the hill, the smell of ivy growing on the walls. This was it.

Of course no time of the year brings back memories of my own childhood like Christmas. The Christmas decorations put up by the town of Portland don't seem to have changed in the 30 years since I first began to celebrate them. Our family always visited my Grandma & Grandpa Dittes right here at Christmas time (our summer vacation took us to the Mississippi Gulf Coast to visit my Grandpa Mooney). The city Christmas lights invariably emerged out of the gloom that followed the long, seven-hour drive from our home in the Magical Land of Ohio. By this time, Julie and I had exhausted ever known diversion from our places in the back seat of our Plymouth Satellite. The lights meant that Grandma's house was not far away--Christmas presents were waiting with our names on them!

When we entered Grandma's kitchen, I always noticed the cabinet doors (pictured above). She hung the Christmas cards she received there, and I always marveled at the names, the pictures, the artwork, the greetings--everything. My grandpa was a doctor, so they were on the mailing list of every Adventist charity known to mankind (and they sent them all donations no larger than $20 every year). Looking back, I think these made up half of the cards, probably.

This is one tradition that Jenny and I have proudly kept alive. Every year our Christmas card list gets bigger. We sent out 55 Christmas letters this year, and about 70 cards. Members of our new church in Bethpage overwhelmed us with Christmas cards (more than we had received in the previous five years combined at our old church at Highland).

I have treasured every one of them, and I'm posting this picture to share them with you--to say thank you (to those who sent them), and to wish everyone a very merry and sentimental Christmas.

(I got three more cards and letters in the mail today after I took this picture. I'll tape them up on the cabinets right after I'm done writing tonight.)

Christmas with the Ditteses

Jonah is full of the Christmas spirit this year, and it has been contagious.

At three years old, Jonah is "with-it" enough this year to understand what's going on. (The last few years he hasn't really known what was going on.) Now he cannot wait.

Today (my first full day off from school), he spent the morning playing with the wrapped presents under our Christmas tree. He puts half of them on one chair, the other half on the couch. He stacks them carefully, knocks them down, and then stacks them carefully again.

Of course, all this reminds me of when my sister and I were growing up. We carefully counted the presents to make sure everything was equal. Then we would stack them up and pretend they were trains, pipe organs, and any other items we could imagine. Christmas was fun, fun, fun!

It's fun again this year, thanks to Jo-Jo.

Georgia Aquarium

For the past three years we have zipped down to Atlanta two weeks before Christmas for a weekend get-together with Ana Hardy, Jenny's roommate from P.A. school. Ana and Jenny shared a passion for running and remarkable study skills. Ana named her daughter, Jennifer, after Jenny, and her children are just weeks older than Ellie and Owen.

Ana lives in Southern California now, but her family are in Florida. Every year, then, she drops by Atlanta, which is about halfway between our home and her family.

We've spent the last few years in Stone Mountain, which is frighteningly cold on most December Saturdays. This year we splurged and grabbed tickets to the new Georgia Aquarium.

In many ways, the Georgia Aquarium symbolizes so much of what makes the city of Atlanta both fascinating and infuriating. It is massive--the largest aquarium in the world--but it lacks the coherence and focus that could make it a real educational colossus. It sits in downtown Atlanta, across from Centennial Olympic Park and just down the street from the Georgia Dome, yet one wonders what these gleaming wonders have to do with each other.

(Right next door, they are building the new World of Coca-Cola. No doubt someday an Atlanta will create a species of fish that can survive swimming in Coke, and they will be able to combine the museums!)

Consider other aquariums. The aquarium in Chattanooga sits next to the river, and the architecture compliments the natural surroundings. Aquariums I've visited in Monterrey, Baltimore and Boston all sit just off the harbor, tied to their natural surroundings.

There is no river in Atlanta (one can drive north and west of town to reach the Chattahoochie). There is no harbor for obvious reasons. So why did they build the world's largest aquarium there? Why did they have the Centennial Olympic Games there in 1996?! Because it could be done and it was done to show that Atlanta was one of the Great Cities. Sorry, but I'm a little sceptical when cities try this hard to be something--anything that will be great. Why, just a generation ago, Atlanta was still all about Scarlett O'Hara and Civil War nostalgia!

Criticism of Atlanta aside, the aquarium was a real treat. Divided into five distinct wings, it is really five different aquariums sharing the same roof. One wing deals with aquaculture unique to Georgia's waters. It included a real shrimp boat and a right whale which doubled as a slide, down which the kids got from the 2nd floor back to the ground. There were plenty of hands-on activities with horseshoe crabs, starfish, and rays.

The river scene is the most eclectic exhibit, which also makes it one of the more confusing. The displays are poorly labeled (I'm sure this will come along later), so sometimes it's hard to connect the fish with any names or habitats. I did like the electric eels, as well as two exhibits where the fish swam above us. This was cool, but I couldn't really get the point because of the lack of information. The river otters had plenty of toys and a really cool, and they put on a show for us.

The kids really loved the arctic area and its divine belugas. They had a neat seating area where we could take our time watching the beluga whales swim for us. Belugas have such unique smiles and personable expressions, that they are easy to make friends with through the glass. This wing also featured sea otters--the below scene was more interesting than the above view; an octopus (sleeping when we visited), sea lions, and a penguin exhibit into which the kids could peer through a glass bubble in the middle of the colony.

The aquarium's most renowned feature is the HUGE tank that holds, among an array of ocean fish, THREE whale sharks. I enjoyed the sea life theater at the end: a glass wall twice the size of a movie screen through which we could view hundreds of different fish. Jonah and I liked the hammerheads, but there were also sun fish and groupers, too.

The Dittes family loves aquariums--loves them. Owen used to call the Chattanooga Aquarium, "Owen's Aquarium." "Ava's Aquarium" was the one in Gatlinburg, TN. I guess we'll give this one to Jonah--who now insists every day, "I want to go back to the Georgia Aquarium with Jacob and Josh" (his cousins who live in Savannah, GA).

Still, I'm left scratching my head critically. It's an awesome place with every imaginable fish, technology and innovation on display. But what's the point? Aren't we supposed to learn more on our visit than "this aquarium is awesome--the biggest in the world"? That's the only thing I was missing. Maybe I just haven't drunk enough Coca-Cola to care less about these details and revel in yet one more of Atlanta, Georgia's impressive accomplishments.

Ozymandias

For the final project for the year, I'm having my seniors dramatize a British poem from the 19th or 20th Centuries. Several groups are planning videos or slide shows, and I have opened a YouTube account, hoping to eventually post some of my students' work.

As I was researching poem-related videos, I came across this gem, entitled "Ozymandias."

The words aren't included in the video, so I'll post them below. Enjoy.
I MET a Traveler from an antique land,
Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings."
Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair!
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

America's Team, American Trauma

There are things that make me truly proud to be an American: driving along lost, desert highways and being swallowed by the sky; knowing you can buy anything you need at any time of any day of the year; living among people who are loving and compassionate. I count my blessings often.

There are other things that make me cringe. The latest is plans for a new football stadium for the Dallas Cowboys in Arlington, Texas. This baby costs a whopping $1 billion. It will seat 80,000 people, and it features the following luxuries: a massive dining room from which people can gorge themselves (if they have room after tailgating) while watching the game on big-screen TVs, a massive 60-yard-wide, 50-foot-high, four-sided, basketball-style scoreboard that will hang from the middle of the stadium and broadcast replays and a healthy share of advertisements; and a locker room for the 53 football players that is as big as a WalMart Supercenter!

Let's review, shall we?

• WalMart-sized locker room
• 180 X 50-foot scoreboards
• $1 billion

I should add that the Cowboys will play EIGHT games a year in this monstrosity. Okay, okay, there are two preseason games and as many as two playoff games that could be played there, too. Maximum number of games: 12.

What is it going to do the other 353 days of the year? I guess it will shine really nicely. They might even play a Super Bowl there or a college bowl game!

I remember traveling through Germany in 1996 and realizing how public works reveal the values of a society. In the Dark Ages, vast proportions of the economy were utilized to build castles and fortifications for societies that valued security. In the Middle Ages, vast sums went into building churches across Europe, again emphasizing the piety of the populace. Other ages have been devoted to transport, space, and public buildings.

From 1994 to the present day, America has indulged itself in an orgy of stadium-building. Every city now has one or two new, shining arenas or stadiums. You can't miss them in places like Nashville, Oklahoma City or Phoenix. And why? Is this what ages that are to come will judge us by? Are they going to say, "America was a great nation that invested in its sports teams"?

The last thing our country (or our planet) needs is a football stadium like this. It is a colossal waste of money, and I consider it to be a national embarrassment.

Profound Thoughts

We had pizza for supper tonight. Jenny was home. We were talking about our day, just like any other family would do.

Owen had the comment of the night. Out of the blue he said, "I don't think they have pizza delivery in Antarctica."

What do you do with a statement like that? We were speechless for the next few minutes until Jonah was finally able to bring the conversation around again.

Christmas Idea

I'm getting into the music of the season this year.

I downloaded a CD of Christmas Carols from the Stuttgart Boys Choir for my Grandma. He is in a nursing home, and I felt that playing German carols might light up some parts of his mind that haven't been used since he was a child, growing up in a German home in Brooklyn, NY.

Of course, I love them, too.

I want to emphasize Andrew Peterson's place on my Christmas listening list, too. Three years ago, he came out with a Christmas CD called Behold the Lamb of God. I love it, because throughout each, original song, he iterweaves the story of Christ's coming to redeem us with God's own redemption of the Children of Israel. By clicking this link, you can go to his web site. If you click, Open Player, you will go to the album, so you can listen to whichever song you like (you'll have to buy it, however, to download any songs for yourself).

I recommend "Deliver Us" and "Behold the Lamb of God." If you want to hear unbridled, brilliant songwriting, check out "Matthew's Begats." Amazing.

Merry Christmas!

Andrew Peterson - Holy is the Lord

This is my second try with this. I was trying to edit the text in my blog, but apparently I can't do that. This is the one post on my blog that I just can't get enough of. Andrew Peterson, folks, he is my absolute favorite Christian singer, bar none!

The Mouths of Babes

I was walking back to the van Sunday night, and Jonah just took off. He ran forward and touched the door of the van and triumphantly shouted, "I beat you!"

I didn't notice that he had slurred the words together until he also announced. "I beach Owen too!"

"Did you beach me?" I protested.

Jonah grinned. "Yeah!!!!"

Jonah beached the Whale, alas.

Persia and Monotheism

I posted a week and a half ago about Josiah and how the exile finally established monotheism as the dominant theology of the Jews. Since then, I've been on a mission. I've been obsessed with trying to find the historical moment in time when it all clicked for the Jewish people--where Yahweh was no longer a God superior to the gods of Judah's neighbor kingdoms, but when he became the ONLY God for them.

This is what I absolutely love about being a believing Christian, by the way. I love how the Bible has answers to more questions than we could ever imagine even asking. All we have to do is seek...and find.

So here were some questions that I asked:

What if there were one point in the Bible at which I could say--there, they get it! The Jews are finally monotheists and they aren't going back!

What is there were one person or prophet--a proto-Messiah--who could be identified as the lynchpin of monotheism? Who could he be?

In my first post on the topic, I mentioned how the history of Israel from Exodus to Exile had been one of henotheism (the belief that only one out of many gods is worthy of worship), albeit with a consistent fringe movement--my dad loves the Adventist-standard word, "remnant,"--of believers who worshipped only Yahweh and none other, according to the 1st Commandment.

Nowhere was this henotheism more evident than in the Temple itself. The reforms of Josiah, staged about 20 years before the Fall of Jerusalem, clearly point out the different gods worshipped in the Temple at this time. There was the Most Holy Place, of course, for the worship of Yahweh (the Ark of the Covenant was long gone, looted by Pharaoh Shishak just five years after the death of Solomon (1 Kings 14.25-26)). There was also an Asherah pole as well as dormitories to house male prostitutes who served Asherah there.

I searched for answers to my questions throughout the Old Testament, focusing on exilic and post-exilic prophets. Ezekiel didn't work. He prophesied during the captivity, and while he foresaw a united Judah created out of dry bones, he bewailed creeping idolatry--a polytheistic problem for sure.

The post-exilic prophets which close the Old Testament, Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi. Haggai ministers to a new people. The context of his book shows that idol worship has not crept back into the culture, but he issues warnings just in case.

Zechariah is triumphal. The Second Temple is almost complete. This temple will serve as a beacon to all nations. Consider Zechariah 1:16, "Therefore, this is what the Lord says: 'I will return to Jerusalem with mercy, and there my house will be rebuilt. And the measuring line will be stretched out over Jerusalem." This is a prophet to a culture that is redeemed. There is a concern for sinfulness, as there is in Malachi, but there is little mention of the threat of henotheism.

Did I miss something? The act of the Nation of Judah returning to God may not seem exceptional (they did it again and again), but did the fact that they stayed with Him--as they continue to do today--get overlooked in the Old Testament?

The answer is hidden within one of the greatest books of the Old Testament: the book of Isaiah, which is actually a collection of prophecies by two different prophets. Much as the books of Ezra and Nehemiah were once stuck together in the Hebrew Bible, the Second Isaiah's prophecies follow upon those of the First Isaiah, who wrote during the reign of King Hezekiah of Judah (727-698 BC).

Consider the demarcation between the First Isaiah's writings and those of the Second Isaiah in chapter 40 of the book. The last verse of Chapter 39 states,

"The word of the Lord you have spoken is good," Hezekiah replied. For he thought, "There will be peace and security in my lifetime."

Hezekiah, who has just hosted emissaries from Babylon, has been warned that later generations will pay the price for his arrogance.

Chapter 40 begins,

"Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.

Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,

and proclaim to her

that her hard service has been completed,

that her sin has been paid for,

that she has received from the Lord's hand

double for all her sins."

This isn't spoken to Hezekiah at all. The words are for a people stuck in exile, waiting for the "hard service" of their penitence in Babylon to end. I might add, they are words spoken to a people who are on the verge of total change.

So if there is another prophet who prophesied to post-exilic Judah, could he provide hints as to the kind of change that was made?

Definitively.

The exact point at which God becomes the only God for the Jews is found in Isaiah 45:18.

For this is what the Lord says--

he who created the heavens,

he is God;

he who fashioned and made the earth,

he founded it;

he did not create it to be empty,

but formed it to be inhabited---

he says: "I am the Lord,

and there is no other."

Compare this with previous statements about God/gods.

Elijah said on Mount Carmel, "How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Ball is God, follow him." Elijah's is a battle for supremacy.

The First Commandment says, "You shall have no other gods before me."

Second Isaiah shows distinct evolution from these two claims. His God is not in a battle with any other god--"there is no other." It is impossible to have another God since they don't exist. In fact,

Ignorant are those who carry about idols of wood,

who pray to gods that cannot save" Isaiah 45.21

How could this happen? Moreover, how could this happen to a people in exile--apart from their own country, subject to worshippers of Marduk and Ishtar, with no temple, no priesthood and few, isolated prophets? How could a people addicted to idolatry turn themselves into monotheists under such circumstances?

It took a messiah.

Isaiah 45 is the lynchpin of the Bible. Located near the middle of the Bible, it returns the People of God from the brink of annihilation, and sets up a culture into which Jesus will be born and grow to save His people from their sins.

Before the Messiah, however, Judah needed a messiah.

The chapter begins,

This is what the Lord says to his messiah,

to Cyrus, whose right hand I take hold of

to subdue nations before him

and to strip kings of their armor...

For the sake of Jacob my servant,

of Israel my chose,

I summon you by name

and bestow on you a title of honor,

though you do not acknowledge me. (Isaiah 45.1, 4)

It seems strange for God to provide a messiah who does not acknowledge him. Cyrus the Great (pictured right) had many good qualities that led him to conquer the empires of Persia (ruled by his grandfather Astyages), Lydia (modern Turkey) and Babylon. He did not worship Yahweh, yet he was a messiah for the Jewish people.

Why? I think it is because he was a monotheist.

The Greek traveler, Herodotus, described the beliefs of the Persians in the 5th Century (100 years after Judah's return from exile).

• the Persians have no images of the Gods, no temples nor altars, and consider their use a sign of folly. This comes, I think, from their not believing the Gods to have the same nature as men, as imagined by the Greeks.

A clue to the source of Cyrus's belief is an understanding of the religion of Zoroaster, a prophet who wrote around the time of the Exodus. He said that there was one God, whom he called Ahura Mazda. In opposition to God was the power of capital-E Evil, known as "The Lie" or Angra Mainyu.

Scholars who have researched Cyrus have not found any records that confirm his Zoroastrianism, but we know that it was the dominant faith of his home kingdom of Persia. By all accounts he was tolerant of all gods, and he was magnanimous toward those he conquered. Consider this engraving, now in the British Museum:

• I am Cyrus, King of the World, Great King, Legitimate King, King of Babylon... When I entered Babylon as a friend and when I established the seat of the government in the ruler's palace with jubilation and rejoicing, Marduk, the grat god, induced the magnanimous inhabitants of Babylon to love me, and I daily endeavored to worship him... I returned to the sacred cities on the other side of the Tigris, the sanctuaries which have long lain in ruins, as well as the images which used to live in them... I also gathered all their former inhabitants and returned them to their homes.

These are the words of no religious fanatic, but someone experienced in the diplomacy and the art of statesmanship.

Are they the words of a messiah? I believe they could be. The answers to Judah's abrupt turn towards monotheism during exile may lie not in Babylon but in Persia. Rather than being forged in an atmosphere of persecution, Judah's monotheism developed under an empire that itself embraced monotheism.

When Alexander would conquer Palestine 200 years later, he continued tolerance toward Judaism, as would the Ptolemies who would rule for the next 160 years. It wasn't until 168 BC, after Palestine had been conquered by the Seleucid Empire, would Judaism face an enemy in the form of the zealous paganism of Antiochus Epiphanes who erected an altar to Jupiter in the middle of the Temple. This time the Jews would stand firmly with God, as they have every since.

Of course this opens up more questions. How I wish I could learn more about Cyrus, his conquests and beliefs! Also, how does an understanding of Persia's Zoroastrianism inform us of other Biblical stories during this period such as those of Daniel and Esther? Finally, I know that Zoroaster founded a group of wise men known as Magi--does he have any connection to the Christmas story found in Matthew? It will take more blog entries to answer these questions.

(A key source for this essay was the book In Search of Zarathustra by Paul Kriwaczek (Knopf, 2003).

Book Review: Malinche

Thanksgiving was supposed to be my chance to catch up on, well, about EVERYTHING: sleep, grading, lesson planning, writing, and--most importantly--reading.

I was unsuccessful on most counts, but I wanted to pass along a short review of the book Malinche by Laura Esquivel.

La Malinche is a legendary character in Mexico. Known as the native who served Hernan Cortes as a translator in his unbelievable conquest of the Aztec Empire, she has long been reviled as a traitor to her Native race. Esquivel tries to redeem her by walking many miles in her shoes. We meet the girl sold into slavery at the age of five; the young slave given over to Cortes upon his landing, where her aptitude for languages serves her well; to the concubine who shares with us her amazement at the glories of Tenochtitlan, the Aztec capital, and her despair when it is totally wracked by the conquering Spaniards.

The book focuses on the spiritual development of Malinche--known in the book as Malinalli. Initially she, like Montezuma, believes that Cortes is a reincarnation of the Aztec god, Quetzalcoatl. (Montezuma famously handed over his entire empire to Cortes without a fight because of this misconception.) Only as she is exposed to the gore of conquest and Cortes's insatiable desire for conquest--particularly when she sees the incredible floating city of Tenochtitlan reduced to nothing--does she see him as a mere, vulnerable man.

I think Esquivel has chosen the best path, considering the kind of character she is dealing with--it's like trying to explain other famous traitors like Judas or Brutus. She tries to draw us into Aztec mythology and comparisons between Quetzalcoatl and the Christ of Malinalli's new religion. But the book tends to bog down in these parts. The most gripping part of the book for me was Malinalli's journey through Tenochtitlan: the descriptions of the marketplace, the artifacts, and the other fine aspects of that incredible floating city.

Malinche is a good weekend read. Ultimately, it failed to introduce me to any redeeming characteristics of its primary character, but I would recommend it for the way it let me see through her eyes at cultures and conquests of long ago.

Thanksgiving Giving

Compared to most American Thanksgivings this week, ours was a relaxed affair. We had celebrated early (see Lion King post below for the details), so we just invited my mom and dad over for a nice lunch.

Today (Friday) was a most beautiful fall day: temperatures in the high 60s and a clear blue sky. I decided to take out the new digital camera and take some pictures of the boys. Jenny and Ellie went to the clinic, leaving us to play at the park and have fun to our hearts' content.

I just love this first picture of Jo-Jo on the slide. The blue of the slide matches the blue of the sky, and the angle makes it looks like he might just slide right out of your computer screen into your lap! One thing I was worried about with my digital camera was capturing these kinds of action shots, but so far, so good, I must say.

Owen has inherited two good genes: the athletic gene from his Mama, and the piano-playing gene from me. The guy is just perfect. Here he demonstrates his prowess on the monkey bars.

The backdrop of the picture reminds me of one of the few things I don't like about Tennessee: its ugly falls and winters. No leaves are left on the trees. The blue of the sky--even the winter clouds are flat, flat, flat. There is a kind of two-dimensional quality that happens to things here between November and March, and it's just the season.

I'm reminded that there are places in the world that are beautiful this time of year--Arizona springs to mind, as does California. Oh, well.

Jenny's Birthday

Jenny celebrated her 38th Year of Beauty on November 15th. Things were so busy around here, we had to arrange for a Birthday Breakfast!

Jenny has been working so much that she doesn't get home until 8:30 on weeknights (her partner had to take a medical leave, which means that Jenny has put in some six-day, 72-hour workweeks). I was gone last weekend for a Model United Nations conference with my high school students, so we wouldn't get a weekend slot.

On the morning of her birthday, I baked biscuits. The kids and I put a candle in one of the biscuits and sang "Happy Birthday." Her present was a digital camera. We've been soldiering on with 35mm cameras for all too long. Now we'll be able to upload pictures for blogs and things like that.

The picture I'm posting is of Jenny with her favorite boys. The reason that they're grinning so deviously is that I am behind the camera yelling things like, "She's my bride! I want to snuggle with her, not you two!" In Owen and Jonah, she has two handsome men who can adore her with charm equal to her beauty!

Upgrade Pains

Two upgrades in the last week haven't gone well for me.

I've been having trouble with BloggerBeta. It takes several tries to get logged in, and I'm not sure that the improvements are all that significant other than the fact that Google now apparently has another way to snoop on my life.

I downloaded Internet Explorer 7 onto my computer at work, and I really like it. It makes it possible to feature several different "tabs" on the same page. That way, instead of clicking tabs along the "START" bar at the bottom of the screen, all the tabs are on the same browser. It is also possible to hide the menu bar at the top so that it only pops up when the curser is there (kind of like it's possible to program the menu bar at the bottom of Windows to go away). This makes full-page viewing really cool.

I didn't have any trouble with the IE7 browser at work, but when I downloaded it onto my desktop at home, I was unable to get onto the Internet anymore. I eventually had to delete IE7. Once it was gone, I got on the Internet without any trouble. I think it conflicts with my DSL, and I've heard some other people complaining about this problem.

Needless to say, I need to wait for more of the kinks to be worked out before upgrading some of these programs!

Babylon and Monotheism (1)

I've been studying fin de siecle events in the Kingdom of Judah over the past few weeks. This has been a part of the Bible that I usually passed over for a number of reasons: it's more interesting to skip from Solomon to Daniel than to trace Judah's descent as a nations; Israel had better prophets (Elijah, Elisha and Amos); and it's flat-out depressing.

A couple of weeks ago, I entered into a study of Josiah the Great. Ruling just a generation before the destruction of Jerusalem, Josiah was a final breath of grace before generations of suffering. Josiah was a revolutionary: one who implemented monotheistic reforms throughout the kingdom, starting in his own backyard.

I once saw monotheism as a belief that unified Israel in its history from the days of Abraham through to the time of Christ (and even on to today). I think a careful study of the Old Testament shows, however, that monotheism was an exception rather than the rule. Certainly, the writers of the Old Testament hold Yahweh-centered views of history, yet time and time again, the worship of idols comes up. How many times does the Bible say, "After the days of X the people lost their love of God and slipped into idolatry."

Considering how rare Yahweh worship was in Israel, it might be more accurate to state, "During the days of X, Israel lost their devotion to Baal/Ashtorah and slipped into Yahweh worship." The Bible clearly proves that voices for God existed throughout Israel's history--indirectly, it also states that those voices were distinct for their loneliness.

A good way to understand this is to look at the extraordionary rule of Josiah (640-609 BC). The 23rd chapter of 2 Kings describes some of the activities he took in his reforms. They included (a) tearing down the Ashterah pole inside Solomon's temple (around which orgiastic dances where held on feast days); (b) tearing down the dormitories for male prostitutes located in the courts of the temple. This doesn't sound like an idolatry hiccup--in fact it makes me wonder if Solomon's Temple had ever been used in Yahweh worship after its famous dedication.

For example, not the story of Josiah as told in 2 Chronicles 35. In the Book of the Law found in the Temple, Josiah learns of the Passover ceremony, and he orders Israel to follow it. The writer of Chronicles remarks upon how remarkable that celebration was:

The Passover had not been observed like this in Israel since the days of the
prophet Samuel; and none of the kings of Israel had ever celebrated such a
Passover as did Josiah (verse 18)

None of the kings of Israel? That means that David hadn't celebrated Passover, neither had Solomon or Asa. (This may be inaccurate, because the writer of 2 Chronicles uses Chapter 30 to celebrate Hezekiah's own renewal of Passover.) So what had these kings been doing? How had the people of Judah worshipped? It seems evident that the worship of God was very, very different prior to Josiah and immediately after his extraordinary reign.

So how did it change? How did the monotheistic worship of Yahweh move from the fringes of Judahite society into the hallmark of Judaism?

I'll need another post to fully answer that question.

Lion King

What a great weekend this was. My sister, Julie, flew up from their home in Savannah, Georgia. On Sabbath we had a pre-Thanksgiving get-together with the Dittes side of the family. All my aunts and uncles were accounted for, as well as three of six cousins (I was missing Norman, Aaron, and freshman-in-academy Rachael, for the record).

On Sunday, we celebrated the other reason for Julie's trip to TN: the Lion King touring Broadway show at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center in Nashville.

I have strong opinions about the Lion King movie, and I must admit that the musical wasn't high on my list of Broadway plays--I'm waiting to see Wicked and The Producers, among others. In many ways The Lion King ruined a string of classic Disney animated movies that had stretched from The Little Mermaid, through Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin. One reason was the death of lyricist Alan Mencken. Another was that Disney invested in specatcle more than story: big-time rock star, Elton John, as composer, and gee-whiz graphics. But there wasn't a sould to the story. Once you got away from the cute songs and the Hamlet-based script, there was nothing timeless or magical like B&B. I left the theater after Lion King thinking, "that was cool." Conversely Beauty & the Beast had me thinking, "I could live in that world," just like a little kid.

The Lion King was coming, and my mom--who instilled her love of Broadway musicals into me as a kid--was determined to have the kids see it. Julie was coming, too. This production had puppets! Whew-hoo-de-doo.

So what happened? I loved it. There are about six new songs that bridge together the parts of the story that grown-up JD relates to. The character of Mustafa, something of a cypher in the movie, is brought out with the new song, "They Live in You," relating his hopes for Simba. It was the first song to really connect on a spiritual level, and it set up the incredible response that Simba sings with Raffiki, prior to the climax.

Jenny and Ellie's favorite addition came in the song, "Shadowlands," sung by adult Nala (Simba's love interest) as she leaves Pride Rock. Wonderful characterization. It really worked.

With that said, some of the parts I didn't like were holdovers from the cartoon. If you thought that "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" was one of the cheesiest moments on film in the 1990s (like I did), you'll want to cover your eyes (and those of your kids) as Simba and Nala sing it (see picture, right) with a PG-13 backdrop of ballet dancers in suggestive poses.

I guess the kids had been a big worry before we went there. The guy on Channel 4 recommended taking kids no younger than five, and we had Jonah (3) and Julie's two sons, (ages 4 and 2). I was so worried that Jonah would get bored, throw a fit, and cause us to waste a $70+ ticket. As it turned out, however, Jo-Jo made it through. (Julie's baby fell asleep during the first song and didn't wake up again.) The costumes are wonderful, and the unique ways that the actors/puppeteers bring out the characters are truly creative. I especially enjoyed the work done by the puppeteer controlling Zazu. (Right, during the song "I Just Can't Wait to Be King" with young Nala and Simba.)

In the end, it was a great weekend with great people. We finished with a trip to the Old Spaghetti Factory--a tradition Julie and I have enjoyed since we were kids and our big summer events were Reds games in Cincinnati.

Guess Who's Blogging Now?

Ellie!

First Stab at Video

I was cruising around on YouTube, and I found this video by U2 & Green Day: "The Saints Are Coming."

I hadn't really caught the gist of it when they played it in New Orleans on Monday Night Football. The video really brings out the outrage of Katrina, with its clever faux news footage that fantasizes that New Orleans (and not Iraq) would have become the primary focus of our nation's defense.

I would love to figure out how to embed YouTube videos into my blog. For now I'll just settle for the link.