Do Things Really Change?

I'm not opposed to the "race mixing" that has everyone stirred up in the first picture above, so I guess it's not surprising that I'm juxtaposing pictures of angry white protesters fifty years apart.

This is the way I break it down:

• The ideas: pretty much the same--reactionary to the Nth degree
• The logic: "Change is Communism," "Change is Socialism," "People who bring change are the Antichrist." 1959 = 2009
• The anger: I think it was probably worse in the 1950s
• The handwriting: better in the 1950s
• The spelling: the unfortunate spelling of "Public Option" might be a Freudian slip, I don't know. It was probably better in the 1950s.
• The use of the word, "NO:" better and more comprehensive in '09.

Pump Up the Outrage

Great comparison in the New York Times this week about the connection between Gangsta Rappers and Talk Show hosts.

Segal, an admitted Gangsta Rap fan, sees four connections between the diametrically opposite entertainment genres:

Ego, Feud, Haters, and creative Verbal Skills.

I'll look forward to his follow-up article on how rap concerts are similar to Tea Parties;)

Mankind is … some metaphors

From a recent assignment on metaphors, I culled the following comparisons:

• "Mankind is a busy ant hill that has no fear of being stepped on."
  
• "Mankind is Kanye West."
  
• "[Mankind is] a llama."
  

It's great to teach such deep—and weird—thinkers.

Health Care Access: More deaths than Murder & Drunk Driving Combined?

That's what the latest Harvard Medical School study says, placing the figure at 45,000 preventable deaths a year.

Great quote: "For any doctor ... it's completely a no-brainer that people who can't get health care are going to die more from the kinds of things that health care is supposed to prevent," Dr. Steffie Woolhander, HMS faculty member and Cambridge, MA, physician.

Most studies I have seen have put the number at half this number—still an alarming number. I'm not sure that I'm entirely convinced by this study's numbers.

But the fact is that a massive gap in America's health care system affects all of us. As we're finding with H1N1, we're not immune to disease just because most of us can go to a doctor. Untreated illnesses are catastrophic for those who die—or the 700,000 Americans a year who are bankrupted by health care costs. They are also dangerous for those of us who are immunized, treated, and healthy—for now.

Improvements to Moby Dick (As If)

Eighteen months ago my principal and English department head conspired to do something that would shake my teaching to the core: for the first time in 12 years of teaching, they assigned me to teach 11^th-grade American Literature.

It seems strange that it took me 12 years to get to this point. I had always considered myself a "Brit Lit" kind of guy, having studied for a year in England, and I enjoyed the basic essay-writing skills taught in 9^th and 10^th grade. I really didn't care to teach American Lit—until I had to care.

What was I to do? I took on the task with gusto. Soon my love for American history and my passion for my country was pouring out. I was reading great American books for the first time like The Great Gatsby, Walden, and Moby Dick (What took me so long? The education I received in American literature had been far inferior to that I received in the Brits. Enough said.) I even made Moby Dick the theme of a Summer Road Trip in 2008 to Plymouth and New Bedford, Massachusetts.

This week has been "Whaling Week" in my English 11 standard class. Today we capped off the week with the conclusion to Moby Dick, an 8-page excerpt of the chapter, "The Chase—Third Day" in our textbook. Melville has always been tough—and unpopular. Why else would an English major like me have avoided it for 20 years? But Moby Dick is worth the effort. In plot, characterization and philosophy, it is unequaled in Ame

rican literature. I think it's a lot like The Odyssey or The Bible: its meaning and impact get greater every new time you read it. I remember getting to page 450 in my first read and realizing, "I'm going to have to read it again to really, really get it." And you know what? I wanted to do it.

That's not to say that standard-level English students will feel the same way. That's why I break the Moby Dick lesson down to two days—and I precede it with a day reading non-fiction excerpts from In the Heart of the Sea: the Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex, the real-life whaling story upon which Melville based his novel, and watching a video. I have a scale model of a harpoon in the class. This year I even had these landlubber students of mine practice knot-tying. By the time we started they were ready.

I read the first excerpt, from The Quarterdeck, out loud, pausing to help students wade through the language. I give voices to all the characters—Ahab always has a really raspy, "pirate" voice—and I try to do a little acting and add some sound effects. By the end of this reading, the kids have a vivid view of Ahab: god-drunk with hubris, exhorting the men, "Death to Moby Dick! God hunt us all if we do not hunt Moby Dick to his death!" Truly, the only other character I can compare to Melville's Captain Ahab is Shakespeare's Richard III.

And the comparison doesn't end there.

On the 2^nd day of the reading, I have arranged a choral reading. I have highlighted the parts of Ahab, Stubb and Starbuck. Students read these from the front as I read the non-dialogue parts. This year I added sound effects. A student at my computer played sea waves, bird calls, hammer sounds—even the theme to Jaws during the bits where the whale is bearing down on boats or The Pequod.

Did it work? I think it did. It was clear to the kids what had happened to Ahab—and to the whale. More importantly, I had many more kids taking part in the reading. I felt that it held their attention.

But as I read it aloud, one name kept coming back to me: William Shakespeare.

When I hear Moby Dick read out loud, I hear Shakespeare. I mean it. I'm here to say that Herman Melville is the closest American writer to Shakespeare's characterization and his cadences.

Consider two of the sections I read today. First, Starbuck's growing awareness that death lurks as he sees Ahab row away from the ship a final time:

Heart of wrought steel! Canst thou yet ring boldly to that sight?—lowering thy keel among ravening sharks, and followed by them, open-mouthed to the chase; and this the critical third day…? Oh! My God! What is this that shoots through me, and leaves me so deadly calm, yet expectant—fixed at the top of a shudder! Future things swim before me, as in empty outlines and skeletons; all the past is somehow grown dim. Mary, girl; thou fadest in pale glories behind me; boy! I seem to see but thy eyes grown wondrous blue. Strangest problems of life seem clearing; but clouds sweep between—Is my journey's end coming?

Aside from the brilliant image that is caught, "fixed at the top of a shudder," this is a heartbreaking line. If it were performed on a stage, even a middling actor could wring tears from an audience. It's almost better when it is spoken than read. Maybe that's why Moby Dick was considered a failure after it was published. Maybe that's why no one "got" Moby Dick until America's primitive movie industry put it on a screen in 1926, over 30 years after America's Shakespeare had died in obscurity.

When you hear it, you know.

When you read Moby Dick, it is easy to get bogged down. Every chapter of plot is followed by highly symbolic, highly philosophical treatises on the whaleboat, the line, the whiteness of the whale, etc. This is the stuff that makes the novel great (John Steinbeck uses the same tactic to intertwine the story of the Joads and the Dust Bowl in The Grapes of Wrath). This is what makes the novel worth reading again and again—as we unwind the puzzle of antebellum America Melville has hidden for us.

But the sounds of Moby Dick bring it to life. I want to introduce one more speech—the last words of Captain Ahab. This time I'll break it down to pentameter to see how it works:

I turn my body from the sun. What ho, Tashtego!

Let me hear thy hammer. Oh! ye three

Unsurrendered spires of mine; thou uncracked

Keel; and only god-bullied hull; thou firm

Deck and haughty helm, and Polepointed prow—

Death-glorious ship! Must ye then perish,

And without me? Am I cut off from the last

Fond pride of meanest shipwrecked captains?

Oh, lonely death on lonely life!

Oh, now I feel my topmost greatness lies

In my topmost grief. Ho, ho! From all

Your furthest bounds, pour ye now in,

Ye bold billows of my whole foregone life,

And top this one piled comber of my death!

Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering

whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's

heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake

I spit my last breath at thee.

Sink all coffins and all hearses to open common pool!

And since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces,

While still chasing thee, though tied to thee,

Thou damned whale! Thus, I give up the spear!

Why didn't I teach American literature until I had been at this twelve years? Maybe I wasn't ready yet.

Why did I teach Shakespeare dozens of times before I taught Melville. I think it's because you have to know one to love the other.

Teaching Whitman...Like Clipping Grass with Fingernails?

If there’s such a thing as a Rorsach test for English majors, it has to be the poems of Walt Whitman. Every year I face the choice of either trying to create a framework by which students “get” his rambling, free-verse poems, or I skip him. This year in English 11 Honors, I chose the latter, but when rain canceled my exciting “Romantic” walk outdoors, I had to fall back on Whitman.

I decided to focus on metaphor—a real strength of the Romantics. In the first 30 minutes I had introduced the kids to Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “giant transparent eyeball.” I had 50 minutes to cover “Leaves of Grass.”

Walt Whitman is one of the messiest writers in American letters: a Romantic’s Romantic, he broke all the rules of writing. He never rhymed. Rather than publishing new works, he simply re-published Leaves of Grass every time he had a new batch of poems to add to it. For the unprepared, his writing is tedious, confusing, totally baffling.

For the English major, the love of Whitman begins with the sound of the ideas spoken aloud. His love of language is ebullient, outrageous. A perfectly good line of poetry is interrupted by onomatopoeia like Ye-Honk or Yawp. Personally, I can’t read it without getting glassy-eyed--that's glassy-eyed in the case of "wow, my mind is really percolating."

I decided to try to rip a chapter from "Dead Poets Society" and see if I could "gut" the Whitman lesson. I figured, if I acted like this was the most incredible poetry ever written, maybe the kids would fall for it. I set up a table to compare the metaphors, then we got into excerpts from "Leaves of Grass."

By the end of the first poem, I thought there was hope. "For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you," Whitman wrote. I made the connection with Transcendentalism. A slam dunk, I thought. I looked up. I saw glassy eyes, but they weren't inspired, they were confused.

To me, Whitman was firing on all cylinders. Who else could turn an everyday hay barn into a playful commentary on death?

The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready;
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon;
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged;
The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.
I am there—I help—I came stretch’d atop of the load;
I felt its soft jolts—one leg reclined on the other;
And roll head over heels, and tangle my hair full of wisps.

I point out Dickenson, and I try to contrast Whitman's optimistic view of death with her dark brookings. I feel like I'm firing on all cylinders.

I look out. Students' heads are down. They just aren't getting it. Sigh--or rather YAWP!!! No, that doesn't work either.

Tomorrow is Thoreau. This has been a tough crowd. I need some inspiration--maybe a walk in the woods will help.

A Nation Tested: Thoughts on Numbers 14

Franklin Roosevelt famously claimed the "freedom from fear" as one of his four freedoms. For a long time I thought that freedom and fear were opposites--that places where freedom existed were those that kept fear out. For example, the fact that I am free to speak and practice my religion in America gives me an absence of fear for being imprisoned or persecuted for my opinions and beliefs.

But I am beginning to see a stronger antonym to fear. Freedom is a chain-link fence when it comes to fear. Freedom is a word I associate with my marriage, my kids, my relationship to God, but I cannot say that fear doesn't creep in from time to time. There must be a better antidote--a stronger wall to keep fear out. I need it in my marriage; I need it in my walk with God; and I truly feel that my nation needs it now as we lurch into the 21st Century.

The antonym to fear is faith--at least that's what I've learned. When I look back at the times I was really scared, it's pretty funny. I laugh about them now, because the roller coaster wasn't that bad, or, I should have known that my friend was hiding in the dark waiting to jump on me. But when I look back at the true dangers I have faced in my life--hitchhiking across Europe, going under the knife for brain surgery, or hiking through Mammoth Cave National Park in pitch darkness--I feel an incredible peace. I don't remember being afraid. I was convinced I was going to make it through.

The Apostle John writes that "There is no fear in love. But perfect loves drives out fear" (1 Jn 4.18). I understand this at a deep level. This 'perfect love,' then, is faith, isn't it? A perfect love of God drives out a fear of destruction, even unto death. This, then, is faith, and faith is the antonym to fear.

It was last weekend's Bible study that really brought this issue to the fore with me. We focused on Numbers 14, the story of the Israelite spies' return from Canaan. As we studied, I was transported back and forth in time with this realization: these people are my people, these leaders are my leaders. This isn't fear that we're talking about anymore. It is a crisis of faith.

The Hebrew title for Numbers means "Wilderness." I think it should be renamed "Impudence." Throughout the book, Moses faces challenge after challenge to his leadership. Just prior to the "Grapegate" incident of Chapter 14, his own brother and sister organize a leadership coup against him (Chapter 12). I'm sure that Moses is ready to get this journey over with--enter Canaan, as God had promised, and get out of this Wasteland of Grumbling. Let's just scout out the terrain, cross the Jordan River, and get on with fulfilling the promise of God.

Moses waits forty days for the spies to return. When they do, it's incredible: two men are struggling to carry a huge bundle of grapes stolen from a vineyard. They carry a basket of figs, another basket of pomegranates--and remember the Israelites haven't eaten fresh fruit for a number of months now.

The people's mouths must be watering even before the spies report, "We went into the land to which you sent us, and it does flow with milk and honey! Here is the fruit" (Nm 13.27).

"But..." (Nm 13.28a).

It's the next word. Look at the transition from verse 27 to 28: "...fruit. But..." Remember these people haven't eaten fresh fruits or vegetables for months. To me, it's like "...a brand new Lexus. But..." or perhaps it is more "...an all-expenses-paid trip through France and Germany. But...." Whatever it is, I want to pause here, partly because the denouement of the story is so depressing, partly because I want to linger on that fruit. It will be forty yearsbefore I'll see that sight again. Forty years. Forty, four-oh, forty years.

There has been division as the men struggled through the canyons along the Dead Sea, returning from their expedition, carrying this bounty. The division comes from fear, the absence of faith. Perhaps it was Palti who saw them first--the people, taller than him by a foot or two. They moved in and out of fortified cities with confidence, projecting wealth and strength. Sethur, son of Michael, remembered legends of the Anakites he had heard on his mama's knee--giants who had roamed the earth since the days of Noah. As they made their way back into the desert, Gaddi, son of Susi, saw those men grow to the size of cedars; Gaddiel, son of Sodi, saw those city walls grow as tall as cliffs.

Before the people can taste the grapes and pomegranates, one of these men utters Verse 28: "But the people who live there are powerful, and the cities are fortified and very large. We even saw descendants of Anak there."

By the end of Chapter 13, the descriptions have turned into fairy tales and outright lies: Nahbi, son of Vophsi, becomes the spokesman for the Stop Where You Are Party: "The land we explored devours those living in it. All the people we saw there are of great size. We saw the Nephilim* there. We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them" (32b-33).

What explains this behavior? Would anyone really fall for the line about grasshoppers? Did followers of God, believers in Genesis, really believe that legendary creatures like centaurs, giants, and Nephilim roamed the earth ready to devour them? I think the only explanation isfear. Fear casts out logic, even as it triumphs over faith.

"That night all the people of the community raised their voices and wept aloud" (14.1). I'll point out here that the night is lighted by a bright pillar of cloud that hovers over the Sanctuary, but it only makes the scene all the more maddening. Fear is master here, and his henchmen, aggression and stupidity, are closing in for the kill.

"Wouldn't it be better for us to go back to Egypt?" we ask. Why would we choose slavery over freedom? Why would we give our babies to the river instead of raising them in the Promised Land? It's fear. It's fear. It's fear.

In graduate school, my professor gave me a scholarly look at the leadership of Moses entitled, "The Nursing Father: Moses as a Political Leader." Describing this scene, the author, Aaron Wildavsky, assesses Moses's view of this and writes, "The truth is out. It is not Canaan but YHWH the people reject" (page 116).

This is why Caleb and Joshua tear their clothes at the sound of this. This wasn't merely a way of saying, "I'm upset." It was stronger. It meant, "Someone I love very much has died." The people who had chosen to identify with Yahweh in order to leave Egypt had rejected him. In realization of this, they have already admitted, "We should choose a leader and go back to Egypt" (4).

Caleb, son of Jephunneh, tries to cast out the fear. "Do not be afraid of the people of the land, because we will swallow them up. Their protection is gone, but the Lord is with us. Do not be afraid of them" (9). As he says this, men are picking up stones to silence him for good. Aggression is the henchman of fear, even as stupidity is his herald.

This is the nadir of the history of Israel, and it is a poor example for any nation for that matter. Yes, I know that they take possession of the land forty years later, led by Joshua and Caleb, but it's hard to find another place in the Bible where God's promise is so openly humiliated. It's worse than the scene at the golden calf (the only other time God offers to wipe out the entire nation and begin again with Moses and his half-Jewish sons).

And this is also what comes to mind as I see folks acting out about health care reform. I wonder if the vehement fears of some might actually bely a crisis of faith in our own country--the ability of "We the People" to solve our own problems and provide a better life for our children.

This charade has many of the same elements. For folks like me, the Promised Land looks like this: Americans live three to four years longer, infant morality drops to the level of well-developed countries, families like mine have $3,000 to $5,000 more every year to invest in our families instead of health insurance (basically the prices we were paying when things were already too expensive in 1999). Entrepreneurs can start their own businesses without the threat of losing health care for their families. Bigger businesses can thrive because their profits aren't being sucked away by out-of-control health care premiums for employees (one of the factors that sank GM). No one is bankrupted by health-care costs in this land; the 20,000 Americans who die each year because they put off health care no longer have to die. My health insurance bill is closer to what I pay for groceries and less what I pay for my mortgage.

But there are giants in this land, too. Health insurance CEOs have to settle for six-figure incomes and doctors are paid about 40% more than public school teachers. There are taxes in this land, so that everyone in America can be covered. And there is also the strong chance that illegal aliens benefit from these services.

In recent weeks, those who believe in giants have made the leap into fairy-tale realms where government panels decide who lives and who dies. Dark fairy tales about Nazis are retold, and hyperbole like "government takeover" and "socialism" gets bandied about. If you thought "grasshoppers" was a whopper, you should hear about how physicist Stephen Hawking wouldn't survive in the British Health Care system (somehow he has managed to live in Cambridge and survive with ALS for decades).

And it leaves our nation at a key point: do we move forward under the leadership of President Obama, or do we go back to Egypt--the free-wheeling health care days of President Bush? Some are reaching for stones; a man stood outside of an Obama town hall forum last week with a handgun strapped to his leg. Others are ready to tear their clothes.

Again, it's about fear, and fear is about faith. For me, it's more than faith in one person. Many of my friends on the other side of the aisle didn't support President Obama last fall, and they would love to see him fail, whether it be tripping over a shoelace or losing a legislative battle like this one. The lives at stake are not those of President Obama or members of his family; they are the lives of Americans whose work disqualifies them from public assistance but whose incomes are not high enough to pay exorbitant insurance premiums. The fortune at stake is not Joe Biden's but thousands of families who face hospital bills for care that will bankrupt them.

It's about faith in my country and its ability to solve problems. As I look at my country's history, I see tremendous problems that we confronted and eventually overcame thanks to great leadership. From President Jefferson's determination to expand the country westward to President Lincoln's push to end slavery, there was opposition, much fear, some violence (great violence in Lincoln's case). I think of Teddy Roosevelt taking on the trusts or Dwight Eisenhower sending the National Guard to Central High School in Little Rock. These men met incredible resistance, and my nation is better for their courage.

I guess that's how I'm able to read Numbers 14. I see my country's leader tested like Moses was tested. I see the people of my nation scared in the way the Israelites were scared. I hear monster myths, but I see grapes. I know the past, but I think I can see the future, just over that next range of mountains. I don't want to wait forty more days, much less forty more years, for that future to become real.

*See Genesis 6 for information on the Nephilim, who were basically all the demigods of other cultures who got inserted into the Old Testament and forgotten about. Hercules, Gilgamesh, Perseus, these come to mind from the descriptions found in those first four verses of Genesis 6.

"Go and tell this People:" Thoughts on Isaiah 6

I was raised to see the Call of God as something majestic, phenomenal, awesome.

My dad was a pastor. He got no job offers in his line of work; he got "calls." And when the calls dried up, he didn't look for new preaching jobs; he simply moved on to a new profession. God had called; no, He had not. I never questioned it. I looked forward to a call of my own.

Throughout high school and into college, I searched scripture to find and to follow this certain Call. Sometimes I thought it looked like me teaching kids in a public school classroom. At other times, it looked like I was a missionary or an administrator. Whatever it was, it seemed glorious, impressive, noteworthy.

Looking back, it's pretty clear that I was reading the Bible with my eyes closed, filtering out the reality--the deeply serious and unpopular nature of any given Call of God.

Consider the call of Isaiah in the 6th chapter of his (their?) book. It's one of the coolest "calls" in the Bible. An angel takes a coal out of the fire, touches Isaiah's lips, and takes away his sin. A voice calls, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" (verses 7 & 8).

Isaiah answers, "Here am I, send me!" I can imagine him raising his hand like an eager student, wriggling in his desk and preceding his answer with the words, "Ooh, ooh, over here!"

Now that's a capital-c Call! How does it compare with other calls?

• It's not quite as cool as the Call of Elisha, who is plowing a field when Elijah throws his cloak around his shoulders. Elisha immediately slaughters his oxen and burns them as an offering on the remains of the plow. Awesome!
• It's better than the small voice in the darkness that awakens Samuel.
• It tops David's return from the hills to be anointed with oil by that same Samuel.
• Yes, it tops "follow me, and I will make you fishers of men" and "I saw you while you were under the fig tree," the calls that Christ made to his disciples.
• I think it comes close the Call of Paul: a bright light from heaven and the words, "why are you persecuting me?"
• (If you can think of others, leave them in the comments.)

But what comes after a call? That's something that isn't so glorious. For every miracle, a prophet faces hundreds of cases of rejection. For every vision, there are many nightmares.

For Isaiah--and for my country today--there are these words: "Go and tell this people: Be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving" (verse 9).

Isn't this a politically correct way to say, "You're doomed!"

Isaiah is called, he has a ticket to the palace of Hezekiah, AND he gets to tell the king that he has it all wrong--that Judah doesn't "get it" anymore, and they won't "get it" ever again. It's over.

God continues:

Make the heart of this people calloused;

make their ears dull and close their eyes.

Otherwise they might see with their eyes,

hear with their ears, understand with their hearts,

and turn and be healed (verse 10).

When I spotted this passage in church last weekend, it really hit me. It wasn't so much the "call of God" thing that did it--that was what Bishop Morris was speaking about--it was this warning. It struck me because the Call of God hit me at that moment, and it said, This is your country I'm talking about.

It hurt like a flaming coal. I love my country. I see it with red-white-and-blue-tinted lenses. The idea of words like "calloused" describing America is as surprising as dull ears and closed eyes. Surely this is some other country, Lord. Let it be Nazi Germany you're describing or some abominably socialized nation. I know that's the great hope of many Americans today, at least.

But it is my country. Consider the following issues if you don't believe me: income inequality, climate change, national defense, immigration and access to health care. These are the most important issues facing the world today--and issues about which far too many of my fellow citizens are calloused, deaf and blind.

Just look at the 9/11 anniversary and how quickly our nation closed its eyes to the causes of the real crime, slaking our vengeance with war and outrage. Eight years of war later, according to a TIME magazine poll last week, people don't feel safer, even though the tragedy could have been averted with some basic, inexpensive law enforcement cooperation.

A better illustration of these verses is climate change--a high priority around the world, except in the United States, where vast numbers of people believe it's a myth. Incontrovertible scientific evidence, you say? We keep our eyes firmly closed, thank you, with help from alternative scientific studies sponsored by oil and gas groups.

Or look at the Iraq War. Alarms were raised long before we blundered into that trillion-dollar quagmire. Intelligence had been fixed, we heard, there were no WMDs, no reasons to invade and occupy that country. Our ears were dull. Look what happened.

It almost makes me believe two new things about my country: Americans will believe any lie as long as it leads to destruction elsewhere, and Americans will believe any lie as long as it sustains suffering here.

Look at the same approaches popping up in current debates about health care, stimulus and debt. Americans don't see with our eyes anymore; we don't listen with our ears; we do not understand with our hearts...no, understanding is what is most lacking.

I guess that's the redeeming factor here, if any. It's not that Americans are bad or amoral. Maybe we're just cursed. Maybe God is looking down and saying, "I've given you unprecedented prosperity and security, and what have you done with it? I see billion-dollar football stadiums, skies full of airplanes jetting to and fro, and roads filled with cabin-sized cars. But I also see terrible suffering and incomprehensible waste. Your time is up."

"For how long, O Lord?" I ask in reply (Isaiah 6.11)

He answers:

Until the cities lie ruined and without inhabitant,

until the houses are left deserted and the fields ruined and ravaged,

until the Lord has sent everyone far away and the land is utterly forsaken (11-12)

Is this what the capital-c Call of God is like? Is this what it takes to be a prophet? Don't tell Isaiah, but the prudent answer might be, "Send someone else."

Revving up the old 'Point Pleasant' Again

Before my post here yesterday, I hadn't blogged on Point Pleasant since March.

I'm not sure if anyone noticed. I have kept up a frenetic pace of writing, but I've been posting all on Facebook, where I can "share" ideas with a few people at a time. I really thought Facebook might have been the engine to unify disparate portions of the web like blogs, photos, Twitter (which I have successfully avoided so far), etc.

In fact, I have an app in place that automatically uploads my Blogger posts to my FB profile. But a few days ago I added my first ideas=based 'friend.' He had read one of my essays on the Book of John and wanted to compare notes. It dawned on me, as we chatted, that he had found the essay through the Blog, not FB (where it would be blocked to all but my own 200 or so friends).

It really caused me to look at FB in a new way:

• It's good--no great--at getting information "out there" to friends, but it is limited. Blogger posts can show up on Google searches and things like that, whereas FB notes cannot. For a time I thought the wider audience for my ideas was Facebook. Now I know that it's Blogger/FB.
• The Facebook Note is very difficult to edit. If you've ever saved a draft, trying to find it again is nearly impossible. Good writing takes time, often several drafts, and editing. Blogger is better set up for that. I think FB Notes are probably ideal for 100 words or less things.

This post will show up on Facebook in about an hour, so I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. Call it revelation, and a new lease on writing my ideas for the few--if any--who care to read.

Not that F-word, Mr. Dittes!

Some questions aren’t worth the asking.

That’s not a very good thing for a researcher to write—particularly someone like me who spends several months out of the year teaching high schoolers how to research.

But it's true. Sometimes it's better to have never asked at all...than to have asked and known.

I gave my honors students a research assignment: find origins of family and ethnic groups that immigrated into the United States. At the least I was expecting students to trace the migration of Italians, Irish, Germans and Africans, from which we are all descended.

These being honors students—and among the best students that I’ve had the privilege of teaching, they quickly gravitated to family history sites, finding family crests and detailed data about their family origins. Amidst the thrill of this discovery, one student—who I’ll call “K-“—raised her hand.

What exactly is a “faggot?” she asked.

That’s not a word I like to hear in class. I write detentions for students who use it as a pejorative. But K- wasn’t the kind of student to get detentions. She’s smart, well mannered, a cheerleader; she’s the prototypical all-American girl.

She directed my attention toward the web site on which she had found her last name, Womack. “It says ‘faggot’ right there.” (It also says, “applied as a nickname for a thin person.”)

I stammered for a few moments. I tried to explain the real meaning of the word, “faggot”—how it was still commonly used in England to describe a cigarette or a bundle of twigs. I speculated that one of her ancestors had been a woodcutter who sold bundles of sticks in the village. I wasn’t making any headway. I felt like I was making things worse. K- still looked quite disappointed (although if she had been a male, about 2 years younger, she may have faced a total emotional breakdown). I encouraged her to do her best and ignore anything difficult, and she did.

The next day she turned in a wonderfully detailed report, showing the county in Wales where the Womacks originated, and even their settlement rates in individual American states. It was a complete presentation--a tour de force of research talent. There was nothing, I might add, about woodcutters or skinny people or 'faggots.'

Should I teach this assignment again? Do I dare peer further into my own name's origins?

Maybe I should just learn my lesson. Maybe I should just stop the questions...right...there.

Great, just not THAT Great: Thoughts on the Life of Aaron, Part 2

When I left Aaron two weeks ago, he was in heaven--or at least the closest thing to it. With his brother, Moses, his sons, Nadab and Abihu, and the elders of Israel, he was resting in the presence of God, reclined on ground that looked like a sapphire sea (Exodus 24.9-11).

At the time he was the most famous man in Israel, a man whom most Israelites would have seen as their leader. His staff had created wonders in Egypt. He was the mouthpiece of Moses, his shy, stuttering brother, who was in turn the mouthpiece of God. As I wrote before, Aaron was a man of greatness, but not a man of Destiny.

Why was this? I must admit, I admire Aaron. I enjoy being in front of people; I think I would jump at the chance to lead God's people and perform great wonders. Yet time and again in my life, often at the very point where I felt that God was ready for me to take that next step in His service, I have instead been held back. The skills and talents seem to be there, but Destiny isn't. Studying the life of Aaron helps to uncover the wrinkles in God's plan, and it helps me to understand a little more of my place there.

When Moses leaves his brother--for probably the first time since their reunion at the base of Sinai a year earlier--it is to climb to the mountain's summit in the company of Joshua, his aide. Aaron returns with Hur to look over the camp (24.12-14).

The Priesthood

The next seven chapters of Exodus are all about Aaron, even if they might be the words given to Moses on Sinai. Perhaps this might be seen as the coronation of Aaron. God spends this time telling Moses about Aaron--his role as high priest of the Tabernacle to be built at the base of the mountain.

I imagine shy Moses glowing with pride at these instructions for his brother, whom God mentions 37 times by name in chapters 28-31. God also names the son of Aaron's co-regent, Hur, as the one who will craft the sacred furniture for the Tabernacle.

But a strange thing happens at the very time that God says, "Have Aaron your brother brought to you from among the Israelites...so [he] may serve me as priest" (28.1). A religious festival has begun, and the faint sound of dancing echoes to the top of the mountain. How could this happen--and under Aaron's watch no less?

Aaron invites the people to the calf where he, uh, plans to sacrifice to the Lord. Everyone is too busy partying to notice a Higher Power.

The Golden Calf

The situation at the base of the mountain demonstrates a gross lack of leadership on Aaron's part.

"Then the Lord said to Moses, 'Go down, because yor people, whom you brought up out of Egypt, have become corrupt. They have been quick to turn away from what I commanded them and have made themselves and idol cast in the shape of a calf" (Exodus 32.7-8)

A close look at the text reveals some interesting weaknesses on Aaron's part--and affirms one of the theses I have made to this point. Aaron, the man who had stood up to Pharaoh, whose staff had consumed those of the best magicians, is apparently unable to say "No" to the people, his people.They ask, "Come, make us gods who will go before us. As for this fellow Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don't know what has happened to him." (verse 1, italics added). Can it be any clearer who the leader of Israel is--at least in the minds of the people? "This fellow Moses"--few have seen him, far fewer have heard him deliver an order. It has all been Aaron's leading in their eyes.

Of course this would be a good opportunity for Aaron to unveil the brains behind this operation--or at least look to God for leading. Instead he compromises--seeking a middle way between outright idolatry and public approval. He gathers gold from the people and builds the calf they wanted (some form of the Apis bulls who were mummified by Egyptians at their deaths). He also orders an altar to be built (he has been serving as a quasi-priest for Israel since long before his brother returned). "Tomorrow there will be a festival to the Lord," he insists (v 5). Is he clueless? I'll try to be kind and just insist that he is woefully incompetent for this interim job.

Aaron spins a 2nd story when Moses returns. "You know how prone these people are to evil," he explains. "They gave me the gold, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!" (verses 22 & 24). Did he wave a wand or something? The process of building any given idol could be described as "deliberate." Either a huge cast was made for the liquefied metal, or the metal had to be layered over a wooden or stone base. To a modern person, this would be like saying, "They gave me metal, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this dishwasher!"

A few hours later, Aaron begins to atone...and it involves a lot of blood--human blood. The party hasn't let up with Moses' return--few people noticed the tablets smashed or the small, angry man who stuttered with fury when he looked upon them. God knows how to end it. With the other Levites, Aaron meets Moses at one end of the camp with his sword drawn. Following God's orders they break into houses of feasting, dancing and lovemaking. They "kill...brother[s] and friend[s] and neighbor[s]," over 3,000 before the noise dies down (28). God follows this with a plague that will punish them "because of what they did with the calf Aaron had made" (35).

I may be projecting too much, but this episode demonstrates to me a fundamental weakness of Aaron--and of myself at times. He doesn't see himself as a partner. Deep down inside, he's the leader. The Israelites are perfectly willing to accommodate his vanity. Moses would have stopped this; God would have, too; maybe even young Joshua would have stood up to the people, but Aaron casts their offerings into the fire and out jumps a calf.

Of course this only widens the gulf of the people's perception of the two brothers. Moses is the one always saying, "No--says the Lord." Aaron is accommodating and friendly. Moses orders; Aaron listens. It won't be the last test of leadership for Aaron, that is certain.

The Siblings' Coup

Aaron's 2nd chance to lead begins with his sister, Miriam. A popular singer of the time and a cultural leader, she takes exception to Moses' leadership and to his dark-skinned wife. "Has the Lord spoken only through Moses?" she asks. "Hasn't he also spoken through us?" (Numbers 12.2).

The writer of Numbers puts the blame on both Aaron and Miriam, but later events bear out Miriam's leadership in this coup. It was a case of greatness again. Aaron appeared to be the leader--and Miriam had had her moment--one of the all-time great moments in songwriting--with her inspired singing outside the Red Sea. Why couldn't they lead? Surely the Lord had used them, too.

That leads to this revealing note in Numbers 12.3: "Now Moses was a very humble man, more humble than anyone else on the face of the earth." This small, shy man suddenly has no one to speak for him--or to sing for him--his speaker and his singer are in open revolt.

That's why God steps in, summoning Aaron and Miriam to the front of the Tabernacle, surrounding them with cloud, and speaking directly to them. "With [Moses] I speak face to face.... He sees the form of the Lord" (verse 8).

This is the dichotomy, then. Aaron the High Priest channels the Hidden Lord, dressed in priestly robes, cleansing the Most Holy Place every year on the Day of Atonement. Moses sees God face to face. God speaks through all whom He has chosen. Yet Moses, and his unique, hidden, behind-the-scenes role, was specially chosen. Aaron was High Priest. He had the most visible leadership role in the camp. Why did he feel compelled to covet Moses' insider role, too?

When the cloud lifts, Miriam is leprous. Aaron describes it vividly, "like a stillborn infant coming from its mother's womb with its flesh half eaten away" (v 12). Again Aaron is the peacemaker. He is in his role of "not too evil, not too good." He intercedes for his sister with Moses (he himself has not been stricken, implying that his role in the plot was not as great as Miriam's). Moses intercedes with God. The brothers' roles are clear now: Aaron is minister to the people; Moses listens to God.

One Final Miracle with the Staff

Korah's rebellion, found in Numbers 16-17, mirrors the plot of Miriam and Aaron. "The whole community is holy every one of them, and the Lord is with them," Korah tells Aaron and Moses, "Why then do you set yourselves above the Lord's assembly?" (16.3).

Just as Miriam had complained, "Does not God speak through us, too?" Korah believes in the "priesthood of all believers." A Christian might consider him ahead of his time, but Moses sees another challenge to his leadership. He dares the rebels to test the Lord by burning incense before him. Then he steps back as the earth swallows up Korah and the plot leaders and fire comes from heaven to burn up the other illicit, incense-wielding priests.

The next day God summons Aaron to wield incense throughout the camp, making atonement for the sins of the self-ordained priests. This really is a walk back through Aaron's own errors. The memory of his own rebellion must be very fresh as he thinks of those consumed by earth and fire. As he walks between the tents of the suffering, he must remember the 3,000 "brothers, friends and neighbors" he and his fellow Levites had massacred as they quelled the riot around the Golden Calf.

At one time he might have led such a rebellion. Now Aaron knows his place. Moses knows it, too. Aaron is the Leader of Israel. The miracle of the twelve staffs emphasizes two points about Israel's leadership: first, Aaron is indeed chosen by God for his role as High Priest; second, Moses apparently doesn't factor into the chain of command at all. He isn't the leader of the Levites or of Israel--Aaron is. He is merely the mouthpiece of God.

Aaron's rod--the same rod that consumed the magicians' staffs, that had turned the Nile to blood and had summoned frogs from its rust-colored waters--it blooms. God has spoken--beautifully. Moses places it in the sacred box in the Most Holy Place--the sacred room entered only once a year, by Aaron alone, where a big smile must break across his face as he cleans and performs his sacred duties. More than anything Aaron had said or done, this flowering staff conveyed God's call, the sole source of Aaron's authority.

This shows me that I need to be aware of the true signs of Destiny that God provides. It may not show up in my role in the organizational chart or in awards or public accolades. It may be found in some everyday thing--my child, my talent, my smallest gift--that blooms in the light of God's approval.

Aaron and Me

Tonight Jenny and I were practicing some songs to sing at church on Wednesday night. Jenny has picked up her guitar again, and I'm always looking for an excuse to play mandolin. As we practiced the songs, Jenny said, "It always sounds better when I sing lead, and you sing harmony. It's really magical."

She's right. I love to sing high harmony. But sometimes it's a little frustrating. I want to lead. Sure, Jenny can sing alto quite well, but it doesn't sound the same. Only when I back off and sing high can we work together as a duo.

That's not the only place where I have been called to be "great, just not THAT great." There have been a number of times where I have tried to lead our family down my career course. All have ended in disaster. At best, I have found myself at career dead ends. At worst, I've lost my job.

Yet God has blessed us richly when we followed Jenny's call, first to Superior, Arizona, then to Westmoreland, TN. More importantly, I have been able to strengthen her work when we have followed her lead. It's a natural, God-led thing--yet it is one that I have resisted on occasion, just as Aaron battled with his leadership role.

I can't say that I'm particularly emboldened by my destiny, and I don't go around bragging about my meager career accomplishments. I can say, though, that I'm glad to be a part of a God-ordained team. He led me to Jenny, and our partnership has created three excellent Dittes kids, and touched the lives of literally thousands of other people.

Mount Hor

Aaron's life ends soon after the climactic moment that his brother strikes a rock and brings down God's wrath. The Israelites are ready to skirt up the eastern edge of the Dead Sea, but God summons Aaron to the summit of Mount Hor. He removes his priestly garments and gives them to his son, Eleazar.

The non-canonical Jewish work, the Haggadah contains a beautiful description of Aaron's death:

Accompanied by Moses, his brother, and by Eleazar, his son, Aaron went to the summit of Mount Hor, where the rock suddenly opened before him and a beautiful cave lit by a lamp presented itself to his view.

"Take off thy priestly raiment and place it upon thy son Eleazar!" said Moses; "and then follow me." Aaron did as commanded; and they entered the cave, where was prepared a bed around which angels stood.

"Go lie down upon thy bed, my brother," Moses continued; and Aaron obeyed without a murmur. Then his soul departed as if by a kiss from God.
Source: the Jewish Encyclopedia

Eleazar and Moses returned without the High Priest, and the entire nation of Israel burst into mourning. "The entire house of Israel mourned for [Aaron] thirty days" (Numbers 20.29). He died the most famous man among his people. Many commentators feel that the Israelites' mourning for Aaron went beyond the mourning for Moses that would take place when he died a few years later (They use a translation that I can't find in my NIV, but apparently older documents show that men AND women mourned for Aaron, while it was only the leaders and men who observed the mourning period for Moses.)

Aaron was called to a specific role in Israel's Exodus: it was a role of greatness, but not of destiny. He struggled with this role at times, he even rebelled, but in the end he was at peace with his place in God's presence and at his brother's side.

There just isn't enough space here to do Aaron justice. I want to focus on him as a father and a High Priest, but that will need to wait for another Sabbath day's meditation. It gives me something to look forward to this week.

The Other Exodus Story: Thoughts on Aaron, Part 1

This weekend was something of a letdown for me. I was coming off a very busy week--Jonah's birthday party, a Shakespeare play with students, the first German club meeting of the year, plenty of stuff.

But I was disappointed by one thing that DIDN'T go down: I had planned to speak at Highland Academy for Week of Prayer Wednesday night. Instead, I was called Tuesday night and told not to come. Apparently my alma mater had blacklisted me thanks to some "concerned" members of the Highland church. It's the kind of backstabbing that got me out of that church four years ago, so I can't say I was surprised...just disappointed and a little insulted.

I sat at Oasis Cafe on Friday night really trying to rejuvenate my faith. They're moving into a new church building soon, and I was doodling some possible logos. Suddenly I wrote: "study the story of Aaron," the Biblical leader whose opportunities were swiped away, too. I spent Sabbath in study and prayer, and this is what I learned.

One recurring theme of the Bible is the tale of two brothers--in many ways it's the only theme of the Bible. Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, time and again the younger brother supplants the elder brother. The Father's love for the younger creates bitterness in the elder. The most significant--yet least analyzed--of these brother relationships is Moses and Aaron.

Moses and Aaron...Moses and Aaron...the two brothers are joined so tightly, they are practically Siamese. I searched for the three-word phrase, "Moses and Aaron," in an online concordance, and I found that it occurred 92 times in Scripture. Ninety-two times! There is something to this brotherhood. In fact, there is certainly something more to this brotherhood than most readings of the Bible might reveal.

When it comes down to it, the Exodus passed down to us from the Biblical writer looks quite different to us than the one the Israelites would have themselves witnessed. The difference is stark--we learn more of the words of God, the Israelites knew more about the words of Aaron,whom many would have considered the leader of their wandering tribes. Not Moses, but Aaron.

Aaron's is a story hidden in the scripture. Aaron is a leader chosen by God, ignored by the Bible. In the eyes of the people, he was the true leader: he was the only one of the brothers with title, his sons would dominate the priesthood for centuries, to the end of his life he wasmore famous than his brother, Moses, and his miraculous feats were nearly equal.

Yet Aaron was also a leader whose weaknesses were painfully obvious, a man who failed God repeatedly as a leader and as a support to his prophet/brother. He was a terrible father--if his sons, Nadab and Abihu, are any indication. Perhaps it is best to step outside of Christianity a little to explain: Aaron was a man of greatness, but not a man of Destiny.

The Elder Brother

Exodus 6:20 lists Aaron as the elder brother of Moses--both were sons, or possible ancestors of Amram and Levi (the genealogy uses four generations to span 430 years, so it's likely that there were gaps).

Much is made of Moses's growth away from Goshen, first in Pharaoh's palace and later in Midian, but it isn't difficult to trace the arc of Aaron and Miriam. By the time God calls Moses, Aaron is already a local leader. As later events would confirm, Miriam was a singer--likely one in great demand at parties and religious festivals.

Aaron called by God

The episode of the Burning Bush in Exodus 4 reveals a few clues about Aaron's status, too. Moses initially rejects God's call, saying, "O Lord, please send someone else to do it" (verse 13).

Then the Lord's anger burned against Moses and he said, "What about your brother, Aaron the Levite? I know he can speak well. He is already on his way to meet you, and his heart will be glad when he sees you." (verse 14)

This text is fascinating on a number of levels. First is the title. Why does God add "the Levite" to Aaron's name? Moses remembers his brother. That's like someone saying to me, "What about your sister, Julie Dittes?" As if I needed to know. I think that's because this is how Aaron is known throughout Israel. He can speak well. Perhaps he is already a religious leader in Goshen, the very role into which he will be officially ordained as High Priest. He is already well placed to carry Moses's message to the leaders of the twelve tribes.

Next, study the line, "He is already on his way to meet you." The Burning Bush tells this to Moses. Now, think about that word, already. Doesn't that mean that God spoke to Aaron too? Does that also mean that God called Aaron first? Moses was dithering in the desert; Aaron was on his way to Sinai. Moses has "never been eloquent;" Aaron "can speak well."

Aaron's Role.

Lest anyone doubt, God describes their responsibilities this way: "You [Moses] shall speak to him and put words in his mouth. He will speak to the people for you, and it will be as if he were your mouth and as if you were God to him" (verses 15-16). Aaron is to be the face of God to the people; Moses is to be the mouth. As God would say later, "See, I have made [Moses] like God to Pharaoh, and your brother Aaron will be your prophet" (7.1)

The plan works. The Bible's single-most successful team is selected. First, the brothers meet in Sinai--at the base of the Mountain of God (verse 27), no less. They return to the Israelites. Aaron speaks, and he performs signs with his staff. It works: "And when [the Israelites] heard that the Lord was concerned about them and had seen their misery, they bowed down and worshiped" (verse 31).

Which brother is in the front, addressing the Pharaoh? If you guessed Moses, you're wrong. It's Aaron, the forgotten "star" of the Exodus.

Consider the following list of miracles and Aaron's part in them:
1. Aaron's rod consumes those of the sorcerers (7.12)
2. Aaron's rod turns the Nile to blood (7.19)
3. Aaron's rod brings frogs (8.6)
4. Aaron's rod brings gnats (8.17)

During the same time Moses (1) summons darkness (10.21); (2) summons locusts (10.13) [he uses his hand for these plagues, not his staff]; and (3) parts the Red Sea with his staff (15.21).

Even at the Red Sea, Moses gets little recognition from the people. Exodus 15 contains a psalm that Moses composed. This psalm is 17 verses long. Yet when Miriam enters to sing her famous verse, she is identified as "Miriam the prophetess, Aaron's sister" (15.20)! What?

To me, this would seem like someone at a Jackson Family reunion concert announcing, "Our next singer is LaToya, Randy's sister." You know, ignoring the most famous member of the family.

There are several versions of the Ten Commandments story--yet I'd never realized until today that Exodus 19.24 reads, "The Lord replied, 'Go down and bring Aaron up with you..." Two verses later, God utters the Decalogue.

In Chapter 24, Aaron climbs Mount Sinai where he communes with God: "Under [God's] feet was something like a pavement made of sapphire, clear as the sky itself. But God did not raise his hand against these leaders of the Israelites; they saw God, and they ate and drank" (24.9-11).

It's a beautiful picture, and it's one that I want to end this part with. The next episode, Exodus 32, is the Golden Calf, where Aaron's weakness is all too evident. I'll write about that this weekend. But I want to pause with this heroic man of God, resting in the presence of God, leaning back on a sapphire sea, eating and drinking as if it were Heaven--the true Promised Land.

Think about Aaron. Think about how the Israelites would have seen this. From the Israelite perspective, the Exodus would have gone something like this:

"Aaron the Levite said one day, 'God has told me to go into the desert to find my brother. I'm going right away.' Three or four weeks later, Aaron returned. Next to him was a shorter, quieter man. This man was shy. He stuttered. When he spoke, he spoke only to Aaron. Aaron would speak to us.

"Aaron went into the palace of Pharaoh. He laid his staff on the ground before the king. It turned into a serpent. The pagan priests turned their staffs into serpents, too. But Aaron's snake ate theirs. When he picked it up, it turned back into a wooden staff.

"Aaron confronted Pharaoh on the Nile. He said, 'Let my people go!' Then he pointed his staff across the waters, and they turned to blood. Later he summoned other plagues with his staff: frogs and gnats came at his direction...."

It seems like such a different story, doesn't it? Yet it is the very one found in scripture, overshadowed by the story of Moses.

Aaron was a man of greatness--perfect for the part that God chose for him to play, the perfect speaker for his brother's words. Yet he was also a man of great imperfections, no friend of Destiny; for every time he spoke for himself, his own words betrayed him.

But that is a subject for another Note.

Western Road Trip, Day 8: Tall Tales and Bear Squat Spring

Our focus today was the Canyon area, the Upper Falls and the Lower Falls. In the afternoon, after we had waited out a rainstorm, Jenny, Ellie, Jonah, Owen, my mom and I took a four-mile hike out to a place called Clear Lake.

The American trappers who first explored this area considered it far too civilized to merely tell folks what they had seen. They constructed long and wondrous "yarns" (tall tales) about their adventures and tell them around the fire on long, snow-bound winter nights. For example, one of my favorite tales, told by Jim Bridger, was about Eight-hour Canyon. Apparently you could wrap up to go to sleep, whisper, "Good mornin'," and eight hours later the echo would return to wake you up.

This is my best try.

There is a canyon down in Southwest Yallerstone called the Saw Saw. I been there once. It's the sunniest place in the park, with all kinds of pepper plants growin' along the sides of the canyon. I seen halapeeners, chillies, yellers and reds. I seen stalks of fresh cilantro just a wavin' in the wind. I seen onions that--when theys ripe--just pop outta the ground and burst into a thousand pieces before your eyes. And the whole canyon floor is tamaters--red and ripe.

Well about harvest time, these here peppers have nowheres to do, hain't nobody been to Saw Saw Canyon and seen what I seen--or et what I et. They just bulge right out in the sun, ready to split their skin. And then they do, come the new moon of July. Why that day they just break open. The juice and the pieces of tomato, cilantro, onion, halapeener and every thing else just float to the bottom of the canyon and drain into these wells, just a boilin' and a bubblin'--like nearly everythin' else in the Yellerstone.

The night I seen this miracle, I just had to try some. It smelled so good. But it was too hot to eat or drink straight. I needed something round and crispy to dip into the bubblin' well. I climbed out of the canyon, and guess what I seen right there? I seen the field littered with buffalo chips--perfectly round, crispy, and they broke with a nice crunch.

Right after Ellie nailed me with this snowball, I got her right back with the closest thing I could find--a dried buffalo chip. I smacked her right on the bottom with it. She was really ticked--and she sure didn't like all the jokes about toilet paper I made the rest of the hike either.

I filled up my bag with them thar buffalo chips and got back into the canyon. I reached down into the bubblin' well with one o' them chips, covered the whole thing with the peppery stuff, and took a big bite. Mmmm mmmm! I do believe that that was the first chip in Saw Saw anybody ever et.

Well not long after I took my first bite, I heard a growlin' up the canyon, and I know'd that Old Ephriam (this was the name the mountain men gave the grizzly bear) had found his way inside Saw Saw. Well he just scratched the ground and started a lickin' up the juice that had spilled there. Since he was a'blockin' the only way out, I hid in one of the wells to watch.

That b'ar sniffed up a pepper plant, and then he started eatin'. He must've thought them thar halapeeners was huckleberries to see him swaller them down one after t'other. He et and et fer three days, not stoppin' to drink or sleep, just a poppin' them peppers down.

Now I know a little 'bout peppers--and I know ever'thin' about chips in Saw Saw--and I know that the pain doesn't hit ya until ya stop eatin'. But when it does--especially after them halapeeners--you better watch out! Well the bear stopped eatin' them peppers, and it was bound to happen. I heard a squeal, and then I saw his tongue fall out of his mouth and roll all the way past his toes. He started pantin' and he ran up to one of the wells and stuck his head down inside, swallowin' gallons of the stuff for the chips. Then he squealed even louder and ran on all fours back up the canyon, his tongue still lollin' and draggin' behind his back legs.

This pretty little gravel arm of land in Yellowstone Lake got even prettier when Jenny claimed it and checked out the view. We called it Jenny's Spit, and it made it into my story!

I followed that b'ar. I just had to see what would happen. He ran past Old Faithful and didn't slow down. I don't think he even noticed Jenny's Spit, the cutest little piece o' land in Yellerstone Lake.

I followed him until we reached Clear Lake, and then I watched him stick his head in that there lake and drink it dry.

Well that b'ar just a sat on the shore there, his belly pokin' out halfway to the Great Salty, his tongue still lollin' out his mouth and twitchin' around his toes, and I thought that he finally looked happy--the way he had felt the first time he tasted them peppers in the Saw Saw.

Jonah "Bear" Dittes pauses to take in the view of Clear Lake during our hike.

All a sudden I seen that b'ar's eyes just start to bulge and water. He reached his big ol' paws around his back as if somethin' was a fixin' to come outta his back side! Oh, I know'd I should a give him some privacy and leff him alone, but I just a had to watch.

Sho nuff, that b'ar started a diggin'. He dug a way down into that hillside there next to Clear Lake. And when the rumblin' sounded like one o' them earthquakes of the Yellerstone, I saw him turn and a squat right over that there hole.

Three days of pepper-eatin' and one day of lake-drankin' came outta that there b'ar in 90 seconds. The geyser that ripped down outta that there b'ar lifted him clear off the ground, near as high as the pine tops. It melted the snow in the whole a Yellerstone, and it stank so bad that I saw the Upper Falls run back'ards just to get away from the stench.

I don't know how I survived, quite frankly, save I was meant to tell you the story. When it was all over, that b'ar just a trotted off like how d'ya do. But that spring remained, just a bubblin' and a gurglin' away. In fact, should you bravely follow the Clear Lake Trail in the Yellerstone, you'll see the spring thar--all brown and still a bubblin' to this day.

My mom inspects Bear Squat Spring before anyone had named it or written a silly tale about it.

Evangelism 409: Knowing WHAT to Farm

A few months ago I picked up the book, The Omnivore's Dilemma.  It's a fascinating look at where our food comes from, how it's made/processed, and what the real consequences of 99-cent hamburgers might be for cows, for nature, as well as for us.

I'll admit, I got halfway through it, and I put it down to move on to other stuff.  I'm not an "Aggie," and I have a thimble-sized knowledge of agriculture.  Not being much of a meat-eater either, I wanted to move on to reading other stuff.

Last week at church, though, it all came back to me.  On Wednesday I posted a link on Facebook to an article entitled "The Coming Evangelical Collapse."  It stayed with me the rest of the week--the writer, Michael Spencer, points out some glaring weaknesses in Moral-Majority-Era evangelicalism that are coming to a head, and he sees a huge collapse in the future, building on alarming drops in membership that are going on now.

But I shouldn't focus solely on collapse, should I?  Does that build anyone's faith?  Does it offer hope (my duty as a believer)?

That's when I came back to The Omnivore's Dilemma.  I was trying to explain it to my friend, David, last week at church.  The author, Michael Pollian, visits a sustainable, organic farm in Virginia, whose owner, Joel Salatin, focused on the wholesale development of food from the roots of the grass to the cow to the plate.

Salatin introduces Pollian to a method of sustainable farming that rotates his livestock through a series of pens.  A day or two after his cattle consume the grass in a pen (and defacate), he brings in chickens in a mobile chicken coop.  This procession of cows followed by chickens makes its way around his 200-acre farm every five to seven days.  Every week or so, the pen is ready for the cattle again.

Why does he do it this way?  I have always assumed that cows just grazed one or two fields all spring, summer and fall.  Why the chickens?

"I'm a grass farmer," Salatin explains.  All energy originates in the Sun.  Grass converts that energy to sugar; cows convert the grass to meat.  Logically, good grass builds good cattle--and good cattle manure and regulated grazing also develops great grass!

(For egg lovers out there, Salatin's hens follow two days later, eating the maggots crawling in the feces of the cattle and depositing fertile droppings of their own.  This actually cuts down on the pests around the farm as well as yielding delicious eggs.)

So what does this have to do with evangelism--or evangelicalism, for that matter?  I think it's a call to be better farmers...or fishermen...or whatever it is that God has called us to be.

I always thought the farmer was about the cow, not the grass.  The more cows, the richer the farmer.  It didn't matter what the cows ate--as long as they were fat (and cows get fatter on "unnatural" cow food like corn flakes).  I think that pastors and denominational administrators have fallen into the trap of seeing believers in this traditional way:  they see the cows in their pasture--or sheep in their fold--and they compare this with the other pens and take pride (or feel desperate as the case may be).

But it's the grass that needs to be watered and tended.  That's the foundation of the pasture, it's where the "meat" comes from.  When I look at a lot of churches--when I think of what it was like for me in the church in which I worshipped before I went to Bethpage--I see a lot of famished, parched cattle.  You can see their bones.  Sure, there are bells and whistles, but they lie around in their corner of the pasture or stumble around the pen.  

Why?  The same patch of grass has been grazed again and again until it is worn to the nub.  The fences of the pasture have been heightened and closed in so the cattle aren't tempted to leave--"the grass is always greener" and all that.  The filth and the manure just sticks around, and the flies are thick.

The church's leaders have Ph.D's in cow farming.  They have lost the ability to grow grass.

How might one grow grass?  The rain of the Holy Spirit is a great place to begin.  The fertile soil of scripture is needed.  Rotation--new pasture, new experiences, mission--helps the grass to grow for a latter day of grazing.  Faith isn't about me--the cow, the Christian.  It is about God growing in me:  the meat, the mission we produce to give to others.

The Grazing Chapter of the Bible is Ezekiel 34 (my Bible study theme for church):  "For this is what the Sovereign Lord says:  'I myself will search for my sheep.... I will bring them out from the nations and gather them from the countries, and I will bring them into their own land.... I will tend them in a good pasture, and the mountain heights of Israel will be their grazing land'" (verses 11, 13-14).

It is interesting the agricultural methods God uses with these sheep.  He promises the basics:  fertility and security.  Honestly, is there anything more important for a church to provide its flock than fertility (growth in Faith) and security (acceptance and fellowship)?

"I will make a covenant of peace with them and rid the land of wild beasts.... I will bless them and the places surrounding my hill.  I will send down showers in season; there will be showers of blessing" (verses 25-26).  This sounds like a great development.  I can feel the safety--the grass growing under my feet.  

And it gets better.  Well-fed sheep become thankful sheep.  "I will provide for them a land renowned for its crops, and they will no longer be victims of famine in the land.... Then they will know that I, the Lord their God, am with them and that they, the house of Israel, are my people, declares the Sovereign Lord."

See, this prophecy is revealed to a prophet among the believers in Babylon--a much different "pasture" than the one God promised Abraham generations earlier.  The exile is coming to and end, and--God emphasizes--this time it will be different.

A different kind of farm will need a different kind of farmer:  a grass farmer, so to speak.  God is ready develop a sustainable faith in a renewed people.  It's the kind of renewed focus that would greatly benefit evangelicals in this time of soul-searching and self-examination.

"You, my sheep, the sheep of my pasture, are people, and I am your God" (verse 31).

How Stimulus Worked for the Dittes Family

I'm just so proud of the job that President Obama is doing, and I appreciated his handling of the stimulus debate. Seeing right-wingers (the very ones who drove our nation to the verge of bankruptcy with eight years of mismanagement) get completely unhinged at the idea of spending was quite fun indeed.

Why am I not terrified at the thought of "spending"? Why am I not tearing my hair out and screaming "socialist, socialist!" at the thought of doing something to help my own country?

It's probably because I've been through an economic crisis in my time, and I have seen for myself how stimulus works.

It was 2003. Jonah had just been born. Jenny tried to return to work after maternity leave, only to learn that she had been replaced. Shortly thereafter, I was fired from my job. Oh yeah, at six weeks of age, Jonah ended up at Vanderbilt Medical Center. I sold my pickup truck to pay for three months of family health insurance. Thank God we had that.

The first job Jenny took was with a new doctor at an inferior rate of pay. Once I lost my job, we knew that she needed something new. She signed on with a new doc, who paid better, but whose practicing philosophy was a polar opposite to what Jenny wanted to do.

One year later, Jenny was ready to quit. I had found a part-time job teaching, but we still weren't out of a financial rut. Jenny had a dream of starting up her own clinic--a non-profit clinic that could treat patients the way she wanted them to be treated, and could provide care for those who couldn't find it elsewhere.

Where was the money coming from? We certainly didn't have the savings to start up a new business. The only option was debt--quite a bit of it.

Fortunately we had equity in our home. I didn't question it when the idea came out. I have complete faith in Jenny, and I knew that she would be successful, even if many of her prospective patients wouldn't be paying lots of cash. We took out a 2nd mortgage of $30,000. It was all or nothing.

Four years later, Jenny's clinic provides her with a good salary and employs 12 other people as well. Last March the clinic paid off the remainder of the debt it owed us, and it is free and clear. It was stimulus, plain and simple. It worked.

As I think about my country, I see a similar scenario. The USA is already in terrible financial shape, and $789 billion seemed tough to add to our debt in that situation, but we need new direction, we need something daring, and President Obama's plan could do that.

But this is more than about President Obama, who won 53% of the vote and whose approval ratings approach 70%. It is more about America. If we believe in her, we know that this crisis could be the beginning of greatness, just as the Great Depression launched the USA on the track toward superpower status.

If there is no stimulus in 2004 for the Dittes family, where would we be now? Who would have cared for the thousands of patients who have patronized Hope Family Health Services in the last 4 years? It's amazing, when you think about it.

Slumdog Millionaire: Will the Easter Story sweep the Oscars next Sunday? Will anyone notice?

It's mid-February, and I already have Easter on the mind.

Maybe it's a subconscious yearning for spring--although 60-degree temperatures here in Tennessee the past week haven't exactly been wintry. Maybe it's that my German class is preparing our first-ever celebration of Fastnacht/Karneval on Fat Tuesday, a week from tomorrow. It may be that I'm still preparing myself for Lent.

Hopefully it means that Christ's re-birth in me during our church's fantastic Advent season has carried through.

Valentine's Day swept by in a rush this year. My nephew's birthday is on Valentine's Day, and my sister's family came up from Georgia to celebrate. On Sunday afternoon, however, Jenny and I hired a baby-sitter and went to the movies--something we hadn't done since we saw U23D together over a year ago. We chose Slumdog Millionaire.

Now glowing reviews have been posted everywhere, so it would seem reduntant to note how touching, triumphant or thrilling it is.  Driving home after the film, Jenny and I were amazed at how Christian it all was:  the story of Christ's Passion played out across the slums of Mumbai on a Calvary that looks an awful lot like the set of Who Wants to be a Millionaire?

Really?  This is stretching it, perhaps.  No doubt the production was made by secular Britons and Hindu Indians.  How can an Easter story come from such a source?

Because it is a story that is that great, that's why.

The story begins with torture.  Jamal Malik, a tea-server at an Indian call center, has finished the evening's show one question away from 20 million rupees.  He never finished the 2nd grade, lived in the slums all his life, yet he has managed to answer nine questions correctly.

Immediately after the taping, he is grabbed by police under suspicion of fraud.  Jamal is silent before his accusers, and the silence is broken in a remarkable scene.  Thinking he is unconscious, the two inspectors confer:

Police Inspector 1: Doctors... Lawyers... never get past 60 thousand rupees. He's won 10 million. [pause] 
Police Inspector 2: What can a slumdog possibly know? 
Jamal Malik: [awake, quietly] The answers

Jamal and the inspector go through the previous evening's show, question by question.  Jamal's answers are explained by flashbacks.  I don't want to get too bogged down in detail, but I want to point out a few striking similarities.

Jamal grows up with his brother Salim in a Muslim slum.  Orphaned by a rioting Hindu mob, Jamal and Salim flee, followed tentatively by another orphan girl, Latika.  Salim, the eldest, at first refuses to let Latika join them, but Jamal persists, displaying a loyalty to her that matches his loyalty to his own brother.

Salim is Adam, Christ's brother.  Tempted by a cold Coca-Cola, he, Jamal and Latika leave their shelters in the dump to live with gangsters who use children to beg on the streets of Mumbai.  When Salim witnesses the gangsters' brutality to another child, he becomes Moses, leading Jamal and Latika out of the "orphanage," but only the boys get away.  Latika is left behind as the brothers sojourn throughout India.

Five years later they return on Jamal's volition.  He has to find Latika.  They find her in the red light district, a young twelve-year-old virgin being prepped by the gangster for a big payoff.  Selim becomes David versus The Gangster, and--after a night of drinking and violence--he becomes Nebuchadnezzar:  holding Latika captive in their hotel room, he points his revolver between his brother's eyes:  "Now get out!"  Jamal will stay--he's that determined--but Latika intervenes, closing the door and leaving Jamal alone.

The Jamal of the quiz show is five years older.  His job in the call center led him to reunite with Selim and find Latika, but they are out of his reach.  Latika is the consort of Mumbai's toughest gangster, and Selim is now Judas, the gangster's right-hand man.

When they meet, Jamal fantasizes about throwing his brother off the top of a building:

Salim: [Trying to explain why he never contacted Jamal after forcing him out of the hotel room.]  Left a message for you at work. 
Jamal Malik: There was no message. 
Salim: I definitely left a mess... 
Jamal Malik: There was no message! There was no message! *There was no message*! 
Jamal Malik: [Looks down at Salim starting to cry a little] 
Jamal Malik: I will never forgive you! 
Salim: I know. 

Jamal won't harm him.  Adam/Salim is his brother.  Besides, it isn't Salim he's returned for, it's Latika.  In the ultimate act of betrayal, Salim learns of Latika's plans to run away with Jamal.  In an intense scene, he grabs her at the railway platform--just as she has caught the attention of Jamal--forces her into a car, and gives her a long scar along the side of her jawbone.

That leads directly to Calvary/Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?  The pharisaical show host, Prem Kumar, is contemptuous.  "This is my show," he screams in private.  To Jamal he gloats, "A few hours ago, you were giving chai for the phone walahs. And now you're richer than they will ever be. What a player!"  Jamal avoids the traps the host lays and outwits him at every turn.  

This exchange is particularly revealing in light of the Passion link.  The quiz show exchanges are fascinating in this new, calvary-centered paradigm.

Prem Kumar: Its getting hot in here. 
Jamal Malik: Are you nervous? 
Prem Kumar: [audience laughs] What? Am I nervous ? Its you who's in the hot seat, my friend! 
Jamal Malik: Yes, sorry.

The gospels don't show Jesus ever saying this to Annas (the Prem Kumar character), but history shows that  Annas indeed had more at stake than the man whose life was on the line.  It is important to point out that Jamal wasn't on the show to win twenty million rupees; he wanted to find Latika.  Why would he worry about a multiple-choice question in that scenario?

The final question opens the next evening's show.  All of India is watching.  Salim is Judas (you will see a 30-pieces-of-silver allusion).  He is also Peter, freeing Latika from the gangster's lair, giving her the keys to an SUV (ahem, another huge connection) and his cell phone.

Here's the how the final question plays out:

Prem Kumar: So are you ready for the final question for 20 million rupees? 
Jamal Malik: No, but maybe it is written, no? 

I was grinning at this point of the movie, Easter-lover that I am.  The faith that allowed Christ to conquer Calvary, uttered so simply, by a chai-wallah on an Indian game show.

Prem Kumar: Final question for twenty million rupees, and he's smiling. I guess you know the answer. 
Jamal Malik: Do you believe it, I don't! 
Prem Kumar: You don't? So you take the ten million and walk? 
Jamal Malik: No. I'll play. 

Which of the lifelines will Jamal use?  Millionaire fans know which lifeline is the last to be used:  phone a friend.  Salim's number rings...and rings...and rings...and rings..."Hello?"  

It isn't Salim; it is Mary Magdalene--no, it's me--OK, actually it's Latika.  She doesn't know the answer either.  But the answer doesn't matter to Jamal, neither do the twenty million rupees.  Latika answered.  All he has to do is climb down out of the Hot Seat (ahem) and reclaim his destined Bride.

The theater is full of Easter, and every eye is full of tears, but Jamal isn't done.  They meet in a garden that isn't Eden but an abandoned train platform.  I hear Resurrection whisper out of Latika's amazement:

Jamal Malik: I knew you'd be watching 
Latika: I thought we would meet only in death. 
Jamal Malik: This is our destiny 
Latika: Kiss me 

And for the final, perfect touch, Jamal bends down and kisses...Latika's scar!  It's a transcendant moment, full of redemption.  I wanted to stand up and cheer.  To a Christian, this symbolism is most wonderful--as wonderful as Easter.

In Slumdog Millionaire, the greatest story ever told has been told again--brilliantly, wonderfully.

A few more notes.  

• Malik, the last name of Jamal/Jesus and Salim/Adam, is the Arab word for "king."  
  
• The movie has a few scenes set in "heaven" before young Jamal's return to Mumbai to rescue Latika--I'll leave it to viewers to figure out which famous Indian place this is.
  
• A month ago, Jenny and I watched Danny Boyle's breakthrough film, Trainspotting, on cable.  This really helped us to appreciate Boyle's work in Slumdog.  Both films are beautiful stories of redemption (Trainspotting chronicles a Scottish man's escape from heroin).  They are very, very gritty and dirty, too.  Both have a scene with a dirty toilet, which seems like a strange hallmark for Boyle.
  
• If you're wondering, I got the quotes from the IMDB site for Slumdog Millionaire