A Soldier's Memorial

I spent the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend cleaning up my study. This is something I do just once ever three or four years (or roughly twice as often as my 2nd-least-favorite chore, cleaning the garage).

As I was organizing the files, I came across this picture.

I have a number of military men in my family tree. My family research is thick with the military files of my Grandpa Dittes, who was an Army MD in Australia & New Zealand during World War II. I have the flag that draped my Grandpa Mooney's casket when he died in 1981, recognizing his service in the Navy during World War I.

I also have this postcard--a link to an army man about whom I know very little.

The postcard is addressed: Familie Gotthold Dittes, Delikatessen Geschaeft, Broklyn (sic) New York, Amerika. It's amazing, the spare address. My great-grandfather, Gotthold Dittes, indeed owned a grocery story in a German section of Brooklyn. His wife, Anna Katherine Funk Dittes, was a cook who ran the deli.

It is signed, "Schwager und Brueder," leaving me with no certain first name. I know his last name, of course. The man in this picture is my great-great uncle. His last name, like my great-grandmother's, was Funk. He was one of 10,000 young men from the city of Ulm to sign up for the imperial German Army during the opening years of the Great War.

I read the card closer. It is difficult because of Fraktur, the German form of cursive that makes some of the letters quite difficult to make out. I'll try my best.

"Muensingen, 6/6 1915." Muensingen was the site of the Duke Albrecht Barracks, a training site for soldiers ready to ship off to the Front. During a break from training, my great-great uncle had gone to a photo studio to have this card made. Observe his well-groomed mustache--I doubt it looked so nice once he made it to the trenches. His uniform is crisply pressed, his bolt-action rifle looks ready. Does he look fierce? Not to me, he doesn't.

I can make out little else from his note. He wants my great-grandparents to see his picture as a soldier "bild als Soldat." I find the word, "family." My German isn't good enough to read the whole note, much less peer between the lines at his thoughts.

In 1915, the war still seemed winnable for all sides. There had been heavy casualties, but the bloodbath of 1916 was still in the future. Here in the States, my grandparents were still speaking German in their deli and in their home. Gotthold had arrived just ten years earlier, Anna had come in 1901. My grandpa was just three years old.

Perhaps it's because it's Memorial Day, but I wonder how the war went for my great-great uncle. My cousin, Frank, has told me that my great-grandmother exchanged letters with family throughout the war--or at least until the United States entered the war against Germany (I'm sure familial communications were hampered by this fact). He has told me that Anna's three brothers served in the German Army and that all three survived.

While Memorial Day is an American celebration, this picture brings me to another conclusion. It makes me think of the soldiers on all sides of a given conflict. Their shared concerns for families and loved ones behind the lines.

It makes me glad to have grown up in a family with a unique perspective on the two greatest conflicts of the 20th Century--whose deep ties bridged the gaps erected by emperors, generals and dictators.

Slice of Life: The Jackpot

Owen, Jonah and I cleaned the car today.

I'm embarrassed in how seldom I clean or wash my car. It's not a high priority for me. Perhaps the best way to describe how dirty the car needs to be, is to say this: once the trash pile reaches the bottom of the windows, it's time to pick up.

When I cleaned, I went all out. The boys pulled out everything, sorting the junk from the lunch boxes, water bottles and pencils. I got out the vacuum cleaner, determined to get everything really clean.

In a moment of inspiration, I decided to remove the back seat. "Take a look at this," I said to the boys, who were trying to sneak away from the job for the 4th time.

There is something awesome about the back seat of the car. It's the same as the inside of a couch or chair, I think. There is a treasure trove of great stuff that has fallen back there over the years. Pens, coins, toys, cards--the every day flotsam and jetsom of life make their way back there. They aren't the kinds of things that a person will miss, but when they are found, it's kind of like...

"Jackpot!" Owen said as I removed the back seat. I looked down on a grotesque scene of smashed Skittles candies, lint, and scraps of candy wrapper. I noticed some coins sparkling out of this mess. There could easily be a dollar or two scattered back here, I thought.

Owen moved quickly through the back of the car, picking things out of the seat. "This is awesome!" he said. "Look at all these Legos."

I looked over. He was carefully looking through the junk, picking up Lego pieces, leaving the rest to me. He found the head of his Anakin Skywalker mini figure. He found a piece to a Bionicle that had been missing for a year, he said. "And here is the piece to my MX4Ti," he added. I hate when they speak Lego, don't you?

Later Jonah and I counted the change that I had collected after Owen had rescued the Legos. It added up to $3.75. Not quite the jackpot that Owen had found, but welcome nonetheless.

There's No Omega in Faith, No Alpha Either

I was in Sabbath School at my sister's church a few weeks ago, and I found myself on familiar ground for those of us who regularly attend Bible studies: second-guessing characters in the Bible and--in a small way--second-guessing God.

The topic was Hagar and Abraham: his tragic choice to follow his wife's directions and lie with her servant. Why did he do it? Would that he would have known the consequences. The strife of the present-day Middle East, between descendants of Isaac and descendants of Ishmael, came to light.

It was a challenging, thought-provoking discussion, and at the end, I was struck by a single, enlightening text: "I am the Alpha and the Omega...who was and is and is to come, the Almighty" (Revelation 1.8).

Right then and there I caught a God's-eye view of Hagar and Ishmael, and it gave me a God's-eye view of my own life, my legacy, and the essence of my faith.

Let me begin with a story.

The Danube River flows between two German cities that lie on the border of the states of Baden and Bavaria: Ulm and Neu Ulm. In 1876, the only way between these cities was by river ferry.

I do not know of the exact date, but family lore states that on one fateful day, a river ferry sank. Riding on that ferry was a young man named Karl Funk, and he survived the sinking, saving--in the process--a young woman named Anna-Katherine. I know their names, because they can be found on the birth certificate of my great grandmother, who was born in Ulm in 1881.

I love this story for three reasons: it has a trace of romance, it seems miraculous, and it resulted directly in me. You see, if that ferry had made it safely across the Danube that day, Karl and Anna-Katherine might have gone their separate ways without meeting. If one or the other had perished, then James Albert Dittes would most definitely not exist, nor would any of my kids...or their kids to come.

Karl saved Anna-Katherine that day, yes, but he also saved me.

I guess that makes it easy for me to take a God's-eye view of the events of that day. When God looked down on this sinking ferry, he saw these two young people among the passengers. But because God is outside of time and space, it is easy for me to understand that He also saw me and Owen. In fact, it is not hard for me to believe at all that God saw me and knew that I would worship one day in Savannah, Georgia, and figure all this out!

"I am the Alpha and the Omega...the Almighty."

This is mind-blowing stuff. But when I apply it to Abraham and Hagar, I understand how God could find faith so easy while Abraham couldn't. When God looked at Sarah, he didn't see an old woman; he saw Isaac--and through him, David and Solomon, Jeremiah and Amos, Jesus and Paul, and all those who would one day worship in Jesus' name.

And as Abraham lay with Hagar, God didn't think, "This ruins everything." Instead he could see through Ishmael to generation after generation of descendants--ALL of whom He loved. I struggle to ascertain the consequences of my decisions at a distance of weeks or months. God sees me act--for good or evil--and projects it to "the third and fourth generation" (for the record, I am four generations removed from the Danube Miracle). This is a truly amazing perspective. This is Alpha and Omega--a beginning unimaginably far before my beginning, an end eternally beyond my end.

For much of my life, I was a fundamentalist Christian. "God said it--that settles it" was a good way to describe my worldview. When the proverb stated, "He shall direct thy paths," I literally expected God to tell me every place to go and every thing to do when I got there.

In 2003, after the disastrous end of not just a job but an entire career path, I sought for solace in the Book of Job. The God I found there was not the hand-holding dispensationalist I had grown up with. Instead He was Alpha. He was Omega.

At the end of the Book of Job, a storm rises. Out of the storm, God speaks to Job. He doesn't offer comfort. Instead his words sound like rebuke. "Where were you?" he asks angrily. "Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation...? Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!" (Job 38.4-5).

Job cannot speak. God cannot say it more clearly: "I am the Alpha; I am the Beginning. Everything you do--for good or for evil--comes somewhere along the continuum after me. You may be Beta, you may be Theta. You cannot see far enough ahead or behind to really understand."

Job's reply is a statement of faith in the Alpha God: "Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know" (42.3). It takes faith to believe in a Creator God, to place in His hand the origins of my life, my consciousness, my planet, my universe.

It is through Christ that we understand the Omega. I believe this is why John puts these key words of faith in his mouth in Revelation 1.

You see, in my limited view, Omega is the end of my life. My senses, my thoughts, my experiences comprehend only the Alpha of birth and the Omega of death. But when I give these to God, in exchange for his God's-eye view, the distances widen. Maybe the Alpha isn't my birth date, but the day Karl rescued Anna-Katherine out of the Danube River. Or maybe it stretches long before them to some other miracle in which God saw me.

Therefore the Omega also stretches on. On this earth it extends to my descendants, whom I will never see or know, but whom I can love, just as I love Karl and Anna-Katherine. It extends into eternity, this Omega, to judgement and to resurrection and then still further on. My act of faith is not in speculating upon these things but in relying fully in the Omega to have themprepared for me.

As a Christian, I believe that the only person to experience the human-life Omega and return was Jesus Christ himself. Yet if Jesus really did go through this, why didn't He talk about it between Easter and Ascension? He could have said, "This is what it's like" or "You won't believe what I've seen." Instead there is no Omega. There is only the direction to "go into all the world."

The disciples weren't the Omega; Christ was. They weren't even the Psi--the 2nd-to-last letter--even though many of them might have believed it at the time. Christ didn't have to reveal Omega. He was Omega, and I can be utterly faithful that he is my Omega without needing to know the measurements of heaven, the boundaries of death, or the depths of consciousness.

Coming from a fundamentalist background, I have seen plenty of controversies among believers. What strikes me is how many of those controversies have their origins in the Alpha and Omega sectors: Creationism vs. Evolution, Original Sin, Heaven & Hell, the Afterlife, Judgment, etc. When it comes down to Beta through Psi theology, Christians have very little to debate within the Body of Christ. True Christian faith, I believe, leaves to God the Alpha and Omega, and leads the Christian to find his/her place on the continuum of God's faithfulness to humanity.

Growing from this background, I can also understand the text, "he shall direct thy paths," in meaningful new ways. I have grown to believe that God does not direct my every step. I have given up trying to seek his guidance for specific, day-to-day experiences.

Faith in Alpha and Omega is direction enough. I choose to behave in every role--as father, husband, teacher, and friend--as someone who was destined to do this, someone who was created for the very purpose of doing this very thing excellently. I also find that my belief in the Omega helps me to make decisions with the long view in mind.

Let me close with one other fun illustration. I really believe that Alpha and Omega can be understood in the context of love, as well as faith.

Even after sixteen years of marriage, Jenny and I are not completely in agreement on the Alpha of our love for each other. Jenny has very definite memories of her first interactions with me. Those are not the same as mine. We agree that she had feelings earlier than I did, but the exact beginning of our love affair is up for debate. In fact, when we do talk about it, we often end up arguing or teasing each other. Even our versions of my proposal in Eden Park, Cincinnati, Ohio, in September 1993 are different!

The fact is that we have never debated this Alpha to the nth degree because we are very much in love. There are things that our love must do for each other today. For Ellie, our love has no reasonable existence before she came along in 1997--the same goes for Owen and Jonah. What was the point?

Would you like to know how much we speculate on the Omega of our relationship? I'm sure you know. We assume it will end in one spouse's death at some time in the future, and we take precautions with a will and life insurance. It is not a priority in our relationship, however, we are loving in the present.

I think our shared faith in God helps us to focus our relationship and expel unknowns--rather, to leave those unknowns in the knowing hand of the Almighty.

I think that true faith is contained in these two words: Alpha, Omega. When we can turn over to God our origins and our legacies, we can find true peace.

What Forrest Sees that Some Don't See

A few weeks ago, I had some time to write about the history found at Tennessee's state capitol, namely the bust of Nathan Bedford Forrest, a man who fought against the United States and preferred to see Republicans hung.

I didn't have time to point out the greatest irony of Forrest's statue. It is the fact that it looks unwaveringly upon this bronze relief, commemorating Tennessee's ratification of the 13th, 14th, and 15th amendments to the Constitution. The primary figures in this relief are of African origin, freed slaves, now legislators and citizens under the newly ratified rights. There is no Nathan Bedford Forrest shown here.

Let's review for a moment these key amendments, which established rights for former slaves and finally brought the Constitution into line with the ideals expressed in the Declaration of Independence and reiterated in Lincoln's Gettysburg Address.

The 13th Amendment abolishes slavery throughout the United States.

The 14th Amendment establishes the rights of all men, regardless of race or prior state of servitude to vote or be counted in a census, correcting a clause originally written in the Constitution that identified slaves as being 3/5ths of a person for the purpose of citizenship and census. It also bars folks like Forrest, who had served under America's enemies, from holding federal office.

The 15th Amendment states that "The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude."

These amendments marked a fundamental change in American governance--a change bought with the blood and sacrifice of tens of thousands of Union soldiers. Yet they are at the key of misunderstandings that plague Southern states like Tennessee to this day. A large number of Americans remain willfully ignorant of their meaning--or at least fail to apply that knowledge in political discourse today.

Nathan Bedford Forrest would understand. He would know that the legislatures that ratified these amendments in Tennessee and throughout the South were made up of Republican imposters--transplanted Northern "carpetbaggers," freed slaves, and craven Southern "scalawag" sympathizers to the Union cause. He would recognize that Southern states were forced to ratify these amendments as a condition for returning to the Union and removing occupying federal soldiers.

But as Forrest's Klu Klux Klan riders stormed through the South, restoring the dominance of the conservative Democrats, these three key amendments became ever more entrenched as law. Many key provisions--voting rights for African Americans, for example--would be delayed in the South for another 90 years, but they would come. Inexorably, they would come.

One of the key provisions of the 14th Amendment states:

No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

Can you hear the ghost of Thomas Jefferson in those lines? When the United States had been just an idea, written on paper as a declaration to the King of England, Jefferson had written that "all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator to certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."

When the time had come to ratify the Constitution twelve years later, these sentiments were left on the cutting room floor. The states were not unified. There was much opposition. Compromises needed to be made.

Certain citizens needed to remain "alienable," namely enslaved persons whose unrequited toil and hardships drove the economy of southern states. To live in the "Land of the Free," especially in the proximity of enslaved people, one needed "alienable rights," too. In fact, to make sure that the federal government didn't overstretch its bounds, the founders inserted the 10th Amendment into the Bill of Rights, stating that "The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people."

I have heard a lot about the 10th Amendment in recent weeks, especially in the wake of the historic Health Care Reform passed by Congress just three weeks ago. As Nathan Bedford Forrest's political heirs came to terms with their outrage over this expansion of federal power, many advocated the 10th Amendment as their bulwark against this legislation. Indeed it is the basis of a possible suit by a group of state attorneys general to block the implementation of the bill.

Yes, it's totally bogus.

Read the 14th Amendment again--the one that fixed the Constitution and banished forever the "peculiar institutions" preserved by the 10th Amendment. It gives the federal government huge leverage over the states to enforce laws--particularly those relating to the "privileges or immunities of citizens." Where did the federal government get this power? On the battlefields of Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia, that's where.

Jenny and I have been watching the PBS Documentary, "Eyes on the Prize," this week. It's a gripping look at the civil rights movement that established the 14th Amendment as the law of the land. It's mind boggling--to us--to see the opposition that such simple acts as seeing a 1st-grader walk to school or enrolling in the University of Mississippi could have been met with riots and outrage.

Yet when I see President Eisenhower sending the 101st Airborne to Central High School in Little Rock, or when President Kennedy sends US Marshals to Oxford, Mississippi, I am seeing the 14th Amendment in action. Those who opposed integration in the 1950s and 60s--just as those who oppose health care or national standards for education today--belong to a pre-14th mindset. They have not come to terms with a federal government that has claimed these rights for 140 years.

Now this is not to say that there is no place for conservatism in American politics. President Eisenhower was a conservative who acted more out of a concern for the breakdown in law and order in Little Rock than any liberal utopianism. There needs to be accountability in government and good management--and true conservatives are well equipped to bring this.

But it is to say that when inequalities exist, We the People can and will step in to stop them. America's health care system is broken, it is a problem too big for individual states to solve. On the horizon, climate change is too big a problem to attach piecemeal, state by state. A poor education system isn't just Tennessee's problem or Indiana's problem, it is a national problem, and the 14th Amendment gives We the People the right to step in and make it right.

That's what I see, anyway. And that's what Nathan Bedford Forrest sees in Tennessee's capitol, whether he likes it...or not.

The Tennessee State Capitol: Nathan Bedford Forrest

[I tried to post this as a photo & comments to Facebook last Friday. It didn't work out quite right. I'm going to re-post this as a blog post. Sorry if you've read it before.]

I'm in the state capitol today at a student conference, and I want to share some observations about my state.

This statue in the Capitol gallery is of Nathan Bedford Forrest, a man who fought AGAINST the United States. Moreover, he was a founder of the Klu Klux Klan.

So why does his statute occupy a priviledged place in the Capitol? It is an example of the South's complicated relationship with America's history, with the country's present, and with the future.

Forrest was one of the Confederacy's most effective raiders. Never defeated in battle, his motto was "get there first with the most." At war's end, he became a potent Southern leader at a time when Northern opportunists were raiding the Southern economy for quick profit and political gain (like Lincoln,these transplanted "carpetbaggers" were Republicans, which is why, from the end of Reconstruction in 1876 to the 1990s, Republicans were considered with abhorrence by conservative Southern whites.

Forrest's days as the first "Grand Wizard " of the KKK were short but effective. In modern parlance, he claimed that the KKK was a "fair and balanced" alternative to the Republican "Loyal Leagues." As one Alabama newspaper put it, "The League is nothing more than a nigger Ku Klux Klan." One editorial cartoon of the period showed a KKK lynching: its victims were white, and written on one victim's carpet bag was the word, "Ohio."

Today we think of Forrest's KKK in strictly racial terms. In the 20th century, their burning crosses and white-capped members sought to intimidate Southern blacks into compliance with segregation.

But I know of no attacks that Forrest carried out against freed slaves. His target was Republicans. He hounded them out of their judgeships, targeted Northern-owned industries, and eventually returned the South to the dominance of the political, Democratic, conservative class that had ruled from the time of Andrew Jackson to the end of the Civil War. Forrest was a SOUTHERN patriot, even if he wasn't an AMERICAN one.

Eventually things got out of control. The armed "night riders" under the sheets weren't always acting for political reasons. Shortly after a federal grand jury declared the Klan a "terrorist organization"in 1870, Forrest disbanded the organization completely, claiming that it had been "perverted from its original honorable and patriotic purposes, becoming injurious instead of subservient to the public peace."

The closing years of Forrest's life wouldn't seem to reflect the actions of a notorious racist. The New York Times, in its obituary of Forrest, October 30, 1877, noted that his last public appearance was before a 4th-of-July celebration of African-Americans near Forrest's home in Memphis:

"[In] his last notable public appearance .... he appeared before the colored people at their celebration, was publicly presented with a bouquet by them as a mark of peace and reconciliation, and made a friendly speech in reply. In this he once more took occasion to defend himself and his war record, and to declare that he was a hearty friend of the colored race. "

This brings to light two ironies of Tennessee's Capitol today.

One: both legislative chambers in Tennessee's Capitol are controlled by Republicans! If Forrest were to return from the grave and learn this, there would be hell to pay. Folks would get hanged. The Capitol might even be burned.

The second irony can be found on the wall that Forrest's statue looks at. It's time for lunch, but I'll develop this more a little later.

The 21st-Century Dad: A Tip

Four weeks ago, I saw something on Owen's report card I'm not used to seeing: a B.

It was math, a subject Owen has usually owned. After making sure to celebrate all of his well-earned A's with a trip to the bookstore, I asked about the B.

It was his tests. His times tables. He was getting the questions right, but he wasn't up to speed on the timed tests.

I followed his homework and noticed the same problem occurring over and over: 70s and 80s on the quizzes. Everything else had 100s.

I had to do something, so I did what any 21st-century dad would do: I downloaded a new app for my cell phone.

Last Christmas Jenny surprised me with a Motorola Droid. Wow! It had the touchscreen and the MP3 capabilities of the iPhone, but this one ran on Verizon's network! I've had so much fun with that thing in the past two months. I have apps to view the night sky, listen to Pandora, play word games.

For Owen, I downloaded an app called "Flash Cards." It spits out math problems, and he has to answer them quickly. There is a journal that keeps track of his times and the number he gets wrong. He began to play it once or twice on the way to and from school.

Last week, he brought home a math test: 100%! Yes!!

Now that's what I call high-quality 21st-century fathering.

A Resurrection for Christianity: Surprised by Hope

I'm not sure where it's harder to be a Christian--in a godless land, where the Believer attracts martyrdom or in a God-full land like mine, where Belief is so easily drowned out in a cacophony of sales pitches. I'm so fortunate that I have, in N.T. Wright, a sojourner who has the intellectual muscle to break down so much of the fake noise in his book, Surprised by Hope.

If you didn't read this book last Easter (when it came out), you owe it to yourself to digest Wright's ideas before Easter rolls around again. It strikes to the heart of what Christianity has always been about, and dismisses a lot of fakery in the process.

I don't think that Wright was "rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church," as the subtitle implies. Instead of new thought, he is focused on re-establishing a Resurrection-centered theology and renewing the mission of the Church that naturally stems from this.

Wright sees Christianity pulled by two poles: the Liberal side is ready to dismiss the literal Resurrection and discount the miracles of Jesus, relying instead on the moral and ethical advantages of faith. On the other hand, fundamentalists have stirred up an orgy of speculation on Rapture and Second Coming--a line of theology that justifies reactionary political stances (on the environment, on justice) and subverts Resurrection. What about Death? Is it nothingness? Is it a fantasy world where Christians take time from floating on clouds to view life back on earth?

These are big questions--ones about which few Christians, even after nearly 2000 of systematic theology struggle to find agreement. Wright answers them authoritatively, using New Testament scriptures to support his case.

Wright is most concerned with Christians who adopt the Platonist view of life: a dualistic view that sees earthly things as evil and spiritual things as good. He traces this heretical line of reasoning to the Gnostics of the 3rd Century. He points out, however, that God saw Creation as "good," and that his goal in sending Christ was to sort things out here on Earth. The climax of Revelations is a New Jerusalem returning to earth. So why do so many Christians seem happy to leave Earth behind? Wright seems to agree with C.S. Lewis's idea in Mere Christianity that maybe Heaven is all around us, unseen, in a dimension or level of existence that is more real than what we experience now.

The Resurrection, properly taught, dismisses dualism. God's kingdom comes, we pray, on earth as it comes in heaven. Therefore Christians take up the promise of resurrection, sharing with everyone the taste of beauty, the sense of justice, the burden of compassion this teaching unleashes.

I found myself reading this book with a Bible close by. Wright returns again and again to 1 Corinthians 15, the chapter in which Paul discusses our resurrected bodies and the state of our spirits after death. He covers the teachings of Christ and Peter, too. Every chapter was thought-provoking. It deserves careful thought--and the earnest student of scripture will not be disappointed.

I especially loved Wright's suggestion that the Pentecost Season--the 40 days between Easter and Pentecost--be celebrated as an anti-Lent. Christians should take up one good habit during this time, even as we give up vices for Lent. He even recommends champagne on Sundays during this celebration.

Easter 2010 is coming, praise God. But a Greater Easter is the promise of every spring. Resurrection awaits all who believe and who put their hope in God.

Cool Conclusions

I've been teaching writing for thirteen years now. Every year or so I come up with a new wrinkle.

This year my challenge was lazy conclusion-writers in my 11th-grade class. Somewhere along the way--probably 8th grade language arts--they learned to "bail out" on a conclusion. In other words: restate the thesis, give a pat answer, get outta Dodge.

We're practicing for the statewide TCAP writing test by writing essays for college applications. I was trying to come up with a word that summarized a good conclusion.

I came up with three:

Jedi Mind Trick.

Remember how Obi-wan Kenobi would wave his hand in front of the object's face and say something like, "These are not the droids you are looking for"?

THAT'S how to write the conclusion to a good essay. You are placing in the mind of the reader the very idea you want them to say back to you. In a college application essay, that would be something like this:

"You will enjoy having me on your campus"

"These skills and more will make OSU a livelier, funnier place"

What Jedi mind tricks do you have? If you were applying to college again, what would you want the admissions clerk to mindlessly type into their computer after reading your essay?

Review: Rob Bell's Drops like Stars Tour, Nashville, TN

Jenny and I joined four of our friends from the Bethpage Church at the War Memorial Auditorium in Nashville Wednesday night to see Rob Bell, one of the few American pastors who can "tour" 1,000-seat theaters to promote a book in this day and age.

If you've seen Bell's "Nooma" videos, or you've read some of his books, you know what to expect. I've always been drawn to his intellectualism--his 'Everything is Spiritual' tour really spoke to me with its incorporation of physics and extra-dimensionality. But what has helped Bell to become one of the most widely recognized voices in Christianity is his embrace of 21st-century media.

I don't know of any channel where I can watch his sermon's every week. I do know that four or five times a year, NOOMA integrates a sermon into a compelling film which is then circulated among churches and Sunday schools of all denominational stripes--for those of you who don't know Nooma, it's basically a sermon delivered over a cool soundtrack, highlighted by a well-filmed backstory that elaborates on the sermon's themes.

Bell is media; he is message--and he integrates both sensationally.

In Drops like Stars, Bell tackles the thorniest of theological issues: suffering. It seems like a reach. It is one of the most written-about themes in Christian literature, from the book of Job to Bonhoeffer to Phillip Yancey's recent addition to this ouvre, Where is God when it Hurts. Bell's take isn't to reach for the big answers, but tries to propose a new context to suffering--to ask new questions about what suffering can accomplish in the believer's life--rather than why it occurred in the first place. Not "Why This?" as Bell puts it, but "What Now?"

I liked this approach. It testifies to Bell's creativity--his live presentation is a feast of the senses, something that evokes his fascination with music, art, film, and all manners of the creative process. It provides hope for all of us--not hope in a world free of suffering, but of hope in a community in which our own suffering, along with the shared suffering of those around us, spurs us to find more in ourselves than we ever would have expected.

While he used a host of well-chosen anecdotes about everything from Pope John to the Will Farrell movie, Old School, his message was grounded in solid biblical principles: Paul's exhortation to the Corinthians that he and his evangelizing companions had been "sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything" (2 Cor 6.10); Jesus' tale of the prodigal son.

I especially appreciated his meditation on the cross--the ultimate sign of suffering in Jesus' day. When Christians wear this--when we display it in our churches--we are saying, "I embrace suffering: I adore the man who suffered here; I am an instrument to embrace those who suffer around me."

How I wished Bell had gone on. The presentation lasted a solid two hours, yet it opened up so many more areas of the Bible for me. The Beatitudes call us "blessed" when we suffer, when we are poor, when we are meek. They embraced suffering two years before the Cross, and they prescribe a fair amount of suffering for those who choose to follow Christ.

Perhaps true suffering is where real Christianity begins and all the fake forms of the religion evaporate. The Prosperity Gospel, the Medieval crusades, inquisitions, premillenial and hellfire-and-brimstone brands of Christianity go to great lengths to either ignore suffering that goes on in the present or contribute greatly to it.

I can't wrap up this review without commenting on the media. In his "Everything..." tour, Bell had used a whiteboard, which he had filled over the course of the sermon with illustrations of the theories he was describing. The "Drops..." presentation was far more media-driven.

Early in his sermon, Bell said, "Someone tweeted before we started that he had the worst seats in the house, and from the picture he posted, he was somewhere up there." He pointed to the upper balcony, high above where Jenny and I were sitting in the front. A guy waved his hands.

"Come on down," Bell said, pointing to two empty seats on the front row of the floor.

"I want a better seat, too," a female voice cried from another side of the balcony.

"Bring her with you," Bell said. I was amazed that he would have been checking his Twitter so close to the presentation.

As Bell spoke, there was a huge screen on the stage. At several points of the presentation, Bell interacted with the image on the screen--standing in the middle of a pictured hospital hallway, for example, and walking from door to door. At other times the screen showed texts, quotes and video. I thought he used the illustrations in a unique way, interacting with them, using them as powerful parts of his stories.

He also used a couple of kinesthetic tricks that appealed to the teacher in me. He gave each member of the audience a bar of soap. Then he demonstrated photos of images that sculptors had found within similar bars of soap--this is a great technique, and I plan to use it when I teach Greece and Rome. However, there wasn't anything to carve the soap with, and onlookers were merely encouraged to take the soap home...and...carve away.

The second stunt was better. When we suffer we identify with others who are suffering. Bell described how an injury to his writing hand had provided him with empathy for all who are injured. He had us write, "I know how you feel," with our non-writing hand. Then he asked everyone for whom cancer had impacted to stand. They exchanged cards. He did this with those suffering from addictions, those struggling to pay bills, several other scenarios, and the room was filled with empathy as cards were exchanged. We knew how others felt. It was a cool display.

There were a few things about the presentation that are unique to Rob Bell (I'm not sure why this is part of his style, but I noted them).

He didn't cite scripture. He used scripture, but you would need a concordance to figure out which ones. "Jesus tells a story about a man with two sons" is how he begins the story of the Prodigal Son. "A man named Paul once said" was the prelude to the text to 2 Corinthians 6.10. I'm assuming that he's used to talking to unchurched people like this, but I--a rather overchurched person--found it difficult to follow along sometimes.

Comparing notes with Jenny after the service, it was interesting how our differences had affected what we had seen. Jenny is really going through a challenging time at the clinic now, and she encounters tremendous suffering on a daily basis in the stories of her patients. She really identified with Bell's message. Admittedly I am not as emotional as Jenny, and I didn't feel as blessed, although I picked up some great ideas and some fuel for further Bible study.

In my opinion, Drops like Stars stretches the media in creative, unpredictable new ways, but it didn't feed my mind and my spirit in the ways I have seen other messages do.

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner, the Birth of What?

I'm preparing a lesson on Randall Jarrell's classic World War II poem.

As so often happens, I've found something new; something that I hadn't noticed before; something I wanted to share with you.

From my mothers' sleep I feel into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

I have always recognized the caustic reference to the State and the ultimate sacrifice it demanded.

For some reason, I have always missed the imagery. "Mother's sleep," "hunched in its belly," and "loosed from its dream of life" are all images of pregnancy and childbirth. Now that I think about it, the ball turret rests on the belly of a B17 much like that of a fetus, hovering innocently "six miles from earth."

So what happens? There is "black flak" and "nightmare fighters." The child awakens to the weapons of death.

It's an abortion that Jarrell is describing, isn't it? Read the last line again. It's an abortion.

Why didn't I understand that before?

A Long Distance Merry Christmas from Grandpa

I must admit that the Christmas Season hasn't caught on with me yet. We had a great Advent service at church this week. I hear Christmas carols every time I turn on the car radio--and I don't turn them off as I did before Thanksgiving.

Today I even took my mandolin out in the hall at school, but all I could play was "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen." Is that even a Christmas song? It certainly didn't feel that way.

I have been busy with Christmas things--picking out gifts, preparing Christmas cards. That's all on pace (or ahead of pace). One project I took up was scanning in my Grandpa's war letters. Between December of 1941 and September of 1943, he sent my Grandma hundreds of letters and telegrams, sometimes twice a day. She saved every one.

Tonight I was scanning letters from their first Christmas apart. I found this handwritten letter, and I just want to share it. Those of you who knew Grandpa and loved him like I do, will quickly recognize him and miss him all the more (he died three years ago).

Modoc, Cal.
Christmas Eve --'41

My dearest Elinor,

This is a little note to tell you that I still love you very much and that I will be home tonight. It was impossible for me to make any arrangements to come during the daytime. I will be lucky if I get in much earlier than we did the last time. The boy that drove the car in is Liutenant Binkley, the new medical officer. He knows Dybby quite well from the Hollywood Hospital.

I hope you are having a better X-mas Eve than we are. We are having another terrific sandstorm here, with the tent practically being blown away. Since you are not with me, it makes little difference what the weather is. We did have 3 wonderful days together, and will have many more.

I was glad to get Lt. Binkley to drive the car in tonight, because of the danger of the car freezing up out here. I will have a few hours in the morning to rush up to March Field again to transact some very necessary business.

I hope you had a pleasant and grand time on X-mas Eve and day. I am sorry that world events prevented our being together this year. Better luck next year, Babe!

Well, Elinor, be nice. I will be home tonight (Christmas night). Hope you are well and happy.----

Mucho Love o -----------Al

Those of you who don't know him will recognize in his spirit a little glimmer of Christmas. I know that when I lived far away from Tennessee, how fond I was of the song, "I'll Be Home for Christmas." Perhaps we will all realize how fortunate we are, thanks to the effort--ages ago--of men like Lieutenant Albert G. Dittes.

A few notes.
1. From the tone of the letter, Grandpa will come down to Glendale (where Grandma lived) on Christmas Day. I checked on the maps. Modoc is almost 700 miles away from Glendale, up in the northeastern corner of California, near the borders of Oregon and Nevada. That must have been quite a trip in the days before interstate highways.
2. I'll check with Grandma about the details of this visit. If you want to see why Grandpa was so lovesick, just look at her!
3. I got these letters before Grandpa passed away, and I remember asking him, "Why did you tell Grandma, 'Be nice!' Did you think she every wouldn't?" Grandpa just gave me a funny grin, and I realized that he couldn't help teasing her--even from hundreds of miles away.

Priestly Inheritance: Final Thoughts on the Life of Aaron

The life of Aaron has taken me on a fascinating course through the Bible—it has opened many chapters to me (particularly in Numbers and Leviticus) that had previously been closed. It has given me new insights into the story of historic Israel, it has been a revelation about my role within my own family as a father.

There are just a few chapters left to reveal about this fascinating man and his descendants.

God's Gift to Aaron

I have already written about Aaron's death upon Mount Hor. I want to close with God's blessing of Aaron, found in Numbers 18. This follows quickly after Aaron's rod had bloomed, confirming his ordination as Father of Israel.

God begins by reminding Aaron of his sacred obligation. "You, your sons and your father's family are to bear the responsibility for offenses against the sanctuary" (Numbers 18.1). One can read echoes of Nadab's ecstasy in these lines. "But only you and your sons may serve as priests in connection with everything at the altar and inside the curtain" (verse 7).

With this prologue out of the way, God's graciousness shines through. He had given Aaron God's own children to father—and Aaron had kept the faith. The oil on his head must have burned at the sight of his fallen sons—he must have felt so tempted to rip apart his holy garments and throw off the headplate and breastplate of the people. He had remained silent. He had remained the ordained father of all.

"I am giving you the service of the priesthood as a gift," God says, "I myself have put you in charge of the offerings presented to me; all the holy offerings the Israelites give me I give to you and your sons as your portion and regular share. You are to have the part of the most holy offerings that is kept from the fire" (Nm 18. 7-9).

God goes on to list the gifts: the finest olive oil, the new wine and grain, "all the land's firstfruits…everything in Israel that its devoted to the Lord is yours" (verses 13-14). In fact, Aaron as father will receive the "first offspring of every womb" or rather he must "redeem" them with a price of five shekels of silver. Basically, God is not only telling Aaron that "everything I have is yours," but he is also admitting that "everything I get is yours, too."

This isn't meant to make Aaron rich. He will have enough. His wealth won't be measured in shekels or property—in fact he and his sons are directed to own no property—"you will have no inheritance in [my children's] land, nor will you have any share among them" (Nm 18.20). But in a promise that is breathtakingly generous and loving, God promises something beyond riches:

"I am your share and your inheritance among the Israelites" (Nm 18.20).

Notice the use of the words, "I am," to begin the promise. They are the same words from the Burning Bush. Aaron might have remembered this promise and translated slightly, "God is my share and my inheritance."

This would become Jesus' theme in the New Testament, too. He counseled his followers to keep very little property. Their "inheritance" would be eternal life: "The the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world" (Matthew 25.34).

When I think if my kids, I see how fatherhood changed my priorities. I spent money—and saved it—in far different ways than I had before they were born. More importantly the inheritance I sought—the legacy I wished for—became inextricably caught up in them. Their success became my "share," their future became my "legacy." I wasn't judged any more on my performance as a teacher or a writer—I would succeed or fail through them.

It's a tough order, I have to say, being a father. That's one thing Aaron teaches me again and again and again.

That Inheritance Thing

The seventh chapter of the Book of Ezra begins with a list of Ezra's ancestors

After these things, during the reign of Artaxerxes king of Persia, Ezra son of Seraiah, the son of Azaraiah, the son of Hilkiah, the son of Shallum, the son of Zado, the son of Ahitub, the son of Amariah, the son of Azariah, the son of Meraioth, the son of Zerahiah, the son of Uzzi, the son of Bukki, the son of Abishua, the son of Phinehas, the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the chief priest—this Ezra came up from Babylon. He was a teacher well versed in the Law of Moses, which the Lord, the God of Israel, had given (verses 1-6).

In this important moment of Jewish history, Ezra takes time out to identify his place in God's plan for Israel. He is a descendant of Aaron—but he is not high priest. That role belongs to his brother, Joshua (an account of their father, Seraiah's capture by Nebuchadnezzar can be found in 2 Kings 25:18). No, Ezra sees himself in the role of Moses, dispensing the law and almost single-handedly rescuing the Jewish faith. He rebuilds the law and the scriptures in the same way that Nehemiah rebuilds the walls and the temple. His reforms are effective. Judah never turns to idols again after Ezra, as they had done so often before the Exile.

The restored priesthood would endure in Israel four another 300 years, until the time of the Arch-Villain, Antiochus (IV) Epiphanes, who would interrupt temple services in a vain attempt to Hellenize Judea. Aaron's descendant, Onais III, would prove to be the last of the Aaronic line to serve as high priest. He was removed by Antiochus in 175 and subsequently murdered in 170. The two men who followed Onais were named Menelaus and Jason. These are Greek names and certain signs of efforts to install government-friendly high priests. (Having high priests named Menelaus and Jason would be equivalent of having a Pope named Abdullah or Siddhartha.) The high priesthood of Aaron's line lasted over 1,000 years. And it stretched further still.

An Interlude about Moses' Descendants

What about the lineage of Moses? Last Sabbath I was paging through the book of Judges, and I found a reference to Moses's progeny. It's found in one of those "What the….?" sections of Judges, chapters 17 & 18—you know, the ones where terrible deeds seem to go unpunished or noteworthy efforts seem inexplicable to the modern, religious mind.

An Ephriamite named Micah takes 200 shekels of silver and makes an idol. He sets up a shrine, and he hires a young Levite named Jonathan to run the services at the shrine for a sum of ten shekels of silver every year, clothes and food. The shrine draws a regular business of visitors. Micah even says, ironically, "Now I know that the Lord will be good to me, since this Levite has become my priest" (Judges 17.13).

Business goes well at Micah's shrine. A group of Danites arrive to get a blessing for their raid on the Canaanite city of Laish. "Go in peace," Jonathan tells them. "Your journey has the Lord's approval" (18.6). When the raid is successful, the Danites return to Micah's house, take the idols from the shrine, and entice Jonathan to continue his ministry with them.

The story closes with these words,

"There the Danites set up for themselves the idols, and Jonathan son of Gershom, the son of Moses, and his sons were priests for the tribe of Dan until the time of the captivity of the land. They continued to use the idols Micah had made, all the time the house of God was in Shiloh" (Judges 18.30-31)

True, Aaron's sons are struck down before his eyes. But his descendants ministered in Shiloh and Jerusalem (and Babylon and Persia) for almost 1,300 years. Moses's descendants ministered before idols in Dan for 600 years, or until the time of the captivity.

Aaron in the New Testament

So what happened to Aaron, then? How could the first ordained leader of Israel be a mere footnote—a cautionary tale—for modern Bible readers? His legacy stretched longer than David's, and his descendants' loyalty seldom wavered.

Most sources give Ezra credit for setting up the Great Assembly, a body of priests who would arbitrate Jewish law after the exile. In Christ's day, this body would be known as the Sanhedrin—the very group that accused Jesus of terrorism and begged Pilate for a death warrant. I know of no evidence that Annas or Caiphas were descendants of Aaron—by that time the position of High Priest was based on political considerations not lineage—but this connection would still be a painful reminder to writers of the New Testament nonetheless.

Another group within the Sanhedrin also had a strong connection to Aaron's lineage. As I have shown, Ezra traced his heritage through Zadok, King Solomon's high priest. The Zadokites would run the temple until the time of Antiochus (IV) Epiphanes. Some sources I've found say that the group known as the Sadducees were these same Zadokites, again the conservative, priestly ruling class. These, too, were among Christ's sharpest critics.

So Aaron's descendants didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat for Jesus Christ. Perhaps this is why Aaron is so overlooked in by the writer of Hebrews, whose goal was to portray Christ as the high priest for all. But he bypasses the first high priest and places Jesus squarely "in the order of Melchizedek, not in the order of Aaron" (7.11). It's the only mention of Aaron in the whole book—despite the fact that it covers Christ's duties as our high priest.

Maybe it was the enmity between the first Christians and the last of the Sadducees (who would disappear after the fall of Jerusalem in AD 70) that would color the writer's thesis. Maybe it was the New Covenant—the ripped curtain between Holy and Most Holy Place symbolized the end of the high priest's role in spiritual atonement.

Is the Bible CONSERVATIVE Enough? Let’s make it that way, then

If you're a Conservative, apparently, the Bible has a lot of problems. There's Communism throughout Acts and 2 Corinthians. There is a level of defiance of authority found throughout the gospels. There is unpunished rape in Genesis and Judges. There is also John 3:17.

If you're a Conservative, apparently, this isn't going to stop you. Really, it's an opportunity to reframe these meddlesome texts into something more wholesome. Now, mind you, no Conservative is going to change the Bible, per se. You just want to get rid of Hippie-style translations like the Living Bible, The Message, and the NIV(!).

These are the goals of The Conservative Bible Project, a forum on "Conservapedia—The Trustworthy Encyclopedia" (you have to love the 'truthiness' of that tagline). Citing "liberal bias" as the "single biggest distortion in modern Bible translations" [sic], it sets out a pretty ambitious agenda for bringing the Bible to heel:

• Raising the reading level from the NIV's 7^th-grade level to a language dense enough to impart conservative principles and avoid touchy-feely.
  
• Expelling gender inclusive language
  
• Minimizing passage in Mark and John where disciples are commended for being "open minded"
  
• Bringing out examples of free market principles found in some of Jesus' parables
  
• Expunging "liberal" additions such as the story of the woman caught in adultery. This was no doubt added by 4^th-century "liberals," right?
  
• Hell—get it in there, even when it isn't in there
  

There are other goals for creating a Conservative Bible, too. When you think about it, there are dozens and dozens of reasons. For example:

• There is too much socialism, apparently, in modern translations—why is the term, "volunteer" used only once in the ESV, when "comrade," "laborer," "labored," and "fellow" are used 3, 13, 15, and 55 times respectively? What the Bible—and our economy today—really needs is more volunteers.
  

Is this a liberal addition to Luke 23:34—Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing"? According to the CBP it is, and it is a "favorite of liberals," so there you go.

For would-be translators of the Bible there is not necessarily a need to know Koine Greek or Hebrew, but here is a list of "Conservative words and terms" that you do need to know and that you should use, um, liberally in your translating.

A Conservative-worthy translation of the Bible!!! It's coming online, soon, and no doubt it will have a cool tagline like "The Trustworthy Bible ™" or "Fair and Balanced ™."

By the way, this isn't unique. The King James Version of the Bible was composed in 1616 in part to counter a "liberal" English translation of the Bible—the Geneva Bible which included notes in the text preaching against the evils of kings and potentates. The version of the Lord's Prayer that includes the phrase, "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us," is a relic of that translation.

I don't know, the KJV did pretty well. Who knows, 400 years from now our great-great-great-grandchildren will be avoiding the evils of liberalism by logging onto the Internet to read the Liberal Free Version of the Bible.

High Priest, Father—Same Thing: Thoughts on the Life of Aaron, Part 3

For the past month I have been immersed in the life of Aaron, dynamic leader of Israel, forgotten brother of Moses, the first ordained High Priest. What a wonderful experience this has been, and I have especially enjoyed finding connections between his life—his strengths, his flaws—and my own.

I have looked at God's call to him—which probably preceded his brother's more famous Burning Bush experience—and the central role that he played in the events of Exodus. I have shown him welcomed into the presence of God Almighty, and I have shown the grievous mistakes he made before the Golden Calf and with his sister Miriam's coup against Moses.

At every step of this study I have been blessed by Aaron's example. I have seen in him many of the same frustrations I experience with my Destiny—when my view of myself begins to overshadow God's plans for me as a partner in His greater plan.

This last commentary is most difficult for me to write, then, because it touches on issues most important to me: fatherhood and priesthood. I just can't describe how important each of these roles is to me—and they meet in Aaron; they shine in his greatness and writhe in his weakness. I feel greatly the responsibility I have for raising and educating my kids. I feel deeply the desire to raise them as committed Christians—to consecrate them to God for lives of worship.

When I join Aaron, it is 2^nd-greatest moment of his life, the dedication of the Tabernacle—an event that mirrors the dedication of Solomon's Temple 400 years later. As he has been for the past year, Moses is with Aaron, dressing him, giving him words to go out and speak to the people, reviewing the carefully given directions that dictate nearly every move he makes within this holy place.

Moses drapes straps over Aaron's shoulders called ephods. He connects to them a breastplate with twelve stones. On the stones and on the ephods are written twelve names—the names of all God's children. The stones seem to glow—and it's not just the Urim and Thummim, the oracles of God's will—all the stones shine, for today isn't just an ordination of one man by One God. It's an adoption ceremony: God is entrusting his children to Aaron, High Priest, the only God-ordained title that will exist in Israel for the next 400 years, the only dynasty established through covenant with God, one that will last longer than David's line.

But Aaron doesn't know this, not now. He bends forward, and Moses places a turban on his head. At the front of this turban is a plate that reads, "HOLY TO THE LORD." Sashes and tunics complete the outfit, with white undergarments and a blue mantle.

I want to linger on this image of "HOLY TO THE LORD," though. After all this is the high priest's duty, interceding between God's children and their true father, ensuring their holiness through sacrifice and ritual. But it is more than that to me—it is every father's duty, this duty of holiness and sacrifice for the children God has entrusted to him.

Now think upon the breastplate, the glowing Urim/"blessing" or Thummim/"curse" lighting the way. There is a reason these oracles are on the same plate as the names of the Children of God: Aaron has given up his will in order to serve God's will to his children. In this day of ordination, Aaron's mind and his heart will be redirected as he steps into the role of 'Father' to a nation.

God called me a month ago, trapped as I was in a morass of despondency, and He said, "Study the life of Aaron. This is what you are."

And I thought, 'Are you kidding me, Lord? A high priest? An over-reaching second fiddle perhaps.'

But this is what I am—it is what every father is, and Aaron shows the way.

The Ordination

Aaron adjusts the band around his head. The plate is gold. It weighs upon his brow. "Holy is the Lord," he thinks, he feels, he is. As he moves toward the door, he jingles when he walks. These tiny bells are the signal to those outside that Aaron walks with God—that he brings atonement. In later days, when faith waned, a rope would be tied to the priest's ankle. If the bells fell silent, Israel would know that atonement had failed, that their Father was dead. But on this first Day of Atonement, Aaron's bells had a far more inspiring sound: Father is at work, he is gaining atonement for God's children.

Outside the Tabernacle, Moses raises a small jug of oil to the cloud hovering above, then he anoints the Tabernacle and its furnishings. With the last of the oil, he anoints Aaron and his sons, Nadab, Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar, in much the same way that Saul, David and Solomon were later declared kings in Israel.

The sun is higher in the sky now. The ordination continues. A bull shuffles forward. "Place your hands on his head," Moses directs. Aaron and his sons obey. The anointing oil is slowly spreading down the sides of their heads, and they feel the fur of the beast in their palms. Moses explains that all of their sins are flowing out of them into this bull.

The bull bellows. Moses has taken a sword and cut open its neck. Aaron and his sons kneel as the animal falls, unable to pull their hands away. Unsure of what to do next.

They watch as Moses collects the lifeblood in a bowl, anoints the horns of the altar outside the Tabernacle and pours the blood around the base. Now Moses butchers the bull before them, carefully removing only the fat, which sizzles on the altar's fire. The rest of the bull is dragged away.

A second animal, a ram, comes forward. "Place your hands on his head," Moses says again. Again Moses slaughters the beast, but after it is divided it is burned completely on the altar—a burnt offering to the Lord, Moses says.

By my estimation, it has been two or three hours now since Aaron put on the breastplate and the turban. The sun has probably risen close to noonday. A third animal comes forward. This second ram is the sacrifice of ordination. Aaron and his boys place hands on its head. This time, when Moses collects the blood of the slaughtered beast, he touches it to each man's right ear, right thumb, and right big toe—in much the same way, Christ, at his ordination on Calvary, will bleed at his ears (from the crown of thorns), his hands, and his feet. This time, when Moses divides the portions of the ram, most of the meat is set aside for Aaron and his sons to eat (it's quite detailed, and it's found in Leviticus 8.22-29).

A final anointing—this time oil mixed with blood—leaves dull read smears on the sleeves of the consecrated robes worn by Aaron and his boys.

The mood is somber—the bellows of the slaughtered beasts still ring in everyone's ears. Aaron and his sons must be a strange sight with blood dripping from their ear lobes, oil streaks in their hair, and blood stains on their clothes. "What has been done today was commanded by the Lord to make atonement for you," Moses tells them. Now they must wait at the door of the Tabernacle for seven days "and do what the Lord requires, so you will not die; for that is what I have been commanded" (Lv 8.34-35).

I have often heard it said that 'anyone can become a father.' There is no ordination ceremony to prepare a man to take on this role. There is no list of qualifications a man must have to 'fit the bill.' In recent generations, fathers seem almost expendable—as if the "accidents" weren't the unplanned children that are conceived but the dads haplessly trying to blend a lack of commitment with fatherhood. As society's emphasis of the holiness and exclusiveness of sexuality diminishes, the responsibility and exclusiveness of the father in the family diminishes, too.

Maybe fatherhood would regain some of its luster if it were ordained—as Aaron's fatherhood was ordained in Leviticus 8. What if men had to give up sinfulness in order to hold that precious baby at the mother's bedside? What if men sacrificed something precious to God in order to bring baby and mama home from the hospital? What if men entered fatherhood with the blood of ordination on their ear lobes, their thumbs, their toes?

Bringing a baby into the world involves pain and sacrifice on the part of the mother, after all. When my children came into the world, I supported Jenny as best I could, coaching her to breathe, letting her fingers dig into my hands with every painful contraction.

I made sacrifices, too. After Ellie was born, I gave up a part-time job as a journalist. After Owen was born, our dog, Hero—the "firstborn" animal of our marriage—died. After Jonah was born, my career goals in nonprofit administration were shelved. I know a little of what it means to sacrifice for a child, but I know nothing of ordination.

Yet well I know of the effects that my sins have upon my children. They are mirrors of my 'holiness,' and they reflect my sinfulness as well—my occasional bouts with anger or frustration, those times when "For the Holiness of the Lord" is clearly absent from my forehead, even the sins I think no one will notice, these are often reflected in Owen's own tantrums, Jonah's petulance or Ellie herself shutting herself off away from the family.

For seven days, Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar wait at the entrance to the tabernacle. The Bible doesn't say what they do. They eat food from the sacrifices. They pray. They certainly don't go inside. They wait at the door and do "everything the Lord commanded through Moses" (Lv 8.36). Hadn't God said, "You will die," if they didn't follow Moses's explicit instructions?

The Greatest Day

On the eighth day of their sojourn, Moses returns. It is time for more sin offerings, only, this time Aaron and his sons will carry out the rites—as their ancestors will do for another thousand years. "This is what the Lord has commanded you to do," Moses tells his brother, nephews and all the Israelites assembled before them, "so that the glory of the Lord may appear to you" (Lv 9.6).

(In much the same way, Jesus will pray on the night before his crucifixion, "Father, the time has come. Glorify your Son, that your Son may glorify you" (John 17.1). The symbolism of crucifixion was purposefully intertwined with the act of ordination. While I doubt the Romans realized what they were doing at the time, the writers of the gospels certainly understood.)

Now Aaron slaughters a calf, another sin offering for himself. Now Aaron slaughters a ram, a burnt offering for the people. Now Aaron kills a goat, a sin offering for the people. It is Aaron who touches the horns of the altar with the blood of sacrifice. It is Aaron who places the approved parts of the butchered animals on the fire. His sons assist him. "His sons handed him the blood, and he sprinkled it against the altar on all sides," the Bible says, "They handed him the burnt offering piece by piece" (Lv 9.12-13).

The ceremony builds to its climax. There is no doubt, this is the most significant religious event in the Bible. It is covered twice in the Pentatuch, Exodus 29 and Leviticus 8 and 9. In brilliance, significance and meaning, it far outpaces the dedication of Solomon's Temple in 2 Chronicles 3-7.

After the rites have been performed successfully, Aaron raises his hands in blessing. The crowd of Israelites—the entire nation—falls silent as he utters these immortal words:

The Lord bless you and keep you;

The Lord make his face shine upon you

And be gracious to you;

The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace (Numbers 6.24-26)

The people shout for joy. They are united, they are one—just as God is One. A few minutes later, however, fire pours out of the sky and consumes the offerings roasting on the altar. Everybody ducks. Everyone falls to their knees. A few minutes later, they will rise—in reverence this time—and continue the festival. It is important to remember that in a culture of poverty and nomadism as Israel faced in Sinai, religious sacrifices coincide with the few times each year that people had meat to eat. Their tummies were as satisfied as their hearts.

The blessing is an important part of fatherhood. I've learned that my kids have ways of meeting the goals that I use to bless them. As I walked Jonah to the bus this morning, I blessed him: "May you listen to your teacher and find ways to help her." I've been repeating that blessing (or some form of it) for weeks now, and he has now started to get his behavior under control.

I bless Ellie, and I tell her, "You can be anything you want to be in life, as long as it's a writer." What does she do? She gets onto the NYU web site and outlines her college major (magazine writing) and minor. My children's blessings are limited only by what I'm willing to wish upon them.

That's how powerful the fatherhood/priesthood is.

Do father's bless their children? Do we share with them our fondest hopes or how we have tried to overcome our darkest fears? Do we put our hands on them—I usually touch my sons' chests when I bless them—and confer our wishes and God's wishes upon them? "I bless you, my son, my daughter." Those are powerful words, even today.

This would be a great place to stop—with Aaron the father of Israel, with people rejoicing, eating, partying. It's like the Norman Rockwell painting of the father cutting the Thanksgiving turkey with eager, happy faces of his family looking on. This is the kind of priest I could be: happy and fat, blessing not cursing. But Aaron has a dual role now. He is the God-ordained father of Israel; he is also the father of four boys. These roles will come into conflict immediately.

Nadab & Abihu

In the excitement of the moment—the sound of their father's blessing, the roar of the crowd, the heat of the heavenly fire—Nadab and Abihu enter the highest form of ecstasy. Maybe the seven days of waiting at the door of the Tabernacle has caused this, I don't know. They grab their priestly censors, light the incense, and rush into the Holy Place to offer praise (Leviticus 10.8-9 indicates they may have been drunk). Fire comes down again—or maybe it emits from the Most Holy Place, the Bible just says that "fire came out from the presence of the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord" (Lv 10.2).

Uncle Moses rushes to the scene. He seems heartless. He quotes a previous law, "Among those who approach me I will show myself holy…I will be honored" (Lv 10.3). The specific instructions—the laws upon which Aaron and his sons had meditated for seven days at the Tabernacle door—had said that priests could offer incense only at dawn and dusk (Exodus 30.9).

Nadab, in his ecstasy, had forgotten the rule. Abihu, in his enthusiasm, had misjudged the holiness of the Lord. These two young men, who had only weeks before had seen God and feasted in his presence, had "offered unauthorized fire before the Lord, contrary to his command," and were dead (Exodus 24.9-10, Leviticus 10.1).

What is Aaron to do? Is he going to be a father (of Nadab and Abihu), or is he going to be a father (of Israel)? I'm sure he's heartbroken, seeing his two oldest sons lying dead in the Tabernacle. I'm sure he may even be angry—at them, at his brother, at God.

"Oh my precious sons," I hear him say, "Oh dear Nadab, oh sweet Abihu, oh what could have happened?" Aaron longs to weep, to tear his clothes.

Uncle Moses summons two cousins to carry the body outside the camp. (He gives no directions to bury the bodies.) He tells Aaron that he may not mourn.

"Do not let your hair become unkempt, and do not tear your clothes, or you will die and the Lord will be angry with the whole community…. Do not leave the entrance to the Tent of Meeting or you will die, because the Lord's anointing oil is on you" (Leviticus 10.6-7)

What a dilemma! Ordained by God, Aaron's sons are…not his sons. The people are his sons and daughters. With the anointing oil upon him, with the names of God's children upon his breastplate, Aaron must remember that he serves a greater family now—that his every action conveys God to God's children. No child of Aaron's is greater than every child of God.

Aaron utters not a word. He obeys. He waits at the Tabernacle and lets his family mourn these two, precious boys of his.

Moses seems heartless to me in this episode. Twice (in verses 12 and 16) he uses the words "remaining sons" in his directions to Aaron, twisting the knife of heartache even deeper. I mean, if one of my children died, would I ever want to hear the words, "remaining children"? No way!

Moses even finds another part of the law that Eleazar and Ithamar have violated. They had burned the whole goat instead of eating its meat at the door of the Tabernacle. This time Aaron intercedes. "Such things have happened to me," he begs (I imagine a little desperation in his voice). Moses backs off. There is enough suffering in the Aaron family for this day.

This is where Aaron continues to get back to me. Aaron is a man of greatness, not a man of Destiny. It seems that every time he gets close to the brass ring, he gets stricken. Days after he reclines on the slopes of Sinai in the presence of God, he finds himself setting up an altar to the Golden Calf. No sooner has his staff bloomed with roses than his sister, Miriam, dies. This is the greatest blow of all: the cheers of a thousand blessed Israelites are silenced by the sounds of his sons' lifeless bodies hitting the floor of the Tabernacle.

This is a sacrifice too great—far too great for most men. In becoming a father to a nation, Aaron loses his sons. It's ironic, isn't it? I'm not saying that this is a quid pro quo. The Bible places the blame on the boys themselves for breaking rules they had meditated upon for seven consecutive days. This is a great loss—but a much greater gain.

As I reflect on fatherhood, I wonder again what one gives up to father a child given by God. Fatherhood isn't an addition—adding another room to the house, adding a bed to the room, etc. It is an upheaval that rightly establishes new precedents and extinguishes old priorities. This makes me want to review my life now—and wonder about the time when my kids were born. What changed? What was lost? How has my responsibility grown?

Am I strong enough to see the bigger picture? Or do I want to pull out my hair and tear my clothes at the loss of professional advancement, pleasures (Cincinnati Reds baseball and backpacking for me), and freedom?

Am I burdened…or blessed? Am I harried…or kept?

Do I stumble in darkness…or is something greater shining on me?

Is God gracious?

Do I see the loss, or do I see God's face smiling upon me? Do I feed the chaos of parenthood or sense the peace?

That's what Aaron makes me wonder. That's what his priesthood makes me feel.

I keep thinking this series will wrap up, but there's more. I'll put it together this weekend in Part 4.