Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Hold the Boxes

One of the milestone events of my adolescence was the day cable TV came to the North Country. Suddenly a vast universe of TV viewing unfolded before me -- 11 channels, if I recall correctly. Chief among those was Channel 9 from New York (at the time known as WOR), the television home of my beloved New York Mets... the passport to many hours of watching the heroics of such stalwarts as Ron Hodges, Jerry Morales, Tom Hausman, and Mark Bomback.

Later in the evening after the game was over (and everyone else was in bed) Channel 9 presented the Benny Hill Show -- which at the time was considered pretty racy fare, but nowadays would be left in the dust by your average 8 pm sitcom. It was silly & fast-paced, plenty of sight gags, plenty of cute girls mostly standing around (or being chased by Benny), and the teenage me enjoyed it immensely... OK, I suspect the grown-up me would at least get a few chuckles.

I still remember one sketch where Benny played a TV director and the girl playing the actress in the scene -- they never had names -- read her line, as follows: "What's that in the road? A head?" Then Benny as director stepped in and said, "No, no! It's supposed to be, 'What's that in the road ahead?' "

The point, of course, is that inflection, phrasing, emphasis can make all the difference in the world. I found this out to my chagrin from my post of a couple weeks ago. I was attempting to make a point about how, since my wife is a minister, we always have the potential to be moving -- but I feel better-equipped to handle that, if and when it happens. Unfortunately, the way I phrased it made it sound like we were almost certainly moving (already packing boxes, even); I should've known something was up when two people commented on that single sentence!

So in the interests of clarity, I edited that post to make the sentence reflect reality a little better:

There's no way from here we can know when the actual emergency will be, not just a test; but we understand that’s part of the life we’ve chosen (or for which God has chosen us), and we are learning to trust that he’ll give us what we need to make it happen whenever the time comes.

I'm also posting this entry because it's rare enough for someone to read one of my entries once, much less re-reading to catch edits. And also to let you know that if you're saving up cardboard boxes for us, you can take them to your local recycling station.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

The Road to 52nd Street

One of the side-effects of reaching my 100th post is that I spent some extra time reviewing all the old ones. I noticed that I've made a number of references to having a song in my head. I'd be interested to know whether this is typical -- although "typical" is not typically something I even shoot for -- because I can assure you that it happens to me way more than I write about it. I don't even want to talk about the 4 a.m. consequences of practicing the Christmas Cantata over and over and over again....

In that case, I knew why that particular song was my nocturnal plague, but sometimes the origin of such a thing is a bit more obscure. So when I found myself singing (yes, aloud -- don't worry, there was no one else within earshot so it doesn't count as hardcore-weird) on the way to the dumpster the other day, as I often do I stopped and thought, "Where did that come from?" And of course my next thought, because this is the way I've wired myself, was: "I wonder if there's a blog in that?" If anything's hardcore-weird, it might be that.

Since it was late in the afternoon, right after I finished working, I was (a) trying to knock out a couple simple chores like taking out the garbage; and (b) musing over what to have for dinner. Conventional wisdom would suggest -- and by "conventional wisdom" I mean the wisdom I'm married to; "suggest" is, of course, a euphemism -- that meals be preplanned on a weekly basis. I tend to be a bit more... improvisational. Not "disorganized", or "procrastinating"; just... "creative". As a result, I often end up applying that creativity in the late afternoon, with a matter of minutes to both plan & begin to execute.

In this case, the stakes were higher: since it was Thanksgiving week, there was a necessity both to clear out the fridge and to avoid putting more stuff in it. Unfortunately, although we had several lefotvers available, I wasn't sure whether it would add up to a meal. Perhaps if I could pad it out a bit...

... I mean, find a way to round out the nutritional and flavor profile, of course. I knew I had a loaf of Vienna bread in the cupboard; maybe in combination with miscellaneous leftovers, I could call it a meal (cautionary tale: I've been doing that a lot recently, due to various scheduling and, well, "creative" constraints -- until finally my son said, "Dad, can we have a real supper tonight?").

Whenever I see Vienna bread, it reminds me of the Billy Joel song, "Vienna", from The Stranger album -- one of the very first albums I ever bought for myself, courtesy of the ubiquitous Columbia House Record Club.

Ordinarily, free-associating over to a song name like that is all it takes to get me singing it, but in this case the beginning of the song didn't come immediately to mind. So casting about in the Billy Joel vault, I came up with the title cut of the next album -- 52nd Street. It's hardly a song at all... more like a coda to the album as a whole. Remember back when there were albums and they went together in some way? 52nd Street is kind of a jazz/blues-influenced album, and the title song is a short (9-line) piece with a bit of New Orleans flavor. If nothing else, I know I can sing 9 lines from memory; I think that's why it seems to surface so readily.

It's not his best song, or album for that matter; if you check the reviews at the Amazon link above, there's a lot of condescending 'nice try' evaluations. The singles from the album were My Life, Honesty, and Big Shot -- in my opinion, the three worst songs on the record. You can see all three videos at his YouTube page, if you miss the 70s or just wonder what the fuss was about (whatever you do, don't go to http://www.billyjoel.com/, which not only crashed my browser 3 times in a row, but also features a photo of him which reminds us all just how l.o.n.g ago 1978 actually was). You might better go get your hands on the album & listen to the cool cuts like Half a Mile Away, Rosalinda's Eyes, and Until the Night.

That's recommendation #1 -- #2 would be to listen to yourself a little in the coming days. When you get one of those "random" thoughts, or songs in your head, take a sec to try to trace it back to the source. It's terrific practice for parenting, since it helps develop your ability to understand what they're thinking & why... and it's the game the whole family can play. You don't even need a playing board or a deck of cards -- just bring your brain.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Metablog: With a Name Like Random Access...

In the mornings around here, the usual TV-viewing fare leans to the Smurfs and Lilo & Stitch, so it was out of the ordinary when I caught a bit of the Today Show not long ago. It only happened because I was on a business trip, itself a rare occurrence; I was having breakfast in the lobby restaurant with my colleagues, a meal distinguished for me by the complete absence of anyone fighting over which blanket they would sit on to eat cereal and watch cartoons.

There was a small flat-panel TV in the corner of the restaurant, and I confess that even though the table talk concerning the meetings ahead was fascinating and insightful, I found my attention straying to the screen every so often. I could scarcely believe my eyes when up popped Willard Scott. Although Willard was gracefully eased out of his regular weather gig lo these eons ago, he inexplicably surfaces every now & again to do his Geezer Bit. In fact, nowadays it even has its own sponsor, Smucker’s. Each oldster gets his or (mostly) her picture framed by a graphic reading, “With a name like…” as Willard, who’s gotta be fairly close to getting his own picture up there, reads off the particulars.

There’s no cyber-equivalent, unfortunately, but today I celebrate a milestone of my own: my 100th post. Back when I started, my stated intention was to post twice a week, so I’m just about exactly a year behind that pace… but it didn’t take me long to discover that one idea a week was a pretty brisk clip for me.

Still, I’m pretty happy with 100 posts in 100 1/2 weeks; I admit there have been occasions when I wrote something just to check off that week (wouldn’t want to disappoint both my regular readers!), but on balance I’ve written when I at least deluded myself that I had something to say.

On the occasion of my centennial (yeah, I know that means 100 years but it’s the best I’ve got), I wanted to give you an update on a few of my previous posts:

  • Some time back I wrote a piece about the music on kids’ shows. Some time after that it occurred to me that I had completely forgotten to include the one piece of music that got me thinking about it to begin with:
    Actually there aren't too many finer musical experiences of any kind, if you ask me......
  • I discovered the limits on my son’s powers as a human alarm clock: you can’t reset his time. On a previous business trip this summer, I needed to get up at 6 in order to drive to my meeting in time – so of course, the power went out and I awoke at 6:50 with the clock blinking 12:00. So I ended up 20 minutes late for my meeting, plus I woke him up for a change by jumping out of bed and hitting the floor at a dead run.
  • In the spring of ’06, I wrote a piece which would’ve been one of my favorites strictly on the basis of how it was constructed… except the punch line was that I was apprehensive that we would be moving in the summer of ’07. We continued on pins & needles more or less throughout the interim, but in the end we were spared, able to remain in what we believe is at least for the time being the best place for us to be. There's no way from here we can know when the actual emergency will be, not just a test; but we understand that’s part of the life we’ve chosen (or for which God has chosen us), and we are learning to trust that he’ll give us what we need to make it happen whenever the time comes.
  • At the very beginning of my blog experience, when I still fancied myself the next great internet sportswriter, I did a little piece featuring a bit of haphazard statistical analysis and wound up with a prediction for the Mets’ then-newest slugger, Carlos Delgado. I figured that if he followed the trend of previous Met acquisitions and his own career record, he’d end up batting .281 with 30 home runs & 106 RBIs, and an OPS (on-base percentage plus slugging percentage) of .906. The actual retail value of the 2006 season: .265-38-114 (with an OPS of ... .909). I didn’t hit it exactly, but it oughtta be close enough to get me into the Showcase Showdown, at least.
  • In the summer of ’06, I wrote about my son’s fascination with Emeril, and my own envy of how easy America’s Favorite Chef has it (actually, I suppose America’s Favorite might be Paula Deen – or at least that’s how the American College of Cardiology just voted). Well, the big fella’s been dethroned from the 7:30 TV timeslot by Tom & Jerry… and as for me, one day in the grocery store I turned a corner to find a display of clean, white kitchen towels calling to me – enough in the package that the laundry schedule doesn’t pose a significant obstacle. I still don’t have a staff to do the prep or cleanup, or even to hand me the towel, but it’s a start.
  • Just a few weeks ago, I shared that I was increasing my work hours now that both kids are in school full-time. I’d like to report that’s going great, with the exception of the fact that we get dressed out of the hamper now… oh, and dinner a couple times a week is crackers & cheese.

As I pass into three digits, I have to say it’s still fun most of the time, and there are still a few words of five or more syllables I haven’t managed to work in yet. A couple of people have said stuff like, “You ought to write a book,” which they & I both know is slightly less realistic than my running for president, but nonetheless kinda cool to dream about. I still put too much pressure on myself to publish so anyone looking for new material won’t give up on me (hint, if you haven’t already figured this out: if you come here more often than every 10 days or so, you’re just deluding yourself); I’m even more determined, however, as time goes on to publish not when it’s ”time”, but only when I have something to say.

So thanks to my family, and to America’s hotels, airlines, and theme parks, for providing me with such rich material. And thanks to anyone reading; if you’ve read even one of these posts, you’ve done me a great honor. I hope you’ll keep reading & I can repay you with a laugh or an insight; failing in that, please feel free to take advantage of my 100% Money-Back Guarantee.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

The Sermon I Actually Did Give

I occasionally tend to pontificate in this space on matters of faith. It's pretty safe; I have close to a self-selected audience, and they (you) are not likely to call me out even if I say something stupid or obviously false. However, not long ago, I was asked to do it for real: stand up in front of my actual home congregation and deliver an actual sermon. What follows is substantially the message I gave, edited a bit for differences in audience and medium.

If you've read this space with any consistency, it won’t surprise you to know that music speaks to me as much as, or even more than, the spoken word. In fact, I’ve always had a secret dream to do an entire worship service with songs: songs for the prayers, the Scripture, the affirmation of faith, and the sermon itself. I thought that might come off just a tiny bit presumptuous and self-centered, so instead I based the service I did and the accompanying message around the Bible’s songbook – the Psalms. The "official" Scripture passage I used was Psalm 139:1-18.

Many of the Psalms are hymns of praise to God, so they’re a great inspiration for meditating on God’s greatness. I once learned a mnemonic device that helps me pray: ACTS, which stands for Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving and Supplication. And although it can be tempting to skip straight to Supplication and start asking God for stuff… and it’s relatively easy to thank Him for what He’s done… I don’t think it’s any accident that this form of prayer, like worship itself, starts with Adoration.

Adoration means praising God for who He is – for His nature and not specifically what He’s done. So this piece highlights just a few of the attributes I understand to be part of God’s nature. As always, you're encouraged to enjoy the home version of our game: come up with your own list.

Many years ago, J.B. Phillips – who may be better-known as the writer of the Phillips translation of Scripture – wrote a book called, “Your God Is Too Small”. His theory is that a lot of us get a picture of God in childhood and never really grow out of it. Do you know anyone who sees God as a smiling old white-haired man – content to let the kids go play but not really invested in their lives? How about the severe, irritable God who peers out the window of heaven waiting for someone to do something wrong so he can lower the boom? Or the gentle, mild-mannered God who really just loves everyone and can’t bear to hold them accountable for anything?

Phillips’ point is that it’s hard to be passionate about worshiping a God like that. For God to be relevant in our lives, He has to be big enough that we want to respect and honor Him. It always strikes me that that’s the original meaning of “awesome”: not just “really cool”, but “inspiring a sense of awe.” “Wonderful” means “full of wonders.” One of my favorite quotes comes from Voltaire: “If God created man in His own image, then man has more than returned the favor.” Life is hard, and death is hard, and God will be no help to us if we confine Him to the limits of our own imaginations.

In fact, when I’m afraid of the future, it comforts me to remember that God is entirely outside of time and space. Talk about beyond the limits of your imagination…but David understood this. He says in verse 8, “If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there,” and in verse 11, “darkness is as light to you.” I think that speaks to the way that God is unrestricted by time and space.

Think back to the story of Moses in front of Pharaoh. Moses is about to face the Pharaoh and tell him, “Let my people go!” So he says to God, “If I get up in front of him, he’s going to ask me who sent me – what do I say then?” Do you remember the answer? “Just tell him I Am sent you.” What does that mean? Some of what it means to me is that God is always present tense. As verse 5 says, “You hem me in, behind and before.” So I don’t have to worry about what lies ahead; not only will God be with me when I get there, but He’s already there. He already exists in that future time: it’s all present-tense to Him.

Now if you want the perfect example of good-news/bad-news, take a look at verse 1: “O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.” I can’t help but think sometimes that this would be a great place for a smaller God. A God who was too small to know me completely or to be with me always would certainly come in handy once in awhile. There are plenty of times I really wish God didn’t know what I was doing or what’s going on in my head, and I think that’s why some people have such a small God. He’s a lot less threatening.

Of course, what David is trying to convey is that God, as vast and awesome as He is, knows each of us personally, individually. Sports Illustrated has a feature every week called “Pop Culture Grid” where they ask professional athletes some semi-serious questions. We’re supposed to “play along at home” to see how well their answers match ours. One recent question was, “Who’s the most famous person in your cell?” A professional basketball player said, “Michael Jordan” – which surprised me, since he wasn’t very good; an NFL defensive back said, “My mama.” David’s really trying to tell us that we can be in regular touch with the most famous Person there ever was, and He wants to take all of our calls. Remember the Israelites were surrounded by other nations that worshiped remote gods, even inanimate objects – those people knew they had no shot of having a personal relationship with a chunk of stone or a block of wood. They spent their lives making sacrifices to try to avoid being struck down, so this was not just a theoretical concept for them.

Even a lot of people who believe God doesn’t really care about us can affirm Him as Creator – that would be kind of the Toymaker brand of small God. He builds us, he winds us up, he lets us go; after that, whatever happens, happens. But listen again: is that who this sounds like? "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."

That’s not an assembly-line God; that’s a God who has His hand in our lives from before we were born. I don’t think any of us would get up on a Sunday morning and go to church if we didn’t believe that, but what do His blueprints for us look like?

Genesis, of course, says that He created man in His own image – “male and female created He them,” as it says in the King James Version. You will note immediately that this means, among other things, that God is not “He” at all, since he created female in His own image. I have used “He” throughout this piece and much of my writing, and I hope that has not posed an obstacle to anyone. When the English language develops a pronoun that works in this situation, I’ll use it!

More importantly, although we’re obviously not identical to God, being created in His image means that we have some portion of His qualities wired into us: the ability to love; the potential for wisdom; the capacity to forgive. I can find myself excusing my faults by saying, “That’s just the way I am. I was born this way – do you expect me to change?” Well, I was born with all that image-of-God in me too… so I don’t have much excuse not to show it.

There’s been a lot of debate recently – I’ve been reading about it in Newsweek – about whether belief in God makes any sense. Bestselling books have been written about why believers are sinply deluded. Now scientists have discovered that there’s a part of the human brain that induces people to search for God, to seek something higher than themselves to worship. The conclusion they draw from this is that’s why people believe in God, because they’re biologically more or less forced to. I think a better conclusion might be that God made us that way – He designed us to want to seek Him.

I came to a realization about giving not long ago. It’s not obvious from observing a 5- and 8-year-old around the house, but God has wired us to be givers. When you get down to it, it doesn’t make much sense that giving money to the church should be satisfying, or that tithing should be more satisfying (try it and see!). But God has made us in such a way that when we give, we feel pleasure in our souls.

My son has a bedtime ritual with me in which he asks me questions. It’s always “Who made…?” It could be “Who made my curtains?” or “Who made roads?” or “Who made Legos?” Sometimes he asks, “Who made the moon and the stars?” And he knows the answer already, but then I have the holy privilege of telling him, “God made the moon & the stars, and the sun, and everything in our world. He made them beautiful, and you know why? Because He knew it would make us happy.” Because He built us so that it would make us happy.

When I think about the way God made us, though, I keep coming back to a C.S. Lewis quote:
A car is made to run on gasoline, and it would not run properly on anything
else. Now God designed the human machine to run on Himself. He Himself is the
fuel our spirits were designed to burn, or the food our spirits were designed to
feed on. There is no other.
A friend told me a story about getting stranded on the road. She was driving along and the car sputtered, and jerked, and then just died. She was mystified because she had just stopped at the gas station. In fact, she had the pump to herself, kind of off to the side; she’d had some trouble getting the nozzle into the tank but by golly she made it go….

As it turned out, the reason it was so hard to fit the nozzle – and the reason the car died – was that she had used the diesel pump. And a gasoline engine doesn’t run real well on diesel; in fact, it won’t run at all until you apply several hundred dollars to it.

Just like C.S. Lewis said, God made us to run on Himself. We can try to fill that God-shaped hole with a lot of things: sports, drugs, relationships, career, even church. But the engine will never run as smoothly and powerfully as it was designed to unless we give it the fuel it was created to be filled with.

I’ve said this before: we’re all theologians. After all, theology is the study of who God is. Everything we think and do and say every day bears witness to who we believe God to be and whether we feel He’s worthy to take a central role in our lives. My prayer is that each of us will be tuned in to God’s presence and work in our lives, and worship Him for who He is.