Nones and Lovers

I've been wanting to write about Eric Weiner's New York Times column on Americans and God since it came out in December, but I've been busy doing other things, like trying to work for a living and thinking up warm-weather holiday songs. And the truth is, I wanted to give it some thought, because I think it's worth responding to as a Christian. Weiner represents a form of non-belief that is probably more prevalent than the faith of convinced atheism. He's undecided, a self-described "None." What's a None? Well, here:

We Nones may not believe in God, but we hope to one day. We have a dog in this hunt. Nones don’t get hung up on whether a religion is “true” or not, and instead subscribe to William James’s maxim that “truth is what works.” If a certain spiritual practice makes us better people — more loving, less angry — then it is necessarily good, and by extension “true.” (We believe that G. K. Chesterton got it right when he said: “It is the test of a good religion whether you can joke about it.”) 

I suspect that Nones number even more than the increasing number of people who check "none" on the surveys. I bet that many who cross "Catholic" or "Protestant" or "Muslim" or whatever belief are practical Nones, the cultural inheritors of a religious faith without significant bearing on their thoughts, decisions or prayers.

Weiner's "Noneness" is more nuanced than the None who just hasn't thought much about the afterlife between work and family and recreation. After a "health scare", this "rationalist" began to explore faith. In doing so, he went on a literal spiritual journey, traveling the world to sample the varieties of religious experience, which he chronicled in his book Man Seeks God: My Flirtation with the Divine. At this point, I should make clear that I haven't read Weiner's book, and answers to the questions and criticisms  I'm about to write may be found there. Nevertheless, his Times column has made a statement about the Nones' view of religion in America, and it's worth addressing.

For starters, let me say "amen" to the None's strong discomfort with the cross-pollination of piety and politics. While there have been times when the church should have done much more (I don't think Weiner would argue with Dr. King here), and I've wrote here before how unimpressed I was by large Christian gatherings using lots of (self-serving?) superlatives in their marketing. It's the sort of thing that would have made me want to clutch Noneness like a life-preserver had I not already been spoken for.

Weiner himself thinks humor is important, and I agree with him (note my heading). He thinks that "precious few of our religious leaders laugh. They shout." Yes, I hear them shouting too. I hear them shouting every time CNN talks to the latest loudmouth to draw a crowd or some doomsday prophet gets much more media attention than they deserve. But I can testify that while every church will have its sour-faced mice, much laughter can be heard between the pews. I grew up in a laughing family, surrounding by laughing people, and all of them thought you could know the Lord personally and would be happy to talk about it. We Christians run the whole gamut of emotions if you take the time to get to know us. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and disagree with Weiner's Chesterton quote: "It is the test of a good religion whether you can joke about it." Well, every religion can be joked about, and the best jokes come from within the ranks. Rather, it is the individual's jokes that are the test of his own character. Are they capable of joking? And when they do, is it in the right time and place for the best effect? Or are their jokes there for reasons of poison, to prey on the innocent and to build themselves up at others' expense? As some religious guy wrote somewhere, for everything there is a season. If you're a None genuinely seeking God and you visit a church that seems incapable of humor (and I've been there), give it one more week to make sure that your perceptions aren't clouded by a bias against the kind of people who show up there every Sunday (I have to watch myself there too). But once it's proven that the jokes are either unavailable or inappropriate, run (don't walk) to the exit. Bad humor's a good reason to find another church, but it's be a poor reason to try and put distance between yourself and God.

If Weiner has distance between himself and God, humorless blowhards have contributed to it. He needs a new kind of religious leader. He writes:

The answer, I think, lies in the sort of entrepreneurial spirit that has long defined America, including religious America. 

We need a Steve Jobs of religion. Someone (or ones) who can invent not a new religion but, rather, a new way of being religious. Like Mr. Jobs’s creations, this new way would be straightforward and unencumbered and absolutely intuitive. Most important, it would be highly interactive. I imagine a religious space that celebrates doubt, encourages experimentation and allows one to utter the word God without embarrassment. A religious operating system for the Nones among us. And for all of us.

A Steve Jobs' of religion... sounds nice doesn't it? It sounded nice to me until I began to unpack the analogy. I'm a fan of Apple products, and I am using one to write this blog post. But as sleek, hip and user-friendly as they are, they aren't for everyone, as Microsoft's "I'm a PC" commercial slyly picked up on. Weiner's religious space wouldn't be something for all of us. It would be one more niche in a crowded market. Furthermore, high-technology is effective to the point that it is individualized, that I can sit alone in my computer which is my own electronic kingdom, filled with my apps and my favorites and my bookmarks and social networking sites where I can pay attention and ignore people at my own leisure without fear of boredom, pain or small talk. It's straightforward, unencumbered, intuitive and interactive because it's mine, made in my image and serving my purposes and, for the small price of targeted advertisement, I can be as spiritual and unspiritual as I want, I can experiment, celebrate my doubt or my faith with no book or leader to tell me that I might be in any way off base (and if they do, I can simply delete their comment). I can utter whatever the hell I want, because as far as I'm concerned, I'm alone.

Christianity, to my daily dismay and glory, has a different user experience. It involves other people. I go into a church and I sing songs and say prayers and listen to words with all sorts of people. People with the wrong politics, the wrong interpretations, the wrong family traditions, the wrong styles, the wrong jokes. Their flawed behavior is rarely intuitive and often encumbers me. It's interactive, alright, but the interaction involves me putting aside my desires and agendas to meet other people where they are. It can be very tedious and often takes years to fully feel like part of a Fellowship (and having recently moved, I'm feeling these bruises once again), but it is well worth it. To sing and pray together with someone else in the presence of Almighty God... to have actually done that makes it worth it to come back and drink from the fountain, again and again. Weiner contrasts the private and public nature of religion, but his conclusions are too individualistic. Spirituality is private and public, yes, but knowing God is a communal experience - it's community with Him and with everyone else who has taken the plunge. It's there that we "become more loving" and experience "human grace."

I sympathize with the Nones' desire to remain outside all of this. I sympathize, because I detect something in them that I know in myself: a fear of commitment. Let me explain by way of politics. I confess that I find it difficult to commit to a particular political viewpoint. While living in Washington, I knew people who delighted in this commitment. They had strong politics, and they could argue them so well that I would be convinced until I talked with my next friend who had a different view. Everyone was right, and they could prove it. Moreover, the incivility and ill-humor of our political leaders and the media's appetite for scandal and provocation makes me feel about politics the same way Weiner feels about religion. But at the end of the day, I have to vote. I have to check the box next to the candidate I think is best and which statue or bill sounds the most reasonable. If I don't participate, my voice is completely marginalized and I miss out on the privileges of representative democracy.

Much like politics, religions have their loud blowhards and people who take what I feel is an uncomfortable delight in having strong opinions. But the responsibility for my participation does not rest on them - it rests on me. Commitment to God is less like buying an iPad and more like getting married. It's all encompassing, and we don't get to sever our ties when confronted with suffering, discomfort, other people or the fact that it's often us that needs changing. But the reward, and Christianity's key selling point, if you will, is love. Indeed, the Bible says that God himself is love and that all of God's law is summed up in loving God and loving each other. We're invited into this love through an act of love. Jesus died on a cross 2000 years ago that we may experience God's love through communion and fellowship with him, even when we're humorless blowhards with bad politics. The question then, is not whether we have the right operating system. It's whether we embrace Love or none.

Neurotics Like Us

Over at First Things, Bryan Wandel describes “Christian Neuroticism,” which is particularly acute among American Evangelicals given our historical tension with modernity and the impact of the Pentecostal Movement. Bryan explains: “Thus, many American Christians have had their minds wrung by the challenges of extrahistorical standards (due to the fundamentalist response to modernity) while their epistemologies have been strung out on the throes of immediate communication with God. This is not an enviable situation.” (Read the whole thing, for a fuller explanation of both the history and the psychology involved. I should also point out that I knew Bryan in D.C., and was thrilled to see his name “On the Square”)

It may not be enviable, but he goes on to write that it may not be so bad after all. An advantage to this acute state of being in but not of the world is creativity in line with the likes of Lewis, Elliot, Kierkegaard, Solzhenitsyn and Tolstoy. He goes on to conclude:

“Is the neurotic Christian unhealthy? Possibly. But you would have to judge him according to the norms of both his cultures. Moreover, this tension may be merely an enhanced version of the tension that all people are susceptible to when living in a finite, hurtful world. The world is good, and yet it is bad. People are spiritual beings, but find themselves far from God. The Christian neurotic, with the right guidance, might have the best experience to relate to when the world seems cruel and contradictory.”

I link to this, because Bryan provides a good angle on some of the tensions of Christianity that ceaselessly and with various levels of distraction occupy my mind, but his essay gave me two additional thoughts.

First, if modern American Evangelicals have a tendency towards neurosis, then we’re in good company. Aside from Bryan’s all-star lineup of writers, I know that Baptist Preacher C.H. Spurgeon suffered depression, and modern psychologists would have probably diagnosed Martin Luther with bi-polar disorder. We might even see a little neurosis when we read about Augustine’s spiritual search, and while I am insufficiently read in the old saints, I suspect that these tensions are a common theme. In scripture, we find that Jesus tells us to expect difficulties and opposition when we go out in the World, and the behavior of his disciples (gyrating between cowardice and courage, faith and fear, bold commitment and hesitation) is, in my eyes, comfortingly neurotic. Much of Paul’s pastoral instruction seems to be guiding his flock through the inherent tension between the world and the Gospel of Christ (I’m reading through 1 Thessalonians right now, whose message seems to be “glad to hear you’re doing well, Jesus is coming back!, so be good, keep calm and carry on). Then there are the cries of the Psalms and the prophets, not to mention ancient Israel’s struggle to be a people set apart from the pagans. So, I suspect that if we are a bit neurotic, then we are only experiencing what God’s people have experienced throughout the ages, with our own cultural and historical context to give it a different flavor.

Second, other than creativity and possibility having “the best experience to relate to,” I can think of one more positive result Christian neurosis, one that, used well, will benefit the Christian neurotic as well as those in his life: prayer. Such conflict, such tension, such unresolved stress between our desire to see God’s kingdom come while still live and thrive in our own world should cause us to see our insufficiencies and (if you’ll pardon the cliché) bring us to our knees. A prime benefit of Christianity is that we, by the Son and through the Spirit, get to commune with the Father. Prayer seldom resolves our tensions or fills our lives with ease (though how often we wish it would). But prayer does deepen our relationship with God. We drink living water from the source, and in that, we taste richness of the life He has given us.

A Summer Fashion Proposal

I just visited weather.com, and it looks like some afternoon storms are cooling off the DC area. That being said, I felt nothing but sympathy for the residents of my former hometown, who have spent the last couple of weeks sweltering in the hundreds. Here in Germany, it's been in the 70s, 60s when cloudy (Sunday felt like winter in Florida).

The summer months are particularly tough on the men of Washington DC. Women business attire allows moderately short skirts and short-sleeve blouses. This attire can handle the mid-Atlantic heat. But the conservative business dress of the District mean that men, from Capitol Hill to K Street to Think Tanks, must enclose their sweaty necks in a tie wear a suit jacket Amazon-like conditions. Moreover, male business attire ensures that the energy-guzzling air conditioning units of every office, restaurant and government building will be running until every room could house a flock of penguins (with Morgan Freeman's soothing voice narrating their activities. Hey, I'd watch it).

So, with debt payment and spending buts pending in Washington, perhaps they should consider their AC bill, not to mention the sanity of any man who has to walk from his taxi to the Longworth House Office Building as if going through a sauna.

Once again, Japan is showing the way - not just in reliable automobiles and penalty kicks, but in hot weather business fashion. Facing a summer energy crisis after the Fukushima disaster, the Japanese government is encouraging their suit-wearing class get rid of the jacket and tie for a look that conservative-dress purists would deride as business casual. And, really, why not? What's so important about the convention of a long-armed suit and a piece of silk hanging in front of your shirt that you couldn't withdraw them for a season for the expressed purpose of everyone's felicity, not to mention comfort and less energy spending. It may even help politics. Perhaps the current fiscal debates would be more effective, not to mention more courteous, if President Obama and Speaker Boehner were wearing short-sleeve cotton button downs with a throat capable of breath.

Plus, everyone can put their suit and ties back on in October. And in January, to save energy, not to mention the heating bill, everyone can wear fashionable, colorful sweater vests.

Surviving the Commute

I remember reading (or hearing) somewhere that the length of your commute is one of the most consistent happiness indicators. Regardless of classification (such as nationality, religion or social-economic status), those with shorter commutes were happier than those with long commutes. It made sense to me at the time, and now Anne Lowery has done the world a favor by documenting the horrors of the long commute in Slate. She writes, and I second, that:

"Commuting is a migraine-inducing life-suck—a mundane task about as pleasurable as assembling flat-pack furniture or getting your license renewed, and you have to do it every day. If you are commuting, you are not spending quality time with your loved ones. You are not exercising, doing challenging work, having sex, petting your dog, or playing with your kids (or your Wii). You are not doing any of the things that make human beings happy. Instead, you are getting nauseous on a bus, jostled on a train, or cut off in traffic."

She goes on to examine the research that shows the correlation between commuting and obesity, divorce, loneliness and other maladies.

An obvious take away is to sacrifice those big things we want in a house - a spacious yard, fireplace, enough TV channels to entertain the entire population of Tokyo - to pay a little extra for a smaller flat or house closer to where you work. Lowery points out:

"Given the choice between that cramped apartment and the big house, we focus on the tangible gains offered by the latter. We can see that extra bedroom. We want that extra bathtub. But we do not often use them. And we forget that additional time in the car is a constant, persistent, daily burden—if a relatively invisible one."

Not to mention high gas prices. Also, if are an employer, I suspect that employees with shorter commutes are not only happier, but more productive and less prone to that creeping resentment about work cutting into their personal life. I may be worth the investment to pay additional salary to employees who live within fifteen minutes of the office (for the business minded, is anyone out there aware of companies who do this? Would it work?).

In the mean time, more and more of us find themselves living like that opening scene in Office Space where the protagonists stop-and-go through the traffic. If we're unable to make the potentially life-saving lifestyle change to reduce the commute, what should we do? I have a few suggestions based on my experience, but these fit to my personality and may not work for everyone. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comment section.

1. Embrace Public Transportation. I had a long commute in DC, and it was actually a little bit shorter to drive in than to Metro (or in sometimes, bus-then Metro) in. Complaining about Metro is one of Washington's number one pass times, up there with the Army 10-miler and bashing the leaders of the opposing party. But whatever Metros problems, the train system is much safer and much less stressful than driving inside the beltway. DC area drivers are an unholy alliance of important people who can't stop blackberrying, college students, tourists and people with diplomatic immunity. Plus, the designers of the northern Virginia road system must have had population control in mind. And folks say I'm a relatively calm person, but behind the wheel I can turn into a cussing, raging hulk. Even if it took a little longer, riding that train got me to and from work in a safe and more-relaxed manner that was better for my soul. On top of all this, public transportation is better for the environment. Not every town has public transportation, but if it's available, I recommend taking it.
   
2. This leads me to my second point, which is to use your commute to catch up on your reading, pray, catching up on the news, or whatever else that may cut into your home life. One of my old pastors mentioned that he uses his Metro time to veg out. He has five kids at home, so on the Metro, he reads interesting news articles on his iPhone. Vegging out of the way, he can focus his energy on his kids when he got home. In Washington, I had a pattern where I would pray in the morning (I pray through prayer cards, as suggested by Paul Miller his book, A Praying Life, which I reviewed in December) and devote my ride home to pleasure reading. This is more difficult if you drive of course. But if you decide my commute is where I catch up on the news or listen to a book on time, then that's one less thing your hours in traffic will take away from you.
3. If you can, make exercise a part of your commute. It makes sense that people who have long commutes have health problems; they simply have less time to move around. They come home and face the choice: do I spend time with my family or do I hit the gym? One way, of course, is to bike to work, which is what my wife's Uncle Gehard does. Now that I live in a bike-friendly country, I hope to be a bike-commuter as well. I did not bike in Washington (it takes a brave soul to bike in DC), I got off the Metro at a place (Farragut West, for those of you familiar with the area) where I would walk twenty minutes to my office (DuPont Circle). This is not the way to get perfect abs, but it got my limbs moving and my heart pumping ten times per week, which ain't bad.

Again, these may not work for you, and none of these are a perfect answer. But I find that if you can use your commute to accomplish one of your daily goals, such as exercise, reading or simply staying informed, your less likely to experience the commuting hazards Lowery describes. How is your commute? How much would your life improve if it were shorter? What are your commuter survival tips?

Beer, Downstairs

Beer is best consumed in two places: outside, under the sun, at a picnic table with friends or downstairs, in a basement bar, at a small table with friends.

While I look forward to this summer's biergartens here in Germany, my final round in Washington was in the perfect downstairs environment. Two days before our departure, a few friends huddled with me around a table at the Beer Baron, what Brickskeller near DuPont Circle used to be. It's essentially the same thousand-beer bar with some minor improvements in the important areas, such as service, cleanliness and having beers on tap available downstairs.

Downstairs bars should be dark, but not in a lost or oppressive sense, but in a way that is warm, welcoming and comfortable. In such an environment, we check our worries around the same time that the girl at the front checks our IDs, leaving them to choke on city streets filled with cars, haste and the need to be going somewhere. Beer Baron fits the bill. Golden light trickles from each lamp like a back yard stream. The walls are brick. Downstairs bars should have brick walls, or stone, or something that, in the old days, would have looked presentable caked in cigarette smoke.

An important point: where we sat, we could not see a television. So many bars these days have TVs in every direction. Given the American attention span and our appetite for sports and news, I suspect that any bar not bricked with glowing screens puts its bottom line in serious danger. Don't get me wrong; I do enjoy watching sports at bars, with friends, where we can hear each other shout at the players and refs, but bless the bars without televisions. Televisions perniciously distract from what the best bars can do. They allow men to talk, to bond, those two mysterious things we observe women doing pretty much everywhere else. So we sit at our table with delicious, carefully-brewed beer, warm light and bricks shortening the path between our hearts and our mouths.

DC is a city of monuments and museums, green space and French architecture. I love walking around it, breathing in accomplishment wherever I go, being carried by the idealism, the expertise and the ambition. Two days before my departure, however, I left all of these things on the surface. Instead, I descended into a basement to drink beer with friends.

The Joy of a Job Well Done

I'm sure you've had this experience before. You're doing a task you don't particularly care for, perhaps even at a job you don't like, but in all of the repetition, you start to feel joy. You grow in excellence and work quickly, and the satisfaction of a job well done sneaks in like an unwelcome guest at your negativity party.

I don't know whether or not the man who packed our belongings into a 200 cubic foot pod liked is job or not, though I suspect he does. He has been at it for fifteen years, ever since he moved to the States from Guatemala. He packed, taped and carried boxes of books, clothes, wedding presents and baby toys with a sort of gusto that comes from professionalism and know how. He was only about 5'6", maybe even less, but I think he could bench press my entire extended family if they all sat evenly on a metal pole. He was cut. In fact, with his shaved head, tanned skin and action movie physique, he looked just like Vin Diesel.

The best part was when taped up a box. Here his motions were more Bruce Lee than Vin Diesel (though no high-pitched Kung Fu screams). Within the span of a single second, he would rip off a piece of tape, close the box lid, tape it firmly and without creases or bubbles and without danger to any of the box's contents and, with that same gusto, tear off the end of the tape from the roll. He did this with machine-like precision. Whenever I tape up a box, the same process takes me five minutes and usually involves wasting too much tape as the pieces fold in two or get stuck on the floor. I look like a chimpanzee trying to open a jar of pickles.

I stood in the corner, nibbling my lip as I fretted about our worldly goods, wondering if they would all fit in the pod, while Vin Diesel/Bruce Lee merrily boxed and carried. I bet he could have fought 20 ninjas at once. It was a beautiful morning, and later, my wife and I stood outside to see him and his two partners pack everything in. It was incredible. My wife got annoyed when I hummed the Tetris theme song. Everything fit and then some. Of course, the proof will be in the pudding, that all of our belongings make it in tact to Germany. In the meantime, like a sunny spring morning, it does the soul good to watch someone take joy taping, boxing and carrying.

Burns Supper II

This is over a month late, but regular readers (cough) may remember that I gave the Toast to the Lassies at the Robert Burns Supper party my Scottish flatmate threw two years ago. At the risk of being outdone, my sister gave the Reply on Behalf of the Lassies at event this past January. It describes the dating life in our own hometown of Washington (something I'm sure Robert Burns would have sampled had he visited), and is based on Burns' own poem, "The Rights of Woman."

This evening, I would like to read to you my adaptation of Robert Burn’s speech, the Rights of Woman. He wrote the poem for one of the many women he had his eye on, Louisa Fontenelle, to deliver at a benefit dinner. My version takes a slightly different approach, though one I believe our poet would have approved, to reflect the places and the means by which DC’s men and women carry out their romantic affairs. Please feel free to follow along on the papers provided, and then keep them for personal reference in the future.

DC’s Romantic Undertones

An Occasional Address

While the Nation’s eye is fixed on mighty things
The fate of health care and the fall of left wings
While quacks of State must each produce his plan,
And even children lisp Afghanistan
Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,
DCs romantic undertones merit some attention.

The first, in the sexes’ intermixed connection
Happens in the heat of presidential election
The tender flower, who delivers her debate
Makes helpless the man, and seals his fate
He may think partisanship renders their nexus a fling
Until it’s yearly rekindled at State of the Union bing-o.

The second connection – but ladies please take caution –
WMATA can offer the most thrilling option
Each man who embarks on his morning commute
Can be sure he’s observed and deemed unattractive or cute
There are, indeed, several different types
From politician to hipster, a lass can choose what she likes
Furtive glances over the top of a book
Shy smiles, batted lashes, sweep him away with a look
Now, foolish man, if you choose not to act
It is only your loss, for she’ll keep her posture in tact,
She doesn’t fret (though you find yourself quite the catch)
For at the next stop, there’ll be a whole new batch.

Our third and our final, could happen to any Washingtonian,
So never underestimate what could happen at the Smithsonian.
A man who gazes at the Hope Diamond so bright,
Or a woman “admiring” the work of the Wrights
Neither is present for their respective exhibits
There’s only one goal, and that’s to gather some digits
As on the train, the same tactics apply,
A smile, a wink, a flirtation, a sigh.
Whenever we use our museums to charm
It takes only a moment for us to completely disarm.

So in a city split upon party lines,
With do-gooders and cynics, and many great minds
To what really unites us we must all raise our glasses
And toast the romance, the seduction, of DC’s lads and lasses.

List Nauseum

The following is my end of the year list. Now, before you navigate back to your Facebook page, let me at least say that this list is different then all the other lists you've read. For starters, Kanye West's new album is nowhere on it.

First an introduction (no seriously, don't go to your Facebook page just yet). My favorite end of the year list is David Brooks' annual "Sidney Awards," where Brooks' mines the best magazine essays (this was a particular gem) of the past twelve months. I would like to do something similar, but with my own twists and biases. I would like to introduce you to my friends. At least some of those who have an online presence. I want to highlight their best 2010 writing to bow out the year. I found their words edifying, and I suspect you will as well. Trust me, it'll be worth the time, as you recover from your New Years party, college football in the background.

Following Christ is a growing-up process that involves and a lot of falling and a lot of grace. It often feels clumsy, Spiritual Klutz is a weekly reminder, via personal stories, of grace and redemption - big, small and always relatable. If you are new to Spiritual Klutz, I highly recommend his series about forgiving his father. However, if his own statistics are any indication, I suspect what you're really interested in is the series on singleness.

Hyde Park Heroes follow E. (or is it L.?) and her husband M. as they take on the Second City (that's Chicago, if you're still wondering). Working in an urban non-profit, E. (or is it L.?) has a good word, with links to resources, on poverty and Christianity. Or, for something more light hearted, you can read about their trip to Chinatown, where the fish are, somehow, worse than the Washington Monument.

With Clearspring taking off (become a customer by clicking the orange button with a plus sign to the left of this page), Justin has not put a lot of updates on the Oatmeal Stout blog (c'mon buddy, pick up the slack!), and the last update to his food blog was written by a rather untrustworthy guest. I can, however, recommend his relatives. In fact, Via his dad's blog, you can read about a family who embraces the online life. Plus, his future wife has a great blog on art, craft and small business.

If there were any good spiritual ideas on Un Till, I probably got it elsewhere. Take a moment to check out my pastors' new blog, or learn all about my father's church in O-town.

Finally, no Kanye, but I do have some musical recommendations for you. Ben is back in Washington and writing some great indy rock. (You should also check out his wife's, Lauren's, paintings) Crowds and critics eagerly anticipate Wendell's new album in 2011, but you can preview his new stuff via YouTube (for example). Tortoise and Hair made in on the radio with a great series of interviews and songs. These videos brought back plenty of fond college memories (I lived with the Tortoise during my junior year).

If I left you out, it's because I forgot, so forgive me for goofing. Go ahead and link to your blog in the comment section. Plus, I'd love to meet the online versions (and maybe even the real versions) of your friends. It is, of course, different than meeting them in person. But if read an essay or listen to a song written for art, processing or fun, you will know a part of an author you may have otherwise not discovered. Send me your recommendations. I hope you had a great 2010, and I wish you blessings, peace and God's love in 2011.

Prayer

Whenever I lead worship, it helps me forget myself and my performance and truly sing in praise (which is the first job of a worship leader) when I see someone close their eyes, lift up their hands and remember they are in the presence of a powerful God, a loving Father. There's a little girl in our church, not yet three years old, who dances with delight to the music. She reminds me why I'm up there. Now, she is gravely ill and immobilized.

If you are the praying type, please pray for Aubrey and her family. And if you're not the praying type, now's a good time to become just that. You're welcome to join us.

Anniversary

But of a somewhat different kind.

Three years ago today, clueless, plan-less, ring-less and scared... well you know, I brought the woman who would become my wife to the National Arboretum and asked her to be my bride. It was not one of those well-planned superhero engagement stories involving trips to the Statue of Liberty or rooms filled with flower pedals and candles. It was the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, and the excursion was spontaneous and made us late for church. We did bring fizzy water, cheese and crackers.

In many ways, this was more significant than our wedding almost seven months later. This is not to downplay our wedding of course. At our wedding, we publicly promised God that we would love, honor and cherish one another, until death do we part. Then God bound us together, and we became one; let no man tear us asunder. But our engagement represented a step out of myself, and into a life giving love that I had no evidence I was capable of giving our receiving. I would have to trust God. Let me testify: in three years, he has come through.

God did not leave me to make this step alone. There were many who loved me, prayed for me and helped me in word and deed. My parents, of course. My team in Freiburg that second year: Sarah, Joshua, Andrea, Tristan, Emoe, Teeniebopper and Matt. In Orlando, there was a church, and co-workers, especially my boss Rick. Moving to DC, God led me to an oasis of friends and cojourners. Ben, Justin, Paul, Miriam, Jeff, Carolyn, Betsy, Marcus & Fiona, Livingston, George & Jeanette, Becca, Laura and too many more to name. Forgive me if I forgot you. Especially, of course, my pastor Dan and his wife Elise. Dan has put many stray men back on the right path at these critical times, and I am no exception.

Today I looked at my absolutely enthralling daughter and realized, without this moment, this God intervention, this inciting incident, this redemptive plan, she would not even exist. Above and beyond that, I am married to a wonderful woman who sees past the flaws, the sin, the insecurities and the unfinished personality, and she truly loves me. And, indeed, she is lovely.

Ich liebe Dich, Schaetzle...

Searching for David

Last weekend's "Restoring Honor to America" rally, sponsored by Glenn Beck to promote his brand of faith, hope and charity continued a train of thought I've had for awhile now. What first made me want to blog about it (by which I mean the train of thought, not the rally) was Mel Gibson's bile-filled and inducing tirade, which we all learned about earlier in July.

You see, a few years ago, as he promoted The Passion of the Christ, he became the latest David for much of the Christian world. Like Israel's anointed king of old, he was our champion, casting rocks of truth at the cultural giants who have dominated for too long. I admit, with so many movies and plays about Jesus ranging in quality from poor to cheese, it was gratifying see a Jesus film of Hollywood quality craft - from acting to cinematography (the Aramaic/Latin was a nice touch too).

There was criticism, as you'll remember. The violence of torture and crucifixion was excruciating - an acquaintance called it "violence pornography." This didn't bother many of us - I've heard Good Friday lectures in which medical experts described, in graphic detail, the effects the process had on Jesus' body - every whip, nail and thorn. More to the point, each Sunday, I eat His flesh and drink His blood. Whenever the Lord's supper seems mundane in its familiar bread and wine, I remember the the expression a Chinese woman once made when I explained it to her. We both were in Germany at the time, and she knew nothing of Christianity, and her face contorted in surprise and disgust at such barbarism. Remembering the crucifixion, in all its barbarism, and the dark reality that it was in my place, remains a serious act of worship. Gibson may have taken it further than history or taste would have allowed (I do agree, he showed more than he needed to), but I wonder how many of these critics were so bothered by, say, Quentin Tarantino's flicks.

The more serious criticism was that of anti-semitism. I've never personally known a Christian who has promoted anti-semitism, and I was raised, along with many Christians, with a deep respect for Jewish people, not to mention a real awareness that all of our Biblical heroes were Abraham's descendants. However, many of us, myself included, were ignorant to the extent of which European passion-plays promoted anti-semitism, often to violent ends. Many Jews, of course, were not ignorant of this, and the Passion brought much darker collective memories.

Gibson, to defend his film, played the David, rallying conservatives and Christians alike to his cause. Friends of mine attended an event in his honor in Orlando, where local church leadership asked if they could pray and fast for him. Gibson, with a twinkle in his eye, jumped from his seat and said, "ok, nobody eat until the film comes out!" Whatever his original intentions, the Passion broke out into another culture-war battle, which only advantaged the film. Gibson was on the front line, a David on our behalf, throwing what we saw as stones, taking what we saw as slander.

Davids disappoint. Mel Gibson's marriage unraveled a couple years later, and gossip photos showed him drunk at parties with models in each arm. His inebriated, anti-semitic rant to police, seemed only to confirm the critics' view of his film. Then, to their delight, came the rant his second ex recorded this summer. Whether the tapes were fabricated, or whether he was just crazy, it put the nail in the coffin of his Hollywood career (so it seems), not to mention his role as anointed culture warrior.

Sounds familiar doesn't it? Actors, rock stars, presidents, prominent pastors - so many have been given the David mantle by excited evangelicals praying for the tide to turn. I've been caught up in it before, and I am not completely over the temptation not to get caught up again. I know I would hate to have that role myself - to have the hopes of Christians everywhere depend on my personality, decisions and ability not to sin. Of course, we know that the original David screwed up royally. (In fact, since he was king at the time, I wonder if that's where the phrase screwed up royally came from? Maybe the prophet Nathan coined it) This man after God's own heart committed adultery, covered it with murder, and set up a chain of events that led to bloody rebellion and civil war. He came through in the end, but what a cost.

David repented, privately and publicly. I hope that Mel Gibson will too, without the meddling of a PR team.

In the meantime, thousands of Americans marched on Washington this past weekend for an ecumenical church service of vague patriotic spirituality. Fortunately, this has caused some soul searching among Christians these days as many point out that whatever Glenn Beck is selling, it's not Christianity. But for others, he's wearing a heroes mantle, throwing rhetorical stones at perceived enemies, even as they throw back.

We look for heroes, but there is only one Anointed One who can bear that cross. We Christians, whether or not we stand in the light of cultural attention or political leadership, should honestly seek to emulate Him. Jesus is the hero of our story. Let's seek him first and stop searching for David.

Time to Shine

My wife and daughter are in Orlando visiting my parents (I'll join them later this week), but that means I am on my own for tonight's church potluck. And, for the first time in my church's history, my name is in the "main dish" section. I decided that I will not be picking up a bucket of chicken on the 8th street Popeye's, I am making a dish. That's right. I am making it, and then I am going to bring it.

The dish? Cucumber sandwiches.

The ingredients?

1. A skinned, slice cucumber (the one my wife left instructions to eat by tonight or it will go bad)
2. Cream Cheese - the brand of a local grocery
3. Spongey sandwich bread - my wife got it for free at a grocery store for some promotion. It should be good for cucumber sandwiches - or so I thought.
4. Seasoning - generous portions of dill, salt and pepper.

Hey, these are pretty much all we have in the house that my wife did not lovingly plan for me. (As I write this, I am thawing an enchilada)

The results?

Well, spongey sandwich bread is terrible for spreading cream cheese. I put everything together, and it tastes ok, but each sandwich looks like it's been in a cat fight. I loving cut them up, but I did not remove the crust. My mother did not remove the crust for me, and I will not do it for you.

I admit, I am a bit embarrassed to take these wounded sandwiches to church. This is a city that expects excellence. But if we can't take our little offerings to church, where else?

...But Can Parents Be Fun?

How can we be parents without disengaging from the rest of the world? Or, more specifically, my DC community of friends, who in so many ways are social, emotional, mental and spiritual life-blood. Also, the enriching activities ever-present in this city of idealism, politics, energy and mixed drinks?

I have been thinking about this ever since parenthood snuck up on us a year ago. I think about it with every e-vite I reply, "no," every invitation I sheepishly deny, rarely because I do not want to, but because it simply ain't happening. I have been thinking about it with good friend and fellow new father Joshua, who thoughtfully wrote about it earlier. It was in the back of my mind when I insisted that babies are fun, where I joked (not without a tinge of pain) about things this somewhat young, higher-education desiring, hopefully thoughtful internationalist and europhile is missing out on. In her comment called me out. I haven't taken her to the local coffee shop as much as I envisioned.

Make no mistake, the baby is worth it. And I stand by everything I wrote about her being fun. I would never, never trade her for things that I miss. But it's hard not to be aware of these things. Things that conflict with our baby's sleeping and eating schedule. Things we would have gone to had she not been in such a foul mood. Heck, things we would have done had her parents not been in such a foul mood. I know we're not alone.

The other day, a seasoned parent (by our church's standard, at least) emailed the mom's for our church lamenting the fact that she has not been to one of our evening (and only weekly) services for such a long time. Her son's sleep schedule corresponds the time we say the Law and confess our sins. I hope they can still come. They are on my ever-lengthening list of people who I wish I see more of. But if they can't, I understand. All sorts of things can be isolating, and parenting is no exception.

So - my childless friends, let me just say we need you. Here are a few ways you can help.

1. If we ever look anti-social at a party or after church, it is not because we do not like present company. When you are different, it feels different (and yes, this applies of every sort of minority, and I know many differences, especially in church, are a heck of a lot harder for a lot of other people), even if that difference is carrying mini-me in a baby carrier. I love it - my baby is my bling and I get all sorts of attention. But if I am not careful, I can let that difference undermine our unity, and I need your help to prevent this. Come say hello, and offer to hold the baby. You know you want to hold the baby. It is good for her to be passed around and to get to know other people. Talk with us, let us know how we are going to pray for you (because who knows when we will see you again) or what is new in your life. We think about all of you, and stalk you on Facebook while holding our baby.
2. Keep those e-vites coming. You may have given up on us by now. Don't. Our positive response rate to e-vites must be around 5%, I know. We want to come, and occasionally we will have the gumption and energy to do so. When the time comes, we want to be able to.
3. Visit us. I know - my wife got pregnant and we moved to the burbs. We're not in the hip, gentrified downtown anymore. Getting here without a car requires a bus. Even so, know that you are welcome. Diana and Daniel from our Bible study came by, and our conversations were a small re-discovery, something we experience whenever folks brought food those early weeks and stayed to talk. Life is worth sharing. It's wonderful sharing everything in marriage, sharing much in childhood, and sharing the parts that fill the minutes and hours with all of you.

Resurfacing

My work commute was temporarily changed so that I rode the Metro to Crystal City for a few mornings this week. While it is no fun changing trains at L'Enfant Plaza, which must be built close to one of the sweltering outer circles of hell, I got to make the trek with my wife, whose regular workstation is Crystal City. The morning commute is easier with a hand to hold.

The other nice thing about the trip is that, as any DC resident knows, the Yellow Line train goes over the Potomac instead under it (as the Blue and the Orange line do between Rosslyn and Foggy Bottom). We, the morning passengers, rise out of our darkened journey to be reminded of the world - a flowing river, greenery, DC's beautiful skyline and Arlington's less beautiful. We resurface from our newspapers, blackberries and blank stares to see sunlight, touching beauty, making it softer and more beautiful. It is a small but meaningful pleasure, before 8 AM, on our way into white walls, florescent lights, air conditioning and computer screens.

Food Blogger

Justin has a new blog about food - always one of my favorite subjects. He even has the occasional guest writer...

Want to Work in Politics? Put on Your Uniform!

In Federalist 10, James Madison wrote, "the latent causes of faction are thus sewn into the nature of man," and he went on to argue for the creation of a Republic to render all factions "subservient to the public good." Living on the Capitol's back porch, I get to witness competing factions of all sorts.

What Madison could not have foreseen is the advent of 24-hour news, the Internet and social media to make politics so entertaining. Indeed, political theater has become like sporting events. With so much exposure, it may be difficult for the average fan to turn on C-span, CNN or YouTube to figure out who is who. I therefore propose a new regulations for our factions. Taking a cue from our friends in the sports world, I say that all political players should wear uniforms.

Most DC politicos wear drab, conservative suits. Under the new rules, Republicans (politicians and their staffers) would wear bright red suits and Democrats would wear bright blue suits (red and blue being the media's colors for the respective parties). The Green Party would, of course, wear green, and independents purple. Smaller parties would have to choose their own colors, (provided they choose ones who are not already taken) perhaps with the help of public relations agencies.

This would not stop with political parties, however. Special interests would have to wear their own uniforms. The pharmaceutical lobby, and for that matter any special interest group related to health care, would wear long, white doctor's coats and stethoscopes around their necks. Likewise, patients advocates would don hospital gowns. Lobbyists for the defense industry should dawn second-hand army uniforms and camouflage face paint. Auto industry workers should wear mechanics jump suits with the name of the car company they represent embroidered on the upper right-hand side. Tech lobbyists would dress like my friends in the tech community - trendy jeans, clever t-shirts and flip flops. The farm lobby, of course, would dress like the couple in the American Gothic.

You get the idea. Foreign diplomats would wear the traditional clothes of their native countries. Religious advocates would don the appropriate vestments. Peace advocates would dress like hippies (as some already do). All in all, these uniforms would enhance the entertainment value for the viewing public, as they watch the factions compete for their share of the public good.

Best of DC

Hey DC residents - don't forget to vote in the Washington City Paper's "Best of D.C. 2009." I especially think you should give some love to our own Peregrine Espresso.

Yancey on the Election

A couple of months after the fact, Philip Yancey offers his reflections about the election of President Obama and the complicity of Evangelicals in racism (something he writes more extensively about in his book Soul Survivor). Living in Washington, I especially appreciate his last statement:

"Some evangelicals are wringing their hands about losing access to the corridors of power. Maybe it's time for us, too, to work from the bottom up."

Capitol Hill Pleasures

I hope most of the 2 million strong who visited D.C. for President Obama’s historic inauguration took a moment to step east of the Capitol Building. The visitor walks between the colored brick row-houses of Capitol Hill, stepping into a couple centuries of history, roots and side streets. I’ve heard other Washingtonians still dismiss it as “the ghetto.” Just rumors – no one I know personally. It’s baloney. The neighborhoods become poorer the further one steps away from the Capitol, and it does have the same sort of crime and socio-economic problems of any American urban center. It is well worth the visit, and it is the closest path to residential Washington from the museums and monuments.

Should you come to visit, I hope you will be more courageous than these wimpy Washingtonians, too scared to venture behind the Library of Congress. As you work your way southeast down Pennsylvania Ave., let me share with you some of my Capitol Hill pleasures (in no particular order):

1) The “Barack Obama Burger” from Good Stuff Eatery – I never watched Top Chef before Spike moved to town. I watched a couple of times afterwards and did not enjoy it (there’s too much pride and gossip in real life; I don’t need to watch more of it on TV). However, I hope they keep producing great restaurants. Good Stuff Eatery features some amazing burgers. Spike’s chef senses provide a unity of spices between burgers, fries and other sides, but he does not let that get in the way of the delicious, sloppy mess that a burger is supposed to be. The Obama burger, which featured heavily in the election and was special for the Inauguration is my favorite so far.

2) Soy Macchiato from Peregrine Espresso – best coffee on the Hill, and the Soy Macchiato is without a doubt my favorite drink. The Barista will even draw you a heart in the foam.

3) The Biergarten at Café Berlin – My wife points out that those northern Germans don’t understand southern German cooking. But on a hot Saturday afternoon in the summer, there is nothing better than a half-liter Hefeweizen with a lemon. (A pleasant fantasy during winter)

4) Used books at Eastern Market – I never read Emily Dickinson at school, and my inner lit-nerd (shy little fellow) was not developed enough in college to check out her works in the library. I’ve only heard her referenced, well, pretty much all my life, and this was enough to get me to shell out a couple of bucks to the ornery old man at Capitol Hill Books. Was your liberal arts education lacking, in any way? Stop by and read up.

5) The Chocolate Croissant at Le Pain Quotidien – I realize this European style bakery is not unique to Capitol Hill, or indeed D.C., but it is certainly welcome. If you have been anywhere in Francophone Europe, the bread, and the Chocolate Croissants, are simply better there. LPQ brings European delights to Capitol Hill.

6) The fajita platter at La Plaza Restaurant – Coming from a warmer climate, I had a hard time finding good Mexican food in Washington. La Plaza makes for mighty fine dining though. My wife and I like to split one of the fajita platters and a side. The salsa itself is amazing.

7) Church of the Resurrection Church service – Many people do not associate church with pleasure. If this is the case for you, then I suspect you have not experienced true spirituality, at least while sitting in the pews. Now let’s be clear about definitions: Church pleasure is not Las Vegas pleasure. It’s something more patient, and it usually comes through waiting or brokenness, not through immediate gratification. It’s more in the ballpark of the pleasure of thinking about an old friend, or allowing a baby to grasp your index finger, or hearing the silence of nature after being in the city for too long. When it comes through brokenness, church pleasure involves the pain of repentance or forgiveness, but this will lead you to a deeper understanding and love of both God and neighbor. And this will give you deeper pleasure of a longer lasting stock. Rez services are long, but I suspect most of us who attend know that true pleasure in worship takes awhile to achieve. It usually takes me a journey through songs, prayers, scripture, sermons and finally to communion to reach that point. If you have not experienced this, I encourage you to come in, kneel, sing, listen, repent, believe, eat and drink. This kind of pleasure is worth the wait.

These are some of my Capitol Hill Pleasures. What are yours?

The Girl with Green Hair

Between the conservative suits of Washington, DC, the charcoal pants, the long black coats hiding lightly starched shirts and respectable ties, walked a girl with green hair. It was punk-rock green, the kind I saw in London, the kind I saw in high school. She had light, faded thrift-store jeans, and a short coat that clashed with her green hair (though I forget what color the coat was). No one had yet told her what everyone in Washington, DC knows. For the cause, for the campaign the last thing anyone needs is a coat that is not black. We need long black coats to cover our flawless suits. We need good posture, smooth faces for men and tasteful makeup for women. We need immaculate shoes that will never go out of style but bought new every time. We need tans without wrinkles and Hollywood teeth.

We need stylish hair of natural-looking colors. Certainly not green hair.

(Thank you for looking a little bit different, girl with green hair.)