Feel the Love

Now that Barack Obama has gained the presidency, the rest of the world (with the possible exception of Pakistan) likes us again. Even during our recent troubles, the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung made a list of reasons why the rest of the world can’t get enough of us. Since some of those who read these words are unable to read German, I’ll provide a list right here, in English, with my own commentaries (after all, it is my blog).

1.     Fashion

Okay, I don’t know why this is first, since Britain and Italy are more renown in this area. And, as any woman in my life would affirm, it’s not my forte, either. I’m told Sex in the City influences fashion and causes women to buy things. Hopefully the current financial crisis will promote savings instead. In any case, the world must like the way we, (well… some of us) dress.

2.     TV Series

My wife and are just finished up the 4^th season of Lost, and we are eagerly awaiting season 5. As a rule, I remain addicted to only one show at a time. The article sites West Wing, Frasier and Malcom in the Middle as some of their favorites. I can only speak to the second, which I like. 24 has kept my attention in the past, and Homer Simpson remains one of our biggest ambassadors.

3.     Rock Music

Amen, amen, amen. True, Great Britain has contributed almost as much (and thus more per-capita) to rock and roll. But in every American town, you can find the love affair between boy and guitar, producing beautiful music, much of which you will never hear. Today’s indy-rock scene is no longer what dominates top-40 radio, but scratch below the surface, and some amazing stuff is growing. Fresh grown rock was noticeably missing from Germany. The FAZ writer mentions Vampire Weekend as one of American rock’s current torch bearers. I’m going to recommend a couple of friends. For some good tunes, check out the Tortoise and the Hair, the Northernness and Andy Matchett. For good measure, the Oaks, are friends of friends, and are quite good as well.

4.     Love for children

Evidently, we treat our kids good here. We do produce some pretty good toys, although Denmark is home to Lego.

5.     Literature

A Nobel Prize judge recently said that no good literature is produced in America. The FAZ debunks this, citing Philip Roth and John Updike. For those of you who have not read him yet, I’m going to recommend Wendell Berry (though I don’t think he would approve of blogs).

6.     Film

Plenty of great indy movies have come from America, but Hollywood is king – and a huge ambassador to the world. As much as the artistic type in us may want to bash it, I’m sure we can all think of a star-studded Hollywood flick we love. I was in Germany when The Last Samurai came out. German critics blasted Tom Cruise’s film as un-historical, saying that its homage to the Samurai ideal would be like writing a film on church history based on the ideals of Christian love. Ok, I have to agree, The Last Samurai was a horrible film, but it does illustrate that Hollywood is often more about the ideal than about reality. Just like America. That may bristle at times, but it is not always unappealing.

7.     The Debating Culture

Interesting that the Germans would say this – they love a good debate, though these are often longer, more abstract affairs. However, the article pointed more to the comedy that came out of the debates – Stephen Colbert, Jon Stewart and Tina Fey. I have to say, our political satire is second-to-none.

8.     Universities

Okay, we do rock the top university lists. I did not go to an elite university, but they do look good on resumes. One thing that we have that many Europeans do not is the campus. Some of the best moments in college were sitting in the grass between brick buildings, playing guitar, reading and talking to those who disagreed with me.

9.     Friendliness

I’m from the south, and there is an appeal to the southern charm. However, I do find the unabashed honesty of the Germans (or even more so, the Chinese. They will honestly let you know if you’ve gained weight since they last saw you) is quite refreshing.

10. New York

Don’t get me wrong, New York is great. We hope to bus up there soon. But don’t let that be the only part of America you see. There’s so much more.

11. Basketball

I like basketball too, but I am homesick for the Michael Jordan era. Now, the most interesting part of the NBA for me is how international the sport is becoming. Indeed, probably the only reason it is mentioned in a German magazine is the rise of Dirk Nowinsky. If you want to try a truly American sport (ask any Canadian where basketball was invented), check out college football. I know the typical European complaints. They stop and every down, the action is not constant. True, but once the action gets started again, anything can happen: Hard hits, stunning displays of athleticism, and piles of bodies all over the field. Moreover, as one college football commentator said on a radio show, football is the only sport where every person is involved in every play. Blocks down the field effect how far a ball will travel. I was in Paris when France won the world cup. But I was also in Tallahassee in 2000 when the recount stopped for the Florida State-Florida game. FSU won, and the victory propelled us into the national title game. A college football rivalry in the south has an electricity not duplicated elsewhere.

12. Indian Summer

I think I lived in Florida too long for this one, and D.C. is not far enough north. Sounds nice though. 

I'm sure you were looking for some more post-election thoughts...

On Wednesday, we were out of the house at 9:00 AM. I was called for jury duty, which meant I could sleep in a little later. 9:00 AM, as was widely reported, was too late for history. I had naively hoped a Washington Post would be available to me, as had many other Washingtonians. The newspaper boxes were empty and ugly in appearance. Newspaper boxes without newspapers look particularly soulless.

Tuesday night, the cars honked; there were spontaneous eruptions of joy as Cable News anchors reported election results. It reminded me of Paris in 1998 when the French won the world cup. Fewer firecrackers, more shouts. My wife and I sat quietly in our apartment watching results pour in. I was quiet, because I was in awe of history.

I wish I had something new to add to all the commentaries regarding Barack Obama’s achievement. I didn’t cry, because I never felt I would be denied the presidency or any other office because of my appearance. Now, less people feel that way. After my work in New Orleans after Katrina, I appreciate this much more.

In the absence of a regular local tavern where those who know my name gather, Facebook provided a guide of reactions to my Diaspora of friends. A man in my father’s church wrote on his status line, “now, when my son says I want to be president, I can tell him he can and really mean it.” A girl my sister’s age wrote, “we have a black president!!! I love my Jesus!!!!” Some of my more conservative friends made expressions between reservation and despair about what they view as an onslaught of socialism in our country. But Joshua wrote a great post on Facebook, reprinted here in Angela’s blog, from the perspective of a Republican who truly appreciates the gravity of these moments.

McCain still did exceedingly well among Evangelical Christians, winning on a 4-1 margin with Obama making slight gains over Kerry in ’04 (according to Christianity Today) on both sides. Both sides have written with such moral certitude that I think it is healthy to read and understand the other side. Donald Miller’s political journey from Reagan to Obama is a worthwhile read. Here is a good article from Touchstone pleading the case for the unborn, probably the main reason more did not vote for the president-elect. If you are reading this, I hope you find these links useful in understanding both sides.

I am privileged to live in our nation’s Capital at this time in history. I am in awe – not of a man; America’s political system with checks and balances help us remember that even the greatest of our presidents are human. Obama is not Jesus, as my very sensible wife points out. Indeed, many may end up disappointed. But on my shoulders, there is enough of the weight of history upon me for feelings of awe. Awe belongs to a God who redeems humans, families and nations. The girl my sister’s age said it best. We have a black president. I love my Jesus.

Beer continues to get religion

I'm taking a church history graduate class right now, so I have been reading much more than writing. Of course, not all of my reading has been class related. Here's a great article on religiously themed microbrews that I found courtesy of the good folks at Get Religion. Enjoy. 

100 Years of Spiritual Guidance in Hotel Rooms

I believe it was somewhere around springtime, when the first warmth opened café doors and bathed the candy red cobblestone of downtown Freiburg with sunshine. The warmth blew secretly through the town like an angel of life, passing around smiles to all of her residents, weary of winter’s darkness. On such days, I wanted to be downtown, where Kaiser-Josefstrasse met Bertholdstrasse and old women bought bread and young women shopped for trendy clothes. One such day, I saw a group of old men engaging people with a special sort of consistency. They wore old suits that were comically colorful – not even the kind of old suit my grandfather would have worn, but rather, the kind of old suits unstylish old men in movies wore. As I approached them, one of them handed me a small book, bound in a cheap, green leather-imitating cover. No question what it was – a New Testament, a gift of love, from the Gideons.

According to one of the blogs on the Economist website, this year marks the 100 anniversary of the group. 100 years of distributing Bibles, without apology, without desperately grasping at cultural relevance, intellectualism or marketing strategies. 100 years of weary travelers knowing an unstylish, comforting spiritual guidance lay in the top drawer, right next to the bed.

In my experience, they use the old translations – King James for English and Martin Luther for German. It is a bit of a comfort-food evangelical outreach, successful through faithful persistence, trusting that if they make God’s word widely available to everyone without cost, the Holy Spirit will deeply bless someone.

It is casting a wide net. I wonder if the old men in Freiburg ever really saw the fruits of their labors. Perhaps they sometimes feel like Sisyphus, pushing the rock up the mountain with no end goal in sight. Probably, they feel more like the story of the boy on the beach, tossing starfish back into the ocean before the dry out.  When told by an adult that he would never be able to save all of the starfish, he smiled and said, “I just saved that one.” I know they did not see me, later on in an Irish Pub between glasses of Guinness and Paulaner (would they have approved of this?), I looked up 2 Corinthians 5 so I could explain to an unbelieving German the ministry of reconciliation in his own language, and how he too, could be reconciled to God.

I don’t if my German friend truly understood it. But what I do know, and what the old man in the unstylish suit knew, in our persistence, was that if you make God’s word available, good things can happen. Reconciliation can happen. Gospel can happen.

Happy birthday, Gideons. 

Peregrine 2

I was back at Peregrine Espresso today for my litmus test: the single cup of coffee. Black, of course – no sugar or cream to to hide the flavor. The music was on today – more Sufjan Stevens, less Rilo Kiley.

The drip coffee is manual. They do more than measure proportions of grounds and water and flip a switch. The filter is placed on the top of a cone/funnel, which itself rests in a hole in the middle of a small counter-shelf. The mug, with the up-side-down “e” logo, waits underneath for the magical brew. The girl at the coffee bar lovingly pours the steaming water, evenly taking advantage of every, fresh ground.

They put this much care into your normal, no frills, cup of coffee. It was excellent. She recommended the Thunguri Micro-Lot coffee out of Kenya, which has a naturally sweet flavor, rich, brewed with the right amount of strength.

Three cheers for Peregrine! If you live in the Hill, this is the place for a cup.

Peregrine's Progress

Ever since Murky Coffee fought the law on Capitol Hill, there has been no reason to leave my apartment for a cup of my favorite dark liquid. Murky still exists across the river in Arlington, but one of my wife’s own hand-crafted espresso with a touch of cinnamon renders the Metro ride to our southern neighbor that much more unappealing.

Don’t get me wrong, there are several decent coffee shops on the Hill, with nice places to sit and lose yourself in conversation or in the New Yorker. But the coffee all across the board is sub-par, even when it is organically grown, fair trade or supporting Christian relief efforts. Generally speaking, the quality of coffee in the district has been disappointing since I moved here. I am not enough of a coffee snob to abstain from the corporate chains or the (blessedly) free coffee I drink at work to feed my caffeine addiction. But considering the significant Ethiopian minority in the District, you would think there would be tastier options. (As an aside, I could simply be on the wrong neighborhood. The Northwest does seem like a better place for a coffee culture, and I know of a genuine bean roaster who goes to our sister church).

Murky was, as they said it, “the best damn coffee in Washington D.C.” Until, of course, the taxman came to the door with a bill to hefty to keep the shop open. It was good coffee, run by genuine coffee snobs who wanted you to love coffee as much as they do.

This weekend, Murky’s long awaited replacement has arrived. I won’t go into the details with their story, but I encourage you to read about Peregrine Espresso on their blog. Coffee snobs have returned to Capitol Hill, in the same cramped strip on Eastern Market. Since Justin is home in Michigan, I thought I’d pinch hit and write a (much wordier) review.

My wife and I missed the opening festivities, but we took time this Saturday come on by. Peregrine means pilgrim, which is appropriate, since we have been waiting with religious fervor for the place to open. As I write this review, however, I cannot escape comparing it to its predecessor.

I have mixed feelings about the atmosphere. Murky had a disorganized since of freedom that the best college roasters have. The workers were a colorful crew of funny, young coffee snobs. Chairs and tables were less uniform. Rilo Kiley (along with an assortment of music that the kind of people who like Rilo Kiley would listen to) would add to the noise of coffee orders and banter, yet would not distract you from your reading. There was the eclectic mix of people that made Capitol Hill on a weekend beautiful.

Peregrine in contrast is rather uniform. The mugs and furniture seemed all selected from the same catalogue. It was generally less colorful, and if there was music playing, I don’t remember. My wife prefers it that way. It has Ordnung. But I enjoy the colorful craziness. That being said, they owners say there is more decorating to be done.

Of course, the disorganization led to drawbacks. Half the time at Murky, I could not find a seat. Peregrine’s use of space was much more efficient and therefore more comfortable. There was room to breathe, room to sit. Hopefully, this noticeable step towards organization will mean all the bills will be paid, and that they will be on Capitol Hill a long time.

Of course, all of this is just window-dressing. What truly matters is the coffee. I regret to say that I was so craving the soy macchiato (my regular drink at Murky) that I forgot my normal litmus test for a coffee shop: a regular cup of black coffee. If they do that right, they will do other things right. I will have to report on this later. In the meantime, the macchiato was superb. My wife loved her cappuccino. It was worth leaving my apartment for.  

Collectivity and Its Discontents

Last night, between saying our final farewells to those “go world” visa commercials, my wife and I sat in our hotel room and watched the closing ceremony from Beijing. Instead of watching the opening ceremonies, we had watched Batman: Dark Knight in the theater, and it seemed like everyone else, from students to colleagues to NBC broadcasters were gushing about how great it was.

The Olympics have been a joy to watch this year. Phelps & company produced enough drama and made me excited about non-league sports in a way I probably won’t be again, at least until I am schlepping my own kids to swim practice and track meets.

Before the Olympics began, David Brooks gave me some food for thought. Or, to write it better, he focused a swarming group of thoughts that I already had by putting words to them (writers I like tend to do this for me). Brooks writes that China is showcasing an alternative to the more individualistic American Dream. The great nation is presenting a vision for a people based on collectivity and harmony.

The closing ceremony, as well as the highlights of the opening ceremony that I managed to see, argued Brooks’ point for him. This astounding show proclaimed a unity to form that the best marching bands could only dream of. Thousands of drummers drummed at once with purpose and power. The dancers moved in grace, the colors were red, gold, beautiful and Chinese. There was no one star, even when China’s most celebrated gymnast flew to the top of the stadium to light the torch, he, dressed in red and gold, was one of many, among drummers and dancers. It was something different than the surprise appearance by Mohammed Ali in Atlanta twelve years ago. Parkinson’s or not, he stood out from us as “the greatest,” and we wanted to be like him, to talk his talk and put our fists where our mouths are. China, in contrast, beckoned, if not demanded us to admire the collective dance of a great, ancient people. Everyone drums, dances, knows their place, and the whole is more beautiful than any of us.

Community is in our lifeblood. We need each other for survival. It is deeply spiritual as well. One of the reasons I am a Christian is that Jesus offers a ministry of reconciliation, based on love of God and of each other. He beckons us to lay our own lives down, as he did, in so doing loving our creator with all we have and loving each other as we love ourselves.

These primal and spiritual urges add appeal to the narrative of collectivity and community. Indeed, ever since I moved to Washington, I have attended a church that is more liturgical than what I am used to, simply because liturgy celebrates community in ways many modern evangelical churches do not. Prayer is beautiful, but it is lovely when we say the same prayer, together, acknowledging that we all need God’s will to be done, on earth as it is in heaven. What could be more pleasing than being one people?

Of course, China is a massive and present-day illustration to the historical difficulty of community. What happens when someone does not wish to confirm to the norms of the community? The collective identity ends with this non-conformist. What if a Chinese person wishes to worship in a church that doesn’t parrot the state sponsored religion? What if he thinks the Chinese claim to the land of his religious heritage was unrightfully made?

I know people who have boycotted watching the Olympics in memory of such non-conformists. Collective identity loses its beauty to those who no longer desire to be part of it, worse so for those who find partaking of it impossible. Ironically, when societies attempt to smother these non-conformists, they either lose the collectivity, or make the society dangerous, brutal and un-livable (see North Korea).

There is much to criticize about American individualism. We do need each other, and we wannabe-cowboys would do well to learn it. However, community cannot be forced. Often, it must be endured; it must be allowed to change us to make us better so that we can truly reconcile to those around us. It takes time, patience and an often-unsavory amount of bearing with one another. A top-down enforced (violently or otherwise) collectivity, where there is only one drumbeat, is not a good alternative.

One part of the closing ceremonies stood out to me. To represent the transition of the Olympic games from Beijing to London, a double-decker bus appeared. Before western celebrities (David Beckham among them) ascending from the bus’ roof, out of the doors sprung a group of dancers, evidently representing London residents. They were different colors, skin colors and clothes colors. Even though there was chorography, they did not move in a way to celebrate mass collectivity. Rather, they crept, jumped, ran and crawled in ways that celebrated a loosened sort of freedom that was noticeably lacking from the remainder of the show. And that I found very appealing.