Happy Birthday!

So tomorrow (the 14th) is E's birthday, but we decided to have his party last Sunday since we were so busy this weekend. So happy first birthday, our wonderful, cute, mischievous, fun-loving but also serious Son of a thousand facial expressions!

We love you so much, and you have been such an exhilarating addition to our lives as you embrace each moment and encounter even the inconsequential of things with a sense of wonder. You surprise us, make us laugh, humble us, and help us see how patient, loving, and gracious God is to us.

Ordinary Glory

Meteoric snowflakes

Become melting planks

in the eye, emitting epiphanies

of life’s deep mysteries,

And finding divine glory

in the so ordinary

Warm mug filled with chosen brew

Steam facial bath leaves its dew

Frosty windows from which we view:

The landscape morphs before the eyes

As night falls with overcast skies

To end the day we heave a sigh

Shoveling with new neighbors

Stuck cars asking for favors

A good laugh breaks the labor.

City canceled by Wonderland

Making space for Life again

For childish revelry and carpe diem.

Houses slouching speak their despair—

Death-cicles falling, Some roofs giving,

Gutters drooping, ceilings dripping,

By weight of snow, bushes caving—

With the forecast still foreboding

Just hoping for spring in the air

All Earth covered by blanket of white

‘Midst Lent, entombed in frozen night

We yearn to feel Sun’s warming light.

We feel a sorrow, feel death’s cost—

Yet Life beckons, though still no thaw

Like child in womb, Love is not lost

Our dreams and hopes haven’t come to naught

There’s joy, there’s grace—despite the frost

Emerson at 11 Months

So Emerson has come up with this new face that he makes when he gets frustrated that's a combination between wrinkled brow and huffing and puffing. I'm not quite sure where he got it, but it is quite hilarious, and I mangaged to get it on video when he wound up hurting himself the other day.

We've also been trying to come up with creative ways to get E to eat his vegetables and other foods he's not crazy about. He loves bread and cheese, and a number of fruits--even eats whole pieces of bananas and pears on his own. He usually eats whatever we're having too, so he's been willing to try squash, lentil soup, and has discovered he likes meat too. But to get him to eat broccoli, I've reverted to dipping crackers--or even Chex!--into the broccoli, and amazingly enough, he's gone for it!

Let it Snow, Let it Snow,.. Ok That's Enough!!

21 Guns

This past Sunday I watched a portion of the Grammys and was taken aback by the powerful lyrics of Green Days's "21 Guns." The song led me to comment on Facebook that Green Day may well be one of our best theologians today. How could that possibly be? The thought will no doubt receive criticism from many, but I am compelled by the thoughtful words of Phyllis Tickle: "More theology is conveyed in, and probably retained from, one hour of popular television than from all of the sermons that are also delivered on any given weekend in America's synagogues, churches, and mosques." There is often more substance, raw honesty, and profundity related to how we percieve God and our world in an episode of "The Simpsons" or "Lost"--or in this case, a punk rock band's song--than in many of the sermons I've heard in my lifetime.

A friend of mine who took my comment seriously considered the lyrics and blogged about it, suggesting that the lyrics are a fine portrayal of the Christian notion of surrender. I think he's right on target, but I want to go a little deeper . [If you are unfamiliar with the song, the lyrics are provided here -- and I encourage you to watch the outstanding music video on youtube!]

"Do you know what's worth fighting for? When its not worth dying for?" Immediately and throughout, the song is a double entendre, calling for a truce, peace, and surrender, both on the personal level and the political. The chorus rings out, "One, 21 guns/lay down your arms, give up the fight/ throw up your arms into the sky, you and I." It is interesting that, in a culture where many people on both sides of the political aisle are tired of the fighting and death in Iraq (except for, perhaps, the "Christian" company that has a $660 million contract with the U.S. military to build gun sights), in a time when when anti-war protesting is higher than it has been since Vietnam, the idea of personal dependency, surrender, and choosing faith and trust over self-will and self-preservation are not given a lot of air time. This notion of giving up control, of a self that recognizes it is passive in the wake of what comes in the future, of the power of powerlessness, is the distinguishing feature of Kierkegaard's notion of human subjectivity. Kierkegaard offers the examples of Abraham in Fear and Trembling and Job in Repetition, both who gave up everything in a moment of madness only to impossibly receive it back again from Whom "all things are possible" and Who reminds us that "Whoever tries to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it."

The simple question raised by Green Day, "What worth fighting for?" is an incredibly profound question. I wonder how many people in the Christian culture wars enraged over the issue of homosexuality (whether for or against), for instance, have stopped to ask, "Is this worth fighting for?" Are my views on this issue "worth dying for"? Is it in my top 10 (or even top 100) list of theological nonnegotiables?

Still further, the song continually makes a point about the nature of our lives and the nature of faith. We all have been hurt, been pained, been betrayed. The list could go on and on of the things that have been done to us -- and the things we've done to others. Amidst it all, there could be a silver lining, not a reason for the pain and hurt, but a passion that proceeds from it. Green Day asks, "Does the pain weigh out the pride? . . . You're in ruins." And still later, "When you're at the end of the road / And you lost all sense of control / And your thoughts have taken their toll / When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul." We can try to think and reason about the meaning of what has happened in our lives, we can search for answers to the horrors and evil in the world, but such strivings often leave us wanting, even crushed in spirit, "and a crushed spirit dries up the bones," said a wise sage long ago. All of this leads to the profound statement by Green Day: "Your faith walks on broken glass." -- which Paul tells us, we see through "darkly."

Even more could be said. By the end of the song, Green Day touches on many more themes that could be developed such as longsuffering ("And the hangover doesn't pass"), repentance, forgiveness, and idolatry ("Did you stand too close to the fire / Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone"), redemption ("And you can't get another try"), brokenness and disappointment ("Nothing's ever built to last" and "Something inside this heart has died."), and resurrection, or the very Christian notion the life so often arises through death, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes ("When it's time to live and let die." As Jesus reminded us, only when a seed is put in the ground and "dies" that it produces fruit [Jn. 12:24; cf. Gal. 2:19]).

Emerson at 10 Months

This past week, Emerson turned ten months and had some milestones to show for it. Emerson started the week by moving from his baby bath tub into the big bathtub. And boy was he excited!





Now with his fifth tooth coming in, he's moving on to more and more solid foods and learning to eat on his own. We introduced him to whole wheat saltines, and he loved them. Finally, after a few times of trying to shove the entire thing into his mouth, he realized it may not be wise to try to eat the whole cracker all at once! (word of advice: cracker crumbs and overalls don't mix!)
















And to round out the end of the week's highlights, later in the week after Amber gave E a bath and set him on the floor, she went out of the room and came back to a smiling baby. After going out of the room again to find him smiling when she returned, she wondered what was going on while she was out of the room. So, she peeked in while Emerson wasn't looking and found that he had discovered and was delighting in his "malehood"! Yes, you are a boy, son.

Haiti

As I'm sure it has been the case for you, I can't stop thinking about the situation in Haiti, the wreckage, the deaths, the slow progress in getting aid to mourning and poverty-stricken people. I can't stop thinking about how it takes a terrible tragedy such as this to get Americans to think its time to start sending significant aid to Haiti that will finally enable the country to create an infrastructure, how it takes a terrible tragedy such as this to jolt me out of my narcissistic, soulless slumber.

I am struck by mindless comments made by people like Pat Robertson, who seem to think they have a direct line to God, who think tragedies like earthquakes that kill hundreds of thousands of people, have simplistic reasons for their occurrence. And while there have been many quality responses to the "Christian" spokesperson--I was particularly compelled by Don Miller's as well as the bloggers at Sojourners (here and here -- although the cracks by Keith Olbermann are going a tad too far)--I still can't get around wondering why he still has a job, why people still listen to him (no wonder my parents didn't allow me to watch the 700 Club growing up!), how he could fail to realize that most of the people affected by the quake are (or at least claim to be) Christians--missionaries, relief workers, and followers of Jesus living in the poorest country in the Western hemisphere.

Theodicy (our attempts to give a reasoned response for why God allows evil in the world) simply fail. Auschwitz, the killing fields of Cambodia, Rwanda, Darfur, and even Haiti all point to Emmanuel Levinas's claim that we have reached the "End of Theodicy." There is no adequate answer. To try to give an answer--especially to someone who is hurting so deeply--is not only inadequate, it is grossly violent. Could some of those individuals who have endured the suffering be able to find meaning amidst the pain, terror, suffering, and evil? Yes. But it is not our job to offer it to them. Our only adequate response is an intellectual kenosis (Phil. 2:7), a self-emptying of our position of authority and having-all-the-answers and a bending down to help, serve, give, and sy/empathize.

Those who are there are requesting our prayers -- but who wants prayers from a condescending American who pompously "knows" Haiti's condition and what it needs (that is not a critique of Pat Robertson but all of us who think those "poor Haitians" just need America's money, America's democracy, America's hope, and America's direction)? They are requesting essentials like food and water and medical aid -- but even with our ships and helicopters and airplanes we are having trouble getting them there and we cannot successfully do so unless we parakaleo (come along side/help/comfort; John 15:26) them, work with them, and let them lead. They are requesting we help them rebuild their infrastructure, help them build housing for hundreds of thousands of people roaming the streets, and even temporarily set up a martial law to protect from large-scale vandalism and thieving -- but we must not offer these things from the position of the "Great White Hope," of power, of doing it our way, but by offering a humble strength, we can help Haiti become a better place that is still theirs. We can give money, we can act politically and ask the President to grant "Temporary Protective Status" to Haitians (just go to the link-its not that difficult!), and we can pray. We can leave them a "corner" of our possessions as the Israelites were commanded to leave the poor, the orphan, and the immigrant the edge of their field (Lev. 19:9) [You have to see Rob Bell's video on this topic]. But amidst it all, we must do so with a sense of gratitude, humility, and a healthy regard for the Other--knowing they have just as much to grace us with as we do them.

Let us give up our self-guilted sense of being obligated to provide a reasoned answer and act for Haiti--and for so many other widows and orphans and strangers--with a reckless grace: a grace that offers the poor a helping hand without expecting something in return, but a grace that begins with ourselves, that liberates ourselves from measuring up to some unknown requirement of having all the answers, of being right.