Baby Grow Day

Helping someone do nothing has never been so much work.

Eva, my six-week-old daughter, has been having a rough day. Perhaps she's entering a growth spurt, perhaps she's overwhelmed with all the new things she's learning, perhaps she's just cranky. She won't sleep or stay awake. I check her diaper; that's not the problem. She won't stand to be put down, but doesn't seem to be satisfied with being held or rocked. She's just fussy - no matter what, just fussy.

It is all I can do to soothe her for a little while, in between outbursts of crying or squirming. If I can manage to keep her asleep for an hour or two, that is an accomplishment. It seems like I'm trying to help her do nothing.

Except that I realize that she's never really doing nothing. Even at rest, asleep and still, she is growing - working harder at these semmingly simple things than I do at some of my hardest work. By helping her be still for a while, it lets her body and her mind catch up to each other, lets her wrap her head around things. It isn't when she's active, but when she is at rest that she is growing.

Perhaps there's a lesson in this for me: we often help each other grow most when helping each other do nothing in particular at all. At surprising moments when we're working on other things, or when we're in one way or another asleep, quiet and unconscious, disparate parts of ourselves are working to catch up with each other, to make sense of the world as we're encountering it. Perhaps, as a parent, friend, teacher or minister, sometimes the best thing we can do is just help each other to step back, take a break.

Even now, in the time it has taken me to finish writing this, Eva has woken up from a nap, and given us her first smiles of the day. We have our baby back: the miracle of taking a little time out.

Vaderkracht

I’ve heard it called simply “father strength,” that inexplicable strength of fathers. Something happens when men become fathers – they can do anything – lift heavy boxes, turn stubborn screws, open sealed jars, hike miles and miles without getting tired. Every father I have met is like this somehow – a Superman in Clark Kent clothing. Fathers just always seem to be strong.

It isn’t an obvious strength – fathers don’t generally have bulging muscles, and they seldom make sport of lifting large weights short distances. Fathers don’t generally “work out” in that way (who has the time?!). Fathers can’t lift a thousand pounds over their head for an instant, but they can lift 30 pounds for hours on end. Fathers can’t move a bulldozer across a stadium, but they can rock a child to sleep and walk in circles for an entire night. Look at their forearms – even long after their children have grown. You might not see it at first, but fathers are surprisingly strong.

Now that I am a young father, I can understand a little better where this comes from. I’m not a sporty guy, generally, but in this first month of child-rearing I’ve had a demanding workout every day: mostly short, small repetitive movements maintained for an hour or two; long walks down short hallways and around livingrooms; a short break and then back at it – carting, carrying, soothing, entertaining, enjoying my baby and all the paraphernalia babies seem to require. The muscles in my shoulders and back ache, but I only notice it after I’ve put her down – when my daughter is in my arms I am hardly aware of any pain or discomfort. It makes sense to me, going through this now, how fathers can be so strong: a few years of this kind of training and you really can do anything.

This strength that lasts for a lifetime is built by the daily exercise of caring for a child. The act of caring builds muscles. Fatherstrength, when you think about it, is really love. It is the result of loving, and the ability to love. It is love embodied, and as such, acts like opening jars and repairing bicycle tires and lifting groceries and moving furniture are acts of love. We fathers are able to do them so well because we’ve loved.

Fatherstrength as love also changes what it means to be “strong.” Fatherstrength is not the ability to bend other people to one’s will. It isn’t the ability to withstand pain. It isn’t the glorification of independence. In fact, it is the opposite of these things: bending oneself to the needs of another, opening oneself to the sufferings and cares of another, being gloriously and intimately connected and bound to another.

For the first six weeks after a child is born, scientists tell us, the level of testosterone in the father drops dramatically, allowing/encouraging the father to bond with the child to a level it might not have been biologically able to otherwise. It is almost as if the whole of nature was telling us what is most important, what is a more profound source of strength, what is the ground of care. How the father’s body knows to respond to the birth of a child is a mystery. Fatherstrength may be surprising, but it is surely the most natural thing in the world.

Dutch Frankness

I found this posted in a Dutch home recently. Seriously - in their downstairs bathroom.

It reads:

After you make a large delivery, kindly look to see if you left any tell-tale signs (literally "tracks", as in railroad tracks), and kindly clean them up. It makes it so much nicer for the next person.

Ah, Dutch candor. Sometimes, I just have to smile. And, of course, catch a snapshot on my phone. :-) I suppose it must be said that this family has three young adult sons, so that might have something to do with it.

Currently Listening: Ray of Light

Famous faces, far off places, trinkets I can buy
No handsome stranger, heady danger, drug that I can try
No ferris wheel, no heart to steal, no laughter in the dark
No one-night-stand, no far off land, no fire that I can spark

The face of you, my substitute for love
My substitute for love
Should I wait for you, my substitute for love
My substitute for love

(You see)

And now I find
I've changed my mind

This is my religion
(from "Drowned World/Substitute for Love")

So, am I totally behind the curve here? I've just "discovered" Madonna's Ray of Light as a work of Christian devotion, and some great meditation music.

You only see what your eyes want to see
How can life be what you want it to be
You're frozen... when your heart's not open

You're so consumed with how much you get
You waste your time with hate and regret
You're broken... when your heart's not open
(from "Frozen")

I must own that I've always been sort of down on Madonna, thinking "pop" music largely beneath my enlightened, spiritual, erudite tastes. But I'm slowly discovering the wealth of insight I've been cutting myself off from.

So, for what it's worth, Madonna - if you ever read my blog - I'm sorry. I underestimated you. And good work here. Not just because it's "Christian" (because it isn't at all Christiany or self-important like that), not just because it is great meditation music (you could also dance to most of it, I suppose), but because you surprised me, and it takes a lot to get through my pride to genuinely surprise me. Thanks.

Grace in the Face - A Confession

By Flannel Christian

We are going to have a baby, my wife and I. A few months ago, though, I wasn’t sure I wanted one. There were lots of reasons, of course – I like my free time, I like the money I don’t have to spend on a baby, I don’t like dirty diapers, and so on. There were deeper reasons, too. Perhaps part of the reason I have been hesitant to have children is because I don’t want to fail – especially at something so important.

Having a child is an enormous responsibility, even when you’re ready for one. I don’t feel ready: I don’t know enough good stories and songs, I haven’t read the latest books on discipline and encouragement, I don’t know if I will have enough time from my job to spend with my family. When I was ten years younger, I felt more or less emotionally prepared for raising children – but perhaps I know myself better now. I know my faults, the things I don’t know, my personal weaknesses; and I know a little more now how difficult it really is to raise a healthy, dynamic, bold, caring child. At the very time in my life when I feel least prepared to raise a child right, that’s when I find myself becoming a parent.

Now I have no choice: I will have a child – and I will surely fail. I will not be the perfect parent. I will not do everything right. (And, surely, my child will not be perfect herself.) This little life will depend on me, and I will let it down. I will not always be there at the right time, or say the right thing, or be able to solve the problem. And, probably, it will love me anyway, even though I won’t entirely deserve it.

That is really the kicker – it will love me, even though I don’t deserve it. That thought kills me. In addition to me failing as a parent, heaping coals upon my head, it will probably love me as if I never failed at all. It won’t even think about the possibility (probability… certainty) of me failing again in the future. With the love of the innocent, it will probably forgive me even before I’ve done wrong.

This is what grace is to me – being loved despite my failings, being hoped in and relied on despite the certainty that I will fail again, being forgiven even before I do wrong. The grace of God is a lovely idea, and as long as it remains God’s grace, I can handle the concept. But having a child, and being forced every day to face my unpreparedness, and being loved in the face of it all, having that forgiveness right at hand, seems too much to bear.

My guilt and disappointment in myself is so much a part of me, I can’t imagine it going away, having to give it up. To tell the truth, I don’t feel like I deserve to give them up, to be free from my sins.

But at the same time, I don’t want to pass on to my child this burden of mine, pass on the weight of my sins. If I am going to be even the best parent I can be (far from perfect), I will have to let my child love me, and perhaps even accept some forgiveness. I have to be the best parent I can be, despite whatever failings I had yesterday, despite whatever failings await me tomorrow. To some degree, I have to set aside my sins, love myself as if I had never sinned, love myself as if I were capable of never sinning again.

Perhaps having a child will help me learn to forgive myself for failing as a parent. And that may start me forgiving myself for failing at most things. And who knows where this path of grace will lead.

Finally!

I have my driver's license!

After nearly a year in residence in the Netherlands...

After nearly six months of not being allowed to drive...

After four attempts at the Theory Exam (one of the most difficult in the world)...

After six lessons for the Practical Exam...

After doing my Practical Exam in Dutch (and holding a conversation while driving)...

After the rigormarole of Dutch beauracracy...

I received my Dutch driver's license.

Finally!

It has been a long time coming - long awaited by both me and my co-workers (who were forced to chaffeur me around in the meantime). I am now free to drive in the Netherlands.

When I passed the Theory Exam (unexpectedly, as I'm convinced it is pure chance and luck that determines who - if anyone - passes), those of us who passed nearly cried with joy. I'm still a little stunned that it ever happened. The practical exam was interesting - the examiner spent most of the time chatting with me about my church and job, just giving me a few instructions here and there ("turn left here" or "take me to the airport"). But I have been prevented from driving for so long, that I'm a little nervous driving now - so, in fact, I'm a worse driver after this process.

But at least it is over.

This was the last, final step of my more-or-less complete administrative resettlement in the Netherlands. The only thing remaining is my first year of income tax to be paid... next year. But otherwise, I'm an official and complete resident of the Netherlands. I'm European.

Just in time, too. Perhaps a year for all this to happen isn't such a bad timeline. But, man, it sucked not being able to drive my own errands.

The silver lining to this story? Christie and I learned by heart all the best bike routes for virtually all our needs within about a five kilometer radius. Now, a bike tour from our home to the city center is part of our repertoire we can offer to visitors. And taking a seven-kilometer round-trip walk for a few trifles seems like nothing out of the ordinary.

Perhaps there's something to not-driving after all.

Ah, who am I kidding? I'd rather drive.

My Ancestor Was Here

While cleaning out the attic here at my new residence, I must sift through layers of junk and treasure left behind by so many previous residents. The other day, I came across a pile of old books - bound periodicals of church history from the turn of the 20th century.

Thumbing through the 1910 volume, I saw a familiar name: Joseph Burton - my great-great-great-uncle. It was a biography of Captain Burton (he was a merchant ship captain) written by his wife, Emma. Surprised to see my own relations mentioned, I started to read, following the serialized biography into the 1911 volume.

Being a merchant sea man from Nova Scotia and New England, it isn't surprising that Joseph sailed all over the Atlantic - from Europe to the Caribbean and all along the Eastern United States. What was surprising - at least to see it in print - was the brief reference to Joseph making a trip to Amsterdam in 1867. Then, not too much later, another trip from the US to Rotterdam. My great-great-great-uncle was in Rotterdam more than a hundred years ago.

This was, of course, before he had joined the church, and some thirty years before he would captain the missionary boat Evanelia from California to the Society Islands. But still, to have such a random and concrete connection with Rotterdam - to imagine my great-great-grandfather walking the downtown streets (or approximately, since the whole of downtown R'dam was destroyed in World War II) - touches me deeply.

I am, truly, just following in others' footsteps.

(The painting above is something of the scene Joseph Burton might have seen approaching Rotterdam. Johan Barthold Jongkind, The Schie Near Rotterdam, 1867.)

Why Religion At All?

I was having a discussion with a friend recently - a friend who has been reading a lot of books in the "New Atheism" movement. (I don't know why they call it "New Atheism" - except that perhaps it's a new movement, a resurgence or renaissance.) And perhaps it's the fact that we share so many sympathies on the subject that I found it difficult to answer her questions the way she seemed to want me to. None of my answers were apparently getting at her fundamental question. So she sent me away from the discussion with something to think about: why have religion at all? Wouldn't our efforts and energies be more constructively placed elsewhere?

It got me to thinking.

Even if we take the most natualistic definition or description of "God" - God being the experience of neurons firing in our heads and our brains being bathed with certain chemicals as a result (as some recent articles have suggested, our brains might be hard-wired to come up with the idea of God) - that doesn't mean that the experience isn't valid or even helpful. It is much the same thing as love - our brains doing certain things with certain data, causing emotional and intellectual reactions, moving us to do (or avoid doing) certain things. Even knowing this, the most convinced neuroscientist doesn't give up on Love.

But the question is not about "God" - whatever that is or how it is experienced. The question is about religion: is it necessary or helpful for people to become the best they can be - as individuals and as a communal whole.

Obviously, this critique (in part) is reacting to the enormous and horrific narrow-mindedness of various fundamentalisms and the religiously-infused history of the 20th century. The Holocaust was committed by Christians as Christians, capitalizing on centuries of Christian anti-semitism. World War I saw every country - on each side - declaring God on their side, with the attendant implicit divine blessing on unthinkable death and destruction. The New Atheist critique is also laying claim to the Human Rights culture that has been growing since the 18th century and has oftentimes been explicitly beyond religious distinctions in its call for fair treatment of all people. (Curiously, the New Atheists don't lay much blame for the horrors of the past at the feet of nationalism, capitalism, imperialism or colonialism. But that might just be too broad a front to engage the world on. And, it must be said, the New Atheists are English-speakers from the Northern Hemisphere, whose nations and cultures are steeped in capitalist rhetoric of "freedom" being equated with "buying power.")

I will have to save a larger discussion of this for another post - or perhaps a book - but I do believe that American Christianity deserves this New Atheist critique. Religion in the Western world (Christianity, Islam and Judaism) has been astoundingly complicit in (if not outrightly encouraging) nationalism, prejudice and violence. We have directed enormous resources at our own comfort while neglecting (if not capitalizing) on the suffering of others - most horrifically when our comfort comes at the expense of others. New Atheism raises some profound and legitimate questions that Christians (my community) should take seriously - searching inside and among ourselves for a Christ-like response rather than reacting in fear and offense, and continuing to ignore the fundamental premise of their complaint. (Recognizing that the Christ-like response might be to change the way we are acting, speaking or thinking.) With American Christianity the way it is, I can't blame anyone for wanting to be an atheist. The questions resonates inside me deeply: why be religious at all?

To begin an answer, let me start with the analogy I mentioned earlier: love. Is it necessary for love (both the neurological "happening" and the experience of love in people's lives) that we have ritualized behaviors and communal expectations? Of course not. People can feel love without dating or marriage, monogamy or... whatever. I must admit that my partner and I decided to get married (almost five years ago now) without knowing precisely why - but that I have found our marriage to be profoundly moving and formative for me. I have been made a better person by my marriage in ways I never imagined or was aware of - and part of that was, honestly, giving myself over to the convention of the ritual relationship, and exploring my new personhood within it. But my partner and I certainly don't begrudge any of our friends or family who don't get married, who only date or live together, or have even decided against romantic relationships for the present. We also don't begrudge our friends and family who have gotten married - and for most, marriage has served them well, while others not quite as well. I can imagine a person who has neither the need for nor would be helped by "marriage" or even monogamy - who can have healthy, honest, full relationships with people in ways that I am unaware or incapable of. My way of being in relationship is not the only right way. I don't think for a moment that "marriage" is necessary for love, or for a person to fully actualize themselves, or to grow in compassion toward others, or for a thousand other virtues that flower from healthy intimate relationships.

Is it necessary for people to participate in an organized religion in order to find fulfillment and become healthy individuals? Of course not. I can imagine someone being healthy and dynamic, self-aware and challenged, compassionate and sensing a call to profound generosity and vulnerability, without being taught or encouraged to within a ritualized framework. Those people, I would probably find enviable.

I am not nearly so strong, creative, self-aware or self-challenging. To be honest, if it were up to me, I would probably spend most of my existence comfortably within my own prejudices, feeling a sense of distant concern for the poorer situation of others but that's about it, and would likely find my own righteous indignation adequate for sustaining my views about myself and my world. I would likely be quite comfortable not holding myself within a community that demands critical introspection, not being held accountable by a community, or wrestling with a tradition and the inheritance of millions of lives before mine. I feel like a pretty ritualistic person, so I'd probably come up with my own significant ritual acts - but there would be little basis for me to share these with others or invite their participation in them with me. But, if I didn't have religion in general - and progressive, peace-church Christianity in particular - I just wouldn't have the personal hutzpah or gumption to really set myself to work on these tasks. And I'd be a worse person for it.

In the end, I'd have to say that religion isn't necessary for a full and happy life. I'm just saying I couldn't do it. By being a participant (and now a minister) in a Christian community, I am opened up to challenges and ways of being that I don't think I would have were I not here. (I also think most everyone could benefit from being in a union. And, really, I probably begrudge people not being union more than I begrudge anyone being irreligious.) I also wonder if people who haven't been brought up in a religious community - or who's experiences have been markedly different than mine, even - can't know what they're missing.

I've been both religious and secular in my life, been both theist and atheist, and I like myself better as a minister in this particular Christian peace church. It isn't that I just "feel better" - sometimes being a Christian fills me with profound sadness and awareness of suffering, and being a Christian also denies me easy answers to many of life's truly difficult questions. I am constantly pushed outside my prejudices and self-centered thinking. I am pulled to engage with, feel for, and perhaps even love people that I don't like, don't care being around, and disagree with. (I don't always do very well at this, it must be said. But forgiveness and grace are also Christian tenets.)

I don't like it when religions - Christianity in particular (since it is my larger community - teach prejudice and superiority. When someone is religious, or admits to a belief in God (not necessarily the same thing), one thing that can signify is that they are confessing they don't know everything, that there is more that they are subject to than they can know or explain, but that they feel it nonetheless. To use the word "God" can oftentimes do one of two things: it can open people up or close them off, it can say 'I am seeking the truth' or it can say 'I have the truth,' it can mean 'I am open to connection and genuine growth' or it can mean 'I am right and if you don't agree with me then you are at best misguided and at worst evil.' I cannot express strongly enough my disdain for religion that does the latter - and I assume it is to this variety that the New Atheism is responding. And there's plenty of that kind of religion around - it seems they own most of the television channels and radio stations, have the biggest churches and promote retrograde politics. I wish the New Atheists good luck in their quest to break the hold of this kind of religion on people's minds and hearts.

But there is also the kind of religion that opens people up, that seeks to love and grow, and seeks to change the world not to be more like 'us', but to be more like a generous, just and loving God would want it to be. And there as many different kinds of being faithful to that kind of God as there are ways of loving. Religion isn't necessary for that to happen. But for some of us it really, really helps. For me, it is indispensible.

McDonalds - Dutch Style

Ok. I finally did it. I could only last so long. I'm only human, after all.

I went to McDonald's this morning. We were running errands; I hadn't had breakfast yet; I was jonesing for a McGriddle... whatever. I went to McDonald's, ok? And McDonald's are the same everywhere, right? Wrong.

First of all, this place had only one front door. The side I was on wasn't it. So I just guessed and went to my left. Wrong choice. Three sides later, I got in. Perhaps they were testing me. Do you really want to come here?

At the counter I looked for their breakfast menu. I don't know why - I always get the same thing. But I couldn't find it... which worried me.

"Do you have a breakfast menu?"

"Yes, we do. Would you like it?"

"Sure."

"That'll be 4.75 euros."

It took me a while to figure it out, but apparently McDonald's in the Netherlands only has one item (a meal, or "menu" in Dutch) on their breakfast line-up. ONE ITEM!

The good part is that the one meal option they have includes a bacon, egg & cheese McMuffin AND a croissant (with jam & butter) AND a coffee AND an orange juice. That's like TWO meals in the States! And for 4.75 in local silver. That's literally pocket-change here. (The Euro coinage goes up to two-euros.)

Forgive me for saying this in a post about McDonalds in the Netherlands, but...

I love this country. *sniff*

New Favorite Matches

Ummm... well, that's interesting! :-)

My Latest Favorite Thing

About Our European Flat:
The radiator in the bathroom is designed to be a towel-warmer and dryer. You hang several towels over it at a time, even.

You can also lean against it for a quick back-warm-job. Ahhhh.

Ok, I know this is a lame post to make after a week of no word about our move. Forgive me. Here's the skinny: we arrived a week ago in the Netherlands and set to work legally registering our presence (beauracracy is the true international language). We also started arranging our new apartment (or "flat" as they call it on this side of the pond). Right now, the Europe Church office is still in our livingroom (we're living in what used to be the Europe Church HQ), but I hope to soon be able to move the stuff down to the actual "office" across the hall so we can start distinguishing between work and home life (always a problem with church work).

But all in all, we're LOVING it here. The work is a bit stressful, and living out of a suitcase and trying to do your job on the run is a pain. But for all the stress and trouble, we haven't doubted our decision to come and start this new life and step into this new ministry. The neighborhood is as cute as we remembered it from our visit in November - and we're now able to have short, halting conversations with the natives (if we can keep them from replying in English, that is).

And just to make sure we know why we're here - surprise! - we're preaching this weekend. Christie is the "PJ" (preach jockey) for a Solid Rock Cafe tomorrow night. I'm speaking at church this Sunday. I'm tempted to at least introduce myself in Dutch. We'll see.

It is strange to be an immigrant worker. Even with all the support and relative guarantees I enjoy here, there is still so much uncertainty. I can't imagine what it must be like for an undocumented worker in the States, facing so much legal and cultural persecution. My heart goes out to them even more, now. (And perhaps those xenophobic white Americans ought to try living abroad for a while, to give them some perspective!) :-)

At any rate, while I miss the USAmerican Northwest, I'm excited to be here in the European Northwest. From Seattle to Rotterdam... at least the weather's not a big change. Hey... is that sunshine out there? Ach, must've been my imagination.

Peace and Blessings, everyone! (I'll try to make a more insightful observation soon.) :-)

Moving Day

The professional packers and movers have arrived and set to work. Our home and lives, already boxed and stacked in a garage, are being carefully and efficiently unpacked, inventoried, repacked, and stored for a journey across land and sea.

Something about moving makes stages of life stark, divisions bold, it raises seams in the patchwork. It also forces the question.

With every box moved - every crafted piece of ourselves possessed by and entrusted to another - I am asked over and over again: am I really doing this? Am I ready? What is happening to me?

I would be such a bad Buddhist, with such attachment to things. It is funny how much we identify our own personhood and identity with objects. (Of course, this might make me a poor Christian, too, if one takes Luke 18:18-30 seriously.)

I may be making too existentialist a point of this. It may just be the rising anxiety of change, of shift, of newness and unknowing. That strange brew of fear and eagerness, foreboding and adventure, wanting to hold back and the ardent desire to just get going already.

And to add to all the other complexities, Seattle woke up this morning under a blanket of snow. Anyone familiar with the peoples of the Puget Sound will remember that a half-centimeter of crystaline precipitation is enough to shut the region down. There is no infrastructure to clear or handle snow, and there is apparently no widespread sense of how to drive in even the smallest amount of it. And I'm located on the top of a kind of hill.

So our departure is covered with a film of newness, cleanliness, and is made a bit slippery. We have to watch our footing around here - and, I suppose, accept the possibility of falling a few times on our way. Such is life. Not just the life of a minister or a disciple; just life in general. After all, ministers are people, too; and disciples. Life is uncertain and slippery for all of us.

And, I think, we're all probably moving, too, one way or another.

Haggard

I apologize for my absence. Don't take it personally. Really.

It's not you; it's me.

I've been in meetings for weeks now. Really. A week-long meeting of church leaders (one of which, apparently, I'm becoming with my new as-yet-un-assumed position), followed by a weekend Young Adult Retreat (fabulous, but still work), followed by another weekend ministers' event in Portland, and a week-long meeting of Western US ministers (of which I am, or at least used to be, or could still be considered, for a while yet). I preach this Sunday, and then I'm off for another week of meetings with my soon-to-be new boss and co-worker. Then I return to pack up my house to move, and then the annual regional church conference in Portland the next weekend. And somewhere in all this, I have to start preparing for two Seminary classes in January (and forget about November/December, as immersion language classes will take up those weeks).

I don't mean to complain... or, rather, I wish I didn't sound like I was complaining, but really, part of me is. And I worry, too, that this is the kind of life I've signed up for with my new job as the regional president of Europe. Part of me is getting worried that I will spend the next five-to-eight years of my life exhausted, and that makes me depressed. And, of course, depression isn't much of an upper in itself.

I knew I was giving up the life of a congregational minister when I first started working for the church (although I didn't realize at the time how much I would miss it). And I knew that in taking this job in Europe, I'd be giving up a large chunk of the rewards of intimate involvement in a congregation - even as a consultant or support minister. But I'm worried now that I won't even be able to enjoy congregations at all! I'll be spending all my time in meetings, or in transit from one guerrilla-ministry to another (in-and-out before they realize what hit them).

On a note of delightful self-indulgence, though, yesterday I had a full-body massage - my first in more than ten years. That was probably the most human contact I've had in months, and that long overdue. It is amazing what uninterrupted human touch can do - and occasions like this defy claims that humans are purely spiritual beings with no significant connection to embodied existence. Even thinking about it now calms me, reminds me that all is not harried or hectic, that there is peace possible in the world, in my life, in my career. It reminds me that part of discipleship is forgiveness, and that I have to practice forgiveness even (especially?) with myself. "Don't expect the world, Christian. Give yourself time - to see what is needed and what you can do. You can't honestly (fairly?) expect more from yourself."

So, you see why I haven't been blogging. It hasn't been for lack of things to say or talk about (the Young Adult Retreat needs a thousand words, itself!). I've just been distracted, away from home, with infrequent internet access, and in need of extra sleep.

It's not you; it's me.

So... I guess now would be a good time to transition. Let's see... where did I leave off?

What is Most Important

The following is excerpted from a personal journal, so it is taken out of context (a little) and cleaned up (a bit). I was musing on the anxiety I feel about this change in assignment and new job approaching.

"Despite all the (mounting) anxiety - I think both Christie and I are excited about the adventure of Europe. In many ways, it is a large unknown - to everyone, including ourselves. In some ways, things are just unknown to us - surely my supervisor and fellow ministers and the Europe church have some expectations and understanding, and I have no idea where or what those are. Hopefully, that will be somewhat corrected in the next few months (and it may be an act of mercy not to burden me with those until I am free of obligation to the Northwest).

But one of my goals should be to enjoy Europe. Make that an explicit goal of my first year, too.

The minister for Hungary wrote to me earlier this week asking to hear about any ideas I have for Europe - and I'm torn. I really do feel like I need to learn what the Europe church wants for itself. I don't want to go to Europe with a cadre of pre-conceived notions, but moreover, I can't, without being egregiously arrogant and misguided. I don't say this as "I shouldn't," but as "I am not capable of going over there with many preconceived ideas."

When I started my present position in the Seattle-area congregations, I tried really hard not to impose my vision and priorities onto the congregations. But the truth was that I had my own visions and priorities. They weren't set in stone, or overriding congregational identity and initiatives, or exclusive of other ideas, even. But I had some ideas going into this what I could do. After all, I had lived here for several years already and was at least somewhat familiar with the church here by virtue of language, nationality, culture, and so on. None of these commonalities exist for me in the Europe church. I am not able to go into Europe with even a skeleton plan of preconceived notions.

In some ways this is good, surely, since I will be able to genuinely throw myself into Europe for its own sake. At the same time, however, I worry about the perception of my leadership abilities if I enter in in total obedience to the local whim of the people. (Two things come to mind: Jesus would not, I believe, condone entering Europe "proudly" and full of myself, and would himself model "servant leadership;" and part of my leadership ability may be to discern the viable priorities and initiatives, find the fertile ground, in Europe, from all the potential options.)

And, too, all this is not entirely honest. We do have commonalities. In fact, these commonalities are not merely "cultural" or "linguistic" or "nationalistic" - they are necessarily deeper, more foundational, root convictions. We are grounded in the scriptures, in shared history, in commitment to community, peace, and the worth of all persons. So perhaps there is hope there. I am going without my familiar footing, but not without grounding altogether. It may be a strange shore, but we share the same anchors. Perhaps going to Europe will be a good exercise for me in letting go of the unessential, identifying and keeping hold of what is most important.

What is most important. A tall order indeed."

Fourth Anniversary

Christie and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary this past weekend - a blissful afternoon of Seattle summer, surrounded by friends and friends' children, German sausages on the grill, and Liberace and Cher on the cd player.

Actually, the party was in celebration of our brother- and sister-in-law's tenth anniversary. What better way to celebrate our own marriage than lifting up those who are successfully going before us, leading the way?

Here's to Flannel-in-laws, and love all around.

Have Camera - Will Photo

There's just so much I miss by not having a digital camera. So Christie and I finally broke down and bought one. We asked all our friends what cameras they have, tried them out, price shopped, you know the drill. Eventually, we came to a Canon S3 IS - a bit on the low end, but good enough for a starter camera for us. And heck, with shots like this (sunflower amid tobacco blossoms by the compost bin) we can't complain. (Click on the pic... there're raindrops on the petals!)

All Is Not Lost: Another World Is Possible

There is a wonderful poem by Naomi Shihab Nye that tells the story of a crowd at an airport gate waiting for a delayed flight. Why don't I just post it for you.

Wandering Around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal

After learning my flight was detained four hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.
Well, one pauses these days. Gate 4A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.

“Help,” said the flight service person. “Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. ”

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly: “Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee?”

The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly used, she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day.

I said, “No, no, we're fine. You'll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let's call him and tell him. ”

We called her son, and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and would ride next to her — Southwest Airlines.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad, and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, that they had 10 shared friends.

Then I thought, just for the heck of it, Why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her? This all took up about two hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies, little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts, out of her bag, and was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo. We were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers, nonalcoholic. And the two little girls on our flight, one African-American and one Mexican-American, ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade. And they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend — by now we were holding hands — had a potted plant, some medicinal thing, poking out of her bag. With green furry leaves. Such an old-country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in, the shared world. Not a single person at this gate, once the crying of confusion stopped, had seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too. This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

These Kids Are a LOT of Work!

I'm at Jr. High camp this week, and being run ragged. My muscles are honestly burning from all the exercise - ultimate frisbee, hiking, soccer, kickball, and chasing these burning thunders all over the campgrounds. They won't go to sleep at night, and then won't wake up in the morning; complain about being tired all morning, but then won't stop talking at rest period, then complain when I have to wake them up from their nap; they want to be treated as if they were totally responsible and independent, but every chance they get they're totally irresponsible and can't hardly do anything by themselves. What a week... or, er, three days, so far (yikes!).

Good food, though. (For those who know him, Sean Langdon is cooking, so we're eating well.)

I'd write more, but I have to chase my cabin - someone is probably on the verse of losing a digit.

12 hours ago

I finished Harry Potter 7.

Anyone else? I won't spoil anything by discussing details here, except to say that I thought it was a good book to end the series. Thanks J.K. Rowling, for a great ride.

Richard Rorty Passes On

Richard Rorty, one of the most influential philosophers in my life, died last Friday. Peace be with him.

I would recommend to anyone his collections of essays: Objectivity, Relativism and Truth; Truth and Progress; and Philosophy and Social Hope.

He has been eulogized by Habermas.

(Thanks to blogger Jon.)