I've been giving my relationship with professional basketball the silent treatment.
If anything about the National Basketball Association comes across my ears or eyes, I look past it. I read something else. I engage in another activity. I'll read Leviticus if I have to (no offense to Leviticus scholars).
I am a jilted Seattle SuperSonics fan. They were the first team to reward my sports love with a championship in 1979 when I was 9 years old (okay, maybe it wasn't just for me). I went outside and danced in the streets of my subdivision with my neighbors after the big win. The Sonics always had a special place in my heart. After the team departed for Oklahoma in 2008, after the spectacle of failed leadership, of disingenuous deals, greed and politics, I chose the silent treatment in my relationship with the NBA. I refuse to acknowledge their presence. Some folks in Seattle continue to be NBA fans with heavy hearts. Some chose to respond with anger. Others chose to respond with endless analysis of the systems and people involved that produced the departure of NBA basketball from Seattle. My lips are essentially sealed.
Some people I read, watch and listen to have mentioned that the NBA is in a labor negotiation. I don't know the details. I still don't really care. The parties involved couldn't possibly expect any sympathy from the fan base. Look at the activities of the Tea Party and Occupy Wall Street. Look at the unemployment that hasn't been this high in decades. Who wants to read stories about millionaires and billionaires arguing about a game, especially when the integrity meter is at swamp level? If millionaires and billionaires want to argue about something that will be truly beneficial for people, argue until you're blue in the face. Sure, the NBA provides jobs for many people besides the players and management, but they have no voice at all in the negotiations. My caring doesn't mean much in this equation. So be it.
I broke my media engagement with the NBA recently. If there was anyone who was going to do it, it wasn't going to be the local Seattle metro sports or news talking heads. It was going to be Bill Simmons. Simmons has been the one national media figure (I would argue that he acted like a good pastor in many ways) who has consistently delivered emotionally, skillfully, humorously and analytically writing about how Seattle was hosed regarding the Sonics. I found some solace in Simmons' words. He continues being a NBA fan (he's from Boston and lives in LA), but he became a de facto Seattle advocate in the NBA world. Simmons named my pain, listened and legitimized that pain. I was tricked into reading his recent article because I thought it was going to be more about hockey and the NHL, but Bill Simmons is juxtaposing hockey and hoops to illustrate the issues with the NBA as an organization. The NBA has wrongly assumed that their fans will stick by them if they can't move forward in the midst of their problems soon.
No organizational loyalist should expect relational harmony and bliss all the time. Especially in the church. While I look at the NBA, I can't help but think of the church (well, it's what I do). I expect the church to strive for justice and live in the midst of human struggle. I expect there to be a lot of unease, because in the church we deal with life and death (well, it's what we do). What bothers me about conflicts in the church in this day and age on multiple levels is the sense of entitlement leaders of the church have (and I am one of those entitled leaders). We talk about people as commodities--we track worship attendance, baptisms, and demographics of all kinds. In the midst of how we treat each other in the church, we often look at society and blame the masses for not wanting to be part of our cantankerous little club, and that our numbers don't match our bloated sense of entitlement. People find other things to do.
I think about how I haven't watched more than 3 seconds of an NBA game in almost 4 years. I have found other things to do. No one is entitled to my participation or anyone's participation in a community. In church or in sports. That giving of blood, sweat, tears and allegiance comes from a delicate balance of trust and risk. I think "NBA" and "church" can be interchangeable words the equation about trust, risk, and allegiance.
Maybe this trust/risk/allegiance/entitlement equation is one of the reasons I am called to serve the congregation that I do. St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington, had a near-death experience. They nearly had the votes to close in 2011. But they didn't. What I do see after 4 months of building relationships in the congregation is that the sense of entitlement I have seen in many communities of faith over the years is minimized (as far as I can tell). I think they've helped me get over my own sense of entitlement (to a degree). It's not a perfect congregation by any stretch of the imagination, nor do I think I am the perfect pastor to build a renewed congregation. But with a minimized sense of entitlement, we have some trust with which we can build.
Maybe God can still do something with us.
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Checking out a different field--baseball writing
A few days ago, I shared an exploration I took into baseball writing. I auditioned for some work in baseball writing, something only possible because so many professions have flattened their hierarchies. To be a baseball writer a decade ago, I probably would have had to hold a journalism degree or work my way in at the bottom, such as what I did back in the summer of 1989. My summer job then at The Olympian involved data entry, obituary writing, predicting the weather (sort of) and the occasional feature or news article.
Without a journalism degree or much experience, and equipped only with a love of writing and the Mariners, I took a chance at writing for a Seattle Mariners baseball blog. Some of the best sports writing and analysis I've seen comes from these blogs. I still appreciate the beat writers employed by various news outlets, but the bloggers have magnified the quality of baseball writing available to interested fans.
I did not get the "job" after my audition, but I received a good compliment about my writing. I learned a lot from this one week venture into another field. Some of my colleagues in ministry do work in other fields often. Others stay in the confines of the church for their entire careers and lose perspective and connection with what people who sit in worship encounter on a daily basis. My colleague, leader and teacher Ruben Duran says that "the church is not an end in itself, but the means by which God blesses the world." Too often pastors see the church as the end and fail to connect with those outside of the church world. Though my foray into writing on topics other than church was limited, it provided me a reminder of the insular nature of church life. Last time I checked, God loved the world, not only the church.
For all the perspective I gained, at the very least baseball writing for a weekend was fun. If you're not a baseball fan, or don't deal with advanced baseball metrics, the articles won't be of much interest. The one that might be of interest sits at the bottom of the post, since it touches on some theological themes.
A hypothetical Mariners roster move (thoughts on Matt Tuiasosopo)
Is something not quite right with King Felix?
___________________________________________
If you want to learn more about advanced baseball metrics, the library at Fan Graphs gives more information than you ever wanted to know. But it's a start.
Movement toward baseball truth takes more than nerds
By Joe BW Smith
Baseball is joining the topics of religion and politics in my family.
Why?
I am a relatively recent convert to advanced baseball metrics. Now that I concern myself with BABIP and ISO, my family can’t talk about the baseball things we used to talk about (at least I can’t with a straight face). The debates between my father and I have shifted. I fully realized this shift the other night when Dad showed concern about the variables in Felix attaining a win over the Red Sox toward his “record.” I found myself not caring at all about a pitcher win for the first time as a baseball fan. More than not caring, I almost forgot the win for Felix entirely. This gradual shift occurred over 2 years. A pitcher win hadn’t mattered for a long time (thanks, Keith Law), kind of like saying goodbye to a dying grandparent who lives in a nursing home; they are a mere shell of their former selves: they’re not living, they’re existing. Pitcher wins died to me a long time ago, and merely exist in a box score or pitching line. I ignored variables associated with a pitcher win Saturday night (RIP, pitcher wins, we’ll still have an award called Cy Young, remembering your existence). What really concerned me about Felix on Saturday was the amount of line drives the Red Sox lasered all over Safeco. I had to find out about Felix’ line drive rate (it’s the worst of his career). But hey, it looks like Felix will get more wins this year! RIP, indeed.
Since I’m losing the ability to talk about baseball with my father, I have to ask the question:
What is the point of gathering baseball statistics?
I ask this question because I believe the human tendency is do negative things with insider status. Advanced baseball metrics are becoming more mainstream all the time. We know this to be true on the national level with Greinke and Felix winning Cy Young awards while pitching for crappy teams. We know this to be true locally, because it’s not just the beat reporters who help form public discourse on baseball (Geoff Baker, Larry Stone, Ryan Divish (sniff), etc.), but now we can hear Dave Cameron and Jeff Sullivan on the radio, and their words are shared at the ballpark and at the water cooler—“Cust didn’t hit many dingers, but that OBP was just gaudy.” All of this makes me wonder if some of the innovator and early adapter stat gurus are going to cop an attitude like fans of an once edgy band that goes mainstream: “Dude, I only like U2’s EARLY stuff.” Something like, “oh, UZR was sooooooo 2009.”
The point of baseball statistics is to tell the truth about baseball performance. What works against that truth is, baseball is a game that involves relationships. We probably know from some family relationships we’ve observed (maybe even our own), that even though we may have contact or connection with someone, doesn’t mean that we’re interested in truth. The same truth avoidance applies to baseball as it does families. Dan Shaughnessy of the Boston Globe has written about sports and baseball spanning decades. He probably has countless relationships and work hours associated with a particular way of knowing baseball. Over a period of time he learns that the validity of some of his analysis is flawed. Of course he and others are going to be defensive, even downright hostile (his hostility toward advance metrics is well documented). Shaughnessy’s work and his relationships are affected by the changes in gathering statistics. Now the responses between advanced baseball statisticians and older generations of baseball analysts resemble political and theological discussions. You could probably tell stories about what discussions of politics and religion do to your family’s Thanksgiving. Baseball has drifted in that direction in my household. We still maybe able to discuss the Hot Stove League over Thanksgiving Turkey, but I’m not counting on it. There will always be barriers in finding truth—in baseball, politics and religion. It’s about control. Sometimes the carnage just sits there at Thanksgiving dinner (literally and figuratively).
The goal of gathering baseball statistics is truth about baseball performance. Yet, baseball is a game of relationships as well as athletic performance. The pursuit of baseball truth needs more ambassadorships, people who are well versed in the powerful link between relationships, truth and baseball. I think we see portions of that with Dave Cameron’s radio and social media appearances. Social media tools make the relational side of baseball truth gathering more possible. I am in awe of the response and interest in Cameron’s publicity of his leukemia and treatment (I’m sure he’s more in awe than me). In any learning environment, I have learned that relationships make the information more useful. Cameron’s public contact increases his trustworthiness. My exploration into advanced baseball metrics began reading Keith Law chat transcripts—where discussions of literature, language, cooking and FIP converged. Law answered my literature question before he ever answered my baseball questions.
Last Friday night at the Rainier's game, a good friend and I shared a Deschutes IPA. He attends far more live games each spring and summer than me. He has season tickets to his local semi-pro team, and his family gets to know the players over the season. He knows a lot about the game, but there are also many relationships woven in that knowledge. The topic of pitcher wins and run support came up in our conversation as we broke down the Fister trade and watched Luke French get pummeled. It was an opportunity to talk and figure out the truth of baseball performance. It’s one thing to have Jeff Sullivan tell me statistically why Luke French isn’t going to cut it; it’s another to be able to come to that conclusion among friends and family. It takes more than nerds to figure out the truth about baseball, but I’m glad that we have them, and that there are ambassadors among them.
Without a journalism degree or much experience, and equipped only with a love of writing and the Mariners, I took a chance at writing for a Seattle Mariners baseball blog. Some of the best sports writing and analysis I've seen comes from these blogs. I still appreciate the beat writers employed by various news outlets, but the bloggers have magnified the quality of baseball writing available to interested fans.
I did not get the "job" after my audition, but I received a good compliment about my writing. I learned a lot from this one week venture into another field. Some of my colleagues in ministry do work in other fields often. Others stay in the confines of the church for their entire careers and lose perspective and connection with what people who sit in worship encounter on a daily basis. My colleague, leader and teacher Ruben Duran says that "the church is not an end in itself, but the means by which God blesses the world." Too often pastors see the church as the end and fail to connect with those outside of the church world. Though my foray into writing on topics other than church was limited, it provided me a reminder of the insular nature of church life. Last time I checked, God loved the world, not only the church.
For all the perspective I gained, at the very least baseball writing for a weekend was fun. If you're not a baseball fan, or don't deal with advanced baseball metrics, the articles won't be of much interest. The one that might be of interest sits at the bottom of the post, since it touches on some theological themes.
A hypothetical Mariners roster move (thoughts on Matt Tuiasosopo)
Is something not quite right with King Felix?
___________________________________________
If you want to learn more about advanced baseball metrics, the library at Fan Graphs gives more information than you ever wanted to know. But it's a start.
Movement toward baseball truth takes more than nerds
By Joe BW Smith
Baseball is joining the topics of religion and politics in my family.
Why?
I am a relatively recent convert to advanced baseball metrics. Now that I concern myself with BABIP and ISO, my family can’t talk about the baseball things we used to talk about (at least I can’t with a straight face). The debates between my father and I have shifted. I fully realized this shift the other night when Dad showed concern about the variables in Felix attaining a win over the Red Sox toward his “record.” I found myself not caring at all about a pitcher win for the first time as a baseball fan. More than not caring, I almost forgot the win for Felix entirely. This gradual shift occurred over 2 years. A pitcher win hadn’t mattered for a long time (thanks, Keith Law), kind of like saying goodbye to a dying grandparent who lives in a nursing home; they are a mere shell of their former selves: they’re not living, they’re existing. Pitcher wins died to me a long time ago, and merely exist in a box score or pitching line. I ignored variables associated with a pitcher win Saturday night (RIP, pitcher wins, we’ll still have an award called Cy Young, remembering your existence). What really concerned me about Felix on Saturday was the amount of line drives the Red Sox lasered all over Safeco. I had to find out about Felix’ line drive rate (it’s the worst of his career). But hey, it looks like Felix will get more wins this year! RIP, indeed.
Since I’m losing the ability to talk about baseball with my father, I have to ask the question:
What is the point of gathering baseball statistics?
I ask this question because I believe the human tendency is do negative things with insider status. Advanced baseball metrics are becoming more mainstream all the time. We know this to be true on the national level with Greinke and Felix winning Cy Young awards while pitching for crappy teams. We know this to be true locally, because it’s not just the beat reporters who help form public discourse on baseball (Geoff Baker, Larry Stone, Ryan Divish (sniff), etc.), but now we can hear Dave Cameron and Jeff Sullivan on the radio, and their words are shared at the ballpark and at the water cooler—“Cust didn’t hit many dingers, but that OBP was just gaudy.” All of this makes me wonder if some of the innovator and early adapter stat gurus are going to cop an attitude like fans of an once edgy band that goes mainstream: “Dude, I only like U2’s EARLY stuff.” Something like, “oh, UZR was sooooooo 2009.”
The point of baseball statistics is to tell the truth about baseball performance. What works against that truth is, baseball is a game that involves relationships. We probably know from some family relationships we’ve observed (maybe even our own), that even though we may have contact or connection with someone, doesn’t mean that we’re interested in truth. The same truth avoidance applies to baseball as it does families. Dan Shaughnessy of the Boston Globe has written about sports and baseball spanning decades. He probably has countless relationships and work hours associated with a particular way of knowing baseball. Over a period of time he learns that the validity of some of his analysis is flawed. Of course he and others are going to be defensive, even downright hostile (his hostility toward advance metrics is well documented). Shaughnessy’s work and his relationships are affected by the changes in gathering statistics. Now the responses between advanced baseball statisticians and older generations of baseball analysts resemble political and theological discussions. You could probably tell stories about what discussions of politics and religion do to your family’s Thanksgiving. Baseball has drifted in that direction in my household. We still maybe able to discuss the Hot Stove League over Thanksgiving Turkey, but I’m not counting on it. There will always be barriers in finding truth—in baseball, politics and religion. It’s about control. Sometimes the carnage just sits there at Thanksgiving dinner (literally and figuratively).
The goal of gathering baseball statistics is truth about baseball performance. Yet, baseball is a game of relationships as well as athletic performance. The pursuit of baseball truth needs more ambassadorships, people who are well versed in the powerful link between relationships, truth and baseball. I think we see portions of that with Dave Cameron’s radio and social media appearances. Social media tools make the relational side of baseball truth gathering more possible. I am in awe of the response and interest in Cameron’s publicity of his leukemia and treatment (I’m sure he’s more in awe than me). In any learning environment, I have learned that relationships make the information more useful. Cameron’s public contact increases his trustworthiness. My exploration into advanced baseball metrics began reading Keith Law chat transcripts—where discussions of literature, language, cooking and FIP converged. Law answered my literature question before he ever answered my baseball questions.
Last Friday night at the Rainier's game, a good friend and I shared a Deschutes IPA. He attends far more live games each spring and summer than me. He has season tickets to his local semi-pro team, and his family gets to know the players over the season. He knows a lot about the game, but there are also many relationships woven in that knowledge. The topic of pitcher wins and run support came up in our conversation as we broke down the Fister trade and watched Luke French get pummeled. It was an opportunity to talk and figure out the truth of baseball performance. It’s one thing to have Jeff Sullivan tell me statistically why Luke French isn’t going to cut it; it’s another to be able to come to that conclusion among friends and family. It takes more than nerds to figure out the truth about baseball, but I’m glad that we have them, and that there are ambassadors among them.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose--for the church. An ode to Friday Night Lights
Do you think Friday Night Lights is a show about football? Think again. Football is part of the story, but FNL is about relationships. A creative culture makes it happen.
FNL makes its last hurrah as a current television series this Friday night. I'm not sure I've mourned the end of a series as much as this one. I admire the show for its passion and its creative process--and how a culture was created that facilitated and encouraged the creative process. This culture inspires me as a pastor. I hope that I can facilitate such a culture in the congregation and community I serve. Creation (not the "Intelligent Design" brand) is a theological foundation for me.
For a peek into the creative culture of Friday Night Lights, check out this oral history of FNL in Grantland (and if you haven't read Grantland yet, I commend it to you for writing on culture and sport that is moving far ahead of what any periodical is offering on similar topics).
Though the church has a history of inspiring creativity, the history is also long on burying creativity. Several teachers in seminary that I respect taught me an understanding of church based on replication. I took that teaching at face value for awhile. While there are some essentials in the life of the church to be replicated (and these things have been debated since Jesus arose from the dead), I believe much is up for creative interpretation. There are numerous periods in the life of the church where creativity has been squashed for a variety of reasons. This has happened and continues to occur in Mainline Protestant traditions. Even when there are wellsprings of creativity, these wellsprings are quickly institutionalized and become their own turf wars (see "contemporary" worship).
Mainline Protestant traditions were able to spread because of replication (plenty of cookie cutter church architecture out there). What else spreads because of replication? Chain restaurants. One may be able to get survival nutrition from a chain restaurant, but can people thrive? I have great hope to encourage a congregational culture where encouraging creativity is foundational to our relationship with God and one another. To me, this seems to be connected to the Great Commission: Where Jesus said, Go! Make disciples! Baptize! I am with you.
This is a creative directive from Jesus, with encouragement to go with it.
Encouraging creativity is contagious. The motto shared by Coach Taylor with his players and supporters: "Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can't lose." Though Taylor had some "my way or the highway" methodology to coaching--he always took into account the gifts and individual situations of his players (sometimes learning the hard way), which was linked to the creative process of the series. I love thinking about this in a community of faith.
Kyle Chandler, who plays Coach Taylor on FNL, talks about how that creativity spread from the show to a basic interaction in his life:
Chandler: I was back home in Los Angeles and we wanted to put a gate up in our yard. The fella came over and said, "Mr. Chandler, how do you want me to build this?" I said, "I'm not going to tell you how to build this gate. You just look around at what's here, and you build the best gate you can. Be as creative as you want. Take your time, and just give me a good gate." That gate's probably going to stand for 400 years.
FNL makes its last hurrah as a current television series this Friday night. I'm not sure I've mourned the end of a series as much as this one. I admire the show for its passion and its creative process--and how a culture was created that facilitated and encouraged the creative process. This culture inspires me as a pastor. I hope that I can facilitate such a culture in the congregation and community I serve. Creation (not the "Intelligent Design" brand) is a theological foundation for me.
For a peek into the creative culture of Friday Night Lights, check out this oral history of FNL in Grantland (and if you haven't read Grantland yet, I commend it to you for writing on culture and sport that is moving far ahead of what any periodical is offering on similar topics).
Though the church has a history of inspiring creativity, the history is also long on burying creativity. Several teachers in seminary that I respect taught me an understanding of church based on replication. I took that teaching at face value for awhile. While there are some essentials in the life of the church to be replicated (and these things have been debated since Jesus arose from the dead), I believe much is up for creative interpretation. There are numerous periods in the life of the church where creativity has been squashed for a variety of reasons. This has happened and continues to occur in Mainline Protestant traditions. Even when there are wellsprings of creativity, these wellsprings are quickly institutionalized and become their own turf wars (see "contemporary" worship).
Mainline Protestant traditions were able to spread because of replication (plenty of cookie cutter church architecture out there). What else spreads because of replication? Chain restaurants. One may be able to get survival nutrition from a chain restaurant, but can people thrive? I have great hope to encourage a congregational culture where encouraging creativity is foundational to our relationship with God and one another. To me, this seems to be connected to the Great Commission: Where Jesus said, Go! Make disciples! Baptize! I am with you.
This is a creative directive from Jesus, with encouragement to go with it.
Encouraging creativity is contagious. The motto shared by Coach Taylor with his players and supporters: "Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can't lose." Though Taylor had some "my way or the highway" methodology to coaching--he always took into account the gifts and individual situations of his players (sometimes learning the hard way), which was linked to the creative process of the series. I love thinking about this in a community of faith.
Kyle Chandler, who plays Coach Taylor on FNL, talks about how that creativity spread from the show to a basic interaction in his life:
Chandler: I was back home in Los Angeles and we wanted to put a gate up in our yard. The fella came over and said, "Mr. Chandler, how do you want me to build this?" I said, "I'm not going to tell you how to build this gate. You just look around at what's here, and you build the best gate you can. Be as creative as you want. Take your time, and just give me a good gate." That gate's probably going to stand for 400 years.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Lessons from language learning
A primary lesson of 10 years of interim ministry was learning to maintain balance during times of change and flux. Not that everything around me was going to feel right or that I looked good, rather, that panic was avoided and that community life moved forward toward a goal. Interim ministry and transition is not the place for the perfectionist, whether a pastor or a congregation member. The ability to recover from a setback, mistake or anxiety trigger is paramount to progress. I know this to be true in ministry, athletic endeavors, parenting and now language. I'm leaning toward learning that the importance of recovery is a universal truth.
Here's how my learning has developed recently. I the past month I've taken on learning Korean as an avocation. Some people don't understand why I would invest my time this way. I see a multitude of Korean signs in my congregation's neighborhood, and I see learning language as a path to hospitality and connection. I suppose it would be beneficial for any immigrant to learn English, but I will attempt to meet them a little closer to where they are toward their destination. A favorite writer Keith Law recommended the Pimsleur method as an anchor for language learning.
I've been working with Pimsleur for 2 weeks, and I get more out of Pimsleur than I have in any other language learning process in my life. I've learned some Danish, French, Spanish, Russian, and reading ability in ancient forms of Greek and Hebrew, but my mental adjustments to Korean are different than any of the languages I have learned before. I'm not learning Korean easily, but appreciate the methodology. I began to understand while taking my 8-year-old daughter to speech therapy. Pimsleur was an applied linguistics and French scholar at UCLA and that his approach was similar to the approach of her speech therapist, whose specialty happens to be applied linguistics.
My daughter has auditory processing problems. She hears sounds well, but the movement from sound, to processing the sound, to speech doesn't work well. With regular speech therapy, she is improving. If the conversation doesn't move as planned, my daughter gets frustrated and the conversation breaks down further. What her speech therapist teaches her through a variety of drills and practical approaches is a growing ability to recover when communication inevitably breaks down (this IS universal). This ability is easily taken for granted, though we know in our own lives that communication breaks down frequently. The ability to recover makes a difference. My daughter learns to recover through speech therapy.
I do something similar using the Pimsleur method. Through its series of drills breaking down the sounds of language in many different combinations, I don't necessarily merely focus on memorizing particular words, but through work with sounds that make up language, I find myself less lost. Our speech therapist says these approaches in therapy and language education are similar, and that we are not being equipped to be perfect with language, but rather that we can recover when communication breaks down.
During my years of interim ministry, I have found no greater lesson. The ability to adjust and recover in during communication break down is far more important than learning to do something perfectly. The goal is to connect. The goal is to share a message. The goal is to build relationships. The goal is to learn. I still like to strive toward perfection to some degree, but frustration over not reaching perfection ends many attempts in life to do something good. I encounter this break down daily--in parenting, in building a household, in marriage, in ministry, in health, in vocation. It remains to be seen whether I will be able to live this out in the many facets of my life, but I have the lesson played out regularly during my trips to speech therapy and Korean language sessions.
Here's how my learning has developed recently. I the past month I've taken on learning Korean as an avocation. Some people don't understand why I would invest my time this way. I see a multitude of Korean signs in my congregation's neighborhood, and I see learning language as a path to hospitality and connection. I suppose it would be beneficial for any immigrant to learn English, but I will attempt to meet them a little closer to where they are toward their destination. A favorite writer Keith Law recommended the Pimsleur method as an anchor for language learning.
I've been working with Pimsleur for 2 weeks, and I get more out of Pimsleur than I have in any other language learning process in my life. I've learned some Danish, French, Spanish, Russian, and reading ability in ancient forms of Greek and Hebrew, but my mental adjustments to Korean are different than any of the languages I have learned before. I'm not learning Korean easily, but appreciate the methodology. I began to understand while taking my 8-year-old daughter to speech therapy. Pimsleur was an applied linguistics and French scholar at UCLA and that his approach was similar to the approach of her speech therapist, whose specialty happens to be applied linguistics.
My daughter has auditory processing problems. She hears sounds well, but the movement from sound, to processing the sound, to speech doesn't work well. With regular speech therapy, she is improving. If the conversation doesn't move as planned, my daughter gets frustrated and the conversation breaks down further. What her speech therapist teaches her through a variety of drills and practical approaches is a growing ability to recover when communication inevitably breaks down (this IS universal). This ability is easily taken for granted, though we know in our own lives that communication breaks down frequently. The ability to recover makes a difference. My daughter learns to recover through speech therapy.
I do something similar using the Pimsleur method. Through its series of drills breaking down the sounds of language in many different combinations, I don't necessarily merely focus on memorizing particular words, but through work with sounds that make up language, I find myself less lost. Our speech therapist says these approaches in therapy and language education are similar, and that we are not being equipped to be perfect with language, but rather that we can recover when communication breaks down.
During my years of interim ministry, I have found no greater lesson. The ability to adjust and recover in during communication break down is far more important than learning to do something perfectly. The goal is to connect. The goal is to share a message. The goal is to build relationships. The goal is to learn. I still like to strive toward perfection to some degree, but frustration over not reaching perfection ends many attempts in life to do something good. I encounter this break down daily--in parenting, in building a household, in marriage, in ministry, in health, in vocation. It remains to be seen whether I will be able to live this out in the many facets of my life, but I have the lesson played out regularly during my trips to speech therapy and Korean language sessions.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Place matters--how do your surroundings affect how you see the world?
How does where you live--culture, environment, physical surroundings and their corresponding relationships affect how you look at the world? How does it affect how you look at faith and congregational life?
My passion for these questions took a sabbatical over the past few years. After living for 20 years in the Midwest, I moved with my family to the Seattle metro, where I grew up before taking off for college and early adulthood. I am thankful for the relationships (where I met my wife), mentoring and opportunity in the Midwest (I lived and worked in rural and urban areas in KS, MN, WI, SD and IA). However, there was always some dissonance about my perceptions (particularly of faith and congregational life).
That dissonance runs both ways. I watched it last night at a grant planning meeting, where my Minnesota-native wife raised a particular point to the group. Someone responded, "is that a Midwest (church) thing?" No, Melanie responded, the congregational cultural attribute was part of her Las Vegas congregation, where she served her internship. She hears this kind of question/response loop in her work with congregations. In the particular expression of Lutheranism in the Pacific Northwest, it is common to hear about the church prowess of the Lutheran Holy Land of the Northern Great Plains (MN, ND, SD, IA), with the implication that the Pacific Northwest expression is somehow inferior. It appears from folk culture to church structure to leadership orientation.
One of my colleagues in South Dakota and I discussed this dissonance of place and perception on occasion. I had perceived that sometimes the Midwestern ethos is connected to a moral superiority. I had collected a series of op-ed pieces and letters to the editor that rejected the values of the West Coast and espoused the life in South Dakota. I was attempting to interpret what was behind that understanding. She responded that a Coastal ethos often depicts a cultural superiority. It was hard to disagree with either observation.
In congregational life the diversity of backgrounds is hard to ignore. For every perception of a degree of homogeneity, there are several divergent variables that affect perceptions and relationships. I remember seminary days with scholars and students who espoused some kind of pure faith and theology where culture didn't matter, and that somehow that pure theology could exist in a vacuum. To say there is a pure Christianity apart from culture reeks of gnosticism, where only insiders get to know and understand the "pure" theology.
Today's reflection was inspired by Kansas native Chris Suellentrop and his thoughts on the Kansas City sports landscape. Maybe you're interested in sports and place. If not, what caught my attention was one particular observation about the intersection of place and life, and one that didn't come from a Midwest outsider like me (if you don't want to read the entire article):
"Combine this romantic, backward-looking vision with the traditional Midwestern delusion that you are more American than the rest of the country, and you're left with a strikingly insular self-conception, a sense that you are in a place in righteous decline."--Chris Suellentrop, grantland.com, 7/7/11
That post re-awakened in me the importance of place as a variable to understanding our relationships with God and one another. It made me think about what it means to be a Lutheran Christian in the United States. Who once lived in the Midwest and married someone from the Midwest. Who loves everything about the geography of the Pacific Northwest (reacquainting myself with this love has distracted me from the deeper questions--they're now back). All of these things affect my relationship and vocation. The question is how? What does it mean?
Place matters. For a person of faith, place matters. The Bible features several stories and reflection about the land--think about the Promised Land. Even buildings receive special billing--the Bible features several stories about building programs. There is lament and hope intertwined with building destruction and reconstruction, and all that goes into the construction and recognition of place.
The question for me about the intersection between place and life is not that it exists, but how and why? What do you think?
My passion for these questions took a sabbatical over the past few years. After living for 20 years in the Midwest, I moved with my family to the Seattle metro, where I grew up before taking off for college and early adulthood. I am thankful for the relationships (where I met my wife), mentoring and opportunity in the Midwest (I lived and worked in rural and urban areas in KS, MN, WI, SD and IA). However, there was always some dissonance about my perceptions (particularly of faith and congregational life).
That dissonance runs both ways. I watched it last night at a grant planning meeting, where my Minnesota-native wife raised a particular point to the group. Someone responded, "is that a Midwest (church) thing?" No, Melanie responded, the congregational cultural attribute was part of her Las Vegas congregation, where she served her internship. She hears this kind of question/response loop in her work with congregations. In the particular expression of Lutheranism in the Pacific Northwest, it is common to hear about the church prowess of the Lutheran Holy Land of the Northern Great Plains (MN, ND, SD, IA), with the implication that the Pacific Northwest expression is somehow inferior. It appears from folk culture to church structure to leadership orientation.
One of my colleagues in South Dakota and I discussed this dissonance of place and perception on occasion. I had perceived that sometimes the Midwestern ethos is connected to a moral superiority. I had collected a series of op-ed pieces and letters to the editor that rejected the values of the West Coast and espoused the life in South Dakota. I was attempting to interpret what was behind that understanding. She responded that a Coastal ethos often depicts a cultural superiority. It was hard to disagree with either observation.
In congregational life the diversity of backgrounds is hard to ignore. For every perception of a degree of homogeneity, there are several divergent variables that affect perceptions and relationships. I remember seminary days with scholars and students who espoused some kind of pure faith and theology where culture didn't matter, and that somehow that pure theology could exist in a vacuum. To say there is a pure Christianity apart from culture reeks of gnosticism, where only insiders get to know and understand the "pure" theology.
Today's reflection was inspired by Kansas native Chris Suellentrop and his thoughts on the Kansas City sports landscape. Maybe you're interested in sports and place. If not, what caught my attention was one particular observation about the intersection of place and life, and one that didn't come from a Midwest outsider like me (if you don't want to read the entire article):
"Combine this romantic, backward-looking vision with the traditional Midwestern delusion that you are more American than the rest of the country, and you're left with a strikingly insular self-conception, a sense that you are in a place in righteous decline."--Chris Suellentrop, grantland.com, 7/7/11
That post re-awakened in me the importance of place as a variable to understanding our relationships with God and one another. It made me think about what it means to be a Lutheran Christian in the United States. Who once lived in the Midwest and married someone from the Midwest. Who loves everything about the geography of the Pacific Northwest (reacquainting myself with this love has distracted me from the deeper questions--they're now back). All of these things affect my relationship and vocation. The question is how? What does it mean?
Place matters. For a person of faith, place matters. The Bible features several stories and reflection about the land--think about the Promised Land. Even buildings receive special billing--the Bible features several stories about building programs. There is lament and hope intertwined with building destruction and reconstruction, and all that goes into the construction and recognition of place.
The question for me about the intersection between place and life is not that it exists, but how and why? What do you think?
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Classic Sports Discourse, Revisited for the Church
I am currently working on a series of blog posts in the coming week or two using a framework often used in sports, but I am trying it with the life of the church. What is overrated? What is underrated? Sports people in radio and in the business attempt to stay away from overvalued athletes (unless you're the New York Yankees or Boston Red Sox) and maximize undervalued athletes. The church should probably stay away from looking at people and ministries as commodities, yet it is important to understand the dynamics of public discourse and what receives our attention.
What do you think? When it comes to the life of the church: what is overrated? What is underrated?
Here are the examples I am currently addressing in my thoughts that will turn into blog posts in the series:
Overrated: Office space. Mission statements.
Underrated: Grace. Accountability.
I would not pin this framework on Jesus' thought processes and ministry. However, Jesus is doing something to this effect during the "blessings and woes" teaching in Luke 6. It's overrated to be full and rich. It's underrated to be excluded and hated because of an association with Jesus. It's underrated to be hungry and weeping. What do these statements mean? What does it say about human aspiration? What does it say about who we value as people? The underrated/overrated framework is a discussion piece about where we put our attention in public and congregational discourse.
If you are interested in writing a guest blog post, let me know. Or, if you have some input on possible topics, let me know! What do you think?
What do you think? When it comes to the life of the church: what is overrated? What is underrated?
Here are the examples I am currently addressing in my thoughts that will turn into blog posts in the series:
Overrated: Office space. Mission statements.
Underrated: Grace. Accountability.
I would not pin this framework on Jesus' thought processes and ministry. However, Jesus is doing something to this effect during the "blessings and woes" teaching in Luke 6. It's overrated to be full and rich. It's underrated to be excluded and hated because of an association with Jesus. It's underrated to be hungry and weeping. What do these statements mean? What does it say about human aspiration? What does it say about who we value as people? The underrated/overrated framework is a discussion piece about where we put our attention in public and congregational discourse.
If you are interested in writing a guest blog post, let me know. Or, if you have some input on possible topics, let me know! What do you think?
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Loyalty Admired in Alberta with the Edmonton Oilers
I am an Edmonton Oilers hockey fan. I continue to learn about loyalty.
Though I don't dissect roster moves or organizational strategy with the Oilers like I do the Seattle Mariners, when the conversation turns to hockey, I have a reference point with the Oilers. I began following the Oilers when I was about 10-11 years old, watching CBUT out of Vancouver in my homes in the Puget Sound area. With Hockey Night in Canada and The National with CBC News, I became acquainted with Canadian life. My youth soccer team also participated in game exchanges between the two countries, and I traveled to Surrey and Vancouver, BC. My interest in Canada grew to where it is a hobby to follow Canadian life now in politics, culture and sport. During my early teenage years, I latched on to the rage in Canadian NHL hockey--the Edmonton Oilers, and I grew to enjoy watching Wayne Gretzky, Jari Kurri, Mark Messier, Grant Fuhr, Kevin Lowe, Craig MacTavish and Esa Tikkanen. They were a great team--an NHL dynasty. After Gretzky left, I continued to follow the team through thick and thin (and very thin right now).
Almost nine years ago, I checked off a line on my unofficial bucket list and made the trek to Edmonton with my wife, eight months pregnant. We flew into Calgary for my brother's wedding (I was jazzed he was marrying into a Canadian family), rented a car and fulfilled my longtime dream of attending an Edmonton Oilers home hockey game. Melanie was a good sport to attend this sporting event. Not a sports fan, she uses these opportunities to sample local cultures, exploring the arenas and stadiums to test cuisine and people watch. However, she noted it was hard to explore during the game because no one left their seats outside of intermission. About 90+ percent of the fans were wearing an Oilers sweater (jersey), or some other Oilers garb. The only other experience close to that in the 'States for professional sports was the St. Louis Cardinals Baseball Club--but Edmonton even had them beat. Melanie almost felt she couldn't leave during game play because eyes were glued to the game. The Oilers lost the game to Brett Hull and the Dallas Stars, 5-4 in OT, but if my hockey allegiance was ever in doubt, it was solidified that day.
During my recent trip to visit my brother and his family (Jimmy is working on his dissertation in Sports Management at the University of Alberta), we took in the must of every trip, an Oilers hockey game. The Oilers are a poor team this year. They are a team in transition--getting younger and faster, but also suffering a significant amount of injuries. Some nights they are barely competitive, and we saw them soundly defeated by the Los Angeles Kings, 2-0. It wasn't even that close. The Oilers have the worst record in the NHL this season, but the fans still turn out, they still watch the game. They pay high prices for tickets, beer and other concessions. Their sweaters aren't cheap, either. This game made me notice something that would surely be present in the United States with a bad team. US professional sports fans tend to vote with their feet. They tend to not show up for a bad team. The ones who do show up will boo their team. During the game we watched, the Oilers would have earned loud derision from the fan base. But not in Edmonton that night. They still lined up at the souvenir boutiques on the concourse to purchase a tactile piece of hope--new sweaters depicting the numbers of their developing heroes: Taylor Hall, Jordan Eberle, Magnus Paajarvi, to go along with their current stars, Ales Hemsky and Shawn Horcoff.
Sometimes I question blind loyalty, but I admire the loyalty on the banks of the River Saskatchewan to the Oilers. Though the team heroes are admired, it is also recognized that players come and go. The team and what it provides are the focal point for community, encouragement and camaraderie. These points are not lost on the hockey fans of Edmonton, Alberta. I wonder in the midst of such social phenomena whether there are equivalent applications for my life in the church. How much loyalty is too much? When does loyalty blind people to the opportunities of the future? How does God work in the midst of community? These were good questions for me to ponder as I admired my very small part in a community to which I admire from afar through my television, computer, and the occasional visit.
Though I don't dissect roster moves or organizational strategy with the Oilers like I do the Seattle Mariners, when the conversation turns to hockey, I have a reference point with the Oilers. I began following the Oilers when I was about 10-11 years old, watching CBUT out of Vancouver in my homes in the Puget Sound area. With Hockey Night in Canada and The National with CBC News, I became acquainted with Canadian life. My youth soccer team also participated in game exchanges between the two countries, and I traveled to Surrey and Vancouver, BC. My interest in Canada grew to where it is a hobby to follow Canadian life now in politics, culture and sport. During my early teenage years, I latched on to the rage in Canadian NHL hockey--the Edmonton Oilers, and I grew to enjoy watching Wayne Gretzky, Jari Kurri, Mark Messier, Grant Fuhr, Kevin Lowe, Craig MacTavish and Esa Tikkanen. They were a great team--an NHL dynasty. After Gretzky left, I continued to follow the team through thick and thin (and very thin right now).
Almost nine years ago, I checked off a line on my unofficial bucket list and made the trek to Edmonton with my wife, eight months pregnant. We flew into Calgary for my brother's wedding (I was jazzed he was marrying into a Canadian family), rented a car and fulfilled my longtime dream of attending an Edmonton Oilers home hockey game. Melanie was a good sport to attend this sporting event. Not a sports fan, she uses these opportunities to sample local cultures, exploring the arenas and stadiums to test cuisine and people watch. However, she noted it was hard to explore during the game because no one left their seats outside of intermission. About 90+ percent of the fans were wearing an Oilers sweater (jersey), or some other Oilers garb. The only other experience close to that in the 'States for professional sports was the St. Louis Cardinals Baseball Club--but Edmonton even had them beat. Melanie almost felt she couldn't leave during game play because eyes were glued to the game. The Oilers lost the game to Brett Hull and the Dallas Stars, 5-4 in OT, but if my hockey allegiance was ever in doubt, it was solidified that day.
During my recent trip to visit my brother and his family (Jimmy is working on his dissertation in Sports Management at the University of Alberta), we took in the must of every trip, an Oilers hockey game. The Oilers are a poor team this year. They are a team in transition--getting younger and faster, but also suffering a significant amount of injuries. Some nights they are barely competitive, and we saw them soundly defeated by the Los Angeles Kings, 2-0. It wasn't even that close. The Oilers have the worst record in the NHL this season, but the fans still turn out, they still watch the game. They pay high prices for tickets, beer and other concessions. Their sweaters aren't cheap, either. This game made me notice something that would surely be present in the United States with a bad team. US professional sports fans tend to vote with their feet. They tend to not show up for a bad team. The ones who do show up will boo their team. During the game we watched, the Oilers would have earned loud derision from the fan base. But not in Edmonton that night. They still lined up at the souvenir boutiques on the concourse to purchase a tactile piece of hope--new sweaters depicting the numbers of their developing heroes: Taylor Hall, Jordan Eberle, Magnus Paajarvi, to go along with their current stars, Ales Hemsky and Shawn Horcoff.
Sometimes I question blind loyalty, but I admire the loyalty on the banks of the River Saskatchewan to the Oilers. Though the team heroes are admired, it is also recognized that players come and go. The team and what it provides are the focal point for community, encouragement and camaraderie. These points are not lost on the hockey fans of Edmonton, Alberta. I wonder in the midst of such social phenomena whether there are equivalent applications for my life in the church. How much loyalty is too much? When does loyalty blind people to the opportunities of the future? How does God work in the midst of community? These were good questions for me to ponder as I admired my very small part in a community to which I admire from afar through my television, computer, and the occasional visit.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Remembering Dave Niehaus
This post is not meant to imply that I can't distinguish the difference between baseball and faith. I would never preach a sermon series on Dave Niehaus (though I have a sneaking suspicion some of this reflection will appear in my Sunday sermon). However, the death of Dave Niehaus and recognizing his impact on my life and thousands of people across the Pacific Northwest and baseball lovers across the country stirs reflection on similarities between what Dave Niehaus embodied and what I imagine the pastoral life to be.
For 34 seasons in games that spanned 6 months of the year, from spring training to the painfully infrequent, yet jubilant playoff appearances, Dave Niehaus shared with his listeners what I seek in myself as a pastor. Dave's signature voice was both the backdrop and forefront of my family's life since I was 6 years old. It is not a token statement to say that Dave radio depictions of a simple game taught me hope, joy, belief, wisdom, encouragement, storytelling, camaraderie, teamwork and passion.
I began to hear Dave's voice sitting in front of the console radio at my Grandparent's house in Renton. My parents attended the opening game, my father thrilled that baseball had returned to Seattle. He told me stories about the Seattle Rainiers and Seattle Pilots--his stories and memories of heroes, woven with stories of his own father, a man I never met. Beginning with my evenings in front of the console radio, I began to hear stories of my Gram, who listened to Portland Beavers baseball games with her father at their home in Camas, Washington, along the Columbia River. I was attached to Dave's voice almost instantly, developing my own heroes through his story telling. They weren't great players in those early years, but they were still my heroes: Ruppert Jones, Bob Stinson, Bill Stein, Diego Segui, Craig Reynolds, Enrique Romo, Rick Honeycutt. I wanted them to do well, just as Dave did. Dave even made food sound better with his distinctive voice--Darigold dairy products, and Langendorf Old Fashioned White Bread. Dave's voice was everywhere in our lives: as we participated in life's daily activities, travel, yard work, play, family gatherings of all kinds, and the frequent visits to my Grandparent's house. Dave's words became the words of my brothers John and Jimmy as we played wiffle ball wherever we could.
When I left the Pacific Northwest to pursue my own vocation and baseball life in the Midwest, I didn't realize how much I missed Dave Niehaus until I listened to broadcasts in other cities. The other cities had their signature broadcasters and calls, and were endearing to their fans--Herb Carneal and John Gordon in Minnesota, Bob Uecker in Milwaukee, Denny Matthews in Kansas City, no one I heard outside of Vin Scully in Los Angeles and Ernie Harwell of Detroit was in the league of baseball story tellers extraordinaire like Dave Niehaus. I appreciated the broadcasting craft, but the stories and telling of the game inspired in me a love for baseball and a passion for engaging life. Dave's words became a way that my family and friends brought some poetry and passion to our conversations. My friend Bret and I sometimes greeted each other with Dave-isms. I was thankful to have Dave's voice ring through my house in South Dakota once I could lounge on a summer day, with my wife Melanie joining my daughter in the backyard with a Mariners game streaming on my laptop from mlb.com. I was ecstatic to return to the Pacific Northwest in 2009 and reacquaint myself with more regular Niehaus contact. After hearing that the Mariners had traded for Cliff Lee during the 2009-10 off-season, I started to spout off Dave-isms in the car with my daughters on our daily commute.
"Ninety-eight mile an hour, high octane, GAS!"
"Swung on and belted!"
"Get out the rye bread and the mustard, Grandma, it's GRAND SALAMI time!"
"Diabolical. That stank!"
"Loooooowwwwwwwwwww, ball 3"
"Fly, fly, away!"
"My, oh, my!"
My 4-year old daughter sometimes echoed my exclamations, but sometimes she had to tell me to stop.
My family and friends imagined what it would be like if the Mariners ever won a World Series. I stated Dave Niehaus would spontaneously combust or die joyfully on the spot. Even if the Mariners staged a dramatic win 34 games out of first place, Dave shook the broadcast booth with his jubilation. He might not be able to contain himself.
In 1995, I thought the Mariners might get to that point of collective ecstasy. I was serving a congregation in Copenhagen on my pastoral internship. In the age before widely available Internet, I had to scour any piece of news to get my hands on the daily work of the surging Seattle Mariners. I lamented that I couldn't connect with Niehaus' words, but well over a decade of listening to Niehaus produced imagined descriptions in my mind's eye. My mentor and friend Steve Bain invited me to his home to spend the night so we could watch the playoff broadcasts in the wee hours of the morning, trying to contain ourselves just enough so that we wouldn't stir his sleeping family. We watched the national/international broadcast, all the time wishing or imagining we could hear Dave. Bleary eyed, yet joyful, I went to my work after watching the games, having slept maybe 2 hours. Good thing I was young at the time.
For the years 1995-2003, the Mariners often shaped the discussion of baseball excellence. They were the only example of "glory years" for the franchise, and even then, only about half of those years they were playoff teams. But Dave had a special lilt and enthusiasm in his voice during those years, and in some ways, I was most happy for him, because Dave was always present for the public and the Mariners, I felt he deserved some actual joy instead of hopeful joy (if those can be distinguished).
It was the other years of baseball that I learned more from Dave Niehaus. The Mariners have often been a bad baseball team. But my family has always been willing to listen, because Dave was always willing to lead the team and share the stories in his signature way. Listening to Dave in spring training and throughout the year, he always told a story of hope. He lived a life that said passion matters. Learning the facts matters. Encouraging the team matters. Seeing the best in people matters. Celebrating victories matters. He anticipated something good happening in every pitch or swing of the bat. It didn't matter that Dave's judgment of a batted ball was sometimes completely off, believing a lazy fly ball had home run potential. His hope and belief in what was possible for the Seattle Mariners was often endearing, yet on the whole, inspiring.
In some way, Dave Niehaus gave me a sense of interim ministry through all of those losing seasons. Dave gave me insight on how to go into a place and tell stories of hope in the midst of what appears bleak. That is part of my job in interim ministry, things that Dave did as a baseball broadcaster. To celebrate the daily joys of life. To offer wisdom and encouragements to teammates. To report on the context and goals of the organization. To live a life of thankfulness when many are tempted to dwell on the negative aspects of collective life. Jesus is my ultimate example of this kind of life. I do not know Dave Niehaus' faith, but he reminded me and highlighted to me some of what I am called to do in life.
Today I need to visit my 87-year old Gram and tell her that Dave Niehaus died. For 34 years his voice filled their house. That voice was second only to my Granddad. I remember during a baseball pilgrimage with my friend Cameron in 1991, we visited Tiger Stadium in Detroit. I knew my grandparents were listening, so I sent a message to the press box for Dave to greet June and Jerry Zubrod in Renton listening to the game. I knew he was glad to do it and my grandparents were thrilled to hear their names said by Dave. My mother saw Dave just a few weeks ago and shook his hand. He was gracious and hospitable, full of smiles and looking well. I'm glad she was able to show him some level of appreciation for his place in our family's life. It seems fitting that connection was made.
Thanks to Dave Niehaus and his family for sharing his gifts with the Pacific Northwest for 34 years. My life has been inspired and made better because of his gifts. I am sad, but I am thankful. This has been said many times over the past 18 hours, but fly, fly away, Dave. Thank God and thank you for the memories.
For 34 seasons in games that spanned 6 months of the year, from spring training to the painfully infrequent, yet jubilant playoff appearances, Dave Niehaus shared with his listeners what I seek in myself as a pastor. Dave's signature voice was both the backdrop and forefront of my family's life since I was 6 years old. It is not a token statement to say that Dave radio depictions of a simple game taught me hope, joy, belief, wisdom, encouragement, storytelling, camaraderie, teamwork and passion.
I began to hear Dave's voice sitting in front of the console radio at my Grandparent's house in Renton. My parents attended the opening game, my father thrilled that baseball had returned to Seattle. He told me stories about the Seattle Rainiers and Seattle Pilots--his stories and memories of heroes, woven with stories of his own father, a man I never met. Beginning with my evenings in front of the console radio, I began to hear stories of my Gram, who listened to Portland Beavers baseball games with her father at their home in Camas, Washington, along the Columbia River. I was attached to Dave's voice almost instantly, developing my own heroes through his story telling. They weren't great players in those early years, but they were still my heroes: Ruppert Jones, Bob Stinson, Bill Stein, Diego Segui, Craig Reynolds, Enrique Romo, Rick Honeycutt. I wanted them to do well, just as Dave did. Dave even made food sound better with his distinctive voice--Darigold dairy products, and Langendorf Old Fashioned White Bread. Dave's voice was everywhere in our lives: as we participated in life's daily activities, travel, yard work, play, family gatherings of all kinds, and the frequent visits to my Grandparent's house. Dave's words became the words of my brothers John and Jimmy as we played wiffle ball wherever we could.
When I left the Pacific Northwest to pursue my own vocation and baseball life in the Midwest, I didn't realize how much I missed Dave Niehaus until I listened to broadcasts in other cities. The other cities had their signature broadcasters and calls, and were endearing to their fans--Herb Carneal and John Gordon in Minnesota, Bob Uecker in Milwaukee, Denny Matthews in Kansas City, no one I heard outside of Vin Scully in Los Angeles and Ernie Harwell of Detroit was in the league of baseball story tellers extraordinaire like Dave Niehaus. I appreciated the broadcasting craft, but the stories and telling of the game inspired in me a love for baseball and a passion for engaging life. Dave's words became a way that my family and friends brought some poetry and passion to our conversations. My friend Bret and I sometimes greeted each other with Dave-isms. I was thankful to have Dave's voice ring through my house in South Dakota once I could lounge on a summer day, with my wife Melanie joining my daughter in the backyard with a Mariners game streaming on my laptop from mlb.com. I was ecstatic to return to the Pacific Northwest in 2009 and reacquaint myself with more regular Niehaus contact. After hearing that the Mariners had traded for Cliff Lee during the 2009-10 off-season, I started to spout off Dave-isms in the car with my daughters on our daily commute.
"Ninety-eight mile an hour, high octane, GAS!"
"Swung on and belted!"
"Get out the rye bread and the mustard, Grandma, it's GRAND SALAMI time!"
"Diabolical. That stank!"
"Loooooowwwwwwwwwww, ball 3"
"Fly, fly, away!"
"My, oh, my!"
My 4-year old daughter sometimes echoed my exclamations, but sometimes she had to tell me to stop.
My family and friends imagined what it would be like if the Mariners ever won a World Series. I stated Dave Niehaus would spontaneously combust or die joyfully on the spot. Even if the Mariners staged a dramatic win 34 games out of first place, Dave shook the broadcast booth with his jubilation. He might not be able to contain himself.
In 1995, I thought the Mariners might get to that point of collective ecstasy. I was serving a congregation in Copenhagen on my pastoral internship. In the age before widely available Internet, I had to scour any piece of news to get my hands on the daily work of the surging Seattle Mariners. I lamented that I couldn't connect with Niehaus' words, but well over a decade of listening to Niehaus produced imagined descriptions in my mind's eye. My mentor and friend Steve Bain invited me to his home to spend the night so we could watch the playoff broadcasts in the wee hours of the morning, trying to contain ourselves just enough so that we wouldn't stir his sleeping family. We watched the national/international broadcast, all the time wishing or imagining we could hear Dave. Bleary eyed, yet joyful, I went to my work after watching the games, having slept maybe 2 hours. Good thing I was young at the time.
For the years 1995-2003, the Mariners often shaped the discussion of baseball excellence. They were the only example of "glory years" for the franchise, and even then, only about half of those years they were playoff teams. But Dave had a special lilt and enthusiasm in his voice during those years, and in some ways, I was most happy for him, because Dave was always present for the public and the Mariners, I felt he deserved some actual joy instead of hopeful joy (if those can be distinguished).
It was the other years of baseball that I learned more from Dave Niehaus. The Mariners have often been a bad baseball team. But my family has always been willing to listen, because Dave was always willing to lead the team and share the stories in his signature way. Listening to Dave in spring training and throughout the year, he always told a story of hope. He lived a life that said passion matters. Learning the facts matters. Encouraging the team matters. Seeing the best in people matters. Celebrating victories matters. He anticipated something good happening in every pitch or swing of the bat. It didn't matter that Dave's judgment of a batted ball was sometimes completely off, believing a lazy fly ball had home run potential. His hope and belief in what was possible for the Seattle Mariners was often endearing, yet on the whole, inspiring.
In some way, Dave Niehaus gave me a sense of interim ministry through all of those losing seasons. Dave gave me insight on how to go into a place and tell stories of hope in the midst of what appears bleak. That is part of my job in interim ministry, things that Dave did as a baseball broadcaster. To celebrate the daily joys of life. To offer wisdom and encouragements to teammates. To report on the context and goals of the organization. To live a life of thankfulness when many are tempted to dwell on the negative aspects of collective life. Jesus is my ultimate example of this kind of life. I do not know Dave Niehaus' faith, but he reminded me and highlighted to me some of what I am called to do in life.
Today I need to visit my 87-year old Gram and tell her that Dave Niehaus died. For 34 years his voice filled their house. That voice was second only to my Granddad. I remember during a baseball pilgrimage with my friend Cameron in 1991, we visited Tiger Stadium in Detroit. I knew my grandparents were listening, so I sent a message to the press box for Dave to greet June and Jerry Zubrod in Renton listening to the game. I knew he was glad to do it and my grandparents were thrilled to hear their names said by Dave. My mother saw Dave just a few weeks ago and shook his hand. He was gracious and hospitable, full of smiles and looking well. I'm glad she was able to show him some level of appreciation for his place in our family's life. It seems fitting that connection was made.
Thanks to Dave Niehaus and his family for sharing his gifts with the Pacific Northwest for 34 years. My life has been inspired and made better because of his gifts. I am sad, but I am thankful. This has been said many times over the past 18 hours, but fly, fly away, Dave. Thank God and thank you for the memories.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Sermon: Why are THESE PEOPLE my neighbors?
Joshua 9
Luke 10: 25-37
People who attend a worship service have come a long way in their understanding of who their neighbors are. For decades and sometimes centuries, what it meant to be part of a congregation in North America was to be part of an ethnic enclave of people (some of these enclaves still exist, and new enclaves are forming). These enclaves may have had some interaction with other enclaves, but it was easy to have social and cultural norms reinforced, especially during church. If you wonder how this ethnic cultural reinforcement works think of the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The Finns had their own church, the Germans had their own church, the English had their own church, the African Americans had their own church, the Scots had their own church, the Norwegians had their own church, the Danes had their own church. Some people in this congregation may have a memory of a marriage or a relationship that was considered dangerous because a Norwegian married a Swede, a Roman Catholic married a Lutheran, or if someone of Northern European descent married someone of Asian descent. Sometimes boundaries aren't negotiated on ethnicity, but political affiliation or theological perspective.
The challenges continue, though the scope of that challenge has changed. The understanding of how we evolve in our relationships with neighbors is often conditioned by recent history and the stress we experience in the world which we live. When we experience stress in relationships, it is tempting to gain immediate relief in those relationships rather than attempt to negotiate their complexity. One of my favorite past times in the midst of stress in relating to my neighbors is to engage in some righteous indignation about the superiority of my perspective. In my Big Fat Greek Wedding, when a Greek father is considering the stress that his Greek daughter is marrying a non Greek man, Costa Portakales directs some disgust to his future son in law in Greek, "my people were developing philosophy while your people were swinging from trees." Sometimes people will join me in my anger, and for a few minutes we experience relief. Other times I pause and reflect on my stress, and realize that I am a fool. Sometimes I don't want to consider that God looks out for my neighbor.
In the midst of the stress of negotiating relationships that we do not understand, we go to our principles of faithful living. Christians go to church, gather in Christian community, and study the Bible as a means of negotiating the world in which we live. The Bible often provides us with a foundational understanding of what it means to relate to God and one another. Some biblical writings are easier to negotiate with others. "You shall not kill" is little easier for most people to reconcile than "you shall love your neighbor as yourself." The question posed by the "lawyer" in Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan reflects how challenging neighbor relationships can be, because we struggle to relate to the identity of our neighbor. Are our neighbors merely our kin? Does our roster of neighbors include only the people who live in close proximity? How is proximity defined? By city, county or national boundary, maybe college football fan base? Going to University of Washington's Husky Stadium for a football game yesterday it was interesting to see who is the neighbor of a Husky fan. Cougars are not neighbors (even though Cougars and Huskies are neighbors in Washington). Ducks are not neighbors (even though their state is adjacent, and Ducks live among Huskies. (Any mixed marriages of colleges out there)? But Michigan Wolverines? They aren't in as close proximity as Ducks or Cougars, but they were named as neighbors. Why? Because they beat the Notre Dame Fighting Irish! Is our neighbor the person who shares the same ethnic heritage? Is our neighbor the person who shares the same political or theological perspective? In North America, we are able to deal with our understanding of neighbor a little differently based on the sheer fact that we have the ability to move if we don't like how the relationships are going with our neighbors. We move to the suburbs, then we move back to the cities, and so on. Understanding of what it means to be a neighbor is constantly shifting.
The people of the Ancient Near East, in the times of the Bible, did not have the means of mobility that we do. In some ways, we are both mobile societies, but one thing we have in America is space, and lots of it. But people in Bible times have the same struggles with defining the meaning of neighbor as we do, with a lot less space with which to work. If you travel to Israel and Palestine one can see the diversity of people living in a very tight space. When we go to the Bible for guidance in the stressful world of negotiating neighbor relationships, the Bible isn't particularly unified about who our neighbor really is, and I think neighbor confusion is reflected in our public discourse. Sometimes that confusion comes to a violent head, as we have seen recently in the fervor related to Pastor Terry Jones and his congregation in Florida creating an event to burn the Quran, the Muslim holy book. This seemingly insignificant local event became known worldwide, because it served as a lightning rod for the stress related to how Americans negotiate a mosque being built near Ground Zero in New York City. The vitriol exchanged in public discourse is stressful in itself. It's tempting to blame "the media" for the fever pitch coverage of the topic, but often times "the media" reflects the state of the public. This is a relationship of neighbors, and it's not simple, especially when lives are on the line.
How do Christians negotiate a complex web of relationships? How does God?
I offer you the Bible story in Joshua 9 as a means to think about God's action in the midst of complex neighbor relationships. The story tells readers about the Gibeonites, a group who lived in close proximity to Joshua's people in the land of Canaan. They were a group set up to be exterminated according to God's call to Joshua. His conquest in Jericho and Ai were already documented and a reputation for their strength was well known throughout the region. The Gibeonites were aware that Joshua's people were to show hospitality to those who lived far away from Canaan, so they made it look like they came from far away in order that they had a better chance to establish a covenant between the two peoples. The Gibeonites used deception, and the story documents that Israel did not consult God in their dealings with the Gibeonites. A covenant was established between the peoples. When Israel discovered they had been deceived, the leaders were furious they had been tricked, and wanted to destroy them. But Joshua believed they should hold to the oath to God about peace with the Gibeonites.
The circumstances of neighbor relationships change in Joshua 9. An underdog people is spared in the midst of Israel taking possession of the land of Canaan. Why does God not intervene in this story if all the peoples of Canaan are supposed to be destroyed? Is God not only looking out for Israel, but looking out for people who are not part of Israel? Joshua 9 reveals that neighbor relationships are not as cut and dried as we think, and actually in flux. It also reveals that God is looking out for our neighbors, even the neighbors who are different than us. Circumstances matter. Lives hang in the balance. Circumstances matter in Joshua 9, and they matter in public discourse around the mosque near Ground Zero. Listen Up TV www.listenuptv.com has been reporting on the complex web of relationships around Ground Zero--people who have lost loved ones on 9/11/01, as well as Muslim and Christian leaders close to the situation. Their video clip is worth your time (with more forthcoming). Though Jesus gives his followers an ethic of being a neighbor is rooted in mercy,
today's examples provide us insight to the complexity of what it means to be a neighbor, to show mercy in the midst of anxiety, fear, vitriol and demeaning public discourse is an extraordinary act of faith. We cannot do it alone.
If we think of Jesus' last days on Earth, Jesus acted with mercy in the midst of fear, anxiety, vitriol. The parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10 is a microcosm and foreshadowing of Jesus' death and resurrection. Jesus had the power of God to crush his enemies and punish those who betrayed him, yet he extended mercy to all of them. Though retribution for the injustice showed to Jesus was justified, Jesus' resurrection overcomes the fear, anxiety, vitriol and demeaning act of crucifixion and brings love and forgiveness to the world.
Ground Zero is hundreds of miles away from much of the US and can seem distant, yet the discussion still matters. What can Christians do in response to the mercy of God in Christ? Faith in Christ is one thing. Keeping public discourse calm in the midst of anxiety is another. Our everyday actions may seem small, but they matter. St. Luke's Evangelical Lutheran Church (ELCA) showed some mercy to their Jewish and Muslim neighbors by posting a message of peace to their neighbors of different traditions on their church sign (quite a contrast to Burn A Koran Day in Florida). How is God calling you to share mercy in the world? How is God calling communities of faith? The life, death and resurrection of Christ reveals to us each day that the power of mercy can transform the world.
Luke 10: 25-37
People who attend a worship service have come a long way in their understanding of who their neighbors are. For decades and sometimes centuries, what it meant to be part of a congregation in North America was to be part of an ethnic enclave of people (some of these enclaves still exist, and new enclaves are forming). These enclaves may have had some interaction with other enclaves, but it was easy to have social and cultural norms reinforced, especially during church. If you wonder how this ethnic cultural reinforcement works think of the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The Finns had their own church, the Germans had their own church, the English had their own church, the African Americans had their own church, the Scots had their own church, the Norwegians had their own church, the Danes had their own church. Some people in this congregation may have a memory of a marriage or a relationship that was considered dangerous because a Norwegian married a Swede, a Roman Catholic married a Lutheran, or if someone of Northern European descent married someone of Asian descent. Sometimes boundaries aren't negotiated on ethnicity, but political affiliation or theological perspective.
The challenges continue, though the scope of that challenge has changed. The understanding of how we evolve in our relationships with neighbors is often conditioned by recent history and the stress we experience in the world which we live. When we experience stress in relationships, it is tempting to gain immediate relief in those relationships rather than attempt to negotiate their complexity. One of my favorite past times in the midst of stress in relating to my neighbors is to engage in some righteous indignation about the superiority of my perspective. In my Big Fat Greek Wedding, when a Greek father is considering the stress that his Greek daughter is marrying a non Greek man, Costa Portakales directs some disgust to his future son in law in Greek, "my people were developing philosophy while your people were swinging from trees." Sometimes people will join me in my anger, and for a few minutes we experience relief. Other times I pause and reflect on my stress, and realize that I am a fool. Sometimes I don't want to consider that God looks out for my neighbor.
In the midst of the stress of negotiating relationships that we do not understand, we go to our principles of faithful living. Christians go to church, gather in Christian community, and study the Bible as a means of negotiating the world in which we live. The Bible often provides us with a foundational understanding of what it means to relate to God and one another. Some biblical writings are easier to negotiate with others. "You shall not kill" is little easier for most people to reconcile than "you shall love your neighbor as yourself." The question posed by the "lawyer" in Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan reflects how challenging neighbor relationships can be, because we struggle to relate to the identity of our neighbor. Are our neighbors merely our kin? Does our roster of neighbors include only the people who live in close proximity? How is proximity defined? By city, county or national boundary, maybe college football fan base? Going to University of Washington's Husky Stadium for a football game yesterday it was interesting to see who is the neighbor of a Husky fan. Cougars are not neighbors (even though Cougars and Huskies are neighbors in Washington). Ducks are not neighbors (even though their state is adjacent, and Ducks live among Huskies. (Any mixed marriages of colleges out there)? But Michigan Wolverines? They aren't in as close proximity as Ducks or Cougars, but they were named as neighbors. Why? Because they beat the Notre Dame Fighting Irish! Is our neighbor the person who shares the same ethnic heritage? Is our neighbor the person who shares the same political or theological perspective? In North America, we are able to deal with our understanding of neighbor a little differently based on the sheer fact that we have the ability to move if we don't like how the relationships are going with our neighbors. We move to the suburbs, then we move back to the cities, and so on. Understanding of what it means to be a neighbor is constantly shifting.
The people of the Ancient Near East, in the times of the Bible, did not have the means of mobility that we do. In some ways, we are both mobile societies, but one thing we have in America is space, and lots of it. But people in Bible times have the same struggles with defining the meaning of neighbor as we do, with a lot less space with which to work. If you travel to Israel and Palestine one can see the diversity of people living in a very tight space. When we go to the Bible for guidance in the stressful world of negotiating neighbor relationships, the Bible isn't particularly unified about who our neighbor really is, and I think neighbor confusion is reflected in our public discourse. Sometimes that confusion comes to a violent head, as we have seen recently in the fervor related to Pastor Terry Jones and his congregation in Florida creating an event to burn the Quran, the Muslim holy book. This seemingly insignificant local event became known worldwide, because it served as a lightning rod for the stress related to how Americans negotiate a mosque being built near Ground Zero in New York City. The vitriol exchanged in public discourse is stressful in itself. It's tempting to blame "the media" for the fever pitch coverage of the topic, but often times "the media" reflects the state of the public. This is a relationship of neighbors, and it's not simple, especially when lives are on the line.
How do Christians negotiate a complex web of relationships? How does God?
I offer you the Bible story in Joshua 9 as a means to think about God's action in the midst of complex neighbor relationships. The story tells readers about the Gibeonites, a group who lived in close proximity to Joshua's people in the land of Canaan. They were a group set up to be exterminated according to God's call to Joshua. His conquest in Jericho and Ai were already documented and a reputation for their strength was well known throughout the region. The Gibeonites were aware that Joshua's people were to show hospitality to those who lived far away from Canaan, so they made it look like they came from far away in order that they had a better chance to establish a covenant between the two peoples. The Gibeonites used deception, and the story documents that Israel did not consult God in their dealings with the Gibeonites. A covenant was established between the peoples. When Israel discovered they had been deceived, the leaders were furious they had been tricked, and wanted to destroy them. But Joshua believed they should hold to the oath to God about peace with the Gibeonites.
The circumstances of neighbor relationships change in Joshua 9. An underdog people is spared in the midst of Israel taking possession of the land of Canaan. Why does God not intervene in this story if all the peoples of Canaan are supposed to be destroyed? Is God not only looking out for Israel, but looking out for people who are not part of Israel? Joshua 9 reveals that neighbor relationships are not as cut and dried as we think, and actually in flux. It also reveals that God is looking out for our neighbors, even the neighbors who are different than us. Circumstances matter. Lives hang in the balance. Circumstances matter in Joshua 9, and they matter in public discourse around the mosque near Ground Zero. Listen Up TV www.listenuptv.com has been reporting on the complex web of relationships around Ground Zero--people who have lost loved ones on 9/11/01, as well as Muslim and Christian leaders close to the situation. Their video clip is worth your time (with more forthcoming). Though Jesus gives his followers an ethic of being a neighbor is rooted in mercy,
today's examples provide us insight to the complexity of what it means to be a neighbor, to show mercy in the midst of anxiety, fear, vitriol and demeaning public discourse is an extraordinary act of faith. We cannot do it alone.
If we think of Jesus' last days on Earth, Jesus acted with mercy in the midst of fear, anxiety, vitriol. The parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10 is a microcosm and foreshadowing of Jesus' death and resurrection. Jesus had the power of God to crush his enemies and punish those who betrayed him, yet he extended mercy to all of them. Though retribution for the injustice showed to Jesus was justified, Jesus' resurrection overcomes the fear, anxiety, vitriol and demeaning act of crucifixion and brings love and forgiveness to the world.
Ground Zero is hundreds of miles away from much of the US and can seem distant, yet the discussion still matters. What can Christians do in response to the mercy of God in Christ? Faith in Christ is one thing. Keeping public discourse calm in the midst of anxiety is another. Our everyday actions may seem small, but they matter. St. Luke's Evangelical Lutheran Church (ELCA) showed some mercy to their Jewish and Muslim neighbors by posting a message of peace to their neighbors of different traditions on their church sign (quite a contrast to Burn A Koran Day in Florida). How is God calling you to share mercy in the world? How is God calling communities of faith? The life, death and resurrection of Christ reveals to us each day that the power of mercy can transform the world.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
New Media Epiphanies and Strategy
Epiphanies come in many shapes and sizes, though these episodes of discovery come more frequently and rapidly.
In the past 6 months, even after coming from a huge newspaper household in my youth, I can no longer bring myself to buy a newspaper. My fingers avoid ink stains, I don't dispose of a pile of paper, and my access to archives is greater without attempting to save piles of papers and taking up storage space in my house. I read most of my news on my iPhone these days. Most of the time I even forget the wonderful mobility of a laptop.
I desire to learn about new (if not already mainstream) media without the burden of earning a new degree. I want to put some theological flesh on the meaning of communication using today's tools. I want to learn while having my insight respected and not be given too much jargon or techie lingo. I want to connect with God and others, and I want to expand my imagination in doing so.
Using Twitter over the past 8 months, I find the connections to good information and specialized discussions increase in probability. While intentionally seeking to learn and grow in the scope of connecting with God and others through new media, I found a local, Seattle Mariners-loving, Mainline-Oldline Protestant Christian who develops new media strategies with congregations (Will Boyd). We met in a Seattle neighborhood (Ballard) at fun little BBQ restaurant (Pete's Smokin' BBQ) with free wifi. The entire meeting was arranged on Twitter. We didn't share any contact information outside of Twitter (until today). We had a solid theological conversation that took me to different places of thinking, while receiving ideas for tools that can be used for more effective communication.
While reflecting on my experience on my ferry ride back to my office from Seattle, I thought about my history with networking. A connection like today's conversation 10 years ago may have taken months and thousands of dollars to develop. I used to attend conferences for networking. Not to say that conferences are a resource black hole, but my return on investment with new media is exponential. I don't have to wait for big conferences to make important connections, I choose the scope and frequency of that connection.
The entire experience today was physically framed by driving up to a big old steeple ELCA congregation--First Lutheran Church in Ballard. As I walked up to Smokin' Pete BBQ (across the street from the church) for a tweetup, I thought about old ways and new ways of connecting with God and one another. I saw children at the church daycare playing outside, realizing that sharing God's grace through serving the neighbor in a daycare still matters. This is still the declared end in mind: to connect with God and others. The means are changing, faster than sometimes I care to admit, yet I don't lament the changes like I thought I might. I'm glad God would still care to use me in an era of rapidly changing means to achieve the ends.
In the past 6 months, even after coming from a huge newspaper household in my youth, I can no longer bring myself to buy a newspaper. My fingers avoid ink stains, I don't dispose of a pile of paper, and my access to archives is greater without attempting to save piles of papers and taking up storage space in my house. I read most of my news on my iPhone these days. Most of the time I even forget the wonderful mobility of a laptop.
I desire to learn about new (if not already mainstream) media without the burden of earning a new degree. I want to put some theological flesh on the meaning of communication using today's tools. I want to learn while having my insight respected and not be given too much jargon or techie lingo. I want to connect with God and others, and I want to expand my imagination in doing so.
Using Twitter over the past 8 months, I find the connections to good information and specialized discussions increase in probability. While intentionally seeking to learn and grow in the scope of connecting with God and others through new media, I found a local, Seattle Mariners-loving, Mainline-Oldline Protestant Christian who develops new media strategies with congregations (Will Boyd). We met in a Seattle neighborhood (Ballard) at fun little BBQ restaurant (Pete's Smokin' BBQ) with free wifi. The entire meeting was arranged on Twitter. We didn't share any contact information outside of Twitter (until today). We had a solid theological conversation that took me to different places of thinking, while receiving ideas for tools that can be used for more effective communication.
While reflecting on my experience on my ferry ride back to my office from Seattle, I thought about my history with networking. A connection like today's conversation 10 years ago may have taken months and thousands of dollars to develop. I used to attend conferences for networking. Not to say that conferences are a resource black hole, but my return on investment with new media is exponential. I don't have to wait for big conferences to make important connections, I choose the scope and frequency of that connection.
The entire experience today was physically framed by driving up to a big old steeple ELCA congregation--First Lutheran Church in Ballard. As I walked up to Smokin' Pete BBQ (across the street from the church) for a tweetup, I thought about old ways and new ways of connecting with God and one another. I saw children at the church daycare playing outside, realizing that sharing God's grace through serving the neighbor in a daycare still matters. This is still the declared end in mind: to connect with God and others. The means are changing, faster than sometimes I care to admit, yet I don't lament the changes like I thought I might. I'm glad God would still care to use me in an era of rapidly changing means to achieve the ends.
Monday, March 29, 2010
A game of interdependence
Last week I returned to the United States after a week with my brother and his family in Edmonton, Alberta. I always enjoy a trip to Canada. Though many American creature comforts cover the landscape, some distinctly Canadian features offer some alternative perspective to American cultural hegemony and worldview. I value perspective as a theologian and in my life in general; I sharpen my critical thinking skills when forced to look at something in a different way.
I remember as a child watching the CBC on Seattle cable television, my only source for ice hockey and curling. Though my enjoyment of these sports never reached the level of baseball, college football or basketball--I would choose watching curling or ice hockey over golf or auto racing if given a choice.
During the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver, I heard or read more than one American say that if they set their mind to it, they could become an Olympic-caliber curler. It's just shuffleboard on ice, so the critique goes. Though curling does not require world-class physical condition or athletic ability, I found my baseball sensibilities awakened by the interdependence, skill and agility involved. Curling requires a different set of gifts to compete at a level of excellence. Yet curling is accessible enough that one can participate and enjoy at any skill level, like golf or bowling. If a different set of gifts is required beyond mainstream activities, the activity is devalued: "it's just shuffleboard on ice." After two hours of curling at the University of Alberta curling rinks (picture above), I was sore from sweeping and in admiration of the agility required in throwing and sweeping.
My primary interest in curling is the interdependence--inspiring thoughts about team work and life in the Church. Even as a newcomer, my team still depended upon my contribution. My success was celebrated, I learned during several teaching moments, and my abilities were challenged. I learned a new sporting lexicon (skip, house, hammer, button, etc). All was shared with grace. This shared grace and challenge is what I hope for in the communities of faith in which I serve.
(If you're wondering about my success, I scored a double take-out on my third throw. That's not two take-out orders of poutine, but I knocked out two opponent rocks on one throw. Those granite rocks are HEAVY.)
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Sermon for January 17, 2010: "Listen. Do you want to know a secret?"
Matthew 21: 23-32
Brett Favre, starting quarterback of the Minnesota Vikings, may play in his last game for what seems to be the 50th time in his career today. He can't seem to retire in the literal sense of the word. Any news related to the National Football League over the past 3 years has expelled a significant portion of its wind to whether Brett Favre will retire. It is for moments such as these like today's game that a football player lives. On the biggest sporting stage that American sports can offer, Favre will have the attention of his coaches, his teammates, tens of thousands of screaming fans in the Metrodome in Minneapolis, numerous analysts sitting in multimillion dollar sets in television and radio studios hanging on his words and actions, and fans all over the world will be paying attention to what Brett Favre does on the field and what he says to accompany those actions. You don't even have to like Brett Favre--even the people who hate Favre and spit on his image will be listening and watching what Favre says and does. People may end up talking about Favre's words and actions for decades to come.
No wonder he doesn't want to retire. Being heard and watched to the degree Favre is examined would be challenging to relinquish. Many athletes struggle to retire for that reason. No one really listens anymore once the jersey is removed. I'm sure Favre will struggle with retirement once again after the end of his season.
I enjoy being heard. For all of the terror associated with weekly public speaking on the matters of life, death, grace, forgiveness, love, God and the cosmos, there is a feeling of exhilaration in preaching. People are actually listening. My thoughts, prayers and reflections actually matter to people, and then in some ways, I am better understood. I think preachers also struggle to retire. There is an allure to being heard--and losing that state of living, where one is heard on a weekly basis for so many years, becomes a threat to one's own existence. Though the desire for status is universal and a great roadblock to change in life--one thing I notice about social networking sites, blogs, public figures and in any social interaction is that though status-seeking drives the success of these sites or in simple human interaction, the underlying human need behind the social posturing is to be heard.
To be heard is a matter of survival. For some it is literal. A baby needs to be heard and people must respond for that child to live. People who survived the initial stages of the earthquake catastrophe in Haiti, but buried in rubble, their survival hinged upon being heard by a rescuer. It is hard to take human focus off of being heard, when so much is at stake. Being heard is part of our social well being as well as physical. People who are not heard can end up suffering isolation, depression and sometimes be driven to suicide, hoping that in their final act, they will be heard.
This essential part of our humanity--to be heard--and once we are heard--can be quite intoxicating. The problem ends up being that the ONLY goal in life is to be heard--and our society looks quite intoxicated right now. It appears that the only relevant state of being is to be heard. The problem with so many people working hard to be heard, one thinks that the only way to be heard in the crowd is to speak as often or as loudly as possible. Talk radio and talk TV lineups feature screamer after yeller after screamer after yeller. Preachers have followed the same logic over the years. In order to be heard--there has to be some yelling (so the logic goes). Parenting has become a similar enterprise with the quest to be heard. I recently read a New York Times article that faced with limited methods (at least related to old-fashioned parenting techniques), parents have turned to shouting as a leading method to be heard. One thing that I have learned is that the more I shout, the less my children eventually listen.
Jesus in his wisdom knew about the human desire to be heard. I think the desire to be heard is a cousin to a desire for status. The interesting thing about Jesus' critique of both leaders and followers in Matthew 21 is that he doesn't give people public speaking techniques. Jesus doesn't tell his followers to get louder. He doesn't teach them rhetoric. He doesn't teach them marketing or public relations. Jesus uses this story in Matthew 21 to let his followers know that what it means to live in connection with God requires listening. Listening to God means obedience. According to Jesus, listening to God means change, especially when people are generally focused more on being heard than listening.
Listening can change the world. While I have placed countless hours of energy trying to be heard, Jesus says that truly listening to God is linked to change. Listening to God models listening to others. This is a leap, because I catch myself being intoxicated by being heard on a macro level, but also on the micro level. I've caught myself worrying more about what I am going to say next than listening to the person with whom I am having a conversation. The intense desire to be heard juxtaposed with the dearth of listening can even be seen in public discourse related to relief efforts in Haiti. There's plenty of energy surrounding what is being said by President Obama, Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh, but I suppose it is a lot easier to concern myself with what is said by those folks and by me, rather than listening to those who are suffering.
In anxious times, what often comes to the forefront is not listening, but more people trying to be heard because they are anxious. The world can be changed by listening. God changed the world for Moses and his people by first hearing their suffering and letting Israel and Egypt know that God's people were heard.
On a practical level, as First Lutheran Community Church faces significant budget challenges and concerns over future pastoral leadership. It is certainly more alluring to offer theories as to why things are the way they are. The world we live in can be changed by listening. How do we listen to God? One of my favorite professors from Luther Seminary, Dr. Pat Keifert, says that we tend to think that prayer is the time that we get God to listen to us. Actually, prayer is the time God gets us to listen to God.
Bertel Thorvaldsen was a famous Danish sculptor known for his massive depiction of Jesus, the original appearing at Vor Frue's Kirke (Church of Our Lady) in Copenhagen, and with copies all over the world. The story attached to this sculpture notes the forward tilted head of Jesus, which was not the original intent of Thorvaldsen. Apparently, as the carving of the head took place, Thorvaldsen and his assistant miscalculated the carving and drying of the sculpture--a massive undertaking considering that sculpture was more than twice the size of an average human. The sculptors returned to their work the next morning to find that Jesus' head had tilted downward. The assistant thought this was a major failure of the piece and that months and months of work had been for naught. Thorvaldsen reassured his assistant that this was actually how Jesus should be depicted. The only way one could see the eyes of Jesus in this sculpture is to be on one's knees in prayer. It is true--the only way to get a clear glimpse of Jesus' face at Vor Frue's Kirke is to be kneeling at the altar rail.
For the world to change, the people of God need to be changed. The people of God cannot be changed as we make our way serving our God on this earth through placing all of our energy on what we say and attempt to be heard and asserting our own authority. If we seek for the situation in Haiti to change, we need to pray. If we seek the situation with the church's budget and congregational resources to change, we need to pray. It's not necessarily that we are taking to God our Christmas list and hoping to receive gifts, but that in listening, we are changed by the Jesus who changed our lives because he was obedient to the point of death on a cross. We are changed in our words, changed in our attitudes, and changed in our actions. In that change, we become the face of Jesus in a world where that face is needed among the suffering.
Brett Favre, starting quarterback of the Minnesota Vikings, may play in his last game for what seems to be the 50th time in his career today. He can't seem to retire in the literal sense of the word. Any news related to the National Football League over the past 3 years has expelled a significant portion of its wind to whether Brett Favre will retire. It is for moments such as these like today's game that a football player lives. On the biggest sporting stage that American sports can offer, Favre will have the attention of his coaches, his teammates, tens of thousands of screaming fans in the Metrodome in Minneapolis, numerous analysts sitting in multimillion dollar sets in television and radio studios hanging on his words and actions, and fans all over the world will be paying attention to what Brett Favre does on the field and what he says to accompany those actions. You don't even have to like Brett Favre--even the people who hate Favre and spit on his image will be listening and watching what Favre says and does. People may end up talking about Favre's words and actions for decades to come.
No wonder he doesn't want to retire. Being heard and watched to the degree Favre is examined would be challenging to relinquish. Many athletes struggle to retire for that reason. No one really listens anymore once the jersey is removed. I'm sure Favre will struggle with retirement once again after the end of his season.
I enjoy being heard. For all of the terror associated with weekly public speaking on the matters of life, death, grace, forgiveness, love, God and the cosmos, there is a feeling of exhilaration in preaching. People are actually listening. My thoughts, prayers and reflections actually matter to people, and then in some ways, I am better understood. I think preachers also struggle to retire. There is an allure to being heard--and losing that state of living, where one is heard on a weekly basis for so many years, becomes a threat to one's own existence. Though the desire for status is universal and a great roadblock to change in life--one thing I notice about social networking sites, blogs, public figures and in any social interaction is that though status-seeking drives the success of these sites or in simple human interaction, the underlying human need behind the social posturing is to be heard.
To be heard is a matter of survival. For some it is literal. A baby needs to be heard and people must respond for that child to live. People who survived the initial stages of the earthquake catastrophe in Haiti, but buried in rubble, their survival hinged upon being heard by a rescuer. It is hard to take human focus off of being heard, when so much is at stake. Being heard is part of our social well being as well as physical. People who are not heard can end up suffering isolation, depression and sometimes be driven to suicide, hoping that in their final act, they will be heard.
This essential part of our humanity--to be heard--and once we are heard--can be quite intoxicating. The problem ends up being that the ONLY goal in life is to be heard--and our society looks quite intoxicated right now. It appears that the only relevant state of being is to be heard. The problem with so many people working hard to be heard, one thinks that the only way to be heard in the crowd is to speak as often or as loudly as possible. Talk radio and talk TV lineups feature screamer after yeller after screamer after yeller. Preachers have followed the same logic over the years. In order to be heard--there has to be some yelling (so the logic goes). Parenting has become a similar enterprise with the quest to be heard. I recently read a New York Times article that faced with limited methods (at least related to old-fashioned parenting techniques), parents have turned to shouting as a leading method to be heard. One thing that I have learned is that the more I shout, the less my children eventually listen.
Jesus in his wisdom knew about the human desire to be heard. I think the desire to be heard is a cousin to a desire for status. The interesting thing about Jesus' critique of both leaders and followers in Matthew 21 is that he doesn't give people public speaking techniques. Jesus doesn't tell his followers to get louder. He doesn't teach them rhetoric. He doesn't teach them marketing or public relations. Jesus uses this story in Matthew 21 to let his followers know that what it means to live in connection with God requires listening. Listening to God means obedience. According to Jesus, listening to God means change, especially when people are generally focused more on being heard than listening.
Listening can change the world. While I have placed countless hours of energy trying to be heard, Jesus says that truly listening to God is linked to change. Listening to God models listening to others. This is a leap, because I catch myself being intoxicated by being heard on a macro level, but also on the micro level. I've caught myself worrying more about what I am going to say next than listening to the person with whom I am having a conversation. The intense desire to be heard juxtaposed with the dearth of listening can even be seen in public discourse related to relief efforts in Haiti. There's plenty of energy surrounding what is being said by President Obama, Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh, but I suppose it is a lot easier to concern myself with what is said by those folks and by me, rather than listening to those who are suffering.
In anxious times, what often comes to the forefront is not listening, but more people trying to be heard because they are anxious. The world can be changed by listening. God changed the world for Moses and his people by first hearing their suffering and letting Israel and Egypt know that God's people were heard.
On a practical level, as First Lutheran Community Church faces significant budget challenges and concerns over future pastoral leadership. It is certainly more alluring to offer theories as to why things are the way they are. The world we live in can be changed by listening. How do we listen to God? One of my favorite professors from Luther Seminary, Dr. Pat Keifert, says that we tend to think that prayer is the time that we get God to listen to us. Actually, prayer is the time God gets us to listen to God.
Bertel Thorvaldsen was a famous Danish sculptor known for his massive depiction of Jesus, the original appearing at Vor Frue's Kirke (Church of Our Lady) in Copenhagen, and with copies all over the world. The story attached to this sculpture notes the forward tilted head of Jesus, which was not the original intent of Thorvaldsen. Apparently, as the carving of the head took place, Thorvaldsen and his assistant miscalculated the carving and drying of the sculpture--a massive undertaking considering that sculpture was more than twice the size of an average human. The sculptors returned to their work the next morning to find that Jesus' head had tilted downward. The assistant thought this was a major failure of the piece and that months and months of work had been for naught. Thorvaldsen reassured his assistant that this was actually how Jesus should be depicted. The only way one could see the eyes of Jesus in this sculpture is to be on one's knees in prayer. It is true--the only way to get a clear glimpse of Jesus' face at Vor Frue's Kirke is to be kneeling at the altar rail.
For the world to change, the people of God need to be changed. The people of God cannot be changed as we make our way serving our God on this earth through placing all of our energy on what we say and attempt to be heard and asserting our own authority. If we seek for the situation in Haiti to change, we need to pray. If we seek the situation with the church's budget and congregational resources to change, we need to pray. It's not necessarily that we are taking to God our Christmas list and hoping to receive gifts, but that in listening, we are changed by the Jesus who changed our lives because he was obedient to the point of death on a cross. We are changed in our words, changed in our attitudes, and changed in our actions. In that change, we become the face of Jesus in a world where that face is needed among the suffering.
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