The Big (and Small) Apple

(Over the next few days, I'll share some pictures I took during my stay.)

After my shock at the courtesy of the bellman, I checked into my hotel and through myself on my bed in exhaustion. But I didn't fly here to rest, so I had to go for a walk.

I’m struck by the simplicity of the streets. It is almost like the earliest city planners knew that tourists would flock to this place one day. The street numbers start at the bottom of the island(i.e. south) and get bigger as they go “up” (head north). The Avenue numbers run north south and get bigger as you move from left (west) to right (east).

Uptown is north of downtown (a simple concept that I didn’t know originated here). So if you hop on a subway headed downtown you will go south. So as long as I knew that my hotel was on 53rd street and 7th avenue, I could tell how many blocks I was from “home base.”

One thing that struck me immediately was not only how big Manhattan is (I assumed that) but rather how small it is. What I mean is since real estate is so expensive here, and so many people are so crowded into this area, that everything from restaurants to hotel rooms, to parking lots seem diminutive.

Here’s an example of a parking lot that has to deal with the reality of squeezing numerous cars into a small lot. There are lifts which allow cars to be parked on top of one another.

Also my hotel room was quite small, but still ran $200.00 a night at the conference rate. I could easily hear the patrons in the rooms on either side of me laughing, talking, or taking a shower. It wasn’t uncomfortably small, but it wasn’t the vast spaces of the South either.

Arrival (II)

As I carried my suitcase through the streets of Manhattan, I made sure to switch the suitcase back and forth between my arms. I was concerned about only working out one arm. I didn't want to end up like Freddy Rodriguez from the film Lady in the Water.

Arrival

I flew into Newark International airport around noon. The flight was much cheaper than a flight into JFK or LaGuardia. My first view of New Jersey confirmed all of the punch lines I’d heard over the years. I saw a great deal of chemical processing plants and those large tanks that hold caustic liquids of various kinds.

Just perfect for dropping a body into.

I asked a lady behind a counter the best way to get into Manhattan and she recommended Greyline Bus service. I paid $14.00 (as opposed to the $50.00 cab fare) and rode the 12 miles into town. One of their stops looked reasonably close to my hotel, only several blocks away. On the map it didn’t look too far.

That was my biggest mistake of the trip.

They dropped me off at Grand Central Station. I then had to carry my enormous luggage case countless blocks to the Sheraton Manhattan Hotel. There were two problems with this:

1) I do have rollers on my luggage, but the handle was broken on my last trip, a fact I had forgotten.

2) My suitcase was weighted down with file folders, resumes, as well as several days worth of clothes. It weighed 47 pounds.

I am a beast of a man, but carrying that weight got old quickly. It took me a good hour to make it to the hotel in 25 degree weather. I sweated the whole way. When I finally arrived at the Hilton, I brought the suitcase in and collapsed while they looked up my reservation.

“Ummm, Mr. Taran? We don’t seem to have your reservation.”

What?! I took out my itinerary and noticed…….my reservation was for the Sheraton, one more block down 53rd street.

A bellboy (or whatever they call them now) saw my plight and offered to carry my suitcase a block down to the Sheraton. He was fussed at by his supervisor because he would be wearing his Hilton uniform to the Sheraton lobby.

But he carried it down for me anyway and was incredibly gracious. It was then I learned a shocking lesson that was repeated for me on numerous occasions during my several day stay.

Manhattanites are NICE!

Plane Thoughts

For the next few days I’ll be sharing some experiences from my recent trip to New York.

Some random thoughts from my flight from the deep south to Newark.

****I was told that I couldn’t take my Coke Zero through the security area of the airport, but that I could drink it quickly if I wished. So I chugged it immediately. I suspect that the few square feet on the other side of the metal detector (where people put their shoes back on) contain more belches per square inch than any other real estate in the country.

****As we prepared for takeoff, the stewardess went through the standard litany of safety features and procedures of our plane. Nobody listened to her at all. People kept talking or reading their newspaper. I bet it really bothers the airline attendants when people ignore them. I bet inside they are saying “I hope this cabin depressurizes so that the gas masks will fall down in front of the passengers. Since they’ve ignored my safety instructions, they won’t know how the masks work. They will then frantically ask me but I will refuse to tell them. Ah ha ha ha ha!!!!!!!!!!"

****Plane departure: 6:35 am. First announcement after we are airborne? “Beer and wine are available for purchase.” The time of that announcement was 6:38 AM!

****After my plane landed in Memphis, we got our stuff out of the overhead compartment and stood in line waiting for them to open the airplane door. I was prepared to move quickly so that I could make my connecting flight. But they kept the door closed so we all just stood in line on the plane. I could see my suitcase being unloaded. My luggage got off the plane before I did. I think that they wanted to give it a head start.

I'm Back

I returned from my busy trip to Manhattan this evening. I'll blog about my trip over the upcoming few days.

One travel note: This is why I rarely initiate conversations with people on the plane.

We're waiting for takeoff on the connecting flight out of Memphis to my home town. There are 12 people on the plane. There are empty seats all throughout the plane.

Me: "Wow, they sure are taking a bath on this flight aren't they!"

Him: (after gazing at me for a second with smoldering eyes) "I sure hope so after this airline has treated me like @*#& all day today."

Me: "Oh."

We didn't share another word the rest of the flight home.

Just Great

In an effort to save money while in Manhattan, I brought a bit of food from home to eat while here.

Yep, I brought some peanut butter. That peanut butter. According to an news report I read, salmonella may "reside in the gut" for up to a year as a person acts as a carrier.


I wonder if the money I've saved will cover the cost of my gastroenterologist for the next year.

A Note From New York

I am in frigid Manhattan and am pleased that I caught the first snowfall of the year.

Curiously, I've been here for 72 hours and no one has yet flipped me off.




Clearly I'm doing something wrong...


More to come as I return home and have increased connection to the Internet.

Parenting

I am convinced that 94% of parenting a four year old consists of redirecting them from destructive to almost destructive behavior.

Maybe 98%.

My Home Town

I am going on a big trip in a few days.

It is a trip to my home town, where I’ve been raised from my earliest memories. I’ve grown up in this town, watching the kids play on the sidewalks and seeing the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The town looks very similar now as it did to me when I was growing up.

It’s a really busy town and I’m always amazed at the mass of humanity in my home town. I remember walking in the park, gazing at the river, all the while being engulfed in the canyon of tall buildings. I’ve tried not to let nostalgia glamorize my memory, but it is a beautiful place. I’ve seen its mean streets too. I’ve seen its crime. Believe it or not, I’ve seen people viciously beaten on the streets of my home town in front of my very eyes!!

I should also mention that I’ve never been to this town, this town in which I was raised.

The town is New York City.

I’m preparing for my first trip to the Big Apple and I’m excited. I’ve begun to reflect on the amount of time I’ve “spent” in New York and it is pretty impressive. As a toddler I was raised over on Sesame Street, which was geographically and culturally a few thousand miles away from 329 Northwood drive in the north Dallas suburbs. I recall being fascinated by the idea that people lived in apartment buildings instead of homes; that there were stores located on the same streets as these apartments—and that people spent afternoons playing jump rope and hopscotch instead of football and baseball.

Music and television have also affected my views of New York. People like Paul Simon and Billy Joel, Elaine and Kramer, Edith and Archie, Lucy and Ricky, even Horseshack and Vinny all have affected my view of New York. (I’ve even viewed its repeated destruction!)

I’m going up to New York next week to interview candidates for an open position on our faculty. Our hotel is right near Broadway, Time’s Square, Central Park and Ground zero.

I can’t wait to see what my home-town is like!!!!

(I do however expect to get mugged at some point).

The Question

The comments are offered more and more frequently. They usually ran something like this: “Brother Taran, people here sure will be sad when you leave.” or “We are enjoying this interim time, we could do this forever!” Another comment, by a church leader to a group before the Church service “Well, we may have found our new preacher already!”

In various forms, the question boils down to this:

“Why don’t you just stay and be our pastor?”

I had been warned about this possibility ever since I’ve started looking into interim ministry (intentional or otherwise). You don’t have to talk to an older interim pastor very long to hear about search committees who drag their feet in order to hang onto an interim they like.

My trainer in the intentional interim class put it memorably. He said:

“At some point, a sweet little old blue-haired lady is going to come to you and say ‘You are so nice and have been so helpful to us…you should just stay here and be our pastor.’”

Then he advised:

“Don’t take it personally!”

It seems that this request is par for the interim course. For the church, the familiar is safer than the unknown. As long as the interim exhibits no visible signs of being an axe-murderer, they are deemed acceptable.

Plus, in the church as well as in normal life, endings are often emotionally challenging. In most every interim situation, the church has recently gone through a difficult departing, so why go through that again? This is especially true when Susan Song is dealing with some particular feelings of abandonment regarding how their previous pastor left. I think it is not so much the particular interim pastor that churches want to hold onto, but it is more the feeling of normalcy and stability that a familiar face provides.

So how to help that situation? I’m sure that it can ever be completely avoided. But here are some things that I’ve done:

***The covenant helps a lot. It explicitly states (in section IV) that I will not be considered for the position of pastor. (Perhaps next time I will move it up to the first section instead of the fourth). This clause provides me with a helpful reply and gives me some cover simply to tell them that I cannot ethically accept the pastorate.

***I have consistently used language that looks to the future when I am not here. E.g. “Now if this happens after your new pastor gets here, here is what I would suggest…”

***I state clearly (and repeatedly) that I am not called to be a traditional pastor. This response has the additional advantage of also being true.

***When in doubt, I talk about it. We go through the goals of the intentional interim and I try to get the congregation back on the particular task at hand. Focusing on the task can help them avoid distractions.


From my side, the 45 minute drives to the church and the time away from my own family (who continue to go to our home church) serves to keep my mind focused as well.

Susan Song's Identity

An update from Susan Song

{Note: In the previous entry I referred to Mr. Ginger’s verbosity. He knows me well enough to realize that I meant that in an affectionate way. In fact, I only read his and Bowden’s comments which confirmed my decision to talk to my pastor. I actually suspect that one reason the comments grew smaller over time is because the main points had already been made. Besides, I have been chided on this very blog for my own verbosity.}

We have recently completed the identity portion of the intentional interim process. We divided identity into two parts, church and individual. For church identity we discussed how the church looks to visitors and how we can make the building more attractive and welcoming (a process that will involve power sprayers at some point). For individual identity I gave them a spiritual gift inventory from Lifeway (HT: Bowden) and we went though the various spiritual gifts in the church.

Then we listed and evaluated every ministry and activity that the church is engaged in. This exercise was helpful in determining which ministries/activities were alive and well and which ones we needed to euthanize.

The biggest discussion we had was over the Church’s motto (festooned over the Church sign) which reads “The Little Church with a Big Heart.” I suggested that defines them in a way that might not best. They responded that they like it and it expresses much of what they are proud of in their church. I told them to think about how it would look to a visitor, and encouraged them to revisit the issue later. It is not a battle I’m going to win.

(Although in fairness, it is probably not one I should win. I’m in a great position to tell them how things look to a new visitor, and I expressed to them my reservations, but I suspect the sign will remain long after I’m gone.)

We are now working on denominational connections. I have had a sermon series on Baptist identity (B is for Biblical Authority, A is for Autonomy of the local church, etc) and in the evenings we are going over the Baptist Faith and Message(s). We are looking at both the 2000 and the 1963 and discussing the differences between them. That should take us a few more weeks.

We will also spend a couple of Wednesday evenings looking at our state convention and the Cooperative Program.


This last week, I also had to deal with the question most every intentional interim is asked at some point in the process…

The Conversation

Thanks to all who commented.

Your comments reinforced my general inclination. I went by the church today and discussed my concerns with our pastor. He responded that given our current low attendance in church, he was concerned about using the same people over and over again to do committee work. He wanted some fresh blood on the committees. Since we’re suffering anemic attendance, he thought that it was best to put Bob on the committee. Plus, given Bob’s skill set, he is essential for our church right now.

I then suggested that by his reasoning we should abandon all of the bylaws until attendance picks up. I told him that I have no problem with abandoning the bylaws, but the church should make that decision, not one or two of us. He agreed with this reasoning and then asked if we should ask Bob to wait six months and then put him on the committee. I told him that his suggestion was in line with the bylaws and I would be fine with it. He said that he would suggest that to the Committee on Committees. They have now made the decision to disinvite Bob from the committee.

Part of my hesitation in speaking to my pastor about this issue is that I vowed years ago that I would never be “that guy” in a church who was a thorn in the flesh of the pastor. I think my pastor understands that, but I am wary of endangering our relationship.

It was a tense conversation, but in the end, a good one. I continue to find, to my amazement, that confrontation can be a very good thing. I think that all of you who commented on this blog are well aware of that fact, but it is something that I’m still learning.

Thanks again for the advice. (Did you notice that it got pithier as it progressed from Mr. Ginger’s verbosity to Dave’s slogan-like summary at the end?)

A Bleg

Ok, I need some advice.

The pastor of our home church has requested that a new church member (He’s been a member for 6 months) be on the church finance committee. “Bob” is a great guy and has a finance degree and works for a bank. But this weekend I received a copy of the church by-laws and discovered that they require a person be a member for 12 months before being on this committee.

Nobody ever reads the by-laws and it will not be an issue (I don’t think) when the committees are presented on Wednesday night. The church will accept it without question. The Committee on Committees chairman (who was the only other person to receive a copy of the by-laws) however, was concerned enough to bring it up with the pastor who basically said “It’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it.”So the chairman came to me to ask my advice. Should we ask the church to suspend the requirement in this instance (my choice, but against the pastor’s preference) or simply ignore the issue? Basically, is it worth bucking the pastor to adhere to the by-laws when I don't disagree with the pastor's conclusion (that Bob would work well)?

Friends, lurkers and miscreants what say ye????

It's a Girl!!!!

On July 27, 1995 my life changed forever. On that day I became a father to a daughter. Scooter entered our world and not much of the world has remained the same. In addition to the typical changes I expected: wailing and crying, projectile vomiting, volatile mood swings (and that was me!) I underwent one change that I never expected.

I caught a glimpse of the world through female eyes.

On those evening when I was rocking her to sleep or walking her around the neighborhood, I realized how gender-specific my viewpoints had been. I began to wonder about the larger world and what it has to say to and about women. I began, to take one example, viewing beer commercials a bit differently. I found myself thinking “These women were once someone’s little girl.”

On those occasions when I advise female students, I think about how Scooter and Skeeter will one day be seeking advice and guidance from a professor in college.

I have also become more sensitive to how men talk about their wives, especially in public. Whenever I hear a disparaging or hurtful joke from a husband, I cringe and wonder what is said in private. I think that becoming a father to a daughter has made me a better husband.

It has also affected my preaching. I have often used Mother’s Day as an opportunity to have honest dialogue about the role of women in the New Testament and in the church today. Such conversation is necessary because the church has all too often become a place of difficulty and pain for many women.

Some of my interest has filtered through the blog a bit. The most-searched phrase that has brought people here is “minister’s wives” going back to this entry. I take it as a point of pride that at least one Christian women’s group links to this blog. I also expressed my concern about the view of women by society here.

All of these things are reflected in my concern for Dr. Klouda and her family.

I wish that Dr. Klouda and her husband were not going through this difficult time. But I especially regret that her daughter has to go through this. In the ABP article, Klouda is quoted as saying:

As a mother, Klouda said, she teaches her daughter to “think for herself” and
“look at what God’s Word says in light of herself.” But that doesn’t always
assuage the feelings of the 15-year-old who had to switch schools during her
teens because of the family's move.

“She’s a young person and has her own opinions,” Klouda said. “To her it’s just an injustice. She thinks it’s unfair. She thinks it’s wrong. She thinks this should have not happened. She thinks, ‘They ruined my life too….’” “I just don’t see how the decision was really thought through about the implications for me and my family,” she said. “It was really a decision made on principle, but it didn’t take into consideration many other factors."

Shortly after Scooter’s birth, my Methodist aunt gave me a sweatshirt with the logo from the picture above. She gave it to me, certain I would never wear it because I would find it too offensive. But I’ve worn it with much pride and enjoyment. She thinks it’s subversive, but it actually reflects paternal pride. The greatest gifts I have ever received are my kids and my first two are girls.

Above all, what concerns me about the Klouda affair is what it says about the SBC’s view toward women in general. I do not believe that women should be pastors, but I believe passionately that women will continue to contribute greatly to the cause of Christ long after the last SBC church has closed its doors.

What a Woman Taught Me

The SBC brouhaha over Dr. Sheri Klouda reminded me of the following:


Verna Miller looks like a grandmother.

She has short grey hair, blue eyes and glasses with frames from the 1970’s. She was always one of the dependable folks at Lone Oak Baptist. Mrs. Verna’s home was a good 20 minutes from the church and we would often see her little blue Ford make its way through the Hill Country and out to the church. Her family came from the country and had moved “into town” some thirty years before. But she was loyal to that little church and drove the opposite way of most folks, heading from the town out to the country every Sunday morning and Sunday night.

We had been there a few weeks when I heard someone mention her husband. I was surprised and had assumed that she was a widow. Her husband suffered from back pain and he could never come with her to church. (Although tongues often wagged that he could go out and play a game of dominoes or talk to friends at the local feed store.) But Verna said only positive words about him. She did encourage me to visit them at home which I was honored to do on many occasions.

To be completely honest, the visits were more for her than for him. She asked me to come, but he really didn’t care if I did or not. He wasn’t the most pleasant person around. He was gruff and often told her to get him this or that rather than asked her to do so. But she never failed to show him anything but honor and respect. She simply adored him and I always left their house shaking my head. Frankly I, wondered how he was fortunate enough to marry her???? [Something I’m sure Kadie’s friends often wonder about me too, by the way!]

After we left the church in 2000, I heard that Verna’s husband, never in the best of health, took a turn for the worse. Alzheimer’s began its slow ravaging attack on his personality and his memory. Verna could no longer take care of him at home, but did see that he moved into a comfortable assisted living facility. Some of her fellow church members whispered to me that Verna would be better off after her husband moved out of the house.

But something amazing happened.

Despite the fact that the staff at the nursing home was well equipped to feed and care for her husband, Verna began to go to the home every morning, every afternoon, and every evening. At the cafeteria, she would patiently feed her husband each and every one of his meals. She did this as the Alzheimer’s worsened to the point where he did not even realize who she was anymore. Although she had been a fixture in Lone Oak worship services for decades, she stopped coming to church on Sunday evenings because she was spending the dinner hour with her husband.

She went to the nursing home every day for the next five years of his life.

I have shared Verna’s story on two occasions prior to this post. First, I shared it in a church service at my home church while going through the book of 1 Timothy. When we got to the passage of 1 Timothy 2:11-12 I told Verna’s story. I shared that I was certain, even though we were a state away, that at that same instant on Sunday evening, I knew that Verna was at her husband’s side, feeding him and honoring her vow to him and to God. Verna taught us all something that day.

The second time I shared her story was this last summer when I was asked to return to Lone Oak and conduct her husband’s funeral. I shared her story with her church family and as we lamented her husband’s passing, we celebrated her faithfulness to him. And we also celebrated her faithfulness to Him. Because her husband’s illness lingered, we saw Christ through her life of grace.

I know more of Christ and of His love for us through her sacrificial actions. I know more about what it means to be with someone through sickness and through health because of her actions.

This old woman taught this man a lot.

Sadness at Southwestern

DD asked for my thoughts on the recent actions at SWBTS.

I am a graduate of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. I also worked in the library there and my first child was born about six miles from campus. Some of my deepest and abiding friendships were also birthed there. In our four years there, Kadie and I built a foundation for our marriage that has weathered the stresses and challenges of the subsequent eleven years.

So it is with a heavy heart that I read Wade Burleson’s blog last week detailing the refusal of the Trustees to grant President to submit for tenure, Dr. Sheri Klouda, whose sterling resume far surpasses my own. (See the Dallas Morning News’ article here.)

I would add that Southwestern hasn’t been too kind to Old Testament profs in recent years. In addition to Dr. Klouda, Dr. Scott Langston was another casualty. He wasn't fired, but left voluntarily because of the direction that SWBTS was headed.

Just this last year Dr. Timothy Pierce suddenly disappeared from faculty status under unknown circumstances. I met Dr. Pierce at a conference a few years ago and thought that he was a good man, one who we as Southern Baptists would be proud to have represent us. I note on his faculty web site that he has three kids.

Three thoughts:

1) I was discussing this situation with a friend and commented that it would never be the doctrinal stance of the SBC seminaries that would prevent me from working at any of them, it would be the capricious polity of the organization. Without a willingness to follow stated policy, I would have no desire to work there. In fact, I am less convinced that SWBTS has violated federal labor law, as Wade Burleson thinks, but I do believe that SWBTS will have significant issues with their two accrediting agencies, the Association of Theological Schools and the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools if they did not follow stated policy. These agencies don’t particularly care what your policies are, but they do want you to follow them. If SWBTS refused tenure to Klouda because she is a woman and their written policy doesn't SPECIFY that being a woman is a non-tenureable "offense," then they could be in trouble with their accrediting agencies.

2) Like Dr. Klouda, I too have recently been denied tenure that I felt was unjustified. But unlike her, I was not unjustly denied tenure by an institution that claimed to be Christian.

3) These events remind me of the providence of God. I actually interviewed on two different occasions for two Old Testament positions at Southwestern in the 1990’s. I was deeply disappointed that I did not get the Old Testament job either time I applied.

4) (Added on 1/22) I am operating under the assumption that Wade Burleson's information is correct. I have seen no evidence to contradict my assumption.

But now I am thankful again for unanswered prayers. Keep Dr. Klouda and her family in yours.

Housecleaning

I am finally entering the 20th cenutry and updating to Blogger 2.0. I am currently going through the previous posts and tagging them for the purpose of easier sorting and reading. As if anyone should ever want to either of those two things.

I have no idea how this will affect everyone's feedburners and blog readers, so for the next day or so, just plan on instantly deleting any new posts from me on your blog-readers.

Which is actually what I suspect most of you do anyway...

Martin Luther King, Jr.

In honor of the only Baptist to have a federal holiday named after him, a post on Martin Luther King, Jr. is in order. Each academic term I each a basic philosophy class. In that class we explore four different topics: determinism, ontology, ethics and philosophy of religion. In the section on ethics we read an example of four or five different methodological approaches e.g. utilitarianism, egoism, social contract theory, etc.

98% of my students subscribe to the Divine Command, the ethical perspective that argues God’s commands determine what is moral and what is immoral. We look at the strengths and weaknesses of the theory and then read an example of that theory in action, MLK’s Letter From Birmingham Jail. King’s letter was written in response to a letter from eight Birmingham ministers who asked the reasonable question “How can a minister lead people in activities that are against the law?”

King’s response is remarkable, particularly given the context of its composition. King composed scratched out the letter on toilet paper and newspaper, without access to a library (or even to Google?!). He references the giants of the Christian faith (Augustine, Aquinas, Luther, Bunyan) as well as earlier philosophers (Socrates, Buber). He also quotes from Jefferson and Lincoln.

King also carefully explains how not all laws are just laws. He argues that the church has traditionally stood on the side of the poor and the oppressed, just like the prophets of old. What comes across in this letter is his abiding disappointment in the white church. Its leadership was absent and even in opposition to one of the great moral issues of its day.

Reaction from the students is consistent. Perhaps 10% of the class has read the Letter before taking this class. That includes the African-American students. Some students belie the “soft bigotry of low expectations” when they say something like “I didn’t know he was so intelligent!” But above all they are amazed at the powerful testament to King’s determination to practice non-violent confrontation, a determination King centered firmly on his religious conviction.

King’s actions transformed the South and provide an example of how a prophetic voice can still challenge a corrupt and oppressive society. I commend it for your reading on this cold January evening. It may be found in its entirety here.

Wrestling Injury

Our girls are as different as the constituent parts of an Oreo cookie. Broadly speaking, Scooter possesses empathy in abundance and Skeeter is a little more independent. I’ve mentioned already Scooter’s new experiences this school year riding the bus. When she rides away (it stops right in front of our house) she likes to see us waving and giving her the “I love you” sign with our hands. Skeeter, on the other hand, never looks back once we drop her off at school. She hits the pavement and is focused on school and the rest of us disappear from her little world.

A few days before Christmas, I foolishly agreed to another wrestling night. Things were progressing along well when Skeeter executed a perfectly good axe-kick that caught my extended thumb and drove it straight down towards my wrist. I, like most homo sapiens, possess an opposable thumb--but not in that direction.

I immediately yelped in pain and jumped to my feet. Squealer, not fully understanding what was going on, (or maybe, less charitably, not caring what was going on) immediately began a second attack. I told Squealer that we had to wait a few minutes before Daddy’s hand felt like playing again. Scooter knew that I was hurt and immediately burst into tears because she could see the obvious pain on my face. Even though she had nothing to do with the injury, she could tell that her Daddy was hurt and it caused her to cry.

But as soon as I said “Let’s take a few minutes so that Daddy’s hand will feel better” Squealer, who had actually injured me, shouted “Woo-Hoo! Water break!!” and ran into the kitchen to get a drink.

National De-Lurking Week

This week is National DeLurking Week. There are a couple of you who lurk on this blog and don't ever identify yourselves.

Would you like to say hello in the comments section?



HT: UTC

They'll Publish Anything These Days.....

This book looks particularly boring. I suppose, if one wanted to, that one could purchase a copy here.

I feel like Steve Martin in The Jerk except I would say “The ISBN numbers are here!! The ISBN numbers are here!!!!”

The "Best" of 2006

Here are my favorite family posts of the year!

On Squealer's Cheese Obessions (here and here)

On Skeeter's table manners

On Kadie's mistreatment

On my poor parenting

The sad tale (tail?) of Shrimy's demise

and my favorite:

The case of the Pig Headed Snatchgrabber

December (IV) Old Friends

My brother Bartolo and his bride Bonita stayed with us through the evening of the 26 and we had a wonderful time with them. They had to hurry back because Bartolo had an interview at the Modern Language Association meeting in Philly later that week. He interviewed with a strong private university in the South and we are all excited for him. The kids enjoy their time with aunt and uncle and we all enjoyed the conversation.

The following day (Wednesday) was extremely special. We had a good visit with some old (very ooooolllllddddd) friends.

Way back in 1991, we moved into seminary housing in Ft. Worth. We moved into the ever so stylish BH Carroll Park Housing seen here. The “tour” on the site is amusing. It looks far larger on my computer screen than it was back in the day.

Our apartment was 1/3 of a triplex (the middle third) located on 4045 Sandage Avenue. Living next door to us were another couple named Bruce and Linda. Bruce and I shared seminary studies and Linda and Kadie enjoyed working and putting us through seminary. A big date night for the four of us was a trip to the $1.00 movie theater, followed by all you can eat can stand at either Cici’s Pizza or Pancho’s, ending with some cut throat ping-pong at the R.A.C.

Bruce was responsible for reenergizing my latent baseball obsession and we also cheered on the Cowboys as they hit their Super Bowl stride under Aikman, Irvin, and Smith in 92’ and 93’. Out of season we would also beat up on Mike Ditka Football or Tony LaRussa Baseball. For these reasons (among others) Kadie curses his name to this day.

He finished up seminary a year before I did (he remains by far the brighter of the two of us) and headed down to Baylor University. It was based in part on his encouragement that we applied and were accepted (I think he pulled some strings). They helped us to find a home in Waco and we continued to enjoy each other all over again for another few years.

They have always served as role models for us. They bought a Saturn, we bought a Saturn. They went to Baylor, we went to Baylor. Bruce pastored a small country church, I pastored a small country church. They had two girls, we had two girls (should we have stopped there?). One of the greatest vacations we ever took was with Bruce and Linda up to Banff, Canada back around 1996.

All of that changed in 1999 as Bruce and Linda moved out to teach in a Baptist university on the east coast. It was tough to see them go, but it is a fact of graduate life that all relationships have a four or five year boundary. By the time they moved away, we had been next door or a few blocks away from them for about eight years. Now we see them perhaps once a year for a brief time as they travel back this way to visit family. We’ve gone out there once with them and we hope to do so again this summer.

Bruce and I keep in touch with a monthly phone call or to commiserate about the Rangers or Cowboys. When He and Linda stopped in after Christmas, he traveled out with me to visit Susan Song on a Wednesday night. We continue to miss them. A couple of years ago Linda had a health scare and we thought we would lose her. By God’s grace she’s fine and her scare reminds us again how precious they are to each of us.

One of the special things about our continued friendship is that the next generation is so close. Bruce and Linda came by the Wednesday after Christmas with their beautiful daughters who (in addition to taking after Linda) are right around the age of our own girls. One of the funny things is that although our eldest daughters were toddlers when they moved away, they are still close. For some reason all four of our girls act like life-long friends whenever we are around them. When I told Scooter and Skeeter that they were coming to visit, they began jumping up and down in celebration. They seem like they are closer friends than they should be.

I guess that friendship for each other is etched into their DNA, passed on from both sets of parents.

Congratulations Blacks!!!!

On your seventh anniversary. I trust that you look better today than you did several years ago!

Thank you so much for serving the Lord up in Minot, ND.

A finer couple I've never met.

For more on the Blacks, see Vince's blogs

http://potcallingkettle.blogspot.com/

and the delightful (and slightly subversive)

http://www.christiancheese.blogspot.com/

Ignominy

Unbelievable!!!!!!!!!!

(that's the last time I'll ever feature a Cowboys' player on this site)

December (III)

Christmas morning was wonderful, of course. After hearing Skeeter brag about getting into the living room last year before we got up, I maneuvered our large kitchen island to block off the hallway next to their room. The only way they could get to the den was thorough our bedroom. They were mad as hornets, but waited for us to get ready.

Only Squealer cut through our room and made it into the den. He didn’t go for his presents, rather he headed for the leftover Santa cookies and, ignoring their evidence of Santa’s visit, consumed them immediately.

We then brought in the girls, to the attendant oohs and ahhas. I then read them the nativity account from Luke’s gospel while they acted out the part with Squealer’s Fisher-Price Nativity set (courtesy of PoMonkey and Mr. Ginger). Next year we might just show them the Lego Nativity story.


We all opened our gifts. I received a dozen pairs of socks and now feel very much old. First, because I received the socks, and second, because my first thought was “Gee, what neat socks!!” Kadie also set me up with an MP3 player which will provide the grist for a future blog entry.

Kadie received two pairs of earrings and a necklace. Scooter received, as per her request, a fuzzy pair of boots. Skeeter got blue crocs and assorted clothes. Squealer received a collection of wooden blocks and a tin of Lincoln logs. (When I purchased them, the check-out teenager said “Well, we’re going old school this Christmas aren’t we! Ha Ha Ha”. I struck him with my cane.)

We quickly unwrapped the gifts and then continued to work on lunch. We had over my parents and brother Miguelito, Kadie’s sister PTGirl and our niece. In addition, we had Bartolo and Bonita, my brother and sister-in-law. In addition to all of this family, we also had four people from our church and a coworker from the university who didn’t really have anywhere else to go on Christmas.

This did mean the odd experience of having my worlds collide to some degree. I always wonder, to how Work Taran, Family Taran and Church Taran will interact. But all was well.

December (II)

On Saturday evening Mom and Dad took the three kids to their home and freed up Kadie and me to work on Christmas stuff. The few nights before Christmas are always a challenge to us. We try to prepare ahead so that we don’t have to pull any all nighters on Christmas Eve. And yet in our busyness, I want to guard against giving in to the rank materialism so often associated with the Christmas season. (A great artistic indictment of a materialistic approach to Christmas is the song “Making Christmas” from the remarkable Tim Burton film The Nightmare Before Christmas… available also in either French or Thai).

Christmas Eve morning, unfettered from the kids, was still frenzied. Our home church had no Sunday School and had a service that began at 10:00. Kadie and I sang our trio song again for the call to worship and then we left to drive to Susan Song. Since Kadie was with me (she and the kids stay at our home church) they asked us to sing something. We protested that we didn’t have any song or any music, but they persisted. So we sang our song yet again (as a duet and a cappella). Susan Song loves Kadie very much. (I think a part of it is that they cannot fathom how I ended up with her. They keep hoping that the more time they spend with her, some substantial flaw in her personality will reveal itself. But she keeps her dark side well hidden).

We then returned home to work on Christmas day preparation and finally setting up the last of the gifts. On Christmas eve evening, I went back to Susan Song for a beautiful Lord’s Supper and candle light service. Two problems presented themselves:

First, we had many, many visitors. Everyone brought family and many churches did not meet on Christmas Eve evening. So during the hallowed moments of the Supper, when I should've been reflecting on the depth of Christ's sacrifice for me (as I urged the congregants to do) I instead hastily looked over the Lord's Supper plastic cups of juice to make sure that we had enough. My bowed head belied my frenzied counting.

We did have enough, with one to spare.

The second problem was with footing. The Lord’s Supper was very special but I had never conducted a candle light service before. The timing was a bit off and they turned off the lights before I got off the podium and down to the first pew to share my candle flame with the congregation. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but the front of the podium was lined with the Christmas poinsettias. One misstep and I would be kicking over the purchased remembrance of a departed family member. So with only a small candle, I had to navigate an elusive corridor between a piano, monitor and a small wall. I succeeded without stumbling, but several congregation members told me afterwards that I had been in their prayers.

Following the service I returned home for an hour and arrived at the same time as the kids got home from grandma and grandpa's. We got the kids ready for bed and then put out the cookies for St. Nick. Skeeter insisted on leaving him a note that asked for his autograph and told him that he could only eat the cookies at the back table. She also warned him against getting crumbs on the floor. Finally, she demanded that he save some of the cookies for Mrs. Claus.

She certainly has chutzpah…

December (I)

My vote for the cheesiest line that never fails to bring a lump to my throat:

“Dad, this was the best Christmas ever!!”

Given Scooter’s propensity for sarcasm (which mirrors my own), I was caught up short when she uttered this line. But she meant it. And I think I will have to agree, it was wonderful.

I loved it for the following reasons:

1) We started off December by hosting a Christmas party for our Sunday School class. The Lord has blessed us with a group of friends who challenge us and keep us straight. The fact that they continue to check on me and my family even while I’m gone at Susan Song and Kadie is teaching a youth Sunday School class is genuinely touching.

The normal highlight of the party is the “Mean Santa” game. Shockingly, Kadie suggested we box and wrap a toilet seat, which we had recently replaced in our bathroom. Naturally, I supported her idea.

But the highlight of the party by far was the fact that one of our couples successfully delivered a premature baby during the party. (No, not at the party, she went into the hospital several days before). Mom and baby are doing fine and baby should go home this week after spending the first month of her life in the hospital.

2) The last few weeks of school wrapped up nicely. Finals week and grading passed uneventfully. We had an interesting speaker at graduation, which may have been the most remarkable thing about the entire month.

One amusing conversation occurred during graduation when a colleague said “Taran, I just watched a history channel special on the Gospel of Judas. They mentioned something about Jesus’ brothers. Why haven’t I ever heard that Jesus had siblings??”

“Umm, Bill, it’s because you are Catholic and you believe in the perpetual virginity of Mary.”

“Oh….” replied Bill. It amused me, not only because of the topic, but the setting.

3) We participated in four musicals over the Christmas break. Two with schools and two at church.

Scooter’s middle school presentation went well. Fortunately, they have not banished Christmas songs from her particular school.

Although a little Dave Barry goes a long way, I am reminded of his line

“To avoid offending anybody, the school dropped religion altogether and started
singing about the weather. At my son's school, they now hold the winter program
in February and sing increasingly non-memorable songs such as "Winter
Wonderland," "Frosty the Snowman" and--this is a real song--"Suzy Snowflake,"
all of which is pretty funny because we live in Miami. A visitor from another
planet would assume that the children belonged to the Church of Meteorology.”
Dave Barry in his "Notes on Western Civilization" (Chicago Tribune Magazine,
July 28, 1991)

I am part of the university chorale at our school and we had a winter performance that included the insipid “Feliz Navidad.” The only Christmas song worse than Feliz Navidad is “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” which to my mind is the Christmas version of “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

(And yes, I am aware of the supposed Christian elements to this song. It still gets old quickly. And I cannot fire up my imagination sufficiently to view Jesus as “a partridge in a pear tree.” )

But I digress.

The girls were each in a Christmas musical at church and had various speaking and solo parts. All the kids all had their lines/songs down cold, but the adults did not. The girls both nailed their lines and their notes.

The adult Christmas program went well. Kadie and I were 2/3 of a trio for one of the songs. It was a Gaither/Southern Gospel twang number that I would not have chosen to download from iTunes. (But you can listen here to “So Much God” if you want to hear for yourself.)

As we listened to the song in the car, Scooter asked at one point “Daddy, are they singing that way on purpose?” “What way?” I asked. “With those funny accents...” she clarified.

(more to come…including a wrestling injury, Christmas gifts, and a pastoral confrontation)

Merry Christmas

I'll be going dark for the next few days, as we are hosting Christmas at our place this year. And Kadie casts withering glances in my general direction whenever I'm online while there's work to be done. I'll leave you with the following quote from the Rev. Robert A Sirico, to which I can only say Amen! May God bless each of you this weekend!

"The message of Christmas has implications that go well beyond any one geographic region of the world, or even any one religion. The specific Christian contention that, at a particular point in history, the God by Whom and for Whom all things were made, elected to insinuate Himself into the human condition, has ramifications for all cultures and their peoples. This belief teaches us to take seriously human history, its institutions, economies and social relationships, for all of this, and more, is the stuff from which human destiny is discovered and directed. It is my prayer, at this sobering and holy time of the year, that you, in the midst of your families and your work, will discover the eternal significance of the contingency of time so as to experience the bliss that eternity affords. "

HT: Phi Beta Cons

Morning Debates

I’ve learned more about debate and carefully honed arguments at home than I ever did in debate or logic classes. This morning provides an example.

Since I am out of school at the moment, Kadie is picking up some day shifts so that she can be home a couple of evenings this week. In typical morning habit, after Scooter’s daily encounter with the monster, I took Skeeter up to her school. (We live .9 miles from the school and you must live at least 1 mile to ride the bus.)

Squealer, roused from his bed at the last second, is blinking stupidly from the back seat when the following discussion takes place.

Skeeter: “Squealer, are you tall or little?”

I don’t point out to her that, strictly speaking, these categories are not binary opposites.

Squealer continues to sit and blink.

Skeeter: (Louder this time) “Squealer, are you tall or little?”

Squealer slowly looks at her. After a second he says “I’m little.”

“No, you’re tall.” Skeeter replies.

Squealer, now roused from his somnambulance, begins to shout “I’M NOT TALL. I’M LITTLE!”

Skeeter waits quietly and thinks for a minute. Then she says:

Skeeter: “You're taller than a stump.”

Squealer sits in stunned silence, evidently trying to figure out what a stump is.

Skeeter “And you’re taller than concrete, and taller than a person who has tripped.”

Squealer responds to this barrage of logic by leaning back in his seat and sitting motionlessly. Skeeter stares at him waiting for his next argumentative rejoinder. When no verbal riposte comes, she sits back in her seat with a smile.

Mercifully we arrive at her school and she gets out of the minivan and skips triumphantly to class.

Huh?

Every weekend I get around 100 emails from various liberal arts disciplines issuing calls for conference papers (CFP). These cover most every literary and cultural topic available and range from tiny regional meetings in the academic hinterlands through the largest conferences in the nation (many of which draw thousands of academics).

Since scholarship is required for continued excellence in teaching (ummm, as well as for tenure) I subscribe to a listserv that sends out these CFPs by the truckload. And many of them are rather interesting.

This one caught my eye. It is a CFP for a graduate student seminar at New York University. After giving a basic outline of the conference, it offers the following suggestions for paper topics:

Proposals may address, but are not restricted to, the following topics:
Influence, tradition, and intellectual debt
Debt and civic participation
Translation and debt
Debt and the gift
Responsibility, restitution, reconciliation, revenge
Debt as a category of relation to an other
Debt and the national imaginary
Remembering, memorializing, and monumentalizing debt
Debt and inheritance
Exchange, interest, and accumulation
Debt and class
The ethics of the loan
Debt and historiography
Queering debt
Licensing, permission, and intellectual property
Debt and the State/the State of the Debt
Monitoring debt: justice and forgiveness
Debt and the (academic) institution

I am utterly bumfuzzled by the suggested proposal “Queering Debt”. Queer studies has become established over the last several years as an area of literary studies, but I have absolutely no idea what gender theory has to do with running up your credit card. (In fact, Googling “Queering Debt” reveals only publications of this call for papers.) So while Queer Studies is more established than say Fat Studies, this particular call for papers leaves me confused.

Grades are Due

This morning is the most stressful time of the semester for department chairs. Grades must be entered onto the computer mainframe by 10:00 am. What this means is that I have to verify that all of the department’s faculty get their grades entered for each section they teach. In our department that is about 70 sections.

What makes the time table so precise is that we have graduation two days after grades are due. Apparently, it takes a period of time to get the final grades into the system so that we can see who has not met their final course requirements (i.e. those who have failed). (It falls to the Deans of each college to make the phone calls to seniors who have failed to pass their final classes of the year. They must tell the students that they have failed and should call back all their friends and family and request that they not come to graduation---because the student will not be walking the stage. This onerous task has earned for that day the sobriquet "Black Wednesday". )

But I digress.

This morning, I arrived in the office and our secretary went through our classes in order to determine who had not yet turned in their grades. At 10:00 am, the computer locks out anyone else from entering in the grades. The provost of the university calls the individual college deans and lets them know what faculty have not yet turned in their grades.

The deans then call the faculty chairs who must chase after the faculty and get them to turn in their grades online. (The provost kicks the deans, who then kick the chairs, who then look vainly for someone else to kick.) What makes this challenging is the fact that last week was finals week and after the last class period, faculty are even more elusive than they are during the regular semester.

Someone in the department always screws up and gets too close to the deadline. This morning was no different. We had seven classes (and three faculty members) who had not turned in their grades as we neared the deadline.

I then had to deal with the following situations:

Teacher #1 is an adjunct who stated that he thought the 10:00 deadline meant 10:00 PM.

Hmmm.

I chose to believe him and confessed to him that I might not have specified the pm. Maybe I’ll convert the department to military time to avoid future conflicts. To make amends, he emailed me his students’ grades. In the process, he shattered numerous state and federal privacy laws. “Please don’t do that again.” I gently requested through clenched teeth.

The other two ne’er do wells were full time faculty members who have been teaching for years. In each case they waited until the last minute, encountered difficulties that kept them from getting the grades entered into the computer. Then the 10:00 (am) deadline hit and they were locked out of the campus computer system.

Teacher #2 mentioned that she thought that 10:00 am wasn’t the real deadline, but that I had set the deadline artificially early in order to get all the grades in on time. I told her no, that 10:00 was the real deadline but I liked her idea. “In May,” I told her, “your grades will be due by Friday at 5:00 pm.”

Teacher #3 deducts points due to absences unless they are substantiated by a doctor. But he didn’t set a deadline on the time that the students needed to get their excuses to him. So this morning he was on the phone with students and with their doctors trying to substantiate excuses. He was also repeatedly calling our department secretary from his home asking her to check the fax machine.

While validating the fact that he went the extra mile for his students, I “encouraged” him to plan a bit better in advance so that this won’t happen again. Finally, I asked the IT guys if they could open up the grades for another hour. They generously complied.

By far, the most stressful day of the semester, and what made it stressful was dealing with faculty, not students.

A Passing, A Prayer Request

DD, a dear friend of mine from seminary and a frequent commenter on this blog visited with his mom in the hospital a Tuesday afternoon and she passed on to heaven a few hours after their visit. Her funeral is Saturday and DD and his brother are conducting it. Please say a prayer for him and his family.

God Bless!

A Trip to Wal-Mart

Life changes when I go to the store in Kadie’s absence. When she pulls an evening shift, and there is shopping to be done, the children and I descend upon a local, unsuspecting retail outlet. Last night we went to Wal-Mart, in order to fetch some groceries. Scooter and Skeeter are at a delightful age where their requests are few and easily ignored.

Skeeter, on the other hand is pure recklessness. Before we entered the store, I asked him to state again the 2 rules for stores:

1) Don’t run away

and

2) Don’t touch stuff

After he repeats them, I have him state the consequences of his actions (like Moses in Deut 28). The consequence of a transgression of either law is:

3) Or else I will ride in the cart.


These two rules have been carefully crafted over the last several years, ever since Squealer was old enough to walk on his own. In my experience, these rules should provide a meaningful balance between freedom and responsibility (the twin poles that serve as boundaries for us all).

In order to reinforce these ideas, I have him carefully repeat each one, as a creed, before we enter the store.

I think that the banishment to the cart seat is an appropriate response. For Squealer, immobility is severe, as I’ve noted before. Squealer exists to move. And if he is not moving, he is not fulfilling his telos. In order to keep him manageable, we go through these commands ritualistically anytime we enter into a store. We’ve spent untold minutes over the last few years before entering into commercial locations.

And it never works.

As soon as we enter the store, his restlessness grows. When the girls are with me, I often use them to keep him corralled. Since he also grabs for things on the aisle (whether he’s in the cart or not) I rarely take him down into the grocery aisle itself. Instead, I will stop the cart near the beginning of the aisle, tell the girls to watch him, and then I’ll head down through the busy aisle while they remain on the outside. In that way, I follow the paths of my ancestors who would often establish a basecamp and then engage on foraging forays into the wilderness in search of food.

Normally, this arrangement works adequately. They will keep him busy (by doing things like swinging him as they hold a pair of his feet and hands, or playing “I Spy” etc.).

But yesterday was not a normal day.

As I was picking up a few bottles of Caffeine Free Diet Coke (“After the caffeine and sugar go, what’s left?” Kadie always asks), I heard Scooter yelling. “Dad! Squealer won’t come back.” I made my way through the press of people and encountered a scene I would never have imagined.

He was amongst the cheese. (again, he clearly has a lactose addiction).

Between the wall of the Wal-Mart and the food aisles, are large, refrigerated, display bins. In these bins are located a wide assortment of cold, sliced, packages of cheese. Squealer had climbed into one of these bins and was walking on large packages of Kraft sliced American cheese. He also had a substantial grin on his face.

As I maneuvered around him, circling him like prey, he took up the challenge and proceeded to mirror my movements so that I could not get near him. Finally, using the girls like sheep-dogs, I was able to manipulate him until he was within my grasp.

I grabbed him and caught him by the hood of his sweatshirt. As I grabbed him and brought him up to eye level I said “SQUEALER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!!!!!” He paused for just a second, and in his eyes I saw a blazing euphoria, unbefore seen in his 3 ½ year old life.

He shouted triumphantly “DADDY! I STAND ON CHEESE!!!!” as though he had just fulfilled one of his major life goals…as though he had conquered a lactose fortified Mount Everest...as though he could now pass from this earth into the sweet hereafter in perfect contentment.

There were too many people staring at us for me to beat him (and alas, I always leave Mr. Buster at home). And technically, I had never before forbidden him from traipsing amongst the Munster. So I slowly gathered our things and headed for the checkout line.

And he rode in the cart for the rest of the evening.

But somehow, with his slight grin and the song of triumph on his lips, I could tell that he thought it was worth it.

A Holy Space

For myself, there is a geographical center for ministry. I know of a holy of holies where the presence of God is made manifest to me in a way like nowhere else. Other ministers might locate the center of God’s presence elsewhere, but I am confident that my gifts are in one particular area of ministry.

It is in the hospital.

I have always felt comfortable in hospitals. After my Dad got out of the Air Force, one of his first jobs was working as an assistant hospital administrator. (I recall as a six or seven year old asking Dad what he did for a living and he replied “I do things like making sure that all the bed sheets get washed.” So for years I thought my Dad was a launderer.) After school I would go up to his hospital office, finish my homework and then simply wander around through the hospital halls or go play in the enormous warehouse where they stored extra beds and medical equipment. And yes, I would often jump on the beds.

Mom was (and is) a registered dietician and has served as the food coordinator for several hospitals and nursing homes over the years. She also worked with a local hospital to establish one of the first hospices in our state. Conversation around the house often centered around the various politics of hospital administration or the rising costs of health care.

I suppose that it was inevitable I would marry a nurse, and so these conversations continue in our own home.

So perhaps I come by my affinity for hospital ministry honestly. I like preaching and I enjoy visiting members in their homes. I love to baptize of course, and to officiate at funerals. (Like others though, I am not so fond of weddings).

But I love to visit the sick in hospitals. Physically, you see them at their worst. But I am amazed, time and time again about their remarkable faith. It is an old line, but nonetheless true that I always receive more than I give in these situations. I have been blessed not to have experienced hospitalization since I was seven or eight, but I do not think I would respond too well. (A sentiment Kadie would certainly endorse. A good intestinal virus has me on my knees singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot in a matter of hours).

But there is something sacrosanct that occurs amidst the beeps of IV machines and the hum of ventilators. As we care for the least of these, we care for Him. As I take their hands to pray, I become the one through whom Christ ministers. As I share words of comfort, a psalm, and a prayer, I most feel like I am sharing the words of Christ.

I have a lot of second guesses how I share (or don’t share) the gospel with people I meet. I kick myself on a weekly basis about misstatements, clumsy errors, or poorly organized thoughts during a sermon. I spend time going over and over in my mind how cluelessly I conducted my last committee meeting.

But I never have doubts when I walk out of the hospital room. It is in the moment of a hospital visit that I feel most Christlike.

Thanksgiving (II)

Frivolity—On Thursday morning, Bonita and Kadie took the kids to the Houston Day parade while Bartolo, Steve, Dad and I sat around and talked prepared for the Thanksgiving meal. The kids loved the parade, but then stood in shock as they got home and watched the exact same (tape delayed) parade on television. Bonita is especially good at finding fun things for her nieces to do. They colored Thanksgiving cards for everyone, assembled numerous ornaments, and decorated a Christmas tree under her direction. I am certain that Bonita violated several child labor laws, but she’s a lawyer and can deal with the feds. (Plus the kids all loved it.)

Shopping on Black Friday presented a dilemma. Sleep in or get up far too early for the purpose of great savings. After much high-level negotiation, we decided not to go out shopping early Friday morning. Although we were also sorely tempted by the filthy lucre of the $250.00 laptops that ensnared Dave and his son, we ultimately opted not to go out. Our conclusion was that arriving at a store at 4:00 am is never the “Best” Buy. Essentially: sloth trumped greed.

Fun—Sunday evening we attended opening night of the Behold the Lamb of God (scroll down to listen) tour by Andrew Peterson. He and some friends apparently get together and perform a musical concert that traces the promise of the coming King from the old testament into the new. I enjoyed the performance, but my favorite part of the evening was the first music set. Peterson and several members of the Square Peg Alliance musical team performed for us. Each person performed two songs and they rotated their performances so that (as Peterson said) “If you really dislike one of us, just wait a minute and someone else will be performing.” I enjoyed each of the performers, though my favorites were Peterson, Derek Webb (of Caedmon’s Call fame) and a new (to me) guy, Andy Gullahorn. Gullahorn in particular was interesting because he was funny (always a plus) and also was very honest in his music. I had the distinct impression that he was more a Christian who happens to make music than a Christian Musician with all the baggage that it implies (grist for a future blog entry). My favorite part of his website is the haiku reviews he has composed of his own concerts. Here's an example:

8-22-06 SPA Show Nashville, TN

Let us just pretend
All of that feedback we heard
Was angels singing

Scooter and Skeeter enjoyed the concert immensely, and it was only later that I realized that it was their first one. I was pleased to be there with them. If the tour comes by your neck of the woods, I encourage you to go by…(and by the way, if you would like to download a free Derek Webb CD (legally) then click here. Offer ends December 1). Sorry Bartolo, it is the same one you just purchased at the concert:(

Overall it was a fantastic weekend. I was reminded yet again of the importance of family. I regret that we live so far away from my brother and sister-in-law...

Thanksgiving Weekend

A tremendous weekend at the Casa de Bartolo y Bonita in Houston.

Five F's for all of my alliterative friends.

We had Family:

In addition to myself and our brood, my parents and youngest brother came down on Wednesday. My youngest brother Steve is fifteen and knows all. He’s currently working on his driver’s license and was driving the car when they were pulled over:

Officer: May I please see your license and registration?

Steve: Her it is, sir. (My parents are arguing in the background)

Officer: Did you know that your tail-light is out and your proof of insurance is out of date??

Steve: “Perhaps you’d like to talk to my parents…”

The officer let him off with a warning…

I really enjoyed Steve at this meeting. He, Bartolo and I played basketball with my Dad for about the first time ever. We played Horse (which Steve suggested we change to “Loser” because of our embarrassing play) and even some two-on-two in a local park. I don’t recall us ever doing this before. Steve is a good eighteen years younger than Bartolo and twenty-two years younger than myself. Since Steve was born the same year I got married, we’ve never lived in the same house together. I’m looking forward to other opportunities to hang out with him. Modesty prevents me from mentioning who utterly dominated on the court.

We had Food:

We had a great Thanksgiving meal with all the fixings. The centerpiece of the meal was a culinary dish Bartolo created called “Trash Can Turkey.” Results were…interesting. I should have some pics up tomorrow. Bonita and Bartolo graciously accommodated our new weird diet, and put us up for five days (not an inexpensive proposition with three kiddos)

We had Football:

Bartolo actually uttered the phrase “I think we’ve seen enough football” late Sunday evening. On Thanksgiving we watched the Cowboys crush the Bucs. All hail Tony Romo! (Geez, even Achilles had his heel, I haven't seen Romo's weakness yet). We skipped the Lion’s game. (Does anyone ever actually watch that game??) Then that evening we saw a bit of the BC/Miami game. On Friday we watched UT lose to A&M—Bartolo is an Aggie, so much rejoicing accompanied their win. On Saturday we went to the Rice-SMU game and joined a joyous throng as Rice completed an improbable season as they defeated the ponies from Dallas. Sunday we watched the Texans stink it up and caught a bit of the Patriots-Bears matchup.

Around and between all of these games Bartolo, Steve and myself played Madden 2006 football. None of us play it that much, so we were whipped pretty soundly.

(Tomorrow--Frivolitry and Fun!)

The Service (II)

“I am not absolutely certain that God called me to leave Susan Song” began Brother Jones. I was shocked to hear this, but no one else had much of a reaction. He continued “…but looking back on it, I am sure that it was the best for me and for the church.” The text of his sermon was Acts 21 when Paul is saying goodbye to his friends shortly before his arrest. His message was very conversational and Brother Jones mentioned several people by name. Many tears were shed.

He talked about the (much needed) new siding they had put on the church, and about the bright sign that the church placed in the front (a sign that generates much pride in the church and community). These events marked the physical evidences from his ministry. Brother Jones also spent time recounting the emotional and spiritual legacies he leaves behind. He talked a bit about walking through the valley of the shadow with several families who lost loved ones. In short, his message was perfect for the occasion.

He concluded by simply looking at me and saying “Brother Taran, what do I do now?”I had Brother Jones and his wife stand at the front of the sanctuary while the church gathered around them and prayed for them. I then offered a benediction and a blessing on the meal following the service. We then retired to the fellowship hall and feasted on a Susan Song potluck meal. During the meal we were surrounded by posters full of pictures of the weddings, baptisms and visits that he had performed while at Susan Song. In the corner there was a video of a musical the church had performed while he was pastor. So as we dined on potluck brisket and potatoes and mac and cheese, we were surrounded by eight years of ministry. At the end of the afternoon, Rev. Jones thanked me for convincing him to come back. Several church members remarked on how wonderful the day’s events had been.

It was a very, very gratifying day.

The Service (I)

The day of the service, there was an unusual edge of excitement. When I arrived, Brother Jones was already there. It is an odd feeling when there is a pastor and a former pastor present at the same service. We each have our own ritual of meeting folks and shaking hands at the beginning of the service. I remember once at Lone Oak Baptist that a former pastor came back to preach. It was an odd feeling right before the service as the two of us worked the room.

A lot of new faces came out for Brother Jones' return. Our normal congregation of a dozen swelled up to thirty or more as his large, extended family descended on the church. There were several members present whom I had never seen. Brother Jones' two sons were there with their wives and kids.

The service was designed to reflect on the work that God did through brother Jones during his time at Susan Song Baptist. I tried to design the service so that it would be a worship service and for us to keep our focus on what the Lord did over the last eight years, not on what Jones did. This was an important distinction that I think the church generally did a good job keeping.

I offered the welcome and thanked Jones and his family for coming. I also read from Ecclesiastes 3 “For every thing there is a season” to introduce the idea of seasons of life for congregations. I thanked Smith for his time of service and invoked the Lord to be present in the service. Then I got out of the way and sat on the back row.

We followed our traditional hymns, but interspersed two testimonies in the service. One was from Mrs. Carpenter whose husband passed away after a lengthy illness. She shared with the congregation how dedicated Bro. Jones was during this difficult time in her life. She talked about how much time he spent at the hospital and how he prayed often with her during this difficult time in her life.

We then sang a few more hymns and Mrs. Landry stood up and shared how encouraging Brother Jones’ family had been over the previous eight years. Plus Brother Jones had married her daughter and her son-in-law. (Which led to the typical SBC humor “Thank you brother Jones for marrying my daughter. Tee hee hee!”)

After Mrs. Carpenter, I prepared to sing the next hymn. But from my perch on the back row, I suddenly saw Mrs. Nelson stand up and say “I know that I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I really need to share what is on my heart.” She then shared how Brother Jones stopped her after a church service and asked if he could pray with her. “If you would not have stopped me, I never would’ve come back to this church.”

Another seven or eight people stood and shared how much Brother Jones meant to them as the Spirit moved. Many wept as they shared with him how much he meant to them. The time of testimony was holy and cathartic at the same time. Following this tremendously encouraging time was the sermon. All of the love and emotion expressed during the testimonies led to a tremendous sense of expectation when brother Jones reached the pulpit.

So I almost fell out of my pew when the first words out of his mouth were “I am not completely sure that God called me to leave Susan Song as Pastor…”

Eating Pizza (II)

After discussing his ministry history, Brother Jones abruptly brought up the reason for our lunch. “What do you want from me?” he said.

I didn’t expect that question, but tried to recover quickly. “I would like you and your family to come back to the church and let us have a time together to celebrate the ministry that God has done through you over the last eight years at Susan Song.”

“Well, the truth is I don’t really need that.” he responded. “I mean, that church is a good church and although I was there for eight years I don’t need any kind of special ceremony.”

I thought for a moment.

“Brother Jones,” I said carefully “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. But I do want you to understand that my interest is not primarily in what you do or do not need. I am a lot more concerned about the church. And they need closure. Whether you need this or not is irrelevent.”

I wondered how he would take this.

“The problem was. I didn’t know how to leave. So when I reached my decision, I just left.” he said quietly. “I mean, what point is there in staying at a church any longer after you decide to go? ” I wasn’t sure if this question was rhetorical or not, so I nodded and took another bite of pepperoni pizza.

“So what exactly do I need to do?” he asked, with some resignation.

I replied “All I want you to do is to come back for a service. Preach the message, and let us have a meal with you and your family afterwards. It will be a time of celebration as you let the church love on you and your family a little bit.”

He chewed this over in his mind as he chewed the cheese pizza in his hand.

I tried another tactic. “Do you realize that Mrs. Bernice and David and Sharon weren’t even there the Wednesday night you resigned? The feel that they really didn’t get to say good-bye because they missed that one Wednesday night.”

Pause.

“Plus you just told me that as a young man you swore to God that if anyone ever asked you to preach that you would do so.”

After I said this last line, great gusts of laughter same rumbling out of his throat. “Brother Taran, right after I told you that, I thought I’d regret it. And I sure do!” he laughed.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll come and preach to the church. We can stay around and eat afterwards. That’s something we really love to do anyways” he said as he patted his belly.

But then he turned serious. His eyes moistened as he carefully said “But the truth is, this church walked with us during some difficult days when my mother died. They held me up while my wife was sick for those seven months. They encouraged me and loved on me more than you can imagine. Brother Taran, the truth is they ministered to me, far more than I ever ministered to them. The have loved me and my family for years and have kept me going through some very, very difficult times.”

I paused for a moment, realizing that we were on holy ground as we sat in the non-smoking section.

I said simply “They really need to hear you say that.”

And he nodded.

Eating Pizza (I)

As I entered the hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, I immediately spotted Brother Jones, even though we’d never met. He was big, a Mack truck of a man. I had been told that he was huge—not fat, but big. But I was immediately glad that I was only paying for his buffet. His head was shaved and we locked eyes immediately as I walked in the room, pushing past the smoking section and over to him.

“Brother Taran” he said. I nodded and he continued “I wondered how I would recognize you.” He laughed nervously. We shook hands and immediately headed for the buffet, I had a diet coke with my pizza, while he had a regular. We sat down, prayed, and then began to talk.

"I'm as nervous as a cat" he said absently.

Without my prompting, he shared with me the more recent struggles that he and his wife have had. They have taken in numerous foster kids, especially teenagers and his voice wavered as he mentioned how much pain some of these kids have been through. He told me about one pair of sisters who were with them whose house had been in such a state of filth that even I had read about it in the local paper. His heart was even bigger than his body.

I asked him to tell me about his call to the ministry. He said he felt called at the age of thirty-five. He grew up in a rural town outside the city and attended country churches his whole life. While taking on greater responsibilities in the various churches he was a member of, he struggled with learning the “accepted way” of Baptist life. For example, he attended one ordination service and the minister conducting the service asked the candidate about the King James Version of the Bible. The candidate responded that the KJV was the only acceptable translation and that all the other versions were “of the devil.” Brother Jones then quietly hid his own New International Version from sight.

“God told me” he said “that if ever a man came and asked me to preach, I’d say ‘Yes!’ Several years later I was asked to preach at a small, country church. I pastored there for two hard years.”

He then shared with me his eight years of ministry at Susan Song. It was his second church, but by far his longest pastorate. It had been an exciting, and a difficult time. It started off well. They fixed up the church grounds and began to work on the outside of the church. They added a new sign that he bought in an auction for $100.00. They fixed it up for $300.00 and a church member ran the electrical line to the sign. It is the biggest sign in town and lights up the country night every evening. Pride was evident in his voice when he described the early years there.

Finishing History

We've been wrapping up the church history at Susan Song lately.

I’ve had a hard time tracking down the previous pastor of Susan Song. As I’ve mentioned before, Brother Jones left rather suddenly. He showed up on a Wednesday evening for prayer meeting and said “Tonight is my last night as your pastor.” And walked out the door.

The impact on the church was substantial. They wondered the real reason why he left. People in the community stopped them in the grocery store and asked “What did ya’ll do to run him off?” The hardest part for the church members was to say “I don’t know what we did” and to wonder the answer to that question as well.

So after arriving I decided to track Brother Jones down and find out his thoughts on the church. I also wanted to invite him back for a celebration of his ministry that would provide closure for his time with the church. But I was warned by some of the church members that “He won’t talk to you and certainly won’t come back here!”

So I got his phone number and began to call him and leave messages with his wife. I tried unsuccessfully for a period of several months (August through October) to get in touch with him. I was unsuccessful. But then my secretary entered into the picture.

About ten years ago she was in his Sunday School class at another church. So she knew him and knew about my intentional interim ministry at his church. She also had not seen him for eight years. Around a month ago, she and her family went to breakfast at McDonald’s and ran into him.

After initial greetings, he mentioned that he had recently resigned as pastor at Susan Song after an eight year ministry. She said “I know, and do you want to know how I knew that? It’s because my boss is the intentional interim pastor there. And he’s been trying to talk to you for weeks.”

Brother Jones said “Oh…”

He then said something along the lines of “I guess if I ran into you after ten years, maybe God wants me to do something.

And the next time I called Brother Jones he answered the phone and we set up a meeting.

We would, as he said, “Break pizza together.”

Confirmation that I was right to destroy my BOA Card

Reason #4,867 to eliminate your credit cards:

So that Bank of American employees with no longer have time to put things like this together.

http://adweek.blogs.com/adfreak/2006/11/how_bank_of_ame.html

(There is far more of a praise and worhip feel to this video than to some churches I know...)

Tenure Thoughts (Service)

Service is simply the non-teaching, non-research work that the faculty member performs in support of the mission of the university or your field. It usually takes the form of committee work. It can include working on any aspect of university life. For example:

--Hiring committees (composes job advertisements, gets their approval form Human Resources, and searches for new faculty.

--Courses and Curriculum (approves modifications to current courses or new ones. It also works on new program offerings).

--SACS (our accrediting agency) compliance committee

Etc.

Service records those activities that no one really wants to do but need to get done in order for the university to run (semi)efficiently. The strange thing is, (actually, and this is mind boggling) I have encountered some people who LOVE committee meetings. They sit and linger, they hope that it continues on and on. There is rarely an agenda and when there is, people add to it willy-nilly and suck up the available amount of time.

I don’t get it.

The only thing more boring than these meetings would be a post about the meetings!!

Tenure Thoughts (II)

I think that research is critical to the academic enterprise. It is also the most quantifiable of the three divisions. Research includes articles, book reviews, books, presentations, and other scholarly activity. But the specific requirements for research is perhaps the most specific to the university. For example, many SBC institutions would (quite naturally) include contributions to the Biblical Illustrator (the journal that assists Sunday School teachers) as scholarly, but not many other schools. There is also a clear division between the Evangelical Theological Society and the American Academy of Religion or Society of Biblical Literature. ETS would not be considered an appropriate level of scholarship at many state institutions and even some denominational schools. (I haven’t attended a meeting there, but I do know some fine academics engaged in that society).

But essentially the tenure committee looks for the fact that the professor continues to be engaged in critical scholarship. This would be the equivalent of continuing education credits offered in many professional organizations. The average school requires two or three articles (over six years), four or five professional presentations and numerous book reviews. Some upper level schools require two books (assuming one is the dissertation, and at least a contract on a second). Obviously these are gross overgeneralizations.

At my institution, we probably require a little less than average in this area. A few articles and a few presentations would qualify for tenure, although recently we have had several candidates for tenure who had a book contract in hand.

As for me and my house, I am a bit light in the article department (1 plus a few encyclopedia entries) but I do have a dozen or so presentations at regional and national meetings as well as several book reviews. What cinches it for me (I hope)is that I do have a book coming out next spring by a university press. It is a book on the Psalms (of course). That should complete my research case for tenure.