Camping Trip

We returned from our vacation intact and had a great time camping. Although my family and I went camping periodically growing up, I had not been on more than a one night campout in decades. Fortunately we went with four seasoned veterans.

We camped out with a couple (Jim and Sandra) from our Sunday School class whom we are just getting to know. They have two daughters around the same ages as ours and the four girls have already become best friends.

Jim owns a restoration company (they come in after floods, fires, etc. and work with the insurance companies to rebuild homes and businesses). He drove up to Petit Jean in a huge black Dodge Ram pickup. I took the White Goose with the ailing transmission. It has 187,000 miles on it, but with a rebuilt engine at 165,000. So we’re just now wondering when the transmission will blow. Not the best vehicle to take into the mountains, but somehow it held together.

Driving around the park, we took Jim’s behemoth truck and threw the kids in the bed while the adults rode in the front cab. Since the drive from our campsite to the hiking trails was a mile and a half over empty park roads we didn’t think twice about this.

But “Ranger Rick” did. After we stopped, Ranger Rick approached us and said that anyone under fifteen had to ride in the cab but that the adults could ride in the bed. He then said “I imagine that even [here he mentioned our home state] has similar laws to Arkansas and you should keep in mind that we enforce those laws in a State Park.”

His condescension was palpable and I almost responded that “Well, given my state’s history of governmental corruption, it’s also th3e case that $50.00 will keep a Park Ranger from hassling you for three days. Is that also the case in Arkansas?”

But my basic respect for the law and my even more basic desire not to be beaten in front of my children kept my darker emotions in check.

Plus that’s what blogs are for.


Some random thoughts on camping…


Bug repellant keeps away bugs, but not (alas) children.

I’m told that they emit all kinds of poisonous gasses, but burning Styrofoam plates and plastic water bottles is fun.

Loud early morning geese have no snooze button.

No one can out-pester a four year old. No one.

Every male, irrespective of age, at some base level, is a pyromaniac.

A new tent never goes back into its original box.

Campfire Smores are the finest dessert I have ever tasted.

At home we don’t let Squealer carry a dull table knife, but on vacation we do take him on a semi-perilous hike through rugged terrain.

When it is raining on a camp-out, there’s simply not much to do.

My opposition to infanticide decreases marginally in direct proportion to the number of times I hear the question “When are we going to be there?”

I’ll post some pictures over the weekend.

After Service Comments

We are trekking to Mount Petit Jean for a few days of R&R before school starts later this week, so blog entries will be nonexistent. For a change of pace, I thought I'd ask for some contributions.

The following lines were all shared with me back during my Lone Oak days. Each of them are absolutely true…

“You’ll make a good preacher one day.” (This was said early in my stay at Lone Oak).

“You always manage to find something to fill up the time.” (You can just sense the underlying feeling of resignation that accompanied this line).

“I appreciated what you were trying to do.” (I loved this line. He told it to me right after I tried a dramatic monologue sermon—the only time I’ve ever done so).

“If I’d known you were going to be good today I’d have brought a neighbor.” (A joke...I think).


“Did you know there are 243 panes of glass in the windows?” (Said by a child after the service.)

“We shouldn’t make you preach so often.” (I’m not sure how to take this one).


“I think God has called you to be a professor.” My all time favorite, uttered with complete sincerity by a Hill Country cowboy.

Gentle readers, please add your favorite lines to the comments

Resignation

Tomorrow morning, the pastor of Lakeview Baptist (our home church) will resign to take a church in another part of our state. He’s had a fairly autocratic style and I am concerned about how the church will respond in his absence. My hope is that some of our really good leaders will step up to the plate and see this as an exciting opportunity for change.

I’m agitating for an intentional interim, but face an uphill battle. It is a new concept in this area (only two churches in our association have gone through it, one of them is Susan Song) and some of the congregation will want to move as rapidly as possible to find another pastor.

Complicating matters is that our by-laws state that a Pastor Search Committee must be formed within 60 days of the previous pastor’s resignation. That kind of time line is incompatible with the Intentional Interim ministry.

Please pray for us as you are able…

Susan Song Reception

Last night we had a wonderful reception at Susan Song. Since they were concerned about several folks being out over the Memorial Day Weekend, they wanted to have it after their Wednesday night service. Kadie and the kids went with me. When I told the kids that we were all going out to the church because they were having a celebration, Scooter said “Are they throwing a celebration because you are leaving??”

I started to choke up a little as we pulled into the parking lot. On the sign in front of the church they wrote “Good-bye Bro. Taran, We’ll Miss You”. I shared a brief devotional with them and then we feasted on great fried chicken (natch), home grown black eyed peas, squash, and mashed potatoes.

After we finished eating they presented a beautiful framed picture with a poem about the “Pastor”. Mrs. Jones read a poem that was hilarious and had a separate verse about each of the regular attenders. I’ll post it in the next day or two. They also were very proud of the fact that they were the first Intentional Interim I have performed and presented me with the framed Church Covenant which they had each signed.

A great evening.

The Bad News Miscreants

Last Friday evening, after exactly one softball practice in the preceding twelve years, I laced up my brand new ($19.99 from Payless) cleats and took to the softball field. I was the starting third baseman for the Lakeview Miscreants, our church softball team.

We play in a Baptist league here in town, and were late in assembling a team. Our first practice was a Thursday and our first game the following night. We were spanked in two straight games on Friday evening, 14-6 and 12-6 respectively (so we did show some improvement). Our official team motto is "You get to laugh at me and then I get to laugh at you."

My fielding was much better than I expected. Which is to say I only made four errors over the course of our double-header. The first error was failing to snare a line drive that was very catchable…though I’m hampered by my microscopic vertical leap. The next two errors were bobbles that enabled fleet runners to beat my weak-armed throws.

I was most proud of my fourth error. I started the second game at short (a demotion perhaps?!) and fielded an easy grounder effortlessly. I then airmailed the throw to the first baseman (who was only about 18 feet from me). My throw flew to his right and sent both adult and children spectators scurrying out of the way like a covey of quail. It was a beautiful thing to behold. (Chuck Knoblauch is my hero) . I did settle down to make most of the routine plays the rest of the evening.

I performed even more poorly at the plate. I hammered a solid single to right field in my first at bat and then went 0 for 5 the rest of the evening (weak grounders and pop ups to various infielders). I did score an additional run after I reached on an error.

But all in all, there is something to be said about Baptists hammering each other on the softball diamond instead of through blogs, so it was a nice change of pace.

But I didn’t escape unscathed. I mishandled a short hop throw from our left fielder and it caught me clean in the shin. Fortunately, the shock of the injury rendered my leg numb for the rest of the evening. But it looks nice, don’t you think?

Overall, I don’t recall having so much fun in awhile. I’ll be chronicling subsequent injuries games throughout the remainder of our six week season.

Church Graduation

Four years ago, as I finally wrapped up my doctorate, I was approached by one of our church secretaries who asked for a photo of me in my graduation regalia. (It looks sharp, though it does bear (!) a stark resemblence to the Green Goblin's outfit.) She said that she wanted it for our Graduation Day Sunday service so they could put it on the screen when I walked down the aisle of the church with our other graduates.

I was less than enthusiastic about the idea. In retrospect I can very much see my pride at work as I considered church Graduation Day something for high school students or maybe a college graduate. But for a graduate degree? I didn’t need any attention and so I declined.

In fact, I never gave her a picture and told her that I had no desire to participate. But secretaries can be persistent and she repeated her request on more than one occasion. A showdown was avoided because we had to travel to Waco for graduation and elected to visit our friends at Lone Oak on the same Sunday that our home church would be having Graduation Day.

I was aggravated to find out later that they still put my name on a scrolling list of graduates during the morning service, simply without the picture.

Looking back on that experience, I am struck by how foolishly self-centered I was. I thought that the ceremony was for my benefit, but I now realize that many (though certainly not all) church ceremonies serve an important part of the life of the church and are vital to its continued health. A church graduation day, for example, allows the church to see the fruit of its effort in a tangible way.

As the high school and college seniors (yes, even the grad students) walk down the aisle in church, the congregation gets to celebrate the role that it has had in the life of these new graduates. All of their Sunday School teachers and youth leaders have invested themselves in these students over the years. In a sense, when these high school church members go off to college, they take a part of the church with them. And we do and should celebrate that.

I now regret not having participated. If I could go back and speak to my “aggrieved” younger self, I would simply say…


“It’s not about you!”

A Spring Ritual (II)

What I hate about graduation:

1. Airhorns

2. The local minor league hockey team plays in the same arena where we hold graduation in December. The faculty (and students) sit on flooring material placed directly over the ice. My ancient black wing-tip shoes are excellent conductors of body heat and my feet freeze for an hour and a half.

That is all. I guess the advantage outweigh the disadvantages.

A Spring Ritual

We had our graduation last night. The frenzied, at times chaotic, week of finals all comes to a sudden standstill during Pomp and Circumstance as we entered the arena. A lot of my colleagues dislike graduation, and many even refuse to show up. But I enjoy graduation a lot. Here’s why I enjoy it:

1. At the reception before the ceremony I get to tell students good-bye. If I didn’t go to graduation, there wouldn’t be the same closure. Telling them good-bye when they turn in their final exam just isn’t the same.

2. The reception is also the only time when the staff, faculty, and administration of the university share an informal meal together. It is a nice time, a brief ceasefire in the ongoing conflict between the various interests on campus.

3. I love the embraces. It is the one time during the year when it is appropriate for faculty and students (of both genders) to hug. In my mind it is a small way of confirming that they are no longer our students anymore.

4. I love the ritual and the formality. The gowns, the confirmation of degrees, the honor cords, and the stoles are all elements of a very formal ceremony that has to be explained to the students. We need a lot more ritual in society today. Ritual is institutionalized, enacted memory and there are certain things that as a society we need to remember. The significance of graduation is one.

5. The speakers are usually brief. Someone has done a good job of convincing them that the evening is not about them.

6. There is the eminently mockable state official who inevitably sidles his way to the microphone (even though he is never on the program). “Oozing smarm from every pore, he oiled his way across the floor.” (My late mother-in-law used to quote that line and it fits so many people perfectly).

7. I love meeting the parents and grandparents. It is the one time during the year I look forward to meeting parents. (All the other times I meet parents, the conversation consists of me explaining that I cannot discuss Junior’s grades with them for confidentiality reasons). I get to brag on their children and watch while both the student and parent simultaneously swell with pride. (Fortunately, the bad students generally don’t want me to meet their parents).

8. The students get a diploma cover during the ceremony and receive their actual diploma afterwards. As a department chair, I get to hand them their actual diploma and say “Congratulations” again.

9. What I enjoy the most is the feeling of accomplishment in seeing students I battled with as freshman make the walk across stage. Some of them are single parents, many are first generation college graduates. In most cases, their degree of sacrifice is inspiring.

10. Graduations (like weddings) serves a useful purpose for the audience as well as the participants. The ceremony reminds all who witness it of the excitement of that period of life. That period when any dream seems possible.

Technically, he's correct...

Driving to Sam's to pick up some bulk necessities

Squealer "Daddy, Bears live in the forest and sleep during the day so they can be awake during the night.

Taran: "Yes, very good."

(Let me interrupt this narrative to make a few points. I have no idea where this stuff comes from. I assume he got it from a story at Mother's Day Out or a Little Einstein episode. I'm also not exactly sure that he's right. Are bears really nocturnal? Do all of those bear attacks take place during the night? Most of the footage of bears I've seen is during the day.)

Squealer: "But we don't sleep in the day, we sleep in the night. Bears sleep in the day."

Taran: "Yes. That's because bears are nocturnal."

Squealer: "……."

Taran: "Can you say nocturnal?"

Squealer: (Very deliberately) "Noc-turn-al. Nocturnal"

Taran: Enthusiastically. "Very Good, Squealer!! Can you think of other animals that are nocturnal?"

Squealer: (After thinking carefully for a few seconds) "Dogs."

Taran: "Dogs?!"

Squealer "Yes, Dogs. Dogs are not turtles."

Funny Exams

Ahhh….grades are in and all faculty posted their grades without too many issues. (Unlike last December). In honor of the end of the semester, I wanted to include two student responses to an exam question.

The question is from my introduction to Philosophy class and concerns Pascal’s Wager. PW attempts to convince the agnostic that one is better off believing in God and being wrong rather than disbelieving in God’s existence and being wrong. It argues that there are four possible alternatives:

• Believe in God and be correct (the consequence is eternal reward)
• Believe in God and be wrong (the consequence is a temporal loss)
• Disbelieve in God and be correct (the consequence is temporal reward)
• Disbelieve in God and be incorrect (the consequence is an eternal loss)
  

So on the whole, one’s best shot at the ultimate reward, and an avoidance of the ultimate loss is to believe in God. For a painfully precise explanation, see here.

One student (obviously a Kenny Rogers fan) wrote the following


A second student, an aspiring artist, simply wrote...

I jovially recorded two "F"s...

News to Salve a Guilty Conscience....

Actually, my conscience is really not that guilty. But it is nice to know that he found another job. It is only a one year position, but it is in California where it is about 20 degrees cooler than it is here in the Deep South. And he might get a tenure track position at the end of the year.

The mountains, a nice beach....hmmm. Maybe I'll be interviewing with HIM for a job in a few years!!!

A Last Note

Well the final verses of Susan Song are coming to an end.

I have given them May 27th as my final Sunday. Three weeks ago I gave them six weeks notice. I gave them that date mostly to jump-start the pastoral search process. They had settled into a level of comfort with me as interim that I believe prevented them from seriously looking for a pastor.

I thought about delaying my departure, because they are probably another four weeks away from calling a pastor. But I decided to remain firm in my deadline for two reasons.

First, I think it is important to maintain my word to them. I told them a termination date, and I need to stick to that date for the sake of consistency.

Second, I have heard through the ministerial grapevine that our home pastor is going in view of a call on the May 20th to another church. To my knowledge, he has not shared this information with anyone at our church.

Due to the fact that our church governance has been pretty centralized in our pastor, I have some concern about how the church will react. I really want to be there to lend my thoughts/experiences.

When finals end this week and grades are turned in I will post my final report on Susan Song.

The Ringing Bell

Just a note from the deluge of finals week, the last round of term paper grading, and faculty evaluations. I entered the 20th century yesterday and downloaded my first album off iTunes. It was Derek Webb’s subversive new album, The Ringing Bell. It is a fine album and you can listen to it (though not download it, alas) for free here.

The two best tunes are "I Wanna Marry You All Over Again" (on marriage) and "A Love That's Stronger Than Our Fear" (on Torture).


Not that those topics are in ANY way related...

TM

Setting: An elevator, slowly rising from the first to the fourth floor.

Characters:
Taran: A slightly pudgy, nearing middle-aged, freshly tenured professor.

Four undergraduate females, each with cellphone in hands, thumbs flying furiously.

Girls: -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-

“Ding!” as we pass the second floor.

Girls:-click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-

“Ding!” as we pass the third floor.

Girls: -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-

Me: (To no one in particular) “You know, when I was your age we used to talk on our telephones.”

Two of the girls look at me in the same way that Squealer looks at creamed spinach, with a mixture of revulsion and pity. They then provide a token (if condescending) chuckle. The other two ignore the comment completely.

Girls: -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-

“Ding” as we arrive at the fourth floor. The door opens and they depart.

Appropriately, I am left behind.

A Toast to Friendship

On Sunday morning, before making the long drive to Susan Song, I had the honor of sharing breakfast with Mister Ginger, PoMonkey, and Bobby. I met each of them almost twenty years ago in college and they have each scattered across the country in successful careers. They graciously (and expensively) flew back for Kadie’s party and this hour was the only time we’d have to share in conversation.

We talked a lot and laughed even more. (At one point, Bobby almost sent me to an early grave at IHOP as he channeled Sean Connery from that old SNL Jeopardy skit). Our conversation reminded me again of the importance of friendship. At one point during the weekend, Mister Ginger made the comment that as the years pass along, our friendships remain one of the greatest parts of our lives.

In a society where romantic/erotic love is held as the ideal, our culture all too often denigrates or worse, simply ignores friendship. Yet in some ways, friendship is just as powerful a form of love. C. S. Lewis devotes an important part of his book The Four Loves to the topic of friendship. In it he notes that "Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities." There is an accountability and an honesty in the best of friendships that each of us desperately need.

Or as another great Teacher once said: "Two are better than one because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up the other…"

Lies I Told My Wife

In preparation for Friday’s event, I told more lies than I have in the previous 16 years of our marriage combined.

1. On four occasions I told her that a person who called (usually her sister PT Girl, or a co-conspirator from church), in fact called for some other reason than her party.

2. I told her that we were going to my parents B&B because my brother had a choir festival.

3. I signed off on our monthly budget, realizing that I’d be busting it to fly Linda into town.

4. On the road to the surprise party, Kadie decided to call our baby sitter about a sitting time this Friday. Since our sitter was at the surprise party, I was afraid Kadie would hear the talking, so I quickly made up some fool tale about having to work this Friday evening in the computer graphics lab, so there was no reason to call her.


That is the sum total of lies I told my wife. Why recount them here?
1) To salve my bitter conscience and
2) because I’m curious what referrals the title will generate.

A Wonderous Evening

That was Fun!

On Friday evening, an event I have been planning for the last ten months occurred. We celebrated Kadie’s upcoming birthday with a huge party. Since it is such an important milestone (her new age rhymes with “sporty”) I wanted to do something special.

I decided to fly in one of her closest friends (Linda, mentioned here) from the east coast to surprise her. And things grew from there. I knew our Sunday School class would come, as well as just a few others from our home church. In addition, old college friends from the West coast as well as from the great Mid-West all made their way, like salmon returning home to spawn, back to the Deep South.

Mom and Dad hosted the shindig at their Bed and Breakfast. They also graciously fed everyone. (As Scooter said later “Grandmother and Grandaddy throw the most wonderful parties”). 35 adults and 15 kids attended, so I paid a couple of teens from church to make the drive out to the B&B and watch the kids so the adults could actually talk.

After a series of lies (more on those tomorrow) I got Kadie out to my parents for the surprise. It went according to Hoyle. She was stunned and amazed. Actually she seemed to be in shock for most of the evening. (It helps tremendously that her birthday is actuallytwo weeks from now, she never saw this coming!).

Finally I had made plans for six of her closest friends to spend the night there with her and go shopping the next day in the town square. After the party, I brought the kids back home and stayed up far too late talking to Mister Ginger and Bobby. In fact, the last time I Was up this late I had a paper due the next day.

I think the greatest part of the gift wasn’t the actual party, but the tremendous outflowing of love she felt from all who attended. It was a special, special event.

Kadie told me that it will be something she remembers for the rest of her life…

The Suds Pit

Friday night our college had its annual College Social. You haven’t partied hard until you’ve spent a few hours with a bunch of Liberal Arts profs. Unfortunately I had to handle child care issues.

Kadie teaches a Senior High School Girl’s Sunday School class and was going to go out to Dallas on a shopping trip with them. Unfortunately, that meant each of our standard baby-sitters were going to be out too. So I checked with my parents, our other SS friends...and completely struck out. But I had to go to the social.

So I locked the kids in a closet my office with a DVD (Herbie: Fully Loaded) and my cell phone number. I instructed Scooter to call me in the event of an emergency. I then walked across campus and went to the social.

Two hours later I walked back to the office and passed a large foam pit that the Student Activities folks were setting up. It was essentially a large inflatable pit that was filled with soap foam, much like what is generated when you wash dishes in the sink. Loud pulsating music and a light show accompany the festivities.

There were only about 8 college students in the foam pit, so I hustled back to my office to grab the kids. And I opened my door to chaos. Apparently Squealer had been channeling Legion because the girls were desperate to get out. Skeeter had been begging Scooter to call me on the phone, but Scooter had decided that Squealer's obnoxiousness had not yet risen to the level of an emergency.

(Only at this moment did it occur to me that locking two children in a room with a four year old and a Lindsay Lohan movie might violate several articles of the Geneva Convention)

At any rate I took them down to the foam pit and watched them play for about 2 hours. The foam actually exceeded Squealer's height. Our campus PR person was taking pictures and I encouraged her to take a few pictures of the kids. I've included one below. (I have no idea who the student on the right is and what is growing out of her head). A grand time was had by all. On the way home Scooter had starry eyes and said "Daddy, I've just been to my first college party."

Of Eagles and Cockroaches

****Welcome to all who visit from Bowden's Blog Counseling Notes. Sorry for the mess! I would've tried to straighten up a bit if I had known company was coming.****


I am very fortunate to have a strong mentor on campus. Because he has been through so many campus wars over the years (he’s been here since the seventies) the junior faculty in the department refer to him as the Colonel. He has been a repository of academic and personal wisdom that has proven to be invaluable to me on numerous occasions. He’s also exceptionally gifted at sharing the oral tradition of how things have gone on here on campus. He knows, as they say, where all the bodies are buried. But the scars of battles fought have definitely affected his outlook on things.

Shortly after I arrived, he called me into his office for a bit of mentoring and we had the following conversation.

“Taran,” he began, “You really need to take stock of your career.”

I nodded.

He continued. “You see, there are two types of people on this campus.” Here he paused for a minute, deep in thought as he sought an appropriate metaphor.

“There are a very few go-getters around here who are a lot like eagles.” His speech began to grow stronger (not unlike a large bird taking flight). “Yes, there are a few people here who work hard, jump out of the nest and soar very high above the rest of us.”

I nodded again, seeing the direction that this advice was going.

He continued:

“They are majestic colleagues, these eagles. They work hard, provide quality in all that they do, and leave the rest of us peons down here on the earth.”

“They really excel!” I said, catching onto the direction of this conversation.

“Exactly!” responded the Colonel.

“But then,” the Colonel’s voice grew increasingly grave, “there are the others. They are not eagles, but ummmm… cockroaches.”

I wasn’t expecting a metaphorical segue of that nature and I must’ve looked a bit startled because he repeated. “That’s right, they are cockroaches.”

“How are they like cockroaches?” I asked.

“Well, they lay in the dark and scuttle about their business. They do all their work behind the scenes and generally stay away from the light. They focus on their own stuff.” he stated.

I started nodding again. “I think I understand your point. Eagles soar and are concerned about the entire organization, while cockroaches scurry around unseen and are only concerned with their own small corner of the world.”

The Colonel looked very proud. He said “Taran, you might have a future around here yet!”

I grinned back and said “Now I just need to start soaring like an eagle!”

Now it was the Colonel’s turn to look startled.

“What?!” he exclaimed.

“Well,” I said tentatively, “Since I want to excel and make an impact around here, I need to strive to be an eagle.”

At this statement, he leaned back against his chair and slowly rubbed his eyes. After a moment of regaining his patience he then began to speak to me like I was four years old.

“Taran, if you want to survive in this place, you’ve gotta think like a cockroach. Be the cockroach, not the eagle.”

He saw the confused look in my eyes and decided to try a Socratic tactic.

“What are there more of in this world, cockroaches or eagles?” he patiently asked.

“Ummm….cockroaches?” I replied.

“Yes,” he nodded condescendingly. “A lot more. The eagles attract the arrows and nobody pays any attention to the cockroaches. A nuclear bomb goes off and the cockroaches survive. But the eagle is on the endangered species list."

"You don’t want to be an eagle.”

He got up out of the chair and finished the conversation. “Remember Taran, be the cockroach.”

I was stunned.

All I could think to say was “But…..eagles get to fly.”

He paused at the door, slowly turned to me and said with a wink:

“Cockroaches fly too, Taran.”

And then he flew out the door!

On First Ladies and Pastor’s Wives

I am always amazed at the number of hits that postings on pastor’s wives generates. I have mentioned pastor’s wives here before.

Candy Cooper, the wife of the president of Drew University, has an article in today’s Chronicle of Higher Education on the role of “First Ladies,” the spouses of college presidents. I didn’t read too far into the article before it all sounded slightly familiar.

Cooper reports that as the spouse of a college president she often

--feels that she must put on a persona and act a part.

--has the impression that most colleges consider the First Lady to be free labor, thrown in as “part of the deal.”

--wonders if she can pursue other interests outside the university

--wonders if the First Lady can ever have friends from the campus

Some thoughts that this article generates for/about pastor’s wives--

*Develop friendships with other pastor’s wives. The insight Cooper gained occurred when she was at a meeting with other president’s wives. We all need fellowship. Pastors and their wives cannot always (if ever!) get that in their own church. Where possible they must seek it out in other contexts.

*Work hard at maintaining balance in your family. Kadie and I have had some hard discussions over my time allocation. She makes it known to me when my calendar priorities don’t match my stated (family first) priorities. All too often I'm driven to keep my career going at the expense of my family. She works to keep my attention on our wellbeing, instead of simpy my well being. Kadie's family force is cetripetal while mine is centrifugal, keeping me tethered during those times when I’m careening careering out of control.

*Develop interests outside the church family. Not every pastor’s wife has a job outside the home, but every pastor’s wife needs to have interests outside the home. Cooper wondered if she would need to give up her journalistic interests when she became a college first lady. Now she has found a new outlet for them. Every pastor’s wife I have met has had hidden talents (writing, singing, accounting, painting and others) that they are not always able to express at church. Join a club or advocacy organization. If truly desperate, write a blog (preferably anonymously).

*I struggle with this last thought. Cooper seems to have found some sense of herself with the idea of putting on the mask of a heroine and dashing off to be “Super First Lady”. Here I part ways with her. While pastors and their wives are often taught to wear masks as self-protection, in a certain sense I always want to push for greater genuineness. It seems to me to be for our greater emotional health when our public and private personae correspond. I think that Cooper tacitly recognizes this when she writes her article. Her article, in a very real sense involves unmasking. Unfortunately, few pastor’s wives feel that they have that sort of freedom.

To those of us who are not pastor’s wives, maybe this will stimulate some thinking on ways we can minister to pastor’s wives.

Other thoughts???

Fun With Homophones

Comments while walking to the Rippling Hills. No, there is no context for the initial question by Skeeter.

Skeeter: “Daddy, what does peace mean?”

Taran: “Well, it’s the absence of wa…” (But then I interrupt myself and remember that from the pulpit I’ve always used the line “The peace that passes all understanding refers not to the absence of conflict, but the presence of Christ.”) So I tentatively amend my statement, unsure of exactly how theological to take the conversation.

Taran: “Well, it’s actually the joy that comes from a satisfying relationship with Christ.”

Skeeter: “…”

Taran: “Doesn’t that answer your question?”

Skeeter: “I guess, but I thought it was a part of a tree or a rock or something.”

Taran: “…”

Scooter: “Dad, I think she means piece, like a piece of a sandwich.”

The clouds of confusion immediately evaporate.

Taran: “Ohhhhh…now I understand.”

Scooter: “But Dad, what does ‘a piece of hesitance’ mean??

This question puzzles me for a minute, but then for some reason it dawns on me. “I think you mean the piece de la resistance."

Blizzard

The strongest blizzards inevitably arrive in May.

But it’s not snow that whitens my world, but reams of paper. These are the days where quasi-administrators like myself are busiest (a fact no doubt made far worse by my otterish tendencies).

On the student side, life is very busy. It is the end of the Spring semester and every faculty member must begin the process of reading term papers, advising students, and preparing final grades. Some students request recommendations. Others come by to tearfully discuss their grades. It is also the end of the academic year, so we must gear up for Spring graduation. Along with graduation are the attendant initiation ceremonies (into various honor fraternities) that a department chair is expected to attend.

In addition, there are departmental responsibilities. This is the end of the fiscal year with all of its attendant last minute spending. (If we don’t spend it this year, then we might not get it next year.) Absurdly, purchasing requires us to get our requests in by April 5 so that they can get the item purchased by June 30, the last day of the fiscal year. So I have to decide in late February if the department will have enough paper the last week of June. The first year of my predecessor’s tenure as chair, he had $2,000 left to roll over into the next fiscal year. He then found out that he could not roll over state money and so it was given to another department that was 2K short. The message was clear, spend it all!

We also fill out our productivity reports where we gain points for various activities (presentations, classes taught, students advised, articles published, etc). If we get enough points we get to yell Yahtzee! may or may not be rewarded with a raise. I will sit down with each of our faculty members and discuss their year in review and then plan for their next year to come. I then have to complete our departmental 06-07 annual plans and submit the new ones for 07-08.

Each of these items, like the four paper-pushers of the apocalypse, descend on department chairs every Spring.

But the item on my plate at the moment is the Affirmative Action Profile. After every job hire, we are required to fill out a sheet that details the number of ethnic and gender minorities who applied for the position.

I understand the necessity of accountability in this area. For all its supposed progressive viewpoints, the Academy has lagged behind much of society in its hiring practices. Particularly in a Southern state, we need to have confidence that the search is conducted in a meritocratic process. It is a small penance to pay for decades of institutional racism.

But the end result is that I have to check little boxes that will identify the gender and ethnic make-up of all our candidates. I must ask myself if the woman I interviewed in New York, best fits the category of White, Black, or Other? Usually it is apparent, but not always.

What about the candidates we didn’t interview? How can I determine the ethnic make-up or even the gender of people I’ve never met? Names don't always tell. What to do with the Chien(s) and Lu(s) of the world?

The irony of the entire process, is that I’ve been extremely focused on the racial/gender make-up of the candidates; something I’ve been encouraged from birth not to do. (Although some colleagues and HR would no doubt tell me that I think of folks in racial and gender terms all the time, this process just makes that explicit. That does nothing to assuage my discomfort). The very process designed to help has the effect of categorizing individual profiles.

I’m not sure what the answer is, but we need to keep looking.

(For those counting at home, in the end we replaced a white male with a white female…)

Finally!!!!!

I received the news last Wednesday. It will now be a lot harder to get rid of me in the future.

The system vice-chancellor approved my tenure and promotion request and it will go before the board of trustees later in the month. In recorded memory, they have never reversed a recommendation from the system vice-chancellor. Fortunately I learned early enough in the day that I still had time to go around and given an obscene gesture to each of the upper level administrators.

I have several feelings in response. I feel very thankful for the acknowledgment that I’ve been doing quality work. I also feel a strong sense of responsibility as well. I am pleased that I am now in a position to begin to work to influence many others both inside and outside the academy.

And I understand how odd the isntitutiuon of tenure is. On Saturday I had an interesting conversation with a buddy of mine who has a refurbishing business that goes in after tornadoes, floods, etc. and rebuilds homes and businesses. He had no idea what tenure is. After I briefly explained it to him, he thought for a moment and said “I have jobs lined up for the next six months. That is my tenure."

For those in the academic, tenure is the pinnacle of the profession. In fact, the achievement of tenure is more sought and more significant than the only promotion left (to full professor). But in some sense this represents the end of a road that began for me as a graduate student. One of the odd things about tenure is that its achievement so often is accompanied by feelings of ennui. (See here for example). I suffer no such mixed emotions.

But it is a time for change. I recall as a graduate student doing the math (4 years for M.A., 4 years –turned into 5- for Ph.D. and 6 for tenure track) and setting a goal to get tenure by age forty. So now its time for new goals!! What a difference (exactly) one year makes.

Number One: Check

A Hard Conversation

I had known for a few days that I would be the bearer of much bad news. We have had a colleague who has been with us in our department for four years. This year we held a job search for his position and the department felt that someone else was the stronger candidate. As department chairman it was my responsibility to convey that news to him.

I’ve never done this before, and so I sought advice from a senior administrative colleague who has a lot of experience in sharing bad news. “How do you tell them?” I asked. He responded “Usually I just blurt it out.”

Oh.

So I asked my soon-to-be-former colleague into my office and muttered something about never having done this before. I then shared with him that the department had made the decision to extend an offer to another candidate and that his association with the university would end on such and such a date. I quickly added that I would stand ready to assist him in transitioning to a position in another institution if he wanted my help. I thanked him for his contributions and his professionalism.

But I’ve received life-altering news before. I know from experience on the other end of the conversation that he didn’t hear a word I said after “we’ve made a decision to extend an offer to someone else.” I could’ve discussed sheep grazing patterns in lower Patagonia for all the attention he subsequently paid to our conversation.

He lowered his head into his hands and slowly shook his head back and forth. “What will I do now?” he said. I tried to again offer my assistance in locating another job, but he understands the difficulties of finding academic positions. He shared with me a life threatening illness (from before his employment) that he said continues to plague his productivity. Then we sat there silently for some time not really saying anything.

Finally he sat up and looked at me and said “Taran, I’m really sorry. I didn’t do a better job.” I was stunned by this apology and reciprocated by suggesting that perhaps a more experienced chair could’ve found some means to motivate him.

Finally he got up and slowly left.

After he left I laid my head down on the desk for awhile. In a pastoral role, I’ve been in some sad situations before…usually after tragic deaths. But this was the most responsibility I’ve felt. Plus there is a tremendous chasm between the roles of supervisor and minister. It was a very painful experience.

I spoke with Kadie on the phone later and she sensed my melancholy. Unbeknownst to me she brought the three kids up to the office and announced that we were going on a family date. We went out to dinner and watched Meet the Robinsons. In 3-D.

Family is a wonderful thing.

Easter Weekend

We had a busy and chilly Easter weekend. On Saturday morning the kids went Easter egg hunting (amid snow flurries) at our home church. Squealer remarked at one point that it felt like Halloween (a feeling encouraged, no doubt, by our decision to recycle his frog basket from Halloween into an “Easter” basket).

The first thing we do on Easter morning is hold a lengthy Easter egg scavenger hunt for the kids. Kadie and I compose a series of clues which direct the kids throughout the house. They then get to read each clue and figure out where the next egg is located.

After finding all the eggs, and their three Easter baskets (hidden in the dryer) we had breakfast at our home church before I went out to Susan Song. Squealer had the line of the morning after he received his first punishment of the day. (I like to think that he was getting his time-out right about the same time Mary Magdalane would’ve been arriving at the empty tomb).

After his time-out (for throwing his Easter breakfast across the gym at church) I told him that he was being disobedient. I explained to him the importance of being obedient to his Dad. He responded (I kid you not) “Daddy, I like to be obedient, but I don’t want to be obedient.” A great line, which I promptly stole for my sermon at Susan Song.

At Susan Song we had over twice our normal attendance, filling the pews at 32 people (I told them we were going to have to go to two services next Sunday). I preached the Philippian Christ Hymn in 2:5-11. Following the sermon we held the Lord’s Supper. I read Psalm 22 (then we shared the bread) then Psalm 23 (then we shared the juice) followed by Psalm 24. We then placed red and white carnations on a cross and it was beautiful.

This afternoon we celebrated the Easter tradition by dining on roast and eating scads of chocolate candy. In the evening, we watched the wonderful film The Miracle Maker (see trailer here). It is to my mind, without a doubt, the best adaptation of the life of Christ to film. It also happens to be claymation. Squealer, finding the life of our blessed Lord a bit slow, instead watched the theologically more subtle Madagascar.

All in all, a wonderful Easter weekend.

Lessons From Mrs. Mozelle

As the months at Susan song have moved along, I began to hear about Mrs. Mozelle’s life experiences. I’ve always been touched by her great affection for Squealer. She always cackled loudest during the tales (especially the two cheese tales) about his energetic little life. It was only later that I learned her own son was killed in a car accident at the age of eighteen. When prompted, she speaks of him with powerful, maternal tones. She loved him dearly and his death marks her life to this day, when he would likely have had several children of his own.

In an almost unbelievable occurrence, Mozelle’s first husband died the following week of a heart attack. They were married twenty-two years. She found him in their bedroom shortly after his heart quit. On one occasion she shared with me how shocking an experience that was, to walk in and see the love of your life lying on the floor. I do not see how a soul could handle that shock. But she did. Her faith in God and in His ultimate goodness wavered, but never receded.

In fact, a few years later the Lord brought a wonderful man into her life and she married once again. Harold was a deacon at Susan Song and they had a wonderful time together. They had no children, but spent time traveling and working their little farm. After twelve years of marriage, Harold developed Alzheimers and began his long, slow decline. Life got very hard for Mozelle as she cared for someone who had been so strong and energetic. After three long years Harold passed away.

So after losing two husbands and one son, I am amazed at her faithfulness to God. I haven’t walked that road of pain and loss and find myself wondering how faithful I would be. I pray I never find out.

Two months ago, in her mid-seventies, Mozelle made the brave decision to marry again. After Harold’s death, she has spent over a decade single and happy. But she met Sonny last year and he pursued her with a suitor’s passion that is no respecter of age. Sonny refused to take no for an answer and wooed her for months. He fought across Europe during the second World War and loves a challenge. They were married last month and Brother Jones came back and did the service. Susan Song was packed and all in attendance agreed that they had never seen a finer wedding.

Mozelle expresses a childlike faith, but not a naïve one. She has not led a sheltered life, hidden away from the pains of this world. Rather her faith is the faith of one who has plumbed the depths of suffering and despair and has found God faithful even there. More than anyone else I know, Mozelle is aware of the pain that always accompanies love. And yet she decides to love and to commit once again.

And so at the send of each Sunday School lesson I hold up my finger and pledge to “let my little light shine” while completely aware that my light is all too often the size of a small Bic lighter running low on fuel.

But Mozelle’s light is like that of a city on a hill that cannot be hidden.

Mrs. Mozelle

Mozelle was the first person from Susan Song that I spoke with last summer. She has a delightful laugh and conveys an energy level beyond her seventy-five years. After we met, I learned that she teaches the Adult (which is to say only) Sunday School class. Since I want the church to continue to do as much as it has during the interim time, I declined the invitation to teach Sunday school and instead sit on the back row where I can observe and (very occasionally) comment.

Her classes are fairly predictable. They are full of bubblyness, shrill cackles of laughter and frequent Hallelujahs offered up with the constant refrain “Isn’t God so good?!” She reminds me at times of a Muppet, constantly smiling and throwing her head back in a boisterous laugh. She follows a rote teaching pattern, drawn from a careful study of the SBC adult Sunday School literature. (Last quarter, the wrong series of literature was ordered and she expressed such concern that we quickly ordered the traditional kind). Mozelle ends every Sunday School the same way. Each class member holds their index fingers aloft while she says “Let your…” and the class shouts back “little light shine.”

It is, at times, more than I can stand.

“There’s the Preacherman!!!!” she shouts whenever I arrive at Susan Song. Her outlook is soooo rosy and sooo saccharine, that I thought I could never relate to her. Surely someone who has only led a sheltered life could be that overly joyful all the time, right?

But I was wrong. Tomorrow, what I learned from Mrs. Mozelle.

Doug Dickens

Bruce sent me the following link. Doug was the long time professor of pastoral ministry at Southwestern Baptist while I was a student there. On Friday, his wife of three decades died from ovarian cancer. They kept a journal of their experiences through this difficult period of their lives.

It is both a joy and a sorrow to read. See here.

Update: Link now fixed. Thanks Bobby.

Miscellaneous Drivel

Cherry Coke Zero is the best beverage going right now. Coke Zero is slowly taking over the world.

Next season, Jack Bauer will climb aboard a spaceship and (with the help of Chloe and his cell phone) rescue the universe from the big crunch. All in 24 hours.

I still miss Rich Mullins.

At this point, the Democrats are going to destroy the Republicans in the 08’ elections. And the way the Elephants have governed, they will deserve it.

Scooter and Skeeter go ga-ga over Superchick.

300 is too violent. That’s an odd statement to make about a war film, but I think that it is accurate. Saving Private Ryan was violent, but its violence was in service to its realism. The violence in 300 was stylized in an attempt to make it hip. Also, as a general rule, I try to witness no more than one decapitation every 5 years. This film had a good three or four of them. (A pet peeve: the posters for 300 all said “From the writer of Sin City.” I was unaware that Herodotus wrote Sin City). Kadie’s comment after watching the film: “Esther never would’ve married that guy!”

There are few things more pitiful than a four year old with a stomach virus. Squealer simply doesn't understand what is going on. All he knows is that his Daddy won't give him some milk when he's thirsty or a PB&J when he's starving...mostly because Daddy is tired of washing his comforter, sheets, and mattress pad because he's deposited partially digested milk and sandwich all over the place.

We have gorgeous oak trees in our neighborhood, but twice a year (in the Fall and Spring) they shed like long haired cats. Plus we live at the end of the block and every time it rains they all drain down into our front yard.

March Madness is almost over. Finally!

I really like the automated check out lines that are now ubiquitous throughout the retail world. I use them constantly, even when I exceed 15 items. (I am careful to always ask for a special suspension of the rules). I get to move in and out of the store quite quickly. The only downside is that I never bag the groceries correctly and end up with squished bread. A small price to pay.

Chewing gum is underrated.

I really, really enjoy Celtic Woman. I suspect that the high-brow among us sniff down at their popularity, but I like them a lot. There is something very compelling about songs in unknown languages. (Plus it’s very fun for the whole family to try to sing along with Sail Away.)

Lastly, when people point out all the pain, suffering, and bitterness in the world today, I can point out what a wonderful God we serve who accomplishes magnificent things like this.

A New One

I was approached this morning after church by an older (early sixties) couple. The gentleman asked me if I would marry him and his girlfriend, but not register their marriage with the courthouse. She is in her early sixties and is drawing social security due to the death of her husband a few years ago. If she marries, those checks stop.

He wants to get married so he can “be with her” (their words) and she wants to marry, but can’t live without her husband’s social security. For some reason their combined incomes won’t offset the loss of the government’s check.

They want to get married “in the Lord’s eyes” but not in Uncle Sam’s.

I told them that I wouldn’t marry them without registering the marriage at the courthouse. I suggested to her that she needed to prioritize her decisions and ultimately decide whether she loves him more than her Social Security check. If not, they shouldn’t get married.

Have any of you heard of this “Married in the Lord’s eyes” line?

You Gotta Hate Those Hidden Rules...

Acadmic blogs can affect your career.

"Snow" by Scooter

Because it is winter,

I am falling, but the wind catches me

It is then when I realize I am not alone

I see all of the other flakes dance around me

The wind moves me with my tiny particles

I skid and land on a bush with a blanket on top

A deer eats berries and carries me on its back

As the deer moves faster, I am pelted onto a leaf

But now I am falling, falling to the ground

High Stakes Testing

This is the week. Both Scooter and Skeeter are taking their high stakes tests this week. These are the results of the No Child Left Behind acts that categorize various state schools according to their kids scores on these exams. It is an emotionally draining week for kids, teachers, and administrators a like.

The schools hold rallies, play games in preparation, and write encouraging cards to one another as they psych up for these exams. Apparently to mixed results. They then use these exams as bench-marks for evaluating students, teachers, and the schools themselves.

Skeeter (3rd grade) brought home a card that read “You’ll do really well on the exam!” over a construction-paper flower. I asked her who gave it to her and she shrugged and replied “I dunno, some second grader.”

So at her school the second graders make encouraging cards for the third graders. Thus they spread the anxiety level for students across two years instead of one. By the time the exams roll around (this morning) the kids are bundles of stress, nervously anxious about the exams.

We have several teachers in our Sunday School class at our home church. They tell frustrating tales of aggravation in having to “teach to the test” in terms of both materials and testing methods. The entire year is geared toward a one week period in March. So teachers tell me that very little gets accomplished after the exams.

I like accountability and think it is important to evaluate teaching. (In fact, I am an advocate for post-tenure review on the university level). But we have developed a system where the principals are under pressure from the state (via federal school rankings), the teachers are under pressure from the principals (via teaching evaluation) and the students are at the bottom end of the pyramid, bearing the weight of the entire system.

I’m not sure we could’ve developed a more dysfunctional system of educational accountability if we had intentionally set out to do so.

The Chairman of the Board and the King

A very cool duet here

Stranger...

Two of my buddies from college and I are discussing the film Truth is Stranger Than Fiction over on Mr. Ginger's Bolg. It is actually interesting!

Ummm.....we are discussing a rather key plot point, so if you have not yet seen the movie, then please don't click here!

The Sports Lacuna

My sports passions revolve around football and baseball in that order. Hockey doesn’t exist and basketball is largely irrelevant. That is ironic given my childhood. The one sports I played more than the others was basketball. I still harbor fond memories of playing for our church in the Royal Ambassador’s league. I recall arriving early at the gym on Saturday mornings and shivering as we started bouncing basketballs in the cold, empty gym.

I was never a gifted player and looked forward to my minute or two of playing. I took from my playing time an appreciation for teamwork and a marginal jump shot (which I have recently used to devastating effect) but little else. I have concluded that at the end of the day, basketball is far more fun to play than to watch. I will, from time to time, catch a part of a professional game. (Who could ignore the incredible run the Mavericks are on right now?) But I NEVER watch college basketball.

Which brings me to March.

To say that you cannot stand college basketball is to utter blasphemy. It is the same as yelling “Raca” before the Sanhedrin. A stoneable offense. March Madness has become a cottage collage industry as millions are heaped upon schools for the benefit of the viewing audiences.

But it’s not the demand upon financial resources that I despise, but rather the drain on sports resources. Every sports commentary on radio, blogs and newspapers is filled with minutia regarding the teams, bubbles, their coaches, and fans. March Madness, with its infernal brackets and its overexposed Dick Vitale, is a vast wasteland of sports, a great Black Hole of useless activity.

I can’t stand it.

Only a little more than two weeks until a real sport begins.

Late Night (II)

A month before my trip, I went on Dave’s site and filled out a form for tickets. Several days before my trip, I received a call from the Letterman show. They asked me a question about the show (“What is the name of Rupert Gee’s store?” The answer “The Hello Deli”). After answering it correctly they told me to come by the show between 3:00 and 3:30 on Wednesday, February 14th. (Sadly, she repeated the question “Just one ticket on Valentine’s Day??”). After arriving there, I waited in line and received instructions on how to cheer (Rule #4: No Booing) and then left again. They told us to gather at a building across the street from the Ed Sullivan Theater (around 4:00) and to wait there. The building was a dump, but the 400 or so of us were in a pleasant mood. They lined us up into four groups of 100 and marched us across the street and into the Ed Sullivan building as the taping began.

I ended up on the third row with an aisle seat. Before the show began, the band played a lot of numbers to generate a great deal of noise and get the crowd warmed up. Then out came a comic who got us laughing by telling jokes he’s probably told a million times or more.

Letterman then came out (sprinted out, actually) and took two questions from the audience. One question was “Why don’t you wear wrestling sneakers?” After numerous questions of his own (Who are you? where are you from?) Letterman finally replied “I’ve been on television for twenty-five years and I haven’t worn them for the last twenty-three.” A second questioner asked him when he would make a sequel to Cabin Boy he said “Probably about the same time I start wearing wrestling sneakers again.” He made some sly references to these questions throughout the show…with people at home presumably having no idea what he was talking about.

I was pleased that he had a juvenile Central Park squirrel joke and he then had some Valentine’s Day cards that were mildly humorous. His Top Ten list was things you don’t want to hear on Valentine’s Day. My favorite was “Honey, I got us two tickets to Norbit.”

The guests I could take or leave. Martha Stewart was there (showing how to make a flower mobile that hangs from the ceiling) and an X-rated ventriloquist that was spectacularly unfunny. (Following his performance Dave said “This show feels a little smutty tonight.” To which Paul Schafer said “What do you mean tonight?”

In fact, the night would’ve been average at best, were it not for the musical guest Norah Jones. The night belonged to her. Her performance was simply dazzling. She is so slight, but her smoky voice filled the entire theater and the place was absolutely silent as she performed.

Absolutely mesmerizing.

Then the show ended with a lot of music and a final thanks from Letterman who ended the show by taking off his blazer and tossing it across the stage, where a CBS page dutifully picked it up.

I enjoyed the experience a lot. The theater is much smaller than I expected. They don't let you take any pictures inside, and there was so little time spent in the building that I didn't get a real sense of the history of the place. The show was shot in order, including commercial breaks. I watched it when I got to my hotel room and there was very little editing.

All in all, a great afternoon diversion.

Late Night

Two entertainers have influenced my view of New York far more than any other: David Letterman and Woody Allen. I’ll save my view of the controversial Allen for another time, but Letterman is particularly worth noting.

Letterman has charted my own sense of humor ever since I started watching him on NBC back in high school. For a complete career summary (his, not mine) see here.

Leno rules the Neilson’s, but Letterman has made an impact on culture, helping to define the New Yorker attitude and using cynicism to puncture pretension and unctuousness wherever he may find it. Who else has equally offended both Madonna and Bill O’Reilly? These two polar opposites share nothing in common other than arrogant condescension. (Letterman’s interviews with them both are available on Youtube, but Madonna’s is filled with far too much bleeping for this family blog). Letterman wields his scalpel with tremendous skill.

He can also be thought provoking and downright appropriate when the situation calls for it. For example, he had a powerful interview with Dan Rather a week after 9/11. On one occasion he was graciously disarming to a Christian artist who appeared on his show.

He also had the best commercial at the SuperBowl last month.

The hallmark of Letterman’s humor is its self-effacing nature. Humor at your own expense is one of the best (and safest) forms. As one example, shortly after Letterman had a quadruple bypass surgery in 2000, he retuned to the show a few months later and said: “My career flashed before my eyes. I'm telling you something. It was mostly awkward silences.”


Tomorrow, the long awaited (by both of you still reading this blog) final installation of the NYC trip…including a trip to the Late Show with David Letterman.

Museums

While in NYC, I spent two afternoons in museums. I spent one in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and one in the American Museum of History Natural. The art museum was by far the better of the two. I saw great works like the Death of Socrates and works by Titian, Rembrandt, and Picasso. The sculptures were fascinating. The attention to detail in, for example, the muscles of this foot were amazing (The foot was about a size 32. Shaq would be jealous).





There were art students everywhere. A few summers ago I read a book on Michelangelo that described his work on the Sistine chapel. As soon as Michelangelo finished the chapel, art students began arriving and, setting up their palates and copying his works. It is interesting that hundreds of years later, students continue to do the same. Here a student is copying a work by Titian.


Given his tremendous ego, it is likely that Titan foresaw that centuries later, a student would paint his works. It is less certain, that he foresaw the student would be wearing a Yankees' rugby shirt.


All in all, it was a remarkable time.


The American Museum of Natural History?

Not so much.

Most of the information is presented via the medium of the diorama. I don’t recall ever articulating the thought in this way before, but I’ve decided that my interest in dioramas peaked around the age of twelve and has rapidly fallen off.

Since 95% of the collection is explored through this manner, my stay in the museum was short. Two things I loved: a section on meteorites, including the largest meteorite currently in captivity, and a full scale model of a blue whale.

By far the best thing to come out of my visit to this museum occurred after I returned home. I took the kids to see A Night at the Museum and they were awestruck that I had visited that same place.

It really helped my street cred with them, and I need all the help I can get.

Let it snow.....

While I walked around town on Tuesday evening, it began to snow!

In my hometown, we very rarely get snow. It doesn’t snow nearly as much as it does here, or ice as much as it does here, or get as cold as it does here. In short, when I see snow I tend to get as giddy as a small child hopped up on Cherry Kool-Aid.

Plus this was the first snow of the year in NYC and it really cast the city in a different light. The snow kept a lot of people at home Wednesday morning, so the city was less congested than it was when I arrived.

The snow didn’t stop the traffic.

I especially enjoyed walking around Central Park and seeing some of the famous squirrels.

(Side note: Have you noticed now that news organizations will "brand" bad weather. This snowfall was called the "2007 Northeaster". Every news show called it the same thing. I guess ratings improve when you name a storm.)

Based purely on observation, most of the other people in New York didn’t appear to be enjoying the snow as much as I did.

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.