Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Reformation Day

Yesterday was Reformation Day. This was the day that Martin Luther nailed 95 Theses on the door at Wittenberg protesting the sale of indulgences by the Papacy. Much has been written on this and subsequent events and other than conjecture and opinion, I have nothing new to offer on the subject. So I will choose to deal with the subject in a different post-modern way. There is no question that the Reformation and the Counter-reformation did occur. We cannot revise history nor would we want to. The real story is fun, frightening, dramatic, curious, and prodigious.

The question is not about the events but rather how we handle this today. Do we honor and celebrate this day thereby risking alienating our Roman friends? Or do we ignore this day and replace it with the quasi-socially acceptable Halloween? Should we even acknowledge Reformation Day and does it really have any meaning at all? I posture that the day does have meaning and that we should at least accept its vital role in church history. It matters not as to whether we agree with the events or with the thought behind the events. In fact, I often argue about the efficacy of Reformation Day and have more than once regretted the results of that day.

Yet I do enjoy acknowledging the actual date October 31 as Reformation Day. It always results in stimulating conversation and inevitably some healthy controversy as to the differences in denominations not mention the historical abuse of the Papacy at that time. But in the end, I do not enjoy the polarization and judgment that seems to ultimately be delivered by a few self-righteous Protestants. I think the goal of Reformation Day is not to celebrate the division but rather to love each other in spite of our differences. It is no longer necessary to cause pain or to attack viciously a person who thinks differently from ourselves. Knowing history is to learn from it. Learning from history is to avoid the same mistakes. The way to avoid mistakes is to embrace love and acceptance.

Let's continue to recognize Reformation Day and All Saints Day (November 1) and let's offer forgiveness and love in a unified effort for acceptance.

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Those Darn Diesels

One of the great ongoing debates that has caused wars, broken relationships, pain, and fury is the argument over freedom and rights. At what point does a person's right to freedom interfere over another person's right to freedom? When a vehicle playing loud unappealing music pulls up beside yours with the windows wide open and the bass so loud it reverberates within your chest, has the "music" infringed on your right not to hear it? If one person's freedom is another person's strait jacket is it really freedom?

On two recent occasions I have felt my rights violated by a diesel engine in a truck. The first occurred at a laundry drive-through. As I was waiting to pick up my laundry, a diesel truck pulled up behind me and began the usual rattle and clatter of unmusical cacophony that we have come to know as the sound of diesel. This particular drive-through is a small tunnel with a low ceiling and narrow walls. In this narrow space the racket became a fortissimo of inharmonious tones that seemed to seep into the deepest regions of human existence. The sound always reminds me of a poorly-oiled skeleton dancing and falling on tin foil. I was quite relieved to pick up my laundry and leave that noisy world.

The second incident happened on my nightly walk as my wife and I strolled through the neighborhood (the term neighborhood is somewhat misleading since we live in the country and have very few neighbors!). We were huffing and puffing up a small hill with the usual concerns of stray dogs, skunks, and the intermittent fast driver. Which, by the way, is very fun for me to shine the flashlight on an approaching fast driver and watch the immediate slow down! But this time the approaching vehicle was a diesel truck and with my usual aplomb I shined the light to remind him to slow down. But as he slowed down, the vociferous odor of his diesel truck, permeated the area and added to our already difficult breathing situation. We were forced to take the pungent stench into our nasal passages and on into our lungs thereby causing both of us to cough. On the positive side, we quickened our pace to escape the redolence and got home quicker than usual.

As I reflect on these two incidences, I realize that our rights for a quiet odor free existence have been violated by diesel trucks. The freedom to own the vehicle of your choice has infringed on my rights to walk without fear of diesel odor and to pick up laundry without my ears being assaulted. I am not addressing the environmental benefits of diesel over gas or the economic advantages but rather am simply addressing the volume and the smell. This is not a call to eradicate the world of the evil perpetrated upon us each and every day in the form of diesel trucks, but this is a call for auto makers to devise a quieter odor-free mode of transportation that is pleasing to all. Those darn diesel trucks--make them quieter with less effluvium and there will be many of us much happier.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Lack of Roots

In walking around campus last week, I noticed Winter grass seed had been spread all over campus. It was sprouting beautiful green blades of grass in all the right places. Unfortunately some of the seed also fell on the sidewalk where it lay dormant with nothing to cause it to grow. Yet as I walked around I saw some unusual sprouting grass seed almost ubiquitously throughout the campus. In some instances, the seed had landed in small clumps of dirt on sidewalks and near curbs and on brick.

The seed sprouted as aggressively and thoroughly as the seed that had landed in the grass. It grew rapidly and produced the same rich green as all the other seed. But soon afterward in an act of perfidy, the seed was rejected on all counts and died a fairly quick and uneventful death without any ceremony or obstreperous actions. Strong and proud one day and gone the next to reside in the empty world of seed without a home. Devoid of any kind of future and without so much as a tchotchke to its name, the seed disappeared and was quickly forgotten.

The grass seed had no roots since the roots had nowhere to go. Without roots, we lack the foundation and support to develop and to grow and to reach our potential. I thank my parents for providing roots for me when I was young, and I thank God for the spiritual roots that seem to grow deeper and stronger each year.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Snippets

I am way behind on so many things that I do not have time to blog. So I am going to share snippets of information and wisdom to be extrapolated later.

1. The high school football scene is out of control for some people. I was shocked and appalled at a recent game to hear some of the most vicious iniquitous language directed towards referees, players, and coaches I have ever heard.

2. I am so proud of my children. They had a very successful musical weekend.

3. A good friend drove a long way to see me and deliver a gift. Friendship is a special gift in and of itself. It is very meaningful.

4. Being an administrator is a challenge. It is not possible to meet everyone's needs.

5. I love to blog, but need more time to do it well.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Pedestal Prison

Around and around I was swirling with no beginning and no ending, with a noisy but hopeless energy that grew into desperation and mental anguish, an effort-filled purpose to escape but with the knowledge that freedom was not within the realm of possibility in any kind of sense. I was in a nightmare that had an incongruity in its tone and a polarization in its theme. A person I was not; but neither was I an animal or even an object in the typical sense of the word. Rather, I was an entity with human feelings and emotions but without any physical properties associated with life.

In a somewhat hypnagogic state, it was without any kind of peace or tranquility sometimes associated with repetition and redundancy. It was the same thing over and over without any kind of repose in fear or in results. But regardless of the inevitable events that looped quickly as though change could occur but wouldn't, the recalcitrant attitude remained high and violent. This stubborn refusal to accept the circumstances added to swirling evil that had seeped into the pores of universe as it was seen and defined the parameters set forth in history since inception.

Although difficult to acknowledge, I knew in the recesses of what little mind I had, that I was in a prison. Many people live in a prison of one kind or another--financial prisons, emotional prisons, relationship prisons, career prisons and health prisons--and find it difficult to escape. My prison in my nightmare was permanent without any hope of change. I was born a flexible but locked in object on a pedestal. I was the center of the universe without feet and without mobility other than the rotating ball joint that attached me to the pedestal.

My strange inhuman existence was to rotate quickly on the ball joint that was attached to the pedestal as people and objects scream and hit me. It was a trapped existence full of peril and subject to emotional pain. The rotations increased rapidly until I was spinning out of control and in danger of flying off the pedestal only to land among the enemies. The danger, however, was also mixed with desire for to depart my prison regardless of the ensuing anguish would be preferred over the agony of my reality. But, alas, while my emotions were out of control, I know there was always limits for I was controlled by my attachment to the pedestal that existed below me.

My prison was of my own making. I placed myself permanently on a pedestal in an inhuman state where I was attacked viciously by others in a prison of my own mind. I rotated around and around and accomplished nothing other than to add to my own worthless existence while others hurled insults and objects at me.

But, fortunately, it was just a nightmare. All is well.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Unusual Gifts, Pt. 2

He cannot tell a lie. No he is not George Washington nor honest Abe Lincoln, he is Joel Tucker, our 16 year old autistic son. His affliction/gift prevents him from applying creative thinking to situations. Lying is a creative endeavor in that it takes an actively creative mind to fabricate and elaborate. Joel states the facts without embellishment.

We can always depend on Joel to express the events as they happened or at least what he sees and experiences. He does not assume things and does not tell anything that he thinks might have happened. Like Dragnet, he sticks to the facts and often expresses them without any emotion. Joel's world is somewhat pleasantly superficial in that he does not imagine the abstract or pretend to know something that is not there. He lives in the concrete world of the five senses without anticipation of what those senses will be. He responds in truth to what he sees and does not interpret beyond the obvious.

This results in extreme reliability of events and situations without the typical guesswork found in most people's views. We tend to rely on the perceptions and interpretations of individuals rather than on strictly the facts. Joel, however, provides us with a reliable account of his experiences. It is both comforting and frightening for us as parents. I am often glad Joel does not see or sense any criticism or even anything negative around him. This causes him to have a pleasant demeanor and to find the best in everyone and in everything.

On the other hand, it is a little unnerving to know that Joel does not sense any danger or possible threats around him. While Joel brings an eternal optimism with him in his responses to people and events, the truth is that not all experiences and not all people are well-intentioned. This keeps us and Joel's brothers on guard to insure that any threats whether veiled or obvious are quelled and that Joel is protected.

But we do not necessarily desire to change Joel into a suspicious, darkly questioning individual. There is enough of that in the world already. Instead, while we do wish to instill in Joel the ability to discern and recognize differences in people and situations, we hope to retain the goodness and joy that he emanates everywhere he goes.

This is probably Joel's greatest gift: to transform the world around him and to spread joy infectiously to other people. A great writer will work linearly to provide congruity and concinnity to his prose. Like a great writer who speaks with the pen or the keyboard, Joel's personality and comportment are beyond reproach and his natural magnetic charm joyously infects every room he enters. Never a braggadocio, he won't boast, bluster, or exult himself in any fashion. He is not capable of exaggeration, hyperbole, or self-absorption in the way we normally define it. His acts of selfishness are to serve his own need to meet people, love people, affirm people, and help people.

Joel's unusual gifts of honesty and unlimited powers of love, set him apart from the rest of world and make him unequivocally special. In a world replete with fear, suspicion, caution, prejudice, and judgment, Joel escapes into a world complete with love, goodness, acceptance, tolerance, and trust. Perhaps the world would be better off with more Joels!

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Nipping at your Heels

Yesterday I found myself limping as I walked through campus. I had developed a blister on the heel of my left foot and it did not feel very good. The pain, although not severe, was still rather obdurate and irritating. While I don't mean to bloviate, I generally operate on an "ignore the pain" philosophy and encourage others to do the same. Yet, this pain was intense enough to prevent the mind over matter approach.

And as I continued my venture through campus I remembered as a child, going across the street to our neighbors house to swim in their pool. We loved to swim but upon exiting the pool, a large black dog would attack our heels and chase us around as we awkwardly tried not to run for fear of slipping but also deliberately trying to avoid the inevitable nip on our heels. It was a trying experience but worth the effort to get to swim. The reward was worth the potential pain.

How often, I wonder, did Martin Luther feel the dogs nipping at his heels, or how often did Benjamin Franklin experience criticism as he experimented with electricity or developed the public library? Or how did Stravinsky react when his great ballet was jeered and booed. There are critics around every corner ready to point out the problems with an idea or ready to pounce on any sign of weakness.

It is always easier to avoid taking a risk and always easier to stay in our comfort zone. When we wrap a security blanket around us we insulate ourselves from criticism and although we are protected, we are also not progressing. A friend of mine once told me that most music can be harmonized using three chords, but it is the music that is harmonized in creative ways beyond the three expected chords that has made the most impact and has the most lasting value.

So it may be painful at times and it may be an irritant, but know that when the critics are nipping at your heels, that is when you are possibly accomplishing the most good. You may need some band-aids or you may need to make some adjustments to your step, but in the end the goal is to press forward and make a difference.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Abbreviated Vegetarian

It is over! I ended my commitment to being a vegetarian 9 months earlier than planned. It has been a sociological adventure more than a physical one. Let me explain.

On the physical side, at first I felt energized and fascinated with the vegan journey. I quickly noticed my internal system responding positively and my complexion becoming clearer and an unusual regulation to the inner machine (I don't think I need to elaborate on that). I also quickly learned how difficult it is to avoid all red meat at restaurants given that most dishes contain meat of some kind. At first, I missed those great moments of steak, hamburger, bacon, sausage, and even chicken (although I have never been a big chicken fan). But after a week or two, I no longer missed the meat and in fact found myself almost disgusted by the sight and smell of it.

A steady diet of salad, fruits, and vegetables was enjoyable (with the exception of the 200 blueberries I ate one evening--I couldn't seem to stop and became over-regulated for a brief time!) and relaxing. No fear of under-cooking or overcooking or grease or fat. Just nice, pleasant food grown out of God's green garden.

Yet time did not bear out my expectations. After approximately two months I found myself in a physical quandary. I was gaining weight, losing energy, retaining fluids, and feeling lousy. I read some information and discovered this was not an unusual result to a vegetarian diet and in fact was rather common. So it is over and I am now enjoying a balanced diet that includes some red meat mixed with fruits and vegetables.

But I did not experiment with vegetarianism for the physical benefits, instead I was curious as to the sociological responses. And I was not disappointed. I received many varied reactions to my vegetarian pronouncement. Most people questioned my motives--curious if I had become a liberal animal rights activist! Some people became immediately defensive as though I were judging them for eating meat. Most people looked at me quite oddly and wondered if I had lost my mind--was I really the same person or had something dramatic happened to the marbles in my head?

I temporarily broke the mold that had been established for me by my friends and acquaintances. I defied the label and left them guessing and questioning and strangely fearful that I had changed. I, of course, enjoyed this experience immensely and who knows, may experiment with something new again. Perhaps a nose ring would cause undue social reaction!

Meanwhile, I am reminded of the words of Aristotle: "Moderation in all things." This applies to many areas of life including food.