This week

This week, just a few minutes after leaving a wonderful service at my church in which the elders prayed for relational, physical, and spiritual healing of our people, I sat in an IHOP and listened as a young girl found out her father had just died. For several minutes, all of us stopped forking in our three-cheese eggs and pancake stacks and listened with a mixture of embarrassment and sadness as her crying escalated to wailing and then graduated to an animal-like keening.

This week I attended the third birthday party of a little friend named Avery, whose only requirement for the festivities was that everything be PINK. "Like what?" I asked her during the planning stages, mostly because I like hearing her little voice. "Pink bawwoons, and pink cake, and pink clothes, and pink decowations," she answered. The party was indeed pink--it looked like someone popped a huge bubblegum bubble in her living room--and completely delightful. By the end of the party she wore not only her pink party dress but a pair of pink sunglasses, a set of plastic heels, a tutu, a pink bracelet, and a big smile. After the party I sat and talked to Avery's grandma about Avery's aunt, who had been diagnosed with cancer and was going in for tests the next day to see if it spread.

This week one of my best friends got up at 5 a.m. to witness the birth of her nephew, a perfect little guy who blinked calmly at the lights and seemed a little taken aback by all the fuss of the hospital. Later that afternoon she accompanied her sister-in-law to a plastic surgery appointment, where the sis learned her options for reconstructive work after her double mastectomy. The sister-in-law is younger than me.

This week one of my friends missed work because of whiplash. My neck is fine, but this week I have a little emotional whiplash.

How would Jesus vote?

This week's New Yorker includes an article about a group of Ohio pastors, including some from our churches, who invite Republican politicians to speak at their churches, form organizations to encourage voter registration, encourage followers to elect candidates such as Ohio secretary of state Kenneth Blackwell, and exhort voters to "shine a light for Godly candidates in the 2006 election cycle." The article follows a January New York Times article describing the concern of other Ohio pastors about the political influence of these Christian leaders and the use of tax-exempt churches to promote specific candidates and political issues.

So many things trouble me about this. For one thing, I happen to agree with those concerned Ohio preachers who filed a complaint with the IRS in January. It seems inappropriate for any religious leader to use his church building or his influence to sway members to vote certain ways on certain issues.

I also find it disheartening that expressing this opinion usually invokes wrath from fellow Christians, as if questioning the extent of a church's involvement in political issues equals an endorsement of the opposite "side." I have a problem with what one of these pastors, Rod Parsley, calls an "evangelical campaign" not because I necessarily disagree with the evangelical viewpoint, but because it's out of line for Parsley to use his pulpit to recruit voters for his position.

And added to that, I personally don't want Parsley or any other leader defining for me what the "evangelical" perspective is on a particular issue. To "shine a light for Godly candidates" presupposes the light-shiners have a corner on what defines godliness.

Yes, Ken Blackwell opposes homosexual marriage, abortion, and other hot buttons for the religious right. Did you know he's also been accused of restricting voting rights for portions of the population that might feel differently?

Yes, George Bush is a born-again Christian. Did you know his administration created video ads with actors "reporting" his policies which they then released to television stations as objective news (Associated Press, October 2004), or that he supported Haley Barbour's campaign for governor of Mississippi, saying Barbour is a "man of good values," despite Barbour's links to a white supremacist organization? (The Washington Times, The Boston Globe)

So who's truly godly, and what barometer are we using?

At the end of the day, it's not about political parties or who you vote for this November. As Brian McLaren writes in A Generous Orthodoxy, "To the degree [liberals and conservatives] preoccupy themselves with the question of who's right, to the exclusion of considering whether they are truly good (as in 'bearing good fruit'), they're destined to fade, wither, fail. To the degree that they have sold their spiritual birthright for a political ideology, they must repent; neither left nor right leads to the higher kingdom."

James says, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." I'll put my money--literally and figuratively--on that method of changing the world.

The inerrancy of this Biblical passage is one thing the "Patriot Pastors" and I can agree on. It hasn't changed for thousands of years. As for Blackwell? He used to be a Democrat.

I work in an "open office plan," which is a euphemism for "huge floor of adjoining desks which eliminate privacy and the ability to concentrate." It's interesting that the people who made this decision are all extroverts, and all have private offices with doors that close.

My theology of hell is not extensively developed, but I'm pretty sure there will be cubicles.

In the end

Today I read an article which said Psalm 88 is the only psalm that ends without some sense of praise or hope in God. According to the author, all 149 others end with thanks, a pledge to follow God more closely, a reaffirmation of his goodness, or something similar.

The article focused on praying the psalms responsively, but I don’t remember much after that note about #88. Instead, my thoughts immediately went to that other tool for prayer, the “ACTS” acronym. Although the model of Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication is based on the Lord’s Prayer, and although it has been a helpful technique for generations of pray-ers, I sometimes struggle with it. Starting off with adoration is unquestionably appropriate when addressing God, but in my immaturity I often want to just get on with the good stuff—namely, my requests. (Admit it, you can relate.) Knowing my own heart in this way, it can seem somewhat ….manipulative? ...dishonest?...pouring on the praise first like a kid buttering up her dad before asking for the car keys.

Instead, I find myself approaching prayer full of my own hopes and plans and accumulated feelings which crowd out thoughts of God. Only after I get them all out there, admit it all, and acknowledge he can handle it without my help, then—with a less-distracted heart—I can authentically meditate on his goodness.

Although this approach works for me, I always felt vaguely guilty because it seemed more spiritual—if less honest—to begin with God. But if the psalms teach nothing else, they show us God encourages and accepts honesty. And the psalmists, like me, often needed to get the “me” stuff out of the way first.

Some start by proclaiming God’s goodness, others don’t, and some just jump right in with “Please, God, do this!” Regardless of how self-centered they begin, they almost always end God-centered, which is ultimately the point. I will still begin some prayers with adoration, of course, but I appreciated today's reminder that it's not a mandate. The Psalms give me permission to pray personally to a personal God. It’s more of a SCAT method, actually, but it’s a model I can follow.

Little House in California

I'm doing some freelance work on a textbook (it's a long story) and in the process I've spent the last week rereading some of my very favorite books of all time, the Little House on the Prairie series. These books are so wonderful that I will read all nine of them, chapter by chapter, aloud to my children someday whether they like it or not, and if I never have children I will force other people's children to listen to them. They're that good.

Anyway, as I flipped back and read the familiar passages again, I was struck by some of the values running through them. The work ethic of this pioneer family, of course, although the cynic in me says if Ma had just once said to Pa, "No, we are not moving west again just because someone lives within five miles of us and you feel crowded," there would have been much less work to do. What really hit me this time through was the contentment, even delight, that Laura and her family took in the smallest things: The first taste of lemonade at age fourteen. Fresh vegetables after a winter of salt pork and brown bread. A tin cup. A letter or a newspaper. Two pieces of candy at Christmas. An earthen floor that swept clean. One window in a tiny house occupied by six people.

I wonder what Mrs. Wilder thought as she grew older and observed our country replacing her childhood with electricity, automobiles, and telegrams. I wonder what she'd think now of the laser surgery, subways, and email.

It's not impossible to cultivate an appreciation for simple pleasures in these times, but it is more difficult. When you have tasted an orange one time, it is easy to find excitement in receiving one for Christmas. Tonight after I write this I will check out a few other blogs and listen to my iPod--is my generation too entertained to be content?

In the last couple of years I have made a conscious effort to divest myself of unnecessary possessions and obligations. This is made easier when every square foot of real estate in one's neighborhood costs a bazillion dollars, but that's not the main reason I hesitate to buy things, give them to Goodwill, or just spend an evening reading rather than text messaging on my cell phone. Like Laura, I want to be delighted by simple, if not inexpensive, pleasures. I want to be in the moment. I want to be grateful.

Okay, I am not sure this is an "idea, trend, or thought to strengthen your ministry" unless you are considering a ministry based on interpretive dance while seated. But it will make you smile.

Recently my sister in law Lisa sent me some pictures of a real, live liger. (Check them out on http://www.snopes.com/photos/animals/liger.asp).

If you’re a fan of Napoleon Dynamite (and if you’re not, why not?) you know that a liger is a combination tiger and lion, “bred for its skills in magic, and pretty much my favorite animal.” I didn’t think they actually existed (outside of Napoleon’s world) until reading the email that accompanied the photos.

This liger is 10 feet from nose to tail, weighs half a ton, and runs 50 mph. He’s an amazing, and amazingly beautiful, animal.

Last week I had a few days when I wondered if God has forgotten me. Do you ever feel that way? Intellectually, of course, I know he has not. But when I stewed on various circumstances he’s caused (or allowed), I began thinking that perhaps his plan for me started out well but then he lost interest or it got too complicated. Like Joseph, locked away in prison for years, I wondered if God had brought me to this place in my life just to leave me here. (Yes, I know the comparison is melodramatic—your feelings have never taken precedence over rational thought?)

But these pictures were a great reminder of just how mighty and powerful God really is.

He is not only the Creator God who makes everything from this huge cat to my own Louie The Wonder Cat (who thinks he is a liger)—he is also Ruler God, who sets the boundaries of the ocean and before whom the mountains melt like wax.

And still I worry needlessly about so many things, things I know he has under control. Do I think the God who created ligers can’t solve my problem? Do I think the God who crumples up the mountains in his fists can’t move a few rocks in my life? Thanks, Lisa, for the reminder of his sovereignty.

This weekend I saw the next movie you'll show clips of in your services. (Assuming you're done with DaVinci.)

No spoilers about Superman here, other than to make that prediction. A feature article on the movie in the June 23 issue of Entertainment Weekly quotes an actor from the film who said, "If somebody gave you $200 million to make a movie that could reach the most people you could--who would it be about? The answer is either going to be Superman or Jesus."

You don't need to look very hard to see elements of both. Between the title character's flashbacks about his connection to his father Jor-El, the reminder that Jor-El sent his son to earth to help a misguided world, the insistence of Lois Lane that "the world doesn't need a savior and neither do I," and some Passion-esque moments with Lex Luthor's henchmen, you'll find enough to inspire at least one message on Jesus as the real super man.