Washing the Hands and Feet (or, Avoiding a Potentially Cr***y Situation) ...

I stopped in at a large chain retailer to pick a few necessaries as I was out and about today. It's a place I am a somewhat frequent visitor of, so I recognize many of the faces there.

As I entered, I availed myself of the men's room. I discovered (early enough, luckily) that the latch for the standard stall would not close securely. This left me with the dilemma of having to use the only other facility available: the fully-accessible one, a decision - and usage - that I executed quickly (Sorry if this is tmi, but the story is what it is. I'm already forgoing several potential jokes here).

After exiting (and yes, I washed my hands), I went to the customer service area to let them know what I had observed about the latch.

Now first, a little back story: regular readers might know that I teach English, so when I am in the public sphere, I am constantly in "proofreading mode." Yes, I'm one of those somewhat annoying people who find grammar and spelling errors and really want them to be fixed. There have been times when I have shared my editorial findings, and while I have tried to be as constructive possible when pointing out corrections, they are not always received in the manner in which I think I am delivering them (There's a manager at another local store who will greet me as "the guy who found the spelling mistake," and - I think - it's done tongue-in-cheek,  but I'm not always sure ...). So I've gotten pretty selective about the observations I share. And in this case, I really didn't want to become "the guy who had trouble in the bathroom" but did want to point out what I thought could be a real issue with accessibility for someone.

It just so happened that as I started to describe the problem to the customer service clerk, she looked down at the floor behind the counter and said, "Are you getting this?" It turned out that the maintenance person was on his hands and knees, working on some problem right there. He got up to his knees, and eventually to his feet, as I told him about the faulty latch.

I didn't get much if a response from him, something to the effect of "I'll look into it." His face was a bit red, and he didn't make a whole lot of eye contact. Now to be fair, he had just been working on whatever it was down on the floor, so his reaction may have had nothing to do with me. However, because of the previous experience I had had at the other store, I wasn't too sure.

After I got the items I had stopped in for - well, most of them anyway - I checked out and headed toward the exit. As it so happened, the maintenance person was passing by the door I was going out. As I pulled on my gloves, he stopped near me and said "Thank you."

I was floored. Because for much of the trip up and down the aisles, I had been berating myself for sticking my nose into (that's probably the wrong metaphor there, but I'm going to let it go) the bathroom issue.

And I think sometimes we all feel like that. We have this acculturation that says that we should mind our own business, and that people don't like to have problems pointed out to them, and that everyone should just take care of him- or herself. And just as I was convincing myself of that sage point, I was stopped in my tracks.

He was grateful. He appreciated that someone cared enough to notice and then shared the concern with someone who could do something about it (as opposed to sharing on some social media platform). He even explained what he found and what he was going to do about it; by doing so, he allowed me to be not just a part of the problem but also a part of the solution.

It makes me think of the passage in the Gospel of John when Jesus healed the lepers and one came back to thank him. And I'm not trying to make ANY other parallels here, except to point out the blessings of getting constructively involved and the joy of being thanked.

So be brave in sharing what can help, and be thankful when you receive help - and smile a little when you get thanked. Peace ...

Do You Want to Play a Game? Part 1

Just about everybody likes something new, right? At least, I think most people do - not everybody, not everything new - but there's something about trying/reading/buying/checking out new stuff that most people respond to positively. It's why we love opening presents of Christmas morning, why we enjoy exploring the new arrivals at the bookstore or library - it's why we buy car fresheners that attempt to recreate a "New Car Smell." We like new. Inviting. Unspoiled. A fresh adventure.

Over Christmas break, I was looking for a time-killer and discovered a game app for my phone. It's one of several available with a similar premise: you are in charge of a village/kingdom/outpost/space exploration/band of merry men. Your task is to build up that [whatever it is] through a series of maneuvers, progressing in rank, all the while reaching toward some ultimate goal -  sell the farm and merchant goods/conquer other kingdoms and monsters/settle the barren lands/find a new planet/defeat the Sheriff of Nottingham. A sound premise, whatever the vehicle. It speaks to a near-universal impulse to create and nurture and conquer and rule - admit it, you've felt each of those to varying degrees at different times in your life. The game formalizes those goals and provides the framework to accomplish each of them, at least in theory.

So I began game play.

In the beginning, everything is carefully scripted. The "guiding spirit" of the game literally directs a new player through the various tasks that must be accomplished, in their proper order, to advance the player (usually in the form of an avatar whom the player gets to design, name and equip) up through ranks of power and importance. At this stage, 2 things are important to notice: the steps must be executed in the proper order - in fact, there is often little choice in what to do next, and the actions are clearly labeled; also, there is usually some sort of protection placed on the new character (i.e., immunity from attack by another player) for a defined period while this development occurs. The side effect of these 2 factors is that advancement occurs relatively quickly and without any real risk to the player.

As I played through, I began to reflect on how this process is a lot like the way many are introduced to religion.

[I want to take a quick moment and acknowledge that this is by no means a perfect, or even complete - and definitely not universal - analogy. There are many ways one can be introduced to a spiritual life, and I certainly do not wish to diminish any of them. Even for those methods that align with this comparison, I'd like to make it clear that I am not impugning anyone's (or any church's) religious methodology. I am, however, interested in the ways in which these phenomena (and other related interest-based groups) often develop along similar paths. I look forward to others' experiences and observations.]

Often, when joining a formal body of faith, there is a carefully designed set of structures - rituals even - set in place to guide the initiate through early membership; think baptism, religious education, some sort of confirmation or formal membership initiation. They lay out the basics of the faith and allow the new member or inquirer to get a sense of how the group operates, what the rules (beliefs and doctrines) are, what behaviors are expected. The schedule and structure of many of these types of events keeps the newbie interested and moving along through the process, with milestones to mark new levels of understanding and expression. She or he is therefore wrapped in the full attention of the group and celebrated, which help grow the bond of the group.

Sometimes though, what this process doesn't allow for, in either the religious group or in the gaming group, is for a lot of free-form questioning. Remember, the goal is to keep moving along in levels of strength (of knowledge or power), which helps the group overall, and deviation from that progression can hamper that movement. The sense of accomplishment and welcome to the group will mitigate most effects of the rigidity, at least at these early stages, but as I learned, there are greater risks further down the line.

At this point, a couple days into my rapid rise, I was feeling pretty good: I was getting a sense of what I was supposed to do without needing a direct prompt for each action, and I was beginning to connect with some of the other players.

From there it continued to be fun, but I also began to encounter new challenges as I rose up the ranks. Check out what happens next in Part 2.

Do You Want to Play a Game? (Intro)

I have a confession to make. I've been wasting spending a lot of time on a new online game.

First, let me say I'm not crushing anything (other that an occasional opponent in Words with Friends), nor am I angry at any avians.

I don't want to say exactly which one, but it's one of the MMO-family of games (that's Massive Multiplayer Online for those of you who don't know - like I didn't before I started). There are a lot of them out there, so exactly which one doesn't really matter, but I don't want to reveal it because then you'll all start a run on memberships and eventually we'll have to face off . .

Here's what I find really interesting though. Signing up and jumping into the game is suspiciously like joining a religion. Seriously.

Bear with me here.

Some people find one [substitute game or church here - and throughout] on their own and join the one that suits them in their exploration, but many join one that a friend invites them to.

Once you've joined, there are rules you have to learn (if you're lucky you find a mentor - MAYBE a rule book), and though the learning curve is steep, advancement - if you follow the rules - is swift and quite satisfying early on.

The further you get in, the more challenging the tasks become, but you develop friends and a support network to see you through. You start learning the unwritten rules that provide faster advancement than that available to the uninitiated.

There are occasional setbacks and disappointments, but usually you can work your way through. If reconciliation is impossible, you can quit (but you usually lose whatever you've built up or invested) and join a new one, but you have to start over from the beginner level.

If you make it to the upper levels, advancement crawls to a snail's pace and the purpose becomes much more socially focused. In fact, sometimes the socialization part overtakes the original purpose of the group.

And sadly, one of the strongest parallels is that in the end, money really rules the day.

I must admit that I find the whole thing so interesting that I'm going to expand this into a multi-part blog entry, delving into the similarities - and some dissimilarities as well - that drive people, for good or bad, to become so involved in both.

Join me in the quest ...

Give What You Can

Today's entry has been preempted by preparations for 2nd son's Arrow of Light Bridging Ceremony and Banquet being held tomorrow as he moves from Webelos to Boy Scouts.

So I guess the lesson here is in forgiveness. Particularly self-forgiveness as I lament that I haven't had more time to work on this blog. But there was much to be done (and it is - Yay!), so I will redouble my efforts another day and not let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

Upon further reflection, I'm going to apply these same 2 lessons to my thoughts on Boy Scouts. For some time now, I have struggled with the BSA stance on homosexuality and membership that finds the two ideas "incompatible" (as a certain church I know might also describe that pairing). Thankfully, the organization has recently amended its rules to not discriminate against boys with same-sex attractions - but it will start back in with the judgment when they turn 18. It's a step, true, and one that I'll golf clap for, perhaps, but one that I hope will be the first of many.

These past 2 years as I have observed our boys in Scouting, however, have helped me realize that, while not everything is perfect, there are a good number of positives that at least balance out, if not actually outweigh, that glaring negative. I have watched them grow and learn in the ways that Scouting expects them to, while still having fun. More importantly, I've seen them develop friendships and a sense of community that includes boys they'd likely not otherwise meet. For those things, I am grateful.

So I will accept what good that there is, and not let it be lost in the search for the perfect that I will continue to strive for. I will also forgive BSA for its shortcomings, and I will forgive myself for being perhaps a little too zealous in having to do so.

Peace ...

Oh, That Thin Line ...

As a counterpoint to yesterday's entry, today I want to take a look at a song that, as I hear it, proves by way of the contrapositive (math/logic people - check me on that one) argument, my thesis that God does not just share with us through "sanctioned" vehicles but in fact is always speaking (if we listen) - and in this case, I worry that while well-intentioned, the message the song shares could pull listeners away from good discipleship.

So, there's a Contemporary Christian song that I absolutely love listening to and getting swept up in: "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me. Every time it comes on the radio, I turn it up and sing along, picturing the story as it unfolds of meeting God after having shuffled off this mortal coil:

I can only imagine what it will be like
When I walk by your side.
I can only imagine what my eyes will see
When your face is before me.
I can only imagine . . .

The song goes on (full lyrics here) to describe, through a series of questions, the ways in which the singer will worship God after entering Heaven:

Will I dance for your Jesus
Or in awe of you be still?
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine . . .

I must admit, there are some beautiful choices to be made there - a no-lose situation if there ever were one.

What makes the song doubly interesting is the backstory of its genesis: vocalist Bart Millard had been kicking around the lyrics for some time before the song got recorded as a final track for their 1999 independent recording "The Worship Project." It was then re-released with their first studio project, "Almost There" and became a crossover secular hit.

Adding another layer of interest are the particular details behind Millard's inspiration. The immediate impetus was Millard's father's death in 1991, and it's easy to see how the reflections in the song could be applied to not only God, the Heavenly Father - the most obvious interpretation - but also as a foretelling of Millard's reunion with his earthly father. Buried in all of these layers is the revelation that the temporal father-son relationship had, for many years, been a rocky one. Millard describes it as abusive and monstrous until the cancer diagnosis that would eventually take his father's life. At that point, his father turned to a relationship with God, and in doing so re-established with his son what Millard describes as a "best friend" status.

Now I in no way want to take anything away from the reconciliation the Millards experienced or the inspiration that the song has provided to countless numbers of listeners - myself included. I'm not saying that any of the criticism I offer below is the band's intent.

But my concern, what I hope to avoid, is an interpretation that what the song lifts up is only an afterlife celebration. I think that there is an inclination sometimes to cross that line referenced in the blog title to love only the heavenward praise and worship, and not necessarily hate, but at least devalue, the amazing worship opportunities that we can share with one another as we witness and make disciples as we've been instructed to do.

Why must we wait to dance with Jesus? Let us join in the dance that is life, with all its rhythms and partners, lifting up one another in joy and holding one another in comfort!

Why should our hallelujahs be saved for the dead - not that they aren't worthy? Instead, let's make sure to lift up those who inspire us and challenge us to be better while we're here, so that we can also be worthy of others adulations. And to complete the couplets, let us also know when and how to be quiet and listen - to understand, to be in communion, to help mourn, when necessary.

All the things that we are called to do in Heaven, we can - and should - do while here on earth. It's the line of the Lord's Prayer that I most often reflect on: "On earth as it is in Heaven." I'm not saying that we'll ever get it right, but I will argue that trying to - now - will make things a whole lot better for everyone than not trying to.

Peace ...

American Idolatry? I Think Not ...

One of the original prompts for this blog is my discomfort around the idea that God only speaks to us through certain media: Christian music, Christian novels, Christian movies (and especially the 'sanitized' versions of mainstream movies - I am offended). I don't think God has selected "end of the dial"  channels or methods to reach us and for us to reach out to one another with messages of comfort and connection and even challenge.

One of the artists who really struck me this way is the band Daughtry, fronted by Chris Daughtry, 4th place finisher in Season 5 (2006) of American Idol. He has since gone on to a high level of success with his band that he formed after his stint on Idol. The band is clearly a rock/pop act with a great deal of commercial and artistic success, but some songs - notably "Home" from the band's eponymously titled debut album - got some cross play on contemporary Christian music stations. The band's intent, however, does not appear to be primarily religious.

That said, I have listened extensively to their music, the aforementioned album being one of my go-to's when running or mowing the lawn (not both at the same time), and I believe there is a strong Christian influence, whether intended or not, in their music. Lyrics to the chorus of "Home" describe "... going home, back to the place where I belong, and where your love has always been enough for me." While there is a clear love song vibe here, the undercurrent of a general love and belonging fit a Christian ethos. Another song on the album, "Breakdown," begins with "Open up the book you beat me with again, and read it all one sentence at a time." While not a feel-good song that would play on K-LOVE, Daughtry is clearly exploring themes of rejection a quest for a deeper meaning that many within (and sadly, without) today's church struggle with.

Daughtry's music may not strike the same chords with every listener; I certainly admit that I bring my own experiences and perhaps even biases to my interpretation of their music. However, I don't think it's out of line to suggest that  others may have similar reactions to their - and many others' - music and messages. Several songs and artists would lend themselves to deeper exploration in future posts; I'd love to hear discussion and suggestion of those artists of any generation or genre whose work has inspired or challenged readers' faith and philosophy.

Let the nominations begin ...

In the Beginning ...

As we begin the season of Lent, and Christians are called on to change, to repent, to reflect, I offer my thoughts on this life that we all share. This blog is born of an understanding - no, of a deeply held conviction - that we are all connected. I will explore and share that connection and all its implications - the joys, the struggles - for while the connection is present whether we are aware of it or not, it is strengthened when we actively build and nurture it. I find traces (and sometimes large chunks) of that connection everywhere I look - in music, film, literature, pop culture - all of life and its fullness, and I hope you will join me in a conversation about where and how we experience it and most importantly, how we can share it. Peace ...