Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Star Wars and the Grand Canyon (the movie, not the place)

As usual, I'm a bit of a "Johnny-come-lately" to The Hunger Games.  I finished the book this past Saturday just in time to see the movie last night with a friend.  The movie kept pretty close to the book, a rarity for such transitions.  Cinematography was spot-on, as was the casting. Let me just say: Donald Sutherland creeps me out for no other reason than simply being Donald Sutherland.

My interest has been piqued by a lot of conversation bubbling up around the over-the-top violence chronicled in the books, highlighted in the horrific notion of kids killing kids.  I must admit this reaction suprises me to an extent.  We live in an actual world marred by immeasurable violence where kids are killing kids every single day - not just one day out of the year in some manufactured sporting event.  We know this exists, and yet most of us simply ignore it.  And yet we get our feathers ruffled over a book?

Okay, stepping off the soapbox now...

The thing that stands out for me in The Hunger Games is the way it engages (albeit brutally) a common motif in children's literature and movies: the nature of "good versus evil."  In that regard, this trilogy has a lot of company.  You don't have to look too far back to see Harry Potter in your rearview mirror.  C.S. Lewis' Perelandra and Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle In Time are other trilogies in the same vein.  Even the Star Wars saga of my generation - and the new trilogy of the current one - follows suit. 

In a sense I guess it shouldn't surprise us that this theme continues to crop up in media intended for a younger audience but experienced by all.  Kids are much more perceptive than we give them credit for and much more in-tune to the brokenness of the world in which they live.  One night a few weeks ago, my youngest son and I were flipping channels and happened upon the story of the American solider who murdered women and children civilians in Afghanistan.  Before I had a chance to quickly switch it to something else per my protective parental instincts, my son pipes up: "Daddy, why did that man do that?  That was wrong."  I tried in my feeble way to unpack some of the purported reasons, except things of such a horrific nature don't have a nice, neat answer.  Likewise, we're left racking our brains as to how President Snow and the Capitol can wield their complete power over the twelve districts and fully engage their sadistic cravings in The Hunger Games.  There is good and there is not-good; and sometimes we're one and sometimes the other.  Try explaining that to a seven-year old.

In truth, stories like The Hunger Games appeal to our young people - and society in general - because they tell a story of unexplainable violence, power struggles, abuse of power, hunger, poverty, etc. that is part of the world they're trying to grow up in.  I'm inclined to think that's a big part of the reason why the books have sold so many copies and the movie made $25 million in its first night.  We don't know what to do in the face of that kind of "evil;" and in some ways we find ourselves sitting right next to Katniss on that fallen tree in the arena, bawling our eyes out. 

So, two thoughts.  First, I found this article particularly helpful - a review of the movie written by a pacifist, nonetheless - that talks about how these books do a fabulous job of indicting violence by portraying violence.  Worth a read.

Second, I can't help but think back to a very different movie that came out in 1991. Grand Canyon didn't have sadistic dictators, evil wizards or man-machine hybrids with a strong tendency for the dark side of the force; but it nevertheless dealt very poignantly with the nature of evil in one particular scene.  Near the beginning of the movie, Kevin Kline’s character has his car break down in a bad part of East L.A. and is waiting on a two truck when five young men drive by, stop, and tell him to get out of his car.  Things are about to take a turn for the worst when the tow truck finally arrives.  The driver, played by Danny Glover, recognizes what's going on and asks the one in charge to let him do his job.  He tells him he's crazy.  And that's when a tow truck driver offers this little tidbit of wisdom on the streets of east L.A.:

You know, the world ain’t supposed to work like this.  Maybe you don’t know that, but this ain’t the way it’s supposed to be.  I’m supposed to be able to do my job without you asking if I can.  That dude is supposed to be able to wait with his car without you ripping him off. Everything’s supposed to be different than what it is.

(Note: There's a great YouTube clip of this scene, but it's totally in Spanish. Just my luck).

Stories like The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Star Wars and many others appeal to our young folks - and people of all ages - because in their own way they echo Danny Glover's words: Everything's supposed to be different than what it is.  We enjoy reading about those who seek to act on this - people with names like Katniss, Harry and his friends, Luke Skywalker and others.  What's even better, though, are those in the real world who are trying to do the same thing.  Hopefully books and movies like The Hunger Games (and I'm over halfway through the second book) will help us cherish these folks more, and perhaps even inspire us in some small way to add our own name to the list.

Homeless finding a home

Chalk this up to the "Why-didn't-I-think-of-this-before??" category.  Ignore the sappy music that runs throughout and focus instead on the "outside-of-the-box" thinking that's taken place. Man, I wish I could do that.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

 

(Video HERE if you can't see it)

The Face of Homelessness and Scripture

The image to the right is what greeted me when I opened today's edition of the Winston-Salem Journal.  When "Matthew 25:35-36" is emblazoned across the front page of my morning newspaper, it's going to get my attention.

In so many ways this is an amazing story - a powerful portrayal of scripture, Jesus' message taking on a real face (30 of them, actually), bridging the divide between those with homes and those without, a man overcoming his own fears to follow his calling.  The result of which is an amazing poster that you can purchase HERE.  Proceeds go to benefit the Bethesda Center, a homeless shelter in Winston-Salem.

You can read about Dr. Ray Workman, the man behind the idea for the poster, and how it all came together HERE.  In fact, I'd highly encourage you to read it.  An inspiring an eye-opening story.

Stuff like this makes me wonder, "why didn't I think of this??"  Oh well.  I'm glad at least someone did.

The soup isn't all that bad

Most every Sunday in church I close with a benediction that is a hybrid of my own words and the words of Fred Craddock, professor at Candler School of Theology in Atlanta.  His words, I've always felt, are so profound:

Live simply, love generously, speak truthfully, pray daily, and leave everything else to God.

Craddock has a way with words that many of us can only admire from a distance - a master storyteller where the message hits you in the face, and he never has to explain what that message is.  You already know it before you realize you do.  There's a story in particular I was thinking about earlier today and thought I'd share it here. I'm not sure what made me think of it, but I'm glad I did.  Now it's your turn.  Enjoy.

*******************

I was invited last year, in mid-October, to the University of Winnipeg in Canada to give two lectures, one Friday night and one Saturday morning.  I went.  I gave the one on Friday night.  As we left the lecture hall, it was beginning to spit a little snow.  I was surprised, and my host was surprised because he had written, “It’s too early for the cold weather, but you might bring a little windbreaker, a little light jacket.” 

The next morning when I got up, two or three feet of snow pressed against the door.  The phone rang, and my host said, “We’re all surprised by this.  In fact, I can’t come and get you to take you to the breakfast, the lecture this morning has been cancelled, and the airport is closed.  If you can make your way down the block and around the corner, there is a little depot, a bus depot, and it has a café.  I’m sorry.”  I said, “I’ll get around.  I put on that little light jacket; it was nothing.  I got my little cap and put it on; it didn’t even help me in the room.  I went into the bathroom and unrolled long sheets of toilet paper and made a nest in the cap so that it would protect my head against that icy wind.

I went outside, shivering.  The wind was cold, the snow was deep.  I slid and bumped and finally made it around the corner into the bus station.  Every stranded traveler in western Canada was in there, strangers to each other and to me, pressing and pushing and loud.  I finally found a place to sit, and after a lengthy time a man in a greasy apron came over and said, “What’ll you have?”  I said, “May I see a menu?” He said, “What do you want a menu for?  We have soup.”  I said, “What kind of soup do you have?”  And he said, “Soup.  You want some soup?”  I said, “That was what I was going to order – soup.” 

He brought the soup, and I put the spoon to it – Yuck!  It was the awfulest.  It was kind of gray looking; it was so bad I couldn’t eat it, but I sat there and put my hands around it.  It was warm, and so I sat there with my head down, my head wrapped in toilet paper, bemoaning and beweeping my outcast state with the horrible soup.  But it was warm, so I clutched it and stayed bent over my soup stove.

The door opened again.  The wind was icy, and somebody yelled, “Close the door!”  In came this woman clutching her little coat.  She found a place, not far from me.  The greasy apron came and asked, “What do you want?”  She said, “A glass of water.”  He brought her a glass of water, took out his tablet and said, “Now what’ll you have?”  She said, “Just the water.”  He said, “You have to order, lady.”  “Well, I just want a glass of water.”  “Look.  I have customers that pay – what do you think this is, a church or something?  Now what do you want?”  She said, “Just a glass of water and some time to get warm.” 

“Look, there are people that are paying here.  If you’re not going to order, you’ve got to leave!”  And he got real loud about it, so that everyone there could hear him.

So she got up to leave.  And almost as if rehearsed, everyone in that café got up and headed to the door.  If she was going to have to leave, they were as well.  And the man in the greasy apron saw this happening and blurted out, “All right, all right, she can stay.”  Everyone sat down, and he brought her a bowl of soup.

I said to the person sitting there by me, I said, “Who is she?”  He said, “I’ve never seen her before.” The place grew quiet, but I heard the sipping of that awful soup.  I said, “I’m going to try that soup again.”  I put my spoon to the soup – you know, it was not bad soup.  Everybody was eating this soup.  I started eating the soup, and it was pretty good soup.  I have no idea what kind of soup it was.  I don’t know what was in it, but I do recall when I was eating it, it tasted a little bit like bread and wine.  Just a little bit like bread and wine.

(from the book Craddock Stories by Fred Craddock, Chalice Press, 2001)

The dangerous celebration known as Palm Sunday

Today is Palm Sunday. All four gospels mention it; where Jesus entered the city of Jerusalem in rather grandiose fashion, beginning his last week on earth and eventually leading him to the cross.  For most churches it is a day celebrated in worship services by children parading palm branches down the center aisle, a palm-laden cross displayed up front, the choir singing a special Cantata.  It marks the beginning of Holy Week and the journey to the cross and Easter morning. 

But I sometimes wonder if we Christians really "get it" - if we understand what's really happening here, other than Jesus riding in on a colt (or donkey), the people waving palm branches in the air and quoting the familiar psalm: Hosanna in the Highest! 

Because the truth of the matter is that this wasn't the only procession going on in Jerusalem that day.  Another one was taking place on the other side of the holy city; one that happened every year at this time.  See, this time of year marked the beginning of the Jewish festival of Passover, commemorating the formative experience in Israel's life when God led God's people out of bondage in Egypt (with the help of a guy named Moses, of course).  It was a big deal for the capital city, what with THE temple and all; and the city would swell to twice its normal size.  That's a lot of people, and it certainly raised the concern of the Romans.

Ah, the Romans - the most underrated player in the New Testament story.  The focus is always on Jesus and the disciples and those old curmudgeons, the Pharisees and Sanhedrin.  Wanna know why the Pharisees and Sanhedrin were curmudgeons?  The Romans.  Jesus' life and ministry took place during the height of Roman rule, and Palestine was one of Rome's many conquered lands.  In exchange for allowing the Jews to live fairly normal lives, the Romans put the burden on the religious leaders to keep the peace.  This wasn't always easy, because the Romans did two things that ticked everyone off.  First, they made the Jews pay extraordinary taxes - lots and lots of them - whenever the tax collector or Roman soldiers felt like collecting them (which they did very frequently).  No extension-filing here, folks.  Second,  Rome's primary tools of rule were force, intimidation, fear.  The cross is a perfect example.  Long before Jesus hung on one, and long after, tens of thousands of "troublemakers" were put to death on crosses as a way to intimidate the masses.  Major roads leading into Jerusalem were lined with them as their victims died a slow death, so the people could see what happened to those who dare challenge Rome's power.  The whole aim of Roman rule was to literally to scare people into submission.  And they were excellent at it.

This is why they staged a special "parade" every year on the first day of the Passover celebration in Jerusalem.  It was a marvelous sight; an incredible show and display of military might.  The Roman governor was paraded in, along with legions of Roman soldiers.  Trumpets blared, horses marched in sync.  I'm sure the kids marveled at the wonder of it all.  But there was a not-so-subtle message the Roman empire was communicating, and everyone got it: You can have fun celebrating your little religious ritual, but we are still in charge.  We are bigger and stronger than you.  No silly stuff, or you'll get to see first-hand what Pax Romana really means.

Again, this parade that had been going on for years, long before Jesus and his followers did their thing on the other side of the city.  Theirs didn't have nearly the number of participants or observers, and wasn't quite as fantastic and showy as the Romans.  But it had a message as well - oh man, did it ever!  It's message was subversive, counter-cultural; practically treasonous in nature.  It was a direct challenge to the rule and authority of the Roman empire.  It was a victory parade for the meek and humble; a cosmic and cultural equalizer.  More importantly, it was a stark protest against fear and intimidation, lifting up instead a rule centered in love.  It's no wonder Jesus was arrested five days later.

I find all of this a bit ironic in our day and time, with people meshing God and country together as if they're the same thing, with fear and anger feeding so much of our faith and politics, with the Glenn Becks of the world masquerading as theologians and daring to label social justice unbiblical.  I get the feeling these people view Palm Sunday as a celebration of a battle already won, like cutting down the nets at the NCAA basketball championship game before the game is even played.

But that's not what Jesus was doing that day in Jerusalem.  If Palm Sunday's message were an image it'd look a lot more like these:

We don't always think of it like this, but Palm Sunday is a dangerous celebration in the church.  It's more than just waving some palm branches in the air and feeling good about ourselves.  It embodies Jesus' subversive message of unconditional grace, loving your enemies, the meek inheriting the earth, and  - yes indeed, Mr. Beck - social justice.  It was counter-cultural back then.  It still is today.  So when you grab a hold of those palm branches and wave 'em high in the air, it's good to know what you're waving them for.

Jesus would've hooked them up with a stroller too

Not that I really needed another reason to love the church I serve, but it just adds one more thing to the very long list.

It was right after worship; most people had either made their way to their cars or were packed in the church's Fellowship Hall for our covered-dish lunch.  I was in my office hanging up my minister's robe and removing the lapel mic (always a good thing to remember) when I looked out the window and saw a young family walking up the handicapped ramp into the sanctuary.  It was a man in his 40's, a lady about the same age, and a young boy who turned out to be four.  There was a sense of urgency about their steps, a hint of desperation.  I didn't recognize them, and they were certainly not dressed for church.  So I went to meet them.

You always wonder about the stories you hear from people seeking financial help, and thankfully in our community we have mechanisms in place to limit those who might try to take advantage of the system.  But this story, as was later confirmed, was legit.  They had recently moved from New Jersey, taking Greyhound which promptly loss almost all their luggage.  He was starting work the next day, but they had no money, no car.  A family member up north was wiring them some cash, but it wouldn't get here until later that evening.  Meanwhile, they had no place to say, their stroller wheel was broken, and the mother was seven months pregnant and in obvious discomfort.

That was the situation.  Here is why I love this church:

First, prior to meeting them, they already had a conversation with a church member who asked what they needed.  The father said that what they really needed at the moment were a few bucks to get something from McDonald's, since they hadn't eaten all day and not much the day before.  Rather than do that, the church member invited them to come to our covered-dish lunch in the Fellowship Hall.  When the father suggested they weren't adequately dressed for the occasion, the church member smiled and said, "Then you won't mess up any nice clothes when you get some of Lydia's cherry cheesecake on it."  They were welcomed to the table and partook of the same wonderful meal and fellowship we all did.

Next, I started asking around to see if anyone might have a stroller to donate, since theirs was unusable.  Within minutes someone came to me and said he and his wife would be happy to give them their stroller since it wasn't being used anymore.  He went home and got it and had it ready for them in fifteen minutes.  As an aside, the family donating the stroller had just joined the church that day.  And not only that, but at least two other members had discreetly mentioned to me that they would be willing to run out and buy one if needed.

We made arrangements to put them up in a hotel for the night, within walking distance from a Western Union.  I could take them there in my car but wouldn't have enough room for the strollers.  So another church member pulled his pickup truck around, loaded the strollers in the back, and said he'd be happy to meet us there.  We got them set up in their room and someone even provided them with the 1-800 number for the stroller company in case they wanted to call for a replacement wheel.  They were in their room about half an hour before it started to rain outside.

And that's not all.  When I got back to the church I had a Facebook message from another family who had just joined the church and had been at the lunch.  She said they had plenty of baby supplies and would be more than willing to give some to them if there was a need.

I realize the church has done some pretty stupid stuff in its 2000-year history.  In some ways it seems we're not learning from our mistakes.  At the same time, things like what happened today give me hope for the church; that people do care about following in Jesus' footsteps and doing the kinds of things he would've done.  Because I do believe that Jesus would've done the same things for these people.  He would've invited them to join him in a meal.  He would've found a baby stroller.  He would've loaded them up in the back of his pickup and given them a place to stay for the night.

Except today it wasn't just Jesus: it was he and the membership of First Presbyterian Church doing it together.  Which, again, is why I'm pretty fond of them.

Beck's Hole-y Bible

Let me begin this post with a disclaimer of sorts - despite the individual's name in the title, this has nothing to do with politics.  It's true.  I want to say this up front because I know a lot of people (including some reading this blog) watch Glenn Beck's show and agree with what he says about our country, the federal government, health care and our president.  And that's fine - we are all certainly entitled to our opinions.

But this has nothing to do with that.  Instead it has everything to do with something he and I share in common, along with two billion other people around the world - the Christian faith.  And recently Beck made some pretty audacious statements about Christianity on one of his television shows:

I beg you, look for the words 'social justice' or 'economic justice' on your church Web site. If you find it, run as fast as you can. Social justice and economic justice, they are code words. Now, am I advising people to leave their church? Yes!"

To make sure he left no room for misunderstandings, Beck proceeded to hold up two cards: one with the hammer and sickle of Cold-war Communist Russia, and the other with a Nazi swastika.  The inference was clear: churches that use the code words "social justice" and "economic justice" are, in fact, communist and perpetrators of Nazism.

One would presume his advice wasn't intended to be limited to what can be found on the church website, either.  Certainly he would suggest that it be extrapolated to include the minister's sermon, prayers or liturgy used in worship, and any programs or ministries that dare to align themselves with such suspect elements.  And certainly it must include the very foundation of Christianity, the Bible itself.

And that's where we run into a little problem.

See, the thing is, there are just under 8000 verses in the entire Bible, Old and New Testament.  And multiple individuals well-versed (pun intended) in the field have noted that close to 2000 of them deal specifically with issues of - you guessed it - social justice and economic justice.  That's one-fourth of the Bible, for those of us who don't do fractions well (it was always my weak point in math). They're all over the place - here's just a quick sampling:

If there is a poor man among you....you shall not harden your heart, nor close your hand...but you shall freely open your hand to them, and generously lend them sufficient for their needs in whatever they lack (Deuteronomy 15:7)

I know that the LORD will maintain the cause of the afflicted, and justice for the poor (Psalm 140:12)

Do justice and righteousness, and deliver the one who has been robbed from the power of his oppressor.  Also, do not mistreat or do violence to the stranger, to the orphan or the widwo, and do not shed innocent blood in this place (Jeremiah 22:3)

Jesus said, Give to him who asks of you, and do not turn away from him who wants to borrow from you. (Matthew 5:42)

There's a lot more - some 1,996, I guess, but I'll spare you.  You get the idea.

All of which makes me wonder: what does Beck's Bible look like?  One must assume it doesn't contain these 2000 subversive and dangerous verses, of course.  Which is precisely the kind of Bible noted evangelist Jim Wallis remembers from his seminary days; a fellow student who took an old Bible and, to prove a point, cut out every verse that had anything to do with the poor and with social and economic justice.  And when he was done, as Wallis recalls, "that Bible was literally in shreds. It was falling apart in my hands. It was a Bible full of holes." (from God's Politics).  Which makes sense, since it was missing a full one-fourth of it.

This poses another conundrum: what exactly does Christianity look like with Beck's hole-y Bible?  Obviously there's no need to be concerned for the poor or the marginalized and oppressed.  Missions becomes purely evangelical in nature, concerned only for matters of the soul and not for individual well-being and welfare.  Caring for God's creation becomes an unnecessary distraction, too.  In fact, there's really not much that needs to be done at all with this life on earth, other than prepare ourselves for the life hereafter.  We're just wandering the planet, biding our time until the real show starts.

To be fair, this isn't the first time someone has sliced and diced the scriptures, either literally or figuratively.  Probably the most famous instance was the Jefferson Bible, an attempt by founding father Thomas Jefferson to remove all references to Jesus' divinity as well as supernatural occurrences, like miracles.  That was a pretty hole-y Bible, too.  Then there's the Conservative Bible, where the editors simply removed any verses deemed "too liberal" and softened some of the more challenging language (the "rich man" becomes "the one who enjoys riches." Subtle, yes; but quite literally, the devil is in the details).

The difference, of course, is that those folks knew exactly what they were doing when they did it.  They were perfectly clear about the fact that they were imposing their own agendas on the scriptures, fashioning them into something to their own liking the way a business person gets a suit adjusted by their tailor.  On the other hand, Beck's comments the other day were nothing more than standard rhetoric from a strong television personality rallying the masses to the cause.

Or at least that's what we hope.  If he truly meant what he said, then I'm not sure what to think.  Maybe by some freak accident Beck got a hold of that Bible Wallis was talking about.  If so, could someone let him know that it was only meant to prove a point, not actually be followed?  That is, what's left of it.

 

UPDATE: Just today I received in the mail a copy of The Poverty and Justice Bible, ordered from the fine folks at Sojourners.  Like the Green Bible, which I talked about in this previous post, this Bible highlights all verses in the Old and New Testaments that have to deal with poverty and justice issues (in orange highlighter, nonetheless - my favorite).  It's important to know a bit of the history and context to understand why the marked verses are poverty/justice related.  The bible is in the Contemporary English Version (not my personal favorite), but it still looks to be a solid resource.  I'm thinking about buying another one and sending Glenn Beck a copy.  You can order yours here.

When disaster strikes, people sing

I've been through one earthquake in my life.  It happened in Hiroshima, Japan during a four-month missionary stint I spent there between college and my first job.  I awoke one October morning to see the light hanging from the ceiling directly above my head swinging back and forth.  It lasted for only a few minutes, but it succeeded in freaking me out and making me thankful for living in a part of the world where tremors are quite uncommon.

My lone earthquake experience gives me no context to process what happened on the island of Haiti this past week.  None.  No matter how many pictures and videos I see, no matter how many stories I read, I cannot fathom the devastation and destruction that this country is dealing with.  And while there's no good place for a 7.0 monster, Haiti is one of the poorest countries on the planet, making an already desperate situation even worse.  The Prime Minister reported the other day that well over 100,000 have died in the earthquake.  And that's just an early estimate - it's sure to go much higher.  It's horrible.  It's unimaginable.  It's a tragedy that none of us in the Western world can fully get a grasp on.

And yet tragedies like this, while terrible and unexplainable (did you catch that, Pat Robertson?), have the potential to bring out the best in people.  Already tons of agencies are raising millions of dollars for relief efforts.  Not only that, but the Haitian people themselves have managed to teach us a thing or two.  In the immediate aftermath of the earthquake there was a lot of crying and screaming and running around looking for loved ones.  And there was also singing.  I'm serious - check out this article, third paragraph, where it says:

Thousands of people gathered in public squares late into the night, singing hymns and weeping.

Singing hymns. 

I have no idea what hymns.  And I don't think it really matters what they were singing anyway.  What matters, and what is amazing to me, is that their instinct in the minutes and hours following a horrific event that would change their lives forever - and the well-being of their already-troubled country - was to sing.

There's something about this that I just can't let go of - singing in the aftermath of unspeakable tragedy.  This wasn't the first time, of course.  Check out this clip from a group of folks gathered at a candlelight on the evening of Tuesday, September 11th, 2001:

Okay, so "New York, New York" isn't a hymn.  But again, that's not important.  People turning to song in their grief, in their confusion and anger and fear; people immersing themselves in the symmetry of music amidst the chaos - now that's important.

I studied psychology in undergrad and pride myself on having a decent feel for what makes people tick, but I honestly can't figure out what in our human DNA leads us to turn to music in our darkest hour.  But it's there, and it's powerful. I've seen it time and time again, as I know you have too.

We had a recent funeral service where the widow was rather stoic.  I couldn't tell whether it was just a way of guarding herself emotionally, or if the dementia she suffered from wasn't allowing her to experience grief.  That all changed when her son and a family friend shared an amazing rendition of Just a Closer Walk With Thee.  It was as if her mind finally gave her heart permission to feel.  I was struck by how it was the music - and not the scriptures or the meditation or the prayer or the eulogy - that did this.  Incidentally, the same thing happened at another service I attended once, except that it wasn't a hymn but the ten-minute album version of Lynard Skynard's Freebird played through the funeral home speakers. Wouldn't have been my choice but still - it's about the music.

Why?  Why does music do this to us?  Why do we wrap ourselves in song like a warm blanket during the frigid chapters of our lives?  What is it about music that has a way of cutting through the layers of reason, defense mechanisms, and even the shock of a 7.0 earthquake to the heart of who we are? 

From a faith standpoint this shouldn't surprise us.  The Psalms are songs - hymns, quite literally.  And while some of those songs are happy, many others express grief, anger, sorrow fear; allowing both singer and listener to enter into those places as well.  They are, as U2 frontman Bono once suggested, the "blues of the Bible."  That is why they are still recited thousands of years after their creation - their tune never grows old.

I can't explain to you why those Haitians resorted to singing on Monday night.  But I do understand how the power and presence of music can be a comfort in difficult and challenging times.  And Lord knows Haiti is in one of those times right now.  So as we pray for them and raise funds for them, let's take a cue from them and sing something.  It won't solve our problems, but it may make us feel a little more at ease as we confront them.

 

We walk because they walk!

It was a cold, soggy, raw kind of day that greeted the third annual CROP Hunger Walk of Mount Airy yesterday.  Not the kind of weather we were hoping for, but you take what you get, right?  If anything it made the CROP motto (also this blog's title) all the more meaningful.  Every day millions of people around the world - in our little community, in this country and in places far away - have to walk miles just to get a little food or some clean drinking water.  And they do this no matter what the elements are.  So surely we could suck it up for a hour or so.

We had our first walk back in the spring of 2007, along with the help of two other fellow clergy, Roger Gilbert of First Baptist and Wayne Hager of Calvary Baptist.  In so doing we joined thousands of communities across the country who host these annual events.  Just in case you don't know, CROP Hunger Walks are joint ventures between local communities and an organization called Church World Service.  The noble and attainable goal of these walks is to eliminate extreme hunger and poverty in the world.  And, as has been noted before on this blog, we now have the technology and the resources to actually do it.

In a CROP Hunger Walk (which, incidentally, stands for "Communities Responding to Overcome Poverty), a portion of the money stays local, going to whatever agency the local planning team designates; while the rest goes to national and international relief agencies.  This is one of the reasons I'm so fond of these walks - they address the problem with a "both-and" approach, the only real way to achieve meaningful results. This is sometimes hard for people to understand, but it's true.  It does no good if we keep all of our money locally, as there are innumerable communities all around the world who have no means to host their own walks and support themselves.  Likewise, if we direct 100% of our efforts overseas, we are turning a blind eye to the needs right in front of us.  CROP Hunger Walks are a very practical way of doing both.

Folks started gathering at Veteran's Park around 2pm Sunday afternoon, trying to keep warm while listening to the sounds of the Youth Moravian Church Praise Band. At around 3:30, emcee Kelly Epperson of WPAQ radio sent us on our way!  The 3.2 mile walk took us down the Emily Taylor Greenway and then back through town to finish at the park.  Most folks finished the walk in just over an hour, unless your name was "Lindsley," in which case you were bringing up the rear.  Here are some pics for you:

 

  In previous years we had CROP Hunger Walk t-shirts for everyone, paid for by local business sponsors.  With the economy being the way  it is we decided to go without the fancy t-shirts and instead got the kids to make their own walk shirts with plain white tees and fabric markers.  It was such a hit that I imagine we'll do it again in future years, even if we bring the traditional walk shirt back.

One of the things we've tried to do with this walk is make it not just a fundraising experience, but an educational one.  So along the walk we posted signs that had some pretty sobering statistics about hunger and poverty in our world.  Here's a smattering of 'em:

 

This one gets me every time.  The sign reads, "A child dies of hunger-related causes every six seconds."  The man standing beside it is holding a bell that he chimes - you guessed it - every six seconds.  So you're walking along and you hear this ringing and you're wondering what it is.  Then you see this sign, and you know.  And as you walk up the hill and hang a left on Pine St. you still hear it ringing, and you remember long after the ringing stops.

Our walker numbers and dollar totals were down from previous years, but we're figuring the weather had something to do with that.  Any way you cut it, though, less people will go hungry because of our efforts.

I wish I were more regularly cognizant of the hungry in our world.  I just scarfed down a delicious lunch at 308 Bistro as I was typing this and hardly paid attention as the food made its way from the plate to my stomach.  Often on those nights our family sits down for a meal together, the obligatory family blessing is treated more like an obstacle to be hurried through quickly rather than a true pause of reflection and thanks.  For me hunger is nothing more than that nagging feeling I get in the middle of the afternoon at work when lunch is just a few hours in the past - and even then, all I have to do is reach in the drawer desk to grab a handful of almonds.  Like many people I've done a pretty good job of hiding in my ignorance and shielding myself from what's really there.

That's why these walks are a good way of reminding me of two things: one, that I need to be a whole lot more grateful for the food on my plate every day; and two, that I need to do a much better job of seeing that people all around the world get more on theirs. 

When tragedy strikes close to home

(picture taken from http://www.wxii.com)

Churches are often viewed as sanctuaries in the truest sense of the word; a place where one can momentarily leave behind the world's problems. Sometimes this is true, but other times we come face-to-face with the realization that our houses of worship, like our very lives, can never be totally distanced from tragedy.

A sad thing happened just down the block from our church this past week.  Tuesday afternoon around 4pm, a middle-school aged girl was accidentally shot by another family member.  The shooting took place five houses down the street from our church.  In the picture above you can see the road blocked off with yellow police tape and an officer in black.  Our church is the granite building in the foreground on the right.  To my knowledge the girl is still in the hospital in critical condition.  The alleged shooter was taken into custody.  Our prayers are with both of them.

I was not at the church when it happened but got a text about it from our secretary.  When I got back about 15 minutes later I found the scene relatively calm with a lot of stunned onlookers.  Many of them I know personally.  Our church organist lives in a house two down the road on the right.  He was in the middle of a voice lesson with another church member when the alleged shooter banged on his door, screaming for help.  Two houses further down, almost directly across the street from where it happened, our local Young Life leader and his 8-month pregnant wife were also greeted by bangs on the door and cries for help. 

Our town is a small one, barely 10,000 people.  We have one middle school and one high school.  So even those who don't know the girl personally (like myself) certainly know someone who does.  There are a few youth in our church who know her, although they don't necessarily "hang out" with her.  Still, they are understandably in shock.  It's quite a jolt to the system when one day you see her sitting a few seats in front of you on the bus, and the next day you don't, and you know why.

Sadly, things like this are a part of life.  Violence, poverty, injustices exist.  It's just that for many of us we are somewhat removed from them; separated by proximity or economic strata.  We see it on the news, read about it in the papers.  Our ministers preach about it from the pulpits and our politicians discuss it in their agendas.  But there is always a "distance" implied; a sense of separation between where we are and where "it" is.  For the most part we are removed from it and hardly give it a second thought.  And then it happens just a few houses down the street from us, and we can't let it go.  It stays with us.

This tragedy down the street from the church has left me thinking about many things.  It's reminded me that the church is not a place to escape from the world's troubles, but a place to engage them and enter into them; into the transforming presence of God that can bring about true healing and wholeness in a broken world.  We in the church tend to forget the practical implication of that message and focus more on the "upkeep of the institution."  We too easily forget that Jesus himself didn't stay holed up in a fancy building somewhere.  He went out in the world and confronted life's tragedies head-on.  We should do the same; and our church is currently talking with some people to try and find out what, if anything, we can do for this family.

It has also reminded me that we shouldn't need something like this to happen in order to mourn, to feel, to become sad or angry or hope for something better.  We fall into this trap all too often, living our lives apart from the lives of others.  It's so easy when we sit down at our kitchen tables for a meal, with a full spread in front of us, to forget that there are hundreds of thousands who won't have anything to eat for days; and that every six seconds in this world a child dies of hunger-related causes.  Closer to home it's easy to forget that, just playing the odds out, at least one of the kids sitting next to my son in his first-grade class - and probably both - start every day off on an empty stomach; the last decent meal being the school free lunch they had the day before.

It's so easy when I face that instant decision - throw the plastic bottle I have in my hand in the trash can in front of me or keep it with me to put in the recycling bin at work or at home - to forget that at that very moment there is a trash pile floating somewhere in the Pacific Ocean that is twice the size of Texas (the state, not the restaurant chain).  It's true - read about it here and here.  We don't realize it's there because it's not right down the street from us.  It's somewhere that is not "here" - so it is out of our sight and out of mind.  Even the term it's been unofficially christened with - the "Great Pacific Garbage Patch" - seems to minimize its size and impact.  A "patch??"  Perhaps the word "continent" would be more suitable.

The internet, of course, has been a godsend in helping make our big world a little smaller and changing the extent to which we understand who our neighbor is.  Of course, our neighbor can still be the old-fashioned variety, such as the people down the street from the church who I never knew about until this past week.  Even then, though, it's easy to forget that close to 1000 people in our country annually suffer the same fate as that 12-year old girl (and that number is more than likely a lot higher)

That is, until it happens a hundred yards from the front door of the church where you worship, work and serve every day.  And then it's not so easy to forget.  And you know what?  That's probably a good thing.