Cranberry

Cranberry is not a color.

I refuse to call the new Lutheran hymnals cranberry (they're not that new but time is relative).

It is red.

I will admit that I have a streak of incorrigibility in me. I'll be the first to acknowledge sometimes I  do something just because I'm a brat. For instance, Kirt and I went on a hike this summer and he was chiding me for  my poor choice in clothing so naturally the next time he turned around I had removed the unsuitable clothes.  Luckily he couldn't arrest me, but I made my point whatever point I was trying to make.

But, I feel pretty strongly about this cranberry vs. red thing. We're not allowed to call it red because the red hymnal was just phased out four decades ago. People will get confused, but calling it cranberry eliminates all confusion. People start looking for Ocean Spray juices and bladder infections, but at least they won't dig through the basement to find the old hymnals.

It also degrades the great fruit cranberry.

Maybe that's why I hate using cranberry as a color. I love it as the amazing berry it is.

Wimps go blueberry picking. That's easy. You stand up, swat a million mosquitoes and fill your bucket in an hour.

Cranberry picking is for the tough ones. You journey out into the wet, slightly unsettling, jello-like bog after the first freeze. You lay down or kneel and search. There's only one berry per plant well hidden in the rest of bog vegetation. It takes a long time for your eyes to adjust and rarely do you walk away with a full bucket. Each one is a precious treasure.

I also love the tartness of low bush cranberries. I love the pop. I love the pucker. That's cranberry.

Calling something cranberry when it is obviously red reveals one of the great challenges for the church. Our language is so heavy with baggage from the past couple millennia we feel like we need to invent new and creative ways to express ourselves. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes it's distracting and makes me snigger.

I love language filled with memories and brokenness. It doesn't mean I won't use contemporary language, but I
blend it with the language ripe with church memories knowing they won't always be good memories nor relevant to everyone - sorry.

I love when I refer to the red book and people recite the confession or tell me their favorite hymn. It is ripe with memories for some in a way that cranberry isn't. And I don't feel nearly as ridiculous talking about something that's red as I do cranberry.