Field trips

Someone once said (I think it might have been Ann Landers or Karl Barth) that the most frightening and most comforting words are "this too shall pass." In many ways that is true. Whatever heartache or joy we have will come to an end. 

But it's not technically true.

Today I pondered a different law. I found myself thinking about one of the classical law of physics - the conservation of mass. The mass of an object or collection of objects never changes, nothing can be created or destroyed no matter how the constituent parts rearrange themselves (Encyclopedia Brittanica).  

Yep. That's poop.

There's something comforting and terrifying in that law, especially after visiting the sewage treatment plant. Nothing can be created or destroyed.

I don't know why I insist on taking middle schoolers on such weird field trips, but I do. I want them to connect their daily lives and actions with faith, but sometimes I think I'm just sick and twisted. 

I take them to the sewage treatment plant and ask them to make some connections with baptism. I'm not looking for any profound connection in particular, but it seems like a good opportunity. They made some about being cleansed or caring for God's creation or the need to look for a different middle school group.

For the first time in my multiple trips to the sewage treatment plant, I was struck by how nothing goes away by magic. We may be cleansed and given a second chance, but the %&*$ doesn't go away. In fact, it costs Juneau two million dollars a year to barge our poop down to Oregon. We create 7-12 shipping cartons full of poop a day. I found all that pretty wild.

Yes, we can pull some cleansing waters and second chances out of the filth. But, we still have to do something with our messes because pretending like our stinky stuff magically disappears is a destructive lie. 

Maybe I take the middle schoolers to the sewage treatment plant for the same reason I baptize folks. It's the hope in the midst of the mess. And it takes a lot of courage to look at the mess we make and figure out how to live in grace and responsibility. 

I'm sure most of the youth walked away feeling slightly grossed out and never thinking of "cake" the same way, but I can guarantee that they will also never look at a drain the same either. The crap we leave behind takes a lot of work to clean-up. 

Something profound before Christmas

We went to see The Force Awakens like millions of other people this week. Loved it.

I thought I would have something profound, but luckily this movie did not take itself too seriously so there weren't major new age themes accentuated by pathetic dialogue. That sounded harsher than I meant it.

I loved the original Star Wars, but I loved it in spite of all the hokey themes and sad dialogue. Even though my all time favorite love proclamation is at the end of The Empire Strikes Back when Han is getting frozen and Leia cries out, "I love you" and his response is, "I know." That's foreshadowing for a rocky relationship, but hilarious to say to the one you love.

I cried throughout this movie. Not at the sad parts. I cried with each old character introduced. I cried like they were my best friends I hadn't seen since childhood (except for C3PO and Luke-never my favorites). I had to use my greasy popcorn napkin to stop my runny nose when the Millennium Falcon was revealed. It's like every adventure and dream of childhood wrapped in that ship.

I walked away without anything too profound or life altering except that I miss my grandma. Funny thing nostalgia is.

She is not related to Star Wars in any way, except maybe in the power of grandparents to shape grandchildren but I found that kind of a sketchy part of the movie so I won't go there.

I just missed her because nostalgia is like that. It's Christmas time and she was a huge part of making my childhood Christmases magic.

I miss her for the house filled with the smell of fried chicken and the living room where thirty of us would cram to open presents while fudge was passed. Mind you, we opened them in good German fashion, one at a time in order of birth. I was the youngest for 21 years and my brother will never let that go. Then, we kids would go play with our new toys in the bathroom, the newest and biggest room in the house.

It's funny as I sit here with snotty toilet paper in hand to think of those beautiful times that can get lost in all the drama and mess of aging. It was idyllic; those Christmases were a temporary suspension of disbelief where joy and peace and love reigned in the person of my grandma in that tiny living room crammed full of family.

I kind of feel like that is why I love communion at church so much. I know folks don't always get along or see eye to eye in the church, but for that moment we cram together with generations past and generations to come in the tiny room around the table and act like we believe joy and peace and love reign.

That's a long leap from Star Wars, but that's the funny thing about nostalgia.

Free Shipping

First Christmas in Alaska

As tempting as it is, I'm not going to whine about the fact that Alaska is the exception to all the free shipping deals online. I know I should shop locally and I know the amount I pay in shipping is nowhere close to the PFD we got this year. No whining. Not even when I complete an order and shipping is $100 and the rest of their costumers get it for free.

But I will whine about adopt-a-family programs. I'm trying not to, but I can only resist not whining about one thing at a time.

I'm not a fan of adopt-a-family programs. I'm sorry, but I really struggle with them.

• Do I think we should assist families who face a sudden crisis during this season? YES.

• Do I think we should make winter clothes accessible to families without means? YES.

• Do I think we should figure out a way to walk with families through the extra economic stresses around food, housing and transportation? YES.

• Do I think we should fund early childhood education, better addiction treatment, prison reentry programs, mental health programs, and a living wage? YES.

Poverty sucks and I see huge gaping holes where resources could help families move out of poverty. And as a pastor I value meaningful relationships over doing something that makes us feel good.

I find adopt-a-family programs involve a huge amount of resources without meaningful relationships or bridging gaps. There is a part of me that struggles with whether they may actually be destructive to a family's sense of integrity and the very nature of a gift.

We read the Legend of the Poinsettia last night at church where the young girl offers weeds to the baby Jesus after hearing the wisdom, "any gift is beautiful because it is given." 

I recognize that I'm writing this out of a place of privilege and you can poke me in the eye the next time you see me for taking potshots at this sacred feel good holiday phenomena, but I'm going to refuse to give into the religion of consumerism and the idea that the gospel has something to do with having more junk from China (or wherever it is made). It's hard for me to call something a gift when it doesn't come from the giver.

I suppose this struck me when one of the families requested a robe for Christmas. It just seemed like such an intimate gift for someone we didn't know anything about and it made me think about when Kirt and I were first married without much money to our names. I sewed him a stinking robe in my office at church with scraps of fabric some of the church ladies gave me. It wasn't the most amazing robe in the world by any means, but it had my hands and heart in it (and probably some blood because I'm not good with sharp things). 

I'm not advocating everyone be awesome like me and sew pathetic robes with lots of love. But I am saying that we might undermine someone's humanity when we take away the beauty of a gift given.

There are ways we may accompany families who are devastated by life and circumstances. But it requires active engagement year round and serious examination of our economic and social systems. 

I actually believe the good news of Christmas is the incarnation, the God who chooses to dwell in the vulnerability of flesh and blood. What if we stopped with the "feel good" programs and instead dwelled with folks in the vulnerability, the flesh and blood, of poverty? 

Yeah, it's probably easier to buy the robe.

Max

The best Christmas character is Max.

We had to watch The Grinch Who Stole Christmas because Jesus will not return unless we watch it every year. It's part of the waiting and preparation of Advent.

And every year I want to be the Whos in Whoville. I especially want to be Cindy Lou Who because she gets the tiny little strawberry on the tiny tray and I love that. I also love the fact that she has no legs. We're thinking she's part seal.

Actually, my new favorite scene that I've missed the million other times I've watched it, is the naked Who kid at the end. Seriously. Look for him on the right.

So I want to be a Who.

I want to imagine that if some green cretan snuck into my house and stole absolutely everything while also leaving my house a mess, then I would have a huge heart of forgiveness. But I'm not that person. I might be able to get there, but the fact is my gut reaction would not be singing. And in all truthfulness, I'd still yell when he returned the stuff because I'd have to decorate all over again.

So the cartoon character I relate to the most is Max. He's the dog. I'm sure there are all kinds of arguments about the abuse situation Max is in makes him a pitiful creature. He and the Grinch do not have a healthy relationship. I think we can all agree on that.


But Max seems to make the best out of the situation. I'm enough of a church nerd that when I watch Max, I hear the words of our confession, "We are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves."

Max is not a hero. In the face of evil he can't figure out how to fix, he shrugs his shoulders and smiles. In the face of tasks or experiences that are overwhelming, he waves.

These are coping skills I have embraced too often but with some success. Some problems just seem too big and I can't figure out how to stop being a part of them let alone fixing them.

There really isn't any explaining the character Max. His motivation is not the easiest to figure out. And I realize it's a thirty minute holiday special so I won't spend too much brain power on doing it.

But somehow Max is complicit in evil without being wicked. Somehow he is still a light of grace and delight in a dark venture. He doesn't quite come off as a victim of evil he can't control, but he's not tainted by it either.

When the Grinch is set free from bitterness and evil, then Max is set free to be the joyful dog he's called to be.  That for me resonates a little more than folks who are singing in the morning and not calling the cops.

I know I shrug my shoulders at too much evil, but Max gives me hope. 

It's not an excuse to turn a blind eye to evil. We still need to strive for justice, but with a humble hope. My hope is that someday we will all be set free from bitterness and evil to be joyful creatures, but till then we do the best we can with what we've got. And there are worse ways to respond than shrugging your shoulders and smiling.

Riding in the hearse

I miss the undertaker in Michigan where I was once pastor. No offense against the undertaker in Juneau, but he hasn't brought me chocolates.

I was never sure if the undertaker's chocolates at Christmas were a thank you gift for drumming up so much business or his way of staying in my good graces so I wouldn't yell when he snuck out of church to eat the deviled eggs and homemade pie the ladies had prepared for the luncheon.

They were really good chocolates, and he always got me the assorted nut kind, not the nasty creme-filled ones that are just wrong. (None of this has anything to do with the point of the column; I'm just looking for chocolates.)

In actuality, outside the whole two pounds of chocolate at Christmas, I miss riding in the hearse. Life looks different in the front seat of the hearse. I'm sure it really looks different from the back, but I haven't experienced that yet.

Something interesting happens to a neighborhood as the hearse pulls through with the parade of mourners following behind. People stop on the sidewalks, cars pull over and children point.

Life pauses right in the middle of ordinary acts with a dramatic reminder that someday we'll all take that ride. It's a pause in the ordinary acts of life to remember that we are mortal, everything is finite, that this moment and this breath are an absolute gift.

During that ride, I would often have to sit captive through many bad jokes and stories with too many details about how the deceased got that way before we would finally arrive at the cemetery.

The cemetery is always the hardest part of the process. Up until that moment, we can fool ourselves with all kinds of distractions and defenses. It is only in the wind, and the cold facing a big hole that the finality strikes with such force. Words are spoken, prayers said and dirt cast.

We look straight into the face of death and have the boldness to hope. The Christian hope that death does not have the last word is not a sentimental sweetness to soften death; it is a defiant statement in the face of great gaping holes that life is not meaningless, that darkness will not be the end, that Jesus Christ is risen.

Advent, this season before Christmas, is the front seat of the hearse. We look into the black holes of our lives instead of trying to avoid or hide them. We look into the black holes of our world instead of making excuses. We look into the black holes of our hearts where bitterness has created an abyss. 

We look and then we sing, we pray, we might even throw dirt if we get a little zany. We laugh, we dance and we get shaken out of the numbness and ordinariness of life to see the hope, the gift, the joy of abundant life.

I think the undertaker gave me chocolate for some of the same reason that we hang lights, eat cookies, and give gifts. In the midst of the darkness, in the midst of death and brokenness, we are called to affirm life, hope and joy.

Watching the hearse go by, we are called to savor the gift of the day, the gift of being loved, the gift of this wonderful world, and maybe even the gift of a two pound box of chocolate-covered nuts.

This blog is an adaptation from an earlier article I wrote for the newspaper years ago - sorry for being lazy.