IVP - Strangely Dim

I Confess

Today is May 27--one day after Memorial Day--and the forecasted high temperature--57--is twelve degrees warmer than the air temperature at lunchtime. This is strange, and my outlook today is correspondingly dim. On such days I am sorely tempted to pray for, rather than against, global warming. I'm also sorely tempted to feel sorry for myself.

I'm privileged, however; I have a home and a car and an office, all of which can easily bounce back and forth from "cool" to "heat" based on my circumstance or whim. Others are not so fortunate--among them the guy in a parka trimming the grass outside my office; the homeless men, women and children who rely on temporary shelters, many of which close between Memorial Day and Labor Day for maintenance or convenience, counting on the warmer weather to make homelessness easier to bear; the folks in Tornado Alley across the Midwest who over the weekend went from being homeowners to being homeless; the people, places and things across the world who suffer from the effects of climate change even as I pray my self-indulgent, tongue-in-cheek prayers for more of it.

I'm reminded in these moments of vague clarity of a prayer I prayed in concert with hundreds of fellow congregants week in, week out throughout my childhood. It's a prayer of confession that morphs gradually into a prayer for transformation. It's a prayer directed not only to God but to God's church, and though I am an avowed Protestant and as such am uncomfortable with the line about Mary, I pray this prayer today as much to you and the great cloud of witnesses that anticipated and yet surround us, as I pray it to God:

I confess to Almighty God
And to you my brothers and sisters,
That I have sinned through my own fault,
In my thoughts and in my words,
In what I have done, and what I have failed to do.
I ask Blessed Mary, ever virgin,
And all the angels and saints,
And you, my brothers and sisters,
To pray for me to the Lord our God.
Amen.

Choose Your Weird

First, for a topic that has nothing to do with the title: Congrats to Dave, whose latest book, Deliver Us from Me-Ville, has arrived, hot off the presses! I know I need to read it--and I know, because of who my fellow blogger is, it will be honest, challenging, well-written and very funny. Order your copy; then we can dialogue about it here at Strangely Dim.

On an entirely different note, I've been reflecting on the near-perfect weirdness I experienced in our office last Friday afternoon.

You know the kind of afternoon I'm talking about. Colleagues are out of the office. It's a perfect day outside. You're sitting at the cusp of a new weekend in which you're free to sleep, read, be with friends and family, organize your spice rack--whatever you enjoy.

That was last Friday in the editorial department here at IVP. My fellow ETF member (that's Editorial Task Force) Jeff, who happens to have impeccable taste in Friday-afternoon outings, suggested a Starbucks run with the following e-mail:

"ETF unite: We shall gather at 2:00, leave for Starbucks shortly thereafter, consume highly caffeinated beverages, and then come back to work! I'm feeling so adventuresome and rebellious! The exclamation points! The serial comma! Lord help us all!" [The way proofreaders rebel, if you didn't know, is by using capitalization and exclamation points with abandon.]

which was greeted with such e-mail responses as:

"Yaaaayyyyyyyy Starbucks! And Caffeine! (I'm Feeling REBELLIOUS Too.)"

"Mid-afternoon legal addictive stimulants . . . I could climb mountains, swim oceans, run through the desert . . ."

which was followed up by an e-mail from another ETF member (who shall remain nameless):

"You're all a little weird, I think. But I'm in!"

Now in case you're tempted to canonize this last ETF member as the voice of reason in our cacophony of weirdness, you should know that she has decorated her cubicle in Alias action figures and photos and frequently mentions her desire to be Sydney Bristow.

Which brings me to my point: Everyone's weird. You're weird. I'm weird. Might as well accept it.

Here at IVP, aside from the Alias action figures, we all have our own weird that we exhibit. I like to name plants and cars (as you know). Dave has been spotted in superhero tights. We say "rabbit" on the first day of the month. And some of us get a little excited about outings to select caffeinated-beverage locations.

So, on the cusp of this Memorial Day Weekend, I offer three small words for your three-day weekend: Choose your weird.

As for me on this Friday, the office is quiet again, our department head is out, my car Luci is calling my name, and Dave's book coming in is cause for celebration . . .

STARBUCKS, ANYONE????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fun with Misplaced Modifiers, or, Even Monkeys Need Editors

I was recently made aware of a clever blog by Rachel Held Wilson, "Evolving in Monkey Town," about the challenges of practicing faith in a postmodern era and a fundamentalist context. Or something like that. The author writes from Dayton, Tennessee, home of the Scopes Monkey Trial, which bolstered the theory of evolution as a staple of public education and played a significant role in the launch of the fundamentalist movement in the United States. The city has memorialized its moment in the spotlight with a plaque:

Here, from July 10 to 21, 1925 John Thomas Scopes, a County High School teacher, was tried for teaching that a man descended from a lower order of animals in violation of a lately passed state law.

So, here's where I reveal my inherent nerdiness and bore you with an English lesson: This sentence as constructed implies that the man who "descended from a lower order of animals"--not the high school teacher--was "in violation of a lately passed state law." So be warned, ambitious lower primates: if you're going to evolve, don't do it in Dayton. And to the school district let me offer the following advice: worry less about biology and more about grammar. (Of course, I'm biased.) For the rest of you, feel free to suggest an alternate sentence construction for the revised plaque or to chastise me for my nerdiness or lack of graciousness.

Keeping in Touch

When some of you saw the title "Keeping in Touch," I imagine your sweet hearts leapt with hope that this post is my firm, telling-the-world, turning-over-a-new-leaf resolution to finally be better about staying in contact with all of you. Unfortunately, I've tried the firm resolution route before and failed every time. Which is why you still don't hear from me.

But. You do, after all, have Strangely Dim to let you know I'm still alive and to give you a peek at what I'm thinking about. And here's the latest thing I'm ruminating on: keeping in touch with the world. I know--that sounds a little ambitious for someone who couldn't even keep a penpal growing up because I didn't write back often enough. But a number of events recently--both personal and global--have impressed on me anew the importance of learning about other people's reality. I'm scared by how easy it is--particularly, it seems to me, in the suburbs where I live--for me to go through a day thinking largely about myself--my own needs, my own schedule, the details of my day. Some of this, of course, is necessary; I need to pay my bills and do my job and show up for my commitments. As a follower of Christ, though, I'm seeing more and more how essential it is to be connected in some way to the reality of others--whether it's praying for people and situations all over the world through International Justice Mission's prayer-request lists, or reading a book like Greg Mortenson's Three Cups of Tea that gives me a picture of the hardships and hope of people in Pakistan or Afghanistan, or attending a benefit for an organization like World Relief that helps resettle refugees who've experienced deep trauma in their home countries, or keeping up with the news out of China and Myanmar.

These are small attempts, granted. Even with them I still get quickly and easily consumed by my own worries and concerns. Some days I wonder (like you might be wondering now), what's the point? How does a thought for others--my own little glimpse into their reality--help them out?

Well, maybe it doesn't. Maybe I am fighting a pointless battle or even just playing a game to make myself feel more spiritual. When I hear of the suffering of others, I do often feel the uselessness of my far-away compassion and thoughts. But what's the alternative? To turn a deaf ear? To be "ever hearing but never understanding; . . . ever seeing but never perceiving," as Jesus described the crowds to the disciples in Matthew 13? Jesus could never be accused of that--and as his follower, called to be like him, I don't want it to be true of me either.

The fact is, self-absorption is too natural for my sinful self that, if I'm not intentionally looking for ways to learn about or be reminded of someone else's reality, I'll start to believe (with help from our culture and advertising) that my life and reality are what matters most, and what most people experience--when really nothing could be further from the truth. Ironically, one reason I need to remember others is for me--to keep me from the self-centeredness that is tantalizingly easy to slip into. My small attempts are, in part, my way of keeping perspective on the world--both God's view of it and my place and role in it.

Furthermore, caring about--even when I can't actually care for--others is teaching me more and more about the heart of God that beats so compassionately and lovingly for the refugees, the children forced into slavery and prostitution, the homeless in Myanmar and Chicago. My glimpses of these people's realities give me a deeper glimpse into the heart of God.

Once we start looking, there are hundreds of ways and places to learn about the reality of others who live an extraordinarily different life than we do. It's something we can help each other do as followers of Christ, called to be like him. Post your comments about who you're mindful of and trying to learn more about. Are there books, movies, websites, organizations that help you get outside of yourself and learn about another person's life? Share them with us. (Then we'll feel like we're in touch again!!)

Let me add a caveat: It's certainly not only the thought that counts. Taking action in the ways we can in the places we're called to is essential. But for all the places we can't, thoughts and prayers really do matter in keeping us in touch with who God is, what his kingdom is like and who we're called to be as his people.

The Books of 2Pac

Have I mentioned that I love Very Short List? I learn of so many cool things on the Internet via VSL, the most recent of which is the "I See Dead People's Books" section of librarything.com. Here I get to see what books, for example, Tupac Shakur found compelling enough to buy and bring home and read.

I'm into Tupac lately, based on conversations I've been having with a relatively new friend. Tupac confronts the mainstream image of hip hop as thuggish; though his lyrics are unvarnished and harshly reflective of street life, he is, as his library shows and his biographers attest, deeply thoughtful and culturally important. Two of our authors go so far as to declare him a type of prophet--"not exactly Elijah or Isaiah. But . . . an appropriate word for a given situation. The connections run deeper than you think. It all depends on what you hear."

I'm comfortable with "prophet" being a category not restricted to people in the Bible or even people in the church--although, as with any salutary term, it can be doled out too loosely. But in general I think the world could use more prophetic-minded people, people willing to offer an appropriate word for a given situation. I quote no less a prophet than Moses, no less a prophet than Joel:

"Are you jealous for my sake? I wish that all the LORD's people were prophets and that the LORD would put his Spirit on them!"

"And afterward,
       I will pour out my Spirit on all people.
       Your sons and daughters will prophesy,
       your old men will dream dreams,
       your young men will see visions.

 Even on my servants, both men and women,
       I will pour out my Spirit in those days."

Rabbit

Well, it's the first of the month again, which means all over the world people are clamoring to be the first in their networks to say the word rabbit--or, on the East Coast, "rabbit, rabbit." I always get late night/early morning calls and e-mails when the calendar flips, and our Facebook group "Rabbit Uber Alles!" sees its only action for an entire lunar cycle.

Kudos to Dan, who posted first on Facebook. And a group hug for Andy, who only yesterday was psyching himself up for the challenge but today declared publicly that he "totally forgot." There there, Andy, you're good at some things, like culture making, for example.

To all the rest of you, keep trying. If you need a reminder, hop on by my house; I just saw a rabbit nibbling its way through my back yard.