Dry Cleaning

I’ve been dragging my feet on taking my black suit to the cleaners. It’s been two months since I got mud all over it at my grandpa’s burial service. It had been a rainy December and we all (especially us pall bearers) had shoes that were caked in mud after carrying the casket to it’s final resting place. I thought about taking the suit to the cleaners today, but I decided an afternoon nap might be better since my alarm went off at 4:45 A.M. this morning. It would have made for a nice symbolic Ash Wednesday activity.

From dust we come, and to dust we shall return.

The imposition of ashes on this day is a liturgical slap in the face. As I looked around the church tonight and saw people with crosses on their foreheads, I thought about how we looked like a forest of trees with spray painted X’s on them. In a way we were. We are all scheduled to be cut down. Despite what we like to think, and what our culture constantly tells us, our earthly selves will pass away. No amount of anti-aging cream can change that. As the hymn “Our God, Our Help in Ages Past” puts it so bluntly, “time, like an ever-rolling stream, soon bears us all away. We fly forgotten as a dream dies at the opening day.”

Ash Wednesday puts us in our place and helps us begin that necessary journey through Lent and Holy Week. We beg forgiveness for the wrongs that we do and remember our own mortality. It is only after we have attempted to come to grips with that reality that we can celebrate with reality of ashes and celebrate the filling of the font with the water of salvation.

One thing we all share is that we, along with my grandpa and others who have gone before us, will return to the ground from which we’ve come. Like ashes, though, we will be made pure in death. We live in hope that our earthly selves will pass away, while the divine within each of us will live forever.

This is the hard reality and the great hope of Ash Wednesday: From dust we come, and to dust we shall return.

Midterm Examen

Well, we’re now on the other side of the Young Adult Volunteer hill. Today marks the halfway point in this year’s experience in Nashville. And so far, this experience has been every bit as transforming as it was advertised to be. I have been in situations I never thought I would see, I have met interesting people who have been both loving and cruel to themselves and those around them, I have made some life-long friends, and I have even learned to enjoy eating grits.

Each night (or I should say, most nights) at the Toolshed, the four of us gather to engage in a spiritual practice called the examen. This is a time of looking back on the day that has passed that calls to mind both the good and bad things that have happened. The pattern we have typically followed is a sharing of each day’s high and low point. Another way of saying this is “when did I feel God’s presence most closely, and when did I feel that God was farthest from me?” This not only keeps us aware of what is going on in one another’s’ lives, but allows us an opportunity to engage in some serious reflection about what has gone on during the day. The examen is a useful tool for vocational discernment as well. For example, if I make a habit of saying “the low point of my day was the eight hours when I had to work with homeless people and the high point of my day was when it was time to come home from work,” then I can probably take from this that my calling is probably not to work with the homeless.

So, here is a little examen, looking back at the highs and lows of last five and a half months.


Discerning my Vocation
I have been confronted several times this year with Frederick Beuchner’s definition of vocation as the place where one’s deepest needs meet the world’s greatest hunger. At the beginning of the year, I came into this experience thinking that I would be led through some process that would give me a road map of my future. I, through the help of our fantastic vocational discernment specialist Janet Salyer, have broadened my definition of vocation from a basic “what am I going to do when I grow up” to a more intense questioning of what God is calling me to be at any given moment. Few receive a direct life plan from heaven in the form of some divine edict. For most of us, we can discern what God wants us to do as a next step. For me, I am less sure that I want to head to seminary right away next year than I was in September, when I viewed this year as just a logical stepping stone between college and seminary. It is still what I want to do, but I have realized there is no reason to be in a hurry.

Second Presbyterian

People from outside the congregation always ask us what church we decided to attend in Nashville, and we always say, “Second Pres., but we really didn’t have a choice in the matter.” Even though I didn’t have a choice, and I haven’t been to any of the other Presbyterian churches here, I am pretty sure Second would be the church I’d end up a part of anyway. Second is a demonstration in many ways of what it means to be countercultural. Nashville is home to more churches per capita than any other city, most of those being of the conservative evangelical variety. A view of abortion and homosexuality as the most pressing moral issues is not uncommon here in the “buckle of the Bible belt,” rather than those that Jesus focused on such as loving our poor and oppressed neighbors. Second is a church that isn’t afraid to be a little different and I appreciate that. It has also been interesting to see Second Presbyterian transform itself from a church that primarily viewed itself as the church that is rebuilding from a fire, to a church that has had its identity changed back to what I assume it was before the 2003 fire. The beautiful new church building inspires its members to worship enthusiastically and remember those outside its walls. It says a lot that they are willing to host four young people to serve the community in an intense way on their behalf, and provide a mother figure (Susan) to take care of us.

Intentional Christian Community
The absolute best part of this experience so far has been the one that happens inside The Toolshed. I can’t imagine that four more compatible people could have been chosen to inhabit 600 square feet of house behind Second Presbyterian. Chasie, Tara and Patrick have become a second family to me in our time together. My favorite times are the ones where we are all sitting on our couches together in the living room just talking. Tara and I will start bantering about something, usually an expression of our well-churched dorkiness. I’ll start bragging about my ordination as a deacon and start putting down the others for being “lay people” and then it’s all downhill from there as we start talking about the value of blue vs. purple as the seasonal color of Advent. Then one of the girls will throw something at me so they can make fun of me for not being able to catch anything. Our household is great.


The Campus
Working at the Campus for Human Development has given me a glimpse into the life of our society’s bottom class. I work on a daily basis with people who depend on government and charity for their every need. They often are used to being looked at with looks of disgust, and most have problems with substance abuse. I have seen a lot of things in the past few months. I’ve stood in human waste, I’ve broken up fights, I’ve caught a drug deal in progress, I’ve seen people with black eyes and bloodied lips who have been beaten up, I’ve been called every name in the book and probably some ones that aren’t even in the book, I’ve seen one too many people drunk off mouthwash, and I’ve been coughed on and sneezed on by people who are carrying who knows what disease. Yet, in the midst of all this, I have come to love the work that I have been doing, and can imagine few things as fulfilling as working at the Campus. The thing I love is that this is an organization that is really founded upon the principles of Christianity. We do not try to get people to convert to our religious views, but rather live them out in daily life. It is an honor to know, serve, and be served by the homeless. The thing I’ve been most impressed about at the Campus is the sense of hope that arises out of ugly situations. No matter what has gone on during the day, we always find something to laugh about. It is a place that is filled with the feeling of family. My favorite times at the Campus have been the times when I have felt like we were making a home for people. They have been the times when a woman decorated our Christmas tree with things she had purchased, when people have apologized to me for saying something they shouldn’t have said, when people have come up and made sure that I was okay after somebody was yelling at me, or when someone just comes up and says “thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” The Campus staff is filled with true professionals who don’t always have the answers, but seldom fail to act without respect for each person as a child of God.

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

I am so thankful that I ended up in Nashville. When I initially applied for the YAV program, it was mostly as a back up for the actual position I wanted in the Young Adult Intern program. I know that God called me to this time and place, and I am thankful that my calling was shared by three other outstanding people that we could share in this experience together. Writer (and Presbyterian) Anne LaMotte says that there are really only two prayers that she needs: “help me, help me, help me,” and “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Hebrews 13:2

From The Tennessean:

English now official language of Metro: Council passes controversial law

And in very related news from CNN.com:

Klan growing, fed by anti-immigrant feelings

Whether you're wearing white sheets and burning crosses or wearing suits and serving on Metro Council, the message is the same.

"As I long for my Indiana home..."

GO COLTS!

One Day

Thursday, February 1, 2007

6:45 A.M. :: The T-Mobile jingle (duh-da-duh-da-dum…duh-da-duh-da-dum…) wakes me up as it does every day from my cell phone/alarm clock. This is a great way to advertise.

6:55 A.M. :: I actually wake up for good, as I somehow do every day. I look out the window to see how much snow we got. There was a light dusting on my windshield.

7:46 A.M. :: How do I manage to get into my car every day at the same exact time? I drive to the Campus. I accidentally drive about 35 miles per hour through a school zone by Carter Lawrence School on 12th Avenue. I slow down to the required 15 about 30 feet from the sign that marks the end of the zone, knowing that people actually obey school zone speeds here, unlike in Indiana where they are merely a 25 MPH formality. I am paranoid about seeing police lights in my rear view mirror the whole way to work.

7:57 A.M. :: I get to the Campus. I find a parking spot that isn’t in the middle of the lot, which is where you park if you get there later in the morning.

8:00 A.M. :: The police arrive and I start to run for cover since I’m sure they’re looking for me to give me my speeding ticket. My fears are relieved when they explain that they’re responding to a complaint about prank calls being made from the day room telephone during the early morning hours.

8:02 A.M. :: I unlock the door to the Campus and give the three women who are always first in line a hard time.

8:03 A.M. :: I remember why we dread the first of the month. The good part of it is that the Campus has funds again to help people get their Tennessee State ID cards, birth certificates, prescriptions, Traveler’s Aid vouchers and Salvation Army clothing vouchers. The bad part is that it all requires a lot of paperwork. And all the requests come in at once.

9:00 A.M. :: I first hear that one of our participants, and one who I have gotten to know pretty well, who is in a coma following a lethal combination of pre-existing health conditions, and ingesting a deadly mix of painkiller and alcohol. Some of the other guys bring me his and his girlfriend’s bags that they took from Room In The Inn, where he was found unconscious and bleeding heavily this morning, to put in my office.

9:45 A.M. :: It’s time for the store. Within about two minutes of opening the store, where we allow people to exchange points that they earn by going to classes for useful items such as hats, gloves, underwear, du-rags, hair brushes, radios, notebooks and the like, I was ready to close it. People were complaining that we were cheating them out of points, and that we didn’t have good enough things and that we didn’t have the things they wanted. Just as I was about to give some people a little talking to about appreciating this free stuff we were letting them have, a man thanked me for what we were doing and I remembered to not take the groaning of the masses so seriously.

10:20 A.M. :: I close the store on time, which is something I am a stickler about. There is actually nobody I have to turn away. Usually, if I don’t turn people away, I’d be there for the rest of the day.

10:30 A.M. :: I am in the copy room trying to print something onto Campus letterhead to help a lady in her search for housing. I hear Anneice paging me, so I call her. “The sheriff is here to see you.” I figure that he is there to take me away for speeding through the school zone, but I go downstairs anyway. He just wants to put a warrant or something in the mail room like usual.

11:00 A.M. :: We are trying to find some family contact information for the man who is dying at the hospital. His girlfriend (who would probably be his wife in any other setting) is on the phone with us asking if we know anyone in his family to contact because she doesn’t.

11:30 A.M. :: It is time for lunch at the Campus, which we serve each Thursday. As I’m locking the door as we close before lunch time, the woman who is the partner (for lack of a better term) of the dying man comes in the door crying. I ask her what is going on, and she tells me that she is there to get his ID card for the hospital. His heart has stopped beating twice and he has been revived both times. I take her back to my office to get his wallet. She cries, and my eyes well up. She says, “Jeff, what will I do if he dies? I’ll be all alone.” I manage to say something about how we at the Campus are her family. She says, “My daddy just died, now he’s gonna die…what is God punishing me for…why does God hate me like this?” I don’t know what to say.

11:40 A.M. :: Lunch is well underway. I don’t really help much and I kind of wander around a little. Sandwiches are being served, so it is a pretty easy meal to handle.

11:45 A.M. :: I am pouring out the big can of beer that was handed to me from the man’s belongings that are in my office into the sink in Fred and Anneice’s office. I walk into the hallway and join the woman, Anneice and the volunteer who leads Bible study in a prayer.

12:15 P.M. :: I eat with Anneice, Marcus (our new Vanderbilt football player intern), and Stacy, a volunteer from Trevecca. We laugh about some of our most eccentric participants (the one who takes all of his clothes off when he gets high, the one that keeps making baby noises, etc.).

1:15 P.M. :: Thank God the checks are finally here. The first of the month is when everybody gets their government checks. That means that many people have been hanging around for the last three weeks waiting on that next check to come so they can spend it in the first week of the month on things like food, bills, and adding a hefty portion to their savings accounts in hopes of saving for a down payment on housing. And by food, bills and savings, I mean cheap motel rooms, crack, and booze. That is the sad life of a person who is addicted.

2:45 P.M :: I’m staffing the day room by myself since most of the others got off work at 2:30. There’s just a small crowd there getting their daily dose of Miami Vice (we had been in a routine of watching Bonanza and Gunsmoke, but TV Land changed the times, before that, they always wanted to watch Charmed (aka “the show with those witches”)). Many people have gone to get what must be so tempting, a motel room.

3:15 P.M. :: One of the participants is helping me run the phone list so I don’t have to worry about resetting the timer ever 7 minutes while I’m making endless runs to get cough drops and cold pills for people.

3:55 P.M. :: I turn off the TV in the day room and begin my “okay, everybody start heading toward the door” routine.

3:57 P.M. :: I start to worry that one of the guys is dead when I try to wake him up for about 45 seconds by shouting at him and shaking him. He finally wakes up.

4:02 P.M. :: The last people finally file out, leaving the staff with a huge pile of bags to carry outside.

4:10 P.M. :: We finally begin our daily staff wrap-up meeting, where we discuss participants, suspensions that we have given (i.e. the difference between a day for basic cussing and a month for verbal abuse), property matters, and which staff members will be out the next day. Most of the meeting is spent discussing the man in a coma and the needs of his girlfriend and the church that found him covered in blood.

4:15 P.M. :: One of our guys is dead. Though we don’t know it yet, the man in the hospital has been removed from life support. I would find that out the next morning when I walk in and see that we are beginning a moment of silence and an impromptu 5-minute memorial service for him.

4:25 P.M. :: It’s time to go home. It’s always a chore to make sure I don’t hit anybody with my car as I’m pulling out of the lot. I watch my speed all the way back through Music Row and down Belmont Boulevard in case the police have been hunting for me all day.

7:30 P.M. :: My roommates are finally all home. It’s community night, so we all eat together. It was so nice of the people from church to bring us white chili, salad, chips, and fruit the night before. There was enough to stretch into two nights.

8:30 P.M. :: This is one of our less well planed out community nights, and we’re all kind of looking at each other to see what we should do. We are all a little too tired from the day to talk about Marjorie Thompson’s Soul Feast like we started last week, so we really don’t do anything else, which is alright by me for this night.

9:00 P.M. :: I catch up on some e-mails, and start writing this blog entry.

10:45 P.M. :: It’s time for bed.

11:15 P.M. :: I put down my Time magazine and turn out the light. Another day of living is over.

The Tennessee Waltz

Here are some pictures to illustrate what's been going on in my life for the last month or so. I love hearing back from those who read my blog, so please remember to leave a comment every now and again with any reflections, questions or comments you might have for me. Also, remember that my blog posts can be e-mailed directly to you as I publish them, so please let me know if you are interested in that.

Click on the pictures and they should enlarge.

The Indiana State women's basketball team played in the Holiday Tournament at Vanderbilt right before Christmas. Michael and Douglas Shaw along with my brother Brian came down for the games. It was nice to see them and about 40 other Sycamore fans who made the trip.

The final score of the tournament's championship game: #13 Vanderbilt 89, Indiana State 75. It was a very respectable showing for playing the 13th best team in the NCAA on its home floor.

With all the attention that had to be given to my grandpa's illness during December, the tree at home didn't get decorated until the 23rd. The Moles family tree was shaped like a Hershey's Kiss this year.

Back in Nashville: January 6

Since we are in the Nashville Epiphany Project, we celebrated Epiphany by cooking dinner together. Tara, Patrick and I made some chicken fajitas and a pear-chocolate-ice cream desert out of Tara's new Rachael Ray cookbook.

It was a nice surprise to come home this past Monday night to a birthday party! Since my actual birthday was New Year's Eve, my roommates threw me a little party on Martin Luther King Day. "Jefe" is my nickname around the Toolshed. Jefe (pronounced "heffay" for us non-Spanish speakers) means "boss." I think I got that nickname because I am the oldest and, of course, who would question my authority?

I was warmly welcomed.

Patrick cooked dinner, which was potato soup. He did a good job!

After dinner, we played one of my favorite games: Trivial Pursuit 90's Edition. Tara and Chasie won.

We had the unique opportunity to attend Tennessee Governor Phil Bredesen's Inaugural Balls last night. He especially wanted me there because I have become such an important part of this state. Okay, so maybe we went because we saw that free tickets were available to the public, and we were lucky enough to get them. In this picture is country singer (can you imagine that in Nashville?) Josh Gracin, who apparently was on American Idol.

Governor Bredesen (a Democrat!) and First Lady Andrea Conte danced the official first dance of his second term to "The Tennessee Waltz." The Pioneer Ball was held at The Wildhorse Saloon, which is the place where they used to film that line dancing tv show.

The night was a lot of fun, and it was definitely an interesting people-watching event.

There was another ball at BB King's Blues Club, and our tickets were actually for it, but it was too crowded.

Of course the Governor wanted my opinions on policy matters, so he was sure to come over and talk with me. Well, at least he shook my hand and thanked me for being there. Unfortunately, my camera takes so long to actually take a picture, I have a picture from about 3 seconds later.

Jo Dee Messina was the headliner of the Pioneer Ball.

All of Tennessee's finest were there.

All three of us saw people we knew at the Ball. Tara saw a high school guy she met through Conexion Americas. Chasie saw a friend from Rhodes College (who is an actual Rhodes Scholar). I saw some homeless friends when we were outside afterward. Not being able to walk around downtown anonymously is a side effect of working at the Campus.

The Drum Major Instinct

This year’s celebration of Martin Luther King Day was different for me. It wasn’t just a day off this time around. (And yes, I was the only one of my housemates who had to get up and go to work on Monday.) It was the first time I’d actually spent Martin Luther King Day with a group of people who were mostly African Americans. I was with people who marched with King and one who was in Memphis the day he was killed. Racism is a reality of life in all communities—rich or poor. Many times it manifests itself in more subtle ways among the rich. The first thing I noticed as I drove my car into the Campus parking lot on Monday was that all of the Hispanic guys were standing together, separate from the rest of the group. Within the bigger group of homeless people gathering waiting for us to open there were small pockets of white guys standing together among the black majority. This is no different than the way the housed divide up into different neighborhoods based on race. It’s not uncommon for me to hear something like “well I know you guys only help black people here,” or “of course you don’t do anything for black people,” or “how come you let those Spanish-speaking people in here? This is America.”

During the day, we had many activities to celebrate MLK Day. I was in charge of making table tents for the tables that included quotes from Dr. King. We had classes for people to attend, including literature, a motivational session, and art projects. I led a Martin Luther King trivia class, where we played Jeopardy-style. It was interesting to see how most of the people knew everything possible about Martin Luther King, Jr., while one young man who I persuaded to come knew absolutely nothing (he also didn’t know what Easter celebrated). But, we played on teams so nobody felt left out, and we had a really good time.

The best part of the day for me, was when we showed a DVD of some speeches by Dr. King. Listening to the “I Have a Dream” speech in the crowded day room was a moving experience as people shouted their “amens” and focused more closely on King’s words than I’ve seen them focus on anything else since I’ve been there. I looked around the room and noticed all the faces that were there—the oppressed people of today who people want to keep in ghettos. These are the people who we’re trying to keep out of our restrooms and restaurants and out of sight.

When I got in my car at the end of the day, I noticed that the Hispanic guys were still standing by themselves by the shed, and the white guys were still together, and the black people were still a little suspicious that we weren’t celebrating Martin Luther King Day to the extent that we should have. In the outside world, people were still trying to make English-only legislation and build border fences. The wealthiest 20% of people still owned over half of our nation’s wealth, while the poorest 20% only had about 4% while the gap continues to widen.

The dream is still a dream.

Open our ears and loosen our tongues.

One morning this week as I was working at the support desk, being stretched more thinly than normal because of some staffing shortages, I got to see something in person that I’ve never seen before (not that that’s unusual at the Campus). There was a woman speaking in tongues. She had come in looking for a homeless gentleman she needed to give something to, but she could not find him. I figured she had left, but as I was trying to do a million other things I all of a sudden heard some passionate voices, which usually means trouble. This time it was prayer. It was a vigorous and loud and rocking kind of prayer that Presbyterians don’t usually pray (at least aloud in public). This woman was pulling participants aside and offering to pray with them. Her Pentecostal style of praying, with tongues that I’ve only heard on religious TV channels, was completely foreign to my experience as a Christian. I wasn’t sure what to make of this, and I’m still not.

Thursday evening, we went to an ecumenical worship service at Christ the King Catholic Church to celebrate the first day of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. The service was sponsored by Second Presbyterian, Christ the King and the Nashville Community of Sant’Egidio. Jim Kitchens and John McClure participated in the service’s leadership. The theme of this year’s international celebration is “Open our Ears and Loosen Our Tongues,” based on Mark 7:37 (“He even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.”) The service at Christ the King opened with three minutes of silence that began with this invitation:

Let us keep silence before God…silent within ourselves…opening our hearts to the silence of our sisters and brothers living in suffering: “if one member suffers, all suffer together” (1 Cor 12:26).
May our ears be opened by this silence in communion with those whose voice we do not hear, either because they keep silent or they are silenced. Let us hear the call of Christ to the suffering of others, placing us firmly as Christians of all confessions before our common responsibilities.

It was easy for me to conjure up the sounds of the silenced. Those are the sounds that I sometimes have a hard time shaking at the end of the day. My co-workers at the Campus and I have talked about how the dreams we have at night that are so often centered around the people we work with during the day. And though I usually don’t remember specifics about what I am dreaming about, what I usually do remember is being awakened by the noise of people yelling or calling my name.

There are big gaps between Christians. There are walls of silence such as the one between the conservative Pentecostals like the woman who was speaking tongues the other day and the liberal Presbyterians like me. Those walls exist between Christians who experience God in informal churches that meet in huge arenas and those who worship using ordered liturgies. There is silence between Christians for whom the primary task of faith is to convert others and those who see working toward social justice as the most important thing, and even those who land somewhere in the middle. What if in our silence, our ears could be opened, despite our many differences, to the cries of those who are our common responsibilities?

I still don’t understand why or how that woman at the Campus was speaking in tongues. But, I do know that she and I were there for the same reason: because God calls us all to hear the silenced, however feeble our efforts may be. May we all pray for a day when together, the body of Christ can join as the church with open ears and able to speak and live the good news together in a world that so deeply needs to hear it.

This was the final blessing given at the ecumenical service on Thursday night:

“As you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” Mt 25:40

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Mt 11:28

Dear friends, these words of Christ apply to each and every one of us. Christ is close to us in the heart of our actions, including our ecumenical actions, as well as in the suffering of the sick, the solitude and discouragement of many of us. He supports us in our weakness. He is our consolation and blessing.

Blessed be the Lord our God for the love which you have shown us
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
In him who loved us we are conquerors over hardship, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, peril and the sword.

In the silence of abandonment and solitude,
of sickness and death,
pour out the riches of your blessing,
that we may ever be more faithful to serve you
in our sisters and brothers,
and that our joy to do your will be ever greater.

We bless you and glorify you,
for you listen to the silence of our hearts.
You act within us with power, healing us and leading us
to speak in the name of Jesus, your Son.

Send us into the world to carry out your will
and to break down the walls of silence which separate us.
May we witness to you, our only Saviour,
being ever more united by “one faith and one baptism.”

And may we grow in grace
and in the peace of God which passes all understanding,
that your name may be glorified.
Amen.

Epiphanies

Since this is the twelfth and final day of Christmas--Epiphany, and I am spending my year in the Nashville Epiphany Project, I figured it would be a good day to post. Beginning on this day and in the weeks that follow during Ordinary Time, the church focuses on the stories of Christ's revealing as the messiah. Starting with the story of the visiting magi, and continuing with stories of Jesus' baptism (this is my son...), the wedding at Cana, stories of healing and preaching, and ending with the mysterious story of the transfiguration of Jesus, we see how the people of 2000 years ago had epiphanies in their own lives about the identity of Jesus.

This year is all about finding God in places that we don't expect to find anything divine. It is about going to the places in this particular community of Nashville that the world has forgotten or loves to hate, whether that's in a community of immigrants who aren't welcome in the place that they have come to make a new life for them and their families, or in low-income housing projects where single mothers do their best to keep their children from the ever present dangers of drugs and violence, or an alleyway on 8th Avenue South where lonely and angry people look to another can of beer as their source of comfort. The message of Christmas is that Jesus came into the world and has walked in the shoes of the unwelcome stranger, the struggling parent, and the homeless addict. The best place to look for God isn't in the coffee shop at your mega-church, or in a great piece of religious art, or even in the sermon at church on Sunday, though God certainly is in all of those places. The best place for the epiphanies of our own lives to happen--to recognize that God is with us--is in looking at the direct image of God in our neighbors. In the weaving of hearts and the passing of peace in worship, in helping the grieving, in loving the poor, in welcoming others: this is where Epiphany happens.

The Work of Christmas

by Howard Thurman

"When the song of the angels is stilled,

When the star in the sky is gone,

When the kings and princes are home,

When the shepherds are back with their flock,

The work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost,

To heal the broken,

To feed the hungry,

To release the prisoner,

To rebuild the nations,

To bring peace among brothers,

To make music in the heart."

— The Mood of Christmas, 23

It's been a long December, but there's reason to believe...

Did You Know?

Some people attend parties on New Year's Eve, while others celebrate their birthday/new years by blogging!

Every week in Newsweek, the Conventional Wisdom Watch section gives up or down arrows to people and things that have been in the news. So I thought I’d review the year 2006 in a similar fashion. Who was up? What was down? Who was somewhere in the middle? Have a happy 2007!

↑ Beans – I’ve never been too excited about a plate of beans staring up at me from the table. I have been attempting to expand my food repertoire, and have been increasing the amount of beans I’ve been eating. Over the week of Christmas, in fact, I quite enjoyed green bean casserole and refried beans.

↑ Tennessee – I remember last Thanksgiving during an ISU basketball game vs. Middle Tennessee State at the Hulman Center that I remarked to our out of town relatives from Boston that “at least Indiana is a whole lot better than Tennessee.” Well, I ended up living there about 10 months later. I have to say it isn’t quite as bad as I always imagined. So far, I have not been recruited for Klan membership or anything.

↑ Steamers – I’ve always been someone who had trouble stopping myself from getting my normal grande vanilla latte when I go out for coffee at night. When I do that, I end up being awake until 3:00am. Ordering a caramel steamer is my new solution. I’d recommend the soul-warming taste of a steamed milk with caramel syrup to anyone.

↑ Stingrays – I have more respect for these creatures. I will not be attending the stingray petting zoo at Opry Mills anytime soon.

↑ Sycamore Men’s Basketball – The Indiana State men’s basketball team could go nowhere but up after the beginning of 2006, when we lost like 11 in a row after starting last season 8-0. The good news was that last season we beat IU, Northern Iowa (while they were ranked), Southern Illinois (breaking their longest-in-the-nation home winning streak), and Bradley (Sweet 16 team). The Missouri Valley has risen to be one of the best conferences in Division 1—it’s currently ranked third behind the PAC-10 and the ACC (ahead of the Big 10, Big 12, SEC, etc). So far this season, ISU has been pretty good. They have been the only team to beat nationally ranked Butler, and while I’ve been home for Christmas, they blew out Purdue and came back from a 17-point defecit to beat Drake. Plus, the men’s games are now as fun as the women’s ones to attend.

↔ Sycamore Women’s Basketball – The women’s team finished last season 27-6, but nothing went right from about March 1 on. They never made it into the actual top-25 polls (they were usually sitting right on top of the “others receiving votes” section). They lost the tournament championship game (for the third year of the last four), and didn’t get that at-large bid in the NCAA tourney that all the experts predicted. We lost in the 2nd round of the WNIT to IU of all teams. Then, our star point guard Melanie Boeglin, who everybody predicted would be picked in the late 1st or early 2nd round of the WNBA draft didn’t get drafted. The good news is that the new team this season is off to a great start and will be better than the conference championship team from last year that got no respect.

↑ Nancy Pelosi – A woman will be 3rd in line to the presidency in a few weeks. She was villified in countless Republican campaign commercials as some evil liberal from San Francisco, yet the grand new party actually took back both houses of Congress, which I would never have thought possible a year ago.

↓ Republicans – Ha Ha!

↑ The Trinity – Many people were upset at the report on the Holy Trinity that came before the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) General Assembly this summer because, affirming the traditional Father-Son-Holy Spirit language for the trinity, it suggested some other images that might be used to more fully understand the Trinity. I think being able to imagine a mystery in ways that might include more feminine (gasp!) language is good theology.

↔ Country Music – Although I’m surrounded by country music in Music City, I am not planning to become a fan anytime soon. Okay, so maybe I’ve enjoyed a little bit of bluegrass, though.

↓ Animals – I have little appreciation for them, whether they are cats that throw up all over the place or mice in my office.

↓ Television – Maybe it would be better if we had cable. Really, I’ve only watched the local news since September.

↔ Spiders – Brown recluses are a little bit freaky, but they haven’t killed any of us – yet.

↑ Small homes – I think cramming as many people as possible into small spaces will soon become all the rage.

↔ Advent Wreaths – I get excitement out of celebrating the liturgical year, but we need an edict from the pope or General Assembly or someone about the proper color scheme for the Advent season. I am all into blue—which seems to be the trend. I hear it was Mary’s favorite color (she’s always wearing it—just look at the next nativity scene you see). Others insist that purple is the best color, and some try to throw in that pink candle for gaudete Sunday.

↑ Lutherans (ELCA, of course) – I have been extremely blessed in the past year by the people at Trinity Lutheran in Terre Haute where I worked as music director for three years. They threw a real nice shindig (no, the South is not affecting my vocabulary!) for me when I left, and have been very good about keeping in touch with me since I’ve been in Nashville.

↑ Curb Your Enthusiasm – This show is hillarious. It’s on HBO, and I’ve been watching it on DVD a lot this year.

↓ Movies – I’ve realized I only enjoy movies that fall into two genres: comedies and documentaries. That’s a little strange, isn’t it.

↑ Communion – I didn’t realize how much I loved having weekly communion at church until I came to Nashville and didn’t have that anymore at Second. The Lord’s Supper has historically been the central part of weekly worship, and John Calvin thought it was good to have weekly communion, yet the majority of Presbyterians still don’t do it (though more are all the time). What’s the deal?

↓ Paychecks – I now work forty hours a week, and make less than half of what I did working 15 hours a week at the church.

↑ Smart Alecks – I’ve discovered being one of these is one of my spiritual gifts. It will either make me millions or get me killed (possibly before this year is out!).