Comma Dot Comma

Looky! Three posts in one day. Pace yourself– they have to last all week since we (yes, that’s the royal we, plus Dr. G) will be on vacation. We will be near jungles, volcanoes, reefs, and beaches. We will also be near ceviche and coffee plantations and bad roads. If you guess the location, I will bring you some cooled lava for a prize.

This post is devoted to strange yet wonderful out-of-print Christian-themed music from the 70’s. Our first entry is from a band called Daniel Amos. It’s the title song from their 1977 album, Shotgun Angel. It’s a country tune about a lonely trucker. Jesus talks to him through the CB radio and makes his truck fly through the air instead of driving on the road like regular trucks.

The second is from a family band called the 2nd Chapter of Acts. The start of their musical career is very sad– their parents died and they sang around the piano to share their grief. This song from 1975, “The Devil’s Lost Again,” ROCKS. And the women make chicken sounds repeatedly in the bridge and the fade-out.

I don’t think you’d get either of these beauties on Family Life radio today.

Shotgun Angel

The Devil’s Lost Again

Well I’ve dropped the ball a bit this week on ye olde blog. Mostly because I felt the need for a long, serious follow-up to my previous long, serious post. And that just didn’t seem fun. Some people are excellent at churning out long and serious. I need to work up to it. At the bare minimim I must march around the house with my fists to my temples shouting “A HUM INNA HUM INNA.”

Anyhoo. Got some interesting feedback on my essay. I liked Eun’s comment about not making God our “personal genie.” She also suggested a personal history of disillusionment that came through in my writing. True. I can’t complain a bit about my own life– quite the opposite in fact. Most of my sadness has come from comparing my life to others that have, in my estimation, a much harder time of it, both in this country and around the world. One’s lot in life seems so determined by an accident of birth, and that just don’t seem fair to an American girl with the whole “created equal” thing ingrained in my head. But that whole line of thinking is a maze of a journey with no answers, so I’ll just assign it to the “beyond my ken” category and leave it aside.

Speaking of which, if I got appointed Bible Editor I’d take out the “God’s deal with the devil” part of the book of Job, because it totally messes up the big showdown at the end. in which God most eloquently shuts down Job and his friends for having neither the right nor the capacity to know why things happen the way they do. It’s so funny that Job doesn’t get to know the reasons, but the anonymous omnicient narrator does.

Another friend mentioned that my point of view, while sensible, requires us to give up a “God is my buddy” perspective, which is scary. In some ways you do have to give it up (there are a few people in history who have been called friends of Jesus or God but that is not the primary relationship we have) and on the other hand, I think we can still look for evidence of divine care in other arenas without treading on God’s sovreignty. More below.

Kate wondered how prayer fits in with this hands-off view of life. An excellent question, and one that I haven’t thought much about. All I know is that we are invited and encouraged to pray as a way of participating in God’s work, entirely apart from any results. I pray for circumstances and situations quite a bit, but I don’t go so far as to say a certain outcome must be the result of my prayer. If something in a neutral or negative circumstance begins to shift inexplicably toward the positive, then I often suggest that people somewhere must be praying. Who knows how all that stuff works. Probably the real theologians have better ideas.

I’ve found some new thinking habits that help me stay out of the “unequal circumstances” maze.

1. Keep a sense of perspective. I remind myself of the many generations it often takes for God to fulfill his promises, and that He is concerned with groups as much as or more than individuals. I wrote more about this a few years ago in Salt. Also, the people who make it into the bible stories are the exceptions, not the rule. Their interactions with God are so out of the ordinary that they are worth recording for posterity.

2. Focus on the New Testament. The promises God makes in the old testament are attractive because they often include what I call “the good stuff”– family, wealth, health, and so on. But they are mostly historically particular, and tied to specific people, times, and places. It is tricky to treat them as eternally and universally applicable. I must not use them as guidelines for what to expect in my own life or the lives of those around me.

3. Practice valuing what the New Testament, especially the recorded words and acts of Jesus, values. This is harder than it sounds. There are few, if any, promises in there about getting awesome spouses, healthy children, good jobs, and excellent deals on personal property. In fact, the contrary: persecution, divided families, and giving all we have to the poor are some things I remember reading more than once. Yet what fills my mind most these days are thoughts of building my family, buying a house, and fulfillment at work. Default attitude, I value the usual ideas of “the good stuff” more than the kingdom of God.

4. Look everywhere for, and testify to, signs of Gods care according to the values and promises of the New Testament. What do Jesus and his early followers describe as signs of God’s grace and care? I’ve got no plans to do a detailed topical survey here, but the following come to mind:

The grace of salvation. Salvation, as a term, comes with a lot of baggage. And yet, the ongoing rescue and restoration of human beings to God is the most important evidence of His care.

The promise of nearness and attention. Jesus promised that he and his father would be with us always. Often, though not always, we can feel that presence and attention, especially in the community of believers. This is evidence of care, though by itself it cannot sustain me– sometimes my awareness of that presence fades or disappears altogether.

True community. Jesus founded and promised to nurture a community of people eager to serve God together in a new way, and that community is the primary way that God reveals love and care. I am a strand in a net of shared hope and love that extends backwards and forwards in time and around the world. Wherever words of encouragement and deeds that bring

The Holy Spirit. The renewing and lifegiving force that shapes my character, helps me to resist temptation, brings wisdom in decision making and interpreting situations, guides my actions, and allows me to impact others with hope and healing. This is a subjective sign as well, and not always detectable, and yet I can claim that any choice I make to do good against my strong desires is evidence of God’s care for me.

Miracles. Here defined as supernatural events in which the chemical or physical nature of something is definitively and measurably changed for the sake of a person or group of people. Like, say, changing water into wine. A headache going away wouldn’t count. There aren’t many of these anymore, but I feel safe claiming them as evidence of God’s care.

So instead of testifying to new jobs and washing machines, we testify to the times people have reached out with kindness in the name of Jesus. We testify to the still small voice that prompted us toward one moral choice instead of another. We offer thanks for the faith that entwines our lives apart from our circumstances, and for the gentle attention of a father who, though he does not always create or intervene as we would like, always sustains our souls and promises to bring them safely through. We give thanks because no moment is a wasted moment, and we live with the knowledge that even the most painful of them contains the promise of redemption and the opportunity to love.

It’s time for the cosmic loofah to slough off some more rough spots. Shed another skin, get lost, depart from the dark proud calculus of “meaning” with its if-then statements and chains of cause and effect, all of which Jesus resisted and now calls me to resist as well.

More and more, I find it is my duty to resist the temptation to apply cosmic meaning to the events of my life and my world. The rain falls and the sun shines on the righteous and the unrighteous alike. The laborer who works an hour gets the same wage as one who works all day. A man was not born blind because of his parents’ sin but in order to reveal the glory of God.

To succeed, I must untangle an old teaching that has been with me all my life: Every good thing that happens, I must attribute to the grace or blessing of God, and every bad thing that happens, I must assign to the effects of sin or to God’s ultimate plan, which will be revealed in due time. The purpose of this thought-habit is to shore up my faith by searching daily life for signs of God’s special care for me, and to prevent me from falling prey to destructive doubts when encountering difficult events.

Thus I hear, and sometimes tell, stories of near-misses (if I had gone my normal way to work instead of stopping at the bank first, I would have been in the nine-car pile-up) or lucky breaks (I almost bought the expensive washer at Sears, but then my sister called and told me the exact one was at a garage sale across the street) as evidence of God’s protection or blessing.

But what of the rest of the rabble? I wonder what our tales of being blessed or spared communicate about God and his people. If I escape a pile-up and attribute it to God’s protection, what am I saying about the nine people who didn’t? Did God not care enough to protect them, too? Was his attention deficient in some way? Perhaps He did care, but they were somehow unqualified to receive his care. Perhaps they disregarded the voice of God telling them to turn right back at the light or sinned by driving too fast or perhaps their purposes in God’s plan were less important than mine. Is that it? And why is it that God intervened to cut the price on my washing machine so I can afford an overnight trip to the coast, when he left an equally devout family of 10 to let their car get repossessed? Does that family has more of a lesson to learn than mine does? Or is my family’s washing machine more necessary to God’s plan than their car is to theirs? Or maybe God just loves my family more than that other family? It’s problematic.

These signs we attribute to God’s favor are only possible because the good stuff is not distributed equally: Lifespan, health, wealth, freedom, joy, faith, love, family, peace, fulfillment, freedom from pain, influence. Not only is it unequal, it is not distributed according to any obvious plan or system, and no amount of praying, hoping, or doing through the centuries has changed that basic fact of maldistribution. This discrepancy left me, like the Teacher of Ecclesiastes, in frustration and despair for some time, because it does not match up with a God who declares himself to be just, powerful, kind and loving, a giver of good gifts, an attentive father.

I’ve been moving away from that mindset of cosmic moral code for some time now but I want to experience the full humility of knowing the truth: in any act or event, I do not know God’s particular intentions towards me or anyone else. Though God is good, I cannot know all the consequences of that goodness in the world. Except in rare circumstances, none of us sees fully why things do or don’t happen, whether good or bad. The plan, except in barest outlines, is hidden. To claim special favor or complain of unfairness is to presume on God.

Does tossing the tally sheets and letting go of the whys and wherefores make me an agnostic? Am I a miserable ingrate who will not give God credit where credit is due? Am I foolishly trying to divorce my faith from experience and history? Will I look down and notice that I’ve run over the ledge and out into thin air? Well, some folks might think so. Nevertheless I believe that thankfulness, hope, trust, and a meaningful life may have even more room to bloom on this clean(ish) slate. More on that later.

I love this video of Stephen Colbert’s song and dance to “King of Glory.” Came upon it via bob’s blog.

The Weasely Twins join the Death Eaters, Snape abandons wizardry to open a goth-inflected haberdashery shop for Muggles, and, in keeping with the twins theme, it turns out that Harry and Voldemort were originally conjoined at the forehead but magically separated after the birth and raised apart, their brotherhood kept secret until the final climactic scene in which their mother returns to make them shake hands and say three nice things. Flowers bloom as expected in the spring.

Just kidding.  I have no idea what happens in the new book. But the general H. P. hoopla is getting to be a bit much, is it not?

It’s the 20th anniversary of the Princess Bride and you can check out how the cast has aged on ABC News. For previously mentioned reasons, I’m not having people over, but if I were, it would be a good time for a Princess Bride movie-watching theme party.

Decorations: Leading up to the front door, stake a sign that says “fire swamp.” Then line the walk with tiki torches, pools of sand, and fake rats. Inside, small vases of yellow flowers the color of buttercups, after princess buttercup. If you want to get fancy, go for a mix of pirate plates and plates with flowers on them. The tablecloth could be butcher paper or vinyl on which you draw a simple map of the kingdom, including the castle, the Pit of Despair, the forest, the fire swamp, the cliffs of insanity, the sea where the Dread Pirate Roberts roams, and the farm.

Food: Serve Iocane Powder Punch in plastic goblets. Any punch mix will do; it’s the name that makes it. It might be fun, depending on the crowd, to selectively add food coloring to some of the goblets’ contents so a few people with stained mouths turn up “poisoned.” Then you’d also have to have “Ressurection” Chocolate Truffles, round ones that look like the medicine Miracle Max used to revive the mostly-dead Westley. Also, since it’s movie time, popcorn, but maybe do something out of the ordinary with it. Add bowls of peanuts scattered around with signs that say, “No more rhymes now, I mean it! Anybody want a peanut?” Some salted, some candied, some otherwise flavored. If you want more substantial food, add items from the wedding feast (in the room where Inigo Montoya confronts the six-fingered man), including roasted chicken, grapes, and a wedding cake.

Activities: Watch the movie, of course. If your friends are diehard fans, you could turn the sound off for specific scenes and have a contest to see who can quote it best. “Spot the goofs” could be fun too. You could also do a Princess Bride Trivia Quiz, with a T-Shirt or Messenger Bag as a prize. You could optionally make it a costume party, though I find that most guests resent being asked to go to the trouble of finding costumes. But maybe that’s just my group of friends.

(kate  let me on to this avatar-maker)

We’re half-heartedly looking for a house to buy, especially since I have given up, temporarily, on my search for a good sofa. It will be easiest, I’ve decided, if we just wait until we move next and then off-load the old and on-load the new. The only problem is that I am too embarrassed to invite anyone over lest they actually have to sit on our horrible furniture. The recliner squeaks and does not recline; the only comfortable position on the futon is lying sideways propped up on pillows. That leaves a nice wooden rocking chair, which is not horrible but only seats one person. So, any of my dear friends and relatives, I still want to see you, just be forewarned about the seating options. Also, scorpions won’t kill you so don’t worry about that. The exterminator is coming.

Looking for a house is not the exciting dream come true I imagined, for many reasons. One, we have such an awesome landlord that I am loathe to part with such a treasure. Two, my feelings about sprawling, gritty, more-of-the-same Phoenix range from mildly hopeful to downright glum; buying a house means the cement is hardening around us. Third, housing prices are oddly high for an unlikely city plunked in the middle of the desert. We cannot afford houses in the quaint neighborhoods where our young, up-and-coming acquaintances bought their first homes at bargain prices three or four years ago. So the question shifts from “what do we want?” to “what would be okay?” It’s tempting to figure out the maximum we could afford to expand our options, but neither of us wants to get caught in a situation where we feel trapped in particular jobs because we have to make the mortgage payment. It’s good if you can like where you live and like your life at the same time. Finally, we cannot decide where to look or what to look for. This valley is fifty miles wide, for goodness sakes. North or South? East or West? New house? Old house? Condo? On the edge of town for solitude or in the middle where the action is? Where are you, little house?

I had an eventful 30 minutes last night before bed.

At 1o:30 pm I was filled with sudden resolve to Get Things Done after two weeks of sitting on my keister. First on the list? clean out the sink drains, which tend to become a little fragrant this time of year. Let’s see, I thought to myself. What is the one thing you must always do before working on the sink? Shut off the water. I reached under the cupboard to turn the knob to the right. Wait a minute. The water doesn’t need to be off for the drains. Reached under again to turn it back on. An old washer or something broke because the water started pouring out around the knob. I tested it a few times: on, off. on, off. downpour, no downpour. SIGH.

I started upstairs to work on the other two drains. Something was moving on the wall by the stairs– a bark scorpion! Normally, in an unforgiveably lazy and girly way, I point such beasties out to Dr. G. and beg him to take care of it. But he is not here. I fetched a long-handled metal spatula and dispatched it with one blow. It fell onto the stairs. I poked it to make sure it was really “dearly departed” and carried it on the spatula to the garbage disposal. Problem solved, with minimal screaming.

Back up the stairs. Wait, I forgot the old toothbrush downstairs… hm, these are slippery flip-flops. Whoops! My feet went out from under me and my keister found itself suddenly back on duty. I slid the rest of the way down and came to a rest in the foyer. It was 10:50 pm. Now that’s an eventful 20 minutes. I used the last ten minutes to actually clean out the drains.