motherhood, politics, faith & whatnot

Starting this fall, Yale is offering a handful of classes online for free. I’m eyeing the Old Testament one.

Yale to Make Select Courses Available on the Internet

of Amazon.com: Jesus for the Non-Religious: Books: John Shelby Spong interviewed on the radio yesterday.
I loved everything he said.

Here’s a linkto a blurb about him and the audio file of the interview.

The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday
Morning Commentary.

Herewith a few confessions from my beating heart: I have no freaking clue
who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and Us
constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask
the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are
either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why
they have broken up? Why are they so important?

I don’t know who Lindsay Lohan is either, and I do not care at all about Tom
Cruise’s wife. Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked
if I am a subversive? Maybe, but I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica
are. If this is what it means to be no longer young. It’s not so bad.

Next confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was
Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those
beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don’t feel threatened.
I don’t feel discriminated against. That’s what they are: Christmas trees.
It doesn’t bother me a bit when people say, “Merry Christmas” to me. I don’t
think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In
fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters
celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn’t bother me at all that there
is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in
Malibu. If people want a creche, it’s just as fine with me as is the Menorah
a few hundred yards away.

I don’t like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don’t think
Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people
who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I
have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly
atheist country. I can’t find it in the Constitution, and I don’t like it
being shoved down my throat. Or maybe I can put it another way: where did
the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren’t
allowed to worship God as we understand Him? I guess that’s a sign that I’m
getting old, too.

But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from
and where the America we knew went to.

In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a
little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it’s not funny, it’s
intended to get you thinking.

Billy Graham’s daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson
asked her “How could God let something lik e this Happen?” (regarding
Katrina) Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response.
She said, “I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for
years we’ve been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our
government and to get out of our lives. And being the gentleman He is,
I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His
blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?”

In light of recent events…terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I
think it started when Madeleine Murray O’Hare (she was murdered, her body
found recently) complained she didn’t want prayer in our schools, and we
said OK.

Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school . the Bible says
thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as
yourself. And we said OK.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn’t spank our children when they
misbehave because their little ersonalities would be warped and we might
damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock’s son committed suicide). We said an
expert should know what he’s talking about. And we said OK.

Now we’re asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they
don’t know right from wrong, and why it doesn’t bother them to kill
strangers, their classmates, and themselves. Probably, if we think about it
long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to
do with “WE REAP WHAT WE SOW.”

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the
world’s going to hell.

Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible
says.

Funny how you can send ‘jokes’ through e-mail and they spread like wildfire
but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice
about sharing.

Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through
cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and
workplace.

Are you laughing?

Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on
your address list because you’re not sure what they believe, or what they
will think of you for sending it.

Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than
what God thinks of us.

Pass it on if you think it has merit. If not then just discard it… no one
will know you did. But, if you discard this thought process, don’t sit back
and complain about what bad shape the world is in.

My Best Regards .. honestly and respectfully,

Ben Stein

the difference between evangelicals, fundamentalists and liberal protestants, and the effect of these differences on US foreign policy.

Foreign Affairs - God’s Country? - Walter Russell Mead

On the liturgical (church) calendar, we are entering the season of Advent. Advent is all about waiting. Waiting for Christ’s birth. Waiting for the time when He will return. Waiting with quiet anticipation.

The meaning and the spirit in which we can experience this season became very real to me two years ago when I was at the end of pregnancy with my second child. As preparations for Christmas whirled around me, it was all I could do to hoist myself off the couch, so I watched from the sidelines, relishing the opportunity to be a passive and quiet observer.

I would often sit with my hand on my stomach, a faraway half-smile on my face, I’m sure, pressing back softly against the the kicks and nudges coming from inside, wondering what he was going to be like, when he was going to arrive, trying to calm my concerns about the imminent birth, waiting.

What a powerful metaphor for what waiting during the Advent season can be like. We are doers, aren’t we? Running around, doing errands, meeting deadlines, checking things off the to-do list, unaccustomed to just, well, sitting . . . . waiting . . . . being . . . . existing in periods of quiet, still expectation.

The parallel between waiting for the birth of a child and the spirit of the Advent season was not lost on our associate pastor who had J and I do the reading for the first Sunday in Advent. Other pregnant couples in the church followed us over the next several weeks.

We celebrated Christmas, as usual, opening presents on Christmas morning. It was Daniel’s 2nd Christmas, but he was still a novice when it came to opening presents. Only 22 months old, he hadn’t really caught on to the whole tearing-the-wrapping-paper-off thing. But he soon did. He loved his new toy garage, and got lots of new cars and trucks.

A few days later, on the 29th, Andrew made his appearance, in under an hour from water breaking to delivery, I might add. An intense and overwhelming experience, but blessedly brief, compared to most, I think. And finally, our little guy was here.

That wait was over. Others continue. Some had just begun.

Let us wait, this Advent season, in quiet stillness and expectant wonder.

I am trying so hard to be organized and stay on top of all the things that have to be done during the holiday season, but I can already feel that buzzing in my head, that whirring that is so hard to slow down once it gets going. All those cards to write, presents to select, baked goods to make. The myriad of tiny decisions that must be made. Which cookies to make? Who gets cookies? Neighbors? Or just cards for neighbors? What about close mommy friends? Little gifts? No, maybe just cards. Bible study friends? It would be nice to get them a little something, but I should probably figure out what I’m getting my mother-in-law first, since I definitely have to get her something. And my brother. And the nephews. And my dad, he’s always so hard to buy for. Should we have church friends over for a little party? What about a get-together for the playgroup?

And then there’s the whole Santa thing. Yes, it’s a “thing” in my mind, but that’s a whole new post.

I do love this time of year. I have loved having a Christmas tree since I was a little girl. I love the twinkling lights and pulling out the box of ornaments. I love getting Christmas cards and hearing updates on the lives of faraway friends. I love reaching out to those who are special in our lives and wishing them happiness for the New Year. I love Christmas carols. And finally, I love the sense of quiet wonder that underlies the season. Culminating perhaps in a candlelit Christmas Eve service where all electric lights are extinguished and candlelight is passed from person to person in the darkness as we remember that night long ago when a little baby came into the world. And that is what it’s all about, isn’t it?

But it’s time to put this whirring brain to sleep for a few hours. Besides, we need to take care of Thanksgiving first!

I’ve felt compelled to write about this, just because I’m so intrigued by it. . .

there’s a guy in our church, in his 50s, I think.

He’s married, has a daughter who’s maybe ten years old.

He’s a former Catholic priest, possibly up until the time he, er, met his current wife.

It’s funny because you see people in church and you think of them as ordinary people who live fairly mundane lives, but then you find out about all their interesting backstories.

He’s just been ordained as a minister in our denomination and is now one of our associate pastors. He wears a long white robe during services, which I think may hail back to his days as a Catholic. I don’t know. I’ve never seen a Presbyterian with a floor-length white robe on, though.

Interesting, though, to me at least to think about how people got to where they are at today.

This song was shared by good friends several years ago, and I still think of these lyrics. Had to do a bit of searching to find them, so I wanted to park them here. Maybe they will speak to someone else as they speak to me. And if not, that’s OK, too.

We Fall Down lyrics

Artist - Bob Carlisle

Album - Stories From The Heart

Lyrics - We Fall Down

Cursing every step of the way, he bore a heavy load
To the market ten miles away, the journey took its toll
And every day he passed a monastery’s high cathedral walls
And it made his life seem meaningless and small

And he wondered how it would be to live in such a place
To be warm, well fed and at peace; to shut the world away

So when he saw a priest who walked, for once, beyond the iron gate
He said, ‘Tell me of your life inside that place…’
And the priest replied…

We fall down, we get up
We fall down, we get up
We fall down, we get up
And the saints are just the sinners
Who fall down and get up

Disappointment followed him home; he’d hoped for so much more
But he saw himself in a light he had never seen before

Cause if the priest who fell could find the Grace of God to be enough
Then there must be some hope for the rest of us
There must be some hope left for us, ‘cause…

OK, so I must rant.

I’m a Christian.

I used to keep that on the down-low because I didn’t want to be linked to those Christians. The fundamentalist ones. The preachy, judgmental, right-wing nut jobs that have elected W to office, twice.

Several years ago, I felt pushed to be more open about my faith. To find words to articulate what I believe, so I started trying to do just that, but still carefully choosing the times and places where I would open up.

I believed and still do that you are more likely to influence someone’s faith by how you live than being preachy. Lead by example, but not a self-righteous, holier than thou example, because we all do things that we’re not proud of, whether we pray to Jes*us or not. I’m not a better person than you because I believe in God’s grace. Thank God, for God’s grace.

But in addition to trying to lead a life focused on God and struggling to follow Jesus’ example and teachings which is really an impossible, unattainable goal, it is necessary to speak out sometimes. To talk about one’s faith. To not always be so willing to see things from everyone else’s point of view and be quiet and respectful of their experiences.

In fact, I’m really tired of trying to tread carefully around people’s negative experiences with organized religion so as not to offend them. Of trying to see their side of things and understand that religion brings a lot of baggage for a lot of people and that the fundamentalist right-wing nut jobs out there spewing hatred and intolerance aren’t really helping matters. I know religion leaves a bad taste in a lot of peoples’ mouth. I know all this stuff.

I’m sorry about that, I am. But I’m not like that, nor am I in any way really connected to that, so please stop and broaden your world view for a moment. Don’t paint all of us Christians with such a broad brush. “Church people” aren’t inherently bad. I’m a “church person.”

I’m tired of the expectations foisted on me if I say that I’m a Christian If I put it out there, then I feel very conscious of needing to prove to people that no, I’m not one of those Christians. I’m cool (hah) and I drink and I curse and I’m not a very patient person and I yell at my kids a little too much sometimes and I have quite a temper and I’m petty and flawed, just like everyone. And that’s exactly why I need God.

It’s so tiresome making sure to reassure people that you are one of the “good” ones. That I’m not going to make them testify and accept Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior.

How about giving me a break? How about stepping in my shoes?

Am I even making sense, I don’t know. I’m just, well, frustrated.

If you take issue with anything I’ve said here, feel free to comment. I want to discuss. I want to hear what you have to say. Frank discussions are difficult, but really helpful things.

A really powerful sermon by theologian Paul Tillich.

A long excerpt:

Do we know what it means to be struck by grace? It does not mean that we suddenly believe that God exists, or that Jesus is the Saviour, or that the Bible contains the truth. To believe that something is, is almost contrary to the meaning of grace. Furthermore, grace does not mean simply that we are making progress in our moral self-control, in our fight against special faults, and in our relationships to men and to society. Moral progress may be a fruit of grace; but it is not grace itself, and it can even prevent us from receiving grace. For there is too often a graceless acceptance of Christian doctrines and a graceless battle against the structures of evil in our personalities. Such a graceless relation to God may lead us by necessity either to arrogance or to despair. It would be better to refuse God and the Christ and the Bible than to accept them without grace. For if we accept without grace, we do so in the state of separation, and can only succeed in deepening the separation. We cannot transform our lives, unless we allow them to be transformed by that stroke of grace. It happens; or it does not happen. And certainly it does not happen if we try to force it upon ourselves, just as it shall not happen so long as we think, in our self-complacency, that we have no need of it. Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness. It strikes us when we walk through the dark valley of a meaningless and empty life. It strikes us when we feel that our separation is deeper than usual, because we have violated another life, a life which we loved, or from which we were estranged. It strikes us when our disgust for our own being, our indifference, our weakness, our hostility, and our lack of direction and composure have become intolerable to us. It strikes us when, year after year, the longed-for perfection of life does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: “You are accepted. You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted!” If that happens to us, we experience grace After such an experience we may not be better than before, and we may not believe more than before. But everything is transformed. In that moment, grace conquers sin, and reconciliation bridges the gulf of estrangement. And nothing is demanded of this experience, no religious or moral or intellectual presupposition, nothing but acceptance.

Superessential