The Margins

We were somewhere recently when I had Elijah with me and I was trying to keep him happy and had given him his pacifier which is normally reserved for naps and bedtime. He kept taking it out of his mouth and playing with it, so I decided to try giving him some Cheerios instead. As I laid the Cheerios out in front of him, he immediately put the pacifier back in his mouth and proceeded to pick the Cheerios up in his chubby little fingers and try to put them into his mouth. I laughed at him and told him that he was going to have a hard time eating any as long as the pacifier was blocking the way.

I thought about the many things in my life that deliver an instant gratification that I choose over a harder but ultimately more satisfying pursuit. And I reflected on how the foolishness of what Elijah was doing was so visible: laughable, even. Yet if we are honest, that is exactly how we behave. Too much of the gospel is simply incompatible with the pursuits of the world, yet how many times do we choose allegiance to some pleasure or comfort or cultural norm over commands that are not hidden or far off or incomprehensible but simply unpopular or hard? What we choose can feel good and even satisfy for a season, but ultimately our body will perish if that is all we give it. Yes, the world is there for us to gain in every way, but the cost can be the only thing we have that truly lives.

As a preacher, I take seriously the role of proclamation in the life of the church. And as I stand in front of a gathered body, hopefully declaring what is true about God, I wonder at the ways we are individually and collectively sucking on pacifiers that block us from really ingesting God’s word. We all hear often enough the increasingly popular critique that “I just wasn’t being fed” as the reason for individuals swapping one church family for another. Could it be that some folks can’t taste the food because of the big rubber stopper that they refuse to spit out?

Lest that sound too critical, I believe that there is ample evidence as well for churches and preachers offering brightly colored, sweet-flavored soothers in place of the real flesh and blood food of the gospel. The critique absolutely goes both ways.

“I am the bread of life,” declares Jesus, and all are invited to come and eat. The table is set and the host delights in his company. But if we come to this table, it does not suffice to simply pick up the food and try to shove it in on top of something else. Whatever we have been sucking on to satisfy our heart’s longings must first be spit out if we want to receive this food. My own list is long of what these things are in my life. But that image of my son and the futility of what he was doing pushes me to pray.

“It isn’t often that I can make God and George Bush happy at the same time.”

From a comment at Out of Ur by Ethan Magness discussing a young person’s plan to buy a washer and dryer for a family in need as a Christian response to spending the Economic Stimulus check.

It is not uncommon for certain details to get lost in the shuffle of our little life here, and just today I noted that two generous souls tagged me for different blogging awards and I have yet to respond in kind. So, thank you Suz and Jim for your kind words and your appreciation of what is offered here. Thank you.

In response, I am invited to tag ten blogs that are excellent and five that are subversive (originated by Jake Bouma)…I think I will do some variation and pick five blogs that are one or the other, or likely both!

Here goes…

Rebecca Murphy

Dick Staub

Edward Gilbreath

Will Willimon

Llama Momma

Whatever God knew, Abraham at any rate did not know that his obedience could endure such a command until the event taught him: and the obedience which he did not know that he would choose, he cannot be said to have chosen. The reality of Abraham’s obedience was the act itself; and what God knew in knowing that Abraham “would obey” was Abraham’s actual obedience on that mountain top at that moment. To say that God “need not have tried the experiment” is to say that because God knows, the thing known by God need not exist.

From C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

My friend Tyler linked to this amusing piece for a Friday morning titled: Ten Reasons Why Men Should Not Be Ordained For Ministry

10. A man’s place is in the army.
9. The pastoral duties of men who have children might distract them from the responsibility of being a parent.
8. The physique of men indicates that they are more suited to such tasks as chopping down trees and wrestling mountain lions. It would be “unnatural” for them to do ministerial tasks.
7. Man was created before woman, obviously as a prototype. Thus, they represent an experiment rather than the crowning achievement of creation.
6. Men are too emotional to be priests or pastors. Their conduct at football and basketball games demonstrates this.
5. Some men are handsome, and this will distract women worshipers.
4. Pastors need to nurture their congregations. But this is not a traditional male role. Throughout history, women have been recognized as not only more skilled than men at nurturing, but also more fervently attracted to it. This makes them the obvious choice for ordination.
3. Men are prone to violence. No really masculine man wants to settle disputes except by fighting about them. Thus they would be poor role models as well as dangerously unstable in positions of leadership.
2. The New Testament tells us that Jesus was betrayed by a man. His lack of faith and ensuing punishment remind us of the subordinated position that all men should take.
1. Men can still be involved in church activities, even without being ordained. They can sweep sidewalks, repair the church roof, and perhaps even lead the song service on Father’s Day. By confining themselves to such traditional male roles, they can still be vitally important in the life of the church.

Last Saturday I had the privilege of spending the morning with Aaron Smith, the coordinator of Servant Partners’ internship experience in Manila. I have heard enough times from interns how deeply impactful the weeks spent with Aaron and his wife, Emma, in their slum community of Balic-balic are, so I was very excited to meet Aaron and hear more of his story.

Aaron is a gentle soul, and as he spoke of his community, I found myself fighting tears on more than one occasion. There was his description of babies who die because they don’t receive treatment for easily treatable illness; or the fathers who steal money from their children that was intended for school expenses; or the little girls whose life ambition is to go to work as strippers in Japan so that they can send money back to the family (a pursuit that is heartily encouraged by many parents).

I was struck too by the general economic despair that hovers of a community where the vast majority of men cannot find work, and where jobs that are given are by contracts that rarely last more than six months (the time period at which an employer must begin to offer benefits). This ensures a constant stream of needy unemployed who will work for low wages and without benefits under false hope that a job that is temporary just might become steady employment. In a word: oppressive. Aaron spoke of the ways an entire population of men copes with this reality, ranging from liberal unfaithfulness in their marriages to robbery and drug sales to abuse of their children and wives.

As I sat in comfort in our friends’ apartment across the street and listened to Aaron describe his and Emma’s life with a six-month old infant, I was reminded of the ease and security I live with here. I have never treated Elijah for cockroach bites; Mercy or Aaron have never been scratched by rats.

Aaron also told the story of visiting a family from their church in the community with some of the interns and seeing the interns moved to tears by the living conditions they saw there. Later, when Aaron spoke with the family about the interns’ visit, the mother replied: “They shouldn’t cry for us. We know Jesus. They should cry for the others who do not know Him.”

As I walked out of the apartment that day, I couldn’t help but think that everyone should spend at least one Saturday morning with Aaron Smith, or others like him who are seeking first God’s kingdom in the slums of our world.

Mercy has started a weekly piano class with kids from the neighborhood, taught by our good friend from church. They haven’t touched the piano yet (these are three and four year olds), but have been using songs and games to learn about notes and the staff and treble clefs and the like. One week Mercy came home talking about “space notes”, and later in the day placed a ring of stretchy car-tracks around her face and declared to all of us: “Look at me! I’m a space note!”

So yesterday, Aaron found an unopened envelope in the recycle (one of the gazillion credit card offers we get regularly), and he asked me if he could open it. I said, “Sure!”, so he excitedly went about the task of ripping and tearing.

When he finally got it open, he looked in and then slowly pulled out one of the pieces of paper inside. Looking up at us with an enormous grin he declared: “It’s a space note!”

Mercy is three and recently she has become fascinated by words and how they are spelled. She will sound out every word she sees and ask me to spell everything. This is of course very cute and sweet, and as a lover of language and words I encourage her at every step.  That is until recently.

I have noticed that when it is time to nap, there is a burning urgency to sound out every word she can find in the apartment. There is a large poster framed above the futon where she doesn’t sleep, and so every time she lays down there she simply MUST sound out and spell and read and then sound out again the handful of words printed there. And of course much of this involves asking mom numerous questions about this letter or that sound. She senses my delight in helping her learn to read and seems to know that it is an activity I will find very difficult to resist. I think you get the picture.

On a similar note, there was a time recently when Mercy got in trouble with me. She knew she had done something wrong, and looking up at my face she blurted out: “Mommy, your tummy’s getting littler!”

I smiled and told her thank you and laughed at this impulse, seen in one so young, to flatter in desperation.

This past weekend, the Haub family had the very fun experience of being extras for a short film. Mercy and Aaron were excited to tell their friends at church on Sunday about “playing action”, and they actually did exceptionally well for the duration of filming. Of course Elijah spit up all over me (and poor Karla), Mercy charmed the crowd and Aaron required a spit bath (yes, I am now that mother) between every take due to his uncanny ability to cover himself with dirt. Oh, and the final takes did require some form of bribery involving small bite-sized pieces of red vines. But overall they exceeded my expectations in how they handled the whole thing.

It was fun to experience a very tiny piece of an industry that touches so many lives here in Los Angeles. It was great too to contribute in a very small way to the sincere artistic endeavor of some very talented friends. And as always, it was touching to see strangers become friends through playful engagement with my children.

One of my favorite moments of the day was when Mercy walked past the lead actress for the first time and, looking down at her turquoise and white pumps (her wardrobe was intentionally awkward and 80’s-esque) looked up with wide-eyed admiration and said: “Pretty shoes…”

Nicole burst out laughing and went out of her way to engage Mercy for the rest of the afternoon.

I was reminded throughout the day of the ways Dick Staub has reminded me over the years about the role of art and beauty and creativity and storytelling in the life of a people of faith. It was great to see, from the inside, how a group of friends are passionately and joyfully pursuing those things.

Matt, Matt and Aaron: we wish you all the best in bringing your vision to completion. Thanks for letting us be a part of it.

Why pay a stranger to meddle in your family affairs? Most simply want support and validation. Some are lured by the miracle cures on “Nanny 911.” Many live far from close family and friends and feel unsure of where to turn for reliable advice…Other parents found that coaches help them filter out conflicting advice they hear on talk shows and read in books and magazines. Pamela Paul, author of “Parenting Inc.” sees coaching as a sign of something more insidious: the professionalization of parenthood. “The parenting industry has convinced parents that they cannot trust their children’s health, happiness and success to themselves,” she writes.

From a Newsweek article on the new trend of “Parent Coaches” titled “When Kids Attack”, by Anna Kuchment

That’s how I learned what a hot-button issue this is: whether good parents ever let their kids out of their sight. But even as the stations (and Web sites and blogs) were having a field day with the story, people kept pulling me aside to say that they had been allowed to get around by themselves as kids, and boy were they glad.

They relished those memories — and thanked their parents! — and then in the next breath, they admitted: They never would let their kids do the same.

Why not? Has the world really become so much more dangerous in just one generation?

From Lenore Skenazy, founder of Free Range Kids (via Ed Gilbreath).