Can You Hear the Rocks?

Real Hope in Chicago

2011-08-24T08:30:00.001-05:00

I was having a conversation with the Dean at Northern Seminary, and she asked, "Have you ever heard of the Lawndale Community and Wayne Gorden?"

When I said that I hadn't, she began to tell the story. I listened in that way you listen when something seems too good to be true. "Surely, this story was embellished? Surely, all this can't be true. Surely, I would have heard of it?" Nope. It's all true. It IS too good to be true, and I hadn't heard of it.

She told the story of Wayne Gorden, a grain-fed Iowa boy who felt God's call to work in the inner city. After graduating from Wheaton, Gorden took a job at Farragut High School in the Lawndale community in west Chicago. High crime, low money, and lots of despair. The community was the poster child for urban blight. Gordon taught history and earned the nickname he still goes by today, "Coach." Coach Gorden wanted to make a difference in this community. He truly believed that the community didn't have to be the way it was. By the grace of God, it could be different.

It started innocently enough. He began to lead Bible studies with his players, and they began to talk about what could be done to change the Lawndale community. They asked the group of students and others, "Why don't people go to church?" Four main reasons were given:

They didn't have nice clothes
They didn't have money to give
They were angry at God
The church wasn't doing anything in the community

So, Coach and that small group of believers started the "Lawndale Community Church" in 1978. You can wear what you like. You can give money if you would like, but no plate is passed. You can come and learn the true power of the gospel. And with dreams of changing the world, they started with a single washer and dryer which provided a safe place to wash clothes. That need (and solution) came from the community. They saw a need, and (miraculously) God met that need.

Over the past 30+ years, they have recognized more needs, and they have started more ministries. They started the Hope House to help those battling drug addiction. The began reclaiming and restoring houses and apartments. They have creative ways to provide home ownership for families to help them cover closing costs and apartment opportunities for people who need help saving up for a down payment. They have after school programs for kids and summer camps (their Garden Club). They have a nice size, multipurpose auditorium, but they have to meet in the gym for worship on Sundays (and they have to have two services) because of the numbers.

When I visited two weeks ago, I got to see one their first rate medical clinics, their gym, refurbished houses & apartments. I ate lunch at Lou Malnati's, and enjoyed great Chicago style pizza. You wouldn't expect a restaurant of that reputation to be located in a community like Lawndale, but Coach told the owners that Lawndale didn't have a good place to sit down an eat, so they should open their tenth restaurant in Lawndale as a tithe to God. The owners did.

I met ministers in leadership roles in the church who a decade ago were in the Lawndale Hope House battling drug addiction.

A few years ago, Northern Seminary provided opportunities for people in this area to continue education. Some of the courses on community development in the seminary curriculum were offered in the Lawndale facility. Seminary students began taking classes along with community ministers and residents who wanted to earn a certificate. These ministry and community development classes have been received very well, but when Northern asked what else they could offer, the resounding answer came back, "We want more Bible!"

This fall, I will be teaching the very first "Exploring the Bible" class offered in the Lawndale community on Monday nights as an adjunct for Northern Seminary. This is going to be a busy fall (I am already teaching an extra class at Judson!). But I couldn't say no. There is something special about that place. A miracle has taken place. God is moving, and I just have to be there. I came home from my visit humbled, challenged, convicted...

I was humbled because I had witnessed the actual transformative power of the gospel. I saw grace. Real, tangible, transformative, powerful grace. I saw it. I shook grace's hand. I ate its pizza. I saw its gym. I wanted to stand there, just hoping that a little grace would splash on me. Just let me have the crumbs that fall from the table. It was moving in a way I hadn't been moved in some time.

I was challenged and convicted as well. You see, I saw the limits of this revitalization. I saw where houses and apartments fell into disrepair again. Coach's influence ends, and the blight remains. After seeing what happened in Lawndale, all I could think was, "But it doesn't have to be this way." We can get so cynical and want to throw up our hands and give up. "What can we do?" "It's always going to be this way." "That's just the way it is."

No. I have seen that it doesn't have to be that way. There are still miracles. I have seen them.

I look forward to this fall (and it scares me a little too). My family and I were invited to worship with them some Sunday, and I can't wait.

Coach put the story of the Lawndale Miracle in a book about a decade ago. "Real Hope in Chicago" is a great story...even greater when you remember that the miracle has continued for over a decade afterward and is continuing. The story of my trip to Lawndale is much like any story of an encounter with Christ. I was amazed, convicted, empowered, and I will not be the same.

"...we were there, taking it all in—we heard it with our own ears, saw it with our own eyes, verified it with our own hands. The Word of Life appeared right before our eyes; we saw it happen! And now we're telling you in most sober prose that what we witnessed was, incredibly, this: The infinite Life of God himself took shape before us." 1 John 1:1-2 (The Message)

A Time to Reflect

2011-06-21T15:44:00.000-05:00

A friend asked me the other day, "So, are you working this summer?" (the college professor's 9-month contract often inspires such questions)

I responded with my usual, "Well, I have an article I want to get together, a book review to write, and a presentation for a national meeting in November. I also have some classes this fall that I haven't taught before. Those syllabi will take some time to get together."

It is true, the summer is the time when professors are supposed to maintain whatever research agenda they can. It provides the long stretches of uninterupted time that you don't have during the school year. But one of the things I think I treasure most about the summer is the time to reflect. Without the impending deadlines, committee meetings, student meetings, classes (all of which I do love or I wouldn't do this with my life), summer provides a moment to think.

It sounds kinda silly I guess. We think all the time. But I mean really THINK. I am reminded of the wonderful, old Trappist monk at the Abbey of Gethesemane who urged me to "Store up some silence while you visit, so you can write checks on it when your life gets busy." Summer is a time to deposit some more silence into my account.

Life still provides noise, and some of it is good noise. I am the summer "cruise director" for the boys. But let me take a moment to say that I am convinced "Phineas and Ferb" have provided unrealistic expectations for what a summer should be! But I love our trips to the museum or throwing the frisbee or just riding in the car.

But thankfully, summer also provides that time to simply and think and reflect. Evaluate what worked over the past year. Evaluate what didn't and why. Maybe even write a blog or two.

I am grateful to have a job where there are still "seasons." I can take this time of fallow and prepare for the planting. My prayer is that everyone (no matter their profession), can find some time to store up some silence and take time to reflect. Some may call it "boredom." I call it Sabbath.

Little Town of Bethlehem

2010-12-16T12:58:00.002-06:00

“I traveled to the U.S.…every summer to meet with family at that time, and I met with many people in the U.S. And nobody knew anything about our situation. Nobody knew what a Palestinian was. Bethlehem was Israel for many people. Even Bethlehem was how people saw it in the Bible.”—Sami Awad, Palestinian Christian

I hope you will take the time to read my review of the movie "Little Town of Bethlehem" at Associated Baptist Press.

Dangers of Reading the Bible

2010-12-07T13:34:00.003-06:00

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to."

Uncle Bilbo was a wise hobbit. His lessons apply to so many areas of life. I thought of this quote after a wonderful conversation I had with a student.

[Warning: In the following true story, the names have not been changed because the innocent said it'd be okay to use them].

Among my other responsibilities, I have been teaching freshman in a "Intro to the Bible" in some form or another (OT, NT, or OT+NT) every semester for the past 12 years. Like most professors, I have had students who grew up in Sunday School and are expecting to ace every test because they "love Jesus." In fact, when we begin teaching things that aren't covered in Sunday School like form criticism, the invasion of Tiglath-Pileser III and its impact on reading Isaiah 7, or how the Bible came together, then the students who struggle the most are the students who had been the most active in church.

Some of them shut down, believing that if their pastor didn't think it was important, then they won't either. Some of them keep struggling and wrestling to reorient their faith to make room for these new ideas. "Wait, form criticism can inform faith?" "Textual criticism isn't antagonistic to faith?" "The Enuma Elish helps me understand Genesis 1?!"

One concept that is challenging to them every semester is the discovery that the authors of the biblical text were aware of and used other Near Eastern texts to make their point. This is shocking! Scandalous! PLAGIARISM!!! (It really shouldn't be that upsetting. After all, we are products of our culture--called to transform it, but when the biblical authors do it, it's a problem). I usually have to shepherd the students through Genesis 1 after discovering the connections with the Enuma Elish and the flood story after discovering the connections to the Atrahasis Epic and Gilgamesh. The biblical transformation of these other Near Eastern documents is beautiful and rich, but challenging to the first time reader.

I assumed we had worked through most of those issues this semester, and as I worked through Proverbs, I talked about the book of Proverbs borrowing from the Instruction of Amen-em-opet almost as an afterthought. What I didn't realize was that one of my students had been struggling since creation (literally), and this was one literary source too many.

"This bothers me, Dr. Wallace! Why not just add whatever we want to the Bible!? How can the authors just keep borrowing like this!?!"

Trying to help, I said, "Maybe this will help. Some people believe that Paul incorporated early Christian hymns into his letters. Does that bother you?"

"No," she said, "That is totally different."

"Um, okay," I said, "What about those Christian T-shirts that look like something secular, like Budweiser, but is says something oriented toward God, like 'God makes one wiser'"

"No," she said, "That is totally different."

"That's totally different?" I said, "That is exactly what the biblical author is doing!"

"No," she said, "That is totally different."

"Okay, okay," I said, "'It is totally different.'"

I thought for a minute and said, "Michelle, can God save you?"

She said, "What?"

I said, "Can God save you?"

"Yes," she said tentatively.

"Wait a minute," I said, "Someone as secular and worldly as you can be transformed into something that witnesses to the grace of God in this world."

In a wonderful response, she paused and said, "I see where you're going, Dr. Wallace."

She felt a little better, but she stayed after class, to talk more about the issues. The topics ranged from textual criticism, why some Bible translations have some verses, but others don't, more form criticism, canon, authorship, inspiration. None of it seemed to make her feel any better, and truthfully, she was probably spiraling down a little. Finally, in a desperate attempt to help, I said, "Michelle, one thing you can remember and that should give you hope is that I know all of these things, and I still have a deep and abiding faith!"

In what might be the best response EVER given to me by a student, she said, "I had a deep and abiding faith, too, and then I read the Bible!"

I laughed involuntarily. But she continued...

"I used to think it was a good idea to read the Bible. 'My friend's having a hard time, they should read their Bible.' And, I am like, 'NO, DON'T DO THAT!! Here, read this list of scriptures, but don't go flipping around.'"

[This feeling was confirmed last night when Daniel heard me mention something about a drunk and naked Noah. When he asked what I meant, I explained the ending of the story of Noah. He responded, "Wow. Now I know why they just told us the story in church and didn't read it from the Bible."]

The next day some students and I were talking about Michelle's struggle. One of them commented, "Yeah, I know what she's going through. It's not even what the Bible says, but, boy, when you find out what that means!"

William Tyndale lost his life for the right for each of us to hold a Bible in our hands in our language. Now, my students and my son are questioning the wisdom of that. My wife commented with a laugh, "Makes you think the Catholics might have had a point. They didn't want just anyone picking up the text without training."

Of course, the alternative is to stay in your nice, safe theological place--never challenged, never moved. You can be absolutely certain of what you believe, know all the answers, and never doubt. But I don't like people who have all the answers, and I don't trust people who have all the answers. If you can't say, "I don't know," I don't trust your reading. The people of Judah just knew that God was on their side. They were the chosen people after all. God wasn't, he was on the side of Nebuchadnezzar. The Pharisees just knew that Jesus wasn't the messiah. They could give you chapter and verse to prove it. I think they were wrong, too. The disciples made light-year leaps forward when they were able to say, "I don't know as much as I thought I did."

So, I will shepherd my students through their crises as I do every semester. I will help them see how this new material can fit in a growing life of faith. And I will pray they will be able to say, "Wow, I didn't know as much as I thought I did."

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door . . . " That is true. But I believe it is better than staying closed up at home.

Advent Sunday

2010-11-28T20:29:00.002-06:00

I have shared many times how Advent saved Christmas for me (just recently in fact). This Sunday of Advent, I am trying catch my breath more than I am trying to reflect on the hope that comes with the incarnation. This past week is busier than most. My professional meeting always meets the weekend before Thanksgiving (this year it was in Atlanta). The family thanksgiving, a family trip to the Museum of Science and Industry, driving my mom back to her home, and driving back this morning...it has been a busy week. And I have to get a stack of grading done, and I have a number of extra, professor responsibilities this week, and . . . and . . . It isn't really a good week for reflection.

At my meeting in Atlanta, I went to the "Blogging & Online Publication" session. As I listened to the interesting papers and how "information exchange can happen instantly," I thought of the good ol' days when information exchange took a little longer. Articles were written. Articles were read. If you had comments to make, you had to write them up and submit them (you couldn't just write them under the article on the website). If you had an opposing view, you had to put together a well thought out, well-reasoned response so that the journal would publish it. Time passed. Thinking could take place. Reflection could lead to new insights. I wonder if these days we have enough time to really process all that we receive. I wonder if we have given up on "wisdom" in favor of the accumulation of more and more "knowledge."

Of course, as the great philosopher Billy Joel reminds us: the good ol' days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems.

This hasn't been a good week for reflection, but maybe that is why it is a good week to reflect. Advent reminds us that in the busiest time, the word became flesh. When there were a million of other things to do, the word became flesh. When the world didn't want to take time to notice, the word became flesh. It is time to experience the most important event in history. But the urgent begins to push out the important, and the urgent can even mask itself to seem more important. Black Friday is apparently a big deal, and if I don't participate in it, I am missing part of what it takes to celebrate the holiday. "Be Thankful for Clearance Sales"and "Be Thankful for Savings" are just two examples of how the hte urgent tries to mask itself as important.

Maybe after some reflection, I can say that my life will be just as rich without a cheap DVD player. Maybe the "Buy Nothing Friday" social justice movement is on to something. Or as the Grinch said, "What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store? What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?"

Of course, that would take stopping and reflecting.

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Christmas Fast

2010-11-15T19:29:00.002-06:00

I didn't grow up in a liturgical church. We had a church calendar but it was never expressed formally. Where many churches have a liturgical calendar that celebrates Advent (the coming of the Christ), Epiphany (the visit of the Magi), Pentecost (the coming of the Spirit), and other events around the life of Jesus and the early church, my church's liturgical calendar looked more like this: Mother's Day, Memorial Day, Father's Day, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, etc. If you don't believe those were formal events in the year of church, watch what happens to the Baptist pastor who doesn't celebrate Mother's Day in worship.

After I got married, Cindy and I joined a church that celebrated Advent, and it honestly saved Christmas for me. Christmas might be good for the economy, but it was really bad for my faith. Taking a moment each week to remember the coming Christ was like water to a soul made barren by the commercial, capitalistic pursuits of the world. The liturgical calendar really opened up a whole new world for me--a world organized by the life of Jesus.

I was particularly fascinated by Lent and the power of the fast. Naturally, "fasting" was not something that I understood coming from my faith tradition either. Fasting can serve a number of purposes in the life of a person. As an Old Testament professor, however, I think the one function of fasting that means the most to me is the power it has to reveal idolatry.

Over the years, we have tried to celebrate Lent as a family. When we talk about what to give up, I find that some things are not on the table. Cindy: "What about TV?" Me: "Um, no, March Madness. Can't miss March Madness." Cindy: "What about meat?" Me: "Um, no, can't give up meat. I would go hungry, I think." Me: "How about sweets? Something challenging, but not too challenging."

Pretty effective indictment of my faith, and it's a pretty clear indication of where some of my idols lie. What has power over me? What controls me? Could I really give up March Madness, take up my cross, and follow? Maybe (not yet, but maybe).

In the Eastern Church, November 15 traditionally began a Christmas fast. Like most fasts, it focused on diet. In our culture, as the Christmas marketing ramps up into full swing, maybe we should recover (and discover) the practice of the Christmas fast. Maybe we could give up those things that so easily hinder us and our faith.

What is it that I can't give up this time of year? What is it you can't imagine your life without? Football? Fudge? Wassail? I can't speak for everyone, but I imagine a Christmas fast would do my faith a world of good.

Generations on the Job Market

2010-11-09T20:21:00.001-06:00

A generation in the Hebrew Bible is forty years. A generation for iPods is about a year. A generation for someone with a PhD is about 4 years.

I come up with that number because that is about the how long it takes before the current grad students don’t know the incoming grad students because they aren’t in courses with them anymore. For some, that is how long it takes to get done with your dissertation. Once you get that first job that is exactly how long it takes to move your young freshman from orientation to graduation.

I have spent about 3 generations on the job market. In Fall of 1998, I started teaching as an adjunct professor at the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor. It was about that time I began combing the internet for any institution, anywhere that might have a full time position who might hire someone who was All But Dissertation (never mind that I wasn’t ABD at that point—but hey you had to dream).

Back then, I was pretty convinced I could do anything. “Gen Ed Interdisciplinary Core with an Area of Competency in Asian Religions?” Sure, I had a course in Asian Religions, I can do that! “Hebrew Bible with an Area of Competency in Rabbinic Judaism?” Sure, I can do that . . . maybe. “Women and under represented groups encouraged to apply” Well, maybe I can’t do EVERYTHING.

Of course, over time I got more realistic with my application packets, more accepting of my ding letters and absolutely ritualistic checking the openings websites. For years, the “Openings” website would update the first of every month. I stayed up till midnight at the end of many months waiting for the openings to click over, only to see one (maybe two) Hebrew Bible postings in the United States (and one in Germany). Of course, I received many, many, MANY ding letters:

“We thank you for your interest in the servile, low-paying position at Hole in the Wall Community College, Fairbanks, Alaska. We had many qualified candidates and have narrowed the list and you aren’t among the finalists.”

When I finally got the job at Shorter, I knew the time was coming when I wouldn’t be welcome there. Many of us assumed it would be a one year posting. We were afraid the Georgia Baptists would come in with guns blazing and clean house in the Religion department. Thankfully, they took their time. It was 5 years before I was told my presence would no longer be welcome in the classroom.

Everyday for five years, I came into work. I turned on my computer. I opened the “Openings” web pages: Chronicle of Higher Education, Society of Biblical Literature, Inside Higher Ed, etc. Every now and then an opening would be interesting. Every now and then I would get an interview. Every now and then it would come down to me and one other candidate . . . and the school would go with the other candidate.

Every day. Every morning. It was more than habit—it was liturgy—it was an act of prayer. It was how I maintained some measure of hope. I tried to be present in my present, but in my heart I was looking for a place where I felt there could be a future.

Next week, I am going to the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. For twelve years, I have gone to this meeting looking for a job. This year I am not. It has been a weird experience. This is what it is like to be content? This is what it is like to not be looking every day for an opening?

I walked across the Judson University campus on this absolutely beautiful fall day, and a smile came across my face. Yes, it is a different world than I have known, but I think I can get used to this.

Advent (thanks to Wal-Mart, a little early)

2010-11-04T15:35:00.005-05:00

The day before Halloween I was walking through Wal-Mart buying a few extra bags of candy. We are still in our “firsts’ here in this new place (“first summer,” “first Halloween,” “first Christmas”). I was reflecting on how excited we are to live in a place with lots and lots (and lots) of trick-or-treaters, and my drifted over into the “Home and Garden” section, and I noticed the first Christmas trees peeking over the aisles.

I know that a lot of people are discouraged by that, and I understand that emotion. It is true that Christmas is when all the retail establishments make a profit, so the earlier they can make Christmas, the better off they are. But I decided years ago, that if anyone can have joy about the approach of Christmas, it is a Christian. So I decide to use those (possibly exploitive and commercial) symbols of the season to move me to joy.

On that day, those Wal-Mart trees were an advent wreath. I felt such joy and hope seeing them, my eyes even welled up.

It almost exactly a year ago that I sent of my application packet to Judson University. The job opening posted exactly one day after I received the news that the trustees no longer wanted me in the classroom because of my Baylor Ph.D. [For my details see the discussion tab in the facebook group, “The Truth Behind Teachers' Removal”]

I am a teacher. In my heart of hearts I know that. I had decided (with Cindy) that this would be my last year on the job market. I would find something else to do. I was tired of ding letters. I was tired of coming so close so many times only to lose out. On the plus side, I had gotten very good at laments: Kate Campbell’s “Dark Night of the Soul,” Allen Levi’s “Bartimaeus,” Michael Card’s, “The Silence of God,” and others. I am afraid I was also getting very good at teaching the laments in the Psalter.

For some reason one song moved me more than others. Chris Rice’s song “Belong” became an almost liturgical practice for me. It was the first song I played every morning when I sat down at my desk. It was top of my iTunes “Top 25 Most Played” for some time, and more than once, I found myself in tears as I tried to sing those early verses.

I cower ‘neath the monster trees
And try to stand on tired feet
But gravity knocks me to the ground
Where I give up, and tears roll down
I claw the dust and beg the end
Curse the day that I began
to hope there’d be a place where I belong

It is a year later, and God has changed my mourning into dancing. We survived the move (I will be more confident when the boys and Cindy survive the winter!). Now, I am settling in as the new Old Testament professor here at Judson. The students are responding to me, and I can see where this place can benefit from my gifts. I am connecting with my colleagues, and I see where I can benefit from the gifts of this place. Though I have expressed the joy I have in my facebook statuses quite frequently, I truly could post joyfully every day.

This year when I light that first Advent candle and say, “Jesus brings Hope!” I will confess that this year, I will say that a little differently. Last year, I said it with longing. This year, I say it in declaration.

How did I miss this wondrous song?
The forest sang it all along
"River rinses all your shame
Father offers you His name
Father Love prepares a home
Brother Jesus leads you on
Follow to the place where you belong!"

My Indispensible Electronic Resources

2010-07-17T19:01:00.001-05:00

I have a number of friends who I try to update whenever I find a nifty new electronic resource. As a professor, I have specific needs and limited budget. So, accomplishing some tasks requires some creativity. I thought I would put together my list of electronic resources that I absolutely can't live without.

CutePDF—Pdf has become the standard document format on the web, and, sometimes, you need to produce a pdf file. OpenOffice does have a "convert to pdf" button, but on occasion the spacing just doesn't work right. CutePDF installs like a printer on your machine. If it is a program you can print from, it is a program that can create a pdf. The appearance is perfect. I have never had a problem with it, and I have been using for years. Oh yeah, and it's free.
Dropbox—Just discovered Dropbox a few months ago, and now I can't live without it. Like so many people, I find myself working from a number of different computers. To rectify that problem, I had been using a flash drive. Dropbox creates a folder on your local hard drive that is synchronized with as many computers as you install dropbox on. So, the paper I was working on at the office is the version on my home computer (and my wife's laptop). The copies are local so you don't have to be connected to the web to access the files, they are simply synchronized the next time you connect. You can also access your files via the Web if you are away from your computer (or download the iPhone app). It's free for 2GB, and if you invite friends to join, you and your friend receive an extra 250MB up to a maximum of 10GB. My dropbox folder is now 6.3GB. If you follow this link it will be more J
Dropbox referral
OpenOffice—Most people know about open office. It is the open source suite of programs that allow you to do word processing/powerpoint/excel without the nasty Microsoft price (OpenOffice as the name implies is free). GoogleDocs might give OpenOffice a run in the "free word processors" dept, but ONE feature makes OpenOffice indispensible. That is. . .
1. OpenOffice Convert PDF extension—one of the needs we often have is to edit PDF file. Open office will import a pdf file and convert it to its version of a "Publisher" file. You can add and move around text, then print (using CutePDF) to preserve the formatting.
PDFSam—once you create all those pdf files you might need to combine (or split some). I use the freeware program PDFsam (which stands for "Split and Merge"). Pretty intuitive program.
LibraryThing—Like most professors, I am a bibliophile. I have a huge library, and if something happened to it, I am not sure what I would tell the insurance company. Library thing lets you keep an index of your books online. Just enter ISBN#/LC number/title/author/something and it will search to find the right book. You can index 200 books for free. For $25 you can have a lifetime membership with unlimited books. I would also spring for the $15 bar code scanner that can scan your books into the system. Multiple users can create groups which can list their books together.
Logmein—I am the computer expert in the family. However, the family is spread over the county, and talking someone through a computer repair is pretty tough. Logmein allows you to remotely access your home/office/Mom's/Mom-in-law's computer (provided you have set it up on that computer). It is free to access the computers. For a fee, you can share clipboards and drag and drop files. I haven't needed anything that advanced, so the free version works for me.
Google Calendar—As a family, we have entered the age of piano practice/football practice/drama practice/basketball practice—not to mention the schedule that my wife and I have to keep. With Google calendar, you can each have your own calendar. It will sync with outlook, and it has saved our bacon this last year.
Picasa—Solid/free image manipulating software. It will resize before mailing to whatever size YOU determine. It scans your disks to find all your pictures. The facial recognition software is addicting. It will also teach you things you never knew about your family . . . like how much your son looks like your grandfather . . .
Browser Wars: Chrome or Firefox. Both have advantages and disadvantages. The most indispensible feature for me is the ability to sync bookmarks. Chrome comes with the ability to sync. Firefox will sync if you install the "Firefox Sync" add-on. So no matter what computer you are working on, your bookmarks will all be the same.
Snopes—A must have for anyone in ministry with an email address. How many well-meaning students/church members have sent email which have been "sent from a friend" warning about the secret recording in which Obama predicted the end of the world in 2012 when you spell his Hawaiian birth name backwards in Hebrew . . . Snopes is a urban legend debunker. It will give you the vocabulary to gently inform those well-intentioned, but sadly gullible, emailers.

Bonus for Procrastinators!

StumbleUpon—After a hard day of staring at the computer, you sometimes need to find a way to kill time. StumbleUpon lets you set up your interests, and it will randomly select a website. It is like channel surfing the internet. I will warn you VERY addictive.
Live Mocha—But what if you want to procrastinate by doing something productive? Go to LiveMocha.com and learn a language. The lessons are set up inductively (like Rosetta Stone), but many of the lessons are free. And it is productive procrastination.

Zotero—To make this a baker's dozen, I will add one thing that I have not had a lot of time to use yet. That said, it might have the potential to jump to the top of this list very soon. Zotero is an extension for Firefox (making the web browser selection pretty easy). It will grab bibliographic data from searches and insert it into Word in the correct style (APA, SBL, MLA, Turabian . . . whatever you select). It has many of the features of EndNote, but like so many things on this list, Zotero is free. It generates Bibliography, keeps copies of pdfs… I haven't had time to use it much yet, but I think that as I start using it for research, it will be a must have.

I am by no means an expert, but these have saved me time and effort. I would be remiss if I didn't pass them on!

Honest Worship

2009-08-24T14:29:00.001-05:00

This past Sunday, we attended the chapel service at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta. Cindy will be leading some of those services this year as part of her responsibilities there, and, for obvious reasons, it is recommended that you attend a service before you lead one. We went as a family, and the service was both what I expected and not what I expected.

As the children and their caregivers came in the room, they represented every race, medical condition, and age of children. Some were in the 3-4 year old range. Some were 18 or older. Some were apparently dealing with some form of cancer. Some were dealing with paralysis. Some were dealing with burns. Everyone was dealing with something. I could tell our boys weren't exactly sure how to process all these kids coming to church in wheelchairs and IVs. That was something I expected.

What I didn't expect was how deeply affected by the service I would be. In truth, I wasn't sure exactly why. The chaplain's homily was fine, nothing spectacular. The music was fine. The children lighting the candles was nice, but not really tear-jerking. It was a wholly unremarkable service. So, I kept searching for why I was so affected.

The next day it occurred to me today that what struck me most about the service was that this was an honest worship service. All of us coming together with our obvious infirmities—our caregivers next to us with others helping if need be. Some were there just to help others be able to be there. Some were there out of a deep sense of need. Some were there out of obligation. Those there with emotional need wore it on their faces. All were there in obvious need. The needs were obvious. The prayers were genuine.

I once asked Cindy what she loved so much about being a chaplain. She said that it was the honesty of it all. In an Emergency Room, an ICU, a NICU, or even in a hospital room, the pious façade we are so good at putting up is stripped away. People are real. Sometimes, real grief and real anger. And sometimes, real joy and real peace. It reminded me of the honesty we find in the psalms, where psalmists have no reservations about confronting the divine about their life situation.

Contrast that with what I see when I look around at faces on Sunday mornings in church. I know that every one of us is in need, but, of course, our needs are far easier to conceal. So, we go through life without contentment and without a real place for the divine in our lives. How hard it seems to have humility and worship through our infirmities instead of trying to hide them. We are masters at pretending that everything is alright. And too often, while we are pretending everything is alright, we are feeling sorry for ourselves. We lament our situation and wish things were different. With all the energy we expend trying to convince the world we have it all together while at the same time being consumed within with our needs, we miss the needs of the world all around. We don't love our neighbor because we don't love ourselves.

The chapel service had a wonderful teacher for that as well. When the chaplain asked for prayer requests, there was so much human need in the room, I remember thinking, "I imagine this will take some time. " To my surprise, no one asked for prayer for themselves. The most poignant request, though, was from an eight or nine year-old girl who was apparently dealing with some form of cancer sitting at the front of the chapel. This little girl with patches of hair on her head from chemo sat in her wheelchair and raised her hand (the one without the IV). She said in a weak voice, "I want to pray that God will help my Daddy stop smoking." A little girl so accepting of her need and position, she could focus on the needs of others. I heard the voice of Christ in her voice –while nailed to the cross in pain and agony, he voiced this prayer, "Forgive them, they don't know what they are doing."

Maybe I can strive to be more like the divine. Maybe I can learn that lesson even more clearly from this little saint.

Planting season & Marathons

2009-08-21T08:22:00.002-05:00

The beginnings of semesters are always interesting. I am lucky in that my vocation is one that still has seasons, and August is the planting time. A new crop of freshman comes to college with their dreams and expectations. Some expect to show those professors a thing or two. Some are so overwhelmed they can barely function. But, all are excited and optimistic as they move forward into a new part of life.

Unfortunately, in a month or two, the dreams of August have faded. They no longer are idealistic. In fact, many have become cynical. Half of them change their major. A third of them will change their major twice. College isn't what they expected. Some, I never see again. They give up coming to class in favor of doing other things. But, there are those who tough it out. There are those who revise their dreams and expectations and do the work it takes to get to the end. They work with others. They plug into the student community. They get involved in BCM or a local church. They do well in their classes and really excel at the college experience.

It reminds me of the parable of the Sower (Matt 13:1-9), and I think it is an interesting metaphor for the Christian life. So many individuals have an experience with the divine and are excited and optimistic for the future. Then, they go and live in this world, and it turns out that being a Christian is hard. Family may not care. Co-workers or fellow students make it hard to be the person they need to be. Some become cynical. Some give up in favor of doing other things.

I suppose it is just another way to say that college/farming/Christianity is a marathon and not a sprint. It is showing up every day and doing everything you can to be better today than yesterday. Of course, we don't usually glamorize the marathon runner. We like the 100m or the 200m. We like "fastest man alive" or "fastest woman alive." I suppose it is harder to market "fastest man alive over a distance of 26.2 miles." That is kinda hard to put on a t-shirt. Neither is the Christian life very glamorous.

To those freshmen that start this fall, "Welcome!" and "Pace yourself! Plan on doing all the little things every day to succeed. To Christians, my prayer for each of us is "Pace yourself! Plan on doing all the little things every day to succeed." I pray we have the strength it takes to do whatever it takes to persevere, to be like Christ each day that we live. It isn't always easy. It is hard to keep our optimism and idealism when we look at this world. But, I know that with Christ and his gift of each other, we can walk forward with him—even when life doesn't turn out the way we thought it should.

Perfect Heroes & Imperfect Singers

2009-07-14T08:14:00.002-05:00

I have discovered an interesting thing about myself. It seems I really like my heroes to be perfect. Cindy and I were having a conversation recently, and in the course of discussing what we liked and didn't like, I was forced to admit that I just don't care much for flawed heroes. I like William Wallace in Braveheart. I like William Wilberforce in Amazing Grace. I like Aragorn in the Lord of the Rings. One of my complaints with the movie adaption of Lord of the Rings is the portrayal of Faramir (Peter Jackson admitted that he characterized Faramir like he did because it was hard enough for him to conceive of one perfect hero [Aragorn], two was right out). As much as I enjoyed the new Battlestar Galactica (and I did), I did miss the original Apollo and Adama—people who were idealistic and incorruptible. Luke Skywalker is still a better hero than Anakin.

Don't get me wrong. Heroes who overcome their failings are important. I liked Han Solo, I was just a Luke guy. Robert the Bruce was great, but William Wallace's only flaw was his faith in humanity. Captain Jack Harkness is an interesting fellow, but the Doctor is more my style.

So, with the revelation in hand, I began to psycho-analyze myself wondering what dark and sinister thing this said about me. Then, as I was thinking about it, a song came on my iPod that I really enjoyed, Kate Campbell's "Prayer of Thomas Merton." Kate Campbell comes from Alabama—a fact that is no secret when listening to her sing. I thought of her twang and how distinct her voice is, and how "imperfect" her singing is compared to the expectation of the voice instructors I saw Cindy learn from. That moved my mind to other artists I like to listen to. I thought of Bob Dylan, Sam Cook, Jimmy Buffett, Rich Mullins, Alan Levi—all singers with unusual diction, lisps, gravelly voices, and they are some of my favorites. Of course, I love Andrea Bocelli, Harry Conick, Michael Bublé. I love singers who have been taught to sing well and sing right, and I have a deep appreciation for them. But, when push comes to shove, I like Peter O'Toole's "Impossible Dream" more than I do Placido Domingo.

So, why perfect heroes and imperfect singers? I am still not so sure that it doesn't say something dark and sinister about me. But, I also have decided it is probably the same reason the Bible tells us about Peter and about Jesus. We have a very human Peter who reminds us that even the best of us will make mistakes. Even the ones with the answers close at hand will have crises of faith and deny the Lord. Jesus, on the other hand, reminds us that we can aspire to much more. The perfect humanity of Jesus joined with the perfect divinity of Jesus paints a picture of what our lives can be if we are willing to join our lives with a perfect God. The mystery of incarnation brings as much challenge as it does hope. It not only shows us the way to the divine, it confronts us with just how far we are from what we were created to be.

So, I will go on connecting with my imperfect singers and aspiring to my perfect heroes—seeing myself in Peter and trying to be more like Jesus.

The World as Best as I Can Remember It

2009-06-11T13:18:00.001-05:00

Rich Mullins had two albums in the late 80s entitled "The World as Best as I Can Remember It, Vols. 1 & 2." I never really understood the titles, even after listening to Rich explain them in an interview. He said, "It is like when you go on a camping trip, and it rains the whole time. You think you are having a terrible time, and then years later you look back on it, and it wasn't so bad. It's like that."

Though I tried, I never really understood, but I am starting to.

A few weekends ago, we went camping and canoeing as a family for the very first time. When we got on the creek to canoe, it turns out that we had unknowingly picked a creek that requires closer to intermediate canoeing skills than beginner. The current was pretty fast. The rocks were around every bend. Each of our canoes capsized at one point causing stress and concern (on a side note, why is it that canoes always capsize so that the rushing water pins them to the rocks you just hit making it impossible to move them without super-human strength? Probably, the same invisible force that makes the toast fall jelly side down). By the end of the trip, we were all tired. We all had matching 3 inch sunburns on our legs (NOTE: shorts ride up when sitting. When applying sunscreen, take this into account). We all were praying that we would see the campsite around the next bend. I was teaching my summer class, "Faith and Suffering," and all I could think about was the choice I had made to go canoeing to bring this suffering on myself.

Finally, hot, wet, tired, sweaty, and sore, we all got into the van to drive home. Then, we started telling stories of the day. We started with Thomas' apparent spider-like super powers that allowed him to leap and climb on a capsized canoe. Then moved on to the cow that was standing in the creek, and Cindy's insecurity about whether it is proper etiquette to canoe behind a cow or in front. Then we moved on to the time Daniel's paddle got stuck in a rock. When I yelled for Cindy to grab it as she went by, the current had her moving so fast, she only had time to yell, "No!" as she went past us. Daniel swatting at wasps with his paddle and almost capsizing us. Having to limbo in a canoe to avoid the fallen tree.

With each story, we laughed harder and harder. By the time we got home, the pain in my shoulders was matched by the pain in my sides from laughing. It turns out that it wasn't a "suffering" that we were enduring. It was just hard. It was the good kind of hard that is necessary for any kind of achievement. It is the hard that is required to be a good parent. It is the hard that is required to be a good husband. It is very similar to the hard that is required for academic achievement. If it was easy, everyone would do it.

We don't have a lot of people these days willing to do the "hard." It gets hard, and they get out. When I look back at my grandparents, I see people who were willing to do the "hard" whatever it was—whatever it took to succeed when the world was difficult. I pray that I have a little more of that. I pray that I am more able to do the hard work it takes for great achievement . . . and not just want to win the lottery. Then when my kids are grown, I can look back and be proud of my work as a father. I can look back on my job and be proud of the things I achieved. I can look at who I am and be proud that I was someone who was willing to do the hard and not mind remembering it. Maybe I can get there.

And, that is the world as best as I can remember it.

Ordinary Days

2009-04-29T12:28:00.002-05:00

December 1, 1955. By all accounts, an ordinary day. People went to work. They worried about feeding their families. Everyone was just trying to live their life as they did every day. Nothing special. But, on that day Rosa Parks decided not to obey a bus driver's order to give up her seat to a white man. That act of defiance became the symbolic beginning to the civil rights movement.

An ordinary day in 1632. People went to work. They worried about feeding their families. Everyone was just trying to live their life as they did every day. Nothing special. One ordinary day in that year, Galileo published "Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems." Though warned by the Roman church, Galileo published this work which accepted Copernicus' premise that the Earth was NOT the center of the universe. Galileo was convicted of heresy and punished by the Inquisition. But, his work laid the foundations for scientific study and the scientific method.

October 31, 1517. By all accounts, an ordinary day. People went to work. They worried about feeding their families. Everyone was just trying to live their life as they did every day. Nothing special. But, on that day, Martin Luther decided that the church had gone too far. He felt they had perverted the gospel for money. So, on that day, he nailed 95 theses for public notice on the door of the church in Wittenberg. That act of conscience became the symbolic beginning of the Protestant Reformation.

Walt Pavlo joined communications giant MCI in 1992. He went to work. He was worried about feeding his family. He was just trying to live his life every day. Struggling to reach the performance objectives—on an ordinary day—he was advised by a colleague to hide the debts of some of his worst–performing customers to maintain an exceptional productivity record. Pavlo was soon in the middle of a money-laundering operation that resulted in $6 million in deposits to a Grand Cayman bank account. Pavlo made a full admission and was sentenced to three years in prison.

I hear those stories and countless others and I wonder, "Did they know?" Did they know it was THAT day? That was the day they would be asked to take a stand. That was the day they would make a decision that would affect the rest of their life. Was there theme music? Did they hear the soundtrack of their life switch to a minor key? Did they jump to commercial right after the decision time presented itself? Was it during sweeps week?

I bet it wasn't.

Our lives are made up of ordinary days. We go to work. We worry about family. We just try to life our lives every day the best we can. And, every day we face the challenge of being like Jesus. When drivers cut us off. When bosses treat us rudely. When people we love are hurt.

I pray we never take a day off because we consider it "insignificant" or "ordinary." The call of Christ compels us to live extraordinary/loving/counter-cultural lives. The difference between living extraordinary lives every day and living ordinary lives of subtle compromise is the difference between Martin Luther and Walt Pavlo.

What a difference “Shukron” makes

2009-03-27T13:53:00.002-05:00

Sometimes it is the little things that can have the most profound impact on you. I was on my way to a meeting at a conference in Boston, MA when I stopped off at a Dunkin' Donuts. One of the great sacrifices that moving to Rome, GA cost my family was a really good doughnut place. So, when I saw that big sign calling my name, I had to slip in.

While standing in line, I didn't have to think too much about my order (I judge a doughnut shop based on how well they do the simple glazed yeast—if they can't do that right, I don't have hope for much else). So, I turned my attention to the people working there. I noticed that all the individuals—male and female—seemed to be of Middle Eastern descent. When I got to the counter, my suspicions were confirmed. I noticed that "Muhammad" was taking my order, and on the other register was "Fatima." Since I traveled to Jordan last year, I am always happy for a chance to use the Arabic I learned (I am particularly proud of my Arabic rendition of "I don't speak Arabic"). Muhammad gave me my doughnut and my change, so I gratefully uttered "Shukron" ["Thank you"].

In that moment, something happened. The serious, "whose-next," not unfriendly, but all business look on Muhammad's face melted away. It was a remarkable transformation. His face warmed into a smile as he shared, "Afwan." As I left, I responded with "salam alaykum." And, he responded "alaykum salam."

I fully don't know all that happened in that moment. I do know that what started as a chance for me to show off 90% of my Arabic, turned into something much more profound. I can't begin to understand what life is like for a minority in this country. I can't begin to understand how difficult it would be to be a person of Middle Eastern descent in this country. Perhaps, some can live life without any issues whatsoever. Perhaps, many live life with a skeptical eye toward the world around them because of negative experiences they or their loved ones have had.

But, in that simple moment over a doughnut—what started out as me trying to show off—turned into Muhammad knowing that there was at least one white guy from the south who thought he was important enough to use his native language to thank him. It was amazing (though it shouldn't be surprising) what happens when you treat someone with respect. It was amazing what happens when the golden rule occurs right in front of you—"I know everyone in line expects you to speak their language, I just wanted to take a moment to speak some of yours."

I wish that I could earnestly say that I meant for that to happen. But, I imagine it is a greater testimony to the power of God that the divine can transform my rather simple motive, i.e., a chance to use some Arabic, into a profound statement of the worth of another human being. My prayer is that I am more sensitive too all people in all circumstances—that I can always take the time and spend the effort to learn the "language" of people wherever they are and witness the miracle of Pentecost when they hear that they are worth something.

25 Things about Me

2009-02-06T12:58:00.001-06:00

My Chinese New Year resolution is to blog better.

This was such a popular (and kinda fun) facebook exercise . . . I thought I would add it to my blog. . .

I love all kinds of music. Currently on my computer one would find . . . Instrumental Southern Gospel Hymns on Hammered Dulcimer . . . David Crowder . . . Jimmy Buffett . . . Beethoven . . . Blind Willie Johnson . . . Paul Simon . . . Chris Tomlin . . . Weird Al . . . Andrea Bocelli . . . Jackie Wilson . . . Sam Cook . . . et. al.
I once drove 2 hours through Eastern Kentucky mountains in a thick fog with my best friend Mike hanging out the passenger window screaming "LEFT!" or "RIGHT!" based on the edge of the road because I couldn't see the road out the windshield. Yeah, it was stupid, but it has given me a great object lesson for what faith really is.
All of my best stories start, "This one time, Mike and I. . ."
I love quality satirical comedy.
I love people who can make me laugh. They are more precious than gold.
I was a DJ for a Christian rock hour in high school.
In connection with #5, I once interviewed DeGarmo & Key on their bus after a concert. Doesn't mean much to a lot of people, but I thought it was my finest moment.
I once stayed up for 54 straight hours (you guessed it . . . with Mike).
I wanted to be a Nuclear Engineer when I left high school. I finished college with a B.A. in Religion. God is funny sometimes.
I love to hear my wife sing.
I think I have learned more about God from my relationship with my children.
I was born in Detroit and walked to school nine blocks 4 times a day (at 10 blocks, I could have brought my lunch, but rules are rules, so I had to walk home for lunch and back to school).
I have had a variety of jobs. I have worked in retail electronics. I have detasseled corn. I have worked midnight stock. I have worked in the produce dept of a grocery store. I have set cams in car transmissions on an assembly line. I have been a janitor. Now, I am a professor.
When I was a kid I thought Ultraman and Speed Racer were the coolest shows on my 5 channels (in Detroit we picked up more than the traditional 3 . . . there were two local stations).
I never actually passed chapel when I attended William Carey College (we were required to attend, but it didn't figure in the GPA and wasn't required for graduation so I was one of the 50% of Religion majors who never passed).
I once almost knocked over Benjamin Netanyahu (after my mentor knocked him into me).
I celebrated Palm Sunday 2008 standing on the Mount of Olives overlooking Jerusalem with a bunch of great students from Shorter College.
I was a pastor of a small, rural Texas church while I was finishing my Ph.D.
When I was high school, I told my mother that I didn't want to be a lawyer because I didn't want to go to school that long. Three years later, I then changed my major (my school and my state) and promptly continued in grad school for another 10 years.
I love to cook.
I love to buy unusual ties. It doesn't seem to be a rational thing. My ratio of ties to shirts is problem about 10 to 1.
It is difficult for me to buy things for me. It is VERY easy for me to buy things for others.
I am a pacifist—not because I think it is more effective or because it is countercultural--mainly because Jesus said to be, and when push came to shove, Jesus was.
I love meat. However, I am confident, if I had to kill my own meat, I would be a vegetarian.
I love animals, and if I had another life to live, I would be a marine biologist.

One person needs to make a difference

2008-08-12T08:02:00.001-05:00

A friend of mine works in an intercity, interracial church. Her church has an old and fairly common history. It was a large city church that peaked membership before the demographics of the neighborhood changed. Now in a neighborhood too often characterized by crime and violence, they are trying to understand their place in the world. They have several ministries under the roof of the church to try to cover expenses, and they are consciously working on issues relevant to the surrounding community.

One night, my friend contacted Cindy and me, rather upset, because her church was considering a difficult vote. It seems one of the large, predominantly white, churches in town wanted to start an African-American mission in her area. This large church was extending an "offer" to my friend's struggling church. The big church would "allow" the struggling church to donate their facilities to the large, white church since they were "clearly dying." There would be no money for the current membership to begin a new church. There was no provision or severance for current staff. They would simply be out of work.

My friend's church was trying desperately to provide an important voice for racial integration in the area. Still, that is hard work, and I think many in the church were tired. Whether or not to accept this "offer" was a matter of some inner struggle for the church as well. Quoting my friend, "There are some people in our church who think we need to do this because it will mean the building is refurbished and continues in the Southern Baptist tradition. But, most people in our church DO NOT believe that we are done here with our mission of reaching out into our inner-city neighborhood. There are 16 African-American churches in our neighborhood in a 1 mile radius and we believe one of the reasons we are here is to provide racial reconciliation and hope to beautiful people who God loves but the world does not. "

The motion was before the church, and the vote was to be taken the next Sunday. My friend was running out of time and options and didn't know what to do.

From the title of this article, you might imagine it is going to be a story about my friend. Actually, it is a story about me. You see, I was deeply troubled by this situation. I felt that this was bullying—plain and simple. I listened to the situation, and I tried to imagine what I might do from hundreds of miles away. Then, it came to me. This might be a story the local news might be interested in. So, I sent an email to the editors of their local paper, and I suggested that if they got involved, they could prevent a great wrong from taking place.

A few days later my friend called to tell me that the religious editor from the local paper had called her church and had called the large, white church. Once the questions were asked, it turns out that this was not a move by the big church, but by an over-zealous pastor who was trying to find facilities for his church's new African-American mission. After all the attention they started getting, he called to tell the little church that there was no offer, and they should take the claims of an offer off the church website (the same offer he had three days before called "correct").

Thankfully, this story has a happy ending. The little church is still working hard. The big church is still looking for facilities for their mission.

This story has stuck with me though. It hasn't stuck with me in the "Oh, look how great and smart I am" way. It has stuck with me in a much more haunting way. I keep asking myself, "What happens if I don't send that email?" I am just one person out of the thousands affected by this decision. I was the only one who thought to involve the press. What happens if I don't? What happens a few days later when the church votes?

Hurrah for me. For once in my life, in one shining moment, I was smart and sensitive and courageous enough to do what God was asking. But, if I am honest, when I think about this story, I don't think about it that way. I keep thinking about the myriad other times when I am too selfish, too cowardly, or too deaf to hear what God calls me to do? If I don't send that email, the world unfolds differently . . . and not in a better way. How many ways have I affected the world in a negative way by my inaction in the little things? Sending an email seems like such a small thing, and it had far-reaching consequences. I have found myself paying more attention to the little—seemingly insignificant— things I am doing every day. Maybe, this one moment of success that affected so many people can remind me to be more faithful in those little things.

The Agony of God

2008-08-05T10:27:00.009-05:00

I got the chance last week to visit the Abbey of Gethsemani in "Trappist," Kentucky. This was the monastery of Thomas Merton. It was the location of his hermitage and his only escape. If you don't know the work of Merton, I encourage you to find it. It is worth digesting. As with most monasteries, the brothers encouraged me to wander the grounds with its woods, lakes, streams; to pray; and to "store up some silence" so that I could spend a little each day when I go back to my world.

Though I couldn't visit Merton's hermitage (it was being used as a retreat for a brother), I desperately wanted to see the "statues." My first attempt to find the statues was a failure, but after talking to Bro. Seamus, I got directions (and a walking map), and set out again. It was quite a walk on a winding path through the woods. As I walked, listening to the sounds of the jar flies and crickets, I was immediately transported to my childhood when I would tromp through the woods near my grandparent's house. It was a soul filling time, and I felt my stores of "silence" begin to fill up a little.

Finally, I reached the statues. A nearby plaque lets the pilgrim know the history of the statues. In 1965, a twenty-six year old Episcopalean seminarian from New Hampshire named Jonathan Daniels went to Alabama to aid in the civil rights movement. He was killed in August of 1965 by white supremacists. The statues depict the Garden of Gethsemane and remember his martyrdom.

The statues are impressive. You first encounter the life-size representations of the disciples sleeping. Then after about 20 more yards, you find Jesus praying in the garden. I have often been troubled by common representations of Jesus in the Garden. Too often, we see a Jesus serenely looking to heaven, at peace with the road that leads to the cross. Yet in Matthew, Jesus told the disciples in the Garden, "My soul is very sorrowful, even to death." The Jesus of the Abbey of Gethsemani doesn't suffer the common misrepresentation. The artist brilliantly conveys the agony of Christ in the Garden while the disciples sleep. You can see the sorrow of Jesus in that place.

I sat there looking at the statue and pondering the night before Jesus was crucified. I thought about the disciples. I thought about Jesus. I thought about the difficulty of walking a road that you know God has called you to—even when you don't want to. It was a nice moment of reflection.

Then something happened that I didn't anticipate. I sat there looking at the agony of Jesus, and I remembered the reason for this garden. I thought of that martyred young man—killed because he believed that everyone is created in the image of God and everyone deserves respect because of that. I thought of that injustice, and I saw Christ in agony over that—and the disciples are still sleeping. Of course, immediately, I came under conviction. How many injustices—how much sorrow is in this world? How often am I sleeping through it? The Sudan—Zimbabwe—or the hungry in my town—how often is God in agony over their suffering? How often am I sleeping right nearby?

Nicholas Wolterstorff hypothesized in his book, Lament for a Son, that the reason no one can look on the face of God is because no one could bear the agony on the face of the divine as God looked on this world. Sitting in that remembrance of the Garden, I felt the tears of God for this world. I pray that I do a better job staying awake and crying some of my own.

Different Views of the World

2008-06-10T14:47:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago, I got the chance to have dinner at the Norwegian embassy in Washington, D.C. It was a lovely evening. The ambassador and his wife hosted a group of International Educators in their residence, and they were gracious hosts. The residence was decorated with objects which represented the best of Norway. There was a very old Norwegian Bible on the table (the ambassador's wife is an ordained Lutheran minister). There were pictures of the King and Queen of Norway. What was most interesting to me, however, was the artwork. He had several pieces by Edvard Munch. Munch is probably most famous for his work "The Scream."

The works in the embassy were even more troubling than "The Scream," if possible. They were all self-portraits, and the artist was obviously in various states of despair while women were depicted as the cause of his problems. As I was looking at the works in the drawing room, the ambassador came up behind me and said, "He was insane, you know." I said, "Really?" He said, "Oh yes, he also had serious problems with women . . . obviously . . . in fact, twice in his life, women tried to kill him." He then instructed me to make sure and see the works by his student. Apparently, Munch had only one student. There was only one individual that he could tolerate, to whom he taught his technique.

I walked over to the works by Munch's student, and I was immediately taken aback. Where Munch's pictures were tormented, his student's were serene. There was a lovely picture of a lagoon with sailboats and a peaceful picture of the Norwegian landscape (naturally featuring a fjord). I was immediately amazed. How could the one person this deeply tormented man tolerated have a vision of the world which was so different from his mentor? As I was standing there, marveling at the disjunction, the ambassador came up and said, "See, he has the same technique." I could only reply, "Wow."

To be honest, I couldn't tell whether he had the same technique or not. I will trust individuals more educated than I to speak to that. I do know that they saw very different worlds when they looked out their window, and I found myself hoping for the ability of Munch's student. I pray that I am able to learn from those who went before and by the grace of God transform that ability into something which brings peace . . . rather than despair. Of course, despair is a part of this world as well, but that is a different entry . . .

Memory Lane

2008-06-02T15:50:00.001-05:00

I just got back from Washington, D.C. last week after attending a conference on international education. While I was there, I called a friend of mine that I hadn't seen in a while . . . and when I say a while, I really mean it. I saw him a year and a half ago for five minutes and prior to that, it was over 17 years ago. To fully appreciate this lunch, you really have to understand what my life looked like 17 years ago.

I was completely without direction. I was undisciplined and unmotivated. I was getting ready to leave Purdue (partly at my choice and partly at Purdue's). My father's dream of my being a rich engineer was lying in ashes, and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I was battling my second bout with clinical depression, and it looked like the best I would be able to accomplish with my life . . . my dream goal . . . would be management training school at a fast food restaurant (which if that is what you love is a wonderful goal . . . let's just say, it wasn't what I loved). My first true love had just dumped me (on the phone after I moved her to an internship), and I felt as though I had no prospects and no future. Certainly, I would never reach all that "potential" that so many had told me that I had over the years.

Now, nearly two decades years later, Greg comes back into my life to discover that I am actually, "Dr. Robert Wallace." I am happily married with two wonderful children.

As I sat there reminiscing with Greg—laughing nearly to the point of tears as we remembered the good times—I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the course my life has taken. Think about those people who only knew the you from 10 or 20 years ago. What would they think now? That same guy, for whom the high point of the day was Mutant Ping Pong in the BSU basement nearly two decades ago, was representing Shorter College and having dinner at the Norwegian Embassy on last Wednesday night. It really strained belief as I thought about it.

After our great lunch, I began to think about what "Dr. Wallace" might tell that amazing Mutant Ping Pong player of 17 years ago. As I look back, I see plenty of areas which need improvement. It would be difficult to pick just a few bits of advice to give. I look back and see wasted opportunities and mistakes, and I am tempted to want to rewrite history—change the course of my life. I want to pull on those loose threads to make the tapestry of my life look neater.

But, I also remember that I like who I am now, and who I am now is connected to who I was then. If I pulled on those loose threads, I might discover that I those threads are connected to more than I bargained for.

Still, I think I would like to give Rob of 17 years ago some advice. I think I would say the same thing to that Rob that I try (and will try) to say to my children, "Have the courage to make the hard decisions. Follow the call of God no matter how crazy it seems. Savor each moment of each day because it will never come again."

Of course, if there had been a Mutant Ping Pong Professional League, I would have said to leave for the pros years ago . . .

Updates from Jordan

2008-05-15T09:40:00.003-05:00

Here are the daily updates that I sent the PR office while I was in Jordan. These can also be read (and the pictures viewed) at http://www.shorter.edu/

May 8

Things have gone safely and smoothly. Jordan is nice. It is not quite as Western as Israel (though as I say that I am looking out the window at a KFC and Fuddruckers), but the people are very friendly. I think I would say that it feels more relaxed than Israel.

I haven't done much touring yet, but I did get to the Jordanian Antiquities Museum yesterday. I got to see the Copper Scroll and some other cool things. I had heard that the Hezekiah's Tunnel Inscription was there, but I couldn't find it. You know some people believe this is the first area that Paul ever preached in. In Galatians he talks about going to Arabia for several years. Some think that this is the part he went to.

The program here has earned a great deal of respect in the Amman community. They teach and evaluate Arabic for a number of individuals and businesses in the area. Philadelphia University here in Amman accredits the academic program, but it is Fred and his staff that make it a going concern. The opportunity for students to get 12 hours of Arabic (both spoken and written) out in one summer is very impressive. They do some classroom work in the mornings and use their Arabic in the afternoons. It really does feel like this would be preparing our students for the world as it is rather than as it was. Mandarin and Arabic are two of the fastest growing languages today. If we want our students to be in good position for jobs, I think we need to continue to investigate programs like this. And, besides, it is hard to love our neighbor when we can't speak to our neighbor.

Once again this trip has reinforced the idea that people are people everywhere. Children laugh and play. And we all have five fingers as the nice man in Jericho reminded us. Sitting in this place and with these people it just eludes me why we can't find peace in this world.

I can send some pictures when I start touring more earnestly. In the meantime, I am attaching a photo of the Temple of Hercules in Amman. Probably around the second century AD. It is also located on the spot that David and Israel may have been fighting for when he had Uriah killed (so that he could have Bathsheba). Remember this area is the region of the Ammonites, which is after all where Amman gets its name.

May 9

I had a breakthrough today. For years I had heard Arabs use the phrase "I love Americans. I hate your government," and I never really understood it. I am finally beginning to understand. In most Arab countries, the government is invested in one person. In the case of Jordan, a king. The people have no say in government policies and programs. The king makes the decisions. Viewing the West with that eye, it is easy to divorce people and government and "love Americans and hate the American government." Having a government "of the people, by the people and for the people" is an alien concept.

Unfortunately, while Americans benefit from Arab naiveté, Arabs suffer from American naiveté. We look to the Middle East and assume that all Arabs reflect the policies of Arab government and extremist groups. I think unconsciously (I hope unconsciously), we assume that the actions of a few with power reflect the feelings of the majority.

I suppose the realization of that has let me feel even safer in this place. Remembering that people are people everywhere. Most people are decent, hard-working individuals who love their family and love to make new friends. Some are open and friendly. Some are rude. It doesn't matter if you are in Rome, Ga., or Amman, Jordan—people are people.

Stereotypes are hard things to lose, especially when you don't even realize you are doing it. I suppose that is why study abroad is so important for our students. It is really only away from home that you can truly see yourself. Once you are away from a culture that shares your perspective, you can better see what you believe. Sometimes it isn't pretty. Maybe these trips can help remind us that every individual is created in the image of God and is loved by the divine.

BTW, the photo with food is at a Yemeni restaurant. The food was glorious. You tear off a piece of bread and then pick up some "laham marroum" which tastes like sloppy joes with onions and tomatoes. Yumm. The students in the photo are from California Baptist University.

May 10

Today the group went out to see the baptismal site of Jesus. This was Bethany "on the other side" of the Jordan River. So, the Jordanians can lay claim to the best location for the site. This site was venerated back before the fifth century AD, so this site has a lot of history on its side. As you look at the picture, you can see that at this place, I am standing about 15 feet from Israel.

Jordan's banks aren't so stormy these days. Even as late as 1967, the Jordan River was 50-75 feet across. Now, with Syria, Israel and Lebanon using the sources upstream, you can see the trickle that the Jordan has become here, near the entrance to the Dead Sea.

It made me think about our consumption and the recent drought we faced in Georgia. We have seen wars fought over oil, but I am certain in the very near future we will see wars fought over water (hopefully, not between Georgia, Tennessee and Alabama). It has made me ask myself a couple of questions. Am I a good steward of God's gifts to me? Or, do I waste?

I think sometimes I do pretty well. After all, I turn off the water to brush my teeth and during my shave. But, I do waste a lot as well. I might stay in a shower too long or forget and leave the water hose on. But, I as have experienced this VERY thirsty land in Jordan, I hope I am more keenly aware of the gifts that God has given me, and I am a worthy steward of them.

May 11

Well, I attended my local Baptist church today. I decided to attend one of the local mega-Baptist churches. There were about 25 people in the worship service today. This is one of the larger congregations. They have eight worship services during the week, so the congregation is really about 150-200. Also, since Sunday is a workday in Jordan (not a day of rest), it would be as though I went to church on a Monday from 10 a.m. - noon.

The service was beautiful. They sang songs. Men and women prayed from their hearts. The sermon was passionate and challenging. Of course, it was all in Arabic, and I understood about five total words in the service (thankfully, they used those five words several times). I truly understood what it means to "join our hearts" in worship. Though I didn't understand the words, their love and hospitality was evident.

Of the 5.5 million people in Jordan, only about 6,000-7,000 are evangelical Christians. These Christians memorize scripture because they don't know if there will come a time when they can't have a Bible. They want to own church buildings (not just rent) because it is easy to close down a rented church, and they want their congregation to endure. They are Christians in a land that is hostile to them – where secret police roam college campuses to make sure no one is evangelizing, and pastors are hauled into police stations to answer questions about evangelism.

Somehow my faith seemed small sitting in worship with them today.

May 12

It seems fitting with the new Indiana Jones movie coming out that we should visit Petra today (site of the climax of the last Indiana Jones movie). Indiana Jones fans will want to know that I was inside the Divine Treasury at Petra (in one of my photos), and there was no knight, no booby traps, and no Holy Grail. There were, however, lots of tourists. Petra is Jordan's no. 1 tourist destination and a wonder of the world.

After spending the day there, I can safely say that it is everything it is cracked up to be. Imagine a city carved out of the rock faces. If you look closely at the picture, you might notice that this building was not "built." It was carved. This is a giant sculpture to look like a built building. There are facades like this all over the site.

I also rode a donkey up to the Edomite high place (also one of my photos). I don't think I will ever read the book of Obadiah the same again. This was the region of the Edomites, who "hid in the rocky places." It was an experience I won't soon forget.

The trip is almost over, and I can say that I have learned a great deal about this country and its wonderful people. The standard conversation in every taxi cab is:

"Where are you from?"
"America."
"America! Oh, welcome, welcome."

Jordanians are a hospitable and gracious people.

I may be able to squeeze in one more update before I get on a plane. I look forward to seeing family, but I will miss these new friends. I can't wait for students to meet (and learn to speak to) these people.

May 13

Well, my time here has come to a close, and I am getting on a plane in a few hours. It would probably be helpful for me to review a little of what I have learned this week.

I have learned:

- A few necessary Arabic phrases
- The CGE (Consortium for Global Education) program here offers exceptional Arabic instruction.
- The leaders of the CGE program here are good people who care a great deal about the students and Jordan.
- The Jordanian people are hospitable and friendly. They love Americans and go out of their way to be helpful.
- Jordan is the safest country I have ever visited.
- Christians in Jordan are a loving, welcoming people with a faith that I look up to.

When you consider over 300,000,000 people speak Arabic, the importance of this program seems obvious. If we are truly committed to excellence in education, we need to prepare our students for the world as it exists. If we are truly committed to be Christians in the world, what better way to show love for our neighbor than having respect enough to speak our neighbor's language.

I look forward to coming home and seeing my friends and family.

Until then,
Robert

‘Twas the Night before Graduation

2008-05-04T16:36:00.001-05:00

After several requests, here is the poem I wrote for the baccalaureate service.

'Twas the Night before Graduation, by Robert Wallace

Twas the night before graduation and all through the school,

Some students were packing and acting like fools,

The graduates were nestled all snug in their beds

while dreams of diplomas danced through their heads.

Where professors in regalia and Tam-o-shanter hats

just pray and hope the speeches aren't flat.

But just before bed, they had all said their prayers

Because some of them still had a touch of despair

For years now they had labored, with no end in sight

But, this year they graduate. They really just might!

They no longer cared about becoming wise or sage

Now it only mattered to get across that stage.

They prayed that Steve Sheeley and all of his staff

would find them all worthy and not simply laugh

when they looked at the transcript they had amassed.

Surely they wouldn't make me take just one more class.

"Dear Lord," they would pray, "Heed this prayer of mine,

Don't let Dr. Sheeley pull me out of the line."

So they went on to bed with anxiety and doubt

Just hoping and praying that all had worked out.

But what they didn't know was that faculty pray too.

They pray something else before they bid you adieu

And, despite what you think, some prayers are quite sad,

As we begin to think of you new Shorter grads.

We pray you'll be faithful, and truly fulfilled

We pray you keep working and improving your skills

We pray you savor each day that you find

In this world that can so often be so unkind.

We pray you know love, and that whatever you do,

You'll always love others with love God gave you.

Worship wars

2008-04-30T09:00:00.001-05:00

I am tired of the worship wars, and I am tired of them on both sides. I am tired of positions that are fundamentally idolatrous. On the one side of the debate, we seem to have people who believe that God cannot and will not appear if drums are on the stage. On the other side, we seem to have people who believe that God cannot and will not appear unless there are drums on the stage. If I were God, I would give up on ALL of them (yet one more in the list of reasons that we are all thankful I am not God). We make these arguments as though we have control on the appearing of God. How arrogant and how idolatrous.

From the biblical perspective, worship is what happens when individuals encounter the presence of God. The church when it gathers as a community represents a miracle of incarnation. We are the body of Christ! Just as Christ was 100% divine and 100% human, the church is at the same time a body of believers and the body of Christ. It seems unfortunate that the 100% human side seems to show so often. Divisiveness and personality conflicts supplant ministry and supplant true worship.

The church needs to ask itself what it can do to manifest the divine to the world, so that worship might actually take place. This change in focus would be pretty healthy. Moving the discussion from "What do I need to experience God" to "What can I do for you to experience God" would seem to be the more biblical perspective. It would be particularly nice if the "you" in that sentence referred to the "least of these."

I am sure the crowds were drawn to Jesus because of his Sandy Creek traditional worship. No wait, I am sure people were drawn to Jesus because of his electric guitar. No wait, people were drawn to Jesus because Jesus loved them. He loved the "least of these." There were people who had no hope and no help from anywhere in the world. Jesus said, "You are of value to me."

People will come to a church when they feel loved. People will come when they find a community that loves them. Part of loving them is giving them a way to experience God, and that is done differently for different people in different places.

So, the challenge is to be like Jesus. Maybe we would move beyond "3 points and a poem" and "hymnbooks vs. overheads" to a relevant expression of Christ to the world. If we aren't willing to do this, the only difference between churches of America and the empty cathedrals of Europe will be that the cathedrals are prettier and already paid for.

Tale of Two Birthdays

2008-04-04T13:33:00.001-05:00

This time of year, I always reflect on the events that surrounded my hiring at Shorter College. This water into wine miracle is worth sharing. So . . .

It was the worst of times. It was the best of times. It was Monday, April 4, 2005, Rob Nash's birthday. "Meet about the position," he said in his email. Since I had been ABD, I had applied to every open Biblical Studies position in the country. Now . . . miraculously . . . providentially . . . a position had opened at Shorter College, and I was on the short list.

I drove over to Shorter anxiously . . . growing more anxious as I went. After all, the rule is "good news you can phone, but bad news you would want to give in person." I quickly dismissed the thought, "No, I was just being negative."

Think of the advantage I had over the other candidates. I had taught here for two semesters as an adjunct. I had 6 years of adjunct teaching experience at three institutions. I had become friends with the people in the department. The stars have lined up. After a half dozen short lists, if I don't get this position, what position will I get?

To calm my nerves, I decided to turn on some music. I put in my classic rock MP3 CD and hit "random." Seven hundred megabytes of songs to calm my nerves.

The first song began to play . . . CCR began to sing, "I see a bad moon rising . . ." Quickly, I hit the button again . . . that wasn't helping. Second song . . . the Beatles, "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. . ." Okay, not funny anymore. Next. Ben E. King, "When the night has come and the land is dark and the moon is the only light you see." Next. Brook Benton, "Rainy Night in Georgia." Next. James Taylor begins to sing, "When you are down and troubled, and you need a helping hand, and nothing . . . oh, nothing is going right." Looking back, I wish I had continued the exercise to see how long my CD player would mock me. But, needing Imodium now more than when I started the process, I turned off the radio.

I parked and went to Rob's office. We went in, and I sat down.

Rob took a deep breath and said, "Well . . . we have decided to offer the job to the other candidate."

I don't think he ACTUALLY kicked me in the stomach. But, things are kinda blurry after that. I remember responding with, "Well, (long pause) . . . dang."

Rob said, "There is really no way in the world that this doesn't stink. You have become part of the family here. I am really sorry, and I will do all I can to help. I will happily write recommendations if you need them."

"Thanks," I remember saying meekly.

Rob continued trying to soften the blow, "I wish I could say that there was something you could have done better or something you did wrong. . . It really is just that in light of the department's need for denominational diversity right now, the other candidate is the better choice."

"I understand," I replied.

Rob continued, "I wish that we could hire both of you. I am very sorry."

So, I left the campus feeling like I had let my family down. I went home and shared the news with my wife. Like Deborah of the Old Testament, Cindy is a "fiery woman." Now, someone she loved was hurting, and she was ready to storm the Bastille.

"Please. Please don't do anything I am going to have to apologize for later," I said to calm her down. "I just want to go to class tomorrow and try to move on."

"GO TO CLASS TOMORROW!" She said incredulously. "Just cancel class and take the day. I think they would understand."

"If I had gotten this position, I hope I would have accepted it with graciousness. Now that I didn't, I hope I can still be gracious. I am going to meet with my students tomorrow and do my job."

I drove onto campus the next day, and it was absolutely beautiful. It was that perfect time of spring. The whole campus was bursting with blooms and color and birds and squirrels. I had never a more beautiful campus. "Great," I thought, "first my radio, now the campus is mocking me."

I spent the next two months working twice as hard to finish my dissertation, trying to understand where we would go, and hoping this didn't affect my wife's ministry too much.

Then, on May 23, the ruling came down. The GBC is going to control Shorter College. "Wow," I thought, "Quite a surprise for folks." I sent a note of encouragement to Rob, trying to show that there truly was no ill will between us (and trying to convince myself that there truly was no ill will between us).

Two days later, Rob calls me. "Our first candidate has withdrawn from consideration, would you still like to come work with us." I don't remember much after that part of the conversation. I am pretty sure I said, "Yes!" and I think that Rob can still hear out that ear (though I am not sure). The final irony. He called to offer me the position on May 25 . . . my birthday.

I can say now, looking back, that I love the people at Shorter College. I love the students. I love the job. It turns out many people in this world don't love their job and get rather irritated when I keep sharing about mine. I can honestly say that teaching at Shorter College is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done before.

A World Apart

2008-03-23T13:26:00.001-05:00

I have been to Israel several times. Each time I have learned something new. When I was an undergraduate, it was my first truly international experience. This most recent trip, however, provided a different experience and a new learning experience for me.

In the middle of the trip, we began our trip down the Jordan Valley, and we had two nights in pretty isolated areas. We spent the night on a hill overlooking the Dead Sea and in the desert on the Bedouin experience. Following these two nights incommunicado, we drove into Bethlehem to see Herodium and the Church of the Nativity which commemorates the place of the birth of the Prince of Peace.

As we drove into Bethlehem, I noticed things were different. Everything was closed. On a Friday, it wouldn't be unusual for a number of shops to be closed, but everything? My bus driver made some calls and determined that all the shops were closed as part of a protest. Four Palestinian men had been identified as terrorists by the IDF (Israeli Defense Force). The IDF sent in an undercover agent who killed all four men in Bethlehem. As we got out of the bus and walked to Manger Square to the Church of the Nativity, we began to see the crowds gathering. We watched a young Palestinian boy (10 or 11 years old) so full of rage that he began to throw rocks at a Palestinian policemen. Across the street from the Church of the Nativity was what looked like a rally of a couple of thousand people (we later found out that the bodies of the four men were in the tent—it wasn't exactly a rally). Inside the church, we found ourselves in the middle of two separate Arab Christian memorial services for these men and the political situation—illustrating just how complicated the Middle Eastern situation is.

I don't believe that we were ever in any danger. We were nervous, and the situation was very uncomfortable. Afterward, when we were back on the bus, it was very quiet. Each of us was left to our thoughts as we were going through the checkpoint. Some were journaling. Some were crying. But, everyone's heart was breaking for the people of Palestine and Israel. We understood why the IDF did what they did. We also understood why the people of Bethlehem would feel singled out by Israel. And, we understood (and commended) those Palestinian Christians who were able have a service in which they would pray for their enemies—however they defined them. Most of all, I think each of us understood the tragic nature of the land called holy by so many.

In Jericho, several Palestinians said to each of us, "Please tell the people of America we want peace. Please don't let a few radicals make them think we are all like that." One man whose words will stay with me for a long time said, "How many fingers do you have?" I replied, "Five." Showing me his hand, he said, "Same as me. Please tell them we want peace. We need peace." In Bethlehem we saw just how hard it is to live without peace. I, for one, will never be the same for the experience.

Though I was grateful that the students truly did gain intercultural competency as a result of turmoil in Bethlehem, there was still a part of me that felt guilty. I know some of the students were scared. I told myself, if we hadn't been in the desert the night before, I might have seen the news on the internet and avoided Bethlehem. I felt guilty all the way to the hotel in Jerusalem thinking that my poor planning (putting Bethlehem, which has the potential for difficulties, after the two nights away from news) led to an uncomfortable situation for the students.

Then, something happened that placed an exclamation point on this experience for me. I got to the hotel room and looked on the internet to find out what had happened. I COULDN'T FIND IT! I looked up the Atlanta Journal Constitution, New York Times, Drudge . . . nothing. Even the Israeli news services didn't have the story. I couldn't find it on the Jerusalem Post, Haaretz . . . nothing. Finally, I searched on Google News and found the story. It was the third story under a search for "Bethlehem."

On the one hand, I felt better than I hadn't missed it as a result of my scheduling, and I felt better than parents wouldn't be worried about us. On the other hand, I couldn't believe that this event that had such a profound effect on each of us on the trip would be page 17 news in Israel and not even make the papers at home. People were hurting. People were enraged. People were desperate. And, if we hadn't been there, we would never know. How can it be in this age of globalization when the world is getting so small that NO ONE would know?

How myopic are we? It seems that if we can ignore it, we will. We will just cross on the other side.

Even if we don't want to care because human beings are suffering, what about the Palestinian Christians? These are people in my church who claim my savior. They are ostracized by Israelis for being Palestinian and by Palestinian Muslims for being Christian. We are the body of Christ and one part is suffering, shouldn't the whole body suffer? Shouldn't we care?

It’s good to be the king?

2008-03-14T15:11:00.001-05:00

It has been two years (almost to the day) since I was last in Israel. A lot has changed in two years. Sure, many of the sites have been further developed. Many have been further neglected. But, I guess what has changed the most in two years is my role. Two years ago, I helped the group leader . . . a little . . . when necessary. This time, I am the group leader . . . all the time.

My mentor told me years ago that traveling is different when you are the leader. I am finding him to be right (again). Though I have traveled to Israel several times, this trip is a little different. Part of the disorientation of this trip is the nature of traveling with a group unfamiliar with the area. I am mama duck with all my baby ducks in a row. I decide where we go and how long we stay there. That is an awesome responsibility that still overwhelms me to some degree.

I also find that I am not enjoying the trip in the same way I once did. I still find the Caesarea theater magnificent. I still enjoy Tel Dan and the Cliffs of Arbel. But, some of the "wonder" is gone. I am sure part of the loss is that these sites are familiar to me. But, I believe that most of my wonder has been replaced by concern for all of these traveling with me—these college students who have been placed in my trust. I worry about keeping them safe—keeping them fed—keeping them on schedule. Is it any wonder I have to remind myself to take pictures? The longer I write this, the more I think I should have focused on parenting instead of travel.

This has forced me to frame what Mel Brooks said with confidence in History of the World as a question, "Is it good to be the king?"

I have prayed for an answer to that question while getting this trip ready. There were times when I considered what I was doing—adding a class to my teaching load without compensation, the budgetary concerns, and the travel concerns—and I had to ask myself, "Is it worth it?" "Is it good to be the king?"

Now that we are traveling, I think I have found the answer. I have discovered that there is one sight that I can enjoy that no one else can. Though I may have lost some of the wonder of the places, my reward is seeing their wonder at these places. Everyone in this group has truly made an effort to drink in the history that surrounds them. On occasion I will say something in just the right way (professors are always searching for "just the right way"), and I will see a connection made. You can see it on their faces. Something you said changed them, and they are not going to look at the world the same way ever again.

I suppose it is that reward that got teachers teaching in the first place. We pray for the revelations to take place. In that dynamic dance that takes place between teacher and student, sometimes the steps fall just right, and you really feel like you teach. You always know you when you really teach because you have found your life enriched as much (if not more) than the students.

That is the new wonder that I have found—not in places, but in faces. And, considering that, I do think, "It's good to be the king."

Joy in the Journey

2008-03-05T10:31:00.001-06:00

I am getting ready for a trip to Israel. Every group I have gone with is different, and these students are proving that true again. Many of the individuals on the trip don't have any international experience. Some have never flown over water before. Some have never flown before. Right now they have all sorts of expectations.

Getting ready to lead this trip has taken me back to my first trip to Israel many, many years ago. One of the things I noticed was that we spent a lot of our time traveling to the places we wanted to see. First there was the nearly 7000 mile flight. Then, we would drive (sometimes for hours) to the site we were touring. We would spend an hour at the site, hop back in the vans, and drive some more. Even seeing 5 sites a day (which is more than your typical Holy Land tours), we spent most of our time driving. Of course, when I think about Israel, I don't think of the times on the van or the plane. I think of Dan, Masada, the Church of the Nativity. . .

I have discovered that we often live life like that. We mark our lives by the important "sites": high school graduation, college graduation, first job, wedding, and children. We find out that those destinations don't last very long. The marriage takes longer than the wedding. Yet, people put more emphasis on the wedding and too often the pay the price. Childbirth doesn't last nearly as long as raising them, it just feels that way. It seems that we are so often waiting for the next milestone so that we can start living life. Life is some elusive "out there"—forever out of reach.

In truth, "Life is what happens when you are busy doing other things." Most of life we spend on the journey. If we focus only on those milestones, we miss most of the trip. I pray that I sincerely try to enjoy the journeys that I take in my life. I try to enjoy daily being a father and husband. I try to enjoy being a professor. I try to find joy in the world around wherever I might be and whatever my situation (with varying degrees of success). I try to enjoy the ordinary because I know it won't last forever, and I know it won't come again.

That’s What Faith (and Stupidity) Must Be

2008-02-28T08:27:00.001-06:00

Anyone who knows me knows that my best stories usually start out "Mike and I were . . ." This story is no different. Mike and I were visiting some of my relatives in Eastern Kentucky. We had a good visit and were driving home through the winding roads in those beautiful hills. It was late, and anyone who has spent time in the mountains can tell you that fog can come up quickly and without warning.

It was dark, and we ran into what is to this day the thickest fog I have ever experienced in my life. I quite literally could not see the end of the hood of my little car. Of course the rational and responsible thing to do would be to pull off and wait for the fog to clear.

Being neither rational, nor responsible, but 20 years old and indestructible (we assumed), Mike and I hatched a plan. We discovered that although visibility was about four feet, it was only about three feet to the ground. So, Mike hung out the passenger side window where he could see the edge of the road and shouted, "Right, Left, Right, Left . . . Left . . . LEFT!!!" We drove that way for about an hour and half until we were down the other side of the mountain and the fog lightened up.

Now, I am the first to admit. This was a dumb thing to do. It was dangerous and foolish, and it makes no sense. For that reason, it has become the perfect metaphor for faith. We all live in this world trying to find the direction God would have us to go with our lives. We all strain to see the road and the turns. Luckily we have the voice of God—manifested in others, the biblical text, and the quiet of our soul—screaming, "Right, Left, Right, Left . . . Left . . . LEFT!!!"

We follow that voice because we know that voice is trustworthy. Even when our instincts say otherwise, we know that voice knows better and will lead us on.

It looks crazy. It looks stupid. People may make fun of you for doing it. But, the "wisdom of God is foolishness" to the world. Just as the wisdom of two twenty-year-olds looks like foolishness—only in our case, it really was foolishness.

“Where am I?”

2008-02-25T18:06:00.001-06:00

All this week I have been reminded of something that happened several years ago. I was teaching as an adjunct at the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor. At the end of the semester, I needed to go to UMHB and drop off my final grades for the semester. So, I packed my youngest son in the car and drove the 40 minutes it took to get to campus from Waco. Thomas was about five or six months old, and like most babies, he fell asleep about 30 seconds into the trip.

When we arrived at UMHB, I had the unpleasant task of waking him up. Thomas was not (and still is not) a morning person. So, I gently tried to wake him. As he roused, he had this look on his face that was a cross between confusion and anger (Cindy says she knows the look . . . apparently he got it from me). I tried to console and encourage him, but he was still very disoriented. Then, I leaned down in front of him so that he could see me. When I did, something happened that I will never forget. The confusion and anger melted off his face into the sweetest smile I have ever seen.

Thomas taught me a humbling lesson. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter where he was as long as his father was there.

I suppose that is a lesson that I learn more slowly. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said that the Kingdom of God must be lived out among our enemies. Thankfully, God has never asked me to face down the Nazis. But, when God does ask me to be and go places that make me uncomfortable, I need to remember that. When I wake up and look around and feel confused and angry, I need to be able to be at peace by simply gazing into the face of my heavenly father and remembering that wherever I am it is okay because my heavenly father is there.

Can you Hear the Rocks

2008-02-21T14:45:00.002-06:00

I must confess that it is strange to think that anyone would want to spend their time reading random musings that I might have. There is that great insecurity—that I am finding so many of us carry around with us—that says, "What do you have worth saying?"

That said, I have seen people enjoy devotions or thoughts that I have had in the past. So, I thought I would join the bandwagon and start a blog. Maybe it is part of wanting to live an authentic life and allow people to know who I am—maybe it is part of wanting to leave something of "me" so that my children and others will know who I was and what I was like—maybe it is pride in thinking I might have something to say . . . whatever the reason, I am going to try to record some thoughts.

It seems it has always been easy for me to see God in the world around. The Chris Rice song, "My Cathedral" has always resonated with me because I, too, find it easy to experience the presence of God in nature--in the hills of Kentucky near my grandparent's house, sitting by a creek near Cindy's family in Mississippi, or listening to a rain storm. Powerfully and mystically, God seems very real to me in those moments.

One of my favorite "holy" places is in Israel. I love to visit the Cliffs of Arbel. Standing at the top of those limestone cliffs as they tower 1000 feet above the Sea of Galilee . . . watching the sunset (before we drive down to Tiberius to get some Chinese food), I am reminded that it isn't just the heavens that "are telling the glory of God." The earth does too.

In Luke 19:40, Jesus warns that if the people don't praise, "the rocks will cry out." If we listen close, I think we can hear that they already are.