My swanky job requires me to do a fair bit of traveling over a week typically dedicated to drunken parties in tropical locations. No, I'm not a cameraman for MTV. My traveling has a rather more sober and "did not come to be served but to serve" feel to it. 200+ of my students chose blood, sweat and tears while some of their peers around the country opt for drugs, sex and beer. A few stories from the week...
Started off visiting Spring Break in the City, a group that works in inner-city San Francisco. They serve alongside--not in place of--long-term workers who are seeking to save the lost among the lost. My students served meals, removed graffiti, ran youth center programs and generally poured themselves out as offerings.
Some SF highlights:
-walking through the Mission District and the Castro, seeking to understand what makes the City one of the most unique anywhere.
-having my first impressions of "the street kid with the glare" blown up when we played basketball together. (Nice kid. Quick first step.)
-being told by "random homeless guy in the wheelchair" that I was well-dressed and that he loved me.
-watching the group lay hands and pray for the suddenly grandfatherless girl just before she left to drive to Arizona to be with her family.
-watching leaders emerge when sickness struck.
-losing to "the kid who seems to get picked on" in foosball.
-losing to the girl nobody dares to pick on in ping pong.
Random SF story:
-I leave the City on Tuesday morning for the second leg of my excursion (more on that in part II). I get on the road early in order to A. not get stuck in traffic, B. not get stuck in the middle seat on a Southwest flight (No assigned seats? Really?) Apparently, nobody leaves San Francisco to go to Oakland (with good reason, too). With so little company in the lanes beside me, I cross the Bay Bridge rather quickly in my "world's smallest car" entry. Plenty of time for a real breakfast. Not a fast-food, let's grab a bacon Mcsomethin and then run to the terminal type of breakfast, but a sit-down, use a fork and a ceramic coffee mug breakfast. Problem: someone with my depleted supply of attention-span needs something to read. So, I cruise outside of Carrows and survey my newspaper options. San Jose Mercury-News, Oakland Trib, SF Chronicle. Chronicle it is (my condolences to the Hearst family).
I open it up and find soon that I'm flipping through the obits. Not really steady reading for folks in my age bracket, so I'm just about to turn to the sports section when I see a name I know. Yeah, that's right. One of my high school baseball assistant coaches died and I randomly saw the obit in the Chronicle at a Carrows in Oakland. Coach Z--I had to read closely to make sure it was really him because I only knew Matthew J. Zidich as Coach Z--lived an incredible life. He played baseball in the Pacific Coast League with Joe DiMaggio. He owned an Oyster Restaurant. He taught me the hitting philosophy that trumps all others: "You gotta be a low ball hitter and a highball drinker." Mom said the funeral was huge. No surprise there. One of those folks you just assume won't die had just died and I read the condensed story of his life, kinda shook my head and took another bite of bacon, avocado, jack. On to the airport...
Monday, March 24, 2008
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Hope in the ashes...
This week, fire has me thinking about rain.
In 2005, I couldn’t believe the vitriol of “religious” pundits suggesting that Hurricane Katrina was an expression of God’s wrath on New Orleans. At that time, I argued that such statements are preposterous coming from finite creatures lacking access to the motivations of God.
This last week, we have watched as walls of fire have consumed significant parts of our beloved Southern California. Some structures destroyed by the inferno—like Malibu Presbyterian Church—held a special place in our hearts. We have received many phone calls from across the country wondering if we were out of harm’s way. We are. What we didn’t receive was the same condemning attitude expressed post-Katrina.
This reality has spawned several questions that refuse to leave my mind. Why would we pick and choose our natural disasters, interpreting one here as a deliberate and message-bearing act of God and one there as a consequence of human negligence? What gives us the right to play prophet, especially when we have proven over and over that we play that role so poorly? Perhaps an even more important question: what reading of Scripture would ever justify such expressions of animosity and hopelessness in a time of great pain and loss?
In Romans 8, as he and the Roman Christians around him suffered incredibly, Paul’s words were not condemning and judgmental. Rather, the apostle called everyone’s attention to hope. The hope of glory that lies beyond this fallen and broken world with its imperial persecutions, hurricanes, and fires. We, as the body of Christ, ought to radiate hope in all circumstances, and uniquely in times of national pain. We must keep our eyes focused on “the glory that is to be revealed” and call others to match our gaze.
Two years later, Katrina’s effects continue on. Continue to pray for the city and people of New Orleans, especially areas such as the Lower Ninth Ward which still lie in shambles. Similarly, California will feel the effects of these fires for years. Continue to pray for the people of Southern California, many of whom face a long road back to normalcy. Two thousand years later, the Church is still wrestling with what it means to be light in the darkness. Continue to pray for the Church, that we would take our role as imago Dei seriously, and represent well the God of love, mercy, and hope in this desperately painful world in which we live.
In 2005, I couldn’t believe the vitriol of “religious” pundits suggesting that Hurricane Katrina was an expression of God’s wrath on New Orleans. At that time, I argued that such statements are preposterous coming from finite creatures lacking access to the motivations of God.
This last week, we have watched as walls of fire have consumed significant parts of our beloved Southern California. Some structures destroyed by the inferno—like Malibu Presbyterian Church—held a special place in our hearts. We have received many phone calls from across the country wondering if we were out of harm’s way. We are. What we didn’t receive was the same condemning attitude expressed post-Katrina.
This reality has spawned several questions that refuse to leave my mind. Why would we pick and choose our natural disasters, interpreting one here as a deliberate and message-bearing act of God and one there as a consequence of human negligence? What gives us the right to play prophet, especially when we have proven over and over that we play that role so poorly? Perhaps an even more important question: what reading of Scripture would ever justify such expressions of animosity and hopelessness in a time of great pain and loss?
In Romans 8, as he and the Roman Christians around him suffered incredibly, Paul’s words were not condemning and judgmental. Rather, the apostle called everyone’s attention to hope. The hope of glory that lies beyond this fallen and broken world with its imperial persecutions, hurricanes, and fires. We, as the body of Christ, ought to radiate hope in all circumstances, and uniquely in times of national pain. We must keep our eyes focused on “the glory that is to be revealed” and call others to match our gaze.
Two years later, Katrina’s effects continue on. Continue to pray for the city and people of New Orleans, especially areas such as the Lower Ninth Ward which still lie in shambles. Similarly, California will feel the effects of these fires for years. Continue to pray for the people of Southern California, many of whom face a long road back to normalcy. Two thousand years later, the Church is still wrestling with what it means to be light in the darkness. Continue to pray for the Church, that we would take our role as imago Dei seriously, and represent well the God of love, mercy, and hope in this desperately painful world in which we live.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The playoffs...
I'm not usually one to attempt to trumpet my own humor (that would be a rather infrequent endeavor). But the other day, I was actually pretty funny.
My blessed wife wrote me the following email on behalf of her office:
"Hi,
Can you give us a brief summary of the Indians, Rockies, Sox, and DBacks play-off and/or World Series History? We'd like to make some informed decisions about who we support based on under-dog status."
I replied as follows:
"Here are your brief histories:
The Diamondbacks came into the league as an expansion franchise in 1998. Although they revealed the type of poor taste that could only be accepted by doddering retirees in Arizona when they named the franchise after a venomous beast first made famous by embodying the Prince of Darkness, nonetheless, God granted them mercy and allowed them to win the NL West in only their second season in the league. Stunningly, the D-Backs won the World Series in 2001, led by future Yankees-washout Randy Johnson and future Boston loser Curt "I Love Being in the Limelight and Will Say Anything Necessary to Anyone Around in order to Keep Myself There" Schilling. In that series, they beat the New York Yankees, 4 games to 3. Although they likely cheated to do so, investigations have yet to uncover any wrongdoing. Clearly, the D-Backs are not a team that fans should support, given their already obvious run of success and shameless tactics of bringing in pricey free agents in order to compete.
The Rockies came into the league as an expansion franchise in 1993. They originally played in Mile High Stadium, home to the NFL's Broncos. The spacious setting allowed them to set somewhat dubious attendance records early in their existence. In 1995, the Rockies moved into Coors Field, a beautiful park disgracefully named after the devil's drink. They first made the playoffs in 1995, winning the National League wild card. They were subsequently beaten by the Atlanta Braves. Pitching has always proven tricky in the Mile High City, given that baseballs tend to fly very far in thin air. In response, the Rockies began to place baseballs in humidors in hopes of keeping them in the park. It has produced favorable results, although too late for once promising pitchers whose careers have gone to Denver to die (see: Neagle, Denny; Hampton, Mike; Kile, Daryl). It seems logical, given the options, that the Rockies are the preferred choice in the National League, although since they play an inferior brand of baseball in which the pitcher bats, thereby sacrificing quality for a weak attempt at a bunt once every nine batters, that's not saying much.
The Cleveland Indigenous People Group were a charter member of the American League in 1901. They have a long, if not very successful history. Originally named the Cleveland Blues, they later switched to the completely insensitive and geographically ignorant nickname Indians (the racially offensive mascot/logo was still to come). Since the Indigenous People Group has such a long history, it would follow that there would be much success to celebrate throughout the years. Unfortunately, this is Cleveland we're talking about, and such success is rare. Speculation remains that the city was built on a landfill, but soil samples are inconclusive. Cleveland first played in the World Series in 1920, defeating the Brooklyn Dodgers. The team's only other World Series win came in 1948, giving them the second-longest span since World Series victories of any team in baseball. Their place is safe, however, since the longest such streak belongs to the Cubs (1908), who are an entirely awful impersonation of a baseball franchise. Although the Indigenous People Group had an opportunity to end their years of misery in 1995 and 1997, instead they lost to the Atlanta Braves and the Florida Marlins, respectively, thereby besmirching the World Series crown by allowing it to be worn by a team from the vastly inferior National League. Cleveland, given its history of losing and racial insensitivity, would not seem to be a good candidate for your American League support, however...
Boston sucks.
Hope this helps,
Benj"
My blessed wife wrote me the following email on behalf of her office:
"Hi,
Can you give us a brief summary of the Indians, Rockies, Sox, and DBacks play-off and/or World Series History? We'd like to make some informed decisions about who we support based on under-dog status."
I replied as follows:
"Here are your brief histories:
The Diamondbacks came into the league as an expansion franchise in 1998. Although they revealed the type of poor taste that could only be accepted by doddering retirees in Arizona when they named the franchise after a venomous beast first made famous by embodying the Prince of Darkness, nonetheless, God granted them mercy and allowed them to win the NL West in only their second season in the league. Stunningly, the D-Backs won the World Series in 2001, led by future Yankees-washout Randy Johnson and future Boston loser Curt "I Love Being in the Limelight and Will Say Anything Necessary to Anyone Around in order to Keep Myself There" Schilling. In that series, they beat the New York Yankees, 4 games to 3. Although they likely cheated to do so, investigations have yet to uncover any wrongdoing. Clearly, the D-Backs are not a team that fans should support, given their already obvious run of success and shameless tactics of bringing in pricey free agents in order to compete.
The Rockies came into the league as an expansion franchise in 1993. They originally played in Mile High Stadium, home to the NFL's Broncos. The spacious setting allowed them to set somewhat dubious attendance records early in their existence. In 1995, the Rockies moved into Coors Field, a beautiful park disgracefully named after the devil's drink. They first made the playoffs in 1995, winning the National League wild card. They were subsequently beaten by the Atlanta Braves. Pitching has always proven tricky in the Mile High City, given that baseballs tend to fly very far in thin air. In response, the Rockies began to place baseballs in humidors in hopes of keeping them in the park. It has produced favorable results, although too late for once promising pitchers whose careers have gone to Denver to die (see: Neagle, Denny; Hampton, Mike; Kile, Daryl). It seems logical, given the options, that the Rockies are the preferred choice in the National League, although since they play an inferior brand of baseball in which the pitcher bats, thereby sacrificing quality for a weak attempt at a bunt once every nine batters, that's not saying much.
The Cleveland Indigenous People Group were a charter member of the American League in 1901. They have a long, if not very successful history. Originally named the Cleveland Blues, they later switched to the completely insensitive and geographically ignorant nickname Indians (the racially offensive mascot/logo was still to come). Since the Indigenous People Group has such a long history, it would follow that there would be much success to celebrate throughout the years. Unfortunately, this is Cleveland we're talking about, and such success is rare. Speculation remains that the city was built on a landfill, but soil samples are inconclusive. Cleveland first played in the World Series in 1920, defeating the Brooklyn Dodgers. The team's only other World Series win came in 1948, giving them the second-longest span since World Series victories of any team in baseball. Their place is safe, however, since the longest such streak belongs to the Cubs (1908), who are an entirely awful impersonation of a baseball franchise. Although the Indigenous People Group had an opportunity to end their years of misery in 1995 and 1997, instead they lost to the Atlanta Braves and the Florida Marlins, respectively, thereby besmirching the World Series crown by allowing it to be worn by a team from the vastly inferior National League. Cleveland, given its history of losing and racial insensitivity, would not seem to be a good candidate for your American League support, however...
Boston sucks.
Hope this helps,
Benj"
Monday, August 20, 2007
A change of demeanor...
I realize that this blog has lacked my attention lately, and I have a great explanation for that: my job has kept me super busy.
Yes, after two months of unemployment—the first of which was welcome and very restful, incidentally—I have found another employer crazy enough to hire me. This time, it’s Westmont College.
Actually, my job is an incredible mixture of things that I really love and care about. The type that only God could come up with. I serve at the College as the Campus Life Coordinator. In that capacity, I get to serve as an adviser for three student groups. In no particular order, the groups are:
Potter’s Clay: PC is a ministry that sends around 300 students to Ensenada, Mexico, every spring break for ministry and service. They also participate in a service trip in the fall that includes assistance with Ensenada’s Special Olympics.
Spring Break in the City: Exactly what it sounds like. Students go to San Francisco over spring break and serve predominantly in the homeless and AIDS communities.
Emmaus Road: ER sends Westmont students on overseas mission trips each summer. Past locations have included Uganda, Ukraine, India, and Japan.
As someone who loves college students and has thoroughly enjoyed serving numerous times in Mexico, once in Romania and twice in inner city settings (St. Louis, 2006; Chicago, 2007), this job is pretty much just what I would dream of.
I met my student leaders this weekend as we went on a retreat. I’ve had tons to do to get ready and tons to do before school begins next week. In short, I’m super busy, my students are great, and God is so faithful.
The process was something only God could have arranged. Funny how things go better that way.
The psalms also include declarative praise psalms that tell of God’s response to a lament. Consider me praising.
Yes, after two months of unemployment—the first of which was welcome and very restful, incidentally—I have found another employer crazy enough to hire me. This time, it’s Westmont College.
Actually, my job is an incredible mixture of things that I really love and care about. The type that only God could come up with. I serve at the College as the Campus Life Coordinator. In that capacity, I get to serve as an adviser for three student groups. In no particular order, the groups are:
Potter’s Clay: PC is a ministry that sends around 300 students to Ensenada, Mexico, every spring break for ministry and service. They also participate in a service trip in the fall that includes assistance with Ensenada’s Special Olympics.
Spring Break in the City: Exactly what it sounds like. Students go to San Francisco over spring break and serve predominantly in the homeless and AIDS communities.
Emmaus Road: ER sends Westmont students on overseas mission trips each summer. Past locations have included Uganda, Ukraine, India, and Japan.
As someone who loves college students and has thoroughly enjoyed serving numerous times in Mexico, once in Romania and twice in inner city settings (St. Louis, 2006; Chicago, 2007), this job is pretty much just what I would dream of.
I met my student leaders this weekend as we went on a retreat. I’ve had tons to do to get ready and tons to do before school begins next week. In short, I’m super busy, my students are great, and God is so faithful.
The process was something only God could have arranged. Funny how things go better that way.
The psalms also include declarative praise psalms that tell of God’s response to a lament. Consider me praising.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Left Coast Lament...
I feel guilty even posting this, but if lament was a legit expression for the psalmists, who am I to quibble?
I’ve wandered down this path you pointed out,
asking few questions, trusting you to guide.
Now, it seems we’re lost, or,
rather, I’m lost and you took off.
Where am I? How did I get here?
How can I get back to where I should be, wherever that is?
You made this trip seem appealing, but it’s sucked.
Sure, great weather and all,
but so what?
Where have you brought me?
I know where you brought her;
that we can all see clearly.
Am I an afterthought? A tag along?
Feels like it.
I probably shouldn’t blame you, but I do.
Hate to admit it, but what’s the use in lying about it?
Where have you gone?
When are you coming back?
Your silence is thick like the fog in the harbor.
I hate to hear the nothing,
but nothing’s what I’ve got.
Nothing but her, and a promise from you.
I guess you want me to wait, to trust.
Honestly? That sucks.
I feel like you owe me.
I busted my ass. For what, exactly?
A series of rejections? Data entry? Sounds swell.
I am proud past arrogant. Disgusting.
Show me what you want me to see.
Teach me what I didn’t learn in the books.
Make me who I need to be.
Past faithfulness should create some trust in me.
But I’ve only got frustration.
Please be faithful now.
Please be faithful soon.
I hate being
lost.
I’ve wandered down this path you pointed out,
asking few questions, trusting you to guide.
Now, it seems we’re lost, or,
rather, I’m lost and you took off.
Where am I? How did I get here?
How can I get back to where I should be, wherever that is?
You made this trip seem appealing, but it’s sucked.
Sure, great weather and all,
but so what?
Where have you brought me?
I know where you brought her;
that we can all see clearly.
Am I an afterthought? A tag along?
Feels like it.
I probably shouldn’t blame you, but I do.
Hate to admit it, but what’s the use in lying about it?
Where have you gone?
When are you coming back?
Your silence is thick like the fog in the harbor.
I hate to hear the nothing,
but nothing’s what I’ve got.
Nothing but her, and a promise from you.
I guess you want me to wait, to trust.
Honestly? That sucks.
I feel like you owe me.
I busted my ass. For what, exactly?
A series of rejections? Data entry? Sounds swell.
I am proud past arrogant. Disgusting.
Show me what you want me to see.
Teach me what I didn’t learn in the books.
Make me who I need to be.
Past faithfulness should create some trust in me.
But I’ve only got frustration.
Please be faithful now.
Please be faithful soon.
I hate being
lost.
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