Why the church will fail you

A friend and I were having a conversation yesterday about how a church had failed a mutual friend of ours. This mutual friend has been experiencing considerable difficulty, the church has become aware of this, and yet has not reached out to her. It's a failure that causes distance, suspicion, and disillusion.

I was reminded that the offended friend has a phenomenal group of co-workers who have been an outlet for socializing, empathizing, and all-round excellent camaraderie. I'm so thankful for this! A loose comparison was made to the lack of attention given to our friend, versus the embrace she has received from her friends. 

It's true, there is a disappointing difference here. The church, the very people who are supposed to care for their own, have not done well in this case. They should have checked in. They should have inquired. They should have offered support. But they didn't. For whatever reason(s), they have failed her.

I have been told, "it must be tough to be a pastor." And it is. While pastoring a congregation is a life-giving vocation in so many ways, it is set up for failure in a myriad of ways, too. (At least in our current conceptions of how a church and pastor should function....but that's for another blog.)

The comparison between the group of friends and the church isn't really a fair one. Mutual support is only one aspect of a church community. For a group of friends mutual support is often the only aspect that keeps them together, and when it's done well it keeps them coming back for more. The group gives the individuals validity, companionship, social outlets, and much needed encouragement.

A church is supposed to do this, too. But, the difference lies in all the other things a church is supposed to do, too. A church is also supposed to plan and execute meaningful worship, take care of its finances, visit the sick, reach out to others, advocate for the marginalized, provide service for the community, be involved in social justice, have good theology, grow in membership, model servant-leadership, and have a healthy organizational structure that makes appropriate, astute decisions on behalf of the group. 

This creates a crazy amount of arenas for dissatisfaction. And a church is not like a business where one can separate out one's own soul from the business itself. No, our place of worship helps to create or maintain a sense of personal identity, and who we think we are in relation to God. A well-running church, then, is necessary for an individual's sense of who they are personally, how God works in the world, and how humanity is to live out our mission. So, not only are there a myriad of arenas in which a congregant can find dissatisfaction, a sense of self and our perception(s) of God are also on the line in regards to how well or how poorly a church functions. A kitchen that is habitually left messy by the youth group becomes a theological statement that we don't care enough about God's house, that YOU don't care enough about God's house, which then reflects poorly on me because you and I are in the same group that is choosing to follow God together. 

So yes, there's a heckuva lot to contend with as a church group and as a pastor. And rest assured, the church will fail you. In big ways or in small ways. As the church is trying to work on being a good support system to one another, it's also trying to do all those other things at the same time. The failure might not even happen in the personal support system, it might happen on a theological level, or a we're-not-doing-enough-for-the-poor level, or we're not offering enough alternatives for youth, or the pastor's preaching sucks, or the worship music is too hard to sing, or, or, or...

So for those of you who are checking out Echoes and finding yourselves reading this distressingly depressing blog I want to say: you are loved. This small group of non-conforming Jesus-followers will probably let you down somehow. We won't mean to, and we'd rather talk about it than have you be frustrated alone. Give us a try, and help us shape this community organically, to be a place where we can fail and learn from those failures in the hopes of learning to be a group that can disagree well together, while also working well together.

Who's self-obsessed? Me! Me! (includes cat video)

A number of weeks ago I blogged about the brand-new GoPro Hero3+ and the human desire to achieve more, do more, be more. 60 Minutes has taken notice of GoPro, too. As much as I'd like to think that Anderson Cooper read this blog, the billion dollar industry that GoPro has established probably speaks for itself.

As Cooper says, it's the perfect camera for a self-obsessed generation. Now that we have cameras on our phones, we're never without the possibilty of documenting where we are, what we're doing, and letting the world know how much fun we are. Google Glass is basically the GoPro on steroids, but they don't have the massive vault of footage and real-live "proof" that their gadget can make you look so extreme/clever/daring/courageous/heroic (and maybe way more than you really are).

Camera phones, Google Glass, GoPros. They're wonderful inventions that illuminate this need for so many humans to be on display. "Look at me!!!," is essentially what the photo and video posters are saying. It's like we regress to our inner four-year-old who constantly requests the attention and affirmation of others, "look at me twirl!", "look at me jump!", "look at me in my pirate suit!", "look at me throw sand!" 

This is a gross generalization, of course. Some of the stuff that people are capturing with their capable cameras is truly remarkable, and I really, really enjoy watching it. The good stuff and the banal stuff point to a human need for recognition, to be noticed, to be counted worthy. This desire might not manifest itself in everyone by the need for posting selfies and GoPros videos, but it's in just about every one of us. 

And it's not bad. Shoot, we were made in the image of God. Humans really are glorious, and most of us know it - at least about ourselves. Oh, we might struggle mightily with a hideous self image, or some form of neurosis or crippling PTSD, but we ARE glorious, and it's in us to want to receive some sort of recognition for that. And for those of us who absolutely cannot believe there is glory in us, it's probably a deep longing for which we hope secretly.

Sure this innate glory can get horribly confused with ego, and unfortunately a good chunk of selfies and selfy videos highlight this confusion. How many times have you wanted to complain about a Facebook friend for posting yet another photo of their dinner, or uploading an entire vacation album so that you are subjected to 150 crappy pictures instead of the eight good ones that offer a nice summary? With all this media out there it's easy to get annoyed at others for "wasting my time" with the less-than-perfect submissions. Another's ego (or less-refined social media skills) can become my own ego trip. It's so easy to shed all that glory and simply become selfish, self-absorbed, and petty.

In addition to showcasing our innate gllory, there is another other glorious aspect of the GoPro and instant camera availability: it cure does increase opportunities for creativity. A number of theologians have suggested that the crux of the "Imago Dei," or being made in the image of God, is the human capacity to create. God the Creator enabled humand to create, too, and so engage in divine work. 

To be sure, some work that is done by amateur camera phone enthusiasts, and GoPro dabblers certainly teeters on the divine. As Nick Woodman, GoPro CEO, said in the 60 Minutes interview that these cameras allow the average person to capture what only professionals could in the past. Instead of requiring exceedingly costly equipment and extra people to use the gear to capture footage, one person can now document some amazing feats - all on their own, with a $400 camera and a few accessories. And, as a person who's been in a lot of commercial videos, the editing itself can be glorious.

Examples I like:

Dog Faces

The Dolomites

The "look at me" prototype

Paragliding with your eagle (this is the same guy who strapped his camera onto the eagle; that video has over 6million views)

And, to show how easy it is, today I got my cat in the action (alas, it's shot on the "old" original GoPro Hero). This video took less than two hours to set up, shoot, and edit. Daisy's quick adventure:

We have a lot to be thankful for in this GoPro world. We can share in other's experiences, see things we'd otherwise not see, glory in the Imago Dei, push the boundaries of artistic limits.....and yes, be completely self-absorbed. Light and shadow: it's in us all, and on display everyday in our selfies and GoPro videos on Facebook, Google+, Tumblr, the revamped MySpace, YouTube, Vimeo, and others. We can't seem to get enough of our glorious selves.

"Death does not cause me sorrow"

(In honor of All Saints Day) 

1945: He was retrieving his camera gear with the rest of the photography team, when a Master Sargent told them they were being assigned a different task. Handing them a mirror and a tube of lipstick, their instructions were to approach the corpses and put the mirror up to lips of each body. If the mirror fogged, place a "L" on the forehead with the lipstick and a medical team will follow-up. No fog earned an "X" on the forehead. With thousands of bodies, they had an excruciating task.

"James" is a former soldier who was present at the liberation of the Dachau concentration camp. Several months ago he told me story after story of the war, memories that have been flooding back in the past six weeks as he lay in a hospice bed. Thinking about how technology has advanced war I said, "War is scary," to which James replied, "If war was scary I could handle it. War is terrifying. Terrifying. There was no place to hide." Tears streamed down his face.

Stories of the deaths of his son and wife followed. Claustrophobic, not able to bear an MRI chamber, his wife died of a brain aneurysm. "She died of fright," he said. He lost his son as a result of poor health choices, but even more difficult he says, is the loss of one of his daughters. Still alive, but estranged from the family, she's been "lost to hate."

James knows sorrow, he knows loss, and his life is waning. In considering his own mortality, he says, "Death does not cause me sorrow like most people." In spite of the horrific memories of war, James is at peace. He is ready for it. "Death, which we don't have to think about very often, is a byproduct of living." I am deeply impressed by James. In these memories he is conjuring up long-forgotten people; in the remembering he is honoring them and preparing to join them.

James was somehow not able to let tragedy defeat him.   He went on to live a productive life in which he helped a lot of others. In his reflections upon his own death he is helping even more. Like me.

I wonder about my own feelings about death. My death. It's hard to think about when I have a (mostly) healthy body, with years of work and adventure ahead. But it's coming. It's a physical reality that waits. I hope to have the peace that James does. I hope to be able to let thing be as they are, and to accumulate few regrets. 

Since James has gained a fair bit of wisdom in his years, I asked for some sage advice for life. He gave me two suggestions: 

1) "Don't push things". For instance, if you want a new car, and all you can think about is getting a new car, don't push through with your desires. Wait for the universe to provide. It may not be as fast you'd like (I'm not sure if he meant the car itself, or the speed with which it is acquired), but it will happen. 

2) "Keep your feet dry". Because when your feet get wet and stay wet, you'll eventually not be able to walk. 

Thank you, James, for teaching me about life, death, peace, and gratitude. 

The tiger within

Recently I gave a presentation on Echoes at a local Lutheran church. At the end I showed this illustration: 

It's how I envision this as-yet-fairly-small gathering. We are little, we are a bit unassuming, but there is a lot in us. Not that I'm expecting we'll turn into a massive, fearful killing machine (have you seen the power of tigers?). I think we're a vegetarian tiger, one that can celebrate life and mourn with those who suffer. 

But the truth is we're also that little cat doing some painting. Who knows what we'll find when our creativity is unleashed? We're looking for more artists, dreamers, non-conformists, and curious onlookers to help shape this unique community. Rawr. 

Revolution in six words: "Your faith has made you well"

The two Scripture passages for this sermon:

2 Kings 5:1–3, 7–15c

Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the LORD had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman's wife. She said to her mistress, "If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy."

….When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, "Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me." But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, "Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel."

So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha's house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, "Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean."

But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage.

But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean'?" So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean. Then he returned to the man of God, he and all his company; he came and stood before him and said, "Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel.”

Luke 17:11–19
On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" When he saw them, he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Then he said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well."

In both of these Old Testament and Gospel readings people are healed from leprosy. In both occasions the healing is, let’s be honest, rather strange. In the Old Testament, Namaan, the army commander from Aram, is asked to go wash himself in the Jordan River seven times. He’s not terribly happy about this – he could wash in his own river at home! - but he goes anyway ONLY because his servants reason with him (“how hard could this be, Namaan, give it a try!”) So he gives it a try, and lo and behold, Namaan is cleansed from his skin disease!

In the Gospel story, Jesus tells ten lepers to go show themselves to the priests to be clean. Jesus and the disciples are on their way to Jerusalem, and they are in this odd region, being between Galilee and Samaria – not really totally in either land, but in the middle. A group of ten people who have a skin disease, called leprosy in the Bible, are hanging out together (there’s nothing quite like an affliction to create community). As a group they call out respectfully to Jesus, calling him “Master”, and asking Jesus to have mercy on them. That’s all they ask, “have mercy”.

The text doesn’t say that Jesus even approaches them. Instead, he tells them to go show themselves to the priests. That’s it, just “go show themselves to the priests,” but he doesn’t say why or what will happen.

That’s about as odd as asking Namaan to go dip in the river. It’s odd because, as far as we know, the only purpose that lepers would have had to go show themselves to the priest is to be reinstated to their community when they are literally clean, free of disease – which they decidedly were NOT when they started on their journey to see the priests. Going to the priests would have meant that they were no longer unclean, but healthy, and ready to be back in their “normal” lives as “clean” followers of their God. And they weren’t that when they started their walk.

So all ten of these lepers had to have faith to begin with to even make the journey to see the priests – maybe not the faith to know that they were going to be cleansed as they walked, but faith enough to go and at least do what Jesus says to see what would happen. Kind of like Namaan dipping in the river.

It’s the one guy, the individual who steps away from the pack, who gets particular notice. At some point before they get to the priests, this one guy returns to Jesus and receives the very special words, “your faith has made you well.” Not just clean, but “well.”

Washing in a river seven times, going before priests when you’re unclean – these are not “normal” healing techniques. And what’s more, these aren’t “normal” people for the Israelites to see healed. Namaan was from Aram, the leader of the army of a conquering nation. He received mercy from Israel’s prophet Elisha, when Elisha told Namaan to go wash in the Jordan. Namaan, after his healing, pledges allegiance to the God of Israel. He radically changes his religious devotion – a pretty big deal for a guy in his position.

Luke refers to this story of Namaan. Luke tells us in chapter 4 that at the time of Elisha the prophet there were lots of lepers in Israel, but only Namaan was healed. Isn’t that interesting? The only one healed during this amazing prophet’s time, in all of Israel, we’re told, is not an Israelite at all, and in fact is the army commander of an opposing people group.

Those words of Luke, and the actual story of Namaan that we find in 2 Kings, are a backdrop to the story of Jesus’ encounter with the ten lepers.

A lot of folks assume that the other nine lepers, the ones who didn’t turn around to thank Jesus, were Israelite. But we don’t actually know that. This region was in between Samaria and Galilee, so the group could’ve been much more diverse than we imagine. Regardless, at least one of them was a Samaritan.

Just like with Namaan, our attention is brought to the fact that this guy, the one who turns back, is not an Israelite. He’s a Samaritan. He is not one of the chosen ones, one of the people who is to bring light to the nations. He’s an outsider, a “foreigner”, as Jesus calls him. But he’s healed, and he “gets” the magnitude of that. 

Samaria is an interesting place. We know there is animosity between these two people groups in the Bible. At times in the 1st century they were physically attacking one another. Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan is such a shock because the Samaritan is the only one in the story who has kindness on an Israelite!

The last time Samaria was mentioned in Luke, Jesus and his disciples had been refused hospitality by a Samaritan town. As a result of this rejection, the disciples wanted to command fire to rain down on them and destroy the whole town in revenge (Lk 9:52-53). Not exactly good blood there. So what was it between the Samaritans and the Israelites? What was this rift all about?

Religion. The rift was about religion, not surprisingly. The Samaritans claim that their faith is essentially the true faith of Moses. They’re not some pagan sect, they worship the same God. Moses is their only prophet, and they only have the five books of the Old Testament as their Scripture. To them, it’s the Israelites who have distorted the true faith.

So they feel they’ve actually held on to the true faith. They are trying to be faithful to the law of Moses. It’s the same scaffolding of faith as the Galileans, the Israelites. A big difference, though, is the “true” center of worship. For the Israelites true worship only happens in Jerusalem at the temple. For the Samaritans true worship happens at Mount Gerizim.

The Israelites believe that Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac on Mt Moriah, which is the temple mount in Jerusalem, and the Samaritans believe that the near-sacrifice happened on Mt Gerizim, which is their temple mount. If a Samaritan converted to Judaism they had to specifically renounce their belief that worship belonged at Mt Gerazim. It’s a big deal in their differences; the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4 even refers to it.

So, as Dennis Hamm writes, this puts the Samaritan leper in our story in a bit of a bind. To go show themselves to the priests meant that these lepers had to go to their respective temples. There weren’t churches on every corner like there can be with Christianity. Priests were found at one spot: the temple. In this case, priests were in two spots: either in Jerusalem for the Israelites, or at Gerizim for the Samaritans. Regardless, it’s a LONG walk that would take a LONG time.

And what do you do as a Samaritan? Do you go to Jesus’ temple, which would be in Jerusalem, which your people say would be heretical, or do you go to your own temple? And where are your compatriots going?

So what does he do?

He turns around and goes to the unquestionable source of his healing – to where he has seen the work of God.

The question of what temple to go to is moot in the presence of Jesus, because clearly God resides here – with him! – and that is where he goes. He goes to Jesus. And he throws himself at Jesus’ feet to say thank you. And Jesus says “your faith has made you well.” Not just clean, but “well.” Not only clean, but “well”.

Do we blame the other ten for not turning back? No. They’re following directions, they’re obeying what Jesus told them to do. It’s just that this one guy turns around. He recognizes where he wanted to place his worship. This “foreigner.”

This word that Jesus uses of this Samaritan, “foreigner,” is only found here in the New Testament, it’s found in no other place in the New Testament. Where it IS found in Israel at the time of this story is in the dividing line in the Jewish temple.

The word is “allogenes”, and it’s written in stone in the temple in Jerusalem, marking the line between Gentile and Israelite. The “court of the Gentiles” was as close to the temple as the Gentiles could get, and that word “allogenes” denoted where they belonged. If they ventured into the Jewish-only area of the temple, closer to the inner sanctum of God, they could be put to death.

This barrier didn’t exist with Jesus. This foreigner recognizes who Jesus was and Jesus didn’t push him away, Jesus didn’t say, “foreigners can’t come to me,” instead he pronounced an even deeper cleansing: his faith had made him well. He and the other nine might have been cleansed from their diseases, but this guy, this one foreigner, recognized where the cleansing came from, and in so doing found a deeper healing, a more holistic healing, than the other nine.

“Get up and go on your way, your faith has made you well,” Jesus says. Notice that he DOESN’T say, “Get up and go to Jerusalem to worship, because then you prove that your faith is on the right track and you are truly well.” Presumably Jesus doesn’t ask this man to stop being a Samaritan, to convert to the “right” belief of the Israelites. Even though the Jews and the Samaritans war about where they should worship this is not an issue for Jesus. 

The Samaritan turned around to find his Savior. What temple did he need to go to? What does it matter when he had Jesus to go to?

This story of the ten lepers is about way more than giving thanks. But digging into it, we find that thanks is the only posture to take.

We find that we have a God who does not take stock in human divisions.

We find a God who lifts up the broken, whoever they may be.

We find a God who fully reinstates the so-called unclean, and draws them close, to Godself.

We find a God who honors faith, as little and as uninformed as that faith may be.

We find a God who draws us to Godself.

We, who most likely would be the “allogenes”, the foreigners who are kept out of the temple, we – you and me – are brought near to God simply because that is the heart of God.

To bring humankind close, to show Godself in suffering, to restore the broken and the brokenhearted, to make us “well.”

Where is God found? Where is worship found? In this man Jesus.

With the little, ill-formed, or odd faith that we may have.

Amen.

POSTSCRIPT: So, I wonder: what if the Church, if the followers of Jesus had grabbed onto this posture of Jesus of not correcting people's belief, and instead affirmed inclinations to give thanks to Jesus? Would the world be a different place? I think it would. I think the entire face of the planet would be different. Colonialism would be gone, the majority of denominationalism would be gone, holy wars involving Christians would've been greatly decreased.

The leprous Samaritan had a belief system, and it didn't line up with Jesus,' but this didn't fuss Jesus. He doesn't even mention it. Could we live with the messiness of a  faith group that didn't have to have perfectly aligned beliefs? I'd love to try, and I'd love to see it spark a revolution. 

Guest Blog: Blessing of the Animals

This blog post comes graciously by way of Gwen and her blog, badinkadink:

St. Francis of Assisi lived from 1182-1226. He called animals “brother” and “sister,” and he famously preached to birds. The Catholic church tells a story about St. Francis taming a dangerous wolf, making a pact with it not to harm humans, who are made in the image of God. He sounds kind of nuts. If St. Francis stood in a park today and preached to the birds and rabbits, I suspect most of us would keep a wide distance. But those early believers must have seen something genuine in him, because he is now canonized as one of the most famous saints.

The Feast of St. Francis is celebrated on Oct. 4. In Bellingham it’s accompanied by several Blessing of the Animals services, associated with various churches around town. Since our naughty dogs are always in need of a blessing, we showed up at the local park and found two dozen other dogs and their people in attendance, mostly strangers to one another, all gathered together for the love of our dogs. After a short 10 minute service—which included, of course, the Prayer of St. Francis, and a lovely poem called Blessing the Animals by Jan Richardson—the dogs and their people all lined up to receive a blessing from the pastor.

It was a hodgepodge group that showed up for the Blessing of the Animals. There was a middle aged woman with her border collie; an old man with two Labradoodles that were mirror images of each other; a man and his chow chow, both of whom preferred to stay on the fringes; a whole family wearing Sunday best clothes, surrounding their Golden Retriever like a family bearing joyful witness to a baptism. There was a whole convention of blond poodle mixes. Is there a collective noun for a group of Labradoodles? An oodle of doodles, perhaps?

An oodle of doodles.

The Blessing of the Animals was advertised in the church’s e-newsletter, and in some posters and flyers around town. Most people who came didn’t know what to expect, how many animals would be there, or even what denomination or type of church was hosting the event. But they came anyway.

How different would this have been if the event was a public “blessing of the people?” What if, instead of an animal blessing, the poster advertised “Public Blessing at Cornwall Park! Come as you are and get blessed!” Without knowledge about the type of church, the length of the event (no one likes a long sermon), the creed and beliefs of the host church, would anyone come? Would anyone take time out of a beautiful Saturday to walk to a local park and receive a personal blessing from an unknown person of unknown faith? It seems unlikely, and definitely uncomfortable. And yet dozens of people eagerly stood in line for the pastor to lay her hands on their dog’s furry head.

What would it be like, to be such an open vessel as a dog? To eagerly receive every blessing, never questioning self worth, making disclaimers, asking “why me”, or looking for strings attached?

(Echoes' postscript: there is a nice photo montage of the event on the Bellingham Herald's site. )

THANKS for the reflection, Gwen! 

Palm-sized Nirvana

It left me breathless. I wanted to embrace the world, jump off mountains, bear-hug lions, and put my life on the line, because this is the way it should be! I can transcend the daily! I can be more! I can be a hero! The angelic music only confirms it: this is my destiny, and this camera company is simply revealing it to me. 

One has to marvel at the marketing skills of GoPro. They came on the market at the same time as other outdoor action cams, but they blitzed so hard with advertising that the competition is hardly known. GoPro has televisions for their retail displays, endlessly looping footage of what your life could be like if you had one of these cameras. Oh, and it's appealing. I have one of their earlier models and it can do some pretty cool stuff, but I certainly haven't seen evidence that the vast majority of GoPro owners are actually editing their material to let others know of their exploits. The camera is a great tool (and this one is even smaller and lighter!!) that takes fantastic footage, but for all its glitz, it doesn't actually offer the life that it portrays. 

Bummer.  

I watched this video yesterday morning when the GoPro Hero3+ debuted. I was awestruck. Admittedly, I wanted one, because the vision of glory that they depict is what I want in life. At least I should want it. I mean, wanting that image of life will help me buy the camera, right?

Videos such as these help me look at my ideals. But the ideals aren't really the problem, it's the difference between my deep, inner desires, and what I want to portray. They often are not the same. I'd like to be the lithe snowboard phenom who slays the extreme backcountry routes, but actually, I think I just want to look that good on film. I don't really want to slog up that mountain with all my gear, nervous about avalanches and breaking my femur, and then get down to the bottom all too quickly. Others do. They really, really do. But not me. I only think I do after watching that glorious, sunny, slow-mo video, that makes those people look like gods.

If the new GoPro helps people to achieve these sorts of dreams, then awesome. What helps me, though, is to take the feelings that I get from watching GoPro's brilliant new advertising video and put them toward finding out what I really, really want in life - connection, creativity, beauty, fairness, worthwhile vocation - and then go after those like I was flying down a mountain on a flimsy piece of wood. 

I do want to hug friendly lions, though.  Yes, yes, I do.

Postscript (10/11/13): GoPro continues to market well. Check out the latest tear jerker. 

Those wild and crazy Greeks

Bellingham had its Greek Festival recently, which basically is a fund-raiser for the Greek Orthodox church and a great opportunity to overeat.

I had the chance to attend with my housemate, who has a Greek heritage. Her smile grew wider and wider as she recognized the hard-to-pronounce names of food, informing me how the items are made and recalling the occasions she and her family would eat these tasty treats when she was a child. The food was good, but it was more enjoyable to watch her bask in the familiarity of the surroundings.

Same dancing started up and she whispered to me, "that's not Greek dancing." Having a hard believing that she could recognize this so definitively I asked how she knew. "Just wait," she said, "I'm sure it'll start eventually."  

Turning my attention to the artery-hardening Greek donuts, my friend soon pointed out the new activity underway in the center of the festival: "now that is Greek dancing!"

There were about five people all in a line, holding hands. They were doing synchronized steps, with the leader at the front of the line setting the pace and step routine. Periodically the leader would point to someone in the congo-like line and that person would become the new leader. It looked very active, and the Greeks can certainly keep it up for a long time! They all knew the moves, and there were no apparent gender rules: men or women could lead, and men as easily held hands with men as they did with women. (Alternatively the dancers place their hands on each other's shoulders.)

What struck me was the connectedness of it all. We don't dance like this in North America. Touching is only for couples, or for short-lived, good-humored congo lines. If it's not in a two-some, dancing is done solo. Sure, it's done in a group on a dance floor, but there is no holding hands and all doing the same moves. If everyone is doing the same moves, then again it's either as a two-some, or it's line dancing where no one touches anyone.

We've got the patent on individualism in the U.S. Heck, we've got the patent on individual faith, too. I wonder what life would be like if we lived more connected, if we practiced our faith more connected? Would we do more Greek dancing?

Lucy joins in a Greek wedding dance. Here's Lucy, 1971

Zombie love

Romeo and Juliet. Just say the words and it evokes thoughts of tragic love, and, usually, the balcony scene. It took until the balcony scene in the post zombie-apocalypse movie Warm Bodies for me to "get it" - Julie, the human, on the 2nd story outside ledge of her mansion, and "R", the zombie, on the ground below, looking up, imploring her to talk with him. "Ohhhh", I thought suddenly, "it's another remake!" The humans in Julie's world want Rr dead, the skeletal "bonies" in R's world want Julie dead - they're stuck, and falling in love.

Most know how Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet ends: poorly. They both die with the belief that their love made it impossible for them to live in their respective worlds without the other. (My apologies if I've just spoiled the story for you!)

But what would happen if the love that Romeo and Juliet shared could transform their communities? What if others learned from them, and instead of tragedy there is massive social change? 

(Spoiler Alert! If you want to watch the very enjoyable movie of Warm Bodies, read on at your own risk.) 

This is what happens in Warm Bodies. R, the zombie, who is rather more self-aware than most zombies, is thunderstruck when he sees the human, Julie. Instead of eating her, he protects her. His love for her, and eventually her love for him, begins to transform other zombies. They begin to have hope. 

Rather than dying in a pool of misunderstanding, remorse, poison and blood, R and Julie's impossible love spreads to the zombies and the humans, radically transforming everyone (much bonding occurs during the extermination of the bonies).  The literal wall of separation that protected the humans from the zombies is blown to bits, the zombies regain heartbeats, and the humans learn to integrate the zombies into their lives, helping them to become human again.

It's a lovely story. (Never mind the occasional scene of flesh and brain being eaten.) It's a gospel story. It's a story I want to be true so badly. (Not the zombie apocalypse part.) Love CAN transform. It can transform our economy, our prejudices, our wars, and our injustices. It can transform me, which is no minor miracle.

Warm Bodies may be a fairy tale, but the power of love that is portrayed here is anything but fanciful. The love of God that is revealed in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus really does bring the dead to life. It's ours to experience, to offer, and to ask for. It's ours to live.

A GPS of anxiety and love

Daisy is six years old. I became her guardian when she was seven months old.  Our first and second apartments were on the third floor, so I got her a tall cat tree from which she could look down onto the world below. My current place is a townhome. Daisy has never been this close to the "real" world before. Deer, squirrels, other cats, and an occasional pair of chihuahuas come into the yard on a regular basis. I watch her whole body respond, "I want to be out there, I want to be out there, I want to be out there." 

Just about every time any door is open she is trying to get out. She'll sit for hours on a windowsill, sniffing the air, tail bristling when a next door tom mocks her imprisonment. She loves to scratch furniture but inexplicably -- and gratefully -- she has not tried to ruin the window screens, the thin, weak barrier between her and the great, wide world of scents, textures, companionship and competition. 

I'm overprotective. I'm fearful. If only she could be like other cats who could care less if they're outside or not. I have friends who have cats that don't even go near outside doors. And I have friends who allow their cats who come and go as they please, neither cat nor human particularly fussed or agitated about the perils of the outdoors....then there's me.

Granted, I have friends who passed up having sushi with Brandi Carlisle because their puppy was howling so mournfully in its crate at home. So I don't think I'm alone in my near-neurotic concern for my cat. My friend's puppy howls with soulful bellows, and Daisy looks longingly outside, hoping, waiting, begging for freedom. It crushes me.

I believe it's true that God knows where each of us is at every moment. But I'm not God, so today I ordered a GPS tracker for Daisy. 

I realize I risk ridicule with this admission.  I also realize I risk the wrath of bird lovers, and veterinarians who say that outdoor cats will not live as long as indoor ones. I know. Sigh, I know.

This love that protects, though, also wants her to be free. With limits. With some  controls. 

Daisy surely will prefer to be outside without the gadget on her little body. I would, too. I want freedom to be total. For if the freedom isn't total, then it's not freedom, right?

It would seem so, but I'm not so sure. If I were a surgeon I'd want the freedom to practice surgery, but in the beginning I'd feel freer if there was someone there watching me, ready to catch my mistakes and offer life-saving suggestions. The same would be true for a factory job, an accountant, anyone who works with toxic materials. 

Until we know how to be free, until we know how to function safely in our freedom, then the controls actually make us freer. Freer to fail. Freer to try new things. Freer to go slowly. 

If it's too controlled, though, then freedom is never achieved. When the boss never lets you work on your own, or time constraints are so tight that creativity is eradicated just so the tasks can get done. There are lines to this whole freedom thing.

The whole "free will" theological debate has certainly been argued up one side and down the other for centuries. Millenia. I'm not exactly sure how God's love and human freedom work together, but I'm trusting that somehow they work together for humanity's good - for us to experience freedom, yet within some controls. I want waaay more control from God many days. Way. More. And I know that if there was more then I would chafe more.

As Daisy wanders the neighborhood in her new GPS-laden harness next week, I'm going to be nervous. But my love lets her roam. Now if only I could program her not to eat other, smaller creatures...