movie review: The Apostle

We finally watched a movie Brandon has been recommending to me for ages: The Apostle, starring, written, directed and executive produced by Robert Duvall. It's about this preacher whose wife sleeps with the youth pastor at the church, and he ends up killing the guy and skipping town. The movie is about what he does in this town while he's on the lam. It's a great movie--excellent performances all around, an original story--and very true to life.

I guess I haven't watched a lot of movies, but this is the only one I've seen that portrays the more "out there," somewhat charismatic evangelical church in a both accurate and respectful light, without minimizing or apologizing for the wackiness and sins of the people in the church, but never mocking or judging either. It's one of the very few movies I've seen that I would call both "Christian" and "high quality." In fact, there's only one other movie like that: Babette's Feast.

So: watch these movies if you are so inclined!

how much ... ?

Not everyone here has a Bostonian accent--and the people in whom it's strongest are usually:

1. The Elderly
2. The Working-Class

And for the most part, people are no less polite than on the West Coast--most are probably more polite, but less friendly/familiar. More formal, less casual. But this one time we went to the hardware store to get some keys copied and the guys at the shop were shockingly unashamed of being rude to us. I guess at first they just looked and sounded surly. Then, I had to like, fill out some kind of form for the receipt, and I asked if I needed to sign on the place where it said "Signature" or something, and the guy like, sneered, "No, I don't want your autograph." So Brandon and I went away and laughed because it was so crazy and not the kind of thing that happens on the West Coast, I don't think.

Anyway, I wish I could put onto my blog an audio file of Brandon imitating the accent, because he's very good. And knowing how it sounds makes the following exchange funnier.

Brandon, as I write, is on his way to get a haircut. He's been needing it, badly, for a few weeks now. He opened up the phone book to find a place, called one and said "Hello, um, how much for just a man's haircut?" And the voice on the other end said "One million dollahs."

When we move to Pasadena, I will not miss the New England weather, but I will miss the surprisingly sarcastic strangers.

Waiting

Sorry for not writing in a while. I just haven't been "inspired." Not that I'm particularly inspired right now. But I feel it is my duty to write something--for my multitude of adoring fans, you know. (-:

Sometimes I feel like most of my time is spent waiting. Waiting to start seminary. Waiting until we're in a place where we'll stay for a long time so I can start to really feel at home. Waiting to start my career. Waiting for the weekend. And up until recent weeks, waiting for the weather to get warm.

Waiting is not really fun. Sometimes I remember that I needn't think of my time as a long wait. Sometimes I remember to enjoy what I'm doing. Sometimes I remeber that mundane activities--things I'd rather be able to skip altogether--can be celebrated. Taking a shower is not a chore, but a privilege: it feels good to be clean and being able to bathe so often, and with clean, hot water, is a luxury most people can't afford, I think. I do have to remind myself that tidying up the house is not a waste of time. But it is good, and it can be kind of fun, to bring order to chaos and make the place look good instead of "pig-sty-esque," as it usually is ...

Like I said, nothing profound today but I wanted to throw y'all a bone, meatless though it may be.

Self Check Out at the Grocery Store

So at most grocery stores nowadays they have stations where you can scan, pay for and bag your groceries without the aid of a store employee (well, assuming you don't make any mistakes--not a safe assumption). When I first started using these self service stations, I thought they were *just perfect* for people like me--people, that is, who dread brief, unnecessary social interaction with strangers whom one may never meet again.

Surely I am not alone in this feeling--why else would people be using the self serve station? It would be less work to have someone else scan and bag one's groceries. The self service station is ideal for people who have only a few items, so the line is short and moves quickly--but that's already the idea behind the "10 items or fewer" lane.

And that's just the problem: the line doesn't move that much faster, because people make mistakes and the machine rejects their coupons or crumpled dollar bills, and they end up standing around waiting for a store employee to come and help them anyway. And sometimes they're just slow.

But the worst of it is that you have all the most anti-social people in the store--all the people who, like me, are prone to embarrassment in social situations, trying to escape interaction with the checker, only to end up having even more embarrassing interaction with other customers who are either before or after them in line. This was the case the last two time I used the self check out lanes. So maybe I won't use them again--unless there's no line, I suppose.

Blog Sermon #1: If Ever I Loved Thee, My Jesus

There is a song--I’m not sure if it’s a modern hymn or something from the Bill and Gloria Gaither era--of which the refrain is “If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, ‘tis now.” If I’m trying to sing some kind of made-up harmony, I do sing that line. But if I’m actually thinking about the words, I never sing it. Yes, I have a beef with that line.

Before I start lambasting it, let me just point out that I don’t mean offense people who find the line meaningful. I understand that not everyone feels the need to pick apart the logic of every line of every hymn or song. I’m sure it is possible for some people to just take the line as a statement of devotion--a statement that one is moved by reflection on Jesus’ sacrificial death and abundant love for us. But me, I’m just so analytical and nit-picky I can’t get over what the line implies.

“If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, ‘tis now,” says the song. And what am I doing right now? Singing a song. Thinking about Jesus’ love for me and feeling pious, devoted feelings. This is what bothers me--the implication that a feeling of love is love itself--and not just that it is love, but that it is the highest and best form of love, or at least the form that we can most confidently point to and say “yes, that is surely love.” That’s what the sentence structure “if ever I loved thee, ‘tis now” implies.

And that’s certainly not true. It’s good to have fine feelings--but that is certainly not how Jesus talked about love. According to Jesus, love means doing as he commanded us. Love means taking care of the wounded Samaritan. Love means getting down on our knees and serving. There is no greater love than to lay down your life for your friend.

I wish that I could change the words of the song to be something more like “If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, it was when I donated more than I can afford to give to the local rehab center.” Or “If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, it was in babysitting for a single mother.” Or “If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, it was when I hired a former gang banger to give him a second chance.” If ever I have loved Jesus, it did not happen while I was singing in church and working up in myself lots of fervor and holy feelings. It happened when I actually did something that helped another human being.

It seems like sometimes people put too much emphasis on saying that God is glorified in people singing songs in church. In many contemporary churches, singing spiritual songs and getting worked up into this emotional state is the only meaning of the word “worship.” I suppose part of the reason this bothers me is just that I was raised Presbyterian and a good old fashioned orderly Presbyterian service, is referred to in its entirety as “worship.” Worship includes the reading of scripture. Worship includes passing the peace. Worship includes the offering. And of course it includes communion.

More than that, though, we worship God when we devote ourselves to him. Presenting our bodies as a living sacrifice to God is our spiritual worship. And that doesn’t just happen at church--or it shouldn’t be just happening at church, anyway! God is not just glorified when we sing his praises. He is much more glorified in our lives when we give up our own pleasures and comforts for our neighbors. God is glorified in our love for fellow Christians and our compassion for the poor.

At Whitworth College, my alma mater, there is a student led and organized service of song and scripture readings held one night every week. It was a thrilling experience to be part of a throng of impassioned young Christian women and men, singing our hearts out in devotion to God. There was one night when the mood was truly electric. I don’t even remember what song we were singing, but, the musicians cut out so it was voices only, thundering, resounding, filling the room. The sheer volume was impressive, and the air charged with emotion. And of course it was glorious, it was beautiful, and I rejoiced, but … not with my whole heart. Because I knew that many of these young people, as soon as they left Whitworth--even just to go home for the summer--would slide back into old patterns of sin, and unbelief and forget completely the ardor with which they said, and felt they would pursue God’s kingdom.

It’s not that I don’t value heartfelt proclamations of devotion--it’s just that I take them with a grain of salt. And above all it’s that I don’t want people to confuse a feeling of love with actual love. Partly because I don’t want people to think too highly of themselves because of their pious feelings. But also because I want to encourage those who are lacking in such fine feelings--I want to reassure people who have “lost that loving feeling,” so to speak, that it doesn’t mean they are incapable of love.

It is my hope that we can be freed up from focusing on feelings of devotion as the sign that we are right with God, that we will not waste energy trying to produce those feelings in ourselves or worrying about our lack of emotion, and that instead we will be focused on what Jesus told us to do: on loving our neighbor through self-sacrifice, through service, and compassion.

my sense of humor

Before the real post, here's something I was thinking about the other day: Surely fingerprints can't *all* be unique. It doesn't seem like there are enough possible variations of the design for that to be the case. I mean, considering how many people there are in the world, and how many people there were before that are long dead now, doesn't it seem like some of the fingerprints would be the same?

Now the real post:

The woman I work with on Wednesday mornings is something of a character. She's older (than me, at least, ha), has got some gray hair (which looks just beautiful in a single braid reaching down to her waist)--I believe she said she was born in '67.

Anyway, she jokes around a lot and one day said to me something like "Well, at least I can make you laugh," and I said something like, "Yes, you seem to have a knack for it."

As I thought about it, really, just about anyone that's trying to be funny--and sometimes people who are not trying to be--can make me laugh. I laugh a lot. (Though still not as much as Brandon, I think.) And then I remembered how this came about.

When I was a kid or "preteen" or whatever, I sometimes would say things that were meant to be funny but that no one laughed at or even understood as a joke. Partly this may be because I had (have) a somewhat "different" or "offbeat" sense of humor. Another possiblity is that people may not have heard me, since I tended (tend) to be quiet and mumbling. But in any case, I found it painfully embarrasing when that happened and I sort of vowed to myself that, so far as it was in my power, I would not let that happen to anyone else. I made a point of laughing at anything which was meant as a joke, no matter whether I actually found it funny or not.

And it seems I faked finding things funny for so long, I started to actually find everything funny.

And, uh, that's all, folks.

A Note On The Previous Post

Perhaps my last post was an unfair portrayal of my co-workers. They certainly do not deserve the criticism my brother aimed at them. One of them is the kids' new therapist, and before you say "Well, that makes it even worse," I must point out that it was her first day on the job and that I don't think she's done much work with children. Her last job was in Hospice care.

And as for the other two staff persons, they are so dedicated to the job, they worked many hours overtime in addition to their usual hours during the kids' vacation this past week. I'm sure they were more than tired and certainly not "at their best" at the time those events took place.

I should perhaps also point out that the boy I talked about is skilled enough at other games (most notably, basketball and checkers) that adults do not need to "let him win"; he can often win by his own merit.

And perhaps most importantly, the same boy has some megalomanic tendencies, also. He frequently talks about how much stronger, taller, smarter, more knowledgeable, etc. he is than another child in the program, and heaps unutterably cruel verbal abuse upon her. Earlier that morning he called her an "ogre" because she was "eating like a dog" and said that he himself is "perfect." He seems to have an intense need to rule the roost, and assert his dominance over other children and, if possible, the staff.

I can imagine my co-workers supposing that allowing the boy to win would feed into his megalomanic tendencies. I would have to disagree, though. I would guess that his need to assert himself springs from his lack of self esteem, and that we should try to build his self esteem by all legitimate, age-appropriate means possible, so that he won't have to resort to unacceptable means.

So, anyway, I did not mean for you all to get the impression that my co-workers are bad people, or even that they are not good with kids--because most of the time, they are. But working with children who have serious emotional problems makes it hard to know how to respond to them, at times--not to mention how much emotion it stirs up in the staff--which certainly can impair one's ability to respond appropriately to the children.