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Shop Talk: A Poem

Mansfield Park Personal Ad

Note: Over the next few days, I’m going to start posting some of my old poems here, part of a larger project to gather all my writing in one place. Here is the first poem.

Shop Talk

Dominant Male, requires adoring and
obedient submissive for strict discipline
and body worship.

Vintage-model SWM, 50, looking for
experienced driver with well-kept garage who
prefers smooth driving for possible long-distance
adventure. I handle mountain roads well and

still have juice in the battery.
Voice Mailbox 50235.
She circles this one with her felt-tip
pen and mumbles a kind of voodoo

mantra, willing the red ink,
this unbroken circle of her own blood, to
keep out the others. She saw him first.
She claims 50235 for herself and they consume

each other with the fierce, impetuous
hunger of books she is too proud to read.
She calls and leaves a message
whispering semi-erotic shop talk

about garages and tools and classic cars and
how she is getting hot. Mmm, so hot.

Now they are zipping through the Sierras in 50235’s
Cadillac – a convertible – his platinum
hair impervious to the wind
and he is so dashing. He smiles

this disarming smile – shockingly white teeth (all real) –
and his bronze skin a leather landscape –
and they listen to good jazz as they drive –
and, god, she is so witty.

Friendship and more. SWF seeking
feminine middle-aged man hater with
no sexual hang-ups.
This is unexplored territory for her.

Now they are sharing a plate of sashimi and
oyster shooters at The Raw Bar. Now they are going
to poetry readings at the Pink Flamingo –
and they sit in front of the fireplace – hot

on her skin – and she is soft –
and men – the bastards – are the furthest
thing from her mind

as 61834 moves a hand
further up her thigh.

Faithfully yours. Two Ch men, one shy,
one outgoing, seeking 2 Ch women, for private Bible
study, must have humor, sensitivity, security,
nonsmokers only.

MWF seeking anybody,
warm hands but cold feet,
pours over the personals each evening at
her kitchen table and lives a 2nd-hand

life there. Oldest son upstairs
annihilating zombies on his computer.
Husband throwing touchdown passes
from the pocket of his La-Z-Boy chair.

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Lessons from Mister Rogers

Sometimes it feels like every book I read on placemaking and community flourishing–and even my own writing on those topics–are just attempts to put into “adult” language all the good lessons we should have remembered from Mister Rogers decades ago. I mean, let’s all go and really experiment with this:

I’ve always wanted to have a neighbor just like you.
I’ve always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.
So, let’s make the most of this beautiful day.
Since we’re together we might as well say:
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won’t you be my neighbor?

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A Christian Writer’s Confession

A Christian Writer’s Confession: There is always, just below the surface, and I mean just below the surface, this mad desire to serve only the art, to wreck myself against the limits of my own talent, to stay far enough away from self-immolation that I don’t burn the people around me, but close enough that they feel heat, to peer over the edge over the world and tell you what I see there, to live deep and to live wild, to smoke and drink and eat and fight and make love and sit half-naked at a typewriter and write things so beautiful they will break your heart. We don’t always know the idols we’ve fashioned with our own hands, but this is mine. And I mean it’s just below the surface.

The first obvious rebuttal to this confession is that you don’t have to live hard to be a great artist. My favorite modern writers aren’t Hemingway and Fitzgerald anymore. They’re Marilynne Robinson and Wendell Berry, with maybe a touch of Garbriel García Márquez. A friend suggested I go back and re-read the Psalms. King David served God before art. He made some dreadful choices, and suffered the consequences, but God called him “a man after my own heart,” and David’s art has endured for millennia.

The second rebuttal is that I don’t have to go looking for Trouble. Clearly Trouble knows where I live. Trouble has a key to my house.

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Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “Strength to Love”

MLK

As it happens, Inauguration Day 2013 falls on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. So we can expect, on January 21, no end to the politicians, pundits, and pastors who—in speeches, editorials, and public prayers—invoke Dr. King’s name, often with the subtle insinuation that his work was somehow fulfilled with the election and re-election of our nation’s first black president. When we want to beatify great moral and civic leaders we inscribe their names in holidays and their likenesses in stone. But King wasn’t a saint who can be so easily dismissed*; he was a prophet whose luminous life and thundering words should still unsettle us, like an electrical storm about to break.

King published five books in his lifetime; a sixth was released after he was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee, on April 4, 1968 at the age of thirty-nine. Stride Toward Freedom (1958) tells the story of the Montgomery Bus Boycott. The Measure of a Man (1959) is a slim volume explaining the theological and philosophical roots of nonviolent activism. Why We Can’t Wait (1964) is a history of the civil rights movement in general, and the 1963 Birmingham Campaign in particular. This book includes his famous “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” which was addressed to eight clergymen and urged the church to join the struggle for racial justice. King’s 1967 book Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? is a clear-eyed look at the state of race relations at a moment when the civil rights movement was in disarray. The book also makes a provocative connection between the bankrupt ideology of systemic discrimination, and the literal impoverishment of millions of Americans, white and black. The five speeches that make up The Trumpet of Conscience, published posthumously in 1968, link the evils of poverty, militarism, and racism and call for nothing less than a nonviolent revolution.

These books are essential reading for American Christians in the second decade of the 21st century. But the book I want to talk about here is Strength to Love, a collection of King’s sermons first published in 1963. Reverend Dr. King liked to say that he was, above all else, a clergyman. Everything else he was—civil rights leader, antiwar activist, labor activist, advocate for the poor, writer, public intellectual and Nobel Laureate—flowed from his primary vocation as a Baptist preacher, the son, grandson, and great-grandson of Baptist preachers.

The first thing that strikes the reader about these sermons is the context in which they originally appeared. King says in the book’s introduction that the sermons were written for particular congregations: Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery and Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta. They were all preached during or after the Montgomery Bus Boycott. By the time Strength to Love was published, King had been imprisoned 12 times, his family was receiving near-constant death threats, his home had been bombed twice, and he had been stabbed nearly to death. Incredibly, three sermons in this collection were written in Georgia jails, including one sermon on Luke 23:34 (“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing”) and another on loving your enemies (Matthew 5:43–45).

The second thing to notice is how fresh the book feels some fifty years after it first appeared in print. Despite real advances in the area of integration, King’s famous lament that the church is the most segregated major institution in the country is still essentially true. According to scholar Curtiss Paul DeYoung, only 5 percent of Christian churches in the United States are “interracial.” (There are some exciting exceptions, as Edward Gilbreath points out in his excellent book, Reconciliation Blues: A Black Evangelical’s Inside View of White Christianity.) In fact, nearly every topic King addresses in these sermons is as critical in our time as it was in his. The tension between science and religion, for example, and the pressure placed on morality by rapidly advancing technology. The myth of inevitable human progress. The worship of “jumboism” and the limits of capitalism. The enormous temptation to conform with society.

“This hour in history needs a dedicated circle of transformed nonconformists,” King says. “Our planet teeters on the brink of atomic annihilation; dangerous passions of pride, hatred, and selfishness are enthroned in our lives; truth lies prostrate on the rugged hills of nameless calvaries; and men do reverence before false gods of nationalism and materialism. The saving of our world from pending doom will come, not through the complacent adjustment of the conforming majority, but through the creative maladjustment of a nonconforming minority.”

Finally, we notice that Strength to Love is both practical and evangelical. King was not a theorist. Developing a framework for understanding nonviolence is only helpful if it leads to nonviolent living. Abstract notions about justice are useless (if not dangerous) if they don’t lead to its pursuit. These sermons are messages from a shepherd to his flock. King took seriously the demands of the Gospel on the soul and society, which is to say he took Jesus at his word when Jesus said, “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.” And, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven.” King says in one famous passage:

To our most bitter opponents we say: “We shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure suffering. We shall meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will, and we shall continue to love you. We cannot in all good conscience obey your unjust laws, because noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good. Throw us in jail, and we shall still love you. Send your hooded perpetrators of violence into our community at the midnight hour and beat us and leave us half dead, and we shall still love you. But be ye assured that we will wear you down by our capacity to suffer. One day we shall win freedom, but not only for ourselves. We shall so appeal to your heart and conscience that we shall win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory.”

Richard Lischer has shown that most of the sermons in Strength to Love would have ended with an altar call. If the altar calls didn’t make it into the text, we still reach a moment of decision. The question King asked explicitly four years later in a different book is the same facing every person who has an authentic encounter with Dr. King: Where do we go from here?

Thus, I propose that we spend less time on Inauguration Day interpreting Dr. King’s legacy and more time letting King’s legacy interpret us. The convergence of holidays will be an inspiration for President Obama, as well it should be. But I also hope it goads the president—really, all of us—toward a second term that will be described by future generations as visionary, passionate, and daring on behalf of peace and justice.

Note: This is adapted from an essay written by the author in Besides the Bible: 100 Books that Have, Should, or Will Create Christian Culture (IVP, 2010), by Dan Gibson, Jordan Green, and John Pattison.

*Dorothy Day, the founder of Catholic Worker, used to say, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed that easily.”

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Somewhere Beyond the Barricade

les-miserables-hugh-jackman-anne-hathaway-new

Kate and I saw Les Miserables tonight, the new film starring Hugh Jackman, Anne Hathaway, and Russell Crowe. It is a truly stunning movie. The director, his crew, and these talented actors were able to take the spectacle of the stage show and translate it into a remarkably intimate story. Kate and I agreed that we’ve never had a movie experience quite like it, and we drove home from our date night in almost total silence.

I was completely engrossed by the movie, but a couple times during the film—to my surprise—my mind suddenly detoured: first, to a conversation I had this afternoon about the theology of predestination, and then to the biblical book of Isaiah. Today’s discussion about predestination was brief and friendly, but I admit that I spent many late nights in my twenties endlessly debating a subject that smarter people than me have been arguing about for centuries. Watching the scenes of the Parisian peasants crying out for social and economic justice, watching the young men on the barricades die in each other’s arms, I started thinking again about the roiling waters of human striving, the great mass of humanity, Kate sitting next to me, my daughter at home in bed, Gavroche dying on the cobblestones…and I thought to myself, “Could there be a less important thing to talk about than predestination?”

Honestly, what came to mind is this:

“The multitude of your arguments about predestination—what are they to me? I have enough of your debates about eternal security, more than enough of your pre-wrath and amillennial, and your endless tribs (pre-, mid-, and post-)…They have become a burden to me…Stop doing wrong, learn to do right. Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.”

This is tonight’s interpretation (my very context-specific interpretation, mostly my own words, not a translation or paraphrase) of Isaiah 1:11-17. Defending the cause of the fatherless and pleading the case of the widow—that’s exactly what Jean Valjean did of course. And then he sang with the final chorus:

Do you hear the people sing
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
who are climbing to the light.

For the wretched of the earth
there is a flame that never dies.
Even the darkest night will end
and the sun will rise.

They will live again in freedom
in the garden of the Lord.
They will walk behind the ploughshare;
they will put away the sword.
The chain will be broken
and all men will have their reward.

Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
is there a world you long to see?
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
when tomorrow comes…
Tomorrow comes!

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G.K. Chesterton on Santa Claus

Victorian Santa Claus

I wrote this a couple years ago:

Molly is three now, and her excitement over Christmas is infectious. She learned the Christmas story this year, mostly from her grandmother, who helped her make finger puppets of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, wise men, and the angel. A glittery horse and plastic monkey are the only animals in the manger. Molly is able to shoehorn Santa Claus into the incarnation somehow, but Kate and I don’t go out of our way to correct her. Some folks might cringe at that, but Molly is only three after all, and right now it’s enough for us that, in Molly’s heart, Christmas is a joyful mash-up of lights, trees, candy, music, presents, grandmothers, Santa and his reindeer, a baby king who was born in a barn, and the mommy and daddy who loved him.

I grew up on legends, myths, fairy tales, and fantasies: King Arthur, Robin Hood, Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, Mother Goose, the Chronicles of Narnia, and of course Santa Claus. I’ve been fortunate that as an adult I’ve never felt the need to disavow these childish stories. I’ve actually added to them, picking up the Harry Potter series in my twenties, which is also when I finally committed myself to read the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Two of my favorite Christian writers – C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton – wrote beautifully about how “faerie stories” prepared them for the gospel. Chesterton’s Orthodoxy is a great example, and a chapter from that book called “The Ethics of Elfland” is one of my favorite chapters in all of literature.

Chesterton saw the world differently than just about everyone else. He seemed to live in a state of inexhaustible wonder. It’s almost as if the scales had fallen from his eyes and he could see the heavenly realm co-mingling with the earthly. For him, the universe must have been like a string that vibrated with the paradox of Emmanuel, “God with us.” I recently discovered something Chesterton wrote about Santa Claus for the Tablet of London. It’s a beautiful piece of writing, and it confirmed for me that, amidst all the mistakes Kate and I make as parents, letting Molly keep Santa Claus is not one of them.

Chesterton on Santa Claus:

What has happened to me has been the very reverse of what appears to be the experience of most of my friends. Instead of dwindling to a point, Santa Claus has grown larger and larger in my life until he fills almost the whole of it. It happened in this way.

As a child I was faced with a phenomenon requiring explanation.  I hung up at the end of my bed an empty stocking, which in the morning became a full stocking.  I had done nothing to produce the things that filled it.  I had not worked for them, or made them or helped to make them.  I had not even been good – far from it.

And the explanation was that a certain being whom people called Santa Claus was benevolently disposed toward me. . . .  What we believed was that a certain benevolent agency did give us those toys for nothing. And, as I say, I believe it still.  I have merely extended the idea.

Then I only wondered who put the toys in the stocking; now I wonder who put the stocking by the bed, and the bed in the room, and the room in the house, and the house on the planet, and the great planet in the void.

Once I only thanked Santa Claus for a few dollars and crackers. Now, I thank him for stars and street faces, and wine and the great sea. Once I thought it delightful and astonishing to find a present so big that it only went halfway into the stocking.  Now I am delighted and astonished every morning to find a present so big that it takes two stockings to hold it, and then leaves a great deal outside; it is the large and preposterous present of myself, as to the origin of which I can offer no suggestion except that Santa Claus gave it to me in a fit of peculiarly fantastic goodwill.

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School Violence and Neuroplasticity

Know-your-brain-500px

I was thinking today about school shootings and the principles of neuroplasticity. The brain rewires itself to adapt to trauma, tool use, and even our own thoughts. For example, the brains of people who imagine themselves playing piano begin to take on the characteristics of the brains of people who actually play piano. It’s interesting to consider, in light of neuroplasticity, Jesus’s teaching in Matthew 5 about how it’s possible to commit acts of murder and adultery “in one’s heart.” We can trick our own brains into accepting a new normal. The brain adapts and lays down neural grooves (so to speak) that don’t just snap back once the person is done pretending; they linger in place.

The urge to Rambo up after a mass murder is understandable, but I think one reason we are less safe post-Newtown, despite the increase in gun sales and the NRA’s “good guys with guns” school safety campaign, is that we’re essentially visualizing violence. Our brains adapt to the new normal of the culture of fear. We need serious gun control. But we also need to commit to the long term work of compassionately, intelligently, and creatively visualizing and practicing nonviolence–jumping the grooves of the pattern of the world, and being transformed by the renewing of our minds.

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