Puggles on Ruggles

Joy and I went to visit my parents and sister/brother-in-law in Ohio for Memorial Day weekend. We had a wonderful visit, and Joy even sang in church on Sunday! She's threatening to find us more gigs, but I'm trying to keep her back. She does grow a little sad when I inform her that most churches probably don't want her to do solos from the Wicked soundtrack. I'm just not sure "The Wizard and I" will sound the same if she changes is to "The Yahweh and I." Who knows.

One of the highlights of the weekend was when we opened up the local papers in search of some free (or cheap) dogs. Joy and I have been talking over the possibility of becoming parents to a four-legged friend for a while now, and we thought driving around the country roads provided us with ample opportunity to find some poor dog that was seduced by the nearby farmer's tramp. (I have all sorts of semi-inappropriate jokes in my mind at the moment, several of them making reference to how that last phrase doesn't seem all too different from the high school I went to, but I'll refrain.) Needless to say, there were many dogs in the paper, but only a few we were interested in, and I couldn't get anyone to return my calls over the weekend. Then there was this one add that had no phone number. It read: "Six Puggle Puppies. $125 ea. Also sell topsoil. R. Miller, 4124 Ruggles Lane, Fredericktown."

Fredericktown is about half an hour away from my parents house, so after feasting on some of my mom's best lasagna after church on Sunday, we took to the road. Kevie-cakies, my senior-year college roommate (Kevin, for all you grown-ups out there who have mysteriously stopped using nick-names) was with us for the day, which added greatly to the trip's enjoyment. It was a beautiful summer day with manure in the air and the gazetteer at my fingertips. We made our way to Fredericktown, and the proceeded down a few of the main roads while looking for Ruggles Lane. It was somewhere in the midst of our search that we realized that we were looking for puggles on Ruggles, and that's when we began to think that perhaps this whole ad was a fraud. There were many "Puggles on Ruggles" comments, and I even stated that "searching for all these Puggles on Ruggles gave me the Struggles," which at the moment was received with great acclaim.

After about fifteen minutes of driving, we stopped and asked a woman watering her begonias about Ruggles Lane, but she had never heard of the road. Then we found a cop and asked him. He hadn't heard of it either, so we figured this wasn't looking good. He looked at his map in his car, couldn't find it, and then he had us follow him to the trailer-of-a-police-station. And hark! He found Ruggles Lane, also known as Township Highway 178. He said it was out of the town limits, but sent us on our way, and you must certainly know we had a renewed sense of vigor amidst us.

Throughout this whole ordeal, we discovered that Mr. Miller, the man who placed the add, lived in the Amish part of town. This explained the mysteriously missing phone number from the newspaper add. Right after we crossed the county border, we found our road. About a mile down, we lost the pavement and hit the gravel. We were really out in the country now, and then we saw our first Amish buggy. This is not an unusual occurance in those parts, but Joy let out a little squeal and we waved as we passed. (This is when I went into a litle talk about how I had just read in McLaren's A Generous Orthodoxy about the Anabaptists and such, but I'll be honest: no one cared. Roger, you might be wondering that same thought in regards to my entire blog, huh?)

And then, there it was: A mailbox that said Mr. Miller with the address we wanted. We pulled in and I lept from the car. As I walked towards the house, we saw two Amish boys come from the barn, so we went to talk with them. Wonderfully kind boys, and while they told us Mr. Miller wasn't home, they said they could show us the puggles. They left and came back with two of the cutest dogs you could ever imagine. These puggles...mix between pug and beagle...are somewhat trendy these days in Chicago where they sell for about $800. This is when the thought occurred to me that we could just buy all six puggles and sell them in Chicago. Perhaps we could even start some sort of business relationship with the Amish? Then I sensed myself becoming a little too Cruela DeVil, and decided one would be enough.

Well, as it turns out, the pups were only five weeks old and not ready to leave mommy yet, and since it was a Sunday, we couldn't make any purchase from the Amish. We loaded back into the car, somewhat gloomy but mostly exhilerated from the search. We didn't return from Ohio with a dog, but Joy and I continue to search, and who knows, perhaps it won't be too long before I introduce a dog to the blog. A dog on my blog. Puggles on Ruggles. It doesn't get any better than this.

"A Generous Orthodoxy"

It is summer and I’ve been busy doing one of my favorite things: reading. Now, you may wonder what I did all year while I was in classes, and yes, I did lots and lots of reading, and I even enjoyed most of it. But now I am free from my classes and syllabi have been filed away. I now have these three precious months where I can look at my bookshelves and read books that I’ve been longing to read but simply haven’t had time for. I have an ever-growing list of books to read, and this summer I have made an ambitious list of 12 books to read. And I’ve already finished 2!

The first one I finished was “A Generous Orthodoxy” by Brian McLaren. I’ve written about McLaren before on this blog, who is a leader in the emergent church and loves to talk about how postmodernism is influencing the church. I know to some the idea that postmodernism might influence the church is synonymous with saying that there’s no such thing as truth and we might as well give up holding onto any concept of truth (pluralistic relativism). And sometimes, McLaren himself gets this brunt of these accusations, and for those who read “A Generous Orthodoxy,” they’ll recognize that this is not what he’s promoting, but what he is promoting is relevant, beautiful, and engaging (both personally and culturally).

In the book, McLaren outlines why he is a Christian and then explores what he means by “generous orthodoxy.” Much attention is given to the difference between orthodoxy (right beliefs) and orthopraxy (right practice), and I couldn’t agree more with him on this (can you truly have one without the other?). I especially appreciated McLaren’s efforts to strike down some of the dividing lines between sects within the Christian faith (Catholics, Methodists, Anabaptists, Mystics, Liberals/Conservatives…) and finds aspects in each which add a unique light. I think of it as a stained-glass window, where no one piece has the whole picture (this isn’t an oil painting), and in fact, one piece of glass removed from the overall window simply looks like a piece of colored glass that is found on the beach. But when all of these pieces of glass are brought together, well now, that’s something immensely more beautiful and profound. In a lot of ways, I think the Church is like that. (If you want to continue with the symbolism, you could emphasize that any stained-glass window needs light to reach the apex of its beauty, and this light is Jesus Christ that must permeate through each separate pane of glass…)

We always hear about how there is one body with many parts, and I’ve always heard this mentioned in regards to people’s gifts and roles within the church. I think it’s helpful to think of this as various congregations or groups or denominations as well, “so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to the others” (Romans 12:5). I find myself weary of those who fight so much for what they stand against, that they almost lose sight of what they stand for. At what point must it simply come back to loving God and loving others? McLaren says it this way: “Generous orthodoxy presumes that the divisions, though tragic, are superficial compared to Christianity’s deep, though often unappreciated, unity” (p. 222). (And yes, I recognize the danger the lurks when we become so free-loving in our orthodoxy that the faith leans towards that pluralistic relativism I mentioned earlier, but this is not what McLaren or I are talking about, and this is not what he means by “generous orthodoxy”.)

I’ve come a long way in my theological and spiritual thinking in the last several years, and for this I am so thankful. I probably thought I had a lot more answers a few years ago than I think I do now, but my faith has also grown in richness and appreciation. I found myself at a juxtaposition between conservative and liberal (or I might more aptly state: conservative vs. liberal) and felt like I must choose between the two (while thinking that all the true Christians would choose conservative). This didn’t make sense to me, and it still doesn’t. I haven’t chosen between the two, and I’m glad of that. There’s stuff on both sides that needs a looking at, and while I don’t have any real answers, I doubt any answer will lie in one group trying to prove they are right simply because they hate all the others. I sense myself starting to climb onto my soapbox now, so I’m going to stop writing and climb down before it gets too late. Thanks for reading.

Not My Best Wednesday

Every once in a while we all have bad days. I am thankful that I feel that my good days outweigh my bad days. Yesterday was a bad day.

I went off to work and everything was fine. I pulled my car up to a culdisac curb, and for no reaonable reason, I drove my front passenger tire right into the curb. (And before you try to laugh at me, try to tell me you've never done the same.) Well, at that same time I heard that dreadful decrescendoing sound of air escaping my tire. I went out to look, and sure enough, my tire was as flat as some of those singers from Opera Idol (see my previous post, "Looptopia!").

I had just started this new job as a painter, and yesterday was only my second day. I probably should've told the other guys I was working with, but then I'd have to tell them that I drove my car into the curb. They barely know me, I barely know them, I thought that maybe would be something I could do towards the end of the semester. So all day I worked and went about my business, and then just sat in my car as everyone drove off at the end of the day. I drove nowhere. I called Joy, who (this is what's great about my wife), didn't mock me and offerred to help. I called Geiko and got someone on the way to put my spare one and Joy looked up the number for a tire place. We were on the right track. For the record, I did try to change the tire myself, although Joy still seems to doubt if this is something I know how to do. I was doing fine, had all the tools, but I just couldn't get the bolts off. And I guarantee you couldn't have either. Even the nice man who did come to help me told me that my measly bold-taker-offer didn't have the leverage ("It's all physics, man") needed to get those little suckers off. The tire was changed in less than five minutes, just as a new storm began.

I drove to the tire store thinking this wasn't going to be so bad after all, and there I waited and waited and waited. This whole time, my attitude got worse and worse and worse. After waiting for a little over two hours, I finally got home, hungry and wet. Joy, once again displaying her skills as a wife, had dinner ready on the table and greeted me at the door with a glass of white wine. I strongly believe that we can control our attitudes, and I try to live this out. I told Joy that I was in a pretty lousy mood, but that what happened was done and I wasn't going to allow my bad mood to ruin the rest of my evening. And then it was time for American Idol.

Now, I don't know how many of you have been watching this season, but here's the gist of it all: there have been many fine contestants and then one artist who simply is in a whole other league. Those other contestants can remain nameless for my purposes here, but everyone should know the name Melinda Doolittle. She can take any genre and will sing and perform beautifully. She's sensational, and even the judges recognized that all they could ever do was give her praise. I would go as far to say as she's the best singer to ever be on American Idol, and I think others will agree. Well, you know where this is going. Melinda got booted last night. Joy and I sat in a state of shock and despair, and I kept watching Fox even after the show had ended thinking surely they would come back on and say they had made a mistake. You know, something like Florida and recent elections. Well, that never happened, and needless to say, my attitude took another hit. I decided to call it a day. I cuddled up in bed, grabbed The Chronicles of Narnia (which I am reading through again and will certainly be posting about) and drifted off to sleep.

Looptopia!

Joy and I regularly say that we want to go into the city of Chicago more. Last Friday we did, and it was fantastic. Chicago had an event they titled "Looptopia" because it took place in the Chicago Loop and it was called "America's first dusk-to-dawn cultural and artistic spectacle" which is inspired by "White Night" events in Rome, Montreal, and Paris. It went from 5pm on Friday night to 5am Saturday morning. My friend Andrew Ulasich was in town, and after convincing Joy, we jumped in the car around 8 and went in to see what the city had to offer.

First, we went into the Chicago Art Museum, one of my perennial favorites in the city. It was free to get in, and it certainly had a crowd. We did a quick run-through of some Monet and Renoir, ran through the antiquities, and went back outside to the crowds. We then wandered until we went into the Chicago Cultural Center where we were able to sit on the floor (front row seats, baby!) for Selim Sester and Orchestra. Joy actually read about them in the newspaper as we drove into the city, and, still not completely convinced she wanted to be in the city till the wee hours, lamented in an oh-so-mocking tone that "This is great. We can spend out time listening to a Turkish clarinet wedding band. This is so worth it." Well, we did in fact go an listen to this band, and I will say that I loved it. Vibrant and chaotic-yet-controlled, it was easy to imagine just how fun a wedding in Turkey might be if this is really the music that is going to get the dancing started.

After wandering around the Cultural Center looking at some art and such, we made our way to another building where the highlight of our night was to occur: Opera Idol. Now, for the last few months, I've been telling Joy that there should be an opera reality TV show. It might now seem like it'd have a far-reaching audience, but with some good advertising and some dramatic singers (both in person and in music), it could be quite the show. Well, the Chicago Opera Theatre apparently thinks so too, and so during Looptopia they had the final 7 contestants sing away and then face the judges. It's no shock that I loved the event, but I think the proof of it's entertainment rests in the fact that Joy, again lamenting that it would last till 1 in the morning, was wide awake for the entire time and even said she "loved" Opera Idol. (See Miss. Ellen Wightman, this is what you missed...)

Apparently, she didn't love it enough to have a whole new round of energy, so she didn't want to go to "All Night India" like I did, but I gotta admit, I was feeling pretty tired at this point. Plus, I was walking about singing Donizetti, so I think Andrew was a little embarrassed. Even so, it was the first "Looptopia," an event of very random art and cultural presentations, and I just hope they're planning on having it next year. Maybe I'll even audition for Opera Idol. I'll call it "The Return of Papageno."

A Poem for Semester's End

The sun is shining and the air is clear,
I do believe that summer may be here.
Five finals I had,
None went that bad.
And now I only have final grades to fear.

Cone: "God of the Oppresed"

James Cone is a leading black theologian whose book, God of the Oppressed, outlines and shapes what Cone understands as liberation and black theology. I should state at the onset that I thoroughly enjoyed reading Cone’s work. He is an engaging author and gifted in writing; his use of hymns and spirituals was appreciated and added richness to the text. For my theology class, this was one of the books on the list to read, and I was interested in reading this book due to my growing desire to broaden my cultural and racial understandings which began a few years ago.

There was much that I agreed with as I read God of the Oppressed. Cone persuasively argues for liberation theology as he critiques and examines the historical context of both black theology and mainstream, white European theology. Cone states that “there can be no knowledge of Jesus independent of the history and culture of the oppressed” (p. 32) and that “any interpretation of the gospel in any historical period that fails to see Jesus as the Liberator of the oppressed is heretical” (p. 35). The book is very helpful, especially for those who have been raised with an Anglo-European understanding of theology. In the end, while I deeply appreciated Cone’s work, I found myself left without much hope that it really can be changed or that I can do anything to promote change.

In some ways, I was left disappointed and discouraged after reading God of the Oppressed. It was not that I disagreed so much with Cone’s understanding of Jesus and God, but was left unsure of what his understanding means for me as a young white male living in the United States. Undoubtedly, my reading of the text was filtered through my cultural and racial lens, and I wondered if I should even attempt to bring my lens into the arena. While eager to engage in Cone’s work, I found myself wondering if, according to Cone, it is even possible for me to really be a true follower of Christ. Cone states that “the oppressed are the only true Christians,” and while he does in some ways recognize that “it is true that all are oppressed,” (p. 136), he also reminds black people that “just because we work with [whites] and sometimes worship alongside them should be no reason to claim that they are truly Christians and thus a part of our struggle” (p. 222, emphasis mine).

While I recognize that I cannot enter into any dialogue and remove my social, cultural, theological, and racial background, I also find myself frustrated when Cone states that “all talk about reconciliation with white oppressors, with mutual dialogue about its meaning, has no place in black power of Black Theology” (p. 221). I wondered if just as white theologians have often missed the mark, Cone might have moved too far in the opposite direction, leaving a crevasse so wide that it could not possibly be passed, especially for a white man interested in seeing progress in the area of racial reconciliation and still hopes that it might somehow be possible. I do recognize that “[Reconciliation] is not holding hands singing ‘Black and white together’ and ‘We shall overcome,” (p. 219) and strongly disagree to Cone’s categorization that “white people seem to think that they know what is best for our struggle” (p. 220). I do not believe I know what is best for the struggle of blacks, and Cone’s categorization frustrates me much as I assume whites’ categorization of blacks frustrates him.

As a black theologian, Cone spends much of his time highlighting the black experience in the United States. Knowing this, it makes sense that Cone works to define and establish black theology, and yet I think he might benefit from expanding his writing to include others who experience oppression—-women, Latinos, Asians, the elderly, the mentally ill. I absolutely believe that sociocultural factors do impact theological understanding, and it seems challenging to work with a multitude of theologies all specifically focused on one oppressed group’s experiences. I was surprised after reading God of the Oppressed to re-read the back cover and see that there is a quote from The Christian Century that says “Cone has opened the door to a universal theology.” I am not sure Cone himself would propose that he has put forth or that it is even possible for there to be a universal theology, and after reading Cone’s work, it does not strike me as universal, although I do think there are aspects which can and should be applied universally. I believe black theology and liberation theology have much to offer the church, and I am glad that Cone gives attention to the unique historical context of the African-American church and experience. I often think that contemporary evangelical churches (the mostly- or all-white churches that I have mostly attended) have lost much the richness that is part of the Christian tradition.

As I approached the final chapter, titled “Liberation and Reconciliation,” I was hoping Cone might give some insights into how an understanding of liberation and black theology might aid in understanding what reconciliation might look like. After I read this chapter, I found myself more discouraged rather than encouraged. As a white person, I tried to keep an open mind to Cone’s writing, but at times must admit I found myself somewhat put off by the way he wrote about whites and their approach to reconciliation. I would love to ask Cone what he thinks a white male who wants to find some way to fight oppression and injustice would do or what the role of this person would be. I do not believe that whites can begin to lead the move towards reconciliation, but also believe that blacks cannot force or engage in reconciliation by themselves. Perhaps I am completely naïve or am too clouded by my white sociocultural understanding, but it seems to me that there must be some sort so cross-racial communication and dialogue in the difficult path towards reconciliation.

While Cone wrote God of the Oppressed in the 1970s and I cannot pretend to be knowledgeable about the full scope of black suffering and the history of the black experience, I do not personally think that the relationships between races is really much better now than it was thirty years ago. (While Cone gives deserved attention to the issue of slavery, I actually think Cone’s work might be strengthened by examining some of the more subtle aspects of racial discrimination which is prevalent in contemporary American society.) Reading Cone’s work has been a welcome entry into liberation and black theology, and I actually hope to read more in this area as I do think it has much to offer the contemporary church and speaks significantly into the heart of the message of Jesus Christ.

"We rightly sorrow...Yet we rejoice"

My blog is titled "No Man is an Island," which comes from a quote by John Donne at the top of my blog but is also a book by Thomas Merton. I started this blog about 2 years ago, and I had just started this book when I began my blog. Well, I'm now about halfway through the book. Clearly, it's taken me a while, and I'll read a few pages every few weeks. I hadn't picked the book up for quite a while, but last night I decided to grab a book that wasn't for school and I turned to Merton.

Today is the one-year marking of the accident that I mentioned three blogs ago (see "One Year Later," April 14, 2007 as well as post from May 3, 2006). With many thoughts going through my mind last night, this is part of what I read and thought it would be fitting to share here:

"[Christ's] love is so much stronger than death that the death of a Christian is a kind of triumph. And although we rightly sorrow at the separation from those we love (since we are also meant to love their human presence), yet we rejoice in their death because it proves to us the strength of our mutual love. The conviction in our hearts, the unshakeable hope of communion with our dead in Christ, is always telling us that they live and that He lives and that we live. This is our great inheritance, which can only be increased by suffering well taken: this terrific grip of the divine life on our own souls, this grip of clean love that holds us so fast that it keeps us eternally free. This love, this life, this presence, is the witness that the spirit of Christ lives in us, and that we belong to Him, and that the Father has given us to Him, and no man shall snatch us out of His hand" (p. 87-88).