Wisdom and Folly

It’s been another exciting year, and we want to thank you all for reading and, if applicable, posting comments on our blog.  Once again, we would like to close out the year with summary remarks about good and bad stuff related to film, music, books, politics, and family. 

Best Film Experiences:

• Jim:  Slumdog Millionaire, Inglourious Basterds, and The Blind Side. Three very different films with one thing in common: a compelling story.  See my March 2 post for extended comments on Slumdog, and our joint review of Inglourious Basterds in our October 29 post.  As for The Blind Side, I confess that I went to see it begrudgingly, figuring it would subject me to two hours of eye-rolling melodrama.  On the contrary, this simple but powerful film had me in tears the entire evening.  And I’m no sentimentalist…
• Amy:  Jim chose the ones you’ve heard of, so here are a few older ones you might not have seen: 1927 Academy Award winning Sunrise.  I am not a big fan of silent films but this one is amazing, a perfect movie. Another oldie but goodie is The Red Shoes.  Finally, Murder!  I am slowly working my way through all the works of Hitchcock and this was one I marked off the list this year.  It’s classic Hitchcock, which is to say, suspense with heart and soul.  Finally, this one isn’t an oldie, but since I spend a great deal of time watching children’s films I will give a shout out to my friends Charlie and Lola.

Worst Film Experiences: 

• Jim:  Little Children—Three of my pet peeves in contemporary Hollywood films are:  1) stilted dialogue, 2) gratuitous sex scenes, and 3) plotlines that encourage viewers to root for a character to commit adultery.  Well, this movie features all three of these vices.  Some thematic originality or insight into truth might have helped to redeem the film despite these flaws.  But, alas, this one was disappointing down to the last, contrived and implausible, scene.
• Amy:  The Reader, Japanese Story, and Summertime are three that standout in their badness.  There are bad movies which are flawed in one way or another (poor writing, bad acting, etc.) and then there are movies that are faulty on a deeper level; like people who are really smart that you enjoy being with as long as you don’t think about what they are actually saying.  These films would fall into the latter category.

Best Musical Experiences of the Year: 

• Jim:  Wilco (The Album).  Jeff Tweedy & Co. have been making great music since the mid-90s, and their latest effort is more of the same.  2009 is also the year that I discovered the Kings of Leon.  Thanks to Jason Fortner for his insistent introduction to the beauty of the Followill brothers’ musical world.
• Amy:  It isn’t a specific album but I loved my Christmas music this year. One of my faves included Sufjan Stevens Songs for Christmas, “What Child is This” by Andrea Bocelli, and Mary J. Blige and Emmylou Harris’ Light of the Stable.  They all strike the chords of awe, sadness, and rejoicing that I love about the season.

Favorite Songs of the Year:

• Jim:  “Breathe” by U2.  This song slaps you in the face, spins you in circles, then sits you down and caresses you into ecstasy.  What begins as an almost tuneless rapid-fire narrative resolves into one of the most melodically satisfying songs in the U2 repertoire.  Check out that entrancing combo of cello and guitar as well as the memorable lyrical images—e.g., “people born of sound” wearing songs “like a crown” and “the roar that lies on the other side of silence.”  Oh yeah.
• Amy:  See my comments above about Christmas songs.

Jim’s Favorite Sports Moment of the Year:  The season-long dominance of the Saints and Colts (two of my favorite teams), both of whom earned home field advantage throughout the NFL playoffs.  I’m not naïve enough to think both will make it to the Super Bowl (#1 seeds almost never meet in the championship).  But I’m hopeful that one of them will play on Super Sunday.

Jim’s Most Disappointing Sports Moment of the Year:  The Detroit Tigers’ squandering their division lead on the last day of regular season.  It wasn’t so much a moment as a week-long, fated collapse.  Ugh.

Amy’s Best Eating Experience of the Year:  New Orleans’ restaurant Mona Lisa’s eggplant parmesan.  Spicy marinara sauce, crispy eggplant in a creative setting with friendly folks.  And the service is great—at the Mona Lisa everyone is treated like a regular.

Amy’s Worst Eating Experience of the Year:  “Zucchini and Basil Soup.”  In an attempt to cleanse our bodies of toxins, Jim and I did a cleanse diet which excluded all cheese, eggs, wheat, soda, and basically anything you might enjoy eating.  The diet was actually not that bad, but this cold “soup” was definitely the low point.

Most and Least Satisfying Reads of the Year:

• Jim:  Antony Flew’s There is a God, in which the former atheist chronicles his journey to belief in God and masterfully summarizes the three main considerations which prompted him to embrace theism.  I’ve also greatly enjoyed the Arts and Letters Daily blog.  My least satisfying read was Kwame Appiah’s Cosmopolitanism—an attempt to salvage shared moral values while affirming cultural relativism.  I kept waiting for an argument, but it never came.  And until the very end I hoped Appiah would rescue his project from incoherence.  My hopes were never realized.
• Amy:  Elizabeth Gaskell’s Ruth, Charles Dickens’ Little Dorrit and Same Kind of Different as Me were all inspiring.  They just don’t write them like that anymore.  I didn’t like The Girls from Ames.  Also, on three separate occasions, I began reading The Shack, but I couldn’t complete it.  Bad theology and even worse writing.

Political High Point of the Year:  Our hopeful sides want to celebrate the seemingly grass roots movement afoot in our country against government expansion and irresponsibility.  But our cynical sides tell us that it’s all just more talk that will, in the end, be undermined by profiteering.

Political Low Point of the Year:  The revelation that (now former) Green Czar Van Jones was a Marxist…or perhaps the revelation that (now former) White House communications director Anita Dunn was a Marxist sympathizer.  Or (speaking of Marxism?) perhaps the real low point was the health care bill.

Most Outrageous News Events of the Year:  The balloon boy hoax (what can you expect from a couple who would name their kid “Falcon”?) and Bernie Madoff (an appropriate surname, until the Ponzi schemer artist got busted) and climategate (when scientists feel they have to fudge numbers, this should give pause to even the most dogmatic believers in their theory).  Ah, the hits just keep on coming, don’t they?

Our Kids’ Most Memorable Statements of the Year:

Bailey:  “I think cussing is just adults’ way of whining.” 

Sam:  “Dad, just try to name a breakfast cereal I don’t like.”

Maggie:  “I think the wind is God whispering ‘I love you.’”

Andrew:  “I never want to get married, ‘cuz you have to kiss someone every day.”

Most Satisfying Shared Experiences of the Year: 

• Jim:  Walking around the French Quarter together at the ETS conference in November.  Also, our August vacation in Houston with the incomparable Newcomb family. 
• Amy:  Our various bike rides together as a family; also, seeing two of our kids become communicant members of our church and sharing the communion experience with them.

New Year’s Resolutions:

• Jim:  To get to bed before midnight more than half of the time
• Amy: To put Ranch Pringles behind me once and for all

Happy 2010 everyone!  And happy new decade as well!!

Our daughter Maggie, age 5, loves classical music. Now, please don’t take this as obnoxious mommy-bragging. She has chosen this genre completely on her own. But to balance that statement, I will add that our three-year-old’s favorite song is “Smoke on the Water” and the older boys are huge Weird Al fans. Anyway, for the last several months, Maggie has been somewhat frustrated in her ability to enjoy the likes of Bach and Beethoven due to the fact that her CD player is broken. The radio still works, however, so we often tune in NPR for her as she is going to sleep. Recently, however, we discovered an all-Christmas station and this has replaced Performance Today for the time being.

Listening to endless renditions of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” and “It’s Beginning to Look A lot Like Christmas,” I have noticed something rather unexpected about a great number of Christmas carols:  Many of them are really, really depressing. Now of course you have many that are upbeat to the point of irritation, but they seem to be in the minority. “I’ll Have a Blue Christmas,” “Pretty Paper, Pretty Ribbons of Blue,” and “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” are just a few of the oldies but goodies; there are also many newer, more hip yet equally disheartening Christmas songs out there. Perhaps the people in charge of programming have a rather pessimistic view of the holidays which compels them to disproportionately tilt the scales in favor of the somber, but I’m not so sure. Even more explicitly religious carols are more solemn than celebratory. Maybe we are supposed to be a little sobered by the events surrounding Christ’s birth. Maybe there is more of Good Friday present in the stable than we care to admit.

Of course, there are many reasons why we might try to obscure the more gloomy aspects of the Christmas story, turning it into a Disneyesque, sanitized version of the truth. For myself, I find this time of year horribly depressing already. It’s overcast most of the time, cold but with little snow. Immediately upon returning from Thanksgiving, I hauled out the ole Christmas decorations and after deciding that the tree and nativity weren’t enough to raise my serotonin, I cleared out several shelves of Christmas lights at Dollar General, cooked enough Christmas cookies to feed several squadrons of elves and commissioned the kids to create a wide variety of Christmas crafts. (Nothing says “Celebrate the birth of the suffering servant” like a wreath made out of marshmallows and an M&M Christmas tree.). Now before having done much reflection, I would have said this feverish decorating frenzy stemmed from a great devotion to celebrating Jesus’ birth, but now it seems all about me and very little to do with the person of Jesus. Certainly the circumstances of his birth read more like something out of Charles Dickens rather than any invention of Walt Disney—poor family without shelter; young mother with a reputation in tatters, etc.

My kids love hearing the stories of their births—how we rushed to the hospital for some, how we thought others would never decide to exit the womb, and so on. What would Joseph and Mary tell Jesus about his arrival? How they were tired and homeless, without friends and family in a strange town? How it was obedience to a much hated foreign power that drew them to the place of his birth, not the latest medical technology? Did they understand that 33 years later, their first born son would travel the same road to deliver himself into the hands of that same authority? Of course, they knew he wasn’t just their son. He was God’s. Sent for their sake, as well as our own, He had his own agenda to fulfill in obedience to the Father.

When we sing songs rejoicing over the birth of Jesus, we rarely have in mind the Son of God dying on the cross for our sin. For it is quite a sorrowful thought to see that helpless babe surrounded by filth and poverty because we are incapable (and unwilling) to save ourselves. As we gather together this Christmas to celebrate Jesus’ Birthday let us rejoice in great humility. Let us commemorate Mary’s desperate cries of labor, tears of joy and sorrow mixing into one flow: Joseph’s humiliation and pride as he welcomed God’s son into such a humble backdrop. And may our hearts fill with gratitude and repentance as we ponder the words of William Chatterton Dix’s in one of my favorite Christmas carols, “What Child is This? Why lies He in such mean estate where ox and ass are feeding?  Good Christian, fear; for sinners here the silent Word is pleading.  Nails, spear shall pierce him through, the cross be borne for me, for you; hail, hail the Word made flesh, the babe, the son of Mary!” Let us remember the miracle of his birth always keeping in mind the sorrow of his death and the victory of his resurrection. What child is this indeed!

Late at night certain people stalk the Internet, doing irreparable harm to their psyches and those of their families. They cruise from site to site, soaking up fantasy after fantasy, and with each click of the mouse they take one more step away from reality and one step closer to a life of dissatisfaction with their own circumstances. I am referring, of course, to women who blog surf. (Who did you think I was referring to?) Now before you get your modems in a twist, let me say that I have several friends who find blog surfing very edifying. They search out or stumble upon people facing enormous challenges with great faith and courage. It is not these to whom I refer. I am talking about those of us who plop down at our computers, the remnants of dinner still in our hair and the chaos of a maddening day still ringing in our ears only to reach a new personal low by visiting site after site depicting picturesque families, all wearing color-coordinated clothing, strolling through apple orchards and tenderly ministering to the elderly. Now if I actually knew these families and could put these picture-perfect days in the context of so many not-so-picture-perfect ones, this would probably not be a bad thing. Sharing in the memories of my friends, right? Certainly it is not the intention of these bloggers to make me feel inferior or subhuman. (Okay, maybe some of them do actually intend to make me feel bad, but that is a small minority; and we all see through their pettiness anyway, right?) Whatever their intentions, however, this harmless pastime can easily slip into a sinister addiction. One minute you are catching up with old friends, the next you are blog-stalking perfect strangers. Look! I did it just now. I got stuck on what to write next and started thinking about someone I wanted to know about. Soon I wandered away from her blog to read about the Thanksgiving traditions of someone I don’t even know! This is not just a harmless pastime—this is mommy porn!

Now perhaps you think pornography is too harsh a term for what you might call “taking a more than passing interest in the lives of people I don’t actually know.” But to me, it is the effect of this “passing interest” that lands it in the destructive rather than constructive category of ways to spend your time. What is it about sexual pornography that erodes fidelity and wreaks havoc on so many lives? Isn’t it the supplanting of reality with fantasy, the replacing of the real with the unreal? Let’s be honest here. One of the main reasons men (and I suppose women, too, though the idea really does take a stretch of the imagination for me) look at pictures of surgically-created and airbrush-perfected bodies is to escape the child-bearing created and age-imperfected bodies of their spouses. (I recognize this to be an over-simplification but let’s save psychoanalysis of the male mind for another day, shall we?) Similarly one of the main reasons women take such strong interest in the lives of strangers is to escape the all-too-imperfect and often mundane world in which they dwell. It really doesn’t matter whether or not the people whose lives they are peering into are celebrities or everyday folk. Maybe they read endless articles about whether or not Brad and Angelina are going to adopt triplets from Malawi or they obsessively follow Sue-the-Supermom’s trip to Washington D.C. with the kids and hubby this summer. In either case it’s just the siren call of something different, something outside of ourselves.

The reality is that Brad and Angelina get up every morning and put their pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us, albeit very expensive and excessively small pants. And Sue-down-the-street may have had a family bonding experience that was out of this world but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t yelling at the kids while making oatmeal right now. So maybe rather than lusting after the adventures and successes of others, we should look for the little stand-out moments in our own lives and take pleasure in the reality right in front of us. While there is something intoxicating about the unobtainable, there is something to be said for the bird in the hand. After all, that’s the bird we have been given even if it might not be a perfect bird and it might even bite our hand or poop on us now and then. Maybe we should start a new blogging trend—the color-uncoordinated, picture-imperfect blog. The posts would be all about the time the three-year-old laid down in the middle of the grocery store aisle and refused to budge. Or the story behindyour beautiful Christmas card picture—how you let one kid out of timeout early so he could get back in the picture or you made one cry because you lost your patience and asked in a less than kind voice why she was ruining the picture and finally ended it all by bribing them with early morning slushies if they would just all smile. Or…maybe not. Just remember Brad, Angelina and even Sue-the-Supermom get pooped on too. They’re just smart enough not to blog about it.

If you haven’t done so yet, check out the recent Manhattan Declaration, a Christian manifesto on issues related to abortion, marriage, and religious freedom.  Co-authored by Charles Colson, Robert George, and Timothy George, the statement was initially signed by over 170 Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant religious leaders.  Since then (November 20, 2009), more than 238,000 people have signed the declaration, including Amy and me.  We agree with every word of this document and are greatly encouraged by it.

In addition to providing lucid statements about the ethics of abortion, euthanasia, and gay marriage, the Manhattan Declaration affirms the appropriateness of civil disobedience in cases where state or federal laws would compel complicity with immoral practices:  “We recognize the duty to comply with laws whether we happen to like them or not, unless the laws are gravely unjust or require those subject to them to do something unjust or otherwise immoral….  We…embrace our obligation to speak and act in defense of these truths.  We pledge to each other, and to our fellow believers, that no power on earth, be it cultural or political, will intimidate us into silence or acquiescence.”

Amen.

It is a sad fact about the Internet that thoughtful news commentaries and blog posts are often appended with strings of comments that degenerate into hostility, name-calling, or obscene language.  Lately, I have encountered more of these than usual (not on this blog, thankfully), and it makes me wonder what happened to mutual respect and good manners in public debate.  Evidently, in the minds of some people these days, the Internet put an end to that.

Like many aspects of contemporary life, this got me to thinking about Plato, specifically a famous passage in his Republic.  In Book II, a character named Glaucon relates a story of a shepherd named Gyges who discovers a ring which has the power to make him invisible.  Realizing the potency of his new possession, Gyges uses it to seduce the queen and murder the king, thus establishing himself as the new ruler.  Yet, prior to discovering the ring, Gyges was a rather ordinary guy, a humble shepherd who worked hard for his pay and never hurt anyone.  Glaucon’s point is that the only reason Gyges behaved himself was to avoid reprisal.  He obeyed the laws because he feared he’d get caught and punished if he disobeyed.  So when he happened upon a means to avoid such consequences, he exploited it to the extreme.  Furthermore, Glaucon suggests that all of us are like Gyges.  The only reason we act morally—to the extent that we do so, that is—is because we are compelled by the laws governing society.  The truth is, says Glaucon, we are immoral by nature, and if any of us had the Ring of Gyges, we’d act no differently than that ordinary shepherd.  Under the cloak of invisibility, even the most righteous would prove their perversity by stealing and snooping, if not seducing and killing just like Gyges.

As a Calvinist, I wholly affirm the doctrine of total depravity, and I consider Plato’s myth to be profoundly insightful (as did J.R.R. Tolkien, whose Lord of the Ringsseries was inspired in part by Plato’s story).  Though I think Glaucon goes too far in suggesting that given the power of invisibility everyone of us would succumb to such extreme temptations, I do think many folks “fake it” and act morally only because, as Glaucon suggests, they fear the consequences of detection.  In a strange way, the internet confirms this truth, as so many people are willing to ditch all decorum when posting comments on various websites.  When I read such hostile or abusive language I think, “Who are these people?” (Naturally, they never identify themselves.)  Well, they are no doubt the same people I encounter every day—at the store, on the street, perhaps even in the classroom.  In public (presumably) they behave themselves, but on-line they acquire a limited form of Ring of Gyges.  And while invisible in that domain, they let their true moral colors show.

They say you can judge a person’s character by how they handle themselves in small matters.  If that is true, and anonymous comments on websites are any indication, then there appear to be a lot of bad characters out there.  Old Glaucon had a point.  On the other hand, lest I sound like a moral pessimist (some would say all of us Calvinists are), most people do behave themselves on-line, even while “wearing” the electronic Ring of Gyges—restraining themselves and managing a respectful tone when making comments.  Is this a falsification of Glaucon’s thesis?  Perhaps.  But then again, maybe not.  This might actually serve to further confirm Glaucon’s point, since (at least many of) these same people might behave themselves out of fear divine reprisal.  After all, the internet cloak of invisibility doesn’t obscure God’s view.

Of course, we will never know how many of us are motivated out of a desire to please (or not to displease) God.  But Scripture does clearly and emphatically teach both that God knows all things and that he will judge all of our actions, words, and even thoughts.  For example, we are told that “God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil” (Ecc. 12:13; see also 2 Cor. 5:10).

So let’s keep this in mind as we post comments on websites, particularly when we find someone’s opinion disagreeable or even repugnant.  Ultimately speaking, there is no anonymity.  And no one is ever really invisible.

Comments anyone?  

History is a fascinating business:  to see, with the 20/20 vision of the present, the themes of years past; to study eras from beginning to end with the comfortable assurance that you have already read the last page of the story and know whether the bad guys won or lost. Being a Christian brings, of course, an even great poignancy to the events of the past, because we believe that all of those events are leading toward something, serving a greater good.

I fear sometimes that my love of history taints my vision a bit. While my current surroundings seem bleak and dull, times of yore begin to appear rather rose colored. I look back longingly and see romance and sunshine rather than disease and deprivation. This starry-eyed longing for days gone by is usually directly proportional to the stress and frustration I am experiencing here and now. “Oh those pioneer women,” I say to myself, “they never had to deal with doctors’ waiting rooms and crowded grocery stores.” Of course, they also had to deliver their own babies, often dying in the process, and they had to eat whatever they could manage to grow themselves. When we near the end of some sports season or another (currently it’s soccer), I begin to corner Jim, threatening to pull the kids out of all their extracurricular activities and move to the backwaters of Montana, preferably with him. Whatever the cause, be it baseball, art lessons or just the social demands of life, I tend to see this harried pace as an obstacle to be overcome, a problem to be solved rather than just a characteristic element of everyday life in the 21^st century. But perhaps that isn’t so.

Now there is busyness and there is busyness. Jim and I are fairly conservative with regards to outside stuff. We each have a regular Bible study and the kids have one or two outside commitments that we feel are important. While our schedule does take some organization of the You-pick-up-so-and-so-while-I-stay-at-home-with-everyone-else variety, it doesn’t require strategists from the Pentagon to plan or accomplish. So maybe all my complaining about the pace of modern life is chronological envy or simply ingratitude. Many of the technologies I grouse about (enrichment activities for the kids, slow internet connections, mini vans) bring with them a host of advantages that seem to be overlooked in my quest for “simplicity.” What would a pioneer woman have given to have been able to pile the kids in the car in order to meet a friend at the park, or to email her family thousands of miles away?

This is not to say that we should follow blindly after the latest thing just because we can. But perhaps I need to show a greater appreciation for the era in which I have been placed. It is unique, and a limited number of us will experience it first-hand. If God can speak to humanity through the Black Plague and the French Revolution, then surely He can make something beautiful out of Starbucks and mini vans. You just need the right perspective to see it.

Reflections by Jim of different sorts—on music, nature, books, and sports

In the last few weeks I have attended two excellent concerts.  On September 12 I saw U2 in Chicago, as they commenced their 360° tour—a predictably fine show by the beloved Irish foursome. This was my fifth time to see them live, and while falling short of the magic of the Joshua Tree tour (what could live up to that?), they remain the greatest live band on the planet.  Also, last week I attended my first Kings of Leon show—at the Verizon Center in Noblesville, Indiana.  Lead singer Caleb Followill said it was the biggest crowd they’d ever played for.  Indeed, it was a sprawling sea of humanity, half of us slip-sliding in the muddy lawn area.  K.O.L. played a strong 20-song set, living up to their reputation as the heir-apparent to U2’s throne.  We’ll see about that.

Last week Amy and I were back in Chicago, this time for her best friend’s wedding.  We stayed high atop the downtown Holiday Inn overlooking the Chicago River.  Just outside our 17^th story window an Orb Weaver spider (Araneidae family) was perched in the middle of a giant web, which we measured at 3 x 2.5 feet.  Judging by the spider’s bulky appearance, s/he had managed to catch plenty of bugs way up there.  Early the next morning I marveled at the massive buildings in downtown Chicago.  In doing so, I looked through that Orb Weaver’s giant web, and then it struck me.  Both were magnificent feats of engineering, and they shared some of the same structural features: footings, girders, and symmetrical design.  And both ultimately testify to the genius of our common Creator.

I recently posted a review on David Kinnaman’s book unChristian, which has generated a lot of conversation in the last year or so.  Among the authors responding to this book is Russell Rathbun, who has recently authored unChristian: Finding Faith in a New Generation.  (Judson Press).  I have been invited to participate in Rathbun’s blog tour, so I will comment on the book and interact with him the week of October 12.  Rathbun is an emergent church pastor and author, so I’m very curious to see his response to unChristian.  Stay tuned.

Finally, the major league baseball season is drawing to a close, and as I write this my Detroit Tigers’ lead in the American League central division has dwindled to one game, with two games left in the season for both the Tigers and the Minnesota Twins, who have been hotly pursuing them the last three weeks.  Having had my baseball heart twice broken by the Twins—in ’87 when they drubbed Detroit in the ALCS and in ’91 when they squeaked by the Braves (also a rooting interest of mine)—I am quite keen on seeing the Tigers return the favor, if just for this season.  Will they do it?  Time, as they say, will tell.

Over the years, I have talked with many moms whose daughters are preoccupied with one thing or another. For some it’s Barbie; for others it’s Dora; for my daughter, however, it’s the seasons. You might call Maggie our seasonal alert system. It only makes sense, really. We teach kids the months of the year, assigning three to each season and say “Now these months belong here and during this time the weather is like this.” Of course, as adults we know that there are more subtle distinctions and that spring eases May into summer and fall into winter; that there will be a few chilly days in July and a few sunny days in February. But this is not the case for five-year-olds, at least not ours anyway. With great frequency, usually in connection with picking her clothes for the day, Maggie will ask “Mommy, is it [insert much anticipated next season]?” Now this is tricky because if I respond with, let’s say, “Yes, it’s summer, sweetie,” then whatever the temperature outside, Maggie immediately runs for her suit and heads for the sprinkler, ready for a day of fun in the sun. If I try to qualify my answer, she is quick to rebut my qualification by pointing to the calendar and saying “But it’s June! That means summer, which also means swimming!”

I suppose in some ways, we are all like Maggie. We like to put everything (and everyone) in tidy categories. We like to label people so we can know what to expect, sorting people like kitchen utensils, by purpose and appearance. “Forks and knives to the left of the sink in the silverware drawer.” And Crazy Cousin Eddy in the “Relatives to be Avoided at Thanksgiving Dinner” drawer.” In certain respects, this type of categorization is helpful. You certainly don’t go looking for a friend amongst the “People I Always Argue about Politics With” drawer or potential spouses in the “Wouldn’t Trust With my Pet Hermit Crab” drawer. Still, it can also act as a barrier in relating to people whom you might otherwise enjoy getting to know.

Sometimes rather than putting other people in such categories, you find that you have placed yourself in one or two mislabeled drawers. This fact struck me, recently, while reading for my upcoming book club meeting. The book is an interesting work of historical fiction, set at the end of WWII on the island of Guernsey in the English Channel. The characters were all charming and entertaining until the shrewish Christian lady entered upon the scene to ruin all their fun and give faith a bad name. I meet this character often in various works of contemporary fiction and cinema. Yet, having lived my entire life associated with church or another, I can honestly say I have never encountered her or the type of pharisaical maliciousness she displays. That is not to say I have not encountered fallen and flawed individuals and heard many accounts of rudeness and insensitivity, but the majority of committed Christian folk I know are pilgrims like me, doing the best they can and quite aware of their own failings. Of course, there are the all too public exceptions, but isn’t that true of any group?

The novel I mentioned earlier deals with a great many Germans but doesn’t equate all of them with Hitler. So why not extend the same benefit of the doubt to those who profess their sinfulness and are seeking to be transformed? Whenever I encounter such characters in books or films, my first instinct is one of shame and apologetic embarrassment. But why should this be when although I have sometimes behaved badly toward people, it has rarely been a conscious, much less malicious, act. I often fail to live up to the standards of Christ but when I (like many of those I know) am confronted with my wrong deeds, I seek forgiveness and repent. The church is supposed to be full of sinners, for where else can we go?  And why is it that those outside of the church seem unwilling to accept the fact that we freely acknowledge our own limitations? Sadly, I think it is because to do so would mean taking us out of the drawers labeled “Hypocrites and Bigots” and thinking long and hard about what drawer we actually belong in. Or if we aren’t all ignorant at best and prejudiced at worst, what does that mean about the drawer you are living in?

To me, one of the greatest tragic scenes in literature occurs in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables when Javert has triumphed in his capture of the “criminal” Jean Valjean, but in doing so he is confronted with something that he has no category for. He is able to recognize the transformation of Valjean from thief to upright citizen but is unwilling to accept that transformation and would rather die than define Valjean as his equal or, worse, his superior. I am no Jean Valjean, but we do have a few things in common. We are both recipients of undeserved grace; both humbled and transformed by the sacrifice of another. It is interesting to me to compare the portraits of Christians coming from contemporary literature and those long past. In many of the classics (e.g., Dickens, Austen, Gaskell, Bronte), there are examples of the type of religious folk represented in more contemporary works. But they are shown for what they are—wolves in sheep’s clothing. And other examples of true sheep are given to balance the scales. Perhaps contemporary writers need to take a break from organizing their drawers and get to know the contents a bit better before making too hasty an assignment. Perhaps, too, we need to make our own purpose more clear and apparent. Let us not go quietly into the “Crazy, Mean Religious People” drawer. Let us refuse to be discouraged by those who wish to believe that there are no Christians worth knowing. But all the while let us love our neighbor as ourselves is such a way that there is nowhere to put us but in the “People Who Love and Care for Those Around Them” drawer.

The kids and I spent 9/11 in a typically American way, rushing from one place to another, all in the name of fun while scarfing down fast food containing more carcinogens that the residents of Chernobyl experience on daily basis. Our day culminated in a visit to the zoo which consisted of scurrying from one exhibit to the next, desperately trying to absorb more factoids than one really needs to know about the various species of penguins or the reproductive habits of gibbons. The end result: arriving home exhausted and cranky, declaring “Never again!”

But in between the hustling and scurrying, there were a few moments today that touched me in a distinctly American way. I had that moment this morning that I experience every year. The date suddenly hitting me; the date that used to mean nothing much but that now functions as a psychological marker for my generation. Just as my grandparents’ generation was branded by “Where were you when you heard about Pearl Harbor?” and my parents’ by “What were you doing when you heard Kennedy was shot?”, I will never hear that three number combination without remembering the smell of pancakes on a clear morning in September; the bewilderment and then horror; the feelings of vulnerability and fear.

So this morning, Jim and I took some time to show the kids footage of the Twin Tower attacks. And, choking back tears, I told them the story of Flight 93 and the courage of firefighters and policemen who rushed “Into the Fire” as Bruce Springsteen puts it. And I explained why I honked as we drove under several overpasses, decorated with flags and signs commemorating the day. At one point, Bailey (our nine-year-old) turned to me and in an accusatory tone said, “No one ever told me there was a day.” I knew we had discussed 9/11 with him before, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t know about it. Rather, it was the collective remembrance that struck him.

I often feel conflicted when discussing patriotism with the kids. I have no problem praising the sacrifices of our neighbor (and his family) who has been deployed, leaving behind five children and a devoted, grief-stricken wife. But when you move from a micro to a macro level, it gets a bit tricky for me. Kids are so black and white, wanting to know who was the good guy and who was bad. The subtleties and complexities of national politics don’t always translate into such neat categories. But maybe they don’t need to. After all, a country is made up of a lot of little pieces, not one homogenous glob. Too often, we group people together in an effort, perhaps, to numb our conscience as we criticize that group to death. A country, a race, a religion is so much easier to peck to death than many unique individuals. This disease of generalization seems to plague our age when to swear allegiance to any one particular group is an act of elitism. I am by no means willing to sacrifice what is owed my country in gratitude and loyalty, but just what is it we owe to this place we call home? And what should be reserved for the greater good not to mention our heavenly home?

Jim has shared an insight which as helped me to reconcile a bit of this tension. He was talking about our nation’s history not as a nation but as a collective of individuals many of whom came seeking religious freedom, a better life for their children, willing to make great sacrifices to ensure the rights of others. When you consider all the particular lives that make up the history of our nation, the mosaic takes on a beauty of its own that no one picture could ever capture. It’s like I told the kids at the zoo “If you look closely enough at anything God has created, you will find something beautiful and complex, something well worth studying.” So it’s all for one and one for all this 9/11. Let us all strive to make our piece of “We the People” something beautiful and worthy of study.

I don’t consider myself much of a keep-on-the-sunny-side-of-life person, but lately I have noticed an emerging trend that has me feeling more in touch with my inner Pollyanna. Living amongst the cornfields of Indiana, one encounters the local farmer’s market and occasional roadside stand. I have passed the same “Fresh Strawberries—two miles” sign for the past three years and still manage to buy the moldy ones from the grocery store. This summer, however, I am feeling a new sense of obligation and solidarity with the proprietors of the numerous stands that have cropped up seemingly on every street corner and highway intersection.

Though I am no economist, I assume that these folks are trying to supplement their incomes, and selling veggies by the roadside is a good way to do this. (For Jim and me, it is selling books on Amazon. Anyone interested in a gently used copy of Dave Barry Talks Back?)

Certainly I don’t wish economic ill-will on anyone but I have to say that I have immensely enjoyed this new phenomenon. In the past, I have had conflicting feelings with regard to Mom and Pop establishments. While I enjoy their quaint atmosphere and their aesthetic sensibility, the price tag for quaint and aesthetically pleasing has felt a bit steep. Being a tried and true capitalist at heart (at least on this side of the pearly gates), I have often let my wallet rather than my heart lead me directly to the chain grocery store that shall not be named but that starts with a “W” and ends in “Mart.” I have tried to soothe my conscience by taking the children on field trips to this amazing independently owned and operated toy store and Target though I am not sure how much they appreciate being brought to stores full of toys and other such goodies only to be told “Put that down! Don’t touch anything. No, you can’t have that. It’s too expensive!”

No such conflict exists, however, for the new improvised businesses. First of all, there isn’t as much overhead, so prices are increasingly more reasonable. Though I love a bargain, I find the human element is almost equally compelling. There is something very humanizing about buying your produce from the person who actually planted, grew and harvested it. I could swear the food tastes better because I have shaken the hand of the person who put it in the earth. It is so difficult to see the source of things in this country. Made in one place (more than likely not the United States), distributed in another, sold somewhere else. Buying something out of your neighbor’s trunk or stopping to buy food in the actual location in which it was grown gives one a sense of community that is priceless.

The best part is that it is completely organic (no pun intended). No government organization is spearheading the movement. No bureaucrat is overseeing its progress. It’s just Louise selling blueberries to Marge who has been selling her Mary Kay for years. The selection might not be as broad, but you gain something that isn’t for sale, a sense of community. Not the manufactured sense of community you can buy into when you move into some trendy suburb but community that bears a great resemblance to the produce for sale at “Gary’s Vegetable Stand.” It is by no means perfect but has a flavor of its own. There are a few bad apples in the bunch but the overall experience is worth the risk. I like my vegetables like I like my people—with a few imperfections showing so you know they are for real. Too often we buy some glossy imitation of a fruit (not to mention friend) only to discover it (or he or she) is rotten on the inside.

One of my favorite romantic comedies is French Kiss, starring an adorable pre-plastic surgery Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline. In one scene, Kline, whose family owns a vineyard in France (as all good romantic leads do), explains to Ryan how wine is affected by the flavors in the soil. You can literally taste the earth in the final product. I suppose that is true of our local produce as well as ourselves, unless you live like a potted plant. So this week, go out to “Gary’s Veggie Stand” and take a bite out of life. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.