Category: Cultural Observations

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Declarations of Independence from the Self-checkout Lane

By Amy Spiegel

I have a new favorite grocery store experience. It used to be the video carts where for a dollar you can have a noise-free cruise through the aisles while your children slowly grow less intelligent watching mindless programming in the cart below. (I only did this once. Okay, twice but it was late at night and I was taking pity on the kids…and myself. And the second time doesn’t really count because Maggie kept a running commentary going on the show, poking her head out every few minutes to let me know what was happening now, thus negating the noise-free aspect.) But the video carts pale in comparison with my new passion for the self-checkout lane. 

There is something very existential about the process of ringing up your own groceries, while paid professionals laugh at your inability to get the bar code to scan. Does it get more American than this? We pay ridiculous amounts of money in order to “work” out, simulating actual physical labor rather than performing similar, calorie-burning tasks at home. We flock to restaurants serving “home-style” cooking rather than actually cooking at home. So why shouldn’t we pay for the privilege of figuring out how much money we owe the grocery store? Despite the obvious absurdity of the whole process, I can’t help myself. As soon as I begin to head for the front of the store, I hear that lane of self-determination calling my name, like the sirens calling Odysseus to his doom. I love escaping the judgment of some pimply faced high-schooler with regard to how many packages of Reese’s cups make their way into my cart. I love going at my own pace, organizing all my purchases by category without the weighty stare of the people behind me, urging me to mix my canned goods with my dairy. I love the feeling of accomplishment and independence the power of the self-checkout lane brings. 

And isn’t that the draw for us all? Why do we pay someone to torture us with free weights and cardio rather than pull weeds and chase our kids around the yard? Because the one we do by our own free-will and the other is compulsory. Why do we pay inflated prices for mediocre food when we could make something tastier, cheaper and healthier at home? Because eating out is a “privilege” and making dinner is a chore (and you don’t have to do the dishes, which is pretty big, but nevertheless). And why do I choose to add twenty minutes to my grocery shopping trip rather than have someone more qualified and efficient ring up and bag my groceries? Because I want to do it myself, thank you very much. 

It would be funny, if it weren’t so tragic. In our attempt to have everything on our own terms, the only person we really cheat is ourselves. I want to follow the example of Christ, living a life pleasing to God. So what do I do? In arrogance and pride, I pull myself up by my own spiritual boot-straps (which are neither sturdy nor dependable) and attempt it on my own. What I am called to is a life of submission and humility but somehow, my perverse human nature can even distort that into an unrecognizable life of self-reliance and failure. I think I am failing when I lack the fortitude to live up to His standards but in truth my failure came long before, in my lack of trust in the life, death and resurrection of my Savior. I want to gather my supplies, count the cost and pay what I owe when in fact, I don’t know what I need or how much it is worth or have anything worthy to give in return. So while this doesn’t mean I am giving up my independence with regards to grocery shopping, I am making an effort (through the grace of the Holy Spirit) to relax my hold on this stroll through the mall called life. It certainly seems appropriate to the season of Lent, when Jesus prepared to relax His hold on life itself for my sake and for yours. Who better to entrust ourselves to than the One who considered His duty a privilege and obedience an honor? Maybe we will find the same joy He found in the sorrow of humility.

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Exhortations from a Food Junkie

By Amy Spiegel

There are many things I love about my mother-in-law: the fact that she loves and admires my husband almost as much as I do; the fact that she insists on my taking naps when I come to visit and gets mad when the kids or Jim wake me up; the fact that she is a brave and strong woman who is, nonetheless, as afraid of mice as I am. But up there on my list of her lovable qualities is her love of food which borders on obsession and rivals my own. During our visits, she and I camp out on the couch and watch the Food Network until we get hungry. I then tear myself away (not really, she has a TV in the kitchen, God bless her.) and begin to prepare one of the many special recipes I have spent weeks collecting. After this, we leave the dishes for Jim and sit on the couch eating our yummies, analyzing every nuance of flavor and watching more Food Network. For me, this has always seemed perfectly normal but recently I have begun to question the healthiness of my food preoccupation. I give more attention to meal planning than housecleaning, laundry or bed making. I am not sure when I crossed the line between meal maker and food junkie but I am pretty sure it had something to do with being locked in a house with four children for years on end with only a stove to express myself.

In an attempt to justify the amount of time and energy I spend thinking about, making, and consuming food, I have begun to think more seriously about our relationship to food. (Of course, this is actually adding a new category to my food obsession—food philosophy, but who’s counting?) For me, while living a life with seemingly endless restrictions, food has become an outlet, a way to vary the monotony of my day. Anyway, you are what you eat (or so they said in elementary school, and then they ironically fed us chicken patties and Sloppy Joes, but that’s on their conscience, not mine.). Just as what you watch, read, or listen to affects your beliefs, it seems reasonable to assume the same is true for food. The biblical writers use food as a metaphor for various truths and realities. And at the center of our lives as Christians is a meal—the Lord’s Supper. The reminder of Christ’s sacrifice and atoning work is represented in the action of eating and drinking. So why can’t there be other meanings in our daily consumptions? If we carefully evaluate the films, books, and music we experience, shouldn’t we also consider how the food we eat affects not only our physical well-being but our spiritual health as well?

So here are three exhortations in hopes that others will join my pursuit of excellent flavor. First, before you put something in your mouth, ask yourself this question: “Does this food in any way resemble something that natural occurs or is its point of origin more likely to be a scientific laboratory? I love a bag of Cheetos as much as the next girl, but shouldn’t we strive for more fresh less synthetic options? If your lunch is unlikely to biodegrade in the next decade, then go now and leave your life of sin. If nature is the first book that God wrote, His first revelation of His character to us, then shouldn’t we partake of it as often as we can?

Second, don’t be afraid to try new things. Variety is the spice of life. Go to new restaurants. Try new recipes. At worst, you have one bad meal. At best, you experience a new part of the world, a new corner of the globe. Eating new foods, whether ethnic food or something your neighbor recommended broadens not just your palate but your worldview. After all, Jesus didn’t eat tuna casserole every third Wednesday of the month and neither should you.

Third, bring others along for the ride. There is nothing like food to enhance our fellowship. I have seen how guests tend to gather in the kitchen and linger over a meal. Jesus didn’t just call all of His disciples together in the morning, break for lunch and go eat in a corner somewhere. Remember the feeding of the five thousand? The breakfast on the shore after the Resurrection? There is something so intimate about sharing in the recognition of our daily need for nourishment, not to mention the act of showing someone you value them by taking the time to provide for their needs as well as your own.  

So the next time you step into your kitchen, prepare to worship. It may not be manna, but it is God’s provision nonetheless, food from His hand until we join Him at the great wedding feast.

Hmm…I wonder if there will be cake.

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Pretty Little Dots of Randomness

By Amy Spiegel

Like most citizens of the internet world, this past week I received several lists and requests for “25 Random Things.” Having been burned by such demands for information in the past, I hesitated to respond, but after receiving yet another “Random List,” I sat at my computer with great purpose in order to be random. Like all Facebook-related activities, there was a careful balance to strike—to be lighthearted but not flippant, introspective but not frighteningly personal. I hammered out a list, tagged twenty-five carefully chosen “friends,” and off it went. (If you weren’t chosen, feel free to become my cyber-friend and see just how little you missed.) The most interesting part of this exercise was that for the rest of the day, I thought in “Random List” mode.

            #26:  I love the smell of my kitchen hand soap.

            #27:  I look forward to folding laundry but hate ironing.

            #28:  Patches of dirty snow are really depressing to me.

Despite my attempt to indiscriminately share information regarding my inner life, certain patterns emerged. I think a lot about what I eat, movies, books, and my family. Of course, these areas often overlap in my thought process. “What am I going to eat while watching my next film?” “Which book should I read to the boys next? And what snack could we eat while reading?” As I began to see the theme of all the seemingly arbitrary facts that make up this person called me, I realized just how very nonrandom we each are. All of these seemingly insignificant and unrelated preferences, habits, and traits come together in a type of personality pointillism, creating the picture of our character. That bad experience with blueberries you had when you were three. The fear of something lurking under the bed, which you never could shake. The order in which you put on your clothes each morning. All of these traits or experiences are probably shared by millions of others, and yet there is no combination quite like you. It reminds me of a handheld game owned by one of the boys’ friends. To play this game of “artificial intelligence” twenty questions, you simply choose something or someone at random and then answer yes/no questions related to whatever you have chosen. Eerily, the game rarely fails to “guess” correctly. As it eliminates possibilities, one question at a time, the field of potential answers quickly narrows until only one answer is left.

This is true of us as well. I think of my husband and all that we have in common. We live in the same town, in the same house, go to bed at roughly the same time, eat the same food, watch the same films, and are raising the same kids. On and on, and yet we are clearly two unique individuals, with interrelated but distinctly different callings. (Anyone who has heard me sing in the shower or watched Jim try to cook dinner would heartily agree.) This would explain the popularity of the “Random List,” though it perhaps suggests that a more suitable title should be found. It is entertaining to consider all the ways that you are different from those around you and affirming to find that others want to uncover unknown aspects of your personality.

All of this carefully orchestrated design points clearly to our infinitely creative Designer. What an amazing Being He must be. Yet I fear that in marveling at His creatures, we often lose sight of the Creator. And staring too long at all the little dots, we may lose sight of the masterpiece in front of us.

Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe it’s just a harmless exercise in order to get to know more about your friends. After all, dots are pretty. People like dots and I am sure that God created them for our enjoyment. Right?

            #29:  I have a tendency to overanalyze everything.

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Shifting Legos and the Sands of Time

By Amy Spiegel

I must confess that when I woke up on January 20 to the usual sounds of shifting legos and pounding feet (Don’t let them fool you, there is no such thing as the pitter-pattering of little feet unless you own a cat.) I wasn’t thinking about history being made. I was running through the subjects the boys and I needed to get through before lunch and whether or not we should go to Fazoli’s for $1.00 kids’ meals after Maggie’s gymnastics lesson. When Jim reminded me that it was Inauguration Day, I did a head slap and then went back to thinking about the previously stated subjects. Then Jim dropped the bomb that he wanted me to be sure that the kids witnessed the swearing in of Barack Obama as our forty-fourth president. Ugh.

It isn’t that I wanted to deny my kids the privilege of witnessing history. It’s wasn’t even that I resent the fact that Obama won the election, at least not entirely. It’s that witnessing history is often inconvenient and time-consuming. After all, I had lesson plans to complete and leotards to wash. Still, I begrudgingly agreed to plant the kids in front of the computer at snack time and even offered a cookie to anyone who would sit still and watch. Unfortunately for us, the event was delayed, so snack time had came and went and the kids’ attentions spans were stretched and snapped by the time President Obama was sworn in. They did come running when I bellowed “More cookies! Quick!” and thus they became observers of undoubtedly a momentous event in our nation’s story. So for my kids, January 20, 2009 will stand out as the day mom went crazy and surprised them with cookies—twice. 

The day held a few surprises for me as well. I was surprised at the tears and emotion which rose in my eyes and heart as the kids and I prayed for our new president, for his safety and leadership and for our nation as a whole. I was surprised by the wave of cynicism that swept through my heart, especially anytime I turned on NPR. I felt left out and marginalized. This wasn’t the guy I voted for. He doesn’t represent my perspective or viewpoint, so why even bother to tune in? But other thoughts struggled against these dark clouds of pessimism. I have spent the last eight years wishing people would just give the President the benefit of the doubt, wishing that they would just listen for a minute before giving a knee-jerk, partisan response. And here I was on day one, full of suspicion and ready to pounce. At least now I understood the urge—you always sound cooler being against something than for it. 

The final surprise of the day was how quickly this moment was lost in the rhythm of the day’s ordinary events. As easily as you change the channel, we switched from history in the making to lunch making, naps and video time. I felt a bit chagrined at my fickleness, but perhaps this is the way it is meant to be. Perhaps we aren’t meant to dwell in the big picture for too long. We are creatures of the immediate, if for no other reason than because to linger on the large scale too long is to begin to feel terribly insignificant. After all, we are all history in the making, all starring in the role of our lifetime. So what to do? Shrink in the light of the massive scope of history or magnify the size of our own small world until it’s all we see? It is my intention to do a bit of both. To wake up each morning, whispering a small prayer for my President, my leaders and my country, taking a moment to stare the big picture head on. But then listen to the call of those pounding feet and legos at work and take on my part, one unmemorable day at a time.

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Voice Mail, Answering Machines, and Life “After the Beep”

By Amy Spiegel

This past week I called a friend on her cell phone and, finding her “unavailable,” I was passed on to her voice mail. The automated message proceeded to explain the process by which I could leave a message. (I believe that most tribes in the far-reaches of the Amazon Jungle now understand this process. Could we cut to the chase, please? We get it—wait for the beep.) I noted my friend’s carefully chosen and somewhat stilted tone and came to a relatively unimportant conclusion. As a rule, I dislike modern technologies. I heat my soup on the stove top rather than in the microwave (though I would cook on an open stove in the backyard if Jim didn’t think I would somehow burn down the neighborhood.) I rarely answer the call-waiting that was included our telephone service. I still own a pen and have been known to put it to use now and again. But among the resented but tolerated intruders lurks one of my most loathed technologies—voice mail and its more backward cousin, the answering machine. 

What is not to love about these automated wonders which magically communicate our messages from Aunt Suzie, Dr. So-and-So and our son’s basketball coach, you ask? Well, for starters there is the announcement recording. Never do I feel such pressure to make a good impression, to strike just the right balance between clever and to the point as I do when called upon to push the button and begin speaking after the beep. This is, of course, ridiculous because the people that are calling fall into three basic categories: 1) people that already know me and are entirely certain of my uncoolness. No need to try and pull the wool over their eyes. It isn’t as if one day, upon hearing an astoundingly amusing but considerately succinct announcement on our machine, my friends will suddenly reconsider their basic assumptions with regards to my hip rating; 2) people entirely unknown to me who are only trying to inform me that the gas bill is due or that Sam has a dentist appointment next Thursday at two. I truly pity these creatures of the telephone. I can only imagine how many unhappy hours they spend listening to worn out clichés recorded for all to hear, over and over again; and 3) my dear friend “Toll Free Number.” Jim and I receive innumerable calls from “Toll Free” and his good buddy “Unknown.” Unfortunately, they never seem to leave a message for us to return their call. If this last category of calls were the only ones we received, there would be no problem whatsoever. I would simply record nails on a chalk board and be done with it. 

Even worse than announcement recording is message leaving. At least with your own machine, you have the option to delete and try again. (I have noticed a growing trend of “If you are unhappy with your message” options for which I am grateful, though sadly I will never be happy with my message, so what’s the use?) With message leaving, it’s do or die and I must say, I usually end up in the latter category—dying of embarrassment. Oh my, did I really just say that? Again, my failed message attempts fall into one of several categories, but for the sake of parallelism I will note three: 1) the casual message that starts off okay but then begins to ramble, leavings lots of impertinent details and ending with a mortified mumbling of apologies. Often times, I am lulled into over-confidence by a good beginning which leads to my ultimate demise. I am not having a conversation with the person, simply leaving a message; 2) the trying-to-be-brief-and-to-the-point message which is usually a result of having left a casual message sometime in the recent past. This message attempts to leave only relevant information but ends up sounding too businesslike and sometimes downright rude. Frequently, after having left a rather demanding message—“This is Amy. Call me.”—I try to cover up and apologetically add “If you want. When you get a chance. Ya know, whenever.” Smooth, Real smooth; 3) Message from Hell. This is probably the most common message left by me these days. This is the one where I am hiding in the kitchen pantry trying to leave a message and the children discover me and begin terrorizing one another at high volume right into the phone receiver. If they can, they also try to throw juicy tid bits out there for all to hear like “Mommy, Sam ate all the candy you bribed us with and then Bailey hit him over the head with the bowl and now there is blood all over the crumbs that Andrew is licking off the floor, and I didn’t get any.” Things like that. Face burning, I turn into the phone and say “So anyway, Doctor, Thursday at two is fine. Thanks for the message and have a great day. If you want to. Or not. Ya know, whichever.”

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What’s So Offensive About Christianity?

By Jim Spiegel

This past holiday season saw more stories of communities using “holiday trees” instead of Christmas trees and retailers insisting that their employees not say “Merry Christmas” to customers, out of a concern not to offend people.  Some folks are disturbed by Christianity—much more so, it seems, than by the other major theistic traditions of Judaism and Islam.  So far I haven’t heard anyone complain about public use of the phrase “Happy Hanukkah” or “Happy Ramadan.” 

The last few years have also seen a marked upsurge in Christian-bashing, as bloggers and pop culture figures have become more brazen in their criticisms and lampooning of Christianity.  You don’t have to listen or read very long to see that this is not just a matter of intellectual dissent but visceral disgust.  The fact is—increasingly it appears—many people find Christianity offensive.  Why is this so? 

Let’s consider some possibilities.  Perhaps it is because Christian ideas and values are dangerous.  Sam Harris, Christopher Hitchens, and other new atheists think so, based on their observations that many terrible things have been done by religious people, including Christians.  They seem to overlook the myriad social goods that Christians have contributed throughout history and that Judeo-Christian values are foundational to the very concept of human rights (Nicholas Wolterstorff’s book Justice is the latest scholarly demonstration of this fact). The argument of Hitchens, et al. pivots on abuses of Christian teachings, not the doctrines themselves.  A crucial but common mistake.  Of course, notwithstanding all of this, the perception that Christian ideas are dangerous might still explain, in part, some people’s offense.

Another possibility is that people are offended by how pushy and aggressive some Christians are when it comes to their beliefs  This can be very annoying, as people are made to feel more like marketing target than persons.  This is actually one of my own pet peeves about the evangelical world.  But lots of non-Christians in our society are pushy with their beliefs as well.  Plenty of professors and entertainers are aggressive worldview proselytizers.  Every marketer pushes her products.  Every lobbyist presses her agenda.  Even scientists and auto mechanics proselytize others to win converts.  Evangelistic Christians might be more of a nuisance to some people than these other zealots, but, again, this doesn’t seem to explain the degree of offense that so many people feel in regards to Christianity and its adherents.  (In fact, renowned illusionist and atheist Penn Gillette regards such evangelistic fervor as admirable.  Check out a remarkable anecdote here.)

Thirdly, people might be offended by Christianity because they perceive it as obviously false, a blatant flouting of reason.  This seems to be what bugs Bill Maher in his controversial documentary Religulous  as well as the creators of The God Who Wasn’t There.  But, again, this doesn’t quite explain the level of disdain and even hatred that some people display towards Christianity and Christians.  When someone is as badly deluded as Christians are, according to these critics, the proper emotional response is not hatred but pity.  I don’t see a lot of pity on the part of the new atheists and anti-Christian critics.

My pastor recently suggested that the primary offending element is the suggestion, implicit in Christian theology, that there is a moral authority to which one is accountable.  There’s probably some truth to this.  In our culture the idea that one must live according to someone else’s standard, even if that Someone is God himself, is offensive to some people.  The problem with this answer is that it can’t explain why Christianity appears to offend people more than other theistic traditions, most notably Judaism and Islam.  Mention Moses or Mohammed with approval in a public context—or even quote either of them as an authority on some issue—and no one raises an eyebrow.  People may disagree with you, but they won’t try to censure you or get you fired.  But if you bring Jesus Christ into the conversation or—if you have the temerity—affirm his moral authority on an issue, then, well, look out. 

So what is it about Jesus Christ that is so offensive (if, indeed, it is not just his followers but Jesus himself who bugs folks so much)?  I will address this question in my next post but, in the meantime, I’d be happy to hear your own thoughts—in response to this question or anything else I’ve said.

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Happy New Year (Whatever that Means)

By Jim Spiegel

When I exchanged “Happy New Year” greetings with someone yesterday, I found myself thinking “What a relief that I can use a holiday salutation which is not potentially offensive because it implicitly endorses my religion—Christianity.  Unlike “Merry Christmas,” a phrase containing the messianic title of the One whose birth we celebrate, “Happy New Year” is free from any such reference.  But then, as I reflected, it occurred to me that even this phrase potentially endorses Christianity—at least if we refer to the new year as 2009.  For what does that number signify but the (approximate) number of years that have passed since Jesus Christ was born.  It is, after all, A.D. (Anno Domini—“Year of our Lord”) 2009.  So now I’m wondering when someone will begin a serious public campaign to change the current dating system because it tacitly honors Jesus as the chronological reference point of world history.

Of course, this has already been addressed in scholarly circles by the “Common Era” system, in which the abbreviations “B.C.” and “A.D.” are supplanted, respectively, by “B.C.E.” (“Before the Common Era”) and “C.E.” (“Common Era”).  However, this change is merely nominal, as the dates used are the same as ever, the pivotal reference point still being the birth of one Jesus of Nazareth.  So is there a different historical event which would be a more broadly acceptable alternative?  In the 1790s, supposedly, there was a movement in France to make the French Revolution the key chronological marker.  Obviously, that never caught on.  Perhaps something like Aldous Huxley’s fictional suggestion of “A.F.” (“After Ford”) would be more appropriate.  In Brave New World the “Ford” dating system made pivotal the year (A.D.) 1908, when the first Model-T was made.  Huxley rightly saw how modern technology would change the world (and how we think about the world).  But, with the benefit of hindsight (and some reasonable foresight), we might settle on the computer as a more impactful technology.  Perhaps we could dub 1936 as the pivotal year (marking the introduction of the Z1 Computer, a primitive machine useful for basic calculations).  This would have the natural appeal of allowing for continued use of “B.C.” (“Before Computers”) and implementation of “C.E.” (“Computer Era”), which would represent a sort of compromise between the Christian and Common Era dating systems, at least ostensibly.  That would make this year 73 C.E., and it would also mean that Jesus himself was born in the year 1936 B.C. (or, adjusted for historical precision, perhaps something like 1939 B.C.).

Somehow I don’t think this proposal holds much promise for catching on either.  On the whole, human civilization is just too thoroughly committed to the Christian dating system.  As a Christian, of course, this is okay by me, since I think it makes sense to regard God’s incarnational entrance into human history as the central event.  But should non-Christians be bothered by this?  Should they take offense by expressions such as “Happy 2009” as some are by expressions like “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Easter”?  If so, then perhaps we should qualify our “Happy New Year” salutation somehow.  How about this:  “Happy New Year, Whatever the Word ‘Year’ Might Mean to You.”  Ah, now doesn’t that have a pleasant, inclusive ring to it?  Hmm…  Lets see if it catches on.

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The Best and Worst of 2008

By Jim Spiegel

As you probably know, this was our first year to blog, and we have been pleasantly surprised with all the attention and activity our posts have drawn.  Thanks for reading and, if applicable, posting comments.  It’s been a blast.  To close out the year we decided to do our first joint-post.  Where our opinions differ, we’ve included separate entries.

Best Film Experiences:

  • Amy: Lars and the Real Girl—This is a sweet and original movie with great performances. I don’t know if it was my ultimate favorite for the year, but like those who vote for the Oscars I sometimes suffer from long-term memory loss with regard to movies.
  • Jim: Born into Brothels—Yes, it was made in 2004, but I didn’t see it until this past year. What a remarkable display of the life-changing power of art. Inspiring and heart-rending. And, while I’m on the subject of documentaries, I’ll recommend one that was released in 2008: Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed—Who would have thought that the ID perspective could be so entertaining? To the critics who panned it as “propaganda,” I say you’re only proving Ben Stein’s point!

Worst Film Experiences:

  • Amy: Tropic Thunder—I cannot say anything derogatory regarding the performances, but this movie made me feel like I needed to take multiple showers afterward. I will never listen to the recommendation of a Blockbuster employee again.
  • Jim: Bobby—This film has more contrived scenes than an episode of Baywatch (and almost as much cleavage), and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a movie with such self-conscious directing.

Best Musical Experiences of the Year:

  • Amy: Sara Bareilles’ Little Voice—This is my soundtrack when hanging on by a thin thread. Just crank it up and feel a few decades younger (until the children find you, that is).
  • Jim: The Killers’ Day and Age, Bob Dylan’s Tell-Tale Signs, and a half-dozen different albums by the most underrated band in rock history: The Kinks.

Favorite Songs of the Year:

  • Amy: “Human” from the Killers’ Day and Age. It’s the only song whose entire lyrics I have learned since we started having kids, with the exception of “Yahweh” by U2. Both are daily offered up as prayers of desperation as I cruise the back roads of Indiana in a mini-van that sounds like an airplane struggling to take off.
  • Jim: “Red River Shore” from Dylan’s Tell-Tale Signs. This song is one of the Bobster’s most poignant ever. It will break your heart in more ways than you can count. Thank you, God, for endowing this man with such creative genius.  Amen.

Best Sports Moment of the Year:  Brankle Construction’s championship in the Upland Coaches’ Pitch Baseball League.  There were plenty of life-lessons to go around as Brankle (Bailey’s team, coached by Jim) dramatically triumphed over the haughty and hitherto undefeated Pratt Construction team in the playoff semi-final—essentially a little league baseball version of the Giants-Pats Super Bowl.

Worst Sports Moments of the Year:  The Detroit Lions dubious record-breaking 0-16 season.  They’ve set the mark for futility.  Now let’s see if they can set the mark for biggest single-season turnaround.

Most Satisfying Read of the Year:

  • Amy:  North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell.  Gaskell takes social justice issues, adds insightful cultural observations, and wraps it all up in a beautiful love story.
  • Jim:  Degenerate Moderns by E. Michael Jones.  Jones’ provocative (and well-argued) thesis is that modernism (e.g., Rousseau’s political philosophy, Margaret Mead’s cultural anthropology, Freud’s psychology, and even Picasso’s artistic vision), was the result of rationalized sexual misbehavior.  While he can be overweening at times, Jones can also be profoundly insightful.

Political High Point of the Year:  The election of Barack Obama as U.S. President.

Political Low Point of the Year:  The election of Barack Obama as U.S. President.

Most Preposterous News Event of the Year:  The “pregnant man” story.  Only in a culture where a significant minority believes that gender can be socially (or physiologically) constructed could such a claim pass as anything but a joke or an abuse of language (or both).  Its yet another confirmation of Richard Weaver’s thesis that the demise of Western culture begain with the rejection of essences.

Recurrent Theological Theme of the Year:

  • Amy:  When you ask God to deliver you from difficult circumstances, it doesn’t mean He will beam-you-up-Scotty.  Rather, He will preserve you through the storm.  As hymnist John Keith put it, “When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie, my grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply; the flame shall not harm thee; I only design thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine” (“How Firm a Foundation”).
  • Jim:  The importance of maintaining high regard for the classical Christian creeds (especially the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds) and the imprudence of treating disputable theological issues as if they were creedal.

Most Satisfying Shared Experience of the Year:  At least when it comes to the professional aspect of our relationship, it was definitely doing this blog together.

  • Amy:  I love you, honey-bunny.
  • Jim:  I love you, too, honey-bunny.

New Year’s Resolutions (regarding Wisdom and Folly):

  • Amy: 1) to explore less of my mommy-can-you-get-me-a-drink side and more of my I-read-interesting-books-and-watch-artsy-foreign-films side and 2) to leave more room in my opinions for respectful disagreement with those I respect and an escape hatch that offers the option of (gasp) changing my mind.
  • Jim: 1) to explore atheism as a philosophical and psychological phenomenon and 2) to continue to do my best to overlook insulting, patronizing, or condescending comments on our posts, while resisting the temptation to delete them! Thankfully, there were very few of these (among the hundreds submitted). Nearly all reader comments were constructive, even when critical. Thank you! And to all of you, may God bless you with a healthy and happy (in the Aristotelian sense of eudaimonia) year in 2009!
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Moral Silver Linings in a Dark Economic Cloud

By Amy Spiegel

Like the worst of rubber-neckers passing a twenty car pile up on the interstate, I have watched our nation’s recent economic turmoil with a strange mixture of sorrow, fear and (here comes the strange part) relief. I feel genuine sorrow for those who find themselves without work or facing difficult decisions regarding their homes and futures. Several years ago, Jim and I were the victims of fraud and faced the serious possibility of owing two mortgages that we could not have possibly paid. I was pregnant with Bailey at the time and remember the sense of dread that hung over us at the prospect of being without a home just as we were starting our family. Through the years, we have faced lean times and while I can’t fully know what it is to be without work, I hope I have enough empathy to grieve with those who are grieving now. Though I strongly disagree with his basic philosophical assumptions, one thing I have already learned from President-Elect Barack Obama is that I have not cared for the poor of my country or been shamed by their neglect as I ought to be.

While thinking of others, I also think about myself and my family. What sort of country will my kids be living in? This is a generation of Chuck E. Cheese-goers who, though not living in an affluent home by our national standards, certainly have not known great want. Their idea of going hungry is Mommy saying no to that third pack of fruit snacks and deprivation is having to eat Thanksgiving leftovers four days in a row. How will they respond when called upon to make real sacrifices? As all the things we take so much for granted now become more and more a luxury, how will I respond?

But like I said, while the feelings of distress and concern have certainly dominated my consciousness of late, I have been surprised by feeling of liberation it has brought as well. Perhaps an illustration will help. Toothpaste. Dental hygiene naturally comes to mind whenever one is discussing global economics, right? When I stroll through the aisles of my not-so-local superstore, I am amazed at the number of not only brands but sub-brands of toothpaste. Now I appreciate minty breath and a healthy smile as much as the next gal, but come on. I will not waste your time with an enumeration of them all, but this is an area of our economy that perhaps could use a little trimming. Pre-stock-market-plummeting-face-first-into-the-sidewalk-of-Wall Street I would have felt compelled to stand for a good five minutes, muttering to myself about which brand was best suited to meet our needs. Now? I know exactly which brand is best suited: the cheapest. The same goes with my kids’ clothes. For years now, we have been blessed with a large quantity of hand-me-downs, especially for the boys. I usually relied on these for the basics and threw in some new stuff to make sure they didn’t look too shabby. I have found myself caving to social pressures and double-checking for stains and holes, especially if we were headed anywhere near a GapKids which I personally think is designed to make everyone feel like Raggedy Anns in order to convince you that it really is reasonable to purchase a $30 pair of jeans for a child who will outgrow them the minute you leave the store. Now? I wave to those fashion fascists and their overpriced goods as I stroll past holding the hand of my not so neatly dressed, but nonetheless cool, kid. (Okay, so I sometimes do go in, but only when there is a really big sale and mostly for Maggie, because girl stuff is too fun not to buy.)

If the predictions are true and things are only going to get worse, there will be plenty of opportunities for economizing. But rather than crying in your Starbucks mug over your lost lattes, embrace the freedom of less being more. And remember this, our country’s twenty car pile up still looks a lot better than most. Count your blessings and smile, even if your teeth aren’t super-bright.

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Confessing My Bigotry

By Amy Spiegel

In recent months our country has made great strides to overcome long held prejudices and bigotries. It has been a time of historic progress and cause for much celebration. But it has also been a time of reflection and introspection. Both as a nation and on an individual level, we have been forced to assess our core beliefs and convictions. In taking stock of my beliefs, I have been saddened to realize that I have a deep-seated, narrow-minded intolerance of a certain group of people. Not so much the people, actually, but rather the activity in which they participate. After all, as we are taught in the Sunday School of Tolerance, “Love the sinner, not the sin.” So I have decided to come out of the closet and confess my long-held discrimination against . . . golfers. Not only do I not like golf, I hold this derogatory opinion unapologetically.

They say that many prejudices can be traced back to your upbringing and a lack of exposure to other people’s points of view. Perhaps this is true in my case as well. As a young child, I didn’t know any golfers. None of our neighbors were golfers and we certainly didn’t have any golfers in our family. My first contact with golf wasn’t until I was a teenager when I was asked on a golfing date. My date made no effort to dispel the stereotypes of golf such as that it is more boring than watching grass grow. He wouldn’t even let me drive the cart which has always seemed, to me, the best part of the game. It was, hands down, one of the most tedious afternoons I have ever spent, not to mention the worst first date I have ever had the displeasure to experience. (There was no second date with this fella, if you were curious.)

Later in life, when I might have overcome this morally handicapped view, my own perceptions was reinforced by bigoted professors who taught that golf courses were a great force for evil in the world. Their propaganda taught me that runoff from the fertilizers used on golf courses is a serious pollution problem, not to mention the waste of water involved in keeping those greens green. (But perhaps I am the pot calling the kettle black. Remember, I am the girl who contributes several 32 oz. Styrofoam cups to a landfill near you every week.)

The final nail in the coffin of my dislike for golf was hammered home when I married Jim, who is a strict segregationist. He strongly believes in categorizing as “sports” such competitive activities as baseball, football, and basketball, while golf belongs with such things as shuffleboard and tiddlywinks in the category of “games”. 

I am sure there is a great deal to golf that I am missing, but frankly, I don’t care to discover its hidden value. Let’s face it guys—the golf course is your shopping mall. True, shopping is more intellectually and physically demanding, since it requires math skills and is conducted without the aids of caddies and carts, but both activities give you an opportunity to hang out with your friends for hours on end while spending a great deal of money. So the next time the wife is heading out the door on her way to Macy’s, just envision her in plaid pants with a golf bag swung over her shoulder and wish her well. Maybe in this way we can all rise above our prejudices and recognize that golfers are people too.