Happy New Year, Charlie Brown - advice and resolutions

"That's one thing you should never do. 

Never sniff in someone's root beer."

I've watched Happy New Year, Charlie Brown! twice with my boys in the last two days. As you might expect, the resolutions, quips, and advice were great! I'll start with my favorite. What is your favorite resolution, line, or bit of advice?



Peppermint Patty [PP]: Have you made any New Year's resolutions, Chuck?
Charlie Brown [CB]: Yes. You know how I always dread the whole year? Well, this time I'm only going to dread one day at a time.

...

PP: ...What do you think, Chuck, would be good rules for living in the New Year?
CB: Keep the ball low, don't leave your crayons in the sun, use dental floss every day, don't spill the shoe polish, always knock before entering, don't let the ants get in the sugar, never volunteer to be a program chairman, always get your first serve in, and feed your dog when he's hungry.
PP: Will those rules give me a better life, Chuck?
CB: The better life, and a fat dog.

...

CB: I've decided next year, I'm going to be a "changed person."
Lucy van Pelt: Oh, be serious, Charlie Brown.
CB: No, I mean it. I'm going to be strong and firm.
Lucy: Forget it, Charlie Brown. You'll always be wishy-washy.
CB: Why can't I change just a little bit? I've got it! I'll be wishy one day, washy the next.

...

Lucy: Your stupid beagle sniffed in my root beer! Look at that! I'll bet it's full of dog germs! Where are my binoculars? ...You see, it's filled with dog germs!
CB: That's one thing you should never do. Never sniff in someone's root beer.

...

Linus van Pelt: How are you doing with War and Peace, Charlie Brown?
CB: I've just finished reading the dust jacket.
Linus: Many is the book report that has been written by just reading the dust jacket.

...

Linus: When Leo Tolstoy was writing War and Peace, his wife, Sonya, copied it for him seven times, and she did it by candlelight, and with a dip pen...after their child had been put to bed, and the servants had gone to their garrets, and it was quiet in the house. Just think, Charlie Brown: she wrote the book seven times with a dip pen, and you're telling me you can't even read it once?

...

Lucy: There's going to be a great New Year's party!
CB: ...But I've got this book report to do.
Lucy: I'm enrolling us in a dance class. A New Year's party is not a party without lots of dancing.

the craft of the father

Pray God you can cope

I stand outside this woman's work

This woman's world

Oh, it's hard on the man

Now his part is over

Now starts the craft of the father

(Kate Bush - "This Woman's Work")

Sun comes up on the pavement

The Eighth Day - from Gordon Lathrop

I was getting ready for Easter Sunday, preaching on ''The Eighth Day,'' and re-reading from my seminary professor, Gordon Lathrop's book, Holy Things. I always end up with the Beetle's song, ''Eight Days a Week,'' running through my head when I use this idea:

    ''The [Church] meeting is called a meeting on the eighth day because it opens toward what cannot be reached simply by more days like those of the seven-day weeks... There is an opening toward the day beyond days, toward the last day of God. It is the eighth day because Christians have met 'eight days later' (John 20:26, RSV) down through the ages. That meeting has always meant for them an encounter with the risen one and so with the end of death and the endless cycles of loss...things that have been promised for the last day when God's dwelling is to be with humankind and tears are to be wiped away. Christians believe the eighth-day meeting is already the dawning of that day. The eighth day is the beginning of a new creation'' [pages 39-40]. 

Buridan's Ass

   ''I am coming to believe that laws are the prime cause of unhappiness. It is not merely a case of born under one law, required another to obey...No sir, it is born under half a dozen, required another fifty to obey. There are parallel sets of laws in different keys that have nothing to do with one another and that are even downright contradictory. You, now - you wish to do something that the Articles of War and (as you explained to me) the rules of generosity forbid, but that your present notion of the moral law and your present notion of the point of honour require...Buridan's ass died of misery between equidistant mangers, drawn first by one then by the other...
   
   ''So much pain; and the more honest the man the worse the pain. But there at least the conflict is direct; it seems to me that the greater mass of confusion and distress must arise from these less evident divergencies -- the moral law, the civil, military, common laws, the code of honour, custom, the rules of practical life, of civility, of amorous conversation, gallantry, to say nothing of Christianity for those that practise it. All sometimes, indeed generally, at variance...It is as though our strings were each tuned according to a completely separate system - it is as though the poor ass were surrounded by four and twenty mangers.''
   
   ''You are an antinomian,'' said Jack.

   ''I am a pragmatist,'' said Stephen. ''Come, let us drink up our wine.''

(Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian, 1970, pp.354-6.)

Crawling Between Earth and Heaven

Looking at my own religious piety,
Hamlet's speech to Ophelia is a great descriptor:

Edwin Booth as Hamlet, c. 1870 

HAMLET: ...I am myself indifferent honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
(Hamlet 3.1, the famous "Get thee to a nunnery" speech)

Yep. That fits me. If my true value is going to be determined by listing all the good-stuff-I've-done alongside all the bad-stuff-I've-done, then you'll get a rather mediocre or "indifferent honest" fellow. However, dig just a little deeper into the naughty-stuff-I-really-wish-I-could-do and there are all the building blocks needed for a very base creature. Hamlet and I are arrant knaves. And I cannot stand as judge over you.

Similarly, heap together all the church's actions--at once loving and hateful, destructive and uplifting, life-saving and murderous, oppressive and freeing--and you create a crumbling aggregate of marble shards and excrement. When judged by its actions, an honest church can only stammer, "Yes, but look at all the nice things we've done, ...as well." There are times that Christian hate tears at the very flesh of Christian love; we have explicit photos, venomous quotes, and cold lists of names to prove it. Why breed more hypocritical sinners and sins, O church? Get thee to a nunnery.

And yet, does that mean any other person or body of people is somehow more pure or less hypocritical? Admitting hypocrisy doesn't make it less so. No matter who stands to criticize the other, scratch just a little into the makeup and find ridiculous irony. "Well, yeah, but compared to you..." The comparison itself is an act of misdirection and self-delusion.

A cherry looked up and, squinting, saw an apple swaying high up in the branches. The cherry thought to itself, "See how tiny that apple is!" The apple fell from the branch and landed heavily near the cherry and exclaimed, "Wow, next to you, I'm huge!" The orchard heard the apple's boast and shook her leaves in silent laughter.

Once in a great while, I think our lives and institutions accidentally intersect with the moral high road, but as soon as we lift our noses to admire the scenery, we find ourselves scrabbling down the embankment on the scree of false pride and self-promotion. We are arrant knaves, all.

Shakespeare's Hamlet let this self-awareness petrify him. On the one hand, he was motivated by justice. He hated the lies; he wanted truth rise up for air. On the other hand, this only masked his darker desire for vengeance, and he used deceit and trickery to bait that truth to the surface. And on reflection (which Hamlet does, ad nauseam) he became frozen.

What, then, shall we do "crawling between earth and heaven." There is nothing else to do but to accept and admit our own knavery, forgiving ourselves and each other, as we place our feet firmly on the earth. Then we use knees and bodies and any helping hands to leverage our heads back up into the sky. Here, people of faith have to trust God's unrelenting love and his ability to use the best and worst of all of us and whatever we've done. From there, we walk with our honest feet on the ground and our heads bobbling around in the heavens. We slip, we fall, and we help each other back up.

In the meantime, we are called to and can take stronger and preemptive stands against injustice, snobbery, and bigotry once we recognize them in ourselves. And the true victims will win when they stand, or are finally lifted up, their spirits renewed and still uncrushed by all the injustice, bigotry, devilish interpretations and applications, and pious preaching.

I'm not confident that we have found a moral high road, or have made significant progress toward the destination "Decent Humanity." Instead, these are brief and usually quiet occurrences on whichever road we happen to be. And those moments of human kindness only rise above the surface of the road when given an honest and forgiving nod that keeps and uses the best intentions and actions, and allows the dust and dirt to settle back down behind us.

obeundum ineptus (completely inept) - or, Martin Luther's Sacristy Prayer

My church's newsletter editor showed me this prayer, and we used it for the cover of the service order for my recent installment as pastor in a new congregation. There have been times that I've prayed like this in the sacristy ...or in my office ...or walking up the aisle to lead a service. My internal prayers are often less reverent, i.e. "God, you put me in this #*@% situation; gimme a hand here!"

Luther said it much better (translation from the early 20th C):

Lord God, Thou hast made me a pastor and teacher in the Church. Thou seest how unfit I am to administer rightly this great and responsible office, and had I been without Thine aid and counsel I would surely have ruined it long ago.

Therefore I do invoke Thee, how gladly do I desire to yield and consecrate my heart and mouth to this ministry. I desire to teach the congregation. I further desire ever to learn and keep Thy Word my constant companion and to meditate thereupon earnestly.

Use me as Thine instrument in Thy service. Only do not forsake me, for if I am left to myself, I will certainly bring it all to destruction. Amen.

----.----

An older version puts it in Latin - Here and there, it's even better:

Domini Deus, tu constituisti me in Ecclesia Episcoporum, Pastorem, vides, quam sim ad tantum et tam difficile munus obeundum ineptus, et si absque tuo auxilio fuissem, iamdudum evertissem omnia. 

Ideo te invoco. Ego quidem os et cor applicare volo, docebo populum, discam ipse et meditabor diligenter in verbo tuo,

Tu me instrumento tuo utere: tantum ne dereliquas me: So enim solis fuero, facile perdidero omnia.

In God's Wilderness...

Last night, one of my friends must have been listening to the same thunderstorm. I suspect it was a happy distraction from some editorial or other work that had been occupying him earlier, because he posted his defiance against the notion that God can be understood best when he is "systematized." I doubt that he was denying that theology (or specifically systematic theology) has any value. Theology is a part of our desire to fully explore our relationship and creation's relationship with God. "Head" and "heart" are not opposites, but rather different parts of the same wave as it crashes against and attempts to cover the full width of a beach. Theologians explore the relationship we have with the Creator, and with words, metaphors, and systems they illustrate the height, width, and depth of God's love. Later, my friend posted that theologians are engaged in poetry. I think that might be true!

On the other hand, our drive to define and categorize God and godly things also reveals our desire to establish a sense of control over that which we have no control. Sometimes our study of things loses touch with the very things we study. Theology bites into that apple when it objectifies God, forgetting that he is the Living God who loves the theologian. It can create a very sterile and "heartless" view of the God of Creation, listing his parts and functions, but missing the motivating relationship. It would be like studying your crying child, observing how and where she fell down, noticing the skinned knee, and the falling tears, noting all of these significant things, but getting so lost in the observation and study that you forget to lift her, hug her, and tend to her wound with a bandage and soothing words.

A full theology freely confesses and bows to the God of and beyond theologies. Without that humility, in the face of a single thunderstorm, a systematized god can seem a bit lifeless. I responded to his post, "What? If I build a perfectly measured temple and fill it with godly things, do you mean to say I can't contain, study, and understand God within it? How will we ever understand him out in the wild?"

I'll admit to you that I deleted my question: I meant to support him, but it came across as arrogant and awkward in the midst of others' responses; it had a contextual problem.

In any case, the exchange reminded me of a few things. First, that God is best "understood" like any other living being: in relationship! Second, that God is not contained by our temples; he cannot be completely categorized or fully understood, and our theologies need to include and revel in this humility.

Third, I was reminded of a quote that I have always loved, but until now haven't shared: "In God's wilderness lies the hope of the world – the great fresh, unblighted, unredeemed wilderness." That quote from John Muir was on a coffee cup that I once had and lost. (I miss that cup.)

Some accused John Muir of nature worship. Druidism over-states Muir's appreciation for the cathedral which pointed him to the God who cannot be fully described... except perhaps by poetry and metaphor. Honestly, plants and creation often seem to obey and worship God more readily and emphatically than we do! 



 

“A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease. Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings, while incense is ever flowing from the balsam bells and leaves. No wonder the hills and groves were God's first temples, and the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and churches, the farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself.”

 

Said the Old Preacher to the New...

"An old minister once said...to a young preacher, 'Young man, you are called to this church not in the first place to make so many pastoral calls, or to preach so many sermons, but to live among the people the best life you can.'"

--Walking as He Walked by Arthur C. Zepp, 1912, 

p.127

We see in the mirror... dimly.

Last night my wife and I saw the new Star Trek movie. I confess that I occasionally covet the persona of Captain James T. Kirk, ...well not everything about him, but the bravado, swagger, luck, charisma, strength, authority, etc. What if I had those best parts of his character?   hmmm...

Even people who--on the surface--seem confident and content can harbor a degree of disappointment and discontent: with themselves, with their lives, what they've done, or where they are right now. We may try our hardest not to compare ourselves to others, or to the caracatures of the ideal person we wish we could be, but it happens. We do compare or fantasize what it would be like if only we had that body or ability, charm, wealth, lack of baggage or fears... and then with those thick glasses we look in the mirror. To varying degree we feel let down by the person we see.

And there may even be an imagined god, an internal voice, who looks over our shoulder at the reflection with us and, scowling, whispers his accusing judgments into our ear. "Look how you fail me. You call yourself a Christian?" We don't measure up on any scale to the person or life we "ought to" be or have.

"...In reality, no one you see is what you think they are — you only see certain parts of the story, the good parts, and rarely see the person’s doubt and anguish and discontent. People don’t share their warts and hemorrhoids, just the great pictures of their food and vacation and children."

-Babauta, Leo (May, 2013). The Little Book of Contentment.

These comparisons may motivate us for brief moments to strive for what seems healthier living, exercise, organization, better habits, etc. Occasionally, we gain some victories and have those moments of "yes" only to place the bar a little higher, find some other flaw, or backslide into the old self. These comparisons, that demeaning internal voice, and any scale of how we "ought to" be, look or act are distructive lying demons.

Contentment isn't achieved. Contentment is accepting the reality, but not just the disappointing "reality" we see in that mirror (because that image is false; it has been warped and smeared by those lying demons). Contentment is accepting the greater reality of who God sees when he looks at each of us. Contentment is accepting and trusting the amazing forgiveness and ability to redeem and act and heal through us, to breath, love, laugh, help.

The Little Book of Contentment: "Contentment is about letting go of these fantasies, and realizing that life is amazing without them. People around us are amazing without the fantasies. We are amazing, without the fantasies. How do we let go of the fantasies? First by shining the light of awareness on them. Watch ourselves fantasize, realize that it’s happening, realize that we don’t need the fantasies. Be OK with letting them go. Watch reality closely, and recognize life’s awesomeness, as it is, without the fantasies. It’s there. We just need to learn to see it."

If we could only truly see with the eyes of God, like Jesus, who looks at us and sees beauty, someone he forgives--not only because he's merciful--but also because he loves us more than we love ourselves. When content, we can see with his eyes. It takes trust and practice to take off the thick smeared glasses of lies and false fantasies, and use his eyes to see ourselves, others, and creation.


Contentment, by the way, is not complacency. We can be content AND develop healthy habits, as well as learn, grow, help and even achieve. ...More on that later.

Contentment

I am very grateful that my congregation has a sabbatical policy for the pastors, offering up to 3 months every seven years. While I am two years away from my next opportunity, they were especially kind to advance me one month now. I was going to take a two-day course at Pacific Lutheran University, but the cost was a bit high. Instead, I am laying out a course of exercise, yard work, and self-study.

Last night, I read a short book about being content. It took a little over an hour, including time for reflection.

Now, this was out of the Zen tradition, and--at least for me--needs translation. Leo Babauta finds his contentment and value within himself. However, what I need is to trust that the God of creation looked at his creation (including me) and found it good; he created and sees value in me, a work of his own hand. God sees enough value that he is willing to reside within me through his Spirit (a promise of my baptism) and through Christ he was willing to use his own life in order to claim and keep me. Babauta says that we won't find this contentment and value from external sources. I think he's right that we won't find it in the "world" outside of us. However, I believe that intrinsic and internal value and--therefore, true contentment--got its start from a much bigger source than myself. That Source makes my value, and potential contentment, all the more stable, reliable, and (God help me) believable.

With that perspective, I did find the words and activities helpful for self-acceptance, and for dealing with negative emotions - my own and others'.


Here's a first nugget:

"If you have a friend who is constantly late and breaking his word, not showing up when he says he will, eventually you’ll stop trusting that friend. It’s like that with yourself, too. It’s hard to like someone you don’t trust, and it’s hard to like yourself if you don’t trust yourself."

The suggestion is to take small steps toward regaining trust in yourself. Make a very doable promise to yourself, and keep it, and then another.


The Little Book of Contentment by Leo Babauta. (May, 2013; It may only be available in digital form. You can click the title above or download the .pdf version for free.)

I'll post a few more nuggets in days to come from this little booklet, but I've also started to read his print book, The Power of Less; The Fine Art of Limiting Yourself to the Essential...in Business and in Life. I saw it on display at our denomination's regional assembly. It reminded me of a very helpful book, Simple Church, which I read a few years back.

Running with Tupac

I ordered a book on distant running, and opened the package to find this... Oh well.

from pg. 33 - GOD

when I was alone and had nothing
I asked 4 a friend 2 help me bear the
pain no one came except...GOD


when I needed a breath 2 rise
from my sleep no one could
help me except....GOD

when all I saw was sadness
and I needed answers no one
heard me except....GOD

so when I am asked who I
give my unconditional love 2
look for no other name
except.....GOD! -Tupac, '90

 

I guess I can run with that.

Crucified Stranger... (In memoriam - D. Bonhoeffer)

In a world where success is the measure and justification of all things, the figure of him who was sentenced and crucified remains a stranger. --Dietrich Bonhoeffer (d. April 9, 1945) in Ethics, 1943.

"Jesus Loves Me" - The first time...

..."[Johnny] presently held out his arms to Mr. Linden, with the words, 'Walk--like last night.'
     "And for a while then Faith had nothing to do but to look and listen; to listen to the soft-measured steps through the room, to watch the soothing-nesting effect of the motion on the sick child...By degrees Johnny began to speak...One of these words was, 'Sing.'
     "Mr. Linden did not stay his walk, but though his tone was almost as low as his footsteps, Faith heard every word.

     'Jesus loves me--this I know
     For the Bible tells me so.
     Little ones to him belong;
     They are weak but he is strong.

     'Jesus loves me--he who died
     Heaven's gates to open wide;
     He will wash away my sin,

     Let his little child come in.

     'Jesus loves me--loves me still,
     Though I'm weak and very ill;
     From his shining throne on high
     Comes to watch me where I lie...'"

An excerpt from Say and Seal, by Susan and Anna Warner, 1888. "Jesus Loves Me" composed by Anna Warner for this book.

When he said, "Forgive them."

The world has seen no greater love:

            to die for people who befouled His face with spittle,

                        or to pray for those who made His suffering their sport…

That was no bargain day at Calvary, when God was given in

exchange for Man!

            And yet, nobody else would do.

                                    . . .

            “Forgive them” is His last word,

                        mercy is the whole conclusion of the matter,

                                    and affection is the final sentence of His life.

            Here is the love you have been looking for.

                        If your poor life is lost for meaning,

                        If you think you are a burden dragging down society,

                                    Look to the Cross!

            So here,

                        There is no greater love in all the universe.

                        None quite so perfect, nor so vast,

                                    and none so intimate:

The story of Atonement is the story of a King who fell down for a slave,

            and of a Judge becoming his own prisoner.

-Wyn Blair Sutphin, No Greater Love, 1965

sermons on the Last 7 Words of Christ

The Measure of Worth

"He had been wrong in thinking that successes alone were the measure of his worth in the Word's service. He had been wrong in fleeing his mistakes as if they marked him a failure. It was not as simple as that. All men and women experienced successes and failures, and their tally at death was not necessarily determinative of one's worth in life. This was true, as well, for a Knight of the Word. It was trying that mattered more. It was the giving of effort and heart that lent value." - in A Knight of the Word, ch. 25, by Terry Brooks

Robert Louis Stevenson from "Across the Plains"

This is from chapter 11 of Across the Plains, memoirs of Robert Louis Stevenson's travels from New York to California.

...And we look and behold [humankind] instead filled with
imperfect virtues: infinitely childish, often admirably valiant,
often touchingly kind; sitting down, amidst his momentary life, to
debate of right and wrong and the attributes of the deity; rising
up to do battle for an egg or die for an idea; singling out his
friends and his mate with cordial affection; bringing forth in
pain, rearing with long‐suffering solicitude, his young. To touch
the heart of his mystery, we find, in him one thought, strange to
the point of lunacy: the thought of duty; the thought of something
owing to himself, to his neighbour, to his God: an ideal of
decency, to which he would rise if it were possible; a limit of
shame, below which, if it be possible, he will not stoop.
...[However,] I shall be reminded what a tragedy of misconception and
misconduct man at large presents: of organised injustice, cowardly
violence and treacherous crime; and of the damning imperfections of
the best. They cannot be too darkly drawn. Man is indeed marked
for failure in his efforts to do right. But where the best
consistently miscarry, how tenfold more remarkable that all should
continue to strive; and surely we should find it both touching and
inspiriting, that in a field from which success is banished, our
race should not cease to labour.
...

100 Points!

I'm not preaching this Sunday, but enjoyed this sermon illustration that one of my friends shared with me today, especially paired with the parable of the workers in the vineyard (Matthew 20:1-16).

--By the way, why do these so often start "A man dies and goes to heaven or the Pearly Gates"? Where are the women? Maybe most are like my mom; they take the passing lane straight into heaven.--

Anyway...
A man dies and goes to heaven. Of course, St. Peter meets him at the Pearly Gates.

St. Peter says, "Here's how it works. You need 100 points to make it into heaven. You tell me all the good things you've done, and I give you a certain number of points for each item, depending on how good it was. When you reach 100 points, you get in."

"Okay," the man says, "I was married to the same woman for 50 years and never cheated on her, even in my heart."
"That's wonderful," says St. Peter, "that's worth three points!"

"Three points?"

He says, "Well, I attended church every Sunday and supported its ministry with my tithe and service."
"Terrific!" says St. Peter, "that's certainly worth a point."

"One point? Well, I started a soup kitchen in my city and worked in a shelter for homeless veterans."
"Fantastic," answers Peter, "that's good for 2 more points."

"Two points?" The man cries, "At this rate the only way I get into heaven is by the grace of God!"

St Peter smiled. "There's your 100 points! Come on in!"


(I'm sorry I couldn't find an author; it's available in various places on the web, and on Sermons.com.)

Love (III) by George Herbert (d. 1633)

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd any thing.

"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.