A $19,000 What?

If you act quickly, and bid $19,001, you just might win a handmade, hand painted Fontanini nativity set on ebay. This set has a very handsome shepherd wearing a two-piece, earth tone ensemble that perfectly accentuates a tapered, mauve tunic. He is also fitted with an intricately cobbled pair of sandals. Joseph appears to have just come in from a salon where he had his nails as well as his beard and hair done. Mary, beautiful as always, is smiling slightly and looks very composed and relaxed—like she just got up from a refreshing nap. The wool on the pair of sheep is curly and well coiffed. Baby Jesus, looking very European with blue eyes and blond hair, smiles from a cozy manger outstretching his arms to offer a hug.

Just Once

Just once, I would like to see a nativity set that interjects even the slightest bit of realism into this scene. Take, for instance, the shepherds. Men became shepherds when they were unable to find any other work. They clung tightly to the bottom rung of the socio-economic ladder and feared getting kicked off. They were thought of so poorly that their testimony was not permitted in court. They were outlaws and outcasts. Shepherds lived in the fields. They slept on the ground. They didn’t have a clean set of clothes to their names, let alone matching outfits with coordinated colors. They stunk, too, as did the sheep. For once, just once, would someone please create a nativity set that has a couple of mangy, scruffy looking shepherds with matted hair and dirt on their faces.

Just once, I’d like to walk past a nativity scene and have my nostrils confronted with the gifts of the sheep as well as those of the Magi. Just once, I would like to see a nativity set that depicts Mary looking like she just gave birth without the benefit of an epidural and nurse’s aid to clean up the blood and amniotic fluid.

Just once, I would like to see a scene that captures Joseph about to toss his taco salad at the sight of so much blood and suffering. I’d buy a nativity set like that—I really would.

Why?

Why do we do this? Why do we romanticize and sanitize the second most important event of human history? Why are we afraid to let God come all the way down to our level? Why do we deny the pain and fear of this little girl, who just got her period the year before, as she gives birth in the middle of squalor? Why do we do this?

Christian theology teaches us that Jesus was both fully human and fully god. There is one point, however, that makes his human experience completely unique. Unlike any of us, he chose all the details of his arrival on planet earth.

He chose Mary and Joseph. He chose a manger. He chose a country under siege and a race of people living in bondage. He chose to enter a world without painkillers, antibiotics or fetal monitors. Why?

He chose to come as a baby. He could have come as a super hero, with or without the cape. He could have impressed the world with His power, wisdom and creativity. He could have put on a show that would make George Lucas’ special effects look like the work of kindergartners limited to three crayons. Instead, he voluntarily surrendered bladder control and put himself under the leadership of two people who had never raised a child before, let alone a deity. Why?

Maybe he didn’t want to frighten us. After all, we’d all be pretty nervous if God’s secretary called to set up a meeting with Him for next Tuesday. Babies don’t intimidate most people, you know. I bet you’ve never had a baby pointed at you as someone shouted: “I’ve got a baby here and I’m not afraid to use him!”

Maybe

Maybe he chose to enter our world as He did so He could look every one of us in the eye and say: “I know your pain and I know your poverty.” Maybe he hoped to disarm our skepticism and fear the same way a baby drains your macho uncle of his tough guy persona.

This Christmas, why don’t you let him come all the way down to where you live? I’m afraid if you don’t, you’ll miss the whole point. He came all the way down here so you could reach his hand and let him lead you to a better life and ultimately to a better place.

I’ve come to the conclusion that this story is far too wonderful to capture with pastel porcelain figurines, but I haven’t been able to totally convince my wife. She loves to display several nativity sets around the house and won’t let me “fix” the shepherds for her. So, in the interest of domestic tranquility, please do me a favor and don’t show Debbie this newspaper article.

Merry Christmas.

Nine Powerful Words

It has been a season of firsts. This is the first time I’ve coached a team that has only won one game all year. It is the first season that I had to kick a boy off the team. And, for the first time in my life, an umpire ejected me from a game.

I could make excuses for getting thrown out, but I won’t. The truth is I lost my temper and argued one too many calls. I didn’t use bad language, and I didn’t do the Billy Martin kicking-sand-on-the-ump’s-shoes routine, but I acted out of character and was given the hook.

It was pretty embarrassing and more than a little humbling. The next day, I began making my round of apologizes: the other team’s coaches, the ump, my friends at the recreation department and the boys on my team.

A week later, I had to kick one of our best players off the team. I tried not to. I had talked with him two or three times, but finally I had no choice. I told him he was no longer a Dodger. He strode away in defiance.

Two days later he called as a much humbler boy and asked if he could rejoin the team. I invited him to address the team and apologize at our team picnic.

After a couple of rounds of hot dogs and watermelon, I gathered the team in the corner of my back yard. I cleared my throat and began a little speech that had been ruminating in my mind all day.

“Fellas, I want to share a life lesson with you.” They listened intently, sensing my seriousness.

“Every one of us is going to do something that we regret at some point. Every one of us is going to hurt some of the people that we care about the most. Every one of us will have an episode that if caught on camera and posted on You Tube, would make us look like the biggest jerk in the world. Every one of us.”

“When you’ve let someone down, or have hurt someone, there are nine powerful words that you look them straight in the eye and say…” I raised one finger at a time as I punctuated each word.

“I am sorry, I was…”

“Wait a minute coach, you’re going too fast,” one of my comedians quipped.

“I am sorry, I was wrong, please forgive me.”

With that introduction, Bobby (not his real name) stepped up and owned his actions. He was apologetic and sincere, but he didn’t grovel.

“I’m sorry, guys. I let the whole team down. I’m sorry.” It was a beautiful sight to see the guys gather around him, shake his hand and welcome him back.

The next Sunday, I found a member of our church in tears in the corner of the lobby. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Oh Pastor Doug, I’m afraid I’ve really hurt someone I love.” She told me about something said in the heat of the moment.

I wasn’t planning on telling my congregation about this, but I found myself sharing with her that I had been ejected from a game. She was surprised to hear that her pastor had lost his temper…surprised, but also grateful. It seemed to give her relief to know that I had messed up.

I told her that I apologized to all concerned. I told her about Bobby. I told her about the nine powerful words. In the process of doing so, it dawned on me, that my sharing a weakness with her helped her more than sharing from a position of strength.

The truth is we are all weak at times. We all act uncharacteristic of who we are at times. We all blow it and make a mess of things from time to time. We know this, and those who love us know it, too.

So, here’s a suggestion. The next time you act out of character—don’t hide it—own it. Go to those you’ve offended or let down, look them straight in the eye and apologize. Don’t make excuses. Don’t try to tell your side of the story. Own it. Take responsibility for your actions. You might try using nine powerful words: “I am sorry, I was wrong, please forgive me.”

If you do, you’ll be surprised at the quiet, sincere grace that you will receive. This is especially true when a dad gets down on a knee and looks a seven-year-old in the eye to apologize and ask for forgiveness. Usually hugs follow, as does a clear conscious.

I have found the Apostle Paul’s words to be true: sometimes we are the strongest when we admit we have been weak (2 Corinthians 12:9).

The Spiritual Discipline of Silence

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To the regular readers of my blog/facebook notes this is somewhat of a diversion that I hope you will enjoy and benefit from.

When I was in Swaziland a few weeks ago, I taught a class on the spiritual disciplines from Henri Nouwen's writings. We wanted to have four sessions, but ran out of time. It seemed fitting that the fourth session, on the topic of silence, should be taught inaudibly through this blog post. So, to my friends from Southern Nazarene University and Eastern Nazarene College, here is lesson #4. I hope we can use the comment section below the lesson to interact on its contents.

Making Room For God

A class on the spiritual disciplines

SNU & ENC Mission Teams

Manzini, Swaziland

May/June 2010

Session 4: Silence

“I have often repented of having spoken, but never of having remained silent”

Arsenius (350-445 A.D)

Before reading the lesson outline below, I want to encourage you to find your Bible and read a short selection from James’ epistle: James 3:2-12.

In his book, The Way of the Heart, Nouwen explores the spiritual disciplines taught and modeled by the desert fathers of the fourth century. This book grew out of a popular course he taught at Yale on the spiritual disciplines. As you recall, in our previous sessions, we have explored his teaching on prayer and solitude.

We will now move to Nouwen’s insights into the spiritual discipline of silence. Nouwen opens the chapter on silence in The Way of the Heart with these words:

Over the last few decades we have been inundated by a torrent of words. Wherever we go we are surrounded by words: words softly whispered, loudly proclaimed, or angrily screamed; words spoken, recited, or sung; words on records, in books, on walls, or in the sky; words in many sounds, many colors, or many forms; words to be heard, read, seen, or glanced at; words which flash off and on, move slowly, dance, jump, or wiggle. Words, words, words! They form the floor, the walls, and the ceiling of our existence. (Nouwen 1981, 37)

Imagine how much more Nouwen would say about the invasiveness of words had he written the above in 2010 instead of 1981. These nearly thirty years have brought us the Internet, voice mail, email, facebook, cell phones, text messaging, twitter, instant messaging and the like. We have gone from three or four broadcast channels on our televisions to hundreds, if not thousands, of satellite and cable channels. If Henri Nouwen decried the insidious devaluation of words a generation ago, what do you suppose he would say now?

Silence, in this context, is not defined as the absence of sound, but the absence of any distraction that would keep us from hearing the voice of God on a daily basis. Deirdre La Noue, a Nouwen biographer, commented on Nouwen’s teaching on silence:

…the spiritual disciplines are the means by which believers become obedient as they listen to the inner voice of God’s Spirit. Nouwen explained that the Latin word from which the English word obedience is derived means “to hear.” Nouwen contrasted this obedient life to the absurd life. The Latin word from which the English word absurd is derived means “deaf.” An obedient life is a life that listens to God. An absurd life is a life that is deaf to the voice of God. (La Noue 2001, 65)

In consulting the University of Notre Dame’s Latin to English online database, I found the words referred to in the above quote. (This is a good resource for studying word origins and meanings. I’ve included the reference in the bibliography.)

oboedio -ire [to obey , comply with, listen to] (with dat.); partic. oboediens -entis, [obedient, compliant]; adv. oboedienter.

surdus -a -um [deaf; unwilling to hear , insensible; not heard, still, silent]; of sounds, etc. [indistinct, faint]. (Whitaker)

The result of the wordiness of our environment, coupled with our lack of silence, is the devaluation of words. Words, in our culture, have lost their power.

All this is to suggest that words, my own included, have lost their creative power. Their limitless multiplication has made us lose confidence in words and caused us to think, more often than not, “They are just words.” (Nouwen 1981, 38)

A personal story of the power of words

Twenty-five years ago, when I was in seminary, my best friend was a Nigerian student named Samuel Bako. For three years, Samuel lived in the states and completed his Masters of Divinity degree while his wife stayed in Nigeria and raised their three children. Samuel had dinner at our house every week. When his three years drew to a close, we both prepared our hearts for the painful separation that we were about to experience.

I wrote a note in a card and gave it to Samuel a day or two before his departure. I watched him as he read it and re-read it. After a long silence, he thanked me profusely for the words I had written. I remember thinking at the time that Samuel was treating the words I had written as if they were a tangible gift of great value.

I had given him other gifts that were indeed tangible. He did not own a suit to preach in, so I bought him a suit to take back to Nigeria. Deb and I also purchased a number of items for him to give to his family. For these tangible gifts he expressed gratitude, but not to the extent of his gratitude from the words I had written in a card. This confused me.

I remember thinking: “Samuel, they are just words.” For Samuel, however, words still had power. They had not been stripped of their potency by their over-use as mine had been. Nigeria, at that time, had not yet suffered the fate Nouwen spoke of above. For me, I had written words in a card that expressed sentiment. For Samuel, these words expressed more than sentiment. They spoke of a tangible bond between brothers that would not be broken by decades or time zones.

It wasn’t until this year, with the help of Henri Nouwen, that I was able to understand how the two of us regarded the same written message with such disparity.

The spiritual benefits of silence

Nouwen points out that the regular practice of silence accomplishes at least five things in our lives.

1. Silence is the safest way to not sin. The scripture for this lesson (James 3:2-13) warns us that the tongue is impossible to tame. One of the ways to walk in holiness is to measure our words appropriately.

2. Silence protects the inner fire. Nouwen writes:

What needs to be guarded is the life of the Spirit within us. Especially we who want to witness to the presence of God’s Spirit in the world need to tend the fire within with utmost care. It is not so strange that many ministers have become burnt-out cases, people who say many words and share many experiences, but in whom the fire of God’s Spirit has died and from whom not much more comes forth than their own boring, petty ideas and feelings.…As ministers our greatest temptation is toward too many words. They weaken our faith and make us lukewarm. But silence is a sacred discipline, a guard of the Holy Spirit. (Nouwen 1981, 47-48)

3. Silence gives power to our words. I would imagine that you have been in a meeting where two or three individuals dominated much of the discussion. Sometimes at the end of a meeting like this, someone who hadn’t spoken will clear his or her throat indicating a desire to speak. When they do speak, people turn to them and listen attentively to what they have to say. Their words often have more power, than those of their verbose counterparts, because they were born out of silence and contemplation. Nouwen writes:

A word with power is a word that comes out of silence. A word that bears fruit is a word that emerges from the silence and returns to it. It is a word that reminds us of the silence from which comes and leads us back to that silence. A word that is not rooted in silence is a weak, powerless word that sounds like a “clashing cymbal or a booming gong” (1 Corinthians 13:1). (Nouwen1981, 48-49)

4. Silence creates inner space that gives room for God to work.

5. Silence allows us to hear God’s voice. Jesus reminds us that his sheep recognize, hear and follow his voice (John 10:5). The ability to recognize his voice comes from being silent long enough and often enough to distinguish His voice out of the cacophony of noise and competing voices.

Conclusion

Silence and solitude are for prayer. The goal of these spiritual disciplines is not to create a regular practice of silence and solitude. The goal, rather, is to draw close to God through prayer. Silence and solitude provide the environment in which we pray.

Nouwen taught his students at Yale and Harvard that in order to have a biblical, Christ-centered core identity they must have a regular (read: daily) time of silence and solitude in which to pray.

I have found that the enemy of my soul fights me harder in this one area than any other. It is a continual battle to consistently carve out the time to “make room for God.” Obviously the reason the enemy fights hard on this front is he knows the power that these practices engender.

Having worked with college students for twenty-five years, I know that this struggle is shared by many of you. I want to encourage you to keep pushing. Keep praying. Our Father will meet you and honor your efforts.

Bibliography

La Noue, Deirdre. The spiritual legacy of Henri Nouwen. New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, LTD, 2001. Print.

Nouwen, Henri. The way of the heart. New York: Ballantine Books, 1981. Print.

Whitaker, William, comp. “Deaf.” English to Latin. University of Notre Dame, 1 Dec. 2006. Web. 24 June 2010. .

- - -, comp. “Listen.” English to Latin. University of Notre Dame, 1 Dec. 2006. Web. 24 June 2010. .

A Father's Day Reflection

“By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong.”

Dr. Charles Wadsworth (1814-1882)

I began to reach out to my father when he was well into his seventh decade, and I was finishing my third. By that time, I had been kicked around enough to know that I wasn’t as smart as I had thought. I needed some help. Life wasn’t turning out the way I had dreamed. Everything I touched hadn’t turned to gold. I was humbled. I was ready to learn. I started asking him questions about his experiences, our family’s history, about parenting, aging, and life. But, it was too late.

He was already beginning to slip. The slide into what we later realized was Alzheimer’s was a long and slow one. As I look back on it now, I realize that he was aware he was losing his mental prowess. In his early 60s he began to withdraw. His withdrawal coincided with my attempts to draw closer. Like a sadly choreographed dance, he took a step back with each step I took forward.

I think he was afraid. Not afraid of me, and not afraid of a relationship on a deeper level. His fear was far more basic. He was afraid of embarrassment. He began to answer questions in short, staccato sentences and monosyllables.

Like most bright people, he would take little side trips away from the thesis of the conversation later to return from the digression. Increasingly when dad took detours from the topic, he couldn’t remember the way back to the main road of the discussion. For a while he would say, “Now, what were we talking about?” But that didn’t last long. Soon, he stopped taking the risk of engaging in free ranging conversations. He began to play it safe. “Yes,” “no,” “ask your mom,” “I’m not sure,” ruled the day. My increasingly complex questions were matched by his increasingly safe answers.

My father has been gone for seventeen years now. He remains, to this day, the kindest man I have ever known. He also was a very wise man. Unfortunately, by the time I had the humility to seek his wisdom, he had already embarked on his long journey into the Alzheimer’s night.

I don’t have too many regrets as I look back on my life. But there are four things I wish I had done that I can’t do now. I wish I had served my country in the military. I wish I had served on a church staff before leading a church staff. (Did you hear that “amen” coming from the offices that surround mine?) I wish I had stayed at my education and finished my doctorate in my 30s instead of my 50s. But most importantly…

I wish I had taken the time to really get to know my quiet, wise father. Actually, I did take the time; it was just a little too late.

So, to all of you reading this reflection, remember a couple of things. Remember the reality of time. Remember that things change without asking your permission.

And for all of you who live, or have lived, at my house: if you sometimes feel that your father is trying just a wee bit too hard to stay close, please be patient. I’m not meaning to be intrusive. Without realizing it until now, I guess I’ve been trying to make up for lost time.

The Dad Difference

The Dad Difference is a monthly column I write for a small, local newspaper: "The Liberty News."

Every Kid is a “10” in Something!

You might not know the name Michael Weatherly, but if you watch the TV show, NCIS, you know his character: Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Before he became a popular actor, Weatherly made a difficult decision. He knew that leaving college to pursue acting would disappoint his dad. What he didn’t know was that his millionaire father, who made his money importing Swiss Army Knives, would disown him for not following in his footsteps.

Many parents have dreams for their child that their child doesn’t share. I bet you know someone who is a disappointment to his or her parents simply because they decided their own path rather than follow their parents’ plan for their life.

Parents can decide to be architects or farmers when it comes to raising their children. An architect parent has a blueprint in hand and molds the child to a predetermined course. The farmer parent tills, waters and fertilizes the soil of their child’s life. They wait and see what grows and then they cultivate it to the fullest extent. Personally, I think farming is the way to go.

There is an often quoted, and often misapplied, verse in the Bible that speaks to a parent’s role in molding a child’s future. Perhaps you’re familiar with this verse from Proverbs:

Train a child in the way he should go,

and when he is old he will not turn from it. Proverbs 22:6 (NIV)

The verse seems straightforward enough, but it contains a question that needs resolved: who determines “the way he should go?” In looking at the Hebrew word translated “the way” we find an interesting clue. The Hebrew word, derek, which is translated “journey” or “the way” comes from a root word, derak, which means “to bend” or “to tread.” This is the word used for the process of bending a tree branch for the purpose of making a bow.

In ancient archery, long bows were not mass-produced. An archer would cut down a small tree and use the slender trunk for a bow. An ancient archer would not use a new bow until he learned its peculiar characteristics since no two bows would perform alike. If you were going to hit your target with a tree-trunk-bow, you had to use it on the bow’s terms—not yours.

In the same way each child is a unique, one-of-a-kind creation. One of the joys of parenting is discovering the particular gifts, passions and abilities of our children. We help our children understand where they are “10’s” and then through our encouragement and resources help them develop in these areas.

You might want your son to be a “10” in basketball, but find that he would rather play the drums. If so, say “good bye” to the basketball scholarship and invest in a set of drums (and a good set of ear plugs).

Your kid is a “10” in something. Help them find it, dad.

It's Time to Man-Up!

I love living in the Cleveland area. I think it is a great place to live and raise a family. Our area offers museums, great music, theaters, world-class hospitals, and four major sports franchises (welcome back Arena Football League: Cleveland Gladiators) just to name a few.

We, of course, have challenges in this area. My pastoral colleagues and I are raising an army to confront one of these challenges—the growing number of children growing up without a strong male role model in their lives.

The graph below shows the nature of our problem. I should point out that these are old statistics pulled off of my denomination’s research web site. We’ll have a fresh set of stats to look at next year after the 2010 census.


You can click on this graph to enlarge it

This graph tells us that ten years ago, more than one third of the children in our school district were living in a home without a strong male role model. It is reasonable to assume that this situation has worsened. We’ll soon learn what that percentage is today.

Consider the statistics listed below to get an idea of the problems that children face growing up without a strong male role model (Source: AllProDads.com).

63% of youth suicides
are from fatherless homes
(Source: U.S. D.H.H.S., Bureau of the Census)

90% of all homeless and runaway children
are from fatherless homes

85% of all children that exhibit
behavioral disorders come from fatherless homes
(Source: Center for Disease Control)

80% of rapists come from fatherless homes
(Source: Criminal Justice & Behavior, Vol 14, p. 403-26, 1978.)

71% of all high school dropouts
come from fatherless homes
(Source: National Principals Report on the State of High Schools .)

75% of all adolescent patients in

chemical abuse centers come from fatherless homes
(Source: Rainbows for all God’s Children.)

85% of all youths sitting in prisons grew up in a fatherless home
(Source: Fulton Co. Georgia jail populations, Texas Dept. of Corrections 1992)

I’ve been enjoying getting to know our state senator, Nina Turner. In a conversation we had last week she told me that she was raised by her mom and grandmother. She told me that her neighbors, relatives, and church family would step in to help single moms when their kids got out of line. Referring to the phrase “It takes a village to raise a child,” she said the village assisted her mom. She added thoughtfully, “But now the village is sick.”

The Mayor of Bedford, Dan Pocek, met with several local clergy members last week. He shared with us his concern over what he calls “a lack of civility” demonstrated by a growing number of young people in our community. A lack of civility has at its root the lack of respect for authority. One of the primary things a dad does is to teach his child to respect, and respond appropriately to, authority at an early age.

All of this points to a great resource need in our community. We need men to man-up! Dad, spend time with your kids. Teach them how to respect authority. Remind them that they are a one-of-a-kind creation. Love them like crazy. But . . . we need you to do a bit more than that.

Look around you. There are children in your neighborhood that would benefit more than you can imagine from just an hour of your time each week. Dads and Grandpas, can you widen your circle to include a kid that doesn’t have a dad or grandpa? Look around; you know some kids like this. In the months to come we will be launching some programs that will help you in connecting with a fatherless child. But don’t wait for a program. Invite your kid’s friends to your dinner table. Take an extra boy along the next time you go fishing. Take another kid with you on your next family outing. You’ll know what to do.

If we are going to reverse this trend, good men are going to have to get involved. It is time to man-up.