The Bags

Here are those bags I mentioned.



None of them sold at the gallery. I think it has something to do with not having price tags (duh!) and flimsily sitting next to pictures of naked guys. Dan, on the other hand, thinks their large size isn't marketable. At any rate, it turns out the gallery is opening up a little retail store, which will be a little less artwork-oriented, and we've been asked to produce a few more bags to sell. Maybe it will be a little more profitable environment.

On Seeking Medical Help

"The church is not a museum for saints but a hospital sinners."

Like many quotes, this one has apparently lost its original owner. Do a Google search and you'll quickly find a long list of people given credit for its wisdom. I think I know it from Brennan Manning, but that's neither here nor there.

And like many quotes, I'm wondering if it is at times losing its intended meaning as well.

Its message of grace is indeed a needed one; that's why it brought me close to tears the first time I read it. It reminds us of our brokenness, the need for vulnerability and transparency, and--in view of God's grace in our own lives--the act of extending grace to those around us, opening the church's doors to people from all walks of life.

And of course, Christ himself agreed in speaking with the Pharisees, saying, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners."

But in our day of you-don't-know-me!'s and you-can't-judge-me!'s, sin is tending to become more and more of a non-issue, where we'd prefer to politely ignore its presence. Taken a step further, we start using our "hospital for sinners" analogy to forgo vital biblical practices like holding one another accountable, exhorting and admonishing one another, and--the dreaded conclusion--practicing church discipline.

Too many people want a foot in both camps. They want the feel-good results of being part of a church, the part that some of our western society says will make you a more well-rounded and generally-good person, but they also want the autonomy that comes without the church, the pleasure of entertaining selfish desires and egocentric motives.

Sooner or later, if the church is practicing (what I believe to be) a biblical approach, these people will be confronted, held accountable, exhorted, admonished, and even disciplined. And I fear it is in these cases--when these people trying to straddle the fence begin to feel some sort of discomfort--that our "hospital for sinners" analogy is applied as an only defense, but in a tragically incorrect manner.

You see, people who want to use the analogy in this way are forgetting one simple, obvious, important point.

You go to the hospital to get better. You see a doctor because you want help.

The church, then, is a place where sinners go to get help. And they can stay as long as they want their health to improve.

But some of those sinners come and take a seat, and the receptionists keep calling their names, but they refuse to leave the waiting room to see the doctor. They claim they're sick, but they're obviously not too worried about it, because they go on refusing to have their vital signs checked. They want no advice, they want no medicine. They prefer to spend their entire lives in the waiting room sitting on the bland and sterile furniture with the terrible light jazz over the crackling intercom speakers and the magazines full of celebrity gossip and FoxNews on closed captions on a small table in the corner. And you know as well as I do that they sure won't start feeling better any time soon just sitting out there.

Eventually they'll be asked to leave, because who wants to come to a doctor where it appears as though you're made to sit in the waiting room all that time, never getting any better? That's not what the place is for! But when they're asked to leave, they protest and call the doctor names.

"Don't you know this place is a hospital for sinners?!" they ask with hostility, which only reveals their sickness even further.

Indeed, the church is not a museum of saints, but if people are refusing help, they'll turn it into a museum of sinners.

A quick skim of the Bible reveals that was never Christ's intent.

{{Agree? Disagree? Balancing points? Cautions? Additions? Please share.}}

Who is Mr. Shorb voting for?

It's a big day in Pennsylvania as it's finally our turn to vote in the primaries. Hillary and Obama have been hanging out in the Lehigh Valley try to gain some more votes.

A second grader I've never met approached me in the hallway this morning and politely said, "Good Morning, Mr. Shorb!" I said hello and she asked, "Are you voting for Obama today?"

A bit surprised with the question, I stalled, "Hmmm...I'm not sure...Do you think I should?"

"Oh yes, I think you should," she replied. I didn't have the heart to tell her I was registered independent, so I wouldn't be casting a vote today. Instead, I told her I appreciated the advice.

"Anyway, I thought I saw you in an Obama picture," she added.

"ME?"

"Mmhmm. Was it you? I thought for sure that it was."

I told her I didn't think it was me, and with that she was called back into her classroom.

Milestones

I'm not sure if it qualifies us as legitimate artists, but Erica and I have some work that "debuted" and is for sale at a local art gallery tonight.

We've been making some funky bags out of old plastic bags, and we were able to crank out a few over the past nights to try and sell at an Earth Day show at this gallery. In the end, we've decided it's a mistake: even if they sell, the gallery takes a pretty hefty commission, and if they don't sell, really all we'll be doing is giving the idea to more qualified artists who can take it and improve on it, learning from our weeks and months of trial and error.

At any rate, this is probably the very first successful creative collaboration we've had as a husband-wife team, where neither party became frustrated with the other and both parties were pleased with the results. That feels nice.

And no matter what the reception is like, it's a nice, therapeutic craft that will make some nice gifts for friends and family at some point down the road. We've also introduced the idea to my fifth graders, and they've been getting in on the act as an Earth Day/Mother's Day project.

If you're local, visit Wired Gallery on Main Street in Bethlehem this weekend. Not necessarily because of our bags, but because it's turning into quite the hip place. And thanks to our friend Dan for the connection.

We'll post some photos of our work soon.

**UPDATE: We went to check things out last night. Our bags looked pretty incredible in our living room, but they look pretty unbelievably pathetic sitting on a table in a legitimate gallery. Like I said, I'm not sure they'll sell any time soon, but we're definitely giving the idea to plenty of people.

the first friday night of spring official

that memory-nudging scent of pollen
short walks passing families playing baseball
steep hills of tall green grass
boys driving cars with windows down on their way to freshly made plans
vast blue skies behind black zigzagging insects
three short chapters nestled deep in the old testament
loose dogs chasing timid dogs with owners helplessly pursuing close behind
groups of teenagers standing in the way waiting for plans to be decided
that memory-nudging scent of pollen
interlocking diamond patterned patios
microwaves for sale, 20 dollars
robins climbing inclines of roofs and perching at their peaks
those tulips again
broken mufflers roaring past with a dominos delivery sign on top

i've spent a lifetime glancing for four-leaf clovers and have never found one
but somehow those dandelions always seem to find me with no problem

(thankfully i believe more in thebeautyofadandelion than in theluckofaclover)

apartments vacant
windows left propped open
tenants somewhere better, probably outside
footsteps echoing in the stairwell (my own)

a man inside typing stanzas for the world to unnotice

and that memory-nudging scent of pollen

Into the Wild -- Selfish Brat or Postmodern Hero?

Last night's film night featured Into the Wild. The conversation mostly revolved around the same debate that's been taking place since the book and the film's release. Was Christopher McCandless a selfish brat, only thinking of himself? Or was his intense search for truth and high moral standard deserving of praise?

The conversation is not as clear-cut as I thought, and it really comes down to one's idea of the purpose of relationships and how they are meant to be handled.

It's not entirely true to say Christopher was selfish, because he did seem to care for the people he encountered, and he was seen doing many selfless acts along the way.

On the other hand, to many viewers, his relationships were on his own terms, and he left without allowing closure: a seemingly selfish act. But in some ways, is not the demand for closure and a simple goodbye also selfish?

Christopher was devoted to his quest for truth above all else, and while we think this makes him selfish, it is really quite admirable. In some ways, it is close to what Christ says when he says if we're to truly follow him, we must leave all else--including family--behind. So, perhaps we could even go so far as to say it is selfless, as he leaves behind personal comfort and relationships in this pursuit to uncover truth.

And how much of this conflicting discussion centers around the fact that he died without being able to say goodbye, so we as the viewer are upset from the lack of closure? It does not end how we want it to, and we want to place the blame somewhere; he's the most obvious candidate.

Another crux of the discussion is his bitterness that is never dealt with appropriately. So, is his quest driven out of a desire for truth? Or out of rebellion, resentment, and even revenge?

Yes, indeed, not as easy a conversation as I had thought. No wonder the critics disagree.

But, regardless of what you think about how he arrived at his conclusions, we can agree on the fact that even Christopher himself eventually realized that truth did not lie in isolation but in communion with others. Relationships do matter, they are part of the truth for which he was searching, and he did not seem to realize it soon enough.

How would he have gone on living then, how would he have changed, had he made it back across that river?

I'm beginning to think in stanzas.

The forsythias arrived in town today,

full bloomed and boldly yellow
turning heads and holding stares

insistently screaming,
"HEY! Look at ME!"

or (if you prefer a more
modest, unassuming flower)

bashfully asking,
"Who, me?"

Teaching, or, Doing Something No Child Left Behind Wouldn't Allow You To Do, or, This Feels Good

So, as you know, I've been doing my best to teach poetry.

All three fifth grade teachers are helping their students to write a book of poetry, consisting of at least seven different structured types of poems. I've chosen to go a step further and actually read some poetry as well, introducing them to several different poets so far, each with their unique voice and style and message. A highlight has been tracking down recordings of the poets reading their own work, which the kids have really enjoyed. Few things make me happier than to hear them plead, "Play it again!" seconds after a poet finishes reading.

I decided to inform the librarian that we were studying poetry. I figured we don't do enough communicating with her, and she might like to know what's going on in our rooms so that she could plan something that correlates for the students' weekly library time. So today, she pulled off several books of poetry and showed the kids where the 811 section was in the Dewey system.

At lunch, she told us that the one class she had so far seemed rather disinterested. When it came time to check out books, not one of them chose to do so.

While my kids were at library in the afternoon, I decided to get a few of the iPods our technology room loans, so that I could upload a bunch of the poets reading their work and have the kids listen to it in the corner of the room at their leisure. While I was working on this project, I discovered Langston Hughes's "Merry-Go-Round" and decided I really needed to share it.

Just as I was finding the text for the poem, the kids walked in the room pleasant and upbeat. To my surprise, nearly every one of them was carrying a book of poetry in their hands, and they were excited. Really excited. Because I was interested, I had each of them share what book they had picked out. Silverstein and lots of Prelutskies, EE Cummings and Ogden Nash, Dickinson and Frost, Rudyard Kipling, and a few others. It's working! They're liking poetry! This very well could have been the biggest highlight of my year so far.

So, then, I shared Langston Hughes, a name they had just heard in the library. He read his poem after giving a short introduction to the background.

Where is the Jim Crow section
On this merry-go-round,
Mister, cause I want to ride?
Down South where I come from
White and colored
Can't sit side by side.
Down South on the train
There's a Jim Crow car.
On the bus we're put in the back--
But there ain't no back
To a merry-go-round!
Where's the horse
For a kid that's black?

Several kids announced how much they liked it right away. I asked for more thoughts. One girl said that it shows segregation affects even young, innocent people. Another mentioned a lack of fairness. One boy liked the clever detail that a merry-go-round doesn't have a back. A sensitive boy--with a former social worker for a mom--lamented, saying it was sad because she shouldn't have to be asking where to sit when all she's looking to do is have a little bit of fun on a carousel.

This discussion slowly continued and the class was quiet and calm for the first time all day. As we wrapped up, they asked to listen again.

And we did. And it was probably the second biggest highlight of my year so far.

Syllabic Conundrum

Let's take a vote:

Using nothing more than your immediate intuition and honest gut instinct, how many syllables do the following words have?

-Mile

-Child

-Soil

-Turmoil

Please repond in the comments box. An explanation will be given when significant data has been collected. Thank you.

See? They like us!

And who knew our national anthem had this many verses?


And in somewhat-related territory, I am almost positive we saw some of these same guys performing in the streets last summer...

an inchandahalf of consciousness

Yesterday was cloudy, rainy and gloriously warm. Today is bright, sunny, and a tad chilly. Either way, spring is here, and one day soon it'll hit all at once.

The other week the kids and I studied the cummings poem that starts out "in Just- spring." We listened to him read it and discussed the possible meanings of the word "wee," some of them thoughtfully uncovering some meanings I had yet to recognize. They chuckled at words like "queer" and "goat-footed." But I decided the thing I like most about this poem is how Mr. Cummings reads the words

"and it's spring."

with such a sense of definitive relief and pleasure. You can hear his closed eyes and wide smile, leaning his neck back to soak in fresh sunshine.

Yesterday was April Fools day and defenses were high as it was my first April Fools as a teacher. In the past two years, the day landed on a weekend, for which I'll be eternally grateful. I was surprised when certain kids signed the forgotten-homework chart, but didn't think much of it until all 18 of my students admitted to forgetting their math homework.

I played along, ignoring sly giggles from some kids and concerned looks of guilt from others not accustomed to either forgetting homework or lying to a teacher. I promised that they would all be in for recess, and surprisingly, not one of them caved. I could tell by the looks that they wanted to admit it, but they hadn't thought so far as to decide ahead of time when the fool should be revealed and who should do the revealing. No one wanted to be the person to end the fun. So they stood their ground, and I stood mine. Recess finally came around and that's when they all agreed to announce it, and boy were they proud of themselves.

They weren't the only ones laughing, however, as we teachers had planned ahead of time to tell a little fib of our own. Students were expecting to be home from school on Friday because of Parent Teacher Conferences. We told them about the change of plans, where they were required to come in for a full day--wearing their uniforms, no less--for a full day of testing and orientation from the middle school teachers. We had them going for sure, and revealed the secret at lunch time.

One girl left school sick and I forgot to tell her before she left. I called her home and screamed, "APRIL FOOLS!" and hung up, assuming she'd recognize my voice and put two and two together. Ok, that's not true, I explained the joke calmly and politely to the answering machine.

We talked about joy in chapel today, and the Headmaster told the kids that they are typically recognized as the demographic with the most joy. When he asked them why they thought this was true, one girl raised her hand and said, "We still get to play outside." Hmm. Yes, we'd all be a bit more joyful if we spent more time outside. Smart girl.

Now that the third quarter has ended, I asked my kids to write in their journals, reflecting on the year so far. One girl, seemingly indicating what's on the front of her mind, started by writing,

"So far, I've grown an inch and a half this year."

How wonderfully beautiful to be at an age when personal growth can be measured in and represented by physical growth. I should get her to write a poem about that.