Why? I'm not sure.

So I really like this band called Why?, so much so that I decided to buy one of their nicely designed t-shirts a couple of years back. The problem is, it's kind of a dark t-shirt, not in color but in content. Two little girls at the bottom are crying and screaming, "WHY?!?!" and a lyric from one of my favorite songs is printed around the hem: "cold and hard as a marble table top with nothing on top."

Favorite song on the album, but not my favorite lyric, not particularly meaningful. I much prefer the sheer sound of the lyrics immediately following: "there's no hip-hip-hop hooray guarding Heaven's golden-barbed gateway, no bright confetti high-step march ticker-tape parade."

It's a song about death, and so, I guess the lyric on my shirt is actually describing a dead body.

Ok, and now the more I actually talk about it, the weirder it gets.

And I could try to make up a reason why I like the song or like the lyrics, something about man's finite-ness and the immanence of death, and I would halfway mean those things. But really, the lyrics themselves are probably debatable and in the end truth is, I just like the band, I like the song, I like the color of the shirt.

But the reason I'm saying all this is to describe that it's a bit awkward for me to try and explain to people who ask about it.

Today a woman much older than me whom I greatly respect saw me in town and asked. I stuttered and fumbled and didn't explain any of the things I just did explain, but rather more or less shrugged it off in a "Kids these days wear the weirdest things" sort of way.

Her response was priceless: "Well, if I see it in a crossword puzzle, now I'll know."

Phoenix/Paris

I realize I'm at least a year behind the rest of the world in appreciating the band Phoenix, and a large part of my current enjoyment does in fact have something to do with those sweet kids from Staten Island.

But I'm loving them more and more, and as Erica and I wrap up our jobs in preparation for moving to Paris, a video like this one gets me really, really excited.

The other videos--just as good if not better--feature a lucky group on a tour bus, and a performance under a bridge which--if I have my bearings straight--is right next to the spot where I took a holga photo of a giant plastic ice cream cone on a sidewalk concession stand with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

Tallest and Greatest

I've mentioned the guy here before, and now that I've picked up his new album I'm even more convinced. The Tallest Man on Earth is one of the best acts making music today. Even my finicky brother-in-law Mark agrees, and that's saying something.

The man knows how to write a chord progression that instantly grabs hold of your heart, and the melodies keep stringing you along. His gruff yet somehow smooth voice intrigues and never gets stale. The songs have just enough bop to keep you happy, just enough artistry to keep you emotionally attached. The kind of guy that makes you wish you could really play guitar.

He's kept my attention so long that I haven't even given Broken Social Scene and Jonsi--both of which arrived in the same package--a chance yet.

All that to say...loving it...and highly recommended.

Here's the title track and album opener...

Pop Quiz: Which do I have LESS of?

A) Money to pay someone to mow my lawn.

B) Time/Energy/Patience to mow it myself.

Pentecost 1: I have no talent at all.

The more I watch the movie Ratatouille, the more I love it, appreciate it, learn from it. This weekend I was focused on what I see as its depiction of keeping in step with the Holy Spirit.

Linguini has no talent in the kitchen, but when he makes himself available to Remy, beautiful things happen. There's that scene where they practice their partnership, awkward and messy and full of mistakes at first, but smooth and natural with time as Linguini learns to surrender control.
I've often longed for a relationship with the Holy Spirit like this one. As far as I can tell, it's not too far off Biblically, like when Christ tells his disciples not to worry about what to say because the Holy Spirit would be the one talking through them. Yes, I long to let my strong will go limp and allow the Holy Spirit to do whatever he pleases.

(Reminds me of one of my favorite Why? lyrics: "You carry God like a bouquet of balloons, Yeshua whispers in your ear your next move, 'Go on, get on that train.'")

It's not all easy, of course, as Linguini tries to learn more about this relationship. It's not easy to get the hang of it because it feels so unnatural to let go. Then there's the scene where he starts to explain to Colette, but fumbles in his awkward way knowing how insane it all sounds. (I've felt that way whenever trying to explain the Holy Spirit.) And then there are moments where Linguini gets famous and popular and starts taking all the credit for it. (Always a temptation.)

And finally, the truth comes out, and with a cost. Linguini tells his staff, "I know this sounds insane, but well, the truth sounds insane sometimes, but that doesn't mean it's not the truth. The truth is, I have no talent at all. This rat, he's the one behind the recipes. He's the cook, the real cook. He's been hiding under my toque, controlling all my actions. He's the reason I can cook the food that's exciting everyone. You've been giving me credit for his gift."

Yes, let us make ourselves available for the Holy Spirit to display his gifts, and let's give him the credit.

Ready for Football

I don't know who's in charge of all this World Cup marketing, but it has even me getting more and more excited about sports as the day grows near. Get the basement ready, Lundy.

Getting one of my favorite directors, Alejandro González Iñárritu, to create a fast-paced commercial full of cameos (including Homer Simpson and Gael Garcia Bernal!) and quick little jokes (like Ron's Samba-Robics!)? Genius. I'm in. Thank you, Nike.

This gets better with the second and third watch (takes a while to let those half-a-second cuts soak in). All at once bizarre, dreamlike, laughable, and thrilling.

Teamwork

The other week I was assigned to teach on Colossians 4:7-18. I was a little bummed I got stuck with this passage, because it seemed like it was just Paul saying Hi to a bunch of people. Nothing too exciting or profound.

Mark introduced the night's study as a passage that you've never heard preached in church. Probably true. As I started studying, I probably would have said, "and for good reason." As I finished studying, I started saying, "Let's start preaching it."

Once you know to whom Paul is saying Hi, your view of the passage changes pretty quickly.

Tychicus is Paul's messenger. He carries the letters, gives a full report, and encourages the people. So what? Well, Rome to Colosse was 1,000 miles, which could take quite a while on foot or horseback, and he did it more than once. Calling him a faithful servant makes much more sense knowing that.

Onesimus is also sent as a messenger, but not only that, he's a runaway slave who is now "useful," called a son and brother, very dear, implying that in Christ, he's an equal and an indispensable part of the work.

Aristarchus went through thick and thin with Paul. Seized by the crowds in a riot in Ephesus, with Paul when he's escaping death threats from the Jews, shipwrecked on the way to Rome, and now called a fellow prisoner. Imagine the bond between these men, imagine the encouragement to have a friend like Aristarchus by your side, never giving up and willing to sacrifice with you.

Mark was a source of major contention, splitting the close parters Paul and Barnabus at the start of their second journey. But now he is told be welcomed, and elsewhere Paul asks for his help, calling him valuable to the work. It's a picture of reconciliation, a picture of second chances.

Justus opened his home to Paul at a critical moment in Corinth, and now we see he is a Jew working for the Kingdom of God, a source of comfort and encouragement to Paul.

Epaphras not only taught the Colossians about the Gospel, but he cared for these people so much that he wrestles, struggles, and agonizes in prayer on their behalf, praying that they would be complete, standing firm in the will of God, mature, and fully assured. After mentioning his prayers for the people, it says that he is working hard for them. The most difficult and most helpful work we can do for people is to intercede.

Luke is the beloved physician, often accompanying Paul in his journeys, very likely his personal doctor, supplying Paul with the practical help he needed to continue the work. He uses his skills, training, and education not only for this lay work, but also to minister, and also to record a detailed account of Jesus Christ and the early church from which we continue to benefit.

Archippus is given one very clear message: "Get to work!" and we learn elsewhere that he has a church meeting in his home. Paul takes the time to point out his gifts and give him the encouragement he needs to pursue and work out his calling.

Each character mentioned here has a host of lessons for us to learn. Most of all, I am struck by the rich, deep nature of each of these relationships, knowing full well this is missing in our churches today. These relationships are the foundation for ministry, for working together in teams. I see a tremendous example of encouragement, a literal giving of courage to one another on a heart level.

Paul takes the credit for an awful lot in our day, but we see here that he has a whole host of supporting characters, without whom the work could not be done. The body of Christ is interdependent, the work never done alone. This is a threat to our independent American mindset, to the comfort and pride and efficiency of doing things my way.

As Erica and I set out to do some full-time work similar to Paul's, I am glad to know we're not alone. As I thought about each person's role in Paul's ministry, I saw many parallels to what is developing in our lives. People who encourage, people who intercede, people who help in practical ways, people who tell us to get to work. What a real privilege. What a wild adventure.

Paul closes the letter by saying, "Remember my chains." In my mind, after reflecting on what these friends mean to him, it's his way of saying, "I wish I was with you guys." The separation from community is not freeing; it's painful and debilitating.

May God give us friends like these and make us friends like these.

Awkward Science

As mentioned, we're learning about DNA and heredity, which also leads into a discussion of mitosis and meiosis.

Mitosis is no problem, but meiosis is another story. Because the purpose of meiosis is to create sex cells. That's right, I said it, sex cells. You try teaching about that in front of a group of 11 year olds. Especially when that leads to even funnier words like sperm.

Generally, students fall into one of three categories:

1) The ones who try to be as mature as possible, so they say all the words (including s-e-x and s-p-e-r-m) with a straight face, not thinking anything of it. This gets looks of pure shock from students around them made of half admiration, half jealousy, as though a double-dog-dare had just been deftly performed.

2) The ones who want to participate enough that they insist on giving answers but are too embarrassed to say the words, so they find very creative and articulate ways of getting around it, in such a way that makes me think they spent the entire evening prior thinking about exactly how to phrase it. "The purpose of meiosis is to make cells that go on to create life." Brilliant.

3) The ones who can't stop giggling regardless, the same ones who usually end up whispering it over and over again to their friends.

Religion vs. Science: The Fifth Grade Perspective

I teach science at a school that has a chapel service once a week. I've always been perplexed by the fact that I'm expected to teach evolution (never explicitly stated, but pretty much implied) but we often hear the Creation story from the first three chapters of Genesis on a Wednesday morning. It's not unusual for those lessons to inadvertently happen on the same day, either.

But the kids have never questioned it, never thought twice. Like most Americans, they believe evolution in science class and creation in chapel.

Today the conflict between religion and science came up very unexpectedly. It started as an innocent lesson on DNA, genes, and traits.

An unassuming sweet little girl in the back row raised her hand and asked a question from left field. "If you get traits from your parents' genes, and you know how like, Adam and Eve, the first humans, started the whole world and are everyone's parents? Well if we all came from Adam and Eve, how come some people are like, you know, Chinese or dark-skinned?"

An instant debate started among the kids and as much as I tried I could hardly contain it.

One girl spoke up and said, "Is the Bible true?!"
"Well, I believe it's true," I responded honestly.
"Well, he said it wasn't," pointing to the boy sitting in front of her with big accusatory eyes of shock.

Chaos was breaking out at this point, and someone else lifted their voice above everyone else and said, "Well, who said Adam and Eve were white?"

There was so much going on that I can't even relay the events accurately anymore. Ironically, the girl sticking up for the Bible was the daughter of a Frenchman, though I think she was mostly doing it for the brownie points. The boy she was harassing was presumably Muslim. And all I know at this point was that every student in the room was heatedly arguing about the Bible, the race of Adam and Eve, and the ridiculous nature of the original question posed.

I tried shutting them all up enough to explain as best I could.

I suppose a good science teacher would inform the girl in the back row that the story of Adam and Eve is simply a myth used to explain some things but not actually fact, and from there, keep going. But my explanation, instead, went something like this...

"First of all, yes, I believe the Bible is true, but not everybody does. And if he doesn't believe the Bible is true, then that is a matter between him and whoever wrote the Bible, now isn't it?

Second of all, while it's not exactly possible to know, there's an extremely strong possibility that Adam and Eve were not white. I know that contradicts pictures many of you have seen in both Sunday school and your imagination, but that's just the way it is.

Finally, let's get back to the question at hand, because it's a valid one. If we all came from Adam and Eve, why don't we all look the same? We really can't know for sure, because we can't turn back the clock and see for ourselves. But there are a few explanations people believe.

If people get their answers from the Bible and believe that Adam and Eve were the parents of all humankind, then they probably also believe in an event called the Tower of Babel. That's when people tried to reach God by building a great city. They wanted to be greater than God, so he scattered them, causing them to speak different languages so they couldn't communicate anymore, and some people believe that's when different races must've started.

If people get their answers from science, then they would probably say that different races are a series of mutations and adaptations to different environments. There were changes in the DNA that eventually became permanent.

And if you ask me, it's probably a little bit of both. Now, no more arguing, let's get back to the lesson."

I have no idea if I handled all that in the right way or if I gave the right answers. But I was mostly just glad that the students weren't willing to accept the compartmentalized dichotomy of the stories religion and science tell.

I was also glad to tell everyone that Adam and Eve probably weren't white.

Field Trip, final

I went on my last field trip with the kids last week, our three day marathon in the shipping village. It was a trip full of mishaps that I won't get into now. The boys were the easiest to tuck in ever which was a delight, and I experienced the same feeling of satisfaction laying on the floor in the midst of them after they had all fallen asleep. And yes, plenty of time was spent thinking about how I am going to miss this all.

Thursday night's activity saw us rigging up a zip-line-ish structure that was originally used by the first Coast Guard. The kids took turns giving each other rides up and down as the sun set. One of the teachers caught this picture, or maybe it was me, I can't remember. But the image captures some feelings about all of this--teaching, field trips, experiences, life, leaving--that I can't otherwise describe.


A year from now I'll be in Paris struggling to learn a new language, new culture. I have a feeling I might get a little homesick that first week in May. It's easy to complain about spending sixty hours straight with fifty eleven-year-olds, but when all is said and done, it's a true privilege.

Babies and Ethnocentrism

What better way to celebrate Mother's Day then go out and see BABIES? Erica and I took our mothers and K to see the documentary today. This is a movie that had us intrigued from the moment we saw the trailer before seeing FANTASTIC MR. FOX in November. (The Sufjan Stevens song didn't hurt, of course.)

Sure, the kids are cute, but not in a nauseating way that manipulates the viewer. Thankfully, this documentary is not about cuteness.

I found it to be much more a film about culture. Similarities and differences, the human condition and social constructions. And ultimately a test in ethnocentrism.

What better way to expose ethnocentrism than with the thing we hold most dear--our babies? This is most true with the baby from Namibia, who is born far from any hospital and grows up to roll in dust, play in the stream, run around without clothes, be surrounded with flies, stick all sorts of foreign objects in his mouth, and get his hair shaved with a knife. I have a feeling most of these scenes will make an American cringe at best, be absolutely repulsed and revolted at worst.

Because hospitals are safe! Dust is dirty! Streams are muddy! Clothing is decent and safe! Flies are infested with germs! Foreign objects are choking hazards! And knives are sharp!

But this child's upbringing is no less of an upbringing than ours, just different. (And I had to laugh when the safe Americans load their child in a bike carrier and make their way onto a busy street with thousand-pound contraptions of metal flying at high speeds within close range. Knives are dangerous and bikes aren't?)

The photography is mesmerizing, turning every day moments transcendental, making the film in the end a celebration of life in its various contexts. No plot? No dialogue? No narration? No matter. Why is it that I usually find movies like these the most compelling? In part, they stir me to see all of life with new eyes, looking for beauty in each moment. Yes, Neville, they make me want to be a cinematographer.

There's plenty more that could be said, like the fact that this is a good companion piece to WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE, echoing Sendak's obsession with the resiliency of children.

You can't help but walk away with a smile, and yet it's very likely that one would also walk away with a new opinion of how children should--or could--be raised. For Americans, we might not need to go quite as overboard as we do. Yes, there are wrong ways to raise children. But as the first two years in BABIES shows us, there's more than one right way to raise a child, too.