J has a theory that Owen does not look like James.
"He looks like James from the nose down" she says. "But from the eyes up he looks totally different."
She also says that James looks more like a Smith baby, and that Owen doesn't have some of the Smith characteristics.
I usually keep my theory to myself. I think all babies look pretty much the same, at least when they're really little. Even when I go down to the toddler room at the church nursery I usually have to call James' name to see which of the little brown haired boys is mine. (This is not helpful. All the little boys come running no matter who is at the door.)
It's hard to describe facial features. In Jane Eyre, for example, Mr. Rochester is "stern-featured, heavy-browed, and craggy-faced." If I had to describe Owen, I think I would call him "spit-up chinned, slightly scowling." James, on the other hand, would be a "a good little monkey" who is also "very curious."
Of course, I think that both of my boys are handsome and exceptionally intelligent-looking. They do have sort of similar looking heads, and their noses are pretty similar. (J says that James has lost his baby nose, and I'm not quite sure what that means either. James is a pretty narrow child. He goes straight up and down, while Owen is a little more roly-poly at this point. Their toes are maybe the most similar part about them, but we hardly ever see James' toes.
He needs to have socks on his feet at all times. They are the first thing he asks for when he's out of the bath, and they're the last thing to go off before he gets in. I'm not sure I've seen him with his socks off voluntarily in over a year. He lost out on several swimming and sandal opportunities over the summer because he wouldn't lose his socks. Owen, on the other hand, has trouble keeping his socks on. His knees and legs are still knotty little sticks that spasm involuntarily, and more often than not he's brushed his feet together in such a way that one sock is gone since the last person checked. As is so often the case later in life, he has a drawerful of single socks whose partners have been lost forever.
Fortunately, it was a very socky Christmas. The boys may or may not look alike now, but at least it's still easy to tell whose socks are whose.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
New Year's Resolutions
I can't find it anywhere, but I'm sure I've posted the GKC essay on New Year's Resolutions somewhere before. He says that the object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year; it is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes. Unless a particular man made New Year resolutions, he would make no resolutions. Unless a man starts afresh about things, he will certainly do nothing effective.
This seems spot on to me, and I enjoy making and keeping (with various success) New Year's resolutions more with each passing year. Among others, here's what I have for 2015:
1) Iron my pants. 2015 is the year I will turn 30, which I suppose means that I am officially an adult. And adults probably need to get up early enough and somehow suffer through the extraordinary inconvenience of locating and plugging in the iron to iron their wrinkly shirts and pants. If I were feeling particularly ambitious I could just iron my clothes after they come out of the dryer, but maybe we'll save that one for 2016. Anyhow, if you see me with a wrinkled tie, shirt, or pants in 2015, please remind me that I am failing in my New Year's resolution. And then say something to make me feel properly ashamed.
2) Learn how the boy's car seats actually work. This one is from J. I asked her a few days ago whether she had any New Year's resolutions that she was thinking of for me, and she answered that "I think it's sort of dangerous to make suggestions like that for someone else." And I told her "Yes, but if you don't give me a New Year's resolutions the it would be rude of me to give you all the good ones I came up with for you." The car seat resolution is a good one. Whenever I have to put a car seat in or take it out of the car I inevitably bring a webby, buckly, half-knotted mess back to her to figure out for me. If she were ever gone when I needed to switch a seat or if something were to happen to her, the boys would be in trouble.
3) Get up a half hour earlier. The hour and a half to two hours that I have before the boys get up is the time when I get done all the things that I would usually resolve to do on New Year's--reading, exercising, balancing the checkbook, writing, translating. But 6:00 to 7:30 goes by too soon...I'm going to aim for 5:30 this year.
4) Learn how to cook two more meals decently well. Because if J were ever gone for a week or if something happened to her, the boys would probably want to eat something besides pancakes and Spanish rice.
5) Ask people more questions. The people with whom I have the best sorts of conversation and the most natural social grace are the sorts of people who are constantly asking me (and everyone else) genuinely interesting questions. And the people with whom conversation is a either a mild bore or an outright challenge tend to redirect any social traffic back towards statements about themselves.
In the spirit of Resolution 5, does anyone have any Resolutions of their own that they'd like to share?
This seems spot on to me, and I enjoy making and keeping (with various success) New Year's resolutions more with each passing year. Among others, here's what I have for 2015:
1) Iron my pants. 2015 is the year I will turn 30, which I suppose means that I am officially an adult. And adults probably need to get up early enough and somehow suffer through the extraordinary inconvenience of locating and plugging in the iron to iron their wrinkly shirts and pants. If I were feeling particularly ambitious I could just iron my clothes after they come out of the dryer, but maybe we'll save that one for 2016. Anyhow, if you see me with a wrinkled tie, shirt, or pants in 2015, please remind me that I am failing in my New Year's resolution. And then say something to make me feel properly ashamed.
2) Learn how the boy's car seats actually work. This one is from J. I asked her a few days ago whether she had any New Year's resolutions that she was thinking of for me, and she answered that "I think it's sort of dangerous to make suggestions like that for someone else." And I told her "Yes, but if you don't give me a New Year's resolutions the it would be rude of me to give you all the good ones I came up with for you." The car seat resolution is a good one. Whenever I have to put a car seat in or take it out of the car I inevitably bring a webby, buckly, half-knotted mess back to her to figure out for me. If she were ever gone when I needed to switch a seat or if something were to happen to her, the boys would be in trouble.
3) Get up a half hour earlier. The hour and a half to two hours that I have before the boys get up is the time when I get done all the things that I would usually resolve to do on New Year's--reading, exercising, balancing the checkbook, writing, translating. But 6:00 to 7:30 goes by too soon...I'm going to aim for 5:30 this year.
4) Learn how to cook two more meals decently well. Because if J were ever gone for a week or if something happened to her, the boys would probably want to eat something besides pancakes and Spanish rice.
5) Ask people more questions. The people with whom I have the best sorts of conversation and the most natural social grace are the sorts of people who are constantly asking me (and everyone else) genuinely interesting questions. And the people with whom conversation is a either a mild bore or an outright challenge tend to redirect any social traffic back towards statements about themselves.
In the spirit of Resolution 5, does anyone have any Resolutions of their own that they'd like to share?
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Quick Hitters
I. I gave my choir the week off last Sunday. They'd put on a full cantata the week before, then done a Christmas Eve service on top of it. I decided to just bring in my trumpet and play a simple special music with the organ. I also decided to bring in James, since J hadn't had a Sunday without both kids yet since she returned to work. James likes my church. He asked if he could help set up the chairs ("We don't need to, there's no choir today") and we retrieved his cart from the church nursery so he could wheel around George and Steven. Then he asked a couple more times why we didn't set up the chairs ("Daddy, we need to set up these chairs") and he didn't even hide behind my leg when I met with the organist. He got a piece of chocolate before we entered the service ("and you can have another one after the service if you're very good") and I brought him to my seat at the front.
As the prelude started I began to doubt my decision to bring him into the service with me. Nursery care was available...why didn't I just drop him off there? He was awfully fidgety. Oh well, too late now. The prelude finished, and I stood up to play the instrumental introit I'd prepared with the organist. The congregation was sparse today, maybe only forty or fifty people. Some of them were in their pajamas, which is a bit of a tradition the week after Christmas. As I started in on the In the Bleak Midwinter I heard a reedy little voice humming along with me, quite loudly and right on pitch. James was sprawled out on the pew, singing loudly enough for all the congregation to hear.
J and I talked afterwards, and though we puzzled for a few minutes we figured out that he must know the tune to In the Bleak Midwinter from the Uncles Christmas CD. It's the track right after his fravorite (God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen) and he always begins to cry (well, George begins to cry) if we don't immediately repeat back to the one he likes. He went through the entire tune with me, and after I'd finished the last note he sang Mi on his own in the silence of the church, apparently thinking we'd be going back for a second verse. As the note echoed and some of the congregants tittered in their pews he popped up and exclaimed in his loudest three-year old voice "YAY, GEORGE!"
II. It's very rare that J and I get to spend six conscious hours together, but the trip to Pennsylvania is always good for that. The first leg we were driving in separate cars, trying to return the rental car to Syracuse. (That's been nothing but calamity from start to finish, but it's mostly out of our hands now.) Then we switched the carseats over, were quickly out of range of the Bills game, and on the highway. There was a time not terribly long ago when we'd have to come up with interesting things to do and talk about on the Route 15 drive (it was I-81 this time) but with two boys now we usually haven't seen each other in so long that it takes us most of the trip just to get caught up. Items up for discussion on the Southbound trip included: Religious guilt, movies, recently visited friends, the practice of daily devotions, childhood prayers, the distinction between quality reviews, cooking, and the nature of religious discourse.
III. It appears that I have manifested the prophetic gift.
http://harmonious-smith.blogspot.com/2014/09/2014-buffalo-bills-season-preview.html
IV. It's happened this Christmas season that we've been in conversation with a number of people about spending Christmas at your in-law's. Several girlfriends and boyfriends that we know are visiting and trying to put on a brave and polite face as they find a place for themselves. Several newly married folks are figuring out the new normal Christmas through their homesickness. I know that I speak for J when I say that she loved Smith Christmas this year. She glowed the entire trip down as she recounted all the thoughtful gifts that were given between the infant-lapped siblings at the big white and red farmhouse on County House Road. It makes me happy to think about how happy she is with my family, passing the nieces and nephews about, drinking wine in old church pews around the kitchen table and laughing at clever Uncle jokes. And I think it makes her happy to see me and James excited as we pull into the gorgeous white and blue house with candles in the windows atop the hill on Fox Tail Drive, all splendidly arranged for Christmas with grandparents waiting to see their little boys again. We exchanged gifts with the Davises last night, and our boys now have helicopters, tools and blocks to knock around the floor as well. It's good to be part of two such wonderful families this time of year.
As the prelude started I began to doubt my decision to bring him into the service with me. Nursery care was available...why didn't I just drop him off there? He was awfully fidgety. Oh well, too late now. The prelude finished, and I stood up to play the instrumental introit I'd prepared with the organist. The congregation was sparse today, maybe only forty or fifty people. Some of them were in their pajamas, which is a bit of a tradition the week after Christmas. As I started in on the In the Bleak Midwinter I heard a reedy little voice humming along with me, quite loudly and right on pitch. James was sprawled out on the pew, singing loudly enough for all the congregation to hear.
J and I talked afterwards, and though we puzzled for a few minutes we figured out that he must know the tune to In the Bleak Midwinter from the Uncles Christmas CD. It's the track right after his fravorite (God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen) and he always begins to cry (well, George begins to cry) if we don't immediately repeat back to the one he likes. He went through the entire tune with me, and after I'd finished the last note he sang Mi on his own in the silence of the church, apparently thinking we'd be going back for a second verse. As the note echoed and some of the congregants tittered in their pews he popped up and exclaimed in his loudest three-year old voice "YAY, GEORGE!"
II. It's very rare that J and I get to spend six conscious hours together, but the trip to Pennsylvania is always good for that. The first leg we were driving in separate cars, trying to return the rental car to Syracuse. (That's been nothing but calamity from start to finish, but it's mostly out of our hands now.) Then we switched the carseats over, were quickly out of range of the Bills game, and on the highway. There was a time not terribly long ago when we'd have to come up with interesting things to do and talk about on the Route 15 drive (it was I-81 this time) but with two boys now we usually haven't seen each other in so long that it takes us most of the trip just to get caught up. Items up for discussion on the Southbound trip included: Religious guilt, movies, recently visited friends, the practice of daily devotions, childhood prayers, the distinction between quality reviews, cooking, and the nature of religious discourse.
III. It appears that I have manifested the prophetic gift.
http://harmonious-smith.blogspot.com/2014/09/2014-buffalo-bills-season-preview.html
IV. It's happened this Christmas season that we've been in conversation with a number of people about spending Christmas at your in-law's. Several girlfriends and boyfriends that we know are visiting and trying to put on a brave and polite face as they find a place for themselves. Several newly married folks are figuring out the new normal Christmas through their homesickness. I know that I speak for J when I say that she loved Smith Christmas this year. She glowed the entire trip down as she recounted all the thoughtful gifts that were given between the infant-lapped siblings at the big white and red farmhouse on County House Road. It makes me happy to think about how happy she is with my family, passing the nieces and nephews about, drinking wine in old church pews around the kitchen table and laughing at clever Uncle jokes. And I think it makes her happy to see me and James excited as we pull into the gorgeous white and blue house with candles in the windows atop the hill on Fox Tail Drive, all splendidly arranged for Christmas with grandparents waiting to see their little boys again. We exchanged gifts with the Davises last night, and our boys now have helicopters, tools and blocks to knock around the floor as well. It's good to be part of two such wonderful families this time of year.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Stumbling Across the Finish Line
It was a rough finish to the December concert marathon.
Today was the last day of big performances before Christmas break. I had the cantata at church, and then I was home free. I was up before 6 to get coffee and donuts ready for my choir and musicians and to make sure the church was set up. J texted me, wishing me luck, as I led them through a grueling two hour rehearsal. "One more thing and then we're free!!"
I felt great as I drove back home. There was a Bills game on in the afternoon, good leftovers for lunch in the fridge, and nothing to do except relax and hang with the boys. James had been in a particularly good mood all week. What with the move and the new baby we got in the habit of letting him watch an episode of Curious George every night before bed for a few weeks, and we noticed that he wasn't handling it very well. About a week ago we decided to kill two birds (or monkeys?) with one stone by telling him he could only watch George if he did certain big boy things on the potty. This hasn't worked out on the potty training end, but he's become a much nicer kid since we cut down his TV intake to nothing.
I noticed right away, though, that he wasn't in a playful mood when he got back from church with J. He whined through lunch, and went down far too easily for a nap.
I settled down for an afternoon with J...her Steelers game was on at 1, and the Bills were on at 4. It was exciting to watch the Bills play a meaningful game in December...they even still had a chance at the playoffs!
When James got up from his nap he didn't want to give up his binky. In fact, he didn't want to do anything other than lie on our bed and whimper about being held. At first I thought he was just trying to bump Owen off of his favorite two laps, but as the afternoon dragged on I began to realize that he was sick. And it was obvious enough for me to realize it despite the fact that the Bills were in the middle of a very sickly football game.
I asked him if his mouth hurt and he said yes. Eventually he'll stop answering that question truthfully, because whenever he says yes he gets pinned down by one parent while the other forces down some Children's Tylenol. By this time it was almost 5, J was trying to get a pizza into the oven, and Owen was entering the winter of his discontent. (4:30-7:30 PM, daily) Plus, the Bills were losing.
James was crying almost inconsolably when J came up. I had both kids on my lap, and James had his binky in. J asked him what was wrong. And then he vomited all over our bed. It was too gross to describe in detail, and all of us just sat in shock for a moment. And then he vomited again. Fortunately, a primordial parental instinct kicked in allowing J to stick her hands out under his mouth, so instead of having a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, we had a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, and she had a handful of vomit.
I think Owen ended up on the floor. The handful of vomit ended up in a hastily grabbed box that apparently also had J's nursing pads in it. James' pajamas were covered, and unfortunately, so was George.
"At least he didn't get Steven."
We mopped him up as best we could while both boys cried, and J took George and half our bedding down to the laundry while I put a protesting James in the tub. Owen didn't do great while we left him alone on our bed. The Bills didn't do much better while I left them alone, either.
I put a shivering and sobbing little three year old--they look so much smaller when they're sick--into a new set of clean pajamas and brought him into J. She'd brought up a bowl for any future incidents, and I tried to get Owen calmed down.
"Mommy, where's George?"
"He's downstairs taking a bath. He got a little dirty when you got sick."
"I need George."
"Why don't you snuggle Steven. And if you feel like you're going to be sick again, try to get it into this bowl, okay?"
"I need my ginky."
"Honey, do you know where his gink ended up?"
(It had been brought downstairs for boiling and re-sanitizing.)
"I'll go get it."
And then he vomited all over the place again. This time it got all over the sheets, his new pajamas, and J. And Steven Bear.
"Am I taking Owen, or the sheets, or James?"
"You take Owen and find the paper towels. James, stay here and don't move. No, sorry honey, Steven is going to need to take a bath too."
"I can't believe they're gonna punt with that little time left."
That was when we decided to let James watch a George, even though he hadn't gone in the potty that day. It seemed like a good idea for all parties involved.
Owen started crying some more, and James asked a lot for George and Steven, and I scrubbed out a lot of clothing in the utility sink.
When J finally did come up with a clean and dry George we got the lone smile of the night from James. He made some monkey noises and then asked George whether he liked his bath, which he apparently did. James threw up again before we put him down for the night, but we managed to get all of it in the bowl that time, and we have some back-up pjs ready.
J's evaluation of the situation is that if it had happened two days ago I would have been gone at a concert and she would have had a puking toddler, a screaming baby, a laundry emergency, and a pizza in the oven all at the same time.
Her Mom's evaluation of the situation is that we've finally reached full parenthood now that we've both earned the vomit badge.
My evaluation of the situation is that any quarterback worth only a second or third round pick is unlikely to provide a net gain greater than an offensive line upgrade in the short term, and that the throwing up was only the second gruesomest mess I saw today. I put that on facebook, and used my first ever hashtag.
#christmasbreak
#stillhaventshowered
#fifteenyeardrought
#maybenextyear
#owenisstillscreaming
Today was the last day of big performances before Christmas break. I had the cantata at church, and then I was home free. I was up before 6 to get coffee and donuts ready for my choir and musicians and to make sure the church was set up. J texted me, wishing me luck, as I led them through a grueling two hour rehearsal. "One more thing and then we're free!!"
I felt great as I drove back home. There was a Bills game on in the afternoon, good leftovers for lunch in the fridge, and nothing to do except relax and hang with the boys. James had been in a particularly good mood all week. What with the move and the new baby we got in the habit of letting him watch an episode of Curious George every night before bed for a few weeks, and we noticed that he wasn't handling it very well. About a week ago we decided to kill two birds (or monkeys?) with one stone by telling him he could only watch George if he did certain big boy things on the potty. This hasn't worked out on the potty training end, but he's become a much nicer kid since we cut down his TV intake to nothing.
I noticed right away, though, that he wasn't in a playful mood when he got back from church with J. He whined through lunch, and went down far too easily for a nap.
I settled down for an afternoon with J...her Steelers game was on at 1, and the Bills were on at 4. It was exciting to watch the Bills play a meaningful game in December...they even still had a chance at the playoffs!
When James got up from his nap he didn't want to give up his binky. In fact, he didn't want to do anything other than lie on our bed and whimper about being held. At first I thought he was just trying to bump Owen off of his favorite two laps, but as the afternoon dragged on I began to realize that he was sick. And it was obvious enough for me to realize it despite the fact that the Bills were in the middle of a very sickly football game.
I asked him if his mouth hurt and he said yes. Eventually he'll stop answering that question truthfully, because whenever he says yes he gets pinned down by one parent while the other forces down some Children's Tylenol. By this time it was almost 5, J was trying to get a pizza into the oven, and Owen was entering the winter of his discontent. (4:30-7:30 PM, daily) Plus, the Bills were losing.
James was crying almost inconsolably when J came up. I had both kids on my lap, and James had his binky in. J asked him what was wrong. And then he vomited all over our bed. It was too gross to describe in detail, and all of us just sat in shock for a moment. And then he vomited again. Fortunately, a primordial parental instinct kicked in allowing J to stick her hands out under his mouth, so instead of having a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, we had a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, and she had a handful of vomit.
I think Owen ended up on the floor. The handful of vomit ended up in a hastily grabbed box that apparently also had J's nursing pads in it. James' pajamas were covered, and unfortunately, so was George.
"At least he didn't get Steven."
We mopped him up as best we could while both boys cried, and J took George and half our bedding down to the laundry while I put a protesting James in the tub. Owen didn't do great while we left him alone on our bed. The Bills didn't do much better while I left them alone, either.
I put a shivering and sobbing little three year old--they look so much smaller when they're sick--into a new set of clean pajamas and brought him into J. She'd brought up a bowl for any future incidents, and I tried to get Owen calmed down.
"Mommy, where's George?"
"He's downstairs taking a bath. He got a little dirty when you got sick."
"I need George."
"Why don't you snuggle Steven. And if you feel like you're going to be sick again, try to get it into this bowl, okay?"
"I need my ginky."
"Honey, do you know where his gink ended up?"
(It had been brought downstairs for boiling and re-sanitizing.)
"I'll go get it."
And then he vomited all over the place again. This time it got all over the sheets, his new pajamas, and J. And Steven Bear.
"Am I taking Owen, or the sheets, or James?"
"You take Owen and find the paper towels. James, stay here and don't move. No, sorry honey, Steven is going to need to take a bath too."
"I can't believe they're gonna punt with that little time left."
That was when we decided to let James watch a George, even though he hadn't gone in the potty that day. It seemed like a good idea for all parties involved.
Owen started crying some more, and James asked a lot for George and Steven, and I scrubbed out a lot of clothing in the utility sink.
When J finally did come up with a clean and dry George we got the lone smile of the night from James. He made some monkey noises and then asked George whether he liked his bath, which he apparently did. James threw up again before we put him down for the night, but we managed to get all of it in the bowl that time, and we have some back-up pjs ready.
J's evaluation of the situation is that if it had happened two days ago I would have been gone at a concert and she would have had a puking toddler, a screaming baby, a laundry emergency, and a pizza in the oven all at the same time.
Her Mom's evaluation of the situation is that we've finally reached full parenthood now that we've both earned the vomit badge.
My evaluation of the situation is that any quarterback worth only a second or third round pick is unlikely to provide a net gain greater than an offensive line upgrade in the short term, and that the throwing up was only the second gruesomest mess I saw today. I put that on facebook, and used my first ever hashtag.
#christmasbreak
#stillhaventshowered
#fifteenyeardrought
#maybenextyear
#owenisstillscreaming
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Wednesday
I was just leaving a rehearsal for the symphony brass quintet. I'd been looking forward to this day for a few weeks--I knew that I'd have a few hours in between rehearsal and concert to get my Christmas shopping wrapped up, make some returns, and
WHAM
I saw the car running the stop sign in just enough time to bury my foot on the brake pedal, but there was nothing I could do to avoid the collision. I saw nothing but white for a second and felt like I'd been slapped in the face. Then I noticed a smell like burnt feathers, and saw that a fine floury mist was floating inside the car. I looked down and realized the airbag had deployed. The car was still on, and I felt it limping as I guided it over to the curb. The other car, a gray BMW, was still stuck out in the middle of the intersection.
I looked over myself and felt my face. No cuts, no scrapes. I looked back the way I'd come. Sure enough, no stop sign, no signal. The BMW had just blown through his stop without ever slowing down. He got out of his car, and I realized that my hands were trembling from the adrenaline. It all went away instantly...I was in disaster mode, completely cool and collected. I made sure he was okay, asked if he could move his car out of the intersection (he couldn't) and requested his registration and insurance card. As I walked back to the Corolla to get my own I saw the damage to the front for the first time. My stomach sank.
The front bumper was hanging completely off, the grill was bent, and it looked terrible. I loved that car. We got a great deal on it, paid cash. It was a stick, which I'd wanted.
It was cold out, and my hat and gloves were sitting on my desk back in Rochester. I'd gone on a three mile run that morning, and I forgot to pack them back in my winter coat once I came back inside. Tow truck first, then police, then insurance. The tow truck driver came first and picked up the bits of my bumper that were still in the intersection, and then a policeman took my statement. A second cop car arrived, realized he couldn't do anything, and almost hit someone on a bicycle as then wheeled past.
Then the cyclist stopped and got off. It was Rob, the timpani player from the symphony?
"Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so. Could've been a lot worse."
"Wow, this is your car?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you need a ride or anything let me know. I'm free all day, okay?"
I don't know why it's so hard for me to accept other people's help sometimes. I don't think that catching a ride would've made my day any easier...I mostly just didn't want to see any friendly faces. Every time I looked at the front of my car I felt ill again. When I sat down in the tow truck I realized how hungry I was--it was nearly 2:00 by the time everyone was packed up--and how sore I was going to be.
I met the owner of the collision shop and got my first crash course in how the insurance process would work. Each time I was given the course over the day it had some slight inexplicable variation. I'm still not sure who's paying for what, but I started to pick up some of the terminology. I waited for the rental car company inside the shop and finally called J, dreading how upset and worried she was going to be.
The rental car company offered a decent rate for a midsized car, some nice Chrysler. When I got there I found out that car was unavailable.
"But let's see...looks like all we've got is...a Toyota Yaris."
I like our Yaris plenty. But renting your wife's car is sort of like being offered a night at the hotel down the street from your house. It's nice to have a place to stay, but it'd be a lot more interesting if you had a change of scenery.
There was more paperwork, more signatures, a few more phone calls, and I went out to get into the Yaris. I took a few deep breaths. I still hadn't eaten anything, and my back was starting to hurt. It was raining out, and I wasn't sure I wanted to drive again yet. I turned on the car.
The check engine light was on.
A few minutes later the attendant told me, "Yeah, you're right. We just got it back from an oil change, I guess they didn't reset the light correctly."
"I'd still like to make a note in file."
I got back home safe, and eventually did get a meal and some ibuprofen. But it'll be a long few weeks until we're back in the Corolla again, if (hopefully) we do get it back.
Here are the things to be thankful for-
1) No one else was in my car.
2) No one else was in the other car
3) Neither of us were going particularly fast...probably both about 25.
4) We have insurance
5) The other guy has insurance
6) It's extremely unlikely that I'll be assessed any sort of fault/liability
7) I still made it to the gig on time
8) No one was hurt
9) No one was hurt
10) No one was hurt
But my back is still a little sore
WHAM
I saw the car running the stop sign in just enough time to bury my foot on the brake pedal, but there was nothing I could do to avoid the collision. I saw nothing but white for a second and felt like I'd been slapped in the face. Then I noticed a smell like burnt feathers, and saw that a fine floury mist was floating inside the car. I looked down and realized the airbag had deployed. The car was still on, and I felt it limping as I guided it over to the curb. The other car, a gray BMW, was still stuck out in the middle of the intersection.
I looked over myself and felt my face. No cuts, no scrapes. I looked back the way I'd come. Sure enough, no stop sign, no signal. The BMW had just blown through his stop without ever slowing down. He got out of his car, and I realized that my hands were trembling from the adrenaline. It all went away instantly...I was in disaster mode, completely cool and collected. I made sure he was okay, asked if he could move his car out of the intersection (he couldn't) and requested his registration and insurance card. As I walked back to the Corolla to get my own I saw the damage to the front for the first time. My stomach sank.
The front bumper was hanging completely off, the grill was bent, and it looked terrible. I loved that car. We got a great deal on it, paid cash. It was a stick, which I'd wanted.
It was cold out, and my hat and gloves were sitting on my desk back in Rochester. I'd gone on a three mile run that morning, and I forgot to pack them back in my winter coat once I came back inside. Tow truck first, then police, then insurance. The tow truck driver came first and picked up the bits of my bumper that were still in the intersection, and then a policeman took my statement. A second cop car arrived, realized he couldn't do anything, and almost hit someone on a bicycle as then wheeled past.
Then the cyclist stopped and got off. It was Rob, the timpani player from the symphony?
"Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so. Could've been a lot worse."
"Wow, this is your car?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you need a ride or anything let me know. I'm free all day, okay?"
I don't know why it's so hard for me to accept other people's help sometimes. I don't think that catching a ride would've made my day any easier...I mostly just didn't want to see any friendly faces. Every time I looked at the front of my car I felt ill again. When I sat down in the tow truck I realized how hungry I was--it was nearly 2:00 by the time everyone was packed up--and how sore I was going to be.
I met the owner of the collision shop and got my first crash course in how the insurance process would work. Each time I was given the course over the day it had some slight inexplicable variation. I'm still not sure who's paying for what, but I started to pick up some of the terminology. I waited for the rental car company inside the shop and finally called J, dreading how upset and worried she was going to be.
The rental car company offered a decent rate for a midsized car, some nice Chrysler. When I got there I found out that car was unavailable.
"But let's see...looks like all we've got is...a Toyota Yaris."
I like our Yaris plenty. But renting your wife's car is sort of like being offered a night at the hotel down the street from your house. It's nice to have a place to stay, but it'd be a lot more interesting if you had a change of scenery.
There was more paperwork, more signatures, a few more phone calls, and I went out to get into the Yaris. I took a few deep breaths. I still hadn't eaten anything, and my back was starting to hurt. It was raining out, and I wasn't sure I wanted to drive again yet. I turned on the car.
The check engine light was on.
A few minutes later the attendant told me, "Yeah, you're right. We just got it back from an oil change, I guess they didn't reset the light correctly."
"I'd still like to make a note in file."
I got back home safe, and eventually did get a meal and some ibuprofen. But it'll be a long few weeks until we're back in the Corolla again, if (hopefully) we do get it back.
Here are the things to be thankful for-
1) No one else was in my car.
2) No one else was in the other car
3) Neither of us were going particularly fast...probably both about 25.
4) We have insurance
5) The other guy has insurance
6) It's extremely unlikely that I'll be assessed any sort of fault/liability
7) I still made it to the gig on time
8) No one was hurt
9) No one was hurt
10) No one was hurt
But my back is still a little sore
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Quick Hitters
I. This is the first and last year I do a cantata. I expected that it would be sort of like doing a simplified oratorio. You know, show up in a suit, conduct 30 minutes of music, polite applause at the end. Actually it's the sacred equivalent of a community musical. There are costumes, staging concerns, hurt feelings, and multiple emails per day. Still, if you'd like to hear the cantata, come to my church next Sunday. I hired some good musicians...here's hoping it comes off okay.
II. I missed the best Bills game of the year because I was playing Holiday Pops in Oswego. J watched the whole thing and texted me updates. When I got back she came the closest yet to confessing that she's become a Bills fan. "I would still root for the Steelers if they met in the playoffs," she said "but I know so much about the team, and they're on every week...and it's hard not to root for you guys."
III. I'm teaching a nine year old boy how to play the flute. That's wrong on a bunch of different levels. He forgets his instrument a lot, and he has trouble remembering the notes. Two months in, he still puts his fingers in the wrong spot and can only consistently remember how to play a D. Plus, he blows as hard/fast as he can whenever he tries to get a sound. "Alex," I said "you need to blow a lot slower air if you're going to play the flute." He answered "Well, I was born fast, so it's kind of hard for me to go slower." "Hmm. Alex, I'm wondering...because you were born fast, you know, and you like to blow fast...maybe you would enjoy playing the trombone? Because, you need to blow really fast to play the trombone. But flute, you know, that's more of a slow air instrument. What do you think?" "No, I don't think so." Then he leaned in and whispered "I tried the trombone once and the moving thingy came back and hit me, so I am a little scared of the trombone.'
IV. James isn't quite sure what to make of J nursing Owen. The first time he really noticed it (and it went on under his nose for quite some time before he looked up from whatever George was doing) he looked at them both with a puzzled expression and said "Mommy, what's Owen doing?" "Owen's hungry. He needs to eat." James then shouted at his younger brother. "Owen, stop eating Mommy's tummy! That's not food!" Apparently today, however, J asked whether Owen would like to get a cookie and a piece of cheese from Wegmans. James said that no, he not. He just wants to eat Mommy's tummy.
II. I missed the best Bills game of the year because I was playing Holiday Pops in Oswego. J watched the whole thing and texted me updates. When I got back she came the closest yet to confessing that she's become a Bills fan. "I would still root for the Steelers if they met in the playoffs," she said "but I know so much about the team, and they're on every week...and it's hard not to root for you guys."
III. I'm teaching a nine year old boy how to play the flute. That's wrong on a bunch of different levels. He forgets his instrument a lot, and he has trouble remembering the notes. Two months in, he still puts his fingers in the wrong spot and can only consistently remember how to play a D. Plus, he blows as hard/fast as he can whenever he tries to get a sound. "Alex," I said "you need to blow a lot slower air if you're going to play the flute." He answered "Well, I was born fast, so it's kind of hard for me to go slower." "Hmm. Alex, I'm wondering...because you were born fast, you know, and you like to blow fast...maybe you would enjoy playing the trombone? Because, you need to blow really fast to play the trombone. But flute, you know, that's more of a slow air instrument. What do you think?" "No, I don't think so." Then he leaned in and whispered "I tried the trombone once and the moving thingy came back and hit me, so I am a little scared of the trombone.'
IV. James isn't quite sure what to make of J nursing Owen. The first time he really noticed it (and it went on under his nose for quite some time before he looked up from whatever George was doing) he looked at them both with a puzzled expression and said "Mommy, what's Owen doing?" "Owen's hungry. He needs to eat." James then shouted at his younger brother. "Owen, stop eating Mommy's tummy! That's not food!" Apparently today, however, J asked whether Owen would like to get a cookie and a piece of cheese from Wegmans. James said that no, he not. He just wants to eat Mommy's tummy.
Friday, December 12, 2014
LCS Chapel, 12/12
Kindertotenlieder; Songs of Grief
Good morning! It's good to be with you all this morning, sharing the Christmas excitement and getting ready to wrap things up before break. There are some verses in the Christmas story that rarely receive any attention, right in the middle of Matthew 2. "Then Herod became furious when he saw that he had been tricked by the magi, and he sent and killed all the male children two years and under according to the time he had ascertained from the magi. Then was fulfilled what was spoken through the prophet Jeremiah--A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation. Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more." Weeping and loud lamentation--this morning I'd like to think about lamentation and lament with you in a fresh way, or maybe even for the first time. We'll read some more of the prophet Jeremiah, from the book of Lamentations--a good place to think about lament--I'll share some of my own story, and even toss in a few thoughts about music.
To the book of Lamentations. First I'm going to paint a very serious, bleak picture here, so settle and steel yourselves. This is an upsetting story from the Old Testament, and I first read it earlier this year. I was doing some grim reading, a pass through Lamentations in Latin. Lamentations was written at the lowest moment in Israel's history. After years of warnings, the great defeat had come. The glorious temple was destroyed, Jerusalem was ransacked, her armies utterly defeated, and whatever survivors were leftover from the rapes and executions were dragged off to Babylon as slaves. Only a very few Israelites were left in Jerusalem. There was a deadly plague afoot and no doctors. Their borders were completely undefensed. They had no food, and no prospect of crops.
The 2nd chapter of Lamentations is set amid this chaos. The prophet Jeremiah describes how the gates of the city are smashed and sunk into the ground and the walls have been torn down. He describes how the noise of the city--the bustle of footsteps and conversations and wheels and motion--are all gone silent. And then Jeremiah talks about something which is so terribly, terribly wrong, that it puts the taste of bile in his mouth--something so evil that most of us shake just thinking of it--the death of the children.
He says that the children and the babies have fallen and are lying in the streets with hunger. He describes their little voices as they beg their mothers for food, and even in speaking the request their voice leaves them forever. This is absolutely horrible stuff. Feeling physically sick, on the verge of starving to death, with his city plundered, his whole world upside down, Jeremiah is helplessly watching children die.
So what does he do? Here's what the text says in Latin: Consurge, which means, rise, in principio vigilarum in nocte, at the start of the night watches, and lauda. (sp) Do you know what lauda means? At first I thought it was a mistake, and you won't find any English translations that have it rendered this way, because it seems so bizarre. Rise in the middle of the night, and praise. Rise at the beginning of the night watches and praise. Pour out your heart like water before the presence of YHWH.
A lament, by definition, is a song or a poem of grief, especially deep grief. There is in the Old Testament, and especially in the Psalms, a tradition of lament which is beautiful almost beyond words. This tradition was an integral part of the daily lives of countless faithful Jews, including Jesus and the early Christians. The practice of lament was passed down in the music of the Christian church for hundreds of years, but I'm afraid it is nearly lost on us in the modern church.
In church we sing some of the psalms, especially the happy ones. We sing the psalms with nice tunes, the songs in major keys. "I could sing of your love forever." "The Lord is my shepherd." "Blessed be your name." Great psalms, great tunes. But they aren't the only psalms. For example, there are also historical psalms. We don't see much of these, and that's a topic for another chapel. And did you know a full 1/3 of the 150 Psalms are psalms of lament?
Do you know one place you'll almost never hear a lament? In a modern Christian church. I'm the choir director at a church up in Gates, and I'm going to tell you something that church musicians know. Even if it wasn't true in my experience, I'll give you some good church musician insider information as the as the son of two church musicians and the husband of a church musician who is also the daughter of two church musicians, and as the brother of five different church musicians--Christians don't want to do lament. But I think we need to.
Laments, the sad songs, are really a drag. They can be very boring, they completely kill any sense of excitement in a service, and they make everybody feel terrible. I haven't done a formal count, but I can tell you that my church choir hasn't sung more than maybe one or two songs in a minor key since before Easter last year. We sang lots of happy songs on Easter morning, and don't misunderstand me, I do LOVE those songs.
But in the Bible, and specifically in the book of Psalms, which is the song book of the Bible, there is so much more. One-third of the psalms (50 of the 150) in the Old Testament are classified as songs of lament. That means that if you sang through all the psalms in the Bible for say, three songs a week (you'd get through the whole Psalter in a year that way) every third song you'd sing would be a song of lament. At your church, is every third song a song of grief? Is every third song a song in a minor key?
Of course not! No one wants to come in on Sunday morning sing two songs about how great and glorious our God is, and then sing some dirge about how they are weeping their hearts out in a pit.
Until they do. People don't want to sing a song of lament...until they lose their job. Or they're in the middle of the divorce. Or their Mom dies. Or their sister gets cancer.
And that's what happened to my wife and me. I'd like to share part of the story of how we learned about lament, a story we've never shared publicly. Last summer, we were visiting her parents in southern Pennsylvania. Visiting her parents is great, because it means that we get a free babysitter. We left our son James with them for the night, and we went out for a fancy dinner at a bed and breakfast. While we were there, my wife, who was eight weeks pregnant with our second child, had a miscarriage.
The world crashed down on us. We had just told her parents the night before that they were going to be grandparents again. We had started saying prayers for "new baby" with James when we put him to bed at night. And then, we were in a cold, sterile hospital stall. And just like that, there was no new baby coming. There was no new grandchild coming. There was no longer a baby brother or sister. There was church the next morning. And when the song leader, who is a friend of ours, started to dance onstage and attempt to rouse the congregation up to a new pitch of excitement, I was silent. I stood, stone-faced, next to my silent, grieving wife. We were towards the front, and after the first upbeat number he said something to the effect "Why aren't you all happy today? Aren't you excited to praise the Lord?"
What do we do to engage in true biblical lament? What do we do when we meet soul-numbing grief, or genuine evil in the world? Some of you may already have known griefs even sharper than a lost pregnancy. If you've known any grief, you know that a cheap fix won't make it better. Too often the Christian reaction to grief is a well-meant but unhelpful cliche. We advise someone how to feel better, whether they want to or not. Or we offer some religious solution for why it happened. Now, let me be very clear here in this dangerous territory. I absolutely support efforts to bring joy to every corner of God's earth--this is part of being Christian people, the people of Easter morning. I also believe in the philosophical task of wrestling with the question of evil. What is it? Why is it? How is it? But--and this is the important part--the Christian tradition of lament is not concerned with either of those tasks. To be clear, bringing good news of joy and dealing with the Question of Evil are both important. However, neither ought to substitute for the biblical tradition of singing and reading lament. If you feel confused about how you're supposed bring the joy of Jesus and weep with those in pain, remember the words of St. Paul in the book of Romans--rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn. He doesn't say, rejoice with those who rejoice and make those who are mourning feel so awkward that they sense they aren't a part of the community until they've sorted themselves out and gotten over it.
This means that we cannot stigmatize those people who are in the midst of lament. Whether you are a Christian or not, we will all come to grief in this world, and that does not mean that the gospel has failed, or that you somehow haven't believed it with sufficient vigor. To live with pain and grief and insecurity is simply to be alive in this world. If you grieve, are you a bad Christian? Absolutely not! This is why we have the songs of lament. If I can say something rather dangerous, it may be more perilous to your soul if you never experienced grief or pain. If you take seriously the notion that we are to be to the world what Jesus was for us, it is precisely in going to the place of pain and carrying it onto ourselves, as Jesus did on the cross, that we best show the world who Jesus is--this is why Paul rejoiced in his sufferings.
So what, then, is the purpose of lament, if it isn't to make things better or to solve the problem? My favorite writer, the Anglican bishop N.T. Wright calls scriptural lament "the reaffirmation of the one true god in an evil world." True lament builds up Christian community side by side with true Christian joy and still supports the community's grieving members. True lament does not deny that there is evil in the world...and it does not explain or try to understand the evil in the world. With Christians you should be able to laugh at a wedding toast one week and weep at a funeral the next. When the psalmist asks "How long, O YHWH, will you forget me forever?" the answer is not a syllogism, but the affirmation "When YHWH restores the fortunes of his people Zion then..." When the psalmist asks "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me," there is no actual answer why. Even on the cross, there is a thundering silence. Just the next line of the psalm "Yet you are holy...in you our fathers trusted." I began by talking about the Latin word lauda, and I'll return to that in a minute. First another Latin word, Credo. It means I believe, and one of the ways that the church through history has done the process of lament is to say together the Credo, the apostle's creed which begins with the affirmation "I believe." When I was in deepest grief, I took enormous comfort from doing the reaffirmation of the one true god in an evil world through the creed. Credo in one God, the father almighty.
I have three suggestions for you today. They are simple, but difficult. Please hear what I say, pray about it, think about it, talk about it with your parents and your pastors. In ten or twenty years you in this room will be ministering in churches, sitting on committees, and picking out worship music. Consider these. First, let it be said explicitly every week that your community is a place where people are safe to be joyful and safe to grieve. If you believe, as I do, that people should be able to meet Jesus in their grief at your church, make sure that you say so, and make sure that no one tries to "fix" someone who's grieving in some unwise way. Secondly, make sure that a full one-third of your psalm readings (different denominations use reading schedules, or "lectionaries" in different ways, so that number is a little fluid) and one-third of your musical selections deal with lament. It's really tempting to beg off of this. But really, this request for one-third is just a request to stay faithful to scripture. The Holy Spirit in its wisdom gave us spiritual songs that were one-third songs of grief. Our current percentages are not faithful to the scriptures we were given. Thirdly, I encourage you to insist on saying the creeds together. We're going to do this in a moment, and I know that some communities aren't comfortable with unison congregational speaking. That's okay--you can sing settings of the creeds, you can have a single reader read them, or you could even project them on a screen. No matter how you do it, find a way to constantly reaffirm the Shema, the confessions, the Nicene and Apostolic creeds. It's good for your congregation, and it's absolutely vital to anyone who's grieving.
Once more to Lamentations. As Jeremiah sees God's city beaten and plundered and ravaged, as he himself starves and as he watches the children die, he rises in the early night and says lauda. He praises YHWH, and pours out his heart as water.
In January of last year, my wife and I were once again in Pennsylvania. We were there for Christmas break, and after the heartbreak of the summer, we were determined to guard, to keep as safely as possible, to pray and protect a new baby. She was pregnant again, and again, she had a miscarriage in her second month. We drove back to New York in a snowstorm and saw her doctor. We wept again, and I bought a single candle at Wegmans after I picked up James from my brother's house. We put James to bed, and for the second time I explained to him that something had happened, and we would not pray for new baby, but we would pray for Mommy to feel better that night. And then, in the darkness of a January night in New York, we lit the single candle, set it on our kitchen table and sat before it in silence, watching it flicker and burn down. The minutes and the hours passed, and the snow fell outside, and as it burned lower my wife stood up and went to blow out that one light. She stood over it, and then told me she couldn't do it, and left me alone in the cold kitchen.
Rise, in the beginning of the night-watches.
I whispered "fili mi, eo sinum Dei," and I blew out the candle. I do not understand why we lost two children. I do not understand any reason for the death of a child. But in that night, I understood the meaning of lauda, and I understood true lament, as I said God is One in the midst of deepest grief.
I believe in the one true God, the maker of heaven and earth. I believe in the Messiah Jesus, his only son, our Lord, who was conceived of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. Under Pontius Pilate he was crucified, died, and was buried, he descended to the dead, and on the third day he rose again. He ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father, he will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins. I believe in the resurrection of the body, and of life everlasting. Amen.
Not every story has a happy ending. Sometimes your wound will never fully heal. But our God is the God of new life, and for Julie and I, our story has come, after much waiting, to a place of life and hope again. On October 30th, our son Owen was born. Owen is a Welsh name, but it comes from a Greek root, eugenos. It means "well born, or born to gladness." In a bitter and snowy world, our God brings and births new life and new joy. Please pray with me...
"Heavenly Father, we praise you for the words you have entrusted to us through your scriptures and for the wisdom you have passed down through the many faithful who have gone before us. We ask that you would teach us how best to stay faithful to your words, how to mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice. Give us wisdom as we go through griefs ourselves and walk beside othesr who are grieving. May we at all times affirm that you are the true and Almighty God, and may the power of your son Jesus be evident in all we say and do, in whose name we pray these things. Amen."
Good morning! It's good to be with you all this morning, sharing the Christmas excitement and getting ready to wrap things up before break. There are some verses in the Christmas story that rarely receive any attention, right in the middle of Matthew 2. "Then Herod became furious when he saw that he had been tricked by the magi, and he sent and killed all the male children two years and under according to the time he had ascertained from the magi. Then was fulfilled what was spoken through the prophet Jeremiah--A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation. Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more." Weeping and loud lamentation--this morning I'd like to think about lamentation and lament with you in a fresh way, or maybe even for the first time. We'll read some more of the prophet Jeremiah, from the book of Lamentations--a good place to think about lament--I'll share some of my own story, and even toss in a few thoughts about music.
To the book of Lamentations. First I'm going to paint a very serious, bleak picture here, so settle and steel yourselves. This is an upsetting story from the Old Testament, and I first read it earlier this year. I was doing some grim reading, a pass through Lamentations in Latin. Lamentations was written at the lowest moment in Israel's history. After years of warnings, the great defeat had come. The glorious temple was destroyed, Jerusalem was ransacked, her armies utterly defeated, and whatever survivors were leftover from the rapes and executions were dragged off to Babylon as slaves. Only a very few Israelites were left in Jerusalem. There was a deadly plague afoot and no doctors. Their borders were completely undefensed. They had no food, and no prospect of crops.
The 2nd chapter of Lamentations is set amid this chaos. The prophet Jeremiah describes how the gates of the city are smashed and sunk into the ground and the walls have been torn down. He describes how the noise of the city--the bustle of footsteps and conversations and wheels and motion--are all gone silent. And then Jeremiah talks about something which is so terribly, terribly wrong, that it puts the taste of bile in his mouth--something so evil that most of us shake just thinking of it--the death of the children.
He says that the children and the babies have fallen and are lying in the streets with hunger. He describes their little voices as they beg their mothers for food, and even in speaking the request their voice leaves them forever. This is absolutely horrible stuff. Feeling physically sick, on the verge of starving to death, with his city plundered, his whole world upside down, Jeremiah is helplessly watching children die.
So what does he do? Here's what the text says in Latin: Consurge, which means, rise, in principio vigilarum in nocte, at the start of the night watches, and lauda. (sp) Do you know what lauda means? At first I thought it was a mistake, and you won't find any English translations that have it rendered this way, because it seems so bizarre. Rise in the middle of the night, and praise. Rise at the beginning of the night watches and praise. Pour out your heart like water before the presence of YHWH.
A lament, by definition, is a song or a poem of grief, especially deep grief. There is in the Old Testament, and especially in the Psalms, a tradition of lament which is beautiful almost beyond words. This tradition was an integral part of the daily lives of countless faithful Jews, including Jesus and the early Christians. The practice of lament was passed down in the music of the Christian church for hundreds of years, but I'm afraid it is nearly lost on us in the modern church.
In church we sing some of the psalms, especially the happy ones. We sing the psalms with nice tunes, the songs in major keys. "I could sing of your love forever." "The Lord is my shepherd." "Blessed be your name." Great psalms, great tunes. But they aren't the only psalms. For example, there are also historical psalms. We don't see much of these, and that's a topic for another chapel. And did you know a full 1/3 of the 150 Psalms are psalms of lament?
Do you know one place you'll almost never hear a lament? In a modern Christian church. I'm the choir director at a church up in Gates, and I'm going to tell you something that church musicians know. Even if it wasn't true in my experience, I'll give you some good church musician insider information as the as the son of two church musicians and the husband of a church musician who is also the daughter of two church musicians, and as the brother of five different church musicians--Christians don't want to do lament. But I think we need to.
Laments, the sad songs, are really a drag. They can be very boring, they completely kill any sense of excitement in a service, and they make everybody feel terrible. I haven't done a formal count, but I can tell you that my church choir hasn't sung more than maybe one or two songs in a minor key since before Easter last year. We sang lots of happy songs on Easter morning, and don't misunderstand me, I do LOVE those songs.
But in the Bible, and specifically in the book of Psalms, which is the song book of the Bible, there is so much more. One-third of the psalms (50 of the 150) in the Old Testament are classified as songs of lament. That means that if you sang through all the psalms in the Bible for say, three songs a week (you'd get through the whole Psalter in a year that way) every third song you'd sing would be a song of lament. At your church, is every third song a song of grief? Is every third song a song in a minor key?
Of course not! No one wants to come in on Sunday morning sing two songs about how great and glorious our God is, and then sing some dirge about how they are weeping their hearts out in a pit.
Until they do. People don't want to sing a song of lament...until they lose their job. Or they're in the middle of the divorce. Or their Mom dies. Or their sister gets cancer.
And that's what happened to my wife and me. I'd like to share part of the story of how we learned about lament, a story we've never shared publicly. Last summer, we were visiting her parents in southern Pennsylvania. Visiting her parents is great, because it means that we get a free babysitter. We left our son James with them for the night, and we went out for a fancy dinner at a bed and breakfast. While we were there, my wife, who was eight weeks pregnant with our second child, had a miscarriage.
The world crashed down on us. We had just told her parents the night before that they were going to be grandparents again. We had started saying prayers for "new baby" with James when we put him to bed at night. And then, we were in a cold, sterile hospital stall. And just like that, there was no new baby coming. There was no new grandchild coming. There was no longer a baby brother or sister. There was church the next morning. And when the song leader, who is a friend of ours, started to dance onstage and attempt to rouse the congregation up to a new pitch of excitement, I was silent. I stood, stone-faced, next to my silent, grieving wife. We were towards the front, and after the first upbeat number he said something to the effect "Why aren't you all happy today? Aren't you excited to praise the Lord?"
What do we do to engage in true biblical lament? What do we do when we meet soul-numbing grief, or genuine evil in the world? Some of you may already have known griefs even sharper than a lost pregnancy. If you've known any grief, you know that a cheap fix won't make it better. Too often the Christian reaction to grief is a well-meant but unhelpful cliche. We advise someone how to feel better, whether they want to or not. Or we offer some religious solution for why it happened. Now, let me be very clear here in this dangerous territory. I absolutely support efforts to bring joy to every corner of God's earth--this is part of being Christian people, the people of Easter morning. I also believe in the philosophical task of wrestling with the question of evil. What is it? Why is it? How is it? But--and this is the important part--the Christian tradition of lament is not concerned with either of those tasks. To be clear, bringing good news of joy and dealing with the Question of Evil are both important. However, neither ought to substitute for the biblical tradition of singing and reading lament. If you feel confused about how you're supposed bring the joy of Jesus and weep with those in pain, remember the words of St. Paul in the book of Romans--rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn. He doesn't say, rejoice with those who rejoice and make those who are mourning feel so awkward that they sense they aren't a part of the community until they've sorted themselves out and gotten over it.
This means that we cannot stigmatize those people who are in the midst of lament. Whether you are a Christian or not, we will all come to grief in this world, and that does not mean that the gospel has failed, or that you somehow haven't believed it with sufficient vigor. To live with pain and grief and insecurity is simply to be alive in this world. If you grieve, are you a bad Christian? Absolutely not! This is why we have the songs of lament. If I can say something rather dangerous, it may be more perilous to your soul if you never experienced grief or pain. If you take seriously the notion that we are to be to the world what Jesus was for us, it is precisely in going to the place of pain and carrying it onto ourselves, as Jesus did on the cross, that we best show the world who Jesus is--this is why Paul rejoiced in his sufferings.
So what, then, is the purpose of lament, if it isn't to make things better or to solve the problem? My favorite writer, the Anglican bishop N.T. Wright calls scriptural lament "the reaffirmation of the one true god in an evil world." True lament builds up Christian community side by side with true Christian joy and still supports the community's grieving members. True lament does not deny that there is evil in the world...and it does not explain or try to understand the evil in the world. With Christians you should be able to laugh at a wedding toast one week and weep at a funeral the next. When the psalmist asks "How long, O YHWH, will you forget me forever?" the answer is not a syllogism, but the affirmation "When YHWH restores the fortunes of his people Zion then..." When the psalmist asks "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me," there is no actual answer why. Even on the cross, there is a thundering silence. Just the next line of the psalm "Yet you are holy...in you our fathers trusted." I began by talking about the Latin word lauda, and I'll return to that in a minute. First another Latin word, Credo. It means I believe, and one of the ways that the church through history has done the process of lament is to say together the Credo, the apostle's creed which begins with the affirmation "I believe." When I was in deepest grief, I took enormous comfort from doing the reaffirmation of the one true god in an evil world through the creed. Credo in one God, the father almighty.
I have three suggestions for you today. They are simple, but difficult. Please hear what I say, pray about it, think about it, talk about it with your parents and your pastors. In ten or twenty years you in this room will be ministering in churches, sitting on committees, and picking out worship music. Consider these. First, let it be said explicitly every week that your community is a place where people are safe to be joyful and safe to grieve. If you believe, as I do, that people should be able to meet Jesus in their grief at your church, make sure that you say so, and make sure that no one tries to "fix" someone who's grieving in some unwise way. Secondly, make sure that a full one-third of your psalm readings (different denominations use reading schedules, or "lectionaries" in different ways, so that number is a little fluid) and one-third of your musical selections deal with lament. It's really tempting to beg off of this. But really, this request for one-third is just a request to stay faithful to scripture. The Holy Spirit in its wisdom gave us spiritual songs that were one-third songs of grief. Our current percentages are not faithful to the scriptures we were given. Thirdly, I encourage you to insist on saying the creeds together. We're going to do this in a moment, and I know that some communities aren't comfortable with unison congregational speaking. That's okay--you can sing settings of the creeds, you can have a single reader read them, or you could even project them on a screen. No matter how you do it, find a way to constantly reaffirm the Shema, the confessions, the Nicene and Apostolic creeds. It's good for your congregation, and it's absolutely vital to anyone who's grieving.
Once more to Lamentations. As Jeremiah sees God's city beaten and plundered and ravaged, as he himself starves and as he watches the children die, he rises in the early night and says lauda. He praises YHWH, and pours out his heart as water.
In January of last year, my wife and I were once again in Pennsylvania. We were there for Christmas break, and after the heartbreak of the summer, we were determined to guard, to keep as safely as possible, to pray and protect a new baby. She was pregnant again, and again, she had a miscarriage in her second month. We drove back to New York in a snowstorm and saw her doctor. We wept again, and I bought a single candle at Wegmans after I picked up James from my brother's house. We put James to bed, and for the second time I explained to him that something had happened, and we would not pray for new baby, but we would pray for Mommy to feel better that night. And then, in the darkness of a January night in New York, we lit the single candle, set it on our kitchen table and sat before it in silence, watching it flicker and burn down. The minutes and the hours passed, and the snow fell outside, and as it burned lower my wife stood up and went to blow out that one light. She stood over it, and then told me she couldn't do it, and left me alone in the cold kitchen.
Rise, in the beginning of the night-watches.
I whispered "fili mi, eo sinum Dei," and I blew out the candle. I do not understand why we lost two children. I do not understand any reason for the death of a child. But in that night, I understood the meaning of lauda, and I understood true lament, as I said God is One in the midst of deepest grief.
I believe in the one true God, the maker of heaven and earth. I believe in the Messiah Jesus, his only son, our Lord, who was conceived of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. Under Pontius Pilate he was crucified, died, and was buried, he descended to the dead, and on the third day he rose again. He ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father, he will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins. I believe in the resurrection of the body, and of life everlasting. Amen.
Not every story has a happy ending. Sometimes your wound will never fully heal. But our God is the God of new life, and for Julie and I, our story has come, after much waiting, to a place of life and hope again. On October 30th, our son Owen was born. Owen is a Welsh name, but it comes from a Greek root, eugenos. It means "well born, or born to gladness." In a bitter and snowy world, our God brings and births new life and new joy. Please pray with me...
"Heavenly Father, we praise you for the words you have entrusted to us through your scriptures and for the wisdom you have passed down through the many faithful who have gone before us. We ask that you would teach us how best to stay faithful to your words, how to mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice. Give us wisdom as we go through griefs ourselves and walk beside othesr who are grieving. May we at all times affirm that you are the true and Almighty God, and may the power of your son Jesus be evident in all we say and do, in whose name we pray these things. Amen."
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Religious Education
I held out my hand to James.
He lifted his head up, smiled and declared. "A-men!"
"James, who should pray for our supper tonight?"
Usually he either lifts one finger at me and says "you!" or points at Mommy with his left pointer finger. On very rare occasions he'll offer to pray himself, provided we help him through it."
"James, who should pray for our food tonight?"
"George."
He bowed his head, looked over at George (who was propped up in the fourth seat at the dinner table) out of the corner of his eye, and began in a small voice:
"Oo-oo, ah-ah, oo-ah, oo-ah. Ah-ha, ah-ha, oo-oo, ah...ooo! Ah, ah, oo-oo."
He lifted his head up, smiled and declared. "A-men!"
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Holiday Pops by the Numbers
33-The number of hours I spent in the car last week
1,841-The number of miles I drove last week
$1.00-The amount of money we gave to James so he could buy a Christmas present for Owen. He bought Owen a plastic fireman's hat which he then put on and wore though the checkout line. Asked to give it back to Mommy once in the car, he explained that "George is need it to make his fire engine go."
2.7-The number of miles I ran today with James in the jogging stroller, at the conclusion of which I offered him hot chocolate since it had been cold out. To which he responded, "Wait...I want hot COCOA."
8-The number of times I played Selections from Disney's "Frozen" this week
50-The number of text messages my carpool trombone friends exchanged in happy delight that they could call Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker" the "Buttcracker."
2,488-Total number of Harry Potter pages read during bus rides, tacets, and between rehearsals
9-Total number of additional services I had to decline because my schedule was full
1,841-The number of miles I drove last week
$1.00-The amount of money we gave to James so he could buy a Christmas present for Owen. He bought Owen a plastic fireman's hat which he then put on and wore though the checkout line. Asked to give it back to Mommy once in the car, he explained that "George is need it to make his fire engine go."
2.7-The number of miles I ran today with James in the jogging stroller, at the conclusion of which I offered him hot chocolate since it had been cold out. To which he responded, "Wait...I want hot COCOA."
8-The number of times I played Selections from Disney's "Frozen" this week
50-The number of text messages my carpool trombone friends exchanged in happy delight that they could call Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker" the "Buttcracker."
2,488-Total number of Harry Potter pages read during bus rides, tacets, and between rehearsals
9-Total number of additional services I had to decline because my schedule was full
Monday, December 1, 2014
Lydia's Wedding
James has a new thing. I found out when I walked into his room to get him up a few days ago. He groaned, rubbed his eyes, looked up and said: "Daddy, I wanna holdja."
"What do you want?"
"I wanna holdja."
And he held out his arms.
"Oh, you want me to hold you?"
He nodded, and I picked him up. To my great surprise, he didn't immediately wriggle down. In fact, he put his head on my shoulder, held on to me, and snuggled.
I brought him into Julie.
"Sweetie, did you see that James wanted to give me a hug?"
"I wanna hold Mommy."
"Oh...okay."
"Mommy, I need t'holdja."
We've since figured out that he's cutting some molars. He's been a little fevery, and pretty irritable. And he needs to "holdja" pretty much all the time. That might getting ready for a wedding difficult.
J was excited to wear a dress and look nice for the first time since Owen born, and possibly even earlier, since it's hard to feel like you look nice in maternity clothes sometimes. I was excited to dance with J and to show off my cute sons to our friends. We were all as happy as could be for the bride and groom, and all of their family. On Saturday morning I took the first shower and got into my suit. I came back out to find a tie and gave my shirt over for J to fix a button.
"Daddy, I need t'holdja."
"Okay, let's sit on the bed together."
We read some books while J stitched my button and pulled out her dress. She took her shower and came back in.
"Wut-oh, Mommy! What is wrong wiv your HAIR?"
"There's nothing wrong with my hair sweetie, it's just wet because I washed it."
"You need to go dry it off, Mommy."
Then it was time to put James' clothes on. I remember attending some weddings as a child, and I always remembered the clothes being traumatic. Apparently this is universal. He screamed absolute bloody murder while I buttoned up his shirt, clipped his tie on, forced his arms into a jacket, pulled up his dress pants, and squeezed on dress shoes.
"DADDY, I NEED T'HOOOOLDJAAA!!!"
"I don' wanna wear mah black shoes, they are not my fravorite!!!"
"I don' wanna look like Daddy, I wanna wear my pjs!!!"
I brought him in to show J. She said that he'd outgrown everything. Try the backup outfit.
"James?"
"I wanna holdja."
"You aren't going to like this."
"I don' wanna wear a sweater!!!!"
I took off his suit, buttoned up a white shirt, put on a vest, put on his khakis, and put on brown shoes.
I brought him in to show J.
"Does it look like his pants are to big?"
"Mommy, I wanna holdja."
He took a step towards her and his pants fell down.
"James?"
"I wanna holdja"
"You aren't going to like this."
We did all eventually get out the door to the ceremony, although someone had to be holding James at all times. We only needed to make one emergency trip back before the ceremony started, and the service was beautiful. Neither of the boys misbehaved, and then we went home on purpose to nurse Owen. James was not thrilled about leaving again.
We had a lovely time at the reception, but it's hard to dance together when you're each holding a little boy. Next time a friend gets married I think we're just going to get a sitter and let James stay in his pajamas.
"What do you want?"
"I wanna holdja."
And he held out his arms.
"Oh, you want me to hold you?"
He nodded, and I picked him up. To my great surprise, he didn't immediately wriggle down. In fact, he put his head on my shoulder, held on to me, and snuggled.
I brought him into Julie.
"Sweetie, did you see that James wanted to give me a hug?"
"I wanna hold Mommy."
"Oh...okay."
"Mommy, I need t'holdja."
We've since figured out that he's cutting some molars. He's been a little fevery, and pretty irritable. And he needs to "holdja" pretty much all the time. That might getting ready for a wedding difficult.
J was excited to wear a dress and look nice for the first time since Owen born, and possibly even earlier, since it's hard to feel like you look nice in maternity clothes sometimes. I was excited to dance with J and to show off my cute sons to our friends. We were all as happy as could be for the bride and groom, and all of their family. On Saturday morning I took the first shower and got into my suit. I came back out to find a tie and gave my shirt over for J to fix a button.
"Daddy, I need t'holdja."
"Okay, let's sit on the bed together."
We read some books while J stitched my button and pulled out her dress. She took her shower and came back in.
"Wut-oh, Mommy! What is wrong wiv your HAIR?"
"There's nothing wrong with my hair sweetie, it's just wet because I washed it."
"You need to go dry it off, Mommy."
Then it was time to put James' clothes on. I remember attending some weddings as a child, and I always remembered the clothes being traumatic. Apparently this is universal. He screamed absolute bloody murder while I buttoned up his shirt, clipped his tie on, forced his arms into a jacket, pulled up his dress pants, and squeezed on dress shoes.
"DADDY, I NEED T'HOOOOLDJAAA!!!"
"I don' wanna wear mah black shoes, they are not my fravorite!!!"
"I don' wanna look like Daddy, I wanna wear my pjs!!!"
I brought him in to show J. She said that he'd outgrown everything. Try the backup outfit.
"James?"
"I wanna holdja."
"You aren't going to like this."
"I don' wanna wear a sweater!!!!"
I took off his suit, buttoned up a white shirt, put on a vest, put on his khakis, and put on brown shoes.
I brought him in to show J.
"Does it look like his pants are to big?"
"Mommy, I wanna holdja."
He took a step towards her and his pants fell down.
"James?"
"I wanna holdja"
"You aren't going to like this."
We did all eventually get out the door to the ceremony, although someone had to be holding James at all times. We only needed to make one emergency trip back before the ceremony started, and the service was beautiful. Neither of the boys misbehaved, and then we went home on purpose to nurse Owen. James was not thrilled about leaving again.
We had a lovely time at the reception, but it's hard to dance together when you're each holding a little boy. Next time a friend gets married I think we're just going to get a sitter and let James stay in his pajamas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)