#blamebieber

The Pittsburgh Steelers laid an egg on Sunday against the New York Jets. Coming into the game as the league's hottest team, the Steelers somehow managed to give away four turnovers and not score a touchdown until there was a minute left in a 20-13 loss. There was lots of blame to go around, from QB Ben Roethlisberger (2 interceptions) to receiver Antonio Brown (2 fumbles) to coach Mike Tomlin (1-8 vs. teams with a winning percentage under .200). But the most likely cause of this loss was the pre-game visit from Justin Bieber. According to reports, Bieber paid a visit to the Steelers' team Bible study on Saturday, thus throwing off the Steelers' ever-so-fragile mojo and tossing them into the black hole of NFL weirdness on Sunday.

Justin Beiber was at the Steelers' Bible study on Saturday. That sentence alone boggles the mind on a number of levels, but it makes perfect sense that this would cause the Steelers to lose. It also got me thinking what would happen if Justin Bieber visited other NFL teams? If you're a football fan, you might agree with me.

If JB visited the Washington Redskins, Dan Snyder would sign him to a 7-year contract.
If JB visited the Dallas Cowboys, Tony Romo would fumble the handshake.
If JB visited the Houston Texans, JJ Watt would invite him to the school dance.
If JB visited the Baltimore Ravens, John Harbaugh would blame him for bad officiating.
If JB visited the Denver Broncos, Peyton Manning would find a way to get him 10 TDs.
If JB visited the New York Jets, Rex Ryan would get a naked tattoo of him on his arm.
If JB visited the Green Bay Packers, Aaron Rodgers would give him the Discount Double Check.
If JB visited the Chicago Bears, Jay Cutler's face would not change expression.
If JB visited the Cincinnati Bengals, he would have the shortest arrest record.
If JB visited the Cleveland Browns, he'd be mistaken for Johnny Manziel.
If JB visited the Kansas City Chiefs, Andy Reid would eat him.
If JB visited the New England Patriots, Tom Brady would date him.
If JB visited the Oakland Raiders, they would still lose.

As a precaution, I suggest that Justin Beiber never show his face around the Steelers ever again. I think James Harrison will tear him in half.

Education is a Three-Letter Word

My wife is a second-grade teacher. She returned to education eight years ago, but this is the first full-time position she has had since our first son was born. Things have changed a lot over those 22 years.

Karen is a diligent person and she is working like a dog to be the best teacher she can be. It's a challenging environment, with a fascinating mix of economic and cultural diversity. To meet the demands of her job, she gets up at 4:45am and often doesn't get home until 7:00pm. She spends her weekends grading papers, writing lesson plans, and stressing about the coming week. She thinks and talks about her job all the time. I hear all the details; the rowdy students, the demanding and absent parents, the faculty drama, the prowling presence of reviews and requirements. There are joys--she loves her "little peeps," but mostly I hear about the manifold layers of meetings, management and morass that have enveloped public education in its current form. It's overwhelming to a person whose primary skill is loving kids and making them feel good about themselves. Don't get me wrong; she can teach a great lesson on counting money or reading diphthongs, but she's not so keen on keeping up with the 127th revision of the math curriculum for seven-year-olds. Education has become so data-driven, so technology-toasted, so change-charged, that they have created an unfathomable volume of bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo that would send the hardiest IRS agent to the asylum with his fingernails buried in his skull. Sometimes in her frustration she utters four-letter words. But mostly, she utters three-letter ones. Our conversation usually goes something like this. All of these acronyms are real.

ME: "Good morning, honey. What's on your agenda for today?"

KAREN: "I have a meeting this morning with the guidance counselor to discuss Jacob's BIP. It's probably because his home life is such a wreck; we just have so many FARM friends. Then I have to meet with the reading specialist to go over DeShaun's IEP. Between that and Tamara's DRA, it's going to require the entire SST to get these kids to meet their SLOs. I have to stay late today because we have a PLC to talk about the CCR and CCSS, so I don't know when I'm going to have the time to work on Henry's DRA. At least he's meeting the SMP. And Kimberly's parents think she's a rocket scientist so they want me to provide her with a personalized ELO. Truth is, she's not as good in math as Sonya, even though she's ESL. Oh, and I also have a meeting in the Learning Cottage to discuss the latest additions to the TAC. I think they are online but I lost the password. You'd think I was an ELL! Ha ha. Anyway, by Friday I have to turn in my PDP to the principal. It's the teacher version of the AYP, which is required for the CFA. I don't know how I'll do it; I guess I'll just roll the number generator. It's a good thing I'm covered by the FCTA. How about you?"

ME: "Wow. I don't know what to say. All I have to do today is PEE."

KAREN: "What's PEE?"

ME: "I just had my second cup of coffee."

She is amazing, my wife. She does all this, and somehow remains as HOT as a perfect score on the SAT.

Thanks to all teachers who navigate through the minefield of edubabble to teach our kids to read, write, and be kind to one another. You all deserve a BEER.

(No letters were harmed in the writing of this blog.)

We Don't Know Squat

I like to think I know a lot about baseball. I've been an avid fan my entire life. I've played it and coached it. I won my fantasy league this year. I've watched untold amounts of it in person and on TV. My kids get annoyed with me when we watch a game together because I will boldly tell them what's going to happen next. I'm often right.

There were 10 teams in the Major League playoffs this year. Of those 10, there were a few I thought were the favorites. There was only one whom I thought had zero chance of winning it all--the Kansas City Royals.

The World Series starts tomorrow in Kansas City.

I don't know squat.

It isn't just sports, either. There are other areas of life I like to think I know something about. I've been to seminary. I have a degree in communications. I do a lot of public speaking. I've read a lot of books. I've raised three sons. I've been married to the same woman for 26 years. I've never been in a car accident that was my fault. I've watched every episode of The Walking Dead.

I'd like to think I know something about these things. Perhaps I'd even dare to say I was an expert in some of them. That would give me the right to tell you all the great things I know.

I don't know squat.

I've been thinking about this lately because I've been reading the Bible. The Bible takes us into a world beyond ourselves, where we meet God and his character. The Bible has a way of putting us in our place. I've been reading the Sermon on the Mount and the Psalms.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is the teacher. He teaches us about everyday life--relationships, anger management, money, prayer, religious activity. He says to forgive freely, give generously, pray discreetly, and serve humbly. In a nutshell, says Jesus, life is humility through and through because we are not God.

In Psalm 89, we meet God in his home:

The heavens praise your wonders, Lord,
your faithfulness too, in the assembly of the holy ones.
For who in the skies above can compare with the Lord?
Who is like the Lord among the heavenly beings?

The question is rhetorical, of course. No one compares to the Lord. He set the distance between the earth and the sun, between the sun and Betelguese, between the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies, between the center of our planet and the farthest reaches of the universe. He formed the black holes and red giants, the quasars and pulsars. He staked down the core of the earth and set us in motion. He made jellyfish and the elephant. He crafted your pinky finger and the brain which allows you to read this and comprehend it. He exists before and after all things.

"Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made." (John 1:3)

I like to think of these things whenever I'm tempted to think I'm somebody who knows a lot. I am reminded how small I am, how briefly I'll be here, and how little I actually know.

I have some bad news for you, my friend. You don't know much either. You might have experience, education, skill, research--even superior intelligence. You might be the best read person you know. You might know seven languages. You might think you have the answers to the Ebola crisis, the Isis threat, immigration reform, and global warming. You might have advice for marriage, money, child-rearing, and the best way to cook a chicken. You might have graduated from Harvard and Yale on the same day. Heck, you might even be able to convince me that you've figured out the answer to the debate between predestination and free will. Yes, you might be really smart, and have a track record of knowledge and accomplishments so deep that they are carved into that stone bust of yourself that sits on your impressive mantle of success. You might really be something.

Have you ever been here?



No, I didn't think so. I haven't either.

We don't know squat, you and I. Pondering God brings humility, and humility brings us closer to him. I think I got that right.

Good luck to the Kansas City Royals tomorrow night.

No Longer The Man

Once upon a time, I was THE MAN.

I was the 17-year-old lead trumpet tooting my horn front and center at the 50-yard line.

I was the 27-year-old shortstop stealing basehits and pummeling line drives into the gaps on the softball field.

I was the 35-year-old cool guy hired to be the pied piper of teens and build a youth ministry for the ages.

I was the 39-year-old excitable and creative preacher everyone wanted to hear.

I'm not any of those any more.

Instead, I'm now the "age of which we do not speak" guy who hasn't played the trumpet in 20 years, can no longer throw a lick, and whose role at church has changed from the cool youth pastor to the bald guy whom new kids mistake for the church custodian. Over the years my role has changed from being The One who does everything (and gets most of the attention) to being a guy who stands in the back and cheers others on, unnoticed when present and un-missed when absent.

And I'm okay with it. In fact, I'm better for it.

Here's a more concrete description of what I'm talking about. My role as a pastor is now primarily one of development instead of being hands-on, front and center. Instead of hanging out with kids and leading every meeting, I create structures and equip staff and volunteers so that we can have the maximum effect and reach as many kids as possible. I do things that few would notice so that many others will be noticed.

Yesterday, I saw this play out before my eyes. Instead of me: Our former youth leaders got the hugs from kids coming back from college. Our middle school director absolutely nailed the morning sermon. Our Girls Director made a fabulous first impression welcoming the new family. Our student leaders joyously rocked the worship, flawlessly handled sound and tech, and warmly welcomed our guests. Our current youth leaders deftly led our Family Groups.

There was a time when I did all these things in the same day. And while I might have complained a little too loudly in order to make sure everyone knew how amazing I was, the truth is that my ego enjoyed being The Man who could pull it off.

Not any more. I'm no longer The Man. I'm becoming something more.

Now, if I'm honest with you (and this is my blog, so I can be honest here), the mere fact that I'm writing this is evidence that I'm still wresting with it all. As the youngest of three brothers--the baby of my family--I've always been perfectly happy as the center of attention. I don't think I was obnoxious about it (my brothers might disagree), I just think I was spoiled enough--and good enough at enough things--to enjoy the limelight a little too much. I was happy to allow people to feed my ego with words of awe over my very mild achievements. Even as adults, we remain the children we've always been.

That's why change doesn't come easily. But it's also why change is inevitable. We grow, we mature, we move into seasons of life that force us to reinvent ourselves. As we do so, we draw upon our experiences and lean into opportunities we were not ready for in younger days. They might be less glamorous, but more meaningful. John Eldredge lists six stages of Manhood--Boyhood, Cowboy, Warrior, Lover, King and Sage. Cowboys and Warriors get most of the glory, but it's the Kings and Sages who are the most fulfilled. So now, as I near "the age of which we do not speak," I am beginning to let go of my need to the The Man. I'm helping others win the applause, get the glory, succeed in the spotlight. I'm moving to the back of the room, with a smile on my face and a cup of coffee in my hand, cheering them on. I kind of like it back here. Not always, but mostly. I'm still working on it.

I'm no longer The Man. And by God's grace, I'm becoming a better one.

Plowing for New Wedding Ideas

In a few weeks, I am performing the wedding ceremony for my niece, Melinda, and her fiance, Michael. It's going to be a traditional wedding, taking place in an old church in Lancaster County, complete with wooden pews and stained glass windows. This "old" thing is going to feel like a new thing, because lately all the weddings I've attended have been barn weddings.

"Were you born in a barn?"
"No, but I was married in one."

In the past three years I've been to seven weddings that were either in a barn, near a barn, or celebrated afterwards in a barn or barn-like atmosphere. It's the latest trend in weddings. Pinterest is going ham with a silo full of barn wedding ideas. I hear there are 700 pages dedicated to the mason jar alone! Martha Stewart must have had a cell mate from Iowa when the Feds sent her up the (Mississippi) river. Young people today are milking this theme for all it's worth, and as a pasture, I mean, pastor, I think it's pretty cool.

I love barn weddings. In fact, I think weddings today are way more fun than they were back when Karen and I got married. Our reception was in a country club. I wore tails. There was china on the tables. The photographer took boring, posed pictures. My favorite is of Karen's grandparents--in their wheelchairs--with the nursing home attendant standing behind them. How did this stranger make it into our album? It's like American Gothic: The Later Years. Anyway, the wedding was very nice, and I was young and in love and didn't care too much about the atmosphere. But I was sweating the whole time and worried about getting chicken cordon bleu on my tux. It was too formal for the kind of people we are now. I much prefer a laid-back, casual hoedown where a guy can take off his boots, throw some corn-hole, and unhook his suspenders before he does a little line dancing with a mason jar of Angry Orchard in his hand--yeehaa!

But the number of barn weddings has me thinking: How long will this trend last? What will the next big trend be? I have a few suggestions:

Baseball Park Weddings: Marriage on the mound, reception in the bullpen.
Chipotle Weddings: A much greater variety of meats than most receptions, and with sour cream.
Moon Weddings: The bride could take one giant leap down the aisle. The kiss might be tricky, though.
High School Cafeteria Weddings: A slap in the face to that teen crush who dumped you there.
Zoo Weddings: Nobody would even notice your weird Uncle Frank among the chimps.
Roller Coaster Weddings: For the groom with cold feet; once that bar is down, there's no turning back. "I now pronounce you husband and wiiiiiiffffffffffffeeeee!"
Lego Weddings: Finally, a wedding kids can enjoy!

These are just a few of my thoughts. I'd like to hear yours.

Noah's Art

Noah comes out this weekend. You've probably seen the trailer a few times by now, with Russell Crowe looking pretty studly as he prepares to save humanity once again, this time as a muscle-bound version of an agonized prophet preparing for a flood of biblical proportions.

I think I'll go see it. It looks like it could be a blockbuster, and I could use a night at the movies after 150 days of lousy weather.

I don't know how Noah will be received. It wasn't made by a Christian. It was made by a talented and reportedly atheistic filmmaker named Darren Aronofsky. It seems that Christians as a general audience have one of two responses to any movie which is based on the Bible or a biblical theme. If we feel the filmmaker has taken too many liberties with the story, we'll put on our sentinel faces and sternly warn the masses to stay away because this "isn't what the Bible says." If we like it and deem it "true to the text," we'll buy a block of 300 seats and make it a big church event, followed by a 4-week Bible study using a devotional published by Zondervan (free t-shirt, too!) and an invitation to all our non-believing friends to join us for awkward discussion groups in our living rooms.

I think I know why we do this. For a long time, evangelicals abandoned the arts because they didn't serve our purpose, which is to "get people into heaven." Once we realized that our lack of artistic involvement had made us irrelevant to the people we were trying to reach, we started making "Christian" art to get back in the game, so to speak. This explains things such as Left Behind movies and this music video which defies description: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VPcPCwK_G0.

Anyway, over the years I've developed a theology of art. (I wrote a paper on it in seminary. Yes, I got an A.) I believe that art for art's sake glorifies God. I believe that, as creatures made in the image of our Creator, we were made to create. It's an expression of the imago dei in each of us. Whenever and whatever we create--whether we acknowledge our Creator as we create or just create because we are creative--we are glorifying the Creator who created us. (That, my friends, is one heck of a sentence I just created.) So we glorify God when we spin a pot on the wheel, draw cartoons of talking animals, carve a wooden box to hold our jewelry, write a poem about Kansas in July, or edit a video of our children dancing in puddles. We don't have to write a verse on it or put a cross on it to make it "Christian." The art itself is enough. Theologian Philip Ryken says, "The doctrine of Creation teaches that by God's common grace, the gift of art inevitably declares the praise of its Giver." This is beautiful. This is what it means to be human. This is a gift from God. I can't think of anything on earth which points to God more than people making beautiful things.

So I don't know if Noah will be any good or not. It might be boring, boorish, or even blasphemous. I do know for certain that it's not completely true to the biblical narrative, because that story involved a hundred years of waiting, bark-stripping and beard growing, which sounds about as entertaining as watching Out of Africa, backwards, in French, on my phone. But this time, instead of judging its value based on whether it's "Christian" enough, let's determine if it's well-acted and well-shot, has believable characters and a good score, and gives us something to talk about over dinner. (At least it has Russell Crowe!) And good or bad, let's not start up the Christian bandwagon with an 8-week series' called "Drowning?" or flood the culture with cries of protest. Let's just grab our $5 Milk Duds and $8 Coke, then sit back, enjoy the movie, and remember that we create because he first created us.

The Wave

I just walked my dog. It's one of my favorite moments of the day. I've been out of town a lot lately, but Treble has not forgotten me. She came pouncing into my room at 6:45, a happy, expectant grin on her face. By the time I got my shoes on, she could barely contain her delight.

There are lots of things I enjoy about walking my dog. I like being outside early in the morning. I like the exercise. I like the sound of the birds chirping. I like the conversation I have with myself, my dog, and my God.

But my favorite part of the trip around the block is the Poop Wave.

Treble has her favorite drop location -- halfway on the journey -- at the most conspicuous place possible, where three roads meet. I guess she likes to be make a show. You might say she's a party pooper. Anyway, she stops, hunkers down like a football center before the handoff, and with neck out and tongue wagging, leaves her deposit. It only takes a few seconds before I dootifully pick it up with my plastic bags (two for better support). Mission accomplished, we continue on our way with a word of affirmation from me and a grateful grin from her. I hold the leash in one hand, and a bag full of poop in the other.

But it's not over. In fact, next comes my favorite part, probably because I have a strange sense of humor, having spent a lot of time taking middle school boys to camp. One of my neighbors will drive by. Being friendly, he waves. Being friendly, I wave back. Not the leash hand, either. The other hand goes up, from the elbow only, plastic bag steaming in the breeze like a fresh sacrifice offered at the temple. It's a greeting unlike any other, a canine blessing, a celebratory toast. "Carpe Diem, my friend. Today is a gift. Let's squeeze it for all it's worth. May things go smoothly for you. Go! Be warm and well-filled!" I suppose my neighbor was just being nice, but the Poop Wave brings me no small amount of joy.

Well, that's all for today. The bags are in the garbage and Treble is asleep on the floor. I hope you'll excuse me now. I have to go.