Shoe Polish, Vietnam and Memorial Day

My brain makes strange mental leaps sometimes. I’ll bet yours does, too. Here is how my brain put shoe polish together with the Vietnam War and the pain some families feel on Memorial Day.

We went to a beautiful wedding on Saturday and the reception was held outside. Thankfully, we were in a big tent since it rained all day (May apparently being the monsoon season in Michigan). When we got home late Saturday night, both Gretchen and I looked at our dress shoes and wondered if they could recover from their day in the wet grass and mud.

Sunday afternoon I got out my ancient shoe polishing stuff and went to work. The black shoe polish is – without exaggeration – at least 25 years old. It was hard and cracked, but I knew with a little water and effort I could revive it. In the midst of my ministrations an idea came to me. I only needed to put this stuff in the microwave for a few seconds and it would melt into something I could use. So I set the microwave for 30 seconds but stayed close at hand in case I’d need to take it out after 15 or so. Who knew six seconds would do the trick? I heard it explode and cautiously opened the door to find the inside of the microwave spotted like a Dalmatian – and smelling like shoe polish. Oops. Hadn’t planned on that, but fortunately it cleaned up pretty well and then I got to work on the shoes. The shoe polish now had the consistency of a melted fudgesicle, so I decided to use a Q-Tip as an applicator. It didn’t exactly have great coverage, but eventually I got the job done. In the process I got melted shoe polish all over my pants and my hands started smelling like the microwave. As for the shoes, they’re okay, I suppose. But I am wondering if I could have done just as well using a black crayon.

After my series of errors I found myself reflecting on how often one small disaster leads to another slightly bigger disaster and on and on. How many car wrecks are caused because something small goes wrong – a bee flies in the window or you don’t like that song playing on the radio or just this once you really need to send a text to someone because you’re running a few minutes late. In dealing with the first problem a much bigger, much worse problem happens.

Here’s where I made the strange mental leap – for some reason this made me think of the Vietnam War, the war of my childhood. I remember the days when Walter Cronkite would sum up the week just past by saying, “386 American soldiers died this week while 573 enemy soldiers died.” I knew if we just hung in there long enough, we would win. Sad to say, the logic of our nation’s leaders wasn’t much better than the flawed thinking my elementary school mind came up with. We never set out to lose 58,000 young people or damage the psyches of untold thousands of others, but we did. Sadly, our leaders train of thought was like me trying to clean up my shoes. We never declared war and there was never any one event that led us to fight. It just happened incrementally – we started as advisors who eventually turned into combat troops – one bad decision led to a worse decision and then to another. In the end, America was massively committed to fighting for no purpose other than trying to avoid humiliation.

I always fly the flag on Memorial Day, to honor the ultimate sacrifice others have made for our country. I don’t honor the flawed logic that led to some of those sacrifices. When I was a kid, the grief of one family came into focus for me. Here’s a poem I wrote a while back about it:

One of Fifty-Eight Thousand

Along about 1970, when I was in junior high,
A new friend invited me to hang out at his house.
Another invitation followed -- to go downtown
for the Memorial Day Parade.

In the car I noticed his parents looked older than my parents.
The mom wore a scarf over her dull gray hair
and the dad a dirty windbreaker over a sweatshirt.
But who doesn’t love a parade? I wanted to have fun.

After watching various beer-bellied codgers
from the American Legion and the VFW walk by,
there was a band playing, “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.”
I started to sing along in an obnoxious voice.

The kid elbowed me.
I looked and saw his mother crying.
His dad was searching the sky, looking for something or someone from the past.
I shut up.

When we got back to his house, the kid showed me a picture
in a back hallway of a soldier that sort of looked like him.
An older version of himself.
I had thought he was an only child.

He said he would show me his brother’s Purple Heart and other medals,
If I came back when his parents weren’t home.
I never went to his house again,
Not possessing the equipment necessary to enter into that kind of pain.

Shades of Glee

This is a memoirish piece I wrote about growing up in Flint! For all my fellow Flintstones, the names have been changed. But, as any McKinley kid will recognize, I didn't change Mr. Barney's name. Not quite sure why. This was published in a Journal called "Perspectives," which is slumming by including me among its usually enlightened, high-class and often academically oriented articles.

In the sports pages today I read about the latest NBA player fined for making anti-gay slurs, proving, I guess, that homosexuality remains a "hot-button" issue for our society. Since my article touches on that topic, I'd love to hear your feedback.

Here's the link: http://www.rca.org/Page.aspx?pid=7385

My Favorite Clock Maker

I had another radio script broadcast today. It's made for a program that teaches English and is not broadcast in the US. Through the marvel of the internet we can listen to it. If you let yourself get caught up in the slow speaking style of the narrators, it can be relaxing.

This story is about one of my heroes, Casper Ten Boom. Gretchen and I listened to it today and it made her eyes a bit misty. Hope you'll find it moving, too. Just click on the link below.

http://spotlightradio.net/listen/the-helpful-clock-maker/

Idol Speculation

I am going to write about American Idol, but you should know I am only doing it because the world is going to end in a few hours. If life were going on, I’d be self-conscious about admitting I’ve paid attention to Idol. But, as full-age ads in the USA Today have proclaimed this week, along with billboards and even a plane towing a sign yesterday over downtown Grand Rapids, today is Judgment Day. It’s also my son Jesse’s birthday, so we’re spending our last few hours on earth celebrating with Jesse. I plan to spend extravagantly and charge it all on a credit card.

Judgment Day raises a number of questions for me. Do the people in Europe who read my blog know the world is ending today? And what are you going to do, because apparently the trouble is supposed to start at 6pm Pacific time, which is technically tomorrow for you? Who knew that God would encode a message in the Bible thousands of years ago about the date and time of the apocalypse and use a US time zone? Wouldn’t Jerusalem time seem more appropriate?

I’m also wondering if the rapture does happen, will Christians like me who don’t believe the Bible says there will be a rapture get taken? Or will I be left behind with the wicked and unbelieving simply because of my poor theology? I guess I’ll find out later tonight.

You might also be amused to know that I heard yesterday May 21 is significant to the guy predicting the end of the world and paying millions of dollars to warn others, because apparently on May 21 some 40 or 50 years ago he was banned from teaching in the Christian Reformed Church. Those of you in West Michigan know the CRC, but for the rest of the world a good definition might be that the Christian Reformed Church is an actual church led by serious people, not wackos.

Anyhow, on to American Idol. I don’t watch it. Never have. But someone in my house got hooked on it this year and, vicariously, I’ve seen and heard enough to know a few things.

What I know is that Scotty will win.

What I also know is that American Idol seems one of the worst possible ways to become an American idol. People become famous (for a while) from that show, but who has Idol launched to a legitimate career? Everyone will say “Carrie Underwood,” which is accurate, but Idol is in its tenth season, which means they are batting .100.

A couple of days ago Haley was eliminated. Her candidacy to be an American idol points out everything wrong with the show. She sang a Led Zeppelin song this week with her dad on stage playing guitar. It was sweet. And that’s the problem. Name a great rock band that performed with their parents. No, the Partridge Family doesn’t count. John Lennon didn’t have parents by the time he was Haley’s age. Jim Morrison’s parents had disowned him. That’s where the angst in their music came from. Haley’s voice has apparently been compared to Janis Joplin’s, but I’m trying to imagine a 20-year-old Janis Joplin appearing on American Idol. She’d come on drunk, swear, try to seduce Ryan Seacrest, and get tossed off. While I don’t condone that sort of behavior, that’s what made her a rock star. To win on American Idol, you have to be bland enough to appeal to the 95 million who voted this week. (Don’t worry that Obama didn’t get 95 million votes in the last election. Most of the voters for Idol aren’t old enough to vote in presidential elections.) After she sang the Zeppelin song, Haley even said, “We got the Led out,” which is what vacuous classic rock DJ’s say every time they play Led Zeppelin on a two-fer Tuesday. AARRGGHH!

Look at it this way -- how would Lady Gaga (who is an American idol) have fared as a contestant on that show?

A story is circulating that Keith Richard was supposed to do something on Idol and deferred, recommending Justin Bieber as his replacement. That says it all.

Sorry if Idol is your guilty pleasure and I’m pooh-poohing it. Hopefully, the world ends tonight and we never have to decide between 16-year-old Lauren and 17-year-old Scotty. If it doesn’t, one way or another I’ll find out who wins – because, although Idol is no way to become a rock star, it’s formula makes for addictive television, and I know it will be on in my house.

Love Wins (except for when people are really mean)

I watched a good movie last night. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I could say that. The movie was Easy A and it was funny and smart and I don’t need much more than that in a movie. It’s worth putting in your Netflix queue if you haven’t seen it. I especially loved the great supporting cast which included Stanley Tucci, Lisa Kudrow, Thomas Haden Church and Patricia Clarkson.

There was only one thing that bothered me about the movie and I’ve been contemplating it today. As you might gather from the title, the movie is a sort of modern retelling of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlett Letter. To keep with the theme from that book, the main character needs to be persecuted by some Christians. And there was the rub for me. The Christians were outlandish and cartoonish. They were caricatures rather than characters. I felt if the writer and director had created more realistic Christians, the movie would have had even more emotional power to it.

I know there are ridiculously judgmental Christians out there. But aren't most of us are much more subtle in our condescension and judgments?

This is affecting me in two ways. First, I’ve been working for months on a writing project in which I’ve created some Christian characters. For the story to work, one of my Christian characters needs to be judgmental. But I’ve been working hard not to make this character come off like a stereotype. It’s hard. Any tips you might have would be greatly appreciated. What are some of the more judgmental statements you’ve heard along the way from seemingly normal people?

Secondly, all of this relates to a teaching job I have the next three weeks. I’m doing a class called Theology Matters and it is inspired by the hubbub surrounding the publication of Rob Bell’s book Love Wins. Sadly, there was an enormous internet firestorm about this book before it was published (but, I dare say, not too sadly for Rob Bell – nothing sells like controversy!). Ironically, this book that is about NOT judging has brought out some incredibly judgemental responses. Agree or disagree with Rob Bell (and the careful reading I’ve been doing leaves me agreeing with about 93% of what he writes), is the publication of this book any reason to label him an emissary of Satan, a heretic and a false prophet leading thousands to perilous ruin? I’ve been spending a lot of time reading vitriolic web sites this week. After a while I can’t take it anymore because it’s all so sad. Then I find myself wondering how cartoonish the characters from Easy A really are. Whatever happened to subtlety or civility?

Here's some subtle and civil criticism. Although I live in the same town as Rob Bell, I don’t go to his church. I find myself an anachronism, preferring to worship in a place with hymns and an organ. And as a reader and writer, I don’t really connect too much with Rob Bell’s writing style --
which
is
often
like
this.
It’s sort of like reading a grocery list. I have some other criticism of a bit of the book's theology, but you'll have to come to my class to get that out of me.

On the other hand, I want to recommend this book if only for his treatment of the story of the Prodigal Son. I was thinking of preaching on that parable next month and found after reading Love Wins that I changed my mind – because all I’d want to do is plagiarize what Rob Bell wrote. It’s that good.

Read it if you haven’t, and watch Easy A if you haven’t. And most of all, for Christ’s sake, be nice to each other.

Should We Dance over Osama?

I don’t remember who said this (maybe Barry Sanders) but a football player was asked why he didn’t celebrate when he scored a touchdown and he said, “I act like I’ve been in the end zone before and like I plan to be there again in the future.”

The events of the last 36 hours have left me feeling sad about what we have chosen to celebrate. I wish we had the class and wisdom of that football player. Let me start by telling you a bit about my day yesterday …

I was asked this week if I could fill in for a minister who had just had retinal surgery, and having had a detached retina myself 26 years ago I know you can’t put off that surgery until it’s convenient. The odd twist to the preaching assignment was that the pastor of the church that asked me is also helping a vacant church in a community about 20 miles away from here. So I literally preached and ran from the first place, leaving before the service was even over to get to the second place, which I made with two minutes to spare. That’s not exactly a leisurely Sunday morning.

I will resist the temptation to repeat my sermon here – it’s bad enough for me to have heard it twice yesterday (and yes, I’m going to preach the same sermon again at still another church in two weeks). Suffice it to say it was on the parable of the Good Samaritan, and one of several points to be made about that story is that Jesus surprised his listeners by telling them their neighbor (who they should love as they love themselves) was the person unlike them instead of the person like them. The sermon was titled: Be Careful Who You Look Down On.

Then it was time to head to Davenport University’s commencement exercises to celebrate our son Jesse’s college graduation. It was a long ceremony – they called the name of every graduate and I didn’t keep count but there had to be around 1000 of them! Our family followed that with a nice celebration dinner and by the time we got home at the end of the day I was plenty tired. I should have gone to bed when I got home but I was just plain curious to see if the Detroit Tigers had broken their losing streak so I went downstairs and wound up watching the Phillies and Mets on Sunday Night Baseball for a while and then was just going to go to bed when I flipped the channels once and saw the news about Osama Bin Laden. My first thought was, “Nobody can hide forever” and my second was, “I hope this doesn’t cause more violence in the Middle East.” My third thought was, “I hope this somehow helps the families that lost loved ones on 9/11.”

When I got up today I’d forgotten about the Bin Laden news until I opened the morning paper I read online and then I had a major shock. How come I didn’t anticipate the flash mob celebrations about Bin Laden’s death outside the White House or Ground Zero? I was stunned. And frankly, I was appalled. As I read about our celebrations I seriously wondered for the first time in a year if I’d made a mistake by moving back to the US from Europe. All I could think of was how good it was to celebrate my son’s graduation -- which is a celebration of his completing college but more than that a celebration of him, of his life, of his dreams and of his future – and how our family celebration of life was muted compared to this spontaneous celebration of death. The other thing I thought of was how discordant the celebrations were in light of the words I had spoken Sunday morning – to love one’s neighbor as one’s self. And in case you think Osama wasn’t your neighbor, that’s why Jesus went to the lengths he went to in telling the story of the Good Samaritan. The neighbor isn’t the person similar to you that you’re already inclined to like, the neighbor is the person you’re inclined to despise.

I’m not saying the military operation was wrong. I understand the quest for justice for all the perpetrators of the horrors of 9/11 and believe Bin Laden and others like him have dishonored Islam and made our world a far more dangerous place. But should we dance and exult in his death? I don’t think so. What do you think?