I suppose it is not surprising that I am sick. It is 5 degrees outside. For the last week I have been wrestling with a cold. A very annoying cold. The worst part has been that I have to sleep in our guestroom because otherwise I keep Erica up all night with my coughing. And of course, that also means I keep my self up coughing.

I hate being sick. And it isn’t just because I don’t feel well. The main reason I hate being sick is because it limits what I can do. I can’t get as much work done as I would like. I can’t kiss my family without fear of making them sick. I can’t exercise like I normally do. I can’t think as clearly. And so on. In the end what I hate the most is being limited.

But illness is a part of what it means to be human. And I shouldn’t really complain. I only have a common cold and otherwise am very healthy (my doctor told me so at a recent physical). I have access to good healthcare, nutritious food, a warm place to sleep. I don’t do hard physical labor unless I chose to for thirty minutes at the gym. These are all advantages I have over many people in the world. But still I am human and so I am limited. I am a finite being who can’t do everything, gets sick and will eventually die.

This reality is one the things that makes Christmas such an astounding event. When a little baby named Jesus was born in Bethlehem about 2000 years ago he was no ordinary baby. He was God incarnate. God born as a human being. A limited, finite human being.

The Bible doesn’t talk about Jesus getting sick but it does insist on his full humanity. Jesus ate, drank, and rested like everyone else. Yes he was the Son of God, but he was also fully human. So I can only assume that he got sick too. I wonder if he had sleepless nights coughing until his throat hurt and his disciples made him go sleep on another hillside so he wouldn’t keep them up.

Christmas – the coming of God as a human being – is truly remarkable. God chose to enter our limited existence as one of us, as a person. Certainly something worth reflecting on as I nurse a cup of hot tea...and wait. Wait for my cold to run its course and for Christmas to arrive.

Snow began to fall here in Madison this evening. The first snowfall of the year. Granted it is light and won’t stick for long but nevertheless it is snow.

Erica and I were excited to see it coming down. We have a fire on and it feels good to be cozy and warm by the fire while snow begins to fall. It is the beginning of winter. I always enjoy the beginning of a new season. The changing of seasons is one of the benefits of living in the Midwest. And they really change here!

The first snowfall, the first warm spring day, the first day warm enough to swim and the first changing of the leaves from green to bright red – all of these firsts are wonderful. They mark something new. A movement from the “status quo” into something different. I love the changing of the seasons.

What I don’t do so well with is the staying of the seasons. I am happy to see snow in mid-November. But ask me again in early February after shoveling my driveway for a couple of months and I won’t be so happy. And by April when winter is still hanging around here in Wisconsin I will be downright irritated. I think I would enjoy eight or ten seasons. That way they would be shorter. I don’t like how long the ones we have stick around.

I think this has something to do with my tendency to always believe the grass is greener on the other side (which is literally true in late winter before spring arrives). It is my opinion that human beings are inherently discontent much of the time. We are always looking for a better job, more money, more toys, tastier food, a more attractive partner. Often we look to what other people have and desire those things. Maybe I am thinking along these lines because we are nearing the end of our series on the Ten Commandments in weekly worship at Pres House. And that last one is beginning to emerge out of the fog – do not covet anything that is your neighbors. Does that include wishing I lived in Hawaii in late February??

Perhaps the desire for something better isn’t all bad. Yes, it is a real problem when we are constantly trading up for a better car or a prettier spouse. But maybe it is that same drive for something more that leads us to seek out God. I know I want something different – the first snowfall or a beautiful spring day is just a taste of it. The real feast is around God’s table.

We are exploring the Big Ten in our worship gatherings each week here at Pres House. By the Big Ten, I mean the Ten Commandments, or the Decalogue as it is also called. Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5.

I have been learning a lot in this exploration. My reading in preparation for Sunday and the thoughts shared by members of our community during our gatherings has given me a fresh look at these profound, serious, expansive and sometimes controversial statements. Unfortunately the 10 Commandments have recently become the center of political and pseudo-religious battles in states like Alabama. The right to post (or build a monument to) the Decalogue is now akin to the annual football fight between the University of Wisconsin and the University of Minnesota over Paul Bunyan's Axe. Each side is trying to win the right to do what they want with God’s law. Some want to wield it like an axe against their neighbors while others just want to put it away in an old shed to be forgotten under a layer of dust.

In all of the study and conversation we have had at Pres House surrounding the 10 Commandments in the past few weeks I have been most struck by one recurring question: Who/what is God?

The first commandment calls the hearer to into a monogamous covenant relationship with Yahweh – the one and only God. The second commandment cautions against the temptation to create something that is not God and then name it God. The third commandment asks for us to respect God’s name. We must be careful not to attach God’s name to our own ideological, political or even theological agenda.

In all three of these commandments there is a common warning: you are not God, I am not God, the pastor is not God, even the Bible is not God. In fact there is only one God. The God who brought the Jews out of slavery in the land of Egypt into freedom. The God who brings us all out of slavery to sin and death into freedom and life through Jesus Christ.

I believe this. But it still leaves me with the question: Who/what is God? Because it is one thing to say that there is only one God and that our personal or collective ideologies, political positions, moral claims, etc. are not God. But it is another thing to live that out. For it is impossible to separate our experience with God from who we are. From our culture, our moral underpinnings (even if we derive them from our belief in God), our political bent, the things that we are passionate about.

I am a pastor trained in the Presbyterian Church USA. I have read a select number of theologians and scholars of the Bible. So I perceive God through that lens. And I believe it is a good lens. But it is only a lens through which I look at the one true God. It is not God itself. So I am always forced back to the question: Who/what is God? And I think that is a good place to be. For even though it is easier said than done, as long as I keep seeking Jesus Christ himself and not some idea or image or bible verse about Jesus then I am at least looking in the right direction.

And so I am grateful for the 10 Commandments. I hope we can pull them out of the shed and dust them off without doing the very thing that they prohibit – using them as an axe to crush friends, enemies and neighbors alike. Perhaps they would be better transformed from a weapon into a telescope.

“Again!” “Again!” That is what my daughter Emma says when she wants me to repeat something that she likes. It might be dancing with her, playing peekaboo, jumping up and down in the pool, making a funny face or any number of other silly things. If she likes what I am doing she smiles, laughs, says “funny” and asks for it “again.” Usually there is no end to her appetite for repetition. I would be eternally exhausted if I entertained every request she makes for me to do something “again.”

And she is just as persistent when she is doing something herself. She will painstakingly take a Connect Four playing piece and hide it somewhere. Then she will go looking for it. And hide it. And look for it. Over and over again. Or she will climb up on a piece of furniture that she isn’t supposed to be on. I will ask her to get down – she won’t. I will pick her up and put her down on the floor – she will simply climb back on the furniture. Again and again.

A few weeks ago our family went to the Dane County Humane Society and adopted a young adult, male, cat named Miles. Miles is almost as persistent as Emma. (And about the same age!) He jumps up on the kitchen table after dinner. I take him off. He jumps up. I take him off. Over and over. Again and again. Even if I put sticky tape on the table or shake tinfoil at him to deter the behavior he will jump up repeatedly. He is incredibly persistent.

This morning when my wife and I were getting ready for the day in our bathroom we were joined by both Emma and Miles. Emma started rifling through our drawers looking for something interesting to “play” with. Miles started jumping in and out of the bathtub and up and down onto the sink. So while I was trying to put my contacts in I was also attempting to keep Emma from running away with nail clippers and Miles from sticking his tail in my toothbrush. And I lost the battle due to their persistence.

The persistence that these two-year-old creatures display contrasts sharply with my lack of persistence. Particularly when it comes to cultivating my relationship with God. Lately I have been struck by the fact that for a person who is “professional” Christian I am pretty pathetic at growing my connection with the object of my devotion – Jesus Christ. I start each week with great intentions to read the Bible (personally, not for sermon preparation), pray, journal and engage in other disciplines that help me commune with my creator and savior. And most weeks I don’t make it very far. I might journal once per week or say a prayer here and there but I am far from persistent. I don’t go after the thing I desire – spiritual depth and a growing faith – with anything like the tenacity of a cat exploring the countertop.

Thankfully I am blessed with two beautiful, fun and VERY persistent creatures living in my home that teach me a lesson each and every day.

My 20 month old daughter Emma loves running around the house naked. After dinner, I take her to her room to undress her for bath. Before I can get her into the tub though, she takes off shouting, “Naked!” and laughs with joy as her bare feet slap the floor while she does laps through the kitchen. Inevitably she will look for someone to catch sight of her, and delights in their expressions of surprise and amusement. She does not have any inhibitions about people seeing her naked, in fact she seems to want to be seen. Emma is not only naked physically, but she is also naked emotionally. You know right away if she’s happy, angry, bored, sad, or scared. What you see is what you get.

I myself am not so comfortable with being naked—not just in a physical sense, but in an interior sort of way. All my thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams, shames, and secrets are things I hide from most people. But deep down I have a desire to be fully seen, naked if you will, because I want to be fully known and loved. When I was a college student, I often settled for a false showing of myself—getting drunk, being physically intimate with a person I hardly knew, and doing other things which I would later regret. It wasn’t until I encountered God that I found a safe place to be truly naked, and also learned healthier ways to be naked with others.

As the weather turns colder, I am piling on the clothes with no intention of streaking naked through Library Mall. But I am challenged to strip off all my masks—successful graduate, put-together mom, loving wife, competent pastor—and simply sit naked at God’s feet. I think only then will I be able to be truly naked with others.

I have six preset stations on my car radio. When I first moved to Madison a year ago I scanned the airways for some radio stations to listen to. Finding some good stations is just one of the many critical things a person must do when he or she moves to a new place. I don’t have a CD player in my car and my tapes are all old so I rely heavily on radio. In the first few weeks of living here I programmed my radio with six of the local stations. I haven’t changed them since then.

A few weeks ago I was driving home from an evening activity at Pres House. And I started hitting each of the preset buttons looking for something that sounded right. 1: National Public Radio – no, not in the mood for classical music right now. 2: WORT – I don’t remember what interesting music the local public access station was playing but it wasn’t right that evening. 3: 105.5 Triple M – their mix of pop music didn’t fit the bill that night. 4: 92.1 Madison’s Progressive Talk station – I listened to this a lot during the election months but the conspiracy theories about President Bush had gotten old. 5: 93.1 – I don’t even know the name of this station because I never actually listen to it. 6: 102.5 Christian Radio – I think I programmed this station out of curiosity because I am not a big fan of “Christian” radio but once in a while I check it out. That night Chuck Swindoll was giving a sermon on humility.

None of the stations felt right that evening so I just kept flipping through them. And as I did so I was struck with the variety of radio that found its way into my presets. There is music and talk, classical and pop, reggae and latin beats. At one end of my dial is the ubiquitous news of NPR, in the middle the Madison liberal news, and at the other end the conservative words of James Dobson’s Focus on the Family. The number of opinions and ideas is as broad as the spectrum of frequencies bringing them into my car stereo.

Since that night I have been more intentional about “checking in” on the various stations that I have programmed. I try to listen to a few minutes of each every week on my drive to and from Pres House from my home on the eastside of Madison. And I am grateful for the mix of stations. For the mix of perspectives. I have been challenged to be more humble on 102.5 and I have learned about bio-diesel fuel on WORT. I enjoy beautiful music from all over the world and across many centuries. I am disturbed by the assumed connection between Christians and conservative politics – an assumption perpetuated by both liberal and conservative radio. And I can’t help but feel that something is missing from the conversations about creating peace and protecting the environment when God is left out of the equation.

But this is exactly where I feel I should be as a follower of Jesus. Not embracing everything I hear from one camp or another. And not rejecting it all either. It is far too easy to simply feed my own biases rather than listen to a breadth of views. It is much harder to think critically about what I hear, to weigh different opinions, to pray for discernment and to grow as a person. But it is worth the try.

There are more than six radio stations here in Madison. Maybe I should reprogram my stereo and try out something new.

I just returned from a week of vacation. Erica, Emma and I went up to Washington Island in Door County. We rented a house with my parents who joined us from California. It was the first long break we have taken in over six months and the first time I have gone without using my laptop for that long in almost a year. And it was wonderful!

The house we stayed in was right on Lake Michigan facing west so we watched spectacular sunsets from the deck, the beach, even the dining room. We went biking, slept in, ate good food, and just generally relaxed. We took Emma to a petting zoo complete with bears, ostriches and a camel. She enjoyed swimming at the beach and playing in a nearby park. And I finally had time to immerse myself in the latest Harry Potter book – a great escape from everyday life!

Rest is so important. But I find it so hard to do. I intentionally left my computer at home so I wouldn’t be tempted to turn it on. And I set my cell phone aside each day in case someone called. Still it was hard to slow down. I was just beginning to really relax by the end of the week. By then I began thinking about all there was to do when I got back.

I remember reading a book by Robert Levine called “The Geography of Time” in a seminary class. In it he describes the experience of embarking on a semester long sabbatical trip around the world. He wrote, “My joy lasted nearly half a minute.  Then the terror: What in the world would I do for a whole semester without a schedule or plans…I have never in my life so yearned for an appointment – with anyone for anything.”  Without even thinking about it he developed a schedule of simple activities like eating, sitting in a hot tub, and walking during the first few days of his sabbatical.  He was unable to surrender and give up living by a schedule.

That experience resonates with me. I often blame society, work, or our culture for forcing me to live a frantic pace of life.  The reality is, however, that often I do not really want to slow down.  I like living a fast paced life; it makes me feel important and valuable. I want to feel like I am contributing something to society and to the world. I derive a great deal of my self worth from what I do, what I accomplish, what I produce.

It is difficult to let go of this drive. Stopping to rest requires that I face the fact that I am not really in control as much as I think. But when I do I am truly blessed. As Wayne Muller writes, “When we stop, we see that the world continues without us; sweet humility and gentle mindfulness bequeath the grace to stop, and see that it is good, there is not need to keep pushing.” It is a reality check. A reminder that there is something (someone) larger at work in the world than me. And thank God for that!

Today is August 4^th. Exactly one year ago I was driving into Madison from the suburbs of Chicago on the last leg of my journey moving from New Jersey to Wisconsin. I had driven our trusty little Honda Civic through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois to make my way into the land of cheese, brats and beer. After paying tolls all along the way it was a welcome surprise to find no toll booths on Wisconsin roads! As I drove Erica and Emma were flying to meet me.

That first night we stayed in a motel on the east side of town, just around the corner from the café I sit in today writing this entry. We chose it because it was close to the house we were purchasing the next day. On August 4^th Emma was playing on her stomach and back but not crawling. The next day, our first day in our new house, she began crawling. We took it as a sign that she was happy to be living in Madison, Wisconsin. The crawling was exciting but perhaps more pleasing to us was the fact that she began sleeping in her own room (and through most of the night) on August 5^th!

Now Emma is walking, running, talking, feeding herself, putting on clothes, and sleeping very well! A lot has changed in one year. One year ago I didn’t know that this café I sit in even existed. And even if I had I wouldn’t have known how to get to it. All the streets look the same in a new place. Since moving to Madison my family has enjoyed the free zoo, free music, free gardens, beautiful lakes, cheap brats and numerous locally brewed beers and many other Madison treats. At Pres House we have a whole new staff, new ministry, new students involved, a new worship service beginning and we are close to breaking ground on a new building. A lot happens in one year!

But a lot of activity doesn’t automatically translate into making a place home. Sometimes I feel as though I am still a visitor to Madison. I enjoy my work, my home and the city. But when I walk down State Street or sit out on the Terrace by the lake I often feel like a tourist. Not just because those are touristy things to do but because I have not yet really made Madison my home. This is not a complaint but an observation. And it isn’t because I don’t like Madison – it is one the best places I’ve lived.

I think I feel like a visitor partly because 365 days aren’t really enough to feel settled in a place. And I think it is partly because I haven’t fully embraced this community. I have been living here with some detachment. I have put more energy into work at Pres House and taking care of our house than I have in making friends and becoming a part of community. I have heard people say that even if you are only going to be somewhere for a few months you should live as though you will be there forever. That is easier said than done. My hope is to live in Madison for a long time and yet it is still difficult to dive fully into life in a new place.

As I remember my move to Madison I think of the students who make that move every year. And some of you who make the move repeatedly, going home for summer and returning to Madison for the fall. I write about my experience being new to Madison because I suspect that many of you might also keep UW or Madison at arms length. You probably have at least two homes to juggle. One with friends from your past, your family of origin, and a physical home that is familiar. And the other one here in Madison. Maybe you have new friends, a new “family” and a new familiar living arrangement here. And maybe you don’t.

My hope is that Pres House will be a place for all of us to work on creating a real home in Madison. And that together we can wrestle with what it means to dive fully into this place called the “Mad City.”

I have always had a love/hate relationship with studying. All through college and graduate school I alternated between wanting to study and dreading it. It has been a year since I’ve been enrolled in a degree program or formal course of study. I am not required to turn in papers or read books for a grade like the thousands of students on campus. But I have been thinking about the experience of studying lately.

And why even bring the subject up in the middle of July? It is summer for goodness sake! Can’t everyone just forget about studying for a while!

It is on my mind this week because I have been taking a few days away from Pres House for “study leave.” Presbyterian pastors are given the special perk of two weeks of time to get away for reading, writing, continuing education and just general renewal. This time is in addition to our normal vacation time. It is a wonderful perk. I have been able to read some good books and spend time reflecting on my relationship with God. But trying to “study” again over the past few days has reminded me of my ambivalent feelings about the whole endeavor in general.

On the one hand studying is tedious. There is always more to read, more to write. Sitting still for hours with books, pens and a computer can suck the life out of me. And I remember well the stress of having to turn in a paper or take an exam. During seminary I would take flashcards with Greek or Hebrew words on them to the gym – I found that repeating a word and its definition while lifting weights was a great way to drill words into my memory!

But at the same time there is nothing more exciting than learning something new, reading a thoughtful piece of work, even clarifying my thoughts by writing a paper. And there is so much incredible material out there to read. I have piles of books on my desk, my shelves, and in my computer bag that I am longing to read.

Yesterday I spent some time reading the theologian Karl Barth. One of the things I like about Barth’s work is how he states with firm conviction profound truths about God while always reminding the reader that any attempt to describe God is fraught with mistakes and inaccuracies. His ability to hold those two things in tension is so refreshing. For Barth, it is precisely because God makes Godself known to us that we can talk about God only with “sighing and stammering.”

I pray for that combination of firm conviction and deep humility to take root in my life, in the worldwide church and in the community at Pres House.

So after reading this simple yet powerful truth in Barth’s writing I must say that there truly is something valuable about studying.

Our family loves going to the Henry Vilas Zoo here in Madison. There are a number of reasons why we go regularly. First, it is free. Second, it is easy to get to and easy to get around. Third, they have five new lion cubs which have been all over the news (sometimes Madison feels like a small town indeed!). And fourth, Emma loves looking at the animals. We don’t need to go to the zoo for her to see animals. She says “woo, woo” when she sees a dog being walked in our neighborhood and “quac, quac” when she sees anything resembling a duck. She even squeals with delight when she sees a picture of a polar bear on the billboard advertising the zoo. But the zoo has a very high density of fun and interesting animals to look at and we like to take Emma to see them.

A few weeks ago we went to the zoo’s fundraiser “Feast with the Beasts.” Not only was the place full of animals but it was also full of good food. In one area volunteers were lined up holding different “beasts” for children to see and touch. There was a macaw, a snake, a hedgehog and a bunny rabbit. As we walked away after showing them to Emma I commented, “Wouldn’t it be fascinating to have a zoo full of people.” Erica replied, “Isn’t that what reality TV is?”

Of course I am not suggesting that we put people in cages like animals in a zoo – just the thought of that is horrendous. What I mean is that if animals are so interesting to observe, how much more interesting would it be to observe human behavior. People are fascinating. And I think Erica is right, our fascination with observing people has fueled the enormous popularity of reality TV shows.

The day after our trip to the zoo we went on a mini-vacation to Lake Geneva. Lake Geneva is a resort town popular with visitors from the Chicago area. In fact it got its beginning as a getaway for the wealthy from Chicago in the late 19^th century. Many families built summer homes around the lake as a place to vacation. One of the major tourist attractions at Lake Geneva now is to take a boat tour around the lake and look at all the beautiful homes of the extremely wealthy. The Wrigley family, of Wrigley’s chewing gum, owns numerous houses on a vast stretch of lake front property.

So one afternoon we took one of these boat rides. And found ourselves again at the zoo. This time, instead of looking at lion cubs or polar bears we were staring with open mouths at custom built mansions some having 40 bedrooms or more! And 90 percent of the homes are not occupied year round. The “beasts” we were looking at were not snakes or hedgehogs but the lifestyles of the very, very rich. And we weren’t the only ones; the boat was full of “average” people gazing at very non-average property. The life of very rich people is fascinating.

But there is something different about looking at huge homes or watching reality television from going to the zoo. When we look at animals we observe them and their behavior with curiosity and interest. We often enjoy seeing them do things that humans do (which is why monkeys are always so fun to watch). But animals are not human. So our interest stops there. When we watch people it is different. Whether it is on a reality TV show, on a boat on Lake Geneva or with our friends, we compare people to ourselves. We might feel jealous of what others have – money, homes, boats, good looks, job opportunities, sexual experiences, grades, power, status, and so on. And so we elevate them above us. Or we look on with disdain thinking that they are shallow, foolish, sad, and pathetic and thus elevate ourselves over them. Most of the time we probably do both at the same time. I did on the boat on Lake Geneva.

This tendency to compare ourselves with others is deeply rooted in our human condition. We put others down all the time without even thinking about it. Or we look at ourselves as less than we truly are. Being a Christian doesn’t automatically take this tendency away.

It does make me thankful for a grace-filled God who holds us all in the highest regard. And thankful that there aren’t more “human zoos” out there to look at. I’ll stick to the animals.

This weekend Erica and I went to see the final Star Wars movie released over a period of almost 30 years. Of course it is not the final movie chronologically, only the last to be made. It is actually the third movie in the series of six. Like many critics I enjoyed this one the most of the three movies that George Lucas released in the past few years. I enjoyed it the most because it ties the whole epic story together connecting the new movies with the original Star Wars movies. Anakin Skywalker’s journey to becoming Darth Vader takes me back to the Star Wars story of my youth. A story that I loved.

When I was young I wanted to be Luke Skywalker. I had a light saber at my side much of my play time. Inside or outside, summer or winter, by myself or with friends. It didn’t matter. My only disappointment was that the light saber wasn’t real. But my imagination was enough to get past that little detail. My mother even bribed me to read books by promising to buy me a Star Wars action figure for every book I read. It worked very well all around – I fell in love with reading and I ended up with a great collection of action figures (which I still have). I have to confess I even considered adding a new figure to the collection when I was at Toys R Us this weekend buying a sandbox for my daughter. Not to play with of course…

What is it about Star Wars that still captures my imagination? For the most part the acting in the movies is pretty poor. Some of the scenes are ridiculously cheesy. The special effects of the old movies seem ancient nowadays. But there is still something that draws me in.

I think it is simply the story. It is a great story. A battle between good and evil (but complete with a central character who straddles both). Incredible, exotic creatures and worlds. Supernatural human powers. Love, hate, beauty and war played out on a stage that stretches to all corners of the universe. It is simply a great story.

I love a good story. Which is also why I love the Bible. The Hebrew scripture (what Christians call the Old Testament) and the Greek New Testament tell a great story. In fact the Bible tells many good stories. I enjoy the poetry, the didactic teaching, and the theological explication of the bible but what I often enjoy most is the stories. God’s love for humanity is a story that is told in many different ways, across vast centuries, in countless places and by all kinds of people. The depth of God’s love, faithfulness and compassion for people cannot be fully captured in propositional statements of truth but it is woven throughout the rich tapestry of stories. Theological questions like, “Is God in control of everything or do humans have free will?” are best explored through the stories of scripture.

Like Star Wars, the Bible’s most exciting element that that which ties the whole epic together. In the Bible that element is God’s love for humanity. Unlike the Star Wars story, however, the Biblical story is not over. It continues every day in our lives.

This weekend Erica, Emma and I went exploring some of the area surrounding Madison. One of the places we visited was New Glarus. New Glarus is a small, Swiss town about 30 minutes from Madison. We went because they were having a Memorial Day Weekend festival. The festival was pretty small and a little disappointing but we did find something else worth visiting. The New Glarus brewery. Okay, I was more excited about it than my wife. But Emma liked the fake cows stationed in and outside of the brewery– she kept saying, “Moo, Moo!”

I enjoy visiting breweries for two reasons. One, I like beer. Two, I enjoy brewing my own beer. I am very much a novice home brewer but the New Glarus brewery is particularly fun for someone who is interested in the details of beer. They offer an audio tour of the facility and describe many of the details of the process used in making their beer. And of course there is some tasting at the end of the tour.

This may sound crazy, but I drink beer for the taste. Yes, I enjoy the taste of beer. To be more precise I enjoy the enormous variety of smells, tastes and colors that can be created simply by combining grain, hops, yeast and water together. The same four ingredients can become anything from a pale lager to a chocolaty porter, a bitter IPA to a heavy oatmeal stout, a spicy Belgium ale to a malty German bock. The possibilities are endless. A carefully crafted beer is an amazing combination of chemistry and cooking. I had a dark wheat beer in New Glarus that smelled like bananas!

It wasn’t until I began brewing my own beer in seminary that I truly began to appreciate the complexity of combining grain, water and hops and then adding some living yeast to the mix to create beer. Creating quality beer, like fine wine and gourmet food, is an art. And I believe that when I enjoy any of those things with respect and thanksgiving I am enjoying some of the most wonderful gifts God has given human beings. I am enjoying the fruit of the earth.

Isn’t it a bit odd or even inappropriate for me to say something like that about beer? As a campus pastor at the University of Wisconsin (one of the biggest party schools in the country) aren’t I aware of the terrible effects of alcohol abuse on college campuses? The answer is no, and yes. Yes I am aware of the fact that students routinely and tragically abuse their bodies, make major mistakes while intoxicated and are taken advantage of while drunk. Tragically, alcohol abuse sometimes even leads to death. I have heard the chancellor of UW-Madison say that alcohol abuse may be the biggest problem on campus. I am dismayed by the consequences of alcohol abuse and underage drinking that trap healthy and successful students and drag them down into a pit of regret, failing grades, ruined relationships, and addiction.

So I’ll say something that might sound paradoxical – I believe alcohol abuse is a result of too LITTLE interest in alcohol. The problem is not too much interest in beer but too little. Students usually drink beer to get drunk. Not to enjoy the taste or experience the fruit of the earth. Not to actually enjoy the beer but to get a buzz.

I have always been a beer snob and I am proud of it. I wish more people were beer snobs. Beer snobs don’t drink to get drunk. I cannot enjoy the taste of carefully crafted beer if I am drunk. In fact I can’t enjoy much of anything – food, conversation, and my surroundings – if I am drunk. And I can’t afford to get drunk on expensive micro-brewed beer! Thankfully I became a beer snob before I learned to drink beer to get drunk. I am grateful for friends in college who rather than hand me a Bud Light, drank non-alcoholic beer around me until I was 21. And who taught me how to appreciate a good quality beer and to avoid beers that exist simply to deliver alcohol to my brain.

Like many things in our lives we have cheapened our relationship with beer. Some of the best beers in the world are brewed at monasteries. I visited a monastery in the mountains of Ethiopia and was offered a local “microbrew.” Christians have a long history of brewing and drinking beer. There is nothing evil about beer. But without respect and understanding beer simply becomes a mechanism to alter consciousness.

I am looking forward to my next brewery tour…

A couple of days ago Erica and I returned from a weekend visit to New Jersey. We went “back east” to celebrate Erica’s graduation from Princeton Theological Seminary and to spend time with friends. We enjoyed staying with close friends who live near Philadelphia and we made visits up to Princeton. When we started seminary four years ago we found ourselves living in an apartment building with two other couples also beginning their studies. All six of us enjoyed the ups and downs of our first year of seminary and became fast friends. And we all had our first children within months of each other. Both of these couples were in Princeton when we visited last weekend.

The weekend was full of tasty meals, good wine, lots of laughter and great conversations. We saw many friends from seminary, friends from the church we used to work at, even friends from California. We were busy but it was a good kind of busy. We enjoyed reconnecting with important people in our lives.

A friend of mine once said, “Life is all about relationships.” I was reminded of that truth this past weekend. I enjoy meeting new people and making new friends. But there was something special about spending time with old friends. With people who have known me for a while. With people who walked alongside me through seminary and new parenting. With people who know my gifts and accept my weaknesses.

God created us as relational beings. God created us to live with each other, share in joys and sorrows with each other and care for each other. God created us to know and be known. God created us in God’s image.

The concept of the Trinity is one of the most difficult theological concepts to grasp in Christianity. Three persons – one God!? God the Father, Jesus Christ the Son, the Holy Spirit. They sound like three Gods, but Christian theology affirms that they are all one. There is a lot I could say about the Trinity…and a lot I can’t say. But one thing that I do believe is that God is a relational God. In some mysterious way God is in relationship with God’s self. The Father, Son and Holy Spirit are in relationship with each other and that relationship is central to who God is. By God’s grace human beings are invited to participate in that relationship.

So it is no wonder that as people created in the image of God we are drawn to relationships. We thrive on relationships. In fact, we cannot survive without meaningful relationships in our lives.

I was reminded of this as I spent an entire weekend with old friends. And I thank God for days to eat, drink, laugh and talk.

On April 30^th I was installed at Pres House.

Yes, that phrase sounds a bit silly. I was formally installed as Campus Pastor meaning that the Pres House Board of Directors and Presbyterian Church leaders affirmed my call to be pastor at Pres House. But the word “installed” conjures up many other amusing images.

The week before my installation I was talking with some students about the event. They began to joke that in the service I would be attached to the wall of the sanctuary by screws and connected in some way to the physical structure of the building. Like an appliance such as a stove is installed in a house.

Later I was talking with a friend who had a different take on the word “installation”. This friend is actually the webmaster for this website. Based on his work with computers the word “installation” conjured up a funny image in his mind. He thought of installing Windows XP or some other computer program. As the dialogue box says on your computer screen: “Would you like to install this software?”

As I thought more about this image of being installed like a computer program I realized that there is something true about the image. A computer program is installed on a computer by an operator. That operator uses the program to accomplish some kind of task. Word to write a paper, Outlook to write e-mail, I-Tunes to listen to music, etc. A pastor is similar. A pastor is installed by God through the blessing of the community. God teaches, cares for and loves people through other people. We are God’s hands and feet in the world. The pastor fulfills that role in the church. God uses the pastor to serves as a shepherd for the community.

I have Windows XP running on my computer currently. But I have worked with Windows Me, Windows 98, Windows 95, even DOS. Every few years a new version of software comes out and must be installed on my computer. This is also similar to the installation of a pastor. A pastor is not a permanent fixture in a worshipping community. A pastor is installed for a period of time when he or she has something to offer the community. But at a different time a new pastor is needed. There have been many pastors serving at Pres House over many decades and by God’s grace there will be many more after me. I am running as the installed pastor for this period of time.

Though I would like to think of myself as being more than a piece of software the analogy is a humbling one. Like software I do not work on my own - I am used by the operator who in this case is God. And like software I will not always be installed here at Pres House for someone else will come after me. In the end I am grateful for the privilege of being used by God in this time and place. And it was fun to be installed!

This weekend I watched the movie “Luther” staring Joseph Fiennes. At the root of Martin Luther’s struggle with God and with the church is the question of salvation: How can a sinful person be saved from God’s wrath? Luther lived his early life in fear of a judgmental God who could only be placated though extreme acts of piety and self-denial. Luther was quite aware of the extent of his sinfulness – of his constant desire to reject God and God’s commandments. He feared the wrath of God for he knew he could never live a blameless life. He knew he could never be saved. So he spent hours pouring over the words of the Bible. In the gospel story he found hope. Hope in the grace of a loving God who wants to save people from brokenness and death.

Luther found this grace in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the son of God, who took upon himself the sin of humanity and died in our place. For Luther, Jesus provides the forgiveness from sin and the salvation from eternal death that all human beings need and desire. This promise has been the foundational claim of the Christian church since its very beginning.

Romans, a letter in the New Testament of the Bible affirms this in chapter 10: “if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved.”

What a simple and joyful promise! We only need to believe in Jesus and say so to be forgiven and saved from God’s judgment. This gift, this reality, is what first drew me to a deep and lasting commitment to Jesus Christ in my own life.

But I believe this verse from Romans is not the whole story. I became convinced of this when I visited a facility for developmentally disabled people a few years ago. The facility is a large campus in western New Jersey that houses people of all ages with a variety of disabilities. Some are able to interact with each other and with visitors like myself. Others are basically non-responsive. Most have difficulty communicating through spoken or written words.

The purpose of my visit was to join this community in a weekly interfaith worship service. Residents gathered together under a pavilion in the center of the campus, many of them brought in wheelchairs by the staff. Each participated in his or her own way. Some clapped along to the songs and some listened to words spoken by a pastor and a rabbi. Others seemed involved but I could not tell exactly how. Their participation was quite different than what you find in a “typical” church.

I began to wonder what the verse in Romans means in the lives of the residents of that facility. Do we really have to confess with our mouth that Jesus is Lord in order to be saved? What if we can’t speak? Or what if we can’t understand the sermon the preacher is giving? Does God reject the very people God created because they cannot say the right prayer?

Like Luther I believe that God is gracious and merciful to the people God has created. God loves us. The Bible is full of so many incredible stories that affirm the forgiveness of God. In some of these stories the main character does say a word.

At the end of Luke chapter 7 we find a story about Jesus visiting the home of a Pharisee (a religious leader) for a meal. As they are eating together a woman comes to the house. She is described as a sinner. The passage tells us nothing more than that but she is in need of forgiveness like we all do. She brings a jar of oil to pour on Jesus feet; she washes them with her tears and wipes them with her hair. But she says nothing. After pointing out the contrast between her devotion and the Pharisee’s lack of devotion Jesus proclaims that her sins are forgiven. The others present are astounded that he is bold enough to proclaim the forgiveness of sin, something only God can do. Yet he does by saying, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Her faith saved her. She spoke no words. She made no confession. She said no prayers. Did she even believe that Jesus was the son of God? I have no idea. But she did have faith. A simple action of love towards Jesus was a major act of faith.

My brother-in-law sent me an e-mail the other day with a subject line: “first time for everything.” The e-mail was a link to a news article about a Christian man who was using a verse from the Bible to find oil in Northern Israel. The verse he uses is from Deuteronomy 33:24, “Most blessed of sons be Asher; may he be the favorite of his brothers, and may he dip his foot in oil.” Based on this verse he set out to dig for oil beneath the land of the biblical Tribe of Asher.

Reading the story provoked a number of thoughts and emotions for me. My first reaction was to laugh. How ridiculous – trying to find oil by using the Bible. I guess like my brother-in-law wrote in his e-mail, “it was only a matter of time…”

My second reaction after laughing was a vague sense of anger. How can someone use a passage from the Bible like that to justify getting rich? Apparently it isn’t enough to just drill for oil and exploit the land for profit. Now someone is explicitly using the Bible to give purpose and meaning to a desire for oil.

Then I felt a little sad for this man. He must be pretty desperate if he is using the Bible as a treasure map. Does he really believe the Bible is giving him the key to a hidden treasure, like a pirate’s map leading the explorer to a buried chest of gold? What an odd purpose for a sacred text. He ignores a major problem with the words in the passage – the oil referred to in Deuteronomy 33:24 is olive oil, not petroleum oil. And the authors of the text had no concept of the modern use of petroleum oil to power cars, provide electricity and make plastics. The gap between the original use of the text and his present day use is vast.

But isn’t that always the case when we read scripture?

As I considered this story further I began to wonder if he was doing anything differently than other readers of scripture. The end result seems very self-serving and foolish to me but perhaps that is just because I would never read the passage the way this man did. Don’t we all come to the Bible with our own way of reading the text and arrive at our own interpretations from it? And isn’t that a good thing?

We always read scripture from a particular context or space. We bring to it our own personal histories, our own hopes and dreams and the assumptions taught to us by family, friends, culture and church. We can never get outside of ourselves when we read the Bible. And I believe that is a good thing. I believe that the Bible is a living text. It is testimony about God that continues to speak to us today just as it did to the communities who first heard it. If it really impacts my life then I hope it will interact with who I am and speak to me in my particular context.

There are many ways we read and interpret a Biblical passage. But are they all the same in their validity? Or are some interpretations “better” than others? And if so, how do we judge what is a good use of the Bible and what isn’t?

I am tempted to go on and offer some answers to these questions but will instead let them stand unanswered for now. They may be some of the most difficult, and most important, questions being asked in the church, in society and in our lives today.

As I sit here at my dining room table looking out the window I can see green. The grass is growing green and there are baby green leaves just emerging on some of the trees in our backyard. Green is a welcome change from white. I like snow – a little. But after months of cold and snow I am very pleased that spring seems finally to be here. I grew up in Illinois so I am familiar with long winters but I am convinced that 7 years of living in California spoiled me for life. My blood thinned and will never be the same again.

The warmer weather means that I can get out on my bicycle again. Yes, I know that many Madisonians ride their bike all winter long. One of the Pres House board members says she will ride her bike as long as it is above zero. Well I am not that hardy. I won’t ride outside unless it is above freezing, but really I don’t like to ride unless it is above 40 degrees. So spring is a welcome change for me.

Most of the winter I exercised indoors at the gym. Sometimes I would ride with a spinning class. If you are not familiar with “spinning” here is a description. You go into a room covered in mirrors with a bunch of other people, climb on a stationary bike, and proceed to be yelled at by a “motivational” instructor to ride harder and faster for an hour. It is a great workout but I am not a big fan of pedaling my butt off and going nowhere. I am glad to be able to get back outside on my bike.

Why is biking so important for me? I am not training for anything or particularly trying to get in shape. And I enjoy spring for other reasons: grilling out, walking along the lake, playing with my daughter on the grass, not shoveling snow, etc. I do love all those things. But cycling has for many years been a spiritual activity for me. I don’t ride a lot, just once or twice a week, but cycling is part of my devotional life. Like reading the bible or praying.

I have always liked to ride my bike. When I was a little kid we lived on a cul-de-sac street that had a circle of grass in the middle of the wide part of the street. I would ride around and around the circle talking to myself, imagining myself having wild adventures. My family would take Saturday morning bike rides along a sandy trail called the Prairie Path. I liked riding my bike. But cycling became connected with God when I was in high school.

I went on a 250 mile bicycle tour in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado my freshman year of high school with a church youth group. I rode a clunky, heavy bike up and down the mountains. And I loved it. I loved the riding yes, but what I really enjoyed was the majesty of God’s creation and the friendship of loving Christian people. My faith began to grow from a Sunday school knowledge of bible stories into a genuine love of Jesus Christ. Each year of high school I returned to Colorado to ride with the youth group. I was even baptized (or actually re-baptized) in the 34 degree water of an alpine lake surrounded by snow capped peaks. (Now that I am a Presbyterian I don’t believe in the need for re-baptism but that is another story!)

Over the years I have found that cycling is a wonderful analogy for life. There are times when life is joyful and exciting like the rush of a 50 mph mountain descent. At other times it is difficult and painful like a long uphill climb requiring patience and perseverance. Sometimes the road ahead is shrouded in fog and we aren’t sure where exactly we are going but we just keep riding forward. There may be tragedy along the way – a big crash that sends us flying over the handle bars and off the road completely.

As I look forward to the journey I am on as a pastor here at Pres House I feel as though I have just begun a very significant bike ride. I am on my bike on a long and winding road that is the story of Pres House. There are many miles of road behind me which I have not traveled. Miles that were full of ups and downs. And there are many miles of road ahead of me also full of ups and downs. I am grateful to be riding on a small stretch of this road. I believe I will see many incredible views on this road and that I am joined by other cyclists that will make the journey that much more fulfilling. And God is present on each mile of the road.

So I am glad that it is spring and that I can get back out on my bike. For it is on my bike that I can really get a sense for the journey that we call life. And it is on my bike where I feel God riding along behind, beside or in front of me. Thank God for long and winding roads.

I can eat at Taco Bell again. I probably won’t because I don’t particularly like Taco Bell. But I can eat there again if I want to. For almost three years I have been participating in a boycott of Taco Bell. You might wonder why I would hold myself back from eating cheap food sold by a cute little dog for almost three years. The reason is this: I believe that as a Christian I have a responsibility to support efforts that help workers make a living wage. After all Jesus speaks regularly, sometimes it seems incessantly, about money in the gospels. Sometimes when I am reading the Bible I want to slam it closed it because Jesus has said, “go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor,” or some similar challenge one too many times.

The problem was with the tomatoes. In 2001 the Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW) set out to improve the wages of tomato pickers in Florida. They began a boycott of Taco Bell because many of the tomatoes picked by low wage workers ended up in tacos and burritos at one their 6,500 restaurants. In the summer of 2002 the Presbyterian Church, U.S.A. joined the boycott calling for all of its members to stop eating at Taco Bell.

Well it worked! A few weeks ago Yum! Brands Inc. which owns Taco Bell announced that it would pay a penny a pound more for the tomatoes and would require the additional money be passed along to the workers in the fields. This means an almost doubling of wages for the tomato pickers. It took a long time, but the boycott actually worked. And the Presbyterian Church was a critical player in the process.

When I was a child I used to save up my Halloween candy. My sister and I would come home from trick or treating and spread all our candy out on the floor to count it. Then I would put it all back in the plastic jack-o-lantern that I used to collect it. Most of it would then spend the next year sitting in that plastic jack-o-lantern. Maybe I would eat a piece or two on that first night but mostly I would just save it. In fact I would save it for so long that it would either turn bad or be found in my closet and eaten by the field mice that managed to get into our house. Even though I didn’t eat it myself – I wouldn’t share it. Even with my sister who enjoyed candy much more and ate hers quickly. Or with my friends who hadn’t collected as much candy in the Halloween excursion. I didn’t eat it, I didn’t share it – I just saved it.

This tendency to save has stuck with me over the years. It takes me hours to shop at the supermarket as I look for the best deal. I don’t want to waste a dollar. I could easily justify this as being a good “steward” of the money God has given me. Saving is good isn’t it?

But what effect does my spending (or saving) have on others? Taco Bell food is cheap for a reason. Part of the reason is that they didn’t spend a lot on tomatoes. The problem is that while I save a few cents on my meal, the tomato pickers are living a very poor existence because of terrible wages.

Barbara Ehrenreich in her book, “Nickel and Dimed – On Not Getting by in America,” writes the following: “It is common among the nonpoor, to think of poverty as a sustainable condition – austere, perhaps, but they get by somehow, don’t they? They are “always with us.” What is harder for the nonpoor to see is poverty as acute distress: The lunch that consists of Doritos or hot dog rolls, leading to faintness before the end of the shift. The “home” that is also a car or a van. The illness or injury that must be “worked through,” with gritted teeth, because there’s no sick pay or health insurance and the loss of one days’ pay will mean no groceries for the next. These experiences are not part of a sustainable lifestyle. They are, by almost any standard of subsistence, emergency situations. And that is how we should see the poverty of so many millions of low-wage Americans – as a state of emergency.”

So the question I hear Jesus asking me is a difficult one: Is the life of the waitress that brings me my food, or the field worker that picks tomatoes for a 99 cent taco an emergency for me?

When is the last time you laughed with utter abandon? Laughed without holding back at all? Laughed without caring what other people thought of you? I am not talking about the kind of laughter that happens when a person is drunk or stoned. No, when was the last time you were so overcome by joy that it bubbled up and out of you in streams of uncontrollable laughter?

I enjoy life and laugh a lot in the course of each day but I don’t often experience the kind of laughter that just bowls me over. The kind that pushes away every shred of worry or sadness that may be lurking in my mind. I don’t often experience that kind of laughter. I wish I did more often.

The closest I have come to that is when I laugh with my baby daughter Emma. My favorite time of the day with her is bath time. After dinner is finished and she is covered in food from head to toe I get the bath ready, get her undressed and let her run naked to the bath. She loves the bath! She loves to splash in the water, play with her rubber toys, and give me huge wet grins. After she is clean I wrap her up in a ducky towel and dry her off. Often this is the point where hilarious laughter breaks in. As I dry her off, I tickle her belly and neck. Emma laughs with such delight that I can’t help laughing myself. I laugh – she laughs – I laugh more – she laughs more – until our stomachs hurt so much from the joy of it all. My anxieties from the day disappear as they are overwhelmed by waves of laughter.

Emma laughs with such utter abandon. Did I laugh like that at one time? Babies and children experience the joy of life so fully. Over time, however, we seem to lose our ability to take as much delight in life. Adults laugh, but it is a different kind of laughter. And it is usually children who are the best at helping us re-live that special kind of joy.

I think that the kind of laughter I experience with Emma is what heaven will be like. Overcome by the joy of God’s re-created world we will experience the biggest and longest “laugh attack” ever. We will all have abs of steel because of so much laughing.

Today is Easter. It is the day that Christians celebrate to mark the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. It is the day that reminds us that God overcame all the suffering, brokenness and death in the world. Jesus Christ rose from the death and in doing so gave the world life. Joyful life. We are still waiting to experience the fullness of this joy that will come at the end of time. But sometimes we are blessed with a little foretaste of it. I experienced it this week in the laughter of a wriggling one-year-old little girl.

Happy Easter.

As I was writing this blog entry I received an e-mail from my brother-in-law. He wrote to tell me his grandfather was about to be taken off life-support. It was particularly hard to hear that news in the midst of my thoughts about end of life issues. I stopped writing to do what I talk about at the end of my entry – pray. To pray for my brother-in-law’s grandfather and for all families who face difficult decisions and sad goodbyes. Here is the entry I was writing:

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The story of Terri Schiavo is all over the news. Terri is a 41 year-old woman who has been in a “persistent vegetative state” for 15 years. On Friday her feeding tube was removed. Her husband wants the feeding tube out so she can die. He insists that Terri would want that. Her parents, however, want to keep the tube in. They believe that she should have the opportunity to live and have been fighting over the weekend to get the feeding tube put back in. The United States Congress even got involved passing a bill allowing Terri’s parents the right to take the issue to federal court. Passionate advocates are speaking out on both sides of the question. Should Terri be fed indefinitely by a feeding tube or should the tube be removed which would lead to her death?

The trouble with this question is that Terri left no instructions with her family about what she would want in this situation. From what I have read it appears that her condition came about unexpectedly when her heart stopped beating suddenly 15 years ago. It makes me sad to think about the pain her family has gone through for so many years. And I don’t envy the federal court judge who now has the task of making such a difficult decision.

I have no idea what the right decision should be in this situation. I heard about Terri a few years ago and have thought about her situation on and off all weekend. I would like to have the confidence of those who are calling for “the right to die” or the certainty of the Vatican which has stated the feeding tube should not be removed. But I don’t. I don’t know Terri or her family and I can’t even begin to suggest what the right decision is in this case.

My wife Erica is working part-time as a chaplain in a Madison hospital. Serving as a chaplain is part of the training one goes through in order to become a pastor in the Presbyterian Church. Her descriptions of the hospital bring back memories of the many hours I spent with patients and families in a large hospital in New Jersey a couple of years ago.

During my time at the hospital I witnessed a number of code blues which are called when a person’s heart stops beating. Some were resuscitated by CPR performed by the doctors and nurses, many were not. One night I stood by the side of a Russian speaking man just outside the door to his wife’s room while the medical team tried to restore her to life over and over again. The noise and commotion in the room contrasted sharply with the quiet sobbing of her husband beside me. She was never revived.

The experience made me think about my own life – or death actually. Dying is scary. It is scary for the person dying and it is scary for the family and friends who lose someone they love. But what scares me more than dying is how I will die. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through CPR if I had a terminal illness or spend 15 years living in vegetative state unable to move or communicate. When the end comes for me I do not want it to be prolonged unnecessarily by machines. And I am terrified to think of my family having to go through that pain. There are times when extending life is not worth the cost.

But my encounter with a different family reminds me that is not always the case. While I was working as a chaplain I had the opportunity to spend a day at a residential facility for people with severe developmental disabilities. Some were born disabled while others had been through a traumatic experience which left them unable to do many things I take for granted. I met a woman there whose daughter had a major accident many years previously. Her daughter was essentially non-responsive and fed by a feeding tube. Her mother went to visit her every week and had been doing so for years. She would never have dreamed of denying food to her daughter. Her daughter could not respond to her mother’s love, she could not respond to God’s love, but nevertheless she was loved. She was a child of God despite her condition.

So I feel sad for Terri and her family. I am reminded to complete my living will so my wishes can be known. I pray for the many families who have to make such difficult decisions about life and death every day. Decisions about whether to prolong life with modern medicine’s incredible gifts or let the end come. And despite my many doubts I hold onto God’s promise that there is eternal life free from suffering, sickness and death.

The first time I saw him he was wearing a black shirt that was only buttoned halfway up revealing white chest hair and aged, wrinkled skin. He had on a long, flowing skirt over pants and was adorned with countless buttons and knickknacks all over his clothing. He was smoking a Virginia Slims cigarette. One of the buttons on his half-open shirt had a name on it. For that week he called himself by the name on the button. But to everyone who knew him, his name was the “Hate Man,” or more affectionately, “Hate”.

I first encountered Hate Man on Sproul Plaza on the University of California, Berkeley campus. I was a sophomore in college there. My roommate and I had begun a friendship ministry to get to know the many homeless people we walked by between class and our run-down apartment on College Avenue. We walked down Telegraph Avenue sharing hot-chocolate, conversation and sometimes prayer with our homeless neighbors. Telegraph Avenue runs into the university campus at Sproul Plaza. It was here that we first encountered Hate Man.

Hate Man was in a circle of folks, some homeless, some not, some standing, others sitting on crates or buckets. They were gathered around a bucket that served as a centerpiece. On the bucket lay the greasy cardboard of a leftover pizza box. Piles of wax turned into makeshift candles flickered in the dark. As we approached the group we heard some of the men (and women) speaking to each other quietly punctuated by loud and violent exchanges of, “I hate you”, and “F—k you!” When we arrived at the edge of the group we sheepishly asked, “Do you want some hot chocolate.” Nobody responded to our offer or even looked at us. So we asked again a little louder, “Do you want some hot chocolate?” This time we got a curt, “No.” So we stood outside the circle, just beyond the small ring of light cast by the burning wax, for a few more minutes. Then after saying, “Okay…goodnight,” we turned and walked back down Telegraph Avenue towards home.

This scene repeated itself for almost a year of weekly, nighttime visits to what we later learned was called the “Hate Circle”. But one night it was different. We arrived at the edge of the circle and made our usual offer, “Do you want some hot chocolate?” This time the man in the skirt came over to us. Before we had a chance to say hello, introduce ourselves or explain why we came each week to stand outside their circle he said, “Tell me, ‘I hate you.’” We just looked at him in confusion. “Tell me, ‘I hate you,’” he repeated with more force. We looked at each other. Why would we say that? We were Christians trying to share the love of God with our neighbors. We didn’t even know the guy, how could we say we hated him? “Tell me, ‘I hate you’” he said obviously getting irritated. So we did. I said a dubious, “I hate you?” He replied, “Good, good” while nodding his head. “Good, good, I hate you too.” And he ushered us into the circle.

From that moment on when we made our weekly trip to Sproul Plaza (which we did for another 4 years) the Hate Man came over to say hello. He said, “Tell me, ‘I hate you.’” I replied, “I hate you.” He said, “Good, good, I hate you too.” And then we talked. Week after week, year after year we went through the same routine.

Over time I learned a lot of things about the Hate Man. I learned at one time he had been a “New York Times” reporter but chose to leave New York and his job and travel to Berkeley to see if he could live on the streets. I learned his real name but he never liked to use it or hear it. The most interesting thing I learned, however, was about the philosophy behind the name “Hate Man.”

“Hate Man” believed that all human interactions and relationships involve conflict, dislike and anger. His life experience had taught him that behind all friendliness and beneath all civility lies contempt and hatred. Human relationships are full of hate. So he decided that he would live his life with that reality on the surface of relationships. Rather than bury his dislike of others or pretend that people always like him he decided admit the obvious truth. People hate each other. So he began to say, “I hate you,” to his family when he was angry and frustrated by them. When a friend asked him for a cigarette he would yell, “I hate you,” and then give them the cigarette.

But he found that other people did not interact as honestly with him. They continued to pretend to be friendly while saying negative things about him behind his back. So he decided that he couldn’t be in relationship with people unless they admitted that at times they felt angry towards him, unless they first acknowledged that at some point they would feel hatred towards him. Unless they first said, “I hate you.” If a person wasn’t willing to admit the possibility of anger before the relationship began then how could he be sure they would stick around in the relationship when that hatred came up for real? The Hate Man wanted to know that I would stick around when we became angry with each other (which I did when I got sick of him smoking in my face).

When I first encountered this philosophy I found it quite disturbing. As a Christian I have always tried to get rid of hatred and focus on love. “They will know we are Christians by our love.” I believe in the overriding power of love. God’s love has redeemed humanity and has reconciled us to God and us to each other. Love ultimately reigns supreme in the Kingdom of God.

But there is something that rings true about what the Hate Man believes. Relationships are full of frustration and anger. If someone is late for a meeting you might feel annoyed. When your roommate eats the last bite of ice cream in the freezer you might be mad. You may be hurt if a friend forgets your birthday. If you are working on a group project and things don’t go your way you might want to give up and go it alone. And these are relatively minor examples of conflict.

Relationships are full of hurt, frustration and anger. Relationships are hard. The word “hate” may seem too strong and harsh, but it is honest. If we are really honest with ourselves we sometimes feel hate for others, even if it is a fleeting feeling. I am not suggesting that we focus on our hate or say it out loud to everyone whenever we feel angry. But I wonder if we could benefit from admitting those feelings at least to ourselves.

The big question of course is, can we admit these feelings and still remain in relationship? Can we acknowledge the difficulty of being in community with others? Is the pain so scary that we have trouble experiencing authentic relationships altogether? It is very tempting, very easy to pull away at the first sign of conflict or when the first feeling of anger flares up in our chest. And it is so frightening to stay connected through conflict and anger. So I hope to learn something about this from the Hate Man. After all, he did not say, “I hate you,” to end a relationship. He said it to begin one.

After a couple of months of trying my hand at this blog writing thing I have discovered a couple of things about myself. I have noticed that I am drawn to thinking about the meaning and implications of normal, everyday, sometime mundane activities or things. When I sit down to write an entry I find myself wanting to think (and write) about water softeners or bathrooms. And I have begun to notice things in my everyday life that make me say, “I should blog about that…”

I believe this is a good thing. I recently heard a pastor say that one of the roles of a pastor in the community is to be a poet. It is to see meaning in the mundane, to look beneath the surface of everyday events, to make poetry out of eating, sleeping and breathing. I agree with this pastor, it is good to notice the meaning in our everyday lives. Or I might put it another way – to think theologically about the world around us.

But I don’t believe this role is limited to the pastor. It is not only the pastor of a community that is charged with the task of noticing meaning in the mundane. Too often members of the community just go about their business waiting until Sunday to hear the pastor tell a funny story or share a moving anecdote about life. No, we are all poets. If we chose to be. There is so much in our everyday lives that teaches us about God, ourselves and our relationship with God. And that, I believe, is what it means to think theologically about life. We can go about our routine day in and day out without giving much thought to what we do, think or say. Or we can pause and see God at work in the world and in our lives through the ordinary, through the mundane.

The second thing I have learned in my experiment with blogging is that this is hard to do.

I find it hard to take time to reflect on my life. It is much easier to get up, feed Emma, go to work, come home, go to the gym, eat dinner, watch TV, go to bed and start all over. It takes time to reflect on life. It is also hard to articulate what I notice in the world. To make sense of the joy and sorrow, the abundance and suffering, the peace and discord that is our world. It is hard to think theologically. I find it difficult to write poetry. It doesn’t come naturally to me. It is just as hard to write be a poet in my life – to find meaning in the mundane and ordinary.

But I have found it to be one of the most important things I can do with my time. God is at work in the world around us. And though it may be difficult to see or believe that at times, we will never witness it if we don’t take the time to live as poets of our lives.

Recently I had to deal with the water softener in our house. By "deal" I mean trying either to fix it or get it fixed. For a couple of months it wasn't working correctly. I tried to “fix” it myself one weekend. And I was successful. Or so I thought. It worked properly for a few days and then stopped working again. (You can tell that it has stopped working if your hair doesn’t feel slimy when you take a shower.)

Then I gave up and called a repair person to come and fix it. He worked on it for a few minutes and then confidently declared that it was fixed and that the water would be soft very soon. And it was…for about one day! Then it stopped working again.

At the same time the new bed we bought when we moved to Madison developed a problem with one of the springs, someone backed into our car in the Pres House parking lot, and a mouse moved into our garage and spends the entire night chewing on something. I’m sure I can think of other stupid annoyances but this is more than enough to make me very irritated. Repair people to call, cars to get fixed, warranties to claim, mice to catch – I don’t have time for all this!!

You might have just read this and thought to yourself, “How ridiculous, why are you getting all upset about such things? They are only small annoyances, think of all the people who are dealing with starvation, AIDS, war, or who have to rebuild their lives after the tsunami! You should consider yourself lucky to own a house and a car in the first place!!”

If you thought this or anything like it, good for you - you have better perspective on my life than I do. But isn’t that that the trick? YOU have better perspective on MY life than I do! But what about your own life? Are there not little things that annoy you which really are not that big of a deal?

Well I can’t speak for you but I have found that stupid things are sometime very annoying.

Why is it so hard to be content? Why is our default mode to complain? If it wasn’t the water softener I am sure I could have found something else in my life that wasn’t just right. More things mean more things to break. Surely my water softener is not meant to ADD stress to life but is in fact a luxury that I could just as easily live without.

So I am thankful for moments in life that make me stop and pause. Moments, even if they are brief, when I can step back and gain a glimmer of perspective on my life. When I have no choice but to thank God for all the problems that I am dealing with. Because each problem reminds me of the incredible gifts that God has given me.

Postscript: A repairman finally did fix the water softener but only after multiple tries and some hefty payments. But our hair now feels slimy again.

I heard two stories on National Public Radio this weekend that made me think. One was funny and the other wasn’t. Both were about violence.

I heard the first story as I was driving home from Pres House on Friday evening. Robert Siegel was interviewing Oklahoma state Senator Frank Shurden on his new proposal for “electronic cockfighting.” Apparently a ban on cockfighting in Oklahoma has hurt those who bred birds for fighting. Senator Shurden is proposing a new kind of cockfighting. In these fights the birds will wear little vests with electronic sensors and little gloves on their spurs. When they strike each other points are scored electronically, much like fencing in the Olympics. The birds will be separated after each 1 minute round and after a certain number of rounds the bird with the most points will be declared the winner. As I pulled into my driveway I couldn’t help but laugh at the image of a chicken wearing an electronic vest and boxing gloves.

But as I shared the story with my wife Erica I concluded that chickens fighting with vests on is not really funny but kind of sad. Are human beings so excited by violence that we will go to great lengths to watch cockfights? Someone had put time and money into making the vests and gloves for these chickens. Was a ban on cockfighting so oppressive that people needed to figure out a way around it even if that meant creating “safe” chicken fights? It is still a fight. Between birds. For human enjoyment.

Then I had to sheepishly admit to Erica that I would watch such a fight just to see chickens wearing boxing gloves…

So what is wrong with that anyways? It is just entertainment. Isn’t it better for me to watch chickens fight than to get into a fight myself? I wonder though if the line between entertainment and real life is really that clear.

The other story I heard is not a new one. It was about the violence that happens at football (soccer) games in Europe. Sometimes the rivalries between fans of different teams grow so intense that they lead to murder. Fans invest a great deal in their identity as a follower of a particular football team, and they seem to enjoy turning that pride into violence against “the other team.”

These football fans cross the line between a game and reality. Friendly competition becomes deadly violence. Violence becomes entertainment. We are drawn to it. We are entertained by violence on television (NYPD Blue, CSI wherever), in sports (fights between fans and players or players and players), in video games, movies and so on. On the other side of the coin - our view of the war in Iraq as we sit at home watching CNN begins to look an awful lot like entertainment. Images of bombs dropping in the night are surrounded by high tech graphics, preceded by catchy slogans and followed by a soundtrack.

Entertainment is violent and violence becomes entertainment.

Why is it that we turn so quickly to violence? Or maybe more accurately: Why are we “turned on” so quickly by violence? Why do we like to fight and love to watch a good fight? I am not sure I have a good answer but I think it is a question worth asking.

And I still want to see a chicken dressed up like a fencer.

My daughter turned one last week. One year ago I was living in a sleep deprived daze changing millions of diapers and trying to figure out how to hold the tiny squirming, screaming body that somehow came out of my wife’s belly. Now Emma is a laughing, babbling, walking one-year-old little girl. By now I have almost completely forgotten what it was like not to be a father.

A couple of months before Emma was born, before I knew for sure that she was a girl and before I had any idea what she would look like, I wrote my unborn daughter a letter. I discovered as I wrote it that I had a lot of hopes for her life. I was tempted to say, “I hope you do well in school, go to a good college and get a good job. I hope you always treat your mom and dad with the utmost respect and take care of us in our old age. I hope you never do anything to disappoint us and never make any big mistakes…” and so on.

Yeah right! I know that those hopes are not realistic and in many ways not important. And they are not ultimately the true hopes I have for her. So what I actually wrote goes like this: “I have many hopes for you and for your life to come. I hope you will grow up to be sure of God’s love for you and of our love for you. I hope that you will take that love given to you and share it with other people. I hope you will find joy in whatever life brings you. I hope you will make decisions that you feel good about and you will learn from the mistakes you make.”

On the evening of Emma’s first birthday I wrote her another letter. This is a tradition that I would like to continue each year so I will pause to reflect on the year and so we will have a record of memories to read in the future. In this letter, like the first, I found myself reflecting on my hope that she will grow up to experience the fullness of life and of God’s love for her.

As I have experienced (I almost wrote “watched” but it has really been more of an experience!) Emma grow from being a wriggling blob into a bright little girl I marvel at how she seems to be doing just that. She is enjoying the fullness of life and God’s love for her. I often refer to her as our “little scientist” exploring the world and loving every minute of it. Whether she is banging on the window while watching a neighbor snow-blowing the sidewalk, reaching into my bathroom drawer to grab my toothpaste or laughing hilariously at the helium balloons left over from her birthday party Emma enjoys the fullness of her life! And I believe that she is experiencing God’s presence in her life though such joyful exploration of God’s incredible creation – our world.

Sometimes I get a glimpse of this same kind of joyful exploration on the university campus. Students and faculty discover the wonder of human physiology, the challenge of deconstructionist philosophy, the excitement of putting together a car, the beauty of a marvelously written piece of literature or the depth of feeling expressed through art. Then I imagine God looking down at the campus like I look down at Emma turning the pages of her books (upside down and backwards!). And God is smiling at our joyful exploration of creation. For whether we realize it or not we are not only learning about our world but about the loving God who created it.

I also imagine that God has hopes for us much like I do for Emma: that we will grow to know more deeply His love for us, that we will embrace God’s love and share it with other people and that we will make good decisions and learn from our mistakes. Maybe that is what Jesus meant when he said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs." - Matthew 19:14

*** I realize that for many people the image of God as a parent is problematic, particularly for those who have experienced abuse as a child. As a father and a man who has been blessed with wonderful parents I find the image helpful but others may not. Thankfully the Bible is full of a variety of images for God in addition to Father and Mother. God is described as a friend, teacher, counselor, servant and Lord to name a few. I hope on your journey of faith you find an image that resonates with you.

Do you know where the nearest bathroom is to you right now? If you are out and about do you know where you can find a reasonably clean bathroom (that has a toilet you are willing to sit on) if for some reason you have to go that very moment. Not when you get home or when you get to your friends place but right then.

You might wonder why I ask this odd question. Let me try to explain.

For a long time now I have been concerned with finding bathrooms. Of course I don’t think about this all the time but I have noticed that I find myself feeling a little anxious when I am in a situation that appears to have no accessible bathroom.

Like when I am visiting a town I am unfamiliar with and I have no idea where to find a bathroom and it is illegal to use the nearest tree. Or if I am on my bike for a long ride and there are no appropriate places to stop to relieve myself of all the water that has made its way from my water bottle to my bladder. Or when I am driving down a rural highway and I have no idea where the next rest stop will be or if the next gas station will have a bathroom (and I hate the ones that make you get a key from the attendant!).

Recently I have been wondering what my deal is with bathrooms. Maybe it is some weird obsession. Maybe it is because I go to the bathroom more than the average person. Maybe I have an unconscious wish to still wear diapers like my one-year-old daughter.

No, I think my thing with bathrooms is about something bigger. Because I don’t always feel anxious about where the nearest bathroom is. There are times in my life when I have been quite comfortable. And I have discovered that those are the times when I know where the bathrooms are. I feel at home. I feel like I belong. I feel like I know a place well enough to know where the bathrooms are.

When I first started college at UC Berkeley my bathroom anxiety was high. Especially if I was late for class and had to find one in a hurry. But after wandering many corridors into dead ends and discovering clean and friendly bathrooms where I least expected them I grew more comfortable. I even learned which doors were open to buildings at night so I could run in for the bathroom if I was out on campus at night.

But while I was discovering the bathrooms I was also discovering so much more about the city of Berkeley and the campus. I was making friends and finding community at church. I was getting to know the homeless people I walked by everyday between my apartment and class. I began to feel at home. To feel like I belonged.

But it takes time. It takes time to discover all the bathrooms and it takes time to feel at home.

There is so much more to a place than the bathrooms. But for me, knowing where the bathrooms are provides an indication of how comfortable I am in a place. My family and I recently moved to Madison and so I am starting over again. I don’t know where the bathrooms are on the UW campus or on State Street or even in the mall near my house. It will take me some time to discover the bathrooms…so I guess that means it will take time to feel at home.

As you return to campus from the semester break, or just get ready for class again, think about this question - Do you know where the bathrooms are?

Do feel connected to people in your dorm or apartment? Do you know, really know, any of your professors, your classmates, the homeless people on State Street? Do you have a church community that feels like home away from home? If you do then you are a very blessed person. If you don’t, I understand how difficult it is. I truly hope that you will find “the bathrooms” here in Madison.

Over the past two weeks I have experienced many of the joys and blessings of life: time with family, visits with friends, good food, lots of laughs, generous gifts and my daughter’s first steps.

I have also experienced profound sadness and the sense of enormous loss as a result of two tragedies in the past two weeks. Along with the rest of the world I looked upon the newspapers and web images of the tsunami in Asia with horror and incredulity. 150,000 people killed so quickly. One minute playing on the beach and the next swept out to sea in a terrifying rush of water. The widespread destruction and loss of life is staggering and overwhelming.

The other tragedy hits closer to home. On Christmas Eve, while I was celebrating the birth of God’s son Jesus a friend of mine was sitting by the bedside of his 10 year-old son saying goodbye for the last time. After battling a rare form of cancer from birth and struggling through months of horrific pain this special child died at home surrounded by his parents and younger sister. You can read more about this incredible child and family at: http://www3.caringbridge.org/wa/zachbunnell/

Lately I have been holding my daughter a little tighter and saying a few more prayers for her health and safety. And I have been questioning God. Why would you allow so many to die from the movement of the earth? How could you let a 10 year-old boy suffer so much pain and die so horrible of a death? Worse yet – did you not just allow these things to happen but actively make them happen?

These are questions that people the world over since the dawn of time have asked of God. And the Christian church has tried to give various answers to these questions. But I don’t find the answers satisfactory. I don’t believe there are good answers to such questions.

The lack of answers has driven many to give up on God – and I can’t say I blame them for that response. But I think there is another response. We can keep asking the questions. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, writing in response to the tsunami says, “In Judaism, faith lies in the question, not the answer.”

Questioning God is a faithful response for the Jew and the Christian alike. God made a covenant with humankind through Abraham and renewed that covenant with Jesus Christ. As members of that covenant we are free – perhaps it is even our responsibility – to question God. In our very questioning we are living out our faith. After all, would you really question someone or something that doesn’t exist?

And so as I mourn the loss of so many in Asia and cry with my friend I join the biblical characters and authors like Job, Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes), the psalmists (see Psalm 88), the Samaritan woman who meets Jesus at a well (John 4), and Jesus’ own disciples in their questioning faith. I cannot think of a more faithful response to the loss of the past two weeks than asking God…why?

During this holiday season AAA estimates that 51 million people will travel on our nations roads. Other estimates add another 20 million travelers who will take to the air. I just joined the ranks of those traveling along with my wife and daughter. A couple of days ago we flew from Madison, WI to the Bay Area of California to spend the holiday season with family.

People usually travel during the holidays to be with people. They travel to be with parents, siblings, friends, spouses and children. That is why we braved the lines, the time change and the long flight with a squirming baby – to be with people we love.

But when I travel I am also struck by the importance of place. Flying from Madison to San Francisco involves a stop in Chicago. I was born and spent much of my youth in the Chicago area and still today when I fly in and out of Chicago I feel a sense of “home”. One of the first things I like to do when I visit my parents in California is ride my bike up the mountain near our house. There is a place on the mountain that I have visited throughout the past 10 years to reflect on my life and my faith journey. I spent time there speaking with God about where to go to college. A few years later I was there again reflecting on my relationship with my girlfriend and preparing to ask her to marry me. Then I brought her to the same place to ask her the big question. Recently I returned and found myself reflecting on where God has taken me since the first time I found this special place: college, marriage, work, seminary, fatherhood, ordination.

Places in the Bible also carry great importance for the people and communities of the biblical world. Even the very names of places convey their importance and meaning. The biblical character Jacob names places based on what he experienced there. While on a journey he stops to rest in a certain place and in his sleep has a vision of God speaking to him. So he changes the name of the place to Bethel. The name in Hebrew means “house of God”. Later in life Jacob wrestles with a messenger from God all night. Jacob then names that place Peniel which means “face of God” because he came face to face with God and lived.

Sometimes I think we could benefit from naming places in our lives to mark the events that happened there. I might re-name the spot on the mountain that I visit something like “place of reflection and prayer before and after big changes”. Or “matrimony mountain” because that is where my wife said she would marry me.

Usually it is only in retrospect that we begin to realize that we have a strong association with a place because of what happened there. I have met many people who have a deep attachment to Pres House because that is where they were married. They remember fondly that special day and the place has become part of that memory. Sometimes places have negative associations as well. Going “home” might not feel like home if there are bad or sad memories there.

Maybe it would help us to name those associations by naming or re-naming the places in our lives. Even if we can’t change the name on a map we can do it in our head and hearts

I have been growing more and more convinced lately that human beings make many decisions as a result of fear. We are afraid of people who are different from us – this leads to racism, sexism, homophobia, and religious bigotry. We are afraid that others will take from us. Take our money, our possessions, our lives. Combined with a fear of people who are not like us this leads to war and violence. We are afraid that we might be changed by others. We are terrified that we might not be right and we might have to change our minds or our behavior. We do not want to be exposed in this way. And this leads to putting up walls around ourselves. Physical walls like the gates around extremely wealthy communities and metaphorical walls like the hatred of minorities espoused by white supremacist groups.

I am especially troubled when I see this happening in the church. Christians have a gift for building walls. And I believe it is because we are afraid. We are afraid someone will say something “heretical.” We are afraid that someone will challenge our faith and disagree with the cohesive worldview that we have put together. We are afraid that the Christian faith is incompatible with the world, with what we learn at university and with our experience. We are afraid that we might have to change. Or at least re-think a few things. We are afraid that if the systems and the rules don’t matter as much as we think they do then there will be nothing left. What will we believe in then?

But I for one do not want to believe in some rules or systems just because if I don’t there won’t be anything left. I want to encounter something more than that. Something real. But to do so I will have to face my fear. Face my fear that my way of doing Christianity might be nothing more than wishful thinking. Face my fear that I might be changed by others who experience Jesus in a very different way. Even face my fear that all I have to show for my seminary training is really nothing more than a piece of paper on the wall. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think that my Christian experience is just a fabrication of my mind or that my seminary training has no value. But if I am going to be open to something real I have to be open about these fears.

And so I am beginning this blog. It is my hope that here I can to explore some of the questions that come up when we are willing to move beyond fear and seek to take down walls. God did not create us to live in fear of other people, of God or of religion. God is bigger than our fears.

I hope you will put up with me and my musings on these pages. There may be things I say that you disagree with or are afraid of. There may be things I say that hit home with you. Some of what I will write about will seem quite mundane and some will hopefully be more “deep”. In all of it I hope that you will let down your walls enough to share your comments and thoughts and that you will be honest about your fears.

I’d better get ready to be changed…