Parrot Cage: A review

Lovely wife Mo and I actually went out on a date last weekend! We try to do this every weekend but because of limited energy and limited funds, we've been spending a lot of "date nights" on the couch with take out Thai food and Tivo. Things have been especially busy and stressful for both of us lately. Perhaps that explains my absence from blogging. But I digress...

There is a show on public TV here that we love called "Check Please!" It is a restaurant review show with an interesting twist. (Go here to learn more.) While watching the show, we learned about Parrot Cage. So, long story short, we made a reservation and went.

We had a wonderful dinner and a really wonderful date. We finished off the evening driving up Michigan Ave looking at tourists and Christmas lights. Every time we do something like this we remember how much we love this city and how happy we are we live here. (I also remember how proud I am of LWM and her work to make it such a great city!) But my pride in and love for my wife and our city is another digression.

Parrot Cage is the restaurant of the Washburn Culinary Institute cooking school which is part of the City Colleges of Chicago.

Now, Chicago is arguably one of the great culinary cities in the world. Some of the greatest chefs in the world have restaurants here. There is also a wide variety of cuisine here. I am confident that if you look hard enough, you can find cuisine from almost every part of the world here. The reason I start this paragraph this way is to explain the context of food in Chicago. We have one of the top 20 restaurants in the world here. I've not eaten at Trotter's but I've eaten at places of similar caliber: TRU.

In other words, world class restaurants are available in this city and these are what I consider to be A+. There are only a few other places that I've been to that are close. Parrot Cage is not one of them. But it was very good. It gets a good solid B- (To further explain my grading system Fireside gets a C+, Applebee's etc a D and any fast food place a D-. To get an F, I must walk out without eating and never go back. Fazoli's pizza comes to mind. but again, I digress.) I would really like to go back to Parrot cage and eat there again. Maybe then I'll give a complete review. What is more interesting to me is the setting. Parrot Cage is in the South Shore Cultural center. It is a fascinating place. Read more about it here, here and here.

Originally, it was a country club. As was true of way too many places, it was a members only club open only to white Christians. (Possibly only Protestants, but perhaps not, given the nature of Chicago.) What was really funny was that the country club closed and sold the buildings to the city in 1975. They could have kept it open but they would have had to allow blacks to join. They'd rather see the place fall apart instead. So it did. Now, over 30 years later, the place is coming alive again. It is showing its age, but it is still beautiful.

What was really funny? When we first arrived, Mary and I were the only white people there. The only reason we had an opportunity to see it? Kennedy-King College. That funny sound? some white guy rolling over in his grave...

Perhaps sometime I'll write about more about race, and my history with it. Perhaps I'll write about why it was strange that I was happy to be in a place where I was the minority for a change (or how that, despite the population of a given place, a white person being a minority is really never possible) But, this is a restaurant review.

It's 2 A.M. and I've been thinking...

Sounds like a Country & Western song right? Well. it was 13 years ago at about this time of the night when I heard the words, "You won't survive." Pretty dramatic. But made all the more so given the context. I was flat on my back, on a gurney, looking up at a gloved and masked surgeon. He had just told me how he was going to open my sternum and replace the part of my aorta that had just ruptured. Even now, reading these words on the screen as I type, it is a surreal concept to think that it happened. The concept of opening a human chest to replace part of a heart with some Gore-Tex and a hunk of plastic and carbon fiber... The thought that I survived this... I've pictured the anatomy. I've run through the process in my head. I know the biology of this event. But it still makes no sense. It shouldn't have happened this way. I really should not be alive...

As I take a sip of my tea (Yes Mom, It's Decaf.) and consider where this post is going next, i re-read the first paragraph and my internal editor says: "My. Aren't we being melodramatic and self indulgent tonight." Well, editor. Shut up. I've earned it.

Everyone always asks. "What are you doing for Halloween?" It's as reflexive as asking that about New Years Eve. My answer has always been "Hiding under my bed!" But not this year.

I put up a post a few days ago about getting a collar and finally committing to the ordination process. Well, today, on the anniversary of my death. (sorry editor, I know that comment is melodramatic and self indulgent but I'm a little too amused with myself for writing it to leave it out.) Anyway, on this day where I've always thought about the past, I took a giant step in a very strange and new direction. I wore a collar through the streets of the city that has become my adulthood home. I went to the church. I served the Eucharist. I prayed over people, laying my hands on them. Just two years ago I wasn't even going to church. Today I'm working toward becoming the church's ordained representative. I'm helping people, through prayer and a 2000 year old ritual to get closer to God and "the community of Saints" All of this, on the day of my death. All of this on All Hallows Eve, the night before the celebration and remembrance of the souls who have gone before us. All of this on Samhainn, the Celtic festival of the dead. All of these days celebrate transition. A transition between phases of life and changes of season. Today has always been a day of transition for me. Today I added another.

I guess I could rattle on here and make some profound theological comment about serving communion, the Eucharist, the ritual celebrating Jesus' ressurection as my first act as clergy, and doing it on the day that I 'cheated death" (How's THAT for a melodramatic flourish.). Prehaps if I really worked at it I could figure out someway to link Halloween/Samhain/All Saints Day , my first communion as clergy (Which, truth be told, was actually almost a month ago. Today was the second, although it was my first day in a collar.) and the anniversary of my surgery. I could link all these rhetorically, then point out that it is three elements. Three, a triangle, the architecturally perfect number, the number of the Trinity. I could point out how this coming together of elements in this number of strength mirrors how strongly I feel that this is the right path. I could do all of this, but, my tea is cold, my bed is warm with Lovely Wife Mo sleeping peacefully in it, and it is now 3:15 A.M and I've stopped thinking...

Winston on my Essay Question & my response

Tinman-
I think that a sin is a transgression against another person that offends God. Sinning can be putting your comfort ahead of another’s need, your desires over another’s humanity, or your beliefs over compassion. At least these things can lead to sinful acts. There is no law made by men that the breaking of is sinful in and of itself, although many of the laws of men do punish sinful acts. Sin is between the sinner, the one sinned against, and God.

This is why I find the definition contained in the quote so limiting-one does not need to contemplate the eternal to sin. What she is describing here is one of the ways in which humans may sin-imposing their will over others in the arrogant belief that their desires are divine. Mistaking oneself for God is only one way in which one may sin. Rape and murder are always sins. Torture is only one of the other myriad crimes humans inflict upon each other that are sins. One need not mistake themselves for God to do any of these things (though I do acknowledge that the nature of these crimes implies a rampant egomania on the part of the sinner, this is not the same thing as mistaking one’s limited perception for the eternal).

I also disagree with the author’s assessment of human nature. It seems dim. Humans are basically compassionate, intelligent and cooperative. It is the sin of the world that beats us into the shape we regard so scornfully. If we dislike what the world has wrought in us then in changing ourselves we may in some small way change the world. Sin is not inevitable despite it’s popularity. I am not suggesting that anyone is without sin or incapable of sin (quite the opposite, in fact), but what I am saying is that none of us must commit any particular sin at any particular time. It is always an individual choice.
-WD

My response:

Winston:
I’ve just awakened and have not yet had coffee. (I’m up early. I’m “on duty” and “in uniform” later.) But I’ll try to be lucid. I’m surprised you find Dr. Cooper-White’s definition limited. If anything, I thought it might be a bit over broad. You wrote “What she is describing here is one of the ways in which humans may sin-imposing their will over others in the arrogant belief that their desires are divine.” Perhaps I have the advantage of having read the whole book, but she really isn’t talking about individual sin. She’s talking more broadly without using the term “original sin.” She says that the fundamental problem of humanity is its arrogance. We think that we have “The Truth” when only God can have that. This fundamental misunderstanding of the way of the universe leads to an individual’s imposition of their will over others.

I was interested in your view of Cooper-White’s view of “original sin”/ human nature. You discussed that in your final paragraph. It is a bit dim in that she argues from the point of view of the depravity of humanity, but she’s not quite Augustinian about it! She seems to allow for us to approach divinity through mutual understanding, empathy and compassion. She certainly would agree with your comment “Humans are basically compassionate, intelligent and cooperative.” Her entire professional identity is based on the premise you describe when you write “If we dislike what the world has wrought in us then in changing ourselves we may in some small way change the world.” (She is a professor and practitioner of Pastoral Care and Counseling at Lutheran Theo. Seminary in Philly.) I think that comment of yours is sort of a mission statement for those in my business. I think the only fundamental difference of opinion we have is about the inevitability of sin. I believe to be human means we will sin. Perhaps we don’t have to “commit any particular sin at any particular time.” But we will commit some sin at some time. We are simply made that way. After all, if we were fundamentally perfect, why would we need God?

Exam for my readers.

In her book Shared Wisdom, Pamela Cooper-White writes:

Perhaps this is as good a definition of sin as any- that by nature we humans must inevitably collapse back into our own limited perception and then mistake it for the eternal.

-Discuss

For those of you following the discussion on spirituality at Sheep Days please discuss how spirituality affects this.

Who am I and What do I want to be when I grow up?

Lots of stuff going on today. I just made my first Pastoral Call. It was a phone call to someone that Lovely wife Mo knows well. He was of great help to her during my recent health crises. It is somewhat incorrect to think of him as a parishioners. He's retired clergy and was a major player in Chicago's civil rights movement. Luckily, someone is helping him write some of these things down. So, he's meeting with this guy tomorrow and that would be my only chance to get out and see him. So, no face to face meeting, but a nice phone conversation.

Another odd thing. I finally bought The Uniform. Yep, I've got a collar. I'm not quite sure when and where I'll wear it yet. It was just a big step for me to buy it. It's sort of an admission that this is really happening. I'm really going to be ordained. I've got a picture. I sent it to Mo. What is really odd. It's not as odd as I thought it would be.

Happy Monday.

Yuck. Ya'll know how much I love Mondays. This one is even worse than ususal. I've been feeling rotten all weekend. (For my regular worriers, yes I did call the Dr. He told me to get some rest, drink lots of water etc. and call him later this week if I'm still not well. It's probably the beta-blockers again. We'll get 'em adjusted. Not a big deal.)
So, while I was at church yesterday, (before we left, earlier than usual, because I was ill) I got drafted into teaching a class on the Lectionary today. (Joel 2:23-32, Psalm 65, 2 Timothy 4:6-18, Luke 18:9-14) The director of Christian Ed has also been having some illness and has a Dr. appointment. So, she gave me her outline.

So, here I am this morning sitting here in the church library with my OT and NT texts trying to remember what some professors said about Joel and Timothy those many weeks ago. And yes, I'm complaining about it. So, the church secretary comes in to make coffee and I start to chat with her, then Pastor C. who does the Pastoral Care, primarily with the Homeless, comes in. He says "One of our guys is outside, he's not eaten all weekend, all I had in my briefcase was some candy." We rummaged around and as usual around here, a loaves and fishes miracle occurred. We found some leftovers from Sunday coffee hour. The person who usually cleans up the kitchen didn't. We found some cinnamon rolls and some bread for our guy and gave him some breakfast.

I guess I got my gospel lesson this morning. Now, to prepare one for my noon class...

Post Script:
OK I've finished reading the lectionary passages. The Gospel for the day? Luke 18:9-14 The Pharisee and the Tax Collector. Here's the punch line: (parenthetical comments are mine)
I tell you, this man (the hated and reviled tax collector) went down to his home justified rather than the other; (the pharisee/church elder) for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.
Luke 18: 14.

Insert standard excuses...

...for not writing.

Here's an interesting story from todays Chicago Tribune. It's sad, tragic really, but strangely beautiful.
Even quiet deaths can have some heroism
by Kurt Ullrich

Everyone else isn't doing it...

neither am i!

Seems like several of my Blog friends (see my links section) took or are still taking a break. Well, I have been too. I've not been simply sleeping. I've been doing stuff. Hopefully, I'll get back into my routine and will be able to tell you more about what I've been up to.

Here's a short list of things I need to write about. Most of them are still "not soup" or at least not soup enough for me to serve them. Or, more accurately, since most of what I do in this space is make soup, I still have to prep the veggies. Here's a list of soups that will fill the kettle in the coming days. Perhaps I should leave it to you to tell me what to write about first!?!

List for entries

• I served communion, acted as clergy for the first time and got called "Father"
• I prepared as liturgist/ supporting clergy for the first time and wrote my first "prayers of the people."
• These two seem related, but one is more spiritual the other more practical.

• Hospital Stay
• Chronic Pain
• Nihilism v. Existentialism
• Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy and the Homeless. Is it possible?
• General discussion of FUMC-CT's homeless ministry
• FUMC-CT= First United Methodist Church at the Chicago Temple. It's my church and my current "appointment"
• The UMC ordination process and my ambivalence toward it
  
• READER"S CHOICE!
• I have an opinion on just about everything, what do you want to hear me pontificate about?

While you're deciding, take a look at this blog. It's pretty cool!

Thoughts on ordination

I've really been struggling with the whole ordination thing since I started seminary. I've had a glimpse of what must occur for me to become ordained in the UMC. It a'int pretty. It is long, difficult, political process, full of hoops to jump through; hoops which can only be justified by the phrase, everyone else has had to do it! And at any time, for any reason, at the mere whim of those in authority, your application can stall, you can be forced to repeat a part, returned to the beginning of the process or simply kicked out. In short, there is a lot of nonsense associated with it. (You probably know what word I really wanted to use, but I can't bring myself to using that word to discuss something that SHOULD be holy.)

The process is awful. But I've also not been sure of my "call." I sit in church or class or chapel at school with great preachers and theologians. {Some of them are even faculty :) ! } I have so many class with people who know so much more about theology and the bible etc. So many of my classmates are so secure in their faith. I know that most everyone here has doubts, and if they don't, they probably aren't paying attention. But I can't speak for them. I can only speak for me. I simply don't know what I believe. I don't know that I can be a representative of God on earth. After all, isn't that what being ordained is all about? When we put on the collar, aren't we saying that we are set aside by God for a higher purpose?

In the past, when I didn't understand a concept I'd ask my mother. She invariably would say, "Look it up!"

So I did. The Oxford English Dictionary has a number of definitions for ordination. Here are some of my favorites:

• Arrangement in orders or classes; classification.
• The action or fact of being destined (to an end or purpose); designated or ordained function; purpose, design, or disposition
• A thing which is ordained; an ordinance, decree, statute, law; a prescribed observance

There was nothing in there about being ordained by God. Obviously, there was an entry for ordination by the church. But nothing in there about ordination by God. At first, that may seem like a distinction without a difference. After all, isn't the church an extension of God on earth? Well yes, sorta. But to think that the church is the only way God communicates to me is to limit God. Part of my problem has been my expectation of a divine voice coming through the sky to tell me that I'm special and that I need to be ordained. Well, as it turns out, Ashbrook's comment "We are no different than those that come to us." (Ashbrook, James. Minding the Soul: Pastoral Counseling as Remembering. Fortress Press,

1996.) while initially intended to discuss the "wounded healer" nature of pastoral caregivers, it has something to say about ordination too.

Everyone has a calling. My lovely wife Mo is called to be an attorney, and to be my partner; My mom was called to be a teacher, wife, mother, musician; Dad was called to serve his country, be a father, serve his church; my sister to be a nurse and mother. I've always known I was called to help people. I just have never known exactly how. Turns out, I'm called to be a Pastoral caregiver, probably as a chaplain. I'm called to use my understanding of theology (as unbelievably limited as it is) and my understanding of counseling theory and human nature to help people deal with incredibly difficult situations. To be bothered by the prospect of going through all of the nonsense required to become ordained by the church is to be unfaithful to that calling. The church is imperfect. The church is limited. The church is broken. But there is no other entity that I have ever been involved with that has a mission statement of helping people and making the world a better place. There is no other organization I can be a part of that will so effectively help me live out my calling. So, despite the difficulty, despite the arbitrariness, despite the nonsense. I'll pursue ordination as UMC clergy. Not because I'm called to be a minister, but because I'm called to help people and that is the best way for me to live out that calling.

An interesting Post Script. an hour and a half after I wrote this, I got a call from the church where I am doing a Pastoral Care internship. Every Wednesday morning for 7:30 to 9:00 they serve communion. The clergy take turns. Due to a last minute scheduling change, they didn't have anyone to cover the last 45 minutes. So, tomorrow, for the first time ever I will serve communion. Moreover, I'll be functioning as a member of the clergy. Robe and everything...

educating a heretic

History last night and Pastor as Counselor yesterday morning and my brain is fried.

What's funny is that this morning I turned on the TV and randomly flipped the channel and it landed on a televangelist. In less than a minute, I figured out his was a particular brand of Gnosticism with a nice blend of prosperity gospel. Buy his secret knowledge and god will reward you. If only...

Reminds me of a quote from a U2 song.

"The God I pray to isn't short of cash, mister!"

At least Bono has the energy to be pissed off. Me, I'm still struggling to put words to my beliefs. To get ordained, I have to be able to explain who Jesus is and why it's important. Shoot, to pass History 1 I need to be able to answer that question. But I'm just not sure. I've never REALLY understood Jesus. I certainly get the Jesus as man part. I like Jesus: Feed the poor, do the right thing. Speak truth to power, all that stuff. But I just don't get the divinity part yet. Turns out I'm an Ebionite (an ascetic, vegetarian Jew who adheres to the teachings of Jesus but denies his divinity). Who knew.

Funny thing is that heresy went out in the 2nd century. Except for the Unitarians. I could go there, but their buildings are so boring!

So, a nap; some food; and I keep plugging away. Luckily today I've got a bit of time to revisit 2nd century heresies. Maybe I'll learn something and my thinking might catch up with the third century.

Somebody wake up Tertullian. He's got some 'splaining to do!

Theolgians

In her blog today BesoMami wrote a very cute story about her son. It was filled with a number of personal observations but the punchline was when her son said. "Mom, Jesus Loves you!"

Nurse Joy then made a comment that her daughter frequently sings "Jesus loves you!"

Kids.

My sister frequently makes the comment that she doesn't "get" a lot of what I write about and study. As I wrote in my comment to Alex and Joy, I spend my days with seminarians, I think their kids get it more than the seminarians do! They certainly get it better than me.

I'm banging my head against my desk trying to work on Freud and transference issues. Is Jesus simply a perfect father figure who gives us unconditional love created by us in response to our own broken nature which is caused by a failure to adequately work through early childhood developmental stages?

My head hurts. God must be punishing me for my blasphemy. Either that, or I've been staring at this screen for too long.

Either way, I'll rest and hopefully not get struck by lightning before class tonight.

That reminds me of another cartoon.

A Funny thing.

I got this from a classmates blog. I just thought this was hilarious. Maybe it's the combination of insomnia and pain meds.


..

Spoon Theory

It's been a while. Sorry. I'm getting used to my new schedule and dealing with the usual beginning of the semester BS. All of this costs a greater amount of spoons than usual.

I realize that doesn't make sense. Read this and you'll understand.

Gotta go to class. More about spoons later.

RIP Luciano

Another of my childhood heroes died today. Some folks have baseball players. I have Italian Tenors. Yes, I am that much of a nerd. But his voice was pure magic.

I've been very busy with the first week of school. (I'm already two weeks behind!) So I don't have much time to write today. But take a moment today and just listen.

44 years ago today

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

For Video: Go here

Thanks to Stanford University , and this site for the text.

It's been a few days...

since I've written.
I've been cranky, moody and grumpy. My three favorite elves.

One of my favorite TV shows features someone else who is frequently in the same mood. It's a travel show featuring a New York chef who's narcissistic, misanthropic, atheistic and in may ways generally unpleasant. Oh, and he hates vegetarians. Sounds like he and I would get along famously. (What's really funny is re-reading that description, it sounds like a description that would match a few of my closest friends!)

In a recent show on French Polynesia, Bourdain followed the travels of the painter Paul Gauguin. I've never really liked Gauguin, don't really know why. I've seen a bunch of his stuff at the Art Institute, It's nice, great colors, interesting subject, but it never really excited me.

In the show, Bourdain travels to the Marguesas Islands. He meets with some of the indigenous Maori. His guide gives him a tour of some archaeological sites on the island. The guide shows Bourdain some wonderful stone statues that sat in the temples. Of course, they had been damaged and many destroyed by the Christian missionaries that came to save the souls of the heathens.

Gauguin is alternately described in the episode by Bourdain as a "dope fiend" "syphilitic" "pederast" "transvestite" and a few other things I choose not to remember. Yet Gauguin, who wouldn't even be allowed in the front door many churches then or today, recognized, and captured the inherent divinity of what surrounded him. The missionaries tried only to destroy what surrounded them in order to replace it with their own version. As a result, 95% of the indigenous population was wiped out by disease or violence. Fortunately, we have the work of as, Bourdain described him, "a cranky, syphilitic, pederast," to remind us of the beauty of God's creation. Isn't it funny that the artist preserved the divine which the church had tried to destroy?
Paul Gauguin
Day of the God (Mahana no Atua)
1894
Oil on canvas
26 7/8 x 36 in. (68.3 x 91.5 cm)
Art Institute of Chicago
Wildenstein Gauguin 1964 513 Helen Birch Bartlett Memorial Collection
1926.198
Medieval to Modern European Painting and Sculpture
Gallery 234b

Thoughts on the war

As I write this, an F-18 is rattling my windows and setting off car alarms. It's the air show. In Baghdad, that F-18 would be carrying ordnance and be on its way to blow something up.

Meanwhile, I read this.

Guilty Pleasure

The Chicago Air and Water show is this weekend. Given that I'm a liberal, vegetarian, latte drinking intellectual pacifist, I should be sitting with the folks who come out every year to protest this advertisement for the military industrial complex.

But I'm not. We may take a break from housework, walk down to the beach to watch. Running errands yesterday I saw the A/C... (sorry, old habit, A/C is the industry abbreviation for aircraft. I spent too many years in aviation law!)

Anyway, on the way to Costco, I saw the plane I've most wanted to see fly right over us.

The F22 Raptor

It's an amazing aircraft. Built by Boeing and Lockheed-Martin.

Yes, I understand that it was designed to shoot down other airplanes and kill the people inside, which then makes it easier for Bombers and support a/c to get to their targets, thus killing more people. I realize that and it bothers me. A little.

But it is so cool! When it went over, I could clearly see the thrust vectoring engines. What was really amazing, was how quiet it was. He was at about 2,ooo feet, flew right over us and I could barely hear it. Earlier in the day, at a similar altitude, (and probably a bit higher) an F-18 Super Hornet almost broke the windows of our condo. Any lower, he would've set off car alarms.

Anyway, I've got chores to start on. We'll see about going to the beach today. I'll let you know how I do with my contradictions. I wrote a piece in college called "Playing Soldier" that explains it a bit. If I can find it, maybe I'll post it. In the meantime, I'm gonna open the windows so I can hear the jets better. I'll leave you with this.

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

Being Sick Sucks Part III, The Backlash!

Thanks for your comments. Lovely wife found the American Heart Association classification.

Class III. Patients with cardiac disease resulting in marked limitation of physical activity. They are comfortable at rest. Less than ordinary activity causes fatigue, palpitation, dyspnea, or anginal pain.	C. Objective evidence of moderately severe cardiovascular disease.
Class IV. Patients with cardiac disease resulting in inability to carry on any physical activity without discomfort. Symptoms of heart failure or the anginal syndrome may be present even at rest. If any physical activity is undertaken, discomfort is increased.	D. Objective evidence of severe cardiovascular disease.

Sounds like I might qualify. We'll see what Dr. Love says tomorrow.

Being sick sucks part II

I just went to talk to the Dean of Students. I've been sending both deans email trying to keep them updated on the whole potential surgery thing. Now that I'm not having it done, I went to talk with DoS. I wanted to thank her personally. She wanted to talk about how she could make things easier for me. The issue of parking came up. Parking at school could be politely described as a nightmare. Frequently last semester I had to walk over half a mile just to get to the building. It's a nice walk. But it is much less so dragging a book bag. It becomes downright dangerous doing it in the winter. So, DoS suggested I use the Handicapped parking space. Lovely wife Mo has mentioned the same thing. Naturally, I totally disagree with both of them.

I'm not really sure why I am so resistant to the idea. In private discussions, I frequently bemoan the fact that I don't look like I have a serious health problem. It bothers me when Lovely Wife carries heavy stuff and I walk behind her empty handed. It really isn't a macho thing. I guess what bothers me is that when you look at us, it looks like I'm just being a jerk! People might question my upbringing. Believe me, I have an older sister who made it perfectly clear that I was to open doors for her. My father is also rather "Old School" in that way. My Mother is from the Carolinas; She's a true Southern Lady! So, believe me, I was "Raised Right!" I've always been proud of being a gentleman. (Lovely Wife would tell you that I've gotten out of the habit and no longer open car doors for her. I intend to remedy that.)
So, if I appeared to be as "disabled" or "handicapped" as I am, people might understand why LWM carries stuff. They also might understand me better in general.

So, back to the parking thing. It makes a bit of sense for me to get the permit. But I'm a bit conflicted. I'm not sure if I qualify. I guess I'll let the Dr. determine that. I certainly don't need it every day. It is only really a problem during the winter. It also just bothers me to think about parking in one of those spots and getting out and simply walking away from the car. It is all just so frustrating; It's just another thing to be angry about...

"Being sick sucks..."

My lovely wife Mo sent me a link the other day. Professional Patient wrote:

I had an “aha!” moment recently. I realized that I have been desperately waiting for someone to recognize how brave I am, and let me know they are proud of me for being so brave. Being sick sucks… why can't someone realize how brave you MUST be to deal with it day after day?

I've given that recognition to myself with the following list of affirmations. I'm sharing it with you in case you, too, are looking for someone somewhere to pat you on the back for being a brave girl or boy!

Her affirmations are wonderful.

I am lucky to have a ton of people around who are very affirming and loving. When I sent out an email letting people know about the possibility of surgery. I got a lot of love back. But I still need affirmation. Her list was very helpful.

I found out last night that I won't be having surgery. This prompted me to add one to her list:
You are brave when you are disappointed that you are not having surgery!

I am a bit disappointed. But, I'm also a bit thankful. We can get on with our lives now with no interruption.

I have frequently said that serious illness is just as hard and in some ways harder on the family than it is on the patient. After all, I get narcotics! :) I think my family and friends deserve a list of affirmations too.

1. You are brave when you spend more time in doctors offices for somebody else's checkup than you do for your own.
2. You are brave when you know where the waiting room in every hospital in town is.
3. You are brave when you know your husband 's medical history as well as your own.
   
4. You are brave when you worry about outliving your child.
5. You are brave when you take a midnight road trip to visit a friend in an ICU 300 miles away.
6. You are brave when your little brother asks you to check his IV site.
7. You are brave when you ask, "Did you take your medicine?"
8. You are brave when you ask, " How's the pain today?"
9. You are brave when you say, "Here, let me carry that."

I have a lot of very, very brave people in my life, who make it easier for me to add to Professional Patient's list. I can never say thank you enough. If anybody reads this, maybe they can add some more to my list to help me say thank you...

I LOVE THIS TOWN!!!!

Cop writes a ticket for giant sausage

Tribune photo by Kevin Pang, August 9, 2007

A Chicago police officer tickets the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile in the 400 block of North Michigan Avenue.

By Kevin Pang | Tribune staff reporter

A massive hot dog clogged Chicago's main artery Thursday morning.

In a rare occurrence of an encased meat vehicle committing a traffic violation, Chicago police ticketed the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile for illegal parking on the Magnificent Mile.

The incident began at 10:57 a.m. in the 400 block of North Michigan Avenue. At least two members of the Wienermobile entourage left the vehicle in the three-lane street with its emergency blinkers on. The vehicle is registered to Kraft Foods under the Wisconsin license plate "WEENR."

A police officer approached the Chevrolet vehicle with the 27-foot fiberglass sausage and removable bun roof. The officer radioed for a tow truck.

Matt Smith of the city's Streets and Sanitation department said the city could handle the job.

"We have access to tow trucks that could have handled a Polish sausage, not just a hot dog," he said.

The officer wrote the ticket and affixed it with considerable relish to its foot-long side mirror. Ed Walsh, a spokesman for the city Department of Revenue, said parking in a "Parking/Standing Prohibited Anytime" zone is a $50 violation.

About 15 minutes later, as curious passersby snapped pictures with their camera phones, the driver and passenger of the vehicle returned before tow trucks could arrive.

The entourage received a verbal scolding from the officer.

"You can't just park here!" the officer barked.

One passenger, who declined to be identified, said they were visiting a Wienermobile alumnus who worked nearby but was unaware that one could not park a giant sausage in the middle of the city's busiest thoroughfare.

Kraft Foods did not return a call for comment. The hot dog was last seen driving north on Michigan.

kpang@tribune.com

Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune

Theodicy Redux

My dear friend Winston, whom I adore, has an interesting hobby. He likes to discuss things with people he's never met! He spends a lot of time on the 'net with his own blog. He also makes comments on others'. Recently, he's been discussing Theodicy. He's posted a couple of pieces. His most recent started as a comment made on another blogger's site which then moved to his. The discussion spans several pages and two or three different sites. It is fascinating, long, rather technical and for the most part, rather well written. The initial comment was about a video that I didn't watch. I was more interested in the discussion. As usual, Winston got me thinking. (Although I admit, I'm a bit preoccupied with the issue of God's justice and suffering right now. I must say, I'm still a little mad at "Him!")

I think the problem of evil/suffering is the most difficult question Christians/Theologians/People of Faith face. For many, it seems a rather simple discussion. The simplest position is that God causes/allows bad things to happen because we are evil. My sister (who steadfastly maintains she is not a theologian and knows very little about the Bible) articulated the criticism of that position saying, "Isn't that the Old Testament God? What about the whole Jesus, God is Love thing?" (Not a theologian. Yeah, right!)

Anyway,

Both of these positions, in their absolute forms have limitations. Most arguments on this issue invariably degenerate into various levels of proof-texting. Some arguments are better than others. But usually, these discussions generate much more heat than light. (This is not to say that I think these discussions shouldn't occur; far from it. I am a Wesleyan after all.)

The bottom line: I don't know why bad things happen. I wrote about suffering previously. I'll continue to write about it. My ministry is entirely dedicated to it. It doesn't get me any closer to an answer. But what helps me is to know that God knows. What's more, God has a purpose.

A professor says simply "God works for good in everything." I firmly believe that. I would've gone insane long ago if I hadn't. I don't know why bridges collapse. I don't know why 18 year olds die from mysterious diseases. I don't know why people I love are in pain. I don't know why I have faulty parts. But God does. God has a reason for all of this.

Now, that sort of begs the question. Couldn't God figure out a way to accomplish his goal without all the suffering? After all, were, talking about God! I have at least 5 books on my bookshelf that work on answering that question. They are all written by folks much smarter than me. I won't summarize their arguments here. (That's way too much like schoolwork!) There are also some Bible verses that work on that question. But I won't quote scripture at you. (I've already criticized proof-texting.) But I do believe one thing that helps me.

I believe God suffers with us.

Gods sits next to us, puts an arm around us, and helps us cry.

Finally!

My fellow baseball fans, our long national nightmare is over!

Getty Images Photo by Justin Sullivan ( August 7, 2007)

Now we can get back to worrying about the playoffs. And hopefully, the only time I'll have to hear the word steroids is when they are prepping me for another CT scan. For the record, I'm pleased for Barry and for the Giants and their fans. It is appropriate and just that the record was broken in San Francisco where Bonds has been supported throughout this controversy. I am saddened that the controversy overshadowed the accomplishment. Now I hope we can put all this behind us and enjoy the game again.

I realize that the quote I stole from President Ford was about a crisis a bit more important than whether or not Barry cheated. But Barry's record, the history of problems in the Tour de France, and the state of political discourse and just about everything else in the newspaper makes me wonder about the status of truth.

While I was visiting my family last weekend, I made one of the off the cuff , pot-stirring comments that my classmates, if not my family, have come to expect from me. Frequently, I am not sure if my comments actually reflect my opinion, but they usually start some pretty good conversations! In this case, it was:

Since ultimate truth is unknowable, the only thing that matters is what one believes.

So what does all this have to do with baseball? I grew up and continue to be a passionate baseball fan. My favorite player as a kid was Lou Brock. I had posters in my room with pictures of him setting the career stolen base record. Of course, Rickey Henderson would break it a few years later. But if you ask me today who the greatest base stealer of all time was, I'll say Lou Brock! Perhaps this is why I'm not so terribly upset by Barry breaking the record. It'll be broken in a few years. Maybe by A-Rod, maybe by Ryan Howard. What won't change is how people feel about Hank Aaron or whoever else they hold as a hero. And maybe that is a good thing.

a picture

I've got too much going on in my head to really be able to slow my thoughts down enough to capture them on the keyboard. Maybe later today I'll come up with something. But for now, perhaps this will makes me and you feel a bit better.

From Mom's rosebush:

Quite a weekend.

Saw my surgeon, spent the weekend with my parents. Got honored by my mother church with a scholarship. Had a CT this morning and am full of antihistamines and steroids as I have developed an allergy to the CT over all these years. Mo drove us home (all 300 miles of it.)

So, I'm home and I wait for the results. I will need surgery eventually, the question only remains what type and when. It may be a few days, it may be a few years. We'll see what the scan says. Tomorrow, we go back to our regular scheduling programing. Tonight I sleep.

Now, where did I leave that damn oilcan?

The power of prayer?

I usually spend my mornings with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. This sounds like a pretty normal thing to do, but my morning has a bit of a 21^st century slant to it. I read the Chicago Tribune and the New York Times online version. I also occasionally read the Sun-Times when Mo’s work is mentioned.

Occasionally, I follow a stream of consciousness (if you know me well, you’ll realize that in the mornings, it is a stream of semi-consciousness.) and see where it leads me. Usually, it sends me to Wikipedia. This morning I found myself reading about Saints. My two favorites are St. Francis and St. Jude. St. Francis is my favorite for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that he is my Mother’s favorite. He, or at least a figurine and a picture, plays an important part in keeping my Mom in contact with her sister. I also love and have spent a lot of time working with animals; horses in particular. I’m also a semi-vegetarian (fish and eggs, but no meat or fowl.)

My attraction to St. Jude is a bit more personal. One could say I carry him with me all the time. As many of you know, I have an artificial aortic valve. It is called a St. Jude’s valve. I’ve always thought it was funny to name a heart prosthetic after the patron saint of lost causes! I don’t remember reading his epistle. I need to. But I do know he writes to The Church and tells them to be strong in times of tribulation. I also know, at least in Catholicism, St. Jude is invoked in prayer.

Prayer has always confused me. It has never really made any sense to me. So, for many years, I quit doing it. After a few months in seminary, I began to realize that prayer, like many things in the church, is not really for God, it is for us. Prayer makes us feel better. This actually helped and helped me make some links between Christian prayer and Hindu chanting , Buddhist Meditation etc. It brings us closer to the Divine. It clears our head and opens us to God’s presence.

So, ok, I got that part figure out. But in my morning haze today, I followed a link to The Dominican Shrine of St, Jude in Chicago. I thought that I might find the address of the place and sometime I’d make a pilgrimage of sorts and go to see this church. I love architecture and Chicago history and I think Catholic churches are really cool! So this seems like a good trip to make. What I found on the website was a discussion of prayer. People are invited to leave prayer requests and the priests at the church pray for these people. The tradition then is to thank St. Jude in writing for answered prayers.

So, I’m still confused. Personal prayer and devotion I have figured out. I guess intercessory prayer works on the same level. It makes individuals feel better to know that someone is praying for them. This then helps them to harness their energy and they then create their own miracles. Now, before I get excommunicated, I want to make clear that I think God is involved in this process. My confusion is about where He fits in. (Style note: When discussing my limited understanding of God, I use the masculine pronoun. I fully understand the limiting nature of sexist and non-inclusive language. This limitation is precisely why I use these terms. I know that the very understanding I am discussing is limited; so, using limited language makes sense. Also, I’m too lazy to try and think of another word!)

Does intercessory prayer work? Well, yes sort of. It certainly makes my family feel better when I’m ill. It makes me feel better to know people are concerned about me and have an outlet for that concern. But intercessory prayer for me raises a larger theological question. How does prayer affect God? It seems to me that many people find this to be a simple proposition. They pray; God answers. But how about those folks who don’t get what they prayed for? Their loved one dies in surgery or in the ICU? The treatment doesn’t work etc. What happened? Did they not pray hard enough? If this is so, then they are, in effect, being punished for not praying well enough. What sort of God does that?

Again I find myself bumping up against the same wall: Theodicy. When Bad Things Happen To Good People by Rabbi Kushner is a wonderful book about how to handle these things when they happen. I want to know WHY bad things happen to good people. After a year in seminary, I’m not any closer to finding out. The most honest answer I’ve gotten is from a professor who lost his daughter in a sudden, tragic and rather gruesome accident. He said, “Stuff happens.” I imagine he wanted to say “Shit happens” but he didn’t think that was appropriate language for a seminary class and textbook. But it does happen; and it happens all the time. Is it too much to ask that I understand why? Perhaps that is why they call it faith, and not understanding. Maybe someday that’ll make me feel better. Not today. Right now, I’m heading up to school to talk to the Dean about the possibility I might be out for a while. All I can think of to say is: Pray for me. Maybe that is part of my answer…

When a man's an empty kettle...

he should be on his mettle.
And yet I'm torn apart.

Something odd I found looking for a good image for this blog. ( I really don't like pics of myself on the 'net. Remember, just because you've been diagnosed as paranoid doesn't mean "They" really aren't out to get you!!!!!!)

http://www.thecardioblog.com/2006/06/16/tin-man-gene-links-corrected-congenital-birth-defects-with-lat/

Yes Virginia, there is a Tinman gene! Funny, I always thought I was the only one clever enough to see the link between the L. Frank Baum character and a bad heart! (Yes. Paranoid and Delusions of Grandeur!)

I imagine that most of you who are reading this already know me and so why this title is interesting. Maybe some day I'll explain it to the HUGE audience that will eventually read this!!!
But for now, it is a way for me to pass the time and blow of steam in the coming days before I find out if I need yet another "procedure" (I love that word. It's &*#$% surgery dammit!) But today, I'll build the blog...