Wagons, ho!

I've really enjoyed Blogger, especially since it made it very, very easy to get started with this whole blogging thing. But for various reasons, I've outgrown it. I hope that you'll all come to visit me at my new blog, also called St. Jerome's Library. It's actual address is http://www.stjeromeslibrary.com/weblog (please update your bookmarks). I won't be posting anymore here. Rest assured, however, the archives have moved to the new site (sorry, commenters, previous comments didn't make it.) I promise, though, that the new blog has lots of spiffy features (courtesy of Moveable Type) and I'll be adding to them as time goes on. See you in the new location.

Over on Tripp's blog, he's posted an interesting essay on the religious idea of "the city." In the comments, people have been discussing the ways that urbanism has appeared in the Bible. As you all know, I am a huge fan of cities in general, and Chicago in particular. I also have no small interest in the Bible. Needless to say, I've thought about this matter frequently, and I take some issue with the characterization of biblical cities that has been put forward there. Accordingly, I would like to refer everyone to the article on this topic in the latest issue of Common Good (10-11). In it, Jay Wilcoxen lays out biblical urbanism beautifully. He comes to the conclusion that cities in the Bible are far more varied, and their metaphorical value much more ambiguous, that it might appear at first.

Earlier today I got a surprise telephone call from an old friend. He is the Executive Director of my favorite charity of all time, Companis. The idea works like this: people give up a year of their lives in service to the wider community. They live together and work for other non-profit organizations that could not otherwise afford them. In other words, Companis might provide an office worker for an AIDS hospice at the price they could afford instead of what the market would charge. Interestingly, the Companis community has members from all stages and walks of life. This allows them to make wonderful matchings that really serve the needs of the world. When they were here in Chicago, they placed a retired chef in a soup kitchen! Talk about finding the place where the world's deep hunger meets your deep joy (Buechner). Using this model, Companis has provided over $1,500,000 worth of service to the community. Their slogan says it all: they do what would otherwise go undone. In Chicago they called it, "adding a year to your life." If you're at a crossroads (and that crossroads is, or could be, in Seattle) give this serious consideration.

Special note: I am informed that their website "contact" thing isn't working right. Write to me if you want to contact them.

The good people at Blogspot must have a system for deciding what ads to show at the top of any particular blog. I notice that the Library here often has religious ads. Over on Tripp's blog, entitled jesus in lint form, I've been getting ads for vacuum cleaners.

I have no response to that.

Nothing about the war today. Instead, something both more, and less, serious.

For a long time now, I've thought that the Grateful Dead song, "Uncle John's Band" was a good metaphor for the seminary experience. (I also believe that "Son of Preacher Man" and "Wonderful Tonight" contain everything you need to know about being in love, but that's for another time) I've never set out my theory in detail, however, until now.

Well, the first days are the hardest days,
don't you worry anymore
When life looks like Easy Street
there is danger at your door
Think this through with me
Let me know your mind
Wo-oah, what I want to know
is are you kind?

It seems clear to anyone who has survived the first year in the seminary that "the first days are the hardest days." Changing from our secular existence to one that is focused on God more often than not is a jarring experience. Most of us find, however, that we're more temperamentally suited to it. It isn't hard to maintain once we've learned it so, God (the singer) reminds us "don't you worry anymore." The reference to Easy Street is a clear reminder that once called by God to this life, the traditional temptations of money and power become more dangerous than ever. The next two lines remind us of what theological inquiry is all about, "think this through with me" and "let me know your mind" are the two most important tools in learning to "think like a theologian" (to paraphrase Prof. Kingsfield in The Paper Chase). And, of course, the thing that the faculty (in their role of formation mentors) needs to know "is are you kind." They can teach you the rest.

It's a Buck Dancer's Choice, my friend,
better take my advice
You know all the rules by now
and the fire from the ice
Will you come with me?
Won't you come with me?
Wo-oah, what I want to know,
will you come with me?

Once you've passed the beginning of seminary, it's time to make the hard choices. What exactly a "Buck Dancer's Choice" is, I'm not sure. But it seems to me that it is a real choice, not like the "magician's force." You've got real decisions to make when you finish your core classes—about what kind of ministry to have, what kind of priest to be, and how to balance your life. Even though "you know all the rules by now" you should still "take my advice." The singer, of course, is still God, and the reversal in the order shows the importance of submitting to the call first, and only then relying on your intellect to show you the correct path. When you begin to do serious formation, the question of following is crucial. The last four lines make clear how important that decision really is.

Goddamn, well I declare
Have you seen the like?
Their walls are built of cannonballs,
their motto is Don't Tread on Me
Come hear Uncle John's Band
by the riverside
Got some things to talk about
here beside the rising tide

The bridge, for me, is about CPE. There's no doubt that before CPE, you have never "seen the like." It is here that ministers are made or broken, in my view. The cannonballs represent the forbidding appearance of the CPE program, with all its applications and interviews and gatekeepers. But cannonballs don't make a good wall. For one thing, you could see through it, and for another, it would fall over. Anyone who has finished CPE will know why their motto is, "Don't Tread on Me." It seems clear in the GD version who "Uncle John" is, but in my interpretation he could be none other than the Baptist. He and his band sit right there by the (Jordan) riverside. And indeed, there are important things to talk about, especially at this point in the seminary experience with the tide rising all around you.

It's the same story the crow told me
It's the only one he know -
like the morning sun you come
and like the wind you go
Ain't no time to hate,
barely time to wait
Wo-oah, what I want to know,
where does the time go?

At this point in the song, the singer becomes the seminarian, who begins to respond to God directly. They acknowledge that that the crow (who represents the call) has been constant throughout their lives. God appears always, like the rising sun, and goes throughout the world like the rushing wind. It's getting close to the time for seeking work, though, which takes a lot of time while school continues. Hence the next two lines about being busy and what that does to your interest in petty dislikes. I also note that it is about this time in the seminary experience that people begin to realize that though lots of ground has been covered, it goes very quickly.

I live in a silver mine
and I call it Beggar's Tomb
I got me a violin
and I beg you call the tune
Anybody's choice
I can hear your voice
Wo-oah what I want to know,
how does the song go?

Now we're getting to the time of leaving seminary. The "silver mine" is the seminary, which has so many riches to provide. But it's known as "Beggar's Tomb" because we know everything we have comes from God, and it is here that we have buried our old lives to take up the life of ministry. The violin represents our ministerial formation, and we stand ready to hear God's voice and play whatever tune is called. At this point we're really ready for God to say how the song of our lives will go.

Come hear Uncle John's Band
by the riverside
Come with me or go alone
He's come to take his children home
Come hear Uncle John's Band
playing to the tide
Come on along or go alone
he's come to take his children home

We return to the chorus, again seeing Uncle John's Band by the river. This time however, the singer has become a shepherd in God's flock and is encouraging others to take up their ministry, either ordained ministry like us (come with me) or whatever other ministry God might give (go alone). Either way, "he's come to take his children home." Also note that the tide is no longer rising. Indeed, the band seems to have tamed the tide with its music.

For a more classical interpretation of the references in the song, check out the Annotated Grateful Dead pages for Uncle John's Band.

I have two points to make about the war.

First, I noted that at the end of the first day of combat operations in Kuwait/Iraq, the death toll stood at 1. A marine was shot in the stomach and killed during the early hours of the invasion. What a complete tragedy. I won't say waste, as some others might, since I do believe that what we're doing over there is good. I still don't like the way we're doing it, but that marine was idealistic just to have enlisted, and brave to have fought at all. A tragedy indeed. Simultaneously, several hundred of Iraqi soldiers surrendered to coalition forces.

At about the same time as I found out these facts, I learned that at a protest rally in San Francisco, an activist fell from the Golden Gate Bridge and died. Another horrible tragedy. Another idealistic and brave person cut down doing what seemed important and right. At that same rally, over 1,000 were arrested and taken into custody.

These facts rubbed up against each other strangely. One dead in the war, one dead protesting the war. More prisoners in San Francisco than in Basra. It reminded me that it is always hard to decide what to stand up for, and always dangerous to do it. Answering the call to put yourself in harms way for others often results in getting harmed, no way around it. I doubt that these two people would have enjoyed meeting each other, but I kind of wish they had. Brave idealistic people are pretty rare in the world and they should know each other.

Because when committed creative people work together, we often find a new solution which had been concealed in the darkness between two other suggestions. And when we give up the opportunity to find a better way because of our all too human jealousies and prejudices… well, that's the biggest tragedy of all.

The second point is this. I'm not going to watch the war on television anymore. A friend of mine has described it as "That new reality show, 'Target: Iraq.'" I laughed. I'm not laughing anymore. Earlier today Ari Fleischer faced a room full of reporters who frankly couldn't believe that President Bush hadn't watched the "shock and awe" bombings on television. They kept asking the same question over and over again. "It was very dramatic. Didn't the President see any of it on television?" The Press Secretary was very diplomatic in his answer, mostly saying things like "The President ordered this attack and he knows what happened" and "He doesn't need to see it on television to know what this attack was like." What I heard was, "The President is too busy running the country to sit at home in the middle of the day watching a shifting green cloud on television while reporters interview each other." I don't often think that we should do what President Bush does, but in this case he's right. Don't watch the TV. Stay engaged with the news, yes. That's our right and our responsibility as citizens. But watching it happen "live," like some kind of action movie is a disservice to the men and women who are risking their lives. They're not doing it for our entertainment, or worse yet, prurient interest. Just do your job, and let them do theirs… in peace.

All over the world on Sunday, people protested pre-emptive war in Iraq. As you know, I, too, oppose pre-emptive war because I think that it isn't the best path to our goal of a peaceful and free Iraq, without its current tyrannical leader. But that is a good goal, and if war becomes the only way, I'll support it then. I suppose that I would say I am a member of the "anti-war" movement but not a member of the "peace movement" per se. And that's why I was so disappointed to see that one of the bigger rallies downtown featured a performance by Joan Baez.

Now, I love her music, and I would go to hear her sing at Symphony Hall, or anywhere else. But I don't think she brings any credibility to the movement at this time. Rather, I think that a great deal of the current "peace movement" are reacting principally out of flashbacks to the 1960's (whether or not the protesters were even born then) during which time they correctly perceived that the US was engaging in a war called for by a policy rather than by the American people. What we're doing now seems a lot the same. But it is not.

This is not a war being fought for policy reasons only. It is true that Saddam Hussein is a clear and present danger to the people of Iraq and his neighbors. He has been so throughout his reign over the country that once contained the Garden of Eden. Today it is a vast wasteland, populated by frightened and abused people. As fellow humans, created by God, we have an obligation to help them. Toppling the Baath Party, while extreme and unfortunate, seems to be the only way. Iraqi citizens are not being oppressed by an idea only (as was good enough for our government in the Viet Nam conflict). They are genuinely suffering under a dictatorial madman without respect for the common good of his people, or ours.

Does that mean we should go to war? Not necessarily. However, comparisons to Viet Nam are not helpful, and dredging up the icons of that past era only muddy the genuine issues we need to be struggling with today. Our understanding of just war theory, international diplomatic convention, and other principles that guide decisions about war and peace fell with the World Trade Center on September 11th. We need to be building them up again, rebuilt for our era, not a past time. We must engage in hard theological, political, and yes, military thinking. And we can't work while people are swaying back and forth with their eyes closed, holding a candle, and singing "Give Peace a Chance."

Just as those activists who opposed the ideological wars in the 1960's were right to reject the reactions and methods of those whose attitudes toward war and peace were formed in an earlier era, so those of us who oppose war in this era must reject what came before us.

To Joan Baez and those who opposed war in the 1960's: Thank you. Your witness is an important touchstone for those of us who benefited from your work and thought. But we'll take it from here.

Lately I have been meditating on Luke 2:41-51, the story of Jesus going to the temple at age twelve. You know the story, how Mary and Joseph took him to Jerusalem for the festival, and how in all the crush of people they left without him. But more importantly, how they searched for him everywhere and finally found him in the temple, and how he responded to them with all the parent-weariness of any twelve year old, "Did you not know I must be in my Father's house?"

In my Father's house. It's that phrase that has grabbed me this time. We've heard many sermons on this passage (well, not really, it's a very infrequent reading in the lectionary) and they all seem to say that Jesus has gotten a tiny glimpse of his destiny. That he knows he must serve God, and that the temple is where to begin. Shouldn't it have been obvious?

But no, it's not obvious. How must that saying have sounded to Joseph, the proud carpenter? It must have hurt him badly. He had endured so much over the years—derision and scorn from his family, his friends, and his neighbors, all because he stayed with the woman he loved and raised their child. And now the child himself has thrown it at him. In my Father's house. In my real Father's house. My heart breaks to think of what it must have sounded like to Joseph to hear Jesus reject him and the carpenter's life he had worked hard to prepare for the young man.

But isn't that way for all of us? Doesn't there come a time when we realize that no matter how much we love our earthly father, we can't always follow him? We must seek out and follow our Spiritual father, whoever that turns out to be. Isn't that the way for all of us, that we must let our children grow up and let them go into the house of their Fathers?

How hard that must be to hear and to do.

Wednesday is the feast of St. Joseph, who sacrificed so much to make Jesus into the man he became. He gave up his own dreams of a conventional marriage (untroubled by angels and visions), his place in his community, even his plans for a son to take over his business. On that day I am going to say a prayer of thanksgiving for my parents and all they did to open up the way for me toward the man I am becoming. I will pray that God will bless them for their sacrifices and that they will understand better than Mary and Joseph could when I say, "Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house."