response to a letter from a six year old

Dear Hannah,
Thanks for your letter! It's always exciting to get messages from friends back in the United States! Did you know I used to do Awanas, a long time ago before I moved to Washington? I'll try to answer as many of your questions as I can!


I like it a lot here in Hungary. I really like the food, especially some of the sweet goodies. My favorite is something called Turos Taska. It's a pastry with something like sweet spicy cottage cheese inside, sometimes with raisins.








Another popular pastry is Meggyes Retes, or sour cherry strudel.





They have a special market they open around Christmas and Easter, and besides all the booths that sell hand crafts, wood carvings, and all that, they have places to get food. I always get Kürtőskalács. It's very tasty, and they make it right there in front of you!





If people want to get something quick in Hungary sometimes they will have a hamburger (we have McDonalds and Burger King here), but they might get a gyro instead. The person working will take a giant knife and slice some meat off the rotating cooker, and then put it in pita bread with come vegetables and sauce. It's Greek food, but Hungarians like it a lot!







The most famous Hungarian food is Gulyas Soup. It's a spicy beef soup with potatoes, vegetables, and homemade noodles in it. Gulyas is made with paprika, a well-known Hungarian spice that your mom probably has in her cupboard!







Lots of Hungarians really like paprika, and the simple dish of chicken with paprika is very popular too.






I take Hungarian language lessons once a week, and my teacher is very nice. It's hard (much harder than learning Spanish!), but I get to practice a lot. My students like to teach me Hungarian in class too, sometimes. They think it's funny when I try to say things because I'm not very good yet. My students are very smart and speak a lot of English already. Some of them didn't speak any at the beginning of the year. That was hard because I had to act things out, sort of like charades. Now they know a lot, and I don't have to act things out much anymore. Sometimes they still speak in Hungarian and I have to tell them to speak in English so I can understand them. They get in trouble if they speak too much Hungarian! Mostly they are a lot like you and your brothers and sisters. They like to play sports and video games. They ride bikes and go fishing. They don't always like to do their homework, but they're always fun to be around. My favorite thing we did in class was reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe together. I even made them act out important parts of the book! And yes, we talk about Jesus in class sometimes. My students know that my faith is something that's very important to me, and when we talk about ourselves, what we like, or even what we did on the weekend, it comes up in conversation. Sometimes it's hard because I just want to be friends with my students, but I have to be their teacher too. It would be nice if I could just sit and talk with them in English every day, but I have important things to teach them (like grammar!) so I try to make it as fun as I can.

Thanks again for writing to me, Hannah. It made me very happy to hear from you. Say hello to your Dad, your Mom, Laura, Tim, and Katie for me. I will be back in Washington this summer, and I'll be sure to come over to your house and show you pictures sometime!

yours,
Matt

my smart brother

I don't have a brother. I do have two brother-in-laws, and they're both engineers. They're both smart. One of them, Steve, is so smart that they wrote an article about his company in the local paper. He doesn't show up until the last paragraph, and they got his info wrong, but I'm still proud of him. Also, he came to Budpest to visit me a week ago!

mini vacation

March 15 (Wednesday) is a national holiday in Hungary. It celebrates the 1848 Hungarian rebellion against the Austrian Hapsburg Empire. In honor of the day we have no school today, tomorrow, and Wednesday (though we had school on Saturday to get that third day off), and so I’m celebrating by going to Vienna. On the way I’ve stopped in Bratislava (which is now forever etched in my mind as the city of unceasing wind). I was able to worship at a new English-speaking church plant last night, The Well. It was an eclectic service featuring two Taize refrains, two hymns, two Chris Tomlin songs, two “meditation areas” with lots of icons, two minutes (or more) of quiet time to meditate on scripture (leccio divina), and two former members of the pastoral staff at Church of the Open Door in Twin Cities, MN (one a professional musician and the other a former baseball player). Needless to say, I loved it.

My destination in Vienna is primarily the Kunshistoriche (Museum of Fine Art). I’ve read that it has a collection rivaling the Louver and the British National Gallery, with especially good examples of the 16th and 17th century Dutch and Flemish painters (Peter Paul Ruebens, Rembrandt, Van Dyke, Ver Meer, and others). I’m especially fond of their realistic approach to the human form (warts, wrinkles, love handles, and all), as opposed to the contemporary Italians (Titian, Caravaggio, etc.) who seemed only interested in creating perfect humans. I haven’t done much (any) art museuming in Europe, mainly because I’ve been intimidated. My plan on Wednesday is to go with those paintings specifically in mind, spend some time with them, try to get background info on them (audioguide, here I come!), and merely peruse the rest of the collection. Let’s hope I can become a true art connoisseur during my time in Europe!

lenten questions

My church is doing a weekly bible study during lent that focuses on the question, who is Jesus? In our first meeting we were given these questions to get us thinking a bit:

Do you think that Jesus was ever truly tempted to go against the will of God?
Do you believe that Jesus thought the world was flat?
Do you think Jesus understood the internet?
Which do you think is more important: 1) recognizing that Jesus was more than a teacher, or 2) living by his teachings?
Which more nearly expresses your conviction about Jesus: 1) He was a Godly man, 2) He was a manly God, 3) He was God and man, 4) I haven’t a clue.
The Nicene Creed(AD 325) declares that Jesus is “very God and very man.” Does this suggest that while the Christ “became flesh” and lived within a human body; at the same time he always thought the thoughts of God?
Do you think that the “soul” of Jesus died as well as his body when he was crucified?

not a sexist?

So I've been told that it's blog against sexism day. To this I respond, "I'm against sexism and I blog - perfect!" One particular area where sexism gets to me is the intersection of gender and language, genderlects. Although this is a notoriously difficult area of linguistic research, a lot has been done in the last 35 years to investigate how and why men and women communicate differently. In 1973 Robin Lakoff published Language and Woman's Place, citing studies in which men interrupted women more, speak more than women, choose conversational topics more than women, and generally dominate conversation more. Lakoff's explanation was that these were societally conditioned behaviors based on the training we receive as children (girls to be polite and accepting, boys to be competitive).

Then there's Deborah Tannen, a current scholar, who focuses on the differences between male and female communication styles, and claims that neither is inherently better or worse. She describes males as conversational status-seekers and females as conversational connection-seekers. She uses similar evidence to Lakoff and adds that men tend to tell more stories and jokes in conversation (usually about themselves), women ask more questions in conversations, and women seek to avoid conflict where men pursue it. Tannen avoids making judgments on why these differences arise, acknowledging only that socialization plays a large role in their development.

I'm not sure where I stand on this, but I know we should be talking about where these differences come from and what they mean. Intuitively, I want to say that women and men are simply created differently, but that's the dreamer in me coming out. We live in a society that tells men they need to be as big, tough, strong, and independent as they can be (anybody who doubts that should check out the work of William Pollack). This same society tells women they need to be an innocent, submissive damsel in distress (and simultaneously a temptress, but that's another discussion). You can't tell me that doesn't impact the way we communicate. Perhaps, as Tannen says, we just communicate differently and one way is no inherently better or worse than the other. I'm a bit more inclined to think the worst though.

cell culture (part two)

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. I've shared my love of Epiphany, but Lent is the liturgical season that really gets me. Maybe it's because I'm a softie at heart and I love the melancholy, or maybe I just like the reflecting part of it, analyzing my life and striving to live my faith more intentionally. Somebody recently asked me what Lent was all about and I didn't have a good succinct answer. Traditionally it's the period of time used to prepare new converts for baptism by educating them in the basics of the faith (catechesis), and that's become a general period of growth, self-reflection, renewed dedication, and purification.

After recently reflecting on cell phones and my own cell usage, I've decided to fast from my cell for Lent. Since it is my only phone there will be exceptions covered by a few ground rules (I get to use my phone on from 7 to 8 every night to check messages and take care of any calls for the day, if somebody calls me over and over and over again I'll answer because it's probably an emergency or something, and I'll use it if I need to call in sick). I think it'll be a difficult but very healthy exercise for me. I want to change the way I think about time, and this is a good first step. My cell has become a crutch I lean on when I am not content to simply allow time to pass by. Maybe this will break that habit.

There are a few side effects that I'm anticipating. First, my cell is also my watch, so by leaving it buried in the bottom of my bag I'm cutting off my nearly continuous habit of checking what time it is. I tell myself it's because I hate being late, but it's really because I hate feeling like I'm not in control. When I don't know what time it is I can't plan ahead for every contingency (as in, "if a 2 tram comes first I can take it to Vigado Ter and then walk to the yellow metro, meaning I'll get to my stop with seven minutes for the five minute walk to church. But, if the 4 or 6 tram comes first I'll take it to Oktogon and then I'll have to power walk it because I'll have 9 minutes to do an 11 minute walk"). This will mean I'm giving up more of my controlling attitudes. Second, it will actually force me to be more intentional about spending time with people. I won't be able to call them up at the drop of the hat, but will have to arrange things in advance via e-mail or during my token hour. And with all that extra time not using my cell will put into my schedule I hope to... just be.

spring look

Before:















After:

cell culture

I found Lauren Winner's thoughts on cell phones to be very provocative and even more applicable in Europe. I think I'm going to try to eliminate language from my vocabulary that equates time with money (spend, maximize, use, save, etc.). Maybe I'll give up my cell phone for lent (eek!).

random budapest bits

1. My friend Aaron came to visit. We are proud graduates of Calvin College.



















2. I saw my first Hummer in Budapest a few days ago. I kicked its tire in anger.




3. And for a bit of contrast, the next day I saw a Trabant...















...with a huge spoiler. Beautiful!

fundamentalism

I had a scary moment a few days ago. On Monday nights I go to a Hungarian conversation group run by my church here in Budapest. It’s good language practice and good fun. I met a new member of the group this week, and after chatting a bit I realized I had set off this fellow American ex-pat’s fundamentalist warning bells. This was strange because I usually find myself on the liberal end of the spectrum of American Christianity, and I tend to interact with people who are more fundamentalist than me. I even try to eschew the term evangelical, though I know it probably describes me pretty accurately. For the first time in a while (about six months) I was meeting someone who was at the same place I am on this “spectrum,” if not farther left, and I was coming off as a dreaded “fundi.”

It got me thinking. Since we make these judgments so quickly, categorizing other Christians in a flash, they must be based on the language we use to talk about faith. Looking back over the short interaction I had with this person I realized I had used some evangelical buzzwords. Initially I was embarrassed for using them, but then I got upset that a certain group of Christians has commandeered some otherwise useful vocabulary. Take, for example, the words “born again.” I remember first hearing them in Sunday School when we heard the story of Jesus and Nicodemus. It was this kind of strange (but useful) analogy that Jesus makes between becoming a Christian and actually starting life again. I assumed that “born again” was synonymous with “Christian.” Later in life I learned that some use the phrase to describe only a certain type of Christian, not all of them. Language can, of course, be a bond that ties groups together or a barrier that keeps outsiders away (usually both), but does it determine my identity in the context of believers? Simply because I know these words does that mean I really am an evangelical? Or do I know these words because I’m an evangelical in denial?

in which I eat crow

I have a confession to make: last Sunday afternoon I went to the movies and I enjoyed myself. No, I’m not guilt-ridden because I went to the cinema, or even because I went on a Sunday (though I have no doubt my grandfather would not have been impressed). The problem is that I enjoyed the particular movie I saw: Pride and Prejudice. That’s right. I, an avowed Jane Austen hater, enjoyed the latest film version of one of her novels. Someone check the sky for flying swine.

Before we get too carried away, let me explain. I grew up with older sisters who read and loved all the typical older sister books: the Anne of Green Gables series, the Brontes, the random trashy romance, and, of course, Jane Austen (Zane Gray being the notable exception). Being a typical younger brother, I ridiculed them for reading such “girly” books at every opportunity. The summer before I entered eighth grade I was going after one of them (I think Jen) for reading Austen when she very reasonably asked me if I had ever read any. I was crestfallen because she was right. That day I dug up a copy of Pride and Prejudice and started. I was determined to finish it, and though it took me three years, I did. My general pattern was to read steadily for about two weeks, get so angry I would throw the book across my bedroom, go back to reading Horatio Hornblower for a few months, then return to Austen in my dogged determination to get the moral high ground on my sisters. I finally finished the stupid thing, and guess what showed up on the syllabus for my 12^th grade world lit class – that’s right. I’ve since raised my repertoire of Austen novels to two because I had to read Persuasion in college.

I don’t want to alienate the entire female gender, so let me elaborate on my frustration. I respect Austen, I just don’t like reading her novels. The whole cultural satire thing – brilliant. She investigates societal gender roles and their implications generations before those sorts of discussions became commonplace. Furthermore, she’s a good writer. Her dialogue is snappy and witty (or at least as snappy as Victorian English people can get), and she finds the right balance between exhaustive over-description and stark narrative. But here’s the problem: her characters drive me up the wall. I wanted to get all of them together in one room and make them talk to each other like normal, functional human beings. Why doesn’t Jane Bennet simply tell Mr. Bingly that she wants to marry him and have lots and lots of babies, and why doesn’t Mr. Bingly bother to simply ask Jane if she’s interested before running away to London? Is this too much to ask? (And I understand that in Victorian England it probably was too much.) For me, reading Austen is an exercise in controlling frustration and about as relaxing and enjoyable as a long distance run – after a short while I just don’t see the point.

And so back to Sunday, when SJ and I were going to meet to see The Constant Gardener. It wasn’t showing until late, so (God only knows why) I thought it might be ok to see Pride and Prejudice. I had heard good things and was interested in seeing if Keira Knightly is really an actress or just another pretty face, but ultimately my motivation was probably the same I had in reading the book years ago. However, the movie was great. However, the movie was great. Many of the same old frustrations surfaced, but in the relatively short time frame of a movie they’re more bearable. The supporting characters were extremely well acted, especially Donald Sutherland’s Mr. Bennet, Claudie Blakley’s Charlotte, Judi Dench’s Lady Catherine, Talulah Riley’s Mary, and Jena Malone’s deliciously horrible Lydia. If my memory serves, a great deal of the dialogue was taken directly from the book, and if not it was a good approximation.

Despite that, the film would have never worked for me if not for the way the two key figures, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, were portrayed. I’ve spent hours of my life arguing that they are two of the most overrated characters in all of literature, but for the first time, while watching this film, I sympathized with them. It all seemed somehow more believable. Knightly can indeed act, and her Elizabeth was introspective and thoughtful where the Elizabeth I remember was haughty and downright foolish (it helped that in the movie she didn’t fall nearly as hard for the pathetically transparent Mr. Wickham). Lest you think I’ve had a complete turn around I can assure you I’m not going to pick up the novel any time soon. However, I’ll conclude by saying the film was an enjoyable way to spend the afternoon, which is more than I ever thought I would be able to say about an Austen story.

visitors

I had houseguests this week. I like being hospitable, and this was a fun opportunity for me to do so. Three Americans who teach with my organization in the Czech Republic, Sarah, Kassidee, and Christy, spent most of the week staying with me at the Bazis. Then, my old Third Schultze college buddy, Aaron Griffith, was in town for the week too. I got to play the tour guide when I wasn't at school, and I think my extensive knowledge of Budapest cafes and coffeeshops may have been my most important skill. Between all of those stops and several quality home-cooked meals (including one by Sam), it was a good week for food (not so much for staying fit).

When I was growing up my family had a revolving door approach to hospitality. Whether for meals, some conversation, or just to use our wash machine, it seemed that as soon as somebody left somebody else would be arriving. It helped that we lived in a college town, and college students are some of the best guests you can find. I think all the practice I got while I was growing up prepared me to deal with some of the typical worries. For example, I've learned that your attitude about the cleanliness of your home is far more important than how clean it actually is.

The spiritual connection is twofold. We are called to be hospitable to other Christians, and that means more than just occasionally inviting them over for coffee and windmill cookies. That means making space for them in our Christian communities (and especially worship), ideologically, spiritually, and physically. If we are not considering the unique needs of others when we organize or lead a Christian event, we're not doing our job. The church is made of all types: singles and families, the widowed and divorced, the injured and disabled, the academic and simple, and everyone in between. Secondly, making space for God is a form of hospitality. When we take the time to practice spiritual disciplines like silent meditation and centering prayer, contemplative scripture reading, or others we open up ourselves to what God might be doing. So invite people over sometime - it's good for you.

what happened to January?

disclaimer: Christmas Card Blog post

I had one of those moments today when you just stare at the calendar because you can’t believe the date is actually right. We’re into February’s double digit days already! (By the way, I blame this on the glorious picture of Rose Cottage in Hemingford Grey, England that is my calendar photo for Jan/Feb – it always distracts me.) It got me thinking about what I’ve been doing for the last month, and it’s actually quite a lot. Let me fill you in on a few details.

I’ve traveled out of the country twice in the last month – first to the previously mentioned Hemingford Grey. I spent an amazing summer there in 2004 working as an intern at St. James, the parish church, and living with a fantastically kind and hospitable couple from the church. This January the Calvin College Orchestra (including several good friends of mine) toured England, and I made the trip to see them perform at St. James. It was doubly sweet since I was able to catch up with English friends as well as those from the ensemble. I came away excited, encouraged, loved, and just a little bit homesick.

The second trip was a ski weekend in Slovakia with about 20 American friends (and one Czech). While it was a blast to hang out with such a large a boisterous group, I’m woefully out of shape and I got pretty tired as the weekend went on. I couldn’t keep up with the most enthusiastic skiers, but I had a terrific time anyway. The scenery in the Low Tatras range was especially breathtaking.

I also took an overnight trip to Pecs and Villany, the heart of Hungary’s southern wine region. Five other teachers and I spoiled ourselves with an evening of good food and wine tasting and a night at the winery’s guest rooms. It was a small, family-owned winery, so the hospitality was incredible. It reminded me of my first visits to Hungary and the generosity of the families we stayed with in small towns like Szamosszeg, Sarospatak, Nagydobrony, Magyarlona, Szentivany, and Nagyenyed.

Despite all these wonderful travel opportunities I’ve done my best to keep up with my teaching responsibilities (and done a decent job of it when I haven’t been sick!). I started The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe with one of my classes, and it’s been a treat to dig into a good story with them. I’m constantly impressed with how much they pick up and the good discussions the reading has prompted. My favorite was a passionate thirty minutes spent trying to figure out why the wardrobe worked sometimes and not others. On Monday we’ll discuss the Pevensie children’s fateful meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver and the first mention of Aslan – I can’t wait!

presticogitation

I know that many of you faithful readers are products of the same educational community that I am, thus the gushing I’m about to do will be familiar and perhaps even boring. For the rest of you, I want to introduce you to a professor who, in just one class, dramatically changed my life plans. A Chicago Tribune article written by the heart of the ‘01-‘02 Campus Choir bass section, Nathan Bierma, prompted this post.

I stumbled into Professor James Vanden Bosch’s linguistics class in the fall of my junior year of college. I was an English and religion double major, and I needed some sort of “language” class to fulfill the English requirements (I think my options were linguistics, grammar, grammar for teachers of ESL, history of the English language, or sociolinguistics). I had heard Vanden Bosch was pretty good, and none of those courses sounded any better or worse than the others to me (except grammar gave me a few shivers of trepidation).

Before I knew it I had been swept off my feet by the fascinating world of language. It was an intro course, so we touched on all sorts of interesting topics such as how language should be defined, how we acquire language, how different groups of people use language differently (whether defined by region, gender, social class, or even race), how to best systemize language with grammar, and most important for this discussion, language’s dynamic and vibrant nature. As I go back over that list I realize that it may sound a bit dry, or even boring. I can only assure you that it wasn’t, and I left class every day with important and relevant questions bouncing around in my head – questions directly related to big issues like poverty, sexism, human development, education, relativism, and faith.

One of the most fascinating parts of the course was our extended discussion on how words become words, perhaps because it’s such a passion of Vanden Bosch’s. The idea that a word like “blog,” to use a pertinent example, can spring from oblivion into general usage in a matter of a few years is really stunning when you think about it. Of course specialized technical words frequently spring to life, but new words develop all the time and old ones change meanings just as fast. Vanden Bosch’s own contribution to this process is “presticogitation,” a word eloquently described in Nathan’s article. I’ve come to love this word because there is no other one that succinctly describes dizzying and befuddling intellect quite like it, and because it accurately portrays Vanden Bosch’s own rapier-like wit. If I used the word at Calvin and someone asked me what it meant I usually responded by asking if they knew Vanden Bosch, because he is its simplest definition.

Needless to say, the class hooked me and I went on to take Grammar for ESL Teachers, Phonetics, Sociolinguistics and Issues in Language Education, and History of the English Language. This turned into what can only be described as an obsession fed by my regular investigations of Inflections, Language Log, Word of the Day, Bethany's pet language project, Kent's once-lively linguistic investigation, and my own college's language links page. People ask me why I like this stuff so much, and I usually talk about the ubiquity of language. Its endless changes and permutations can teach us something about ourselves and the way we see the world. A famous linguistic theory (the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis) claims that all languages are unique and that the language we speak determines, to some extent, the way we view and think about the world. It’s not hard to then add that without understanding our language we can’t begin to understand ourselves.

So, as thanks for sending me down this fascinating path, I’m taking a page out Nathan’s book and telling as many people as I can about Professor Vanden Bosch’s word (though I don’t think I have quite as many readers as the Chicago Tribune). Presticogitation, “rapid mental processing that commands compliance because of its speed and beauty” according to Vanden Bosch himself (as quoted by Bierma), has no synonym. Spread the word, and help make it a part of vernacular English as it so richly deserves to be.

bad cookies

Yesterday I had the English Club over to my place to cook a truly American dish: chocolate chip cookies. I had high hopes for wonderful, moist, chewy cookies, a la John Cooper. Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out that way. First of all, our kitchen is so small that we had to do the cooking in shifts. Only four students could help at a time, and rotating them in and out meant nobody really got to do as much cooking as they wanted. Then, in a mishap that may or may not be my fault, twice as much brown sugar as was needed got added to the dough. It looked a little strange when we finished, but I decided to try it anyway. Big mistake. Our product was a sticky mass of cookie-like goo. Not to be defeated, we added a bunch of flour and tried again. This time we got something that could technically be called a cookie, but they were too sweet and super crunchy. Despite the mishap I had a wonderful time hanging out with the students who came. We played Scrabble while we waited for the cookies (me against 5 of them), and I showed them around my humble abode (the most exciting thing was my FC Barcelona soccer scarf which either disgusted or impressed them, depending on their allegiances). It was a little hard on my pride to turn out lousy cookies, but a little humility is almost always a good thing. I've been doing a lot of reading lately, so expect future posts on truth in memoir (thank you James Frey), and cross-cultural worship (Symposium time is here again). That's just a teaser to make sure you keep coming back to my blog! For now though, read what Lauren Winner has to say about Epiphany, or what the BBC has to say about my Dad!

my desk

I thought you might like a picture of where I spend a good deal of my time, and where I sit when I write many of these posts. Mine is the one on the left. Also, I changed up the sidebar links a little.

at the trip-c

When I started this blog thirteen months ago I told myself that I would only post when I had something to say that might matter to other people. My personal source of expertise on blogs is Bethany, who has developed her own classification system. My aforementioned goal is part of a desire for this to be a Commentary Blog ("similar to an editorial column or essay series"), but I often cross into Christmas Card Blog territory ("primarily [used] as a way to keep up with friends they might not correspond with personally very often"). Today, for example, I don't have a great deal to say, but I feel inclined to post something anyway. I'm not reading anything terribly blog-worthy at the moment (The Testament, by John Grisham, and I read The DaVinci Code on Wednesday), teaching has been very busy lately (a rash of illnesses among my co-workers has meant I've had to cover a lot of extra classes) but not too unusual or thought-provoking, and I haven't had much time to simply sit and think about things (often the source of blog posts).

For some reason, though, as I sit here in a Budapest coffee shop, I want to let the world know I'm alive and well by posting on my blog. I think that desire - wanting to say something, even if it's nothing - means I've slid into Christmas Card Blog world. Maybe I can surf the line a bit, but I think my prideful wish to be literary, intelligent, and somehow above mere Christmas Card Blogs has caught up with me. Frankly, it reminds me of the "Vanity, Thy Name is Human" episode from season one of Joan of Arcadia. Joan's friend/romantic interest Adam is the alternative artsy type who refuses to go for conventional high school activities like going to the mall or wearing the latest styles, but Joan calls him out for being just as conscious of his alternative image as everyone else is of their mainstream one. Lately I've been feeling a lot like Adam, and I could use a little Joan to keep me honest and humble. I hope that made sense to those of you who haven't seen the episode (which I would guess to be 92% or 11 out of 12), but it's ok if it didn't because this is just a Christmas Card Blog now!

why I waited until today to take my Christmas picture off my blog

Pop quiz: Yesterday was the 12th day of Christmas. That makes today _______.

If you said Epiphany, you’ve won… nothing. (The last time I offered a prize on this blog I unexpectedly had to actually deliver on my promise. I’m not making that mistake again, Neal.) Those of you who’ve hung around me in recent years know how much I’ve come to treasure the liturgical calendar. It’s the chronological depiction of God’s grace, annually taking us step-by-step through the dramatic story of God’s interaction with his world. Epiphany is one of the lost Christian holidays (a group which I fear will soon include all Christian holidays besides Christmas and Easter, and we can have a healthy discussion about how those two are celebrated). Indulge me for a moment, and allow me to give you three reasons why you should celebrate Epiphany this year (and every year).

First: the events of Epiphany are really cool. I know Christmas is pretty fun with the cute barnyard animals, the angel choir, and the miracle of the virgin birth, but when you get right down to it all that stuff’s pretty dirty and gross (I wouldn’t want anybody I know to give birth in a nasty manure-filled sheep cave). The “absurdity” of this incarnation (see Kent’s post) is put in harsh perspective by visits from the greatest minds of foreign countries and Simeon’s bold declaration of faith at Jesus’ circumcision. Imagine a refugee baby born in a disgusting stable visited by great heads of state, or intellectual giants – now that’s absurd! (For more on this look into the Berlioz oratorio “L’Enfance du Christ,” a great Christmas counterpoint to Handel’s “Messiah.”)

Second: Epiphany means “to show” or “to reveal,” as in this Jesus child being revealed for what he is, the Messiah, the King of Kings, the very Son of God. If Christmas is about the wonder of Christ becoming human, Epiphany is about the wonder of Christ becoming human. On this day the world-shaking reality of Jesus’ divinity is revealed to us, and it’s our privilege to reveal that divinity to others. Light is a big theme for Epiphany, and as carriers of Christ’s light we get to reveal it to the entire world. (For more take a good look at Isaiah 60 and 61, great Epiphany chapters.)

And third: Simeon, one of the most underrated Biblical characters. This old man’s been told by God that he’ll see the Messiah in his life. Of course, for a Jew of his day that means he’ll see a new David to usher in a time of peace, prosperity, and prominence for Israel. It’s back to the good ol’ days! Don’t you think he would want to hang around to see how this thing turns out? Don’t you think he would want to keep tabs on this Jesus kid? But these are Simeon’s words after seeing the baby Jesus in the temple:

“Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you now dismiss your servant in peace.
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel." (Luke 2:29-32 NIV)

Simply seeing the Christ child was enough. The revelation – the Epiphany – of this child’s true identity and nature was what gave Simeon shalom. This Epiphany join in his prayer (if you can sing it, all the better), and recognize this savior graciously revealed to us.

ugh

Disclaimer: This will likely be another whiny and maybe even gross blog post. Sorry.

You ever have one of those days that can best be described by that strange in between a groan and a grunt noise? I woke up this morning still feeling like somebody had a belt cinched around my chest, and groggy from the overdose of cold meds I took last night so I could get to sleep. I took a long shower that involved Tarzan-like beating of my chest in an effort to dislodge the phlegm coating my alveoli (brought back great memories of post-heart-surgery physical therapy - if only I had those rubber suction cup beating things they gave me). I take the time to have some eggs for breakfast (it was that or lentils - the only foods I have in the house) and still get to school plenty early enough to make the copies I need for today's classes. I grab my books and head down to the teacher's room and find the copier's broken. No copies = new lesson plans. Then I do my morning internet check (e-mail, blogs, news.bbc.co.uk, and of course ESPN.com) and find that Texas has just scored a touchdown to go up 41-38 on USC with something absurd like 19 seconds to play. Then I have to wait approximately 15 minutes before they refreshed their site with news that Texas did in fact hold on to win (I was so close to calling you to find out, Dad). You can imagine my state as I walked into class this morning. Of course, nothing can cheer you up like hearing a happy bouncy 14 year-old respond to your good morning with "You sound like frog death." Priceless.

incarnation realities

I have smart friends. Kent and Bethany, the two other original members of our little blogging cabal, made profound Christmas observations on their blogs. I advise you to take a look.

As for me, my first Christmas away from my family was equal parts bitter and sweet. Fellow ESI-er Danielle did a wonderful job of making it feel like Christmas by opening her home to a random collection of folks with no place to go. Our potluck Christmas dinner was wonderful, and we had a great time. The toughest moment came when I woke up at 6:30 Christmas morning to call my family in Seattle (where it was 9:30 PM Christmas Eve). For as long as I can remember our family has gathered around our Christmas tree after church on Christmas Eve and all shared a Christmas reading of some kind - poem, scripture, short story, song lyrics, devotional, or anything, really. I think my family would agree that I'm particularly enamored with this tradition (I put it down to being the English major of the family) so I was really happy to be able to use Danielle's internet phone to take part in this tradition intercontinentally. My reading this year was excerpts from a sermon by Fleming Rutledge on the massacre of the infants, commenting on the importance of that detail within the Christmas narrative. She observed that without a recognition of pain, evil, and suffering in the narrative itself it has no more importance than the Rudolf story, or Frosty the Snowman. I was once again reminded how easy it is to insulate ourselves from the pain of the world, and that as long as one of my brothers or sisters is in pain, I am too. My New Years resolution (as it was last year, and the year before): be an agent of God's shalom in this world of pain.