shortcut

I found a video demonstrating the Hungarian way to avoid traffic jams. Enjoy!

back in the USA

My two favorite "“Welcome back to the USA" moments (so far):

Going through US customs I go to the passport window and step up to the yellow line to wait. I'm the only one waiting when a bunch of Europeans start crowding behind me. I think I've mentioned it before that, while I love them dearly, Hungarians are simply not skilled in the art of line formation. These particular ones start playing the "I need to get my shoulder ahead of your shoulder"” game when suddenly I hear a broad New York accent exclaiming, "“Excuse me! Can we form a line here?" Whoever that sassy customs official is, she's now my hero.

Then, as I was buying myself one of my two "welcome back to the USA" gifts (see photo) I had to laugh at an older European couple in front of me in line. They bought two ridiculously overpriced sandwiches and a bottle of water to share, and then started to look around for a place to eat them (this particular incarnation of a certain Seattle-based national coffee chain had no tables). They finally settled on the bar where baristas deliver finished drinks to their expectant customers. The European couple unwrapped their sandwiches and started eating them with forks and knives while standing at the bar, just like an Italian espresso bar. The bewildered look on the face of the young woman making drinks was priceless.

phew

The craziest week I've had in a while is finished. I write to you from Budapest Ferihegy 2B where I'm waiting for my direct flight to New York JFK. In a mere 23 and a half hours my family will be meeting me at Seatac. I'm looking forward to bonket, watching college football with my Dad, giving them their Hungarian Christmas presents, cooking with my mom and sisters, the Christmas Eve church service, seeing Kent (and hearing him preach!), and so much more. For now, though, it still hasn't sunk in. The other two big events of the week (taking the GREs and performing in Grease) are still in my mind (both went quite well, by the way), so I haven't given much thought to Christmas yet. Going home is easily the most important of the three events, but it still gets third billing for me mentally. Maybe someday I'll understand myself.

"you better shape up"

I can really be a sucker sometimes. Mostly because I can't say no to my students I'll be making my Hungarian stage debut in a mere six days as Rydell High's own Coach Calhoun. The good news is I only have about 8 lines to learn. The bad news is they're in Hungarian. I have visions of delivering them and being met with the confused blank stare I know so well from class, but this time multiplied by 600. Though I'm dreading the performance, the rehearsals have been fun. I like getting to spend so much time with my students, and my expertise in matters of American culture has been valuable to the production. ("No, Peter, Kenickie can't greet Danny with a few cheek kisses.") It's surreal to see my Hungarian students trying their best to live in the world of my mother. In particular their costumes are a bit strange. I can't seem to convince them that guys in the 50s didn't wear wide checked flannel shirts, and the girls look more Cyndi Lauper than Sandra Dee (not a poodle skirt in sight). Then again, I'm not going to give myself a crew cut for authenticity. I'll just try not to fall doing my dance steps in the finale or get my tongue tangled with the Hungarian and it'll be fine.

[Ed. note: My mom forcefully objected to my description of the 50s as "the world of my mother." She's right and I apologize. She was far more "Incense and Peppermints" than "Rock Around the Clock," though in a family discussion the other night it was made clear that she wasn't a real hippie because she didn't smoke pot.]

happy new year

Yesterday, as I'm sure you all noted, was the first Sunday in advent and thus the start of a new liturgical year. I was going to leap into my annual early-December diatribe about the commercialism of Christmas, the death of advent, and the widespread ignorance of the liturgical calendar (and that's just in within the church body!), but I don't think I will this year. Maybe I'm giving up the fight. Instead I think I'll go read some of those wonderful Isaiah prophecies and reflect on the hope we celebrate this season. In my favorite movie, The Shawshank Redemption, Andy makes the claim that "Hope is a good thing - maybe the best of things." If we follow the allegory through and imagine ourselves as prisoners trying to make the best of the world we live in, we can find comfort in the hope of its restoration and encouragement to struggle against conforming to the sin of this world. In the movie they call it "becoming institutionalized," and hope is what keeps it from getting the best of Andy, and especially Red. So, we hope. Maranatha, Lord Jesus!

Train Tracks

In a recent post I mentioned the Mix CD Exchangaganza. Here's what I came up with, music to listen to on the train.

Josh Garrels - Restless Ones
U2 - Beautiful Day
Lynard Skynard - Sweet Home Alabama
The Eels - Rotten World Blues
Johnny Cash - Folsom Prison Blues
Martin Sexton - Freedom of the Road
Jack Johnson - Breakdown
Bonnie Summerville - Winding Road
Simon and Garfunkle - Homeward Bound
Little Feat - Oh, Atlanta
The Red Hot Chili Peppers - Road Trippin'
The Allman Brothers Band - Midnight Rider
Muddy Waters - All Night Long
Credence Clearwater Revival - Proud Mary
The Beatles - Daytripper
Coldplay - Clocks
Theivery Corporation - Lebanese Blonde
Cake - Long Line of Cars

some wisdom

I just finished reading Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, for the third time. It starts a little slow, but in the end it's got more truth in it than I know what to do with. I often read parts and thought to myself, that's something I want to share. Here are some of them:

"I am reminded of this precious instruction [when you encounter another person...you must think, what is the Lord asking of me in this moment, in this situation?] by my own great failure to live up to it recently. Calvin says somewhere that each of us is an actor on a stage and God is the audience. That metaphor has always interested me, because it makes us artists of our behavior, and the reaction of God to us might be thought of as aesthetic rather than morally judgmental in the ordinary sense. How well do we understand our role? With how much assurance do we perform it? I suppose Calvin's God was a Frenchman, just as mine is a Middle Westerner of New England extraction. Well, we all bring such light to bear on these great matters as we can. I do like Calvin's image, though, because it suggests how God might actually enjoy us. I believe we think about that far too little. It would be a way into understanding essential things, since presumably the world exists for God's enjoyment, not in any simple sense, of course, but as you enjoy the being of a child even when he is in every way a thorn in your heart." (page 124)

"A good sermon is one side of a passionate conversation. It has to be heard in that way. There are three parties to it, of course, but so are there even to the most private thought - the self that yields the thought, the self that acknowledges and in some way responds to the thought, and the Lord. That is a remarkable thing to consider." (page 44)

"I believe I have tried never to say anything Edward would have found callow or naive. That constraint has been useful to me, in my opinion. It may be a form of defensiveness, but I hope it has at least been useful on balance. There is a tendency among some religious people even to invite ridicule and to bring down on themselves an intellectual contempt which seems to me in some cases justified. Nevertheless, I would advise you against defensiveness on principle. It precludes best eventualities along with the worst. At the most basic level, it expresses a lack of faith. As I have said, the worst eventualities can have great value as experience. And often enough when we think we are protecting ourselves, we are struggling against our rescuer. I know this, I have seen the truth of it with my own eyes, though I have not myself always managed to live by it, the Good Lord knows. I truly doubt I would know how to live by it for even a day, or an hour. That is a remarkable thing to consider." (page 154)

winter blues

They were putting up the Christmas lights on Andrassy this afternoon. It’s dark out now at 4:30 in the afternoon. These days I’m sleeping with two blankets and a duvet (and I’m the king of not needing blankets). I’ve started growing in my winter beard because my face is getting cold.

Winter in Budapest is long, dark, and cold, and I’m afraid it’s here. We were teased with a few warm days this weekend, but it was hard to enjoy because you get the feeling winter’s going to lay down the hammer any moment. Last year was a bit tough for me, and I think a lot of it has to do with the dark more than anything. Budapest is in the far eastern reaches of its time zone so it gets dark quite early in the evening. (How on Earth are we in the same time zone as Paris? Look on a map – we are not close! It’s silly!) This is the big change from the Michigan winters, which don’t seem so bad now (Michigan being on the far western side of its time zone). And, thanks to the worldwide conspiracy to start classes at institutions of secondary education at an absurd hour, I still sleepwalk to school through the pre-dawn darkness. It’s hard to get out of bed in the morning, and after school all I want to do is go home, put on my pajamas, and huddle under a blanket until 6:00 pm when I want to go to bed.

But this year’s going to be different. I have a plan to beat the winter blues: music and books. This started last spring when my friend Sam said, as he prepared to leave Budapest for Duke Divinity School, he regretted not getting season tickets to the Budapest Festival Orchestra while he was here. I said, that sounds like a good idea, and bought two on a whim. In hindsight it’s one of the best decisions I’ve made here. The group is outstanding (Ivan Fischer conducting), and their performance of Mahler’s 5^th Symphony was in the top five of concerts I’ve been to. And since I got two tickets I get to invite different people to go with me each time. It’s a regular night out that forces me back into the real world and buoys my spirits for days.

The concerts have rekindled my love of orchestral music and inspired me to purchase a few CDs. I picked up some old standards, Beethoven’s 5^th and 6^th performed by the Berlin Philharmonic (Herbert von Karajan conducting) , some unknown (to me) stuff by a favorite composer, Mendelssohn’s “Scottish” 3^rd Symphony and “Italian” 4^th Symphony performed by the Gewandhausorchester Leipzig (Kurt Masur conducting), and that same Mahler’s 5^th, but this time by the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Leonard Bernstein. I’ve been listening to them all the time and they’ve been uplifting.

Later this week I will gather in Brno, Czech Republic with my Teach Overseas colleagues from all over Central Europe to celebrate Thanksgiving together. It’s a wonderful get-together because of the fellowship, relaxation, and (in large part) the food. This year we’re doing a Mix CD Exchangaganza, which means the 16 people participating will all make 15 copies of a mix CD and trade them with the other participants. So, later this week I’ll be getting 15 CDs worth of new music! Of course, it means I’ve been wracking my brain for the last month trying to craft my mix. I can’t wait!

And finally, one of the joys of teaching literature has been rediscovering some of the great stuff I teach. Watching my students encounter these characters for the first time, whether it’s Atticus Finch, Ebenezer Scrooge, or somebody in between, lets me have that experience all over again. I come home wanting to prepare lessons because I like these books so much. Now if only I could find a way to motivate myself to do the grading!

These are some of the reasons I’m optimistic about my second winter in Budapest. It’s still going to be long, cold, and very dark, but I think I’ll just put the kettle on for a cup of tea and make the best of it!

fall break

I'm halfway through the first half of the year. This fall I've felt like I'm in a Star Trek episode, specifically one of those strange ones where they mess with the space-time continuum. Somehow it feels like I've been back in Budapest for about two weeks, but that it's also been about two years since I left my family and Seattle. So, what to do? Go to England, that's what. It was a great week complete with lots of laughs, a few pints at the pub, plenty of the English language (spoken, written, even sung!), many reunions with good friends, and one very difficult goodbye. A few years ago I was very blessed to spend a summer living with the most English man you could ever imagine and his wonderful wife. Tony is no longer with us, but I'm thankful I had the opportunity to know him and look forward to seeing him again someday.

free write

Though I haven'’t been writing much lately, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I know it'’ll come as a surprise to some of you folks, but I do that from time to time. It'’s been rattling around without making much sense and I'’m not sure this will be clear, but after watching an old movie tonight I feel like getting some of it out. (There I go again, starting with an apology. They tell you over and over in English Comp and Speech 101 never to begin with an apology, but I still keep doing it.)

In a recent spree of film watching I'’ve taken in Cool Hand Luke, a new documentary called Freedom'’s Fury, and tonight Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (among others). Between those thoughtful films, the recent political happenings in Hungary, the struggles of my friend Hiwa, and other things I've been tossing around questions of freedom and justice a lot. Before I get ahead of myself let me tell you about Hiwa.

I met my friend through some contacts at church. A Kurdish refugee from Iran, his story is an amazing one involving a dramatic escape from Iranian authorities looking for him because of his work with the underground democratic movement. Hiwa's dream is to go to college in the USA and become a lawyer. Last year I started tutoring him once a week to help him prepare for the Test of English as a Foreign Language.

A few weeks ago I got a very excited phone call from him telling me that he had found a way to America. A Hungarian university in Budapest partners with Texas Christian to offer a five year English-language program for a BA in sociology. Students spend three years here taking English classes as well as the regular curriculum and finish with two years in Texas. Hiwa found out about this program on a Monday, visited to find out more information on Tuesday, gave them an application on Wednesday, was accepted on Friday, and started classes on Monday. In a week his entire outlook on life changed.

Then, two weeks later, the bottom of his world fell back out. The university kicked him out because he had no money to pay tuition. He was under the mistaken impression they were giving him a full scholarship. Now we'’re back to square one, trying to improve his writing and vocabulary enough so he can think about applying to a school in the states. It just doesn'’t seem fair. He doesn'’t have the freedom to pursue his dream because he doesn'’t have the money.

This was bouncing around my head when I watched Cool Hand Luke on Sunday, a movie about freedom. Paul Newman'’s character is a chain gang convict who refuses to let the guards control his mind and his will. His determination and fight are the only things he has left, and he uses them to subjugate the authority of the guards. The classic example is when his crew is told to tar a road, and instead of taking their time the work as hard as they can and finish the job several hours early. The guards don't know what to do so they give them a few hours off of work. Luke exercises the only bit of freedom he has by doing what the guards ask the way he wants to, and the other guys love him for it. Of course in the most poignant scene in the film, when the guards do finally break him, he calls out "“Where are you now?"” wondering why his compatriots have deserted him in his time of greatest need. Like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, Luke does the little things he can do to make himself feel normal and free, if only for a moment.

The other movie I saw this weekend was a stirring documentary about the 1956 Hungarian Olympic water polo team. I won'’t go into the complex details of the politics, but the short version is that three weeks before the games were to begin the Hungarians started a revolution, overthrowing the puppet Soviet government and declaring the country a democratic republic. During the brief period the Hungarians controlled the government the team left for the Olympics in Melbourne, and while they were there Soviet tanks rolled into Budapest and crushed all resistance. The twist of fate came when the USSR and Hungary drew each other for the semifinal match of the tournament. It was a rough and violent match (dubbed "the bloodiest game ever") that obviously carried great added significance. After the games finished the water polo team (along with other Hungarian athletes and many regular citizens) had to decide if they wanted to live in the once again Soviet Hungary or defect. The sacrifice they had to make for freedom -– never seeing their family again, or giving up an incredibly promising water polo career because it wasn'’t a big sport in the US -– was the most difficult part of their experience for me to imagine. (Trivia note: The documentary is narrated by Mark Spitz, whose childhood swim coach was one of the Hungarian players who defected.)

Sunday was also election day in Hungary, for the local government positions. The conservative party nearly swept the board, losing only in parts of Budapest and other major cities. This is due in part to the new fiscal reforms introduced by the liberal national government, but mostly to the scandal surrounding Prime Minister Gyurcsany Ferenc (see my recent post). Now he'’s called for a parliamentary vote of confidence which will be taken on Friday. He'll win easily because his party still controls the legislature, and their coalition partner hasn'’t dumped them yet. However, a lot of people are upset and talking about "revolution."” They seem to think he should be removed for stomping on their right to know the truth with his lies.

And tonight I watched Mr. Smith, a movie that hits many of these themes and more. Naive replacement Senator Jefferson Smith goes to Washington with big ideals about what America is all about, and he gets disillusioned by the control big money has over the political process. He doesnÂ’t give up, though, and fights back by convincing others to return to those ideals. And what are they, the reason he gives Senator Payne to explain why "“lost causes are the only ones worth fighting for?" He says it'’s "“love thy neighbor."” That'’s the value he'’s pushing.

I guess freedom is the right to do what you want to do so long as it doesn't violate the freedom of others, the point where justice comes in. According to Frank Capra and "“Mr. Smith" justice means loving others, not putting yourself first. I've heard people talk about positive, restorative justice, which works to right systemic wrongs, not just prevent new ones. We must have freedom from persecution, but also freedom to follow our dreams. I'’m not sure this all makes much sense (there I go with the apology again), so maybe somebody out there can tell me what I'’m trying to say. What I do know is that as a creature made in God'’s image I have a hardwired longing and need for shalom, for peace and justice, that includes freedom for all.

liar, liar, pants on fire

First of all, Budapest is not in flames. As far as I can tell the protests and demonstrations are relatively small-scale and lead primarily by more extremist elements of the population, not the majority. Most people seem upset, but not very surprised by the scandal. The problem is that the Prime Minister of Hungary lied to the people. A lot. And then he got caught on tape talking to his party members about it. I find the whole situation quite interesting because his speech was actually a call to change the way his party had been operating (as far as I can tell). He admitted that he had been lying to the people and not been doing his job so that things would change (presumably because of pressure from Brussels and the EU). Most of my students (the easiest Hungarian group for me to survey for their opinion) want him to resign, but a small number see him as somebody who was trying to stand up to the system. Anyway, the bottom line is I'm not running off to Vienna for my safety. I'll keep an eye on things, but I'm not too worried.

year two

Here we go again. I'm back in Budapest with my spirits buoyed by a wonderful summer back in the States. The scariest part of the summer, though, was how much I missed Budapest! I've wisely been warned that the places I come from will never feel like home again. I've been thinking about home a lot this summer (see one of my June posts). I brought my copy of Barnes' book (Searching for Home) back with me since I didn't get to read it this summer. Maybe that'll help me better understand this feeling of "in-betweenness" I have. But now that I'm back I'm caught up in writing syllabi, organizing the Bazis (my residence), and all the other stuff of living. Year two - I'm off and running.

called out

I don't play this game much, but this is one I like. So, my answers to some random questions...

One book that changed your life: A lot of books qualify (the Bible, anyone?), so I'll go for something early on and say The Grapes of Wrath. During my junior year of high school my English class read The Great Gatsby, which I had done the year before at my old high school. Ms. Sylanski let me read a novel independently and write a paper on it and I chose "The Grapes." The experience contributed to my choice of college major (English), college (Calvin), and current vocation (English teacher - thanks for remembering, Bethany).

One book you have read more than once: I guess they probably want the one you've read the most, or something like that? The Killer Angels, by Michael Shaara. It was my "home from school sick" book (and then movie, after Gettysburg came out).

One book you would want on a desert island: Raft Building for Dummies? No, probably something like The Brothers Karamazov. I've now read it twice (once in class with Ericsson!) and still don't feel like I've scratched the surface of it. Besides, it takes forever to read!

One book that made you laugh: Most recently it was The Undertaking, by Thomas Lynch. I love dark humor.

One book you wish you had written: Anything by F. Beuchner qualifies, but top choice would be Telling the Truth. It's pretty brilliant and the man can turn a phrase!

One book you wish had never been written: I'm not sure I have the right to say this since I've never read it, but my choice is Left Behind (and all the other drivel it spawned) for theological and aesthetic reasons.

One book that made you cry: Though it started slow, Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, brought on a few tears at the end. (Your choice did too, Bethany.)

One book you are currently reading: I finished Going Nucular, by Geoffrey Nunberg, this morning, so now it's To Kill a Mockingbird (since I have to teach it in a few weeks).

One book you have been meaning to read: According to my half.com wish list, the two books I've been wanting for the longest are Lolita, by Nabakov (can't believe I still haven't read it yet), and The Atoms of Language, by Mark. C. Baker.

One book you wish everyone would read, and why: I'm stuck on this one. I guess, probably, the Bible. It's the book that has most influenced western culture, and it's a pretty good story too.

Honorable Mentions (you guess for which category): The Chosen (Chiam Potok), Master and Margarita (Mikhail Bulgakov), The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (C.S. Lewis), Walden (H. D. Thoreau), Exclusion and Embrace (Miroslav Volf), The Lord of the Rings (Tolkein), Budapest: A Critical Guide (Andras Torok), The Crucible (Arthur Miller), The Brothers K (David James Duncan), Where the Wild Things Are (Maurice Sendak)

I'm not tagging people, but I would love to hear from any and all of you with your answers.

teaching america

One of my favorite classroom activities is something called a song cloze, which consists of me picking one of my favorite songs, finding the lyrics online, creating a worksheet with most of the lyrics and blanks for the rest, playing the song a few times for my class, and then discussing the new vocab and the meaning of the song. My friend Amy claims that America by Simon and Garfunkel is the greatest song for a song cloze because it can be connected to just about any lesson topic you can think of. I'm not sure I agree, but I'm not sure I disagree either. Upon hearing her make this bold claim I started to work up a lesson on it in my head. Actually, now that I'm back in the states for the summer I've been thinking a lot about how I'm going to teach differently next year. One thing I regret from my first year of teaching in Budapest is how much I relied on my own ideas and activities. My teaching was ok this year, but it would have been so much better if I'd had more conversations with Amy and other great teachers. So, in the spirit of being more collegial, anybody have some great ideas for teaching ESL or literature?

a bit of silliness

My friend Sam told me about an article on pipe smoking, a pleasure he and I occasionally partake of. I guess that makes us seekers of truth, according to Michael Foley. My Dad told me about a silly mug that I might have to give him for Christmas. And there's a rather funny album that's been floating around for a year, but I was recently reminded of just how odd it is. Try listening to some of the clips; my favorite is "Jump!" Also, why didn't anybody tell me "Grey's Anatomy" was set in Seattle? I've been hearing about this show all year, but nobody thought about mentioning that? I watched the first two episodes tonight and I like it, but those scenery shots of the Emerald City... beautiful!

more sports

Mark Galli has written the article I'’ve been waiting a long time to read. In the latest issue of Books and Culture his piece, "“On a Pass and a Prayer: Why we no longer believe in sports but should,"” lucidly explains why we need sportswriting, or what he calls "“stories about the games themselves, and their heroes, when men and women act out great dramas, games of tragedy and hope, meaningful precisely because they transcend the usual social calculus."

Full disclosure: I'’ve harbored dreams of being a writer for Sports Illustrated since I was old enough to read the magazine. I love the drama and mystery of sports, punctuated by glimpses of unmitigated grace cutting through our obsession with justice and getting what we deserve (what else can you call it when your winning goal comes from an unintentional deflection off the opposing defender?). Don't get me wrong -– when my Dodgers or Nittany Lions play better than their opponents and still lose I get as mad as everybody else. But that'’s the nature of grace -– our conceptions of justice must always be tempered by humility because God'’s grace means people don'’t always get what they deserve. As an admitted devotee of sports and sportswriting I knew I would like this article going in.

Galli works on a few important themes, starting with the idea that the often miraculous nature of sports is good for us as people who suffer from "“a widespread loss of transcendence."” I don'’t use that word miraculous lightly. It'’s easy to explain away just about everything, but what else do we call it when something entirely unbelievable happens? Sports is one realm where things that have absolutely no business happening take place with some regularity!

When my Dad and I watch sports we have this reccurring conversation: when the situation gets dire (down 3 games to none in a best of seven series, down 5 points with 15 seconds left and your best three-point shooter fouled out, backed up on your own 30 yard line with enough time left for just one play, etc.) Dad declares with certitude that the game is over. I predictably respond by calling him a pessimist and running down the possibilities for a comeback, far-fetched may they be. He then claims he'’s not a pessimist, but a realist. Of course, he'’s almost always right. But those exceptions (most notably the Saturday afternoon Kordell Stewart and Michael Westbrook broke hearts all over the Great Lakes State) are enough to remind me that these things do happen. In response to Al Michaels'’ famous question from 1980, yes, I do believe in miracles. As Christians we have to answer yes.

But sports? Aren'’t we getting a tad too excited about them here? Galli says it better than I can: Â"what goes on between the foul lines or end zones is real, and that the symbolic participates in a deeper reality... sports are a dimension of play, and play an expression of Sabbath, an activity that cannot have any socially useful purpose lest it become just another bit of work. Play is a celebration of the seventh day of creation, an activity in which we live out the imago Dei and create our own bounded but free worlds. Play points back to the culmination of creation and forward to the time when all existence will be nothing but a Sabbath."

If, as Galli suggests, in sports we are reflecting our creator by creating our own worlds -– worlds with joy, grace, pain, miracles, and tragedy, just like our own world -– sports do matter. I love trying to view social issues through the lens of sports (which Galli argues is the direction most sportswriting is going), but we can also appreciate sports and the stories of sports on their own merit. It's popular in some circles to talk about God'’s relationship to this world in terms of a story. I love the idea (of course I do -– I'm an English major), and look for connections between our stories (in literature, film, life, and, of course, sport) and The Story. It'’s those connections that give the drama of sports so much value.

"the fringes of english usage"

One of the joys of being back in the US has been regular access to some quality National Public Radio programming. Today, on Talk of the Nation, Neal Conan hosted a segment with three language experts (Grant Barrett - a lexicographer, Geoffrey Pullum- a linguist, and Martha Barnette - co-host of a radio show on language). The particular focus of the conversation was the internet's impact on language, though they did a fairly poor job of staying on topic. Pullum came off as a bit of a snob, and he didn't do Barrett much credit in his response on LanguageLog. I think the best part of the conversation was when Barrett and Barnette touched on the passion people feel about language. Pullum misunderstood that Barrett's encouragement to one caller to "keep fighting" was simply his way of telling her not to stop caring about language. So I echo that admonishment to you, my faithful readers.

sport preoccupation

I know I've only been blogging about soccer lately, but I'm a firm believer that sport is a fascinating barometer for social trends (in addition to being a lot of fun). For example, on the New York Times World Cup blog they refer to a depressing story about how simply being a fan can be dangerous in some places. Some of my friends tell me I should stop wasting so much of my time following sports. Maybe they're right, but I know what I'll be doing tomorrow morning at 7:00 AM Pacific.

npr is the best

"Dutch Fans Go Pantless Over Beer Logos"

confounded and confused

Yesterday I got to worship at Sanctuary, the church my sister and brother-in-law attend. I've been there several times and I know a handful of people there. We were a little late getting there (I made my parents wait until halftime of the Australia-Brazil match before we could leave), but the service hadn't started. We parked across the street and as we walked over we heard a hearty yell. The pastor, Randy, called out, "Hey! You're not supposed to be here - you're supposed to be in Europe!" He greeted me with a warm hug, which was followed by another from the worship leader, Pete. We quickly found some seats as Randy greeted the congregation and Pete asked us to stand.

Then, in one of those "is this really happening" moments, I heard the first few chords of the opening song, and I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, shout for joy, or collapse out of sheer emotional exhaustion. It was a song written by my friend Ron that has a great deal of meaning for me. As I sang it lustily I was filled with gratitude (because I was once again worshipping with a community I knew and understood), sadness (because I miss the people I shared that sang with at Calvin), joy (because this song, of all they could have chosen, was the one that welcomed me back to the States), and many other emotions.

The song was a microcosm for the rest of the service. We did many things that seem as familiar to me as breathing, said words I've repeated countless times (Heidelberg Catechism Q&A 1!), and sang songs that are a part of me to my very core (Praise to the Lord the Almighty, God be merciful to me, I could sing of your love forever, even the doxology!). Yet, I hadn't had the chance to do any of those things in corporate worship in almost a year. Yes, my church in Budapest is wonderful and I'm not complaining about it. However, Sanctuary is part of the same tradition I am. It feels like home to me in a way that I don't think my little Scottish Presbyterian church ever will.

At church yesterday I was incredibly grateful for this sense of community and place, but the more I think about it the more I'm confused by it. Is this a good thing? Am I somehow reinforcing the division in the body of Christ by acknowledging these feelings? I want to go back and read M. Craig Barnes' Searching for Home again, because I think he gets at this idea. It's especially strange because I've been so frustrated at this very same tradition lately. Mary and the smart people who comment on her blog (she's smart too, incidentally) have had an interesting discussion of the issue, so I won't add to it. I will say, though, that despite many people from my denomination's inherently flawed approach to scripture I love this tradition of which I'm a part. Even though some of my brothers and sisters may find me more worthy of being a denominational leader simply because I have only one X chromosome, they are still my brothers and sisters. For better or worse they are my community, the group that defines home for me. Now the question is... which one is it? For better or worse?