the next chapter

What is it about me and life transitions? For those of you who don't know, this August I'm undertaking another. I was blessed with several great options for next year, but I'll be heading off to Princeton, NJ to start the Mdiv program at Princeton Theological Seminary. It seems like I'm always doing this - leaving friends, church, job, and what currently feels like home. This one will be especially hard since I'll be leaving Marianne for a year. Of course, I have marriage to look forward to at the end of the year. That helps! I'm reminded of Jesus' parables about waiting patiently, but expectantly for the bridegroom. Maybe this coming year will give me new insight into waiting for Christ's return. Marantha Lord Jesus! (and maranatha marriage!)

But as I look ahead to this fall, I'm filled with excitement and trepidation. I can't wait to get back to the academic environment, but I worry about the adjustment. I haven't written an academic paper in a long time. I have all sorts of questions about money, classes, transportation, classmates, but I'm trying to let them go. If I've learned anything from all the transitions I've gone through before, it's that God will be wherever I go. We're pretty sure this next step is God's will, and even if it's not he'll find a way to redeem it. As Neal Plantinga has said, "God is in the salvaging business." Maybe one of these days I'll finally settle down (I hope!).

two thoughts on american culture

1. Last night Marianne and I once again enjoyed the privilege of hanging out with our friends Patricia and Daniel. I use that verb "hang out" on purpose, because of a question Patty had for us. She was wondering if English had a verb that meant to get together with people without having any set agenda or plans. The only thing we could come up with was "hang out," a relatively new addition to English and a usage that is still considered slang by some (Merriam Webster, for one). Using it to mean literally hanging something out (as in your shingle) is somewhat older, but I couldn't get details on the origins of the usage I'm talking about (how I wish I had the OED!). Anyway, I bring this up because in Portuguese there's a wonderful verb - combinar (I think that's the spelling). It's used for this sort of unplanned spending of time together, as well as situations were we might say things agree with each other. One of my favorite examples that Daniel mentioned was coordinating colors, as in "that blue and this brown really combinar." I will now refer to any colors that go well together with the verb "hang out." (i.e. The color of that new couch really hangs out with the carpet.) I wonder if it's fair to draw broader cultural conclusions from this linguistic oddity. Perhaps we from the Anglo-American tradition don't like to spend time together without a secondary agenda, be it drinking coffee or beer, sharing a meal, or something else. Are we too task-oriented as a culture? Does the rise of "hang out" in recent decades mean we're changing culturally? These are the questions that keep me up at night.

2. Two recent reads have brought an interesting cultural quirk to my attention. I love sports, as most of you know, and I picked up a book called Soccerhead: An Accidental Journey into the Heart of the American Game from the library on a whim (actually thanks to an Amazon.com recommendation). Jim Haner, the author and a writer for the Baltimore Sun, volunteers to coach his son's soccer team not really knowing anything about the game. The book is his story of getting sucked into a sub-culture he didn't even know existed. Besides some funny parallels to my own father's devoted coaching of my soccer teams (he was WAY more prepares than Haner, by the way), I especially enjoyed Haner's digressions into the history of Soccer in America. Like many I thought it reached its peak in the 70s with Pele and the North American Soccer League. I didn't know that there had been club soccer for a hundred years before that, and quite competitive clubs at that. In the first three decades of the 20th century clubs like Glasgow Rangers and Inter Milan took trips to America to play against teams from Northern New Jersey and New England, primarily. These were highly ethnic teams sponsored by the textile mills and factories where the players "worked." There was also a strong club tradition in St. Louis backed by the Roman Catholic church, of all institutions! In his discussion of what happened to these clubs Haner pointed to the rise of baseball and the desire for immigrants to adapt to their new country and culture. Immigrant fathers wanted their sons to fit in and be successful Americans, so they encouraged them to play "American" sports. I've also been reading Steven Jay Gould's Triumph and Tragedy in Mudville for fun (I picked it up at the library's bag of used books for $3 sale). In his introductory essay he describes his own childhood in Queens in the 40s and playing stickball. His Hungarian grandparents encouraged this for the very same reasons - to help a Hungarian Jew fit in with all the American kids. Of course, any kid in New York in the 40s and 50s would be crazy not to love baseball. One city had three of the greatest teams of all time, not to mention so many legendary players I couldn't begin to list them all here. I wonder if this type of thing happens with immigrant populations now? Are young immigrant kids playing football or basketball to fit in? Just something to think about.

on justice and war

Yesterday I was reading The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis, and I ran across the following passage. I think it has some relevance to our current military situation, especially the fine distinction between a country’s just cause and the cause of justice itself.

Patriotism has, then, many faces. Those who would reject it entirely do not seem to have considered what will certainly step – has already begun to step – into its place. For a long time yet, or perhaps forever, nations will live in danger. Rulers must somehow nerve their subjects to defend them or at least to prepare for their defence. Where the sentiment of patriotism has been destroyed this can be done only by presenting every international conflict in a purely ethical light. If people will spend neither sweat nor blood for “their country” they must be made to feel that they are spending them for justice, or civilisation, or humility. This is a step down, not up. Patriotic sentiment did not of course need to disregard ethics. Good men needed to be convinced that their country’s just cause was just; but it was still their country’s cause, not the cause of justice as such. The difference seems to me important. I may without self-righteousness or hypocrisy think it just to defend my house against a burglar; but if I start pretending that I blacked his eye purely on moral grounds – wholly different to the fact that the house in question was mine – I become insufferable. The pretence that when England’s cause is just we are on England’s side – as some neutral Don Quixote might be – for that reason alone, is equally spurious. And nonsense draws evil after it. If our country’s cause is the cause of God, wars must be wars of annihilation. A false transcendence is given to things which are very much of this world.

cleveland fun

A few weeks ago Mar and I got together with a few friends for dinner (from L to R: Patricia, Daniel, Barb, Trevor, Marianne, me, Emily). After a long winter spring seems to be budding here, as is our social calendar. It's nice to get out some more, barbecue a bit (veggie burgers - yummmmmm), and enjoy spending time with the good friends we have here.

As for those of you who might want to comment on the fact that this blog has basically been in hibernation for the better part of a year, you are very observant. I make no promises about this being a rejuvenation of any kind. I'm alive and doing well. Who knows if the blog will be as well.

not quite comfortable with the Mary stuff...

My fellow ex-Budapester Sam alerted me to an interesting online quiz by posting his results on his blog. It came as no surprise to anyone that he was pegged as a Roman Catholic. It might come as a surprise to some that I got the same result, though I scored an equal amount of Emergent/Postmodern with my Papist portion. My first time around I whipped through the 63 questions, giving mostly gut reaction answers. The Catholics and Emergents tied for first, followed by a cluster of Reformed Evangelical, Classic Liberal, Neo orthodox, and Wesleyan. I decided it must be an aberration so I took the test again, this time more carefully considering each question. Again, the Catholics and Emergents tied for first (though my score was slightly different than the first time), followed by the Reformed and Liberal groups (no Methodists this time). I will say I felt some of the questions obviously aimed at Calvinists misrepresented the tradition. Even the Heidelberg Catechism doesn't give a straight up yes to “We are corrupt and incapable of doing any good.” It qualifies it with a big "except we are regenerated by the Spirit," if I remember right. The whole quiz obviously simplifies complex schools of thought. And, lastly, Fundamentalism came up dead last both times I took it.

life update, list style

-City of residence: Cleveland, Ohio (specifically, Parma Heights)

-Number of negative myths the city has lived up to: Zero (the river is NOT on fire)

-Most enjoyable Cleveland events: Indians games at the Jake, West Side Market on Saturday mornings, The Lion King at the State Theater, Martin Sexton in a basement hole-in-the-wall bar in Cleveland Heights, the Cleveland Metroparks system, etc.

-Day job: ESL teacher at International Services Center

-Average age of students at ISC: 31 (estimate)

-Location of ISC: the heart of downtown Cleveland

-Number of nationalities of students: 20, and counting

-Length of my daily bus ride: 38 minutes each way, traffic dependent

-Reading I get done on the bus: lots

-Distance from my house to the library: one block

-Night Job: serving at Antonio’s, the local family-owned pizzeria

-Number of years Antonio’s has been open: 36

-Television star who loves Antonio’s and used our pizza boxes on his show: Drew Carey

-Number of church homes found in Cleveland: Zero (please pray for us!)

-Plan for the future we’re mulling over: me going to seminary in the fall

-Age of Kaitlin Annette, my darling neice: 3 months today!

-Date of her baptism: October 13, 2007 (she cried the whole way through it)

-Things about Budapest I miss: countless

-Things about Budapest I don’t miss: also countless

-Average number of days a week I see Marianne now: 7

-(As a reminder) Average number of days a week I saw Marianne a year ago: 0.34

one reason I haven't been blogging lately:

Meet Kaitlin Annette, my neice.

loving live albums

Over the next few months I'll be posting reviews of my top desert island discs in response to a delicious challenge. I'm happy to do this because I've been thinking about it for years, probably since the first time I saw "High Fidelity" (and then read the book). I made a preliminary list last night to get my mind working and it surprised me, but more on that later. Being a purist, I leave out all compilations, best-of albums, soundtracks, or mix CDs that my friends have made me (though some of them are incredibly good!). I present these in no particular order because it was hard enough to come up with the list. Ranking them is an impossibility.

I'm pretty sure I couldn't live without Live Wide Open by Martin Sexton. First, I love live albums (if it's well-recorded, of course). The dynamic interchange between performer and audience gets to the heart of music: communication. The next best thing to being there and being part of that exchange is listening in on the conversation. Because Sexton is such a talented performer the disc fairly sizzles with the electricity of the concerts. Musically, it's a terrific blend of the thoughtful reflective lyrics, rollicking guitar-driven rock, and crazy vocal improvisation that have made Sexton a college campus hit for years. I love the bluesy angst of "Freedom of the Road" juxtaposed with the genuine fun of "Ice Cream Man" or "Things You Do to Me." I further like the disc because Sexton has steadfastly refused to sign with a record company, a move he describes as "selling out." I respect how rigorously he's defended his creative independence. And finally, as Bethany said, double albums are an added bonus.

However, this is my list of desert island discs and the real reason this one makes it is personal. Thanks to my college's wonderful Student Activities Office I got to see Marty (as we called him) live twice (and he's coming back again in September). Every time I listen to the last track of Live Wide Open I picture the sold-out Fine Arts Center, quiet as a church, all the lights off except a single spot on Sexton. He moves out to the front of the stage, unplugs his guitar, steps away from the mic, and starts his trademark, soulful rendition of Amazing Grace. The acoustics of the hall carry his voice and guitar beautifully to all 1200 of us. I go to concerts for moments like that, and this disc is the closest approximation I get on a regular basis.

Stay tuned for more desert island discs...

sweet blisters on my palms

Last week I saw the cows come home. I’ve played ‘til the cows come home, worked ‘til the cows come home, and even argued ‘til the cows come home, but until last week I’d never actually seen it.

School finished a week ago Friday (see my last post), and Saturday morning I took off for a week in Ozd, Romania. This village of about 200 or 250 people, tucked into a little valley in the rolling Transylvanian hills, is about as idyllic as you can imagine. I went there to visit my friends Ryan and Shannon and to join a work team from their home church in Michigan (River Terrace Church). I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, though.

The story really begins with Ryan and the Calvin College Band. When I joined that esteemed musical ensemble as a freshman I quickly befriended him (it helped we were both 3^rd Schultze men, of course). That friendship has blessed me in countless ways, from the simple (having somebody to go to church with) to the profound (having somebody to listen to me venting my existential angst), but one bond that has proved especially significant is our love of Eastern Europe. It started when we spent three weeks here touring with the band in the spring of 2002. We were tour roommates sharing in the remarkable hospitality of the Hungarian families who took us in both for that first tour and a second in the spring of 2004.

That second tour came after Ryan’s graduation, so at its end he jumped on a train back to Romania instead of a plane to America. Through our denomination's relief agency he has found a position at Bonus Pastor, a Transylvanian ministry connected to the Hungarian Reformed Church. He spent six months in Ozd while Shannon, then just his girlfriend, volunteered in Kolosvar.

In the return of seized property that had followed the Romanian government change in the early nineties the land and castle of a noble family had been returned to them. They in turn donated the property to Bonus Pastor. The ministry has big plans for the various parts of the property, and they’ve been slowly but steadily implementing them. When Ryan was there in 2004 he worked on the first phase, turning the old granary into a rehabilitation center. That work is now complete and in our visit we met the 14 guys who are currently clients there. There are also plans to turn the castle into a conference center and school of sorts. For now it’s where we got to sleep.

Being students again, Ryan and Shannon decided to spend their summer back in Romania (though it means medical and graduate school will take even longer), and part of that time in Ozd working again with Bonus Pastor. I’m so blessed to have friends who share my love for this part of the world and especially the Hungarian culture (while Ozd is in Romania all but one family in the village are ethnic Hungarians).

I headed to Ozd, not really knowing what I was going to be doing there, but having vague ideas of light construction. If you ever agree to help out with a service project, listen carefully to what you’re actually agreeing to do. When I arrived I learned our goal was to pour a little less than 275 square meters of concrete in the barnyard of the dairy farm Bonus Pastor runs. This farm is there to support the rehab center financially, to give the guys some productive work to do, and to demonstrate some modern dairy farming techniques in the hope they will rub off on local villagers.

For five days we worked hard, and it was a joy. The nightly ache of my woefully underused muscles was rewarding (and bearable, thanks to lots of ibuprofen). There were far too many highlights and funny moments to relay them all, but I will say I’m so thankful for every member of the team. I was blessed by seeing each of them contribute mightily in the ways their gifts dictated. How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity!

And, as I mentioned, I got to see the cows come home. Every morning the families open their gates and the cow herder drives the village cows out into the pasture. And then, every night at about 8:00, they come trundling home, each cow knowing exactly which gate to go into. It’s remarkable to turn the corner and see these gigantic beasts heading straight for their own home. Ok, maybe it’s not that remarkable for some of you, but for this city kid it was a sight I won’t forget (which is good because I forgot to take a photo of it).

moving on

While I'm a week late (see my next post for why) I want to comment on school ending. Friday the 15th was the last day of classes, and with it came the end of my time at Kossuth. I was touched and a bit overwhelmed by the many thanks I got. I did not enjoy saying goodbye, and I earnestly hope to see many of these wonderful young people again.

As often seems the case I came to Hungary hoping to help people and do some good, but came away feeling far more helped than helpful. However many lessons I may have taught those kids, I guarantee I learned tenfold more from them. Just a few of those lessons: I learned countless things about myself and my personality (like where my breaking point is when dealing with unruly teenagers). I learned about my country and the way it’s perceived (it’s so much more complex than “they like the people, but don’t like the government”). I learned, once again, how important community is and what a blessing it can be (thank you, Tracey, Jon, Chris, and so many others). And I especially learned, as I will probably have to keep learning my whole life, that nothing, neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything in all creation can separate me from the love of God that is in Jesus Christ our Lord.

how I wish all the children were above average...

Last weekend I drove out to small town of Vac. (It’s pronounced like an especially stuffy British version of “vats.”) Some of you don’t know or won’t remember that it was very nearly my home. My organization planned on sending me there, but couldn’t find a male teammate for me and (wisely) thought better of sending me there alone. Every time I go to Vac I wonder what if, but never more than this trip. Maybe it’s the nostalgic mood I’m in as I wind up my Hungarian adventure.

The reason for my trip (and the reason I got to drive there in a rental car!) was to pick up several boxes of teaching materials owned by my organization. Sadly we don’t have enough teachers for next year and Vac drew the short straw. That means we have to redistribute the stuff that’s accumulated in the flat over the years we’ve had teachers there. As fun as it was to drive up there and back (it’s been five months since I’ve driven anywhere), my real treat came when I got home. Buried in those boxes were two cassette tapes of Garrison Keillor doing the News from Lake Wobegon.

I stumbled across GK rather late in life for somebody who was raised on National Public Radio. While the “All Things Considered” jingle automatically makes me wonder what mom’s making for dinner, and “Morning Edition” is in my mind linked with scarfing down some cereal so I don’t miss the bus, A Prairie Home Companion came later. Our station in Pennsylvania didn’t broadcast it, so I had to wait until we moved to Washington to meet GK.

I had heard about him from my parents, who were fans in their pre-me days, but I was 16 and skeptical. I wasn’t sure about the folksy music (way too cheesy!), the strange “advertisements” (though ketchup won me over in the end), or the whole feel of the thing. I liked edgy stuff (so I thought), and this didn’t fit the bill. But the things I did like (and the reasons I would always suggest we tune in on the way to church Sunday morning) were Guy Noir, The Lives of the Cowboys, and News from Lake Wobegon. As I matured a bit I realized that I am, like so many in my generation, a sucker for narrative. If you want to persuade us, inspire us, sell to us, or mesmerize us, tell a story.

My parents would often lament how much funnier GK used to be, but I enjoyed his stories nonetheless. I can’t say it’s been a gaping hole in my life here, but I’ve noticed the absence of PHC. And those two things are what made finding these tapes so special. The tapes are homemade copies, but they’re labeled 1983. When I put the first one in I did a double take, because it’s the same velvety tone but the accent and delivery are very different. It’s not the smooth story-teller with a sort of general Midwestern accent that I knew. On the tape GK’s Minnesota vowels are far more pronounced (no pun intended), and he’s got that stop and start Minnesota timing that makes the pause before the punch line that much more effective. He also deals with more overtly religious themes than I can remember from the show, and quite wonderfully. The story labeled as “Father Emil’s Starry Night” is particularly poignant. My favorite, though, is definitely “Tomato Butt,” which accurately captures my entire childhood relationship with my older sisters.

Anyway, the tapes have just added another layer of what would have been if I had ended up in Vac. Maybe I would have listened to them with my classes. Maybe I would have listened to them until I had them memorized. For my year 10s’ final exam I made some of them talk to me about Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.” How often these days I think of those last two lines: “I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

school-leaving

Today I spent the afternoon at my school’s Ballagas. For those of you unfamiliar with Hungarian schools it’s the ceremony marking the end of classes for graduating students. The word means "school-leaving." Their work isn’t done as they have a month and a half of written and oral finals to look forward to, starting on Monday. But I think it’s good they get a chance to celebrate never having to sit through a math class again (if they choose not to go that direction in university), or English class for that matter. Watching them file out of the school in a long line, singing their goodbye song I couldn’t help thinking about my own departure from Kossuth which is rapidly approaching.

I’ve decided that for now my time in Hungary has come to end. It’s very hard to say goodbye to my students and colleagues, many of whom I feel like I’m just starting to get to know. I’m sorry to leave my little congregation at St. Columba’s Scottish Presbyterian. And it’s sad I’ll be leaving this city and culture I’ve come to love. There will certainly be things I won’t miss (the “naplo” class books, Hungarian bureaucracy, and not having a clue what’s going on come to mind), but overall I’m extremely thankful for this season of my life and the opportunity to serve here.

My reasons for the decision are many. Some of you may not know that for almost a year I’ve been blessed by my relationship with a wonderful young woman (see picture). Marianne also serves with Teach Overseas, but her school is in Cheb, Czech Republic (a twelve hour journey from Budapest). While the distance has been good for us in some ways, we’re both very tired of the situation and feel that if this relationship is to go any farther we need to live in the same city and see each other on a daily basis. That’s the first reason for this change of scene.

The second is pretty simple: I’m homesick. I’ve always known I wasn’t a Hungarian “lifer.” While I’m returning maybe a little sooner than I expected, the return itself comes as no surprise. I miss baseball games, bookstores, good Mexican restaurants, newspapers, Bell’s Oberon and Henry’s Special Reserve, being understood, The New Yorker, and most of all my family and friends. My oldest sister is having a baby this summer – the first niece or nephew for me – and I want to be around for that. I’ve been feeling the need for a good solid dose of “home.”

The third reason has to do with my work here. I love teaching high school students because they’re full of energy and verve. But the same hormones that cause those emotions can also make them moody, sullen, and uncooperative. Going to school every day I don’t know what I’ll find, which makes me moody too! What I’m saying is I don’t think I’m cut out for this job long term. My plan has always been to go back to school so I can work with college students in some capacity. While my experience here has confirmed my desire to teach, I don’t want to teach at this level.

So what’s next? To be frank, I don’t know. I had hoped to start grad school in the fall, but that hasn’t worked out. Marianne and I are heading for either Seattle or Cleveland (her hometown), so if anybody has a lead on a job in either of those places let me know. Mar will try to find a teaching position (she majored in special ed) and I’ll look for something ministry-related but will take what I can get.

God has richly blessed my time here, so my departure, as seems so often the case, is bittersweet. When I was leaving for Budapest a friend gave me an mp3 of Sara Groves: Painting Pictures of Egypt. I listened to it a lot when I first got here, and I find myself listening to it a lot again. She says “I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to stay. The places I long for the most are the places where I’ve been… I’ve been painting pictures of Egypt, leaving out what it lacks. The future feels so hard and I want to go back, but the places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I’ve learned.” It was so hard to leave the US before, and now it’s so hard to go back. However I feel deep-seated peace (you might say a peace I don’t even understand) and assurance that this is a right and Godly decision. Thanks for your support and friendship over the ups and downs of this two year adventure in Budapest.

Colbert in Budapest?

I have a request for any Stephen Colbert fans out there (you know who you are). One of my students told me yesterday that he's planning a visit to Hungary. Needless to say, I'm intrigued. However, my initial search has turned up no information. I'm guessing it has something to do with the Megyeri Bridge, so perhaps I should explain this a bit. (Or you can read about it on Wikipedia.)

Last fall this same student asked me maybe the best question I've ever gotten in class: "Excuse, Mr. Ackerman, do you know who Stephen Coal-burt is?" "Do you mean Stephen Colbert?" "Ummm, maybe." The student went on to tell me that they were going to name the new M Zero bridge over the Danube after Colbert, and he thought the guy must be a jerk. It turns out the Hungarian government decided to choose the name for the new bridge by internet poll. Colbert made a plug on his show for the "Stephen Colbert Bridge" and his supporters soon swamped the voting. The Hungarian Ambassador made an appearance on the show and explained Colbert would have the bridge named after him on two conditions: he had to demonstrate Hungarian fluency and had to be dead. I tried to explain to my students that this was a joke, not another example of American imperialism. They seemed skeptical.

Anyway, the latest rumor is that Colbert is coming to Budapest. If anybody knows anything, please fill me in. This is something I do not want to miss!

"a grace wholly gratuitous"

While watching CNN today I was reminded of one of my favorite Annie Dillard observations. Perhaps it's wrong and shallow that I often think of it in times of great tragedy, but I find it comforting.

"...Frogs were flying all around me. At the end of the island I noticed a small green frog. He was exactly half in and half out of the water, looking like a schematic diagram of an amphibian, and he didn't jump.
He didn't jump; I crept closer. At last I knelt on the island's winterkilled grass, lost, dumbstruck, staring at the frog with wide, dull eyes. And just as I looked at him, he crumpled and began to sag. The spirit vanished from his eyes as if snuffed. His skin emptied and drooped; his very skull seemed to collapse and settle like a kicked tent. He was shrinking before my eyes like a deflating football. I watched the taut, glistening skin on his shoulders ruck, and rumple, and fall. Soon, part of his skin, formless as a pricked balloon, lay in floating folds like the bright scum on top of the water: it was a monstrous and terrifying thing. The frog skin started to sink.
I had read about the giant water bug, but never seen one. "Giant water bug" is really the name of the creature, which is an enormous, brown beetle. It eats insects, tadpoles, fish, and frogs. Its grasping forelegs are mighty and hooked inward. It seizes a victim with these legs, hugs it tight, and paralyzes it with enzymes injected during a vicious bite. That one bite is the only bite it ever takes. through the puncture shoot the poisons that dissolve the victim's muscles and bones and organs - and through it the giant water bug sucks out the victim's body, reduced to a juice. This event is quite common in warm fresh water. The frog I saw was being sucked by a giant water bug. I had been kneeling on the island grass; when the unrecognizable flap of frog skin settled on the creek bottom, swaying, I stood up and brushed the knees of my pants. I couldn't catch my breath...

That it's rough and chancy out there is no surprise. Every live thing is a survivor on a kind of extended emergency bivouac. But at the same time we are also created. In the Koran, Allah asks, 'The heaven and the earth and all in between, thinkest thou I made them in jest?' It's a good question. What do we think of the created universe, spanning an unthinkable void with an unthinkable profusion of forms? Or what do we think of nothingness, those sickening reaches of time in either direction? If the giant water bug was not made in jest, was it then made in earnest? Pascal uses a nice term to describe the notion of the creator's, once having called forth the universe, turning his back to it: Deus Absconditus. Is this what we think happened?...

Cruelty is a mystery, and the waste of pain. But if we describe a world to compass these things, a world that is a long, brute game, then we bump against another mystery: the inrush of power and light, the canary that sings on the skull. Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist (who?), there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous...

We don't know what's going on here. If these tremendous events are random combinations of matter run amok, the yield of millions of monkeys at millions of typewriters, then what is it in us, hammered out of those same typewriters, that they ignite? We don't know. Our life is like a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle, curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf. We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what's going on here. then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise."

winter

It’s been a while since I blogged, so I think this will be another shot gun post describing a scattering of recent events. Since I last wrote winter arrived, and then it left again. The only snow we’ve seen this year was a light dusting that fell late Friday night, a week ago. I used to hate snow on Saturdays because of the snow day factor. Twenty four hours earlier and I might have had a three day weekend. Now, though, I prefer waking up and enjoying the view of the snow through the window as I have a leisurely breakfast. It gives me some time to mentally prepare for venturing out. And, unlike other days, I usually have the option of staying home if I want. But now we’re back to unseasonably warm weather, and that one snowfall we had didn’t even last through the morning.

Another highlight of January was a visit from some old family friends. It had been 11 or 12 years since I had last seen this couple, the parents of my childhood friend Evan, except for a brief meeting with the husband here in Budapest a year ago. He takes a group of MBA students from the University of Delaware (where he works) to Eastern Europe every year. It was a treat to see them, and not just because they spoiled me rotten! The last time they saw me I was a snot-nosed little kid who didn’t have a clue about anything, and now I’m an independent young man who doesn’t have a clue about anything. They were wonderfully inquisitive, taking a genuine interest in my school, my work, and my life in Budapest. I felt flattered by their many questions. The picture is our view of the Danube from Visegrad, the "castle on a hill" outside Budapest.

The other day I had cause to look back over the history of this blog a bit. I used to write a lot more about ideas, books, current events, and that sort of thing. Now I seem to mostly write about me and my pretty normal existence. It’s a bit depressing, I think. So, in an effort to do less of that, what’s the deal with Catcher in the Rye? I’m trying to pick a novel for one of my classes to read, and that’s one we have in our library. I picked up a copy since I had never read it, and now that I’m half way through I mostly want to punch Holden in the face for whining so much. Is that the point? Is the book supposed to be about the discontent of American youth? Is that it, or am I missing something? I may end up reading it with the class simply because we don’t have anything else. What a pity!

A more fun development at school is that I’m now one of the coaches for the school Civilization team. On a Saturday in March I’ll head to Kecskemet with another teacher and three students for a competition on the history, art, and literature of America and Britain in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. There will be a written quiz, a three-minute prepared presentation, a verbal question and answer session, and a listening activity (my money’s on a name-that-band exercise with rock and roll from the 50s and 60s). We meet once a week to do prep sessions (I get to cover literature and pop culture while my partner in crime, Tracey, does the Cold War and Civil Rights). The kids are great and I think they’ll do really well. At the very least we’re having fun preparing!

some stuff on my mind

I haven't written lately because we're nearing the end of the semester (meaning I have to turn in grades!), grad school applications have been due, and my teammates got season 2 of Lost for Christmas. However, there's a bunch of stuff I've wanted to write about and haven't. I'm going to give each of them a paragraph (instead of a full post) just so I can get them out of my system.

The Trad's Wedding: A week ago I was in Prague for one of the most interesting weddings I've been to. The bride is a Lebanese-American who taught with Teach Overseas in Prague for two years. The groom is a terrific Czech guy who speaks great English and met the bride because she taught English to his little brother (I think). The service and reception were a wonderful blend of cultures and captured many of the idiosyncrasies that makes this couple terrific. Also, the wedding fell on Epiphany, so the readings were from Isaiah 60 and Matthew 2. Themes of light and the revelation of Christ to the world permeated the service. It was a new twist on the wedding covenant (for me), asking for Christ to be revealed in their relationship.

Craziness in Federal Way: An article in the Seattle P-I tells how a father objected to the showing of An Inconvenient Truth in Federal Way schools. His rationale is that the documentary shows only one side of the story, so showing it gives students a warped perspective. The School Board agreed with him, saying global warming should be covered by their policy on "Teaching Controversial Issues." That means teachers who want to show the film must give equal time to opposing view points. I think it's great that the Board wants to show students both sides of tricky issues, but how far will this go? Do we need to start showing Birth of a Nation as an alternative to traditional American History? What about giving equal time to those who believe the moon landing was a big hoax? As much as we love equality in this country, not all ideas are equal nor do they deserve equal billing in our classrooms. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, the American Meteorological Association, the American Geophysical Union, the American Association for the Advancement of Science, and the National Academy of Sciences agree with the basic conclusions presented in the documentary (according to the article). As a recent article in the Seattle Times by two UW atmospheric scientists points out, on global warming the scientific community is, for once, in agreement. The Federal Way School Board told teachers who have already shown the documentary that they must now show students a "credible, legitimate opposing view." Good luck with that.

Frank Luntz on "Fresh Air:" If you want to hear how the power of language impacts your daily life listen to this interview. Luntz is, for lack of a better term, a linguistic consultant. His job is to poll the public and then tell people how to communicate in a way that best sways public opinion. Anybody who has, say, done research on how the language of stewardship has impacted Christian views of environmentalism might want to give it a listen. (My favorite moment is when Luntz says, in answer to a pointed question from Terry Gross about Republicans portraying environmentalists as extreme, "What about Democrats who want to present all businessmen as evil?" She pauses for a moment and changes the subject. Way to cave, Terry! She comes back strong with the gaming vs. gambling discussion, though.)

Free Will in the New York Times: Reading a recent article in the NYT brought me back to my religion senior seminar at Calvin and our discussions of Open Theism. The author, Dennis Overbye, describes the work of some psychologists and scientists who are taking a good look at traditional "deep free will." Their studies conclude that free will is an illusion. Some of it sounds a lot like what I remember from reading Jonathan Edwards. He differentiated between Free Choice and Free Will, saying we have the former but not the later. It's sort of like saying we have the ability to choose what we want, but we don't have the ability to decide what will appeal to us, what our wants will be. One thing that is lacking from the article is a discussion of what you might call the spectrum of free will. It's not an all or nothing proposition. To use Professor Crump's example, if I'm a cow in a field with no fence I'm free to go wherever I want. If I'm that same cow in a field with a fence around me I'm not free. But, what about if I'm the cow surrounded by a fence with an open gate? I'm free, but am I as free as the cow with no fence? I wish I had a better philosophy background so I could discuss it more, but maybe one of my smart friends will take it on (Kent? Sam?).

Poetry: In several of my literature classes I've been doing units on poetry, and it's been great fun. I have smart students and seeing them sink their teeth into Frost, Hughes, Dickinson, Sandburg, Roethke, and even Donne has been a joy! When I started these units many of the students were wary of poetry. They didn't think they could handle it. However, they've shone and come up with some very creative analysis that would not have occurred to me.

where did it go?

I'm parked here on the couch with my father tonight as Boise State tries to hold off Oklahoma in the Fiesta Bowl. The Broncos are inexplicably up by 14, but you get the feeling Oklahoma is eventually going to wake up and realize they're losing to a team that was Division I-AA ten years ago. Then we'll see what the Idaho underdogs are made of.

This time tomorrow I'll be somewhere over the Atlantic. I can't believe how quickly this break has gone, and how much I've enjoyed being at home. A few of the highlights:

Playing brass with my big sis in church on Christmas Eve. We've been doing this for years - since 6th/8th grade - but this was particularly special since it's been a while. (Even if our chops were pretty lousy!)

My family's Cioppino tradition! This year with fresh cod, clams, scallops, shrimp, crab, and mussels.

Spending a fun and encouraging evening in Tacoma with Shantra and Lori. (And what a view from their apartment!)

Renting and watching A Prairie Home Companion with my parents. I haven't laughed that much at a movie in a long time. Woody and John C. telling bad jokes was the cinematic highlight of the year.

Going to Bodies: The Exhibition with most of the family, especially Katherine, my sister the nurse. Fascinating!

Torrey and D.J.'s beer tasting party.

Spending New Year's Eve with Kent and Shelly starting with worship at 3rd CRC in Lynden (my grandfather's old church) where Kent delivered a fine sermon, ending with the fireworks at the Space Needle, and full of fine conversation and fun in between.

And, of course, spending New Year's Day watching the bowls with my Dad (despite our different views on the Rose Bowl), and making Oliebollen and Banket with my mom.

I hope these celebratory weeks have been relaxing and refreshing for you, as they have been for me.

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.