maybe it wasn't an accident

Well, yesterday I made a fool of myself at work, by going in to Manhattan for a meeting only to find out that the meeting was in Queens. Oops. But maybe it was not an accident.

On my way in the door, I passed a Turkish co-worker (whom I do not normally see). She commented that I must be leaving soon for my trip, and asked if I was preparing by eating Turkish food, etc. I agreed that I was, and then mentioned that I had obtained a CD of worship songs used in my church, but sung in Turkish. She was fascinated, and said she had never heard of such a thing. And then she said that she would be interested to hear it, and asked if she could borrow it.

So I will have the opportunity to lend my Muslim co-worker a Christian worship album. All I can say to that is:

Gorkemin bu yeri dodursun

No, I'm not positive exactly what it means -- but it's the first line of "Let your Glory Fall"

Vegemite

Some things are an acquired taste.

I love tasting new foods. Even if I don't especially care for them, I like the opportunity. But sometimes certain tastes puzzle me.

Yesterday, I walked by the pantry at work just in time to notice 'C' (Australian) and 'S' gleefully buttering some toast, and then spreading some dark brown paste on it. They happily announced that they had obtained a new jar of Vegemite, to replace the jar that had disappeared (surely not stolen?). They were so delighted to have it, that they wanted to share their joy with someone, and I was elected. Craig cut me a slice of the toast and watched with happy anticipation as I tasted it.

It tasted...salty. But not just salty, sort of dark. In fact, it tastes sort of like it looks. Brown and pasty. It wasn't horrible, but I just couldn't grasp the immense fondness that it generates. We finally agreed that it must be an acquired taste. 'C' felt that when you eat it as a child, you remember it as something good when you grow up. Of course, the flaw in that theory is how in the world you would get a child to eat it in the first place, unless you starved them first. But I'm still happy that I tried it.

But my day was not complete. 'R' also noticed me passing by, and called me over to try a special dish she had made for an Indian festival. It looked like a yellow rice pilaf. I have to admit that this dish was much easier to describe than the vegemite. Imagine rice pudding made with some raisins and cashews...and then add LOTS of hot curry powder. I tried to be complementary without being too enthusiastic -- I had this sudden fear that if she thought that I really loved it she might go to a lot of trouble to make it specially for me as a treat. I'm glad I had the opportunity to try it, but one bite was plenty!

So today when I saw her, I sociably asked if she had cooked anything else good. And she graciously offered me a taste of her lunch. So I ran and got a fork, and took a bite of some innocent looking but lethal curry. Actually, the flavor was excellent, it was just...hot. As I put it in my mouth, I had an audience of 4 Indian women watching me intently. I commented truthfully that the flavor was very good but it was rather hot. At which point they mildly explained that normally you mix it with the rice rather than eating it straight. Oh. I'm so used to skipping rice that it didn't occur to me that it was there for a reason! But I think they were rather proud of me for eating something they described as true Indian flavor.

Wisdom

The other day, one of my Hindu colleagues confided that he wished to be wise, and he wondered aloud if it was OK to pray for wisdom.
I responded that the Bible told a story of a very wise man, who had gained his wisdom by asking God. 'P' was very interested at this.
"Would you like to hear the story of how Solomon became wise, and what he did with his wisdom?"
"Yes, please tell me this story"
So I told him the story of Solomon, and of course the story of the two women who disputed over the child. He was very curious that such a thing would be in the Bible. But he agreed that one would have to be very wise indeed to think of such a solution, to reveal the truth. I explained that Solomon was only able to be that wise because God had given him wisdom. Then 'P' questioned me again:
"This is in the Bible?"

I seem to have stumbled on a method for being 'allowed' to talk about the Bible in an excessively secularized, politically correct, religiously diverse workplace. By keying off of a topic that is of interest to the other person, and mentioning that there is a relevant Bible story, I have found that every time the response is:
"Tell it to me!"

I am the Hula Queen!

Now for a short interruption in the VLI and cross-cultural themes, to bring a moment of comic relief.

Yesterday, I shocked everyone at work.

We had a corporate picnic, with various planned events: horseshoes; spoon race; balloon splat; chicken fling (don't even ask!);bocce; volleyball; and hula hoop. Well, most of my co-workers did not know that my one and only athletic expertise is the hula hoop. Of course, I peaked around 30 years ago (and 60 pounds ago).

The competition was better than I expected, but I was clearly the champion. Apparently, some of my colleagues were even laying bets on the outcome. We had to hula while walking a few steps forward and backward, and rotating in a circle, with our hands on our heads. Finally, they made us each spin two hoops at once. I don't remember whether I ever tried that as a child. My claim to fame was hoola-hooping while readying a book. The trick is you have to choose a book with rather large print, and you have to learn to not swivel with large movements. Frankly, that is a bit harder than merely putting your hands on your head.

I know that some people spend their lives and their careers hoping for a super bowl ring (or vicariously thinking of what could have happened). As for me, I'm happy with my own prize -- a shower radio. In fact, maybe I will try it out now, as I soak out all those little muscles that I have suddenly become re-acquainted with. How thoughtful of the game organizers.

Moti hears the story of Ruth

Today Moti came and asked me something at work. I had trouble understanding him. And then I had to ask him what his name was, and had trouble understanding hs name. But when he realized that I was really trying, he added:
M: It means something
A: Really? what does it mean?
M: It means puhl.
A: Puhl?
M: Yes, puhl [finally he wrote it down for me]
A: Oh, pearl! That's a beautiful name.
M: I don't like it
A: Why not?
M: In my country, we use this for a dog's name.
A: Oh, that is too
beautiful for a dog. But we sometimes give very fine names to dogs
too-- we sometimes call a dog 'King'.
M: I wanted to change my name, but my father wouldn't let me.
A: I'm always interested in how different names are popular at different times. Do you know the talk show host Oprah Winfrey?
M: Yes, we can see American TV in my village.
A: Well, many mothers names their babies after Oprah. But there is only one problem.
M: What is the problem?
A: When Oprah was born, her mother intended her to be named after Orpah, who was a character in the Bible, but they wrote it down with a typo, so now all the little girls who are being named after her actually have the wrong name too. And to top it off, it is also funny because the character Orpah in the Bible is not a very important or special character. Do you know the story?
M: No. How does it go?

So there I was, giving a dramatic re-telling of the story of Orpah to Moti. Even now, trying to blog the conversation, I can't quite figure out how I ended up there!

VLI at a distance, at a distance

I guess it's one of my flaws that I always think that if something interests me it will interest other people too. As a result, my co-workers hear a surprising amount about VLI. It's sort of like VLI one step removed.

On Tuesday, I was trying to find every opportunity to get in a little bit more studying time: walking to the station, on the train, in the elevator. At lunch time, I brought my notes to the cafeteria, only to bump into two colleagues with whom I've never eaten. It seemed to be better to join them, for some reason. So I sat down with them, and explained that the papers in my hand were study notes. Well, my office-mates have been quite puzzled as to why I am putting this effort into something that will not increase my earning potential, and 'D' finally felt he had the opportunity to see what it was about. So he asked if he could see my notes.

I handed him my notes, and then sat amazed when I thought of how God had worked this out. 'D' turned the page, and started reading the section on 'Eternity in their Hearts'. Here I was, lunching with two Hindus, while they read the stories from around the world of various people and tribes who had ancient beliefs in one true God.

I don't know what he thought of it. But his only comment was to ask "is this an open book test?" When I said no, this absolutely brilliant man shook his head and said, "this is too much to learn. "

Steve Robbins, do you hear that?

A Free Gift

We did a servant evangelism outreach this morning, and I suddenly realized that it's sort of a metaphor for salvation.

We gave out free water, gum, and popcorn, and received various responses.

• Some people walked by and pretended they didn't see our big 'FREE' signs.
• Some people were pleased and appreciative.
• Some were sure that they were supposed to pay, somehow.
• Some took it for granted.
• Some wanted to understand what it was about
• Some were hostile, and didn't even want us giving free stuff to other people.

Isn't that just like the free gift of salvation? Responses range from uninterested; pleased; appreciative; wanting to earn-it; trying to understand; to hostile.

A Beagle, a plane, a convention

A couple of days ago, 'S', my co-worker called me up and said:
Well, it worked pretty well when you prayed for Barney (the beagle); and when we went on vacation the plane stayed up in the air when you prayed, so now my wife has something else for you to pray.  She wants you to pray for safety during the convention, that New York City won't have any terrorist event.
I agreed to pray, but reminded him that many people would be praying for that. And he replied:
Yes, we already discussed that, but I said that you should pray, because you have connections!
He's kidding, of course, and yet there's a germ of truth -- he's recognizing that there is some sort of relationship going on.  He's mentioned this before, and if someone looks puzzled when they hear the word 'connections' he then adds:
She knows somebody. 
He's joking when he says it, and he does his best to make it sound as if I'm in the Mafia or something, and yet I think there is a tiny part of him that wonders if it is true. And after all, don't forget that the beagle and the plane both turned out ok!
So now, let's all pray for the safety of the city.

Context is Everything

In VLI, Steve Robbins keeps telling us that "all meaning is context dependent", but I'm not sure that the example today is what he meant!

Imagine the nursing home. Today is the Fourth of July. The residents are lined up in rows in the activity room, but there are fewer than usual -- often on a holiday some of the aides don't show up, and so it takes longer to get everyone up and dressed.

It's sort of like the movie 'Groundhog Day'. As I enter carrying my guitar case, one lady notices it and says 'Oh, you play violin?' I expect this of course, because she asks that every week. She prides herself on being one of the more cogent ones.

Since it's the Fourth of July, I tried to find patriotic songs. Vineyard style worship doesn't strike a chord for this population (no pun intended). I've got America the Beautiful, and Battle Hymn of the Republic, but I don't have God Bless America, so when 'R' shows up, I ask him if he knows the chords. He doesn't know them, but starts strumming and figuring them out, as I madly try to write it down. We end up with a reasonable facsimile of the song, but in the key of C (which isn't a great key to sing it in). There isn't time to transpose it.

We start with America the Beautiful. There is an unusual swell of response from the 'crowd'. The ones who are awake are actually singing along, with gusto. I'm touched, and then blindsided by a flood of emotion when we get to the words "America, America, God mend thine every flaw". I suddenly think of the abuses in the prison, and realize that this should be the desperate prayer of us all. My voice cracks and shakes as we sing on. Then comes the Battle Hymn of the Republic. The last line says "as He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free" and I suddenly realized that this is the World War II generation. They really were dying to make men free. Usually I sing strongly, so that they can follow my voice, but now my voice is quivering. On to "God Bless America". Like many of us, I'll never be able to hear that song without thinking of 9/11. And I really do pray that God will bless America. So now I'm trying to belt out the song, in the wrong key, while trying not to cry. I'm thinking that it's lucky that most are too deaf to notice.

At the end, there is an outpouring of response. The lady who asks about the violin shouts "very good" (she always does). The man who always wants to show me his colostomy shouts "Amen", but the final verdict was unexpected, as he gleefully asks:

"Do you know how I know it was good?"
"No", I reply.
"Because my teeth didn't fall out!"

Intellectual Honesty

I'm so impressed by my co-worker, 'J'. We've managed to have conversations on some hard topics, because he's willing to honestly listen to a point of view that he disagrees with. He's not just being polite until it's his turn to talk, he's actually listening to see if I will say anything he can learn from. And given his level of education, that keeps me on my toes!

I've been trying to read Constantine's Sword, by James Carroll, which he had recommended to me. I admitted to him that I'm finding it hard going, because the author (a Catholic priest) repeatedly makes statements about Christianity and Christians that don't match my understanding, or my experience. I don't know if it is a Catholic / Protestant divide, or if it is simply the author's own bias, or if I'm the one who is naive. But in any event, it's uncomfortable.

So I told him that, and he asked for an example. I quoted a concept from page 59, where it says:

Christianity's self-awareness depended on the continuing existence of the Jewish people as the negative other against which positive Christian claims were made...Only Jews, because of what they deny, tell us Christians who we are...

This passage, and others that claim that Christianity by its very nature must be anti-Semitic, rubbed me the wrong way, because I think it does a dis-service to both Christianity and to Judaism.

Anyway, the other day I was reading this quarter's VLI assignment (Turning Points by Mark Noll) and came upon a passage with a different point of view, on pg 29.

As the Christian church moved out into the Roman world, its Judaic roots would be obscured, but even beneath the surface, those roots remained a critical part of what Christianity had been and what it would become.

I called 'J' over to my desk to show it to him. I wasn't sure what he would think, but 'J's response blew me away. First he acknowledged that he pretty much agreed with that description, and then he said "I might want to read that when you're done."

Wow -- what an example of educated curiosity. Here I am, trying to stretch my horizons as a matter of simple fairness, in order to build the groundwork for conversations, and yet I'm not showing the honest interest that he is.

And while I'm on the topic of fairness...

A couple of months ago, my cousin 'P' visited. Although he had no interest at all, he explained that he came to church because he recognized that it seemed to be important to me that he go (for some obscure reason!), and he went just to honor and please me. Well, I certainly was pleased! But I'm hoping that he will forget the conversation we had at lunch afterwards, when he tried to convince my brother and me to listen to hiphop music. 'H' made it clear that he has a real antipathy to this genre, and had no interest in listening. Then 'P' turned to me, with an unbeatable argument:
Well, if I went to church because it was important to you, you can listen to my music because it's important to me.
So to all my friends out there...if you hear hiphop leaking out of my headphones one day, it is not because I like it, but rather it is a peculiar consequence of attempting integrity in Evangelism.

God's fireworks

Last night God put on a light show!

I've never seen anything like it. I guess it was heat lightning. It was a dark, cloudy night, and the lightning was streaking back and forth between the clouds. It wasn't the king of huge bolts that light up the whole sky, and shake you to your shoes. Rather, it was a shimmering series of flashes, about one every two seconds, with no rain, and little noise. With each flash, the light radiated out and silhouetted the cloud in front. Occasionally the streak was in front of the cloud rather than behind it. I have no idea how close it actually was, but it looked as if it was about a block away.

Again and again and again. Dark sky, and then rays of shimmering light bursting out from behind the cloud, about every two seconds. At it's peak, it was nearly continuous. I stood on the sidewalk watching in awe. At one point, I counted 10 lightning flashes in 10 seconds. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, but in my mind, no fireworks on earth will compare to this.

At first, some neighbors were watching with me, but then they went inside to see if there was anything about it on TV.

What a strange commentary on our society -- TV seems more real to people than the wonders of God that they see with their own eyes.

I can hardly wait to learn about church history

This quarter in VLI we will be studying church history, and I can hardly wait.

It's kind of ironic, but two of my Jewish friends know more about Christianity (in the intellectual sense) than most of my Christian friends do, and perhaps more than I do. For example, 'J', a Jewish co-worker, listened to a conversation about the movie 'The Passion', and mentioned that he didn't remember reading any references to Veronica in the gospels and asked where it was. At least I knew that answer to that one (no place!). But that pales besides a conversation we had the other day when he mentioned the split between the Roman Catholic church and the Greek Orthodox church due to the 'filioque' clause. Seeing my look of puzzlement he kindly explained that the issue concerned a disagreement over whether the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and from the Son (filioque), or only from the Father.

'J' is so quiet that you don't immediately notice how smart he is. But as you can guess, he gently and respectfully skewers me if I show any sloppiness in my reasoning, when we are discussing religious topics.

Since this is the break between quarters for VLI, I've started reading Constantine's Sword again (which he had lent to me). I mentioned to 'J' that I was finding it difficult reading, because there are a lot of generalizations about what Christians think and believe, that I just don't agree with. According to the author, the very premise of Christianity is rooted in anti-semitism, and Christianity finds its identity in opposing Judaism.

He seemed dubious of my protestations to the contrary, so I ended up quoting the VLI mantra to him ("all meaning is context dependent"), and explaining that I am being taught to try to put on a 1st century Jewish mindset in order to properly interpret the New Testament. That caught his attention, I believe, because it is different from what he expects of Christianity.

The big sticking point for him is that he sees Christianity as violating monotheism. So he deems it fundamentally impossible for a Jew to become a Christian. I had to agree that even though I believe that Christianity is monotheistic, it is hard to explain how the Trinity fits into this.

Oh no, I'd better wrap up now...I feel a discourse about 'filioque' coming on...

concrete and weeds

I work in Long Island City.
It is gray.
When you look out the window, you could be seeing something in black and white film, except for the fleet of yellow taxicabs. I mentioned to a co-worker that it looks to me like a second-rate industrial city in an Eastern bloc country, and he thought for a moment and then agreed -- the only difference is that he has actually lived in those places, so he knows what he's talking about.

Anyway, on my way to work I was thinking about all the concrete, and noticing the vigor and persistence of the weeds growing by the sidewalk, and it suddenly occurred to me that I'm probably one of the few people in Long Island City who sees the pigweed and views it as a food object -- it's just the right age now, to lightly steam it, and serve it like spinach. And then I turned the corner and the weeds changed and I saw milkweed, and thought about cooking the milkweed pods.

And then I realized how far we've gotten from nature, because people assume I'm kidding if I mention that these weeds are edible. (It is true that the last time we ate the milkweed pods we got a bit stoned, but that's another story). And yesterday walking past the train station, I saw dark purple berries on the sidewalk and wondered if it was a mulberry tree.

It reminded me that God gives us good gifts all the time, but sometimes we don't notice. I bet someone could starve to death without realizing that edible plants were all around.

p.s. It's important to not eat pigweed that grows around fire hydrants, or other favorite dog places...

Sunday in the Nursing Home

Sunday I went to the nursing home, as usual. We go twice a month and lead a church service. This week was a little hard, because 'R' was out of town and so I was the only one there.
The aides were a little late wheeling people into the room, and at one point there was quite a commotion. 'L' was blocking the doorway like a stopper in a bottle, because she kept standing up, so the aide couldn't wheel her in.

She wanted to walk, but couldn't seem to quite remember how, so she would reach behind to steady herself on the arms of the chair, lean forward to walk, and then forget to move her feet. We were all afraid she would fall flat on the floor. The aide tried to get her to sit. "NO" she roared. Other residents tried to get her to sit. "NO" she roared. Then, feeling unsteady, she turned sideways to lean both hands on one arm of the chair. Now she was really stuck. She couldn't walk or sit, or go forwards or backwards.

The aide had left to bring other people in, and I was afraid 'L' was going to fall, so I went over to try to help. As soon as I got near, she roared again "NO". So I asked her "What do you want?" "I'm going to WALK!" she proclaimed. "If you want to walk, you need to face this way" So I oriented her facing forward, towards me, and suggested that she watch my feet, and take a step when she saw me take a step.
Suddenly, this determined old woman who was desperately trying to walk without moving her legs, took two big steps, aiming for my feet. Aiming Exactly for my feet. She ended up standing on top of my feet, like big toddler who is pretending to dance with her father. By this point, the bystanders were enjoying the show -- this was much more interesting than the sermon they had come to hear. We successfully took several steps (I even managed to reclaim my feet), and then she decided she had had enough, and sat down.

Then 'D' started calling for help. She is a sweet, tiny little lady, with huge insect-like eyes, who slides lower and lower in her wheelchair until she is afraid she will slide off. Her only prayer request is world peace. I don't know how to help her when she slides like this. I've seen the aide struggling with her before. It's like trying to nail jello. So when I saw another aide walk into the room, I called to him for help. He came over and gently lifted her back to her seat. Then he sweetly kissed her on the top of the head and asked if she was ok. I finally noticed that his nametag was marked 'building services' so he wasn't even a patient aide, but I watched in awe as he went up and down the row, greeting each one, giving a pat or a kiss or a word. Love in action. So real, so true, so heartfelt. Their faces lit up. He called them beautiful, and they were. He asked how they were feeling, and they felt better. He made them feel cherished and pretty. He was a big, strong, black janitor, and they were tiny, frail, old white ladies, and he made each of them feel like a princess.

I don't have a fraction of the love he showed. I asked if he could come back for the service; I asked if he could sing, anything just to keep him in the room. But he had to go. I really wanted to watch him in action. It's a special gift. I can show kindness and respect, with maybe a bit of love thrown in on a good day, but he has the capacity to make each person feel special.

Don't despise small beginnings

Remember my post from last month about praying for Barney?
I was hoping that praying for the dog would open the door to praying for the humans. Well, I was really excited today to get a phone call from 'S', who said that he and his wife were planning to travel by plane next week, and she asked if I would pray for their safety, since Barney was doing so well.
It reminded me of what we learned in VLI in the courses on Church growth and Evangelism -- that people respond best when you address their felt needs.

Ship of Fools, and kindness

Have you seen the website called 'Ship of Fools'? It is an online church, in 3D. The description on the site says "Church of Fools is an attempt to create holy ground on the net, where people can worship, pray and talk about faith."

It's an interesting experiment in bringing church to the people. And as could be expected, it is already bringing out both the best and worst in people. So many people rushed in to yell and swear and otherwise disrupt the services that they had to turn off the 'shout' function -- which was originally conceived as a way for visitors to contribute an 'alleluia' or two.

It's more than just a novelty -- there are actual scheduled services. The Bishop of London delivered the sermon at the opening service. He spoke about the danger and promise of the internet:

So let us take the wings of the morning and fly to the uttermost parts of the sea to discover ourselves in the light of the Spirit. Let us use this gift which has been given to our generation to heal and not to hurt; to open spiritual ears and eyes and not to add to the noise of self-justification and the rhetoric of hate.

An article on the website summed up a child's response that was embarrassingly accurate:

Church of Fools is a cross between a computer game and an 11th-century Romanesque sanctuary. One visitor looked around with her five-year-old son on her lap. "Wow!" he said. "Who's on your team and which ones do you kill?" – a sentiment many traditional churchgoers will recognise.

Wouldn't it be great if we could all learn to walk into a regular church without the seeds of that same question in our hearts? Jesus prayed that we might be one, but all the inventions of civilization have not helped us to grow in unity (either inside or outside of the church).

Last week's sermon, by Steve Tompkins, used the story of the Tower of Babel, and applied it to the internet:

Our failure and refusal to understand others is deeper than words, bigger than Google, as old as Babel and as (de)pressingly up-to-date as al-Qaeda and George Bush.

This is an ailment no tech, however hi, can remedy. The only cure is something as hard to learn, in its own way, as ancient Babylonian: listening, seeing the other's side. The internet cannot unite people who will not hear each other, but it gives us an invaluable chance to listen.

The other day members of my kinship complimented me on being kind to someone I find irritating. I was totally embarrassed -- clearly, they had gotten used to my usual impatient response with this individual, and were trying to give me positive feedback. It's odd how stressful it can be to simply act kind. At one point, I intentionally dropped something on the floor so I could literally hide under the table and have a little intermission.

Why is it so hard to be kind?

Come Holy Spirit

As one of my VLI leadership projects I'll be helping to lead the Alpha Holy Spirit weekend next Friday and Saturday.

In preparation, I've been praying and studying and teaching on the Holy Spirit. That's one of the advantages of being a leader -- you get to choose the topics! So this week, at both kinship and the nursing home, we studied the Holy Spirit.

The scary part is the ministry time. The reason it's scary is that our church is in a phase where the manifestation of the Spirit is pretty subtle, and many of the people in the church have never experienced a wave of the Spirit, or spoken in tongues. So standing up in that context and praying 'Come, Holy Spirit' is scary because sometimes nothing (apparently) happens. And even if the Spirit does manifest, people are suspicious of anything that they have not seen happen on Sunday morning. So I'm ironically scared both that something won't happen and that something will happen. Because half the kinship will be disturbed with either result. I am committed to waiting on the Spirit regardless, but it is not without its stress.

And then there's the nursing home. They're pretty sure that the Holy Spirit isn't actually part of Christianity. When I try to teach from the Bible, they are pretty sure that I'm wrong, although they are usually very patient with me because I'm 'young' and don't know any better.

Because we visit the nursing home on the 1st and 3rd Sundays of each month, and because this month actually has 5 Sundays, we won't be there on Pentecost, so I decided to teach about Pentecost today. Along with that, we sang songs about the Holy Spirit. Usually I try to choose hymns, so there is a memory the people can connect with, but today I really wanted to stress the Holy Spirit theme, so we sang Be Thou My Vision, and then some contemporary songs. As we sang 'Sweet Sweet Spirit' I was cringing at how 'modern' it was -- copyright in 1962. After all, if you are in your 90's that is pretty cutting-edge. And then I prayed 'Come, Holy Spirit'. There were 33 residents there this morning, as well as 3 staff coming in and out. About half were still awake at the end of the teaching time, which is about par for the course. But that's ok -- if they don't get bored and fall asleep they are not sure it 'counts' as having been to church. (Parenthetically, that reminds me of one time someone in my kinship complained to me that someone else was asleep, and that it was rude. I laughed and said that it didn't bother me until more than half the people were asleep).

Anyway, I was surprised to find that when we went around to the people in the nursing home individually at the end of the service, that more of them than usual seemed to be desiring specific prayer. So while we didn't have any miraculous healings (that I know of), we did seem to have more people connecting with God than usual.

One gentleman was getting a bit agitated, because he had a speech impairment, and I couldn't understand what he was saying. It sounded like he had had a stroke, and also perhaps a stutter, and was speaking a foreign language. Finally I asked him if he was French speaking and he said yes. I know a little French, but the last time I studied it was in 1977, and we certainly were not learning any Christian vocabulary words. So I resorted to reciting the words from a musical composition by Poulenc that we sang in college, in around 1979.
Dieu le pere, createur, ayez pitie de nous, dieu le fis redenteur, ayez pitie de nous, dieu le sante esprit, santificateru, ayez pitie, ayez pitie de nous. [or something like that]

And the agitation in the man immediately left, and he became peaceful, and seemed to be listening and comprehending when I switched back to English.

Who would have thought, when I was in the college choir, that God had a plan for Litanies a la Vierge Noir?

What does it take to be 'openminded'?

We're studying evangelism in VLI, and there was considerable discussion about communicating with post-moderns.

A friendly colleague of mine has been busy planning her weddings, and our lunchtime conversation usually touches on the latest highlights. You probably thought that 'weddings' is a typo, but it's not: she will have a 'Christian' wedding in Columbia, and then a Hindu wedding in India. She mentioned the difficulty of finding a minister who is open-minded enough to marry a Christian and a Hindu.

It was clear that the expected response was to sadly bemoan the narrow mindedness of the pastors who won't officiate at this kind of mixed marriage. I'm not sure what I should have said, but what I actually did was chicken out -- I said something that was non-offensive and was true, but that did not shine any light either. I simply said: "I can see that that would be a problem". Apparently, they even considered having one of them convert, just to make the wedding simpler, but they didn't really think that made sense. And again, I chickened out and said something that was non-offensive and was true, but that did not shine any light. I agreed that it didn't make sense to convert just for the purposes of a ceremony.

Frankly, I've never understood the logistics of double weddings. I can see the appeal, for people with divergent backgrounds, but what I don't understand is whether both weddings really 'count'. After the first wedding, are you married? If so, is the second wedding just for show, or does it mean something? What if you go through with the first wedding, and then someone gets cold feet and you don't accomplish the second wedding? If the first wedding is in the 'A' tradition, for person 'A', and the second wedding is in the 'B' tradition for person 'B', and you only have wedding 'A', could you end up with a scenario in which person 'A' is considered married, and person 'B' is not? If this is the case, then to whom is person 'A' married?

Maybe my problem with this isn't religion, maybe it's logic!

But in any event, I'm getting a real-life example of the post-modern worldview.

Pray for 'C'

What do John and Barney have in common?

I don't know much about John. In fact, all I know is that he is in the air force. I've never actually met him. I don't know what religion he is.

I know a lot more about Barney. I know he celebrates Hanukkah. He lives on the upper West Side of Manhattan, likes to sing when he's happy, and suffers from sinus and lung problems, so he hasn't been singing as much lately. When I first met him, and heard him sing, he made me laugh so hard I sat down on the sidewalk and held him in my lap. Barney is a dog. The 'singing' is because he is a basset hound. He sounds as if he thinks he is in an opera: awooo, awooo, awooo-oo-oo-oo-ooooooo.

You may be wondering what John and Barney have in common. They are both on my prayer list. I signed up through The Presidential Prayer Team to 'adopt' a troop, and commit to pray for him/her. It's probably pretty understandable why I pray for John, even though I don't know him.

But I bet you're wondering about Barney. Barney belongs to a co-worker and his wife, 'S' and 'S'. They have become friends as well as colleagues, and I enjoy eating dinner with them every couple of months. They are non-practicing Jews, who have been very courteous about politely asking me how my various Christian activities are going. One day, 'S' said to me:
"Ann, you tell us all about the people you pray for, and you told us you even prayed for a rabbit, so why haven't you ever prayed for Barney?"
She was right. There in Niko's Greek restaurant, while nibbling on grilled octopus, I had to apologize for not praying for the dog. So of course, I then promised that I would start praying for him. He was suffering from a chronic respiratory ailment, requiring daily medication. It was so expensive that they were even considering going to Canada to stock up.

VLI taught me that the most effective witness is one that meets felt needs. So it seemed right to pray for Barney.

Anyway...Barney has begun to feel a little bit better. And even though we have not discussed it, I think that 'S' and 'S' are wondering if maybe there is something to this prayer thing. Maybe the time will come when they ask me to pray for them.

Remember to Pray for Barney! (and John)

Did Jesus do Yoga?

One of my co-workers has been taking a meditation class, and knowing my spiritual interest she eagerly shared the fascinating insights she is being taught.
I was taken aback to hear that Jesus was a practitioner of Vedanta Yoga. I didn't handle it very well. In fact, I think I gave an unfortunate little yelp. What?

'C' explained that Jesus was very spiritually advanced, and that's why people didn't understand him, and so he intentionally covered up his advanced Vedanta practices so his teachings would be simple enough for all people to understand.

I was so torn -- I wanted to just jump up and refute this, and yet I also wanted to keep the lines of communication open, so after my strangled yelp I tried to mildly say that this was a new way of looking at it. With a glowing face, she explained that all meditation is actually the same.

Internally, I feel a drawing to spend more time in communion with the Lord, so I have more personal experience to bring into the conversation. And then I wonder whether that is a good motivation or not, even though my goal is evangelism. After all, I should want to spend time with the Lord for no other reason than Himself. And yet it doesn't seem fruitful to avoid spending time with Him for fear of having the wrong motive. Maybe I need to resort to the Nike slogan: just do it.

Meanwhile, pray for 'C'! She's clearly seeking for something...