the parish

A Note About Alcohol

Living on the edge of a church community can be a trying thing, especially when you don't participate in some of the restrictions by which the community defines itself. The hot, tequila-loving hairdresser wife and I drink regularly. (No surprise to regular readers.) The Nazarene church where many of our friends attend is part of a tradition that defines itself by means of the things from which they abstain, including alcohol. Consequently, many of them find the wife and me difficult to understand, if not outright pagans or corrupters of the young. A few people mentioned my previous post and felt like it is part of a larger trend of displaying my own alcohol addiction. This is, of course, funny to people who aren't part of a teetotaling religious tradition. I only appear to be a problem drinker to people who don't drink and won't drink. I've known problem drinkers, and I'm not one of them. (At this point you can interject AA wisdom and say that my denial proves my addiction, if you like.) What is problematic to me is the degree to which my Nazarene friends misunderstand the reasons people drink and the social benefits to be derived from drinking.

When I was a senior pastor in the late '90's, word got back to us that our young adult group was meeting at a pub, playing pool, and drinking beer. The elders asked me to issue an edict (my word, not theirs) forbidding the use of alcohol at church-sanctioned functions. (All you Catholics can chuckle; I won't be offended.) In fact, I knew they were drinking beer before the staff meeting because I had been there with them and had a beer myself. I played darts though, not pool. Having already witnessed the debauchery first-hand, it was easy for me to tell the elders "no." In those days I had more confidence in the Bible, so I pointed out that the Bible doesn't restrict drinking in any absolutist way, and in fact, it suggested the use of alcohol at the agape meals (now pathetically represented by a thimble of shitty grape juice). They insisted that...wait for it...drinking publicly would "cause people to stumble." They did not have the "weaker brother" in mind here necessarily; rather, they meant the other Christians who might happen to see it and think bad thoughts about us as well as the unbeliever: a strange and foreign group to these elders it would seem, as they think unbelievers know Christians aren't supposed to drink and are being hypocrites when they do indulge. (Oddly enough, it would not have been hypocritical to decry the use of public alcohol consumption while consuming it at home.) I won the day when I pointed out that Christians from other churches who would be offended are already in church, and that unbelievers as a general rule don't give two shits whether we drink or not, although they do care if we say one thing and do another.

Moderation is a wonderful thing. I've found while working with Nazarene and Southern Baptist kids (over 21) that churches with a legalistic ethos concerning alcohol don't do a good job of actually teaching moderation. There is no one to model moderation in drinking because drinking is bad. Additionally, once the practice of drinking is tabooed, drinking itself becomes the means whereby a young person acts out against the tradition. This normally leads to serious alcohol abuse. Young people in denominations that don't prohibit the recreational consumption of alcohol do better when it comes time for them to choose whether or not to drink. They've seen their parents drink responsibly, as well as pastors, leaders, friends, relatives, and little old church ladies. This seems a far better way to handle the use of alcohol. So, folks, calm down. I'm not an alcoholic. At least I can say I'm following the way of Jesus in this one area: he drank, after all. Also, despite my antipathy toward evangelical hermeneutics, I can happily occupy the hermeneutical high ground on this one: my application of Biblical texts is far more consistent than the teetotalers'. Peace, and beer.

Back in Church...for an hour and a half

The hot, supportive hairdresser wife and I were back in church Sunday. Our good friend Jon Middendorf, also known affectionately as El Jefe Grande, was installed as the senior pastor of Oklahoma City First Church of the Nazarene. The coronation service went well. I was disappointed that no knaves or fools were pilloried, but what can you expect from folks who think drinking is a bad idea? How do you get a crowd worked up enough to pillory knaves if you don't make them drink? Even George Washington had the good sense to get people liquored up prior to an election. (No, I'm not making that up. His household books reveal that he distributed quarts per person prior to elections. That's quarts.) Also, no one was fired, no scepter was conferred, and no one was mocked publicly. If these Nazarenes want to put on a show, they're going to have to do better.

Anyway, the hottie and I were well-received for the most part. People were friendly and gracious. One young man told me he was "glad to see that I love God." (He's a friend, so he can say that.) I replied, "I love Jon." I did discover that I don't want to be in a church service again. Ever. I can't believe I sat through so many. I love some of those people, but I'll see them away from bad music, long prayers, teetotalers (often dry drunks), and fundamentalists. I know, a community is made up of all kinds of different people, and that's part of what being a Christian is all about. First, I'm not a Christian, and second, no one should be asked to endure legalists and fundamentalists for the sake of community. By their nature, those two types are poisonous to healthy community.

I think it was a relief to discover that I no longer feel the need to be involved in the dog and pony show. It's also nice to know that I can maintain friendships with people without that weekly shindig being central to our relationship. Now if Christians can just learn that, maybe we can do away with worship services all together and make our way to the bloody mary bar at Pearl's for Sunday brunch.

I think I'm an elitist

First week of the semester. Barely surviving. That's my explanation for the sparse posting. Anyway, I'm teaching comp classes this semester, three of them. Part of what I like to do with a comp class is get the students thinking about complex issues, reading critically, and writing a response. I make them read at least one good book (Booker, Pulitzer, Nobel, National Book Award, even Newberry) during the semester. They have to watch one movie, preferably an Academy Award winner, and they have to review a long-format essay from Harper's, Atlantic Monthly, CJR, or the New Yorker.

This week I went through the typical questions: what was the last movie you watched; what was the last book you read; what magazines do you read. Then I asked them to name one Pulitzer winner from the past five years. I have 75 students. Not one of them could name a Pulitzer winner. One did guess "All the King's Men" by Robert Penn Warren, which I suppose should make me at least relieved that it did actually win...about sixty years ago. Then I asked them for any Best Picture winner from the past five years. The closest guess: Gladiator. (A movie that had no business winning the Oscar.)

Does it make me an elitist that I can rattle off the last ten Pulitzer winners? Or that I can name the best picture, best actor, best actress, best director, etc., for the past several years? What about having subscriptions to those four magazines instead of Us Weekly, People, or Sports Illustrated? Should I feel hopeless that college students are completely unaware of literature in almost any form? Maybe I should assume they are going to college to learn what good literature/film looks like. Whatever the case, I admit that I was surprised at how uninformed they were, especially since most of them could name most of the big box office successes of the past year. Alas...

I think this means I'm old, but blessed.

My daughter turned 25 today. I'm pretty sure that makes me old, no matter how you figure oldness. The hot hairdresser, step-grandma wife and I were invited to the dinner party to celebrate in Bricktown. (We were also invited to the club afterward to dance, but I declined. A man needs to know his limitations, and dancing, in the spirit or the flesh, is not my gift.) After bungling fatherhood at a young age, I was never sure where my relationship with Lindsay would go, but I'm happy to say she's a forgiving, gracious woman who has extended me a second and third and fourth chance. It's not often that I feel so schmaltzy, but tonight, seeing how beautiful she is, seeing her surrounded by good friends, having a drink with a grown woman who is my daughter, and participating in the celebrative and communal aspects of her life made me realize that I am blessed. Yes, I'm old, but if this is what old looks like and feels like, then I welcome it. I love you, Lindsay. You have made me proud and foolish, and you've done it in spite of me.

In Praise of the Western

I gave up my love of Western movies many years ago. It was one of those "putting away childish things" decisions. Westerns represented all that was bad about western civilization and individualism, at least I thought so. I grew up reading Louis L'amour in between my dives into Moorcock, Burroughs, Donaldson, and Howard, and those were really westerns set in a different context. Growing up meant accepting a harsher realism than the romantic image painted by Big Valley, The Sacketts, and Gunsmoke. People weren't good or bad, cowboys weren't really chivalrous most of the time, and the West was won with small pox, whiskey and guns, as much as Puritan ethics and hard work.

Four things have combined to make me reconsider my abandonment of the Western movie. Deadwood is simply the best television show I've ever seen. It helps that the stories are Shakespeare in a different context, and it helps that Ian McShane is a genius in his role as Swearengen. The supporting cast is uniformly excellent, but don't ever pretend this isn't McShane's show. We have two episodes left in the final season, and the hottie and I are grieving the loss of friends. (IMDb says the two HBO movies may or may not get made. It would be a tragedy if they weren't, but I'm not sure I want someone to tie up all the loose ends for me either.)

Unforgiven, the 1992 Clint Eastwood Oscar winner about a cowboy's futile search for redemption, clued me in that the Western was a viable setting for redemptive myth-making. The film is relentlessly bleak, but it's very much worth watching.

I blogged at length about The Proposition in September last year. It remains one of the best and most underappreciated movies of the past several years. It too asked questions about what it means to be human, moral, and deeply connected to others.

Last week I saw the 1971 film Lawman. I'm not much for early 70's movies, but Lawman has gone onto my list of favorite stories in the movies, if not a favorite movie. Burt Lancaster plays a by the book sherriff out to bring several men to justice for the accidental killing of an old man in his town. Lee J. Cobb plays the rancher whose cowboys caused the death. Lancaster wants all of them to come back to his town to stand trial. Cobb's ranch is the economic centerpiece of another community though, and no one in that town is interested in seeing Cobb or his men stand trial. Lancaster is ruthless in his application of law and order, and Cobb, who won his land and money with violence, is weary of guns and death, and wants nothing more than to live out his life in peace. Lancaster is very ready to kill in order to bring the men to trial, and when he kills Cobb's best friend emotion, remorse, and revenge--all more powerful than law--set circumstances into motion that Lancaster can't predict or avoid. Even when he decides the letter of the law has been satisfied, the painfully human responses of his prey thwart his desire to walk away. The film concludes with a very typical Old West shootout, except that this shootout produces surprising responses in its participants, most notably Cobb's final decision. Lawman is a reminder that the West's insistence on civilization built on law and order doesn't often take into account the realities of being human, and sometimes, just sometimes, justice should probably be overcome by mercy.

In September, James Mangold's 3:10 to Yuma will debut. Mangold has directed some of the more subtle, humane stories in recent years: Copland, Girl Interrupted, and Walk the Line. Though this film features Russell Crowe, it looks promising. Another story of human will versus law, grace, mercy, and redemption. The Western seems to be finding room in our culture to tell provocative, redemptive stories again. So, here's to Louis L'Amour and Zane Grey and Al Swearengen--thanks for not giving up faith in the setting.

This stuff is making me yawn and vomit

Todd sent me this story last week. There is no question that Lifechurch.tv is the innovation leader in church and technology. The questions that are pertinent have to do with what they are actually accomplishing, in the practical and theological sense. I think when your "innovation leader" pastor begins to use words like leverage, your language game is hopelessly muddled. Kinda like, "We're gonna leverage the wisdom of the Bible to produce fully devoted followers of Christ." Ick.

Sometimes Things Go the Way They Ought

It is official. Jon Middendorf is the new senior pastor at Oklahoma City First Church of the Nazarene. My overly optimistic friend and the cohost of the parish podcast is now the jefe grande. Despite a last minute push by the COBs (cranky old bastards), including a few who returned after a long absence just for the vote, Jon got 77.5% of the vote. (That obviously means 22.5% of the church is retarded, and Jon will be angry with me for saying that, but it's true. Folks, if you don't know a Christian and pastor when you see one, maybe you should consider a change of faith.) In answer to the questions I've been receiving since the news broke, no, I won't be going back to church, except for Jon's installation, or whatever they call it in Nazarene churches. Still, I can be glad that something in Church is going well, can't I? There were voices that wanted to do a pastor search, take resumes, get a Rick Warren type, someone older, blah, blah... If seventeen years of service at the same church, loads of talent, tremendous gifting, and being the de facto pastor for the past two years doesn't get you at least a shot at the job, then something is badly broken with the congregation's understanding of the words covenant and relationship. However, all the bitching won't be necessary this week; Jon is in. Good luck, my friend, and congratulations. I won't be there, but I'll be telling people who value church services that they ought to try it. And that goes for you as well, dear reader. If you're in OKC and don't have a church (read the second qualification carefully), try OKC First Naz. He's a good man, he has good people on staff, and they really are trying to do church in ways that help others, honor God, and take into account our changing context. Peace.

Where Cliches Reign

Someone said that cliches are cliches for a reason, which is to say that they are generally true. I don't disagree all the time, but funerals are certainly an exception. Two funerals this week. I heard Old Rugged Cross at both, Amazing Grace at one, and a host of cliches, as if those two songs don't function as cliches in the face of death.

Let me say that funerals are hard to do. I did several when I was a pastor, and in no case was the deceased of an age where people think, "He lived a good, long life." The worst was an infant who died in the womb during the 32nd week of pregnancy. Even if you know the people involved, it's difficult to find anything worthwhile to say. I should also say that the funeral industry does not help the plight of preachers, as they bring a certain plastic tackiness to the whole affair: practiced sympathy, grating muzak, faux elegance, and dark suits...always the dark suits (folks, it's in the mid-90's outside. maybe go with the safari outfits and pith helmets.). The unfortunate minister, who if she knows the family, has already spent several hours with the bereaved trying not to feel like there ought to be something hopeful or consoling she can say, walks into this artificial environment where everyone just hopes her homily is short. If you don't know the person, and even if you do, you have to hope you don't screw up someone's name in the obituary. Add to that the feeling that you need to strike just the right balance of somberness and ease, and you have a very difficult one-hour affair. Having said that, I have met ministers who are very good at funerals; it can be done well. The important things are to eliminate cliches, speak truthfully and tactfully, and to genuinely care about the bereaved. (It helps if you cared about the deceased as well.)

I heard two "Come to Jesus" sermons this week. Now, it may have been the wish of the deceased that the minister say something about Jesus, and it's absolutely part of a Christian funeral that you mention "I am the resurrection and the life," but it is possible to do a funeral in such a way that people who are there to pay their respects, support the family, and aren't Christians don't have to feel preached at. Normally the minister realizes that they have to say as much as possible about Jesus in the shortest time possible, so the shorthand begins: died for your sins, way, truth, life, heaven, better place, eternal life, relationship with God, etc. Now to the uninformed this all sounds like code words, or worse, they sound like words they've heard before but are being used in different ways. Without fail they sound like cliches. To be honest, some folks want to hear the cliches. I remember when I read McLaren talking about sermons as massaging fingers that lulled the church folk to sleep, comfortable with the same phrasing and promises they were conditioned to hear. In no particular order, here are the worst cliches, what they are supposed to mean, and the words that should replace them.

1. She's in a better place. This one means she's in heaven, in perfect health, hanging out with family members who have gone before, chilling with Jesus. I recommend, we have no idea where this person is. She might be in the ground with no hope of resurrection. She might in fact be "in heaven" but we have no way of knowing whether it is in fact a better place. We just don't know, and that uncertainty should lead us to do the most we can with whatever years we have left because this may be all we get. That too is a cliche, but a true one, I think.

2. He's no longer hurting. You should feel better in your grief because your loved one is now perfected. Again, we know no such thing. We hope it's true. They could just as easily be in hell, Tartarus, or purgatory, swimming the Styx, or living as an animal in Madagascar in their new incarnation. What is undeniably true is that the loved ones are hurting, and if they believe these cliches, at least part of the ministers job ought to be to disabuse them of some of these notions.

3. God has made a way for you to go to heaven. You need to get saved, and do it now while you're thinking about your own death. I have said so much over the years about salvation that I will spare you another sermon.

4. She is watching over you from heaven. Your loved one is still with you "in spirit." The memories you have shared and the love you had for each other will have to be sufficient until you yourself know what happens after death. You will not see this person again until then, if then. Honor their memory and your love by continuing the process of becoming a morally aware, ethically sound creature.

That's probably enough. I will share a couple of out-of-context quotes with you though. They made me laugh during a funeral. Not a bad thing to do, by the way, but I'm pretty sure the minister didn't mean for them to be funny.

"I'm old now, so I'm stiff all the time. When you get older, you're always stiff." Eek. And I thought the little blue pill was created because the opposite was true. There were more than a few snickers for that one.

"This old body is just like an astronaut suit." Really? I can go to space with it? The real me is some ghost trapped in this shell? And who says astronaut suit?

Enough. I don't want to go to another funeral for a long time. So, none of you reading this die. Peace.