I don’t like cleaning the kitchen.

As I walked into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee this first day after Christmas, I saw it:  the aftermath of the prior evening’s revelry… the kitchen was a mess. Food was out, trash was everywhere, and dishes were dirty. I opened the microwave and it looked like an epic tragedy had unfolded in there. After a brief moment, in which I considered my options of moving to another house, I began to gather trash, bagging it up next to the overflowing trashcan in the corner. I resigned myself to cleaning the kitchen in that early morning hour. Then it happened… a holy moment occurred.

It dawned on me in the quiet of the house where everyone was still sleeping and naught was heard but water running in the kitchen sink, that I am very much like this kitchen. I get very dirty and am in need of a good cleaning, just like our kitchen. Not merely occasionally; no, our kitchen requires cleaning every day, normally multiple times a day during holidays when everyone is home. I’m like that too. I would love to say that God cleanses me occasionally when I slip up, but that I typically remain in a state of cleanliness, but that simply isn’t the case. I need to be cleansed every single day, usually multiple times per day. As I stood there in my pajamas washing plates, cups, forks, pots, and pans, I reflected upon how God cleans me like this… every day, multiple times per day. He does so knowing that I will only get dirty again. He wipes the grime of my selfishness away and places me back where I belong knowing that in a matter of hours I’ll be dirty again. He bags up the trash that I sloppily leave on the counter of my mind and heart with the full understanding that there will be more. Then he will patiently clean me again, and again, and again.

I don’t normally enjoy cleaning the kitchen, but this morning was different. As I scrubbed, and wiped, and scoured I pictured God doing the same to me and I was overcome with gratitude. I put away the sparkling clean plates and the shiny pans with the understanding that in a very short time my family would wake up and come into the kitchen to dirty them again. I smiled. I pictured God scrubbing, wiping, and scouring my stained and filthy heart, and putting it back aright, with the understanding that in a very short time I would wander off to soil myself again. He must surely love me and have infinite patience with me.

I finished cleaning the kitchen just as they arrived – my family. They were hungry for breakfast and began foraging around the pantry and refrigerator looking for something tempting to eat for breakfast. I smiled to myself as I thought I could just faintly make out the sound of holy water running in God’s heavenly sink and I pictured Him rolling up his sleeves, getting ready to make me clean later that day. It was a holy moment for sure.

I love cleaning the kitchen!

James McGee

Of all the commands of Jesus, the one most commonly broken today is, “Do not fear.” So oft repeated by our savior, yet so oft neglected by his followers, the command to not fear is the foundation to a peaceful life. We do not have peace because we are filled with fear. We have so many fears I hesitate to even suggest a list.

The affluent among us are far from immune. Rather than bringing peace, wealth seems to arrive bearing fear as its chief dividend. We fear losing the security that wealth promises. We fear losing honor to fill our empty hearts. In their stead, we receive those empty promises and live in the poverty of fear, captive to the lies of materialism while insecurity guides our every decision. In vain we throw the worthlessly shifting honor of people down into the bottomless pits of our heart, hoping in vain that it will finally be full.

We can look to a couple of examples of how our fears effervesce to our conscience. The rise of dystopian literature is a reflection of our fear. Dystopian literature, with its prophesy of impending doom, is the manifestation of an affluent society fearful of losing its wealth and security. How will we deal with this loss? Who will emerge to restore our prominence? Dystopian protagonists are the modern Christ-figures who will lead us to the rightful restoration of security… so we hope. We pray to the gods among us for leaders who will protect our scraps and bits with which we measure our worth. We worship leaders who will guard us from want by taking from those who have, feeding our petty jealousy.

Take a look at pop-culture. Before we become too condemning toward those “Hollywood types” who bathe in their own vanity, we may do well to consider that the Hollywood culture is borne out and a reflection of our own modern society. They do not lead on the cutting edge, but are birthed from a populist demand. While it’s true that “they” clamor and scrabble for the bare bones of fickle honor cast to them by the general public, it’s also true that “they” are us. We go about our daily lives worried about what people will say and what they think about us. This fear drives what we wear, eat, drive, and with whom we associate. We strut down the red carpet of our workplaces, posing and smiling for the flashbulbs of compliments which pop and flash as we fear revealing who we really are.

Truly, there is only one answer to our fear, and that is to place our faith in the one who tells us to fear not. On the mountain, when he was transfigured, Jesus told Peter, James, and John to not fear. Their rightful response was worship and faith. Seeing Jesus in this way put all else in perspective. I doubt that they were still worried about material things or the honor of other people when they saw Jesus transfigured.

This time of year, as we consider the advent of Jesus into our fearful world, we would do well to obey the one who holds the strings of the world as he says, “Do not fear.” Do not fear the loss of temporary things. Do not fear the absence of shifting approval and fickle honor. Do not fear the scorn of unbelief. Have faith in the one who loves you and offers you all.

Have faith!

“Resentment is the curse of the faithful, the virtuous, the obedient, and the hard-working.” Henri Nouwen

I’m the prodigal son.

Perhaps “prodigal” doesn’t mean what you think it means. It doesn’t mean sinful or wandering, it means extravagantly wasteful. Makes sense now, doesn’t it? Just what did the famed “prodigal son” waste in Jesus’ parable? Well, it depends upon which son to whom you refer and the time period in question. The younger son was clearly wasteful with money, but I really don’t think that was Jesus’ point. Both sons were extravagantly wasteful with their father’s love and grace. The younger son at the beginning of the parable, and the older son at the end. Both sons had the opportunity to greatly benefit from the father’s love and grace, and both sons squandered it.

It’s kind of in vogue these days for Christians to identify with the older son. I can see the application, especially since that seems to be Jesus’ main point for his audience. But to be honest, I identify with the younger son. I have strayed as a young man only to return, broken and repentant. It’s good to be home. However, I am still prone to be wasteful of God’s mercy. I keep wandering off. Not in the same manner as before; I still go to church and conduct myself accordingly. I don’t engage in “prodigal” activities that could be easily measured. I have found that I have a tendency to gravitate toward the prodigal nature of the older brother. I still don’t see myself as him exactly, but I often catch my heart creeping away from the mercy of God, into a judgmental pig sty where I look down on those who are self-righteous. Ironic, isn’t it? Sometimes I look on with pity and arrogance toward those who haven’t come home yet. “How could they be so blind?” I ask with incredulity. Thus, the younger brother becomes the older, standing in the shadows of resentment and pride, extravagantly wasting the father’s mercy.

Jesus’ parable is so very complex as I find the characters shifting over time. I find myself wondering about the later years – the relationship between the younger and older brothers. Did they reconcile? Was the older brother cut to the heart by the father’s words to him at the end? Did the brothers switch roles as the older came to his senses, realizing that he had been extravagantly wasteful with his father’s love while the younger burned with resentment at what the older had said of him?

I’m the prodigal son… years later.

“I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

You recognize that verse, don’t you? You know, it’s the one that lets us know how into sports God is. OK, I’m not going to rail on people who use this verse for inspiration on the field of competition. In truth, it’s kind of nice to see people draw inspiration from God’s word in contexts other than “churchy” places. I do wonder if this verse has been misappropriated away from the original point though.

I fear that many have come to the conclusion that this verse means we can overcome great obstacles to achieve great and impressive things through Christ. The world will stand in awe of what I have achieved (through Christ, of course) despite tremendous odds against me. Well, that’s nice (I guess) but it’s not really what Paul is getting at in this verse. Paul is not in a football locker room or a weight room. He isn’t staring down a steely-eyed pitcher, while gripping his bat tighter. Paul isn’t psyching himself up to do anything impressive at all by the world’s standards. If successful, no one will cheer him. Nobody will take note. Rather, the thing that Paul is achieving through the strength of Christ is….. (are you ready?)…… contentment.

Sort of anti-climactic, isn’t it? If you were about to “ooohhh” and “ahhhh” at Paul, don’t bother. It’s a bit of an awkward moment for those who are used to using this verse for grand, impressive achievements. Let’s face it, Paul would be terrible at designing inspirational posters. Can’t you just see it? “BE CONTENT!” Paul would make lousy halftime locker room speeches. “Be satisfied with what you have!” Yeah. Thanks, Paul.

And yet, upon closer perusal, Paul does seem to be making a bold statement. While showing genuine appreciation to the church at Philipi for their generosity in meeting his needs, he explains to them that he has learned to be content in any situation, most notably, when in need. I guess that is an impressive claim. Paul is content when at his lowest. He is content while hungry, content while suffering the sting of injustice, content in the confusing fog of wondering at God’s plan. Paul finds contentment and peace where most would find demoralization and angst. Through Christ, Paul has found the ability to achieve the kind of contentment in the midst of adversity that few ever achieve.

The next time you see Philippians 4:13 bandied about to imply the attainment of lofty goals, take a moment to consider what Paul considered a lofty goal. His contentment was found in the grace of Jesus Christ, not in what the world sees as greatness. When you feel the pang of hunger, or the sting of injustice, fear of the future, or regret of the past, be content. Find peace. Remember the assuring grace of Jesus and your destiny in Christ. Be content in the holiness of God. It may sound impossible in your situation… your marriage, your economic situation, your job. But, like Paul, you truly can find contentment and peace in the midst of uncertainty and trouble. Yes, even right now. That may be even better than making touchdowns.

Why do we suffer? I’ve wrestled with this question for a long time and I’ve come to the conclusion that we suffer as a function of our humanity. Suffering leads to virtue inasmuch as our epistemology (way of defining truth) allows it. In other words, animals have an exclusively empirical epistemology, defining truth exclusively through their senses. Therefore, when animals suffer, there is no purpose to the suffering; they merely suffer as there is no “truth” or virtue to be understood other than suffering. Being devoid of reason, animals don’t ask “why” they suffer. Humans, however, do ask why. Logically, the only reason for asking the question as to why we suffer is because we either think there is or should be an answer to the question.

As reasoning beings equipped with the ability to define truth through that reason, rather than merely through empirical data, humans may redefine suffering so that it leads to virtue. This, then, is the purpose of human suffering: virtue. Yet even this answer leads to something outside. Jesus told us that the “Kingdom of Heaven is near.” He often described the Kingdom of Heaven and did so in abstract terms of virtue, rather than concrete terms of dimension. Thus, I have come to the conclusion that the ultimate purpose of human suffering is to bring the Kingdom of Heaven, as Jesus described it, into the world. God’s infinite characteristics (love, mercy, etc.), enter the finite world of time and space when His children bring them in. God’s chosen avenue of transfer is suffering. Jesus died on the cross (he suffered) and consequently brought God’s infinite characteristics of grace and mercy into the finite world of sin. Having been made in His image, humans have this unique ability to do the same.

When I suffer, I have the opportunity to breach the bounds of finite time and space, to draw from the infinite love and mercy of God and bring it into the world. Great love is most poignantly revealed in great suffering. Why then do we suffer? To usher into the world the Kingdom of Heaven! The Kingdom of Heaven is not some place confined to time and space. It is not “over there.” Jesus described the Kingdom of Heaven most often as a state of being and when we act in a Godly manner, we bring His Kingdom into the world now. We don’t have to wait for some ethereal, cloud-infused “reward” in the distant future when evil-doers get what’s coming to them and we spend our days floating in the clouds. We can experience Heaven now inasmuch as we bring it into the world. I am more convinced than ever that God does not intend for His children to endure suffering merely as a rite of passage, waiting for a better place in the future. I believe He intends for us to bring that better “place” (the Kingdom of Heaven) into the world now.

Will there be a time when God makes all things well and the Kingdom is fully restored? Of course; the Bible seems clear on that point. However, it also speaks of the Kingdom as a state of being that may be brought into a fallen world. That’s really good news. That’s the Gospel.

This week I go back to work refreshed by a grand vacation. I have drunk deeply of what Thoreau called the “tonic of wildness”. He goes on to observe that “we need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander.” I have done this and am the better for it.

This summer I have been humbled by a mountain hike and blinded by the torrent of a rainstorm. I was shocked by the frigid cold of a mountain stream that swept around and by me, seeming not to notice my presence. Fireflies blinking lazily among the dark pines appear here, then there. I saw ancient trees felled by a force long since past and water hurrying over green and grey rocks. That water was far too much in a hurry to stop and notice me. Thoreau was right; nature transgressed my limits, and yet was not proud. Indeed it seemed not to notice my defeat. Those fireflies… they’re still there in the mountains of Tennessee. I doubt they feel my absence. Compared to the overall population of fireflies in the mountains, I only saw a few during my brief sojourn. The great majority of their luminous kind will never be seen by any human being as they pasture “freely where we never wander.”

I loved sitting quietly in the dark, watching them dance gracefully in front and above me; but I’m even more grateful for the ones I didn’t see. Those unbeheld fireflies are out there, quietly providing the context of life and nature within which I live my life. The terrible power of nature is striking its blow in my absence. Trees will be felled, rocks will crash with a terrific crack, and the water will freeze and thaw, all without me or any other human being to see.

This context is important because I’m tempted to think too much of myself. I entertain the belief that the world needs to know my opinion on some matter. I imagine I must be seen, recognized, and honored for my individuality. Nature does not even dignify the folly of my arrogance with a “no.” It transgresses the limits of my mind and body with an amnesic plodding, and (perhaps more importantly) pastures freely in my absence.

I don’t suffer from feelings of insignificance. God has a purpose for me and I do my best to affect the world in my small corner of it. However, it is good for me to be realistic regarding the reach of that influence. The world neither awaits, nor depends upon my opinions and thoughts. That’s comforting. And somewhere in the mountains of Tennessee those fireflies are blinking green in the air where neither you nor I see them. Aren’t you glad?

August is here; that means school begins soon. As a teacher, August is the time when I repeatedly hear (from well-meaning people) thoughts of sympathy that I must return to school soon. “Are you ready?” they query, usually with a note of sadness in their voice. It’s as if they expect me to bemoan the fact that soon the hallways of my school will be filled with teenagers and my days filled with my feeble attempts to teach them literature and writing. Here’s the truth: I can’t wait for it to begin.

Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the summer break. That second cup of coffee in my reading chair in the morning is pretty nice. I love going on fun and interesting vacations with my family. It’s pretty great to get caught up on projects around the house that had been relegated to the fringes of my busy schedule during the school year. But by the time I flip the family calendar in the kitchen and see August at the top I’m ready to return to school. I miss the students. I miss hearing about their successes and challenges with academics, sports, the arts, etc. They make me laugh with their wit and my heart ache with their troubles. I don’t miss the getting up early or the deadlines. I don’t miss grading papers or attending faculty meetings. I miss the kids.

I have a huge list of things that I need to teach them before the end of May comes around; but the truth is that the main thing I want to tell them (beginning on that very first day) is that they each have great value as a human being. If all they get from me is the truth that they have great intrinsic value as a human being, not for what they offer the rest of us, then that’s pretty good. I want to contradict the voices they hear that lie to them saying that their value is tethered to grades, athletic ability, artistic talent, physical appearance, money/things, etc. I want them to leave my classroom in May having heard another voice saying that even if they come in dead last in all of these things they are still infinitely valuable simply because of their humanity. I want them to know that they are not animals with protein-enriched brains and opposable thumbs; they are not machines; but that they are holy and invaluable… they are loved truly.

As teachers approach the beginning of the school year, our schedules begin to be peppered with training in preparation for the imminent arrival of our students. We get training on classroom and behavior management, curriculum, technology, etc. I’ve come to realize that every single training session is basically an attempt to artificially construct two things: 1. A love of students and 2. Content competence. The best teachers are experts in their field and love their students. I don’t think that this can be replaced or replicated with any discipline plan, instructional technique, techno-gizmo, or curriculum. Every new program is truly designed to replicate one or both of these two things. I guess that’s why I dread attending these trainings. Sitting there listening to a speaker tell me how to artificially replicate these two faculties of a good educator just feels like wearing clothes that don’t fit. I’ll go. I’ll sit. I’ll listen. But the reason why so many of these programs have limited success is that kids are smarter than we give them credit for. They can tell the difference between real love and a program intended to simulate love. They know the difference between a “good handout” and someone who truly loves and understands the course material. They aren’t so easily fooled. That’s one of the reasons why I like them!

Am I ready for the beginning of school? Oh boy am I!

“For we are His workmanship (poiema), created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them”.  Eph 2:10

Workmanship. What, exactly, does that mean? I could mow the lawn and that would be a product of my workmanship. I could work in a nail factory and the products would be my workmanship. The actual word used by Paul in his letter to the church of Ephesus is “poiema” from which we derive our English word “poem.” It’s actually the same thought.  Poetry…

Why do we (some of us) love poems so much? It’s an interesting topic for conversation. As a student and teacher of literature I’ve often pondered this question. I believe that it is through poetry that our feelings and philosophies are most succinctly articulated. Poetry can be beautiful or sublime, but good poetry is always vivid. Mind you, I’m not talking about any “Roses are red…” kind of stuff here. I’m talking the good stuff, the kind of poem that stays with you and haunts your thoughts. Good poetry makes you consider, or reconsider your most cherished beliefs and understandings of the world around you as well as your place in it and responsibility to it.

When Paul called us God’s “workmanship,” the thought he intended to convey in his choice of words is related to our word “poem.” You, yes you, are a poem. You are a living, breathing, walking, talking, sniffing, sneezing, laughing, poem. Consider the world about you. You know the one I’m talking about. The Monday world. The Monday world is the world of pain. It’s filled with people who don’t have the luxury of considering their feelings or philosophies because they’re trying to feed their kids. They’re worried about their son being involved with the wrong crowd or their daughter and “that boy.” The Monday world is the world inhabited by the single mom who is certain that she is trapped beyond hope in a cycle of poverty and the man who perpetuates, in his family, the scars left by his own father. It’s the world of anger, strife, malice, pain, and loneliness. We have all either sojourned into this Monday world or have been unhappy citizens of it. Either way, we come back to Paul’s point to the people of Ephesus. You see, he was pointing out to them that they, themselves were the answer to the Monday world. What would God say to these unhappy citizens of Monday? Well… He would say “you.”  Yes, you!  The one reading this blog. You are the words God has to say to a hurting world. You are God’s poetic words of love and hope to the Monday world. You articulate His answer to pain and regret. You speak the philosophy of Jesus on the phone, email, across the counter, through the drive-through window, from your desk, in the classroom, and from your car. You are God’s poem of healing to a hurting world. You are His poiema.

Pensees. Blaise Pascal tried it first in the 17th century. Well… I’m no Pascal (I’m really bad at math); however, I have read some of this thoughts and found them, well, thought-provoking. He never published the book he was working on, but his friends discovered his notes, numbered them, and published them under the title “Pensees” which means “thoughts.”

Oddly enough, I’ve actually had a couple of people who have expressed a passing interest in a few of my thoughts. For those of you who may be desperate enough or have time enough to kill to care about what I have to say, welcome. From time to time I’ll publish some of my thoughts here and I invite anyone to comment as long as we keep things kind and thoughtful (see what I did there?). Civil discourse is a wonderful thing. I can’t promise that I’ll engage in long threads all the time as I have to keep my day job and family is a pretty high priority too.

My interests regarding this blog: philosophy, art, religion and how these things intersect with everyday living.

Who am I? I am a child of God, husband of a wonderful woman (going on 28 years at the time of writing), father of four, high school English teacher. The rest will be disseminated  through my writing.

And so begins my blog.

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