Praying FOR People

I can wash the dishes "for you" because it will benefit you to have clean dishes.  Or I can wash the dishes "for you" because it's your job but I can do it instead of you.

Usually we think of praying "for somebody" something we do on their behalf, something that will benefit them.

But maybe sometimes we also pray "for somebody" by speaking to God prayers as if we were the other guy praying for himself.  Praying "in his stead," as it were.  Putting ourselves in the other guy's shoes and then begging God for what's good for that neighbor.



This may not be the way we usually think of "praying for him."  But maybe it's one of the ways we learn (experientially) about the words "substitutionary" and "vicarious" and "priestly."

Best Thing Ever

Every time we've sung "I Know That My Redeemer Lives" this Easter, I remembered my mother-in-law's funeral.  It was the final hymn.  The casket was escorted out by the funeral director, and the pall bearers (including my sons) followed. 

The guys put their hymnals back in the pew rack and filed out, singing the hymn (from memory) with the rest of the congregation. 

Is there anything in this earthly life that's better than that?

Liturgy as Teacher

How does a pastor know what to say when he's teaching somebody?

I've seen my pastor do it in numerous contexts: teaching from the liturgy.  Somebody is getting married?  My kids tell me he went through the vows and the wedding rite, talking about what it means, what it teaches, what it shows, what God does in that rite.  Or maybe a young pastor wants to know how to be a pastor, what to do.  So Pastor uses the ordination vows as a guideline to discuss the work of a pastor.  Or maybe people have questions about death.  He may start discussing the funeral rites.

I like that.  Not only does the liturgy tell us what we need to know when we're asking, but it also means that every time you're there again (a baptism, a wedding, a first communion, etc) you've got all that fleshed-out and expanded-upon discussion to illuminate what God is doing & saying in those rites.

The Culture's Attitude Toward the Church

Archbishop Francis Cardinal George said a couple of years ago, "I expect to die in bed, my successor will die in prison, and his successor will die a martyr in the public square."

President Matt Harrison quoted this yesterday on Issues Etc and added one more clause: "And his successor will help rebuild from the ashes."

Don't Break the Playmobiles

Zoe (age 2) was playing Playmobiles at our house.  She declared the little brunette to be Alia.  The little red-head was Zoe.  The man was Daddy.  The woman was Mommy.

But Zoe kept yanking at the Mommy's left hand.  "Zoe, don't do that.  You don't want to break the Mommy."  You see, Playmobile aprons come off and on.  Playmobile boots come off and on.  Playmobile hats come off and on.  Zoe was stymied: she could not take the left hand off.  "Mommy.  Hand.  Mommy.  Hand.  Hand.  Off."

Oh.  Sometimes it takes a while for me to get it.

The child finally consented to imagine that the Playmobile-Mommy's hand was off.

Holy Gho... Spiri.... Ghos.... Spirit!

Andrew has scolded me for saying "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost" at the start of prayers.  "Mommmmm, how long is it going to take for you to quit doing that?!"

Last week Maggie was distracted when she said "Holy Ghost" to match what she expected to be my mistake, but I got it right and said "Spirit."  So we clashed anyway.

So I busted a gut when David Scaer (who has a bit of the same problem) mentioned what his pastor told him:
"The Holy Ghost is scary." 



Oh, bad puns.  How I love them!

My Talents

People in their right minds never take pride in their talents.

spoken by Miss Maudie

(end of chapter 10 of To Kill a Mockingbird)

as to why Atticus's children didn't know 

about his awesome on-target shooting skills

Thing is, don't people take pride in their talents?  Miss Maudie's statement makes perfect sense -- our talents have been given to us by God and are nothing to take credit for.  But we do.

Recent Doings

Maggie and I began sewing some aprons last week.  Well, "began" "sewing" I guess.  I bought the fabric months ago.  We pinned and cut out the pieces.  Then it all sat.  Maybe we'll haul out the sewing machine later this week and begin again.

Snow in April.  Over and over.  Bah humbug.

Took all my days off last week to head off to Minnesota.  One evening with Paul and Mandy, enjoying supper and conversation and seeing their workplaces. 

Spent a whole morning relaxing in a Starbucks, all by myself, drinking tea and reading the Formula of Concord in preparation for attending three-quarters of the "It's the Law -- Or Is It?" conference put on by the Association of Confessional Lutherans.   As much as I love my family, my introverted self is yearning for another few days of self-indulgent quiet and reading ... and maybe movies.

Most of the speakers at the conference were great.  Rolf Preus especially.  I intend (?) to blog about my notes, not because anybody out there in cyberspace cares, but because this blog is where I keep my notes for myself.  But boy, I've been doing a lousy job blogging recently.  I want to, but there are other responsibilities.

Thoroughly enjoyed an evening out with friends.  It was an early evening: the other three had early flights that morning, and I was expecting a late night of driving the following evening.  But, oh, dinner was delicious, company was delightful, and conversation was interesting and encouraging.

The drive home from Minnesota was stressful.  My aging body doesn't take long drives well in the first place.  But because of the snowstorm, there was a huge accident with a three-hour delay.  Three hours -- that means by the time I hit Wisconsin, I should have been well over halfway home.  This is the rare instance when a person begins to wonder about GPS...   (No, I don't want GPS.  When we've used Andrew's, it kind of drives me nuts.  Ha ha ... drives me nuts.....)

Little girls are coming over tonight for a sleep-over.  Nathan has surgery tomorrow to remove one of the pins in his broken-but-healing ankle, and it will be early.

An attack of Murphy's Law:  A mere two hours after cleaning the oven, the meatloaf fat spilled over the edge of the pan and smoked up the kitchen.  Two weeks later, pizza-cheese fell off the pizza and burned onto the bottom of the oven, smoking up the kitchen.  Hey!  That'll teach me to clean the oven!!

New plan I should try for my goofing-off-on-computer time:  what if I went on Facebook only once a week?  Being away from the computer, I determined to catch up on FB this afternoon, but do it quickly, with light skimming.  Not exactly like exercising self-control as I ought, but it might be a better use of time without cutting off contact with loved ones who aren't Right Here In Person.

Oh, Poop!

Stealing a story that my son-in-law told about my granddaughters recently:


Alia and Zoe wouldn't stop talking about poop.  So Dad finally put an end to it: "No more using the word poop!"

Alia wanted to know if they could talk about pee.  No, that wasn't acceptable either.  

Could they talk about food?  Of course.
Could they talk about people?  Why, yes. 

"Well, you know, Daddy, when food goes through people it becomes ..."

Bye-Bye Van

Over two years ago, the transmission on the van started slipping.  Then there was a slight leak in the exhaust system.  That leak became a hole that made the van roar with the noise of a small airplane.

This past week we found a Corolla and bought it (even without taking it to our mechanic for a once-over ... still afraid that we may come to regret that).  The jury is still out on whether the new car will be driven primarily by Andrew or Gary.  They're probably going to trade back and forth until they decide.

The junk man came to haul away the van this weekend.  It is entirely unreasonable how sad it made me to see the van leave.  I had to fight back tears.  We owned it for 13 years; we took it on vacations; we drove it on gazillions of errands; we no longer have a vehicle with which to haul small furniture or bicycles.  Even though it was in cruddy shape, I miss it.  That's dumb, but that's the way it is.

Oh, Foolish Ones

When Jesus meets the disciples on the road to Emmaus that Sunday afternoon, they tell Him everything that had happened that weekend.  They had all the facts: their teacher's death, an empty tomb, women who heard a message from angels, Peter and John seeing that the body was missing.  "Too bad He didn't turn out to be the redeemer as we'd hoped." 

And Jesus tells them, "Oh, foolish ones and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken."  And then He proceeded to tell them AGAIN what the Old Testament taught about the Messiah.  And He proceeds to preach the Gospel to them.  He proceeds to tell them about the forgiveness won in the blood of the Messiah to save sinners.

Do you have that kind of patience when people are that tuned out to what you've been telling them?  I sure don't. 

When I am foolish and slow of heart to believe, Jesus doesn't scold.  He doesn't reason.  And He certainly doesn't give up in frustration because I didn't believe Him before.  He treats us just as He treated the Emmaus disciples.

He gives more.
And forgives yet again.

Purging and Cleaning and De-Cluttering, Oh My!

Why is there such a huge internal struggle between "We could use this" and "We need this"?  It's easy for my head to know which is which.  But to get rid of something we "could use" is a booger!

Skittle Bowl

Watching one episode of Downton Abbey, we gasped when we saw the family playing Skittle Bowl.  "Hey!  We have that!"

It belonged to my cousins, and it came to us when my aunt (Katie's godmother) was moving and thus decluttering.  Seeing the game in the show reminded Maggie of its existence.  She hauled it out and has been playing a lot.  She's figuring out how to "roll" the ball to obtain better scores.

And she's learning to score bowling.  Tsk tsk tsk -- the kids these days don't get to learn how to keep score in bowling because the computers do all the work for them.  But she seems to be figuring it out nicely this week at home.

I love the clatter of those wood pins falling -- it's such a pretty sound!

Snow

Snow-mixed-with-rain every day this week.  But we've comforted ourselves with "At least it's not sticking." 

And this morning, middle of April, I look out the window ...

and it's sticking. 
It's not deep enough to shovel yet.
But the grass, the deck, the neighbors' roofs -- snow.


Intellectually I know that I'll be leaving the house without a winter coat in, oh, say, a month.  But in my gut I don't believe it will ever happen:  I'll be wearing a winter coat for the rest of my life ....

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie

Well, I sure was schnookered by that review.

The reviewer wrote that "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie" was a movie about an unconventional school teacher in Scotland in the 1930's; she wanted to inculcate in her students the love of "goodness, truth, and beauty."  Hmm.  Sounds kind of like me.   And yet there were niggling remembrances from my childhood that this was a "bad movie" that grown-ups whispered about.  Really?  It was "bad" because she was an unconventional teacher?

So we ordered it from Netflix.  Put it in the DVD player.  And began to wonder if the movie might be going somewhere in spite of how it was stacking up. 

After 30 minutes, I turned it off because the "unconventional teacher" was having multiple affairs with men and brainwashing the girls with liberal politics.   Not wanting to Give Up On It Too Early, I checked Wiki.  Sure enough, this teacher's "unconventionality" is worlds --universes-- different from my "unconventionality." 

Yeah, the DVD is back in the mailbox even though I didn't see the end of the movie. 

And for those of you who know how much I hate stopping a book or magazine or movie or lecture in the middle, you know that's a drastic step!

Chilly Easter

So I think this was the first Easter Vigil ever where I sang the Song of the Three Young Men (including the lines "You frost and cold, bless the Lord; you ice and snow, bless the Lord") when there was ice and snow right outside the window next to me. 

And then shortly before sundown on Easter, after all the kids had left, I looked out the window, and what did I see?  Snow.  More snow than mere flurries.  Snow dumping out of the sky.  It had been warm enough that it didn't stick to the deck for more than a few minutes.  But still. 

Yoo hoo!  Spring?  Where are you?




But you know what was cool?  On Easter morning, with all the grey skies and the cloud cover, there was not a hint of being able to tell where the sun was hiding behind those thick clouds.  And as the organist was playing the intro to "Thanks to Thee, O Christ Victorious" I was hearing the [ahem] real first verse to that hymn (TLH 207) which is:
Like the golden sun ascending,
breaking through gloom of night,
on the earth its glory spending
so that darkness takes to flight,
thus my Jesus from the grave
and death's dismal dreadful cave
rose triumphant Easter morning
at the early purple dawning.

And that was when the sun broke through for all of about two minutes.  Just long enough to shed light on that hymn!  Like the sun and the creation just had to bust in and join the celebration indoors at the altar!

They Didn't Love Him Back

Okay, so Jesus was mocked.
And they beat Him up.
And the Father's wrath was poured upon Him.

Bad stuff.  Painful stuff.

But somehow, this morning, listening to Pilate say, "Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered You to me," a different pain appeared. 

Those people scheming to get Him killed, those were His people.  He chose them.  He gave them not only their lives and breath, but their nation and their land.  He sent them prophets to call them back to Himself.  And now for three years He'd been healing them, preaching to them, forgiving them, helping them.

And it annoyed them so much that they wanted Him dead. 

These weren't just some people that a nice God wanted to save because He's full of love and goodness.  These were His very own people. 

What ache is there like the ache of unrequited love, especially when you're pouring yourself out for one who not only doesn't appreciate it, but hates you because you love?

"Funny" to Forgive Somebody?

One morning recently, as we were opening at work, somebody inadvertently left out a step.  Beep beep beep.  The alarm sounded. The security company phoned to determine whether the alarm was an accident or something alarming.  My boss answered the phone and jumped through the hoops to verify what needed to be proved.  She concluded with, "I'm sorry.  I forgot to ...." After her brief explanation, she listened for a moment.  And then she started chuckling.

When she got off the phone, she told us that he'd said, "Oh, I forgive you." 

She was amazed by that.  He'd said, "I forgive you."  That was really weird.  WHY would he say, "I forgive you"?  She laughed about that on-and-off for another 15-20 minutes. 



A friend of mine told me that they'd been taught in premarital catechesis not to say, "I'm sorry" and "That's okay."  They'd been told it would be more helpful to say something on the order of "I hurt you" or "I sinned against you" and to respond with "It's forgotten" or "I forgive you for Jesus' sake."

At our house and with my friends, we usually say "I'm sorry" and "That's okay."  Sometimes I feel guilty about that.  It's hard to say "I forgive you" not because the forgiveness is hard.  What's hard is the admission that, yes, what the other person did was just plain wrong and sinful.  It's easier when we act like it's not a big deal, when we sweep it away with "That's okay." 

I know people who are so good about saying "I forgive you."  I want to hear "I forgive you."  But saying it?

What I saw the other day makes me realize that there are two completely different meanings behind "I'm sorry."  One is contrition, and the only response is to forgive.  But most of the time in our country, "I'm sorry" is a polite phrase.  There is no sorrow or grief behind the words.  So "I forgive you" sounds bizarre, funny, maybe even insulting, to those who aren't sorry-from-the-gut when they say "sorry."

The Power of Baptism

There's something in Narnia that always confused me.  Always.  In The Last Battle, at the end of the book, one of the Calormenes ends up in Aslan's Country.  (In case you've never read the books, this suggests that devotees of a false god will be saved if they have misunderstood their god and imagined him to be like the true God, so that they were kinda sorta worshiping the true God even though they didn't know Him by His true name.)

What would this say about baptism?

Is what we think about God the important thing, the main thing?  What about baptism, where God places His name upon us?

Can people misunderstand what their religion teaches, believing falsely when the truth is taught, OR believing rightly when falsehoods are taught?  Yes, obviously.  Can people die in the faith prior to receiving the gift of baptism?  Yes, of course.  But what happens in baptism --to be made a child of God-- is no small potatoes.  It makes a difference.  It changes who we are.  It gives us access to God. 

And I can't figure out how that fits with this tiny section of The Last Battle of Narnia.

The Couch of Recuperation

When you're sick, where do you head?  To the couch?  Or to your bed?

Maggie asked me once why Beaver Cleaver's mother would send him up to his bedroom when he was sick.  Similarly, watching Downton Abbey, we see people sent to their bedrooms when they are sick. 

But for us, it's the couch. 
When I was a kid, it was the couch. 

I think it's partly because the television is in the living room, where the couch is.  The tv helps keep a sicko entertained and quiet.  But that's not all.  If I had a tv in my bedroom, I'd still prefer to lollygag in the living room when ill. 

I don't want to be alone, tucked off in another room, when I'm sick.  I want to have my loved ones around.  Even if I am snoozing for much of the day.   And when others are sick, I want to go about many of my chores while still keeping an eye on the sick one, available to fetch things or help. 



(This should probably teach me something about the importance of sitting with people who are stuck in the hospital.)