Yesterday was graduation at Dordt College. Over 300 students sat up on the stage, waiting for their diploma, so they could leave. Graduation day has a strange aura about it. Professors are still grading, but most are glad the end has come. Parents and family are wandering around campus trying to catch a glimpse of what their child has been up to for the past 4 years. Seniors? They're ready to go. They're excited, maybe some are a bit sad, but most are ready to move on to the next stage of life. There's a freedom that comes with graduation; life is full of possibilities and potential. Some students fret about not have a job when they cross of the stage, others are more than happy to take the next few months and "walk the earth." One group of students bought an old black bus they plan to use to road trip to California. They've converted it to run on a combination of diesel fuel and cooking oil both to save money and the environment. Another student is going to go to the "holy" land. No class credit, no tour groups - just himself, a walking stick, and the places that Jesus walked. Me? I'm making my own trek... to California. My friend has to be at a wedding and asked if I wanted to ride along. No responsibilities...no speaking or research...just me, my buddy, and the open road.

Within the Christian tradition there's a strange tension between being a nomadic, pilgrim, people, and being a people of a specific place. Some take the "we're just passing through" approach to life, holding places and experiences loosely, while others put down roots, holding tightly to a specific "place." More and more I've come to appreciate both - it seems that a healthy life is a constant oscillation between the two. There's excitement in experiencing new people and new places and the enriching perspective that comes with seeing how other people live. At the same time there's something beautiful about inhabiting a place in such a way that you come to know it's nooks and crannies. These are places that form and shape our character as we take on their good and bad characteristics. I tend to have little patience for newcomers who crab and moan about Sioux Center, Iowa. It's not that there isn't stuff to complain about but they haven't earned the right to complain about it yet. They haven't lived here long enough to experience the people, the places, and the way of life that makes Sioux Center a unique place (just as every place is unique.) That being said, I can't wait to hit the road and get away from Sioux Center's idiosyncrasies. This Thursday I'll be excited for the possibilities of the new places I'm going to see. Give it a week... and I'll be more than ready to come back home.

So here's to college students who are ready to go, who are ready to break out of here and take hold of the possibilities life has to offer. And here's to them finding a place to inhabit, work to do, and a community of people they can do it all with.  

As I was driving with my daughter the other day the chit chat gave way to a more serious topic. "In school next we're going to talk about sex," she told me. "We're going to talk about girl parts and boy parts." I didn't know what to say. I mean, I'm used to joking around about things of a sexual nature with the "guys" while having a few beers on the deck, usually making fun of ourselves, but now this was serious stuff. I thought I'd see what she knew. "So what do you know about sex?" I asked her... experiencing a bit of deja vu. She paused, smiled, and then said, "Not much." Wait... what's with the smile? She knows more than she's letting on. She is eleven after all and I'd be naive to think that there weren't playground conversations at school. I decided that the car was not the most appropriate place to continue the conversation - especially with her fiver year old sister listening in the back. "Let's talk more about this later this weekend," I said, and we changed the topic. 

A few days ago, as I was about to leave my office, a student dropped by to talk about a paper. Or so I thought. This is the type of students that's a joy to teach: interested, creative, and very eccentric. A bit like the characters from The Big Bang Theory if you've seen the show. We finished talking about his paper and sat in awkward silence. "Why isn't he leaving?" I thought to myself. I was just about to say "Well, I should get going," when he blurted out, "Well, I seem to have found myself a girlfriend." This is one of those comments that people often respond to by spitting something out of their mouth - you know, coffee, water, whatever they're drinking at the time. Only, I wasn't drinking anything, so all I could muster was, "Well, congratulations!" We both broke into laughter and talked about his new girlfriend, dating, and the stuff that goes with it. (Not that the regular rules will apply in this case...which is refreshing.)

Yesterday, as I walked to the library watching the college kids holding hands or sitting together on benches I wondered "What's going on?" Then it hit me - spring is finally here. The temp yesterday hit 70 degrees. Just one week ago it was snowing. Suddenly, things have changed. I'm amazed at the power of spring - not just the renewal of the flowers and trees, but also the new stages of life that become more obvious, and the new expressions of love that pop up all around. It's a joy to behold... even if it means formal talks about the "birds and the bees." 

It wouldn't be right to talk about spring and not mention baseball. The "birds and the bees" and baseball seem to go together; although, it could be I'm thinking of Meatloaf. (Paradise by the Dashboard Light anyone?) We've already been to a game at Target field where the Twins took on the Mets. It snowed... but that's ok. The kids got baseballs from batting practice and my daughters got Justin Morneau's (Twins first baseman) autograph. Unfortunately, the Mets won - almost a no hitter. The beauty of baseball is that its a long season, and ultimately, its not about the winning and losing. It's about eating unhealthy food, sipping on a beverage, and watching your kids chase down foul balls. Welcome back spring... it's about time!

This semester I'm teaching a course on the topic of Christianity and popular culture. We started the semester reading selections from Niebuhr's Christ and Culture and Andy Crouch's  Culture Making, trying hard to make the case for a Kuyperian transformational approach to how we should live in the world. For some reason I thought it was a good idea to include Jacques Ellul's The Meaning of the City on the syllabus... in April... when students and professors alike start thinking about the end of May. I've always had this weird fascination with Ellul's work, one that isn't necessarily shared by my neo-Calvinist colleagues. He seems to be too much of a curmudgeon for even the crustiest of Kuyperians. Ellul throws a wrench into our Kuyperian attempts to save the world, our attempts to squeeze as much as we can into "every square inch," our attempts to build up institutions that will last until Christ comes again and beyond. Ellul doesn't let us equate our work with the coming Kingdom of God because we don't bring the kingdom - God brings the kingdom. All of our attempts to build up religious and cultural structures, baptizing our work with pious rhetoric, ends up in idolatry. The best we can do is wait, seeking the welfare of the city by bearing the word of God in the midst of the cold, dark, reality of this life. We wait for the city that is to come; we wait for the future life that God will bring.

This engagement of Ellul corresponds with my rediscovery of the Cohen brother's film No Country for Old Men. The opening scene is a monologue about the old days, about the time when sheriffs didn't even have to wear guns. The voice wonders what some of the old timers would have thought about the type of crime committed today. Evil acts that aren't done for anything in particular, they don't seek wealth or power, they just seem to be about the act itself. The harsh, cold, reality of a coin toss. "Call it," we hear Anton Chigurh say. "I need to know what I stand to win," the man behind the counter says. "Everything." Anton responds. 

It's the last scene of the film that the most powerful. The old sheriff, now retired, talking to his wife about his dreams. His father passes him on horseback, riding through the mountain pass, through the cold and the snow. He doesn't say anything, but he's carrying fire, he's going on ahead "fixing to make a fire in all that dark and all that cold..." Fixing to make a fire - this, it seems to me, is what it means to be the Christian community. To have the courage to choose to be in the world, to live in the "city" as Ellul puts it, in the midst of the dark, the cold, and the "tyranny of evil men." It might not be triumphalistic, but it might just be the gospel.

Does the precise locus of this Saturday, at the interface between cross an resurrection, its very uniqueness as the one moment in history which is both after Good Friday and before Easter, invest it with special meaning, a distinct identity, and the most revealing light?...The nonevent of the second day could after all be a significant zero, a pregnant emptiness, a silent nothing which says everything.

Between Cross and Resurrection: A Theology of Holy Saturday - Alan Lewis

On the seventh day God rested. It's interesting to think about how the Christian community has made the connection between the sabbath day of the Old Testament and the Lord's day of Jesus resurrection. Not that I disagree - it makes perfect biblical and theological sense. It's just that when we get to the Easter holiday we run smack into the Old Testament configuration of sabbath - Holy Saturday. It's a day that goes unnoticed in the protestant tradition, which might, in the end, be the best way to commemorate it. It is the second day of Easter... the day in which nothing happens. The day in which God "rests" in the tomb. 

We've all experienced those moments - we know that something is going to happen, we've been waiting for it, planning for it, we're in many ways ready for it, only to find ourselves in suspended time. Waiting. In these moments we become consious of time, conscious of our own historical existence, we become aware of things usually taken for granted. We wait... for the word to be spoken, for the announcement to be made, for the visitor to arrive. Often, these are painful moments, anxious moments, waiting for good news in the face of tragedy or illness. But not always - sometimes they are momenets of joy and celebration that can barely be contained.

On Holy Saturday we remember that our God, in Jesus Christ, has experienced such moments. The horror and tragedy of Good Friday gives way to a day of rest, a day of waiting, a day in which God experienced a moment pregnant with anticipation. Holy Saturday is the seventh day when God rested from God's work, when God waited for the dawning of the first day of the week, or as some in the early church referred to it, the "eighth day" of creation. Holy Satuday is the pregnant momement between the death of the firstborn in Egypt and the first steps taken toward the promised land; its the inward breath that precedes the word that is spoken announcing Good News. Holy Saturday is the sabbath of God in the truest sense, a day when God enters into the human experience of anticipation, a moment pregnant with divine possibility. 

Tomorrow is Easter. The "good news" comes tomorrow. Today... we wait.

Twice, yesterday, I got teary eyed. I don't cry easily; I guess it's a character flaw. But yesterday - twice - I ended up wiping tears from my eyes. What's strange, maybe even embarrassing, is what caused this moist, salty, discharge. Two separate movie scenes: one from a trailer, and one from The Rise of the Guardians. I know, I've written about the Guardian flick before - I don't intend to rehash previous discussions. Interestingly, the culprit was a scene in which the main character, Jack Frost, wasn't yet Jack Frost - he was just a boy, a brother, ice skating with his sister when the ice started to break. With one heroic act Jack flings his sister to safety only to find himself in danger. The ice breaks and Jack sinks into the cold, dark, water. The second clip is a trailer for the upcoming Superman movie. A bus full of children plummets into a raging river, followed by a picture of a boy pushing the bus up onto the river bank as a women's voice says "My son was in that bus. He saw what Clark did." I couldn't help myself; my heart felt like it was going to explode. I almost wept...

Why would a silly superhero trailer bring such a strong emotional response? And why would a movie I've seen before bring me to tears? On Thursday night at 6pm a 16 year old girl was visiting Falls Park in Sioux Falls with her family. Falls Park is a beautiful water fall right in the middle of Sioux Falls, SD. I've taken my kids there countless times - each time they've climbed over rocks, jumped over crevasses, and went too close to the water for my anxious liking. I can imagine the crowd that was there; it was a warm day and the snow was melting, which meant the falls would be full, spectacularly overflowing. At 6pm on Thursday a six year old boy went too close to the edge and fell in. Without thinking, his 16 year old sister jumped in after him, followed closely by a complete stranger - a man in his early 30's. At some point the boy resurfaced - thrust up onto the rocks on the river bank to safety. His 16 year old sister and the complete stranger were gone - nowhere to be found. The ice on the river and the foam from the falls made rescue efforts nearly impossible. The girl's body was recovered the next morning; the stranger's body has yet to be found. This was the source of the my tears. For some reason, all day yesterday, I couldn't shake this story. I still think about this girl's parents; I think about her family and friends. I think about this little boy who was just doing what boys do. I think about the young man who jumped in after people he didn't even know.

I think about all the things we try to teach our kids. We want them to be nice and courteous; we want them to love others and to be good disciples of Jesus. We want them to be moral and peaceful, to get along with others. How do we teach them to be courageous? Not in a super hero sort of way; true courage is found when our our finite humanity bumps up against its limitations. How do we teach our kids that the gospel is not just a call to personal or cultural transformation, but that it also calls us to have the courage to stand alongside the outcast, the suffering, and the defenseless? It doesn't ask for a cost / benefit analysis; it asks for decisive action with no regard for ourselves or our well being. 

The question I keep asking myself - Could I do it? Would I do it? If my son or daughter had fallen into that river I know I would have been in the water in a heartbeat. But a complete stranger? I'm not sure. Thursday night two people had the courage to jump in that icy water. My tears were for them...

As a theology professor at a protestant institution I've learned the art of self-depreciation. The heritage of the reformation is always suspect of the "priesthood"- questioning anyone who might claim to have the theological corner on matters of God, salvation, or the bible. Especially the bible. Students are usually suspect of what I share with them about Genesis or Romans because they're supposed to be. What gives me the right to tell them what the text means? So I play the fool, the clown, or the jester - foolish enough to stand up in front and say "Maybe we should read the text this way." Not that I want to be a priest; I am thoroughly Reformed after all. I wonder, however, if there isn't something lost when every Christian becomes their own theologian. Whatever, I can hear the objections, so I'll just go back to honking my nose and juggling whiteboard markers.

What I find interesting is that the protestant priesthood hasn't disappeared, it's morphed into something else. Today if you want find someone to authoritatively give you the goods on what life and salvation are about, one goes to the business person... the economist... the money makers. They are the new high priests mediating the good word about life, well-being, and redemption. They are the ones who hold the "keys to the kingdom"... you know, marketing, finance, and creating a "brand." They are the ones who can tell us what people really need - practicality, utility, jobs. They are the ones who are in touch with the only remaining universal - money. Everyone knows what "money" is, what "money" can do, the power of "money" to bring well being and human flourishing. Philip Goodchild has written a very interesting book on this issue with the title the Theology of Money. He argues that the transcendent quality of money, and the way in which our current economic systems foster obligation through debt, is fundamentally theological - the new universal religion complete with symbols, rituals, and high priests. 

So, it is in this new priesthood that we place our hope for future salvation and the salvation of our kin. They must lead us... our churches, our institutions, our personal lives... because they have access to the universal truth of life. Or do they? I mean, why is it that putting our trust in the new economic priesthood seems to lead to financial ruin? Colleges, seminaries, churches, institutions, personal finances - when we finally decide to peak behind the curtain we discover we've been fooled by slight of hand and cheap tricks. Oh, the high priests aren't to blame, it's the mysterious spirit of the market... or President Obama... who are to blame. The promise of flourishing, the hope of salvation, crushed by the reality of debt, market adjustments, and the bursting of bubbles. Yet, the rhetoric remains... the "preachers" of this new gospel proclaim the same old message. Sure, they update the lingo and touch up the lipstick, but the priesthood remains intact.

I wonder, maybe the Roman Catholic Church needs a business person as their next pope - a market guru who can remake the Catholic "brand." You know, a Cardinal Glick who offers something that "pops." (Sorry for the Dogma reference. My students assure me that all of my pop culture references are lame.) Oh well, what do I know? I'm a theologian - excuse me while I go shine up my big floppy red shoes.

I'm a sucker for award shows. Last weekend it was the Grammys; this week it's the Oscars. I can honestly say I watched most of it - from Taylor Swift's over the top opening, to the return of Justin "Suit and Tie" Timberlake, to Jack White shredding on "Freedom at 21." I find these shows enjoyable, revolting, and cringe worthy all wrapped into one. It's painful to watch an artist implode, either by acting like a pompous ass while announcing the nominees, or by totally stinking up the joint trying to play their instruments. Or, when an artist wins and gives the old "I didn't think I would win" or the "I want to thank my fellow nominees" routine, to which everyone watching gives a Liz Lemon "O brother!" eye roll. I find the Grammys to be a buffet of musical fun.

My favorite moments, however, are usually when some up-and-comer totally nails it. Last year is was Mumford and Sons, the opening act for the Avett Brothers and Bob Dylan, rocking a rendition of "The Cave." This year it was The Lumineers who brought the house down. The beauty of their music is in its simplicity... just a few chords, a guy in suspenders beating a cymbal with a tambourine (he's exactly how I picture Tom Bombadil), and a group of people yelling out "HO!" and "HEY!" every now and again. Their music evokes joyful reveling, like a party is about to break out right there on stage. My favorite part of the song is when the lead singer belts out the second verse in a higher register. Why? Not sure... it just is. There are plenty of artists who perform gaudy electronic numbers, but they don't evoke the same aura or feeling. Nothing against hip hop or rap or synth pop sound, it just doesn't compare with passionate artists, eyes closed, pounding a keyboard or old guitar.

 I wonder if watching an artist at work is a bit like watching the Spirit give birth to creation "in the beginning." (Can you tell I've been reading Tolkien?) To hear the passion in a singers voice, to watch them effortlessly bring forth harmony and rhythm, one can almost imagine the Spirit "hovering", moving, sweeping, and soaring... bringing something totally new into existence. I'm always amazed at how musicians can make something so complex look so easy. Miraculous, really. I mean anyone, given enough time, can make computerized music sound halfway decent, but it takes creativity, passion, and attunement to make a violin or harmonica sing. So I'm thankful for music, for the Grammys, and for the artist I haven't heard of yet that will rock the show next year.

My TV girlfriend, as my wife refers to her, has left me. Elizabeth Lemon has moved on, leaving me with nothing but syndication. 30 Rock just wrapped up it's seventh season, ending a run of critical success and low ratings. Interestingly, much of the discussion this past week focused upon how clever and groundbreaking the show has been, even though the show was not all that popular. Recently, Tina Fey gave an acceptance speech in which she pleaded with the audience to "tape Big Bang Theory for once" so they might watch the finale. I've written about the show in the past, briefly mentioning how, for some reason, the show makes me "happy." At the end of a rough day or week, nothing lifts my spirits like the opening music followed by witty one liners and fast paced pop culture references. As a viewer one has to pay close attention; my wife didn't like the show at first because it forces you to work so hard. Alec Baldwin as a conservative money focused TV executive, Tracy Morgan as an out of control TV version of himself, Kenneth the simpleton and moralistic page - the characters created the space in which everything was fair game.  Liberals, conservatives, religion, the media, even the personal lives of the actors, all became the basis for gags and zingers.

The show is the creative genius of Tina Fey, who broke TV ground by being the first woman to write, produce, direct, and star in a TV comedy. Fey's version of feminism pokes fun at itself, raising important questions about gender stereotypes in the corporate world, while at the same time riffing off of themes like motherhood and companionship. Her alter ego fantasizes about astronauts and pilots... only to end up marrying a hot dog vendor at a civil ceremony in which she wore a Princess Lea outfit. The show was great at setting up stereotypes and then shattering them with the punch line. I wonder if anyone has written on Fey's version of feminist critique? (Or should I just read Bossypants?)

So why write about 30 Rock on a theological, or at least Reformed, blog?  Because at this moment in my life I thank God for TV. As an academic my life consists of reading, lecturing, thinking big thoughts, and taking myself "seriously." TV, and 30 Rock in particular, let's me laugh at low brow pranks and bathroom humor. Without it I'd end up wearing tweed jackets with patches while talking in a fake British accent. I should have named this entry "How 30 Rock Saved My Life." I love you Liz Lemon.  Godspeed, and "May the force be with you." 

We were sitting at the table the other night eating supper when my son blurts out, "My friends and I were talking about sex today." He's eight...third grade. I looked at my wife, then looked at him, and said, "What do you know about sex." "I know there's a naked boy and a naked girl and they get on top of each other." I'll admit, I almost laughed. To hear an eight year old begin to describe sex in such mechanical terms - I barely held it together. "What else do you know?" I asked.  "That's all I got," he replied. "Good," I said back to him, "that's not for you to worry about. That's for moms and dads." With that the conversation turned to superhoeros and birthday parties. The next day I was talking to a buddy of mine who has a kid in the same class.  They had the same conversation, only this dad went further - he had the talk. As he told me about having the talk with his son, all thought about my response, or lack thereof. Was I wrong to change the subject? Am I wrong to think that my third grader doesn't need to be thinking about sex? "Good," I told my friend, "now your kid can tell my kid how it's done."

Last night, just as I was going to win big parent points by taking my kids to Pizza Hut for stuffed crust pizza, my 5 year old daughter opened the door and let a stray cat in our house. As I loudly asked my daughter what she was doing, the cat took off. Gone... nowhere to be found. After a search we found it, hunkered down under our bed, hissing and growling. I was ticked and irritated - how was I going to get this angry cat out from under the bed? I had super parenting to do and this cat was messing things up. So I took out my frustration on my five year old. "Why did you let this cat in the house?" I said angrily. Of course she cried... ran upstairs to her room. Super parent defeated. After a parental apology we finally got the cat out, ate loads of stuffed crust pizza, and my five year old daughter fell asleep in my lap watching Cinderella. Balance in the parental world somewhat restored.

I wish parenting came with a manual - most of the time I feel anxiety and guilt about what I'm not doing. When I'm away from my kids I miss them, and resolve to be the best parent ever, then when we're back together... I find my patience isn't quite where I thought it would be. It doesn't help that I live among a hoard of super parents - putting to shame all my feeble attempts to not mess everything up. Yet, even with all my parental insecurities I've found that kids are the embodiment of love and grace. I usually apologize to my kids for being an "ogre" - the Shrek of the parenting world...a big, hairy, Swede with the temper of the Norse gods. They always respond with a hug, and an "I love you dad." Love I often don't deserve, but a love that I thank God for every day.

What did I write you ask? I wrote about England... London and Cambridge. My wife and I made our first trip to the UK this week where I presented a paper at a conference. The conference went well, the presentation went well, the pubs and the conversation was excellent. It's the technology that won't cooperate.

Actually, this fits well with my original topic - how puny we are. Walking through buildings that are almost a thousand years old will do that to you. We think our stuff is sooo important - that our issues and our projects are so necessary for the existence of the universe. Today I saw proof that the universe will pass us by. What do we get? 70 or 80 years if we're lucky? Only to whither away like the grass... to fade like the flowers. Today as I stood among the hulking buildings and the monuments to important dead people I was struck by how temporary we all are. While it may sound morbid - I found it to be a relief. Just think if we did live forever... if we didn't know that the end was coming sooner rather than later - just think of how full of ourselves we would become. It would be unbearable... we would be unbearable. So today I thought about how our finite existence - our temporary-ness - may just be one of the most profound acts of grace God bestowed upon us. Maybe it's our finite nature that allows to love, to experience joy, to hold the world lightly, and to make jokes with friends while sitting at an English pub drinking beer. Maybe the true seriousness of life is that in the end the work of our hands doesn't amount to much - but we do it anyway. Maybe our finite nature is God's way of saving us from ourselves... lest we become to grandiose in our thoughts and plans.

That's what I was going to write about but then my computer cras