Caught in the Act...

...and feeling foolish. For those of you that have been reading my comments, you'll know that a Jehovah's Witness has been visiting and commenting in response to my previous post.

He/she called me out for going to a Halloween party over the weekend. To paraphrase: "You preach that Satan is evil all year, but now you party with him?" A valid point.

I've long been a fence-sitter when it comes to Halloween. On the one hand, dressing up in a costume can be fun. But on the other hand, the holiday of Halloween is steeped in darkness. Some Christians say, as long as the costumes are wholesome and the kids aren't making mischief, I don't see the harm. But, to be honest, that argument always feels weak and lame to me.

I think it's because the dark side of Halloween always wins out. No matter how sweetly you dress up your child, there will always been more kids dressed as ghouls or axe murderers. No matter how well-behaved your child is, other kids will always be playing pranks. And that's just the children's experience. The adult version is much worse, as the party I went to demonstrated.

In the end, my clever and conservative tea bag wished it had been elsewhere, and left early.

A growing number of churches are having harvest themed All-Saints parties, which are good ideas, but only seem to work when the parents are really committed. But I think anything that urges our children to emulate the saints is a step in the right direction.

In recent years, the veneration of the saints has become extremely important to me. I hear many Christians, of all types, refer to the persecution of the early Christians, and draw up vivid images of the suffering of those early martyrs. But I always think, "Do you know their names?"

I love that the Church has retained the names of so many of those champions of the faith. To me, this collective memory demonstrates that this is, in fact, the Body of Christ. We have so much love for our brothers and sisters in Christ, that we remember their names and their stories for centuries. Of course, we don't know all the names of the faithful gone before us, but we do know many of them- well enough, in fact, to paint their icons.

It give me a strong image of the heavenly kingdom- of looking around and seeing many faces, and with each, a flash of recognition: Thekla! Irenaeus! Anthony! Juliana! Sophia! Andrew! John! (and John, and John, and John, and John :-) Moses! Sara! Elizabeth! Noah! Barsanuphius! Tabitha! David! Romanos! Mom! Dad! and on and on. That's what I think when hear that verse: "A great cloud of witnesses."

They're out to get me!!!

Jehovah's Witnesses, I mean. I just had my 4th encounter in 10 days. I kid you not. The first three encounters were with people coming to my door. One lady wanted to give me a pamphlet entitled: THE END OF FALSE RELIGION IS NEAR, complete with dramatic photo of a lightening strike on the cover. (Cue ominous music.) I wanted to say, "Are you predicting your own demise?" But instead I said, "No thanks."

Today's encounter was much less annoying. I was at the laundromat, folding away, when a man came in and put copies of The Watchtower and Awake! on the table next to me. This seems to happen every other time I'm there. It makes me wonder if they know it's me throwing them away for them?

In a similar incident- my doorbell rang last week. It turned out not to be a teenager who said, "Would you like to help me get a college scholarship?" Turns out he was trying to sell newspaper subscriptions. If he got so many, then he got a $500 "scholarship." I said no. He then said, "You don't want me to go to college?" (Cue fake plaintive tone and big doe eyes.) I assured him I wished him every luck in his academic career, but not in his sales one. (Besides, $500 would not go too far. I have a big fat student loan to prove it.)

But in other news... hooray for the internet! I have found an idea for a costume for a Halloween party I'm attending tomorrow.

I'm going create a pouch out of white tissue paper, fill it with some fall leaves from my doorstep, attach some string and a label and be a tea bag! All I have to buy is the tissue.

E.T., Phone home

Over the past few weeks, I've managed to catch a series of episodes of Nova (a science program on PBS) called Origins, that covers the origins of Earth, according to contemporary science.

It's an excellent program, very interesting, although I sometimes think it could also be titled: "When astrophysicists get excited." I mean, these men and women LOVE their work.

There's a ton I could say in respect to the whole science vs. intelligent design debate, but I won't. I'll simply say that I find the scientific explanations of the origins of the universe, Earth, and life to be fascinating, but I don't put absolute stock in them. (Who wants to put their trust in something that's always changing its position? I mean, one of the characteristics of science is that it's always refuting the theories/laws of its ancestry.) Anyway...

The most recent episode in the series was about the search for life outside of Earth, and especially intelligent life (aliens). It was as well-put together as the other episodes, discussing quite frankly the possibility of life on other planets. (They basically said that there's no way to know the likelihood of life elsewhere, because of all the many factors needed to make life possible. When speaking of intelligent life, the factors multiply.)

But in the end, it just made me sad. Because it became apparent to me that the search for intelligent life elsewhere is really a search for meaning. One man in particular stood out- he had been speaking very cooly and clinically about his research and possibility of life elsewhere, but then he shifted and said (I'm paraphrasing): "I feel like a 6 year old. I just want to know, Are you out there? Are we alone?"

And he wasn't the only one. Scientist after scientist, they invariably shifted from cool, clinical detachment to wax nostalgic over the possibility of our not being alone. These brilliant minds, who know so much more about math or physics than I ever could, all with the same human yearning on their faces.

This is where science fails, I think. You can study a lizard down to its very molecules and be amazed at its complexity. You can trace a human being's evolutionary history back to a single-celled organism and marvel. You can puzzle out how Earth got it's start all the way back to the Big Bang.

But you can't answer that essential human question- Why? - with science. In attempting to answer why with science, you only get more questions. It is only through acknowleding that there is a Creator that we can find a cause. He is The Why.

I'll finish with a composite quote, it's long, but I couldn't stand to leave out any more:

"In the beginning God
created the heaven and the earth." I stop struck with admiration at this thought. What shall I first say? Where shall I begin my story? Shall I show forth the vanity of the Gentiles? Shall I exalt the truth of our faith? The philosophers of Greece have made much ado to explain nature, and not one of their systems has remained firm and unshaken, each being overturned by its successor. It is vain to refute them; they are sufficient in themselves to destroy one another.

Those who were too ignorant to rise to a knowledge of a God, could not allow that an intelligent cause presided at the birth of the Universe; a primary error that involved them in sad consequences. Some had recourse to material principles and attributed the origin of the Universe to the elements of the world. Others imagined that atoms, and indivisible bodies, molecules and ducts, form, by their union, the nature of the visible world. Atoms reuniting or separating, produce births and deaths and the most durable bodies only owe their consistency to the strength of their mutual adhesion: a true spider's web woven by these writers who give to heaven, to earth, and to sea so weak an origin and so little consistency! It is because they knew not how to say "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth." Deceived by their inherent atheism it appeared to them that nothing governed or ruled the universe, and that was all was given up to chance...

Do not let us undertake to follow them for fear of falling into like frivolities; let them refute each other, and, without disquieting ourselves about essence, let us say with Moses "God created the heavens and the earth."

From Homily 1 of The Hexaemeron, a series of homilies on Genesis by St Basil the Great.

Radical Faith

Lately, I've been hearing certain Christians referred to as "radical," "crazy," and "extreme," in media and entertainment. From what I discern, the Christians to whom they are referring are those who fit one or more of the following characteristics:

• those who don't believe in evolution
• those who oppose gay marriage, abortion, and embryonic stem cell research
  
• those who take their faith to the voting booth
  
• Evangelicals
• those who are named Jerry Fallwell, James Dobson, and Mel Gibson (amongst others)

I also hear a lot of references to "radical Islam" or "Muslim extremists." And from what I can discern, the Muslims to whom they are referring are:

• clerics who preach violence in the name of God
• those who strap explosives to themselves and take them into public places, or fly them into skyscrapers
  
• those who kidnap, torture, and decapitate civilians for political aims
  

Personally, I'll take extremists of the Christian variety over the Muslim sort.

Take a guess

When perusing some historical information about my current parish, I found the following letter, congratulating the parish on reaching an important anniversary of its founding. Can you guess which president wrote it?

To the Congregation of ______:

Congratualtions on your __th Anniversary. I know you must be very proud to have reached this milestone.

As a nation united under God, our best efforts are directed toward the achievement of that enduring peace which is founded on respect for the God-given worth and dignity of every human person. In this commitment, the work of America's relgious institutions is more important that ever. The comfort, compassion and moral guidance traditionally provided by churches and synagogues continue to inspire men and women in their selfless pursuit of the common good. We Americans are a proud and patriotic people. But we have always recognized that we owe our first allegiance to the God Who has so generously endowed us, for it is by His blessings that we prosper.

[The president's wife] joins me in sending warm best wishes for your celebration. May God continue to bless you in all your endeavors.

Have a guess? Send me a comment.

Delicious typo

A friend of mine (who is a grad student at Northwestern) received this from Northwestern's Career Services Center. It includes a rather lovely typo... one would think such winning women would know to employ a copy editor.

JP Morgan Winning Women Event. The Wall Street era of the pinstriped, cigar-chomping old boy's network is long gone. JPMorgan is shattering any lingering perception, by energetically seeking the next generation of outstanding women to go into investment baking, sales, trading, and research. If you think you could be one of them, find out more by attending our Winning Women Event for Juniors and Sophomores. You'll get a chance to ask questioins, get recruiting tips, job-shadow and network. More than that, you'll find out how to follow in their footsteps. Open to all majors. Apply through CareerCat by Friday, October 13, 2006! Questions should be directed to Women.Day.Chicago@jpmorgan.com. The Winning Women Event will take place on November 3, 2006 from 9:00am to 4:00pm at JPMorgan Chicago Headquarters, Transportation Provided.

One Year

People seemed to think of The Accident as some sort of rock tumbler: "It's great how you're rallying together." "Your family will come out stronger." To them, we were rocks thrown into a cylinder by a Boy Scout and tumbled down a hill, to emerge as smooth shiny pebbles at the bottom.

These comments always infuriated me. "Those aren't rocks in that capsule!" I would scream in my head. "That's my family! That's us in there!" I would picture my family, spinning around and around, bumping into the wall and each other in the dark.

The thing is: you don't come out stronger. You come out broken and one shy. What looked like a family rallying together from the outside was really a family gathering their broken bits together- propping each other up, using my one good arm to hold you, and letting your good leg stand for me- all just to survive.

And you stay broken- there will always be a little part of you that hurts. That's the truth of earthly life- things are not as they should be. Things do not make sense- and they won't until the Kingdom. All you can do for now is live with the damage. You adjust your gait so that you can keep running the race, even if it means limping a little.

Literary post

Spent a fine evening with my friend Ann, in which we concluded watching a BBC miniseries of Dickens' Our Mutual Friend.

I just want to pause and say: I love Dickens. I really do. And I heartily enjoy t.v. miniseries and films of Dickens novels.

One of the things I most enjoy about Dickens are the names. Characters have such lovely onomatopoeic names- all of their quirks, foibles, and virtues rolled up into the sound of them. Mr Micawbre. Uriah Heep. Guppy. Smallweed. Lady Dedlock. Mr. Bumble. The Artful Dodger. Smike. And probably the most famous, one that's entered into our vernacular: Ebeneezer Scrooge. (They're just delicious).

And one of the things I most enjoy about seeing Dickens on film is that all kinds of brilliant character actors get to show their stuff. Scruffy hair, blacked out teeth, peg legs, you name it. Some of them get to be so wonderfully bad!

Although, I always find Dickens' villains to be terrifying. Sometimes they're just mentally unstable (like the one in the film last night). But other times they seem to be bad, through and through. I've read lots of commentaries that say Uriah Heep in David Copperfield is the worst. But for me, the absolute worst is Bill Sykes from Oliver Twist. He jumps right off the pages to me. So mean, even his dog betrays him.

But I can't end on this note... before I go I have to reveal my favorite Dickens novel: A Tale of Two Cities. From the fabulous opening, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." to my favorite line, the last in the novel, "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I got to, than I have ever known."

If you haven't read it- you must. Great example of John 15:13.

Cheerio!

P.S. Mom- from Bleak House: "Shake me up, Judy!"

Counting the days...

Nov. 8 cannot come soon enough. Because finally, at long last, I will be freed from campaign materials. I loathe having glossy fliers shoved in my mailbox. And I am so heartily sick of campaign ads on t.v. Just the way things are twisted, so that all sense of reality or perspective is lost.

Some of them, however, are quite funny (in that jaded way). My "favorite" is one that says, " X was a high tax liberal... Now, she's a high tax liberal politician we CAN'T TRUST!!!" (Cue dramatic music.) As if a high tax liberals are acceptable, but heavens no, we can't have a politician- egads!

However, my favorite all-time campaign slogan was one I saw during my brief time in Tay-has, for an Asian-American running for office:

CHOOSE RIGHT! VOTE WONG!

I fink Bah-bwah Wah-wah must have widden it.

Aha! I have an inspired idea: all campaign commercials, speeches, and debates must be presented in either ig-pay atin-lay or baby talk.

"Toose what's wight fow Minnesowduh. Iss time fow a tange- vode Demokwat!"

"Ee-way eed-nay oo-tay ay-stay uh-thay orse-kay: ote-vay epublican-Ray!"

Birthday Snow

For the first time in my now 28 years of memory, there's snow on my birthday. Not much- a few scattered flakes when I woke up and then quickly turned to rain. Still- it's a novelty. And, the big dip in temperature means that my cats are extra snuggly.

So far, more people than expected have remembered my birthday. I mean, more people than expected from my new locale. A choir member fashioned me a card shaped like a rest, saying, "Take a 'Whole Rest'... Because it's your birthday!" A lady from church brought me flowers, the church secretary gave me some of the peanut-butter candy that shares my name, and my priest and his wife very thoughtfully gave me a slow cooker. (I'm picturing eating a bowl full of a hearty stew while ensconced on the couch on a winter's night, swathed in blankets, with two extra snuggly cats at my feet. Ooh... and watching White Christmas for the bazillionth time!)

Pause while I exit this wintery reverie.

Only one little sting- someone asked my age, and then said (partly in jest), "You better get married soon... the clock's ticking!" I told him he could keep talking, but that he might want to consider moving a little farther away from me. Inwardly I was wondering if hurling a slow-cooker would inflict a fatal blow. To the slow-cooker.

Ah, well, uncouth comments aside... what I meant to say was that I'm pleasantly surprised by the affection. I'll add it to list of things reaffirming my decision to move here. :-)

Thread the Needle

I had my third yoga class this morning (the blog title is my favorite pose we did today). I've been really enjoying the class- the instructor is great- she explains very well and is good at offering you lots of different options for the poses.

The class is held in a studio in a renovated warehouse on the edge of downtown- just over ten minutes from where I live. It's on the second floor, and has beautiful windows- the kind of glass you don't see anymore. And it's painted in my favorite shade of green- not bright, not pastel, and not gray.

I used to be very skeptical of yoga- the whole quasi-spiritual aspect of it especially. The fact that fruity celebrities like Madonna are into it didn't help either. But an alternative form of exercise has recently become appealing.

In the middle of class today, it occurred to me that one of the reasons I like it so much is because the atmosphere is calm. There's no pounding music, no whirring machines, no one shouting instructions over a loud speaker.

There's just soft music, the sound of people breathing, and the instructor's voice.

We always end the class end corpse pose- which is basically laying on your back and letting yourself completely relax. And this is where the one funny thing in the class happens- the instructor rings a gong.

My first class it really startled me- I almost sat up- especially because I hadn't seen a gong when I came in. This class I was prepared, but I still had a little internal giggle.

The thing is- we're supposed to be relaxed, focusing on our breath, and sending out loving energy or something. A sure fire way to distract a musician from this is to sound a highly resonant percussive instrument. I was so glad I didn't have my mom or a sister there, because I don't think I could have held it in, like when something funny happens in church.

In any event- my body feels really good when I'm done, more relaxed and energized than when I came in- something I could never say about hitting the gym. I'm just looking forward to when I'm familiar enough with the poses to do it at home.

Today's thought

I love fall!