Cultural Loss

One of my mentors, Ed Chinn, recently sent me an email chronicaling the woes of our airline industry. It centered on the fact that airlines seemed to be looking to push customers to the brink of hating air travel. They charge for bags, charge to change a ticket, charge to use flyer miles, etc. It made me recall some other industries that have lost something over the past couple decades and I wrote this reply:

Back in the late 80’s, early 90’s I remember Nordstrom running a focus group. It was reported that they found people were more price conscious than service oriented. Nordstrom decided to get rid of seasoned professionals and instead hire lower wage entry level folks who would essentially run the checkout and stock the shelves. No more shopper help or real sales help would be offered. Lots of retail outlets followed suit and now if you have a question, nobody in these stores knows the answer. Customer service was deemed to be too expensive and not highly valued in our culture, so they stopped paying for it. I think the result is that there’s really no difference now between Nordstrom and Target. The perceived value of buying at Nordstrom is pretty well gone.

Home Depot used to be a place that hired people who knew how to do home repairs. There were specialists in the plumbing department to make sure you could get everything you needed for a repair in one trip. Lowes had lower prices because they hired 18 year old shelf stockers. They could tell you which aisle to go to but that was it. I remember the last trip I made to a smaller chain in FL. I was looking for a soldering gun and nobody knew what I was talking about. After describing it to one “helpful” person he pointed me to the electric drills. I left and never returned to that store.

Remember when you had to go talk to a teller in order to get your money from the bank? Then they decided they could have shorter lines by putting in an ATM. Now you pay for the privilege of NOT talking to a teller to get your money. Does the ATM actually cost the bank money? Is that cost actually higher than a teller’s salary?

Remember when you could go to a bakery in your neighborhood and buy fresh bread? Remember when there was a neighborhood butcher with fresh meat? Are there any bakeries in your neighborhood anymore? Any butchers?

The American way seems to have transformed our country into a homogenous mega store where convenience and low prices reign supreme. Trouble is, those prices aren’t very low anymore and we’ve lost something of our culture. And how is it convenient for me to park a mile from the mega store only to find that when I get to the entrance I have another mile to walk to get to the section I want? Is it really important for me to be able to purchase my bananas, home theatre system and jeans all in the same store? I don’t travel that much but I’ll bet that I could travel to the 30 largest cities in America and eat at the same restaurant each time (fast food or high end), shop at the same store and of course I’d see the same entertainment, same souvenirs etc.

Why travel anymore? There’s nothing new to see.

"The Thunderstorm, the Seedlings and Me" by Jen

The day was mostly gone and the grey sky decided to release its contents onto the waiting earth of my empty garden. Being compelled to see what kind of a Memorial Day weekend it was to be, I checked the 10 day forecast; the prognosis… rain, and lots of it, for as far into the future as the experts could perceive. Rain means mud. Mud means that it is difficult to till in compost and sow the seeds that have been growing quite impatient as the frost has been long gone for weeks. My few seedlings were becoming root bound and longed so much to wiggle their toes into the dirt that they were beginning to look a bit ill. How could I keep them waiting until the ground was dry again? Who knows how long that would be? The rain, though coming faster, had not yet saturated the ground. There was still time.
I plopped the girls in front of the TV and left Meg in charge as I headed out to the shed donning my bright green rain poncho. There was thunder, but far enough off as to not worry me. As I hurriedly wheeled my wheelbarrow heavily laden with manure past my introverted neighbor who was sitting with his son in his garage enjoying the storm, I felt the need to inform him. “I know it’s dangerous to be out in this lightening,” I exclaimed, “but I just HAVE to get this done!” He looked startled and simply said, “Oh. OK.” It was awkward.

I was pleased to find that the soil was indeed dry enough to till, but I had to work fast, the thunder was growing louder. I got the section for the lettuce all completed, when I suddenly had a vision of being struck by lighting and the girls discovering me there. Yes, I know, my thoughts wander into the morbid at times. Deciding that it might be God giving me a hint, I was overcome by my conscience and begrudgingly trudged with some difficulty up to the house, my feet heavy with mud. Within a couple of minutes, a lightening bolt hit seemingly very close to where I was digging a few moments before! I thanked God for the warning and went down to hug my girls. (OK, there was no bolt of lightening; I just made that part up to make the story more interesting.)

Once the thunder again grew distant, I headed back out to complete the project. It was pouring now and I caught a glimpse of two of my neighbors peering out of their windows at me covered in mud and drenched in spite of my neon rain poncho. I didn’t care. I had done it! The rainy days would now serve me and my emerging plants well. Nature would give them the necessary moisture with which to flourish without me having to water at all.
As I stood in the finished garden, with the torrent of rain unable to drench me any further that it already had, I felt a sudden desire to dance a jig, right there in the mud-puddled path. Concerned that I would only be providing my neighbors with more evidence that I was indeed nuts, I instead said a quiet blessing over the ground. “Creator God, bless this bit of earth that it may be fruitful and bring forth joy and nutrition for me and my loved ones.”

So, my garden is in. This Summer my hard work will be rewarded with three kinds of tomatoes, snap peas, spinach, chard, zucchini, carrots, radishes, beets, broccoli, lettuce, shallots, pumpkins large and small, many different herbs, and colorful flowers in every corner of the yard.

The only thing that would have made my feelings of satisfaction more complete: I should have danced that jig, and invited the girls out to dance it with me.

Yet another embarrasing church experience

So, for Mother's Day we went to Steamboat to be with Mema. We decided to visit the Lutheran church up there since Mema and Grandpa had been talking about it but hadn't actually made it out there on a Sunday yet.

The church was sweet. Very friendly. We went to the later service, more contemporary. It was quite enjoyable but there was no nursery for that particular service so we had to keep Riesa in with us. I figured she'd be fine during the worship and then I'd proabably take her to the cry room during the service. The cry room was actually quite large, nice windows to the sanctuary and plenty of toys too.

After the sermon, I brought Riesa back to the sanctuary with everyone. She wasn't real loud but she was quite active.

It was during the announcements that she decided to really kick it into high gear. I was holding her, she was struggling for freedom. She had this determined look on her face and I was riding that fine line between keeping her quietly in my lap and her just loosing it right there. You know two year olds have no compunction about yelling any time they want.

Announcement time is pretty quiet. At one point I realized that she was trying to climb over the pew in front of us. Since nobody was sitting there I figured I would just let her go. She got one leg over and the look on her face went from determined-freedom-seeker to victorious-two-year-old. Then suddenly it changed to a very bright and excited look as she said "Ride neigh-neigh!" (Neigh-neigh means horse) Then she loudly exclaimed "NEIGH!!!"

She only got one "neigh" out before I grabbed her up in my arms and headed back to the cry room again. I wasn't so much embarrased actually as I was trying to stifle my laughter. Kind of funny.

Our Easter Sunday

Our Easter was quite unique this year. We have several family traditions that we were able to keep such as coloring Easter eggs, making Resurrection cookies, enjoying easter baskets hidden by the Easter Bunny (thanks Mr. Bunny, good job this year) and going to church and having an Easter egg hunt.

It's the church part that made our Sunday unique this year. We were having a relaxing morning enjoying the girls shouting "He is risen!" as they enjoyed Easter candy and got ready for church. They each had special Easter outfits to wear and had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Since we are originally from warmer climates, Easter dresses are usually not warm but the last couple years here there has been snow on the ground. Undaunted, the girls still dressed for Spring, sandals included.

Somehow, though we should have had plenty of time, we found ourselves rushing at the last minute to make it to church on time. We wanted to go to the middle service with the horns and choir, all the pomp and circumstance that you'd expect for a Resurrection Celebration. Ten minutes before it was time to leave the girls were barely ready to go and Jen was still in her PJs.

I suggested that perhaps we just relax and go to the next service but Jen looked at me with fire in her eyes and burned my nose off with laser beams saying "No! I'll be ready. I want to hear the horns!" To her credit, she was ready in 8 minutes flat, hair and all. I was amazed, never seen that in 15 years of marriage.

So we were pulling into the church parking lot about 2 minutes after the service was to start. I ordered the older girls to go straight to our usual seat in the balcony, if they didn't find a place to sit they were to wait for us there. Jen was to take Riesa to the nursery and rendevous with Meg and Noelle. I was on parking duty.

By the time I got to the balcony the girls had already discovered that there were no seats available in our usual spot. They saw some empty seats on the other side of the balcony and rushed around to that side only to find "reserved for brass" on the bench. When I got to them we all stood there wondering what to do as the service was under way, people were watching us uncomfortably and, I think, wishing we would just sit down so they could pay attention to the service.

Finally an usher came by and told us just to sit in the "reserved" area. "It will be fine, there should be enough room for you." he said. So we squished in as far as we could to give the brass whatever room we could, not knowing what to expect exactly.

The choir was beautiful, the brass played some majestic praise, very classical and proper kind of service. I should say that we generally go to the last service which is more contemporary, laid back and very not formal. So, this service is a little out of our comfort zone anyway. We sensed a collective sigh from those around us when we finally settled in a bit.

Still we are not a quiet bunch. I think Noelle dropped her shoes a couple times which fell with a THUD that seemed to echo to all those below. There were things going on that the girls were unfamiliar with and as good home school kids, when they don't understand something they are not afraid to ask. The problem is that they don't know how to whisper so they asked full voiced and unashamed. This not only disturbed those around us further but also revealed to them that we must never take our kids to church either.

After a bit, the brass section began to disband from their spots and they reappeared to the side of our pew with smiles on their faces. At first they seemed to think we might be ok, then they realized that there was no way the French horns were going to fit there with us. So we evacuated our pew and allowed them to sit. This left us standing in the aisle of the balcony back with the uncomfortable looks from those who got to the service on time.

I didn't know how long the brass folks were going to need our pew, I supposed that it might be for the rest of the service and rather than stand in the aisle, perhaps it would be better just to sit on the stairs. Now these stairs lead directly down to the sanctuary. The sanctuary is a quarter round so from where we sat we were basically facing those on the other side of the church. This wasn't a problem as long as we just sat still, I was sure people would begin to ignore us and turn their attention where it should be.

After the horns played, the pastor got up and said it was time for prayer. As the congregation stood, we stood along with them, again sticking out rather like sore thumbs. There was a quiet moment, very brief, perhaps only a second, after the congregation stood but before pastor started to pray. It was that kind of reverent silence of a people who are collectively preparing their hearts to go before the Lord. That's when I saw a glimmer at my feet.

It was my coffee cup. It shone in the light of the sanctuary as it tipped over on the step. Then it rolled in slow motion and I heard a scream in my head that said "NNnnnooooooooooooooooo"! I thought for a moment about making a diving save but then it reached the end of that first step and "THUD" hit the next step. I thought God would have mercy on me and it would stop after one step but much to my chagrin and dismay it only picked up momentum and flew off that step, missed the next one and began to spin from step to step all the way to the sanctuary floor. Now, this is not the service that people bring coffee cups into so I was already breaching protocol. Now everyone was looking at my family on the steps wondering what the heck we were doing. Then my coffee cup appeared at the bottom of the steps as if to say "Hey everyone, look at the irreverent doofus on the steps."

I am still somewhat surprised that they didn't send someone over to us and request us to go home.

Well, after prayer, the brass section left and we were able to go back to the seats. At communion time we went down the back steps and noticed the overflow room where everyone else who arrived late had gone. We had no idea there was an overflow room. We must have looked like pushy people who refused to be considered "overflow". Thus, I blame this whole fiasco squarely on the usher who first told us "I think you'll be fine." I know he's redeemed but when he arrives at the Judgment seat of Christ I hope He will play this little episode for him so that he can repent specifically.

Kad and the Missing Wings, chapter two

Since the wings were gone, they went into the forest that the red oak tree lived in. The journey through the forest was pretty uneventful, so we'll skip that part. But when they got through the forest they came to a field in which unicorns graze.

Kad found his good friend Unyqua the wise unicorn.

"Have you seen Quel's wings Unyqua?" Kad said.

"Hmm, yes, they went that way." Unyqua said, pointing her horn toward a river. "Would you like a ride to the river Quel? I see you were the one who lost your wings." Unyqua said.

"Oh would you? I would love that!" Quel said.

In a jiffy they were to the river.

Kad and the Missing Wings - By Megan Brukiewa

Now Kad is a blue dragon, only about three years old, in a world of fantasy and wonders with mermaids and fairies, with unicorns and adventure.


Kad And The Missing Wings


One morning Kad was taking his morning walk, thinking about what he was going to do that day. “Is that a pair of wings floating by?” he thought. “It can’t be, I must be daydreaming.” He kept walking when he ran right into little Miss Quell’s house, which was a mushroom with a flower stem for a chimney.

Miss Quell is a fairy with a very big sweet tooth.

So Quell opened the door and said “Hello, have you seen my wings? I was trying a sweeeeeeet snack for a gardening party I had planned and it was so sweet that my wings jumped off and flew away. Anyway, have you seen them?”

“Did you put extra sugar in the recipe?” said Kad.

“Well, yes. But that’s not important.” She answered.

“Yes I did see your wings I think. Back down the path I walked past them.” Said Kad.

“Where?” She said.

“By the red oak tree.” Kad replied.

“Then let’s go!” She said.

And they were gone. In a few seconds they found the red oak tree but the wings weren’t there.

Offerings - Jennifer Brukiewa

Celery shade, soft and pale
Laces the willow, a feathery veil
Her offering for spring

Lilacs longing our spirits to please
With aromatics sweet release
Her offering for spring

Chives have risen, thyme is greening
Herbs which flavor life are bringing
Their offering for spring

Within the rose cane flows a river
Sustaining fluid stirs to give
Her offering for spring

Surrounded by the Resurrection
beckoning our heart's reflection
The Offering of Spring

Delphiniums - By Megan Brukiewa

Oh Delphiniums won't you please
Come on out and rest with me
In Spring instead of Summer light?

When God Asks...

I never go to Sunday School.

But, this past Sunday as I was looking for a quiet place to sit and read I passed by the Sunday School classroom and heard our pastor’s voice. I decided to sneak in because I respect him and thought it might be good.

Part of the discussion was centered on Genesis 22, the story of Abraham and Isaac going to Mt. Moriah where Isaac was to be sacrificed. I’ve never understood this story, never liked it and because of that I generally give it a cursory read, jump to the ending with the ram in the thicket, think happy thoughts about Jesus and move on. But many non-Christians and even Christians asked me about this when I was a pastor and I was stumped. I’d put them off by trying to get them to sidestep to the ram like I did. “See, God didn’t let Abraham go through with it, He provided the ram so it’s all good and Jesus loves you.”

But it was not all good. The issue is that God actually did command Abraham to kill his son. Isaac, a human being, was to be sacrificed and this was at the command of the same God that I want to believe is gracious, loving, kind etc. Not to mention that Isaac is the fulfillment of the promise God made to Abraham to multiply his descendents. So God seems to be going counter to all that He is. He is breaking His promise, His own covenant. It doesn’t matter that the story has a happy ending; God still creates this situation where Abraham is wrestling with His command for three days.

I see this as a different category than Job’s suffering. At least with Job I can look at it and see that God didn’t “cause” the suffering he went through. God withdrew His hand of protection or blessing for a time and Satan had a field day with Job. I don’t like that but there’s no rule that says God has to always protect and bless so I’m ok with the story being in my Bible. Genesis 22 on the other hand doesn’t seem to fit. I literally wanted to take a sharpie and black out the story. It seems to show a God who’s character is at least flawed if not entirely cruel.

I talked to Pastor Doug after class about my struggles. Verse one says that God was “testing” Abraham, Abraham shows that he is faithful and God reaffirms the covenant. Ok, I’m good with that understanding of Ancient Near East Covenant reaffirmation. But I can’t get past the fact that God still commands this horrible, outrageous thing. I told Doug that at least on the surface it looks like this is simply a passage about cutting the feelings out of our obedience, just do what God says, don’t ask questions, it’s not personal, just do it. Obey regardless the cost. If that’s the point of the story then the cost here is much more than Isaac’s life. The cost is my belief in a God who loves. The cost is that I now must believe in a God who may test me even at risk to His very character, or at least the character that I think He has.

As I wrestled with this it was time for the worship service so I joined my family in our balcony seat. I found myself not willing to sing any of the songs until I read each word to be sure I agreed. And then I sort of sang them with reluctance; out of the side of my mouth. I found myself asking and being skeptical about each line. “God, are you loving? Are you kind? Do you care about me? Did you really care about Isaac?” The end still did not justify the means.

Finally I let myself express to God what was really in my heart. “God, I’m angry that You did this. Not just angry, I’m outraged. You went against Your own character, Your Law! You damaged Abraham, probably scarred Isaac for life and probably have driven countless seekers away from You as they get to this story in the Bible. God! I hate this story!”

I don’t remember what the sermon was about because this conversation or tirade was going on in my head the whole time. I was letting God have a piece of my mind.

Then I heard God ask me a question.

In the midst of my outrage, when it reached it’s pinnacle He said to me “David. You are outraged that I have done this, that’s good. It’s an outrageous command. You are angry with me that I would put Abraham through this even though in the end I stopped the knife and spared Isaac. You see this as a great scandal and it is.” And in my heart I began to scream all the louder “GOD! If that’s true then WHY!!!?” And He answered my question with one of His own “Where is your outrage at My sacrifice? I did not withhold the knife from My own Son. I did not wrestle for three days with the possibility of losing My Son, I actually lost Him for three days! Where is your outrage? Why do you not see that scandal?”

I had put myself into the story as Abraham and so I couldn’t understand it. But I’m not Abraham, I’m Isaac. But in the story Isaac is innocent, I’m not. In the story it’s just a ram. An animal sacrifice for a human life is a good trade (PETA might disagree but I’ll take that anyday). The reality is that the ram is Christ. Righteous sacrificed for unrighteous. Innocent given over for the guilty. How could I be so outraged at this story and not at the much greater scandal of the Gospel? How have I taken the Gospel for granted, simply as part of the character of God. I have treated the Gospel like my mother saying “I love you”. She’s supposed to say that. God is supposed to do this.

But my reaction to the Gospel on Sunday became “My God! What have You done!”

And then it was time for communion.

I suppose what is important to me is the Gospel. Not the trite motherly “I love you” but the real Gospel. I so want to be taken deeper by it, and I want others to be drawn deeper too. The cross has become a cultural icon so that people wear it as though it’s a pretty ornament, jewelry to accessorize my outfit. Christians put fish or crosses on their business cards as if to say “if you’re a Christian you have to deal with me because I’m a Christian too”. Preachers talk about the Gospel in context of an altar call as though we need cleansing to “get in” but then they quickly hand us a list of distracting things that make us forget the cross.

The Gospel is the air I breathe. Anything less smothers me. Anything mixed in poisons me. I received a full dose on Sunday and it has changed me again. I can’t go back.