Filings: NSF

One of the songs we sang in church on Easter Sunday had these words:

I’ll never know how much it cost
To see my sin upon that cross.

We’ve sung that song a few times before and each time I usually think to myself that I do know how much it cost to redeem my sin — it “cost” Jesus having to come to earth in human form, being beaten, crucified, dying and rising again. Yesterday, however, it really sunk in for me that there is a difference between “knowing” and “experiencing”. Or, to put it in the words that occurred to me, it’s the difference between receiving a check for $1 million and writing a check for $1 million.

That’s not to say that most of us haven’t tried to write out our own check for our salvation, either out of our man-made doctrines or new age spirituality, or based on our “good works”. Inherent in all of those thoughts is that deep down we assume we’re not “that bad” (even “good”), so how big a check are we really talking about? The thing is, there is no check that we can write ourselves that would pay that debt, even on an installment plan. That’s because we all fell for the marketing incentives and opened our accounts at the First Bank of Hell (hey, I got a free toaster!), and those checks are always going to bounce. They’ll come back stamped NSF — Insufficient Faith. And man, those penalty charges eat you up.

Nor do I get any closer by taking that revelation and thinking that I’m a worm, a worthless sinner (especially if done with an all-too-human sense of pride at my humility). True, on my own that is what I’d be, but Jesus looked at the value and decided I was worth it. I don’t know which revelation makes me weep more.

It is a gift that I can’t explain, rationalize or justify; all I can do is either accept it or waste it. There were many over the weekend who tipped their hats to the “message of Jesus” without realizing the sacrifice he made. There were the ones, even in Christian leadership, willing to call him “Teacher” but not “Lord”. I know; I’ve been there, done that myself. As C.S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity (and KingDavid reminded me):

A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic–on the level with a man who says he is a poached egg–or he would be the devil of hell. You must take your choice. Either this was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that [alternative] open to us

Filings is an ongoing section of this blog where the posts focus specifically on issues of Christian life. The name comes about because “filings” are the natural by-product of Proverbs 27:17: “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

Pan Am 103 – Lockerbie bombing to be a movie

The New Zealand director behind the movie “Whale Rider” is at work on a new movie:

Hollywood to re-tell Lockerbie bombing
The story of the Lockerbie bombing is to be made into a Hollywood film.
Kiwi director Niki Caro – whose previous films include the critically-acclaimed Whale Rider – is behind the project.

All 259 people on board Pan Am flight 103 died when it exploded over a Scottish town in 1988.

Libyan Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed Al Megrahi was convicted of their murders and that of 11 Lockerbie residents in 2001.

Caro has started work on the script, an adaptation of the memoir The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky, according to the Hollywood Reporter.

The book, published last year, tells the story of author Ken Dornstein’s brother David, who died in the tragedy.

The film will be set in the present with the use of flashbacks.

The director told the Hollywood Reporter: “It looks at the emotional consequences of terrorism, but not in a political way.”

More “classical” blogging thoughts

I’ve noted before that blogging can be the modern equivalent of the classical diarist or “journal-ist”. That’s not to say that everyone is a Montaigne or Gracian, but it is a rich tradition. I note today that it is the birthday of William Wordsworth. The blurb I was reading about him indicated that he had been an enthusiastic writer in favor of the French Revolution, even though that was an unpopular position in his time. Becoming disillusioned with politics, he turned his writing toward other, more prosaic, topics. As the Writer’s Almanac notes, between 1797 and 1807:

At the time, most poets were writing poetry about broad topics of history and religion and philosophy. Wordsworth wrote about ordinary things and private thoughts, the view from a bridge, daffodils. Critics thought he was wasting his time on uninteresting subjects. But by the time he had reached middle age, he became a cult sensation and his collections of poetry became best-sellers.

I read a lot of blogs for awhile before I started my own and saw that there was a good representation of those writing on philosophy and religion and “modern history”, i.e., politics. There was also a good smattering of those who wrote about ordinary things and private thoughts.

I liked all kinds, and have dabbled in each form here. I think I’d be bored if I tried to confine myself to one niche or another. The thing is, when I’m writing out my philosophical commentaries on politics or the news I frequently think I should be doing more observational posts. But when I’m writing the more personal stuff I feel as if I should be writing about the news of the day. Why is that?

Anyway, I’m just throwing that out as a random observation. I suppose the main thing for me, no matter what I write about, is just that I write.

Water-break in the salt mine

I’ve been cranking along doing two jobs at work for a few weeks now. It’s meant limited time for lunch and longer hours (well, technically, it’s meant more hours; it’s just that I wish the hours could be longer somehow in order to squeeze everything in). Most nights I’m either bringing work home or I’m too tired to put a lot of time and research into a new post so I’ve just written some things off the top of my head to keep Tiger Lilly from taking over. I also haven’t had as much time to cruise through the MOB and my blogroll, which is what I really miss.

The pace at work has been kind of invigorating (yeah, I think that’s the word to describe the constant squirts of adrenaline and caffeine), and the end may be coming into sight. The light isn’t on at the end of the tunnel yet, but we’re getting real close to flipping the switch, I think.

There have been a number of things I would have liked to have written about lately but couldn’t get to them. Fortunately it hasn’t been hard to find others who are doing a better job on these topics anyway. Earlier this week Nick Coleman had a column saying that the rich aren’t paying their fare share in taxes in Minnesota. Coleman’s rant was about as predictable as worms on a sidewalk after a soaking rain, and it was just as easy pickings for my eagle-eyed friend Jeff Kouba at Truth vs. The Machine who (and Nick, you might want to consider this) actually looked up numbers and knew what they meant. As John Adams said, “Facts are stubborn things.” They can also be fun!

Also, it’s baseball season again. My joy at the return of the Twins is nearly equaled by the pleasure of being able to read the post-game analyses and musings by Bat Girl and her all-star roster of designated hitters as they follow the adventures (real and imagined) of our favorite team. This is good stuff, folks: funny, fresh and often surreal. If you’re only reading about the Twins in the newspaper you’re missing at least half of the fun.

AAARRGGH! There’s goes the shock collar again. Back to work!

Philistine terrorist attacks offensive painting

Milwaukee museum visitor attacks $300,000 painting

The painting was Vannini’s “Triumph of David”, depicting the young shepherd holding up the severed head of Goliath. The attacker’s nationality wasn’t disclosed, but I’m guessing there are still some prickly Philistines around who’ll take umbrage at such physical representations.

Then again, it is Milwaukee. He might have just been drunk.

You don’t have to be a weatherman

You just have to have lived here for awhile.

Last week:

Uh-oh, Tom Waits. What had been perfect musical accompaniment on a cold, rainy night last week seemed jarringly out of place on a soft spring evening. Of course, Tom Waits can be jarring anytime. There was an amusing incongruity, however, in hearing him croak about something being as cold as a gut-shot wolf-bitch with nine sucking pups pulling a number 8 trap up a mountain in a snowstorm in the dead of winter with a mouthful of porcupine quills. Now that’s cold. And that’s probably the forecast for next week.

Yesterday:
Cold wind, rain and 11 inches of snow in Brainerd.

Today:
High of 30.

Who needs Paul Douglas?

Too old to rock and roll

I haven’t used my bedside clock-radio as an alarm for a couple of years now, but most days I still wake up with a song in my head. I don’t know why I have words and a tune in my head when I open my eyes. Often it’s a song that we sang in church that week, but sometimes it’s a surprise from the vaults – an unexpected appearance of a song I haven’t heard in 20 years. I did download a bunch of Jethro Tull songs over the weekend, though, so this morning I wasn’t shocked when the first thing through my head was “He was too old to rock and roll, but he was too young to die.”

The very next thing through my head was, “Hey – it’s my birthday!”

I tipped my mental hat to the sense of humor of my internal DJ, then tried to reassemble myself for the shuffle/limp/crick-crack into the bathroom. Time was when “it’s my birthday!” would be the first thing I thought of, and I’d be out of the bed like a skyrocket. Now I’m more like a NASA rocket straining to break free of the earth’s gravity, while dropping parts behind me. I still get there, though.

For all the anticipation I had for my birthdays when I was a kid, there’s not too many that stick out in my memory today. That will happen, I suppose, when there’s been so many of them. There was the party I had when I was in first grade when one of my strapping classmates bodily lifted my mother off of the ground. As I further recall, I think he was shaving by sixth grade and doing time by eighth. That was also the party where one of the girls in attendance threw up on the table during the cake and ice cream.

Another time I had the honor of sharing my birthday with the Tornado Super Outbreak in 1974 that ravaged the midwest. I think that party might have been held in our basement. Later, April 3, 1996 was also the day when Unabomber Ted Kaczynski was arrested in Montana, which explains why he didn’t make it to my party and never called. Perhaps most ingloriously, though, is that I share the same birthdate (day and year) with Hollywood nutjob Alec Baldwin. And I thought my inner DJ had a sense of humor.

Anyway, this morning I made it through my morning toilette without any especially profound thoughts or insights on mortality and went downstairs where my daughters soon joined me for their tributes (see Tiger Lilly’s previous post). The Mall Diva is still especially giddy about giving (and receiving) gifts, but it was nice to note that she has gained more self-control since the time when she was four-years-old and burst into my room with a gaily-wrapped box and a hearty “Happy Birthday, Daddy – it’s a camera!”

Of course, the girls are the two best presents I’ve ever received and are the gifts that keep on giving (and not just with presents). Watching them grow up has been a tremendous return on the years I’ve paid into the process. If I can no longer lift them over my head by their ankles it is only because I’m saving myself for more prodigious feats of strength such as walking them down the aisle or launching them into the world. And I wonder what the musical accompaniment to that will be.

Birthdays…

Years ago, on April 3rd, God gave a gift to my Grandma and Grandpa. That gift was my Dad.

Today’s my Daddy’s birthday (I won’t tell you how old he is, I’m not sure he would like that). I woke up to multiple tappings on my bedroom door. That was the Mall Diva telling me to get up so we could run downstairs and present the presents to Dad.

Mall Diva’s gifts:
Two video games (Justice League Heroes, Sonic Heroes)

My gifts:
A box of Mike and Ike’s
A box of Jolly Rancher Gummies (he’s into the fruity candy)

When he shook the wrapped box of Mike and Ike’s he shook it and said, “Hmmm… Good and Plenty’s?”

“No,” I said. “I hate Good and Plenty’s, so I would never buy you those for your birthday.” (I mean, what if he wanted to share?)

The Reverend Mother’s gift has not arrived yet. She ordered it yesterday (our family has a knack for ordering things for people and the item not arriving in time for the birthday/Christmas).

Here’s a poem for my Daddy:
Happy happy happy happy happy happy
happy happy happy happy happy happy
happy happy happy happy happy happy
happy happy happy happy happy Biiiiiiiirrrrrrthday!

Haiku:
Have a fun Birthday
I hope it brings you lots of
joy, Happy Birthday.
(Calling the Department of Redundancy Department!)

Herb Carneal

“Some love the sound of the loon or the teal,
but I love the voice of Herb Carneal.”

That’s a snippet from a song I heard Garrison Keillor sing a long time ago. I don’t remember what the song or the context was, but that couplet always stuck with me because it also expressed the pleasure and comfort I took from listening to Herb call a Twins game. There was just something so natural about the way he described the action; you could tell he enjoyed what he was doing, even in the most wretched of seasons – and there were enough of those over the years to have made a lesser man long for laryngitis.

It’s kind of funny, but when I think of his voice now I don’t think of baseball as much as I do night driving on a warm summer’s evening; of settling back in my seat, the windows half open, letting the dark air and the golden tones eddy about me. Baseball is about the only sport I enjoy listening to on the radio. I can barely stand to watch the NBA, let alone listen to it and the college game isn’t much more compelling. Hockey and football have so much going on that, while I’ll listen to a game on radio, it’s only until I can get to a TV, whereupon I’ll dash inside to watch the rest. Many times, however, while on my way home and listening to Herb call a Twins game, I’d sit out in the driveway or garage and wait until the end of the inning before going inside and turning on the set. With Herb there was never any rush.

Herb and former Cardinals announcer Jack Buck were as much of the sound of baseball to me as the crack of the bat, and their style and grace was always a pleasure, and now they are both gone. There are other announcers who are alright, and some who are annoying (it took me awhile to appreciate John Gordon, and I can’t stand Buck’s son, Joe). In recent years I could hear Herb’s voice getting weaker, but it was still a baseball voice and the few innings he’d work each game were like getting the last piece of cake: you knew it was going to be good, but soon gone. Last week when the newspaper had the story that he didn’t feel strong enough to work the Opening Day game, Twins fans knew it wasn’t a good sign. Herb said he hoped his voice would be strong enough to return soon, and even though I read his words in the paper — rather than hearing them — they struck me as having the same note of plucky optimism he’d use when saying “Wait until next year” after another 90-loss season. Like the Twins mantra, he always seemed to know that you can’t take any one loss too hard.

This one, though, is going to be a toughie.

The StarTribune has a collection of some of Herb’s classic calls here.

The end of the war

No, I haven’t set a timetable for withdrawal from Iraq, but the Fundamentals in Film class finally completed the Band of Brothers mini-series last week.

There were 10 episodes, plus the documentary “We Stand Alone Together”, in the mostly true-to-life story of E company, paratroopers of the 101st Airborne in World War II. With our bi-weekly schedule it took awhile to get through them all, even with watching two episodes each time. The boys were very excited to begin the series and were generally pretty riveted throughout with lots of questions and commentary. I don’t know yet what impressions it made on them (and I’m fully resigned that I may never know) but I know it will stick with me for a long time.

I debated with myself for some time before introducing the series to the class, and spoke with the fathers a couple of times about it. The language in the series is frequently extreme, and the violence is often sudden and explicit. On the other hand, it was a chance to feature some history lessons, introduce a more realistic and human sense of the “up close and personal” nature of war to a video game generation raised on “Halo” and “Doom”, and to impart some lessons in leadership and grace under pressure.

I dealt with the language issue right up front with the guys, explaining how it became a form of bonding for the soldiers who were undergoing severe hardships together, but even at that the men were aware that it wasn’t appropriate in general society and were careful of their language around women – a distinction commonly disregarded these days. I also reminded the young men that “out of the fullness of the heart, the mouth speaks” – whatever comes out of their mouths communicates a lot more than just the words themselves. Finally, I directed them to pay attention to Dick Winters, the main character in the ensemble cast, and the way he controlled his words (even when wounded) and swore only for effect in getting his men moving again when they froze while out in the open and under fire.

Winters was also an example of leadership – a quiet man of faith, committed to the well-being of his men but also able to order them into harm’s way when needed, but with the tactical skills to keep the men alive as well. While not flashy or self-promoting, he quickly gained the universal respect and admiration of his men and his superior officers and his example was a model for men like Sgt. Carwood Lipton and in stark contrast to the “leadership” of Easy Company’s first CO, Captain Sobel, and to the company’s CO during the siege of Bastogne, Lt. Dike. Lipton’s leadership during the Battle of the Bulge — his focus on the men and the mission — gave the class a lot to talk about after we watched the Bastogne episode (a particularly gory and challenging episode that saw a lot of the men we’d come to know get killed or seriously wounded). That particular chapter also showed how it was possible for a group of men to do more than they thought was possible while under the harshest conditions.

It was also interesting for the class to see just how screwed up so many of the military operations became, from the errors on D-Day that led to so many of the paratroopers being dropped in the wrong place, without much of their equipment and groggy from the air-sickness pills they were ordered to take (for the first time), to the Allied High Command being caught by surprise at the Bulge and the 101st being sent in to Bastogne, again without proper equipment, winter clothing or even enough weapons and ammunition. Despite the almost catastrophic errors and miscalculations, the men on the ground succeeded thanks to their training, their character and the bond between them that allowed them to function as a highly-effective team. The mini-series often made me wonder how today’s media would have focused on the blundering (without acknowledging how massive and complicated the D-Day invasion was or the logistics of maneuvering several hundred thousand men in a short period of time in Belgium) and overlooked the successes.

Today the Battle of the Bulge would be the German equivalent of the Tet Offensive, and though the Viet Cong and the Germans both ultimately lost these battles decisively, the end result was dramatically different. Back then General McAuliffe was celebrated for his bold response of “Nuts!” when the Germans sent their surrender demands to his besieged forces; today he’d be criticized as a blood-thirsty maniac unconcerned about the soldiers he was keeping in harm’s way in the Belgian quagmire.

That’s not to say that Band of Brothers glorified the war. The series did an excellent job of portraying the hardships and sacrifices — and sometimes all-too-human failings and frustrations — of the men of Easy Company and the 101st Airborne. Especially in the later episodes when it was clear that the war was winding down and that the surviving members might just live through it after all, the loss of their friends and the apparent futility of the war weighed heavily on the men and, to some extent, on our film class. While there was little action in the episode where Easy discovers the Landsberg concentration camp (“Why We Fight”), it was one of the most powerful and affecting in the series. Combined with the last episode (“Points”) where Easy takes and occupies Berchtesgaden, these concluding segments did a good job of showing the costs, personally and nationally, of war for even the winners.

After we finished episode 10 and then watched the documentary “We Stand Alone Together” featuring interviews with the real Easy Company survivors (a very moving experience after having come to “know” their actor counterparts over the past few months), it indeed felt to me as if a long war was over. I was left with a deeper appreciation and admiration for what the men had sacrificed and achieved and knew that I would have a hard time measuring up under the same circumstances. I don’t know what the young men of the class got out of it, or even if I or they will be able to measure its affects over the next few weeks, months and years, but I don’t think any of us will be the same.