May 13, 2011

will my ‘urban entry’ class this semester hold up as my best class ever?

A couple of weeks ago I was in Kansas City and I ran into adampaul. As long as “intentionally going to a place I knew he would be” counts as “ran into”.

Semantics.

Anyway, dude was like, “It looks like you’ve found a job that’s right in our wheelhouse sweet spot.” I was like, “Yeah”. I guess. It’s not that it isn’t, but in my last two trips to KC I’ve been reminded that the job I left was pretty dang wheelhouse sweet spot. Maybe I have a big wheelhouse sweet spot. Maybe I’m a chameleon. Maybe one of the jobs is more wheelhouse sweet spot than the other. Who knows?

What adampaul was referring to is the obvious joy that I convey about my job through this site and the Twitter. It’s genuine. There is something incredibly energizing about working on a college campus. And having a job that includes many different tasks certainly fits my personality as a person who doesn’t like to sit still and who is occasionally distracted.

Hey look, a blue car.

As I wrap up my first “year” on the job (I’m on a 10-month contract) and look back on the experience, one part of the year stands above the rest as my favorite: teaching Urban Entry. It was the best of all worlds. The class serves to prepare students who may want to go into urban ministry someday. From 1:10pm – 2:00pm each Monday, Wednesday and Friday I got to talk about urban ministry, inequality, race, CCDA, hiphop, theology and history. I called it the “power hour”.

Adding to the experience was the fact that class members were so very enjoyable to spend time with. The class only had five students, even though I spent the better part of a month hyping the experience up to anyone who would listen. While my lobbying increased the class population from 4 to 5 students (a whopping 25%!), my hype machine wasn’t widely embraced. No worries. It worked out. It created a family atmosphere in the class, and allowed me to really get to know the five students who were there. We grew so tight that everyone had a nickname. The homies, in the order which they sat from left to right, included:

  • The Hipster – The most enthusiastic and engaged member of the class. He grew up in the suburbs of KC, which gave us the opportunity for some interesting and deep discussions. We share an appreciation for Gil Scot Herron. He also pulled the coup of all coups one day when he found out that Meg Dogg was going to suck-up to the prof by sporting a Star Wars shirt. He covertly slipped a superior technicolor Wookie shirt on under his hipster cardigan and dramatically revealed it during class. Awesome.
  • Meg Dogg – We share a special bond. Over the course of two semesters, she took three of the four classes I taught. And because she went on two weekend retreats I helped lead, we ended up seeing each other on 24 days over a 26 day span this spring. Meg Dogg just finished her Freshman year, and has impressed everyone with her work and leadership. The force is strong with this one. Call me in three years if your ministry has an opening. You’ll want to interview her.
  • Hicks Picks – Of all my students, he’s probably the one most like me. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Sometimes. He picked up the “Picks” moniker thanks to his purchase of a guitar pick puncher which he anticipated would be his goose laying the golden egg. Eventually, he came to realize that it’s hard to become financially self-sufficient when your business model includes hand-punching guitar picks and selling them for a quarter. Live and learn. +5 style points for seeing me in the caf one day and running back to his room before class to change into an argyle sweater that matched the one I was wearing that day, thus upstaging Meg Dogg’s bid that day to impress me with her own argyle selection.
  • Barbie Hands – At first I didn’t embrace BH’s nickname, until I found out it wasn’t making fun of him for having effeminate hands. We share the common bond of love for soccer. He’s a Rapids fan, and ended up attending the Timbers match I road tripped out to in March. He was gracious enough to not mock me mercilessly at halftime when his club was up 3-nil on Portland. That showed a lot of character. He’s actually going to be doing urban ministry this summer, and I think he’s going to be awesome at it.
  • J-Lo – The most musically astute of all my students. She has a budding vinyl collection that included 808′s & Heartbreaks as well as Wake Up! Normally quiet and reserved, she did go off on Hicks Picks one day in class regarding the lunacy of his business model. Very thoughtful student who has an incredible grasp of all things Star Wars and watches tons of soccer with her boyfriend. That’s a winning combo.

So yeah. We had a good time together this semester. I’ll have other groups of students that I enjoy spending time with over the years, but this group set a high bar for “Best Class Evah”.

Renew and Restore

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May 11, 2011

bob marley, war & the eloquent wisdom of emperors

Today is the 30th anniversary of Bob Marley’s passing. While his music hasn’t been an integral component of the soundtrack to my life, I respect the effect his music has had on hip-hop. My interest in Marley’s music was piqued a couple of months ago when I was doing some digging around on the history of Ethiopia. I came across numerous sources explaining that Marley’s song “War” is essentially an excerpt from Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie’s address to the United Nations on Oct 6, 1963.

…until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned: That until there are no longer first-class and second class citizens of any nation; That until the color of a man’s skin is of no more significance than the color of his eyes; That until the basic human rights are equally guaranteed to all without regard to race; That until that day, the dream of lasting peace and world citizenship and the rule of international morality will remain but a fleeting illusion, to be pursued but never attained; And until the ignoble and unhappy regimes that hold our brothers in Angola, in Mozambique and in South Africa in subhuman bondage have been toppled and destroyed; Until bigotry and prejudice and malicious and inhuman self-interest have been replaced by understanding and tolerance and good-will; Until all Africans stand and speak as free beings, equal in the eyes of all men, as they are in the eyes of Heaven; Until that day, the African continent will not know peace. We Africans will fight, if necessary, and we know that we shall win, as we are confident in the victory of good over evil…

From what I’ve read, Selassie is an interesting character. And quite frankly, I’m not entirely sure what to make of him in total. But that speech (which is attributed to one of Selassie’s speech writers) holds its own against just about any civil/human rights speech I’ve come across. These are words born out of the struggle, and they challenge us to more forward constructively in both philosophy and action. They are words that plea for us to understand that the injustice that affects one affects the masses. The words plead with us to not be content if our own existence is peaceful, but to instead not rest until all know peace.

I can get behind that. I’m thankful that it resonated with Marley enough for him to keep the words alive through his music, and that others continue to reimagine his creative interpretation of this important speech.

Renew and Restore

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May 10, 2011

how soccer explains: evangelism

My wife was supposed to road trip with me to Denver to attend the Portland Timbers first game as an MLS team. I was pumped for her, because it would have been her first Timbers match. Alas, our son came down with a vicious ear infection the night before the trip, so she felt it would be best to not leave him in his moment of distress.

This left me in a little bit of a pickle, in that I already had two tickets to the match as well as a hotel room in Denver paid for. I started brainstorming people I could invite to fill-in for Stacy, but the requirements to get an invite limited the list of possibilities. To qualify for consideration, said individual would have to be:

  • Able to drop everything on 9 hour notice.
  • Enjoyable to be locked in a car with for 14 hours over the course of two days.
  • Willing to try new things.
  •  Capable of not be completely overwhelmed by the Timbers Army.

I reached out to two people and ended up getting one of my BFF’s to accompany me at the last minute. My man Aaron fulfilled my first three traveling buddy stipulations, but I wasn’t totally sure about the fourth. While Aaron and I share a lot of similarities, we also are different in a lot of ways. He’s a clean-cut conservative Midwestern fellow. I’m filled to the brim with West Coast Swaggar and am completely desensitized to those from the motherland who pride themselves on keeping Portland weird.

I tried to prep my man on the way out. He wasn’t a huge soccer fan, and no matter what he thought he knew about American soccer culture he had no idea of what he was getting into on this little adventure.

You’re either going to love this experience or hate it, man. There’s no in between. You will probably see things you’re not used to seeing. You’re going to hear things you’re not used to hearing. But you won’t doubt the passion of the Timbers Army. Just keep an open mind, stay cool, sing the songs. Trust me.

It’s a spiel I’ve given before. Last May I invited a friend from my high school days to attend a match with me in Portland. By the time the match was over he was already making plans for us to attend a match the next time I roll through PDX. (It’s a date: 5/25, Timbers vs. Ajax)

This is why I’ve stopped entering into verbal debates with people about soccer and soccer fandom. In the end, it’s tough to convince people by arguing with them. Discourse in our culture is rarely rational. It’s all PTI and Crossfire and hyperbole and canned arguments. So when people start making fun of soccer, I just remember one of my favorite verses from Proverbs: “Haters gonna hate”.

Instead, I invite people into the experience of being a soccer supporter. My office adornment includes four separate soccer-related items that often start conversations with people about soccer culture. It’s tough to fully explain the culture even with my props. Which is where an invitation to the experience comes in. Give people a front-row view of what soccer fandom looks like. Let them meet the community. Let them see it in action. They might love it, they might hate it. But at least they’ll have an accurate view of what it really is.

So far I’m two-for-two in my evangelism & conversion initiative. Granted, it took Aaron a little while to embrace soccer culture. Dude wasn’t too sure what to do with the chant war that broke out at the pregame tailgate. He was a bit glassy-eyed as the police escorted us into the stadium. But after an hour or so of pregame singing in the staduim, my man had his mojo. He rocked the scarf. He met members of the Timbers Army and came to realize that they were awesome and (mostly) normal people. He sang so much and so loudly that he lost his voice. He dubbed us “Timbers Army: Kansas Division”. On multiple occasions he’s mentioned that we need to make another Timbers roadie, and he has a habit of starting up a TA song whenever we are together.

My wife is still my #1 target for my evangelism and conversion initiative. Her time draws neigh. On the afternoon of May 29, she will stand with the Timbers Army for the first time. She’s half excited, and half apprehensive. In watching matches on TV this season she’s developed an appreciation for the passion and the tifo. She’s not too sure about the smoke bombs and the general craziness of the atmosphere.

Pray for her.
Renew and Restore.

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May 9, 2011

easter hymn: A Dream by Common

For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery. -Galatians 5.1

Easter is a necessary reminder. Necessary because experience can be deceptive. Take a look around, and we can see a lot of things but we often see an absence of freedom. We enslave each other. We enslave ourselves. We turn our backs on exploitation (and effects thereof) on a regular basis. Based solely on such empirical evidence, bleak outcomes seem inescapable. Enslaved to death. Excessed to death. Deathed to death.

That’s not the endgame, however. Not the goal by any stretch of the imagination. Behind the deception is the reality of freedom. It’s a reality that Christ exists in.

Box me in. Hate on me. Project expectations onto me. Label me. Kill me.

Doesn’t matter.

I’m free from brokenness. Free from death.

You interested in that freedom? Because that’s what we’re invited into. There’s a sense in which that reality is dream-like. It’s hazy. At times we taste it, but we are yet to realize it in fullness. Instead, the bitterness of our current state continually pulls us away from the ideal and entices us to pursue. But Easter is the necessary reminder that we must pursue freedom for ourselves as well as our brothers and sisters. Not the type of freedom that casts us into bondage to narcissism and indulgence, but the type of freedom that reconciles us to Christ and reconciles us to each other.

Renew and Restore

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May 6, 2011

mother’s day real talk feat. Common & Lauryn Hill

It’s too many black women that can say they mothers/
but can’t say that they wives

The crisis of the Absent Black Father in America has been well chronicled. “Research shows that, in many inner-city African American neighborhoods, nearly 70 percent of the children will go to bed tonight without their father present. Further, African American men have a higher death rate, a lower life expectancy, and a greater incidence of serious diseases than males in other ethnic groups.” The situation is bleak, it’s cyclical and it’s one of the biggest obstacles standing in the way of strengthening the African American community.

Where reality comes to life is when you take a minute to get to know the Single Black Mother. Single parenting is one of the most difficult tasks imaginable. So much more so when the task is undertaken in the urban core where survival becomes the primary objective because thriving seems so unattainable. You struggle to keep your kids safe. You struggle to keep your kids interested in school. You struggle to make ends meet. It really can seem like a hopeless task, and equally as thankless. It’s a story that doesn’t seemed destined for a happy ending.

Last night I got to witness a different story. Last night I saw a mom filled with hope. Filled so full that hope displaced her tears, forcing them down her face uncontrollably.

Things haven’t come easy for this mom. There were times when her kids utterly frustrated her and others, bringing forth tears that tasted decidedly more bitter than tears of joy. But this mom kept at it. She kept parenting even though she was riding solo. And then people started standing in the gap created by the void that Absent Black Father had left. It was a sizeable gap, but fillable by a village of those called to love and serve and guide and support this mom and these kids.

Last night, the village and the kids and the mom received a return on the investment. Her kids were recognized numerous times at an annual community gathering. They were recognized for doing well in school. They were recognized for the way they are living out their love for God. They were recognized for their leadership amongst their peers. One of her daughters in particular was held up and affirmed as an example that all of the other kids in the community should follow in the footsteps of. These weren’t frivolous accolades given out without thought or intention. They all meant something, and each award held value.

On the surface, the event appears to be one that affirms the kids in the community who embody the values and practices that the community discerns are important. And that is certainly part of what’s going on. But in celebrating the growth of the kids, the event also encourages and motivates the parents. It shows them the overarching transformation that is possible in the lives of their kids, and it shows them that people are noticing that their kids are growing. Part of the credit for that growth goes to the kids themselves, but there’s a good deal of credit that’s given to the parents as well.

My encouragement for you this Mother’s Day is to thank and support moms who are going at it alone in spite of all of the challenges. Find ways to individually and as a community stand in the gap to breathe hope into their journey. Love them. Support them. They have reasons to not want to parent, or not want to parent well. We need to affirm their decision to do both.

Renew and Restore

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May 3, 2011

how soccer explains…icons and the community

Photo Credit: Thomas Boyd, The Oregonian

There’s no better way to support your team than by shakin’ it. What “it” is exactly depends on the sport and your team. You can shake your pompom. You can shake your terrible towels. You can shake your clackers. If you’re a soccer fan however, you shake your scarf. Ok, maybe not shake it so much as wear it around your neck with pride, spin it above your head enthusiastically, hold it high as a banner of allegiance, and wrap it around your face so that you can breathe amidst the smokebomb-filled goal celebrations that break out in the stands. You know, the usual.

You want a scarf? Hit up your favorite club’s team store. The upside is that the transaction is clean and easy. The downside is that the scarf will probably look mass-produced and a bit corporate.

There are alternatives. Supporters groups usually finance and sell specialty scarves. These scarves tend to have more symbolism and stories that explain their creation in comparison to their more corporate counterparts. They’re more iconic, I guess is how it might be best described. And they’re iconic because they’re organic. The way it works with the Timbers Army is that you can “sponsor” a handful of scarves and then take responsibility for distributing your portion. Some designs are sold directly through the TA organization itself. If you don’t end up sponsoring a set, you can always find TA barter with or buy from. It’s a system that encourages interpersonal contact and engagement with the community.

That being the case, it’s makes things somewhat tough for someone like myself who supports the club from 1,500 miles away. I don’t make it to a ton of matches, and I don’t have a lot of chances to socialize with other TA in person. Thank goodness for the internet.

Before heading out to the Timbers first match in Denver, I was chatting with people via Twitter and a Timbers fan board. There is a scarf floating around that is Sunflower themed and commemorates one of the more memorable moments in Timbers history. Because the sunflower is the state flower of Kansas, I wanted badly to get one for my collection since it’s a nice representation of my dual-citizenship. I was trying hard in the run up to the match to arrange for someone with one or two spares to sell them to me at the match, and had some decent leads. Unfortunately, we all got so caught up having fun at the match that I was never able to meet them in person to actually make the transaction.

I was pretty bummed to leave Denver empty-handed. But then my mourning turned to dancing a few days later when I got an email from one of the guys that I had been trying to work something out with. He was a longstanding member of TA, and felt bad that we didn’t hook up. He proposed that he send me two scarves via the mail. Of course, I was jazzed and offered to send him some money right away. But he wasn’t interested in my money. He just wanted to spread the love, and he wasn’t going to accept any form of payment. Wouldn’t even let me pick up shipping.

In the end, the care package was incredibly generous. Two sunflower scarves. Two Timbers Army pins. Half a dozen stickers. Just an all-around generous thing to do. So generous that my wife could hardly believe it. Neither could the guy who traveled out to Denver with me, who would be the beneficiary of the second scarf. He kept asking questions to verify the details of the story.

You’ve never met this guy in person? You just chatted on a message board? Seriously?

Yeah. Seriously. There’s certainly a lot of money wrapped up in professional soccer. But when it comes to fan culture, especially with the Timbers Army, it’s just not about that. It’s about keeping it real and representing in an authentic way. It’s about the community, even when members of that community are spread across the country. And it’s about spreading the love.

Renew and Restore

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May 2, 2011

easter hymn: dead and gone by T.I.

If you’re wondering why I’m (a) still talking about Easter and (b) using a rap video to do it…well, welcome to the party. Rewind it back about a week, and it’ll all make sense.

Easter is about life. It’s about celebrating that Christ lives and makes a definitive statement about the sovreignty of God by conquering death and sin. And it’s also celebrating that we’ve been invited into that present reality as well as that new eternity.

There’s a process in getting to the place where we can really celebrate, however. It starts with the realization that things are skewed. Our self-identity, our way of being, our orientation to God…it’s off. In T.I.’s case it’s that ‘hood mindset that propogates a cycle of violence. In your case it’s whatever it is. I can’t tell you specifically, and even if I could you wouldn’t want me to display it for the public record in this space. But the journey into the robust reality (or: into the compelling story) that God has for us starts with that self-awareness coupled with God-awareness.  Apart from a healthy dose of either of those elements it’s tough to find our way back home.

So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new. –2 Corinthians 5.17 (NRSV)

1You were dead through the trespasses and sins 2in which you once lived, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient. 3All of us once lived among them in the passions of our flesh, following the desires of flesh and senses, and we were by nature children of wrath, like everyone else. 4But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us 5even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ*—by grace you have been saved… –Ephesians 2.1-5

Renew and Restore

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April 28, 2011

by popular demand, a rant on how leggings aren’t pants

Somehow, it has become common practice in this country for women to wear leggings as pants. A curious phenomenon to gain such wide acceptance, for sure. Are leggings not merely opaque hosiery? Appropriate underneath a skirt or capris, certainly. But not under a long shirt or sweater. And certainly not under a short shirt or sweater. Why?

Because. Leggings are not pants. They’re so not pants, it’s appropriate to call then “notpants”.

I can make an extensive list of things that aren’t pants.  Sweaters aren’t pants. Jackets aren’t pants. Shoes? Not pants in the slightest. But at the top of that list, the unequivocal champion of all things that are not pants has got to be leggings. And no matter what Gap and Target try to tell you, Jeggings are second place in the race for notpants supremacy. I don’t care if your denim long underwear has belt loops and pockets, you can’t just strut around wearing them as pants.

My stance on the subject is well known. So well know that I got called out on The Social Network last week when I announced that my daughter was running around the park wearing a pink gymnastics unitard (complete with built-in shorts), leggings as pants (over the unitard), red Columbia fleece, pink socks and ruby red slippers. But two layers of notpants does not pants make, and one of my most staunch anti-notpants allies was quick to point out my hypocrisy.

  • Nikki D.: Oh snap. She’s one of “those” leggings as pants wearers? I didn’t see it coming….

    (18 April at 20:13 )
  • Me: We have a special dispensation in this house that allows kids under 8 to wear notpants. But when she’s old enough to understand, we’ll certainly have a chat with her about how leggings are not pants. (18 April at 20:24 )
  • Nikki D.: Start the conditioning now. Its like the DARE program for children in elementary school…cut them off before they know what drugs are. I’m sure you would be supported to start the notpants program in the schools. (18 April at 20:29)

Nikki has a point. But my wife thinks that little girls in leggings are really cute, even if she agrees with me that any woman who sported the leggings was not worthy of The Manny’s affection*. So we shall pose the question to the masses. Is it appropriate to have a leggings as pants dispensation for kids, or should we hold a strong line and not contribute to the systematic desensitization of notpants in our culture?

*True story, bro. When The Manny was being The Manny, he would sometimes go on dates. First question we’d ask was what he thought of the lady. Second question? Pants or notpants? A “notpants” answer earned the gong faster than a prolific belcher. We wouldn’t let The Manny settle for just anyone, you know.

Renew and Restore

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April 27, 2011

let Malcolm X blow your mind for a minute

“And because I had been a hustler, I knew better than all whites knew, and better than nearly all of the black ‘leaders’ knew, that actually the most dangerous black man in America was the ghetto hustler. Why do I say this? The hustler, out there in the ghetto jungles, has less respect for the white power structure than any other Negro in North America. The ghetto hustler is internally restrained by nothing. He has no religion, no concept of morality, no civic responsibility, no fear–nothing. To survive, he is out there constantly preying upon others, probing for any human weakness like a ferret. The ghetto hustler is forever frustrated, restless, and anxious for some ‘action’. Whatever he undertakes, he commits himself to it fully, absolutely. What makes the ghetto hustler yet more dangerous is his ‘glamour’ image to the school-dropout youth in the ghetto.These ghetto teen-agers see the hell caught by their parents struggling to get somewhere, or see that they have given up struggling in the prejudiced, intolerant white man’s world. The ghetto teen-agers make up their own minds they would rather be like the hustlers whom they see dressed ‘sharp’ and flashing money and displaying no respect for anybody or anything. So the ghetto youth become attracted to the hustler worlds of dope, thievery, prostitution, and general crime and immorality.”

–From The Autobiography of Malcolm X: As told to Alex Haley

I could expound on that passage all day, but I’ll hold back.  I’d rather you spend the time rereading it five times.

And when your done, remind yourself that these words were published over 45 years ago. That’s almost half of a century.

Now, start asking serious questions about why they’ve been able to remain true to this day.

Renew and Restore

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April 26, 2011

how soccer explains…hospitality

Sociologists might suggest that Jews do hospitality so well because they have spent so many centuries being the stranger and the friendless. It is also true that Jewish (and so also Christian) sacred Scripture is thick with the practice of hospitality. More than once, God instructs His people to welcome the stranger because ‘you were strangers in the land of Egypt…Early Christian communities continued these practices of hospitality, attempting to feed the poor, host travelers, visit the imprisoned, invite widows and orphans to join them at mealtime — all expressions of a capacious notion of hospitality.”

–Lauren Winner in Mudhouse Sabbath

Last month I had the opportunity to venture to Denver and attend the Portland Timbers first ever match as an MLS team. I had high aspirations for the trip, and it lived up to most of them. Certainly, there was one part of the trip that exceeded all expectations…the pregame tailgate.

For this particular match, somewhere in the neighborhood of 400 members of the Timbers Army descended on Denver for the match. Most rolled in from Portland, but there were a handful of us exiles who made our way from the far reaches of the country. We made for quite the conspicuous mass. Clad in green. Proudly Portland weird. It was quite the crew.

While it was a big night for the Timbers Army, it was also a big night for the Colorado Rapids supporters. The Rapids won the MLS cup last year, and were celebrating their well-earned victory this particular night. You could forgive them if they were too preoccupied to notice the new kids. They had victories to revel in and a top-dog status that it was their right to properly invoke.

That night the Colorado supporters enjoyed themselves. But you know what? They also went out of their way to make sure that we enjoyed ourselves as well. One particular group (The Bulldog Supporters Group) opened up their local watering hole to the Timbers Army. They invited the entire Timbers Army to their customary pregame tailgate celebration. Instead of smoking one hog, they smoked two. They more than doubled the amount of libation they usually keep on hand for matchday. It was a feast fit for a king, and they were totally cool with the foreigners and aliens crashing their party.  In fact, they insisted on it.

To understand this in its full context, you need to know that the Timbers Army has a reputation. We’re a bit rowdy. Some might say obnoxious. And when you roll like that into someone else’s crib, they can be understandably defensive. Where any response ranging from ambivalence to mild hostility would have been expected and accepted, they opened up their arms and embraced the opponent in their own house while absolutely lavishing us. It was pure class. Even the song/chant war that broke out at the end of the meal was good-natured in its enthusiasm. It was like a jovial soccer version of West Side Story.

One mark of maturity and depth is the ability to be a gracious host. When done right, it can be an embodiment of healthy humility. It shows that we are grounded in the reality that what we have is not our own and that we have been showered with acts of grace and mercy along our own journeys. And if shows that we aren’t so full of ourselves as to be overcome by narcissism to the point where we are blinded to opportunities to love.

I’ll know I’ve reached a point of spiritual maturity when I can be a gracious host to L*kers and S*unders fans. I have some growing to do before I’m to that place, however.
Renew and Restore

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