Since the weather is coming one way or another we might as well make the best of it.
Category: Life
Blizzard pictures…
Metrodome caves in…
This weekend’s snow was significant enough to collapse the fabric roof of Mall of America Field, otherwise known as the Metrodome and home of the Vikings.
Wisdom from St. John…
St. John Chrysostom’s Christmas Homily
BEHOLD a new and wondrous mystery. My ears resound to the Shepherd’s song, piping no soft melody, but chanting full forth a heavenly hymn. The Angels sing. The Archangels blend their voice in harmony. The Cherubim hymn their joyful praise. The Seraphim exalt His glory. All join to praise this holy feast, beholding the Godhead here on earth, and man in heaven. He Who is above, now for our redemption dwells here below; and he that was lowly is by divine mercy raised.
Bethlehem this day resembles heaven; hearing from the stars the singing of angelic voices; and in place of the sun, enfolds within itself on every side, the Sun of justice. And ask not how: for where God wills, the order of nature yields. For He willed; He had the power; He descended; He redeemed; all things yielded in obedience to God. This day He Who is, is Born; and He Who is, becomes what He was not. For when He was God, He became man; yet not departing from the Godhead that is His. Nor yet by any loss of divinity became He man, nor through increase became He God from man; but being the Word He became flesh, His nature, because of impassability, remaining unchanged.
And so the kings have come, and they have seen the heavenly King that has come upon the earth, not bringing with Him Angels, nor Archangels, nor Thrones, nor Dominations, nor Powers, nor Principalities, but, treading a new and solitary path, He has come forth from a spotless womb.
Since this heavenly birth cannot be described, neither does His coming amongst us in these days permit of too curious scrutiny. Though I know that a Virgin this day gave birth, and I believe that God was begotten before all time, yet the manner of this generation I have learned to venerate in silence and I accept that this is not to be probed too curiously with wordy speech. For with God we look not for the order of nature, but rest our faith in the power of Him who works. What shall I say to you; what shall I tell you? I behold a Mother who has brought forth; I see a Child come to this light by birth. The manner of His conception I cannot comprehend.
Nature here rested, while the Will of God labored. O ineffable grace! The Only Begotten, Who is before all ages, Who cannot be touched or be perceived, Who is simple, without body, has now put on my body, that is visible and liable to corruption. For what reason? That coming amongst us he may teach us, and teaching, lead us by the hand to the things that men cannot see. For since men believe that the eyes are more trustworthy than the ears, they doubt of that which they do not see, and so He has deigned to show Himself in bodily presence, that He may remove all doubt.
Christ, finding the holy body and soul of the Virgin, builds for Himself a living temple, and as He had willed, formed there a man from the Virgin; and, putting Him on, this day came forth; unashamed of the lowliness of our nature.
For it was to Him no lowering to put on what He Himself had made. Let that handiwork be forever glorified, which became the cloak of its own Creator. For as in the first creation of flesh, man could not be made before the clay had come into His hand, so neither could this corruptible body be glorified, until it had first become the garment of its Maker.
What shall I say! And how shall I describe this Birth to you? For this wonder fills me with astonishment. The Ancient of days has become an infant. He Who sits upon the sublime and heavenly Throne, now lies in a manger. And He Who cannot be touched, Who is simple, without complexity, and incorporeal, now lies subject to the hands of men. He Who has broken the bonds of sinners, is now bound by an infants bands. But He has decreed that ignominy shall become honor, infamy be clothed with glory, and total humiliation the measure of His Goodness.
For this He assumed my body, that I may become capable of His Word; taking my flesh, He gives me His spirit; and so He bestowing and I receiving, He prepares for me the treasure of Life. He takes my flesh, to sanctify me; He gives me His Spirit that He may save me.
Come, then, let us observe the Feast. Truly wondrous is the whole chronicle of the Nativity. For this day the ancient slavery is ended, the devil confounded, the demons take to flight, the power of death is broken, paradise is unlocked, the curse is taken away, sin is removed from us, error driven out, truth has been brought back, the speech of kindliness diffused, and spreads on every side, a heavenly way of life has been ¡in planted on the earth, angels communicate with men without fear, and men now hold speech with angels.
Why is this? Because God is now on earth, and man in heaven; on every side all things commingle. He became Flesh. He did not become God. He was God. Wherefore He became flesh, so that He Whom heaven did not contain, a manger would this day receive. He was placed in a manger, so that He, by whom all things arc nourished, may receive an infants food from His Virgin Mother. So, the Father of all ages, as an infant at the breast, nestles in the virginal arms, that the Magi may more easily see Him. Since this day the Magi too have come, and made a beginning of withstanding tyranny; and the heavens give glory, as the Lord is revealed by a star.
To Him, then, Who out of confusion has wrought a clear path, to Christ, to the Father, and to the Holy Spirit, we offer all praise, now and forever. Amen.
Lutefisk…
pronounced loo-tah-fisk, is the stuff of myth and legend in these parts. Stripped to its basics its simply cod, dried to preserve it and then reconstituted later with water and a little bit of lye. For centuries this dried, then re-moistened, fish has been sustenance for people in Scandinavian countries. In Minnesota it has become, for the most part, an Advent food, and church basements around the state draw the faithful to meals.
The legendary aspect of lutefisk is purported to be its smell, taste, and texture. There are songs, jokes, and stories galore about people being driven from buildings by the smell, then assaulted by the taste. Yet, still the people come when its served, hundreds of cars tonight in the parking lot of Mount Olivet Lutheran Church in Minneapolis.
With years of such stories in my head I had a certain amount of trepidation as we came to Mount Olivet’s door. I had never had lutefisk and just a few steps from the door of the church’s basement loomed a crowd of several hundred afficianados, dressed in Scandinavian sweaters, and ready for the action.
The first thing I noticed was the smell, actually the lack of it. Led to believe that fumes of fishiness would reach out and strike me down from a distance I waited for the rush of fetid wind. Nothing. Sure, there was a smell of fish in the breeze but nothing that you couldn’t find in any Long John Silvers.
Walking through the buffet line I looked over the lutefisk sitting in the pan. It looked like, well, fish. I put it on my plate, added some white sauce and butter and went to my seat. So far so good. Maybe the worst was still to come.
I cut the lutefisk with my fork and put the piece in my mouth. Here, I thought, would be where the legend would come true. Here would be the foul taste or jellied consistency that made the dish infamous. Nothing. It tasted like what it was, cod with white sauce and butter. The consistency was a little jelly like but nothing watery, blubbery, or disgusting. Looking about the room I noticed no one was reeling, retching, or running out of the room holding their stomach. Just eating and talking, and, of course wearing really neat sweaters.
The meal finished I pondered a bit. Two answers seem to present themselves. Either I must have come upon the one palatable lutefisk dinner in the whole state of Minnesota or the legend is just that, a legend. I’m leaning towards the whole thing being a legend, an Ole and Lena joke with food as the punch line. Stories beget stories and this one may be a whopper writ large. Or perhaps its a conspiracy, people who love the food protecting it from becoming popular with all the associated burdens of faddishness.
Still I survived my first encounter with lutefisk quite nicely, thank you and while I probably wouldn’t go out of my way to eat it I consider the myth “busted”.
Now if I can just find one of those sweaters…
My last month in Lindsborg…
Kansas, was spent in the parsonage of the church that didn’t want me any more. Some where, some how, something went wrong and I was told I was done, 30 days to leave the house, no more no less. 30 miserable days.
I was lucky, I guess, because around that time I heard from the son of another Pastor that some years ago his family came back from vacation to find all their things in storage, the parsonage empty, and the term of service over. When a Pastor abuses a parishioner its front page news. When a church or its leaders abuse a Pastor, they just move on. It’s the price you pay, I guess, for letting people lay hands on you.
So I have more than an abstract understanding of what’s it’s like for clergy suddenly uprooted. I drove past that church for four Sundays on my way to somewhere else, packed everything we had in boxes and put that wretched little town in my tail lights. Never been back. Never wanted to. All I took from Lindsborg was a grateful wife and two fine cats.
Those wounds were deep, they still simmer up from time to time. Baptist churches can be wonderful places but when the herd starts stampeding in your direction you’re gonna get hit. The first time takes you by surprise, the second by anger, and usually there’s no third time because you’ve given up and prefer the tyranny of the corporate working world to the tyrannies of the church.
My world is so much different from those days in the early 90’s but Lindsborg, Kansas, come back some times. Save your money. Don’t put complete faith in anyone. If you want to stay come to the understanding that the church will wound you. Have an escape plan. If you can’t face that then you’re better off selling insurance, or doing just about anything else. The church can be the place where friends become enemies over night for no particular reason and the ones who laud you in the morning will ask for Barabbas at night. And when the axe falls, and some how, some way, it will it’s always harder because you’ve been lulled into expecting better from the church.
The truly amazing thing, though, is how God still finds a way to work even with all this garbage. It hurts like hell when the people you cared for or the leaders you trusted turn on you. The wounds will take years to heal. Yet somehow God finds a way. The pain of Lindsborg was the first step in my journey to Orthodoxy, and the decade I spent there one year made me sadder but wiser, wounded but more patient, broken but better in my craft. Even as it sometimes comes back to haunt me it was an important stop on the journey and somewhere I had to pass through to get to here.
Still I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone and prayers from my heart travel out to those who, even now, may be walking that same path.
On Seasonal Affective Disorder…
The bane of living in these northern realms.
From the Mayo Clinic…
Seasonal affective disorder (also called SAD) is a type of depression that occurs at the same time every year. If you’re like most people with seasonal affective disorder, your symptoms start in the fall and may continue into the winter months, sapping your energy and making you feel moody. Less often, seasonal affective disorder causes depression in the spring or early summer.
Ave Maria…
The world is naked this night,
fearful, exposed, afraid, ashamed, perplexed.
Life’s winds blow cold, eyes fill with tears,
and hearts are boiled in anger.
Speed through the darkness Earth,
a traveler in unfathomed space.
The world is convulsed this night, but heaven
is neither empty or asleep.
The silent crying,
the scream caught in a throat,
the words unutterable,
have found an audience beyond the stars.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.
Some thoughts on the Western World…
Myopic self-indulgence. Are our current plagues—the riots first in Athens and then in Paris, our global economic crisis manifest in the riots and rampant sovereign debt—merely a symptom of a deeper decay of a civilization in the autumn of its existence? A civilization unable to recognize its own vulnerability? The riots were certainly as much an example of myopic lethal self-indulgence as the sovereign debts in all the leading countries of the West. In France, students took to the streets protesting against a rise of just two years in the age of subsidized retirement—a system destined to bankrupt the state long before they, too, want the comforts that will be impossible to sustain.
Perhaps the most interesting…
place name I’ve encountered in my travels, outside of the wonderful Rollingstone, Minnesota, is a street in Cedar Rapids not far from St. George Church called “Goblin’s Gully Drive”. It really does extend into a valley off the main road and there must be quite a story behind the name.



