I was sitting on the maroon, synthetic leather couch in the teacher's lounge when the phone range. I continued to read P.D. James' The Skull Beneath the Skin, kindly deferring to the Real Teacher who was finishing up her lunch. She picked up the phone.

"Hello. Mmm hmm. Let me see." At this point she paused and stared at me so pointedly I looked up from the murder mystery midway through a very suspenseful paragraph. "No, he's not in here. Sorry." I felt a little honored, since it's not often I'm mistaken for a Real Teacher, even for a few moments in a telephone conversation. But, as it turned out, I hadn't been. After she resumed eating, the Teacher turned and smiled at me. "I told them you weren't in here."

Amazing. Speechless, I inwardly repented of the times I have taken the Real Teachers to task for their cavalier dismissal of us substitutes. "Wow," I said. "That's really kind of you." Everyone knows the fate of substitutes who are asked for by phone in the teacher's lounge: they are routinely deployed to cover an extra class. "Thank a lot!" I said.

Of course, I knew the Main Office wouldn't give up so easily. They are all-seeing when it comes to their subs. They knew where my classroom was. Still, with only three minutes left in my next class, I began to think that the subterfuge of the friendly Teacher had proven effective. And then, in the tear-jerking final moments of Adam Sandler's Big Daddy, that day's assignment (note instances of sarcasm), the phone rang.

"Well, you probably know why I'm calling," said the secretary apologetically.

As I made my way to the extra assignment, sacrificing the "planning time" I typically use for studying Greek verbs or reading murder mysteries, I felt, well, disappointed. A perfectly good scheme had been crushed effortlessly by the powers that be. And then I encountered the second Real Teacher. He did not offer a creative way for me to avoid covering his class.

Instead, what he said was, "Would you come back at 1:05?"

"Sure," I replied. "I'd be happy to go sit in the teacher's lounge for fifteen more minutes, catering to your whimsical sense of timing, while you give your students some parting instructions before you jet. I'm here to serve, after all, and do not need to be treated as a person. Robotic requests work just fine." Actually, I just said the first part. Fifteen minutes later I came back to cover the class, calculating that my time to shine had arrived when the Teacher yelled a few parting instructions at his class and walked out. Upon their Teacher's departure, the class quickly acknowledged a couple of facts, 1) that I was in the room, and, 2) that I was human. We got along great.

Some days the disparity evident in human nature just hits me. And how do you account for it? A bad night's sleep? An irritating student? A rejection of grace? God help us all.

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Michael Spencer, the redoubted iMonk, posed an explosive question--"Should I give money to people on the street who ask for it?"--then noted, a couple days later, "I’ve had to delete more comments from this post than I’ve deleted in 7+ years of writing at Internet Monk." I think this topic is often approached with equal amounts of visceral emotion and raw credulity. Spencer avoids both, as he dishes out some measured advice. This post will be a big help for those of you looking for ways to marry compassion and discernment in your giving.

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Aidan is very punctual about his chores, which consist mostly of waking us up in the morning so we can save money and not plug in our alarm clock. He typically wakes us at 7:00, unless he feels especially diligent, and starts his chore(s) earlier, sometimes as early as 6:00. In return, we give him room and board and our continued amazement at how well he has mastered this task.

This morning, after Aidan finished his chores, we drove to the River Market to meet a couple friends for breakfast at a place called Succotash. The food, served in random plastic and ceramic dishes, was excellent and we had a great time talking in the sun. The coffee was good too--strong and dark. Something interesting: my plastic mug of coffee arrived with a ring of grime around the top lip. I wiped off the dirt with my napkin, not overly deterred. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the place, right on the edge of the City Market. There were tables of egg plants, peppers and avocados, a couple guys putting on a magic show, and a constant stream of foot traffic, all this within fifteen feet of our outdoor table. Wiping dirt off the exterior of the coffee mug somehow seemed a fitting, earthy ritual.

Would it be cool to find dirt on your mug in a coffee shop? Absolutely not. Which just goes to show you, atmosphere can go a long way, as long as you can carry it off.

[The camera batteries are dead, otherwise there would be pictures.]

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Jesus didn't say, "Be revolutionaries." But in so many words, he said that very thing. Obedience to God in this world implies inevitable revolution--just not a kind that you achieve self-consciously by donating to the right causes and going organic.

Christ's revolution is subsumed by and in service to the will of God, the internal life of Christ operating inside our skin and bones. This is a revolution that flows out of the heart, not imposed by external opinions, which are so easily twisted so that they become the servants of self-righteousness.

On top of this, Christ's revolution has a progressive element in it so subversive that it undercuts the most wide-eyed radicalism you could find in, say, The Village. To be a part of Jesus' protest movement you have to start by waving a white flag. Over yourself. The stylish indignation and angry cynicism, you can just forget about it. You are the root of the problem. The sooner you can surrender your own black heart to God, the sooner he will start changing you, the sooner you will have the potential to really change anything else in the external world.

There is no denying that Jesus was a revolutionary. He just was a rebel of a different kind--a type so different, in fact, that it would be safer to simply call him God, because his revolution is about more than sweaty glaciers and caged chickens. It's universal, and he is turning the world upside down. He is not interested in adding spiritual backing to your agenda. But if you surrender yourself and all your causes to him, he might just have a use for you.

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That's the question from a Yahoo searcher, whose quest for knowledge led to this blog. Is Ravi Zacharias too deep?

Good question. Some people think the ocean is too deep. Some also think the mountains are too tall. Other people see the ocean and the mountains as an invitation to dive in and hike up. Which type are you? Your answer will determine the "status" of Ravi Zacharias' mind.

I should point out, though, that if you write off guys like Ravi, you'll have to discount most of the biblical narrative as well, which points to things "which eyes have not seen, neither which have entered into the mind of man"... Deep truths require profound expositors.

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Another Entry in the Annals of Subbing

As always, I greeted the evil tidings with a cheerful smile. Cover an extra class, after I had already completed my day's work? (technically, the day's work of the teacher for whom I subbing) Sure, no problem, happy to do it. The lesson plans didn't look very promising, though.

[my paraphrase]

I have been sick for a week, but we have a big production coming up, so have the students go through a rehearsal with improvised blocking and without their scripts.

While I am convinced that miracles happen, and that grace is an active force in my own life, I'm not a big believer in random, inexplicable magic swooping down to take over a high school theater class and transform it into a room of concerned, attentive actors who give a shtick. So I wasn't exactly holding my breath.

The class took the news calmly--which they should have, seeing as they didn't intend to do anything about it. A walk-through rehearsal without scripts and with improvised blocking for next week's production? Sure.

Sure, as in that dismissive, half-amused tone that Aidan uses when we ask him to pick up his ball collection. After delivering the ultimatum clearly, I considered my options. Really, there was only one. In the next hour and a half, I made considerable progress in What I Think I Did, pausing to send a handful of good students to the library.

At times I debate, inwardly, about whether I'm being paid too much or too little to do this.

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Update: Having finished this book, I'm awarding Woiwode's artfully written autobiography a strong A. When I "writer" writes his own story, the burden to produce something wonderful is heavy, and Woiwode carries it off with exceptional poise and nuance in What I Think I Did. Highly recommended, especially if you write.

In What I Think I Did, by Larry Woiwode, I just read this:

The patterns of the scribbled multitude of twigs and the matching gaps of designated light in sequence to the movement of the limbs were as much a song as mine. This was the earth, its trees in their multitude of beauty, twigs to branches to trunks, brimming with voices about to break into speech. I was in a grip greater than my mother's hand, and tears of laughter leaped out like the presences I expected to see.

One presence was here, I knew, as I turned with my face raised, in the trees and sky, and in the earth that held me as I turned. The presence had put all this in place to instruct me about myself and the complications of the love I felt for Him.

So the earth has a voice, one which is intended to point us to God and teach us to talk with him in our own, broken language. We walk through creation, feeling as if we're not really alone, perhaps, and we're not. This is the first time I've read Woiwode, and he's good.

Flashbacks: Trees Talk About Eternity & Rest
Mountain Haunting

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I debated long and hard about whether or not to use my blog in a somewhat utilitarian, pragmatic, self-serving way...

I shouldn't do it.
But it's your blog.
True, but with great power comes great responsibility.
Thank you, Spiderman. Let's get real here.
But I have a duty to my readers.
As if you ever blog about anything other than what you want to.
Well... you have a point there.

I caved in. I'm writing this post because I want Darrin Patrick or a co-pastor from The Journey to get in touch with me, ideally at my email address, arielj.van [ at ] gmail [ dot ] com. I'm not a total narcissist, though. There are reasons! Such as:

When Darrin Patrick was in Westport, speaking at Mark DeVine's church, Lindsay and I talked with him briefly. Darrin encouraged me to get in touch with via email and arrange to visit The Journey and learn more about Acts 29--something I was far, far from reluctant to do. OK, let's be honest. I emailed within 48 hours. Unfortunately, both the email addresses I got have been bouncing like basketballs on helium.

I want to follow up with The Journey and Acts 29, but short of driving to St. Louis, I don't have any avenues... So if someone reads this who has access to Patrick or Jonathan McIntosh, a co-pastor, please tip 'em off. An urban seminary student interested in church planting is trying to get in touch.

All right, this somewhat utilitarian, pragmatic, self-serving post is now over. ;)

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Wanted: A Coffee Shop in North Kansas City

When we lived downtown--I mean, right downtown, in the middle of the hub of Kansas City, inside the greasy little center from which all the road-spokes radiate outward--I was always baffled by how there were no decent local coffee shops around.

True, there was a little bakery/cafe place down the block, but it catered to lunch crowds and closed at two in the afternoon. Also, there was a place in the River Market, about a mile away, but it was subject to strange schedules based on the ebb and flow of Market shoppers. After five years, a Pete's Coffee Shop opened up downtown. It had real coffee shop hours and good coffee and I went there half a dozen times in the three or four months before we moved. Just my luck.

Now we're in North Kansas City, a semi-metropolitan residential zone just outside the urban core (such as it is). We're about eight minutes north of our previous loft. Just outside our building is a street lined with local restaurants, a family-owned hardware store, a couple bakeries, and, you guessed it, no coffee shops.

What is with North Kansas City?

This morning I gave in and drove fifteen minutes to Westport, and the Broadway Cafe, for a real mocha and an atmosphere that wasn't reminiscent of the Price Chopper Starbucks where I'm forced to take my coffee breaks between classes. Seriously, if I had the capital, I'd open a coffee shop here in NKC. But since I'm generally scrounging for the capital to buy a cup of coffee, that dream will have to wait...

If I'm missing something here, someone please tip me off. This is getting ridiculous.

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I rarely write political commentary here because, frankly, I'm more interested in writing about theology. However, there's no denying that the two entities frequently overlap. Case in point: the aftermath of the Virginia Tech shootings. Virginia Tech was a multifaceted disaster--one which pulls back the curtains on human depravity in a way that Americans still aren't accustomed to. This morning I came across some VT commentary that blends politics and theological insight. Teaser:

What I said to my "concerned" friends that asked was, "I like to collect permissions to do things." I lied. Being freaked out that anyone they knew would take gun training and get a concealed weapons permit, they tacitly agreed to believe that lie. It kept everything smooth and "non-political," which I how a lot of my friends and I like it these days. All part of the little lies we tell because we cannot face reality in the world and in our relationships.

I took pistol training because one day it dawned on me that if I ever actually needed a gun it would be too late to shop.

Read the whole thing to hear Vanderleun (yes, the name is the real reason I'm linking up) develop the point. Living with evil is all the more uncomfortable when human nature becomes politicized. We end up feeling guilty for acting as if people are not to be trusted. Which they aren't.

If I had the cash, I'd buy a gun and take a class as well. We don't live in a perfect world; far from it. As long as I'm living with people who have sin at their centers, some of whom have indulged and promoted that darkness to the point of obsessive instability, buying a gun may be a great way to save a life. Widespread gun control, on the other hand, would only work in a Utopia--which, in case you haven't noticed, is not where we live.

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Aidan goes in for percussion in a big way.

At my parents' house today, he was playing on his xylophone, improvising a jangly little melody and playing to the crowd. Then, without missing a beat, he spun around and started drumming on my dad's glasses with his xylophone sticks. Apparently he favored the percussive surfaces. There's no denying that he's got rhythm.

But still. Beating on your grandfather's glasses? That's not very respectful.

"This kid is a little rascal," I told Lindsay. "I've seen his kind before."

"You are his kind. Of course you've seen his kind before."

Hmm... I can't wait to see how all this develops.

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Thanks to Singpolyma, who gave me some help troubleshooting my template, I now have one of my favorite hacks up and running again: Peek-a-boo comments. I've been suffering withdrawal symptoms ever since I moved over to the New Blogger. Singpolyma is the man!

Now you can view comments instantly "on-page" with a single click instead of waiting for a new window to load. Sexy is back.

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I just read this...

While the bombardment was knocking the trench to pieces at Fossalta, he lay very flat and sweated and prayed oh jesus christ get me out of here. Dear jesus please get me out. Christ please please christ. If you'll only keep me from getting killed I'll do anything you say. I believe in you and I'll tell everyone in the world that you are the only one that matters. Please please dear jesus. The shelling moved further up the line. We went to work on the trench and in the morning the sun came up and the day was hot and muggy and cheerful and quiet. The next night back at Mestre he did not tell the girl he went upstairs with at the Villa Rossa about Jesus. And he never told anybody. - Ernest Hemingway, Chapter VII

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Lars Walker comments on the banality of evil and the banality of the Virginia Tech killer who couldn't even come up with an original ending to his life story.

There are heroes and there are villains. Hollywood gets them confused, but there is no arguing which of the two is passe, monotonous, even morally "staid." To live creatively, to go against the trends, one must find virtue. To find virtue, one must find Christ.

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I recently tracked down my professor, Dr. Mark DeVine, who will be teaching a class this fall on emerging church issues. Dr. DeVine is a rare breed, in that he's a Southern Baptist with a deep love for the convention, a staunchly Calvinistic theologian, and a sympathetic investigator of the emerging church scene.

An additional paradox adds to his mystique: highly conversational in the classroom, Dr. DeVine is breathtakingly succinct via email (check his site for more elaborate discussion). Here are his answers to Five Questions About Emerging Church, shot toward your waiting brain like tiny, laser-guided bullets.

1) What do you see as a central, redeeming aspect of emerging church?
Its missional and communal emphases.

2) What do you see as a dangerous, negative aspect?
It’s ambiguous hermeneutic and view of the Bible’s nature and authority.

3) Is emerging church a trendy phenomenon or a movement with staying power?
I would be surprised if certain dimensions of emerging church emphases did not exert significant lasting influence in the West generally and in urban ministry particularly.

4) What are some consequences of dismissing the whole EC set of concerns offhand?
Real recovery of Biblical teaching is at work here in helpful corrective ways. Let’s not miss the benefit.

5) What are some consequences of buying in to the EC mindset unconditionally?
New insights, however on target, benefit from serious biblical and historical scrutiny and re-assessment. That goes for emerging as well.

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Aidan and I were playing a game. He hit the coffee table three times. I hit the coffee table three times. He hit the futon three times. I hit the futon three times. He hit me three times. I hit me three times--

Wait a minute.

This kid is clever.

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Gospel Thoughts from Paul

Paul: Here's the paradigm by which God overcomes our dark natures and brings us home: Sin. Grace. Sin. Grace. More sin. More grace. More sin. More grace...

Snide, libertine observer: But if grace is so overwhelming, I think I'll take advantage by getting drunk, sleeping around, and then taking morning after prayers. Can you stop me?

Paul: Of course I can. No one cheats on the one they love. And if you don't love Jesus, grace does not apply. Those who trust Christ have been legally freed from sin. So if you go on whoring, or even step up your pace, you're not revealing your theological foxiness--you're just showing that death still calls the shots, you're still dancing sin's jig, and you don't know Christ at all. In other words, if you go on willfully dying, you haven't found beautiful life. Get it?

::

Paul: Now I would like to talk about how The Law is no longer our evil nemesis--that is, "evil" in the sense that it revealed the evil inside us, not that The Law was evil itself. Let's face it: The Law had good qualities, and in fact was given to us expressly by God--but it wasn't much of a wife. Or rather, The Law was simply the kind of woman who shows you what a sorry excuse for a man you really are. And she was right.

When The Law called you out, you found yourself living up to all her accusations. She read you like a book, and pointed out the disgustingly monotonous and smutty storyline. She was sympathetic, but you couldn't change. This is why the liberation of grace that Jesus brings is profoundly good news...

Snide, legalist observer: What, no law? People will start drinking and smoking and making out in public! We're just supposed to sin promiscuously, now that this Jesus has arrived?

Paul: Not a chance. Think about this: You're a slave to whomever you obey. Your life reveals your loyalties. If you really gave over to grace, you are now free from knee-jerk sinning. You should be excited about this new possibility of not sinning, instead of grubbing in the dirt for your splintery old crutch, The Law. All you'll find is that The Law will give you splinters, and your darkness will continue to bleed out.

Jesus Christ is different--he doesn't just reveal your blood type (sinful), he cha