Mid-Winter Blues

My latest “In Good Faith” column in the Hingham Journal explores the tragedies and triumphs of cold weather. But mostly the tragedies.

 

 

Mid-Winter Blues

By the Rev. Tim Schenck

Baby, it’s cold outside. Seasonal Affective Disorder cold. So cold I can’t feel my fingers as I type this sitting on my lounge chair at Nantasket Beach. Okay, I made that up. I’m actually just lying on a towel.

But this New England winter thing, while quaint in postcards of snow-covered white clapboard churches, is getting old. And it’s just the beginning of February, which I’m told, means only five more months of winter. There’s no Groundhog Day around here because Punxsutawney Phil’s northern cousins are as frozen as Ted Williams’ head.

In my first winter up here I’ve been intrigued to see how the natives handle the season. I’ve found that most Hinghamites wholeheartedly embrace it. They ski, they ice skate, they sled, they probably even luge. In other words winter sports rule. I’ve even witnessed a new sport: competitive sidewalk shoveling. Just walk down Main Street after a snowstorm and you can easily spot the winners and losers.

The ski culture is what most took me by surprise. Coming from a mere 3.5 hours south I knew people who enjoyed skiing; they’d take family ski trips occasionally. Here it’s something much larger. There are families I swear I met in the fall that I haven’t seen in months. They’re either skiing every weekend or they’ve entered the Witness Protection Program and they’re living a quiet life in rural Idaho. But I guess skiing is a way of getting through the winter without becoming exceedingly depressed as you dig out your car for the fifth time this week. 

The other antidote, for those who can afford it, seems to be flying to a warm climate. Even just a week away mid-winter must be good for the soul. As I pine for balmy days on a tropical island, I find myself listening to my favorite poet/philosopher Jimmy Buffett. His song “Boat Drinks” resonates as he sings “I gotta fly to St. Somewhere; I’m close to bodily harm.” I can relate even with no upcoming vacation scheduled.

The other activity I’ve noticed and can’t comprehend is the abundance of “Polar Bear Swims.” In New York there was a small group of wacky folks who would dash into the Hudson River on New Year’s Day. Around here, though, no one bats an eye at these things. Every group from the PTO to the United Way seems to sponsor this madness. These events are everywhere to the point that they’re viewed as “normal.” Well I’m here to tell you that they’re not. They’re insane!

When I was in seminary in Chicago second-year students were called Middlers; they were in the “middle” of the three-year program. Every Middler, at some point during the winter, experienced what was affectionately referred to as “Middler Meltdown.” You were halfway through the rigors of divinity school; you felt as if you’d never get out; it was winter in Chicago; you were snowed in physically and emotionally; and eventually you’d snap. It took many forms but it was generally accompanied by a spiritual and academic malaise. In time you’d come out of it and get on with life with the help of those who had been through it and knew the warning signs.

And that’s how I assume everyone gets through the winter around here: with the help and humor of the community. If you can’t smile after you’re frozen hair breaks off in a clump, you’ll go nuts. If you can’t appreciate the light of the living God while staring into a roaring fire, your heart needs some thawing out. If you can’t smile after getting pelted with snowballs tossed by your kids (and then plotting revenge), you’ll never make it through the winter.

As I search for spiritual guidance on dealing with “the bleak midwinter” there’s one source that’s not so helpful: the Bible. While there are actually a few verses that mention snow – usually of the “white as snow” variety – the accumulation levels weren’t great in ancient Palestine. Certainly not enough to go skiing. And Jesus walks on water; he doesn’t ice skate over the Sea of Galilee.

But one of my favorite passages from the prophet Isaiah both includes snow and helps us keep our own lives in perspective: “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts. For as rain and snow fall from the heavens and return not again, but water the earth, bringing forth life and giving growth, seed for sowing and bread for eating, so is my word that goes forth from my mouth; it will not return to me empty; but it will accomplish that which I have purposed, and prosper in that for which I sent it.” (Isaiah 55:9-11). Time to go put on a few more layers.

Oktoberfest

Is this what happens when there’s a German pope? Will Oktoberfest become a liturgical season? These are the important questions that get raised (so to speak) on this blog.

If you find this offensive, I apologize. I, too, realize that an actual beer stein would have been more appropriate.

Thanks to our soon-to-be Verger for forwarding this to me. I think there might be some liturgical changes in store once it’s official. And wienerschnitzel at coffee hour.

All-Churchy NFL Team

In honor of the upcoming Super Bowl, I offer you the All-Churchy Team. These football greats (and grunts) all have one thing in common besides the gridiron: ecclesiastical/Biblical names. More or less.

I have broken this down into several categories:

MINISTRY

Blaine Bishop, Safety — Titans

Priest Holmes, Running Back Ravens – Chiefs

Deacon Jones, Defensive End – Rams

Art Monk, Wide Receiver — Redskins

Leonard Pope, Tight End — Chiefs

Freddie Joe Nunn, Defensive End — Cardinals

CHURCH STUFF

Art (Baptismal) Shell, Tackle — Raiders

Randy Cross, Center — 49ers

Roscoe Parrish, Wide Receiver – Bills

Jack Christiansen, Defensive Back– Lions

Dan Carpenter, Kicker – Dolphins

Corey (Holly and the) Ivy, Cornerback — Ravens

Demetrius (Church) Bell, Tackle – Bills

BIBLICAL

Reggie (Burning) Bush, Running Back — Saints

Deion (Olive) Branch, Wide Receiver — Patriots, Seahawks

Kerry Rhodes (to Damascus), Safety — Jets

Antonio Pierce (Jesus’ side), Linebacker — Giants

Ronnie Lott(’s wife), Cornerback — 49ers

Ed (A Bruised) Reed (He Will Not Break), Safety — Ravens

Bart Starr (of Bethlehem), Quarterback — Packers

I trust that this will eliminate my need to add football metaphors into Sunday’s sermon.

You Got the Look

“New Year, New You.” That’s the usual post-New Year’s health club enticement. The staff at Clergy Family Confidential has been working out (minimal steroid use was involved) and we now have a new look for our blog.

I’ve been hearing grumblings that the previous format was a bit hard on the eyes. Or perhaps I have a middle-aged readership that’s transitioning to bifocals. In any case the new “theme” should help with that. The font size is larger and the contrast is better. Unfortunately the content itself will remain about the same.

I nearly went with a hip black background. Bryna vetoed it and anyway I think it said you had to have a goatee and/or tattoo to select it. The next one I almost used was black and orange. I thought what better way to honor my last place Orioles than through blog colors? Ben nixed that one.

The theme I chose is called Quentin. It’s pretty simple and it reminds me of “Pulp Fiction” for some reason. I’m all for feedback on this. If you like it or hate it let me know. I try to always be responsive to my readers. Like Dear Abby but in a cyber-don’t-tell-ME-your-problems kind of way.

Thank you for your continued patronage. I’m making a lot of money off this site (you can tell by all the ads that clutter it up). Excuse me while I go give out large staff bonuses.

Super Controversy

Big controversy brewing at the Super Bowl. And I don’t mean which team Archie Manning will be rooting for — his Saints or his son’s Colts. This controversy revolves around the reason that much of the country watches the Big Game in the first place: the television ads.

It seems that the conservative evangelical group Focus on the Family has spent the nearly $3 million required for a 30-second spot to bring the abortion debate into the living rooms of nearly 100 million viewers. The spot features Tim Tebow, the Hesiman Trophy-winning quarterback of the Florida Gators and his mother Pam. Evidently Mrs. Tebow was advised by doctors to have an abortion for medical reasons but she decided to carry the child to term. Focus on the Family sees this as a strong and compelling anti-abortion message: “Don’t have an abortion! The child you murder could be a star quarterback! And you could wind up on a Super Bowl ad!”

CBS has taken much flack from women’s rights groups for allowing the ad since, in past years, they’ve rejected such “advocacy advertising.” In recent years the network has declined ads from organizations like moveon.org and the United Church of Christ which, in 2004, attempted to air an ad proclaiming their acceptance of gays and lesbians. Never mind that Focus on the Family’s founder James Dobson once claimed that gay marriage will “destroy the earth.” CBS claims that their policy has “evolved” over the years. Which surely has nothing to do with the economy or the beliefs of the network bigwigs, let alone the national political climate.

So. Free speech versus dictating morality during the single biggest annual event in America (sorry Christmas). An event that brings Americans together over pigskin, potato skins, and cheerleader skin. An issue that divides driving a wedge through an event that unites. CBS can’t have it both ways.

In the meantime it’s not even worth calculating how much the cost of the ad alone might help the people of Haiti. Ironically, Focus on the Family has a fund to help Haiti advertised on its home page. If only.

Blessing of the BlackBerrys

Leave it to the Church of England. A priest recently held a blessing of smart phones and laptops at a London parish. He thought the tradition of the Blessing of the Plows needed updating. In a ritual dating to medieval times church members would bring plows to the front door on Plow Monday, the first Monday after Twelfth Night, to be blessed. Read the article from the London Times here.

And he’s right. How many Londoners could even locate a plow these days? BlackBerrys have replaced hoes as our regular work implements. Laptops are the new pitchforks. Office cubicles are our threshing floors.

And why not bless them? Episcopal clergy bless everything else: homes, motorcycles, pets. The first call of a seminary classmate of mine was as the assistant priest at Trinity-by-the-Cove in Naples, Florida (tough gig, I know). His first christening was, literally, a boat rather than a child.

Back when Palm Pilots were all the rage, I threatened to hold a “Palm Sunday” where everyone would hold up their Palms and I would beam the parish directory to them. I should have.

I don’t think I’ll hold a Blessing of the Laptops anytime soon; something about it makes me cringe. But on the other hand it’s theologically appropriate. God is just as present in our work tools today as in an agricultural society. Now if I could just get God to follow me on Twitter.

More Blogging Priests?

As you may have heard, the pope recently encouraged Roman Catholic priests to start blogging. Start? What have they been waiting for? If social media is all about building community, this is precisely what “communities” of faith should have been doing all along.

Sure, Benedict himself still writes out his speeches and sermons by hand in German. Probably on those yellow legal pads. But he’s now encouraging younger clergy to get out into this new-fangled thing called the World Wide Web. It’s unclear how this was communicated from the Vatican hierarchy: snail mail, fax, carrier pigeon, or message in a bottle.

His message, released on the Catholic Church’s World Day of Communications (who knew they had one?), has gotten a lot of press. Here’s the article from MSNBC titled “Pope to priests: For God’s sake, blog!” My friend, fellow blogger, author, and communications expert Meredith Gould (herself a Roman Catholic) grieves ”the too-pervasive lack of awareness and understanding about the power and value of digital communications” by the Catholic leadership. Check out her recent post on the subject here.

I’m hardly an expert blogger. At least on the technology side: I’ve been blogging for a year and a half and I can’t even figure out how to add a Twitter widget! But I do look at this as part of my ministry; an extension of the pulpit. Though of course I can have a bit more fun with such an informal medium and I cherish the back and forth with those of you willing to leave comments.

Meredith concludes her post by expressing pride in the Catholic clerics who have embraced digital media. “But does the Pope and his advisers truly think average parish priests have either the time or talent to blog on a regular basis? Will they have the freedom?” It’s a good question — I’m interested in seeing ( and reading) the answer.

Slam Dunk

Ben recently asked me how Dunkin’ Donuts got its name. Since it was founded a couple towns over in Quincy, Massachusetts, the South Shore of Boston is crawling with ‘em. You can’t drive more than three blocks without running into one. His question was whether any one ever “dunks” donuts and, if so, what might they dunk them into? I told him that, yes, I occasionally dunk my donuts into beer.

It seems that people of a certain age actually remember when DD sold donuts with a little handle for dunking. One person told me it was almost like they took the hole and made it into a handle (it took me awhile but I found this picture). I’ve never dunked a donut into coffee. I wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good donut and I certainly wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee. Not that you’d really get one of those at Dunkin’ Donuts but I digress.

I was speaking with an older gentleman at (where else?) Coffee Hour this morning who grew up in Quincy. He remembers when the founder of Dunkin’ Donuts got his start. He told me he had a cart that he’d wheel up to the shipyard and get all the workers coming off their shift. Eventually it grew and he ran the business out of his garage. By the time he had a storefront he would get the donuts over there the day after they were made. So people started dunking the day-old donuts into their coffee and the name arose out of this. At least that’s what he told me.

Now I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone, anywhere actually dunk a donut into coffee. But I’ll keep my eyes peeled. There must be someone out there!

Vile Vestments Celebrated

Ugly vestments. They exist in the darker recesses of most churches. Tucked away in closets; things that seemed like a good idea at the time but now can’t be pitched because someone donated them.

You know what I’m talking about — hideous hangings that distract you from God. Vile vestments that fly in the face of liturgy done “decently and in good order.” As in most areas, the 1970’s leads the way in church fashion disasters: chasuble that would fit right in swaddling hippies at Woodstock; altar hangings that would go beautifully with shag carpeting; stoles that incorporate the color of lime-green linoleum.

But these liturgical faux pas are not just relegated to a particularly unfortunate decade. They continue in the name of liturgical renewal. And rather than let them linger in sacristy closets, there’s now a blog that highlights horrible vestments and brings them into the flourescent light of day. “Bad Vestments” has been created with the tagline “Because Christian Worship is Not Supposed to be About You.” I encourage you to visit the site — you’ll be both amazed and horrified.

Singing the Blues

I hate the music my kids listen to. Actually “hate” is too weak a word. Despise? Loathe? Abhor? I realize parents are supposed to dislike the music their kids love. It’s a generational rite-of-passage: “Turn down that lousy rock ‘n roll! And get a haircut while you’re at it.”

And if they were listening to heavy metal or even rap I think I would be better able to deal with it. At least that’s supposed to annoy parents. But, no, they and all their friends like Top 40 dreck. Though this is really a misnomer since the radio station they listen to — Kiss 108 — only plays about seven songs. Over and over and over again. I could only imagine the relief if they actually rotated 40 songs through the mix.

Where did I go wrong? As they were growing up I always played what I considered quality music at home and in the car. I hoped this would rub off and they’d be the ones teaching their friends all about BB King and Buddy Guy; Van Morrison and U2; Jimmy Buffett and George Thorogood. But instead it’s all about Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift and Jay-Z and Britney Spears. Ugh. To their credit they don’t like the Jonas Brothers but that’s small consolation.

To make matter worse, Bryna likes much of the same music. Which means I get out-voted on family car trips. They’re all dancing to “Party in the USA” which makes me the ultimate “Party” pooper when I start to complain.

Fortunately they got me an i-Pod for Christmas. I used to have one but I dropped it into the Pocantico River in New York after going for a run with Delilah a couple of years ago. I went down to the river’s edge to let her get a drink when it fell in. I scooped it right back up but it was never the same again. Eventually it would play songs again but only the same two.

So when I have a moment I’ll load it back up with “good” music and pull out some ear phones. I’d much rather dance to the beat of my own drummer than the drummer for Lady Gaga.

Perhaps one day they’ll start listening to some of their dad’s “old person” music. Which at least can’t yet be called “Oldies.”  Even though I’m often quite literally “Going to the Chapel, Baby” I’m not that old yet.