Last Supper(s)

Mike Love, the owner of Coffee Labs, shared this with me. Sacrilegious? You could argue. But on the other hand the religious themes in Star Wars practically scream out for this depiction of the Last Supper.

Luke, of course, is the Christ figure; Darth Vader is Judas. Beyond that, I’ll leave it to you to determine whether R2D2 is Bartholomew or James.

For the sake of comparison, the Da Vinci painting is below. Just don’t ask me to wash Chewbacca’s feet.

Math Madness

In a twisted science fiction-like turn of events I’m now taking fourth grade math. Or it least it feels that way whenever Ben comes back from school with his homework and asks for help. I hated fourth grade math as a fourth grader and I hate fourth grade math as a forty-year-old.

And it’s still the word problems that get me. The only real difference is that I no longer toss the textbook across the room when I get frustrated. Though I have been tempted. I guess that wouldn’t be good parental modeling. Unless I was trying to raise the math equivalent of John McEnroe: “That equation was clearly on the line!!” In retrospect my own father must have had the patience of a saint.

It’s tough when your nine-year-old realizes you’re not as smart as he thought you were. Of course he may as well learn that lesson now. But I readily admit math is not my strong suit. There’s a reason I went into the priesthood — I only ever have to count to three. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is all the math I care to learn. Well, that and calculating the vaulted Average Sunday Attendance numbers.

Fortunately Ben can always call the math tech-support hotline, aka his maternal grandmother. A lifelong teacher, my mother-in-law often comes to the rescue. Of course he can’t call my mother — my math skills were hereditary.

The Annual Parish Meeting Haiku

Ahhhh. The Annual Parish Meeting. Every congregation is required to hold one and most take place sometime in January. At their best they are wonderful celebrations of parish life. But they rarely live up to such lofty ideals. They’re often a source of stress for clergy, lay leaders, and parish staff. Transparency is important and thus offering details about the budget plays a vital, if tedious, role. And it’s valuable to take a step back, seek the broader view, examine the past year, and look ahead to where God may be calling the congregation in the future.

So, to all my brothers and sisters diligently preparing for their respective annual meetings (and those who must endure them), I offer the following:

The Annual Meeting Haiku

Budget blah, blah, blah
Something about Jesus Christ
Please up your pledges.

Shed a Tear

Am I the only one in America who didn’t cry during yesterday’s coverage of the inauguration? It’s not that it wasn’t incredibly moving. It was. It’s not that it wasn’t a grand historic moment for our country. It was. I just didn’t cry. And I somehow feel guilty because everyone I speak with — male and female — admits to shedding a tear.

Before you condemn me as an unfeeling, unamerican robot, let’s look at this. It’s not that I never cry. I’m not the John Wayne of the priesthood. Sure, I look and act a lot like him with my gunslinging manner and heroic ways. But I guess I reserve my tears for special, more personal occasions. I certainly cried when my father died 17 years ago. But not when Old Yeller did likewise. And I nearlycried when the Ravens lost to the Steelers on Sunday.

Everyone knows the shortest verse in the Bible is “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). Weeping, crying, bawling, whatever you want to call it is a wonderfully expressive human emotion. It’s therapeutic and cleansing; there are tears of bitter grief and tears of abounding joy.

Some just let the tears flow easier than others. Like when watching an ad featuring the Budweiser clydesdales. Or any movie with Owen Wilson.

Obama’s speech was inspiring. It was soaring rhetoric that touched the nation. Combined with the celebration of Martin Luther King the day before, it was a moment that many who fought the Civil Rights battle never thought they would see. We haven’t entirely “overcome” but we have made great strides.

But part of me still sees the speechwriters behind the rhetoric. It may be because I ran political campaigns for four years before going to seminary. I’ve witnessed and participated in what happens behind the scenes. Which has forever jaded me to the process. So I loved what Obama said but I’m also ready to move beyond the rhetoric to the reality of the task at hand.

Who knows? Maybe the enormity of it will all hit me later in the week or in the next few months. If I start crying uncontrollably you’ll know why.

The Agony of Defeat

Not a pretty scene at the Schenck house last night. The moment Troy Polamalu intercepted that pass to ice the Steelers’ victory in the AFC Championship Game, bedlam ruled. And not in a good way. Zack started crying, then Ben took over. The raw emotion of pent-up edge-of-your-seat nerves came bursting forth like a purple volcano. Anger, disappointment, frustration — it all came spewing out. I just felt like I got slugged in the gut.

This is what happens when you’re passionate about your sports teams. Though the fact that the game ended an hour and a half past their bedtime only added to the intensity of the outburst. I’m frankly glad they care so much — it’s something we share. And the lessons about loyalty and jubilation (winning the first two playoff games) and disappointment are important. Coming out of an environment where, at least when they’re younger, the youth sports motto is “everybody’s a winner” it’s a reality check. Because only one of the two teams will be going to the Super Bowl. And this year, it’s not ours.

When the boys were yelling and screaming and carrying on last night Bryna kept telling them “It’s just a game.” And while she’s ultimately correct, to sports fanatics it’s much more than a game. It’s a way of life. So I talked them off the ledge and affirmed their very powerful emotions. Even while chastising them for some of their “inappropriate” language. I hate to say it’s a “guy thing” but part of it may be.

This morning they were pretty much over it — or at least had the loss in perspective. Ben declared that he wouldn’t be watching Sports Center and he later told me what a great season the Ravens had. After swearing off the Ravens in the heat of everything last night, Zack pulled his Ravens jersey out of the hamper to wear.

I’m ready for baseball season.

Dog Fur Deluxe

Delilah’s shedding like a fiend these days. When she runs up the hill behind our house she looks like a fur-clad Pigpen except with hair rather than dirt trailing after her. That was a Peanuts reference — though I don’t remember Snoopy ever shedding.

As a still relatively new dog owner (2 1/2 years) I haven’t gotten used to this. Fleece is not a good option this time of year. I know this because for some reason I wore a fleece pullover yesterday. By the afternoon it looked like I was wearing a hair shirt. And it’s not even Lent.

I’ve also ingested at least a tuft of hair that’s floated into my coffee mug over the past week. I’m worried I might cough up a hairball one of these days. That would confuse Delilah, especially if I went out and bought me some catnip.

I know she’ll stop shedding as suddenly as she started. But it seems like just when I finished vacuuming up all the leftover pine needles from the Christmas Tree, she began to shed. So, I’m wondering what’s next? Maybe one of the boys will start to molt.

I know there are aspects of ourselves that we’d like to shed — personality quirks, stress, pounds, dysfunctional relationships. Perhaps that’s the lesson in all of this. And if only it were that easy; if only we could get rid of what we didn’t want twice a year. While having someone gently brush us three times a day. If Delilah would hold off until Lent this might make a good Lenten reflection. At least by then I’ll be back to wearing fleece.

Shred Fest

Bryna bought herself a shredder recently. I’m not really sure why and I have yet to see her shred anything. But there it sits underneath her desk. When questioned about the purchase she mumbles something about credit card numbers and identify theft. Even in this economy, I’d like to meet the fool who wants to steal the identity of a clergy family.

But having a shredder in the house does make me ponder what I might be able to shred. In the same way owning a chainsaw would make me ponder what I could saw through. Of course since Bryna won’t let me purchase a chainsaw, there’s clearly a double standard at work.

I don’t have any confidential documents that I’m aware of. I guess I could shred a dollar bill just to see what it looks like. If my mom had one of these when I was a kid I could have shredded that report card where I got a D in shop.

I will admit it’s kind of comforting having a shredder in the house. Just knowing that at any given moment I could destroy one of the boys’ corrected spelling tests gives me a sense of power. And I associate the shredder with other household items I want:  a wall safe hidden behind a picture — like in Magnum PI. A fake book case that goes into a secret passageway — like in Scooby-Do.

I should probably talk about the shredder in a sermon sometime; it would make a great pulpit prop. I’d ask people to write down their sins on pieces of paper and then shred them all. Making the point about God’s grace and forgiveness. 

But in the meantime I’ll keep my eyes open for something to shred. And I’m also going to be a bit more wary of Bryna — for all I know she has a secret double-life as an international spy.

Ravens Mania

The family that roots together, stays together. I’m not sure if statistics bear this out but it seems to work for the ravenous Ravens fans in the Schenck household.  I don’t actually mean we’re hungry — “ravenous” just seemed like good alliteration.

The Ravens are the one sports team we all agree upon. Despite my best efforts, moving to New York when they were three and one turned my infidel children into Yankee fans. The Orioles welcome mat my mother gave me for Christmas this year? They turned it over and told me to get it out of the house. So it now sits in front of my office door at church. A few parishioners have threatened to withdraw their pledges if I don’t remove it.

But when it comes to football we’re a sight to behold. The last two weekends the Ravens have won playoff games — against Miami and Tennessee. And we’ve been stretched out on the couch wearing lots of purple. Bryna in her Ravens fleece, me in my Ray Lewis jersey, and the boys in their Steve McNair shirts. What can I say? McNair’s retired and we haven’t been willing to pony up the $80 (each) for Joe Flacco jerseys they’ll outgrow in a few months.

The boys’ love of the Ravens was sealed when we had the opportunity to visit the Ravens practice facility a few years ago. A well-connected parishioner who does legal work for the NFL Players Association set this up and it waas amazing. We got to attend a closed practice — Ben and Zack were the only kids there — and they loaded up on autographs after the team was done. I’ll never forget watching players standing on line to sign for them. I even got to shake hands with former coach Brian Billick and tight end Todd Heap. Ben and Zack got high fives from Ed Reed. I still haven’t washed my hand.

Then there’s Bryna who has also become a huge Ravens fan. Much of this has to do with her obsession with kicker Matt Stover (who had the game-winning kick against the Titans). She’s smitten. You’ve never seen someone get as excited over the kicking of an extra point.

But it’s been a lot of fun and a great ride this year. With a rookie quarterback, a first-year head coach, and a 5-11 record last year they were picked to finish in last place in their division. But here we are heading to the AFC Championship game next weekend against our archrival, the Pittsburgh Steelers.

It’s also been stressful. Bryna’s not sure she can take next week’s game against the Steelers. At times, Zack has to leave the room he gets so nervous. I’m emotionally drained after each tension-filled game. But we’ll be in front of the TV next Sunday night. I’ll even be wearing my now lucky Ravens socks.

FaithStreams Book Club (again)

Just realized I never posted the second of the FaithStreams Book Club videos that I taped a few months ago. I know you’ve been losing sleep over this. So to minimize your insomnia I’ve posted it here (actually they’re both on this link since I couldn’t figure out how to only post the second one).

As I mentioned previously, this was my first attempt at wearing makeup and you can judge for yourself whether or not it made any difference. I’m considering hiring a makeup artist to follow me around for the occasional touch-up. This would be in addition to, rather than in lieu of, the body guard I’m going to employ to keep me safe when I go out late night clubbing. I’ve learned my lesson from the Plaxico Burress incident.

The Mystery of the Amazon Sales Rank

One thing authors like to check on, but never admit to, is their Amazon ranking. Amazon ranks every book they offer based on sales. Of course it’s not perfect because it only lists books actually purchased on Amazon. So it doesn’t count sales at independent bookstores, books sold via the publisher, books sold by walking around town with a sandwich board, etc. At least that’s what we authors who rank in the hundreds of thousands remind ourselves regularly.

The good news is that the Amazon sales rank gives me another way to judge my self worth. Along with the number of friends I have on Facebook (114 but who’s counting?).

In my limited experience, the ranking seems to fluctuate wildly. As I write this “What Size Are God’s Shoes” is listed at 47,759. Which is pretty good. I’ve seen it as low as 18,000 and as high as 800,000. The market is so crowded with books that even a sale or two can make the number go down by 50,000. Of course the lower it goes, the harder it is to jump places. Here’s what Amazon says about the ranking system.

One nice thing that Amazon does (to make us feel better I think) is offering a more targeted sales rank. In other words, they show my book coming up in the category “Books-entertainment-humor-religion.” There I’m ranked number eight. Eight! So “The Year of Living Biblically” is ranked number one, “Jewtopia: The chosen book for the chosen people” is up there. But unfortunately the 2009 “Nuns Having Fun” calendar also ranks ahead of me. That’s embarrassing.

By the time this gets posted, I’m sure my rank will have dipped again. Along with my self-esteem. You can check it here to confirm. It’s tough being a shallow author.