Accident Prone

I got rear-ended last week. I’m fine, the car is fine, the other driver is fine, the other driver’s car is not fine. The hood and front grille of her dark blue mini-van got mashed in. My Honda CR-V has an exterior spare tire which acted like a giant bumper (whatever happened to rubber bumpers on cars anyway?).

Not that I’m laying blame but the accident was completely her fault. She admitted she wasn’t paying attention. Okay, I’m laying blame. I was leaving a popular shopping area – the Derby Street Shoppes in Hingham – where I had just left a Panera restaurant. I had brought communion to a woman in a nearby nursing home and stopped into Panera to work on my sermon and grab a bowl of soup.

I was stopped at a stop sign waiting to merge into traffic to head back to church when…Bam! The woman jumped out of her car apologizing for her negligence. I have no idea whether she was on her phone or texting but one can make a reasonablypositive assumption. I also don’t know what she thought when she encountered a priest wearing his clericals but if it made her feel a tad guiltier, fine.

I’m sharing this because it’s a good reminder that things in life don’t always go as planned. You can do everything right and still get blindsided. Just as you can be completely reckless and glide right through certain situations unscathed. The reality is that I could have just as easily been on the other end of this accident. I’ve answered tmy cell phone in the car even though I know I shouldn’t. Why? Ego, I guess. Or at least a feeling of self-importance and over-confidence.

And so it’s helpful to remember that we’re not in complete control of our lives. Not because of fate or chance but because God’s realm operates on a plane beyond human comprehension. That doesn’t mean God toys with us like a toddler playing with matchbox cars: “I think I’ll have this blue one smash into this red one. That seems like fun.” But it means we can make all the detailed plans we want – I’ll go to law school and get married and have three children and die in my sleep at the age of 102 – they just may not work out that way. The bar exam gets flunked, our spouse gets cancer, our sperm count is too low to have kids, and we’re dead of a heart attack at 52. Hopefully it’s not that extreme but the more we tell God our plans, rather than the other way around, the more we set ourselves up for disappointment.

All of which is to say that a minor traffic accident can point out some larger life lessons. And anyway, as the saying goes: “Sometimes you’re the windshield; sometimes you’re the bug.”

Men Behaving Badly

Everybody loves a scandal. Especially a sex scandal. And there’ve been a couple of high-profile cases recently, one involving late night host David Letterman and the other ESPN baseball guru Steve Phillips.

Both cases were reminiscent of a certain ex-President and an infamous blue dress. Older, famous, entitled, married male in a position of power. It’s an ancient, if distasteful, story.

Not to delve too deeply into pop psychology, but Letterman and Phillips must have profoundly deep-rooted insecurities. I mean how much affirmation and validation could one man possibly demand? Both are beamed into the homes of millions of viewers each day. Letterman has a studio audience that goes wild every time he walks onstage or even just smirks. ESPN has created a culture of celebrity around the ex-jock whose need for 50,000 cheering fans never fades even as his physical skills decline.

The sad part is I love Letterman’s humor (not that I can stay up that late anymore). And I always appreciated ex-Mets General Manager Phillips’ keen baseball sense and insights. But I’ll no longer be able to see them in the same light. Which in Phillips’ case won’t matter much since he was just sacked by ESPN. After several days of vacillating the network determined the scandal undermined Philips’ credibility. Ya think?

It’s easy to vilify these two. And they surely deserve whatever gets doled out. But I’ll also keep them both in my prayers because they clearly have very empty interior lives. From a perspective of faith, God’s love is all the validation anyone ever really needs. Sure the adulation of fans and camera lights feels good. But when it takes over completely, when the outside affirmation replaces God, the soul quickly dries up. And that’s a pathetic thing to watch play out in public.

Feeling Jumpy

Two boys with expendable energy plus Bryna trolling Craig’s List equals a new trampoline at the rectory. You also have to throw in borrowing the neighbor’s pick up truck to complete the cycle. Oh, and my mad put-it-together skills (worst grade I ever got at any level of school? C-minus in my 6th grade shop class).

All of this has combined to create the perfect trampoline storm. Which means Ben and Zack are free to go out and knock heads together at will. Actually trampolines are safer than ever. Well, besides the brain banging around the skull ad nauseum. Because when we were kids there were no safety net enclosures. If you jumped too hard on your friend’s trampoline you flew head first into a nearby tree. Or broke your arm. It was as simple as that. But today, while you might accidently get kicked in the head by your brother, you’re not going to fly off into the driveway.

Our new trampoline is only a year old. We bought it from a family whose mother was too nervous that one of her kids would get maimed. It was a gift from her in-laws, she told us. I quickly tossed the parts into the pick up truck to avoid getting sucked into a family counseling session.

Somehow I ended up putting the thing together without any spare pieces left over (as far as Bryna knows). It seems relatively sturdy but I’m still going to have a lawyer draft a waiver for the boys to sign. I don’t want them to sue me when they lose a limb.

Christians Burning Bibles?

 

It seems I spoke too soon about Amazing Grace Baptist Church in Canton, North Carolina. I lampooned them yesterday for releasing their “list of athletes going to hell.” But it’s worse than I thought: on Halloween night they’re holding a good old-fashioned book burning. Of Bibles.

Yes, they believe that the King James Version of the Bible is infallible and all other translations are “satanic” and “perversions” of God’s word. Duh. Everybody knows that Jesus spoke in Elizabethan English. And that every utterance that came from his lips was written in red ink.

But don’t worry. Pastor Marc Grizzard and his merry men (one can only assume) won’t stop at burning Holy Scripture. They plan to burn books written by Billy Graham, Rick Warren, and Mother Thersa, among others, since they had the audacity to occasionally quote from versions other than the KJV. I’m considering sending a courtesy copy of my book, What Size Are God’s Shoes, down to Western North Carolina to add to the pile — after all, I quote the New Revised Standard Version on several occasions.

And of course they’ll also be burning “Satan’s music such as country, rap, rock, pop, heavy metal, western, soft and easy, southern gospel, contemporary Christian, jazz, soul (and) oldies.” This all comes from the church’s website which has now either crashed or been taken down. Unless they torched their own server in a preemptive strike.

The church, and I use that term loosely, claims to be inspired by this passage from the Acts of the Apostles:

“And many that believed came, and confessed, and shewed their deeds. Many of them also which used curious arts brought their books together, and burned them before all men: and they counted the price of them, and found it fifty thousand pieces of silver. So mightily grew the word of God and prevailed.” (Acts 19:18 to 20 — KJV, of course).

I, however, think the inspiration comes less from the Bible and more from the infamous Disco Demolition Night held at Chicago’s Comiskey Park in 1979.

All I can say to any “witches” living down in Canton, North Carolina: watch your back.

Is Tom Brady Going to Hell?

Talk about grace under fire. Amazing Grace Baptist Church in Canton, North Carolina, has released a list of athletes who are going to hell. I’m not sure whether satan holds press conferences to announce such things but evidently the pastor of this church does.

Topping the list is New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady. “Tom Brady has an unwed child, but it’s okay because he wins Super Bowls,” proclaims the church’s web site. “Tom Brady is teaching us to have sex outside of marriage, to commit fornication, don’t marry and do the right thing, don’t take responsibility for your actions, have a good time no matter who you hurt in this world, go from sex partner to sex partner, and it’s okay because of who I am. How many of you dads cheer on Tom in the Super Bowl while your kids are watching?”

Also making the list:

Richard Petty: “Richard Petty’s god is racing, not God Almighty. He teaches that it is okay in life to cheat just don’t get caught doing it. Is Richard Petty your idol?”

Memphis Grizzlies forward Marko Jaric: “Engaged to the Victoria’s Secret supermodel (porn magazine) Adriana Lima.”

Wrestler Torrie Wilson:”Committed an abomination by kissing a female wrestler ‘Sable’ on the lips.”

The Chicago Bulls’ Joakim Noah: “Has long hair, which is disobedient to the Word of God.”

Arizona Cardinals backup QB Matt Leinart: “He is teaching teenagers not to save themselves for their spouse, but to live it up because you only live life once. Is Matt your idol?”

Football player Adam Archuleta: “Engaged to a Playboy Playmate Jennifer Walcott. They have one son. This is called fornication, and we all know what their son is called, the same thing the Bible calls him.”

In the Episcopal Church we tend to focus on lifting up those who have lived exemplary lives of faith. In contrast to the list of athletes going to hell, we have a little something called the Calendar of Saints. Athanasius might not be as glitzy as Tom Brady; FD Maurice might not be as titillating as Richard Petty; but  I think it’s a better use of our time to focus on the saints among us and let God sort out the rest.

As far as this list is concerned, where’s the “Amazing Grace” in that?

Father Fright

We have a new welcoming party at our house this year: Father Fright. He stands guard at the rectory as a beacon of right-living and paladin of piety. I do hope you’ll come by to meet him. If you dare. In the meantime, I’ve written a poem to honor his appearance at the Schenck household.

The boys have been rolling their eyes at my creation (the closest I’ll ever come to Dr. Frankenstein) but I think they’ve secretly been inspired by Father Fright: they’re both going as the Grim Reaper this year.

Father Fright 

Come and meet Father Fright,

One blameless in God’s sight.

He may look like bare bones

As he moans and he groans

But always fights the good fight.

 

Warm and fuzzy he’s not

With nary a soft spot

While he’s quite devout

His femur juts out

He cares not one tittle or jot.

 

His theology’s quite clear,

Though some tremble in fear:

“Repent now you loser!

God’s your accuser,

He’s not as nice as you hear.”

 

While he’s not the Grim Reaper

His grace ain’t much cheaper

The doctrine is simple:

To God you’re a pimple.

You be your brother’s keeper.

 

In the Valley of Dry Bones

He waits for all to atone

With bony hand raised

He stands there unphased

The devil he strives to dethrone.

 

His eyes blaze so bright

Each Halloween night

You may scream “egad!”

But in the end you’ll be glad

To have met Father Fright.

“McRage” on the South Shore

There have been strange and disturbing doings at some nearby fast food restaurants. “McRage” erupted at a Quincy McDonald’s when an employee mistakenly gave a customer a small order of fries when he ordered a large. He then reportedly threw the change in the cashier’s face before hurling an orange cone from the recently mopped floor behind the counter.

Later this same week, a couple went off at a KFC in Norwell when they decided their order was taking too long. After a loud, profanity-laden encounter with the manager, they beat-up a man on line who requested they stop for the sake of the children in line.

This all gives new meaning to the ubiquitous “Want fries with that?” And it makes you pine for the days when the only crime in fast food restaurants was committed by the Hamburglar.

But of course it also makes you wonder what was really going on in the lives of the suspects involved. Desperation caused by job loss? Debt? Relationship issues? It’s a reminder that so much suppressed pain is lurking below the surface ready to boil over at seemingly inconsequential matters. That’s not to condone the behavior but an attempt to better understand where it comes from.

Most of us wouldn’t go nuts at a McDonald’s. But there are all sorts of unhealthy and sinful ways that these emotions get dealt with behind closed doors: addictions, abuse, adultery. These may not end up on the front page of the Patriot-Ledger but they are equally insidious ways of “dealing” with problems.

I will pray for the individuals involved in these two incidents of fast food rage. Just as I will pray for the unknown (to me) folks who are in the throes of emotional trauma and those who face the brunt of their behavior. It is only the risen Christ who can heal what ails us and bring peace to our souls. The one who bears our burdens is forever reaching out his hand, beckoning us to deeper relationship. Faith is not a quick fix but rather one that abides over a lifetime. In other words it’s the exact spiritual opposite of fast food.

Doggie Dating

St. Francis Day pet blessings will abound this Sunday. A note to priests: if you use holy water don’t say the wrong words and end up baptizing the neighborhood hounds. It’s a theological debate your bishop may not want to engage. A note to pet owners: although your dogs, cats, goats, whatever may appear at times to be possessed, please don’t ask your priest to perform an excorcism. We’re not allowed (without the bishop’s permission anyway).

In honor of the day, here’s the latest installment of my monthly In Good Faith column for the Hingham Journal. It’s also pasted in below. Enjoy.

Doggie Dating, a Family Affair

 By the Rev. Tim Schenck

My wife, Bryna, and I missed the whole online dating thing. When we were married in 1995, eharmony.com was not even a gleam in the Internet’s eye. I’m not complaining; I can’t imagine a picture of someone in a clerical collar gets many hits. But I do feel like I made up for it when we decided to adopt a dog four years ago.

When we finally caved in to our boys’ incessant lobbying for a dog we went where else? To the Internet. There were all sorts of pet adoption sites out there. So we narrowed our search to local shelters and rescue agencies and started “shopping.” Hundreds of pictures of all sorts of dogs came up along with accompanying descriptions. So you’d see an angry-looking pit bull with the comment “not good with young children” or a cute little beagle with the observation “mostly housebroken.” Never having experienced it, this is precisely how I imagine online dating works – pictures of people next to descriptions like “hates watching Monday Night Football” or “leaves the cap off the toothpaste.”

This process of online doggy dating quickly became a family affair. The four of us gathered intently around the computer quickly judging the dogs by their covers, or fur in this case. And when we saw the 1-year-old yellow lab/husky mix, we all knew this was the dog for us. After filling out an amazingly detailed application, we went to meet her and fell in love. She was gentle, sweet and starved for attention. We found out from her handler that she was saved from a kill shelter in South Carolina – literally a “dead dog walking” until Pet Rescue stepped in to live up to its name. And speaking of names, we chose Delilah. Or actually I did. Assuming I’d be the one outside yelling her name for the entire neighborhood to hear, I vetoed Zack’s suggestion of Chippy.

In early October many Christian churches honor the little-known St. Fido. Officially we celebrate St. Francis Day on Oct. 4, but in many parishes this is merely an excuse to bless pets. I’m not sure how St. Francis would feel about this, but he probably wouldn’t mind. His concern for all God’s creatures lends itself to the tradition. And it could be worse: at least his statues aren’t buried upside down to facilitate a house sale, ala St. Joseph.

Most pet blessings incorporate a wonderful blend of holy chaos – yelping dogs, skittish cats, hissing snakes. Precisely how I envision the hold on Noah’s ark, except with vestments. St. Francis Day pet blessings provide profound testimony to the value we place upon the animals with whom we share our homes. Pets can open our eyes to the divine qualities of love and compassion in the world. That’s really why we bless our pets in October. But you don’t need a pet to see that the human condition is full of surprising, loving encounters. We just need to open our eyes to the possibilities that surround us. There are lessons to be gleaned that transcend the superficial plane of our existence. They can be found everywhere – through our relationships (human, divine and canine) and in the seemingly routine events of our lives. If a cat or a dog or even a snake can point the way toward harmony among us, what better way to honor the legacy of St. Francis?

You may not be surprised to know that Delilah’s got me wrapped around her paw. She comes to the office with me, walks with the family down to Nona’s on a regular basis and is my faithful running partner. At St. John’s we’re holding a Blessing of the Animals on Sunday, Oct. 4, at 4 p.m., out on the church lawn. Come on by, bring your pet, and meet Delilah. She’ll be happy to give you a lick.

The Rev. Tim Schenck is Rector of the Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist. Visit him on the Web at www.frtim.com where you can access his blog “Clergy Family Confidential.”