Conspiratorial Magi

In the warm glow of “Black Friday” I thought it would make sense to introduce you to The Advent Conspiracy. If you’re not familiar with them, it’s a Christian movement that seeks to recapture the season of Advent amid the surrounding culture of out-of-control consumerism. Their motto gets right to the point: Worship More — Spend Less — Give More — Love All.

This has nothing in common with the sometimes mean-spirited culture war crowd, however. It’s simply a move to reexamine our spiritual and financial priorities in the weeks leading up to Christmas. And I’m a big fan.

Perhaps the most inspiring piece of this are the short YouTube videos they produce. If they can’t get you jazzed to approach Advent in a new way then, well, you’re probably not reading this blog. All the videos are great but here’s one you really shouldn’t miss. 

In the words of the Grinch, “Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more.”

Thanksgiving Extravaganza

Enjoy a few Thanksgiving links as you count your blessings today (one, two, three, four, etc.). This may come in handy if you’re trying to avoid your extended family for a few moments between courses. Was I projecting? Just kidding.

Here’s wishing you a Happy and Blessed Thanksgiving from the staff at Clergy Family Confidential. Now if we could just get a raise from our mean and vindictive boss all would be right with the world.

Here’s a version of “We Gather Together” sung by a group of Celtic women accompanied by some great visuals. You gotta love this Dutch song of praise, especially if you’re of Dutch heritage (like me). So raise a bottle of Grolsch and enjoy. And what kid hasn’t sung the line “Sing praises to His Name; He forgets not His own” and wondered just how God could forget his own name?

Don’t ask. But I think this is how people cook turkey in Florida. You won’t find us New Englanders (I can say that as of four months ago) eating turkey this way.

We’ll wash away the preceding image with Rutter’s “For the Beauty of the Earth” sung by the boys’ choir of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. Of course the Pilgrims ostensibly left England to get away from the oppressive Church of England. But whatever. 

Nothing quite says Thanksgiving like a giant Hello Kitty float at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

Are you a political junkie still pining for the good old days of the 2008 presidential campaign? Have you not yet picked up your own personal copy of “Going Rogue?” Well, if you need a Sarah Palin Thanksgiving fix you’re in luck. Here is the infamous interview with the former Alaska governor pardoning a turkey while others are being slaughtered behind her. In the biz we used to call this stellar advance work. I’m sure a certain PR guy’s neck also ended up on the chopping block for this fiasco.

And finally, I leave you with this enduring image. Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Sancta Purella

Here’s some Thankgiving inspiration for your Altar Guild. This is what happens when you meld the evil genius of the rector with the creative genius of the organist. You’re welcome.

Oh, and here’s the hymn list courtesy of Dr. Fred:

 1. Wash your sins away.
 
 2. Washed in the Tide… (except that Tide has a copyrighted logo….)
 
 3. Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing
 
 4. I saw Soap and Water Flowing from the Side of the Temple
 
 5. Lift High the Soap
 
 6. I wash my hands in innocence…

PopeTube?

So, the Pope’s on YouTube. The Vatican’s YouTube channel is cleverly called “The Vatican.” I’m not sure how many cardinals it took to come up with something so catchy. If I was the Vatican’s marketing director I would have gone with PopeTube. I’m just sayin’.

According to The Vatican (the Holy See, not the YouTube channel) the new venture ”offers news coverage of the main activities of the Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI and of relevant Vatican events” and is updated daily. It’s also, I hate to say, incredibly boring. The videos are over-produced with stiff-anchorman-like voice overs. And while Benedict XVI is many things, let’s face it. Telegenic he’s not.

Here’s one with the snappy title “Common Desire for Ecumenism between Rome and Canterbury.” It shows Pope Benedict schmoozing with Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams. Don’t blink; it’s 46 seconds.

I certainly don’t begrudge religious institutions embracing technology. I think it’s grand. I just wish most of their content didn’t look like a bunch old guys were the producers. Which of course they are. My advice? Loosen up, Vatican! Have some fun! Show us why being a Roman Catholic in today’s world is so compelling. And give us behind-the-scenes peek at the Popemobile. 

Until that happens I’m not sensing many viral videos from the pope.

Worshippers Beware!

 An illustrated guide to getting Swine Flu in church:

"Receive the Holy Spirit and the Swine Flu"

"Remember that you are pig and to pig you shall return"

"The peace of the swine be always with you."

"Avoid demon-possessed pigs."

"Wash hands thoroughly before receiving the stigmata."

"Welcome to the parish nursery."

"The body of Christ, the bread of Purell."

"Have fun at Sunday School."

"Good luck."

"Holy shot glasses? Never!"

Touchless Eucharist

Like holy water? Don’t like swine flu? Some churches in Italy have a solution: the automatic holy water dispenser. It acts like those new-fangled soap dispensers – in this case you simply place your hand under the unit and it deposits several drops of holy water into your palm. Which means the entrance to the worship space can now feel like a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike. If you think I’m kidding here’s the article to prove it.

With all the precautions being taken in liturgical churches (I recently wrote a “Swine Flu Policy” for my own church), I’m envisioning a “Touchless Eucharist” — it would be similar to a touchless car wash. Here are the rules:

No ushers. They might inadvertently breathe on worshippers as they hand out bulletins. Rather, the bulletins should be pre-placed on each pew after having been sprayed with Lysol by the sexton while wearing a space suit.

No fonts full of holy water. Instead, they should be filled with a few gallons of Purell. Parishioners may dip their fingers into the holy hand sanitizer to cross themselves. I don’t recommend the Orthodox tradition of then kissing your fingers.

Only one worshipper per pew.

At The Peace, no more hand shakes or hugging (let alone the Biblical “Kiss of Peace”). Not even the Obama fist bump. Everyone just nods to one another creating a congregation full of people looking like those nodding bird toys.

Communion will be replaced by the Benediction of the Holy Sacrament. This medieval practice involves placing a large consecrated wafer into a bejewelled monstrance. Everyone then gazes upon it and spiritually rests in its presence. In other words, look but don’t touch. Nonetheless the priest will drink a chalice full of cheap vodka that has been set aside to purify said chalice.

The priest will not greet parishioners with the traditional handshake following the service. Worshippers will leave one-by-one at intervals of 15 minutes. The priest will leave first and have lunch in order to prepare to watch football and take a nap.

There will obviously be no coffee hour because there is that woman no one knows who sometimes drinks out of other people’s coffee cups when they put them down for a brief moment to chase their three-year-old around the parish hall.

These are just a few tips to keep everyone safe this flu season. If all else fails just stay home and tune into Joel Osteen.

Bean Counters

L.L. Bean is going hip. This sounds oxymoronic or perhaps simply moronic but “The Bean” is trying to change its image. And according to a recent article, they’ve even hired a new designer to create their cutting edge Signature Collection.  So I guess Freeport, Maine, is the new Paris. I’m picturing Gisele strutting down the catwalk in the classic Bean boots sporting the iconic navy and white Norwegian sweater. Off the shoulder of course.

The company is evidently trying to reach a younger crowd in order to take some market share away from J. Crew and Ralph Lauren. So now they’re offering “body-conscious and fitted” men’s shirts. Because we all know how much metrosexuals like to go duck hunting. One of the charms of L.L. Bean is that it’s open 24 hours. If you went to college in New England chances are you made an overnight road trip at some point during your university years. I just can’t see the allure if you can get the same stuff at the local Gap.

I still have one of those famous Bean sweaters. I’ve probably had it for 25 years and it still fits perfectly. I’ll pull it out on exceptionally cold days and nothing beats it. It’s like comfort food for the body. Granted I don’t hunt moose in it so maybe I shouldn’t complain about Bean’s new look. But at least I live in New England now. Shouldn’t that count for something?

A place for hipsters?

Holy (Dumping) Ground

Here’s my latest article in The Hingham Journal. It’s all about the new love of my life: the town dump.

 

 

Holy (Dumping) Ground

Hingham is charming. If you weren’t aware of this, you’ve either never been to Hingham or you suffer from charm deficiency disorder. Enough people have shared with me the famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote about Hingham’s having “the most beautiful Main Street in America,” that I’m beginning to wonder if longtime residents have this tattooed somewhere on their bodies. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

I’ve certainly succumbed to the wiles of Hingham since moving here in August. What’s not to love about the quaint historic houses on Main Street, the stunning vistas of downtown Boston from World’s End, and Nona’s homemade ice cream? You needn’t have attended charm school to realize that Hingham has, if not a monopoly on, at least an abundance of charm. So why is my favorite place in all of Hingham the town dump?

I first started hauling things over there when we were breaking down boxes from the move. It was fantastic to move boxes out as quickly as we could open them. At least from Thursday through Sunday. I’ve lived in a lot of places but never in a town with a dump. I understand that it used to literally be a giant hole in the ground. You’d go up to the edge and toss your bags into the pit – and hope you didn’t lose a child in the process.

But I admit I was shocked when I first heard there was no regular garbage pickup in town. A week or so after the move, the garbage started piling up in the garage. No sign of the garbage men. Not even a hint of the more politically correct term “sanitation engineers.” Definitely no “garbologists” in sight. I casually, with only a slight degree of desperation, asked a neighbor about the next trash pickup day. And he laughed in my face.

And thus began my love affair with the Hingham town dump. Now, I realize it’s technically called the “Transfer Station.” But I prefer “dump.” It’s much more emotionally appealing; to dump something feels cleansing. To transfer something feels like online banking. Plus, I love telling Bryna I’m going to the town dump – much more manly than saying, “Honey, I’m off to transfer the trash.”

It would be great if there were an emotional dump adjacent to the town dump. A place where we could toss our emotional baggage; a place to dump that which separates us from the love of God in our lives. Perhaps it could be placed between the paper and plastic recycling areas. For Christians, this is what confession is all about – a safe place to dump our sins. In the Episcopal Church, a general confession spoken together by everyone is part of the Sunday morning liturgy. Individual confession is also available with the basic rule of thumb that “none must, all may, some should.” Whether that confession is made one-on-one with a member of the clergy or as part of a church service, the point is the same: dump your sins and receive absolution in the name of Jesus. Not a bad deal.

One more thing about the Hingham town dump. My boys have discovered the swap area. If this isn’t the epitome of New England thrifty I’m not sure what is. The good news is that Ben and Zack like to come help me out at the dump. The bad news is that we sometimes leave with more than we dumped. It’s actually been fruitful – two skateboards and a basketball hoop. But I’ve had to institute the you-can-only-take-something-if-you-dump-something rule. It hasn’t been particularly effective or well-enforced but it’s a start.

Now that I have my permanent dump sticker, I guess I’m an official Hinghamite. See you there.

Lap of Luxury

Panoramic views, granite sinks, walk-in closets, media rooms, and plush furnishings. A penthouse suite at Trump Tower? A luxury condo in the Caymans? Nope. It’s a dorm room at Boston University. According to an article in the Boston Globe students arriving in September encountered name tags with ”Skyview from the Center of the BUniverse” taped to their doors. Is it too late to become redshirt freshman for a year?

Maybe I’m just a bitter and jealous old man but that stings. I entered Tufts University in the midst of a housing crunch in the late 1980’s. The upshot was three freshmen crammed into a small room for two. My roommates and I made the best of it. Actually we had a great year. Sure, we had a few bumps along the way (smelly laundry, girlfriends who wouldn’t leave, etc). But that’s what freshman year was all about. Living into a newfound sense of freedom, making some mistakes, drinking too much, and learning to get along with others at close quarters. While sharing a bathroom with 15 other guys, having no control over the thermostat, and living in a veritable prison cell.

The reality is that colleges now have to compete for the best students by one-upping one another on student amenities. So they have on-campus coffee bars, gourmet dining halls, and state of the art workout facilities. We had tater tots and frisbee.

But I won’t rail against coddled kids and Little Lord Fauntleroys.  I would have loved the same treatment. But I also wouldn’t trade my Tufts experience for anything. We made the best of it, had no idea what future luxury we’d be missing, and developed a lot of character through the process.

Thanks to my roommates Steve Bleckner from Summit, New Jersey and Michael Jackson from Belmont, Massachusetts for making it a great first year at Tufts. We’ve gone our separate ways over the years but recently reconnected through Facebook. Perhaps for our 25th reunion we’ll jam ourselves into a 12×14 room with a case of cheap beer and do some serious reminiscing.

Wren Hall at Tufts University

Throwback Ugly

NFL throwback jerseys have officially become a pet peeve of mine. I’m watching the Jets today. Go Green? Um, not with those old New York Titans uniforms. They look more like the Steelers (minus the Super Bowl rings). Does anyone even remember the Titans? And I’m not referring to the movie of the same name.

Each week some team trots out some dated unis in an attempt, one can only imagine, at selling more merchandise. The worst were the socks recently worn by the Denver Broncos. They looked like something worn by psychedelic clowns. Even the refs have gotten into the coyote ugly act.

But the throwback trend did get me thinking about what this might look in other professions. For Episcopal clergy, of course, every Sunday is throwback day. Clerical vestments haven’t changed much over the past couple of millenia. Sure there’s the fiddleback chasuble which you don’t see much anymore. And the maniple which you generally only see on a Christus Rex. Since we all know Jesus wore fancy vestments made exclusively in England.

But what about the military? Do you think soldiers wear suits of armor on throwback day in Afghanistan while tracking down the Taliban? Or do cab drivers pull out the old horse and buggy once a year? Of course not. Because that would be absurd. Not as ugly as NFL throwback jerseys, but absurd.