I am the 1.37%

It’s not everyday that you write a book. Well, unless you’re James Patterson and you have a staff of 50 writers working for you. Alas, I have a staff of one. 

You may not be aware that I recently wrote a book. Technically I co-authored it with a bunch of other people. And technically I only wrote 1.37% of it. But I was proud enough of it to give my free author’s copy to my mother for a (no-cost-to-me-but-it-looked-like-I-spent-at-least-$15) Christmas gift.

Walking With God Day By Day is a series of 365 brief meditations for the whole year. I wrote five of them which means that if you’d like me to personally sign your copy I can only, in good faith, write 1.37% of my name. In the spirit of giving, I guess I could round up and give you the whole “T.” (At the bottom of this post you’ll find one of the five).

Even though the New Year has already begun, you don’t have to feel bad about getting a late start since my first meditation doesn’t appear until sometime in March. In fact, the publisher has offered readers of Clergy Family Confidential a 25% discount! Yes, my archnemesis, Scott Gunn, at Forward Movement has extended this generous offer. Act now and he’ll throw in a gratuitous blog post about the book as well.

Seriously,  if you click on the book title link above and enter code AUTH25 you’ll get a 25% discount on the printed book. You can also use the code if you call to place your order at 800-543-1813. There’s one trick on the website according to Scott, “Alas, our antediluvian website won’t show the discount right when they order, but we’ll take it off when we process the order.”

It’s also available for Kindle and Nook. No discount but it’s already cheap there.

There are a number of great authors who participated in this project including Lent Madness “Celebrity Bloggers” Heidi Shott and Penny Nash (stay tuned for Lent Madness 2012). Scott wrote a few reflections as did a bunch of talented writers I’ve never heard of (I’m sure the feeling is mutual).

If you do order it, I know you’ll enjoy it and get a lot out of it. And if not, complain to Scott.

Brush with Royalty
I once had a brush with royalty. When I was in high school, my family took a trip to London and we hit all the usual hotspots: the Tower of London, Big Ben, St. Paul’s Cathedral. Toward the end of the day, we ended up in the famous Tate Gallery. At some point I wandered off by myself, and when I turned around I came face-to-face with…the Queen Mum.

I’m not much of a royal-watcher, but even I couldn’t miss this one. There she was, in all her glory, wearing a bright purple dress with matching shoes and handbag. She was short but dignified and quite, well, old. While she was at least ninety-something at that point, she still made a striking impression. And there she was, close enough that I could have reached out and touched her were it not for the large bodyguard with his hand inside his sport jacket, ready to blow anyone away who even looked at her funny.

While keeping tabs on the British monarchy may be good fun, there is, of course, only one King. And when we reflect upon Christ the King, our earthly notions of kingship must be suspended. Jesus isn’t about the trappings of earthly monarchs—he was born in a stable, not a palace; he had a group of nomadic followers, not a royal court; he had “nowhere to lay his head,” not a royal bed chamber. It’s a different kind of kingship and a different kind of kingdom. And yet, as the Son of God, Jesus is the only king in the history of kingship who could authentically lay claim to Divine Right. —Tim Schenck

Snow Day

With half the country enjoying a snow day (and the other half — the parental half — surviving it), it seemed like a good day to reflect on the pain and pleasure of large amounts of snow. At our house there was great weeping and gnashing of teeth this morning when the boys heard the the Hingham Public Schools were open for business. The fact that all the surrounding towns had closed their schools merely served to rub (rock) salt into the wound.

Below is an essay I wrote a few years ago that appeared in my book “What Size Are God’s Shoes: Kids, Chaos, and the Spiritual Life.” The boys have gotten older but much of the principal still applies. Enjoy.

Snow Day

The dreaded call usually comes at about 5:00 am. It confirms what we suspected when we went to bed: snow day. Even in my sleep-induced stupor I make sure to pick up the phone on the first ring. If the call wakes up the kids, they’ll want to go sledding immediately. Who cares if it’s still dark with sub-Nordic temperatures and blizzard-like conditions?

No single issue in our house so divides kids and parents. The boys are thrilled with a snow day. And from a kid’s perspective, what’s not to like? For one thing, it means the previous night’s “snow dance” worked. Plus they don’t have to “do” anything on a snow day besides pelt me with snowballs, go sledding, build snow forts and snowmen, make snow angels, and end the outing with steaming mugs of whipped cream-topped hot chocolate. This so beats the alternative of sitting in school at circle time and listening to the teacher read Harold and the Purple Crayon. Even though that sounds great to me.

Then there are the adults, whose response is slightly more restrained than the boys’ unbridled joy. After the kids wake up, find out there’s no school, and start jumping on our bed, Bryna and I begin the day by canceling our various meetings. But the major difference between the two responses is that when it comes to snow, the boys play in it and we’re left to shovel it and drive in it. It never used to be this way. One of the clearest signs of aging is that I do the “anti-snow dance” to try and offset the boys’ efforts.

The heightened sense of joy in a snow day stems from the fact that children seem hard-wired to hate school. Even though they love going to school to see their friends, even though they take pleasure in all the activities, and even though they secretly adore their teachers, if you ask them how they like school they respond immediately with “I hate it.” At least that’s the case in our family. This takes tangible form in the daily struggle to get the kids dressed and out to the bus stop. “Why don’t you want to get dressed?” “I hate school.” “What are talking about? You had a great time yesterday.” “I hate school.”

We’re fortunate to have a pretty steep hill on the rectory property that’s perfect for sledding. But before we can even think about sledding, we first must don the cold-weather battle gear. If it’s the first snow of the year, we spend 20 minutes hunting for snow pants in the attic. Finally we find them in the box with the Christmas ornaments. Then we spend the next 15 minutes looking for boots. Oh, they were in the front hall closet where they belong. Who knew? Then comes the layering process which turns the boys into the Michelin brothers. And, finally, without fail, comes the “Dad, I have to go potty.” Of course you do, even though I asked you about this five times before getting you dressed. At least we get to avoid the fight over sunscreen.

Eventually we get outside. Snow has the same effect as a swimming pool – the boys could stay in it for hours, long after any normal adult could stand it anymore. If I stayed outside as long as Ben and Zack, they’d have to amputate several of my digits due to frostbite. But getting outside makes it all worthwhile. The boys have a blast racing down the hill. My job, like a beast of burden, is to haul the sled back up the hill after each run. It’s generally a thankless job but I barter a few runs of my own – it’s still a great adrenaline rush and the boys take an oddly intense pleasure in watching me wipe out.

Once I get beyond my initial annoyance at having my schedule turned upside down, I can appreciate the value of a snow day. It’s a forced Sabbath. And since most of us are lousy at planning days of intentional rest into our lives, it’s good to let God whitewash our calendars sometimes. We’re not as important as we think we are. Amazingly enough, life goes on even if we have to cancel a meeting or two.

Sabbath is a big concept in religious circles. Spiritual writers are forever extolling the virtue of spending a quiet day in reflection and prayer every week. It sounds great, of course, but they obviously don’t have young kids at home. Or a spouse: “Bryna, I’m going off to walk in the woods for the next eight hours. Have fun with the boys.” It’s just not happening. Maybe when the kids are old enough for sleep-away camp I’ll be able to piece together more than an hour or two. But it may have to wait until we’re empty nesters; or at least for that brief interval before they move back in with mom and dad after college. But in this season of life you take what you can get. Besides, the woods get awfully cold in the dead of winter.

Be It Resolved

In my latest “In Good Faith” column for the Hingham Journal, I tackle the issue of New Year’s resolutions. I probably come across as grumpy — since I am — but I don’t like ‘em.

Be It Resolved

By the Rev. Tim Schenck

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. It’s not that I don’t have plenty to improve upon (just ask my children). I just find the whole set-a-goal-simply-because-the-calendar-has-changed to be a false dynamic. I’m also not a big fan of noisemakers but that may be a personal problem.

I don’t begrudge anyone else’s New Year’s resolutions and I wish them luck even as they crowd me out of the gym in January. If you’re motivated to lower your cholesterol or quit smoking or organize the files in your office because you’ve received a complimentary 2010 calendar from the local travel agency, more power to you.

But unfortunately the percentage of Americans who keep their resolutions is miniscule. Well, technically the percentage is infinitesimal but you get the point. And failed resolutions lead directly to guilt. Which is a tough way to start a New Year. Ask anyone who’s started previous years on various fad diets – Atkins, South Beach, Nantasket Beach, whatever.

Guilt is a great motivator, of course. But you simply cannot sustain a new discipline – whether that’s a diet or an exercise program by guilt. What starts off with the best of intentions turns into a downward spiral of guilt and depression. There are exceptions, of course. Like Jared from those Subway ads. But every time I see him on TV these days his midsection seems to be miraculously covered by a table or the head of a small child or a “$5 foot long.”

No doubt there’s something refreshing about New Year’s. We all need the occasional fresh start, blank slate, new beginning. Though actually I find the whole notion of being wedded to a calendar an artificial way of relating to both God and time. I know you’re thinking “Wow, that’s deep” or perhaps “I wish he’d resolved to stop writing,” so let me explain. In Psalm 90 we hear that “a thousand years in God’s sight are like a day that has just gone by.” In other words, God’s sense of time has little in common with our own. God is not constrained by calendars or clocks. God is not limited by human attempts to control or harness the ethereal notion of time. That’s what calendars and clocks are, after all.

Oh, they’re necessary. Otherwise our daily lives would devolve into disorder and chaos. And I’d miss “The Office” on Thursday nights. But we don’t own time. We plan, we resolve, we waste time, we maximize time but it’s ultimately not ours. We’re living not on borrowed time but on God’s time. And the sooner we recognize this, the better we’re able to enjoy the time we do have in this mortal life.

Not to be a party pooper but I guess my aversion to over-the-top New Year’s celebrations is that they always feel somehow like “forced fun.” When I was in the Army that’s what we used to call battalion events that were supposed to be fun – playing tug o’ war against the neighboring platoon – when we’d all rather be hanging out on our own. And anyone who needs a made-in-China noisemaker to show everyone what a good time he’s having needs a new definition of joy. Plus, have you ever seen anyone wearing those glasses shaped liked the New Year at any other time? I’d be impressed if someone wore 1984 glasses while shopping for deodorant at Wal-Mart. If only for the Orwellian overtones.

Perhaps what really bothers me about New Year’s resolutions is that they’re so inwardly focused. How many New Year’s resolutions have you heard about that do something for someone else? They tend to be self-improvement centered – lose weight, eat healthier, etc. Which, again, is nice but hardly does much to improve the world around us.

So here’s a challenge: if you need a New Year’s resolution, resolve to do something beyond yourself. Shovel an elderly neighbor’s walk; have coffee with a friend with whom you’ve lost touch; pray for a family in need; send the money you were going to use to download 10 new songs on your i-Pod to the Hingham Interfaith Food Pantry. And then resolve to turn these one-shot deals into yearlong habits. If you do any of these things, I’ll resolve to be less grumpy about New Year’s resolutions.

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

Act Now

Welcome to Cyber-Monday. You can buy my book “What Size Are God’s Shoes: Kids, Chaos, and the Spiritual Life” for practically nothing on Amazon today. Click here and it’s yours for $10.20. It makes a GREAT Christmas gift for every parent on your list. Grandparents too. And godparents. And anyone who’s ever had a parent. Or been a child.

The illustration on the cover even has me wearing a Santa hat (for reasons I’ve never understood). So it even looks like the perfect Christmas gift. People will think you scoured the millions of books on Amazon until you came up with the singularly ideal present. Just for them.

Act now and I understand Amazon will throw in a set of Ginsu knives when you purchase my book. Just enter the following coupon code: “clevercleaver.”

Help make all my Christmas dreams come true. Buy my book and help me realize the 3 cent profit I make on each one that is sold. Then one day I will be able to buy that cup of coffee I’ve always dreamed about. I will lift it high and toast each one of you while trying not to spill hot coffee on my laptop.

School’s Out

Below is a column I wrote on summer church that appears in the current issue of The Living Church. I’m not positive but I would wager that Alice C0oper has never before been quoted in the publication’s 131 years. Enjoy (or not). But here it is:

GUEST COLUMN

JUNE 14, 2009 • The Living Church 23

Summer Lovin’

In 1972, punk-rocker Alice Cooper released his single, “School’s Out,” with the chorus “School’s out for the summer; school’s out for ever.” And for a generation, it was the last-day anthem of school kids everywhere. I certainly remember singing it with my middle-school friends as we raced triumphantly out of our final class with pencils and notebooks flying everywhere.

And then we all looked forward to a lazy summer with, as Alice puts it in his inimitable style, “no more pencils, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks, out for summer, out ’til fall, we might not go back at all.” That was back when the “lazy, hazy days of summer” still meant something. Before we started over-programming our children down to the precise moment each morning when we lather them up with sunscreen.

Unfortunately, some of us keep this “school’s out” mentality toward church. The “last day” often coincides with the parish picnic or Pentecost or some other year-end event. And we live into the old adage that says “Episcopalians are the only ones God trusts enough to take the summer off.” Which is, of course, absurd; a caricature of another era. A time when everyone who was anyone was an Episcopalian. And the moneyed classes left to summer (yes, it’s a verb in this case) on the Cape or the Vineyard or Bar Harbor.

Clergy often unwittingly feed into this mindset. And it’s because we could use a break! But canceling all programs during the summer, offering flat and uninspiring liturgies, and recycled sermons sends the wrong message. It puts the church on auto pilot, which is hardly an engaging way to proclaim the message of Jesus Christ. And it merely affirms people’s decision not to attend church during the summer.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. The summer months offer a wonderful opportunity to try out new things: Introduce some supplemental liturgical texts; hold a “Mass on the Grass” in the courtyard; let licensed lay preachers have a turn in the pulpit. And at the heart of this is the unstated declaration that the incarnational presence of the divine never ceases; that Jesus is with us everywhere and at all times. The summer is a wonderful chance to model this to the world.

That’s not to say there isn’t something nice about slipping into amore relaxed way of doing church once the vaunted “program year” ends. The ceiling fans are cranked up, leading to that low-level hum that pervades the silences; perhaps only two lessons instead of three are read; there’s lemonade available at coffee hour in a big, crystal punch bowl that someone’s grandmother donated decades ago; choir members confuse us by sitting in the pews rather than in the choir loft; when the rector genuflects, you occasionally catch a glimpse of bare leg which shocks you until you realize he’s wearing shorts under all those vestments. There’s a nice, gentle rhythm to summer worship. It’s just that gentle need not translate into uninspired.

The last few summers I’ve put up a bulletin board in the parish hall and encouraged parishioners to post church bulletins from far-flung locales. The purpose is twofold: to encourage folks to go to church when they’re away and to see literally how we spent our respective summer vacations. It’s proved pretty popular as we try to outdo one another with exotic destinations. The only requirement is that you actually attend the service. Sneaking into an empty church and snagging a bulletin from the previous Sunday decidedly does not count.

Enjoy church this summer at home and wherever your travels may take you. And remember that even though school may be “out for the summer,” church is not.

Our guest columnist is the Rev. Tim Schenck, rector of All Saints’ Church, Briarcliff Manor, N. Y., and the author of What Size are God’s Shoes: Kids, Chaos & the Spiritual Life.

Chasing Cheever

John Cheever

Churches make great claims about famous people who sat in their pews. Scour East Coast Episcopal churches and you’ll find all sorts of plaques: “John Hancock Worshipped Here” or “Washington Irving’s Pew” or “Oprah Appeared on the Secretary’s Television.” We’re proud of our history and the era when anybody who was anybody or anybody who wanted to be anybody was an Episcopalian. Plus we have a great affinity for bronze plaques.

Everyone knows that George Washington slept in nearly every house from the Mid-Atlantic to New England. No word if he slept in any pews of our churches during particularly uninspiring sermons.

At my own parish, All Saints’, Briarcliff Manor, we’ve had a few brushes with royalty. Brooke Astor lived across the street for many years in her Holly Hill estate and worshipped at All Saints’ for a number of years. At some point she got mad at one of my predecessors and left to attend another nearby Episcopal church. Or at least that’s one theory. It may have had to do with the incorporation of the modern language rite or her dislike for female priests. I’m not sure — but by the time I came to All Saints’ that ship had sailed.

The other famous parishioner was the writer John Cheever. He’s been in the news recently because of a new comprehensive biography by Blake Bailey titled Cheever: A Life. One of our parishioners, Bob Minzesheimer, who also happens to be the book reviewer for USA Today, forwarded me some quotes from Bailey’s book.

Cheever was confirmed at All Saints’ in 1955 and the church “met his basic requirements: it used the Cranmer prayer book and was less than ten minutes away, and (as Susan Cheever pointed out) its altar was ‘sufficiently simple so that it [didn't] remind him of a gift shop.’ Also the eight 0′clock service was sermon-free so he could have twenty-three minutes of relative peace each week.’”

Cheever apparently didn’t have much love for the church’s long-time rector, Bill Arnold. According to the book, Cheever “once told his son Ben that it didn’t matter if the minister was a jackass — though there were times, plainly, when it did. ‘I will not go to church,’ Cheever recorded one Good Friday, ‘because Bill will insist upon giving a sermon and I will not have the latitude or intelligence to overlook its repetitiousness, grammatical errors and stupidity.’” Ouch!

Finally, Bailey says of Cheever’s faith, “Not one to proselytize, her rarely mentioned his faith except at odd moments when visited by the same happiness that had moved him to become a communicant in the first place: ‘There has to be someone you thank for the party.’”

Not a bad sentiment. Though I may have to consider screening any writers and/or essayists out of my parish. Myself excluded of course.

Unabashedly Unpublished

I now have three unpublished children’s books to my name. I never intended to write one — I don’t fancy myself the new Eric Carle. All three just sort of rose up organically as the kids went through various developmental stages. But I sure did have a lot of fun working on them and, like any writer, I think they’re better than an awful lot of the stuff out there.

I should be clear about one thing, however: I am decidedly notan author/illustrator like Maurice Sendak or Dr. Seuss. If I were to illustrate the three books, they would be the first abstract picture books. “Mommy, why does this page look like the inside of your lava lamp?”

Having a few unpublished manuscripts makes me feel even more like a “real” writer. Maybe in my next life I’ll come back as a failed novelist living in the Rive Gauche in Paris. Of course I’d be posthumously “discovered” and become a best seller — making all the rejecting publishers look like fools. 

In the meantime, I’m secure in the knowledge that my three unpublished children’s books are pretty good. Or at least good enough to give to my kids one day. The three titles are: “I Can Do It Myself,” “The Kingdom of Serious,” and the children’s version of “What Size Are God’s Shoes?” — told from our dog Delilah’s perspective.

Perhaps I’ll meet a children’s literary agent at a fancy cocktail party in Greenwich Village. That’s my publishing strategy anyway. But seeing as I haven’t been to a cocktail party since I was an eight-year-old lugging the coats of  my parent’s friends up to the guestroom bed, I may take these manuscripts with me to the grave.

Treated Like Royalty

I received my first royalty check yesterday. At least I thought I did. The statement indicated royalties of $77.31 . And I had grandiose plans for my earnings. I considered blowing the whole wad and fleeing to Peru to live like, well, royalty. More realistically, I could have splurged and taken the family out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. Say Applebees.

That was until I realized the $77.31 was in parentheses, the universal sign for deficit. On closer inspection, I realized that by the end of 2008 I hadn’t yet earned out my (paltry) advance. I still “owed” the $77 to Morehouse until more copies sell. Oh well. I guess you could say my royalty check became a reality check.

It was interesting to note how many copies had sold since “What Size Are God’s Shoes” came out six months ago: 1,040. This included 18 sold in Canada and 15 in Mexico. I may have to translate the book into Spanish to feed my growing South of the Border market. And and a few “ehs” into the text to attract more Canadian readers.

With these numbers I finally understand why I haven’t made the New York Timesbestseller list. Though I still check every week just to make sure I haven’t leap frogged over “Eat, Pray, Love” or John Grisham’s latest.

Obviously I didn’t write the book to make money — I’ve surely lost money on this deal. And I’ve donated a portion of the sales back to my church’s memorial garden fund. But I’ll keep at it because I believe strongly in the message. And perhaps next year I’ll be able to buy myself a family-sized package of beef jerky or something.

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.