Normal is as normal does

Do you ever congratulate yourself on being more normal than everyone else? It's easy to do. What's normal to us, we assume, is the real normal -- it's other people who are odd.

On a recent getaway, Jan and I were sitting on the beach, waiting for the sunset and watching people stroll by. We saw folks who were old and young, straight and gay, fit and flabby. Skin tones varied, and some were tattooed. We couldn't help but comment when a couple I nicknamed "Bridgette and Bubba" walked by. He slouched along in shorts, sandals, a ball cap and a tank top. She carried a pocketbook and wore a crisp white blouse, denim hot pants, and high heels. They stopped just in front of us and engaged in a big smooch.

A woman sitting nearby turned, with raised eyebrows, and said something to Jan about wearing high heels on the beach. This particular woman was barefooted -- but wearing a full-length dress that dragged in the sand. For the previous half hour, she had been sitting in the surf, dress and all.

We see things like that and wonder why other folks aren't normal like we are. They probably look at us and wonder how anyone can stand being so stodgy. Normal is as normal does.

I'm reminded that religion has many expressions that are "normal" to different people. For example, there's great excitement among the 21,000-strong Indian community in the Triangle this week, as a second Hindu temple is being consecrated by having nine stone gods installed in their niches and ceremonially "brought to life." The elaborate temple complex is devoted to Sri Venkateswara, a manifestation of Vishnu that is especially popular in South India.

While many Baptist and mainline churches struggle to meet budgets, Triangle Hindus are spending a million dollars just for the opening ceremonies of their new $3.5 million temple. Yesterday, a helicopter rained flowers and rose petals on and around the complex as thousands of Indians stood for hours, enjoying the rare dedication ceremony.

For those of us who grew up in the southern part of the U.S., rather than the southern part of India, the idea of carving statues, bathing them in holy water, dressing them in colorful garments, installing them in a niche, and thinking of them as alive does not fall within our concept of "normal."

People who are raised in a Hindu culture probably think the same thing about our churches that are filled with crosses and stained glass where we worship an invisible god.

As God looks upon the peoples of the earth as we might watch people walking by on the beach, I have to wonder what runs through the divine mind -- and whether "normal" is a category of concern.


[Credit Jan for the top photo. The bottom photo, of Moola Vigraha being prepared for installation, is from a participant's Picasa site.]

Priceless

I mentioned in my last blog that Jan and I were celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary with a short vacation getaway on Captiva Island, sans computers.

Some who know my proclivity for keeping Mr. Macbook at hand might wonder, "How did that work for you?"

It felt weird.

It felt good.

It also felt a bit like cheating, because we both had our Blackberries along, though we didn't check them often. Even so, there was very little e-mail for me to receive, given that there's sparse Campbell e-mail on the weekends, and the Baptists Today email host went down two days before we left -- and remained out of commission until today (Wednesday).

Any mail sent to that account between May 21 and 26 disappeared into the black hole of cyberspace, never to be seen unless those who sent them take note of their "undeliverable" response and try again.

During our joyful, memorable trip we hung out at the pool, looked for shells on the beach, and watched the sun set over the Gulf every night. We tooled around nature preserves in a rented HHR and admired wildlife ranging from manatees to ospreys. I read a fun novel (Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimon), waded through a backlog of magazines, and worked a bunch of Sudoku puzzles I'd been saving up. I gave little thought to email, or to blogging, or to writing anything more than my name at the bottom of a charge slip from of a restaurant or golf course.

Did I mention a golf course? The north end of the island has an impressive, immaculately groomed "Short Course" (all Par 3's but not necessarily short ones), with breathtaking views on every hole. By the time we rented clubs and paid the fee, it was far more than we normally pay to play, but I don't regret a nickel of it. Not only did I get to play golf with my wife in a paradise-like setting, but we had the course almost completely to ourselves. If we'd been featured on an American Express commercial, the announcer would have said "Priceless."

I don't know about the golf, but being married to Jan for 25 years goes beyond being priceless to me. I'll be 82 if we live long enough to celebrate 50 years, so it's unlikely we'll be playing golf -- but somehow I don't think it will matter.


[Photos by Jan, except the one in which she's driving the car.]

Anniversaries

As I write these words, I'm anticipating a 25th wedding anniversary trip with my wife Jan. We'd originally planned to celebrate the big number with a trip to Mexico, but something called H1N1 put the quietus on that. So, we changed course and will be enjoying a few days on Captiva Island (right), off the Gulf Coast of Florida. It's one of those places we always wanted to go, and the time has come.

In true celebration of our anniversary, I'm leaving my laptop behind. It'll be the first time in many moons that I will have gone four days without having its keyboard nearby, ready for finger-dictation. Sorry, Mac, on this trip I'll be answering to a higher calling.

As I look forward to a few lovely days with Jan, free of child care, dog care and work, I'm also thinking back on a 20 year anniversary some close friends and I just celebrated. In 1989, a dozen or so preachers decided it would be a good idea to form a support group. It was not long after the movie "Dead Poets' Society" came out, and we quickly adopted the name "Dead Preachers' Society."

Despite the lack of originality, it was a most appropriate name. As we gathered for quarterly meetings and talk sessions, we consciously sought to make our group a safe place where we could shuck the "preacher persona" and relate honestly as real humans with hopes and hurts.

The group has been a life saver for many of us. Several have moved away or dropped out for other reasons, but we are left with seven members who share a special bond 20 years in the making.

For many reasons, I'm a blessed and happy man.

[In the lower photo, that's David Daly (national leader for FCA Baseball), Mark Hollar (pastor of Abbott's Creek Missionary Baptist Church), me (not really in pain), and Roger Nix (DOM for Raleigh Baptist Association). Steve Bolton, pastor of Oxford Baptist Church, was taking the picture. Two other members were unable to attend the anniversary gathering.]

White cars

I just bought my fourth white car in a row. White can be boring, I know, but several studies I've read have shown white cars to be more visible than darker ones, and less likely to be involved in crashes.

Not that it can't happen: in 1974, while waiting to make a left turn in a white AMC Javelin, I was run over by a tractor-trailer truck that came barreling over the hill behind me and couldn't stop in time. In that case, color wouldn't have mattered.

Nor, I suspect, did it really matter that I was driving a burgundy-colored Oldsmobile on the day a drunken driver crossed the center line and crashed into us, killing my daughter and leaving me with lots of broken bones.

Still, I've never bought anything but white cars since then, or anything that didn't have as many air bags and safety features as I could afford. The first was a Dodge Intrepid with flashy sport wheels that came with what I thought was a safer suspension. The next was an Oldsmobile Intrigue that outlasted Oldsmobile. After that I bought a Chevy Malibu, and now the future of Chevrolet is as uncertain as the electronics in the car, which had become so unreliable after 117,000 miles that I no longer trusted it.

Looking for better mileage and a smaller carbon footprint, I traded it for a Toyota Prius: with the 2010 models coming out soon, 2009s were finally selling at a discount. Like the last three cars, it's as white as they make them: I want other drivers to see me coming. Here's hoping that, like the last three, it will remain undented.

Bible abuse

It was happening more than six years ago, but that doesn't make it any less disturbing.

Newly declassified documents reveal that a series of top secret briefings prepared for Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and other Pentagon officials featured photographs of military scenes overwritten with Bible verses. I don't know who gets credit for first outing the sadly misguided covers, which could have been featured on an annual Crusader Calendar, but you can see a slide show of sample sorriness at the GQ website. Robert Parham, over at EthicsDaily.com, has posted a critique that puts the covers in context.

St. Paul once advised believers to "put on the whole armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand" (Eph. 6:3, NIV). Can you imagine what the old apostle would say if he knew his words had been sloganized to highlight a fierce tank silhouetted by the sunrise?

The Book of Proverbs advises those who worship God to "Commit to the LORD whatever you do, and your plans will succeed" (Prov. 16:3, NIV). Somebody at the Pentagon thought that verse perfectly illustrated a soldier with his machine gun.

1 Peter 2:15 declares "For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorant talk of foolish men." On April 3, 2003, that verse appeared over a cover picture of Saddam Hussein speaking into a microphone. The message is clear: "It is God's will for the U.S. to silence Saddam."

The dedicated men and women who risk their lives in service to their country should not be turned into Crusaders, and the Bible should not be sliced and diced in service to an ill-conceived war.

With America's defense officials turning Jesus into a jihadist, is it any wonder that fans of Islamist militancy have found our criticism to be hypocritical?

Help my unbelief

If you're just not into church, what do you do on Sunday morning? Sleeping in is very popular, and so are early morning shopping trips. If you want to see a really big crowd at 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, go to a Target or WalMart store.

A small but apparently growing number of folks are choosing a different option: they're gathering for mutual support with others of like non-faith. An intriguing article by Yonat Shimron documents one of the newest groups, which meets in North Carolina's Triangle (Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill) area. The group is called "Parenting Beyond Belief," a moniker based on a book of the same name, by Atlanta-based Dale MacGowan. MacGowan says he knows of at least 32 similar chapters around the nation.

The point of the gatherings, it appears, is to provide a forum for parents who are self-professed atheists, free-thinkers, humanists, or spiritual-but-not-religious folk. They share ideas about how to best answer their children's questions about God or other religious beliefs in a way that respects others beliefs without necessarily reinforcing them. They want the children to think for themselves.

The meetings go beyond batting around childhood questions, though. It's not easy being an atheist when you live in the Bible belt. Members (there were 71 on the e-mail list, at last count) like being part of a group where they feel accepted, where they can talk freely about what they do or don't believe, where religion is not a prerequisite for respect.

In reading the article, it seems evident that members of Parenting Beyond Belief gather for many of the very same reasons that bring other people to church: fellowship, friendship, and social acceptance are powerful motivators. For many regular church-goers, I'm convinced, the worship of God is really secondary to the social side of church life.

I can't help but recall the man who pleaded with Jesus "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24). I've often prayed the same prayer in confessing a desire for stronger belief.

This new Sunday-morning movement gives "Help my unbelief" a whole new meaning.

Southeastern tightens the screws

A friend of mine who has previously served as a field supervisor for Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary students taking supervised ministry won't be doing so any longer.

In recent years, Southeastern has asked field supervisors to agree that their work with students would remain within the parameters of the 2000 Baptist Faith and Message Statement, though they were not required to affirm the statement for their own life and work.

That has changed.

At a recent orientation session, my friend was told that he not only had to agree to work within the guidelines of the 2000 Baptist Faith and Message statement, but he had to sign an affirmation that he supported it.

But that's not all. He would also have been required to sign a statement indicating his support for the Abstract of Principles, the Chicago Statement on Inerrancy, and the "Danvers Statement on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood." Think that's narrow enough?

The Abstract of Principles has been around since 1859, when it was drawn up as a guide for faculty at the then-new Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.

The Baptist Faith and Message statement, first adopted in 1925 in an effort to placate J. Frank Norris and other fundamentalists during the fundamentalist-modernist controversy, was revised in 1963 and 2000. The latest version weakens traditional Baptist principles such as the priesthood of the believer, and specifies that only men can serve as pastors, among other things.

The Chicago Statement on Inerrancy grew from a conference of 200 conservative Christian leaders in 1978, who claimed a need to reaffirm biblical inerrancy in the face of perceived liberalism. Not coincidentally, this was the same period in which fundamentalist Baptist leaders were gearing up to take control of the Southern Baptist Convention.

The "Danvers Statement" was adopted in 1987 by the "Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood," which consists largely of people with close connections to Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. It attempts a response to the perceived danger of "feminist egalitarianism" by affirming a belief that husbands should be the final authority in their homes (albeit humbly), and that wives should submit to their husbands.

I don't suggest that the folks at Southeastern don't have the right to draw their lines of participation as narrowly and fearfully as they want to. In doing so, however, they exclude a number of capable, qualified, experienced ministers from the program, to the great detriment of their students.

Four wheels for me, please

May is promoted by the National Highway and Traffic Safety Administration as "Motorcycle Safety Awareness Month," and it's really needed around here.

I heard an alarming statistic on the news: while 20 Marines from Camp Lejeune died in Iraq in 2008, a staggering 25 were killed in motorcycle accidents. And, that was no odd year -- between 2006 and 2008, Camp Lejeune Marines were involved in 208 motorcycle crashes that led to 65 deaths. Nationwide, more Marines died on motorcycles than in combat.

I don't say this to pick on either Marines or motorcycles, but it appears clear that gung-ho young men fueled by testosterone and motorcycles fueled by hi-test gas are not a healthful combination.

Call me a fuddy-duddy, but I have never wanted to ride a motorcycle: going highway speeds with nothing between me and the road but my shirt has never seemed like a good idea to me, not to mention all the cars and trucks that are bound to come out on top in any potential collisions.

One of my brothers and his wife love to get together with friends and ride their Harley-Davidsons all over the country. I have friends who love to feel the breeze when they ride. Good for them: I'll stick with my stodgy sedan.

The Harley riders I see on the road tend to be middle-aged or older, though not as old as the folks I see on cushy Honda Gold Wings, who might as well drive a car. Most of those bikers ride with both courtesy and care, and they rarely speed. The motorcyclists I see who zoom into the rearview mirror, dart in and out of traffic, and generally play the fool are almost inevitably bent over a brightly colored crotch rocket made by Suzuki, Kawasaki, Ducati, or some other brand that caters to hormone-driven risk-takers. Those bikers are also inevitably young and male.

Of course, motorcycle accidents are not always the fault of the biker: drivers of larger vehicles would do well to watch their mirrors more carefully, and allow motorcyclists their share of the road.

I don't know if the two-wheeled speed demons and impatient tailgaters who need it most will pay any attention to Motorcycle Safety Awareness Month, but after looking at the statistics, I'll be more conscious of giving the bikes a wider berth.

[Photo from marinecorpstimes.com]

Pray for Sri Lanka

It's an island country, just off the southeast coast of India. When I studied geography in grammar school, it was called Ceylon. It's shaped like a giant teardrop, and appropriately so. Sri Lanka has done a lot of weeping.

I visited the country several years ago, two weeks after a tsunami devastated much of its southern coast. Many volunteers associated with North Carolina Baptist Men and other disaster relief ministries spent time in the country, offering healing and hope to a wounded land.

The nation is troubled still, but most of its recent wounds have been self-inflicted. At the root is an old, familiar story of an ethnic minority that feels put upon by the majority. Most of Sri Lanka's population are Sinhalese, but a concentration of people along the northeast coast are Tamils. Both groups originated in India, but they speak different languages. The Sinhalese are predominantly Buddhist; the Tamils are mostly Hindu.

Seeking an independent homeland for the Tamils, a radical group called the "Liberation tigers of Tamil Eelam" has led an armed rebellion for years, and the Sri Lankan army has sought to defeat them. Tens of thousands have died. A truce was signed in 2002, but violence has intensified in the past year, as the Sri Lankan government has been on a campaign to eliminate the Tamil Tigers once for all. They have succeeded in bottling them up on a small strip of land on the northern coast.

The problem is, many thousands of civilians are bottled up with them. Yesterday, according to news reports, hundreds of civilians died after a brutal night of apparently indiscriminate shelling. More than a hundred of the dead are children, though no one can be sure because press access is denied.

When I was in Sri Lanka, the thing I remember most is the beauty of the children, whether Sinhalese or Tamil. The notion of using women and children as human shields -- and of attacking anyway -- is an atrocious thought, whether in Afghanistan or Sri Lanka. If we ever needed proof of the depravation of humanity, there it is.

Please pray for the children of Sri Lanka.


[Map from the CIA World Factbook. The photo is mine, from a village called Hikkaduwa, on the opposite end of the island from the war.]

Call her "Doctor J"

It's graduation season for colleges and universities, a number of which are awarding honorary doctorates to a variety of luminaries. One of the least famous but most deserving of those recipients was honored May 8 during graduation ceremonies for the Campbell University Divinity School.

Campbell awarded an honorary Doctor of Divinity degree to Janice Haywood, and she deserves every letter on the framed diploma she was given. It was my honor to participate in the service by placing the doctoral hood on her shoulders.

Janice has devoted her life to children and their faith. She grew up in Louisiana as the child of an associational missionary. She earned her undergraduate degree from Louisiana State University, and master's degrees from both Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. She's a certified coach: she just doesn't stop learning -- or teaching.

For more than 30 years, Janice was the "go to" person in children's ministry for the Baptist State Convention of North Carolina. She took early retirement in 2008 to become an independent consultant, teacher, and trainer. Along the way, she has taught hundreds of children in her Sunday School classes, and trained thousands of adults to grow in their understanding of children and their ability to teach them well.

In 1999, Janice conceived, developed and implemented a Preschool and Children’s Ministry Certification program in partnership with the Baptist State Convention and the Campbell University Divinity School. It was so well received that she also teaches it in Virginia through the Virginia Baptist Mission Board. This fall, she will begin offering the same course of study nationally through a partnership with the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship and Campbell University Divinity School.

Janice has written a written a number of articles and booklets related to children's ministry, and in 2007 she published Enduring Connections: Creating a Preschool and Children’s Ministry. Doctoral candidates going the traditional route write a dissertation that is rarely read by anyone beyond the committee that approves it. Janice wrote a textbook that is acclaimed by other specialists and already in use at multiple seminaries.

I can't imagine that anyone knows more about the intersection between child development, faith development, and church dynamics than Janice Haywood, or anyone more deserving of the honor she received.

Doctor J is in the house.

Don't read my blog today ...

As I lay in bed this morning, listening to the predawn serenade of our bedroom window birdie, I pondered what subject to approach in today's blog. Several subjects came to mind, but none stood out more than the thoughts contained in David Gushee's recent "A Christian's Lament Over the Pew Torture Poll," published Tuesday by Associated Baptist Press.

Gushee, distinguished professor of ethics at Mercer University, is better than most at cutting through cultural clutter to find clarity. I found his post to be so plaintive, prayerful, and prophetic that I wished more people would read it.

Instead of rehashing his comments here, I think the best service I can offer today is to encourage our readers to take a long look at Gushee's lament, to let it soak in, to take it to Sunday School, to share it with others who may have let fear and expediency knock their spiritual bearings off kilter.

If you haven't read Gushee's prayerful piece, I hope you'll do so now. Here's the link.

A new job for Xe?

Here's a thought that's been bugging me ... a day rarely passes without some mention of another giant ship (or two or six) being hijacked by Somali pirates who arrive in tiny skiffs. The maritime Davids are so successful, apparently, because the Goliath-sized ships they attack are unarmed, while the pirates carry rifles and rocket powered grenade launchers.

Scores of sailors have been held hostage, many remain captive, and some have been killed. Many millions of dollars have been paid as ransom to the pirates, who have to share most of the money with shady investors who front the money for boats and gas, guns and ammo.

It's often noted that the piracy problem is rooted in the instability of Somalia, which has had no effective government for years. If the country can be lifted above its "failed state" status and a functioning government put in place, things like a police force and Coast Guard could follow. We long for that day.

In the meantime, there seems to be a relatively obvious solution to the piracy problem: equip the ships with well-armed security guards. Navy vessels from a number of countries including the U.S., Germany, and China have been diverted to patrol the waters, leading to surprising moments of cooperation, as when a South Korean destroyer recently deployed a helicopter to rescue a ship from North Korea.

Even so, Somalia's coast is so vast (longer than California's) and the pirates are willing to venture so far from shore (hundreds of miles), that warships just can't always be close enough to help. If each ship carried a few well-trained and well-equipped security people, however, military craft wouldn't need to be so close.

I've heard arguments for why ships don't simply arm their crews. Although I suspect the custom of sailing unarmed grows mainly from a fear of mutiny, it's usually said that the sailors have no military training, are not interested in fighting, and would have to be paid a lot more if expected to risk their lives.

There are, however, lots of folks who are highly skilled, armed to the teeth, and itching for a fight. Many of them also happen to be unemployed, like the pirates. Private military contractors like North Carolina-based Blackwater Worldwide -- which recently changed its name to Xe (pronounced "zee") after some unfortunate and/or scandalous incidents in Iraq -- could provide small security forces who would be more than a match for a few Somalis in a speedboat. They wouldn't come cheap, I'm sure, but a few hundred Benjamins per trip would probably be quite cost-effective compared to the option of going around the Horn of Africa or paying millions in ransom.

I'm not one who promotes violence, but I suspect putting professional guards on commercial vessels would lead to a reduction in bloody conflicts. The pirates appear to scare easily, and if it should become known that each ship is equipped with lethal snipers wearing night-vision goggles, I suspect a lot fewer pirate boats would come within grappling-hook distance.

The solution I'm nattering about seems so obvious that there must be some good reason why it hasn't been tried already. I suspect some countries may not allow armed ships into port, but it wouldn't be that hard to have an official board the ship to make sure weapons had been secured before docking. Does anyone know other reasons why commercial ships don't -- or shouldn't -- carry security guards?

Grin and hear it

There is this bird ...

A bird who loves to sit in a tree just outside our bedroom window.

A bird who loves to sing.

Loudly.

A bird who thinks 5:00 a.m. should be everybody's wake-up time.

What should I do about this bird?

Shooting it isn't an option, given that I have no night-vision goggles. I could curse it, I suppose, or open the window and try to scare it away.

But I don't. I lie awake, listening to its raucous, repetitive morning song, and I wonder what it's up to. Is it seeking a mate? Defending its territory? Boasting about its pre-dawn raid on local worms?

I have an advantage over my wife: I'm mostly deaf in my right ear, so I can turn my left ear to the pillow and shut out the audio intruder.

But I don't. I find myself listening, imagining, absorbing a share of the early bird's melodic joy.

When the sage who called himself Qoheleth spoke of the time "when one rises up at the sound of a bird" (Ecc. 12:4), he was complaining about growing old.

I'm growing older, if not yet "old," and I do find myself rising at the sound of a bird, but I'm trying not to complain.

That bird outside our window is living out what the good Lord made it to be with every ounce of its feathery being -- and its morning song challenges me to do the same.

Those who have ears to hear, let them hear.

[Photo by Tom Grey, from learner.org. I don't know for sure if our avian alarm clock is a robin, but the song is similar.]