The Bosque Boys

Today is the last day before Lent, the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. Even in post-Katrina New Orleans crowds will gather to get drunk, throw beads, watch parades and exposed breasts, and in general celebrate bacchanalia.

So what does this have to do with Christianity? Very little. But, very little is not the same as nothing. There is a connection. Prior to the discipline and self-denial of Lent people wanted to enjoy themselves, feasting before fasting, carnival before contrition.

Enjoyment, within bounds of moderation and modesty, also can be a worship of God. We celebrate and give thanks for and are glad in the wonderous world the Lord has created. As Calvin wrote, God must want us to take pleasure in the world for he has made flowers to please the eye and the nose, and has made food to taste good as well as give nourishment.

The traditional Church calender reflects both the reality of the goodness of this world, and the reality of the fallenness of this world: the fast of Advent followed by the feast of Christmas, the fast of Lent followed by the feast of Easter.

So, enjoy yourself today. Eat something you like and thank God that you derive pleasure from eating. Play with dogs and children. If you live in the South, go into the backyard and toss a baseball around. Tomorrow receive the mark of ashes.

Even in Louisiana, I am told that the small-town Mardi Gras celebrations are family oriented fairs. Leave New Orleans to the devil.

I spent part of mid-day at the University of Oklahoma Medical Center in Oklahoma City. On my way there the roads began to get icy in the city. I saw one wreck (a pickup pulling a trailer jacknifed on an overpass) and fish-tailed a bit myself. (I was driving the smaller church van, a 1989 Ford Aerostar that looks like it has driven every one of its many miles.)

Leaving the hospital about 1:30, the drive out of the city was bad. Every overpass had at least one wreck; occasionally fellow drivers would fishtail or even slide sideways. It took me about an hour to get out of town. (I followed a plan of bypassing overpasses by using service roads.) Then, we had icy conditions for the next 30 miles; I had to stop once to bang the ice off the windshield wipers so that they would function properly. The last 30 miles were OK. Glad was I to get home.

The majority of vehicles that wrecked seemed to be 4WD pickups. We do, of course, has a lot of pickups on the roads (maybe not quite as high a percentage as Texas). But four-wheel-drive pickups seemed over-represented in the wrecks. I think I know why. (cont. below)

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My pastoral work this week has me thinking about life and death and modern medicine: when to fight death and when to accept it.

Here is my view, for what its worth.

If I were diagnosed with cancer, and told I needed extensive chemo and radiation, I would ask the following questions: what are the odds that the treatments would bring me to a state of being cancer free? if I take the treatments, how much longer would I live than if I refused treatment? if I take the treatments, what would the extra time be like?

If I were told that the treatments would give me a better than even chance of becoming cancer free, then I would accept treatment. If I were told that the odds were good that treatment would add years to my life, years that could be productive, then I would accept treatment. On the other hand, if I were told that there was almost no way treatment could make me cancer free, that treatment probably would add minimal time to my life, and that this time would not be productive, I would refuse treatment. These decisions I would make as a Christian.

(my reasoning below)

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Happy Birthday, Champ.



May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young.
~~Bob Dylan

From the 110th Congress:

Resolved, That the House of Representatives honors Muhammad Ali, global humanitarian, on the occasion of his 65th birthday and extends best wishes to him and his family (read all here).

I remain optimistic.

Irrespective of all the posts I have written, and will write in the future, chastising the President, moaning the blues and screaming in pain, I am committed to following the President on this latest wrinkle.

I think he is merely buying more time toward his basic operating theory that good things happen if you come to work everyday. Good guys win in the end. Succeeding is trying just one more time than you fail. Never give in! Never give in! Never ever give in!

I remain optimistic because I am infected with the same contagion as the President: Evangelical Americanism. We are a people of hope. We are a people operating under the delusion that all things work toward good for those who love God. We are a people convinced that freedom is not just right--but our birthright.

None of the above statements are logical. Smart people the world over can explain why only a complete ignoramus would believe these things. No matter, I continue to believe in the goodness and necessity of our mission in Iraq. I continue to believe there is a recipe for success out there, and it is our challenge to discern it.

From my office window tonight I see very few vehicles on the highway (US 62 & 281). Here in southwest Oklahoma we are coated in ice and expecting more. Plans have had to change. The local TV station crawls cancellation after cancellation for tonight and tomorrow across the bottom of the screen, including our church. We have bowed to the necessity of bad weather.

"Bad weather" is relative. The congregation I served in NW Iowa would not have thought of cancelling for these conditions, at least the morning service. But, we had a few evening cancellations there also. Sometimes you just have to change your plans.

Winter reminds us that we do not have total control. The world and life are bigger than us, and our desires and plans may be thwarted. Robert Burns said it best, (cont. below)

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We spent the day New Year's Eve with family near Des Moines. The year ended in central Iowa on a gray day with rain, falling termperatures, and finally snow. Driving away from the church hall, through the grey hills with blowing snow darkening the already dim light of late afternoon, we were in Winter.

Garrison Keillor, in one of his monologues, said that winter in Minnesota reminded us of our place in the universe--prey. I'm sure Garrison has read Jack London, the writer who can make you feel the searing cold of a Yukon night as temperatures plunge to 70 below. Life is always under threat in a Jack London story: Unable to kindle a fire, hands stiffening with cold, hope that if I can kill my dog and put my hands into his warm body I yet may live, but my dog will not come close to me, eventually leaving my stiffening body. Winter is death. Death always pursuing life: wolves howling about the dog sled hurrying across the frozen waste, with too few bullets for the gun. Death is what happens to humans in the Wild, death is what ends life; death freezes our foolish attempts to find meaning in the snowy vastness. This is London's message. (cont. below)

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We are engaged in a conversation about American life through the lenses of history, culture, politics and religion.

The Okie Gardener and I envisioned this blog as an electronic salon where reasonable and earnest people might come and exchange beliefs and impressions regarding important issues. We understood that we would not agree with one another all the time nor would we always agree with the greater community we hoped to create. No matter, we envisioned ourselves arguing with conviction and disagreeing without being disagreeable.

Language is an imperfect form of communication. For a conscientious historian, clarity is paramount. Notwithstanding, even with attention to detail, written communication provides endless opportunities for misunderstanding. In that regard, we have embarked on a journey fraught with risk. Truly, the essence of communication is not in what you say, it is in what people hear. For that reason, I ask my friends, family, and our reading community to hear us kindly.

This seems a fitting time to extend our thanks to all of you who participate in this discussion in that spirit. We appreciate the myriad gifts you bring to this table. We wish you the blessings of the Christmas season and a healthy and prosperous New Year.

May God bless our endeavor and protect us all in the coming year.

Note: I have modified this statement slightly since I originally posted it as a Christmas and New Year greeting.

Yesterday was sunny and mild here in Southwest Oklahoma. Some of our hardy plants were greening a bit, after 3-4" of rain several days ago. December came in with sleet and 4" of snow followed by cold temperatures, but now we are mild again.

Late in the afternoon I turned my compost pile. Using my garden fork I moved the blackened, crumbly, hard-to-tell-what-it-was-before-rotting bottom of the heap to the top, and the leaves, grapefruit rinds, zinnia stems, coffee grounds to the bottom, with some mixing throughout.

I enjoy making compost. I get a deep satisfaction from improving the soil in my garden. Of the basic elements necessary for life--sunshine, water, air, soil--only rich, black soil can I make. When I work the compost into my garden early this spring, along with some manure, I'll feel like a partner in creation. (more below)

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A great, great Hanukkah story from Natan Sharansky, courtesy of Powerline. May God bless us all.