I am working my way through the Bible and just finished reading Exodus. There is much in the latter parts of the book about the construction of the Tabernacle. As I read it, I found it at times to be as frustrating as the instruction manuals that came with my daughter’s toys at Christmas. I say that not as a commentary on God’s Word, but rather as an example of my inability to recognize holiness within the things that initially seem mundane to me.
As I finished Exodus this morning, I begin to see the grand narrative emerge from these specifics about the Tabernacle and all of its accessories. I am slow to realize some of these principles, so forgive me if I am stating the obvious for you. The Tabernacle was portable, the Temple would be more permanent, and eventually Jesus would be revealed as the truly permanent Temple. All three of these are places where God dwells. Jesus of course being God himself.
There is a fourth temple to consider. Paul tells us our bodies are also God’s temples (1 Corinthians 6:19 for one) and that we are to honor God with our bodies. As I read Exodus, I couldn’t help but notice the detail God has used in both giving the instructions for the Tabernacle and in detailing the Israelites obedience in following those instructions. The color, shape, size, and material used for every piece is very specific.
I am convinced this morning that God cares just as much about the details of our bodies and how we care for them. He cares about he materials used to construct them (food) and how well they are crafted (sleep, exercise, etc.). I have been an incompetent caretaker and shody workman who has selected from the bargain bin at the lumber yard. God is not pleased, but he is loving and full of grace. May this year be one where I am obedient in honoring God with my body.
So much for the latter part of Exodus being irrelevant and mundane. I think I hear my treadmill calling.
When the natural gas company my grandfather worked for decided to no longer maintain the company houses, my grandparents moved a few miles away to Aberdeen, Mississippi. “In town” they had cable TV, and the choices were overwhelming bliss. However the channel flipping stopped on weekend mornings as I settled in to watch wrestling programs coming out of Memphis. I was mesmerized. A ten-year-old boy’s dreams are made of things such as this. The heroes and the heels were clearly delineated. No ambiguity or shades of grey in the characters and their story lines. This was “wrastlin” at its purest, and I was a happy member of their target demographic.
Each week they announced the venues where they would be bringing their circus in the coming weeks. These usually included places like high school gyms and community centers. One week they announced they would soon be coming to the National Guard Armory in Tupelo. I raced into the kitchen and asked my Gran if he would take me. I was 10 now, so he reasoned that I was old enough to handle anything we might see or hear that night.
The show they put on that night was epic, and I don’t use that word lightly. One of the fights was so intense, the ring couldn’t contain it, and it ended up behind the concession stand in the food prep area. Commercial-sized plastic containers of mustard and ketchup were being busted over heads. Men were thrown across the counter. I was in shock, and I loved it! The video below is from that night. Oh the power of YouTube. The concession stand action starts at the 2 minute mark.
I think my Gran had planned what we would do next long before we got there that night. He told me were going to stick around until all the other fans left and we would watch what the wrestlers would do at the end of the night. He told me that the same men who had been trying to destroy each other would emerge from the dressing rooms slapping each other on the back and smiling. Sure enough, that’s what happened.
My favorite wrestler, a guy named “Dirty” Dutch Mantel, was not wearing his trademark ten-gallon black cowboy hat or wielding his Texas bullwhip as he had been when he entered the ring earlier that night. His hair was now washed and neatly parted and he was wearing glasses! “Glasses!? Dutch Mantel doesn’t wear glasses!” The veil had been lifted. The great and powerful Oz was no more. Santa’s sleigh was grounded. Dutch descended the stairs from the office area carrying his check for the evening’s work. My Gran said, “Now they will all go and have a few beers together.” I took him at his word. All he had predicted had been accurate.
He told me that night that he wanted me to know that it was all “fake,” but he didn’t use that term in a derogatory way. He called them actors, and they were. Very good ones to my way of thinking. It was important to my Gran that I knew how things worked, and that things (particularly those that appear dangerous) are not always what they seem. I expected that night to ruin my enjoyment of sitting back in my Gran’s den watching the drama unfold on TV, but it didn’t. As hokey as it sounds, I felt I was now a more sophisticated and well-informed viewer. I embraced it as theater, because that’s what it was.
There is no higher moral lesson here, but my Gran’s willingness to take me to that match and show me how it all worked was an act of love. He wanted me to experience all of that to the fullest, and I did. Part 3 to come.
Postscript: I just read that Dutch Mantel has written a book, and the reviews are good. I may read it. Don’t judge me!
My maternal grandfather, who I call “Gran,” has taught me innumerable life lessons. As I look back on the ones that he taught using his distinctive style of quiet strength, a pattern emerges. My Gran has made a point to teach me that many things in life that we fear are not as dangerous as our runaway thoughts make them appear. There are a few stories that come to mind. I will share one of those with you today.
The first starts on a stormy summer night in eastern Mississippi. I spent the majority of each summer with my grandparents, who lived in company houses supplied by the natural gas company he worked for. The houses were about 150 yards from the compressor plant that sent the gas up the pipeline as it made it’s way from Texas up the east coast. This proximity to the plant meant that the nights were often jarred by the sound of a “blowdown,” which was when the station operator would have to relieve pressure from the pipeline. It was window-rattling loud. But I had become accustomed to it, as I had of the sound of the train passing about a mile in the distance.
Picture of the pipeline compressor station taken from my grandparent's driveway. That's me on the bike riding up the sidewalk.
This was flat land comprised of dusty fields divided by even dustier roads, so there was very little to dampen the sounds of the screeching rails, the rocking crossties, the whistle’s moan, or the sound of highly-compressed air from the pipeline escaping skyward. Those sounds mingled with the hum of a window air conditioner and served as a lullaby that reminded me that I was safe, I was with family, and I was in a familiar place.
The one thing that could break that sense of peace was the sound of crackling thunder, high winds, and the alarm of the weather radio. I was terrified of tornados. The weatherman from Channel 9 in Tupelo would stand in front of a map with warned counties flashing in red. When those counties were near Monroe County, I would panic. When Monroe was red, I would become inconsolable.
One particular night when I was 8 or 9, my grandfather knew that the approaching storm was a safe distance away from his backyard. He took me outside. I was uncomfortable but strangely curious. Gran wanted to show me that there was nothing to be afraid of, and that the light and sound show put on by God was majestic. I trusted Gran. His hands rested on my shoulders as he towered behind me like a stately oak that had seen thousands of thunderstorms. His boyhood in northeast Arkansas and southeast Missouri had offered many opportunities to see storms in the distance. Gran knew that night would change me. It was brilliant. It was loving. It was a man teaching his grandson how to become a man. I am forever grateful.
The experience of that night, coupled with my Mom’s constant advice to repeat Psalm 56:3, got me through future boyhood storms. “What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.” You can trust the Lord in the midst of fear. What a treasure to have a family that instills that truth into the heart of a child.
I wil share another story with you tomorrow. Enjoy Alvin Slaughter with the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir as they sing Peace in the Midst of the Storm.
My home state of Alabama recently passed what supporters tout as an immigration bill that is even tougher than Arizona’s. The official title is HB 56: The Beason-Hammon Alabama Taxpayer and Citizen Protection Act. The name reflects the purported goals – to reduce “economic hardship and lawlessness in this state” (see Section 2).
The fictional narrative that the bill’s authors want Alabamians to buy is that the brown man is stealing the white man’s jobs and is a threat to their women and children. Alabamians were asked to believe that same lie during the years between Jim Crow and George Wallace. It worked then, so why shouldn’t it work again?
Perhaps you don’t believe they are playing on fears with racial and ethnic overtones? Consider the following quote from Rep. Dan Williams, which you will hear in the video below from this week’s episode of Religion & Ethics Newsweekly.
…when you got a job and you’re making some money and your family is doing alright, you don’t have problems. But when my children lose their jobs, and I start having to help my children and my grandchildren, and maybe if I lose my job, I’m concerned about a guy who’s illegal coming here working. He’s doing okay and I’m not.
This is a repeat of another line of faulty logic – there are limited resources and there is only enough for us or them; not both. And those undocumented immigrants are dangerous don’t you know. Just take it from the Mayor of Albertville, AL, Lindsey Lyons (also in the video below).
Because invariably you’re going to have the underlying current of crime and criminals come in with an influx of illegal immigrants…
If you keep voters distracted from the larger problems of the underfunding of education, the root causes of unemployment, and the obscene income gaps that exist, you avoid real revolutions that oust those from power that have a vested economic interest in keeping those conditions in place. As Father Tom Ackerman says in the video, “When economic times get tough, people often look for scapegoats.” As the editorial board of the Anniston Star recently argued, Alabama has bigger problems like 25% of its population being functionally illiterate and the cutting of over 1000 state employees that provide essential services.
As the video above details, what makes this bill tougher than Arizona’s is that it goes beyond punishing undocumented immigrants to making it a crime to even give assistance to them. That includes things like knowingly allowing undocumented immigrants to attend your church or giving them a ride. Many groups, including faith communities, took action to block the enactment of the law, and a federal judge has temporarily blocked it. That block however may be removed tomorrow (September 29th) when the judge is expected to reveal her final ruling.
Aren’t existing laws regarding crime enough? Why not shut down businesses that hire undocumented workers? They have more power than individual workers. This bill is too lenient on business, including those that profit from cheaper labor and those that sell mortgages to undocumented immigrants.
Maybe you are wondering why so many undocumented immigrants leave their country and come to the U.S. Many of these should probably be officially classified as refugees, a fact that is brought to light in the documentary titled Why We Come. Just a casual following of the news out of Mexico will make you aware of that. So why do undocumented immigrants not try to become citizens legally? There are many reasons, but two of the most glaring are that it is expensive and the wait times can be as long as 3 years.
This is a gem of a video of Pete Seeger on the Johnny Cash Show. Be sure to stick around for the last song – “Worried Man Blues.” Seeger’s and Cash’s commentaries are as wonderful as the songs.
There is a wonderful website that aggregates news related to social work from all over the world. A social work professor from another university has done a wonderful job creating and adapting the site to the needs of social workers. I have sent him words of praise and thanks in the past and asked him how I can help support the site. I recommend the site to all of my students and remind them of it’s value when they begin working on certain assignments.
The site includes videos related to social work practice, and they are almost always relevant to the day-to-day practice of social workers. The recent inclusion of one video however is rather puzzling. It is an excerpt from a talk given by Christopher Hitchens, who is a very prolific and internationally-known writer who calls himself an antitheist (i.e.; atheist). In the video, Hitchens criticizes organized religion and people of faith on a variety of levels. Some of his criticisms are fair and the policy implications worthy of debate, but he crosses the line between civil discourse and moves into outright ridicule.
The National Association of Social Workers (NASW) Code of Ethics is the standard for social work values and ethics. It includes many statements about the importance of respecting spiritual and religious diversity. One such statement speaks to demeaning comments.
2.01 Respect – (b) Social workers should avoid unwarranted negative criticism of colleagues in communications with clients or with other professionals. Unwarranted negative criticism may include demeaning comments that refer to colleagues’ level of competence or to individuals’ attributes such as race, ethnicity, national origin, color, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity or expression, age, marital status, political belief, religion, immigration status, and mental or physical disability.
I sent the afforementioned professor that runs the website an email expressing my concern. His response was rather dismissive, so I followed-up with a more specific criticism.
Hitchens’ characterization of Catholic leaders as “maladjusted elderly virgins” is to me offensive. I am not Catholic, nor would I have taken offense if he had been referring to only those who are perpetrators of sexual abuse. He jumps quickly without distinction to say the church’s operational agenda is “no child’s behind left.” Whether he is referring to the sexual abuse that has occurred or to corporal punishment is unclear. Either way, to make light of either the physical or sexual abuse of children is in no way respectful of victims or to innocent people of faith to which he generalizes.
I go on to say that although I agree with some of his points, “we have to raise a standard of respectful ways to make these arguments.”
He responded to this second email with this.
My sense is that we likely occupy worldviews that are polar opposites and that perhaps the most respectful resolution is to agree to disagree.
As a social work professor at a Christian university, I am frequently discussing “worldviews”. Most often those discussion center around how a Christian worldview informs and shapes social work practice. Not surprisingly, social work is viewed by some Christians as being a liberal profession whose mission runs counter to such a worldview. That mischaracterization has been, and continues to be, widely discussed.
In my attempts to live authentically in what I believe is God’s call on my life to be a social work scholar, I am frequently told by other Christians that my worldview is diametrically opposed to their own. They typically say that after we have discussed issues related to what role the government should play in setting social welfare policy. If they were refering only to our worldviews on that issue, their claim would be understandable. But many have directly said, while others seem to imply, that because our views differ on issues related to social welfare, I must hold views on the nature of God, man, and how we relate to Him and one another that are polar opposites to their own.
Those experiences of hearing some of my brothers and sisters in Christ claim that we have opposite worldviews leapt to mind when the website owner wrote “we likely occupy worldviews that are polar opposites.” His presumptuous assessment of the totality of my worldview as being opposite of his own is disheartening. As social work professors, he and I likely share common views on many issues related to social welfare policy. The fact that I hear “our worldviews are opposite” from both people of faith and an atheist professor leaves me feeling like I hold some weird third worldview that exists outside the only two schools of thought that exist in the universe.
The reason I am taking the time to write this post is to point out that our individual worldviews are complex and multidimensional. Individually our worldviews are a constellation of views on innumberable issues and are much more nuanced that our common discourse would indicate. Let us be mindful that though we may differ from each other on some issues, we may agree on many more, and we should afford each other the respect that our common humanity warrants. That principle is in agreement with both the whole of Scripture and the NASW Code of Ethics.
The movie that holds the #3 spot on my list of favorite movies is Cinderella Man. It tells the true story of James J. Braddock, who became boxing’s heavyweight champion in 1935 as the result of a comeback career that was predicted by critics to be short-lived. Even in the title fight itself, Braddock’s opponent was favored 10 to 1.
Braddock originally gave up fighting because of the economic effects of the Great Depression coupled with a decline in his performance in the ring. He worked as a longshoreman in order to keep food on the table and the heat turned on for his wife and children. His work on the docks depended on whether or not there was enough work to actually be done, so times were tough. Braddock reluctantly applied for government assistance to help his family, but that was not enough.
The scene below is my favorite in the movie. It shows Braddock going into the boxing commission office, which is filled with men that have long ago proclaimed his boxing career over, to beg for money to keep the heat on in his family’s apartment so his children can move back home with him and his wife. More discussion after the clip.
“What in the hell do you have to be sorry about?” Those are the words spoken by Braddock’s manager (played by Paul Giamatti) in response to Braddock’s apology for showing up at a place where he has previously been disgraced. Indeed, what do people who are trying to work, but can’t because of economic conditions, have to be sorry for or ashamed about? And for those of us fortunate to have more than enough, are the unwillingly unemployed not the neighbors Jesus told us to love? Could we not find ourselves in the same situation if certain circumstances presented themselves? Of course we could.
This film is good for several reasons. In addition to Giamatti, the cast includes Russell Crowe (Braddock) and Reneé Zellweger (his wife), and they are directed by Ron Howard. But the reason this film is one of my favorites is because it is the story of a man who is fighting for the survival of his family. He wants them to stay together and not starve or freeze to death. It does not get any more basic than that. He will take care of his family, even if he has to resort to receiving government assistance and begging for personal contributions. Every family man wants to be the provider and protector of his family, and even the most righteous cannot always ensure that will happen. Ask Job (Job 1:8-12).
So let us not assume that a person is unemployed because they want to be. Rather let us be obedient to Jesus’ command to love our neighbor (Matthew 22:36-40) and minister to the needs of the least of these (Matthew 25:44-46).
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