Today, December 20

Today was supposed to be a Day Of Christmas Cheer. I had the day off and was going to drink peppermint coffee, relax, and enjoy the simple pleasures of the season.

But soon the morning found me, fuming, crying, and marching in the pouring, cold rain to retrieve my car which had been towed by the vindictive and heartless Vanderbilt Traffic and Parking. How's that for cheer?

The day improved, though I still have that headache I always get whenever I cry.

I popped some popcorn on the stove and went to the historic Belcourt Theater, where a few friends and I enjoyed Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire in Holiday Inn. I baked Christmas cookies and am now heading to sing Christmas carols with the sweet community I get to call brothers and sisters. Tonight I will be celebrating "Roommate Christmas" with an abundance of gifts and Italian food.

It just struck me that the beauty of Christmas is displayed today not by the seasonal things I love, not in the singing or peppermint or classic movie.

I prayed as I walked over to retrieve my sad little Volvo--prayed that I would calm down, that I would have compassion for the officers, that I would be forgiven for my rude anger. I prayed that God would be with me.

And that, dear friends, was the beauty of Christmas. That was the unspeakable mystery of Christmas coming into my hard heart. Emmanuel. Jesus, help me, forgive me, be with me.

"You are my witnesses": Lord, have mercy

This is the haunting lined engraved on the marble wall greeting you when you walk in the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. "You are my witnesses." (Isaiah 43: 10) Oh Lord, have mercy.

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As I walked in, I was handed a small booklet. (USHMM #4253)

Frieda Greinegger was born on October 19, 1920 in Michaelnbach, Austria.

"Frieda was the fourth of five children born to strict Catholic parents. She had one brother and three sisters. Frieda grew up on a large farm near the village of Michaelnback in northern Austria. The farm had cattle, horses, pigs and poultry, and the children worked long hours helping their parents on the farm. At age 12, Frieda left school to work full time on the farm."

Each visitor to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum is handed a card with the true story of someone who was affected by the holocaust. As you walk through the chronological levels of the museum, you can follow along with the events of your person's life.

"1933-39: Germany annexed Austria in March 1938. When war broke out in September 1939, my brother was drafted into the German army. Because we were short of help, my father filled out an application to get farm workers from Poland. Two Polish laborers arrived in December, an older man and a young man named Julian. We taught them German and what to do on the farm. Julian was a fast learner and very friendly."

The first level corresponds with Hitler's rise to power--Germany's economic and social devastation following the First World War and vengeful Treaty of Versailles, the political instability and impotence of the Weimar regime, and the attractiveness of Hitler's strong leadership, vision and personal charisma. You see Hitler's transformation from an unknown soldier in the German Army to a power-hungry, radical politician who ruthlessly eliminated dissent.

"1940-1944: Julian and I fell in love. My father objected--it was against the law for us to be friendly with Poles. To protect him, I agreed to move to another farm, Though we risked arrest, we kept meeting. When I found that I didn't like working on that farm, I applied for a factory job. But my boss found out and got angry. He told the gestapo about me and Julian, and we were arrested. In November 1941 I was deported as a political prisoner to Ravensbruck, a concentration camp for women."

The second level of the Museum deals with Anti-Semitism throughout Europe and the brutality of Hitler's Final Solution. It's honestly difficult to describe the methodical, calculated nature of this genocide. While the war was certainly devastating, the camps lacked the chaos of war. Rather, it was a carefully planned execution of evil, seemingly devoid of emotion or repentance. Men momentarily usurping God's place, taking into their hands the power over life and death.

"Frieda was released from Ravensbruck in August of 1943. Reunited after the war, Frieda and Julian married on April 24, 1946. They emigrated to the United States in 1948."

The third and final level discusses the end of the war, the liberation of the camps, and the return to life--full of sorrow and joy. Some of the stories end in mass graves of the tortured, some, like my dear friend Frieda, end with a happy reuniting, and some simply end with vacant eyes staring back through the ages, reminding us of humanity's devastating potential for cruelty but also its hopeful endurance.

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The day that I visited the museum, two Holocaust survivors were there, graciously answering the questions of visitors--that day, mainly curious high school girls. I hung back, listening, but I didn't know what to say. What would I say to these people who have seen and survived the unimaginable? To military servicemen and women, I could thank them for their service. To profesional athletes, 'good game.' To celebrities, 'nice outfit.' But what can one human being say to another who has seen the evil we are capable of? What could I possibly offer by way of apology for their suffering and delight at their continued life?

Lord, have mercy.

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There was one artifact that I saw that continues to burden my heart and mind.

A beautiful wooden doorframe covered in rich green paint greeted visitors to a synagogue in Nentershausen, Germany. On it was inscribed in gilded letters these words in Hebrew: "Know before whom you stand." A certain reverence, an awareness of the holiness of the true and living God, this verse reminded the faithful as the entered the place of worship to humble themselves in His presence. On Kristallnaucht, that darkest of nights in 1938, the Nazis scratched these words out, resolutely and defiantly denying that God's authority and instead asserting their own. It was not to be His way, but theirs. Not the Creator but the creation was now to be exalted. This ends in death.

When we elevate ourselves, whether under the insidious face of Nazism or the deceptive guise of triumphant humanism, be sure that evil lurks. Only when God is understood to be the Holy One, the Redeemer, the Almighty can humanity exist in goodness and peace. Oh Lord, please, have mercy.

The Royal Son, Deliverer of the Afflicted

This Advent reading is pure poetry. The last of David's psalms, it reads like a benediction to me, full of hope and promise- 'May there be righteousness and justice, may the poor be helped and wicked punished, may there be peace and rain.' King David also exalts the Lord- "may He be praised, may he have dominion, and his name endure forever." But right in the middle of the psalm, it describes this one, the Royal Son, the Great King as one "who delivers the needy when he calls, the poor and him who has no helper." The one enthroned on the praises of men and angels who dwells in unapproachable light has pity on the oppressed, scorned and needy. Jesus, the Lord of Heaven, the Word, comes near to us, is Incarnate among us. He redeems us from our sin and sorrow and, as David knew even before His coming, and "redeems [our] life, and precious is [our] blood in his sight." That this one Jesus would leave the splendors of heaven and come in such tenderness and humility is such a mystery of love. How could the Royal Son be the Deliver of the Afflicted? Indeed, in a depth of compassion and love unmatched he considered our blood to be of such worth that he shed his own. I can only echo David in saying "Blessed be his glorious name forever, may the whole earth be filled with his glory! amen and amen!"

Psalm 72:

"Give the king your justice, O God,
and your righteousness to the royal son!
May he judge your people with righteousness,
and your poor with justice!
Let the mountains bear prosperity for the people,
and the hills, in righteousness!
May he defend the cause of the poor of the people,
give deliverance to the children of the needy,
and crush the oppressor!

May they fear you while the sun endures,
and as long as the moon, throughout all generations!
May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass,
like showers that water the earth!
In his days may the righteous flourish,
and peace abound, till the moon be no more!

May he have dominion from sea to sea,
and from the River to the ends of the earth!
May desert tribes bow down before him,
and his enemies lick the dust!
May the kings of Tarshish and of the coastlands
render him tribute;
may the kings of Sheba and Seba
bring gifts!
May all kings fall down before him,
all nations serve him!

For he delivers the needy when he calls,
the poor and him who has no helper.
He has pity on the weak and the needy,
and saves the lives of the needy.
From oppression and violence he redeems their life,
and precious is their blood in his sight.

Long may he live;
may gold of Sheba be given to him!
May prayer be made for him continually,
and blessings invoked for him all the day!
May there be abundance of grain in the land;
on the tops of the mountains may it wave;
may its fruit be like Lebanon;
and may people blossom in the cities
like the grass of the field!
May his name endure forever,
his fame continue as long as the sun!
May people be blessed in him,
all nations call him blessed!

Blessed be the LORD, the God of Israel,
who alone does wondrous things.

Blessed be his glorious name forever;
may the whole earth be filled with his glory!

Amen and Amen!"

And He shall be called...

My dear friend Ellie Holcomb is about to embark on a few weeks touring with the wonderful Neighbors. So some of us in the women's bible study decided to make Ellie some cards to encourage her on the road.

I wrote a relatively normal note on one of my cards.

On the other, I drew what was supposed to be a Christmas tree. Underneath it, I was going to write a verse. I was envisioning the one that lists out what the Messiah will be: "And he shall be called..."

"Hey Britt," I said to my gorgeous, godly, Scripturally-knowledgable friend Brittany Cooper, who was busy making her own card, "what's that verse about Jesus?"

"You know, like Wonderful Counselour, Mighty God, Prince of Peace, Lord of Lords...." I rambled.

"I don't know exactly," she sweetly replied. "I think it's in Isaiah."

"Yeah it is," I said, distracted drawing some holly trim.

A few minutes later, Britt and I handed our cards to our dear friend Maeven to deliver. Looking at my pathetic little card, they started laughing.

Turns out, too lazy to actually go find a Bible, I had simply written, "And he shall be called... Jesus."

Of course, Brittany knew the verse (and an accompanying song, actually) but thought I was just asking for the reference. I let it stand.

I mean, he was called Jesus, right?

Advent-Holy One and Resurrected Redeemer

I think Advent is a beautiful word.

It may be because it has lovely letters in it.

It may be because it sounds a bit like Avett.

But it really is because Advent signifies a time of somber, sweet expectation.

Of joy longed for, but not yet seen. Of the coming King. Of hope.

For Christians, Advent is the reality in which we always live--the now and not yet--as those redeemed from the penalty and power of sin, but not yet its presence, as my pastor says. We have been ransomed from the grave, yet we still live in a fallen world. Christ has come, but He is coming again. And we wait expectantly for that day, even as we rejoice in His finished work.

St. Charles Borromeo, a sixteenth century bishop in Milan, wrote of Advent:"This is the season that the Church has always celebrated with special solemnity. We too should always observe it with faith and love, offering praise and thanksgiving to the Father for the mercy and love he has shown us in this mystery. In his infinite love for us, though we were sinners, he sent his only Son to free us from the tyranny of Satan, to summon us to heaven, to welcome us into its innermost recesses, to show us truth itself, to train us in right conduct, to plant within us the seeds of virtue, to enrich us with the treasures of his grace, and to make us children of God and heirs of eternal life." I am prone to forget that the beauty of Advent, of Christmas, is this same story. The familiar, miraculous truth that God, in His inexplicable, infinite love sent Jesus to redeem the lost and make them sons and heirs of righteousness and glory.

Often, for me, the false 'joy' that my culture and own mind offers is one of peppermint coffee and red sweaters. I get lost in Big Crosby's nostalgic crooning and my deep affection for evergreens, in notions of home and rest and celebration. And these are all wonderful things. But there's a real joy that endures beyond the returns and exchanges line on December 26, beyond a conflict with a family member, beyond the hassle of crowded travel. And that joy is in who God is and what He has done. In that precious refrain, my soul finds rest and can truly delight.

In an effort to remember this, I'm trying to consciously walk through the Advent readings provided by my local expression here in Nashville, City Church of East Nashville. Today, December 5, we are reading Psalm 22, The One Forsaken by God.

Psalm 22:

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?

O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer,

and by night, but I find no rest.

Yet you are holy,

enthroned on the praises of Israel.

In you our fathers trusted;

they trusted, and you delivered them.

To you they cried and were rescued;

in you they trusted and were not put to shame.

But I am a worm and not a man,

scorned by mankind and despised by the people.

All who see me mock me;

they make mouths at me; they wag their heads;

“He trusts in the Lord; let him deliver him;

let him rescue him, for he delights in him!”

Yet you are he who took me from the womb;

you made me trust you at my mother's breasts.

On you was I cast from my birth,

and from my mother's womb you have been my God.

Be not far from me,

for trouble is near,

and there is none to help.

Many bulls encompass me;

strong bulls of Bashan surround me;

they open wide their mouths at me,

like a ravening and roaring lion.

I am poured out like water,

and all my bones are out of joint;

my heart is like wax;

it is melted within my breast;

my strength is dried up like a potsherd,

and my tongue sticks to my jaws;

you lay me in the dust of death.

For dogs encompass me;

a company of evildoers encircles me;

they have pierced my hands and feet—

I can count all my bones—

they stare and gloat over me;

they divide my garments among them,

and for my clothing they cast lots.

But you, O Lord, do not be far off!

O you my help, come quickly to my aid!

Deliver my soul from the sword,

Save me from the mouth of the lion!

my precious life from the power of the dog!

You have rescued me from the horns of the wild oxen!

I will tell of your name to my brothers;

in the midst of the congregation I will praise you:

You who fear the Lord, praise him!

All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him,

and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel!

For he has not despised or abhorred

the affliction of the afflicted,

and he has not hidden his face from him,

but has heard, when he cried to him.

From you comes my praise in the great congregation;

my vows I will perform before those who fear him.

The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied;

those who seek him shall praise the Lord!

May your hearts live forever!

All the ends of the earth shall remember

and turn to the Lord,

and all the families of the nations

shall worship before you.

For kingship belongs to the Lord,

and he rules over the nations.

All the prosperous of the earth eat and worship;

before him shall bow all who go down to the dust,

even the one who could not keep himself alive.

Posterity shall serve him;

it shall be told of the Lord to the coming generation;

they shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn,

that he has done it."

In unmatched poetry, the psalmist describes a harrowing scene of one who knows of God's faithful covenant to His Fathers but is abandoned by God. He is one afflicted, abhorred, despised. He is one who we now know to be Jesus.

The psalm begins with those haunting words that echo from age to age, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" As the wise Tim Keller teaches, when Jesus is on the cross and utters this phrase, it is the only time in Scripture that He addresses God with a title other than "Father." Jesus was with God in perfect Trinitarian unity and relationship from before time began, Father and Son. But on the cross, he was broken for our sakes and, in taking our sin upon Himself, experienced for the first time in all of eternity, separation from God, crying out not as a beloved Son, but as a condemned sinner, "My God." As Craig Brown teaches, Jesus momentarily abandoned His place as Son, so that we could inherit His righteousness and Sonship. He called out "my God" so we could cry out "our Father."

I also love the last line of the Psalm, that what God had done shall be told to "a coming generation" that His righteousness shall be proclaimed to a "people yet unborn that He has done it." To me, to you, those unborn in antiquity when King David penned this psalm, it is recounted. He has done it.

"It is Finished."

Advent is about the Coming of this One in perfect humility, obedience and love. He was broken so we could be restored. He was forsaken so we could be reconciled. He brought about peace by the blood of the cross. He brought life from death. God became Flesh and dwelt among us. Though we were far off, we have been brought near. We were enemies of God, now his children.

Amen and Amen.

O Come, O Come

"The nights are long," she said.

And they are.

Poets speak of the long night of the soul, times of darkness and sorrow. And yet, waiting.

"My soul waits for the Lord, more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning."

The morning comes. A pale light brightens barren branches and illuminates the solid contours of the earth, harkening newness, hope, and life.

"His mercies are new every morning."

There are seasons of life, of our spirits, that are cold, lonely and obscured. Sometimes we try and cannot see, while other times we are too exhausted to open our weary eyes. Sometimes we cry out to the Lord, while other times we cannot muster a whisper of a prayer. We are quiet, still, despairing, hopeful-like the Israelites of old.

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high,
Who orderest all things mightily;
To us the path of knowledge show,
And teach us in her ways to go.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan’s tyranny;
From depths of hell Thy people save,
And give them victory over the grave.

O come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.

O come, O come, great Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes on Sinai’s height
In ancient times once gave the law
In cloud and majesty and awe.

O come, Thou Root of Jesse’s tree,
An ensign of Thy people be;
Before Thee rulers silent fall;
All peoples on Thy mercy call.

O come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Bid Thou our sad divisions cease,
And be Thyself our King of Peace.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel.

"Falling like the leaves"

This morning I stood transfixed in my windowed laundry room, watching the leaves fall.

A bunny rabbit stood outside facing the same direction as me.

I bet he was also humming the Avett Brothers and thanking his Creator.

"The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the world of our God stands forever."

Life starting over

In the wonderful novel The Great Gatsby, Jordan tells Daisy something hopeful and true.

"Life starts all over when it gets crisp in the Fall."

When life is overwhelming, and the relentless sun saps our strength, when the unbearable heat of oppression or boredom or suffering scorches our souls, take comfort. A cool breeze of refreshment is coming, the common grace of changing seasons never fails, and God is faithful.

It's officially Fall and, I don't know about you, but for me that's a good thing.

Life starts all over.

Amen.

(Oh, also, it would help to listen to my Furman boys Needtobreathe's new album The Reckoning, you know, for inspiration!)

Thankful for Today

I know it has been awhile...

And I promise a recap to the summer and some recent musings soon. But for now, suffice it to say, I am thankful.

So thankful for, among other things:

-the pumpkin spice candle on my desk

-the cool, sunny weather in Nashville

-Julieann and Katie

-my mom and dad, Courtney, Conrad and Carson

-good music (today, Avett Brothers and Band of Horses)

-walking

-friends who share both sorrows and joys

-peppermint soap

-a new haircut

-the Bible and the ability to read it

-groceries in the fridge and fresh water whenever I want

-adequate healthcare

-peace with God in Jesus Christ

-phones to talk to loved ones far away

-the sermons of Jean Larroux

-coffee

-this season of life, with its struggles and joys

A sunny Saturday and a good read

A truly thought-provoking, beautifully-written article.

"Anything that betrays real passion is by definition uncool."

Frivolous Prettiness

I know it's not practical...

I know I didn't budget for this (or, let's be honest, at all)...

I know I won't use it everyday...

But sometimes, a little beauty is worth a little sacrifice.

Florentine Gold Flatware!?!

How pretty is this going to be at Thanksgiving and Christmas and when I have you over on a random night for dinner? I know.

odds and ends

-There was a horrible storm in Nashville last night! Trees are down, cars are smashed and people are sleepless all over my beloved city. I got so scared I had to bunk up with my roommate. Prayers for all here and those recovering from tornados throughout the South, especially in Tuscaloosa and Joplin.

-Happy 70th Birthday to Bob Dylan!

-"Gladden the soul of your servant; for to you, O Lord, I do lift up my soul." Psalm 86:4

-GE commercials shouldn't make you cry, right? right?

-Been spending some time in the Southern Baptist National Archives this week. For any nerdy historians out there, I found several handwritten letters from Koinonia Farm's Clarence Jordan addressed to our very own James Robertson Parkway in Nashville. Also, Jordan went to speak on race relations in the 1940s at Furman University!

-Has anyone else discovered the TV show "Pregnant in Heels"? Sounds bad, but it's great.

-Going to my second consecutive dinner party--is it ok that my contribution is just sliced fruit?

-Don't these two beautiful actresses look like sisters? Just lovely.

It's elementary, my dear

Well, I am sitting at my kitchen table in Atlanta, in the same house that I've lived in since I was eighteen months old. I actually remember doing my first homework assignment, to color in the letter 'A,' at this table, giddy with excitement about going to school and having something as important to do as homework. Seems like an appropriate place to reflect on some of my earliest teachers.

In first grade, I had Mrs. Hess. A kind woman with wavy, soft brown hair and a predilection for floor-length jumpers, she was the ideal elementary school teacher. I don't recall much that I actually learned in first grade, but what Mrs. Hess did do that was incredibly affecting was open herself up to her students as a person. She knew me. She knew that I was incredibly shy but that if given time and encouragement, I would blossom. She let me sit next to my best friend, Emily Tate, so that we could giggle and have to get separated. She told me she liked me and that I was one of her favorite students, which gave me confidence. She told me about her bald husband, who, I still remember vividly, had just had a minor heart attack and was recovering, so he couldn't eat bacon. Mrs. Hess' parents lived in my neighborhood, so I saw her at Halloween as she handed me a twix, a young bride nervous and excited to see her teacher outside of school. Mrs. Hess was a real person and her interactions with me were real. I was not just a random student, I was Ansley, a shy sweet little girl who may have some potential someday. It is so important to treat every student as they are, to encourage them in their particularities and to open one's self up to them, no matter if they're in college or 6. Mrs. Hess let me enter into her life, her family, her intellectual journey as a young child--I am still grateful.

When I wasn't in Mrs. Hess' classroom, I went down the hall for 'Challenge' with Ms. Furst. She was a character. A small Jewish woman with strong perfume and a strong personality, Ms. Furst was indomitable. She was probably in her late 50s/early 60s with jet black hair and biting wit. She was full of passion and taught out of a desire to foster creativity and genius. In her classroom, I did art projects and special reading, I penned the great American classic "Linlee and the Dragon," and I attempted logic puzzles (if you know me, you know that did not go well.) Ms. Furst would grab me by the shoulders and tell me to let my imagination wander, to think deeply and ask questions. I was, of course, a little bit afraid of her, but I also admired and loved her. She used to tell me I was gifted, to call me names in Yiddish and tell stories that dazzled my mind. Ms. Furst taught me the beauty to be found in eccentricity, in creativity, in humor. Wherever you are, Ms. Furst, you are a mensch, and a gift to me!

When I was in third grade, and beginning to reflect on my young life, I asked my mom if we could have a brunch for all my favorite teachers thus far. Probably 5 ladies came to my house for fruit and muffins and niceties. Mrs. Hess and Ms. Furst were definitely there. These were women committed not only to educate me within the confines of the cinderblock school, but who made a personal connection with their students, and gave up a Saturday morning to come over to my house, ask me questions, and comment on my photos on the fridge. Exceptional teachers are usually exceptionally generous people who see beyond their job into the realm of relationships--they care about their students as individuals and, amidst the frustration and fatigue, love them.

There are undoubtedly many more wonderful stories from my elementary years. Also, coming of age in an Atlanta metro public school, there are less wonderful stories--of immigrant kids with only one outfit to wear, of terrifyingly activist teachers with a political agenda to instill in the nation's youngest citizens, of violence on the school bus, of a whole host of racial slurs, of (confusingly) unmarried but pregnant teachers (try explaining that one to a 6 year old).

But, for today, let us be content with brunch with Mrs. Hess and Ms. Furst, two of the greatest teachers of my life.

"The Courage to Teach"

I can still remember the names of all of my teachers from kindergarden through graduate seminars. From Mrs. Smith to Professor Epstein, these men and women have opened my mind to ideas and cultivated my education. I am thankful for each one. But, while some teachers adequately conveyed the material at hand, others inspired creativity and passion. From some teachers I took away the ability to perform a prescribed task, but from others I took away a new way to envision the world and my place in it. While some appear in fragments of my memory, others left an indelible mark on my character and heart. What is it that transforms a teacher from a mere instructor into a inspiration?

Parker Posey,* in his riveting and resonant book, The Courage to Teach, argues that "good teaching cannot be reduced to technique, good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher." I don't want to imply that bad teachers are bad people--certainly individuals are gifted differently--but it is a provocative notion that the best teachers must in fact offer not pedagogy but their very person. Posey is worth here quoting at length: "Good teachers join self and subject in the fabric of life. Good teachers possess a capacity for connectedness... As good teachers weave the fabric that joins them with students and subjects, the heart is the loom on which the threads are tied, the tension is held, the shuttle flies, and the fabric is stretched tight. Small wonder, then, that teaching tugs at the heart, opens the heart, even breaks the heart---and the more one loves teaching, the more heartbreaking it can be. The courage to teach is the courage to keep one's heart open in those very moments when the heart is asked to hold more than it is able sot hat teacher and students and subject can be woven into the fabric of community that learning, and living, require." Teaching is always more than teaching history or biology or math, it is a revelation of the human condition, embodying before others the vulnerability essential to ask questions and ponder Truth.

Now that I myself am a teacher, I am evermore humbled and awed by those who spent their months and years pouring into me as a student. Stemming from my own profound gratitude to them, I want to dedicate a series of posts to these remarkable individuals--a tribute to their integrity, wisdom, and love. Tomorrow we'll start from the beginning--first grade. Mrs. Hess, get ready.

On a slightly lighter note, I got my own teaching evaluations the other day and one contained this hilarious little gem: "Ansley has a sensitivity and ability to provide a neutering and caring place for discussion." Oh my.

*I got this idea (and reference to Posey) from Professor Michael Bess who is himself a beautiful example of great teaching derived from a fearless moral character and honesty.

Don't judge me

...just dance it out.

you're welcome.

(and, no, this is not my new life philosophy. Nana, I'm sorry)

Socks inside and Southern wisdom

It's May 4 and 50 degrees outside.

When we were growing up in Atlanta, my Dad made the rules. The quirkiest, and most inexplicable, was his assertion that we HAD to wear socks downstairs until May 15, punishable by spanking.

Now, if you're not familiar with the South, invariably in March or April (or sometimes even in January or February) the temperature will spike up into the 80s and 90s and leave you sweaty and wishing for Christmas. On these days, some child would meander downstairs in shorts or a sundress, barefooted, only to receive a stern warning and a chase back upstairs to remedy the sockless issue. "But Daaad, it's like a million degrees outside! This is the craziest rule EVER!" And it is. And it isn't.

My Dad was raised by his mother and his maternal grandmother, two fearless, incredibly bright, wise, funny Southern women. They and their ancestors had always lived in the South, in Dyersburg and Atlanta, and knew intimately its patterns and rhythms. These southern belles taught my dad what they had been taught-- that every Spring, right when you think winter has relinquished its hold on the dogwoods and magnolias, there is a fierce cold snap. Cold enough, of course, to make young children sick if they go without socks.

Certain truths are not scientific and not provable, they are inherited bits of knowledge that work their way into the collective life of a family, of a region. And make for some crazy childhood rules.

But, y'all--it's May 4 and 50 degrees outside.

Strength to Love, Even our Enemies

From jubilation in the crowds at Ground Zero, to resolute affirmation in military barracks, to somber, incredulous recognition of people at home, the world is reacting to the news that Osama bin Laden has been killed. From the comfort of my desk in Nashville, I don't know how to react. One one hand, I am relieved that such an evil extremist and mass murderer is no longer plotting destruction against America and against the people of the Islamic world. It is good when justice is done. On the other hand, I cannot bring myself to really rejoice in the death of such an unrepentant man and I am sobered by the reality of retribution and the mutuality of death strikes.

With these thoughts weighing on my mind, I absently turned to my schoolwork and began reading. My assignment for today? Martin Luther King's sermon from Strength to Love, entitled "Loving your Enemies." The timeless words of Dr. King offer a serious consideration of the severity and gravity of evil, but also proclaim a more powerful alternative to hate and destruction, one that can transform our hearts and our world--love.

“First, we must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. It is impossible to even begin the act of loving one’s enemies without the prior acceptance of the necessity, over and over again, of forgiving those who inflict evil and injury upon us.”

“Forgiveness does not mean ignoring what has been dome or putting a false label on an evil act...It means, rather, that the evil act no longer remains as a barrier to the relationship. Forgiveness is a catalyst creating the atmosphere for a fresh start and a new beginning. It is the lifting of a burden or the cancelling of a debt…when we forgive, we forget in the sense that the evil deed is no longer a mental block impeding a new relationship.”

"We must recognize that the evil deed of the enemy-neighbour, the thing that hurts, never quite expresses all that he is. An element of goodness may be found even in our worst enemy...This simply means that there is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies…we recognize that this hate grows out of fear, pride, ignorance, prejudice, and misunderstanding, but in spite of this, we know that God’s image is ineffably etched in his being. Then we love our enemies by realizing that they are not totally bad and that they are not beyond the reach of God’s redemptive love.”

“We must not seek to defeat or humiliate the enemy but to win his friendship and understanding.”

“An overflowing love which seeks nothing in return, agape is the love of God operating in the human heart. At this level we love men not because we like them, nor because their ways appeal to us, nor even because they possess some type of divine spark; we love every man because God loves him.”

“How can we be affectionate towards a person whose avowed aim is to crush our very being and place innumerable stumbling blocks in our path? How can we like a person who is threatening our children and bombing our homes? That is impossible. But Jesus recognized that love is greater than like. When Jesus bids us to love our enemies, he is speaking neither or eros or philia; he is speaking of agape, understanding and creative, redemptive goodwill for all men. Only by following this way and responding with this type of love are we able to be children of our Father who is in heaven.”

“Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

“The chain reaction of evil—hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars—must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.”

"Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend.”

“By its very nature, hate destroys and tears down; love creates and builds up. Love transforms with redemptive power.”

"An even more basic reason why we are commanded to love is expressed explicitly in Jesus’ words, ‘Love your enemies…that ye may be children of you Father which is in heaven.’ We are called to this difficult task in order to realize a unique relationship with God…We must love our enemies, because only by loving them can we know God and experience the beauty of his holiness.”

In an staggering passage asserting the transforming and evangelical power of love, King states, “To our most bitter opponents we say: ‘We shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure suffering. We shall meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will, and we shall continue to love you. We cannot in all good conscience obey your unjust laws, because noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good. Throw us in jail, and we shall still love you. Send your hooded perpetrators of violence into our community at the midnight hour and beat us and we shall still love you. But be ye assured that we will wear you down by our capacity to suffer. One day we shall will freedom, but not only for ourselves. We shall so appeal to your heart and conscience that we shall win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory.”

“Love is the most durable power in the world. This creative force, so beautifully exemplified in the life of our Christ, is the most potent instrument available in mankind’s quest for peace and security.”

Dr. King's statements resonate through time to remind us that whatever the conflict, whatever the struggle, love is stronger and can overcome evil. And though we cannot conjure up the strength to love, we are empowered by the Holy Spirit, the power that raised Jesus from the dead, and enabled to transform ourselves and others. Praise the Lord our God and Father for the embodiment of love, forgiveness and power in Jesus and the gift of the Spirit that can embolden and enliven us to die to self and live to him. Let us then, in the wake of news of Osama bin Laden's gruesome life and death, endeavor to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, that we may win their hearts and transform the world.

A Royal Day!

This morning, I got up before the sun at 4:30 to watch Kate Middleton marry Prince William. I drank coffee and ate toast and settled in with some friends to witness what they say I'll remember my whole life.

Um, WORTH IT. From the moment I saw Kate emerge with her delicate lace sleeves, shiny cascading chestnut hair, full pleats, and warm smile, I kept saying over and over, "Perfect, she just looks perfect." She really did. William was coy and charming as ever, with his bashful, kind expression and sweet joking throughout. I hope they're really as in love as they seem. Best friends, really.

In case you missed it, the music was transcendent, there were TREES in Westminster Abbey, Kate's sister Pippa was gorgeous, and the sermon was sober, sound and encouraging. The British did what they do, and they did it well--solemnity, tradition, ceremony--and they did it with freshness. I was proud of them, even if I sang "My Country Tis of Thee" instead of "God Save the Queen." (God, save her awful yellow hat, really.)

Another highlight was when the Bishop of London, after claiming today a day of joy and hope, declared, "Every wedding is a royal wedding because we are all children of the King of Creation." What a beautiful and touching sentiment.

Overall, it was a glorious event, though of course, the pageantry and pomp can only dimly anticipate the glory and celebration of the Wedding That is to Come. And, we dear people, will be the bride, truly perfect.

Cheerio!