Walk the Dog – A New Year’s Resolution

Among siblings few things change quantitatively over time – I will always be a little brother. A few years ago, rapidly accelerating towards thirty years of age, I found myself playing the baby brother role in Boston – my big brother's very new hometown. Outside various shops between Washington Square and Harvard Street in the Brookline neighborhood I stood awkwardly, embracing my trademark insecurity, waiting for my big brother to purchase some picture hangers at the hardware store or pick up a to-go order from the Thai restaurant (well worth the wait). And why was I waiting outside? Because little brother was holding big brother's dog – "you hold Baxter while I get this…it'll just take a minute." Yeah, right. Baxter, a massive, hundred-plus pound yellow Labrador mix, and I had ample time to bond as we stood, sat, and occasionally lay down along Beacon Street.

But, as I soon discovered, being the designated little-brother dog-walker did have its benefits. Standing along the bustling sidewalks, filled with thousands of defrosting Bostonians enjoying the perfect New England summer weather, Baxter became quite the conversation piece. "Your dog is beautiful" and "That's the biggest head I've ever seen" were frequent comments of passersby. Often other dog owners would stop to strike up a conversation as well – their Pekinese and Chihuahuas yapping and growling incessantly while Baxter calmly investigated exactly what type of creatures these little things were.

There was a great sense of humanity to the whole process. Gracious comments passed from one to another, the engagement of human beings in conversation, and expressions of sincere interest in one another's lives – even if at an introductory level. I had more discussions with more people in three days than I had had in suburban Atlanta in the last three years. There's something about being 'out there' walking and talking in the streets that produces a true sense of community, and real opportunities for all sorts of ministry. And there's nothing like a dog in the city to keep you on the street – off the couch and near the fire hydrant.

Jesus was always on the move – from town to town, village to village. Certainly Jesus' ministry would have been much easier if everyone had just come to him – he definitely could have saved on sandal treads. Like John the Baptist he could have established a central location and then waited for the crippled, blind, poor and miscreants to simply come to him. Jesus was a carpenter, surely he knew how to erect a building – and with Matthew's experience collecting taxes starting a capital campaign would not have been a stretch. But, Jesus did none of those things.

Jesus moved through the streets and byways making himself available for individuals and communities in need. And along the street he entertained a broken humanity with healing. The unnamed woman with the blood issue, Zacchaeus, and blind Bartamaeus all found healing after meeting Jesus in the street. Jesus' transformative power was revealed through the daily dynamics of human interaction – he 'walked his dog', as it were.

Wearily standing outside my brother's apartment, Baxter in-tow, I ran into his neighbor. Recently widowed and transplanted from Virginian suburbia to urban Boston, she had spent the entire day discovering the joys of laundry mats. With little more than a sincere "how are you doing?," she opened up the pain of her life to another human being who would listen. It had been a hard day, burying the dagger of a lost marriage partner of thirty-eight years deep into her heart. Her sense of loss heightened, she let choked tears go as she shared her story with another human being who patiently gave her the time to speak. As I finally submitted to Baxter's pleas for relief, she opened her apartment door in a much better mood – "Thank you." A healing had occurred in the street.

Later, outside a video store in nearby Washington Square I found myself again staring through the glass leashed to the Behemoth. Many passed in and out with polite smiles and greetings. From the parking lot I saw a stern looking man walking slowly towards the door. But, as he approached a smile crossed his face as he stared at the large Labrador sprawled on the pavement. Then on his way out he stopped and reached out his hand to rub Baxter's neck. For a full minute he silently stroked his fur. Looking up to speak for the first time he said in a deep Russian accent, "I lost my dog a few months ago." Returning his attention to the great beast latched to my arm he received a bevy of warm licks to his hand. Turning to leave, he simply and sincerely said, "Thank you." Another healing on the street.

Certainly I didn't perform any supernatural miracles, but it seems the truly miraculous is bound up in the natural. Unwittingly I found myself made available to the world in the seeming triviality of walking my brother's dog.

A few weeks ago we welcomed Cleo, a yellow Labrador puppy, into our home. My New Year's resolution is to take her on many walks in my neighborhood. Though far from the crowded metropolis of Boston, I look forward to the many people we will meet along the way this year in our town…and the many opportunities to receive and offer healing on the street. – D. Christian Nix, January 1, 2011

Mary’s Son

Fox's new sitcom Raising Hope is really growing on me. It is a comedy depicting a family living on the socio-economic margins of society (like Roseanne) – in stark contrast to the vast majority of programs that seemingly normalize the lives of the upper middle class and wealthy. The basic storyline is that of a young twenty-something man, born to teenage parents whom he still lives with, learning to raise a baby girl, Hope, on his own. Oh yeah, and the mother of the child is a now executed serial killer (you may have to watch it yourself to grasp the humor in all this).

In the most recent Christmas episode Hope is turned down for the role of baby Jesus in the local church's 'live nativity.' Why? Because she is apparently known around town as the "murderer's baby." The rest of the show centers on the family's (humorously misguided) efforts to transform Hope's image. Family and friends all participate in acts of love towards a child who they believe deserves a meaningful life despite the circumstances surrounding her birth. It is indeed a true Christmas story.

For many Christians, one of the most celebrated aspects of Christmas is Jesus' birth (conception?) to a virgin girl named Mary. I'm not sure this was how the villagers in Nazareth would have viewed it. If we read between the lines (and I think we must because the traditions Matthew and Luke present are different in so many important ways) we can see the social and cultural mess surrounding Jesus' birth, much apart from the stories of King Herod's wrath and the inn with no vacancies. Mark, whose gospel was earliest and yet gives no birth tradition, may be the most telling. In Mark 6:3 a seemingly innocuous statement is made – Jesus is called "Mary's son." Given the context of the passage and the patriarchal system of the day the phrase "Mary's son" was far from innocent verbiage, it was an insult. Jesus was Mary's son – and NOT Joseph's. As we see in Mark 6, the residents of Jesus' hometown were not keen to accept his teaching because he was a son of ill repute – Mary's bastard son. Jesus had been labeled from even before his birth. Not only was he born on the 'wrong side of the tracks' in Nazareth (see John 1:46), but the morality of his birth, and thus his own, was questionable.

A couple of years ago a friend shared with me an experience he had at a Christmas mass. Nominally Catholic by virtue of marriage he was unfamiliar with certain traditions (and let it be clear I intend no disgrace towards those traditions – just curious wonderment). The congregation sorted out row by row towards the front of the chapel – as if to take communion. Only as he approached very near to the priest did he realize he was being summoned to kiss the knee of a plastic baby Jesus doll. He found this quite humorous, "what the hell is that about?," he said, still laughing about it weeks later. He did recall that the plastic baby Jesus received a sound knee cleaning after each kiss – how very sanitary Jesus has become in our churches.

Many of us have heard preachers stand in pulpits and talk about a plastic baby Jesus – a perfect Jesus, a Jesus that was squeaky clean, a sanitized Jesus who proclaimed a sanitized gospel. It's all very neat and orderly. The storm of gossip and questions that surrounded his childhood has been silenced. The tattered clothes of his childhood have been replaced with gleaming robes of white. If we believe the famous hymn Silent Night, the baby Jesus didn't even cry (he must have been plastic!). There was nothing messy about Jesus' life from their perspective – and there damn well better not be anything messy in yours!

Each Easter Christians celebrate the Jesus who bore the sins of the world on the cross. It may be more apropos at Christmas to remember the Jesus who truly bore the sins of the world in a manger in Bethlehem – poverty, violence, prejudice and marginalization. Many 'sons and daughters of Mary' are with us today living in broken homes, economically disadvantaged, and presumed guilty or corrupt because of the street they live on or because of the pronunciation of their last name. Like Jesus, they need mothers with courage like Mary, fathers willing to stand in and take responsibility like Joseph and mentors who can share a vision like John the Baptist.

The real story of Christmas is that of a child who was loved and blessed by those who saw his value when others did not. And in turn, he became love and blessing for others (like no other!). This may be the great 'Hope' of Christmas – a hope that we can share with the sons and daughters of Mary who live around us today. – D. Christian Nix, 12/10/2010

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"Simeon took (Jesus) in his arms and praised God, saying, '…my eyes have seen your salvation.'" – Luke 2:28-30 (NIV)

"Well happy birthday Jesus, sorry your party is so lame!" – Michael Scott (Steve Carell), The Office

Thanksgiving Thoughts

My son got to be a 'turkey' in his school's Thanksgiving play – talk about type casting! Watching the scene on video was priceless. He shook his tail feathers to "I'm a Little Turkey" and gobbled to "Albuquerque Turkey." I love Thanksgiving, but it has become strangely placed in contemporary times. It forms in grocery stores like a flash mob between Halloween and Christmas – surprising and enthralling us seemingly out of the blue before disappearing again into the fog of the retail holidays.

The stories behind Thanksgiving are vast and ripe with historical import, but are mostly an afterthought to the turkey, cornbread dressing and cranberry sauce (jello?) many of us enjoy on the fourth Thursday in November. The traditional narrative – the school play version – is something simply akin to the Pilgrims and "Indians" making nice. The tale goes a bit deeper than that, but we have a way of de-contextualizing history to avoid the messy details. We forget that these early colonies, though often imbued with religious purpose, were in themselves business ventures. They were indeed imperial usurpers of lands that did not belong to them. And they brought with them germs, diseases and practices that ravaged the Native Americans and the landscape. This makes the 'First Thanksgiving' in November 1621 all the more significant. The three day celebration was an accord of peace in the midst of universal crisis. The Plymouth Colony did not have a superb go of it in the beginning. Unprepared and under supplied, their first winter in America was brutal and bore a great human toll. Yet, the Wampanoag tribe and their leader Massasoit, though much maligned by the English presence, played a pivotal role in helping the settlers learn how to survive in this 'new' land. Establishing peace in the spring they celebrated the first harvest of corn (maize) in the fall of 1621. From turmoil, peace (though tragically temporary) was born among those willing to respect and care for one another.

In light of the current political turmoil in our nation it is of no little significance that Thanksgiving was proclaimed an official holiday at the height of the American Civil War in 1863. Abraham Lincoln, in his address, called on God to "heal the wounds of the nation." May those words be on our heart this Thursday. Our woundedness is evident – in our nation, in our towns, in our homes, and in our relationships. We will all bring baggage to the table, not unlike the disease and cultural strife our forbearers brought to this land so many years ago. Yet, here we are…together. We can either live in distress and conflict or we can seek peace by finding ways to give thanks for one another. I believe love and loving actions have the power to create unity among the most divisive factions. Let's give thanks for those we are in conflict with this week, and begin the process of creating bridges built on care, respect and admiration to all the peoples who inhabit the global landscape.

Thanks to the Wampanoag and all Native Americans – may we begin to offer healing for the sins of the past.

Thanks to the Environment and Agriculture we enjoy – may we find redemptive ways to enjoy your bounty.

Thanks to our political and cultural foes – may we find peaceful solutions that benefit all of humanity.

Thanks to the God that is Love – may we engage you in the positive transformation of the world for people of all nations, cultures, races and beliefs.

-D. Christian Nix, 11/24/2010

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"Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful." – Colossians 3:15 (NIV)

‘Hell is Real’…and other things I learned driving through Kentucky.

On a recent family road trip I got to see a lot of Kentucky – once on I-75, and again along I-65. I find myself on the road a lot, so I try to make it a point to absorb a bit of the culture wherever I am. I learned several things while driving through the Bluegrass State.

First, don't try booking a hotel in an SEC football town (Lexington) anywhere near the weekend of a home game – even the Motel 6 had become the Motel $600. Second, and directly related to the first, when driving well off the beaten path (which is not too hard to do in KY) in search of an affordable hotel, don't trust your GPS. Sometime around midnight we found ourselves staring at a pasture that was supposedly the address of a Hampton Inn. Third, people in Kentucky are apparently big fans of 'bagel toppers' (a half bagel with a quiche-like substance baked on top). We spent two nights in Kentucky, and both hotels were serving them as the 'main entrée' for breakfast.

Finally, I learned that the religious establishment in Kentucky (and southern Ohio) wants to make it perfectly clear that "Hell is Real." That was the message plastered on multiple billboards along the highway, usually complete with a listing of the Ten Commandments on the reverse side – to make it obvious why so many will be going there I guess. It's not the most uplifting message, but it did get me thinking about the two things I imagine the authors behind the signs were hoping for – Hell…and Jesus.

What did Jesus say about 'hell'? Not as much as you'd think if you grew up in the southern 'hell, fire and brimstone' traditions, but Jesus certainly covered the topic. In Mark 9 Jesus contrasts life and hell – the Kingdom of God and Gehenna (9:43-47). Notably, he does not contrast heaven and hell. While I do not doubt the eschatological overtones of the Markan text, it begins with something intriguing – Jesus says, "Truly I say to you, there are some of those who are standing here who will not taste death until they see the kingdom of God after it has come with power" (9:1). Is Jesus here predicting – incorrectly – the 'end of days'? Or might Jesus be referencing something more temporal and more in sync with his mission on earth?

Interestingly, only a few days later something miraculous happens in the passage. No, not the 'transfiguration' narrative that immediately follows that statement. Rather, the next event seems more telling. After descending the mountain Jesus finds his disciples amidst a crowd of onlookers. A father had brought his son to them for healing. His son was mute, foaming at the mouth and prone to seizures. His life had from birth been rife with danger and pain. In that moment Jesus performed an act of healing, and in that moment the kingdom of God became present for all to see (verifying his earlier prediction) – "Jesus took him by the hand and raised him…" (9:27). Here a tangible transfiguration takes place, as the boy's experience transformed from one of a living hell to truly living. Of no little significance, just a few verses later Jesus will highlight the importance of service to others through a series of hyperbolic statements contrasting life and hell, and interchangeably, the kingdom of God and hell. Hell is a reality. But, service, loving action toward and with others, is the catalyst that offers an alternate reality – life.

Might it be possible that just as the kingdom of God has much to do with the here and now, that hell is not merely an eschatological concept? Many people throughout the world are experiencing hell on a daily basis – many are experiencing violence, persecution, torture, poverty, hunger, disease and isolation. Hell is real…this we know. Yet, as I read those numerous billboards scattered along the highway, I wondered where the gospel, where the good news was in such a message? What about love, what about service, what about peace, what about the transformative power of Jesus' way of life? Aren't these the messages Christians should be sharing with the world?

As part of my daily commute I pass a billboard advertising Newcastle beer in midtown Atlanta. Next to a glistening pint of the brown ale, it simply states, "Hell is waiting…but, it's a dry heat." I can't help but laugh at the lighthearted ad, and the stark contrast between it and the signs I saw along the highway. The beer sign, enveloped in its satirical humor, has an underlying message: "Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die" - an oft-quoted conflation that finds its roots in biblical tradition (Ecclesiastes 8:15, Isaiah 22:13).

In light of the alternate realities of the kingdom of God and hell in this world, I would like to offer another billboard worthy message: "Eat, drink and be merry…BUT, share your food, share your drink and share your joy so that all may know peace on earth." That is a message I think even Jesus might approve. – D. Christian Nix, 11/1/10

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"No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white / Just our hands clasped so tight / Waiting for the hint of a spark / If Heaven and Hell decide / That they both are satisfied / Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs / If there's no one beside you / When your soul embarks / Then I'll follow you into the dark…" – Death Cab for Cutie, I Will Follow You into the Dark.

"…take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'" – Matthew 25:34-36 (TNIV)

Jumping In

The fly never had a chance. The glass of juice it had landed in was far too enticing – brightly colored, silky smooth and a full delicious serving of both fruit and vegetables! As I looked at it, black and bloated, turned legs up in the center of a glass tumbler, I thought, with as much satire and irony as I could muster prior to my third cup of coffee, "Well, at least he died doing what he loved." Then I poured him down the drain and turned the disposal on.

I often find myself trying to put this 'living and dying' thing in some sort of perspective. It's far from a love of the macabre – I don't watch horror movies, and I quickly turn the channel if it appears I'm about to view a commercial for one (they give me the creeps). I'm much more interested in the living side of the equation. What are we here for? At thirty-something I'm still trying to get a grasp on the meaning and purpose of living – maybe I'm not alone in that.

I guess as a Christian I'm supposed to have that all figured out. Of course, that 'purpose' may depend on what kind of Christian you inquire it of…or even what Christian text you search for it in. Often it seems we're living to die – everything wonderful is beyond. I have sat through scores of emotionally charged solos and choir specials in churches that opined the troubles of this world and the splendid serendipity of the afterlife. Life, on this earth, becomes a test we are set up to fail – even though it is 'open book' and we are encouraged to share 'answers' with classmates. It is a perspective I often find troubling.

Understandably, the centerpiece of orthodox faith is Jesus' death – the 'substitutionary atonement.' In fact, half of the pages of the New Testament and a majority of the books therein are attempts at framing early Christian communities around the meaning of Jesus' death (and resurrection, of course).

Yet, in all of this death it seems that Jesus' life becomes obscured. For someone who is often labeled by preachers as one 'born to die,' Jesus appears to have had an unusual interest in the lives and the living of those around him. Why heal the sick or countenance the psychologically tormented if death is the goal? Why feed the hungry or patiently embrace the children if it is the endgame that matters the most? Why break barriers by dining with 'sinners' and acknowledging prostitutes if society and culture are meaningless elements of a world that will melt away into eternal obscurity? And why turn over the tables of the moneychangers and challenge a damning economic system if such earthly matters are so unimportant in the end?

Was it all just symbolic gesture? Was it simply evidence of divine status? Maybe…maybe not. Rather than simply showing us how to die, it seems quite possible that Jesus of Nazareth stands as a revelation of how to live. That may seem like nebulous hair-splitting for some, but it could be a transformational nuance for others – like me. It changes one's viewpoint of the cross – from looking back to looking forward. Instead of a reminder of Jesus' death, the cross becomes a sign at the end of the road of Jesus' life…and at the beginning of ours.

The fly in my house didn't die 'doing what it loved'…it drowned in a desperate attempt to live. In many ways I think Jesus shared such a passion for life. That doesn't necessarily answer questions of meaning and purpose for us. But, like the New Testament writers who inscribed meanings to Jesus' life, that very well may be a task for others to discern after our own demise. Maybe the best thing we can do is step off the dry land of certainty into the chaotic waters of life, and try to create something good out of the mess all around us (Genesis 1). – D. Christian Nix, 10/6/10

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"We're all excited / But we don't know why / Maybe it's cuz / We're all gonna die
/ And when we do / What's it all 4? / U better live now / Before the grim reaper come knocking on your door…" – Prince, Let's Go Crazy

"…I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." – Jesus, John 10:10

Easing his pain

For all of my fathers…

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I watched "Field of Dreams" with my wife the other night – a movie she had somehow never seen before. At the end, as the camera panned out and the seemingly infinite stream of cars arriving at the ball field in Iowa comes into view, she stared at me aghast, mouth open. "THAT'S IT!," she said. "People like this movie?" I love it, but hey, I've got a man-crush on Kevin Costner so it's to be expected.

Seriously though, the movie is called 'Field of Dreams' – not 'field of actual events' or 'field of analytical history' or 'field of non-metaphorical, objective truth.' NO! It's "DREAMS!" The story requires a bit of interpretation – looking beyond the script to the broader narrative driving it.

It is truly a story of resurrection – new life that arises from the meaning of another in death. Costner's character, Roy, is introduced as a man in the midst of personal crisis. He finds himself in a liminal position – caught between his past and an uncertain future as a novice farmer amidst an Iowan cornfield. You know how the story goes. Working in the corn he begins to hear voices from beyond – initiating a journey that leads him to cut down prime acreage to build a baseball field, kidnap a famous author and open his mind and heart to possibilities beyond the pale of orthodox existence. In his vulnerability Roy takes action to fill the void within his being. He creates a place of welcome for the outcast and excluded from baseball's past. He creates an opportunity for a hardened and now-recluse revolutionary to find his way again – to be re-awakened to the living out of his true calling. Roy awakens even his own family to the possibilities beyond. His daughter embraces it with innocence, his wife with some hesitation (having her feet in both worlds), and eventually even the asshole brother-in-law's eyes are opened – recognizing that there's more to life than money, and that sometimes the true worth of something can't be seen in it's typical use and setting.

"Ease his pain," the voice said. In the end it is not Shoeless Joe or even Roy's father whose pain needs easing…it is Roy's. It was the pain of a love held within. The pain of never speaking it, never showing it, never offering it to a father he had cut out of his life. And when his father died, the possibility of ever giving that love away had seemingly been cut off. Love is a strange and dynamic force. In operation it has the power to transform lives, societies and even the world. But, left stagnant, it becomes like a festering poison – destroying us and our ability to move forward. Yet, the voice and the field gave Roy a chance – an opportunity to release that love held within. He risked his own sense of certainty (some might call this 'faith') to ease the pain of others. Eventually in that, he found a peace for his own pain – a metaphorical 'one more catch' with dad in the backyard. And I think that's where the truth of this story lies.

The power of resurrection is not in making things again as they were before. Rather it is in the transformation of what is into what might be – the transfer of dreams and hopes from one who is no longer here into new life in those who remain. Our loss hurts so badly because we loved, and were loved, so much. When the object of our deepest affections has moved beyond our reach where then do we return love? It seems that in risking our love toward others, we have an opportunity for continuing love lost – bringing life to those in desperate need of our touch now, and continuing the life and meaning of the one whom we can no longer embrace.

My grandfather died ten days before I was born. I've yet to fully grasp the tangled web of emotion my father must have felt at my birth. Laying his beloved father to rest one moment, then welcoming a new – and unexpected (I've never been told this, but I can do the calculus) – child in the next. Yet, if there is one thing I am certain of, it is my father's love – his deep, abiding affection for this wandering soul who is in many ways still a baby boy. My grandfather never held me, but I've felt his embrace. My grandfather never told me a bedtime story, but I've felt the whisper of his voice upon my ear. My grandfather never shared a bit of timely and timeless advice with me, but his sage wisdom has graced the shuffled pages of my bibliography. I have experienced my grandfather's love...because my father loves me. The dust and dirt grandpa trod are continually upon my own feet because my father continued his journey with me, my brothers and mother and those others he has met along the never-ending road. For my father, I pray my life and my love will 'ease his pain.' – D. Christian Nix, 6/19/10