Christmas Vignettes

Christmas Eve, 10:30 a.m. - I am finishing up Christmas preparations by distributing worship aids among the pews. It's been a wonderfully long month - long because 17 straight workdays, wonderful because there is no place I'd rather be, no activity I'd rather be doing. I've hooked my playlist up to the sound system in this 75 foot ceilinged cathedral. Three funerals this week and now I hear "I heard the bells on Christmas day, their old familiars carols play... There is no peace on earth I said, for hate is strong and mars the song..." As the final verse approaches I thank God for a little wink - the church bells are shaking the steeple above me, ringing clearly from the highest point in Watertown. "God is not dead nor does he sleep."

Christmas Eve, 9:48 p.m. - During the middle of our first Choral Lessons and Carols program, I am thankful for how respectfully and careful the choristers read Scripture. There is evidence of deliberate rehearsal. For Mass, one goes through training on how to proclaim Scripture. This time a few choristers haven taken the cue, reading with emotion, but not overly dramatic. May God's Word not return void on any ears that hear.

Christmas Eve... er Day...12:05 a.m. - The second choral lessons program has gone quite nicely, better than I anticipated. Nervousness covers a multitude of sins. Sister welcomes the congregation to Midnight Mass with "Good Morning." I give a smirk to the choir assuming she has misread the greeting on her sheet. It's not til 9 hours later during a morning service that I realize she was correct. 12:05 is morning and I had written the greeting incorrectly. I give my third attempt to bring the alternate harmony to our first hymn, "O Come All Ye Faithful," a version used a few hours earlier at Kings College with boys singing the descants in a pure tone. I'm not satisfied with the dozens of wrong notes, but no one really cares since its far more obvious that I have taken my hands off the keyboard and some trumpet pipe has decided to maintain its drone. It's done the same for me in personal practice time but never before in a service. "The Lord Be With You," Monsignor declares after a few awkward seconds. "We have decided to insert a special solo for you this evening." I blush and do not laugh with the congregation. At earlier Masses we sang "Silent Night" the sentimental way with guitar. This time its for real.

Christmas Day 1:30 a.m. - I joyfully skip out of church to my car to head home for a nap. The snow falls softly. A best friend prepares a snowball. This is a joyful day. "Angel's and men rejoice for tonight darkness fell into the dawn of love's light."

Christmas Day 8:43 a.m. -  There is nothing like realizing the worship aid you printed has a typo in the creed. Straight up heresy. How horribly easy it is to get a few thousand people to declare together that they believe something their ancestors were martyred resisting - because you merely made a typo! Well, thankfully it's not too obviously heresy. Nothing about the hypostatic union or the filioque. The Chreasters won't realize what happened. The faithful congregation has it memorized and isn't looking to closely. Only Monsignor gives me a quizzical look.

Christmas Day 10:49 a.m. - It's been a long, full, delightful celebration. I reflect on the different types of service that have taken place. The evening Masses with its children's pageants attracted families; the times attracted two full buildings without enough chairs for all. The midnight Masses attracted a crowd I will deem traditional. A few more bells, whistles, and incense is included; they don't mind that it adds a few minutes to the service. For some of these octogenarians it brings back memories from another millennium. The morning services attracted quite a mix. Some were present for a Mass last night. Some have come to the conclusion of family celebrations and, well, might as well go to Mass. Many are there with huge servants hearts, musicians, ushers, proclaimers for the second time in 12 hours because they love building up the body of Christ.

How to Stop the Pain

"Judge not, lest ye be judged." I admit I fall into the category of people that Richards addresses when he says that most Christians think of this as a horizontal command with vertical implications. If you judge others, God will judge you. With the same measure that you judge others, God will judge you. Yet there is no clear indication that this passage is vertical instead of horizontal. Like when we pray "Father forgive us as we forgive our debtors," as if God's forgiveness hangs on ours. Christ's warning in Matthew is that the more we judge others, the more others will judge us.

Around this theme, Richards encourages clear and careful thinking around the way that judgment effects our lives. He argues that we are more effected by our judgment than others. We are the ones that mislead ourselves when we come with presuppositions or when we judge the motives behind actions.

I appreciated a section on consequences. "People learn through consequences. We call it love when we intervene, make decisions for them, and get in the middle of their stuff. But love is based on truth. When we violate scriptural principles, it is not love." Even thinking that ones own suffering is punishment from God can be "denial that these consequences are the direct result of my actions and that God has nothing to do with it."

So many principles in "How to Stop the Pain" ring true. How easy it is to misjudge the words of text, to wrongfully hang a good friendships foundation on a misconstrued comment or lack thereof. In a recent dialogue I was confronted with the idea that even thinking through an important conversation in ones mind ahead of time can be dangerous inasmuch as it misconstrues another's attitude, thus setting up a predispostion based on what I think (s)he thinks and the supposed response. If I expect a certain response in a conversation, I am doing more talking than listening, more judging than understanding. 

Overstated misunderstood

"Despite centuries of intense and heavy industry expended on the study of all sorts of features of the gospels," Wright writes, "we have often managed to miss the main thing that they, all four of them, are most eager to tell us. What we need is not just a bit of fine-tuning, an adjustment here and there. We need a fundamental rethink about what the gospels are trying to tell us."

The inside flap of the book sets my mind on skeptic mode immediately. I don't like overstaters (partly because I am one), and certainly not those who would suggest that for 2,000 years the church has missed the main point of its main text.

I am, however, walking away from this book with two things that I am grateful to have considered and learned. First, it is indeed interesting to consider the way the Gospels have been relayed in the context of the church. Wright points out convincingly that our very definition and understanding of "gospel" comes more from the Apostle Paul than it does the four books by that name. Unless we take the Gospels to be mere historical authentication that Christ has opened heavens doors, one must admit that the Gospels don't focus precisely in the same place that the epistles of Paul and others do. Additionally, the question is raised as to how the creeds go from chapter one to the final chapters of each Gospel: "...conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontious Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried." What about the miracles, the teaching, the discipline? What about the message of the KINGDOM, Wright asks.

Second, even if one didn't make the time for the entire book, I found the final chapter very helpful and would recommend it. There, Wright offers not a critique of the creeds themselves, but a vision of what ought to be going through the orthodox believers mind as (s)he recites. They have guided the church through heresy, and they continue to stand as flags around which the universal church can be unified. How important it is that we not lose sight of what they mean.

It has been said that the best teacher makes Scripture more clear not less. Wright makes it more clear.

Faulty statistics

Have you noticed how attracted we are to numbers and statistics? We hardly will believe a word without a number attached. Do 75% of people believe, than this democratic nation better ratify it! Does the word show up more than 60 times in Scripture, than it must be an especially important concept to God.  How many people subscribe. At which station is gas a penny cheaper. Numbers numbers numbers.

"A journalist, a psychologist and a statistician are travelling from London to Edinburgh by train. As the train crosses the border, the three travellers look out of the window and notice a black sheep standing alone in a field. The journalist says, “Look! The sheep in Scotland are black.” To which the psychologist replies, "Actually, we can conclude at least one sheep in Scotland is black”. The statistician shakes his head and boldly states, “I think you’ll find we can confidently say that at least one half of one sheep in Scotland is black.”

I'm afraid we've lost respect for at least two things that are challenging to staticize, intuition of logic and intuition of experience. I once heard Josh Moody, pastor at College Church in Wheaton, speak respectfully of his grandmothers theological nose. He recognized that years of seminary at times fell short in comparison to years of church life, the intuition of experience. He told how she was able to sniff out heresy long before he was able to logically calculate it. Oh how guilty I am of brushing aside an octogenarians suggestion because he cannot give a statistic or outnumber me in verses that apply to the situation. The intuition of logic becomes clear the more one reads Scripture. We begin to see verses that we memorize and dishonorably handle out of context. We begin to find grand nuances of the Word that God has written through the whole rather than the part. 

I am motivated to connect these thoughts to their origin - that of statistics in the church. It is quite fascinating to me to see which denominations give the most, which have the highest percentage of weekly vs nominal attendance, which read scripture. And I grant myself that this must, in some way, display the fruits of which I John speaks. Yet how much more obvious it is when one grows in intuition. Yes, you can in fact discern believers by a series of tests that The author specifically explains. You can see a healthy church and be attracted to it. You can identify sin without giving an explicit verse. And it will be the grandmothers who have been reading every day, not me with my searchable bible software, who discerns best. It will be to the grandfathers whose counseling has borne fruit, not the recent seminary grad who wrote a book, that we should defer judgement. 

God does rule his church through numbers. That number is a group called elders. The word elder has qualifications that have nothing to do with statistics or education.

Mount Rainer

Day one

Left right left right left right... 123456789... The mind can come up with a few different ways to keep one foot following the other. The consciousness almost demands a break, the heart is beating faster than when one kisses a girl, the 55 pound pack is digging into the buttons of my snow pants, my burning face tells me I should have followed Jeff's advice and applied more sunscreen, I can't tell how much my hyperventilation breathing is from the altitude and how much is from the exertion.

We began our trek from paradise, a place aptly named whether you are driving up from Seattle for the weekend or you have been in the purgatory of the mountain. Many people stop here, where the pavement allows one to be carried by combustion engine. A huge a-frame hotel includes a spa and warm meals. Our first thousand feet of ascent are accompanied by children, families, Asian tourists with their cameras, elderly couples with their interesting hats. There is a good showing of young adults with skis or snowboards on their backs. What a fun way that will be to travel down!

The weather is incredible. We have had multiple clear views of the summit reflecting the glory of its creator. The birds are chirping. Every once in a while you see a marmit, a possum-like animal,  poking its head around some rocks. In my energetic novice enthusiasm, Jeff encouraged me to take the lead. I'm the only new guy on the team. Everyone else has been on the mountain at least 2 other times. For Jeff and Andy, this is in line with dozens.

We have soon found a pace. About every 500 feet or half hour we are taking a 15 to 25 minute break. Since we only got 4 hours of sleep after packing last night, these breaks increasingly include a quick snooze for some of us. On some of the steeper portions one takes 20 to 30 steps and then a 5 second breather, during which I'd slow my breathing from its exhausting pace. After5 hours or so, base camp is in sight, but much like the other short term visible goals it appears to be moving uphill as we continue to trek. This is when mind over sense becomes so important. One starts wondering why the body is going through this? Am I trying to prove something to others or to myself? Is this supposed to be fun? Is it fun? Is it all about finishing the goal, seeinge the summit? Is days of pain and fatigue worth the completion. It's when we start running verses out of context through our mind. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I have found in whatever place I am to be content. No, Levi, you chose this one yourself; this is not necessarily the persecution that will give one heavenly reward.

Base camp is nothing like the description in "into thin air." There aren't oxygen bottles and piles of human waste everywhere. It is rugged though, and the many joys of a wood pile are absent. We arrived around 8pm and began boiling water immediately. At this altitude it takes 2 stoves running for two hours to melt the 18 liters necessary for the team tomorrow. During those two hours the rest of us struggled to put up the tents, make some crude dinner and get our gear in perfect order for tomorrow's summit attempt. When I cuddled into my sleeping bag at 10, I felt utterly tired, fatigued, and unprepared to arise in 2 hours.

Day two

Some climbers would take a day to acclimate and rest, but the weather demands that we make an attempt today. The weather changes quickly up here so you do your best to read the radar and the rest is done on the fly. You make a four day window with your airfare, but if you get to base camp and the weather looks good then you don't hang around eating granola bars that you didn't realize could freeze solid and vitamin injected gummies that make you crave a simple saltine cracker. So just after midnight we awake after a much too short rest. The nalgene of hot water is still toasty in the sleeping bag but everything else is ice. It takes us an embarrassing 2 hours to put our stuff together. Altitude sickness hits different people at different times. It's my turn. After doing my best for a half hour, last nights dinner finally makes its escape the same way it entered. In that moment of calm, I quickly down ibuprofen and a granola bar. The headache doesn't subside and the weakness of the heave will accompany me all day, but I've got a smile because the nausea is gone.

It shouldn't take us two hours to get out of camp, but this is partly due to the personalities on our team. Jeff and Adam are leading the trip. They have climbed many times and know the ins and outs of safety, routes, and know-how. Jeff is succinct. He tells you how something ought to be and if you don't do it you'll suffer your own consequences. He's amiable under the guise of an east-coast bluntness. Adam is chill, light hearted, and smart as a whip. He and his wife Laura live in a beautiful small house just perfect for them and their two girls. The front yard isn't big enough for grass, only a weaving of paths between their raised herb and vegetable beds, trampoline, and playset. The backyard is a jungle with a rapid stream, bridge, trees, foliage, and raspberry bushes which the two girls showed proudly the afternoon that we packed. Laura has a southern personality without the accent, quietly beautiful, yet ruggedly ready to take her two girls camping in the midst of pregnancy while Daddy and the guys were on the mountain. Both Adam and Jeff studied with Aaron. For Jeff medicine is a second career after engineering, a passion that thrives on research grants and interesting medical cases. For Adam it's a little more traditional, though no less passion filled. Dave and Andy are Adams cousins, and they are the reason it takes us two hours to leave camp. They aren't noticeably lazy, but one can't figure out what takes so long. To their credit, they were always calm and prepared. Andy listened to his favorite music from the iPod nano, and Dave was quick to see and meet the needs of the team. 

This second day of hiking is quite different. For one, our packs have gone down to what is needed for the day as well as a few emergency supplies for an accident that might cause a man to stay on the mountain over night. Signs in the outhouses at base camps remind us that the rangers no longer make rapid helicopter rescues. Last year a young ranger found his final resting place in a cravass as he was attempting to make a rescue. In an emergency now, they come, but they are slow and careful so you better be prepared to wait. So the pack is light, but We are now tied in various systems to each other by a rope. 3 guys to a rope, we are tied in by harness. In addition, systems of ropes are set up in case we need to climb in either direction along the rope should someone fall into a cravass. Attached to our boots are crampons, large spikes that dig into ice and snow. At the ready is an axe, and on our heads are helmets with lights. Like any other safety equipment, it is annoying until one finds himself looking 150 yards/450 feet down a 45 degree slope that turns into a vertical cravass. I believe it was as much the lack of sleep as the dramatic personality that caused me to cry the first time i saw it, stunned by a picture of gods greatness.

We started off at 230 in the morning darkness. The rope must remain lengthened so that in the event of a fall the arrest attempt of the team is immediate and without a jerk. So socializing is basically out as no one is closer than 20 feet. As one walks, the rope tightens and loosens and I often made the mistake of stepping on the rope which is damaging because of the crampon spikes. As we trudge on visibility increases. It doesn't take much light to illuminate the white snow and clouds, but the same keeps us from seeing much farther than a half mile at any part of the day. During some snow and fog outs, our visibility lessens to 30 yards, which is quite exciting when trying to see the next trail marker or the other team of three. This is one of the easiest trails up the mountain. The guide services and rangers keep a through trail marked with flags which saves teams like us a lot of time that might be spent exploring and backtracking.

Altitude oxygen become increasingly noticeable as various systems in the body tell one to turn around. Lack of sleep increases efatigue. Yesterday's sunburn is getting whacked with cold gusts of sharp snow. The prospect of summiting is greater with each step while one wonders more and more "what's the point?" The helmet digs into my head. 2 of my fingers have lost circulation, and the tingling in my feet tells me something's not quite right in my boots either.

One can't communicate times of monotony like this. Your brain goes from counting steps to chanting left right left to thinking of Caribbean beaches to a mere mechanical step that is tuned intently on the rope and maintaining a perfect tension. Only various glimpses of larger than life cliffs, cravasses, and snowfields restore the smile to the face and excitement to the breath. Profane language almost seems necessary for the location and condition, and some of our team has followed that instinct. One part of the body is freezing while the other sweats. Even the light pack digs into the shoulder sand the harness feels ever more restrictive.

Those final yards are always the hardest, and yet when the goal is in sight the flame of motivation rekindles. The limit of our vision doesn't keep us from shouts and pumping fists. A few of us walk around the snow filled dome, others fall asleep before our trek down. Were wet, we're cold, we're tired, were fatigued, but it is literally all coasting downhill from here.

Just as we return to base camp around 5, we meet a father and son beginning their ascent. we learn later that they returned by 10, accomplishing in 5 hours what took us 13. it was their fourth peak in four days. By the time we return to base camp, my mind is set on home. We don't Even take time to heat up water. The tent has caved in a bit under the foot of snow that we received today. The lower foot of my sleeping bag is soaked. It doesn't matter. I've slept 8 of the last 60 hours and that is the first instinct of survival.

Day three

It feels good to go to bed at 8 and wake up at 8. I'm surprised at the cozy warmth of the sleeping bag. The tent caved a bit more during the night and outside is a winter wonder land. The weather continues to be predicted worse so we prepare to trek. our tent pegs were buried six inches down. that has turned into at least 12 inches, and its ice. our gear is everywhere under the snow. we look for the things we know are somewhere under the blanket and callout when we find something we weren't looking for. "heres your cup andy." "i found someones caribeaner." Soon, well not so soon for our team, were off. Things are a bit heavier when they are wet, but today gravity is in our favor. It seems every step counts for two as we descend because of the slipping and sliding. At points along the trail we glissade, a glorified mode of sledding on your bottom. I'm thankful for gators which keep the snow out of your boots, a childhood memory that still haunts me. The tides are reversed and we get to encourage people making their ascent today. More than once we strike up conversation about the sausage, eggs, and hot cocoa waiting for us at the bottom of the hill. As we return to paradise, we run into more and more day hikers and children running up a distance to slide down on their sleds. More fist pumping, pictures, and hoorays. I just climbed a mountain.