They're just not pants.

If you know me well, then you've heard me say it a million times. But I think it's important to get this important public service message out there to the broader online community, so here goes:

Leggings are not pants.

I'm sorry if this seems like a shock to you, but it's the truth. They're not pants. They're just not. They may seem like pants in that they maybe shaped like pants, but they are in fact, something completely different. So please stop treating them like pants and wearing them by themselves. You're exposing all sorts of things to the world that God intended for you to keep private. Such as your butt cheeks. Aside from which it is a fashion faux-pas. That's it. They're not pants. No questions. The End. Goodbye.

Chinese Chow-Down

The Chinese place down the street from which we regularly get take-out gave us four fortune cookies with our order the other evening. Is this a bad omen that we are eating too much to confront our winter blues?

The Consumation of Compromise

I was just reminded by a recently married friend how much of adjustment it can be to get married (or make a long term commitment to someone else) and realize that everything in your entire life has now become a collaborative endeavor. Suddenly every single detail of your life goes from simple decision to two-party discussion; from what time you wake up to what time you go to bed, what you eat for dinner to where you open a savings account, what kind of peanut butter you buy to what TV program you watch. And that takes some energy to adjust to. This is not to say that there is anything bad about this transition, in fact there are many instances in which having two heads (or hearts or bank accounts or senses of humor) to apply to any of life's curveballs can be life-giving. But I do think that it is important to acknowledge, within a culture that treats pairing off as the ideal lifestyle, that this type of lifestyle is a compromise, one that takes energy, and may not be for everyone. Especially those who are particularly committed to a particular brand of peanut butter.

Litmus Test: Trial by Priest

You know how sometimes it's difficult to know what you really think about something? For instance, sometimes I'll tell my Beloved what our options are for dinner, but once he picks one of them I realize that that wasn't what I wanted. (If you're wondering whether or not this is annoying to my partner-in-crime, the answer is a resounding YES!). Or if someone asks you if killing is wrong, you say "yes," but then they follow it up with "but what if you could save 5 million other lives by killing someone" and you have to rethink your position.

Well, I think I've developed a new ethical litmus test for moral questions. Ask yourself the following question: Would it seem strange to you if a priest did it while wearing a collar?

Several weeks ago, I was watching part of a poker tournament on TV (Don't judge...as I've said, we really don't have that many channels.) And one of the players was a Catholic priest. Wearing a collar. Right there playing poker. On television. And I was completely stupefied. He just shouldn't be doing that! I thought. It's totally inappropriate! What does he think he's doing?
Mr. Love-it-or-leav-itt, always the realist, asked, "What's the problem? Do you think playing poker is morally wrong?"
"Well, of COURSE not," I said. "I just don't think a PRIEST should be doing it in his COLLAR on TELEVISION." (I always speak in all capital letters when I am defending myself against the usually rational always sensible stylings of THE HUSBAND.) But I had to ask myself, if I didn't think it was wrong, why couldn't a priest do it? Even believing clergy need to hold themselves to a higher moral standard in public would indicate that I thought the highest moral ideal was NOT to be playing poker on television. So I decided to apply this to a few other situations: Should a priest in a clerical collar smoke cigarettes? Probably not. Hmmmm.....I didn't think I had a problem with smoking. Should he have a cocktail? Weeeelllllll.....maybe not with the collar. (Woah! I thought. Who was this morally conservative person I was actually turning out to be?) Let's keep going. Should a priest in a collar bet on horse races? Definitely not. Go to a sketchy night club and grind the night away on some cute babes? No WAY! Don't get me wrong...some of this stuff is stupid or unhealthy, but I didn't think I thought it was morally wrong. But something must be wrong if I thought a priest couldn't do it. I tried applying it to situations I knew I already thought were okay: Gay priest in a collar? Fine. Priest in a polling place voting? No problem. Priest on a date? Seems fine to me.

Now I know there are a lot of things going on here: the distinction between the person and the role, the public versus the private life of clergy, but I still believe there's something interesting here, a type of priestly ethical test. There are certainly things in my own life as a pastor that I would not want my congregation to see me doing in my collar. But why not? Do I believe, deep down, that they are wrong? Or am I just making a healthy distinction between personality and profession? I'm not sure yet, but it's definitely something to think on. And a rather fun imagination game for commercial breaks during the poker tournament!

Parenting in a Winter Wonderland (A Theological Treatise)

The weather's been pretty harsh around here lately: freezing temperatures, rain, snow, wind...all typical for New England this time of year. I've adjusted to most of it now, but not to one particular aspect of North Eastern weather: Snow and Rain Mix. Snow and Rain Mix is something I had rarely experienced before moving here, and I've still not developed a successful defensive strategy for it. Now, mind you, I am not talking about sleet (at least I don't think I am...native New Englanders, feel free to weigh in at any time.) A simple google search of the definition for sleet returns a number of definitions: frozen rain, frozen precipitation, ice pellets, partially melted snow/partially frozen rain (which is it?) or, my personal favorite, "Partially frozen drizzle. Stings when it hits the skin." But what I'm talking about is full on rain AND snow both happening at exactly the same time. Though this may seem meteorologically impossible, I have seen it happen many times: go outside and it is BOTH pouring down rain and snowing heavily. The most difficult part about this particular situation is what to wear in this instance. Most rain gear is not designed for the low temperatures capable of producing snow, and most snow gear, while water resistant, is not meant to be worn in heavy rain.

But let's get to the heart of the matter, which was that the other day, it was raining and snowing, both heavily, at the exact moment that I decided I could not live another minute without having a bagel and cream cheese (this happens to me quite often if you were wondering), but which we did not have either of in the house. So I planned a quick dash to our local market, figuring that only driving a few blocks in the Rain and Snow couldn't be too bad. On the way, while stopped at a stop light, I saw the following sight:

A man, who appeared to be in his early thirties, pushing a stroller down the street. The man was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a puffy down jacket (both made for snow, not so good in the rain) and looking, frankly, like a drowned rat. His clothes were soaked, from the top of his hood down to his tennis shoes and the look on his face betrayed that he was not, at that particular instance, praising God for the beauty of creation. The child, however, due to the very handy invention of the plastic stroller cover, was bone-dry. That was the life, I thought, living large in your dry, plastic-covered pod, without a care in the world, getting pushed down the street by some sucker who didn't know better than to grow up. But apparently, the kid and I were not on the same wavelength. Because the kid, apparently, did not want, at that moment, to stay put in the dry, plastic stroller-pod and ponder the blessings of childhood, but instead wanted to try to remove the plastic covering and observe the world going by directly. His repeated attempts to pull up the edge of the plastic covering and throw it off caused his father to have to pause and push the cover back down every few feet, thus increasing the adult's wetness factor and delaying their arrival at whatever dry destination they were shooting for.

Oh man, I thought, I would be SO PISSED at that little whippersnapper. Out here in the Rainsnow for Christ's sake. Don't you realize what's best for you?? Do you want to come out here and push this damn stroller yourself?!??!?? (Maybe this reaction is why I'm not a parent.) On the other hand, I thought, maybe a parent would be happy to push his beloved child down the street in the pouring/blizzarding rain/snow. Maybe once you're a parent, something fundamentally changes about your sense of self-interest and self-preservation, a kind of twilight-zone brain shift, and all of the sudden you'd be overjoyed that you could sacrifice your own comfort and sanity in order to provide a dry ride for your offspring. But then I recovered from my flash of idealism and realized that most parents, realistically, are probably smack-dab in the middle: 50% annoyed as hell that the damn kid won't stay put and 50% head over heels in love with them even when they do.

And then I thought I hope this is what God thinks about us. That God notices all our little screw-ups, and is annoyed as hell that we insist on continually straying away from the protection of God's grace, but that God loves us all the same and so keeps pushing us down the street.

I pulled into the parking lot, dashed into get my bagel and returned home quick. And after enjoying an absolutely delicious bagel, I resolved to try not to annoy God for the rest of the day....at least not until lunch.

As Seen on TV

Today is Epiphany Sunday, the day on which most churches are observing the visit of the Magi (read: wisemen...or in this gender-equalified society should it be wisepersons? Issue for another time...) to the infant Jesus. Epiphany means "to manifest or show" in Greek and the holiday honors the revelation of God in the person of Jesus and the important act of recognizing that revelation, as the Magi did. Unfortunately, our congregation wasn't recognizing any revelations of God this morning....church was canceled due to a snow emergency.

So, I was left to develop epiphanies of my own at home. And here is what I came up with:

While lounging around in this unexpected day off, in between the eating of dips and the playing of Super Mario Bros Wii, the Spouse was flipping channels (not as extensive of an activity when you only have an antenna and not digital cable) and kept coming back around to an infomercial about the NuWave Oven (see above), a strange countertop heating device that-you guessed it-cooks food. After spending several minutes communally denouncing the device as a fad-ish, fraudulent microwave imposter, there were a few moments of silence after which Mr. Spouse lazily mused "Why are infomercials SO satisfying?"
"I don't know," I answered from the kitchen where I was filling up on dip, "but they really are aren't they?"
This line of thought led me to consider, for a moment, the part I most appreciate about infomercials, which happens to be the ridiculous dramatizations of life without whatever product the program is trying to sell you. For instance, an advertisement trying to sell an electric kitchen buzz-saw will show (usually in black and white to increase the depressing effect) some poor soul attempting to cut through a 7-decker club sandwich with a regular knife, showing the sandwich getting squished and all the innards falling out. Or the commercial for amazing 10-second abdominal work-out machine that will show a slightly chubby and sweaty person in the gym pulling the hell out of his neck trying to do regular sit-ups and then collapsing on the floor in an frustration-induced frenzy. Although I can understand intellectually why these dramatizations are ridiculous and irrational (who makes 7-decker sandwiches?), I find myself being drawn in every single time. Don't you?

And then I realized, that's what it is. That's why these things are so satisfying: Because they are designed to convince you you have a problem and then offer you a simple solution for it. This might sound simplistic and obvious, but I think it is quite powerful. Because I spend most of my day every day trying to solve problems: big and small, professional and personal, social and systematic. And these problems don't always have solutions that are attainable. But in the world of infomercial, all is well. The ads offer me a problem that I can have with a ready-made solution. And that is sooooo appealing on some level: a solution you don't have to go looking for. I'm ready to be convinced! I find, in fact, that I almost will myself to be drawn in by some of these things, just so I'll feel like something got solved. "Yes," I think, "My current vaccum cleaner cannot even suck up marbles or small rodents. What a problem! I wonder if there is any quick solution that could be mine for only 3 payments of $39.99????." Or, "What if I were to want to make a 7-decker club sandwich and then decide that I wanted to cut it in half. I couldn't even do it! What a problem! What's a bloggirl to do?" Or even better, "You're right. I am having trouble getting fit. And I know it can't be because of all the dip were eating. I wonder if there is any special tool that could help me get in shape that would only take 10 seconds per day and not require any lifestyle changes."

Now that I'm onto this revelation (divinely inspired? possibly), I think I'll continue to enjoy these infomercials even more, letting myself be swept off my feet by the idea that all of life could be solved, possibly by an infared, countertop, convection cooking oven.