Awards

I had some thoughts about awards while I was attending my daughter's graduation from the eighth grade into high school yesterday. Later, she said, "I could tell you were thinking about something, Daddy." I love that kid. Here's what I was thinking: I was proud and happy for the kids who earned awards for being the best at math or for having the best character. I was especially proud for the kids who won awards for excellence. Wow, how great is it to be recognized for being excellent? The last time I won an award for anything was in the 11th grade when I won the David Award from my Bible teacher for having a heart for God. Very cool award. I had no idea at the time that my Curriculum Vitae would never have an "Awards" section. I have had the opportunity to be a part of the process of nominating and selecting people for awards--great ones, too. I've twice nominated the eventual winner of the Family of the Year Award for the Montgomery area. I've also several times nominated and awarded the Francis Asbury Award for the person who has made the greatest contribution to campus ministry in our area. I went through many years of award ceremonies related to my three post-high school degrees. Believe me, I deserved no award for anything while I was in college, unless Oral Roberts University has an award for mediocrity in everything from late night poker to off-key worship leading. But in my eight years of seminary and doctoral work, I earned only two Bs and saw a whole whale of a lot of teachers' pets win awards although their grades were significantly lower than mine. Part of me always said, "Who cares? What difference does an award make? It doesn't mean anything. I'm not here for an award. I'm here for an education. They should call these awards, 'Most likely to work in the development office.'" Still, I've struggled against a kind of gnawing, almost sick feeling in my gut many times during an awards ceremony when I wasn't sure if I deserved the award but I knew the person who was receiving the award did not deserve it as much as I did. It's hard to work hard and to be overlooked, to determine not to take it personally. There are many factors that go into the selection of an award besides the issue of who actually deserves it. In seminary, the people who hang out with the professors get the awards, and student pastors don't have time for that kind of thing. Sometimes, the coach's kid gets the coach's award because the coach gives his kid the award although the kid doesn't deserve it. And sometimes, the coach's kid deserves the coach's award and the coach has the good taste to give the award to some other kid. Sometimes, the person who does the nominating probably deserves the award more than the person who he or she nominates. Sometimes the evangelism award goes to someone who is perceived to be evangelical, not necessarily to the person who reaches the most people for Christ. Sometimes, someone gets the award for something done in the past when he or she should have gotten the award, and the person who ought to get the award now has to wait or maybe never be recognized. Sometimes, the kid whose parents give a lot of money to the school edges out the kid who maybe should have won the award but his parents don't give a dime. Sometimes, a person wins an award because of the pull of the person who does the nominating. I sometimes wondered if only Presbyterians had a true shot at winning any awards at the Presbyterian seminary where I got my doctorate. I'm quite sure there were ideological reasons that folks whose academic work was less than superior won awards at my seminary. So, should we tell our children not to care about awards and that they don't mean anything? I don't think so. Awards are there not for the winners. The awards are there to hold up the standards they celebrate, whether it be in scholarship, ethics, character, or even having a heart for God. There are a couple awards I would like to win. More importantly, I would like to live my life in such a way that I can know that I've deserved them whether I win them or not. I left the awards ceremony the other day with the determination that I would tell my daughter to live her life in such a way that she deserves the character award every day, whether anyone notices or whether or not she ever wins it. And if you get passed over, you're in good company. Jesus was, after all, "The stone that the builders rejected."

My Pilgrimage to Taize

I've been kinda distracted by the many details related to my move and have been subsequently uninspired, so please forgive my blog going quiet. Nonetheless, many friends have asked about my experience in February at Taize, so I thought I'd backtrack somewhat and share my reflections. The trip itself was an adventure. I borrowed a car from my cousin in Lyon, the closest city to the little village of Taize. My phone had no service in Europe (shame on you Verizon, shame on you Droid!) and I learned at the last minute that I would have no GPS. Directions were old-fashioned, scrawled on scrap paper from the web site by my aunt with additional notes added after a call to the monastery. I eventually realized I had overshot my turn on the interstate and paid many, many tolls for turning around several times. Eventually, I got some gas and asked directions at a gas station where the attendant spoke zero English and had never heard of Taize. I knew the word for "map" and was able to get a map and point to the village and figure it out from there. I must say I was proud of myself for both my creativity and my sudden grasp of French. The first pleasant surprise I found along the way is that the way to Taize runs right through Cluny. Church history nerds know that Cluny was the site of a world famous and incredibly influential monastery throughout the Middle Ages. The buildings were stunning, even from a distance, and I was deeply disappointed to be unable to stop and wander around. The village of Taize itself is tiny. Clearly it was chosen to be secluded. I imagine that Brother Roger had little or no intention to create a place that would be known throughout the world. He couldn't have picked a worse spot if he had. The monastery is at the very top of the hill on the back side of the village. The initial feel of the place reminded me of a county fair or a festival. Cars were parked in long rows on the grass. I was sure I would never remember where I parked. Dormitories in the parking lot were made of plastic stretched over metal frames. The feel of the monastery itself was very much like the feel of the youth retreats I used to organize when I worked for the Annual Conference. Teenagers were hanging out and goofing off, playing hacky sack and strumming guitars, washing down the place where everyone eats. It was a really energetic and fun scene. The kids were acting like Christian kids at any youth camp on earth. They were just talking in all different languages. I found the place to check in, and I was late, so there was nothing to do but go to worship. The person who was working the registration area was a college student and a volunteer. He spoke English but was from Germany. I told him I was visiting relatives and wanted to come to Taize while I was in France because I led a little Taize-inspired service at home. He asked me how many people came. When I told him we only had about 30-40 who attend, his eyes lit up. He said that our Taize service was huge, that most of them around the world are small prayer groups of only a dozen or so people. In the main worship space, the young people sit on the floor in the main nave, and others sit on large stairs along one side. Upon entering, each person is given a thin candle, a song book, and a photocopied page with a short Gospel passage of two verses in many languages. There is no order of worship. There are racks of Bibles, and many people pick up a Bible and read while they wait for worship to begin. Many people also carry small folding kneelers so that they can kneel wherever they might be. The space is simple but not stark. The construction is fairly new and made of concrete, but warm. It feels like a somewhat liturgical camp ground auditorium. When worship is about to begin, the brothers begin filing in wearing white albs. They seem like very plain-folks kinds of people. They are all ages, many of them young, even young enough to be college students. They sit in a couple of rows down the aisle (which is delineated by very churchy plants). The only instrumentation is a simple keyboard with a classical guitar sound. Singing is led by a man and a woman from the back. All the people sing, so the leaders blend in. The songs lead the service. The songbook is remade each year, so many of the songs are new and most were unfamiliar. Each song is listed with music and translation into several languages below. We sang in at least six languages. The only direction in the service came from a digital sign that offered the song numbers (one of those signs often used to tell parents when they should come get their screaming kid from the nursery in church). From time to time, the music would gently fade away and a leader would read a scripture passage or lead a prayer. There was one long silence. The Christ candle was lit in the middle of the service and everyone lit each other's candles. The candles went out on their own when it was time for the service to end, and the brothers slowly wandered out a few at a time. The singing continued for a long, long time afterward. I don't know when it ended, because when I left 45 minutes after the candles went out, the keyboard player was long gone but people were still singing. That was the most powerful time--it reminded me of the feeling I used to have in my Pentecostal childhood when we would linger around the altar and sing long after the preacher had left. I know why people have come to Taize from all over the world and I can see why people have a powerful experience there that they want to replicate when they come home. At the same time, the Spirit that was there was no different than the Spirit I've felt in many times and places and my experience was no more or less profound or moving than what I experience every Sunday night at our worship at Cloverdale School. One of the main messages of the Book of Ezekiel is that God is portable--he made the trip from Jerusalem to Babylon. Maybe one of the reasons we go on pilgrimage is not only to be inspired somewhere else, but also to be reminded that pilgrimage places have no unique claim to God's presence and that God meets us every bit as much at home as any famous place.