I RAN AND FOUND LIFE

Last weekend, I tweaked my ankle running bleachers. I usually try to run 2-3 times a week, and so I figured I'd just stay off my feet for a couple of extra days to let the pain pass. But I started to get antsy just a couple of days into my hiatus. Tuesday morning I had the time in the morning to run, but when I put weight on my ankle it felt a little funny. Frustrated, I resigned myself to another day without the rush of "runner's high."

I started to realize how important running had become to me. It made my body feel good, helped my digestion, gave routine to my week. Most importantly to me, it offered me a moment of being truly unplugged: no cell phone, no urgent fires that needed to be put out, just me and the road ahead of me. I found that running often cleared my mind of the noise, so I could relax . . . or so God could say something to me.

The next morning, I tried to put my running obsession into perspective. I told God with not a little reluctance that I was willing to be on the shelf for as long as He wanted. But if it was OK with him, I was going to give the ankle a try today, because I missed this way of being in touch with my body and being in touch with Him.

After my morning devotion and a quick bite to eat, I threw on my running gear and stepped gingerly onto the pavement. I had told myself I would do a short run, just to go easy on my ankle; but once I got going, I knew I wanted to hit a longer loop. I made up my mind to do my jaunt to City Hall and over to the Art Museum, and quickly lost myself in the mindless daydreaming that helps me to block out the physical pain of running.

It occurred to me that I was only feeling good on my ankle because God had allowed it to be, a thought that caused my heart to leap a little with praise. God cares enough about me to allow me this little joy, this joy of running. Like Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire, when I run I feel God's pleasure. I couldn't help but break out with a wide grin, even as I was grunting along Benjamin Franklin Parkway.

Just then, my ears registered someone calling out my name. I am usually so locked in on my runs that I could pass by the Pope and not notice. But for some reason, I turned around to see who might be calling my name. I located a young black man with facial hair smiling at me. It was Wayman, a young man who was in my youth program five years ago but who I had last seen two years ago. The last I had heard about Wayman was from a friend of his who was also in my program, who had told me that Wayman was dead.

I bounded over to Wayman and gave him a great big bear hug, ecstatic that someone who I thought was dead was actually quite alive. He was wearing a uniform, and told me he was working as a greeter at one of the hotels in downtown Philadelphia. He looked good: happy, grown-up, and not at all dead. I stifled the urge to tell him, "I thought you were dead." Instead: "Wayman, man, it is really good to see you!"

We chattered for barely a couple of minutes, and then he had to run, and so did I. At this point, I am simultaneously beaming and tearing up. What a wonderful God, to fix up my ankle and nudge me to go on my Art Museum route, just so I could "randomly" bump into a young man who I thought was dead. And what an exhilarating thought, that this young man who I had mourned over a few months ago for being cut down at such an early age, had his whole life ahead of him to live and to grow.

With all of the mental distractions and spiritual blessings, the run turned out to be an easy one, since my mind was diverted from the pain and monotony of running. And my ankle felt just fine afterwards, too. I'm just so glad to have back this avenue of connecting to God, feeling His pleasure, experiencing the joy and preciousness of life.

PROFESSIONAL SERVICES

Having come from an upper-middle-class family and having attended an Ivy League school, many of my cousins and peers are in the professional fields. They are doctors, engineers, lawyers, and consultants. They are schooled in, and now perform, specialized functions, like analyze enzymes and design software tools and implement IT solutions. Their contribution to our economy is in intellectual capital, adding value by knowing legal technicalities or advising on IPO’s or rehabilitating cancer survivors.

My wife and I, although similarly educated and equally intelligent, find ourselves with much more mundane and tangible work responsibilities. We order office supplies, manage facilities, and supervise clerical staff. Neither of us have secretaries or administrative assistants, so we do a lot of our own typing, faxing, and copying. Our cousins and peers go throughout their jobs without a second thought to some of the things that Amy and I spend much of our days worrying about, like researching benefits packages or filling out shift schedules or making sure there’s enough money next month to pay for everything.

It is impossible to look at the contrasts without making some sort of value judgment, in both directions. It is easy to think myself less than my cousins and peers for having to deal with such trivialities. It is also easy to think myself more authentic than my cousins and peers, for being more blue-collar and gritty in my work life. But for the purposes of this blog, I am simply making an observation: that unlike our cousins and peers, Amy and I find ourselves in jobs that involve overseeing people, tending to physical plant, and managing HR and admin functions.

HOW I BECAME A REPUBLICAN

They say you should never trust anyone under 30 who isn’t a Democrat and anyone over 30 who isn’t a Republican. So what do you do when you turn 30? Well, in my case, I became a registered Republican.

I run in extremely Democratic circles: East Coast, urban Philadelphia, living and working among anti-war bohemians and anti-Bush blacks. Some of my work colleagues wonder how an intelligent economic development professional could be a Republican; others are glad to know me because they don’t have any conservatives in their life that they respect. I am not even close to any of the somewhat true stereotypical Republican archetypes: suburbanites our parents’ age, Midwesterners and Southerners, and snotty rich kids.

So how did it happen? (It is asked of me just like that sometime, like it is an unfortunate disease that I caught by chance.) To begin with, though I voted mostly Democrat in my twenties, I never totally bought into the ideology. When I hit thirty and took a sabbatical from work, I got more comfortable with who I really am, instead of trying to be somebody else.

And who I am is pro-business, in the sense of small government but not in the sense of protecting domestic companies. On both topics, I argue for capitalism: let market forces drive economic policy, and encourage free trade rather than coddle industries that can’t compete globally.

To be sure, since I have become a Christian, I have a category for applying capitalist principles to social change, and I do believe that societies have an obligation to provide a safety net for those who are either temporarily or permanently down and out. But I am uncomfortable with the welfare state and tax policies of most of Europe as well as of Canada, and think that taxes should in general be lower and not higher.

My 30th year also coincided with a one-year gift subscription to The Economist, a British right-leaning news mag that affirmed my free-trade beliefs and gave me a window into European policies. I also participated in a campaign on behalf of a Republican candidate for city council at-large, which introduced me to some of the movers and shakers on the R side here in Philadelphia.

So here I am, on this side of 30 and on the red side of America. To be sure, I am still opposed to the flavor of Republicanism epitomized by Bush, Ashcroft, and Gingrich, but I’m not totally convinced that that isn’t just moral conservatism rather than economic and political Republicanism. After all, on moral issues I actually swing more stereotypically Democrat: for affirmative action, for gay marriages, and for stem-cell research, for example. Although I am unashamed to say I am pro-life, believe that homosexuality is a sin, and agree with the current administration’s legislation on extending funding to faith-based organizations that do social work.

So that’s who I am and how I got here. What’s neat about this country, more so than any other nation at any other time in history, is that the goal of each election isn’t to decide whether D or R is correct, but to give each side the opportunity to state their case and add to the fabric that is our living and breathing democracy.

VOCATIONAL CALLING ISN’T JUST FOR THOSE IN FULL-TIME MINISTRY

Vocational calling isn’t just for those in full-time ministry. And yet, when you hear that phrase, most people are referring to those “who are going into the ministry.” Which is interesting, because most people have a category for seeing all of life, including what you do, as ministry. Luther is famous for saying that you could be any profession – butcher, baker, or candlestick maker – for the glory of God.

And yet we in secular jobs often leave the discussion about calling to those in full-time ministry, forgetting that we ourselves are in full-time ministry, too. While there is plenty of talk and many books written on the subject of pastors, missionaries, and para-church workers in discerning and utilizing one’s spiritual gifts, the topic of secular jobs and spirituality is usually limited to one of the following lines of thought:

· Being faithful in one’s job (i.e. don’t cheat, don’t be a workaholic)
· Witnessing in the workplace (i.e. seeing your office as a mission field)
· Making money to support others (i.e. your role in ministry is to write checks)

And all of these functions are important, vitally so. But why aren’t we who are in secular jobs as diligent about understanding our spiritual gifts and what office functions those gifts lend themselves to? Why don’t we ask for our friends and fellow congregants to lay hands on us to commission us for the work we do to provide legal assistance or tend to sick people or lay concrete? Why do we think that our role as Christians in our jobs has everything to do with being a Christian at our job or making money to support the “real” ministers, instead of seeing our work activities as contributing to the kingdom of God and the glory of His Name?

If Luther is right, we are all in full-time ministry, both in our personal conduct and the company we keep, as well as in the output of our labors. A pastor may feed ears and tend to souls, and a missionary may proclaim good news in a dark place; but teachers, secretaries, cooks, and repair people also have a high calling. May we expand our discussions on discerning God’s call on our lives to include these and all other vocations.

THE HIGH AFTER THE LOW AFTER THE HIGH

It was April of my freshman year in college. I was in a Christian a capella group, and we had just finished our spring concert. I played the main character in a drama that played out between songs, culminating in my solo as our last number. I was by no means the best voice on the squad; in fact, there was one note that I had never managed to cleanly hit all semester long. But on the night of the concert, I hit it. What a rush.

Afterwards, I basked in the glow of a successful event. All of our hard work and prayers had paid off. Christian friends told me they were deeply moved by our music; some told me the overall message of the night had left an impact on non-believing friends they had brought to the concert. I hugged and partied with my other singers, like you always do after slaving so long for one night and then seeing everything come together.

I got back to my dorm room and it was eerily quiet. My roommates were pretty late partiers, so they were out, not to be back until the wee hours. My ears were still ringing from the buzzing of lots of laughter and voices just a few minutes ago, but now I was all alone, in the darkness and quiet of the early hours past midnight.

And I began to get scared. For some reason, I called to mind sins from the past and present. I began to think of what a hypocrite I was to sing with such gusto and joy and fervor just a few hours ago, when I was filthy dirty with all manner of activities and thoughts that were displeasing to God. I began to spiral in my mind, now feeling distant from a God who I knew could not be happy with someone so godly on the outside and so depraved on the inside.

It was music that started this all, and music that got me out. I thought of the hymn, “My Jesus, I Love Thee,” and it began to make sense. Yes, I am depraved and hypocritical and sinful. It is for these reasons that people need Jesus, and it is for His work in saving them that people love Him. I shed my need to be perfect in order to stand up in front of an auditorium and minister through song, and I embraced the reality that I was a sinner saved by grace.

And the thought, like the song said, made me love Jesus. It made me want to sing to Him, to express that love. The silence of my dorm room was pierced by my voice. I do not recall, nor did I care at the time, whether I sounded good or hit the right notes. For I knew then, as I know now, that God did not care. What He wanted from me in that moment was what I gave Him: a pure expression of love and gratitude for the forgiveness of sins.

I sang a long time that night, and then fell happily and peacefully into bed. My roommates finally came home several hours later, oblivious to the high, low, and high of my night.

ERRANDS, ERRANDS, AND MORE ERRANDS

Just to pick up on yesterday?s blog, I feel like one of my main roles as a husband is to run errands. Fellas, are you hearing me on this? Not that I?m bashing on my wife; on the contrary, I kind of dig errands. I ask Amy if there?s anything I can do for her, more than she asks me to do something for her.

I remember having a bachelor party dinner for a good friend of mine last year, and at one point, all of us old married farts were schooling the groom-to-be with nuggets of wisdom. One person said, ?It?s not about doing stuff for your wife, it?s about spending time with her.? Other husbands nodded in hearty assent.

But I wasn?t sure I agreed. Part of it is that while it is the wife that typically wants to spend more quality time than the husband, in my marriage it?s the opposite. Amy needs lots of alone time, especially after a grueling week of work. And while I certainly have a category for individual pursuits, I?m probably in need of more together time than she is.

But there?s also another angle to this issue, which is related to yesterday?s blog. If your focus is on dinners out, walks along the waterfront, and Ben Stiller DVD rentals, who?s taking care of getting the car tuned up, buying groceries, or making sure the bills are paid?

Maybe I?m just busier than most, but I have a limited number of waking hours, and a massive to-do list of errands to get through. Many husbands and counselors might say, ?All the more to make sure you?re having quality time.? OK, fine; then you wash my dishes, clean my windows, and unclog my roof gutter. Anybody out there with any advice on how to make sure errands don?t hog all of my non-work time? Anybody out there with a word on how to strike a balance between being responsible with errands without having them squeeze out social time?

HOW RESPONSIBLE

I’ve wondered a lot lately where the middle ground is between being irresponsible and getting lost in your responsibilities. On the one hand, I am aware that one can be too responsible, in the sense that you get so caught up in doing stuff that you lose track of trusting God and enjoying life. On the other hand, there are certain things that aren’t fun but that need to get done, and to neglect them isn’t to be carefree and faithful but to be negligent and disobedient.

You hear all the time about people who realize their work has become too much, so they drastically alter their lives, get home at a decent hour, and simplify their responsibilities. You hear about Christians who say no to the idols of busyness and accomplishments, and choose instead to value rest, time with family, and peace with God. And as a workaholic, I am sensitive to the need to do these things, and to be balanced.

But sometimes I roll my eyes at such thoughts. They smack of laziness, or of choosing the easy way. Somebody has to do what nobody wants to do. Not doing something that is important but burdensome just means someone else has to do it. And as the person who ends up doing that thing, maybe I’m just venting a little bitterness that others who say no get off looking like the saint, while I get left feeling like the sinner.

So what’s it going to be? Say no to things and let some other unlucky soul deal with the burden? Or say yes and drive myself into the ground with busy work and endless tasks? I’d like to say I’m on the opposite side of such a dilemma: that I am faithful in my responsibleness, but have a category for taking time to rest. And yet actions speak louder than words, and here I am blogging when I ought to be sleeping. So here’s where I stop.

FROM A BLACK PERSPECTIVE

I try to make it a habit to purchase a copy of the Source every once in awhile. The Source is a hip-hop magazine that I used to read with high regularity as a teen, because that’s when I listened to hip-hop all the time.

Now I hardly listen to hip-hop at all, but all of the teens in my program do. Earlier on in my career in youth work, I would read the Source to try to stay relevant. And it worked, to some extent: being able to drop the right names, or know who was hot and who was not, won points with the teens, and gave me enough “cred” that it opened avenues to build more meaningful connections.

But now that I’m 31, I’m not trying to stay relevant; I’m just trying to understand. Sure, I still name-drop, but instead of acting like I’m in the know, I use this information to ask questions to get them to talk to me about things that are important to them. Because in doing so, every so often, we move from a conversation on whether Biggie or Tupac was better to something more meaningful, like what death is like or why there is so much violence on our city streets.

The most recent issue has white rapper Eminem on the cover, giving us the middle finger. Multiple articles inside explore tapes of racist songs he wrote when he was just getting started. I had heard of these lyrics, but wrote them off as the ignorance of being young and stupid, much like the pictures of him from those times with his finger up his nose and his pants hanging off his hips. I further rolled my eyes as I read a litany of responses from black men in the hip-hop community who expressed outrage at Eminem’s misogynistic comments and claiming solidarity “with their black woman,” something I found hard to believe when I knew that many of them had regaled in song about “bitches and ho’s” in their teen years.

But as I read on, I detected a legitimate sense of anger in the co-opting of black music by a clever white man; Eminem himself boasts that he’s like Elvis in this regard, which is either a delicious irony by a perceptive and sarcastic lyricist or a shuddering evil by an outright racist. I also picked up on the repeated theme of the double standard: the media seemed willing to forgive Em for his youthful dalliances, while if the colors had been reversed, would not a black offender been vilified and scorned? Some even wondered aloud if the (mostly white) media hadn’t pumped up Em on purpose, desirous as they were of a white man being number one in a black man’s musical genre; and this, just a few months after Rush Limbaugh had made similar accusations heading in the other direction.

One thing that I have noticed about magazines is that they are really not about the articles themselves. The articles, like the ads and the publicity and even the design, are about representing a certain kind of lifestyle. The goal of a magazine is to put out an image that can compel enough people who want to be associated with that kind of image that the magazine can monetize this assemblage of eyeballs to advertisers whose expenditures pay for everything. So I looked at this month’s Source from this standpoint, and sadly determined that what the magazine was pushing was sex, violence, and materialism. I’m not sure what’s more tragic: that there are advertisers who want to sell these values, or that there are readers who want to buy them.

Anyway, I’ve rambled on for too long. All in all, I found the $5 I spent on this issue to be well worth it. Maybe I’ll pick up next month’s issue, too.