Nathan

I sketched this picture from the pew last Sunday, but the truth is, Nathan was already being drawn by something far greater.

When we found out that Nathan was being called to serve another congregation I had a visceral reaction. I was shocked and upset. I even felt betrayed. I took it personal.

I did not realize it at the time, but I needed to be convinced that Nathan was making the move reluctantly. Nathan said as much right away, but it took some time, and some frank discussion, for me to believe it. I needed to be convinced that he was heeding a call from God. I did not have any authority by which to demand it, nor do I think I could have articulated what it was that would give me peace, but Nathan, through God given intuition, came to our board meeting and did just that.

Months have gone by since that meeting. On a very important level I have made peace, with what has to be. I am willing to give the Esko congregation Nathan the teacher and pastor. (I know, so generous of me.) What I am still struggling with is the impending absence of a brother.

Both he and Laura will be sorely missed. My brother and sister in Christ. I love you.

Empathy

A friend of mine spent a stint washing dishes at the Country Cafe in Ridgefield, WA. We went to breakfast with him shortly after he had been promoted to line cook. I witnessed him carefully eat the whites around the edges of his over-medium eggs and them promptly fork the entire yolk into his mouth. I could not help but imagine the gush of lukewarm protein that must have filled his mouth. I likened it to a giant yolk flavored Fruit Gushers fruit snack. The funny part was that he didn't particularly care for eating his eggs in this manner, either. He had begun doing it after spending some time cleaning the dried up yolks that restaurant patrons had sullied their plates with. For this dish pit veteran it was a mercy killing. Unpleasant? Sure. But, after what he knew, he could do no less for his unspoken friends who walked the back of the house bedecked with vinyl aprons.

When we go through things in life they change us. Or at least I think they should change us. It colors (or is it that it clears off?) the lens that we all view our slice of the world through.

We have a tip jar at my work. It sits, unassuming, beside the register. Many similar establishments have similar jars. Through my experience, over the last two years, I have a deeper appreciation for the purpose of these little fixtures.

When someone puts their nickels, quarters, even dollars, in our jar we count them up and they are divided among the employees based on the hours spent toiling to make our kitchen run smoothly. Very few are overly generous with their tokens of gratitude, and honestly I don't look down on those who put nothing at all. There is a reason, though, that at the end of the day someone inevitably asks "Did we get a lot of love today?"

Those tips pay for the gas that transports a father of three to a job that is sorely needed. I have seen those tips carefully socked away by a single father to buy a bicycle for his four year old daughter. The anecdotes abound here, but you get the point. Or do you...

I have not been trying to make the case for tipping. Each of us tips based on a complicated set of rules and social mores. My rules have been altered by being on the receiving end of a tip jar, but what has struck me is how life can so strongly affect the way we behave in many areas(see my extreme example in the first paragraph).

It is my, not so educated, opinion that this is good. There are many possible negatives, but on the balance, I think this hints toward what people refer to as the "wisdom of the aged". We are works in process. Never stop learning, and keep your heart open to empathy. Empathy can be an excellent instructor.

- Posted from my iPhone

Open Letter to my Brothers (and Sisters) in Christ

And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love

They will know we are Christians by our love

                                                                          -Peter R. Scholtes

The following is an open letter to my brothers and sisters in faith:

I intend to express here my thoughts on love.  I am not talking about the sentimental and absurdly commercialized Valentine’s Day version of secular love. This is by no means an official Church argument.  Like everything on this blog, the thoughts expressed here are my opinions.  More to the point, this is me humbly entreating my brothers and sisters toward a realization of the way the scriptures describe the body of Christ. In Romans 12 we read “10. Love one another with brotherly affection.  Outdo one another in showing honor.  16. Live in harmony with one another.  Never be conceited.  18. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” And again, in Colossians 3:12-17  “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience… And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.  And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body.  And be thankful.  Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom.”

After all of my histrionics condemning doctrinal arguments in this piece, you may get the impression that I am not interested in theology and that it is my contempt for intellectuals that has led me to these conclusions.  This is not true.  I am a very passionate debater. If we know each other outside of this blog it is likely that we have had, or you have seen me engaged in spirited discussions.  Right now, I have a copy of Soren Kierkegaard’s “Fear and Trembling” on deck, and I have been known to recreationally read Bonhoeffer and Lewis.  There are those of us who delve in philosophical and esoteric arguments as a form of exercise or entertainment.   I think that this is fascinating and helpful at times.   In a controlled private environment where everyone knows the rules, we can help each other to grow in the truth and knowledge of God.  My only rare desires to attend seminary have stemmed from a romantic notion of regularly attending classes for this very purpose.

Dry philosophical statements expressed in open conversation are often misheard and misinterpreted.  Not only that, but sometimes the right answer is still wrong.  Delivery matters.  Context and tone matter.   Words have meaning.  Maybe you think that I am a killjoy or that I am quenching the spirit (it would not be the first time that I bore that charge).   I watched my church be rent in two by arguments between brothers and sisters.  Our church split was complicated and I am only highlighting one aspect here, but ask me if I think it is worth causing a rift in the body of Christ over the details of doctrine?  I will tell you no.  I still have not healed from the wounds of that fight. When referencing disagreements among believers in the fourteenth chapter of Romans Paul says the following: “…decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother.  16. So do not let what you regard as good be spoken of as evil.  18. Whoever thus serves Christ is acceptable to God and approved by men.  19. So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding.”  Make no mistake, telling someone that is struggling with their faith that has also lost a child that your reading of the scriptures gives no assurance for the salvation of that soul can and probably will be a stumbling block for that person.   

It was brought to my attention that Luther was accused of not being loving.  The suggestion was that we make these arguments for the good of the church.   (Remember Colossians 3:17b from the opening argument? “teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom.”?) I did not write this to say that there are no bad teachings in the church or that battling false teaching is an unworthy endeavor.  I am talking about the process. In that great chapter describing love in Corinthians, it is said: if I “understand all mysteries and all knowledge… but have not love, I gain nothing. “-Cor. 13 I am not a scholar and I will defer to those who have made a life of studying Luther’s life and works here.  I did, however, study Dr. Martin Luther’s Catechism as a child in Sunday school, same as many of you.  I was instantly reminded of the next bit of teaching from that little red book, concerning our neighbor. “But excuse him, speak well of him, and put the best construction on all he does.”  -Excerpt from: What is meant by this? The Eighth Commandment. 

I think that some of the more recent statements that I have heard and read have been reactionary.  Cold and calculating shots designed to inflict damage.  As a Lutheran it can be frustrating being bullied by Evangelicals.  I have felt the sting of being told that I am in dead faith.  I have read the arguments detailing how my baptism as a babe was illegitimate.  My first reaction to these charges, either because of testosterone or watching too many John Wayne movies, has been one of anger.  I am quick to cloak my anger with the title righteous indignation.  I seek to raze the villages of the offenders.  I burn with the desire to excoriate them with my tongue.  I have days where if asked “What is the best in life?” I might answer, like Conan the Barbarian, “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentation of their women.”  Then I wake up.  My wife correctly assessed the other night that I am not very good at softening the things I say.  I have a horrible tendency to condescend to those I disagree with.  The object of my scorn instantly hears my arrogance through my fatherly tone.   I am working on keeping my pride in check.  It becomes hard to justify condescension when you read scriptures such as this: “In humility count others more significant than yourselves.” -Philippians 2:3b

The others in the church, the ones you do not agree with, they serve God.  They are not your servants.  You should not be trying to impose your will on them.  Romans chapter 14 clearly says this “1. As for the one who is weak in faith, welcome him, but not to quarrel over opinions.  4. Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another?” 

Do you find yourself attempting to bend the living Word of God to your will and wield it as a weapon against your brother?   We beat our brother over the head with the Bible.  Ephesians 6:17 refers to using the sword of the Spirit not “against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.”  The Word of God is precious and alive.  Let us all read His Word with open hearts praying that we can be affected by its truth and that the Spirit will reveal itself through its pages.  Years ago I heard the point made that when we are reading the Word or listening to our pastor speak, we should be assessing how this applies to us and not thinking “I wish so and so were here to hear/read this.” Viewing the Bible as simple reference material is like viewing your friends and family as assets for your personal gain, or worse.  Do not buy into the catch phrase describing the Bible as the driver's manual in the cosmic car of life.  It really is so much more.

I hope that you have not read these words as judgmental and presumptuous.  I do hope that they have prompted you to a greater respect for your brother and that you will at least try to maintain a sense of decorum when dealing with matters of the Kingdom.  Not because I said so, but because we are all in this together. 

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.  And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.  If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another.”- Galatians 5:22-26

Meatball Soup

I would like to start by apologizing those of you who are in Pinterest mode. If you followed this link hoping for a quaint recipe that you could make to bring to an upcoming soup supper at your place of worship, this blog amounts to nothing more than a classic bait and switch. The subtitle of this blog easily could have been "Where's the glory, Chef?"

There is a lot of misinformation out there right now concerning what it means to be a chef. Culinary schools, movies, and TV series are selling a rock star version of this fabled figure. We see chefs slinging expensive truffles and foie gras. Or some delicate blonde woman gently seasoning a butterflied breast of chicken. In reality my chosen field is not half that glamorous.

Chef Charles Claringbold II was fond of telling an anecdote about a young man who worked for him: The fresh-scrubbed recruit had bought the culinary school line that they would turn him into the next Emeril Lagasse. Charles had set him to the task of filling squeeze bottles with ketchup from the bladder bag that hung in a plastic frame on the wall. Charles walked past him and the greenhorn looked at him with doe eyes and asked "Where's the glory, Chef?".

I would be the first to admit that everyone's experience is a little different. Part of my perspective is due to my having spent years servicing corporate accounts. I have spent 12 years in this industry, however. I have been to culinary school, spent 6 weeks interning at the Waverley Country Club, worked the line in an upscale Portland establishment, slung food on several multimillion dollar campuses, owned a catering company, and worked to fill the needs of a demanding group of foodies at my current job downtown.

No matter where I have been, or who I have worked with/under, the story has always been the same. Being a chef is hard work. It is dirty work. I have watched every one of my chefs roll up their sleeves and scrub greasy pans. More than once I have seen them serve as exterminators, referees, secretaries, plumbers, and window washers in their own establishments.

Truth is, anyone can buy-in expensive ingredients, ferry them to the front of the house and resell them at 300% markup. The great chefs know how to impart value onto ordinary ingredients. As a chef I often find myself scrapping together leftovers to try and salvage my food cost percentage. The surprising part? Some of my most satisfying moments as a chef are born from this process.

That brings us to the meatball soup.

I really love making soups. There were a few misguided weeks in school where I fully intended to become a saucier (or sauce cook) and my love of sauces carries over into a passion for soup making. The Epicurean delight in question was the culmination of a series of deft cost cutting measures commonly used in my kitchen. The meatballs were made from excess meatloaf mixture from last Friday's special. The filler in this mixture was fresh bread crumbs. I never buy bread crumbs. We run bread scraps and loaf ends through the food processor and keep the resulting crumbs in a bucket in the freezer. The tomato base was a Fresh Tomato Basil soup that I had made last week from blanching, peeling, and deseeding overripe and moldy tomatoes that may have otherwise been thrown away. Combine these with a handful of rotini pasta and some stock. Voilà! It really was delicious.

I sold out both of my soups made from leftovers today. With an 8oz cup selling at $2.25, they sold at an effective rate of $36.00 a gallon, and my customers complimented me for a job well done.

I have seen this very poorly executed. There are some chefs who treat the soup station the way many would treat a garbage can. Attempting to peddle septic slop to unsuspecting customers. Shame on them. A pox be on their house. A chef should never take lightly the responsibility he has to the customer.

In the end I work in the service industry. It is not glorious. I am closer to being this guy-


Than I am to being this guy-



I do love it, though. Someday if I am referred to as a successful chef it will probably be due to the fact that I mastered the art of reworking leftovers, and my ability to unflinchingly wield a plunger in a public restroom.


"Where's the glory, Chef?".

- Posted from my iPhone

Call to Action

When I heard the garbage truck
go by this morning I leapt to my feet. Battling the panic born of knowing that our can was overfilled with holiday excess, I slipped into my work Crocs and dashed out of the door with two sacks of trash clutched in my hands. Lifting the lid, I flung the bags into the can and forcefully crammed it back closed. Tilting the large plastic container back to it's center of gravity I bumped it across our side lawn to the curb in front of our maple tree. Then a quick glance toward our neighbor Dan's curb for the reassuring sight of white kitchen bags poking out the top of his bin.

We are actually quite lucky. The truck goes by in a Westerly direction before it comes back East past our house to dispose of our refuse. If you are home sitting lazily on the couch, thumbing through Facebook on your iPhone, the familiar rumble is a clear call to action. Hesitate and you will pay for it for the next week.

The garbage incident reminded me of when I was a kid. We would wait in the warmth and security of our house and watch for the school bus to go past our driveway. This was our signal to make the trek down the long blackberry lined driveway and catch the bus on it's way back toward Lacamas Heights Elementary School. We lived very near the end of the bus route and the bus would turnaround and be back with haste. We dared not tarry. You need not run, but, with the short legs (and attention span) of a third grader, the journey required decisive action. We knew what was required of us. Hesitate and we would feel the scorn of our parents and receive a black mark on our attendance record.

I have long been capable of clear and definitive action when there is an immediate need for it. I jump in, get dirty, spurn brake periods, and cast aside thoughts of self preservation. I can think on my feet and adapt to adverse conditions. When it is over and the built up adrenalin seeps out of my endocrine system, I truly enjoy the satisfying crash that tells me I have poured myself out and given one hundred percent.

The thing that continues to be just beyond my grasp is the right-headedness that would make me a planner and a better leader. I react to the situations that I fall into, but I struggle to find the proactive vein that would help keep me from getting in those situations in the first place.

All those years ago in Camas why didn't I plan on being at the end of the driveway when that big yellow bus went by the first time? I would not have had to cross the road to get on and I would have been assured a ride as I would have had two chances to be on board. Why is it that I never put my trash cans out the night before? Why do I routinely go into work with a weak menu plan and find myself in a "black box challenge" to come up with my specials for the day?

I do not think that I am a bad leader. I would like to believe that if God had placed me on the beaches of Normandy I could have marched into the fray and led by example. (Although truly we can never know that much). I think that am capable of inspiring those around me to dig deep and find the potential inside themselves. It is those things that can not be won by the grit of your teeth and the sweat of your brow that I find so fleeting.

My prayer is that I could be granted those qualities that are truly important. Things like wisdom and foresight. I have the knowledge of the kind of planning and over-arching themes that might give me an advantage in life. I am profoundly foolish when it comes to implementing those strategies in my life.


Whoever trusts in his own mind is a fool, but he who walks in wisdom will be delivered. (Proverbs 28:26 ESV)


- Posted from my iPhone