Easter reflections, part 2

Why is it that the Christmas season lasts for a month, but the Easter season lasts only for a week or two at most? As I opined in my last blog entry, isn’t Easter the more significant holiday? Isn’t the death and resurrection of Jesus the most important event in Christianity, even in world history?

I was therefore ready to rant that the Easter season ought to be beefed up to reflect its relative importance. Let’s expand the focus on Easter as it approaches, maybe emphasize it for three or four weeks. Let’s make a bigger deal out of Palm Sunday. Let’s press for a national holiday coincident with Easter (I’ve always wondered why, with all of the holidays we have, and with all of the reasons for them, we do not have a national holiday on Good Friday or Easter Monday).

But as I progressed down this mental path, two significant roadblocks presented themselves. Maybe they are both obvious. The first is that, in our culture, an expansion of the Easter season would only mean an expansion of “commercial Easter”—more time for the Easter Bunny to appear at the mall, more time for Easter egg hunts, more time to sell chocolate eggs and bunnies in their pastel-colored wrappers, and more time to invent new traditions that have nothing to do with the death and resurrection of our Savior.

The second roadblock to the need to expand Easter is more significant, in my estimation. If you go to church at least semi-regularly, you have no doubt heard the reason before. That is, as Christians, the whole reason we worship on Sundays in the first place is to remember the resurrection of Jesus. We are to be celebrating Easter every week!

All four gospel accounts say that Jesus’ resurrection happened on the first day of the week (the day after the Sabbath). Later, during the time of the early church, Christians began the practice of meeting together on the first day of the week to commemorate the resurrection. This came to be known as “the Lord’s Day.” In 1 Corinthians 16:2, Paul gives instructions as to what the believers in Corinth should do on the “first day of the week,” implying that they gathered together on that day. In Revelation 1:10, John’s vision is given to him on “the Lord’s Day.” This practice of Christians gathering for worship on “the first day of the week” or “the Lord’s Day” is also found in other writings of the first and second century, and obviously continues to today.

The commercialization of Easter, like that of Christmas, is silly and is certainly deserving of light-hearted chiding. (For instance, how do you explain the association of the Easter bunny, who is a rabbit, with eggs? I don’t get it.) But I’m thankful that instead of meandering off on that tangent, I was instead reminded of how all of us ought to be viewing worship services each and every Sunday. It is the Lord’s Day, and we go to church every Sunday to celebrate Easter—the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Easter reflections, part 1

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, and the Easter season is upon us. It comes and goes pretty quickly, doesn’t it? Whereas in December, when we spend about a month gearing up for and celebrating Christmas (the birth of the Savior, or at least that’s what we’re supposed to be celebrating), Easter time is comparatively short. What’s more, Easter coincides with Spring Break at school and the NCAA basketball tournament, so perhaps it is easy to get distracted.

But when you think about it, from a Christian perspective, Easter is the most important holiday of the year. The birth of Jesus—that is, the incarnation of God Himself into human form—is remarkable and certainly warrants its due at Christmas, but Easter marks the event that in a sense defines Christianity itself. Without too much exaggeration, the resurrection of Jesus can be called the single most significant event in history, in that it validates the claims, teachings, and predictions of Jesus. Chief among these claims is that He is God’s Son, and that eternal life rests in us believing in Him.

I have determined this Easter to read and contemplate the Passion narratives in the Bible. When I have done this in the past, one thing that has always struck me is that the story contains details that I think we sometimes overlook. At least I do. Maybe I’m reading so fast that I mentally skip over phrases or sentences that are packed with significance. One example is the simple sentence “Then Pilate took Jesus and had Him flogged” (John 19:1). This snippet appears in the other gospel accounts as well. I’ll tell you, there have been times when I have been three or four verses down the road when I stopped and said to myself, “Whoa, wait a second. Did that just say that Jesus was flogged?” Without getting into all the gory details, flogging was an intensely brutal practice. By flying right by this short verse, I think we can miss the significance of how much Jesus suffered on our behalf.

Here’s another example of what I mean. It appears in the last part of John 19:15, which says:

“Shall I crucify your king?” Pilate asked.
“We have no king but Caesar,” the chief priests answered.

Again, in the past I have blown right by this verse without giving it too much thought. But as I contemplate it now, I find the reply of the chief priests to be shocking. The chief priests were the Jewish religious leaders of the day. And remember, they were trying to kill Jesus because of blasphemy—Jesus was claiming to be a king, claiming to have the rights and qualities of God. In other words, in the eyes of the chief priests, Jesus was claiming equality with Yahweh, the Creator God of Israel from the Old Testament. That God was the true king. Yet what did the chief priests say to Pontius Pilate? They said, “We have no king but Caesar.”

Let me express it this way. One might have expected the chief priests to say something like, “You know, this guy is claiming to be God, and as you are aware, Mr. Pilate, our ancient Scriptures tell us that the God of Israel is the one true God, the one we are supposed to love with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength. God is our king, not this guy.” But instead they denied their God altogether, and swore allegiance to Caesar. Caesar! The unclean, Gentile, secular overlord of captive Israel! Wow. Now, I am aware that the Jewish leadership had in many ways strayed from their responsibilities of being the guardians of the Jewish belief in Yahweh. Yet when I ponder the chief priests’ cold, public denial of their God, and enthusiastic declaration of allegiance to Caesar, I find it shocking.

Much is made of the story of Peter’s denial of Jesus during the Passion story, and rightly so. Much can be learned from it. But much can be learned from the chief priests as well. You see, the chief priests were supposed to be the “guardians of the truth,” the ones pointing others to God, but instead they had devolved largely into advocates of rote tradition and religious rules. In doing so, they had actually fallen far away from God, as witnessed by their response to Pontius Pilate. Men who purportedly viewed God as the only king actually said, “We have no king but Caesar.”

Can harboring such an attitude happen to Christians today? Sadly, I believe it can and does. One of my prayers this Easter season is that I would not slip into habits of practicing religious rules and traditions, but rather that I would understand, acknowledge, and proclaim who God really is—and what He did by sending His own Son to earth. His Son, King Jesus.

Am I asking too much?

Consider the following brief quiz:

1. Who is on the ten dollar bill?

2. What is the first line of the Erie Canal Song?

3. What state is Vice President Biden from?

4. Complete the saying, “To the victor goes the ________.”

5. What is the length of one term for a United States senator?

Did you get them all right? Did you think the questions were difficult? In my estimation, these questions should be pretty easy. Maybe the Erie Canal Song is a little tougher, because that song is slowly slipping out of our national memory (as is the case with many of the songs of our heritage, but that’s another subject for another day).

Over the past few semesters, in the course of lecturing in my American History class at the local community college, I have asked these questions to my class. In each case, I was met with silence. Nobody knew the answers. Zero students in a class of about twenty-five. I wasn’t surprised that everybody didn’t know the answers. But I was dumbfounded that nobody knew.

It’s not that I think my students are stupid or incapable of learning. I honestly don’t think that’s the case. I try to take a little time to get to know my students, and all of them are capable of learning at a high level.

Why, then, do the students, a majority of whom are in their late teens or twenties, not know these things? As I recall—and I’m trying to be as honest as possible here—when I was a teenager, such facts were commonly known, or at least more commonly known. Vice President Mondale was from Minnesota. Vice President Bush was from Texas (that’s more obvious now since he and his son served as President). Ulysses S. Grant is on the fifty dollar bill, and Benjamin Franklin is on the one hundred.

The next question, naturally, is that if this is in fact a valid observation, then why is it that young people today don’t know these things? The answer to this question is no doubt the subject of many books and journal articles. In my view, there are some deep-seated problems not only in our educational system, but in our culture in general that contribute to this problem (a loaded statement, I know . . . perhaps I can address it in more detail sometime).

I notice this phenomenon not only in my teaching, but in many other areas of life. The problem rears its head in matters ranging from common knowledge, to historical facts, to bad grammar. For instance, I recently ran across two Facebook pages, established by American youths. One explained that what parents view as “back talk” is really just “kids explaining why their wrong” (how about “why THEY’RE wrong”). As for the other one, I don’t recall the specific subject, only that everyone would “want to be apart of this.” Hmmm. I could see myself being a part of something. I could see myself being apart from something. But how do I be “apart of” something?

It’s as if the movie “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” is coming to life . . . Teacher: “Who was Joan of Arc?” Ted: “Uh, Noah’s wife?” . . . Teacher: “It seems to me the only thing you’ve learned is that Caesar was a ‘salad dressing dude.’”

So here I am ranting. It just seems like many things that used to be common knowledge no longer are, that poor grammar and spelling are ruling the day, etc., etc. And it seems to me that the average fifteen, or eighteen, or twenty-two year old ought to know better.

Am I asking too much?

(Quiz answers: 1. Alexander Hamilton; 2. “I got a mule and her name is Sal, fifteen miles on the Erie Canal”; 3. Delaware; 4. spoils; 5. six years)

Beads of dew on the tomatoes? Get real!

Have you ever found yourself daydreaming about being in a totally different line of work, one that nobody would ever think that you would pursue? For me, I often wonder what it would be like to be a food photographer. It’s pure fantasy, since I have no experience in the field of photography and can’t take a good picture to save my life. Nevertheless, when I see food commercials on television, I am taken in by the artistry, the keen attention to detail, and quite frankly, the unreality of it all.

Take hamburgers for instance. The typical Wendy’s or Hardee’s commercial depicts a piping hot burger, steam flowing off of the just-cooked patty. The patty is topped, of course, with the freshest of vegetables heaped high—so fresh, in fact, that, if you look closely, you will find that there are drops of dew still on the slice of tomato. Drops of dew still on the tomato? Are you kidding me? By the way, in many instances this is because all of the vegetables have just splashed through a makeshift fresh waterfall in slow motion (on their own volition, no less). All this is topped with a glistening, freshly baked bun. It looks awesome, but really, when is the last time you bought a burger that looked anything like this in a fast food restaurant?

The other thing I notice is that the burger is always filmed in extreme close-up, giving us the impression that it is big enough to feed one of the figures on Mount Rushmore. This is particularly funny when fast food places are advertising their “Value” or “Dollar” menus. “The new double bacon cheese deluxe bacon bacon burger for only a buck,” they say, while we see a mouth-watering burger that looks like it could feed a family of six. When we get to the restaurant, however, we find out exactly what a dollar buys us. Nevertheless, the photography is outstanding and impresses me.

Another area that fascinates me about food photography is the category that I call, “That will really make a mess, won’t it?” A good example is almost any beer commercial. They depict the frothy head of beer overflowing out of the glass, spilling out all over the sides. It looks great, but now you have sort of a mess on your hands. Sticky glass, sticky table, and sticky hands that smell like beer. How attractive.

My favorite example of the “That will really make a mess” category, though, is Red Lobster. The next time you see a Red Lobster commercial, notice how a person is depicted delicately taking a piping hot, steaming chunk of succulent lobster out of its shell, then forcefully immersing it into a small bowl of melted butter. As the person does this, the butter goes flying out of the bowl in all directions in semi-slow motion. Of course, the commercial cuts to the next scene before we can see the consequences of the aesthetically pleasing butter splash. I have often had the urge to try this myself when I am at a seafood restaurant, but I know I’d get in big trouble. Butter would get all over the table, on my wife’s dress, in our beverages, on the floor, and possibly onto the people sitting nearby. But boy would it be cool.

I could go on and on, because there are so many good examples of this (like maybe the Rembrandt-like application of garlic sauce to the pizza crust in a recent Domino’s commercial). You get the picture. So if you’re ever wondering what I would do if I had to do it all over again, just think of the fabulous, fantastic world of food photography.

I’m a real “why guy,” and here’s why

Do you remember the movie “I Spy,” starring Owen Wilson and Eddie Murphy? It came out about seven years ago. Wilson plays a spy on a special mission in Europe, trying to recover a stolen stealth aircraft. Murphy, playing a professional boxer (the middleweight champion, in fact) is asked to go under cover and stage a fight in Budapest in order to help catch the bad guys. It’s all done in the name of national security.

There is a scene in the movie where Wilson’s character is trying to convince the tentative boxer-turned-spy (Murphy) that the President was right in asking him to be a part of such a dangerous mission. Wilson inspires Murphy by telling him, “You know what you are? You are a ‘why not’ guy, not a ‘why guy.’” He explains that a “why guy” is always asking why, always asking permission. A “why guy” can never make a decision. A “why guy” is always afraid that he is going to get in trouble. As a result, “why guys” are not very assertive or brave, and ultimately do not lead very adventurous or satisfying lives.

This is not so for a “why not” guy like Murphy. A “why not” guy isn’t afraid to take a risk, roll the dice, live on the edge. A “why not” guy doesn’t have to feel bound by the rules. He goes for the gusto. He lives an exciting life. When faced with the question of whether or not to embark on a questionable venture, he tells himself, “Why not?”

On many occasions I have found myself pondering this particular interchange from this particular movie. The reason for this is that I have always considered myself a “why guy,” and this scene certainly paints “why guys” in an unflattering light. What brought the issue to my mind most recently is my previous blog entry concerning pet peeves. If you recall, I told you that I am the type of person who tends to have a lot of pet peeves. I’m not always proud of it, but I do. Sometimes I actually get a bit peeved that I have so many peeves. Maddening.

I got to thinking, why do I have so many pet peeves? I believe that when it comes right down to it, the main reason is because I am a “why guy.” I always find myself asking “Why?” (like asking why I have so many pet peeves . . .) I find myself contemplating why people do the things they do, say the things they say, and act the way they act. Deep down inside, I am curious as to why people are the way they are, especially when I observe how often people (and I include myself) don’t behave in ways that make sense.

If you read my blog, you know that the “why” question is part of my shtick. Why, in the 21st century, do we still say “Bless you” when someone sneezes? Why do we have all sorts of new knowledge these days, like the Southern Ocean and the fourth state of matter? Why do we feel the need to comment when we walk past someone carrying donuts?

Yes, being a “why guy” can drive me crazy sometimes. And I admit it has its dangers. It has the potential to impede timely decision-making. It has the potential to come across as whining, complaining, or being judgmental. And it certainly isn’t sexy, at least in the eyes of the world. How does a “why guy” take the bull by the horns, go for the gusto, etc., etc.?

Here’s my response: Despite the potential pitfalls, of which I am quite aware, being a “why guy” goes right to the very core of my personal life philosophy—a philosophy governed by my Christian faith. You see, I believe that the ultimate reason we are here on earth is to worship God and give glory to Him . . . in everything that we do. Everything. And if that’s the case, I need to approach every situation, from the most significant aspects of my life down to the minutest detail, with that in mind. Thus, in every situation, I should ask the question “Why?”—as in, does this make sense in the context of my lifelong goal to please and glorify God in all things? If it doesn’t make sense, then I am, in a very real sense, wasting my time. It might look like I’m sucking the marrow out of life, throwing caution to the wind, living on the edge, or however you want to express it, but in reality I’m just wasting time. And our days here on earth are too short to be wasting any time. I ask “why” precisely because I don’t want to waste time, but rather, I want every moment to be filled with the excitement that comes from living with a purpose. That is the path to "living with gusto,” as our culture puts it.

Thus I disagree with the “why not” approach, even though it seems so attractive. Some of the reasons not to be a “why not” guy are obvious. A “why not” guy is less concerned (or not concerned at all) with the morality and ethics associated with his actions, or the consequences of his choices, or how an action might hurt someone else. But my biggest objection to the “why not” guy is that although he appears to be living life to the fullest, he is actually wasting time by not considering how his decisions connect to the overall purpose of his life. For me, it is clear that that purpose is properly derived from a relationship with God.

As I pursue what God has called me to do, particularly in the area of my profession, I feel an immense freedom, vitality, and satisfaction. And, one of the reasons for this, I believe, is because I have sincerely tried to ask the question “Why?” Why do I do, think, and act the way I do in every situation, and is it directed to the end of glorifying God?

You can safely assume that because I am not perfect, I mess up every day in this regard. But, as a result of this life philosophy, I am convinced that I am not wasting a lot of time in my life, and that my life has meaning and purpose. I’m not a super spy. I’m not Jack Bauer. But this “why guy” has a passion in life and a fire to do what God has called him to do. And I’ll tell you, nary a day goes by where I don’t feel the rush of exhilaration one gets after riding a roller coaster.

Pet peeve #247: Are those donuts for me?

We’ve all been in the situation before when it has been our turn to bring in the donuts, be it at work, or for the Sunday School class, or wherever. So there you are, lugging a few dozen donuts through the hallway, and inevitably, someone passing by feels the incessant need to make a comment. “Oh, you bought me some donuts,” or, “Ooh, can I have one?” or “Are those donuts for me?” Of course, it could be donuts, a covered dish, pizza . . . you get the picture.

This is what I call a pet peeve. The definition of “pet peeve” as stated on dictionary.com cracks me up. It is “a particular and often continual annoyance; a personal bugbear.” Bugbear? When’s the last time you used that word in daily conversation? Anyway, lest you look askance at me over this, I just wanted to make clear that my pet peeves are not the same as your pet peeves. But nevertheless, they are peeves. You have them, I have them. I have a lot of them. I’m not always proud of it, but there you go, there’s my big confession for the day.

What is so annoying about the “donut situation” anyway? I had to give it some thought. I think, first of all, that such comments are just not very funny or clever. Second, it’s not like carrying donuts is such an uncommon occurrence, or that these people have never seen a donut before. To the contrary, I would suggest that we live in a very donut-saturated society. For instance, within a three-mile radius of my house, I can think of at least four places where I can buy donuts.

But as I ponder this a little further, I can think of a few more reasons why this is one of my pet peeves. One is that when I am in this situation, for various reasons, I am often either in a hurry or have my hands full. Maybe buying the donuts has left me a little late for church, or something like that. Or maybe I’m trying to carry all of my normal stuff in addition to the donut boxes. This tends to put me more in an “I-don’t-want-to-hear-inane-comments” kind of mood. I’d rather have someone say, “Gee, your hands look kind of full. Can I help you?"

Finally, I tend to get annoyed that I can’t think of a pleasant response to such comments—a response that doesn’t say “I think your comment is stupid”—even though this is what I’m thinking. After all, it’s only a pet peeve, there’s no need to set off World War III. So I usually just smile, give a fake laugh, or something like that, while in my mind, I’m thinking, “No, as a matter of fact, you can’t have a donut,” or “Go buy your own donuts.”

A few weeks ago, I was at a track meet, sitting in the stands, waiting for my son’s event. A man who had been sitting nearby was returning to his seat with a basket of chicken strips and French fries, and a Coke. As he made his way to his seat, a lady said, “Oh, did you bring those for me?” (Note that even though I wasn’t involved, just hearing this set off my pet peeve-meter.) Without missing a beat, the man said, “No, yours are back at the concession stand.”

After a few minutes, I thought to myself, “Well played, my friend.” I had not thought of that response before. And indeed it was a good retort. Short, sweet, not rude, and it got the message across. “Go buy your own” and “You can’t have mine” were implied in the answer, yet did not have to be voiced. I would have come up with something much longer, more awkward, more sarcastic . . . in short, I would have come off sounding like a jerk. His tone was friendly and jovial, yet somehow conveyed the message of “Your comment was stupid.”

So here’s my plan. The next time I’m bringing the donuts in and get one of those typical comments, I’m going to try out this man’s comment. I’m pretty confident that it will work well. But if it backfires, well, then at least I’ll have something else to blog about.

I was going to throw out another one of my pet peeves today, but I think I’ll leave it at that for now. In the future I’ll let you in on some more of my persistent personal perceived peccadillos.

A helpful insight from C. S. Lewis

“Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.” -- Psalm 90:2

If you believe in God, you probably believe in the idea that He is eternal. That is, one of His attributes, or qualities, is that He has always existed. He has no beginning and no ending. He exists, in a sense, outside of time as we know it. He is infinite.

But, how often have you really stopped to think about the profundity of this assertion? In our culture, we are familiar with statements such as “The universe is 4.6 billion years old, and began with the Big Bang,” or “A nuclear exchange between the United States and the Soviet Union during the Cold War would have brought the world to an end.” Regardless of the factuality of these statements, the idea that God is eternal goes way beyond this. That is, if God is truly infinite and eternal, then 4.6 billion years isn’t even a drop in the bucket with regard to how long God has existed.

Sometimes my head starts to hurt--quite literally--when I try to get my arms around this idea. Our difficulty, of course, lies in the fact that we human beings cannot comprehend infinity, nor can we comprehend the notion that God exists outside of our “time-space continuum,” so to speak.

In his book Mere Christianity, the great C. S. Lewis provided an example that, while not perfect, helps us to understand how God can be thought of as eternal or existing outside of time.

Lewis asks us to imagine a novelist and a character in his novel, “Mary.” Imagine a scene in the novel where Mary is sitting on the sofa reading. Then there is a knock on the door. Mary gets up and answers the door. Now, as the novelist is writing, he could put down his pencil at the point where there is a knock on the door, go do something else for three hours, then come back and write that Mary answers the door.

The point Lewis is trying to make is that in Mary’s “world,” absolutely no time has elapsed between the knock on the door and her getting up to answer it. But in our world, three hours have elapsed. The world of the novelist exists “outside of time” with respect to Mary’s world. Mary can “live her entire life,” if you will, and not be affected one bit by the timing of our world (consider, for instance, that the novelist could write the book in three days, or thirty years). In a sense, the novelist is “eternal” in comparison to Mary.

Now, as I said (and as Lewis would have undoubtedly admitted), this example should not be taken too far. First of all, obviously, we know that the novelist is not eternal in the way God is. The novelist is a human being like us. Second, Lewis is not suggesting that God interrupts the natural flow of events in our lives with three-hour breaks. And third, in this example, Mary has no way of really knowing the novelist. He is not revealed to her in any way. But in our case, God has revealed Himself to us in the form of the Bible. The Bible is where we can find out who God is, what He is like (His nature and attributes), and how we can know Him.

Despite these caveats, Lewis’ example has been very helpful to me in sorting out the idea that God is eternal and exists “outside of time” to us. My head still hurts when I think about it too much, but maybe just a little less now.

In closing, I’d say that one area where this example has helped me in a practical sense is the way I think about my future. Like many Christians, I am concerned about following “God’s will” for my life. I want to make God-honoring decisions with respect to my family, church, career, etc. These decisions can be gut-wrenching at times. But Lewis’ example of the novelist and Mary, teamed with the biblical teaching of God as the “I AM” has led me to contemplate what theologians call the “eternal now.” That is, God not only knows my future, He is already there. He is eternally present.

Do you follow what I am saying? God IS two hundred years ago. God IS the day I was born. God IS today. And God IS next week, next month, and next year. He is there. Don’t get me wrong, I am in no way saying that I am merely an automaton with no measure of free will. I believe God has given us that. What I’m saying is that when I face difficult decisions and uncertainties in life—some of which will affect me and my family in very profound ways—I feel an overwhelming sense of comfort, stability, and most of all thankfulness to know that God IS.

March madness

So, during my brief blogging break, my wife and I took our eight-year old son to see the Harlem Globetrotters. They were making a two-day appearance in Norfolk, Virginia, at the basketball arena at Old Dominion University. They were, of course, playing the Washington Generals, who, according to the five dollar program, had assembled a high caliber team specifically for the purpose of defeating the vaunted Globetrotters. I, of course, was therefore expecting to see the 2008 USA Olympic basketball team walk out onto the court dressed in the green and gold of the Generals. But when the Generals entered the arena, I realized that they must have been going for team chemistry over the big name players.

The game itself was a real barn-burner. The Globetrotters went out to an early lead and seemed to be dominating the action. But then the coach of the Generals was able to place one of the Globetrotters in a trance by using a spinning umbrella. Fortunately for the Generals, he was not called for a technical foul for being on the court during game play. This ruse allowed the Generals to crawl back into the game, since for a brief time, a Globetrotter was in effect playing on their side. The “spell” could only be broken if the Globetrotters made a “great play.” And they could only make a “great play” if the crowd got really loud. Ugh. Sadly, the Globetrotters fell for the umbrella trick—taken, I believe, straight from Dionne Warwick’s Psychic Friends Network—in each of the four quarters of the game.

Despite these and other shenanigans, the Globetrotters held to a comfortable double digit lead in the middle of the fourth quarter. Then, out of nowhere, the Generals stormed back and almost tied the game, frightening the you-know-what out of every child in the arena. But the Globetrotters sealed the deal with an incredible dunk in the final seconds of the game. This time it was the Globetrotters who were fortunate in not being called for a technical foul, because the player making the final dunk held onto the rim for about forty-five seconds, doing a modified gymnastics routine on the rim.

But the Globetrotters had won, and kids (and their parents) were then invited to stand in several long lines to get autographs and pictures of their heroes. I am certain that these keepsakes will end up occupying a cherished place under these children’s beds, right next to their Pokemon cards, the missing styluses to their DS’s, and several dust bunnies.

My Globetrotters experience, quite naturally, left me pondering a few things. First, I remember watching the Globetrotters as a kid on ABC’s Wide World of Sports. But it seemed like the tricks were a lot more spectacular back then as compared to what I saw now. Obviously, this is due to the fact that I was a kid then. But I think there is another factor involved. These days, we are saturated with breath-taking, monstrous dunks. On any given day during basketball season, ESPN shows highlights of many incredible plays. I’m not taking anything away from the great skills of the Globetrotters . . . many of their dribbling and passing routines were amazing. But with the arrival of players like Julius Erving, Michael Jordan, and nowadays LeBron James and Kobe Bryant, the play of the Globetrotters seems a little less spectacular.

My second observation is that, like almost anything else in the entertainment industry these days, the Globetrotters are a marketing machine. You can purchase a Globetrotters basketball for twenty-five bucks (you can, I didn’t). Or a Globetrotters jersey for who knows how much. If parents aren’t careful, they can end up laying out a good chunk of change at such events. In addition to this, I was surprised, while checking out the Globetrotters website beforehand, that there are actually two Globetrotter teams touring simultaneously. I was momentarily incensed that the Globetrotters were actually in Arizona on the day of our game, thinking that our show had been cancelled. But as I read further, I realized that this was the other Globetrotter team, strategically placed on the west coast, I presume, to avoid any unintended encounters with our Globetrotters. That could be embarrassing. At any rate, there are two teams. Twice the fun. Twice the revenue. And trotting the globe twice as fast.

We did end up having a very good family outing, and I made it out of the arena without going bankrupt. In fact, probably the biggest surprise of the day—from a Dad’s perspective—is that there was no charge for parking for the event! That little freebee had me whistling “Sweet Georgia Brown” all the way home!

Quackenblog Spring Break

To all of my loyal readers: The Quackenblog will be on hiatus this week for "Spring Break." Please re-join me on Monday, March 15th after I have had a chance to "recharge my batteries."

As always, thanks for reading my blog, and I will be back very soon.

Dave

(Really bad) historical jokes

No profound thoughts today on the way to work. I did get to thinking, though, that it’s going on six months since I started this blog. I wasn’t so sure I’d keep blogging for this long, but alas, here I am. So, let me take a second to send out a sincere and hearty “Thanks!” to everyone who reads my blog. Your interest and response, be it by way of posting comments, emails, or personal contact, is both kind and encouraging.

That said, today’s entry is some light fare. Some of these admittedly (very) bad jokes have been with me since high school. I thought it was high time to get them off of my chest. The questions appear first, and then the answers are below. If you want me to explain any of them, go ahead and leave a comment. And if you read these and feel that I’ve lost any shred of credibility that I otherwise might have earned, well, that’s the risk I take.

So . . . here you go. My attempt at “historical humor.”

1. What did the mathematics professor say when proposing a toast at the National Geometry Association banquet?

2. What did the American sailor say in 1807 when he woke up to find himself on a large, majestic ship of the British Royal Navy with splendidly high masts and brilliantly polished rails?

3. While taking her European history final exam essay, how did Nancy Sinatra describe the German U-Boat strategy in World War II?

4. Staying with “fictional final exams,” how did W.C. Fields explain George Washington’s feelings about having to spend a bitter cold winter at Valley Forge?

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Answer 1. “Here’s lookin’ at Eu, -clid.”


Answer 2. “I’m impressed!”


Answer 3. “Das Boot was made for walkin’. And that’s just what it will do. One of these days Das Boot is gonna walk all over you.”


Answer 4. Washington would have said, “On the whole, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”

The Missouri Compromise (March 3, 1820)

Sometimes in life, compromise is good. Whether it’s at the office, in a marriage, or among friends (or even enemies), compromise can help people recognize common ground, mend wounds, and give all sides a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment.

But sometimes, compromise is merely a means to procrastinate or sidestep very difficult issues. And although both sides might feel temporary satisfaction or success, the underlying problems do not go away. Often, they are left to fester, and ultimately lead to an even worse situation further on down the road.

Take the United States in 1820 as an example. In most respects, things looked very bright for our young nation. First, we had recently emerged from a war with the greatest power in the world, England (the War of 1812), and we had not lost. This was a huge boost to our national confidence and morale. Second, there was a burgeoning, palpable national energy afoot. Citizens were settling the frontier at a rapid pace, and inventions like the cotton gin and steamboat were allowing for exponential growth in production and trade. And third, this was a time known as the “Era of Good Feelings,” a decade-long period where there was a cessation of sorts from the partisan political wrangling that had characterized the pre-War of 1812 scene. Politicians were actually getting along.

In addition to all of this, the potential for national expansion seemed almost limitless as a result of the Louisiana Purchase in 1803. In one stroke of a pen and a $15 million payment, the United States had acquired a vast amount of land west of the Mississippi River (830,000 square miles). Lewis and Clark led an expedition to survey this territory, and by the mid-1810s, had published the story of their journey. This further fired the American imagination and soon settlers streamed across the Mississippi.

The story still sounds good, doesn’t it? Well, by 1820, enough settlers had made their way across the great river and it was time for Missouri to apply for statehood. The original thirteen colonies/states had grown to twenty-two by this point. By now, though, lawmakers had begun to see a problem. You see, of the twenty-two states, eleven were “free,” and eleven were “slave.” A delicate balance had developed, and northerners and southerners feared the consequences of upsetting this balance. Southern congressmen thought that if a majority of free states existed, then the North would impose its will to abolish the institution of slavery. Southerners could not let that happen. Northern congressmen, growing increasingly anti-slavery in sentiment, felt just the opposite.

Beginning in 1819, Congress debated the issue of what to do with Missouri for several months. Sectional strife reared its ugly head, as it had at the Constitutional Convention back in 1787, and during the first Congress in 1790. Congress seemed deadlocked.

Then a deal was struck. It just so happened that Maine was preparing to apply for statehood around this time. So Congress made a compromise: Maine would enter the Union as a free state, and Missouri as a slave state. The balance would be preserved—twelve free states and twelve slave states. Everybody could breath easy. What’s more, a “Missouri Compromise Line” was established, extending west from Missouri. In the future, slavery would be prohibited north of that line, and allowed to the south of it. Congress passed the Missouri Compromise on March 3, 1820 . . . 190 years ago today.

So a compromise was struck. Crisis was averted. America continued its “Era of Good Feelings” after this bump in the road. Settlers continued to move to the frontier, canals were constructed, turnpikes were built, steamboats roared down the Mississippi, small mills and factories began to pop up. America was alive.

But of course, this was the type of compromise that ultimately sidestepped the real issue at hand. That issue was whether or not slavery was really compatible with the ideals of the Declaration of Independence, the American Revolution, and the Constitution. The Missouri Compromise mollified all sides for a time, but eventually sectional differences would continue to flare. Eventually the north and the south found it increasingly difficult to compromise. And eventually they went to war (the Civil War) and over 600,000 Americans died. Why? Because two sections of the country could not agree on a myriad of issues, primarily the issue of slavery.

So what do I make of all this? Well, the Missouri Compromise teaches me that compromise is a very tricky thing. Sometimes compromise is appropriate and the right thing to do. At other times, it may seem like the right thing, but it is only a means of punting problems into the future, sometimes even to future generations. For American lawmakers in the first half of the 1800s, discerning this was extremely difficult, because the issue really did boil down to either ending slavery or ending the Union. It was that divisive.

As a history teacher, I firmly believe that the study of history is more than just learning a bunch of facts and figures, and it’s more than just going out to visit your favorite national historic sites. The importance of history is that we can and should learn from it. Studying the way people thought and acted in previous generations should help inform the way we think and act about things.

Because of this, believe it or not, I often pray that God would give me the wisdom to know when to compromise and when not to compromise in day-to-day situations. Heaven knows that I make mistakes. But when I reflect on the Missouri Compromise, I am reminded that there are times to compromise, and times not to compromise, even if I know that negative consequences will ensue.

Words that shouldn’t be

Well, while I’m on the subject of words, and having proposed a couple of new words that I think we need in the English language, I now proceed to discuss a few words that I often hear that I think fall into the category of “they shouldn’t be words.” Actually, let me express it better—they either shouldn’t be words, or they are kind of senseless, or we are using them in the wrong way.

Drinkability. I hear this word used a lot in a certain beer commercial. If you watched any NFL football this year, or the Olympics, or college basketball, you have no doubt heard of a beer that brags of its “drinkability.” Every time I hear this, I take a mental break from what I’m doing, and I ask: What in the world does that even mean? Are they being serious, or just kidding? The actual definition of drinkability is “suitable for drinking,” as in, beverages have drinkability, whereas petroleum products do not. To say that one beverage has drinkability and another doesn’t is just silly. In my view, we don’t really need this word anyway, because it is just an uppity way of saying “you can drink it.”

Musicality. So I’m watching a countdown show on VH1, “the top 100 songs of all-time,” or something like that. “Experts” share their views on each song, and several state that either the song or the artist has a lot of “musicality.” Wow. What keen insight. Musicality, according to dictionary.com, is “of, pertaining to, or producing music.” The Rolling Stones have musicality. So do the Beach Boys. But I must ask, where do we draw the line and say that a certain artist does not have musicality? The Bay City Rollers? Frank Stallone? William Shatner (he has put out a few “music” albums)? I don’t know. Here’s another one that in my opinion shouldn’t be a word to begin with. Why don’t we just say “it’s music” or “it’s not music” and leave it at that?

Trafficology. On my way to work each morning, a local TV weatherman (meteorologist) does traffic reports on the radio. He signs off by saying, “This is your trafficologist . . .” Trafficologist? Really? I’m thinking to myself, are you telling me that this guy went to an accredited four-year college and got his trafficology degree? What courses are offered in that program? Rubber-necking 101? On-ramps and Off-ramps? Impatient Drivers and their Obscene Hand Gestures? This word does not appear in the dictionary, but when I googled it, I found that it is used in the area of studying web traffic. For our local reporter, I think it is just part of the trend to add “ologist” to anything to make someone sound smarter than sheem is (see last blog entry for explanation of sheem). You know what I mean . . . someone who knows everything about the Beatles is a Beatles-ologist, someone who studies the NCAA Basketball Tournament seedings is a bracketologist, someone who studies pistachio nuts for a living is a pistachiologist, etc.

Workaholic. Here’s a term that I have never liked, for two reasons. First, as with any of the “-aholic” terms (workaholic, shopaholic, chocaholic), it is taken from the word alcoholic. So, in my mind, if an alcoholic is one who is addicted to alcohol, then a workaholic ought to refer to one who is addicted to “workahol.” (I don’t really know what workahol is, perhaps a mixture of work and drinking?) This reason is not that big a deal, though. What bothers me more is the second reason. That is, I find that many people (not all, but many) use the term more as a badge of honor than a serious problem. As an example, I have heard it said that in a job interview, when asked what your weaknesses are, you should say, “Well, my weakness is that I’m kind of a workaholic. I work so hard and am so dedicated to getting the job done, that I will stop at nothing, etc., etc." Get it? You make your weakness actually sound like a strength. And I have heard the term used this way many times in my life. My response (in my head, I’ve never actually voiced it) is, if you’re a workaholic, why don’t you seek medical help or counseling? That’s what an alcoholic would do. So, to conclude, I guess I’m not saying that workaholic shouldn’t be a word, rather I’m suggesting that we could use it in a more correct manner.