Much Needed Meditation

Every weekend for the last month or so, I've been spending some time reading Richard Foster's "Celebration of Discipline" in hopes of rekindling a lull...a numbness within my 'self'. While I've only paged through the first 40 of his marvellously crafted pages, Foster's chapter on meditation leaves both a significant impression and fuels within the very topic of concentration he writes about.

"Human beings seem to have a perpetual tendency to have somebody else talk to God for them," writes Foster, a trend I too commonly have fallen upon. Regardless of the circumstance or mood, it's just easier to base one's spiritual "status" on the ebb and flow of the common work week. In doing so, I have not only dug for myself a detrimental ditch of complacency and superficiality in terms of my intimate relationship with God. but have allowed by Sunday participation in church to fulfill that advocating Foster references in the aforementioned quote. Foster's book, however, reminds me of the importance of mediation, its many forms and varieties, and the lasting effect of a contemplative heart.

Key points from the chapter:

• In a section called Understandable Misconceptions, Foster writes, "Eastern meditation is an attempt to empty the mind; Christian meditation is an attempt to fill the mind." He continues to point out that meditation is not about detachment, but attachment.

• Otium Sanctum..."holy leisure". "This refers to a sense of balance in life, an ability to be at peace through the activities of the day, an ability to rest and take time to enjoy beauty, an ability to pace ourselves." What a great thing to be able to cultivate and procure!

• Foster encourages one to consider their posture during mediation, suggesting a designated place instead of a different location each day, and sitting while place the hands on one's knees in a gesture of receptivity.

• He speaks of the need to meditate on scripture, to meditate in an attempt of the old Quaker practice of "centering down", to meditate on nature and creation, and finally the need to meditate on the events of society. Foster quotes Thomas Merton, who said that the person "...who has meditated on the Passion of Christ but as not meditated on the extermination camps of Dachau and Auschwitz has not yet fully entered into the experience of Christianity in our time."

These nuggets, along with many others, all boil down to encourage the "self" to not only reach the goal of meditation, but to experience a love for both the practice and the reward. "Regardless of how it's done, the aim is to center the attention of the body, the emotions, the mind, and the spirit upon 'the glory of God in the face of Christ' (2 Cor. 4:6)."

Sunday Tweeting

One of my most recent additions to my "daily routines" is refreshing my twitter account and reading the various 140-character nuggets left behind by people much more important than myself. As I build up and establish my "following" list, most of whom are in someway the leading voices of our society, I am in some ways more interested in who they are following as opposed to what they are saying.

I don't know how many times I've sat in a room of teachers or administrators over the last two years and have been astonished at the lack of knowledge, advocating, and daily integration of technology; it's just astonishing. While an overwhelming majority of these cases come from honest confession in my graduate coursework, it is still amazing to think that there is still so much hesitancy and resistance in becoming technologically savvy. One of the common excuses and concerns raised point to the necessity for students, and people of all ages really, to remain reliant on interpersonal communication, an age-old skill that's being bullied out of our culture. I don't necessarily agree with it, but I clearly understand that point of view.

Anyway, what got me to that train of thought was reading Rick Warren's Twitter profile and noticing his 11, 000+ "following" list. Am I really to believe that when Rick sits down on the toilet or at Starbucks, sipping on a hot chocolate in a cup that has a Warrenism pasted on the side, that he reads and scrolls through 11k people's thoughts and random photos? No, of course not. But he's got to at least know a huge chunk of those people and probably relies on his smartphone and tweeting abilities to keep in touch with them, yeah? For whatever reason, this image of Rick sitting behind his phone for an hour-plus everyday is somewhat disturbing.

Am I bothered that a man in that vocation is connecting with people through a keyboard, as opposed to a phone call, letter, or personal visit? Granted, I'm sure very few are in his inner circle, and I understand the social benefits these services and technologies provide. But it leads me to think of the future pastors and mentors and wonder if what was once a very personal, intimate experience will also succumb to brevity, instantaneous gratification, and disconnected isolationism?

Will pastors (in mass quantities) begin posting sermons and teaching lessons online and church congregations meet virtually from their living room (again, this is already happening...I'm referring to the cultural norm)?

Do those qualities, those effects of technology take away from an experience with God?

Or are we, as we're operating behind the shield of technology and it's ease, truly becoming more open and vulnerable to who we are on the inside while spending less time and concentration on who we are on the outside?

Expiration Dates

Every good and necessary element of life has an expiration date, and when neglected or ignored, there's nothing but sadness and frustration greeting you at that point of realization.

How awesome are coupons, especially those that aren't slid underneath everyone's door or tagged to the windshield of your car? Equally awesome is that sense of "beating the Man" when you gingerly, yet confidently, slide that torn little piece of paper into the check jacket at the end of the meal, knowing that you just "lucked out". What's not as rewarding is when that coupon is returned to you, only to be reminded that the small print clearly indicates this particular deal ended seven months ago.

Each morning, I eagerly yank open the refrigerator door, desperately searching for that needed dairy addition to my caffeine fix. Have you ever dumped two-week old half and half into a $5 cup of coffee? Can you even imagine how hostile those little iceberg-like chunks of curled milk make a person whose life necessitates Starbucks Casi Cielo?

We check dates on food, medication, motor oil, credit cards, and even bottled water. Everywhere around us, we're reminded of beginnings and endings. Great joy exists when that product is captured, created for someone else to enjoy, but what great disappointment comes when we've lost out on time.

Today, my driver's license expires, bringing a close to my 29th year of life. I noticed last night at dinner the two most important dates on the card; my DOB and my expiration date. Sure enough, thirty years exist between the two. And while the small, yet intimidating collection of grey hairs are starting a movement on the right side of my scalp, and the pant size on a recent shopping trip increased by 2 all should have brought about this moment of reflection...this moment of "really?"...I sit now and give thanks for 30 years (with expensive coffee slightly greeted with fresh half and half). While my license says that I have expired and must make a change, I really feel no different than I did 7 years ago when I acquired this piece of plastic. Certainly my life, surroundings, and internal musings have increased and changed the way that I live; waking up this morning while greeted by my beautiful wife and son exemplify this perfectly. But today I realize that as the numbers of my age flip on the score chart of life, the celebration of living and being given another day should be a more frequently occurrence.

Made New Again

It's incredibly easy to be swept away by the rush of the Christmas season. Each year seems to build off of the momentum of the last, and while precious memories are formed away and outside of the commercial aspects of the holiday, we routinely fall victim to the red Starbucks coffee cups and after-hour shopping mall visits for obligatory gifts for friends and family. Tis the season, right?

Recently, someone close to me shared that they place great emphasis on New Year's Day and go farther out of their way to celebrate, decorate, and commemorate that holiday rather than it's predecessor seven days earlier. Both (what I would assume) are God-fearing people and no doubt press pause to give thanksgiving for the birth of Jesus Christ, the most influential and interesting man who ever lived. Yet, both also show great discipline during the commericalized holiday and announced that this year was the first that they had purchased gifts for one another in four years. And by "gifts", I mean gift, solo, singular. This was shared during a Christmas Eve dinner where behind our fully-loaded dining room table stood an 8-foot decorated Oregon Blue Spruce tree packed with dozens of gifts for a small family of five. Christmas, rooted in meaningful traditions that comfort and relax the soul, is big in the Johns household and if something goes missing (early risings, stuffed stockings, 24 hours of "A Christmas Story", a great meal, and vegging out in front of the TV) it ultimately takes away from the day.

I read this morning a passage out of the book of 1Peter that led me to think of putting something back into the meaning of New Year's Day and new beginnings. There's something powerfully refreshing about starting over again, a re-cleansing, rebirth. As the ball drops in Times Square, people get all crazy in the head and start all over; a new calender year seems to fossilize all that happened in the year before as "the past" in a way that has no immediate impact on the present. Resolutions are our way of hitting the reset button on all that we are ashamed of or feel great disappointment in (Donald Miller, author of "Blue Like Jazz" and other enjoyable reads, posted a great reflection on resolutions here http://donmilleris.com/2010/01/01/living-a-good-story-an-alternative-to-new-years-resolutions/ ).

Anyway, there's something powerful and deeply necessary about resetting. The passage I read this morning used the verb "rid", cleaning ourselves of all that makes us less of the person we want to be. It uses the metaphor of newborn babies and how they crave their mother's milk, a experience I witnessed over the last year as my wife and son shared an intimate bond of growth and development. The author of 1Peter encourages people to grow up in their knowledge of and action for God, trusting that at some point they've caught a glimpse as to how they're supposed to or want to live, and the only way that it can truly happen is by resetting.

What if the ball would drop, could drop, everyday?

Getting Back in the Groove

Summer officially feels over...

As cooler temperatures greeted me every morning this week, several signs and events have advertised that autumn has arrived. Whether it's college football and the start of the NFL season, warm apple cider abundantly flowing at the local farmers market, or spending my Sunday's tweaking and rewriting lesson plans for the upcoming week, the Fall is most definitely here. Tomorrow marks the first full week of school and, while I've officially been in the classroom for a couple weeks now, field trips and orientation-type classes have occupied the calender. For all intensive purposes, tomorrow is Day 1. 

The ease in which we've introduced the 2009-2010 school year is very teacher-friendly. After the first day of school and the mass distribution of course syllabi, students and teachers are out of the building for two days in an effort to bond and build community. For a small school like ours, it's a wonderful experience and allows teachers to connect with students outside of the typical, sterile setting. It also allows for teachers (me, me, me) to take a deep breathe and catch up with paper work and classroom organization. Someone once reiterated to me a couple years ago that as a teacher, there's never enough time; given a whole day there will always remain something else you can do. It is my goal this year to realize that more quickly. 

Another goal of mine is to manage the time that I have more wisely so not to let my classroom, graduate work, and extra curricular activities take away from my family and leisure time. While I'm concerned that fatigue, work ethic, and quality of work will inevitably deteriorate as the weeks progress (quite quickly as my graduate studies resume tomorrow as well), I recognize that my family needs and demands the best of me. This tension, even as a third year teacher, is a real and present danger. 

But tomorrow, I will come in contact with 5 classes of relatively unknown students who will trust that I will respect, honor, and lead them to the best of my ability. The weight of responsibility is great, and I pray that God reminds me of this truth each and every morning. 

Packing Up

I sit tonight in a living room that's hotter than hades, stripped of material possessions, and cluttered with boxes and random furniture. We are days away from moving into a new living space, and I thought it necessary to capture some of the finer experiences we've encountered from our tiny nook over the last 20 months. Seen, on multiple occasions throughout every week of our occupancy, as both a blessing and a curse, our 1950's style Cracker Jack box of an apartment will provide meaningful memories when we glance back on life in the years to come.

Before moving back to the area in the Spring of 2006, my wife and I envisioned a lifestyle that was driven by meaning and community. We longed to make conscious decisions about the things we ate, watched, discussed, and purchased, along with an overriding desire to work, worship, live, and play in the same community. Idealists to the core, we wanted to believe that such a life could be lived inside the transient hub of Northern Virginia, and that thinking/living outside of the box while still serving a great good could be accomplished. We wanted a good cup of coffee from a local shop that bought ethically traded products. We wanted to know where our water comes from, and where it goes. We wanted to know our neighbors and longed to live life outside of our white, middle class comfortable tendencies. We wanted a different life. 

And so we arrived in the Fall of '06, and in a matter of days, I started a new career as a teacher and found this quaint apartment just blocks away from the school. When Sunday rolled around, we attended a new church plant that was created from our former church when we lived in the area a few years back.  Within a stones throw of the metro and a handful of grocery stores and restaurants, we immediately knew we were given something special. 

Who agrees on signing a lease before their spouse even sees the place? This guy. From the moment I received my tour of the apartment, I was enamoured by the character and distinct features that existed. The hardwood floors, tiny little sunroom, original faucets, and fancy plaster archways decorated an interior that was small but unique. After living with both sets of parents over the course of a year, we longed for a space of our own, and were determined to make anything happen. Little did we know how hard we would have to work. 

Laughter, however, was something that came quite easily. On our first night in the apartment, after moving in and sorting everything out, still excited about the endless possibilities that awaited us, we finally laid down only to hear the blowing whistles and voices from the Metro operator echoing through the night.  We barely slept, and cursed ourselves for failing to realize that we had just moved right across the street from two train stations. Another memory came when our kitchen faucets popped off and I was plugging the gushing water with three fingers, frantically waving my head and legs for assistance from my wife. Locking a cat into our apartment for a week and having it desecrate (and defecate on) everything clean and holy was also a found moment, as was each moment our circuit breaker would shut off  due to us running the A/C and another electrical appliance. 

We also put our share of elbow grease into this place, and at times felt as though we actually owned it. Within days of moving in, we found ourselves in a garden shop and quickly spent an afternoon pulling weeds and planting flowers in a tiny (shaded...ha) patch of grass just outside our door. Without a dishwasher, I think it's safe to say we have the softest hands in the neighborhood. And while we tinkered with minor plumbing and construction projects throughout our time here, nothing was more rewarding than converting our little sunroom into a nursery last summer. From picking out the paint color and fitting the room for carpet, to installing a crib and changing table for our little one on the way, the work we put into our place was nothing in comparison with what was to come. 

Maybe in thirty years, we'll look back any only remember this place because it housed so many memorable first interactions with our son. The guests, the gifts, and the dreams that came to fruition all took place in this quirky, confined space...a space that ultimately kept us together during a time when it was most needed. 

Today

Today, two Metro trains collided on the same track, instantly killing two people and severely injuring a handful of others. While it doesn't happen often (three times in 15 years), the reality of such an occurance weighs on my mind; as I commute home tonight on a different line, I wonder how many others are feeling tonight's events.

Today, I received a sunburned neck playing golf (fighting hard to play it well, mind you). While I failed, again, in my attempt to score under 100, I did hit the ball extremely well on the back 9 (58 on the front, 42 on the back). The difference can be attributed to slowing myself down and really concentrating on working through the mechanics of my swing. I tried to focus on one shot at a time, and when I drifted away from worrying about my scorecard, I was able to strike the ball well. I loved being outdoors, I loved the group of guys I played with, and it was a great way to spend my real first day of summer vacation.

Today, I had the priviledge of answering the question, "How was your Father's Day?" What a joy it was to celebrate my son's life yesterday, and to spend the day with family and friends was a true blessing. Commercialized or not, yesterday allowed me to reflect on the fascinating opportunity and remarkable responsibility I have as a role model on one of the most important creations alive today. In answering how my day was, I can't describe how I feel when I look into my son's eyes; the emotions, desires are innumerable and too costly to put into words. I am overwhelmed and in love.

Today, I was reminded that learning needs to be taught, not tested. Am I teaching my students about information, or am I teaching them how to access, process, and communicate information? I suspect that wrestling with this question and becoming an effective educator go hand-in-hand.

Today.