Humor Me, Part 7 (A Mere Rant)

Alrighty then…a rant I shall give. A little over a year ago I began to hear a certain word used to describe pretty much everything. Within the space of a couple of minutes, a young person with whom I was conversing mentioned something about the “amazing “cookie she was eating. After that, she said that a class she was taking was equally “amazing.” In short order, some person she had met was, you guessed it…”amazing.” I thought to myself that either this person was easily amazed or, poor dear, she had a very limited supply of adjectives.

It was actually much worse than either of those. This lovely young college student had contracted a nasty case of “tired word” disease. Whether she was the host, the “Typhoid Mary” as it were of a new contagion, or if this was an isolated case, I had no way of knowing. But my suspicion turned out to be correct. Before too long, “amazing” became the super adjective – infecting an entire nation.

I received an e-mail just the other day that began with: “Hello Amazing Pastors…” and it went on to describe the “amazing” ecumenical prayer meeting in which we had recently participated. The recent inauguration was filled with “amazing” declarations as well; to wit: “It is an amazing day for America;” “The scene at the Mall is amazing;” “Michelle Obama looks amazing;” “Aretha Franklin was just …amazing;” “As has already been mentioned, Barak is an amazing dancer.”

Yes, I have been following the ubiquitous outbreak of “amazing” like a crazed scientist at the National Center for Disease Control tracking an outbreak of Ebola. But the analogy breaks down. Ebola just kills people. A tired word makes life tedious and not worth living.

Alright, that was hyperbolic. But seriously, am I the only one who feels a little bile in the back of the throat when it comes to overused, trendy expressions? My wife is a school teacher. On her blackboard she has written a series of words with the heading: TIRED WORDS. These include, but are not limited to the following: “awesome, cool, amazing, nice, good, & sweet.” She corrects the students if they happen to use them in conversation or in a paper. The whole class is allowed to shout out, “Tired word! Tired word!” In my mind this is a proper use of scorn. We must begin early or one of these children might grow up to become a broadcaster for MSNBC.

C.S. Lewis once said, “Verbicide, the murder of a word, happens in many ways. Inflation is one of the commonest…” Studies In Words, chapter 1, pg.7 I couldn’t agree more. How many people really know the etymology of the word: “amazing?” The original meaning of the word lies right before our eyes if we will simply break apart the strong intensive prefix “a” from the second part, “maze.” A “maze” comes from the Old English word, amaison, which meant: “to stupefy, to bewilder, or to make crazy.” This was the common usage of the word in the 13th century, 1230 to be exact. Its more common meaning in today’s vernacular of: “great beyond expectation” didn’t show up until 1704. So, for a little over 400 hundred years, an “amazing cookie” was one you probably would not want to eat. To be described as an “amazing dancer” would make sense only if you saw ME dancing.

As I was warming up to the idea of writing this blog, a good friend of mine (and yes, he is “good”) asked what I would make of the song: “Amazing Grace.” I considered that pedantic meddling on his part. Growing up in the buckle of the Bible Belt, the song “Amazing Grace” was like the Baptist National Anthem. Here I was – about to launch a righteous tirade against a tired word, and my “good” friend presents me with a moral dilemma. Was I now to downgrade this most beloved song because of my own pet peeve?

But then I began to think that maybe, the author of this great song, John Newton, knew what he was up to. He wrote the lyrics to this song and presented each verse as an outline for a sermon he gave on New Year’s Day in 1775. The very first verse makes a strong argument for the original meaning:

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…”

To John Newton, and to me, grace is “stupefying & bewildering.” It doesn't make sense. Is it also “beyond expectation?” Sure. I am big enough to grant that meaning. But…doesn’t the original meaning of the word give the whole concept of grace just a little more gas? God’s grace in my life does "stupefy and bewilder" a wretch like me. I don’t deserve it. He gives it freely. And, from what I can report thus far in my journey, this grace is never ending.

That is truly amazing.

(As a bonus to this blog, please enjoy the following link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMVxzEueJ6A)

Be well blessed...

-CJ

Humor Me, Part 6

This is a “tweener” post. I am still dealing with humor, but not yet ready to crack the code in regard to the surprisingly humor-filled book known as Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. Perhaps I will get to that later this week. No, I wanted to pass along this story while it is still fresh. Funny stuff happens and it sometimes gives us a glimpse into the Father’s heart. Perhaps this story will bring a smile and some encouragement to your day.

I woke up this morning in a foul mood. I am not sure why – exactly. Just one of those, “Stay out of my way…I need to go fester, fester, fester all by myself” kind of funks. I hope you can relate.

I decided to go hit the gym. Jan and I gave gym memberships to each other for Christmas. A gift of love – almost as good as the vacuum cleaner I bought Jan for Valentine’s Day when I was a poor seminary student. For some reason she enjoys telling that story to roomfuls of women. The story has made her much happier than did the vacuum cleaner.

The gym has been great for foul moods. At least being sore gives one an excuse for foulness. For the first time in my life I had 200 pounds well within my reach – especially following the holidays. The only exercise I had been getting was the primal scream therapy each morning as I passed by the mirror - thinking a dumpy, naked man had entered my bathroom. I weighed 135 when Jan and I got married. She used to refer to me as her “Skinny Little Husband.” It has been some time since she has used that endearing phrase. I have suspected a new moniker has already formed in her nimble brain, but because she is fine Christian woman, she has held back.

Anyway…I began my morning routine on a cardio machine - a treadmill. The old ones were really boring. This one is spiced up quite a bit to help pass the time while walking in place. It has a TV monitor and an iPod docking station. I usually use the iPod.

Now, to get the iPod going you have to start the work-out program. It begins at a snail’s pace while you fiddle with your settings. Here is where a crisis of pride sets in. I have owned an iPod for 2 years and have just started messing with it. I have had other people load up songs on it for me. Being a “Rev.” people would assume I would want a few gigs of worshipful music. Not so. I find a lot (not all) of Christian music predictable and sometimes boring. I would say that 2/3 of my iPod music is merrily agnostic. Anyway…the pride thing sets in by how long you sense you are allowed to fiddle with your iPod before your work-out begins. Being the paranoid type, I assume people are timing me and rolling their eyes while I take one laborious step after another and squint and poke at the little buttons and arrows.

To speed things up, I have just hit the go/all button and have been treated each and every time to the tormented life of Alanis Morissette’s first and best album, “Jagged Little Pill.” A lot of the words would make a sailor blush. For those familiar with the album, I end my cardio cool down with the song, “Ironic.” (Chorus: “It’s like rain on your wedding day. It’s a free ride when you’ve already paid. It’s the good advice that you just didn’t take. And who would have thought it? It figures.”). It is angry music - but strangely playful. It has served me well the first few weeks of working out.

This morning, there was no one around. I thought to myself, “I have time to fuss with this because the last thing I need is Morissette angst.” For once, I noticed the shuffle option. Somewhere in my deep heart of hearts I prayed, “Go God.” “Go God” is my default prayer when I don’t really feel like praying. It is similar to the wind and finger method of Bible study: “God, if you want me to hear from you – open the Bible where you want and reveal to me Your mighty wisdom.” (I was encouraged to hear that Jonathan Wesley actually did this from time to time). As I touched the shuffle mode on my iPod, I said the “Go God” thing.

Here’s what happened: God possessed my iPod and bombarded me with songs from the brethren: Dave Crowder; Steve Bell, Michael W. Smith, and Paul Baloche – each singing their joyful salutes to the Lord of hosts. But, it gets better. I hate the treadmill and am very particular about ending after 20 minutes so I can do all the fun, grunty stuff that men like to do in gyms. I hit the cool down button where you just shuffle along for about four minutes. Guess what song came on at exactly the moment I pressed the cool down button?-Ironic, by Alanis Morissette – my old “ending” tune. That’s God just showing off.

The word, ironic, is defined as: “incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.” I sort of expected God to be in the same mood as me. If I woke up foul, then I was pretty sure He was in a smiting mood. (I wonder how many sermons have gone all Cotton Mather because a particular preacher had a bad week). I know that we tend to do this with people. Somehow, when we are in a ratty mood, we project the black ooze within us onto everyone else. In spite of what we have heard, misery really does NOT “love company.” Misery despises company and pushes them down the stairs.

God pulled some irony on me today. God is not unlike a parent who takes a child, who is pitching a hellish fit, and attempts to re-direct his or her angst with humor. He is, after all, a Father. And we, even the best of us, are still infants. Of the hundreds and hundreds of songs in my iPod, God sent me four as a sort of “I dare you not to smile.” – A bit of Divine incongruity between what I expected and what actually occurred. Ironic, huh?

Humor Me, Part 5

Humor is, as I have mentioned, a gift from God. Humor can take almost any situation and somehow blunt the horror or the sadness of an event with a prescient & witty observation. We call our friends to cheer us up, to lighten our day, to make us laugh. We don't call them with the hope of hearing tales of woe and burning worlds. I have heard incredibly funny stuff at the bedside of a terminally ill, bed-ridden cancer patient - from the patient himself. I have experienced the joy and the relief of laughter at a funeral. Now, no one in the room was so calloused that they denied the physical and emotional torment of the moment – but humor did somehow expose this great truth – that the suffering was a moment.

Humor reminds us that suffering is not the norm. Tragedy invades us, and as one writer said, “surprises us.” The very reason that suffering seems invasive and surprising is due to the fact that our God is a good God who desires good for His creation. When it doesn’t play out that way, we are, naturally, surprised. Humor nudges us back to the truth that suffering is irregular & temporal – thus ultimately less powerful than joy. (Joy is eternal humor – the best kind to shoot for).

My dad relayed a wonderful story to me recently that involved a roomful of my Irish Aunties and my Irish Granny. All of them have long departed this earth – sad – right? But, somehow the anecdotes from their life lessen the loss I feel for each of them. They still somehow live through the gift of humor. Here goes the story…

The Riley sisters were gathered in Chicago at the home of Aunt Maude. My grandmother, Juanita (Note: Here is something funny - Grandma wouldn’t allow anyone to pronounce this beautiful Spanish name the way it was supposed to be pronounced. She insisted that it be pronounced: juh–night-uh!) had made the trek up to Chicago from her farm in Northeast Missouri. Also in the room was my Aunt Virgie. Aunt Virgie had gone totally Chicago –gladly betraying her humble rural origins. I saw pictures of her from the roaring twenties. She was a genuine “flapper.” Aunt Maude, who also lived in Chicago, had settled into the “Archie Bunker”, working class, section of Chicago. My Grandma remained unchanged throughout her life. She was a single mom who had raised her only child (my mom) and somehow kept the family farm solvent while going through the Great Depression and the death of her husband. To get these three together always provided ample opportunity for the most outrageous conversations.

My parents happened to be there on the day the sisters were gathered. Unfortunately, my dad was suffering from a nasty headache and had retired to a couch while the sisters visited. As he lay there suffering, he listened in as the three sisters carried on what seemed to be three different conversations at the same time. Finally someone brought up a name that all the sisters knew. This brought unity and focus to the conversation. Gossip always does. I will share with you the conversation as my dad relayed it to me…

Aunt Maude: “Well, you know...she has to shave now. (Long pause) She has a mustache…” (Another long pause)
Aunt Virgie: “That’s because of those 'harmones' (sic)…”
Grandma: “ Harmones HELL…She’s FRENCH!”

In spite of the splitting headache, my dad began to convulse in laughter – as did I when I heard the story. The funeral for my beloved, feisty, quirky, Irish granny was a moment in time. This story transcends time.

One of the most consistent themes in the voluminous writings of CS Lewis was the issue of joy. It was he who said this: “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” (Letters To Malcom: Chiefly on Prayer, p.93) Lewis never dismissed the notion of suffering. In fact, he wrote about it extensively. But, he never believed in the notion of suffering as a natural antecedent to joy. He spoke of it more in terms of a temporary vapor that would not withstand the light of day. Joy is eternal. Suffering is ephemeral.

The gospel of Jesus Christ is called “the good news.” It is referred to prophetically as the “glad tidings which bring great joy.” If joy is the serious business of heaven, Jesus is the poster child of that great enterprise. “…Because of the joy awaiting Him, he endured the cross, despising the shame.” Hebrews 12:2 Followers of Him take note…

Of all the people in the world who should be the least depressed and the least sidetracked by the vagaries of this life – it should be the person who not only has placed his or her faith in the glad tidings – but who is now internally & eternally connected with that source. Being a Christian is not the mental ascent to a preferred set of beliefs or values. It is not even really about trying hard to be good. Being a Christian means that you have allowed yourself to become inhabited by joy itself. A persistently “depressed believer” is an oxymoron. We’ve neither the commission nor even the right to carry such a burden. Our only commission is to carry Him.

Be Well Blessed…
-CJ

(Note: The next Blog on Humor – Part 6 – will examine that super hilarious book: Foxe’s Book Of Martyrs)