Shameless Self-Promotion

Nice write up in the morning edition of the Times-Picayune if I do say so myself.

As Sunday approaches I have been thinking quite a bit about the process and how I arrived in New Orleans. 1. I thought the search process would have taken place quicker. 2. I did not know what I really wanted until I interviewed with two or three churches. 3. I was surprised at how steep the learning curve was as I journeyed through. 4. I am glad it took as long as it did. 5. I am glad I did not rush the process and kept waiting till I found a right fit. 6. As bizarre as it may seem to thank other search committees, thank you. I talked with one member of a search committee yesterday. I thanked the person for the experience and informed them that if I had not interviewed with them I would not have had the clarity needed to engage the congregation. The person also said the search committee would not have been able to call the person they did unless they had interviewed me. It is a two-way process, dialogue and journey.

I was sad, and still am, to leave the folk from Rhode Island, but I am glad to be where I am today. My family is glad - even though it has been a tough journey for all of us.

FIrst Class Ticket on the Bandwagon Express

In July my family and I moved to New Orleans. I tried, in vain, to prepare myself for this new journey by reading any and every book I could on this city (still am). One repetitive theme throughout all of the narratives: The Saints. I remember watching the first Monday Night game the Saints played in the Superdome, post-Katrina but I couldn't get my head around why the game was so important to the city. With all the suffering in the city, homes and lives still "under water" it just seemed juvenile to devote so much energy to a frivolous football game. Then I read 1 Dead in Attic, Chris Rose finally provided the proper perspective on the game - the game was more than a NFL game it was a greater symbol for the rebirth of the city and the people. But still it did not sink in, fully.

As the season approached and as I prepared sermons folk kept telling me how attendance and attention revolved around the Saints schedule. I was arrogant enough to think I knew that in reality not everyone was a Saints fan. So we scheduled a Jazz Brunch in September which also happened to be opening day for the Saints. Although it was pouring down rain outside folk packed the fellowship hall for a wonderful day of worship. I thought hah, the Saints are big, but they aren't that big.

The season progressed, the wins kept coming and the fever kept growing. Sunday attendance was affected, definitely. And I soon realized, yeah they are that big, they are important to the civic life of the this city.

We kept hearing folk say "Who Dat?" I could not, for the life of me, figure out this bizarre saying. It reminded me of the way folk would giggle when I pronounced (slowly) Pahwl-tuck-eht instead of a quick Pah-tuck-eht. I felt so strange, alien, and corny saying Who Dat? Then a parishioner gave me a couple of tickets to a game, I was reluctant to go but did. The VOR and I obtained the services of a sitter, she dressed in black and gold, me in lime green and jeans.

The experience at the game was amazing, liturgical even with the dancing, collective singing, range of emotions, and release of so much hope. The game was a baptism. As The VOR and I rode the street car back home, I knew we made the right decision to move here - as crazy as this place may be!

New Orleans is still a "broken city." Hardship stained schools, libraries not open on Fridays, no recycling, Charity hospital still closed, roads full of potholes, and homes still with the National Guard spray paint "icons." The people are still broken, always on the verge of tears and just looking for something to hold onto for hope and new life. More than anything the Saints fill that need.

Last night after the win the sports and news media focused on the party on Bourbon Street (rightly so, it was amazing to watch the festivities) but folk were celebrating all over the region. In uptown there were fireworks, folk beeping their horns, folk screaming and yelling, and camped out on the neutral ground. The local news said today might as well be a holiday b/c aint nobody going to work today. This morning as I took the kids to school they were right, the streets normally packed with morning commuters, were for the most part, clear.

This morning before #s 1, 2, & 3 said good morning they wanted to know if The Saints won. In a past life and in past times I would resist the temptation to jump on the bandwagon but not now. I admit jumping on, and loving it!

Background articles:
Great ESPN article here from a few weeks ago.
And from the NY Times.

To and Fro, Haiti, and Microhumor

To and Fro.

As some of you may know the VOR and I experimented for a year and a half driving one vehicle. In RI this arrangement worked well. I walked to work (about a 62 step commute) and had easy access to the mystery van (the kids took the bus to school). The demands of my job were not overwhelming and I could work out the xs and os of travel with out much trouble.

Then we moved to New Orleans. It appeared at first that we would be able to keep the same arrangement: between street cars, buses, sidewalks, and my bike it looked liked I could reduce my carbon footprint as a pastor. But an odd thing happened: bigger church = more responsibilities (which I knew but still hard to fully imagine), flat city (great for bicycling) but a humid city (terrible for riding a bicycle in a suit). Catholic school (our best option) no buses (have to transport kids to school). Nevertheless I tried by purchasing a Breezer commuting bike. It was a good purchase and it is a great bike. But all factors considered I needed to purchase an automobile.

I first went to car lots to price the cheapest new cars: somewhere in the vicinity of $13,000-15,000. I just could not justify purchasing a small egg looking auto for that amount of money. So I next researched used cars on the internet. But after a few frustrating hours I said why not craigslist? For I sold two cars, tractors, and other gas powered equipment why not buy a car? First search I found a car and a few days later I had it. It has heated seats (great luxury here in NOLA, no need to ever turn on the heat), and great control. First car ever, nice ride but I do miss the comfort of a truck.

Haiti.
The news from Haiti is horrendous. Some of the rhetoric about Haiti is horrendous. To educate yourself please consult the work of Randall Robinson.

Microhumor.
I have always held the view that microhumor is better than macrohumor. Unfortunately #3 thinks so to! He has taken to removing my bookmarks!

On the Need for Holidays

The other day while doing some research on Christmastide I found a vague reference to the Presentation of Jesus as Candlemas. The more I dug on Candlemas the more I liked about it. The holiday had all of the trappings to entice me: obscurity, long held traditions long since passed, and an official name. For a side note: the choirmaster at SCABC informed that the Chandeleur Islands (barrier islands in Louisiana) were found insert year here _____ on Candlemas.

So I introduced the day to the congregation on Sunday morning and then invited some friends over that afternoon for "Candlemas Cocktails." Why cocktails? On Saturday at the Hollygrove Farm Market I found a basket of "bitter oranges" a product I have been searching for two years for. Why bitter oranges? They are an essential ingredient for a pot of "smoking bishop." Bitter oranges + obscure religious holiday + a need to be with people = Candlemas Cocktails.

Smoking Bishop:

Bake the oranges (low temp, depends on your oven)

After they turn a pale brown remove from the oven and place, stud generously with cloves, and place in a warmed earthenware bowl. Add a bottle of cheap red wine (the recipe calls for Portuguese wine, which I could find easily in RI but not in NOLA, for this batch I used whatever red wine was in the bota box) and a 1/4 cup of sugar. Cover and let rest for overnight and some of the day.

As the party approaches squeeze out the juice from the oranges and discard. (Be sure to remove the cloves if any by-chance sneak into the wine). Pour the contents into a non-reactive pan that you use on the stove top. Bring to a nice warm temperature (do not bring to a boil), then add a bottle of port wine and a 1/2 pint of water (a small glassful should do). Continue to warm, ladle into mugs, and enjoy.

2009 Best of List

The Usuals:

1. Best Non-Fiction Book: Why New Orleans Matters by Tom Piazza (this book created a deep desire to move to New Orleans).

2. Best Fiction Book: Confederacy of Dunces by John Kenndey Toole (this book was so good I had to come see the town for myself. I spent at least a half an hour just on the title).

3. Best Children's Book: Who Needs Donuts by Mark Alan Staymay (I took this to #2's class and read it, man was it a hit! I had a blast reading it and they had a blast listening to me read it and looking at the pictures).

4. Best Meal: Going Away Meal at Nancy's. Afterwards me and four other men sat in Adirondack chairs, drank single malts and smoked cigars - it was really something.

5. Best Worship Service: My last Sunday at Lime Rock Baptist, it was unbelievable - the best goodbye of all time (folk are still talking about it).

6. Best CD: Jazz from the Soul of New Orleans by Dr. Michael White.

7. Best LP: The Holy Land by Johnny Cash (I have been looking for this for a couple of years and just found it last week. I also wonder how great the heart attack would be if I asked the choirmaster and organist to have the choir sing He Turned the Water into Wine.)

The Not So Usuals

1. Best Moments as a Father. The first two are closely related. #1 informed her music teacher that her father played the violin - then she volunteered me to come to her class and play. Even though on my best days I am an advanced beginner, I thought okay I'll do it. As I entered the school the secretary casually told me how the music teacher was going to teach her violin. She then casually told me that the music teacher is second chair flutist in the symphony. I about died. I only wish I could have taken pictures of the music teachers face as she winced when I played the notes wrong. Last week #2 informed his class that he was not a Saints fan, he was a New England Patriots fan. The kids started to tease him but the teacher jumped in to assuage the situation. #1 then confided to his teacher that I played for the Red Dragons. In his mind the fact that I played high school football was the same as playing in the NFL. And of course the daily rounds of "tickle time mania."

2. Best Moment as a Husband. An after dinner walk with the VOR around downtown Providence shortly before we left. We held hands looking at the water, the skyline, Le Reve, The Man in the Water. Then I grabbed her tight and kissed her. It was pure bliss.

3. Hardest "thing" to depart with: My Gravely tractors - man that was difficult. Non-things: fiddle class, lunches and hanging out with Darin, five o'clock Scotch with Raymond, laughing with Joe, messing with the SEVN, spying on my neighbor Kevin, and time spent at the Providence based office.

4. Funniest Moment from Craigslist: when a person named Scout came to buy our Davenport. After looking the piece of furniture over she put her face down in the cushion, took a gigantic whiff, then came up and said when you buy a couch it is all in the cushions. How the VOR and I held it together I have no idea.

5. Best Facebook Moment: after I read a NY Times article that one can only keep up with about 100 friends I went through and purged my friend list, (this was before I knew about the "Hide" button). Since then one person has tried to refriend me five times. I know this person is just a facebook harlot, the person has something like 500 friends or something like that. I cannot recall my ever saying one word to this person.

6. Best New Beer Discovery: Red Stripe. For whatever reason I never tried it. After I saw Henry Louis Gates, Jr. drinking one with Obama I thought hmmm I may give it a try. What a great beer.

7. Oddest Occurence: the vendor in Rouses (like a Kroger's for those in WV, or a Wegmans for those in upstate NY or like a Stop-n-Shop for those in RI) who offered me a Rum and Coke sample, at 10:00am. Of course I accepted it, without the Coke.

8. Most Bizarre Pastoral Moment: one day, shortly after arriving in New Orleans, I went to visit a parishioner. Since this person only lived a few blocks from the church I decided to walk. Being new to the city I had yet to fully appreciated the ramifications of tropical humidity and how dangerous it would be to not wear an undershirt. The walk was a little further than I imagined it would be. As I cut through Audubon Park I knew I was in trouble and saw spots developing all over my shirt. I thought if I took off my tie and unbuttoned my shirt I would be okay. Needless to say I was wrong. I arrived at the parishioner's house looking like I had ran back and forth through a sprinkler about ten times. The parishioner offered to take my shirt and put it in the dryer. I contemplated this but thought it a little odd to be sitting in a new parishioner's living room topless. My initial fear was quickly subdued when the parishioner offered me another shirt to wear while the other dried. I simply sat in front of a fan and within a half hour or forty-five minutes I had partially dried out.

A Strong Possibility

This afternoon the VOR and #s 1-3 along with yours truly asked a church member who is home from college to take our Christmas picture. We decided on taking the picture on a street car. Luckily there was an empty street car on the end of the line without a driver and who left the door open. As we scooted up the steps a woman sitting in the front of the car informed us that the driver had gone over to Burger King. We replied that we were not seeking a lift, we only wanted to take a picture. The woman then replied do you want me to take your picture. We said no thank you, we have some one who will take it. Then the woman said, I am a professional photographer about to go to a shoot. I will gladly take it for you. So we let her.

As she strategically placed in the car, #2 somehow turned the streetcar engine on. After snapping some shots she ran around to the side of the car and started taking shots through the open door. Now that may sound fairly sublime but it aint. She was taking these new shots while standing in the middle of South Carrolton St.! Autos were zooming past, blowing their horns and muttering obscenities (well, I assume they were). And the photographer - cool as a cucumber. In fact, she was swatting at them telling them to be quiet.

Upon returning to church another parishioner, who happens to be the father of the college student, asked if when I have plumbing problems do I open the door and find a plumber who just happens to be asking for directions?

Now I have read Twain's sarcastic War Prayer and I have played Dylan's With God on Our Side many a times during a Wednesday night bible study meeting. I am just as skeptical as they are. And yes of course I know correlation does not equal causation. But you gotta admit here folk...

A Neighborly/Friendly Christmas

This afternoon the VOR and I went to the Christmas at Loyola event. #s 1-3 did not attend; we were able to obtain the services of a sitter, a fantastic sitter. While we were at the concert the kids watched A Charlie Brown Christmas. After watching they staged their own production of the Christmas story. When the VOR and I returned home we gazed at the props and set up of the production. One piece, a sign whose lettering, particularly, caught my attention. The sign read: King Harold's Bethlehem. All of sudden the umph, the viciousness of King Herod, of the story evaporates. King Harold. I wonder how the story would read if it were indeed a story about good ol' King Harold?

A Mouth Full of Heaven

This Sunday, being the first of the month, will be a communion Sunday. Being such there will be a table, bread and cup for all to share. Underneath the ritual is the great symbolization: the morsels representing a foretaste of the glory divine.

Yesterday I think I received a better representation of the divine feast: a Mahony's French Fries Po-Boy. Ever since the NYTimes article I have been drooling in anticipaton that sandwich. The VOR and I hoped to sample one at the Po-Boy festival but by the time we arrived they had already sold out (plus they were not selling that sandwich there anyway). Yesterday the chef at church prepared Meatloaf - although the chef cooks with a high degree of tastefulness I still cannot handle even his meatloaf. So after a noon time meeting I snuck down to Magazine Street, walked up the steps to the establishment, and ordered the sandwich.

After a few minutes the server handed me my made to order sandwich. I greedily liberated it from its dual prison of the bag and wax paper. The sandwich thanked me for my liberation with a rich aroma of gravy and an unbelievable flavor that can only be described as a mouth full of heaven.

Indeed this Sunday I will feast on a geometrically shaped portion of bread and a plastic shot glass full of grape juice; I will try to recall a meal with my ancestors a meal of celebration, a meal of grace, a meal of courage; it will be a foretaste of glory divine. But until Jesus comes back or I go over yonder I am fine with the sensory overload of a sandwich laid open with roast beef, cheddar cheese, french fries, and gravy while I wait.

The Need for Historical Memory

In college I was a History major (interesting how many of my ministry colleagues were also history majors). People always say folk study history so we do not make the mistakes from the past. I have never subscribed to this idea. My main reason for the continual study of history is the for the development of a historical memory. Allow a picture from back in to illustrate my point.

If you were to travel from my hometown to the 1-64 entrance ramp you would pass by a bar, but not just any bar - a bar name Billy Sunday's.

If a historical memory did not exist why not name a bar Billy Sunday's. It is a catchy name. It is the kind of name a sub par 2nd baseman would have. But if a historical memory does exist then irony upon irony is available.

For those who do not know Billy Sunday was an evangelists, a Southern Baptist evangelists, a conservative (at that time in their existence there was such a thing as liberal Southern Baptists) who strongly advocated for Prohibition. Does the owner of this bar have any idea who Billy Sunday was? I doubt it. But when you do you appreciate this fantastic irony.

He was a hard working farmboy: Tales from Our Thanksgiving Trip to WV

Fresh back from our trip to WV: tired, a bit haggard, and happy to be home. The trip was great. Yesterday while waiting at DFW for our flight to New Orleans #1 and I walked to a food court to grab some lunch, as we passed the Rosetta Stone kiosk #1 immediately began quoting an advertisement: He was a hardworking farmboy, she was an Italian supermodel, he had only one chance to impress her...

The highlights included: getting together with my best friends, the Professor & Old Philsy, seeing family, eating (yes a Tudor's biscuit was eaten), taking flowers to dad's grave, and watching my two nephews play basketball. Both of them play ball on the junior varsity squad. One evening they scrimmaged the girls varsity squad. Memory serves me that girls basketball in junior high was just getting its feet under it when I was in junior high. I could not believe the strides girls athletic programs have advanced in the ensuing years! I have always held that women are better pure shooters than men. But good heavens those girls at the scrimmage were great athletes too, even a bit mean. When the ball was on the floor they dove, dipped their shoulders and even threw a couple of punches. I could tell my nephews were a bit hesitant they were victims of an age old dilemma: if they play too aggressive their friends will say you were playing too hard against a girl, if they back off and the girl schools them then they will be made fun of for getting taken to town by a girl. Nevertheless they did a good job, and those girls were good!

Another surprising highlight was the conversation I had while in transit from New Orleans to Chicago. Apparently American Airlines changed planes from when I made my reservations to when we flew. Therefore, all of our tickets were jumbled and the ticket person scattered the First Family amongst the cabin. Thanks to some friendly folk (By the way the American Airline employees were amazing and fantastic people) we were able to reassemble close to one another. The man who moved over so I could sit on the aisle in front of my kids ended up being the dean of the Univ. of Chicago Div. School (in town for the SBL too). I have never had a nicer conversation on a plane than that. The last time I had an in-depth conversation with a person sitting next to me on a plane he told me about a crazy raccoon virus that scared the bejesus out of me!

One other story about WV. One day my mother and I went to Sams Club, I have never seen so many moustaches before in my life!