Saturday, February 06, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Grandparents
My sister and I were taught to refer to our grandparents as Grandma and Grandpa. I'm a little surprised we weren't instructed to use the elongated Grandmother and Grandfather. Perhaps we could have used their first names without being any more formal; "Elaine, could you play Candy Land with me today?" "Dorothy, what time will we watch The Price is Right, today?". Occasionally we would get sloppy and drop the -d- Gran-ma and Gran-pa Airgood and Gran-ma and Gran-pa in Florida. My mother's Italian maiden name was a bit difficult, so locality would suffice.
Grandma and Grandpa Airgood practiced a folk-Christianity that relied heavily on religious tchotchkies and salvation based point systems. Sins such as wearing shorts or earrings inside the house of God lost you points and buying oversized portraits of Jesus gained you points. Grandpa took part in a failed exorcism at one point, but we're not allowed to talk about that. Dorothy's sister, Great Aunt Mabel, was devoutly religious and altogether eccentric - we adored her as children for her saintly wisdom, pull-no-punches debate skillz, and hard-core scrabble re-matches - we feared her for her bad teeth and the way her house smelled like rotting eggs.
Grandma and Grandpa in Florida were very religious. Especially Grandma. We always sang Christian songs, prayed longer prayers, and read our Bibles more studiously when Grandma from Florida came for a visit. I once read the entire book of Esther while Elaine watched over me - pretending all the time that this was normal Friday afternoon happenings. Grandma slapped me once when I tried to kiss her because she thought I was going to spit on her. I must have spoken into her "bad ear" (which never happened to be the same ear as the time before) when I said "I love you, Grandma." When her children were young she would throw her son's playing cards away each week when she cleaned his room - Uncle Randy never caught on to clean his own room and save the cost of a deck of cards.
Grandpa Airgood really loved me. He died after a long fight with several illnesses shortly before I started Kindergarten. He pulled my mother aside and asked that no matter what happened that I always be an Airgood. In pictures taken during those days of sleeping on hospital-safe fire-proof plastic couches, my sister and I always have our hands folded in prayer. They're cute pictures, but "Tchotchky Jesus" didn't pull through for us and Grandpa Airgood died. Not that Grandma Airgood had been particularly blissful before his passing; but she was quite bitter after his death. While photographs of Blaine show funny hats, goofy slippers, and big smiles; pictures of Dorothy show a short old woman sticking her tongue out at the camera. Seriously, in almost every picture we have of Grandma Airgood she's sticking her tongue out. Really. She only shed one tear when they told her she had cancer and a few weeks to live. I was holding her hand when they told her; and I watcher her make her peace with Jesus in that one tear. She didn't stick her tongue out anymore after that.
Grandma and Grandpa in Florida lost their location based moniker when they became the only grandparents left. Grandma and Grandpa are as stubborn as the line of dirt that refuses to be swept into the dustpan. One time Grandpa decided to drive from Florida to Pennsylvania for a football game. My Grandma decided she didn't want to go. So, two days before Elaine's 79th birthday (almost exactly one year after she almost died of an aneurysm and almost one year before it became okay to leave Grandma alone for more than a few hours)Virgil left her to drive to Pennsylvania for a football game. They do most things together, though. They mall walk three miles every morning. This is a real thing, and they couldn't be more proud of it - they would have a bumper sticker if it wouldn't ruin the paint job on their car. They don't want to wake the neighbors when they leave for the mall at 6AM - so they synchronise their door shutting. It's adorable. Granma got tired of having her grandchildren so far away, so she got a teddy bear to replace us. She loves Teddy on an emotional level she has never expressed for me. They come from a different era, and have a hard time expressing affection. Every time I hang up the phone with Grandpa I say, "Love you" to which he replies,"Alrighty then." I only allow my friends to back out of a reciprocal "love you" when they're watching football with the fellas - but I let Virgil slide because he's from a different era. They wrote that they were proud of me once in a letter, and I guess the fact that they still send letters to East Jesus Nowhere or wherever I am at the moment proves that they are at the very least somewhat fond of me.
Ultimately, I believe these people are/were the salt of the earth. I love them dearly - and fully appreciate the fact that they made me (directly and indirectly) the person I am today. They shaped the faith of my parents who shaped my faith. They faced obstacles I could never dream of facing, made good and bad decision from which I could learn, and taught me a lot about what it means to be me.
Grandma and Grandpa Airgood practiced a folk-Christianity that relied heavily on religious tchotchkies and salvation based point systems. Sins such as wearing shorts or earrings inside the house of God lost you points and buying oversized portraits of Jesus gained you points. Grandpa took part in a failed exorcism at one point, but we're not allowed to talk about that. Dorothy's sister, Great Aunt Mabel, was devoutly religious and altogether eccentric - we adored her as children for her saintly wisdom, pull-no-punches debate skillz, and hard-core scrabble re-matches - we feared her for her bad teeth and the way her house smelled like rotting eggs.
Grandma and Grandpa in Florida were very religious. Especially Grandma. We always sang Christian songs, prayed longer prayers, and read our Bibles more studiously when Grandma from Florida came for a visit. I once read the entire book of Esther while Elaine watched over me - pretending all the time that this was normal Friday afternoon happenings. Grandma slapped me once when I tried to kiss her because she thought I was going to spit on her. I must have spoken into her "bad ear" (which never happened to be the same ear as the time before) when I said "I love you, Grandma." When her children were young she would throw her son's playing cards away each week when she cleaned his room - Uncle Randy never caught on to clean his own room and save the cost of a deck of cards.
Grandpa Airgood really loved me. He died after a long fight with several illnesses shortly before I started Kindergarten. He pulled my mother aside and asked that no matter what happened that I always be an Airgood. In pictures taken during those days of sleeping on hospital-safe fire-proof plastic couches, my sister and I always have our hands folded in prayer. They're cute pictures, but "Tchotchky Jesus" didn't pull through for us and Grandpa Airgood died. Not that Grandma Airgood had been particularly blissful before his passing; but she was quite bitter after his death. While photographs of Blaine show funny hats, goofy slippers, and big smiles; pictures of Dorothy show a short old woman sticking her tongue out at the camera. Seriously, in almost every picture we have of Grandma Airgood she's sticking her tongue out. Really. She only shed one tear when they told her she had cancer and a few weeks to live. I was holding her hand when they told her; and I watcher her make her peace with Jesus in that one tear. She didn't stick her tongue out anymore after that.
Grandma and Grandpa in Florida lost their location based moniker when they became the only grandparents left. Grandma and Grandpa are as stubborn as the line of dirt that refuses to be swept into the dustpan. One time Grandpa decided to drive from Florida to Pennsylvania for a football game. My Grandma decided she didn't want to go. So, two days before Elaine's 79th birthday (almost exactly one year after she almost died of an aneurysm and almost one year before it became okay to leave Grandma alone for more than a few hours)Virgil left her to drive to Pennsylvania for a football game. They do most things together, though. They mall walk three miles every morning. This is a real thing, and they couldn't be more proud of it - they would have a bumper sticker if it wouldn't ruin the paint job on their car. They don't want to wake the neighbors when they leave for the mall at 6AM - so they synchronise their door shutting. It's adorable. Granma got tired of having her grandchildren so far away, so she got a teddy bear to replace us. She loves Teddy on an emotional level she has never expressed for me. They come from a different era, and have a hard time expressing affection. Every time I hang up the phone with Grandpa I say, "Love you" to which he replies,"Alrighty then." I only allow my friends to back out of a reciprocal "love you" when they're watching football with the fellas - but I let Virgil slide because he's from a different era. They wrote that they were proud of me once in a letter, and I guess the fact that they still send letters to East Jesus Nowhere or wherever I am at the moment proves that they are at the very least somewhat fond of me.
Ultimately, I believe these people are/were the salt of the earth. I love them dearly - and fully appreciate the fact that they made me (directly and indirectly) the person I am today. They shaped the faith of my parents who shaped my faith. They faced obstacles I could never dream of facing, made good and bad decision from which I could learn, and taught me a lot about what it means to be me.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Today, you will be with me in Paradise.
"Some tell us that following Jesus is a simple matter of inviting him into our hearts. But when we do that, Jesus always asks, 'May I bring my friends?' And when we look at them, we see that they are not the kind of company we like to keep. The friends of Jesus are the outcasts, the marginalized, the poor, the homeless, the rejected - the lepers of life. We hesitate and ask, 'Jesus, must we really have them too?' Jesus replies, 'Love me, love my friends!'" - Peter Storey, former leader of the Methodist Church of Southern Africa, in "Listening at Golgotha"
Friday, January 22, 2010
Another song about love.
Love is the most dangerous thing we do every day. Not driving, or operating heavy machinery - but loving others.
Our culture is love obsessed and generally disillusioned. Fourteen year old pop-idols wax eloquent about love - and Paul Harvey's "The Rest of the Story" will tell of their fourth divorce in a few decades. Love is our cultural heroine; we will do anything, pay any price, and take on any consequence to get our next fix.
But I have a sneaking suspicion that we've simply missed the boat. Language defines culture - and I think the fact that our language uses only one word for all different types of love is problematic at best. We use the same word to describe the feeling that causes a new father to catch his baby daughter's vomit and for the feeling that makes 15 year olds feel that nothing could be more important than getting naked and trying to not make a baby. We also use the same word for the verb of God coming to the earth to die for the sins of the world. This word is incomprehensibly incomplete - and we should face this fact head on.
I'm completely convinced that love is not something that happens - it is a verb and a choice.
Every day we must choose to love others. We must look beyond those who are easy to love - we must look into the eyes of the unloveable and choose to love them.
Racism has no place in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.
Against whom do we wage war? Our enemies. Whom were we commanded to love. Our enemies. There is no room for war against our enemies in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.
Extreme poverty has no place in the Kingdom of God. How can we love our neighbor and allow her children to die of preventable disease and malnutrition. Love is a choice.
Ageism, Homophobia, Sexism, and other forms of discrimination have no seat at the table in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.
Love. There is ONLY room for love in the Kingdom of God. Love destroys terrorism, tears down walls and political boundaries, and moves people to acceptance of Jesus Christ. Love is the most dangerous thing we do every day.
Our culture is love obsessed and generally disillusioned. Fourteen year old pop-idols wax eloquent about love - and Paul Harvey's "The Rest of the Story" will tell of their fourth divorce in a few decades. Love is our cultural heroine; we will do anything, pay any price, and take on any consequence to get our next fix.
But I have a sneaking suspicion that we've simply missed the boat. Language defines culture - and I think the fact that our language uses only one word for all different types of love is problematic at best. We use the same word to describe the feeling that causes a new father to catch his baby daughter's vomit and for the feeling that makes 15 year olds feel that nothing could be more important than getting naked and trying to not make a baby. We also use the same word for the verb of God coming to the earth to die for the sins of the world. This word is incomprehensibly incomplete - and we should face this fact head on.
I'm completely convinced that love is not something that happens - it is a verb and a choice.
Every day we must choose to love others. We must look beyond those who are easy to love - we must look into the eyes of the unloveable and choose to love them.
Racism has no place in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.
Against whom do we wage war? Our enemies. Whom were we commanded to love. Our enemies. There is no room for war against our enemies in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.
Extreme poverty has no place in the Kingdom of God. How can we love our neighbor and allow her children to die of preventable disease and malnutrition. Love is a choice.
Ageism, Homophobia, Sexism, and other forms of discrimination have no seat at the table in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.
Love. There is ONLY room for love in the Kingdom of God. Love destroys terrorism, tears down walls and political boundaries, and moves people to acceptance of Jesus Christ. Love is the most dangerous thing we do every day.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
Vincent Van Gogh didn’t have much to say for his faith in his thirties. It is clear that he never outright recanted his faith in Jesus Christ. It is also clear that he couldn’t define his faith. The young man who started sketching the poor he was sent to as a missionary, ended up taking his own life at 37. No art history class skips the significance of his contribution to the art world, no theology class would dare to dwell on his contribution to Christian thought.
Vincent didn’t quite fit in as a missionary. In an era in which missionaries lived in compounds on high hills and ministered to the wretched down below, Van Gogh slept on straw in a closet behind the local bakery. He cried himself to sleep some nights. He fell in love with the people. His superiors accused him of “undermining the dignity of the priesthood” and he was dismissed.
Faith is a fragile thing. The God of our childhood doesn’t always last through awkward teen years. The God of our zits, braces, and bad year book photos usually doesn’t make it through 4 years in college. The God who protected us through keggers and bad decisions evolves into the God who watches over our children, and then our grandchildren. Faith is a fragile thing.
We as followers of Jesus must constantly be in a position to reevaluate our faith. We must be willing to see what aspects of God we have invented (hint: if God hates the same people as you …) and what parts are true to Christ and his life and ministry.
Vincent Van Gogh struggled with mental illness and sickness for the rest of his life after his failed attempt at being a missionary. He also painted some of history’s most stunning and well-known paintings. He incorporated the spiritual into many of his paintings – even as he struggled defining his own faith journey, he knew that it was important that the world see God in his artwork.
“That God of the clergymen, He is for me as dead as a doornail. But am I an atheist for all that? The clergymen consider me as such — be it so; but I love, and how could I feel love if I did not live, and if others did not live, and then, if we live, there is something mysterious in that. Now call that God, or human nature or whatever you like, but there is something which I cannot define systematically, though it is very much alive and very real, and see, that is God, or as good as God. To believe in God for me is to feel that there is a God, not a dead one, or a stuffed one, but a living one, who with irresistible force urges us toward aimer encore; that is my opinion.”
Vincent didn’t quite fit in as a missionary. In an era in which missionaries lived in compounds on high hills and ministered to the wretched down below, Van Gogh slept on straw in a closet behind the local bakery. He cried himself to sleep some nights. He fell in love with the people. His superiors accused him of “undermining the dignity of the priesthood” and he was dismissed.
“The more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”
Faith is a fragile thing. The God of our childhood doesn’t always last through awkward teen years. The God of our zits, braces, and bad year book photos usually doesn’t make it through 4 years in college. The God who protected us through keggers and bad decisions evolves into the God who watches over our children, and then our grandchildren. Faith is a fragile thing.
We as followers of Jesus must constantly be in a position to reevaluate our faith. We must be willing to see what aspects of God we have invented (hint: if God hates the same people as you …) and what parts are true to Christ and his life and ministry.
Vincent Van Gogh struggled with mental illness and sickness for the rest of his life after his failed attempt at being a missionary. He also painted some of history’s most stunning and well-known paintings. He incorporated the spiritual into many of his paintings – even as he struggled defining his own faith journey, he knew that it was important that the world see God in his artwork.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
We celebrate Advent with hope and celebration.
But, I can't help but wonder what Jesus was thinking before he left heaven to come to earth as a baby.
Was he nervous? Excited? Afraid?
We know that Jesus, before his execution, prayed that "this cup shall pass, if it be Your will." But, I imagine that Jesus knew - before he came to earth - exactly how it would end.
As we hope and anticipate presents and family meals to commemorate the birth of our Savior - I hope we can pause to remember how magnanimous his birth truly was.
God; being truly perfect, holy, and divine; chose to enter our world - to set up tent among us - and to come as a baby. To shed all outward signs of power, prestige, and divinity and become one of us! To share in our suffering.
Missions is an "incarnational" experience. You can't succeed as a missionary unless you "set up tent" with the people. Unless you live their life, speak their language, eat their food, and drink their water you can't have a full appreciation of their life - and you can't fully share the good news of Jesus Christ. We take our model from the birth story. We live with the people - cast aside all of our titles, prestige, and importance to come and live humble with God's creation - in the hopes that we may find the opportunity to share God's great love.
Dear Jesus,
On this Christmas Eve we praise you for who you are. You are a God who is not afraid to get dirty in rescuing the fallen. You are a God who doesn't care about titles and position, but about love and human dignity. May we learn each day, from your life and ministry, how to love each other and serve humanity.
We love and praise you, Amen.
Merry Christmas friends!
Love, Michael.
But, I can't help but wonder what Jesus was thinking before he left heaven to come to earth as a baby.
Was he nervous? Excited? Afraid?
We know that Jesus, before his execution, prayed that "this cup shall pass, if it be Your will." But, I imagine that Jesus knew - before he came to earth - exactly how it would end.
As we hope and anticipate presents and family meals to commemorate the birth of our Savior - I hope we can pause to remember how magnanimous his birth truly was.
God; being truly perfect, holy, and divine; chose to enter our world - to set up tent among us - and to come as a baby. To shed all outward signs of power, prestige, and divinity and become one of us! To share in our suffering.
Missions is an "incarnational" experience. You can't succeed as a missionary unless you "set up tent" with the people. Unless you live their life, speak their language, eat their food, and drink their water you can't have a full appreciation of their life - and you can't fully share the good news of Jesus Christ. We take our model from the birth story. We live with the people - cast aside all of our titles, prestige, and importance to come and live humble with God's creation - in the hopes that we may find the opportunity to share God's great love.
Dear Jesus,
On this Christmas Eve we praise you for who you are. You are a God who is not afraid to get dirty in rescuing the fallen. You are a God who doesn't care about titles and position, but about love and human dignity. May we learn each day, from your life and ministry, how to love each other and serve humanity.
We love and praise you, Amen.
Merry Christmas friends!
Love, Michael.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
3rd Person Christmas Letter
Michael Airgood had a very happy 2009.
His final semester of college was a great time in his life. He felt like a real adult. He finished his job as an America Reads Volunteer - working for 7 semesters with that program was very rewarding. He also worked for a family from church in Toccoa, painting and helping around their new house was very relaxing for him. His third job was running the Wednesday night Upstreet! program at Toccoa First UMC after the children's director left. Some weeks he pulled 50+ hours on top of a normal school schedule ... and he loved every minute of it.
His home was filled with warm gatherings of friends as he tried to cram every get together into his already hectic schedule. By the grace of God, he finished college on time with a decent GPA. He preached his first sermons at Toccoa First UMC and Kane First UMC; both were well received and he looks forward to the opportunities to preach again. Less than two weeks after graduation, Michael Airgood flew to South Korea.
Michael worked as a volunteer language missionary which provided a small cost of living stipend. Basically, the mission wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Michael had been told that he would be working with middle and high school students who felt called to the mission field. Teaching the international language of English to future missionaries sounded like a great experience. When he arrive in South Korea he found out that he would be teaching student age 3-13 - none of whom wanted to learn English and none of whom had even considered missions. While Michael really enjoyed teaching English to the students (particularly to the youngest kindergarten students) he knew that it didn't quite fulfill his call to mission.
Michael met some wonderful people in the English speaking community in Cheonon. He has made some lifelong friends ... and really enjoyed sharing ridiculous stories from his 7 months of teaching with other people with similar experiences.
In early December, Michael resigned his post at the language school. He decided that he needed to be faithful to his call to missionary service above all else. In early January he will head to Mongolia to serve with the United Methodist missionary community there. In March he is headed to Ukraine. He will be representing the Northeast Jurisdiction in Berlin at the Global Young People's Convocation.
Michael's son, Vassya (the cat) moved to Siberia (Kane, PA) and experienced real snow for the first time. Michael's parents say that Vassya has a very cute way of drying one paw at a time in front of the wood stove. Michael hopes to visit next Christmas and see his son's technique.
This year has been truly monumental in Michael's life. As he takes his first baby steps as an adult he is learning a lot about himself, his call, and his future life.
Love, Michael.
His final semester of college was a great time in his life. He felt like a real adult. He finished his job as an America Reads Volunteer - working for 7 semesters with that program was very rewarding. He also worked for a family from church in Toccoa, painting and helping around their new house was very relaxing for him. His third job was running the Wednesday night Upstreet! program at Toccoa First UMC after the children's director left. Some weeks he pulled 50+ hours on top of a normal school schedule ... and he loved every minute of it.
His home was filled with warm gatherings of friends as he tried to cram every get together into his already hectic schedule. By the grace of God, he finished college on time with a decent GPA. He preached his first sermons at Toccoa First UMC and Kane First UMC; both were well received and he looks forward to the opportunities to preach again. Less than two weeks after graduation, Michael Airgood flew to South Korea.
Michael worked as a volunteer language missionary which provided a small cost of living stipend. Basically, the mission wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Michael had been told that he would be working with middle and high school students who felt called to the mission field. Teaching the international language of English to future missionaries sounded like a great experience. When he arrive in South Korea he found out that he would be teaching student age 3-13 - none of whom wanted to learn English and none of whom had even considered missions. While Michael really enjoyed teaching English to the students (particularly to the youngest kindergarten students) he knew that it didn't quite fulfill his call to mission.
Michael met some wonderful people in the English speaking community in Cheonon. He has made some lifelong friends ... and really enjoyed sharing ridiculous stories from his 7 months of teaching with other people with similar experiences.
In early December, Michael resigned his post at the language school. He decided that he needed to be faithful to his call to missionary service above all else. In early January he will head to Mongolia to serve with the United Methodist missionary community there. In March he is headed to Ukraine. He will be representing the Northeast Jurisdiction in Berlin at the Global Young People's Convocation.
Michael's son, Vassya (the cat) moved to Siberia (Kane, PA) and experienced real snow for the first time. Michael's parents say that Vassya has a very cute way of drying one paw at a time in front of the wood stove. Michael hopes to visit next Christmas and see his son's technique.
This year has been truly monumental in Michael's life. As he takes his first baby steps as an adult he is learning a lot about himself, his call, and his future life.
Love, Michael.
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