Ocular Fusion

Nativity of the Lord 2005, Proper I

Isaiah 9: 2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)

If my father had lived to see tomorrow, he would have celebrated his 50th wedding anniversary with my mother. His untimely death in 1980 left my mother a fairly young widow, but tomorrow we will celebrate nonetheless--for love transcends all boundaries of time and space, life and death.

My Mom and Dad attended the same high school and both graduated in 1951, but they were only casual acquaintances at the time. In those days, my father was tagged with the ironic nickname "Bonecrusher," standing as he did at 4'11" his senior year (he grew 7 inches his first year out of school). My mom was dating a "college boy" at the time, so I think it's fair to say that she might have overlooked poor ol' "Bonecrusher!"

About four years after graduation, Mom was working in the toy department in the basement of the Woolworths department store in downtown Roanoke, Virginia. One day she looked up to see a grinning, young sailor descending the stairs. At first he only smiled and said nothing, feigning interest in the Slinkies, Hula Hoops and other toys which Mom had neatly arranged, all in their proper order.

But day after day, he kept coming back. It didn't take Mom long to figure out that he was interested in more than Tinkertoys and Lincoln Logs. Soon the two of them were chatting away, and not long after that, Dad asked her out on a date.

That date nearly turned disastrous as Mom apparently got cold feet and asked my grandmother to help her hide when Dad arrived. My memories of my maternal grandmother are dim, but I do remember that she was not a woman you wanted to mess with. She was a Great Depression-hardened, mattock-wielding farm woman who could wring a chicken's neck with one hand and chop off the head of a rattlesnake with the other.

I don't recall exactly how that scene turned out, but I guess Mom must have sheepishly appeared at some point and gotten in the car. My grandmother liked Dad a lot after that (maybe she admired his bravery in the face of clear and present danger). Years later, shortly before Grandmother's death from cancer, Dad baptized her into Christ, probably struggling a bit for a "full immersion" seeing as it took place in the bathtub of her home.

My parents were married on December 24th, 1955. For the first year or so, they remained largely apart as Dad completed his service aboard the submarine U.S.S. Cubera while mom remained in Southwest Virginia. After Dad's discharge, he managed to get a job at the post office, and soon my older sister was born in late 1957. My parents then built a cute little brick ranch house on land just down the road from and within sight of where Mom grew up.

I came along in 1961. As I look now at the panoply of pictures and reels of home movies which Dad shot with his Bell & Howell camera, they are for me a memorial of the love and hope which my parents poured over my sister and me during those years. Service minded and determined to make a difference, my parents were actively involved with church and PTA and worked hard to take care of my sister and me and shelter us from the troubles of the turbulent 1960s. In 1971, they received a late "surprise package" in the form of my younger sister and blushed a little when they were honored at their 20th high school reunion for having the "youngest child."

G.K. Chesterton once remarked:

"There is nothing more extraordinary than an ordinary man, an ordinary woman and their ordinary children."

If true, then that's one accolade my parents would have both been proud to claim!

In her wildest nightmares, Mom would not have dreamed of being a widow at the age of 47. But she has endured, along the way surviving her own health struggles and brushes with death. In ways too numerous to mention, having her with us today is our own Christmas miracle.

So, this Christmas Eve, we will remember an ordinary man and an ordinary woman who lived with extraordinary love and energy during their time together. In many ways, they have remained yoked together, connected by the small army of children and grandchildren who will gather in that same cute little brick ranch house just down the hill from where Mom grew up. We will feel my father's absence, as well as the hole in our hearts left by my sister's son Andrew, who passed from this life seven Christmases ago. We will remember them both and we will hope--and celebrate.

And when Mom pictures in her mind's eye Dad descending those steps in the Woolworths those many years ago, I'm pretty sure she still blushes a bit and smiles. And I bet her heart still skips a beat or two, whenever she remembers her sailor boy in blue.

Now that I have your attention, I wanted to tell you, in case you haven't noticed lately, that we have a serious problem with "sex in the city," and for that matter, in the burbs and backwaters as well. The problem is, we no longer leave anything to the imagination. From peeks under the sheets to prime-time commercials hawking the latest and greatest impotence remedy, it's all out in the open for curious eyes to see.

The "sexperts" say it's better to talk about previously taboo topics in cold and clinical terms and to the show sex act in all its technicolor splendor. After all, we wouldn't want our children to be fumbling around during their "first time" unsure of what to do next. Good grief, the fabric of our society might completely unravel! Our species might even become extinct!

Yet, as with anything powerful and mysterious which is reduced to "mere facts," human sexuality loses much of it's innate power when the curtain is pulled back completely and the surprise spoiled. And these days, I believe, we are spoiling the surprise for our children. They know the truth, as spoken by G.K. Chesterton:

"The first two facts which a healthy boy or girl feels about sex are these: first that it is beautiful and then that it is dangerous."

But what to do? Do we completely shut down the flow of information and images and risk promotion of an unhealthy (and unbiblical) gnostic dualism which denies the good of the body? Or, as the "sexperts" would say, should we just lay it all out there for everyone to see and hope for the best?

As in all things, perhaps there is a via media. May I make a suggestion to parents, youth ministers and educators? Next time you plan to present information on the sticky wicket of human sexuality to kids, lay aside the scare tactics, "promise to wait" campaigns and other popular approaches for a moment and consider showing a positive, balance and robust view of human sexuality. And where would we find that? Well, in all places, Bedford Falls, New York!

When It's a Wonderful Life was made in 1946, there were many more restrictions on what could be said and seen on screen than there are today. Yet, somehow Frank Capra and cast produced several scenes which sizzle and pop with sexual electricity while keeping the details "under wraps." The effect is to excite, but also to remind that sexuality is a mighty river, capable of doing much good, but one that nevertheless must be channeled and kept within its banks. In particular, there are three scenes which portray a balanced and healthy human sexuality which are worth considering:

1. The Street Scene with Violet and the Boys

Near the beginning of the movie, George is preparing to leave Bedford Falls to "see the world" and runs into his friends Bert the cop and Ernie the cabdriver (get it, Bert and Ernie?). Violet (played by Gloria Grahame), the town siren, comes sauntering along the sidewalk in a dress, which for the day, must have been sheerer and shorter than average. The three men are instantly mesmerized by Violet's charm, and George , wide-eyed and slack-jawed, compliments Violet on the nice dress she's wearing.

"This old thing?" Violet replies. "I only wear it when I don't care how I look!" (yeah right).

She then proceeds down the sidewalk followed by 3 pairs of eyes. Is this lust? No, in my opinion, at least at this point, it's still basic, God-given physiology. To top it off, as she crosses the street, a gentleman of "Viagra age" is crossing in the opposite direction. He too is stopped dead in his tracks by the glory of Violet's passing, and as a result, is almost hit by a Model-T, one of the funniest moments in the movie. One wonders whether there are some extra vitamins and minerals in the water supply--Bedford Falls sounds like my kind of town!

But wait, there's more! George and his friends suddenly snap out of their trance and realize they must get on about their business. Ernie asks Bert if he would like to ride around town with him and George. He replies, "Uh, no thanks. I gotta go home and see what the wife is doing."

Hee-haw, there it is, the kind of balance I'm talking about! As attractive and tempting as Violet may be, Bert knows that the right thing to do is go home and "see what the wife is doing." The scene reminds me of what a Harding University Bible professor (don't worry, I'm not going to "out" you) once said during a remarkably candid moment: "It doesn't matter where you get your appetite as long as you eat at home!"

2. The Hydrangea Bush Scene

A little later on, George has become reaquainted with Mary, the younger sister of an old high school friend. Mary is all grown up now, and she and George have just danced in a Charleston contest at brother Harry Bailey's graduation party. The two (and eventually the whole party) ended up in a swimming pool beneath the gym floor thanks to the hijinks of one of Mary's spurned suitors (trivia note: that spurned suitor is none other than Carl "Alfalfa" Switzer of Our Gang fame).

Wearing a borrowed, oversized football uniform, George carries Mary's soaked dress and walks her home, while the pair sing Buffalo Gals Won't You Come Out Tonight? What is Mary wearing? Well, apparently nothing but her birthday suit and a borrowed bathrobe--the stage is now set for some playful sexual tension.

At one point, George "accidently" steps on Mary's robe. Is it coming off? No, not yet. George apologizes for his "clumsiness" and Mary then extends her hand to him for a kiss. George, however, has other ideas in mind and makes his move. Mary then turns and walks away with a coy smile. She is clearly in control at this point and enjoying every moment.

Watching the scene unfold is a balding, middle-age man sitting on his front porch reading his newspaper and smoking his pipe. At one point, George asks Mary, "Am I talking too much?" to which the neighbor replies, "Yes!" The man continues, "Why don't you kiss her instead of talking her to death?" In exasperation, he storms back into his house, muttering, "Aw, youth is wasted on the wrong people!"

George retorts, "I'll show you some kissing that'll put hair back on your head!"

Realizing what's coming next, Mary squeals and runs, only this time George really is accidentally standing on her robe which she sheds as she runs away (out of our line of sight, of course).

The ensuing scene is delightfully tantalizing, but ever discreet. Mary seeks refuge behind a Hydrangea bush as George gazes at the empty bathrobe lying on the ground. Now he is in control, and George makes the most of the moment.

"A very interesting situation we have here," George remarks, circling like a hawk around the Hyrdrangea bush. "A man doesn't find himself in a situation like this very often...not in Bedford Falls at least."

Mary protests, shouting, "Shame on you George Bailey," and "I'm going to tell your mother!" George reminds her that she is hardly in a position to tell his mother or call the police (who would side with him anyway, according to George).

Finally, George agrees to "make a deal" with Mary, but we never get to hear the details because they are interrupted by George's Uncle Billy and brother Harry who arrive to tell George that his father has had a stroke. George tosses the robe to Mary who has forgotten her frustration with George and is clearly concerned for him and his father.

The Hydrangea bush plays a very important role in this scene. It allows Mary a modicum of modesty and sanctuary while shielding our eyes from her true glory. Rather than distracting from the sexual tension, her cover actually adds to the titillation since the viewer is left to imagine what delights might be concealed behind the leaves and flowers. Echoes of Eden, perhaps? As I view the modern cinemascape these days, I'm left to conclude we could use a few more Hydrangea bushes to help protect the sacred and beautiful mysteries of a woman's body.

3. The Phone Scene

Some time later, George's football hero brother Harry returns home from college with his lovely new bride in tow. George is clearly torn. Although he is happy for Harry's good fortune, he's grieved to hear that his brother has received a job offer from his new father-in-law which will take him away from Bedford Falls and prevent him from relieving George (who has been looking forward to finally going to college and "seeing the world") from his duties at the Building and Loan.

The whole town turns out to fete the newlyweds, but George retreats to the front porch for a little pity party of his own. His mother appears and reminds him that Mary has returned from school and perhaps it might be a good idea to call on her. At first, he reluctantly agrees, then turns and stubbornly walks in the opposite direction from Mary's house.

George does make his way there eventually, however. Mary has clearly been enamored with George since the day as a young girl when she whispered in his deaf ear, "George Bailey, I'm going to love you to the day I die!" She invites him inside, but George is feeling petulent and resentful at the way his life plans have been foiled and spurns her efforts at polite conversation.

Mary's mother is upset at George's presence (she has designs of her daughter marrying the successful businessman Sam Wainwright). Yanking her fretting mother's chain, Mary shouts, "Mother, he's making mad passionate love to me!" George is clearly doing no such thing, but the viewer can already feel the temperature starting to rise.

Soon Sam calls Mary, and when he learns that George is there, he asks to speak to "ol' Mossback George." George and Mary must share the phone since her mother is listening in on the other extension. This brings them into closer physical contact than ever before, a turn of events that has unexpected consequences for both of them.

With the sexual tension now building to a crescendo, George and Mary try in vain to listen to Sam as he offers George the chance to get in on the "ground floor" of his emerging plastics company. Finally, exasperated at George's reluctance, Sam cries, "Mary, would you please tell George that the chance of a lifetime is standing in front of him?"

Indeed it is, but she has nothing to do with plastics. In anger at this inablility to control his feelings for Mary, he shouts "I want to do what I want to do," whereupon he does just that--smothering Mary with passionate, if somewhat sloppy, kisses. The next scene shows Mary and George immediately after their wedding, presumably only a short time later.

Hot dog, there it is again! The positive view that physical passion is good and wholesome, but the reminder that it should lead to the marriage altar where it can be controlled and channeled toward it's ultimate glory.

So, this year if you have teenagers or preadolescent kids in your house, tell them that in order to get their presents they have to sit down and watch It's a Wonderful Life with you. Will they protest? You betcha. But when push comes to shove, they'll do anything to get the GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip.

Then do your parental duty and point out these positive images of healthy, godly sexuality. Will they scoff and make loud, exaggerated gagging noises? Probably. But hey, it's Christmas--have faith that another miracle will occur. Who knows? Maybe those positive messages will settle somewhere into the subconscious reaches of their little skulls full-of-mush for use at a later time.

Is It's a Wonderful Life a little corny for the 21st century? Maybe. But if it is, it's delightfully so, and looking around, I'm beginning to think we could us a little more corn in our lives. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Jason over at Already & Not Yet and Scott at Free Thoughts have "tagged" me in what looks like the opening move of some sort of chain blog, phishing scam. Next thing you know they'll be offering to send me 100 million dollars like Princess Fayad Bolkiah if I'll just send them my bank account and social security numbers. Yeah right. Listen boys, I wasn't born in Alabama, ok?

Oh well, against my better judgement, here goes nothing.

List the 7 words/phrases you say most often:

1. "Which is better, one...or...twooooo?"
2. "Go Duke!"
3. "Has anybody seen the laptop?"
4. "Has anybody seen the remote?"
5. "Have you finished your homework?"
6. "Oh my back, my back, my back!"
7. "Back in '82..."

List 7 movies you could watch over and over:

1. O Brother Where Art Thou?
2. Chariots of Fire
3. It's a Wonderful Life
4. Forrest Gump
5. Master and Commander
6. A Man for All Seasons
7. Napoleon Dynamite
   

List 7 books or series you love:

1. Ecclesiastes--The Preacher
2. Mere Christianity--C.S. Lewis
3. The Chronicles of Narnia--C.S. Lewis
4. Orthodoxy--G.K. Chesterton
5. Portofino (The Calvin Becker Trilogy)--Frank Schaeffer
   
6. The Preservationist--David Maine
7. The Mitford Series--Jan Karon

List 7 things you can't/won't do:

1. Dance
2. Cook
3. Break in line
4. Blow a bubble
5. Abuse Malachi 3:10 and Luke 6:38 to teach tithing
6. Ever, under any circumstances, root for the UNC Tarheels
7. Shop at 5:00AM on "Black Friday"

List 7 things you want to do before you die:

1. Learn to dance
2. Become a breakfast chef
3. See my sons grow up to honorable manhood
4. Visit Italy and England with my wife
5. Attend a Duke basketball game at Cameron Indoor Stadium
6. Become a dean at a college or university
   
7. Make my living as a writer

List 7 things that attract you to your spouse:

1. The way she tears up while watching a sentimental movie or commercial
2. When she really laughs at something I said or wrote
3. Her college co-ed figure
4. Her passion for reading and her open mind
5. The way she looks anybody in the eyes and politely tells them what she thinks
6. Her loyalty to and love for her sons
7. Watching her read a book and snuggle with Gracie (our dog) on the couch

Friends to tag:

1. Ed!

Several of us Church of Christ folks snuck over to the Episcopal Church of the Nativity in Huntsville last night for A Festival Service of Nine Lessons and Carols. The Church of the Nativity is one of the oldest churches in Huntsville and has an interesting piece of history attached to it. During the Civil War, the Union Army occupied Huntsville and began commandeering area churches to use as stables for their horses. One Union officer was sent with a detail to Church of the Nativity for that purpose. However, when he saw the words "Reverence My Sanctuary" (still seen today) above the front entrance, he had second thoughts and gave orders to his troops that the church was to remain untouched.

Lessons and Carols is an Anglican service which was originally conducted at Kings College, Cambridge Univeristy on Christmas Eve in 1918 and has since been adapted for use by other churches around the world. The format follows the story of the fall of man, through the Old Testament with its many promises of Messiah and on to the birth of Jesus using nine scripture readings and various hymns and carols. The King's College service is still broadcast annually on Christmas Eve by BBC Radio and is often carried by local NPR affiliates.

For my regular readers, it comes as no surprise that I'm a "smells and bells" kind of guy. I'm wired to respond better to the call to worship God with all my senses rather than simply using my left brain to digest a 45 minute lecture, uh, I mean sermon. I also like the quiet, gentle pace of liturgical worship--I don't feel like my senses have been assaulted with a barrage of loud praise songs featuring the words "I, me and just" and PowerPoint slides filled with bulleted "main points to remember."

Rather, I sense God's call to "be still" and to know him, along with a much-needed break from the tyranny of the modern. I sense the power of letting scripture and song speak for themselves without the need for commentary or interpretation. I am healed by hearing what God has done and is doing rather than the constant reminder of "all the things we're not doing" (note to pulpit ministers: believe it or not, most of us know we're sinners who are constantly falling short. We are in dire need of encouragement and Good News).

I do sometimes feel like an interloper when I enter a liturgical church. It's usually a little dark when you go inside and sometimes it takes a few moments for your eyes to adapt (I'll spare you the physiological explanation). One time when I was entering an Episcopal church I didn't see the brass infant baptismal font standing in my way and I ran into it, producing a loud clang which I desperately tried to still by grabbing it like a drummer does a cymbal. The folks who had already gathered for contemplation and prayer prior to the service were used to bells sounding off, but not at that particular moment. With all eyes turned on me, I could only offer a sheepish wave and a softly-mouthed "Sorry!" I felt like I needed to tell them I was from the Church of Christ and that I wasn't used to baptismal fonts and that I promise it will never happen again. I was afraid a vestment-clad bouncer was going to appear and toss my little Anabaptist keister out on the sidewalk. But they didn't seem too concerned. I suppose they're used to a steady stream of folks sneeking in for a liturgical fix. No one stood up and said, "Hey, that guy's Church of Christ. Throw him out of here!"

Last night there were several of us Restorationists taking up a couple of pews. A family soon came in and sat down behind us. A moment later, a young girl exclaimed, "Hey, what happened to our pew?" She was quickly shushed by her father. Oops, sorry about that! Don't worry--come next Sunday you can have your old pew back for Christmas Day service.

Aside from the songs sung in Latin (once a Latin geek, always a Latin geek), my favorite from last evening was When God's Time Had Ripened (music by Alfred V. Fedak, lyrics by Carl P. Daw, Jr.):

When God's time had ripened, Mary's womb bore fruit,
Scion of the Godhead, sprung from Jesse's root:
So the True Vine branches from the lily's stem,
The Rose without blemish blooms in Bethlehem.

More than mind can fathom, limit or untwine,
This mysterious yoking, human and divine,
But what reason fetters faith at length unlocks,
And wise hearts discover truth in paradox.

As the bread of heaven, that we might be fed,
Chose a manger cradle in the House of Bread,
So has Life Eternal mingled in the womb
With our mortal nature to confound the tomb.

For this swaddled infant in a humble place
Holds our hope of glory and our means of grace;
In the Love enfleshed here dawns the world's rebirth,
Promise of salvation, pledge of peace on earth.

The second stanza especially speaks to me. As a tired, middle-aged, world-weary, left-brained rationalist, I've finally waved the white flag and surrendered to the powerful reality of paradox. In fact, I'm finding the letting go of "the need to have all the answers and figure everything out" to be a welcomed relief. The letting go and giving in feels right and good. I want to accept the "mysterious yoking" by faith and allow the "hope of glory" and the "promise of salvation" to fill the empty and dark places of my soul.

So this Christmas, along with the Our Father, I pray:

Dear God, calm my fretting self and settle my busy, troubled, over-reasoning mind. Allow the "mysterious yoking" to wash over me like a soothing bath which cleanses and heals the nicks and cuts of my soul. Give me a "wise heart," so that I too can "discover truth in paradox." Amen.

The Lectionary Readings:

2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16

Luke 1:47-55 or Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26

Romans 16:25-27

Luke 1:26-38

Ok, I know how it goes. You have the best of intentions of following through on my suggestion from yesterday and watching It's a Wonderful Life with your family this Christmas, but your busy holiday, er, I mean Christmas schedule just won't allow it. Maybe you've got miles to travel, last-second shopping to do, or perhaps you'll be picketing down at the local Wal-Mart or Target with a sign that reads, "Merry Christmas...or else!"

Don't despair. To the rescue in our fast-food, instant gratification world rides this 30-second short film parody of It's a Wonderful Life starring the cute, adorable little hares of the world famous 30 Second Bunnies Theatre Troupe. So if you're pressed for time, click here and enjoy the show.

(Hat tip to Jared Cramer)

Our Sunday School class has been watching Frank Capra's classic Christmas movie It's a Wonderful Life recently and discussing it in the context of scriptures such as Philippians 2:3 and Psalm 90:17. Jimmy Stewart's character George Bailey was indeed a man who "considered others better" than himself and who had the unique opportunity to see what difference the "work of his hands" made in the life and times of the people of the fictional town of Bedford Falls, New York. Like Clarence the Angel, we "like that George Bailey"--how could anyone not, right?

Well, it may surprise you that in 1946 when the movie was first released, the movie was unmercifully panned by critics as "too corny" and promptly flopped at the box office (it was not until PBS began re-broadcasting the movie in the 1970s that it finally got its second wind and became a Christmas classic). To add insult to injury, the FBI placed It's a Wonderful Life on a list of "subversive" films with Communist overtones. According to a report in 1997 by Professor John Noakes of Frankin & Marshall College, the FBI took issue both with the negative portrayal of free enterprise and capitalism in Lionel Barrymore's "Scrooge-like" character of Mr. Potter and the triumph of the "common man" George Bailey. A partial copy of the report is available for viewing here (It's a Wonderful Life is mentioned on the 2nd page).

Of course, this was at the beginning of the Second Red Scare, a time of grave national angst over Communist infiltration of American institutions which began after World War II and was famously characterized by the intense anti-communist activities of Senator Joseph McCarthy. Now those of you who have ever heard me talk about bringing a heavy dose of humility to the study of history know I'm not going to stand here and wag my finger too hard at my ancestors. Had I lived in the days of "duck and cover" drills, I might have gotten a little jumpy too. Still, years later, it's difficult to conceive how J. Edgar Hoover could have had a humble and gentle soul like George Bailey in his crosshairs.

The real irony is that George was also a financial guy like Mr. Potter, the difference being George represented small business with a soft heart as opposed to Potter's mega-corporate coldness and heart of stone. As Noakes points out in his 1997 report, the real conflict which Capra sought to portray in the film was not communism versus capitalism but big capitalism versus the "mom and pop" small town institutions represented by the Bailey Brothers Building and Loan. Echoes of that skirmish continue unabated to this day.

Well, in any case, I'm glad that little bit of "subversive" ugliness is behind us and we can watch and enjoy It's a Wonderful Life without being branded un-American. The movie is now available in a DVD version which contains some nice extras and NBC is doing a special Christmas Eve broadcast this year which will include a Descriptive TheatreVision presentation for the blind and visually impaired narrated by former President George H. W. Bush.

So get your family together on the night before Christmas and watch this American classic. If you look out the window and see a couple of "men in black" parked in an unmarked sedan with U.S. government plates, just march across the street, tap on the window, and yell, "Merry Christmas you wonderful old FBI!" Then invite the G-men in for a little eggnog and Christmas cheer. If they seem a little hesitant, tell them not to worry--J. Edgar Hoover will never know.

Mondegreen (noun)--a series of words that result from the mishearing or misinterpretation of a statement or a song lyric, e.g. I led the pigeons to the flag for I pledge allegiance to the flag. --http://dictionary.reference.com/

When I was a child, I sometimes didn't hear things the way I was supposed to. Of course, this may have been partly due to the heavy ear wax which plagued me back in those days. Like most boys, I had more than my share of the greasy stuff, and every Saturday night my mother would subject me to a weekly ear cleaning. This was performed with a Q-tip moistened with Johnson's Baby Oil. My mother would plunge the cotton-tipped applicator down the ear canal and swipe away a week's worth of deposits, or least enough so that none would be visible the next day at church.

Somehow I don't think she got that little tidbit from Dr. Spock. It makes me wonder if moms back in the 1960s would sneak a peek into the ears of their friends' children come Sunday morning, perhaps rating one another by the amount of visible wax left over after the Saturday night cleaning--good grief, look at little Johnny! Might as well stick a wick in there and light it!

Of course Mom meant it for my good, but despite her best efforts, I still misheard many hymns and passages of scripture as a kid growing up in the Church of Christ. For years, I suffered from the guilt and humiliation of having misheard so often and so much, but recently I was relieved to hear that this is a common experience. In fact, there's even a name for the syndrome: Mondegreenism. Mondegreens occur when one mishears or misinterprets a statement or the lyrics to a song. For me, that occured with such frequency that I've been able to compile an extensive list over the years. So, lest we take ourselves too seriously this holiday season, I give you, dear readers, my list of Top 10 Holy Mondegreens:

10. "Hark the Harold Angels Sing." This is a common one, apropos for this time of year as we all start to crank out those Christmas songs whose words we know sort of well, but usually not well enough. My father's first name was Harold, and since he was an elder and the main songleader at our church when I was a kid, this one caused nary a spike in my brain wave pattern. It seemed natural that a guy who had that much pull with the Guy Upstairs would have his own angels. What's the big deal?

9. "He had seven hundred wives of royal birth and three hundred combines, and his wives led him a stray." (I Kings 11:3) Although I wasn't raised on a farm, I did grow up around farmers and lots of farm equipment. I remember thinking that three hundred combines must have meant a heckuva lot of corn, but given the context of the passage--i.e., seven hundred wives--this seemed normal since there would obviously be a lot of mouths to feed. The part I didn't get was all those wives leading seven hundred stray cats on leashes toward Solomon's throne. There were a lot of strays hanging around my house in those days, but seven hundred for Pete's sake? There's no way my family could have produced enough table scraps to feed a bunch that large! But I guess Solomon's family could.

8. "Lettuce have a little talk with Jesus." I didn't always eat a good breakfast before church, so by the time class and worship was over, I was usually pretty hungry. I suppose I should have expected a few images of food to pop up occasionally. In this case, I pictured a robed and sandled figure, hands outstretched in compassion over a crowd of people with "lettuce heads." As we shall see, this would not be the only food-related reverie to, uh, rear its ugly head.

7. "He punched me to victory beneath the cleansing flood." You have to admit, "punched" and "plunged" are very close, even without ear wax to complicate the picture. I had images of a person being baptized and being held under the cleansing flood just a little too long. When the baptizee began to squirm and protest, the baptizer would pop him a few times in order to keep him under water long enough for the baptism "to take." I kept watching all the baptisms and waiting for this to happen, but it never occurred. After a while, I figured it was probably safe to get in the water.

6. "Just as I am, without one flea." I never figured that any of the people I saw "going forward" during the standard 55 verses of Just As I Am had any fleas, but I suppose it was possible. Still, why talk about? Was this really some kind of scriptural requirement for repentance? Don't tell me that Jesus and those twelve guys lived and slept outdoors in Palestine back in those days and never managed to pick up any "hitchhikers." We all know better than that.

5. "I am not afraid of ten thousand tough people who have set themselves against me." (Psalm 3:6) This passage of scripture was made into a song which I used to belt out heartily, converting "tens thousands of people," to "ten thousand tough people." Given the context of the passage, this made perfect sense to me--the guys going after David were no pansys. I continued to sing it this way into college, until one day a minister setting next to me overheard my maladroit mondegreen. At first I thought he was having a heart attack or a seizure, but then I realized he was doubled over in a fit of holy laughter--a little too late, though, to save face in front of the large crowd who soon learned what all the commotion was about.

4. "Low in the gravy lay, Jesus my savior...up from the gravy and rolls..." This was one of those songs that Dad like to slip in around Easter, just to show everyone that it was ok for a Church of Christ to celebrate too along with all the other Christians. By the time we sang this hymn, my stomach was obviously starting to really growl. While Jesus obviously needed to escape the clutches of death, the irony was I really liked the idea of wallowing around in a big mess of gravy and rolls. I told you I was hungry.

3. "He arose a victor from the dark old maid..." Same song, second misunderstanding (WARNING, POLITICALLY INCORRECT CHILDHOOD MEMORY ALERT!). On those occasions when I was lucky enough to get a decent breakfast prior to church, it was usually pancakes and syrup. When we sang this verse, images of syrup bottles danced in my head, and I couldn't help but think: What's Aunt Jemima got to do with the Resurrection?

2. "Homes where the mother in queenly quest, tries to show others her way is best..." God Give us Christian Homes is one of those songs that just makes me smile. I remember chapel at Harding University and barely being able to keep it together whenever we sang that one. It's not that I don't agree with the message--we really do need more Christian homes (or at least more serious Christians in our homes). It's just that the 1950s Eisenhower-era images that the song invokes seemed a bit anachronistic. The other day, my wife and I were fondly recalling this song, and in my enthusiasm I belted out the line above. She laughed and said, "Honey, I think you mean 'show others thy way is best,' but I like your version better!" Yeah, yeah, go ahead and yuck it up--I suppose after twenty years of marriage it's not surprising that I would finally start seeing things "her way."

1. "There is a Bomb in Gilead." This song had a beautiful melody which seemed totally out of synch with the lyrics. I remember looking around as a kid at all the adults calmly singing this song with relaxed and peaceful expressions on their faces and thinking: What? Are you all crazy? Let me get this straight: there's a bomb in Gilead and we're going there anyway, aaaand everyone's OK with that?

So, there you have it, my Top Ten list of Holy Mondegreens. I bet you can remember a few of your own if try. Go ahead and think about while I excuse myself. You see, I've still got a little ear wax that I need to clean out.

It has now been 3 days since I "entered the wardrobe" of Andrew Adamson's screen adaptation of the C.S. Lewis classic, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The afterglow lingers, and my right brain is still tingling and my hair a little askew from the wild ride on Aslan's back. I intentionally waited a while before I attempted any kind of review or analysis--I simply wanted to relish the magic of the moment. Now that my left brain has re-engaged a little, maybe I can finally write down a few of my responses and impressions.

Let me say this up front: my expectations were exceeded. I suppose it's my habit to temper and lower my hopes on such occasions as a means of avoiding disappointment. That way, I can be pleased when a moderately good effort sails past the mark. But this film is far better than "moderately good." I was genuinely and pleasantly surprised at its general faithfulness to the book and the retention of most all of Lewis' core messages. Nothing fatal is lost in this translation.

I have heard this phrase repeated often on various blogs, online reviews and among my circle of friends who have seen the movie: It was exactly how I pictured it in my mind. I would concur with that, and add that the visual impact was the perfect addendum for someone like me who had just finished re-reading the book the night before. The universality of this accolade speaks to Adamson's adroit screenwork and his solemn respect for Lewis' work (like many, he read and cherished The Chronicles of Narnia as a child). While there are some changes from the book that will disappoint some, all in all, this is a faithful rendering which delivers on its promise.

The first hour of the movie is exceptionally well done and perfectly captures the wonder and awe of discovering a wild and unpredictable new world through the 9-year-old eyes of Lucy Pevensie, played by newcomer Georgie Henley. Her performance is spellbindingly magical! What she does with her eyes and facial expressions from the moment she first gazes upon the wardrobe and enters Narnia through to her meeting with Mr. Tumnus (played with charming poise and earnestness by James McAvoy) is enough to make the movie for me. Of course there is much more to commend than Henley's impish charm, but as the father of three rough and tumble boys, I found myself thinking that having a daughter like Henley would have been a nice counterweight to the mighty river of testosterone which flows through my house!

My other favorite performance was that of Skandar Keynes who played Edmund, the black sheep turned traitor of the Pevensie family. The movie script provides some extra details which give some useful background into Edmund's sullen and peevish nature. At the beginning of the movie he is shown clutching a picture of his RAF father who is away at war. We see that not only must Edmund endure the daily horror of the Luftwaffe air raids, but he must also make do without the the security and stability of his father's presence.

In contrast, Edmund's older brother Peter, although still uncertain and hesitant with the duties of his impending manhood, is nevertheless past the insecurities of early adolescence. Unlike Edmund, Peter had the benefit of his father's guiding hand during more peaceful times. While not an excuse for his treachery, the knowlege of Edmund's handicap does allow the viewer to see through Edmund's faults and perhaps empathize a bit more with his character. I especially enjoyed Edmund's transformation from an egocentric, immature early-adolescent to a young man who had gazed into the blackness in his soul, turned from it, and moved into the light. He is burdened with the debt that he owes Aslan, but he does not despair. Instead, he mends his fences and opens his eyes for ways to re-engage the world with his new-found wisdom.

As for Aslan, his character is overall a pleasing image and portrayed well with the voice of Liam Neeson. Aslan is appropriately solemn and regal, but if I could have changed anything, I would have preferred to see Aslan a little less, well, "tame." He seems at times to be a little too lethargic and world-weary in the movie. From the book, I recall the playful romp at the Stone Table when Aslan rejoices in once again feeling the strength and power of his risen body. I would have preferred to see more of this, but perhaps there wasn't enough time (there was a battle to attend after all) to dwell too long here. We view Susan and Lucy's wild ride on Aslan's back (one of my favorite passages from the book) only from a distance--I would have preferred to see the girls' faces more closely as they experienced the very fine line between thrill and terror that Aslan was meant to invoke--"and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind."

But alas, some things just can't be fully captured on film but must be left to the reader's imagination. Others have commented on small words and lines which were misplaced or left out completely. For some reason, the discussion of the "deeper magic" of agape love gets shorter shrift than it deserves. But still, the meaning of Aslan's sacrifice and its effects on the children and the greater good of Narnia are nevertheless abundantly evident.

My advice? Minor glitches nothwithstanding, make every effort to see this movie as soon as possible if you have not already done so. Also, check your left brain at the door and simply allow the rich imagery and the magic of the story to wash over you without any overt effort to find Christian symbolism or to otherwise deconstruct or analyze. In other words, allow yourself to be a kid and watch the movie with 9-year-old eyes. Then you will be on the same page as Lewis, who intended his work first and foremost for the children who knew this instinctively: when you climb aboard Aslan's back, you should simply hang on for dear life and enjoy the thrill of your life!

The Lectionary readings for the third Sunday
in Advent (Gaudete Sunday):

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

Psalm 126 or Luke 1:47-55

I Thessalonians 5:16-24

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Today is the day. T-minus 12 hours and counting. I have my tickets. Do you have yours?

Dr. Bruce Edwards, renowned C.S. Lewis expert, has already weighed in with both his first and second impressions (warning: there is some spoiler material there, so if you are completely unfamilar with the story or want to remain uninfluenced by his impressions, beware). Some of what he has to say may surprise you. A note on Edwards for those interested in such trivia: An evangelical Christian who now attends a local community church near his home, Edwards was raised in the Church of Christ. I have some friends here in Huntsville who knew him during his first two years of undergraduate studies at Florida College.

Dr. Edwards is also quoted in a very balanced piece on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe which appeared in last week's USA Today.

And finally allow me one more personal Lewis recollection to mark the occasion of the movie premiere. As I wrote in an earlier post, I had the opportunity to teach a Sunday school class on the Lewis classic The Screwtape Letters a few years ago. One morning before class, one of the ladies who had been attending approached me. "Kay" was quiet and shy and looked every bit the part of "the librarian" who would be sent over from central casting. She stood there for a few seconds and finally leaned over to say something. I had to lean over too in order to hear her bashful whisper.

"I thought you might be interested in this," she said. She then handed me a handwritten letter and envelope.

Lewis had the endearing habit of being hopelessly devoted to his many fans. He took great care to answer as many letters as possible, especially those from children who wrote with questions about the Narnia series. In the late 1950s, my friend Kay had read every one of the Narnia books and had written to Lewis to express her appreciation and to ask him some questions.

I examined the letter more closely and suddenly realized that I was holding a handwritten letter from C.S. Lewis himself, complete with his signature and an envelope bearing an Oxford postmark. "Interested," indeed, I was, and I suddenly felt a little weak in the knees!

It occured to me that it was time for a little "show and tell." I managed to get past my shock and breathlessness to ask Kay if she would like to speak to the class about her treasure. To my surprise, Kay responded, "Yes!" I then yielded the floor to my friend who, with uncharacteristic animation, regaled the class with the story of how she had been honored and blessed by her favorite childhood author and his hand-written reply to her letter.

Talk about sacramental moments...

Perhaps more such times lie ahead for those of us who gather the courage to walk through the Wardrobe and into the magical world of Narnia. Like Aslan the lion, I'm hoping that it won't be a "tame" experience.

Today is December 7th, the day that FDR so famously said would "live in infamy." Over the years, I've been privileged to meet many who were there that day and been honored by hearing their stories. If you're interested in getting the point of view of some more Pearl Harbor survivors click here as well as the U.S.S. Arizona site.

I remember my Dad's Pearl Harbor story too. He was 8-years-old when he heard the news that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. Sunday afternoon after the assault, he and his sister were playing outside when a private plane passed overhead. Already a little jumpy from hearing the news over the radio, my father and his sister were fully convinced that the Japanese were now bombing Southwest Virginia as well, and they ran into the house screaming for their lives.

I thought about this story when my family flew into New York City for a vacation earlier this year. I wondered what my sons were thinking as we approached Manhattan, the gap where the World Trade Center once stood conspicuous against the Gotham skyline. Were they watching through the cabin windows wondering what the passengers of the the two commercial airliners-turned cruise missiles were seeing--and thinking--in those terrifying moments before their lives ended in the explosive inferno of 9/11?

For my sons, 9/11 is their Pearl Harbor Day. I hope I live long enough to hear their adult recollections of that day and the lessons they learned about life, good and evil.

While it may not have the ramifications of Hill to Laettner in 1992, McRoberts to Dockery will still go down in the annals of Duke basketball as a play for the ages.

With 1.6 seconds remaining and down 75-74 in Sunday night's game with Virginia Tech, freshman Josh McRoberts threw a long inbounds pass and connected with senior guard Sean Dockery. Dockery took one dribble past the midcourt line and launched a last-second prayer. Forty feet later, the Cameron Crazies shouted "Amen!" while the despondent Hokies fell to their knees in disbelief. Having lost the ACC Football Championship game the night before to Florida State, Virginia Tech fans felt the fickle wrath of Lady Luck as she thumbed her nose and turned her back on the noble Fighting Gobblers for the second night in a row.

Back on the ranch, Dockery's heroics launched our own mini-pandemonium as Number 3 son and I danced in delight as we played the last-second shot over and over with our digital video recorder (DVR). Then we had a great idea. Number 1 son, who is slowly starting to convert to the Duke Way, was at a friend's house and not watching the game. Enlisting the aid of Number 2 who had been in another room but was aware of the outcome (how could he not have been?), we thought it would be fun to start the recording of the last few moments just as Number 1 was arriving home to fool him into thinking he was watching live action.

Number 2 served as our lookout, so when Number 1 came through the door, the drama began. Number 3 and I put on our best aggravated and somber expressions--our beloved Dukies had just lost a 12-point lead and were on the brink of defeat--"oh the outrage, oh the humanity of it all!" We even groaned when Shelden Williams missed the front end of a one and one, then shrieked when Tech's Coleman Collins tipped in a miss to put them ahead with 1.6 seconds remaining. We laughed and yelled, "now that's a homecourt advantage!" when the scorer mistakenly put 16 seconds on the clock.

But when Dockery's shot rained home, we all stood back and calmly watched Number 1 whoop and holler as he performed an impressive victory dance, and I began to wonder if maybe I had passed on a little Blue Devil blood to my first born after all. After a few seconds of this spectacle, Number 2 dryly asked, "Dad, can we go back to live TV now?" Number 1 looked confused, but a couple of seconds later, he got the gist of the situation and proceeded to chase the three of us around the house in mock anger. Hey, Number 1: You've been punk'd!

We had a little fun at Number 1's expense, but as far as I'm concerned, everyone deserved to see that one live (especially all you Duke-haters out there). Coach K will no doubt let the afterglow linger for a day or so in order for Dockery to receive his due. But there will be a reckoning. Coach K will not suffer lightly the loss of a 12 point lead in the closing minutes to an average conference team, especially with a showdown against #2 ranked Texas coming up this Saturday.

Ah, but for a few moments last night, I thought it was late March instead of early December. The journey down the Road to Indianapolis has begun. What more magical moments lie ahead? We shall see. But for now, hand me the remote control so I can watch Sean's flippin' "suweeeet" shot rain home just a few more times.

The Lectionary readings for the
second Sunday of Advent:

Isaiah 40:1-11

Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13

2 Peter 3:8-15a

Mark 1:1-8

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1

"Do not be overrighteous, neither be overwise--why destroy yourself? Do not be overwicked, and do not be a fool--why die before your time? It is good to grasp the one and not let go of the other. The man who fears God will avoid all extremes." Ecclesiastes 7: 16-18

If I've learned one thing about doing eye exams it's this: never discuss politics or religion with patients. Whenever a patient comes in with a particular political or religious rant and throws out the inevitable bait, "Whataya think about that doc?," I cautiously steer the conversation back toward more mundane topics like bifocals, cataracts and how to treat blepharitis with lid scrubs--boring, maybe, but much safer.

Of course, it's next to impossible to spend any time in the blogosphere without stumbling into a discussion of these hot topics. To make matters worse, the two are often mixed together like an explosive dollop of C-4 plastique. The subject is of intense interest to Christians who are constantly debating which political party most accurately represents the interests and spirit of the Gospel. In other words, is Jesus a Democrat or a Republican? Or put another way: if he wasn't running himself, who would Jesus vote for (WWJVF)?

Like "the making of many books," there is "no end" to the opinions and passion surrounding religion and politics. So, I figured that if I was going to enter the fray, I first had to figure out where I am currently located on the political spectrum (after all, I've got to know what team colors to wear once the contest ensues). It's been a while since I had given that question any consideration, so I decided to seek professional help.

Enter the OkCupid! Politics Test (the same folks who brought you the OkCupid! Dating Test). I had confidence that this scientific and no doubt rigorously validated psychometric instrument would lay bare, within a reasonable degree of confidence, my true political soul. I took the test and here are the results:

You are a Social Moderate (55% Permissive) and a Economic Conservative (60% Permissive). You are best described as a CENTRIST with a very well-developed sense of right and wrong and belief in economic fairness.

I guess I wasn't that surprised since I've found myself occupying the center more and more over the past decade after camping out on the right wing during my 20s and early 30s. Real life experience, it seems, has taught me that more than one ideology is often needed to tackle complex problems and that there is more than one way to skin a cat (to cat lovers: this is a figure of speech--please don't call PETA).

What was a little suprising to me was that I was a Libertarian-leaning Centrist, who, when mapped on the famous person grid, landed just below "The Donald's" lower lip and to the right of Adam Sandler's right ear. What does this mean? I'm hoping that having to endure Trump's caviar breath will somehow translate to a gig on The Apprentice. Maybe they could do a special eye doctor version--the winner gets to do eye exams for "The Donald" and his bevy of beautiful assistants for a year. But what to make of my proximity to Sandler? I've been told on more than one occasion that I have an irreverant sense of humor, but to date no one has accused me of being goofy and profane. That one has me perplexed.

I was a little suspicious about the Libertarian tag since I am not a fan of either marijuana legalization or assisted suicide. So I went to the Libertarian Party website and took "The World's Smallest Political Quiz." The results? Check it out:

Aha! I once again show up as a Centrist squatting near the edge of Libertarian territory. So where did that Libertarian streak come from? Maybe it's the fact that I'm a native Virginian and have a little bit of the Jeffersonian Ideal in my blood. More likely, it has evolved as a result of trying to chase my glaucoma patients around over the past 15 years and make them take their medicine. I used to drive myself crazy doing this, and then I finally realized that if a person really doesn't want to take their medicine and would prefer to go blind over following my orders, there really wasn't a lot I could do about it. To each his own.

So, it appears that I am officially part of either the "mushy middle" or the Vital Center, depending on who you're talking to. I would prefer the label, "Radical Centrist" since that sounds much cooler, but I may be too Libertarian for that and may have to march a little more toward the middle to claim that title.

When I think about it, being in the middle has it's advantages. That way, if you have to move to either the left or the right to solve a problem, you don't have to walk as far. At my age, that's an important consideration.

But hanging out in the center has another advantage: it allows for paradox. You see, the older I get, the more I become a "both/and" instead of an "either/or" kind of guy. I love a good paradox. My favorites include:

1. The wave/particle theory of light
2. Both scripture and tradition
3. Jesus as both God and man
4. Balance between federal and state governments
5. Aristotle's Golden Mean of Moderation
6. Rooting for both Alabama and Auburn
7. Eating at both Wendy's and Pizza Hut

I am not a man who suffers false dilemmas lightly.

Neither do I take to the idea that one particular political ideology has the right answer 100% of the time. From my experience, sometimes you need a little dash of liberalism thrown in with a dose of conservatism to handle life's complexities. I'm glad God is just and demands accountability; I'm even more glad that when it comes to grace that he's a bleeding heart liberal. If indeed, "there is a time for everything" and to fear God is to "avoid extremes" in all things, then maybe I'm right where I need to be. The Preacher and Aristotle couldn't both be wrong.

What I need now is a political party to accomodate my moderate tendencies. Is there a Paradox Party out there somewhere? If not, I hereby start one, and you can all join if you like. All I need now is someone to print up the bumper stickers.