Everyday Fun
Jonah’s Rant
I’ve referenced Matthew 18:21-35 on this blog not terribly long ago; as I said in church this week when we studied this Parable of the Unmerciful Servant, it doesn’t feel good to be on the wrong side of a Bible story.
Anyway, as preparation for Sunday’s service I wrote this as a summary of Jonah, which we studied along with the Matthew passage:
I have a burning, righteous sense of indignation about what God is doing here. I mean, I come here with what he told me was a pertinent message: Serious extermination, folks, in forty days! Look out, Ninevah!
I almost didn’t come. I tried not to, anyway. God said, “Go to Ninevah,” so I left in the other direction. Ended up telling the ship crew to throw me overboard. Ended up being swallowed by a fish. I always hated playing sharks and minnows when I was a kid, and here I was, in some serious bile.
Told God that while other people worship worthless idols, I shout grateful praise, even from inside the belly.
Ended up as fish vomit on a sandy beach somewhere, slimy and good for nothing but doing what God told me to do.
So I went to Ninevah, preached hellfire and brimstone. Smelled like undercooked fish. Wore out my sandals. Sat down outside the city to watch the destruction.
And you know what? That king that I’d condemned told everyone in that blasted city to repent, to end their evil and violent ways–and maybe God wouldn’t destroy them.
And they stopped being so bad, and God said, “Okay, no destruction for ya’ll.”
‘No destruction for ya’ll’? When did God turn all friendly like? I hadn’t known there was a ‘grace and compassion’ clause in my deal with God! No way, man–that’s not what I came for. I came to say down with you downers.
I’ve had enough of this rubbish. Repentance! Huh. I didn’t put up with no fish bile for this kind of slobber. I’m just going to sit here and die. After all, I’ve wasted my time–I should never have left home. Abounding love and mercy–surely God could have come up with that on his own without bothering me. Fish bile!
And I’m right to be furious, too. And I have a right to this here nice bush that just grew up over me and my shed last night to keep me out of the sun and give me comfort.
But whew! That’s a mean east wind. Hey, where’s my tree going? Hey! Where was that tree-eating son of a worm when I could’ve used some substitute fish bait? This is really fishy. I wish I was dead.
And yes, I’m right to be angry, even if I didn’t grow this withered plant. What was God thinking? Mercy and grace and forgiveness–and for those losers, who can’t tell their left and right hands apart? Losers! And their pets! Bah, humbug.
Any big fish in that town? I’ve got a worm for them to share.
Chill
Fall is in the air, and with it comes a sense of letting things be, dressing for the cold, my sister’s family’s donut party, and baring trees:
Virtual Choir: Sleep
This talk on TED by Eric Whitacre gives context to this beautiful video:
Potato Ham
Big Sisters
Rattle and Roll
Fuzz Buzz
Run-ins with unexpected or, better yet, unnoticed authority tickle me pink.
My favorite part of The King’s Speech is when Lionel’s wife comes home early from her bridge party and is completely surprised to find the king and queen there with her husband; Michelle Obama’s recent undercover shopping trip to Target gave me a feeling of residual specialness when M bought me a sleek jacket there the other day; a recurring fantasy of mine is that I am suddenly revealed to the people around me (especially those who find me dull) as an undercover officer of the law when I execute a high profile arrest right in front of them.
I’ve had a close encounter with the latter sort of power trip. For a criminal justice college course I had to go on a police ride along for six or eight hours one Friday night. We made one traffic stop (the driver turned out to be undocumented, unlicensed and unable to speak English and, it turned out, under 18, which meant that the handcuffing he was subjected to when he was taken to the jail was illegal, which worried the officer quite a bit), responded to a number of noise violation calls (the parties had always dissipated before our arrival), checked on Lowe’s (their alarm had gone off), and cruised through my little religious university at about two o’clock in the morning.
On top of the campus hill, the officer pointed to all the cars parked around the chapel. “What’s this about?” she demanded.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know of anything taking place.”
“Let’s check it out.” She parked the car and, crouched over, ran to the building and peered in the windows. Of course I followed–and then remembered that it the event was an “all-night party for God.”
Back in the cruiser we drove through the nearby quiet neighborhood of fine homes, one of which, the officer noticed, had lights still on.
“Maybe something’s wrong,” she said, pulling over to the curb. “Why don’t you go check it out?”
I reached for the car door handle. “Wha–Are you serious?”
She laughed at me and we drove on.
We stopped at a convenience store. “Law enforcement gets free drinks,” she said; maybe her raised eyebrows when I stepped up to pay for mine meant that I didn’t have to, either, but I figured I’d rather be safe than sorry.
Back to Lowe’s we went for another false alarm; in the parking lot we met up with another cruiser.
“Doughnuts?” the officer driving the other car asked. “7-11 was throwing them out.” He handed across a bag full. I could hardly keep from laughing out loud: I was eating doughnuts with the police.
And then we got a call to file a report at the hospital. At a stoplight someone had come up to a car of young men and smashed a bottle over one of their heads. The officer interviewed them and filled out her paperwork while I looked on. As we left, the men thanked the officer, and then turned and thanked me, too.
As far as they were concerned, I realized, I was a plainclothesman. I nodded and grimaced a sober, undisclosing smile.
So I’m not above getting a thrill out of imagining myself as un-noticeably important (even though my daydreams almost always involve my authority’s being noticed).
Take yesterday, for example.
Last week the convenience store across the street announced to teachers that on school days we get free coffee if we bring our school ID and own coffee cup. Yesterday I stopped for some decaf with French vanilla creamer–and a bit of hazelnut regular, too, to give me a little boost.
I filled my cup, screwed on the lid, and as I walked past the checkout line where people were waiting their turns to pay, I reached into my new black jacket and flashed my badge at the cashier. She gave a little wave, and off I went.
It could’ve been merely water in my mug, after that; I didn’t need the caffeine.
Fail
It was a good speech, even if it was the wrong one.
This week my school showed all our students Obama’s speech about No Child Left Behind flexibility when it meant to air his third annual back-to-school speech.
I can’t say I minded too much, especially considering that in the NCLB speech Obama highlighted the sorts of problems that make President Bush’s education baby a “race to the bottom”: all that states have to do in order to be labeled successful is lower their standards.
Indeed, under NCLB, states that don’t lower their standards are labeled as failures: in nationally highly ranked Massachusetts, a school ranked in the state’s top quarter and from which every graduate last year went to college was labeled “failing” under NCLB, I suspect because it did not make “adequate yearly progress.” This was the problem my school had last year; when you’re already good, it’s really hard to improve.
What I certainly will mind, however, is if Obama’s replacement “reform” will push equally hard or harder for accountability through one-size-fits-all assessments that inevitably leads to “teaching to the test.”
Maybe I’ll vote for Bachmann next year, since she’ll get rid of the Department of Education.
NPR Rap Gem
