imagination

When we think about the five senses, we often wonder about the power of our brains to use the senses in order to interpret the world around us. Touch, sight, sound, smell and taste are the underpinnings of our environmental understanding. At a deeper level, we are amazed that the recurrence of a sensory experience can stimulate a strong memory. A particular fabric might bring to mind a comforting blanket from childhood; a song on the radio might evoke an emotional recollection; a sip of espresso might instantly bring one to an early Sunday morning on St. Mark’s Square in Venice. (Hmm. What brought that to mind?)

The ability to conceive of an idea without the corollary sensate experience is called imagination. When we consider the human power of imagination, it is even more wondrous than the senses! One has but to consider an architectural marvel, the formation of a government, a symphony, or a civic club’s agenda to realize that the imagination is our most powerful tool. Walt Disney is credited with saying, “If you can dream it, you can do it.” Perhaps you agree with this idea.

Despite the magnificent advances in brain study during the past decade, our understanding of the imagination is still rudimentary. Nevertheless, it is something we value. I would assume that we are born with an imaginative capacity. You can imagine my surprise, therefore, when a cursory search of some dubious sources on the world wide web revealed that only 60% of people are imaginative. Let me quickly say that I find such a number to be highly suspect, but let me also say that I’m SURE the number of imaginative people is less than 100%, at least by the time we reach maturity. And if I’m right, we must ask “what happened?”

There is no doubt that spending in excess of 15,000 hours in the schooling process (prior to college) would have some sort of effect on a child’s imagination. A good question would be whether or not sufficient time is devoted to stimulating the imagination. A darker question might suggest that schools are responsible for stifling the imagination.

Imagination fuels innovation. Innovation, by its very definition, speaks to betterment of our lives. I am no brain scientist, but I am confident that the mind’s eye is real. Real teachers, those who “draw out” the inborn genius in their students, celebrate the imagination. Tomorrow’s world will be better if it is shaped by those who can imagine a better tomorrow.

My Visual Autobiography

Daffodils and the Classroom

Daffodils are frequently confused by weather patterns. Right in the middle of winter a few warm days will cause their green shoots to appear. Blooming will usually begin in spring, but even in the same garden they will flower irregularly rather than as a cohort. Daffodils remind me of middle school students.

One of the many things I’ve enjoyed about my career is having wonderful discussions with teachers and parents regarding the behaviors of middle school children. Middle school aged children—let’s just say the ages between eleven and fourteen-- are simply fascinating! Noted anthropologist Margaret Meade once called them betweenagers, and said that we are more dissimilar at this period of development that at any other time in our lives. If I’m in front of a group of adults leading a conversation regarding this phase of growth, I usually ask the group to raise their hands if they themselves enjoyed those days.

Rarely is a hand raised. There is always the tittering of nervous laughter in the room. I suspect that uncomfortable memories are bubbling up.

There’s the girl who is unhappy that no one notices her. Moments later she is horrified that “people are looking at me!” The once docile and compliant boy becomes too physical with his peers, and “keep your hands to yourself” (a fairly common phrase in preschool and kindergarten) reappears after an extended absence. Odd vocalizations and facial expressions, including dismissive snorts and eye rolls, become commonplace.

I have found that rude behavior increases dramatically at this age. The big surprise, however, is that these betweenagers are largely unaware of their rudeness. When challenged, they are almost always baffled by the adult’s “over reaction” to the event. Even when the adult is quietly advising corrective action, the child will demand to know why he’s being “yelled at.” Skillful and wise adults can often reach betweenagers with the news that certain behaviors are unacceptable. When this moment occurs, the betweenagers are horrified at their own actions! Their penitence is obvious.

Many years ago when I was head of an independent school in Virginia, a seasoned middle school teacher came into my office to voice her frustration with a language arts class. “How many times do I have to teach the same point?” she demanded. “Well,” I countered, “how many students do you have?”

That’s an exaggeration of middle school teaching, of course, but the point remains: we are more dissimilar at this age than at any other time in our lives. That’s why I think an academically competent third grade teacher could teach a high school course, and a high school teacher who understood child learning theory could function well in a third grade classroom. Neither would necessarily succeed in a middle school room.

The middle school years are tough on everyone, it seems. Some parents wonder what the school did to their lovely little boy or girl; some teachers wonder if the child has any discipline at home. And all children know at a gut level that their world is changing forever. Their full flower will come later in their schooling career. If we’re lucky, like an early daffodil, maybe we’ll get a glimpse of it along the way. Maybe a former student will come back to tell tales of high school or college.

Our job is to help them grow, supporting each other as well as those to whom we’ve entrusted our children. The great schools of the world will address this remarkable age with curricula and teachers who understand the challenge.

Christmas Plans 2011 so far: please add items

THURSDAY
e arrives on Thursday December 22. Pickle will get her from the airport.
FRIDAY
Brian arrives on Friday at 9:40 a.m., December 23. Pickle and e will pick him up from the airport. They will go to 2650 and "move in". Morristown Selbies will arrive around 3:30 at 2602 and "move in".
PaPa has made dinner reservations for 14 at the round Holiday Inn at 6:30. No plans for later that night so far. This could be the night for a "last minute movie outing".
SATURDAY (Christmas eve)
Plans made by e and Isabug: we will have a "potluck" supper at either house, where everyone who WANTS to cook (King of the World, Isabug, e, Pickle, Mere, Mamacita) will make dinner and serve on disposable plates. KOTW will make white chili. Those who want will attend midnight mass. One present may be opened on this night if necessary.
SUNDAY (The Nativity)
Everyone will gather at 2650 for gift exchange at, oh, say, 9:30? Perhaps I will whomp up a quiche or something. Mere, let's talk! Brian's plane leaves at 1:36 p.m., so he needs to leave the island around 11:30 or so. In the middle of the afternoon we will have a Christmas dinner at 2650 consisting of All American Tenderloin, maybe some twice bakes and salad, etc. Crafts will follow?
MONDAY (St. Stephen, protomartyr)
Morristown Selbies will take e to the airport at 8:00 and then continue back to Tennessee.

Sermon: John the Baptizer

Sermon on John the Baptizer

All Saints Episcopal Church

Morristown, Tennessee

Advent II, 2011

Henry G. Selby

“May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be always acceptable unto thee O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.” (PS. 19)

There are people in this world, annoying people, who are always pointing out what’s wrong with things. In fact, the people I’m talking about seem to be unable to contain their observations. They are compelled to share them, welcome or not.

You know the sort: they may not know the precise details of what’s wrong, but they can smell a problem a mile away! There’s something wrong in Washington! There’s something wrong in the church! Your plan won’t work!

Sometimes they turn into curmudgeons. Andy Rooney, of 60 minutes fame, was one of these. H.L. Mencken, who wrote for the Baltimore Sunpapers was another. Don’t get me wrong: they’re not simply complainers! In fact, they are usually right. There is something rotten in Denmark. They have a genius for what won’t work or what needs fixing. And most other people find this genius to be very, very tiresome.

If you recall the Enneagram class that Cindy and I did several Lents ago, you may remember that this spiritual type is a “one” (out of the nine types). The area of giftedness for a “one” is that they are discerning, wise, morally heroic and often noble. Their dark-side, however, is a huge fear of being corrupt or evil. So you

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see, in sniffing out a problem “over there” they are always suspicious of themselves at the same time. In a nutshell, they want to be good. They thirst for righteousness. At their worst, they become moody, perfectionistic, angry, and sometimes irrational.

I am a “one”.

But happily, the sermon today is not about me! It’s about prophets, and particularly it is about John the baptizer. I think the prophets were all “ones”: they saw problems, made a great noisy rant about the problems, and (I’m guessing here) were profoundly uncomfortable with the task they were given to do. Why? Because they found themselves unworthy. That’s what ones feel.

So first, let’s be clear about this word “prophet”. I believe that if you exclusively think of prophets as “predictors” of future events, you probably will miss their greater message. The greater message is what’s happening now. Let me say that another way: prophets are really good at helping the rest of us to remove our blinders and see things as they really are, here and now.

The last of the prophets of Israel had been silent for 400 years before John appears on the scene. To the locals, he probably looked just like they imagined someone from long ago: camel’s hair garment secured with a leather cincture, eating locust and wild honey, coming out of the wilderness, wild hair, wide eyed . . .

“It’s a wild man! It’s Elijah,” they thought. Elijah had prophesied almost 900 years before John. Listen again how Mark begins his version of the Gospel: As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,

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"See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,

who will prepare your way;

the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

`Prepare the way of the Lord,

make his paths straight,'"

And Isaiah was prophesying about 750 years before John! If I asked you to picture a resident of Hamblen County from 700 years ago, what image comes to your mind? Well, that startling image that you just drummed up is similar to what the Judeans saw in John.

But in any event, John appears. In today’s gospel lesson the writer we call Mark jumps right into the prophecy of John.

First, Mark reports that Isaiah had foretold the messenger John. Then, John encourages everyone to be baptized . . . literally and figuratively, in a very symbolic and sacramental way, washing away their sins. But then, like a good Enneagramic “one” John denigrates himself by saying that one even greater is coming

. . . “one whose sandals I am not even worthy to untie.”

We’ll come back to this in a moment.

So several questions come to my mind. The first one is, why in the world would people from the whole Judean countryside and all of Jerusalem listen to a wild man who tells them to wash away their sins in the River Jordan? But they did, didn’t they?

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I think the answer to this question is simple: First, they remembered their scripture (remember Isaiah?) and they responded to God’s word. They were on the lookout and they were ready! Second, they recognized their own sinfulness and need for confession and repentance.

“Wouldn’t it be great to unload all those burdens I’ve been carrying my whole life?” The answer is an unqualified “YES!”.

The next question that occurs to me concerns the meaning of John’s phrase that Jesus will baptize with the Holy Spirit.

I suppose most of you know that John was Jesus’ cousin. I think this is probably true. He was the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, and St. Luke tells us that Elizabeth and Mary were cousins. Since Luke is so precise, I would think that this relationship is bona fide. Unfortunately for me, my NT professor at St. Mary’s Seminary was Raymond Brown, the foremost NT thinker of the 20^th century, and he doubts this relationship. But let that pass.

That second question, the one about baptizing with the Holy Spirit, is powerful. John Baptist would have called this a baptism by the breath of God: the Ruah Yaweh. This, said John, is what the one who comes after him would give to you and me.

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So here we are smack dab in the middle of Advent. We’ve lit two candles on the wreath, our liturgy and music is constructed to cause us to lean forward in expectation of the coming of Jesus. We are expectant, but solemnly so (look at our colors!), and in political jargon one might say that we are “cautiously optimistic” about what this birth might bring.

But in the meantime we’re decorating, and planning parties, and buying presents, and running back out a THIRD time for more scotch tape. The good scissors have disappeared from their drawer and the hectic holiday season is in full swing. It got an extra big push from retailers with their Thanksgiving day “black Friday” one-day-early thing this year. Wow. “If I can only get that new Kindle Fire my life will be complete!

It reminds me of the airline pilot who came over the loudspeaker.

“Hello. This is your captain speaking. I have some bad news and I have some good news. First the bad news: we’re lost. The good news is, we’re making real good time.”

I think the wonderful thing about Mark’s account here is that all those folks out in the Judean countryside and all the people in Jerusalem KNEW that they were lost. I’m not sure we really do.

We have an opportunity this morning to listen to John speak directly to us, to hear his words: to absorb them and ask “what is he really saying to me?”

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Do you recall that in other versions of the story John says that he himself must decrease? And do you recall from this morning that John says, “I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thongs of his sandals”?

I believe that what John is telling us today is just this: we need to get ourselves out of the way. We need to get ourselves out of the way.

I need to get myself out of the way. Because if I’m blocking the light with my own worldly needs, I’ll never be able to see that baby lying in a manger and know who He is.

Get myself out of the way. It’s not easy. It’s often agonizing.

Then . . . and only then . . . the need for scotch tape and honey baked hams and Kindle Fires will start to dim a little bit. And even those things that we consider more important: our health . . . the mental or physical health of a loved one . . . the economy . . . may begin to assume a proper place in the true hierarchy of our needs.

For you see, brothers and sisters, even here in the middle of Advent, we are an Easter people.

T.S. Eliot asked the question in his poem The Journey of the Magi

were we lead all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I have seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.

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We are privileged to see the child Jesus in his manger. We are edified by his good news. We are saved by his sacrifice. And it is in the resurrection that our hope lies: “at the last day to be with all the saints in the joy of God’s eternal kingdom.”

So my friends. Let’s make a commitment this morning to follow God’s word as foretold by his prophets. It’s not too late. Will we join together and do this in our hearts?

“Prepare the way of the Lord,

make his paths straight”

And now unto God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, be ascribed as is most justly due, all might, majesty, power, dominion, and glory, both now and evermore. AMEN

A Typical Day at School

April 15, 2011, was like any other day. That is, it was like any other rainy day with thunder and lightning. The eighth graders at All Saints’ Episcopal School had gradually entered their homeroom and were greeted by their teacher, Mrs. Golden. Like so many other times, Mrs. Golden began the day by asking the students what they wanted to share. Connar Capps was first.

In the middle of her sharing, a thunderous bang echoed through the room. Chad Gregory interrupted and announced that he thought that someone was breaking into the room. “No,” said Mrs. Golden, “it’s just the storm, Chad.” Moments later there was the sound of shattering glass. Calmly, and in a low voice, Mrs. Golden simply said “zombies.” Then she hit the red button, the mysterious red button that students had always wondered about, the red button below the white board. “Eighth grade: at times like these our capacity to retaliate must be, and has to be, massive, to deter all forms of aggression.”

The white board flipped over while she was talking. On the other side were weapons of every kind. “Children,” she continued, “it’s time to lock and load!” She grabbed a Spas 12, tossed an AK-47 to Hank Selby, and Sara Spain took a machete. The rest of the students were in the process of getting weapons when the first zombie entered the room. Mrs. Golden blew its head off with a single burst from the Spas 12. The second zombie, however, ate Dylan. “Die, monster!” screamed Abby McGarel as she threw a knife between its eyes. The battle was intense.

Chad Gregory looked like he was going to be the next victim, but Gabe Sexton attacked with an exploding arrow in his crossbow. As the arrow made contact with the zombie, it exploded early. The zombie was killed, but Gabe was blown backwards for ten feet. Taimur Kouser and Sophie Assadnia double-teamed a particularly ugly zombie whose nose had rotted away. Chad, recovering from the attack, borrowed Sara’s machete and beheaded another.

Just as quickly as the attack began, it ended. No more zombies were left. The students were worn, bloody, and exhausted. “What was that all about?” they asked their teacher as she replaced the weapons and pressed the red button again. The white board swung back to normal.

“It’s my turn to share,” Mrs. Golden said. “I was trained by the Navy SEALS and the CIA in all forms of weaponry and combat. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I have been waiting many years to use my skills right here in our school. Today was a great victory. We will miss Dylan, though. Now, children, use your magic fingers and point to the next vocabulary word.”

Filthy Memories

By Hank Selby

I was only six when it happened. It was the scariest day of my life… well, so far. Explosions, bullets, and fire were everywhere. The terribly repulsive scent of gasoline and burnt flesh was not a pleasant odor. Surprisingly though, neither the gunfire, nor the explosions was the thing that frightened me the most. It was the screaming; the horrifying screams of young children helplessly calling for their mothers and fathers to save them. Oh, if only their parents could have been quicker. No soap will be able to cleanse the memories I have kept from that day, seventeen years ago.

We were living in Chicago, Illinois at that terrible time. My parents had taken me into the heart of the city to do some Christmas shopping. We parked in a high-rise parking garage. Who would have thought terrorists would have struck in a parking garage? The parking garage, though, was the center of their attack on the city.

Years later we learned that the terrorists came from Venezuela, a country that hates the United States. They believe that we have been cheating them out of their country’s oil. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I’m sure that they didn’t need to kill so many of us to prove their point. The attack on Chicago was the only one they ever made. It was enough to change me for life.

My memories of that day are probably what caused me to enter the professional world of the Central Intelligence Agency. As a spy, I travel the world gathering intelligence to use against terrorists. As of today I haven’t had to kill anyone. On the other hand, I have been trained to defend my country by any means necessary.

The memory of dying children, collapsing concrete and steel, and burning flesh, is something that I will never forget. My work as a spy for my country is patriotic. Terrorism is bad. No matter what reason terrorists claim to have, it is bad. My work may never be done, but I intend to work as hard as I can to try to end it all.