#211 Madness

I've been mentally drafting a somewhat lengthy and theological post, but I'm running short on blogging time this week, so I guess I'll have to postpone that. (Stay tuned!) This week let's talk about the beauty of watching the men's NCAA basketball tournament in 2021. I have been beyond satisfied watching college hoops the past few days. I love that the broadcasts always show what's going on in any other games currently going on. Those little boxes are fantastic, and they even count down when the clock is running elsewhere. So if the game I want to watch goes to a commercial break, I can flip over to a different game that will show me when my game resumes play. That's amazing. We have YouTube TV at our house, and it makes switching back and forth between games a breeze. No remembering channel numbers or worrying about which network will come up when you hit the back button. On Friday and Saturday I could easily toggle between four games and alway know exactly where I was going. Now all of this stuff will be pretty unnecessary when the tournament comes back next weekend, but for now I'm grateful to have been able to have complete control as I savor the madness. After losing the tournament last year, I'm just so glad it's back.

Grace and peace,

BMH

#210 Alphabet Soup

This post is not going to be very serious, but I think it's still important. Lanie is now four years old, and she's starting to learn about letters. She has some alphabet flash cards that she likes to look at once in a while. So we talk about the names of the letters and the sounds they make. I'd like to a file a formal complaint about this letter: W. We call that thing "double u." That's a terrible idea. Never mind the fact that in most people's penmanship and most fonts it looks more like a double v. Calling that letter "double u" tells nothing about the sound it makes. There's no "wuh" anywhere in there. We should call it "wee" or "way" or—if you don't like that those suggestions are already English words—"wub." Then our poor children might have an easier time associating the letter with the sound it makes.

And while we're at it, I'd like to complain about a couple other things, too. G should never make a sound like J makes. That's what the letter J is for. I don't care if English shares its alphabet with other languages or if some of words are imported from other languages with different rules. Let's standardize our own letter sounds. JIANT and JIRAFFE might look funny now, but we can adapt. Let's help out the people learning English, especially those poor souls who have to learn it as a secondary lanugage.

And don't even get me started on C. Why do we even have this letter? Sometimes it makes a K sound and sometimes it makes an S sound. So let's just use K and S. I'm all for talking about SIRKLES. Actually, let's make that SIRKELS or even SURKELS. Then's it obvious how to pronounce that word. If we absolutely need to hold on to the letter C for the sake of history or because no one wants to redesign or keyboards or whatever, then let's have it make a "chuh" sound instead. That's a distinct and useful sound. Plus, it'll shorten the spelling of a lot of our words. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go sit on my KOUC.

Grace and peace,

BMH

#209 Not Boring

From time to time my blog doubles as a Superman blog. Superman is back on TV these days with a new show, Superman & Lois, so let's talk about Big Blue. When Superman comes to the big screen or small screen I get excited and look for news stories online. Inevitably I run across articles or comments complaining that Superman is boring. Superman! Boring! Today I am here to passionately object. Superman is a lot of things, but Superman is not boring.

First, Superman has a full set of superpowers, including the power of flight. He can do so many incredible extraordinary things. He can go anywhere. But I won't just tell you. Let me show you:

Look at that! I think that scene is so cool. Honestly I could probably watch an entire movie of Supes flying around like that. What's so boring about having super-strength or x-ray vision or super-speed?

But wait, you might say, that's what makes Superman boring. He has too many powers! Nothing is a challenge for him. But that's just not true. Superman faces all sorts of threats that he has to struggle to defeat. Writers will find ways to pit him against other survivors from his home planet or other aliens or monsters that can drain his powers. And there are other ways to challenge Superman, too. Throw a huge hurricane at a populated city, putting millions of people in danger. Superman can't just fix that in a moment. Or, have multiple disasters or villains striking at the same time. Even Superman can't be two places at once. How will he decide what to do first? How will he respond when he fails or can't save everyone? There's good drama there! That's not boring.

Plus, despite what you may think, Superman is far from invulnerable. Sure, almost nothing can physically hurt him. But Superman is also Clark Kent, and he has tons of ordinary people that he cares deeply about. Like any good person, Superman hurts when his loved ones suffer. I would argue that Superman is more connected to more regular people than a lot of superheroes. He has an everyday job as a newspaper reporter that he has to balance with his superheroics. He's not rich. He doesn't isolate himself. He gets involved in people's lives. Sometimes he lets his boss down or struggles in his friendships or worries about whether or not he really fits in when he feels different from the people around him. In those ways I think Superman is more human, more relatable than most other heroes.

At the risk of sounding arrogant, I think that if you think Superman is boring, there's a decent chance you just haven't experienced a good Superman story yet. I can come up with a couple dozen off the top of my head and could probably give you a list of a hundred if you gave me a day or two. That being said, maybe Superman isn't for you. While I appreciate Superman, maybe you appreciate different characters or different genres of stories. That's okay. But after more than eighty years as a popular and frequently adapted character, I think it's safe to say that Superman isn't boring.

Grace and peace,

BMH

#208 Old Favorites

Sometimes as a pastor I find myself preaching an extremely familiar Bible passage. In the past few weeks I've preached on a couple stories that Jesus told that have worked their way into our everyday language: Jesus' story about a good Samaritan and Jesus' story about a prodigal son. Preaching a passage that probably everyone listening to me remembers and has even heard a sermon or two or seventeen on before can be intimidating. I can start wondering about whether or not my own proclamation of the passage will hold up to what others have said. I can begin to worry about whether or not I'll just repeat what the congregation has already heard before and leave the bored. There can be a temptation to really focus on some tiny details or unexpected perspective to make sure that I'm doing something new.

But lately I've been thinking that trying to be different and fresh with a familiar passage shouldn't be my goal. Some Bible passages we use over and over in church because they're central to our faith, like the stories of Jesus' birth and death and resurrection. Others we come back to because we need to continue to be challenged by them, like God's call to love our enemies or to be transformed rather than conforming to the world around us. And some old favorites I think are a little like our favorite meals. One meal we eat at our house we simply call chicken and rice. It's chicken, rice, cream of chicken soup, and a little milk—that's it. Maybe you add a dash of seasoning salt. It's not the most exciting meal in the world. Certainly you could make fancier dishes with chicken and rice. But we like this dish; it fills us up. It's the first thing Tess made for us after we got married. It reminds me of her and of my mom. It makes me feel loved. Maybe preaching familiar passages isn't about breaking new ground or spicing things up. Maybe it's about being filled by God's Word once again and being reminded of His love. We can't only focus on our favorite passages in the Bible and ignore the rest. We need some balance and variety in our diet. But sometimes we need the comfort of an old favorite.

Grace and peace,

BMH

#207 About Thirty Years

Last week I turned 30. I wasn't originally planning on commenting on that, but then I started thinking about my age in connection with Jesus. Luke 3:23 says, "Now Jesus himself was about thirty years old when he began his ministry." (You might notice that this is a rough description; I'm pretty sure our best estimates of the dates of Christmas and Easter as well as our understanding of the length of Jesus' ministry would place Him at 31 or 32 when His ministry starts.) Obviously, to me thirty years is a long time. It's my whole life, after all! But I think that even if I was 60 or 90, thirty years would still seem pretty long to me. Jesus waited thirty years to begin His public ministry. Think about that. With the exception of an early childhood escape to Egypt, Jesus lived an ordinary human life for a long time. Certainly this wasn't a whole life, but Jesus was a decent ways into adulthood before He really began to reveal His special identity as God's Son. For thirty years Jesus committed to identifying with us, experiencing life in this fallen world, going through our ordinary experiences of learning and growing and holding a job. For thirty years Jesus looked to all the world around Him like He was just a regular guy. I think this long period of preparation helps us trust Jesus. He didn't just show up one day as an outsider and start telling us what we needed to change. He truly became one of us. He spent years sharing our perspective and facing our struggles as well as our joys. He showed us love not only by coming to save us but also by walking alongside us. I think that makes Jesus even more wonderful.

Grace and peace,

BMH

#206 Tib 16

When I picture college life, I picture myself living in Tib 16. I lived there, just off the main stairwell of Tibstra Hall at Trinity Christian College, during my sophomore year. I had good experiences my other three years of college. I even lived with good friends those other years. But there was something magical about Tib 16. This week seems like a good time to go back ten years and revisit the glory days.

There were six of us in Tib 16: Brian Clark, Caleb Huizinga, Bryan Kunz, Ryan Lindemulder, Kyle Van Eerden, and myself. Clark, Kunz, Lindy, Kyle and I were cross country and track teammates. We'd bonded over hours and hours of shared runs, plus loads of other adventures and free time spent hanging out freshman year. We asked Caleb to complete our suite, and he was a great fit, maybe in part because he wasn't yet another runner. We got along really well that year. I think we were just a good mix. For the most part we all like to play cards and shared similar taste in movies. Different smaller groups of us had common interests in sports and music. But we all had unique things too. We studied different things, worked different jobs, had a few common friends but a fair number of different friends. And I think that made things work. We weren't all in Tib 16 super often, but very rarely was any of us there alone. We paired and grouped up in new ways and made new memories again and again. And we were close, too. I know it's a cliche, but I viewed those guys as my brothers. I still do.

A large part of our fun was doing stupid stuff. We had a shared pet hedgehog that we all very quickly grew to despise. A couple of us rescued a GIANT mirror and put it next to the door to make our suite seem bigger. We hung random artwork on the wall with "classy" frames made from duct tape and electrical tape. We found strange photos of people we didn't know and put them on display. We chipped away at privacy and personal space until we had only the barest minimum we needed left (and sometimes less than that). On top of the stupid stuff we piled on a generous helping of card games, jam sessions, pointless debates, video game marathons, plus a few heart-to-hearts. For the few friends that we shared, Tib 16 became a pretty natural gathering place, which made things even better.

Now that I'm on the brink of 30, those days just before and after my 20th birthday feel like a while ago. I'm more than happy being married to Tess, being a father to Lanie and Mia, and being a pastor. But there was something special, something I do miss about those college days. I know a lot of other people look back fondly on their college experience. Lately I've been thinking that's because of the sense of community. Now that I'm family man, my life is more isolated. We stay home more. We think a lot about getting the kids to bed on time. There's something beautiful about doing life together with other people the way we did in Tib 16. I can't go back to college, but I know I should think more about what I can do to build community. Who's up for just hanging around and maybe doing some stupid stuff now and again?

Grace and peace,

BMH

#205 Ballin'

Tess and I bought Lanie one of those plastic, adjustable basketball hoops for her 4th birthday. It seems to be a pretty great gift. I've learned a couple lessons about basketball and my family so far.

First, Mia, who just celebrated her 1st birthday, has an absolute blast rolling the ball back and forth. I get her to sit up with her legs in a "V" and then roll the ball right up to her tummy. She giggles like the best thing in the world has just happened before eventually pushing the ball back to me so I can do it again. It's a simple game, but it's highly effective.

Second, Lanie thinks basketball is a contact sport. I told her it's her job to stop me from scoring. Her interpretation of that involves jumping on my back and trying to pin me to the ground. She doesn't hesitate to run right into me. And if she gets her hands the ball, she doesn't let go. Our games are pretty low-scoring affairs. It's hard to even get a decent shot off when we spend most of time wrestling over the ball. But Lanie apparently lives by one simple rule: No blood, no foul. It's good thing she only weighs about forty pounds. Otherwise I'd be in big trouble.

Grace and peace,

BMH