Scott Gill's Blog, page 2
May 21, 2012
Struggles in Faith, Part 1
My faith, at times, and by that I mean my religious fervency, jostles between Mark Twain and C.S. Lewis. One man opted for skepticism, sickened by Christian hypocrisy while the other, despite disappointment in God, continued an ardent path.
Mark Twain, or Samuel Clemens, was raised a Presbyterian and was rarely religious. He was asked; however, to speak at John D. Rockefeller, Jr.’s famous Bible class on a number of occasions. In those classes, Clemens expressed his troubles with Christians’ naïve understanding of what was good and glorifying to God. His favorite example was the Joseph account when Joseph interprets Pharaoh’s dream of future drought and, as a result, is promoted to viceroy, the chief-carrier-out-of-all- Pharaoh-wants position (he was a big deal). Joseph makes an offer to all the people that they cannot refuse; he gives out the stored up grain to the starving in exchange for their money, livestock, and land. He charged an exorbitant price, and leveled on them an eternal tax. Even Scripture says, “Joseph reduced the people to servitude” (Genesis 47:21). Clemens didn’t view Joseph as a hero, acting in faith and saving the people, which is what the majority of all Christians (including me) have believed; he saw him as a shark that “skinned them for every last penny they had…” After four years of seminary study (which I crammed into eight) and reading that very passage in the literal Hebrew, I had never heard such an idea.
Joseph was placed in that position for that particular moment. His faith overcame long terms of isolation and false accusation and he rose to the top. He was a hero, that is, unless you come to him for grain and leave homeless. That’s how Twain saw it, from the “little guy’s” perspective. The farmer was left with little choice; buy grain or starve, and they hocked everything. Twain’s point was that Christians justify and glorify what they read in the Bible without looking at the entire situation. He was troubled with the sections of Scripture where God commands genocide (the entrance into the Promised Land) and he had the guts to voice his troubles. Honestly, I can sympathize with him because I struggle with it too. I’m not saying I no longer believe Scripture, but think about those families; would any of us in our right mind be able to obey the command to “destroy all the peoples the Lord God gives over to you. Do not look on them with pity…?” Would I be able to kill every last man, woman, and child so I could move into a piece of land and build my farm? I have enough trouble reading my Bible every day so, probably not, and that is what Mark Twain meant in his skepticism.
He stayed angry with Christians mostly because of their uncanny ability to stand against smoking, drinking, and cussing, all the while ignoring commands to “love thy neighbor.” He saw this hypocrisy largely in the practice of slavery. He grew up in a land of slaves and even played in their quarters at his uncle’s farm. He went to church and listened to sermons that not only justified the practice, but declared it a kindly act—a better existence—for the slaves, that they were better off in chains than in Africa. He responded to the issue in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn where Huck contemplates his soul’s smoldering future because he assisted the escape of his friend, Jim, a neighboring slave. Huck decides to choose the way of “wickedness” and stay loyal to Jim, knowing that by doing so he sealed his eternal fate (at least according to what he learned in church).
Clemens witnessed and recorded instance after instance of Christians showing hatred while boasting a standard of righteousness. It had embittered him so, that near the end of his life, upon hearing of a friend who had a scare with chest pains, he wrote the following advice on what to do when standing before St. Peter at the pearly gates:
Leave your dog outside. Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and the dog would go in… Sunday afternoons, when you go with the rest of the redeemed to lean over the balusters [the walls looking down] and see the little unbaptised Presbyterian and Roman Catholic children roasting in the red fires, don’t crowd; remember, others want to see, as well as you. And you must rub your hands together, and laugh a little, and let on to enjoy it; otherwise people will suspect you are not as good a Christian as you look… (emphasis mine)
This is the first religious piece I’ve written in nearly 5 years because, honestly, I’ve had little to say. After nearly 15 years in ministry, I had my fill of the cruel hands that named Christ as Lord, and the final straw was when it involved my wife and kids. I remember praying, begging Jesus to get me out of the pastorate and in a profession where my family is off limits (in the church, that is not the case). People ask if I’d ever go back and preach again of which I give a hardy, “NO.” Why would I do that to my wife and kids? The infamous fishbowl is a lonely and hot stage. No, we are happy as I teach and Angie works as a medical assistant. I’m sure some have wondered that my departure from the pulpit was a bit Jonah-esque, a called man running from his call, but if I’d stayed in much longer I would have ended up just like Sam Clemens—bitter, angry, and a skeptic. Instead, I have callused hands from holy work as C.S. Lewis would say and, hopefully, in time, those hands will soften.
Mark Twain, or Samuel Clemens, was raised a Presbyterian and was rarely religious. He was asked; however, to speak at John D. Rockefeller, Jr.’s famous Bible class on a number of occasions. In those classes, Clemens expressed his troubles with Christians’ naïve understanding of what was good and glorifying to God. His favorite example was the Joseph account when Joseph interprets Pharaoh’s dream of future drought and, as a result, is promoted to viceroy, the chief-carrier-out-of-all- Pharaoh-wants position (he was a big deal). Joseph makes an offer to all the people that they cannot refuse; he gives out the stored up grain to the starving in exchange for their money, livestock, and land. He charged an exorbitant price, and leveled on them an eternal tax. Even Scripture says, “Joseph reduced the people to servitude” (Genesis 47:21). Clemens didn’t view Joseph as a hero, acting in faith and saving the people, which is what the majority of all Christians (including me) have believed; he saw him as a shark that “skinned them for every last penny they had…” After four years of seminary study (which I crammed into eight) and reading that very passage in the literal Hebrew, I had never heard such an idea.
Joseph was placed in that position for that particular moment. His faith overcame long terms of isolation and false accusation and he rose to the top. He was a hero, that is, unless you come to him for grain and leave homeless. That’s how Twain saw it, from the “little guy’s” perspective. The farmer was left with little choice; buy grain or starve, and they hocked everything. Twain’s point was that Christians justify and glorify what they read in the Bible without looking at the entire situation. He was troubled with the sections of Scripture where God commands genocide (the entrance into the Promised Land) and he had the guts to voice his troubles. Honestly, I can sympathize with him because I struggle with it too. I’m not saying I no longer believe Scripture, but think about those families; would any of us in our right mind be able to obey the command to “destroy all the peoples the Lord God gives over to you. Do not look on them with pity…?” Would I be able to kill every last man, woman, and child so I could move into a piece of land and build my farm? I have enough trouble reading my Bible every day so, probably not, and that is what Mark Twain meant in his skepticism.
He stayed angry with Christians mostly because of their uncanny ability to stand against smoking, drinking, and cussing, all the while ignoring commands to “love thy neighbor.” He saw this hypocrisy largely in the practice of slavery. He grew up in a land of slaves and even played in their quarters at his uncle’s farm. He went to church and listened to sermons that not only justified the practice, but declared it a kindly act—a better existence—for the slaves, that they were better off in chains than in Africa. He responded to the issue in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn where Huck contemplates his soul’s smoldering future because he assisted the escape of his friend, Jim, a neighboring slave. Huck decides to choose the way of “wickedness” and stay loyal to Jim, knowing that by doing so he sealed his eternal fate (at least according to what he learned in church).
Clemens witnessed and recorded instance after instance of Christians showing hatred while boasting a standard of righteousness. It had embittered him so, that near the end of his life, upon hearing of a friend who had a scare with chest pains, he wrote the following advice on what to do when standing before St. Peter at the pearly gates:
Leave your dog outside. Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and the dog would go in… Sunday afternoons, when you go with the rest of the redeemed to lean over the balusters [the walls looking down] and see the little unbaptised Presbyterian and Roman Catholic children roasting in the red fires, don’t crowd; remember, others want to see, as well as you. And you must rub your hands together, and laugh a little, and let on to enjoy it; otherwise people will suspect you are not as good a Christian as you look… (emphasis mine)
This is the first religious piece I’ve written in nearly 5 years because, honestly, I’ve had little to say. After nearly 15 years in ministry, I had my fill of the cruel hands that named Christ as Lord, and the final straw was when it involved my wife and kids. I remember praying, begging Jesus to get me out of the pastorate and in a profession where my family is off limits (in the church, that is not the case). People ask if I’d ever go back and preach again of which I give a hardy, “NO.” Why would I do that to my wife and kids? The infamous fishbowl is a lonely and hot stage. No, we are happy as I teach and Angie works as a medical assistant. I’m sure some have wondered that my departure from the pulpit was a bit Jonah-esque, a called man running from his call, but if I’d stayed in much longer I would have ended up just like Sam Clemens—bitter, angry, and a skeptic. Instead, I have callused hands from holy work as C.S. Lewis would say and, hopefully, in time, those hands will soften.
May 20, 2012
Dogsong by Gary Paulsen
A Quest for Manhood… Dogsong by Gary Paulsen
When my boys turn 13, we have a ritual that they all have had to go through. It sounds goofy but it is our little ritual so we frankly don’t care what others think.
The morning of their birthday I brew them a cup of coffee, strong coffee. Working for Starbuck’s for two years, putting extra food on the table, developed in me a passion for gourmet, dark roasted coffee. One sip and your eyes brighten. When I was a kid, coffee was viewed as an adult’s drink(kids drank K
ool-Aid); my guys have always loved the caramel-nutty smell, but never the taste. So I brew them a cup that they have to finish, a kind of initiation, and then we take off to the gun range.
It is a place that cries for responsibility: all sorts of people with all sorts of guns shooting hundreds of rounds of hot lead. The range officers are strict, bordering mean, and they should be, carelessness means death. We shoot high power rifles and 12 gauge shotguns, and we apply rules and responsibility I’ve taught them for years. At that range, they learn the ultimate power and they learn the need to control it, to act with maturity and responsibility—the mark of a man. That event is our family’s passage to becoming a man.
Dogsong, by Gary Paulsen, is a story of such a passage. Cast on the arctic coast of Alaska, it is the story of Russell Susskit, a 14 year-old Eskimo who lives on a government reservation with his sick father. The thin walls of their provided box-house allowed the annoying rumble of snowmobiles, the modern machine that has crippled their people’s hunting, their ability to live off the land as their ancestors.
“I’m not happy with myself,” is the thought that drives Russell to living with the town’s blind Shaman who sends Russell on a series of adventures such as running a dogsled and hunting with bow and spear. Russell embraces the old ways and departs on a journey quest to find his song, his expression of meaning.
Paulsen is the master of the survival story shown by his beloved work, Hatchet, and Dogsong delivers no less of an adventure. But where Brian Robeson’s adventure is spurred by an accident, Russell’s is sought, his quest for something greater in his life. It is a quest for manhood and meaning, which so many boys today need; a journey-quest that forces us to learn and embrace responsibility.
When my boys turn 13, we have a ritual that they all have had to go through. It sounds goofy but it is our little ritual so we frankly don’t care what others think.
The morning of their birthday I brew them a cup of coffee, strong coffee. Working for Starbuck’s for two years, putting extra food on the table, developed in me a passion for gourmet, dark roasted coffee. One sip and your eyes brighten. When I was a kid, coffee was viewed as an adult’s drink(kids drank K
ool-Aid); my guys have always loved the caramel-nutty smell, but never the taste. So I brew them a cup that they have to finish, a kind of initiation, and then we take off to the gun range.
It is a place that cries for responsibility: all sorts of people with all sorts of guns shooting hundreds of rounds of hot lead. The range officers are strict, bordering mean, and they should be, carelessness means death. We shoot high power rifles and 12 gauge shotguns, and we apply rules and responsibility I’ve taught them for years. At that range, they learn the ultimate power and they learn the need to control it, to act with maturity and responsibility—the mark of a man. That event is our family’s passage to becoming a man.
Dogsong, by Gary Paulsen, is a story of such a passage. Cast on the arctic coast of Alaska, it is the story of Russell Susskit, a 14 year-old Eskimo who lives on a government reservation with his sick father. The thin walls of their provided box-house allowed the annoying rumble of snowmobiles, the modern machine that has crippled their people’s hunting, their ability to live off the land as their ancestors.
“I’m not happy with myself,” is the thought that drives Russell to living with the town’s blind Shaman who sends Russell on a series of adventures such as running a dogsled and hunting with bow and spear. Russell embraces the old ways and departs on a journey quest to find his song, his expression of meaning.
Paulsen is the master of the survival story shown by his beloved work, Hatchet, and Dogsong delivers no less of an adventure. But where Brian Robeson’s adventure is spurred by an accident, Russell’s is sought, his quest for something greater in his life. It is a quest for manhood and meaning, which so many boys today need; a journey-quest that forces us to learn and embrace responsibility.
May 16, 2012
Why My Teacher Made Me Write
“Coach, can’t I just tell you about rappelling in the mountains? Do I have to write about it?” Gaines griped, and he wasn’t alone. I’ve heard this question (which sounds like a whine) from nearly every student of every class I’ve taught. I understand their gripe (a little), we do write tons, but there is a reason why I’m such a maniac for putting pen to paper so before you just toss this blog for another teacher rant, read on.
“Writing is thinking through the pen,” in other words, writing stops you, makes you mull over matters. Surely, you’ve heard of people with “foot-in-the-mouth” syndrome, people who say things and wish they’d kept their mouth shut? Like the numerous times I’ve asked students about their boyfriends or girlfriends only to have tears well up in their eyes and a sobbing story ensue about their horrific break-up the night before (apologies, I don’t ask that question anymore). Writing makes you slow down and consider what you are saying and how you are saying it, and if the world needs people to think more before they speak or act, then writing is a key.
Ironically, in this growing electronic/paperless world, writing is center stage. From the email, to instant messaging, to the Facebook post, to tweeting and texting, this generation writes tons more than I ever did (Unless you want to compare tweeting to my “Do-you-like-me-check-yes-or-no” notes I’d pass to cute girls). In my classes, I teach kids to “write tight” which means that they have to write less but say more, which is not an easy skill. For instance, if they turn in a 200 word essay, I may give it back, telling them to cut 50 words out but still say the same thing. They have to really think about all the useless words they use and find powerful ones that could do the work of two or three. So, instead of writing, “Throckmorton ran quickly down the street,” they may come back with, “Throckmorton sprinted…” They have no clue I’m training them to text powerfully, to tweet something that could impact. Practicing tight writing just may be the answer to meaningful Twitter posts.
Ultimately, when you write, your words live beyond you, carrying potential to generations long after you die. Each year on the first day of school, I explain the power of words. Before my new students blow me off, I mention characters like Katniss Everdeen or Harry Potter and I ask how kids felt at the end of their stories. Many express their sadness when they reached the last page and often “Team Peeta” and “Team Gale” debates erupt. I remind them that these characters are not real and they’ve become emotional over mere imagined beings. We laugh about how worked up we get but the lesson is there: long after Suzanne Collins leaves this world, Katniss Everdeen will live on. That is only possible by writing and thank God a 14 year old girl, who didn’t think anyone would care about her writing, continued her diary because thirty million plus readers have been moved by the thoughts of Anne Frank some 60 years after her teenage life was snuffed out.
So, grab one of those little writer’s notebooks from Walmart and pen something, anything, for who knows who’ll be reading?
“Writing is thinking through the pen,” in other words, writing stops you, makes you mull over matters. Surely, you’ve heard of people with “foot-in-the-mouth” syndrome, people who say things and wish they’d kept their mouth shut? Like the numerous times I’ve asked students about their boyfriends or girlfriends only to have tears well up in their eyes and a sobbing story ensue about their horrific break-up the night before (apologies, I don’t ask that question anymore). Writing makes you slow down and consider what you are saying and how you are saying it, and if the world needs people to think more before they speak or act, then writing is a key.
Ironically, in this growing electronic/paperless world, writing is center stage. From the email, to instant messaging, to the Facebook post, to tweeting and texting, this generation writes tons more than I ever did (Unless you want to compare tweeting to my “Do-you-like-me-check-yes-or-no” notes I’d pass to cute girls). In my classes, I teach kids to “write tight” which means that they have to write less but say more, which is not an easy skill. For instance, if they turn in a 200 word essay, I may give it back, telling them to cut 50 words out but still say the same thing. They have to really think about all the useless words they use and find powerful ones that could do the work of two or three. So, instead of writing, “Throckmorton ran quickly down the street,” they may come back with, “Throckmorton sprinted…” They have no clue I’m training them to text powerfully, to tweet something that could impact. Practicing tight writing just may be the answer to meaningful Twitter posts.
Ultimately, when you write, your words live beyond you, carrying potential to generations long after you die. Each year on the first day of school, I explain the power of words. Before my new students blow me off, I mention characters like Katniss Everdeen or Harry Potter and I ask how kids felt at the end of their stories. Many express their sadness when they reached the last page and often “Team Peeta” and “Team Gale” debates erupt. I remind them that these characters are not real and they’ve become emotional over mere imagined beings. We laugh about how worked up we get but the lesson is there: long after Suzanne Collins leaves this world, Katniss Everdeen will live on. That is only possible by writing and thank God a 14 year old girl, who didn’t think anyone would care about her writing, continued her diary because thirty million plus readers have been moved by the thoughts of Anne Frank some 60 years after her teenage life was snuffed out.
So, grab one of those little writer’s notebooks from Walmart and pen something, anything, for who knows who’ll be reading?
