• I didn’t know how to review it without being really, really transparent
• I didn’t really feel like reviewing it

So laziness and self-consciousness.  That’s about the sum of it.  But then this week, Tyler shared an item on Google Reader titled “If a Fat Man Can Lead a Church…”.  (You can go read it if you want to.  It’s a short post with long discussion in the comments.  Then you can come back and see how I think this ties in to my current book review.)

First, how about I discuss what Feeding Your Appetites is about?  As the title suggests, it’s about the many kinds of appetites we have and how to feed them properly.  The appetites discussed are:

1. Appetite for Fellowship with God
2. Appetite for Pleasure
3. Appetite for Food
4. Appetite for Sex
5. Appetite for Authority and Power
6. Appetite for Work
7. Appetite for Companionship
8. Appetite for Wisdom

The underlying philosophy can be summed up by a quote from the forward:

So I set out on a journey to understand what I had to do to get my appetites under control.  Along the way I learned something amazing:  every human being has an inborn desire to know God, but our personal and selfish wants get in the way.  Our desire for knowledge of our Creator is taken hostage, and we find ourselves captured instead by appetites for foods, feelings, or experiences.

Of course, the appetites described in this book are not bad in themselves.  In fact, Arterburn goes to great lengths to make it clear that they’re all good things, but things which can be abused as substitutes for other unfulfilled appetites, the primary one being the appetite for fellowship with God.

(To be honest, I question the very premise of the book.  The idea that all humans have an innate desire for God sounds like Christianese to me.  I’m not saying it’s a wrong idea, but I’m just not convinced.)

The book is directed at anyone who has one or more appetites out of control, but I didn’t really go into it looking for a self-help book.  I must admit I got it to read it with a friend, and it was cheap!  Cheap books good!  Reading book with friend good!

And I don’t find myself to have any completely out-of-control appetites.  I don’t drink.  I don’t gamble.  I don’t try to control people.  I don’t have any particular temptation to look at pornography.  Of course, I’m carrying around a few extra pounds here and there that I’d rather not carry.  So my appetite for food must be at least slightly off. 

One of the things that becomes clear in the book is that we tend to abuse one appetite in substitution for another, with the abused appetite bringing pleasure to cover the pain of the unfulfilled appetite.  We’ve all heard of “comfort food” and “emotional eating,” I imagine.

(By the way, it was interesting reading this article about the whole Tiger Woods thing after reading this book.)

I actually didn’t intend to do a full book review here, so I’m not even going to discuss the rest of the book, except to mention that I liked the way it ended.  Arterburn didn’t expect that reading a book would solve everything, counter to what a librophile like myself would probably hope.  But he hoped to provide some guidance for getting started on straightening out our out-of-whack appetites.

One interesting thing I noticed in myself while reading this book was the way our struggles seem natural to us, while others’ struggles look bad and sinful.  I could sit there reading, repulsed at the idea of gambling addiction or porn addiction (and even scoff at the idea of labeling it addiction), while figuring that whatever was wrong with my appetites was both pretty much normal and perfectly understandable.

And that’s where the tie-in to the “Fat Man Leading a Church” post comes in.  If you look through the comments (and I admire anyone who could read all of them), you’ll find some very reasonable ones (like mine – see, me opinion good, you opinion bad), but then a whole bunch of vitriol from either the “but gays are gross” or “fat people lack self-control” sides.  And quite a few puerile “sin is sin” comments (yes, I used the word “puerile” for that overused and under-thought-out statement).

Anyhow, the more polarized comments on both sides seem to stem from someone standing in judgment of somebody else’s struggles.  Though I must admit that I’m standing in judgment of all those commenters, calling what they’re doing wrong.  It’s wonderful being human, isn’t it?

Well, this wasn’t much of a book review.  Maybe I could get a comment or two from someone else who’s read the book, filling in something else about it.  Say, perhaps, someone I see several times a week?  Who spotted the cheap book and ordered a couple of copies, then slipped one to me for a reasonable fee?  Anybody like that out there?

The Pancake-Eating Son has suddenly become enamored of hockey.  He so enjoyed the Winterhawks game I took him to that he told me hockey was now his favorite sport.

In fact, he told me he wasn’t really interested in baseball anymore (!) but would rather play hockey.

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I figured he should try ice skating first.  So, I packed him into the car and drove out to Sherwood Ice Arena.  (We can get there in about four traffic lights.  I love taking the back roads).

Long story short, hockey has fallen out of favor somewhat, though the boy still wants to take in a few more Hawks games.

Now, if we lived in Alaska, I’d have had the boy skating at age three or so, so he’d be like his old man and not really remember learning to skate.  And he’d absolutely be playing hockey.  It’s just an awesome game to play, and no other sports accomplishment feels as good as scoring a goal (at least in my experience).

(Confession: I’ve never relished the idea of watching outdoor hockey like my dad did so many times.)

But back to the skating.  We got there about an hour before the public skating session was over, so we got to pay a reduced price.  And we got our skates on and stepped onto the ice.  Immediately, I knew something was wrong.  The skates were too dull.  Or the ice was too slick (it had just been resurfaced). 

Or perhaps it was just that it’d been, oh, eighteen years or so since I’d been skating.  Of course, it didn’t take too long for me to get my feet under me and get a feel for how the blade goes on the ice.  I even managed to flip around backward and cross-over and stuff.  Sweet.  And I remembered how to execute a good hockey stop (spraying the boy with ice shavings).

But once I got the boy out there, he couldn’t make the transition.  And I’ve never taught an eight-year-old to skate.  A forty-year-old, yes, but more on that later.

There were tears.  And petitions that could we please go home?  But I had paid a bit of money to get us in there, so I had the boy just watch his old dad skate awhile.  Eventually he manned up and ventured out with me again, and we made one complete circuit of the ice together.  There was even some grinning.

Still, I’m not sure if he wants to go again.  But if we do, we’ll have to bring a photographer with us.

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As I mentioned above, Dad was the designated Hockey Parent back when I played.  And in Anchorage, that means outdoor practice and outdoor midweek games.  In short, it means dedication.  The weekend games, played at Ben Boeke Ice Arena or UAA were a bit easier on a parent.  But the outdoor ones made you think of “The Cremation of Sam McGee”.

One of the best parts of an outdoor game is that sometimes, Dad would take me out for donuts and cocoa after a game.  Even if we lost.  Which was most of the time.

The thing I really admire about my dad, looking back, is that he tried to learn the game so he could engage with me on it.  To the point of taking to skates at age forty-and-then-some.  I had already, with help of another friend, taught a third friend to skate (so we could play one-on-two hockey, which is awesome), so how hard could it be to teach Dad?

Hard.  Especially on Dad.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still sore from some of the bruises he got.  Because ice, while being nice for skating, tends toward hard when you fall on it.  And I’m not sure we outfitted him with proper pads or anything.  Pretty much just skates.  (BTW, Dad, do you still have those skates?  I’d take them off your hands if you do, if they’d fit my big flippers.)

Looking back, it’s probably good we never tried to teach Dad to downhill ski.  Because we weren’t very good teachers.

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Completely out of left field here, but we discovered that Cashew Cream really works.  Rewinding a bit, recall that we’re a semi-veg family.  We try to eat meatless fairly often.  So we tend to give Vegetarian/Vegan cookbooks a look pretty often.  Well, one of the magical veg ingredients I saw in one such volume was Cashew Cream.  Basically, you make thick Nut Milk with raw cashews.  And you use it in place of cream.

Well, we made some pretty terrific semi-veg Potato-Leek soup (we used Chicken Broth because that’s what was in the pantry, but it’d work with Imagine Foods’ No-Chicken Broth).  The Cashew Cream worked beautifully and even looked like cream when I mixed it in. 

So now I’ll have to look for other ways to use this magical ingredient.

Kind of a long post today.  But I haven’t posted on Monday in a long time.

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And the long post continues.  Mental Floss’s Morning Cup of Links had one I had to pass along, and through the magic of embedding, you can just stay right here and appreciate it.  It’s a short film titled “Validation,” and I found it surprisingly touching.  I guess I’m just a softie.

The big news here, though, is that Jon referred to me in the email as “Seth” and not “Mr. Heasley.”  Keep in mind I’ve known him since he was shorter than I am, back when The Fair Elaine and I were working with the youth in our old church.  Back in the previous century, you know.

Jon’s question is from Hebrews 5:8 and following, which says:

Hebrews 5:8-10 (ESV)

8 Although he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered. 9 And being made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation to all who obey him, 10 being designated by God a high priest after the order of Melchizedek.

This passage seems to imply that Jesus had some growing to do before he could be our High Priest.  More than that, it seems to imply there was some perfection that Jesus lacked.  This seems offensive to our “He’s the perfect man, he’s the Lord’s own son” sensibilities.  And yes, that’s a classic Petra reference (The Coloring Song).

So there’s the question: What does it mean that Jesus learned obedience or became perfect?

Right off the top, I’d point out that there’s really only one question here.  The two parts of the question, I believe, are a bit of parallelism.  So “Christ learned obedience through suffering” = “He was made perfect.”  I don’t think there’s a way to separate the two thoughts.

Of course, it’s tough to address a question from the Epistles without having the greater context of the letter in mind.  So, being a reader, I read the book of Hebrews over the weekend.  There are a couple of verses that stick out to most readers, but they’re on the Eternal Security question, and I think the emphasis on them distracts from the greater arc of the letter.  I’ve read Hebrews probably ten times now, but the beauty of the letter really hit me this time.

For those unfamiliar with it, the writer of Hebrews (Luke?  Apollos?  Titus?) makes a sustained argument about Christ’s role as the High Priest of the New Covenant, and addresses how his new role affects humans.  An outline looks something like this: (and you can find something similar in most study Bibles)

• Chapter 1 – Christ superior to  angels
• Chapter 2 – Christ made like us
• Chapter 3, 4 – Christ greater than Moses
• Chapter 5 – Christ as priest despite his non-Levitical lineage
• Chapter 6 – Warnings against apostasy
• Chapter 7 – Christ superior to the Levitical Priests
• Chapter 8 – Christ as the priest of a New Covenant
• Chapter 9 – The Earthly Temple was never anything but a copy of the Heavenly Temple
• Chapter 10 – Christ’s sacrifice superior to animal sacrifice
• Chapter 11 – How we access Christ’s work:  Through Faith
• Chapter 12 – Our response:  Faith and endurance through suffering
• Chapter 13 – The sacrifices God honors: Praise and Serving Others

I wanted to include this outline first to inspire someone to go and read Hebrews.  As I wrote, it’s very easy to get freaked by the warnings against apostasy and to miss the greater points about how Christ accomplished our salvation. 

It’s really impossible to answer Jon’s question without tracing it through the whole book, or at least a couple of the chapters.  Because Chapter 5 isn’t the only place where Christ’s being perfected shows up.  In fact, there’s a much earlier reference:

Hebrews 2:10 (ESV)

10 For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering.

Keep in mind that Chapter 2 discusses how Christ was made like us.  Further down, we have this verse:

Hebrews 2:17 (ESV)

17  Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people.

In this sense, we’re looking at how Christ was made perfect for his role.  He had to be like us, and to suffer as we suffer, in order for him to truly represent us.  

(BTW, I want to make it clear that this idea didn’t originate with me.  I did some Googling and whatnot and this is the position I think is correct, or at least makes sense.)

So anyway, I’d sum up the writer’s argument this way: Christ was the mediator of a better covenant, was qualified to be its High Priest by being appointed to it by God, was made fitting for it by what he suffered, and further qualified by enduring suffering in obedience.  Which brings me to Hebrews 7:

Hebrews 7:26 (ESV)

26  For it was indeed fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens.

One more thing I’m going to throw in here.  The Internet is a great tool for researching Bible Blogs.  I looked up the word “to make perfect” ("teleioo", for the record) from 2:10 and 5:9, and in the range of definitions is “to be found perfect.”  Going with that definition, we wouldn’t have to do any wordful wrangling.  It would just be relating that Christ endured his sufferings perfectly, not that the sufferings somehow made him perfect. 

Well, Jon, I hope that helps.  I even managed to keep it under a thousand words!  Feel free to weigh in in the comments.

I’m more and more convinced these days that the best (or at least most entertaining) science-fiction and fantasy is getting published in the Young Adult space.  The Lightning Thief is no exception, delivering a top-notch adventure and a great setup for a whole series, while eliminating the more objectionable content you might find in a for-adults book on the same topic.  In fact, dealing as it does with Greek Mythology, there’s just a whole lot of inappropriate that a for-adults book could feature.  (And here I’m thinking of Neil Gaiman’s American Gods.)

It’s true that there’s nothing terribly original about the premise.  The “boy finds out he’s part of a larger world” thing has been done to death, but it’s because it works its magic on the reader.  Who hasn’t wished for Jedi powers?  Or to be able to play Quidditch?  Or to find out they were somehow special?

I’m going to do a bit of spoilery here, so be forewarned, but I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to say that this series posits that the Greek Pantheon is alive and well and living in New York (having followed Western Civilization to its current apex).  And, as anyone who’s read much Greek Mythology knows, most of the gods of Olympus are a bunch of deadbeat dads (and moms), spawning little demigods all over the place as an outworking of their overwhelming attraction to mortal partners.  After all these centuries, there’d be quite a few half-breeds walking around.

Percy Jackson is one of these demigods.  I really don’t think I’m spoiling anything by revealing it.  I won’t reveal which god is his parent, though I must admit I found it rather obvious.  He ends up having to take on a quest to return a stolen artifact to Olympus, after receiving a bit of training at Camp Half-Blood.  The quest itself is the meat of the book, reading as a romp through many of the classical Hero Myths, but set in the modern U.S.

It certainly is helpful to have a decent background in mythology (thank you, Mrs. Foster from Dimond High), though in some sense it spoils the surprise.  I’m not sure but that the book could be a bit confusing without such a background, but I think the author does a decent job of explaining the various references through the mouths of his characters.  (It’s helpful that Percy himself is something of a lousy student and needs a lot of prodding to remember names and events.)

The thing that really works about the book is that all the characteristics of the gods and other mythological characters are taken with just the right amount of tongue-in-cheek humor.  Dionysius is a grumpy drunk who isn’t allowed to drink (think Haymitch from The Hunger Games).  Hades is a worn out administrator, fed up with the population explosion the 20th century caused in his domain.  Charon (runs the check-in desk in the Underworld, which is hilariously “obviously” in Los Angeles) hates his job and wants a raise.

The story is nicely self-contained, but also has threads that start forming a larger arc, which I assume will pay off in the further volumes of the series.  The dread of this larger story was set up very nicely, and I’m looking forward to seeing how it plays out.  I’m kind of glad my Hold Requests will take some time to come through, because otherwise I might just race through the series to the exclusion of all else.  And I have other stuff to read!

Next up, hopefully, is a non-fiction title.  But you’ll have to check back to find out what it is…

And then there are the Epistles, where I’m conscious of reading someone else’s mail.  And then there’s poetry.  Reading Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, and Job takes an extra bit of concentration sometimes, because the imagery and language style differ from Western Poetry.

And if the Epistles are like reading someone else’s mail, with all the challenges inherent there, what about Song of Songs?  It’s like reading someone else’s love letters.  Or even more than that, like spying on two lovers.

Throughout history, Blblical interpreters, uncomfortable with the idea that Song of Songs is basically about sex, have taken various approaches to allegorizing it.  It’s about God’s relationship with Israel!  It’s about Christ and the Church!

Yeah, it’s about sex.  Which isn’t a bad thing, of course, because it’s nice to have a straightforward approval given, in the Bible, for sexuality in its proper place.

And yet, I’m still not sure what to make of it.  I mean, it’s supposedly a celebration of married love, but isn’t it ostensibly penned by Solomon?  Of the seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines?  Doesn’t the whole polygamy thing dilute, somewhat, the specialness?

Then again, maybe I’m missing the point.  Any tips on interpreting this book?

By the way, let the record show that I have now officially blogged about Song of Songs.  One more crossed off The List, four more to go!

(Oh, and if you’re wondering why I’m in Song of Songs in February, it’s because I’ve been reading a chapter per day of Psalms and the other Poeticals.  I’m saving Job for last.)

I believe I’m now out of topics for the foreseeable future, though I have a few theology books I could finish up and review.  But if you wanted to lob me a topic, now would be a good time.  (Use the Suggest a Topic!!! link!)

One thing I haven’t done yet, which I’ll probably do eventually, is to go back and read all his older works.

I’ve now read three Crais novels.  The other two were The Two Minute Rule, a standalone novel about a former bank robber investigating the death of his son, and Chasing Darkness, a novel featuring Crais’s recurring private detective character, Elvis Cole.

Also featured in Chasing Darkness was Joe Pike, Cole’s partner in the detective business, a former Marine and just generally A Dude You Shouldn’t Mess With.  Think Hawk from Spenser for Hire. (Ah, Avery Brooks in his prime.  My first Man Crush.)

The First Rule flips the equation around, centering on Pike instead of Cole.  (Evidently Crais has done this before in L.A. Requiem.)

The title of the book comes from a list of rules accepted and followed by the Russian mafia and other European Organized Crime groups, though it doesn’t become apparent, in the book, just who the rule applies to for much of the book.  And that’s a good thing.  It’s not so much that there’s a twist in the book, but rather that the reader (and characters) just don’t have all the information.

Early in the book, a family is brutally murdered by a home invasion crew.  Frank Meyer was the man of the house.  And who was Meyer to Pike?  “One of my guys.”  And that’s all that’s needed for Pike to need to find out who was responsible and to deal them some justice.

(Pike is not only a former Marine but also a former private military contractor.  Meyer was on his team.)

But Pike isn’t as one-dimensional as you’d probably imaging.  He’s not just looking for payback.  He learns that the police figure Frank was into something dirty, because the home invasion crew had struck before, but only when there was a big score to make.  Pike wants to clear his friend and destroy the guys who killed him.

Of course, Pike eventually calls on Elvis Cole to help out, but the book is definitely a Joe Pike story.  One of the interesting things Crais does in this book is to shift perspectives in some chapters.  There are several chapters from Elvis Cole’s perspective, and one from Jon Stone’s (another one of Pike’s guys).  I’m not sure if this is new or something Crais typically does.  Further reading should help me fill in that blank.

In many ways, this book was similar to Clancy’s Without Remorse, only better  written.  Nothing against Clancy, but he’s never had a way with dialogue.  And maybe Crais is at an advantage with Pike, who is definitely of few words.  But the story is also a bit deeper, not merely focusing on revenge.

(I should point out as I have before, that this is a crime novel, and as such has some naughty language and violence, frequently followed by “Jon said/did that kind of thing.”  Mr. Stone is the potty mouth of the team.)

It’s not a feel-good story by any means, because when you get to the end, Frank and his family are still dead.  And some of the “justice” meted out is rather harsh, though not nearly to the degree of Without Remorse.

I’ll definitely have to backtrack and read the other Joe Pike novel, because I’ve read that it really fleshes out Pike’s back-story.  But first I’ll need to read more of the Cole-centric novels.  Should be fun!

Well, I’ve reached the First Round Number of the Year at 10 books.  Woo!  Unfortunately, I’m not within striking distance of finishing anything else, so it may be late next week before I can crank out another one.

Bottom line:  I like events with objective results.  Give me, any day, Snowboard Cross or Super G or the Downhill or Speed Skating.  I’ve enjoyed, in the past, some of the Ice Skating, but I just prefer it all coming down to the clock.

BTW, Snowboard Cross is my new favorite event.  All the downhill skiing events are also awesome, though.

I also think Curling is pretty cool.

That’s about it, I guess.  What are your favorite events?

The thing I enjoy most about Prager and Medved is that they emphasize disagreement, trying to find the best possible defenders of the other side and having smart dialogue with them.  This is also the reason I have no use for the left-wing commentators on MSNBC.  I want to hear both sides.

Well, one of the issues Medved brings up a fair bit is the way America is portrayed negatively in books, films, and television.  And that’s the subject of his book, The 10 Big Lies About America: Combating Destructive Distortions About Our Nation.

Now, I’m one of those conservatives who finds whining on either side to be unpalatable.  I didn’t like it when leftists trashed everything Dubya did, and I really hoped that those of us on the right would do better in dealing with Obama’s policies.  But we largely don’t, as far as I can tell.  I have no use for the Tea Party movement, even if I think it’s been unfairly portrayed by the media (shocker).  I have no respect at all for the Birther movement, and actually think it hurts the conservative cause to support such stupidity.

Fortunately, Michael Medved isn’t a whiner, and he presents his arguments logically and passionately on these ten Big Lies:

1. America Was Founded on Genocide Against Native Americans
2. The United States is Uniquely Guilty for the Crime of Slavery, and Based Its Wealth on Stolen African Labor
3. The Founders Intended a Secular, Not Christian, Nation
4. America Has Always Been a Multicultural Society, Strengthened by Diversity
5. The Power of Big Business Hurts the Country and Oppresses the People
6. Government Programs Offer the Only Remedy for Economic Downturns and Poverty
7. America Is an Imperialist Nation and a Constant Threat to World Peace
8. The Two-Party System is Broken, and We Urgently Need a Viable Third Party
9. A War on the Middle Class Means Less Comfort and Opportunity for the Average American
10. America Is in the Midst of an Irreversible Moral Decline

Right up front, I have to point out that Lie #9 confused me from the get-go.  Certainly no one could argue that a War on the Middle Class would be a good thing, right?  But Medved argues that no such war exists, contrary to the frequent charge from the political left.  I just didn’t get that from the title of the chapter.

I’m not going to dwell long on any of the topics, but I’ll say that the chapter on Lie #1 was probably the most interesting, because it explodes, among other things, the myth of the Smallpox Blankets we so often hear about. 

Lie #3 was fairly fascinating, too, as the perception that the Pilgrims came here to escape religious persecution is a bit overblown.  In fact, they typically sought more rigorous religious observance than was found in Europe, where the church was corrupt.

I do wish Medved had included more than one Lie told by the right, as only Lie #10 was really targeted that way.

I also wish the book had been shorter.  I had a terrible time getting through it, between reading other books.  But I tend to focus on one book if it’s interesting enough.  And I’m afraid this one just didn’t hold my attention.  (I originally checked this one out in April 2009.)

Still, I consider it worth picking up, and I might at some point pick up Medved’s new book, The 5 Big Lies About American Business.

Next up is Robert Crais’s latest, The First Rule, which I got from the Bestsellers rack at the Library

It seems that it’s the thing to do these days for Christians to call themselves sinners.  Or to emphasis their sinfulness, by way of (perhaps?) trying not to look pompous or judgmental.

Certainly, it wouldn’t necessarily help my witness if I went around calling myself a saint, right?  Or should I update my Facebook profile to say something like this:

“Seth:  Husband, Father, Baseball Fan, Saint.”

But isn’t just a bit odd to insert “Sinner” there, too?  Is that really part of who I am, any more than “Baseball Fan” is?  Do I really need to emphasize my own sinfulness?  And mightn’t I just as easily put “Human” for all the information it gives?  Where does this emanate from?

I suspect there are a number of different motivations that feed this tendency for us to insist that we’re “just sinners, saved by grace.”

1. It’s a defense against unbelievers who call Christians hypocrites.  If we call ourselves sinners, then we can hardly be called hypocritical when we fail, right?
2. It just looks pious.
3. We feel, acutely, our own sinfulness and express our gratitude to God by emphasizing it.
4. The word “saint” just doesn’t fly today.

I mainly want to write about #4, but I’ll take comments on any of them, or suggestions for other possible motivations.  I do think that #3 is certainly a common reason, particularly among men, for going with the Sinner label.  I could be off-base here, but I think the types of things men tend to struggle with get more attention, and therefore are felt more acutely.  (Definitely generalizing here.)

But I definitely think that the reason we can’t really get away with '”saint” is that it’s not a well-understood word these days.  The word itself conjures up, at least to Protestants, images of icons or statues in a Catholic or Orthodox church, and has an almost sterile, ivory tower connotation.

(This in spite of the fact that any treatment of the Lives of the Saints will normally have ample evidence that these saintly folks were awfully human, too.)

“Saint” simply means “holy ones.”  Well, that’s not much of an improvement, is it?  “Holy” is another misunderstood word, because it doesn’t mean “perfect,” but rather “set apart.”

I know I said I wouldn’t get all Biblical on this topic, but go look at the salutations of the Epistles in the New Testament.  A goodly percentage of them are addressed to “the saints” in a particular city.  Certainly there was no implication of the people of the churches in those ancient cities being any less sinful than we are today. 

At the risk of sounding like Stuart Smalley, isn’t there some value in positive affirmation?  I’m not into the Word of Faith doctrine, in which faith is seen as a force and words as having some mystical power.  But it seems to me that calling ourselves “sinners” is similar to a person who’s been sober twenty years calling himself an alcoholic.  (And here I really step in it.)

Yes, we are sinners.  But we’ve been bought with a price and set apart to be saints. 

Thoughts?

(We managed to miss the onside-kick that sparked the Saints’ getting back in the game.  DVR good.  And WTG, Saints.)

So it’s getting toward baseball season here, and I’m not just going to wax poetic about how much better baseball is than football, because there’s really little left to be said, and it’s so manifestly true.

No, instead I’d like to opine a bit about competition.  I often hear from other parents that they want their boy (I’m being boy-centric here, because I am one, and I have one) to be in a non-competitive league.  I.  Just.  Don’t.  Understand.  This.

Okay, so I do understand wanting to give kids a low-pressure way to experience sports.  And maybe it’s a good entry point, or a toes-in-the-water point for kids who probably aren’t wired for sports competition.

But I think there’s something we miss when we remove competition, and when all the kids get trophies.  As Dash put it in The Incredibles, after his mom (Elastigirl) commented that “everyone is special”:

“Which is the same as saying nobody’s special.”

Now, I’m all for rewarding effort and not just performance, and I can see the argument for a trophy being a good carrot to dangle, even if it’s not earned by performance so much as participation. 

But shouldn’t our kids be learning to lose well?  Learning that, hard as you try, you just might be on a pretty lousy team?  That it’s okay to lose if you tried your best?

The thing is, in teaching our kids about losing well, we also get to teach them how to win well.  And they learn how great it feels to win.

(Incidentally, this is why I generally don’t let the Boy win.  I want him to feel good when he beats me.  Though I do sometimes handicap myself to level the playing field.  But within those strictures, I still try to win.)

As I’ve written before, we’re big fans of Sasuke, known in America as Ninja Warrior.  It’s a lot like ABC’s Wipeout, only a hundred times cooler.

It’s basically the world’s toughest obstacle course, but it’s not just the obstacles that make it cool.  It’s the fact that they might go SEVEN YEARS WITHOUT A WINNER!!!!!

On Wipeout, there’s always a winner of the $50k prize.  Twenty-four start the competition, and one of them wins it.

On Ninja Warrior, one hundred people start the competition, and most of the time, one hundred are eliminated.  Sometimes only two or three even make it past Stage One (of Four).  Oh, and the prize is less than $20k.

And they keep making the course harder.  If you look back at the first winner (there have been two winners out of more than twenty competitions), his course was much easier than the second winner’s.

But of course, sometimes somebody does win.  For instance, The Pancake Eating Boy’s current hero, Makoto Nagano.  Here’s a video of him completing all four stages back on Sasuke 17 (the video lacks G4’s English translation, or you’d get the impression that the announcer has just as big a Man Crush on Nagano as The Boy does):

The Boy gets seriously emotionally invested in watching his Main Dude on Sasuke.  When Nagano fails, the Boy is very put out.

I think it says something about the Japanese that they’re willing to watch a competition that may not even have a winner and most of the time doesn’t.  (Strictly speaking, I think you could call the course itself the winner most of the time.)

But there’s another good lesson on Ninja Warrior, and that’s respect for your opponent.  It’s really cool to see the way all the contestants pull for each other.  Granted, they’re not really competing against each other, but it’s still awesome to watch how disappointed the All-Stars are when one of their ilk fails early.  Even cooler was when all the All-Stars were eliminated (Nagano fell on the first obstacle of Stage Two) and only American free-runner Levi Meeuwenberg was left standing.  They did their best to coach him through Stage Three (this time with English subtitles):

Am I off base (Shocking, eh?  Baseball term!) about competition?  I love the fact that the Boy’s Fall Ball team didn’t win any games last year.  It’ll make a winning experience all the more awesome.  Plus, it pulls a layer back so the experiences of individual games are the best parts.  Okay, so we didn’t win a game, but I made a great play at first base.  Or I scored two goals in a losing hockey game.

I could see how a kid could get spoiled by always being on a winning team, but how often does that really happen?  When I think back to my Little League days, I only remember being on one pretty good team (hmm…and I was the common element on all those lousy teams).  But that one winning year stands out as a highlight for me.

Thoughts?  I know this wasn’t a normal Monday post, but I haven’t written a lengthy non-theology post in some time.