TGTUs

Cyberstones mentions "oddest things in the office," one of those being a certain certificate, a TGTU- Tactical Grade Theological Grade Undies sent to him by yours truly a few years back. It should look quite a bit like the one below.


Credit is due where credit belongs. TGTUs are the braintrust of one terrific fella, The Rev. Fr. Eric “Big Dawg” Christiansen, as noted in the lower left-hand corner. He researched and developed these fireproof/bulletproof/asbestos/Kevlar accoutrement for the Confessional Lutheran, then named a select few as distributors. Directly under the title it reads, "Hermeneutically sealed in 1580." Of course, that does not preclude all that preceded, or that which is faithfully confessed since then. The Church speaks with one voice.

A bit of a warning: One pastor hung his undies discreetly behind his office door. He knew they were powerful enough to provide the necessary protection through the strongest steel. But alas!, they were discovered by the head elder, and he was considered to be unfit for pastoral duty. “Not pious enough!” “Lacking in ‘pastorly’ character.”

Just prior to the First Gerry Convention the Grandfather of Comtemporary Worship wrote a book. It was a sort of expose on Confessionals. CAT41 was singled out in particular. TGTUs were targeted, though not by name- only the 'shamefuleness' of pastors talking about their "undies," even some in "hot pink." None were ever made like that, the guys jested a lot. The author, despite our explanations, never grokked the undies were paper certificates.

TGTUs are just too dawg-on irreverent for some folks. Or maybe it’s impolite to think a pastor needs undies at all, let alone the kind that protect his rear from all those ablazing moments that come his way.

Or maybe some folks just don't have a sense of humor.

BTW... I got a sideways personal mention in that book... didja'all catch it? He mentions the "Mother Hen" who puts folks through a welcoming ritual, asking them if they are "Momma's Boys." Would that we all recognize that we are such according to our Baptism and cling to the teats of Mother Church (the Mother who begets and bears all Christians in the world)! Perhaps then TGTUs would become obsolete! Silly thought for the Church Militant.



My TGTUs are signed by Big Dawg himself and hang eye-level in my study near my deaconess certificate and above a piece of my granddaughter's artwork. (She was 14 months when she did it. See her hand and foot?) There were many times going to school I needed them. As a deaconess I am well placed. Ri'chere is a little slice of Neuendettelsau down here in Mi'zzippi- an' we like it that way. That has nothing to do with the temperament of the pastor, but with the fact that this deac is fed six-seven days a week on her pastor's sermons and can find him whenever she needs for Confession and Absolution. Now there's some real TGTUs for ya!

Oddest things in my study?

1. A framed cartoon Uncle Mikesie (Rev. Micheal Strong) sent me. Lady's standing on a bridge, dumping something over. Something
bounces, PING.... PING.... PING...., down the road below. Caption: "As she scattered Leon's ashes off the Oakmont Bridge, Tina realized she had completely forgotten about his glass eye." (Let the reader understand why this is so dear to me.)

2. Two copies of Der Struwwelpeter. One is in German, the other in Hebrew.

3. Two volumes of Luther's House Postils, both published 1884 by JA Schulze. My son gave these to me before his second tour in Iraq.

4. A feminist library.

5. My husband says my icon collection is odd.

Jacob and the Ballerina

Each week Jacob has a packet of Daily Work to complete. He is not alone. Each member of the class has his own set of work to finish. As the oldest student, Jacob’s is the most complicated.

One of Jacob's tasks is to proofread and correct a set of paragraphs for four days, then on Friday write a fifth to complement the set. This past week’s set was about a gifted young girl, Maria Tallchief, the famous ballerina. After reading and correcting the four paragraphs Jacob wrote a response to that particular connotation of what it means to be gifted.

Lots of people are gifted by baptism. Jesus gave forgiveness of sins by dying on the cross. That is what people are gifted with.

Jacob clearly recognizes that while no gift is to be taken lightly and the unique ability of a dancer such as Maria Tallchief should be celebrated, there are gifts such as those of vocation, and then there are the Gifts which deliver Christ, which are His Word and Sacraments. God gives us our vocations and, because they come from Him, can be received as the gifts they are. However, that is not the same as saying that it is our vocations which save us, when in fact it is Baptism that now saves. There is a distinction to be made. Jacob re-located the source of the "Giftedness." When he did, he clarified a distinction: Maria Tallchief is gifted, but without Baptism, no one is truly Gifted.

Wise Words - Book Report & Commentary

Lutherans often shy away from morality stories, dripping as they are with the prodding of the Law even as it is too frequently disguised as the Gospel. However, Canon Press publishes a book of eighteen stories by Peter Leithart that might change a few minds in that regard, Wise Words: Family Stories That Bring the Proverbs to Life.

Each of Leithart’s stories is written after the fashion of a fairy tale in the tradition of the Grimm Brother’s. Each ends with a moral as an Aesop’s Fable might; however, Leithart’s morals are taken from the book of Proverbs. Now, that alone might be enough to send shivers down most rightly-dividing-Law-and-Gospel Lutheran’s back, and nix the decision for this book. However, the stories are well-written with rich details. For the careful catechist in the home or school, each story can be placed in Christ so that the Greater Reality is revealed. Consider "Ivy and the Prince," which was read to a group of First, Third and Fourth graders.

Ivy is a young girl who lives near a forest, in the midst of which is a thicket. He father has told her never to cross through the thicket and go to the other side. Only danger awaits there. She will die. One day a rabbit convinces Ivy she can go around the thicket without actually disobeying her father. She does, and the rabbit becomes a dragon. As soon as he sets to devour her, a handsome Prince from a castle in the air rescues Ivy. He places a golden chain in her hair. She is to use the chain to call for him at anytime. Ivy faints as the Prince gives the instructions, so the chain sits in her hair unnoticed. Ivy goes back to her father, repents of her sin. Her father forgives her. Ivy, however, wastes away desiring to have the Prince return, but not knowing how to have him do so. Just as she is about to die, her father finds the chain in her hair. In an instant the Prince in there and the story ends as all good fairy tales do, happily ever after.

Leithart chose Prov. 13:12 as the moral: Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life. This falls flat as a moral applied to a simple fairy tale, but Leithart does not intend it to be so. He writes, “[T]he First Last Adams are always lurking just beneath the surface.” Therefore, regard how the students applied elements of the tale to the Catechism.

“Where did Ivy go wrong?”

“She disobeyed her father.”
“That’s the Fourth Commandment.”

“What did her father do when she confessed her sin?

“He forgave her.”

“Who do you think the rabbit represents?”

“That’s easy! He’s Satan!”
“Yeah- and the Prince is Jesus.”
“And the castle is heaven.”

“OK, Smarties, what is the golden chain all about?” Now they had to think. “What does Jesus give us to hold onto so we know He is with us always?”

“Oh! I get it, Baptism!”
“And His Word, His Absolution.”
“And His Body and Blood.”

Leithart is an ordained minister in the Presbyterian Church in America. What a blessedly iconic sacramental tale from a Presbyterian author- whether he intended it to be so or not! This is when Leithart’s book shines. Each of his stories can be run through Christ. This is the value of such reading done by parents and teachers with children. Analogies fail at some point, and “Ivy and the Prince” is no exception. It is not the call of the church that causes Christ to come down; rather, Christ comes to His church according to His appointed Means of Grace. Therefore, a caution: read it to your children and discuss it with them. This book will provide many meaningful discussions.

Wise Words: Family Stories That Bring the Proverbs to Life
Peter J. Leithart
ISBN: 1591280141
Paperback

Additional Comments:

Ivy lies dying because she did not hear her Prince’s instructions about the chain. So she is starving. How ironic that a modern tale written by a PCA minister highlights what Wilhelm Löhe wrote a century ago: the Means of Grace is where it’s at not only for Lutherans, but by their absence, also for non-Lutherans. Löhe wrote:

If the Lutheran Church has the pure Word and sacrament in a pure confession, it obviously has the highest treasures of the church unperverted. It thus has Gods fullness and the living source from which all deficiencies may be supplied, and it can claim for itself all the advantages of which other denominations justly boast.What is the reason for so many attacks on this church when men must admit that it has the greatest treasures and marks of the church? Why is it that other denominations boast about so many real or imaginary advantages when they lack the greatest treasures and when it cannot be denied that the Lutheran Church, if it is only conscious of itself, can supply all deficiencies from its abundance and can excel the other churches in every virtue? He who can honor Word and sacrament properly will not be blinded by any ray of light which falls on other churches, for that ray comes only from the source of our perfect truth. Much less will he be blinded by the mere glow of human works and thoughts. When a man possesses the higher things, he can easily do without the lesser things until he can obtain them without danger.Because it has Word and sacrament in a pure confession, the Lutheran Church is the fountain of truth, and from its waters all thirsty souls in other churches have their thirst quenched. With cheerful faces and sharp swords the members of this church stand in serene peace around the fountain which saves all those who are saved. Wilhelm Löhe, Three Books About the Church, p. 113, 115.

A plethora of thoughts arise in conjunction with the LCMS and her long-term dalliance with evangelical style. She is distinctly different than Ivy in this: Ivy wasted away in her grief for her Prince, while the LCMS is spending hers partying to the slappy-sappy-clappy tunes of the feather-swallowers, hoping to grow fat and go down in a blaze of glory. They are alike because they both need to be returned to the Rock from whence they were hewn (Is 51:1)- that is, the very word from which their hope was given.

Ivy had her Parousia. Perhaps that is all that will rescue the LCMS.

The F-Word

For my students, the f-word is allowed only during a scripted lesson. Shurley Grammar uses it in it paragraph writing examples. It’s not that the word “feel” is a bad word; it is that I desire my students to learn to write substantively from the start. So I simply remove it from them for a while until they learn to use the English language more competently.

Shurley Grammar teaches paragraph writing according to form. The Two-Point Expository paragraph is taught in the First and Second Grade, and then expanded upon in the Third and Fourth Grades with the Three- Point Expository and the Persuasive paragraphs. The First and Second Grade examples both include lines that read something like this: “In conclusion, I like yellow because it makes me feel cheerful.” Not a bad line, I suppose, but it’s still rather squishy.

My older students have already been “broken” of using the f-word. The first year I taught paragraphs I used the two-point expository as the format for book reports. My First and Second Graders had one due a week during the second semester. That’s a lot of reading and writing, but doable. After two reports in which students wrote “This book made me feel happy/sad/goofy,” the current “no f-word” policy was established. I instructed them to find something in particular that was the reason for why the book made them feel that way, then write a sentence without the f-word. Sentences began changing. “This is a happy/sad/goofy book/part because…” Now they rarely use the f-word in speech, and not at all in writing unless for descriptive purposes.

Now I am again teaching paragraphs to a set of students who have not written them before. They will encounter the example from Shurley Grammar, and want to copy it. Imitation is the best route to an A, is it not? However, as I told the students today, the example is the last time they are permitted to use the f-word in my classroom or on a writing assignment.

They may describe

• how it is to feel ill and what makes them feel that way


• how it is to feel well and what makes them feel that way


• how something feels to the senses

Tucker sat in rapt attention, said position being a relative term. He’s a wiggly kid. He looks like it from the get-go. He’s all arms and legs, ears sticking out at angles. He can’t ever seem to sit still. He even falls out of his chair. Today he lost his chair because he was just too squiggly to sit in it, so it was just best to remove it completely.

Sometimes I play with the kids with quick come-backs. One in particular stuck with them. Now and again they are amazed that I’ll just happen to know something they don’t know (imagine that!) “Hey! How’d you know that?” they asked.

“Awww… that’s cuz you happen to be merely smart and I happen to be brilliant,” I said.

They rolled in laughter.

On one particular morning they amazed me. So much so that I quipped, “Well, lookie here… some one just about kissed the foot of brilliance with that answer.”

After the laughter settled down Tucker said, “I want to do that- kiss the foot of brilliance.”

The “kiss the foot of brilliance” line stayed with the students so well they asked me to hang feet and kisses from the ceiling. So I did. Walking down the hallway to my classroom it looks like some bizarre message is being displayed: Stomping the Rolling Stones.

Today Tucker did kiss the foot of brilliance.

After explaining the f-word and why it wasn’t to be used, Tucker said, “Oh, I get it. You want us to be specific.”

I had to shake that Firstie’s hand!

Butting Desks

They couldn’t stand each other. They didn’t even have to say a word to announce the fact. We all just knew it. Matt and Byrne loathed each other. If they didn’t avoid each other on the playground, they sought each other out with “individualizing intentionality.”

On the day Katina hit I stopped in the local mega-store and found they had put the swim noodles on sale for a quarter apiece. A six-foot foam noodle meant a three-foot light saber to my way of thinking. I snatched up a bunch, and cut a few in half.

There is nothing more all-American-boy than bopping one another over the head with a "sword." These things are several inches of neon foam, so they cause no harm, but plenty of imagination and fun. The gang went for it big time.

Matt and Byrne went after each other with a vengeance.

If teams formed up, each declared, “No way!” to the inclusion of the other on his team. They’d rather “be dead” than to be on the same side as his nemesis. Whenever a disagreement erupted, it usually stemmed from an argument between Matt and Byrne. While Matt was the more vocal of the two, it was clear neither cared much for the other. A polite exterior can cover a world of irritation and instigation.

Finally, Matt commanded Byrne to “stay away from me, just go, far, far away!”

Well, I thought. This is a classroom of seven students. In a classroom of twenty-four, there might be hope of “hiding” with another friend. However, we’re all we’ve got, so we need to learn to get along. Still, that's not the point. Ultimately the question is this: Just how far, far away do troublesome-to-us people have get from those of us who are the Body of Christ?

Matt’s command meant the opposite needed to be done. Instead of separation, it was time for Matt and Byrne to be joined together.

After having them apologize and forgive each other (they were both at fault for the incident leading up to this moment), I moved their desks so that they butted up to and faced each other. “Start enjoying each other’s company. Start loving each other’s faces. You are going to be spending a lot of time with each other,” I instructed them.

Within days Matt and Byrne discovered they giggled at the same things. They had to cooperate in order not to crowd each other’s work space, but not once did they argue. (They didn’t dare! Whatever they thought they could dish out, they knew the deac could handle!) Bit-by-bit, the playground took on a kinder atmosphere. The boys still bopped each other eagerly, but Matt and Byrne weren't tyrannizing each other.

That was three weeks ago. Yesterday Matt admitted Byrne “wasn’t so bad after all.” Today Byrne said Matt was “really pretty cool and funny.” Their desks are no longer head-to-head now, but they are side-by-side. They like it that way. Byrne has a friend to look up to. Matt has someone who understands his sense of humor.

Disposability is the operating system of our universe. It is the pattern of our worldview. If it’s broke, replace it; if your friend offends thee, don't worry about seeking his repentance (or yours)- just get a new one. This is not the way of baptism, but of consumerism.

We teach our students that God has a different operating system. He fixed what was broken with His own perfect Son’s body. His Jesus’ flesh was broken, and His blood spilled for our sins. In Baptism Christ covers our brokenness with His perfection. We are made one in Him. How can those who are one in Christ Body go “far, far away” from others who are also in Christ’s Body? For, what happens to one who is in Christ also affects all who are in Him. So how those who are in Christ treat each other is how they are treating Christ Himself. Sometimes butting heads leads to butting desks to make the point.

Stones and More Stones

Mollie Zeigler has some profound insights at Get Religion on postabortion effects in women.

The Feb 2006 issue of Touchstone journal ran a piece on abortion clinics, “A Stone for Shmuel,” by William Luse. In it Luse wrote in response to an abortion article he read in Glamour magazine. He reports that according to the Glamour article, many in clinics have become a “kinder, gentler sort of baby-killing clinic.” One he names even has a wall in its “inner waiting room” lined with pink hearts. On these hearts mothers of aborted babies have left messages.

Examples are:

“You’ll always be a part of me even though you are not here with me. All my love, the Mom you’ll never meet but I’m sure you know who I am.”

“Even if it doesn’t feel right doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“This has got to be the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make… You will always be my baby. I will see you in heaven.”

Luse writes, “Not to coach the reader too closely, but here is the religious impulse in the devil’s service. These ladies have re-ordered their reason, to much rejoicing in hell.”

Luse also reports that the pre-abortion interview questions have been re-framed “with the justification built in.”

“Do you feel it’s OK to kill a fetus for your own life?”

“Does being a good mother sometimes mean acknowledging that I can’t be a mother right now?”

“Can you see abortion as a loving act toward your children and yourself?”

It would seem, considering what Luse reports in light of the Glamour magazine article, women have been coached to believe that abortion is the right thing to do. They are also pre-conditioned for a certain reaction to the abortion. Gene Veith reported in World Magazine during the last election that the amazing paradox of the abortion debate now is that

pro-lifers may be winning the debate on when life begins, but for an increasing number of people it doesn’t matter. Polls show that nearly half of all Americans agree that life begins at conception. And yet, as many as two-thirds of Americans believe abortion should be legal through the first three months. A large percentage of the public, like Sen. Kerry, believes that a fetus is a living human being, and yet can be aborted anyway. Forty-eight percent go so far as to say they believe that abortion is murder. And yet, many of the same people believe that such murder should be legal!

It is bad enough to believe in abortion under the assumption that a fetus is not a human life. But to believe that a fetus is a human being and still to believe in abortion is monstrous.

Pink heart messages from abortive mothers to aborted babies demonstrate how true this is. According to feminism a moral test is the effect of an ethical position, moral decision, or policy on the actual lives of women. This mantra is ingrained in the American social and political worldview. It is also a part of many religious systems.

What the messages on the pink hearts themselves bespeak are women who know they will mourn both the fact of a dead child and the act of a mother killing her own child. One clinic assuages the vacuum left by the abortion with a brightly colored rock. How deadly ironic this is when one considers that the Rock these women needs even before abortion is considered is Christ!

Luse concludes:

“All I know is that hell has a home on earth. If we can just come up with the right perspective, find the right name for it, call it by what we want it to be rather than what it is, we can live there quite comfortably. If we ‘examine’ our religion long and hard enough, we can lose it or remake it in our own image.

“You’d think we could face the facts, the reality, seeing how we keep on dying. Maybe we don’t face it because, in the wondrous inversion peculiar to our times, we no longer die to ourselves but are in love with them; no longer die to love but are in love with death. I don’t understand it, can’t explain it, and I’m sure as hell not going to give it a name, for the one reality I’d like not to face is the one requiring us to give the devil his due.”

For even more good reading on the effect abortion has on lives see January 21, 2006, World Magazine, see What Women Want.

Grizzly Feast

My husband and I settled in last night to watch a movie, Grizzly Man. Now and again a nature documentary is fun. The last one we watched, March of the Penguins, sent us both to zombie-land quickly. I guess we just didn’t “get it.” Grizzly Man had a different effect.

While the Alaskan scenery and the animal footage were beautiful and entertaining, the human antics should have earned this film the title Silly Man. It is a compilation of thirteen years’ worth of Tim Treadwell’s attempts to live with grizzly bears. According to his own words, he wanted to become one of the grizzlies. It ended when he literally became one with the grizzly on October 6, 2003. That’s when a grizzly killed and ate him and his girlfriend, Amie Huguenard.

Throughout the film Treadwell is not portrayed as a sainted tree-hugger who died trying to make the world a better place for grizzlies. His detractors are given voice as well. One cautionary note is good to remember: Bears and people have their own separate place on this same earth. The Indians have respected this fact for generations. It is not good for the species to attempt to mix. It is not safe. Bears cannot be tamed into thinking that people are something other than another food source. They will eat you.

There is a theological lesson in this. There are those who think they can rationalize adiaphora, those things which are neither commanded nor forbidden, to accommodate a blanket of immunity for their worship styles and practices. According to them, if God has made no specific Law against it, then the church is free to engage in it. There is even an argument that suggests that, because there is no specific command which states, “Thou shalt not ordain women,” women may be ordained.

This is not how Jesus speaks. He tells His apostles to teach His baptized to observe all His commands (Matt 28:19-20). When He taught of Himself (Lk 24:44), it was from Moses and the Prophets. Paul says the church is built on the same, Eph 2:20. Jesus said the Church is built on the confession of Peter, which is to confess Christ as the Son of the Living God (Matt 16:18). It is only through Scripture that knowledge of the Christ is revealed. Scripture is the whole counsel of God teaching what Jesus taught. As such it is to be regarded when considering adiaphora as they have effect on the church’s confession of Jesus Christ as the Son of the Living God. Therefore, things adiaphora, although they may be matters of indifference, are often not neutral in the church’s confession.

Treadwell regarded only his own desires to be one with the grizzlies. He did not heed the biological evidence that he was not a bear, and the numerous precautionary warnings he received alerting him of the dangers he was exposing himself to. In the end, not only did the enemy consume him, it also ate the one who tagged along with him. Huguenard planned to leave Treadwell as soon as they returned from their last campout, but the bear got them both first.

Formula of Concord X states that not all ceremonies must be alike. It also states that in times of persecution the church may not give the appearance of being at one with her enemies. That is the “Treadwellian error” of many congregations today with their Open Communion and Contemporary Worship. They do not give serious consideration to the enemy who constantly prowls about as a hungry lion. Just as the species maintain their limits with respect for each other, so we ought to regard what Luther spoke to Zwingli, “You are of another spirit.” There is a reason to practice according to that which Jesus taught. We are in this world; we are not of it.

Adiaphora cannot be the bridge for fellowship, but it can easily become a bridge to heterodoxy.

Jeremiah's Light

With only two days in the post-Christmas vacation week, I planned for a light schedule. This gave time for an art project.

We were working quietly when suddenly Jeremiah said quite suddenly and emphatically, “When Jesus was born, He knew He was going to die for our sins.”


It is good to be fed by the mouths of the students.


Jeremiah wanted so dearly to attend church this evening. Byrne, too. It is our night for the big blaze. Every Epiphany we have first the Mass, then the bonfire of the Christ Mass trees that have been gathered and piled at the end of the parking lot. Jeremiah and Byrne both begged to go. “We’ll see,” was the polite reply from parents.


Tonight Jeremiah was standing in the parking lot with his grandfather/adoptive father when we arrived for services. Byrne arrived not long after. No small accomplishment, that.


Both inhaled the scent of heaven with the smells of frankincense and myrrh and heard the sounds thereof as the saints joined with heaven’s own singing “Hosannas.”


Byrne left early, leaving Jeremiah to the remnants of the bonfire on his own. A pity. The local fire company responded to the blaze and joined the throng. Jeremiah was invited to sit in the cab with the lights adding a different sort of blaze to the night sky.


Big night for First Graders.

When "No" Means "Yes"

Let’s keep running the Feminist Definition on this one…

According to the original posting at Cranach, a feminist displayed her sexual fantasies in a photography exhibit at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee “with captions that describes the artist's reaction to the ‘unexpected intercourse’ that leads to her feeling ‘guilty and rejoiced.’”  

Cyberstones responded,

Several years ago I heard a book report on NPR by a feminist on rape. She claimed it was natural. Men (male and female) are simply animals and this is what animals do. Male animals want to impregnate as many females as possible and spread their seed. Female animals are incapable of not sleeping with other males, since their instincts tell them to spread the gene pool about. Male animals don't feel bad using their superior strength to subdue another animal (male or female) any more than a cat feels sorry for a mouse. That is what animals do so rape is natural also for me. It can't be stopped and it shouldn't even be considered immoral, since morals are just religious people trying to enslave us.

According to these feminists, if females are participants by nature in sexual attacks and in fact derive pleasure from them, what now constitutes rape?

Is this the final deconstruction of “No?”

Wendy Shallit noted that because of the loss of modesty through feminism, the only woman who can walk the streets safely is the one who can afford to hire bodyguards. Now it is also the one who can afford this new definition of rape.

I’ll pass.

Cyberstones on Feminism

Cyberstones has a wonderful response to feminist reasoning regarding art and rape. I found this (feminist) perspective from his article interesting.


“Male animals want to impregnate as many females as possible and spread their seed. Female animals are incapable of not sleeping with other males, since their instincts tell them to spread the gene pool about”


The first sentence is clearly the definition of patriarchy according to feminism. There is more behind it than just that, though. What lurks beneath, by now also adding the female into the mix as an accomplice in rape and patriarchy, is the feminist achievement of another goal: to denounce Man as the crown of creation. The androcentric stress on creation/salvation history must be unraveled by them in order for feminism to ultimately succeed. The writings from Stanton to Ruether and LaCugna stress this fact. Intrinsic to this is the denial of Eve's history in the story of mankind. If women can be convinced that Eve is mere patriarchal myth; that mankind emanates from the primidorial ooze and is subject to the same urges as the lower beasts; then the Fatherhood of God can likewise be abandoned as well as the necessity of a male Savior.


Cyberstones is correct when he writes, “I realize most people think feminism is the equivalent of the civil rights movement for women, but it is not.” No, it isn’t. He’s right to call it a heresy. He’s also right with regard to feminism being a “wake up call” to abuses suffered by males and females. However, because even in the church feminism/Feminist Theology does not begin first in God's word and therefore end in Christ, it is also a political movement as opposed to a theological one. It always has been. This is because as a heretical philosophical movement politics has been its means to effect its goals, both within the church and without. Its birth-mother, Eliz. Cady Stanton saw this clearly when she used the Bible as a political weapon, then wrote another to take its place, The Woman’s Bible.


Nice piece, Cyberstones!

Christ's Mass

We are still savoring the richness of a Gift-filled Christ Mass down south of the Magnolia Curtain.

On the eve of His Nativity the children and adult choirs combined to sing the Quempas (LW 54) following the celebration of the Mass. For those unfamiliar with this hymn, four choirs sing station themselves in four corners of the church. The prelude to each verse is sung by these choirs in alternating parts. The choirs rotate throughout the church. This signifies the Gospel being preached throughout the four corners of the earth.




On Christ Mass Day, Christ's Nativity was celebrated with Luther's German Mass (DS 3). Frankincense and myrrh filled the air as we sang "Isaiah, Mighty Seer Of Old" (LW 213). While censing the altar is a means to remind the people of Christ's Real Presence, at Christ Mass it also serves to remind us of the gifts given at Epiphany. Frankincense and myrrh are used at death to prepare bodies for burial. So, as Pr. Sawyer preached, "It is not Jesus' birth which saves."


The smell of incense at the celebration of Christ's birth also directs attention to Good Friday, the day when salvation was accomplished for our sakes as Christ's Body was torn and His Blood was shed. That very Body and Blood was on the altar for us once more. Further, incense recalls the first Easter, for these were most likely the spices the women brought with them when they found the empty tomb of the risen Lord.



To speak of Easter is to remember Good Friday services when we will again see our Christ Mass tree. By then the Epiphany bonfire will have consumed its branches. Its trunk will be formed into a cross. Another Mass will be celebrated that night, during which pastor will carry the cross to the four corners of the church and say, "Behold the life-giving cross on which was hung the Salvation of the whole world!"




Thus, the by Quempas and the carrying of the Christ Mass cross on Good Friday, Christ's birth and death is re-enacted liturgically. One is completed in the other; each is built upon and anticipates what comes before, and after (Eph 1, Rv 13.8). This is not only a "re-presentation." This Christ who comes to us in His Word and Sacrament. This is the very Christ who is seated at the right hand of the Father and lives among us.

Bearing All

Howie sent me these pictures. He tells me I don't have near the problems I think I have.

He's right. I only have racoons and squirrels.

Home Again!

He’s home from Iraq!

Home in Mannheim, that is. Still, that is where home is, because that is where Cindy and Emi are.

Another family from our congregation celebrates the return of a husband and father from Iraq.

Tonight Christ's Mass.

Tomorrow Christ Mass.

It is good!

Nicks 'n Tags

Aw, maaaaaan…! Five random facts about Ste. Em ‘cuz the son of Rusty Britches tagged me…

1. I prefer Tequila to beer. I take it the way I like my theology: barenekked with no amendments. Salt and lime are for sissies.

2. I still have all my marbles. They are in a green glass dish on my desk in my study.

3. I can change out the guts of a toilet and seat a faucet. I can also hang a light fixture, re-wire a lamp, install or change a junction box, and change out a light switch. Then I can knit you a sweater or even crochet you a doily to set that newly re-wired lamp on- but don’t expect it.

4. I was not raised in this country, at least not entirely. However, I am an American.

5. We celebrate St. Nick’s Day in my house, and so do my children in their homes. In fact, we now do the same at school. The students hear the story of St. Nicholas, and then leave their shoes out to be filled with gold coin candies and fruit. When my children were growing up they also received a Christmas ornament. This tradition was begun with my mother while we were in Germany. I’d like to take it as far as slapping blatant and unrepentant Arians, but my Bishop is working hard at making a lady out of me and I am (reluctantly) cooperating.

Now, to tag… D’trini, Cholak, Glen, My Watery Cubbies Friend, and Lisa.

Joseph Reveals a Witch

My first class of students was a tough crowd. There were seven of them, four boys, and three girls. All of them had come out of our school system; four of them had known only Carolyn Sawyer as a teacher. Now they had me.

A Carolyn Sawyer I am not. She is the picture of gentle, cheerful patience. She has spent her teaching career around young children. I had spent years around ornery professional and Southeastern Conference tennis players and coaches as a tennis official before certifying as a Deaconess. The approach and style in handling each class of people is markedly different. To say I was out of my element is like putting Tobasco Sauce where tomato juice is expected.

There was no question how much my students liked me, or me them. One loved me because “your legs feel like my granny’s.” (Remind myself to wear slacks from now on.) Another adored me because “your dress smells so wonderful.” (I’ll be sure to buy that softener again.) Still another couldn’t stay off my lap in chapel. (Jiminey! What gorgeous eyes she has.) One grabbed me and hugged me every time I came within two feet of his desk. (Three years later he still sneaks one in when the others aren’t looking.) If I dropped an eraser or marker, I had four boys at my feet grabbing it. (Amazingly, the girls were not so eager to be chivalrous.) However, they had quite a conundrum tossing about in their minds.

While they liked me, what they didn’t appreciate was that I was increasingly getting the way of their way of doing things. I knew some of them were trying to take me for a ride. A fish I am not. Common sense told me that much of what they were trying to tell me as “that’s the way we’ve always done it” was logical only to a seven-year-old trying to get away with something.

It was often comical to see the expressions on their faces when they realized that Mrs. Sawyer and Deaconess Carder actually talked to each other about what is or is not the right and proper way of doing things. A finer set of “Push-me-pull-yous” I’ve never encountered. Too, they were actually in league with each other! What one suggested as proper another would confirm with nary a batted eye. Often after I consulted Carolyn regarding their suggestions, she would give them one look with a tilt of her head and they would melt.

So by Wednesday of my second week of teaching Joseph finally asked the pertinent question.

“Do you even like kids?”

“Sure,” I answered. “Fried.”

They all screamed, and then giggled. “Oh! She’s a witch! Watch out.”

The “witch game” played out for several weeks, even to the point of, “Watch out! Step out of line and you’ll have to come home with me. Those who go home with me never come back.”

This broke the ice as they gained insight into my sense of humor, which Matt eventually rightly called “quirky.”

Joseph wasn’t sure it was only a sense of humor. He thought there might be an element of truth lurking behind the notion I might be a witch. After all, I had a strange taste in food. I ate pimiento-cheese sandwiches. He reckoned that anyone who ate that stuff had to be abnormal.

Finally one day he strode into class, plomped in his desk, crossed his arms, and grinned confidently. “I know you ain’t a witch, and I can prove it.” The gauntlet had been tossed.

“OK,” I replied. I’ve faced Patrick McEnroe on a bad day, and stared down Andre Agassi on a good one. This pint-sized challenger was nothing. I could handle him. This was going to be good. “How do you know that I’m not a witch?”

“Well,” he said, “when witches dress up so they don’t look like witches, they always dress up like young, beautiful women. You aren’t. So you ain’t one.”

Made my day! That year for my birthday I brought a right proper witch’s snack for my crew, sardines and pickled okra. They had cupcakes for dessert. As per the practice of the school, each student sampled the sardines and pickled okra, even if only with the teensiest bite, before moving on to the cupcakes. Two found they even liked the sardines.

Eve Defense

Then the man said, “The woman whom You gave to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I ate.” Gen 3.12

They had been instructed to wait, hands to themselves, lips zipped. Three obeyed, two did not. I could tell not only by the giggling that the request had been disobeyed, but also who the culprits were.

“Joseph, Matt... would you like to explain yourselves?”

“Matt started it.”

“Nuh-uuuh! I was minding my own business when he...”

We teach the students to confess their own sins, so I cut them off at the pass. “Wait just a minute there, you two. I don’t want to hear from either one of you what the other guy did. I want to hear from Joseph what Joseph did, and from Matt what Matt did.”

“Well, Matt tickled me first...”

“No, I didn’t! Joseph...”

This was going nowhere fast. “OK. All I can tell from this business is that two boys have sentences to write during recess.” They glared at each other. Knowing the two boys as well as I do and the attendant demeanor of both, I could well surmise exactly who started what. Still, it didn't matter.

Our school building isn't large. Noise carries. The younger class has their story time and takes naps after lunch. We have learned to be quiet passing their room. It is a matter of being considerate for one's neighbor.

The previous year the entire class was lined up after lunch, ready to go back to class. I was called away from the group for a moment or two. When I returned, only Jacob was standing quietly in line. Four boys and two girls were giggling and tickling each other down the hallway. Jacob and I watched them silently, when suddenly one and then another realized we were doing so. There was a mad dash back to the line as they reformed as they were in the first place.

When we returned to the room, a distance of roughly fifteen feet, I quickly wrote six names on the board. How the heavens resounded with pleas for mercy! None was guilty, yet each named the other as fault. “I will not be a follower” was the sentence each wrote, one for each year of age. It became their mantra for reminding themselves to stay away from trouble. If another starts something, the best way to “include yourself out” is to not be a follower. Yet, here were two of the original culprits in that escapade at it again. Par for the course.

Normally an offense involves writing an appropriate sentence plus the First Commandment and whatever other Commandment has been transgressed. The students are accustomed to this procedure, so when I gave Joseph his assignment he was perplexed.

When Joseph completed his assignment, he read them to me.

“Even if others do what is wrong, I will do what is right.”

“And lead us not into temptation.

What does this mean?

God tempts no one. We pray in this petition that God would guard and keep us so that the devil, the world, and our sinful nature may not deceive us or mislead us into false belief, despair, and other great shame and vice. Although we are attacked by these things, we pray that we may finally overcome them and win the victory.”

“Joseph,” I asked, “have you figured out yet why I had you write that section of the Catechism?”

“No.”

“How did you get into trouble.”

“Well, Matt....”

I cut him short. “Are you still trying to use the Eve defense?”

“The what?”

“The Eve defense. Don’t you remember what Adam said to God when He went looking for Adam and Eve after they ate from the Tree?”

“Sure. Adam said Eve made him do it.”

“Right, Joseph. But he said something else, too. Remember that God said His creation wasn’t good without a woman for the man, so He made Eve and gave her to Adam. Then when Adam and Eve sinned, Adam said, ‘That woman You gave me...’ So who was Adam blaming the first sin on?”

This was a tough question. Joseph had to stare at the ground and draw circles a bit with his toe before he finally said, “Jesus. I mean, God. He was really blaming God. Wishing He hadn’t created Eve.”

“That’s right. So when you blame Matt for something you should have done...”

This time Joseph cut me off short. He rolled his eyes with the dawning of revelation. “Oh man! I gotta apologize to Matt! Hey, Deaconess, I am really sorry!”

“Joseph, Jesus has already forgiven you. Me, too. Go, now, and play in peace.”

We like our excuses and blame-games. They are the familiar trappings we crawl behind when the fig leaves with which we have constructed coverings for ourselves begin to shrivel and crumble. Jesus will have none of that. Instead whenever He shows up He “makes all men sinners,” as Luther would say. But in learning to say, “I am the sinner,” to strip away the fig leaves and the pretensions, to become finally completely naked once more before God and tell Him what He already knows- What? Was He asleep or on vacation as we sinned?- is to at last receive the clothing He would give us: Christ’s righteousness. Jesus takes our sin from us in order to clothe us in Himself. This is what a life in Baptism is.

Resurrecting Thieves

She was tardy, and her mother was furious.

“Deaconess, I want you to talk to her. I tried to get her to move along, but all she wanted to do is primp in front of the mirror. Then she fussed with her clothes. Now she’s made her sister late for school and me late for work. She left her homework at home, but I refused to go back and get it.” Mom turned on her heel without as much as her usual hug and left.

The Second Grader in front of me tried to smile. I looked at her for a moment, and then asked, “Well, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing,” she replied, relying on her default mode.

“Nothing, baloney,” I responded. “Let’s get to the real issue. You’re quite a little thief, aren’t you?” Any further attempts at smiling from the little culprit faded.

“I stole time, didn’t I?”

We weren’t working from scratch. We were well into the school year, and this student had been with us since she was four years old. She knew how to put her errors in the context of the Ten Commandments, and could do it well.

“From whom did you steal time?” I asked.

She took time to think hard. “Well, from my mom because she’s late for work. And from my sister, because she’s late for school. And from you because now you should be teaching but you have to mess with me. And from the class.”

“You missed one.”

“Oh, from me, because I’m late for school and missed something I needed.”

"Like I said, you are quite a little thief,” I repeated.

"I guess I am,” she conceded

Now the tears wanted to come. Just as they started to fall she glanced up to the crucifix on the wall and then looked at me. “He had a thief next to Him.”

“Yes, He did,” I replied. “And what happened with that thief?”

“Jesus forgave his sins. I’m sorry I’m a thief.”

“Do you think it is any different for you? Jesus forgives you, and so do I. Would you like to call your mom and say the same thing? I reckon she’s just waiting to say ‘I forgive you to you.’”

Jesus didn’t leave the thief’s confession unanswered. From the cross He spoke to him blessed words of comfort. To those who placed Him on that cross He shouted no ringing epithets, rather the absolution of the ages, “Father forgive them… It is finished.”

From the first day students enter our school they learn an important ritual. An apology does not go unanswered; it is always followed up by the response, “I forgive you.” Even the youngest students are taught to look at those whom they have offended in the face, for the work of confessing sins and forgiveness is personal, not offered up to the sound waves of the spheres to be answered only by the sound of one’s own heartbeat.

Jesus did not leave us without words of forgiveness in our mouths. He gives us pastors to speak Holy Absolution to us. He also put the Fifth Petition into the mouth of the whole church.

And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

What does this mean?

We pray in this petition that our Father in heaven would not look at our sins, or deny our prayer because of them. We are neither worthy of the things for which we pray, nor have we deserved them, but we ask that He would give them all to us by grace, for we daily sin much and surely deserve nothing but punishment. So we too will sincerely forgive and gladly do good to those who sin against us.

Shall we only sincerely forgive silently when a brother confesses that he has sinned against us? Shall we turn that one away without the comfort of the Gospel in which we live, too? No. Better yet to live according to this petition, and open the mouth and speak: “I forgive you.” Such words cannot be given freely save among those in whom the forgiveness of Christ first has been received.

The Little Thief knew this. Certainly she could not articulate any of it. She had learned this through the school's practice. Most assuredly, like the thief who still endured his own crime’s penalties, she was not appreciative of the fact that she was still the recipient of the consequences of what her tardiness wrought: an angry mother and disciplinary sentences because she didn’t turn in her homework. However, she also knew what these things couldn’t take away.

“You know you’ll have to write sentences, don’t you,” I reminder her.

“I know,” she said. “But the thief won’t stay dead. Jesus forgives me, too.”

Tragedy's Al-a-ternative School

Every school day starts the same. We open by making the sign of the cross, then pray Luther’s Morning Prayer. The Pledge of Allegiance comes next, then either “My Country ‘Tis Of Thee” or the National Anthem. After that we pray the Catechism.

Now and again the students find me with my foot in my catechetical mouth. I learned the Catechism according to an older version than what they are memorizing, and it sometimes slips out. One particular day the blessing of the Fourth Commandment slipped through the cracks, “That it may be well with thee and thou mayest live long on the earth.” So, I held a short catechetical to explain it. Luther advised that those in the household who refused to learn their Catechism should not be fed their supper. The kids thought that bizarre, too cruel. Ah, but if you reject the Bread of Life that is God’s Word, why should you be given anything that comes from the mouth of God? A parallel is known by Alternative School. If stubborn cannot learn their lessons in such a fine place as GSLS where so much is given by the hand of God through their parents, then they should be sent to Alternative School where they can be better instructed to obey their parents and teachers. Jeremiah (T-1) and Byrne (T-2) shot meaningful looks at each other that dissolved to smirks and grins. So the day began.

The day was a fine one, brilliant blue and gold.

When we go out to the field, there is a set procedure. We stay together. We reach the end of the driveway to GSLS, and then we stop. We all look for traffic, but no one crosses the street unless Deaconess says, “OK, we can cross now.” Then I lead the way. The street can sometimes be busy.

On this particular day Jeremiah (T-1) and Byrne (T-2) were so absorbed in their own world that they kept on walking. They didn’t stop. They didn’t look both ways.

They were completely across the street before they realized they were there alone.

Jacob looked up at me and said, “Oh boy. Well, there goes that. C’mon guys, let’s go back.” Shawn and Tucker were slow tracking why. Matt wasn’t sure what had happened.

I turned the Troublemint Twins around and marched them inside the school. Jeremiah (T-1) knew he was in deep trouble, but was silent.

Byrne (T-2) did all the talking. “What are you going to do with us? Call our parents?”

Inside the school I told the twins to sit down at their desks while I wrote out a letter for them to copy to their parents: “Dear Mom and Dad, I didn’t listen to Deaconess today. I could have been hurt or killed. ...” That’s when the impact of what had just happened to himself hit Jeremiah (T-1). He lost it. Literally.

He ran to the trash can and vomited.

That was too much for Byrne (T-2). His near-permanent smirk turned to a stifled giggle.

Jeremiah started to return to his desk, but just as quickly reversed himself and fled to the safety of the trash can.

Byrne giggled again, louder.

“Stop it! It’s not funny.” Jeremiah tried to walk back to his desk, but again failed.

“I can’t help it.” By now Byrne was in a ball on the floor.

Jeremiah started to cry. “But you’re my bestest friend. How can you laugh at me?” He ran for the trash can once more.

Byrne found his giggling impossible to suppress. It was now high-pitched gales of glee.

Jeremiah was hugging the can. Byrne was rolling on the floor in delight. The room was filled with the antiphonal sounds of Jeremiah’s retching and Byrne’s giggling. Meanwhile I had finished the letter to their parents for them to copy.

Jeremiah begged to go home instead. “But I just threw up. I need my mommy.” Byrne, who seconds before had found hilarity in his friend’s suffering, immediately rushed to his aide, advancing his cause. “He does, Deaconess. He really needs her.” T-1 gaped at him, “Why did you just laugh at me?” Jeremiah turned a sorrowful face at me. “I want to go home.”

“No way, Buddy. You’re sticking this one out. Both of you are going to write these letters, eat your lunches, and finish the day.”

And they did.

They wrote their letters while I monitored their classmates at play. Both sets of parents were called just to give them a heads’ up. Jeremiah’s father agreed he should stick the day out. Then they both ate a good lunch- Jeremiah especially so.

The next afternoon Jeremiah’s dad took him out for a walk through the field. It was a nice long walk. The following morning he was full of grins and giggles over it. He and his father had gone through the woods, Jeremiah leading the way.

“Have you ever sent anyone to Al-a-ternative School, Deaconess?”

“No, I haven’t, Jeremiah. In fact, this school has never expelled any student. We like to keep our own here.”

“Awww… I didn’t think so,” he grinned. “I’m going to do good in school. I’m never going to do that again.”

“I bet not, Jeremiah.”

Since then Jeremiah has settled down considerably. He tells Byrne, “Leave me alone. I’m working now.” He also tells him that he has found other “bestest friends” so that he now has more than just one. He writes disciplinary sentences infrequently.

Jeremiah’s big scare seems to have been his call to repentance. He’s a lovable paradox of a kid. On the one hand he can’t keep track of his papers and crayons or pencils. At least once daily he spills his box of crayons and markers, says “Ooopsie daisie,” then flops down on his belly and all fours to clean them up. It takes a good ten minutes to accomplish the task. On the other hand he breezes through Latin and reading. His reading ability is already light years ahead of the Phonics curriculum, yet he still needs its concepts. So I supplement him with outside books such as those from the “Little House” series. Still he’s only six, and he thinks like a six-year-old.

A truly wonderful, huggable one at that, too.

Jacob Conquers the Crack of Doom

There is an art to swinging and either not showing off the top of your Joe Boxer’s, or showing it and remaining cool while it happens. In the First Grade Matt was neither. He showed top and was embarrassed when the other boys snickered at his “wedgie.”

“It’s not polite to point it out,” he cried.

“You’re right,” I agreed. But for the life of me, how was I going to change a thousand years’ worth of playground tradition: Show off your undies and someone’s gonna snicker. Finally I decided to show the poor lad the brighter side of the picture.

“Look,” I asked. “Why don’t you go back and tell those guys who are giving you a hard time to consider this: It’s better to have a wedgie than to show the crack of doom.”

He went for it. The guys went for it- the phrase that is. It stuck and is now the students’ preferred term for what ought to remain covered.

T-1 doesn’t his. It’s nearly impossible. He’s built like a mini linebacker. Walks like one, too. He wears pants with elastic waistbands, so most days the boys who sit behind him are treated to a generous sight of his crack of doom. That would be an older and wiser Matt and his year older companion, Jacob.

The boys have accustomed themselves to T-1’s short fallings. It was “OH! Man! Gross!” for the first couple of days of school, but then charity settled in and has prevailed for the better part of ten or more weeks now.

That’s all at an end.

On Monday Skye entered our little domain. Skye, as in… SHE.

I had made the announcement last Friday that we might be receiving a new student. The boys were elated. They were so accustomed to having boys they couldn’t fathom an actual girl coming into the class. When I told them it would be a girl, Jacob’s first response was, “Oh, great. What’ll we do about THAT?” He was pointing to T-1’s problem. Charity was about to smack nose-to-nose with chivalry.

It took until Tuesday for Jacob to finally have his fill.

“May I have a piece of tape?” He was at my desk asking for the dispenser.

“Sure.” I was busy, not sure what he needed it for, and didn’t pay much attention to what he was doing.

When I next looked up T-1’s chair had a piece of paper covering the vent at the back. Realizing what had happened, I told Jacob to bring T-1’s chair over to me. I found a sheet of cardstock I’d laminated for Math projects and we fixed a more permanent “modesty shield” with some duct tape to the back of T-1’s chair. T-1 was quite proud of it. In fact, he set to taking his markers and attempted to see if he could make aliens or some such thing as decorations on it.

A girl in the room changes things. It makes the guys realize with clarity the distinctions between guys and gals. What was tolerable for “us guys” is simply unbearable now that Skye is here. Jacob has the sensibility and sensitivity to know this. The fact that she’s able to keep up with him playing “tag” at recess has nothing to do with the fact that she is a “she” and ought not be subjected to what he has to put up with as a “he.” For Skye’s sake Jacob demands modesty even where T-1 cannot give it of himself. And it is for his sake, too.

He’s quite a young man.

The Alternative Desk

T-2 has a new desk. It’s not really a brand, spanking, new desk, but it is a new-to-him desk.

Classroom discipline is not the end in itself. No teacher wants mindless robots, least of all me. The joy in having the field and woods close by is no gym program is as beneficial as boys being boys. I enjoy the rough-n-tumble energy of boys. Still, we have a motto in my class: Class time is for learning; playtime is play time (Ecc 3:1).

Our Grammar curriculum requires the attention of young minds. There is rote memorization, though it is made fun through jingles. We proceed incrementally. We don’t diagram sentences. Instead we “classify” them with labels. There is a specific question and answer “flow” that must be learned. We practice daily.

The first test slipped by unremarkably. Tucker and Shawn enjoyed Grammar and looked forward to it. The Troublemint Twins thought Grammar was a snoozer. T-2 sat in the first row, diagonally away from T-1. He’d delight in turning around and starting a chorus.

“Wonk…”

“”Wonk,” T-1 echoed. And so the two goose-boys continued until I captured their attentions and clipped their tail feathers again.

Warnings at the beginning gave way to immediate disciplinary measures at the first nasally note. These guys were stubborn, and tender age held no sympathy over me with what was becoming a daily habit.

Finally the Grammar tests became harder. The sentences were no longer noun and verb, but also included an adverb. Then the Twins both flunked a test. They not only giggled themselves to insensibility throughout the entire test, they scribbled so badly on their papers I couldn’t read which label went where. Discipline has its place.

T-2 was crushed. He was certain his labels were in the proper place if I would only just look. He begged. He pleaded. “I’m telling you, Deaconess, I just know the answers are right.” Not by any stretch of the imagination I could use.

Moreover, T-2 also knew he had the best printing skills in the class, so this paper was an embarrassment. Well he should, too. His Kindergarten year was spent in our system. A good bulk of that time was spent writing sentences for infractions then, too: “I will obey my teacher.” “I will not tell lies.” At least his hand was well-trained. His parents would follow up at home. If the sentences weren’t written neatly enough, he would write them all over again. He had a beautiful “hand.” Yet now he had turned in a Grammar test with chicken scratches and he knew his father would be justifiably upset with.

T-1 was less perturbed. Being raised by grandparents has its advantages. He had been adopted by them about a year earlier, even referred to them as “Mother” and “Father.” For the moment he didn’t perceive any imminent threat of danger to his present comfortable position.

The next morning T-1 walked into the classroom with a new attitude and a new phrase added to his vocabulary.

“I know where I don’t want to go. Al-a-ternative School. That’s where they make you sleep on a hard bed, they give you bad food, and you don’t get a snack. And you don’t get to see your mommy and daddy.”

I asked him where he’d gotten the notion about Alternative School. Turned out his father told him that boys who played around in class and didn’t learn lessons were headed there.

When T-2 arrived with his dad, the first thing T-1 told him was, “Deaconess knows someone in Al-a-ternative School. Be careful. You do not want to go there.” He filled T-2 in on the details. T-2’s father listened in, and confirmed that it was a place where boys who couldn’t learn to obey their parents and teachers should go, and that they surely did not want to go. That meant both sets of parents were now “on board.” Works for me. One of our church members teaches at an Alternative School. I told the Troublemint Twins this fact, and pulled out a sticky note. I wrote down:

Alternative School

601-555-2583

Mrs. Johnson

T-2’s dad grinned, and he winked at me. The Twins’ eyes grew round and frightened.

“You know about Al-a-ternative School? You know someone there?” T-1 asked.

“Yup.”

The boys factored that information, then turned slowly away.

The sticky label remains posted near my desk. I want the boys to see it daily.

Now, one thing about T-2 is that he can't seem to keep his hands still. He constantly fidgets with something. When he was in K-4 and Kindergarten it was a chore to keep his hands away from other children. Now that he is in First Grade it has become a struggle to keep his hands on top of his desk and not into mischief beneath it.

When we recite the catechism at the beginning of the day he will start with his hands neatly folded on top of his desk, sitting up straight. Soon the hands disappear into the mouth of the desk, and the fluttering begins. That is quickly replaced by all-out wiggling as his elbows are swallowed into the cavern. Next his entire head is suddenly sucked inside as he disappears to go spelunking.

Finally the day had come to end this nonsense. He was deep inside his desk collecting stalagmites when I picked up it up and dumped it. Out he rolled on top of four pages of unfinished homework. A pile of pink eraser shreds poured out midst his crayons, Latin vocab cards, stubby pencils, and an acorn. Jacob, the oldest student, read my intentions and pointed to the room across the hall.

“The Desk?” he asked.

“You bet,” I replied.

T-2 looked horrified.

That was way too much code being spoken to suit his comfort-range.

The Desk is intimidating according to T-2's experience. It is one of those old fashioned steel contraptions with the chair attached. Its desk has a flip-top. It is one these things that is not like the others. It is an alternative. It is an Alternative Desk for Alternative Students Who are Headed For Alternative School. T-2 seemed to realize this without me even telling him it.

He paled.

He thought there was a glimmer of hope- she has GOT to be kidding- until I instructed him to put his things inside it.

“In THAT?” he asked.

“She means it, kid. You better do as she says,” Jacob advised. Then he pointed to the sign that displayed the two governing rules of the class.

· Rule Number One: The teacher wins all arguments.

· Rule Number Two: You can’t break Rule Number One.

T-2 slowly complied. When he finished he sat down in his new seat. He didn't like it. He couldn't control it. It doesn't “scoot.”

“I don't like this desk.”

“That's tough. You think that matters to me?” The First Grader next to him grinned, the one behind him was swinging his feet in time to some unheard music. T-1 was busy watching a chameleon run across a window.

T-2 looked back at T-1, then down at his desk. He straightened himself up, and sighed. “I'm going to earn my real desk back.”

Two days later it was the day before his seventh birthday. On that day I realized the sheer joy of that desk. T-2 had silliest day yet and I had my “this is it, buddy” point with him. After repeated incidents in which he disrupted the class, T-2 giggled away another Grammar test, and so failed it. He answered part of the test. Then he decided it was time to talk and play with those not taking the test. He knows the rules about test-taking. They are repeated each time prior to the test. His test was over when he started his playtime.

That's when he entered Tough First Grade. In the midst of his giggle fest I crept up behind him. Gently I called his name, three times. He did not respond. I lifted the lid of his desk slightly, then shut it with a BANG! Every child in the class but T-2 knew it was coming. I leaned my elbows on top of the desk, looked straight into T-2's face, grinned and asked, “Hello, little boy... got your attention?”

“Ummmm…[gulp] yes, ma'am.”

“Good.” I inched forward on the desk. T-2 tried to scoot away, but the chair was attached to the desk. He was trapped. “Now that I have your attention, maybe you'll listen. Silly time is over. You've just entered a whole new level of learning. I'm done being patient with you. Now we get tough.” I left it at that. Anticipation is a powerful ally.

The next morning T-2 arrived bright and early with his dad. I sat him down next to me and explained his new rules.

1. Start giggle-time during teaching time and he will be excused from class

2. Keep both eyes on me at teaching time or he will be sent out of the classroom

3. If he is sent out of the classroom during teaching time then he is on his own figuring out how to do the work sheets or tests; I will not help him

His dad, as ever, was behind me the whole way. “You'd best work hard to earn your desk back, and to stay in this classroom. This is your first day of being seven. Time to act like it. You know if you play in school you will work at home. Make a choice. One way or another you will do the work. Wouldn't it be nice to have playtime with family instead of work?”

So far this call to repentance has been effective. If T-2 starts up during a lesson, out he goes. He's too social to like that. When it comes time for completing papers and tests he likes his stars, smiley faces, and any other indicators that he's made no mistakes. Even homework needs a star on it. So not receiving help from me is hindering him. Plus, he can't hide the fact that he's spent time outside the classroom from his parents. I don't allow the students to erase mistakes. If they have an error, they write the correction alongside it. After T-2 has had to sit out, his papers are a series of red X-s and corrections. Eventually he does get the right answer. There is benefit in this as he is working his way through the problems, but he doesn’t like the red marks. It is forcing him to read on his own without overhearing the others. He has to think things through more clearly on his own. I will still point him with directed questions, but he loses much by not being in the classroom. And we lose much by him not being with us.

What this is also telling me is that he has the capacity of great concentration and attention to detail. This child worked out a multi-function Math problem on his own that the class has not yet learned to do. He's simply defiant and given to laziness. He thinks if he complains enough I will cave and do it for him. The laziness feeds an uncertainty in his accomplishments. What he's learning is that he can do it for himself. Doing it himself has raised his self-confidence.

T-2's learning he wants to stay in the classroom. He doesn't like to miss class time. In order to remain in the classroom he's learning to submit to the authority of the classroom, the teacher. Now when he has to go out- and I am send him out for even the slightest infraction to keep him in the tightest of lines- T-2 feels the sting of it even deeper. His papers are messy. He doesn't get a star. The next day the teaching is generally smoother.

Still, he is T-2...