Oh no, it's the first weekend of a new college football season. For a University of Virginia fan, each year just leads to more disappointment. With all the money they spend on the coaches' salaries, and the stadium expansions and the new jumbotron scoreboards and the training facilities, year after year the Wahoos win about as many as they lose.

Of course, they weren't even that good in the long-ago early '70s, when I was an undergraduate. I think they won a total of 10 games during the four years I was there. Maybe it was 15. But we could be so self-righteous! Week after week we Wahoos would watch our heroes badly beaten by UNC and Maryland and NC State, whose rosters featured plenty of players from the state of Virginia. We were very smug while absorbing the beatings, though, because we knew those Virginia boys couldn't get into UVA. (Back then, there weren't any breaks given to jocks, not even with the foreign language requirement!)

Of course, long ago those admission requirements were relaxed, so it's as easy for a prized high school football player to get into UVA as any school. And still. The 'Hoos win about as many as they lose.

The worst thing, of course, is that the 'Hoos never beat Virginia Tech. And so, in the Commonwealth of Virginia you rarely see anyone wearing UVA football T-shirts. But the highways and byways are full of people wearing the hideous Virginia Tech color combination of purple and orange.

To make things worse, most years the UVA - Tech game is played on the Saturday afternoon of the Virginia Synod's "Lost and Found" event for 7th and 8th graders. It is known among the kids that I am a graduate of The University. And so I come in for a good bit of razzing from lots of 13 year olds, after the inevitable defeat.

One year I tried to fight back. When one 13 year old wearing the hideous color combination was giving me the old hard time, I said, "Let's compare the number of Rhodes Scholars produced by each school!" The expression on the girl's face showed that she had no idea what I was talking about. But she quickly concluded enough to retort: "That has nothing to do with football!!"

I said, "Exactly."

The 13 year old wearing the hideous color combination had no idea what I was talking about, which, of course, meant that I was hopelessly out of it. She walked away, shaking her head at how obtuse I was.

In a way, I guess, it's ok that Virginia Tech has so much more football success than The University. Tech has to be good at something, huh? I can be satisfied with that, right?

But, of course, you know my secret. It's revealed by the simple fact that I've ranted about this subject for several hundred words.

Obviously, I would like to see the tradition of Rhodes Scholars maintained!

And ...

... I'd like to see the 'Hoos beat Virginia Tech, too!

The Psalm appointed for this day's prayer (in the daily lectionary of Evangelical Lutheran Worship) begins

I give thanks, O Lord, with my whole heart;
before the gods I sing your praise;

I bow down toward your holy temple
and give thanks to your name for your
steadfast love and your faithfulness;

for you have exalted your name and your word
above everything.

On the day I called, you answered me,
you increased my strength of soul.
(Psalm 138)

It is striking how often a passage from the daily lectionary speaks directly to me in my prayer. As it happens, this morning, when I first woke up, lying in bed, I was flooded with thankfulness -- for a new day, for health, for the ability to breathe, for the ability to lie on my left side in bed (for months after I came home from the hospital, the feeding tube was still "installed" and I couldn't lie on that side).

Thankfulness should be my first resposne to each day when I wake up! Each day is a gift. Of course, often that is not my first thought of the day, as my mind races with what needs to be done that day. That's why my daily morning prayer is so important for me: it reorients me in God's grace. Then I can get on with the day's work with joy -- because I have been reminded by the Spirit that it does not all depend upon me. It is all done in grace.

This is a big day around the College of William and Mary: freshman move-in day! Suddenly, with the college students returning, there's lots more energy in town. And we'll enjoy that on Sunday during worship, too. The students add so much to our worshiping community!

And I'll be excited to be back leading worship at St. Stephen for the first time in three months. My first days of "re-entry" have gone well. I've been telling people that I'm "being African" about all that needs to be done, to catch up with people, to prepare for fall programs, even to clear away the piles of stuff on my desk and on the floor. (I got to the surface of my desk yesterday!)

What I mean by "being African" is this: it will get done when it gets done. I am my worst enemy when I burden myself with the pressure of a self-inflicted schedule. And so, over these past days, I've been remembering the Tanzanians I spent time with, and their absolute lack of an attitude of obssessive-compulsive accomplishment. Of course, many Africans represent the opposite extreme from our American cultural malady: of all the time feeling driven to do. For many Africans, if nothing gets done that day, that's ok! I was chagrined to see that attitude, for instance, among one pastor I met, and a hospital administrator, and a hospital matron. So, I'm not close to that extreme and I don't want to be!

Somewhere in the middle sounds healthy, don't you think?

I've been thinking about the 10 Commandments as the gracious gifts from God that they are.

Nearly every one includes a negative, a "You shall not'; and that's what's most famous about the Commandments. In fact, for a great many people in our culture, the whole idea that they have to act in a certain way because God commands them not to do something is hopelessly old fashioned. But the point of the Commandments is not to put us in some sort of religious strait jacket. They are, instead, teachings of how best to center our lives in the God who made us, and to treat others with love.

For instance, there's Commandment #8 (the hardest one to follow, I think): "You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor." To translate into today's language: You shall not tell lies about another person. In Luther's teaching, though, that negative injunction pales in significance when compared to what the Commandment is telling us to do (positive). Luther teaches: "Instead, we are to come to their [other peoples'] defense, speak well of them, and interpret everything they do in the best possible light." How hard (impossible?) that is to do! What an explosion of love and grace and mercy there would be among human beings if we lived that way!

Similarly, there is Commandment #5, "You shall not murder." Luther teaches that that means we are to "help and support them [other people] in all of life's needs." Commandment #7, "You shall not steal," means, according to Luther, that we are to "help them [other people] improve and protect their property and income."

Imagine what would be the effect of human beings living according to these teachings! What we pray for each week in worship would come true. The kingdom of God would come on earth, purely and simply.

Of course, there's one of the most famous Commandments, #6: "You shall not commit adultery." Luther teaches that this Commandment is a positive instruction: "We are to fear and love God, so that we lead pure and decent lives in word and deed, and each of us loves and honors his or her spouse."

Think of the implications of this one!

For instance, in the article in today's Daily Press with the headline, "Edwards comes clean over affair with worker," we learn that yes, indeed, John Edwards did in fact have an affair with Rielle Hunter, a woman who was making a film about his campaign for president, in 2006 (while Edwards was posing as the husband that every woman wished she had). But, Edwards emphasized, he is not the father of the baby that Ms. Hunter bore on February 27, as the National Enquirer alleges. In fact, according to this morning's article: "Andrew Young, a married, longtime Edwards aide, has said he fathered the child with Hunter."

(This whole thing is so bizarre that it must be true.)

So, let's see, we have two marriages and families and reputations greatly damaged if not destroyed: Mr. Edwards' and Mr Young's. (Ms. Hunter, one could assume, will come out ahead, after she writes her book.)

But what if. What if each person enjoyed God’s wondrous gift of sexuality according to that sixth Commandment: "Each person shall only have sex with the person he or she is married to." I wonder how much of the emotional violence and destruction that human beings inflict and suffer would then be prevented?

Do you suppose 50%?

75%?

It is a beautiful morning on the Virginia peninsula. (You who are in air conditioning: turn it off and open some windows!!)

Early this morning, it actually felt chilly out on the screened porch, when I took my mug of coffee, my prayer book and Bible out for morning prayer. These days I'm using a form of morning prayer from Evangelical Lutheran Worship, appreciating the daily lectionary in ELW because it is keyed to the Sunday morning readings. As I was reading through one of the daily Scripture texts, I was distracted by movement at the bird bath. There were two birds I hadn't seen before. (That doesn't mean others of the species haven't been visiting our bird bath for years! It's a variation on the old question: How many burning bushes did Moses walk past before he finally noticed one??)

Anyway, I memorized the birds' markings and watched them until they flew away. Then I went inside to get my National Audubon Society bird book, and there they were: the Carolina Chickadee. What a gift!

Then, later in the ELW Morning Prayer service, a line from the prayer that simply happened to come up today because it was "its turn" for me to read it, in rotation:

Mighty God of mercy, we thank you for the resurrection dawn, bringing the glory of our risen Lord who makes every day new.
Especially we thank you --
for the sustaining goodness of your creation ...

Exactly what I had been praying earlier, while celebrating the Carolina Chickadees!

The connections are there, the presence of God is there, the reasons for thanksgiving are abundant -- when only our eyes and ears are open to notice them.

Ah! There's nothing like lying in bed and waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee -- but I would prefer that that would not happen at 12:30 AM. You see, the coffee maker had needed cleaning, and so it was unplugged to be taken to the sink. When it was plugged back in, the clock was re-set. Unfortunately, the "delay brew" timer was not re-set. So, two nights ago, I ground the beans and poured in the water and pushed the button so it would begin brewing automatically (which I thought would be 10 minutes before we were to get up the next morning). The timer, though, had not been changed from the "default" time of 12:00 (midnight) -- and, sure enough, the coffee brewed like clockwork!

We're having technology problems at the Ballentine home. I did re-set the coffee pot yesterday, so the coffee was fresh and hot at 6:30 this morning. But, later this morning, while Patty and I were talking on the phone, the line went dead. Hmmm. Good thing I have a cell phone. I called the Verizon repair number and I am sorry to say that I have discovered what passes for customer service at Verizon. Turns out that it's the customer's responsibility, first, to serve himself: to determine if the problem is inside the house (which means it's gonna cost us) or outside (which is Verizon's responsibility). The agent gave me instructions of how to open up the phone access box on the outside of the house and plug in a phone and see if there was a dial tone. So I did that. Nope. No dial tone. As instructed, I called Verizon back. The agent that then answered the phone (of course it wasn't the same one, and so I had to give my phone number and address and name ...) apologized and said there would be a technician out to fix the problem (get this) on Wednesday, August 13, between 7:00 AM and 3:00 PM. I said, "You mean we'll be without phone service for a WEEK?" She said, "I apologize for that. You'll receive a credit on your bill for each day you're without service." I said, "I should hope so." She said, "It is very likely that the technician will be out before the scheduled day." I said, "That would be nice." (I'm sorry that the sarcasm of my voice doesn't come through when I report them in the typed words of a blog.)

Strange thing: we DO still have Internet access, which runs through the phone lines ...

And, at least my fountain pens still work. This is 10th century technology, updated a number of times since the resevoir pen was invented in Egypt.

Some of you know that I have five fountain pens, actually, that I use on alternating days. Over the years, the Fountain Pen Hospital in NYC has received enough of my money that I find their catalogues in the mail several times a year. What fun to see a page in the most recent catalogue: "Parker Vintage Pens of the 1960s and 1970s" The text reads: "We're fortunate to have recently acquired an extensive collection of original, mint condition Parker pens from the 1960s to late 1970s, all made in the USA. We are delighted to be able to make this tremendous find available to our loyal customers."

Sure enough, there, among the pens pictured on the page, is the first fountain pen I ever bought -- in 1975. I was in seminary in Chicago and vividly remember taking the "El" from Hyde Park on the south side down to the loop, to a pen store, and paying $25 (which was real money for a pen back then)for a "Parker 75 Stainless Steel Flighter," with a 14kt gold "fine" nib. The Fountain Pen Hospital is selling that same pen today for $195, which seems pretty reasonable to me, 33 years later.

This 33-year old pen is my journaling pen. Since it has a "fine" nib, the amount of ink flow doesn't soak through a page, so I can write on both sides of a journal page. My other pens have "medium" nibs, and result in bolder ink strokes.

So, that's a communications technology I'm still comfortable with. (Even though it's getting harder to find bottled ink.)

Last fall, some of you enjoyed meeting Fr. John McNamee, of St. Malachy Church in north Philadelphia. John was with us at St. Stephen one Friday evening, reading from his volumes of poetry and journals.

St. Malachy is located in a lower-middle class neighborhood of Philadelphia, and is only blocks away from neighborhoods of poverty as bad as any I've seen (including my recent trip to Africa). John has been in the neighborhoods of north Philadelphia for decades. Much of what he does is to respond to the needs of desperately poor people who show up at his door each day.

The other day I came across his "Pastor's Message" on the St. Malachy website. There's a photograph of the open front doors of the church, and this text, written in John's inimitable style:

Once there was a description of the great Dom Helder Camara, the Archbishop of Recife in the impoverished northeastern area of Brazil, how he would descend to his diocesan office everyday which was more a meeting room than an office and how he would everyday allow the people, mostly poor peasants, overwhelm him all day, everyday with their needs. This image of Dom Camara shaped this photograph of Saint Malachy's entrance in the hope that Saint Malachy Church and School and Rectory and Meeting Room and Staff could be this kind of welcome, this kind of place for any who come near. Thus this image of an open door. We hope that is what we are. Simply.

Wow. That sounds very much like the attitude of so many I met in Tanzania. That radical hospitality and availability.

Could I even approach such a level of hospitality? Instead, I have such a strong need to feel as if I am accomplishing something! John McNamee told me long ago that he doesn't worry about that; he simply does the work God gives him to do each day. That describes the attitude of other heroes of mine in the faith: St. Francis, Mother Theresa, Dorothy Day. (Dorothy Day never once worried about even putting together a budget for her Catholic Worker movement!)

It seems to me that this is life lived according to the model of Jesus, and I feel far away from that.

And how different it all is from what our dominant culture values: prioritizing and strategizing, setting objectives and measuring one's performance by them, making lists and checking off tasks accomplished.

A footnote in my reading referred me to the classic passage from Annie Dillard's essay, "An Expedition to the Pole," in Teaching A Stone To Talk. It's especially important on Sunday morning, for those of us who assemble for worship. (I'll be worshiping this morning at Christ the King Lutheran Church, in suburban Richmond.)

Why do we people in churches seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute?

The tourists are having coffee and doughnuts on Deck C. Presumably someone is minding the ship, correcting the course, avoiding icebergs and shoals, fueling the engines, watching the radar screen, noting weather reports radioed in from shore. No one would dream of asking the tourists to do these things. Alas, among the tourists on Deck C, drinking coffee and eating doughnuts, we find the captain, and all the ship's officers, and all the ship's crew. The officers chat; they swear; they wink a bit at slightly raw jokes, just like regular people. The crew members have funny accents. The wind seems to be picking up.

On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should last us to our pews. For the sleeping god my wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.

Have you noticed that the fashion for young women who are pregnant is to wear tight, form-fitting clothing ...

... while the fashion for young women who are not pregnant is to wear loose-fitting maternity-type tops?

That is strange to me. You too?

Just wondering.

Two more weeks to go in my sabbatical. What a gift this time has been, for reading and rest. I've had a general program for the reading. But I have very much enjoyed a feeling of openness -- of being able to take down whatever book is "calling" me, or to notice that the author I'm reading refers to another book, and to look into that one too. (I just don't have time to do that during non-sabbatical time!) It's a great thing to see connections that are made, from surprising sources.

For instance, one writer footnoted an essay by Wendell Berry in his 1990 collection, What Are People For?, so I've been reading through a number of those essays. In one, he quotes a proverb from William Blake: "You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough."

Spending a few days in a country such as Tanzania helps remind a person of that! Indeed, in our American culture of unprecedented affluence, it is nothing less than life changing, to know the difference between what is enough and what is more than enough. If nothing else, knowing this difference offers freedom from financial obligations we take on, to pay for what we think we need but in fact do not.

Patty and I just got back from Pawley's Island, in South Carolina. It's the second year that we've driven our "big" car -- a Plymouth Vibe (the twin car to the Toyota Matrix), which is tiny. We had four people in the car, since Patty's parents rode with us. I bungy-corded the beach chairs to the rack on top of the car. Other than those, we fit inside the car all that we needed for a week at the beach.

The word "needed" is the key. We took less than we've taken in past years, when we had a gas guzzling minivan. But, for the second year now, it turns out that the stuff we didn't have room for was stuff we didn't need!

We had a great week.

I've often talked and written about the challenge we face in American culture, in distinguishing between our "needs" and our "greeds." It's a spiritual challenge! These aren't new thoughts for me, and there are innumerable others talking and writing about what Tony Campolo calls "affluenza." But even a short immersion into an African culture (or another culture where there is not enough) gives additional perspective.

I want to be David Brooks. Well, not really. I'd rather be a pastor than a newspaper columnist. But his column is always worthwhile. I often even agree with him. Invariably I marvel at the way he uses the language.

But in a recent column, HE WENT TOO FAR! He wrote this, praising John McCain's energy policy: "The high point of his campaign, so far, has been his energy policy, which is comprehensive and bold, but does not try to turn us into a nation of bicyclists."

It's a typical terribly clever Brooksian sentence. But hold on, just a minute!! What exactly would be the problem with turning us into a nation of bicyclists??!!

David Brooks has opened himself up to vicious attacks now, from the powerful bicyclists' lobby.

Oh. Wait. There is no powerful bicyclists' lobby. Never mind.

But think of how much less oil we'd be buying from people who hate us, if there WAS a powerful bicyclists' lobby, influencing the design of our highways and streets.