Revisiting Christmas at Disney (Part II): Lt. Dan Edition

The older I've gotten, the more I've come to enjoy Christmas Eve services.  While it is true that when I was younger, my home church didn't offer one (at least not that I recall), since college it has become a staple of the season. Sometimes it is the music that makes it so special.  Sometimes it is the sermon.  Sometimes it is just being with friends and family by candlelight. If Advent is all about getting prepared for Christmas, then the Christmas Eve service has become for me the moment that the season "gets real."  This year, however, all that's ruined, because the bar has been set ridiculously high by Walt Disney and Gary Sinise.



Being at Disney during the Holidays is pretty special I think (and not just because I'm the father of two children in one of their key demographic groups), as I've related on this blog before.  That being said, the Candlelight Processional at Epcot is just down right moving.  There is an orchestra, what appeared to be three choirs (or at least three different robe colors) in addition to featured singers, and celebrity readers.  At the Processional we attended, star of stage and (small and big) screen, Gary Sinise was the reader.  As Mr. Sinise reminded the audience, this was a Disney tradition he was proud to be a part of (his tenth time serving as a reader), and one that was started by Walt Disney himself.

What, for those of you who've not attended one, is going on here?  The music and singin is mostly (though there were to be sure a few more secular/popular tunes interspersed in the orchestral opening section) what you might expect at a Christmas Eve service, the most popular, well known hymns you can think of, played and sung wonderfully.  At what are these readers reading?  Just the Gospel accounts of the annunciation and birth of Jesus Christ.  Mr. Sinise did offer a few remarks towards the end (a well scripted homily on peace on earth, the theme, if you could imagine of this Epcot event in the midst of the World Showcase, as well as some others about the origins of the hymn "Silent Night"), but most of what he had to say came straight from the Gospels of Mathew, Mark, Luke and John.  I've attended Christmas Eve services in churches that didn't have as much scripture read as what I heard at Disney.

And maybe that's what made it so special and powerful for me.  For all intents and purposes my family were strangers to the roughly 1000 people or so that made up this "congregation."  But for the hour we were together, we weren't just park guests.  We were part of something bigger.  And it wasn't Disney "magic" or glitz or glam (the Epcot facility is outside, with great lighting and sound, but minimal in the way of set decoration and effects of any kind) that made it so.  It was the music, the songs, and the message, the very Good News itself.  If the folks at Walt Disney have anything to say on this to churches, it might be that you don't always need the bells and whistles, or to be trendy or cutting edge.  Sometimes, maybe just talking about the basics, of what made you you to begin with, is exactly all you need.

Although Black Friday is behind us, and Cyber Monday still lies on the other side of the first Sunday of Advent, I'd make a small suggestion to you dear readers.  First, take a look at the Gospel accounts for yourself, let the remind you what the "reason for the season" is all about.  But then second, if you find that you need one more present (perhaps in honor of someone), might I suggest Mr. Sinise's Foundation (you can link to it here), which is dedicated to helping the men and women of the American Armed Forces and their families.  The bar for Christmas Eve services is now high.  But the service that these men and women perform for their country, and the sacrifices they and their families make on our behalf, so that those church services can happen in peace, is greater still.  They deserve our support as well as our prayers and thanks.

Revisiting Christmas at Disney (Part 1)

My wife loves Christmas.  Each year it seems, our celebrations get bigger, and our traditions grow.  And I love every minute of it right along side her, and the joy it brings us to be with family and friends, and the memories we are making with our children.  So, it was little surprise that, have really enjoyed coming to the Magic Kingdom in January, we decided that we would kick off the 2013 Holiday Season at Walt Disney World as well.

As such, we found ourselves partaking, once again, and this time truly soaking in (because we knew better what to expect) the Osborne Family's light display at Disney's Hollywood Studios.  As readers of this blog know, this experience back in January prompted a blog post as well (indeed, to date, it is the most visited post I've made as part of this blog).

The experience, to borrow a word so often heard at Disney, is magical.  The lights, the music, the "snow" (soap foam).  It is nearly perfect.  I'll not rehash the arguments I made in that earlier post here.  Rather I'll simply say that it is very special, and a very nice way to start thinking about Christmas during this holiday season.

This trip has gotten me thinking about Disney in other respects as well on the academic front.  And that is to what degree Walt Disney (and the Company that continues to bear his name) were actively involved in not just story telling, but in creating a working, modern, mythology -- both for Americans and one might argue Western Civilization.  In some respects, that involves a standardization of stories (akin to what the Brothers Grimm once did).  In others, it might be crafting an agenda of sorts (what do the stories, as Disney related them, say about children or parents, men and women, etc).  How has globalization (as well as say consumerism changed/altered that vision)?  What role should historic accuracy play in telling these stories?  For me, thinking about those lights again, I'm also left asking what the role of faith/religion/Christianity is in all that story telling as well.

These are all good questions I think.  But for now, still warmed by the memories, I'll look once again at those lights and be thankful for the family that first put them up and the company that keeps on doing it.

Why it Matters

When I was in high school I became a JFK Assassination Conspiracy buff.  Part of it had to do with the JFK movie that came out in the early 1990s of course, in which Oliver Stone directed an all start cast in a truly skilled way.  I bought every book I could find (and thanks to that movie, there were many more than I could afford) and what I couldn't buy, I checked out from my local library.  For one of my senior English classes (with the late Mr. Kip Prenkert) I even wrote a paper on it.  I didn't know which conspiracy theory to believe (and there are plenty -- some more outlandish than others) just that the official version didn't seem to hold up.

Like many youthful passions, this one cooled over the years.  Oh, I still enjoyed the topic from a certain standpoint of course.  When the opportunity arose to purchase a first edition of the Warren Commission Report a few years ago at a rare bookshop, I took it.  But the adore of my younger self was long gone.  Part of it had to do with finding other things to study, reflect, and be upset about!  Part of it had to do with a book that my grandparents got me for Christmas (one of the few fiction books I've read as an adult) The Fourth K, by Mario Puzo...which surprisingly, to me, perhaps because I didn't see it coming until the very end, got me to believe that a random assassin could kill a president after all.  Other than bringing it up when I lectured on the Kennedy years, and even then only in passing (and mostly as a means to talk about why we like/need conspiracy theories), I'd mostly left it behind me.  Indeed, a few years ago when I had the chance to interview then Senator Arlen Specter (who had come up with the "magic bullet theory"), it never crossed my mind to ask him about his work on the Warren Commission!

But how could I, or anyone, really escape it this week?  In the midst of the 150th anniversary of the Gettysburg Address, as well as thinking about the 50th anniversary of C.S. Lewis's death (a Christian apologist whose writings have probably had a bigger impact on me personally than either Lincoln or Kennedy's writings), we were confronted with the fact that Lewis died the same day as Kennedy was murdered.  Even then, I wasn't planning on writing anything about it on this blog (we've got to much going on), until that is, I read this.

Now, yes, it was written by a conservative journalist.  And yes, he does have a "spin" to put on all of this on when it comes to conservatives and liberals politically (which you may or may not agree with).  But that isn't the reason for this post.  Rather, I think it gets at something very real.  If we can all agree that there wasn't a conspiracy (because if there was, it is maybe the best kept secret, ever) involved and that Lee Harvey Oswald is the lone gunman (watch this if you can for the ballistics/science angle of the shooting and what that gun could do), then we need to remind ourselves who Lee Harvey Oswald was.

The answer to that is that he was a communist.  That doesn't mean much to younger readers (or very younger eventual readers, like my children).  Communism for all intents and purposes isn't part of their/your reality.  Oh sure, there are still, officially, some communist nations -- China, North Korea, Cuba and the like -- but in reality the communism they have is a an ideological veneer for oligarchical and often time totalitarian governmental structures.  Not that the old Soviet Union (and associated Eastern bloc) was much better of course (to date, no nation has lived up to all of Karl Marx's requirements), but what is left of communism isn't much, at least not when compared to when the Cold War was at its height.  And that apex is right about the same time when John F. Kennedy was killed.  The fact that Oswald was a communist, had lived in the Soviet Union after serving in the U.S. Marines (he'd defected and then defected back when he realized that the old USSR wasn't quite the worker's paradise he'd expected), had supported "fair" treatment of Cuba (at a time when the United States, and President Kennedy in particular were fixated on getting rid of Fidel Castro), and had attempted to kill a right wing former Army general (and leader in the Texas John Birth Society), are all known.

At the time, highlighting them may very well have provoked World War III.  Remembering them now serves a different purpose though.  Communism is a seductive doctrine. It melds disciplines like history and political science and economics together.   It seems to be very rational and "fair", on paper.  But the paper version neglects the element of the real world most important, and the one that it is missing is taking into consideration (what most Christians would assert to be, fallen) human nature.  Every government that has proclaimed itself to be a communist one to date (every one) has ended up spending at least some of it its time as a totalitarian dictatorship.  Once given massive amounts of power (often with scores to settle) people find it much easier to use that power to stay in power rather than to do the right thing.  And of course, this shouldn't be a surprise either.  Some people recognized it early on (read George Orwell's Animal Farm for starters), but when we forget the past (or just don't consider it, as perhaps has been the case with Oswald and the Kennedy assassination), we do a disservice to those who come after us.  Because even if the Cold War is over, the seductive reasoning that once (esp. in the 1930s) made communism so popular with many intellectuals (including in the US), is still there, claiming that the previous attempts just didn't get it right, but don't worry, this time it will work.

But remembering Oswald's communism is important for another reason.  Communism is officially atheistic.  The reason is simple of course.  Communist doctrine expects that the state (or more to the point, the government) should be the highest authority in a person's life.  It is a doctrine about control (whether the economy, the people, the flow of information), and it cannot survive if there is a place that reminds people of other obligations.  Communists were among the first (but by no means only ones) to argue that the state should take care of its citizens.  Whatever the merits (and there are many) of a social welfare state, one of the things its introduction did in the first half of the twentieth century, it disrupted older forms of charity.  The moment Person A is taxed to help Person B, rather than Person A either directly helping or giving money to an organization, such as a church, to help Person B, the action stops being charitable (which requires a personal connection) and becomes something else entirely.  Communists (and other totalitarians, the Nazis are the best example) couldn't have churches doing such things (reminding citizens that they had an obligation to aid the poor for example), because if they did, then the Church (or organized religion) might also remind people that they had other obligations as well that surpassed or super ceded the state's demands on the individual.  That God might be more important than the government, or that God's word might run counter to what the state said should be done, could not be allowed.

Historians often remind our students that "those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it" (the words of George Santayana).  And even though events in different times are never exactly alike, we should all hope that we, in the United States, live through the assassination of a president.  Likewise, we should also that we don't live through a resurgence of communism (or other totalitarian movements) which were such the hallmark of the twentieth century (and were perhaps the greatest killers in World History).  The best way to do that is to remember the words once uttered (though he was hardly alone) of one of Lincoln's contemporaries (and like JFK, a Bostonian), the abolitionist Wendell Phillips, who said "eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."

"It is for us the living"

I have been lucky enough to travel to Gettysburg twice.  The first time was with my family, when I was about nine years old.  The second time was in Eighth Grade, as part of a school trip to Washington, D.C. (still among my favorite trips ever, thanks Mr. Smith!).  As an historian, I've talked about the Civil War that made Gettysburg world famous nearly every semester of my professional career.  Indeed, I teach an entire class on the Civil War and just today got to the war in my US History survey class.

But today is special.  Today marks the 150th Anniversary of the Gettysburg Address.  It is a speech that generations of Americans have memorized (and rightfully so).  It is a speech with a rich history (you can see the various versions, and why there are various versions here).  It is a speech that has been considered both "scripture" and "Gospel" in its use of religious imagery, language and cadence to construct a civil religion (see here).  It is a speech that eclipsed the main speech of the day, which was delivered by Edward Everett.  It is a speech that was panned by many when it was first given (an opinion that has now been overturned).  And it is one that continues to be a touchstone for many, still capable of inspiring Americans and generating news.

None of that is really what I'm interested in today though.  My friend, Thomas Kidd, posted this article today about the Address, in which he focuses on the phrase "new birth of freedom"and how Lincoln's use of familiar religious language not just helped create the aforementioned civil religion, but also perhaps divorced that language from it religious origins.  As Kidd notes, "But what is lost when the new birth becomes tied to a nation’s history, rather than a redeemer’s saving work?"  I think that is a very important question to ask, and one that perhaps academics (including theologians) should ponder.

But Kidds' question is also not one I'm going to attempt to answer, at least not today.  Rather, I'm going to focus on a phrase in the speech that I've been pondering of late, the one that starts the final section of the speech "It is for us the living."  I think it is often easy to overlook that phrase, but it shouldn't be, and not just because of where Lincoln was when he gave the Address.  Of course, he builds to it rhetorically in the speech, which was given in the midst of a battlefield that was rapidly being turned into a cemetery:  Death would have been omnipresent in those surroundings for his listeners.  But I think there is more to it than that.  Ever since visiting the Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum a few years ago, I've thought that many scholars, commentators, and folks interested in Lincoln have missed out on how much death was a part of Lincoln's life, and how it shaped him.

Think about it, long before the war related deaths during his presidency, long before there were "great battlefield[s]" to visit, Lincoln's life was never far from death.  His mother's death scarred his childhood. 

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His sister's death was difficult for him as well.  Ann Rutledge (often thought to have been Lincoln's great love before he married Mary Todd) died from typhoid fever (perhaps prompting Lincoln to pen a poem on death and suicide is often attributed to him).  He, along with Mary, buried two of their children (one before his presidency and another during).

Of course, none of these deaths was all that uncommon in nineteenth century America.  Indeed, death was much more "common" in very real ways for people of Lincoln's time than it is for us today.  And yet, each of these death's is also quite "uncommon" or special, because Lincoln to us is so exceptional.  How he reacted to these deaths shaped him as a man, and as a president.  To neglect how much death stalked Lincoln, culminating not just in the wartime deaths of soldiers, but in his own death at the hand's of John Wilkes Booth, we neglect how significant it really was to making him the president we now encounter in all those books.

Which is why that phrase,  "It is for us the living" so sticks out to me.  For all the death he had faced, for all the death that surrounded him, Lincoln never lost sight of the fact that whatever the dead have been able to accomplish before (or because) they died, ultimately it is up to those they left behind to actually finish the work they started, to see it through (or to borrow from St. Paul in Second Timothy 4:7, to "finish the race").  Whatever else the Address may have been at the time or has become; whether or not we now (to flip its words on its head) remember it more than the "honored dead" who fought at Gettysburg, it is good for us to remember Lincoln's charge--the work that needs to be done, is up to the living to actually achieve.

One Year On

A year ago today my grandfather died.

I was at home when I got the call, which wasn't unexpected.  For the last decade or so of his life my grandfather had battled various ailments, though what ultimately felled him was a broken hip and a heart that could no longer continue to work as it once had.  He had been hospitalized for about a week and the doctors had given him little chance of a full recovery.  When the phone rang that morning, I knew even before I picked it up what the message from my parents would be.  I was prepared.  And I was prepared as well when my grandmother asked me to say a few words at the private, family service a few days later.  This is what I posted on Facebook at the time, and the sum of what I managed to say at the funeral (being prepared doesn't always make for an non-emotional delivery):

"A bit before 6 this morning, I received word that my grandfather's struggle was over. If I were going to sum him up for people who did not know or had never met him, it would be that he was always there. He may not have said very much, he was not an overly emotional or expressive man, but he was always there for his family. When he and my grandmother celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in 2003, he nixed a large celebration because, as he told me, "we have always been a family" and that is who he wanted gathered together. His physical presence is going to be missed as we gather together this holiday season. RIP, John R. Lantzer."

I have thought about him, and those words, quite a bit over the past few days as this anniversary approached.  But it isn't a rumination of mortality (or even the immortal soul) that this post is about, rather it is about vocation.  Perhaps both make sense this time of year, not only have we just passed on the calendar Halloween (October 31st), All Saints (November 1st) and All Souls (November 2nd) days (the latter two on the Christian calendar), but also because October 31st marks Reformation Day (at least for Protestants who remember such things).

 

Martin Luther, the German monk (and, as I like to point out to students, college professor) who sparked both a split and reform movement (or at least came to personify both) within the Western Church by his posting of his 95 Thesis, wrote a good deal about vocation.  For those of you who only think of it in terms of another word for "job", here is the Bing dictionary's definition:  "(1) somebody's job: somebody's work, job, or profession, especially a type of work demanding special commitment  (2) urge to follow specific career: a strong feeling of being destined or called to undertake a specific type of work, especially a sense of being chosen by God for religious work or a religious life."  It is not just what you do for money, or for a living, but also what you do with your time and talent, at the time and place you find yourself living in.

My vocation, and I have little difficulty thinking in such terms (perhaps a reflection of a portion of my family tree having Germanic Lutheran roots) is that of a professional Historian.  That vocation could not be more different than that of my grandfather, who worked as an electrician (owning his own company) and in construction, not to mention having grown up on farm, during his lifetime.  And yet the words that my grandfather said to me over the phone time and time again, whenever we talked while I was in college (and separated from my family by nearly 4 hours) still echo in my head, and reflect those principles about work (what once might even have been called a Protestant work ethic):  "Just keep your nose to the grindstone."

Beyond the importance to family then, perhaps my grandfather's greatest legacy to those he left behind was that work ethic.  To work hard at whatever it is you are doing.  To finish the work that you start, no matter what it is you are working at.  These might seem like platitudes, or even simplistic, but they are harder to achieve than many of us like to think.  And hard work, in the service of God, for the benefit of others, in whatever it is we are called to do, is a worthy endeavor to pursue.  To paraphrase and borrow from St. Paul in 2 Timothy 4:7, it is a goal to strive for, a race worth running, a task worth doing.  And, I might add, doing well.

I hope that the pages of The Mainline, my second book (which I was pleased to be able to send a copy of to my grandparents a few months before my grandfather died), reflected some of that vocational passion as well.

Times Three

Over the past three weekends, I've had the pleasure to be a part of three very different congregations, which are part of three different denominations, and taken away three very different lessons and insights that apply to talking about American Christianity, lessons that perhaps we all need to hear and think about in this Sunday after All Saints.

Two weeks ago, I attended worship service at Fishers United Methodist Church.  The sermon and fellowship, as always, was good.  But what struck me, as I look back on the service, was something that I read this week about the future of United Methodism.  The gist of the article was that perhaps, in the future, people will once again "return" (as throughout much of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries Methodism was one of the largest denominations in the United States) to the UMC.  Not because this member of the Seven Sisters is "trendy" but rather that its doctrine (even if local congregations might vary) remains remarkably orthodox/traditional, the denomination, which remains united, is growing internationally (and that growth is taking place in the more theologically conservative places, such as Africa), but maybe more importantly, it has a blend of traditional worship practices in its services that give it a sense of structure that many non-denominational and mega church minded churches simply don't have.  Of course, we'll have to see what develops with that, but surely it might be a sign of hope, and not just wistful thinking.

A week ago, as I noted at the time, I had the pleasure of speaking at Bloomington's First Presbyterian Church.  Now, I don't plan on rehashing that post here, but what I do want to add was something I was very impressed with at that visit that I only mentioned in passing at that time, and that is that the congregation had a history and was, I think from my hour or so there, and reading some of the literature I picked up, is trying to build upon that legacy, of reaching out to the students who come to Indiana University.  I wish more congregations near colleges and universities did more of this.  Of course it is easier to say than do, but there is no reason for congregations to write off college students (or young people in general).  Yes, they might only be a part of a congregation for a few years, but that does not mean they cannot have an impact during that time, nor that congregations can't have an eternal impact on the souls of young people.  If you doubt that, and need a "named" historical example, you need to look no further than Lyman Beecher (who himself spent some time as a Presbyterian minister), who was saved (or at least convinced) at a revival that swept over his college town.  The elder Beecher is often credited with being one of the leaders of the Second Great Awakening, which transformed American religious and cultural life in the nineteenth century.

And then this week, I had the opportunity to spend some time in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on the campus of the University of Notre Dame.  What can this Catholic Church (and hence a member of the new Mainline I argue for in my book) tell us, packed as it was, with football fans (most of whom were praying for a victory by the Fighting Irish over Navy)?  Perhaps that we shouldn't dismiss the power of grandeur. 



To often, I think, the trend in architecture and church design has been "simple" or even to make a church building not look like a church.  There is to much "baggage" attached to such terms we are told.  It is "cool" to sit in folding chairs in a gym/multi-use room rather than in a formal sanctuary with pews.  But maybe, just maybe, it is fine to invoke, visually, that what is being talked about is bigger, indeed, awe-some.  Maybe, just maybe, it is fine for the Church to be (and I'd argue even look like) a church, as this article argues.