Secret Asian Man- One Nation Under God

I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance.  My version included “under God” which was added in 1954.  As a kid, I never knew it any other way, so I thought it had always been that way.  

We said it every morning in school. Some kid, who was never me, got chosen to lead the school in the pledge over the PA system.

I was in Cub Scouts.  We learned about the flag and the pledge.  We got badges or something for memorizing the pledge and properly demonstrating our two finger salute. I practiced in the mirror with my little beanie.

Same with the National Anthem. We learned it in primary school. We read the story about Francis Scott Key watching the Battle for Baltimore in 1812. As a kid, it’s a pretty compelling story.  What with its staying up all night and watching things blow up.

And winning! By the dawn’s early light, America won. In the world of an 8 year old, winning was pretty important.

They played the song at all the high school games. I went on to play it in the band. All would rise, we’d play, then play ball.  It seemed to become rather rote.  Stand, Sing, Sit, Play, Repeat.

Colin Kaepernick seems to have changed all that. In our time away, a lively debate has arisen about what the national anthem represents and what patriotism means. When I sing to the flag, am I honoring the fabric or am I honoring the American Ideal?  And what is the American Ideal, anyway?  Is it freedom of speech, and equality? Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Or is it something else? The Flag? Veterans? Jesus?

Tastes great? Less Filling? Two great tastes that taste great together?  Does it have to be one or the other?  Ah, well….

What better way to reconnect with American values than to go to a baseball game? On a warm summer’s eve, Mrs. S.A.M. and I attended a farm team ball game.  It was lightly attended even though it was “Kids Eat Free!” night. That’s a pity because it was a good game, rooting for the home team, peanuts and crackerjack and all that stuff.  

The singing of the Anthem was noticeably different compared with a couple years back. In previous years, the anthem approached background chatter.  Now, when the announcer comes on, a hush falls over the crowd. It is deathly quiet. Hats and hands to chests, turning, like sunflowers, to the flag in centerfield.  

A large man, with the presence of the fourth Three Tenors, acapellas his way through the Star Spangled Banner, culminating in a torticolis rendering high note. O’er the land of the free!” He had a great set of lungs, but Man!, was he flat!

Homage we paid to whatever the song represents to us. From the homeless Vet, begging on the street, to the Somali vendor selling me an Italian sausage. From the Irish cop to the Dominican relief pitcher. One nation under God.

Swedish Meatballs in the Promised Land

This likely won’t be the first time you hear this from me. I know I won’t solve anything. I know I won’t say much that hasn’t already been said many times over thousands of years.

I won’t even understand the depth of the problem in the Middle East. I’ll just dip my toe into the ignoramus wading pool.

This weekend we went to visit Mt. Nebo which in Arabic translates loosely to the place of the prophets.

After leaving Egypt, Moses and his flock are wandering around the desert.  He’s got his main orator and older brother, Aaron with him.  

When they get close to present day Petra, God comes to Moses in a dream and tells him that it’s time for Aaron to die. Aaron is 120 years old already.  It’s time.  Moses, himself, is 118 or 119.  God says, the two of them have to get to the top of this particular mountain before it can happen.  

So, Moses, does as he’s told. He and Aaron and a nephew climb to the top of this mountain.  They take in the view, find a nice cave.  Aaron lies down for a nap and kicks it. You, dear reader, can go there now to Jabel Arun, where there is  monument.  We hope to go there one day.

Moses comes back down and they start wandering again. They make their way north for about for a year and 350 kms. They come to the Madaba area and they take a rest.  It’s arid and people are starting to get thirsty.  Moses asks God for some help and God tells him to strike the ground with his stick.  He does, and water spews forth.

There is still a spring there.  Under a big, old eucalyptus tree. We’d need a car to get down there, so we’ll save that for next time.

The flock spends some time there and God comes around again and tells Moses to Climb to the top of Mt. Nebo.  Moses is now 120 years old and he know which way the wind is blowing, but he trudges to the top of the mountain 817 meters high.

Once he got to the top, God tells him to look out to the East and promises his people all the land that he can see. But, sadly Moses won’t be able to go there.  He has to stay behind.  It’s time.  And, so, shortly thereafter he died and was buried somewhere there on that mountain. Moses’ assistant, Joshua takes up the reins and leads his people into the promised land.  

Prophets have been traipsing around here without maps or GPS for centuries after. Elijah, Jeramiah, John, the Baptist, Jesus.  Often their stories have them scaling some high place and looking down on Jerusalem, known as the gate to heaven.

600 years after Moses, the Prophet Mohammed has his revelations and has started his branch of religion.  He’s on his own spiritual journey and winds his way up from Arabia. He, too, finds a spring and he, too, climbs a mountain and looks down into Jerusalem and wants to go there.

It’s on the Temple Mount that Mohammed goes to visit heaven for a few days. He has some high level consultations with John, the Baptist, Moses, Elijah, Jesus and Yahweh itself. Apparently, it was Moses who urged Mohammed to go back to God and renegotiate the number of times people need to pray per day down from 50 to a, more manageable, 5 times a day.

Mohammed comes back down to earth at the Temple in Jerusalem and decides this would be a good place for a mosque. Thus, a conflict was born. I don’t have any knowledge about why this promised land was given to Mohammed, or if Moses had any input during their high level talks.

Back in the 21st century we took our tour bus to the top of Mt. Nebo. There’s a basilica there that they

uncovered in 1933 and have been restoring for a while. It reopens later this month. There are some wonderfully preserved stone mosaic flooring that are promised.

We walked around and toured the small museum and at the highest point we looked down into the promised land.  Amman, Jericho and Jerusalem before us.  

I wondered about the promise of of such an arid looking land. It's rocky. It's water poor. And, there's a giant life sapping salt sea. But, after 40 years of trudgery, I’d probably cherish it if someone told me it was mine. But, really, it doesn’t look like it’s worth fighting so hard over. I mean crusades and terrorism. Battles fought near and far, over the aged beliefs of all these enlightened and special people.

The following day, in the search of some household goods, we headed to IKEA very near the Madaba area.  It’s set up like every other IKEA, snaking you around the myriad of ways you can decorate your space cleanly and inexpensively.

We stopped mid-way for some lunch at the cafeteria. It was a bustling time to eat. There were a couple of other Americans there. We heard some Spanish speakers. Mainly, thought, there were Jordanians. Some in shorts, some in ripped blue jeans,  Many of the women in burkas or very conservatively covered.

It struck me there in the cafeteria line. If you strip away all the dogma and the dress codes, I wonder if we’d all be happier with functional, inexpensive furniture, lighting solutions and some Swedish meatballs with lignonberry jam.

Imperfect People Meet Perfectly

Easily offended? This deals with religion and observations about one church service last week. Though not meant to offend, it may not be suitable for all audiences.

It started with a Facebook post that we received from friends announcing that Nadia Bolz-Weber was coming Jakarta and would be participating in a church service.  That’s the advert up top.

She’s a Lutheran minister who’s written a book and has done some speaking. My daughter  was inspired by speech she heard a few years ago at the Superdome in New Orleans and both she and Mrs. S.A.M. wanted to go.  

It was at a church on the northwest side of town.  Maybe a 40 minute drive from our house. Our driver took us. First things first.  Our driver had a very poor knowledge of the area, so I used Google maps and that got us in the general area. But, he wasn’t too trusting of the new technology when Google told us to make a U-turn.  He pulled over to ask a group of Ojeks or motorcycle taxis for directions. They told us to keep going straight for another mile or two.  They were right.  

Smugly, our driver said, “I think we should trust the Ojeks more than Google” and just laughed.

We arrived at the church which was in the basement of a large office building.

The first curious thing was the dress of the staff.  Maybe they were ushers? Greeters?  Guards? Pit crew? Regardless, they were dressed in Automobile racing shirts with sponsor patches sewn all over.  Ferrari, UPS. Shell, Pirelli.  Maybe 15 or 20 folks all dressed in bright red and white.  Very friendly.  Offered us coffee and tea.  

They also guarded the entry doors.  We could here practicing going.  Singing and music.  Just like those entrances at amusment parks, the doors opened at precisely 10:45 and we all filed in.  Z wanted a place near the front so we sat about 7 rows back.  It was a good size room. And by the time the service began it was full.

The first thing that struck us was the music.  Pop music thumping out of a sizable sound system.  Not even christian rock.  Just pop music. Z knew all the words.  

The next thing were the lights beaming and sweeping multi-colored from all four corners of the room.  

Then there was the huge, wall-sized movie screen at the front of the room showing, curiously,  motorcycle moto-cross movies. Right there larger than life.  It fit right in with the music and maybe the racing uniforms of the pit crew outside.

We sat down, and I surveyed more closely.  I saw a pole sticking up where the lectern might be in a normal lutheran church and I joked with my family that it was a stripper pole.  And then I looked again.  My eye wandered down the tall, brass pole to the black base with purple LED lights bordering the edges. On the front was emblazoned a pink and purple flower and the name “Hannah” scripted underneath.  It was indeed a stripper pole. Or maybe a Pole-pit.

Then came the smoke machines.  The room got hazier and hazier.  I briefly feared we’d be put to sleep and our kidneys harvested, but Mrs. S.A.M elbowed me at this suggestion  The lights, though got flashier.  On the screen a big countdown clock started ticking down the seconds until the service began.

Promptly at 11, the church leader came out and it was then that we realized that the entire service was going to be in Indonesian.  This, I don’t think. had dawned on us for some reason.  But, there we were. Listening for words we knew like.. Jesus, and amen.   

Let me tell you, though, too that there is no Indonesian word for pole-dancing.  I know this because in his all Indonesian announcements I heard two more familiar phrases...  “Nadia Bolz-Weber from Denver” and “pole dancing by Hannah”

And, on cue,  out curtsied Hannah into the spotlight dressed in a stylized tank top, purple sparkly shorts and skirt and heels.  She stepped across the stage and mounted her pole as the music began.  She gave a brief, but athletic twirl up and down and around and around.  I took video.  I was not the only one.  Cameramen beamed the show larger than life onto the screen behind her. It ended with applause.

Music was next with 8 piece rock band and and 5 vocalists.  It was karaoke style. Words were on screen and you could follow along with the bouncing ball.  Jesus is King, Jesus is the savior...   Lights were flashing.  It was rocking!

Then came pastor J.  He said a few words. Led us in prayer and then brought out Hannah again. I thought for sure this was how the offering was going to go down, but Pastor J kept it classy and just let her do her routine.  And it was really athletic and beautiful and probably would be even outside of a church.  

Pastor Nadia did the sermon.  A talk about the Good Samaritan parable. It was translated, so that broke up the flow.  And, though good, she was clearly upstaged by Hannah.  I think even she was stunned by the dancer as she remarked on this a couple times.

Then we were done.  Some sort of introductions were made of benefactors and band members and sound technicians and then the music started thumping and we filed out for snacks and photos.  There were interviews and cameras and all sorts of stuff.  You can see them here.

Hannah and her friends. Skim fast.... there are hundreds.

The church bills itself as “where imperfect people are perfectly welcomed.”  During the Indonesian parts of the service I found my mind wandering.  Is this what religion had come to?  Trying to attract by being at the extremes.  One side being ultra-conservative and the other side throwing up pole dancers and smoke and movies. I’m an admittedly Christmas and Easter church goer, so I’ve little room to talk, but I wonder if there is a the middle ground?

We rode home in silence. All wondering about the utterly surreal experience we’d just witnessed.  I was quietly thanking my lucky stars that I hadn’t invited our driver to listen in while he waited. On the way there, I thought about it.   A devout muslim, he would have been scarred beyond repair and probably quit his job.

I think next Sunday we’ll try and tone it down a bit.  Maybe check out a human sacrifice.

Pole dancing?   Jesus...

Check out more on Indonesia here at ....Adventures in Wonderland