St. Louis, Missouri (2)

After a full day on Saturday, Cindi and I awoke on Sunday with a full day planned.  We headed out the door and drove two miles through downtown toward the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial.  This park is crowned by the 63-story St. Louis Arch which stands on the western bank of the Mississippi as the welcoming gatekeeper of the west.  We paid $3 to park as the only car in a half-built parking garage partially flooded by the swelling river and climbed a few flights of stairs to the top floor where we leaned over the railing to survey the high water levels.  The flooding in St. Louis did nowhere near the damage we’ve heard about in other parts of the midwest, but it was still impressive.  Water invades everything in its path.  It has no conscience.

We exited the parking garage and walked the few blocks south to the park where the arch is located.  Since both of us had gone up before (me when I was little and Cindi when she was older), we contented ourselves with walking around near the pillars.  Especially after the ticket agent told us it was $10 each to go up.  The line outside confirmed that the ground was probably a good place to be considering our schedule, and over the course of the next thirty minutes we were satisfied with the striking view from below.  Even more striking was when Cindi actually picked up the arch and held it above her head.

I am constantly amazed at what man can build.  Not only were we commanded to have dominion over the earth and to wisely marshal its resources for life and happiness (Genesis 1:28-30; Psalm 8:3-8), we were also designed to exercise that dominion in endlessly creative ways.  Though I do wonder if structures like this (or this) may reflect some of the same skyward arrogance that birthed Babel.  I mean this not as a judgment on any particular architects or builders but as a broad comment about the potential hamartiological effects on our use of technology.

After getting our fill of the arch, we jumped on the highway and drove back west to the massive Anheuser-Busch brewery for a free hour-long tour.  They have quite an operation going with Budweiser as the top-selling beer in the world and a whole family of other beers lined up behind Bud.  We learned that early on they chose the name “Budweiser” because it was easy for Americans to say.  We saw what they mean by “beechwood aging,” learned about the commercial beer-making process, and walked through the packaging plant with rows of cans and bottles flying along the conveyer belt like the 405 at rush hour (if it were moving).  We also saw the Clydesdales and their posh stables and learned that each Clydesdale wears its own custom-made 130-pound saddle.

Being the new Dean at a school that asks students to abstain from alcohol while enrolled in classes, I’ll make two observations from our tour that relate to the alcohol issue.  First, beer is brewed through a process that takes longer than the process used to make many other foods but is no less natural.  In other words, it’s a drink, not an evil potion that’s being bottled up from a bubbling hole in the ground coming straight out of the abyss (though it’s important to note that one important difference between beer and most other drinks is that if you drink enough of it at one time, you’ll get drunk; and that’s not an insignificant difference).  Second, beer (and alcohol in general) has an incredibly developed and nuanced subculture of its own both in the church and in popular culture, which is important to consider.  There is a broad spectrum of opinion, perspective, conviction, and conscience when it comes to alcohol.  This is not an issue that’s conducive to quick condemnations or youthful cries of “Freedom!”  Studying passages like Romans 14 and 1 Corinthians 8-10 (instead of jumping to application) and thinking long and hard about our particular contexts (instead of making unripe and unsubstantiated comments) would help move us all forward in our respective discussions.  All that aside, we enjoyed Anheuser-Busch and were impressed by the company’s willingness to inconvenience themselves to maintain meaningful traditions.

From Anheuser-Busch we drove back to our hotel, parked the car in our already-paid parking, and started off on our mile-long walk to the new Busch Stadium in the southern part of downtown.  Cardinals-Phillies, 1:15pm.  We arrived at Section 450 around the second inning and were not disappointed by the view that I had anticipated when I bought our tickets in the first row of the upper deck directly behind home plate overlooking downtown.  To top it all off, we were in seats 9 and 10 in a 20-seat row, placing us as perfectly behind home plate as you can be.  The Cardinals hit two home runs within five minutes of our arrival, the game went into extra innings, the Phillies left 15+ men on base (!), and the home team won in the tenth despite one of the scariest baseball collisions I’ve witnessed.  In the top of the ninth with the game tied, a runner on third, and the infield pulled in for a play at the plate, Jimmy Rollins hit a chopper to first baseman Chris Duncan who came home with the throw.  Cardinals’ catcher Yadier Molina had to turn his back to backhand the throw which was low and on the first base side, and he had barely started turning around when pinch-runner Eric Bruntlett absolutely crushed him almost from behind.  Molina dropped but somehow held onto the ball and the runner was called out (even though I honestly have no idea how the umpire could’ve thought that Molina actually tagged him while being steamrolled mostly from behind).  Molina sacrificed his body in a big way and saved the game since the Cardinals didn’t end up scoring in the bottom of the 9th.  From the moment of the collision until he disappeared beneath the right-field stands strapped tightly onto a backboard 10-15 minutes later, Molina never moved.  I heard he had back pain, neck pain, and a concussion but is mostly better now.  The Cardinals’ win dulled the pain of losing their catcher for awhile, and the fans went home concerned but happy.

We walked back to our hotel, rested for a little bit, and headed back out for dinner with our good friend Trey who lived in the dorm for three years and just graduated this May.  The deal was that he would pick the place (because he knows St. Louis) and we would pay (since we’re nice people), so we ended up at Olympia’s, his favorite Greek restaurant.  A good meal and a good conversation later, he treated us to Ted Drewe’s ice cream and custard shop, a local favorite that we wouldn’t have known about on our own.  There were probably 150-200 people lining up at the 8-10 service windows, so when I say “local favorite,” I mean it.  From there we dropped Trey off and found our way back to the hotel where we rested and watched the Lakers dispatch the Celtics before getting absolutely demolished in Game 6.

On Monday morning we woke up with two things to see before leaving for Tulsa: East St. Louis (the Illinois side) and the Missouri Botanical Gardens.  We drove the less than half-mile across the Mississippi into the different world of East St. Louis and unsuccessfully tried to navigate our way around the city.  We had limited time, a very broad map, and no clear destination.  I was able to get a very small taste of the city as we drove a few side streets near the highway, but nothing substantial.  I want to know about these difficult and depressed areas, for my own sake but also because I serve at a solid institution that every year sends out 200-300 trained Christian students who are in their early twenties, have youthful energy and zeal, have a biblical worldview to one extent or another, and have the freedom and opportunity to make decisions that will set lifetime trajectories.  It’s hard for me to tell them about the East St. Louis’s of the world if I don’t know about them.

In 2006 the FBI reported that the murder rate in East St. Louis doubled the rates in cities like Compton, Gary (Indiana), New Orleans, Richmond, Baltimore, Camden (New Jersey), Detroit, and D.C.  Consider these statistics (per 100,000 people) as well as all the social, economic, educational, governmental, historical, and especially anthropological issues that go hand in hand with them:

Murder:
National Avg: 6.9
East St. Louis: 83.8

Rape:
National Avg: 32.2
East St. Louis: 251.3

Robbery:
National Avg: 195.4
East St. Louis: 1,347

Assault:
National Avg: 340.1
East St. Louis: 5,847.3

Burglary:
National Avg: 814.5
East St. Louis: 2,442.8

Automobile Theft:
National Avg: 526.5
East St. Louis: 2,067.5

We left East St. Louis disappointed that our perspective of the city was just as limited as before but hopeful that some brothers and sisters will make the trek there sooner than later.  But no doubt there are faithful people there now who need prayer to continue in the battle. 

From here we made our last stop in St. Louis: the Missouri Botanical Garden.  This horticultural paradise lies on 79 acres of land in west St. Louis and is the most impressive humanly-designed garden I’ve ever seen.  We walked around for almost three hours and skipped enough parts to go back another two or three times and see only new things.  There’s the tropical atmosphere in the Climatron, the large rose garden serving as an “All America Rose Test Center,” the 14-acre Japanese Garden, the block of home gardening models, the Chinese Garden, the Ottoman Garden, and much more, all nestled throughout the meandering, well-kept, artful grounds.  We were grateful that the Lord providentially planned this stop for Monday when we had more time and flexibility.

We left St. Louis very refreshed and invigorated, having enjoyed many of the Lord’s gifts in a new place with a beloved friend beside us.  We had convinced my parents to drive from Tulsa to Ozark with Great-Grandma and Judah so we could take them to Lambert’s (they had never been).  We figured we shouldn’t miss the chance to introduce others (especially Judah!) to the Home of Throwed Rolls, even if we had been there 48 hours before.  Judah was fascinated with the roll-throwing and utterly delighted that bread (his favorite food by far) was raining down on him from heaven at the simple raise of a hand.

Our six hours of driving were separated by a great dinner together, and the final three were full of good conversation with family (though I no longer have my right arm or leg since we had to stop for gas once on the way home).

Before leaving off with a couple brief videos of Judah experiencing the Lambert’s roll-throwing, I have to say that I am so happy I married Cindi.  It is a joy to be with her in all of life’s circumstances, from sitting on the hood of a car and looking at the stars and talking about the greatness of God in the summer of 1998 to our years of life and ministry together in the dorms of The Master’s College to our phone conversations continents apart during that unforgettable week last summer when our adoption almost disintigrated but was divinely preserved.  St. Louis was just another joy-filled paragraph in a happy chapter of this book that God has been writing.  The Foreword was written before time began, the ending is promised to be eternally happy, and the Epilogue is set in stone because of what Christ has done for us.  I am a rich man.

 

St. Louis, Missouri

After traveling together in Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Uganda, and the States, Cindi and I have realized that our best vacations (the ones where we are most personally and maritally refreshed) are when we take short trips to new places and spend full days exploring.  We find cheap hotels, patch together transportation, see the major sights and attractions, get tips on a few local favorites, and sometimes visit an old friend or two.

Last summer I took her to New York City and Boston for eight days as a post-M.Div. thank-you and a pre-Judah vacation.  This summer we chose St. Louis since we could drive up and spend a weekend there in the middle of our 12-day trip home to Tulsa to see family.  I’m under no illusion that the details of our city explorations warrant widespread public interest, but I still find it enjoyable to re-tell the story.

We left South Tulsa on Saturday morning (June 14) and hopped on I-44 East running through Joplin and Springfield.  The six-hour drive was softened by the beauty above and around us.  The sky is bigger in the midwest because there are no mountains preempting the horizon and because distant clouds paint perspective into the blueness.  The rolling landscape in the Ozarks would’ve been impressive even without the recent inundation throughout the midwest, but the thunderstorms and constant rain gave it a lushness that I probably haven’t seen since Uganda.

We passed under what used to be world’s largest McDonald’s in Vinita, Oklahoma (photo by Tom Trinko), but our lunch destination was already well-planned and much-anticipated: Lambert’s Cafe, “Home of Throwed Rolls,” just south of Springfield in Ozark, Missouri.  A detour on I-44 put us at Lambert’s an hour after it opened, so by the time we pulled up the massive parking lot was already overflowing with two tour buses idling out front and 100+ people sitting outside.  But this is normal fare for Lambert’s, so we put our name in and were seated within thirty minutes. 

Early in 1976, Norman Lambert (son of the founder) was distributing hot rolls in the traditional way during a busy lunch hour.  Tired of waiting for Norm to bustle his way through the crowd, an impatient diner yelled out,  “Just throw the thing!”  Norm chucked it, and they’ve been throwing hot rolls ever since.  Just raise your hand and catch the thrower’s eye and you’ll get a hot roll tossed underhand from a few feet away or slung across the entire room.  You might think that this tradition serves to mask average-quality food, but it’s actually just a fun event in the midst of an outstanding midwestern/southern meal.  Satisfied and entertained, we took off from Lambert’s for the remaining three hours to St. Louis.

St. Louis sidles up to the western bank of the Mississippi River which divides Missouri and Illinois as it runs south toward the Gulf of Mexico.  We approached from the west and drove eastward toward downtown to check into the Hyatt which had astonished us by anonymously accepting our first (and very low) Priceline offer a few weaks earlier.  This Hyatt is an older hotel connected to Union Station a few blocks from the center of downtown, giving it an old, semi-industrial feel.

One of my goals in these city-excursions is to visit churches that I’ve heard about but have never attended, so we quickly headed back out the door and drove west a few miles to the Saturday evening service at The Journey, an Acts29 Network church pastored by Darrin Patrick.  Acts29 Director Scott Thomas says that this network “exists to start churches that plant churches.  God is significantly using our network to influence and shape the church planting culture through both rock-solid theology and contextualizing the gospel.  We will not waver on either of these commitments. We won’t water down our theology to reach more people and we won’t attack the culture in the name of Christianity.”  Some examples of Acts29 churches are The Village Church in north Texas (Matt Chandler), Mars Hill Church in Seattle (Mark Driscoll), and Copperhill Community Church near us in Valencia, California (Brian Howard).  Some may be waiting for me to make some comments about the hot-button issues of culture, contextualization, relevance, and ministry methodology, but this isn’t the post for that.  I also won’t make many evaluative comments about The Journey itself because (1) I was mainly there to worship and only secondarily to observe and analyze and (2) we only attended one out of five services that are held at three separate locations.  But I will share some bare details because I know that some are interested in the structures and styles of newer church plants that are trying to be culturally informed.  (I will also say that I very much appreciate Copperhill Community Church and highly regard Pastor Brian Howard.  It would be one of several local churches that I would be very happy to join if we weren’t already at Placerita Baptist Church which we love.)

The Tower Grove campus of The Journey meets in the old Holy Innocence Catholic Church which they’ve bought and revamped.  Though the building itself has the old, traditional look of a cathedral, the renovations have rendered the inside simple, sleek, undistracting, and not overdone.  The musicians were young and artsy but didn’t act like performers.  We sang several hymns and several newer songs, heard a number of announcements given by the campus pastor, and watched a video announcement about summer activities.  The campus pastor asked the fathers to stand and prayed for us after charging us to be men of God who raise our children with the guidance of the Word.  I glanced behind me and noticed that there were very few fathers among the gathering of 200-300 people, indicating that it was a very young crowd (whether due to location, service time, or the make-up of the church as a whole).

ESV Bibles were conveniently placed between every other seat.  The current sermon series is entitled “The Search: Finding Jesus in the Old Testament,” and one of the campus pastors was preaching on Hosea.  He gave some helpful historical background on Hosea and quoted C. S. Lewis, John Piper, J. I. Packer, Martin Lloyd-Jones, Augustine, and Vivian from Pretty Woman along the way.  The sermon ended up being more topical and practical than historical-redemptive (which is more what I was looking forward to), but the personal application was generally helpful as he emphasized four common God-substitutes to guard against.  These four idols, he said, have antidotes: Those who love approval need to worship.  Those who love power need to serve.  Those who love comfort need to suffer and fast.  And those who love control need to pray.

At the end of the service we sang and shared in communion.  After an accurate and encouraging explanation of this biblical ritual including its rarely-mentioned eschatological significance (Matthew 26:29), six servants of the church (both men and women) lined up across the front of the room, each holding a large clear goblet of juice and a large unbroken loaf of bread.  Those in Christ were invited to come to the front, tear off a piece of bread and dip it in the juice, and eat it as we returned to our seats.  It was sober, informative, and meaningful.  We talked with an older couple for awhile before leaving, grateful to have the opportunity to worship God among a different gathering of His family in a different place.

After leaving The Journey, we meandered our way north and ended up alongside Forest Park, a beautiful 1,293-acre park which is 50% larger than New York’s Central Park.  It houses the Missouri History Museum, the St. Louis Art Museum, a multitude of sporting options, the Boathouse Restaurant, the 1904 World’s Fair Convention and Jewel Box, the nationally recognized St. Louis Zoo, and ”The Muny,” an 11,000-seat outdoor musical theatre (mistakenly listed as an amphitheatre).

After orienting ourselves at the Visitor’s Center, we stopped momentarily to take in the splendid view of the Art Museum crowning the great sloped lawn behind the Grand Basin and its fountains.  Hoping to make good on our paddleboat recommendation before dark, we headed over to the Boathouse and rented one of the last few paddleboats on a busy Saturday night.  The lively weekend atmosphere on the dock faded as we peddled in unison onto Post Dispatch Lake and toward the channels that would take us toward the Grand Basin.  The street-sized waterways hugged small islands as they curved their way along, creating a wonderful habitat for all kinds of animals.  We enjoyed the birds, otters, frogs, and ducks, though we never saw the turtle we were hoping to see.  We passed within arms reach of baby birds tucked away in mud nests built on the underside of stone bridges and watched a duck leading her four chicks across the placid water and onto the densely-wooded shore.

The sun was nestling into the horizon as the waterway opened up onto the Grand Basin so we stilled the engines to take in the view: the Art Museum above, majestically enthroned at the top of the manicured, panoramic lawn; families in the middle, traipsing along the lawn and flirtatiously risking their frisbees by playing catch along the water’s walled edge; and fountains below, throwing water skyward like children playing beneath a grand sight whose proximity has turned beauty into familiarity.

Around sunset we made our way back along the northern waterways, counting the frogs squatting chest-deep every few yards along the shore and enjoying our minute-long race with an otter swimming parallel to us several feet away.  By the time we were crossing Post Dispatch Lake and nearing the Boathouse, the moon’s reflection had painted itself onto the water with the ripples doing their best to turn it into a silver-white blur.  We made our way back to the dock, discussed our list of observed wildlife with the attendants, and walked back to the car calmed and peaceful.  As we left the park around nine o’clock we realized why both sides of the roads were lined with cars: Shakespeare was being performed under the stars at The Muny in front of thousands of people.

We arrived back at the hotel and soon left again to get the late-night dinner whose normal time had been postponed due to our massive lunch at Lambert’s ten hours earlier.  Not wanting to travel far, we crossed the street to Maggie O’Brien’s where we enjoyed an unhurried dinner together across the room from the happy pub-goers who were celebrating some kind of decades night.

This was a good day — a very good day — and a good reminder that sin and not earthiness is the cause of the world’s misery and bondage.  It is not parks and paddleboats and pleasure that should be blamed for the sin and suffering that we have chosen for ourselves, and therefore it is not the parks and the paddleboats and the pleasure that should be inherently avoided as the way to be right again with God and man.  Christians are not (supposed to be) dualists, because our Father is not a dualist.  He made the world and called it good, He will one day re-make the world and call it good again, and in between He sent His only Son to redeem His people who live in the world so that we will be set free from sin and death and will live new lives of freedom and righteousness in anticipation of the day when He will make everything new.  And if all that we enjoyed on this day in St. Louis is only a cursed shadow of what we will enjoy when the glory of Jesus Christ is the unsetting sun illuminating the new Jerusalem (Revelation 21:23), then we are rich people indeed.

Judah and His New Bike

We bought Judah his first bike several weeks ago.  For the first week or two he tried and tried but couldn’t quite get the hang of the pedal cycle.  He knew to push one pedal forward and down, but once he pushed it all the way to the bottom, he didn’t know how to turn the other pedal over the top and keep the cycle going.  Now, two weeks later, he’s riding around the courtyard like a pro.

We took the first video within the first few days that he had the bike (skip to 0:40).  I had to push his feet to keep him going since he was in the pre-muscle-memory stage.  Monday (two weeks later) we took the second video.  We don’t typically strap him down with Saul’s armor every time he goes out to ride because I’m not entirely interested in my son growing up thinking that the world is padded and that it’s unsafe to go outside without foam on every extremity, but sometimes he thinks it’s fun to strap on all the gear.  He takes some spills but tends to shake them off and hop back in the saddle.

I’ve now set up an entrance-ramp descending from the staircase so he can get some quick acceleration before launching himself off the variety of kickers I’ve constructed in the courtyard.  Learning to snake around the palm tree while airborne may be a challenge, but I think he’s up for it.  Landing the jumps should be no problem since (1) he’s almost 30 months old, (2) he has training wheels, and (3) there’s at least a few yards of runway space where he can slow down before the stucco wall.

 

What Your Mom Was Trying to Tell You (in Three Minutes)

After 7.8 million views, I’m sure that many of you have seen this before.  But for all you mom’s out there who haven’t yet, Anita Renfroe has summarized in three minutes what you’ve been trying to say every day for all these years.  And for all of us who are old enough to appreciate all that our moms were trying to teach us, this will be a good, quick review (lyrics).  I recommend watching the video first and then listening to it again while following the lyrics.  You won’t catch it all the first time, which is a bit ironic.