Selling the Christchild

Dear Holiday Hecklers,

I’ve been somewhat amused over the past several years as stores have told their employees they should not say "Merry Christmas," but instead greet customers with "Happy Holidays." This, of course, ignores the fact that the derivation of "holiday" is a linguistic mash-up of "Holy Days"; but because the name of Christ is in "Christmas Tree," for a brief while some stores called them "Holiday Trees," as if shifting the name will maximize sales among Christ haters while not jeopardizing robust receipts from traditional Christians. Perhaps we are all generically Holians? 

About a decade ago Wal-Mart renamed “The Christmas Shop” as “The Holiday Shop.” The Christian right howled that the secularization of the ornament aisle was proof of some liberal conspiracy squeezing Christ right out of the fourth quarter earnings report. So the following year, Wal-Mart shifted back. I recently read an article claiming, due to the current political climate, that 60% more merchandise will carry the word Christmas this year. Fortunately for us believers, we can now proudly proclaim the reason for the season as “Christmas Shop,” with substantial savings in every aisle. Not to worry--the trend of renewed faith is not shallow; corporate spokespeople from Macy’s, Kohl’s and Walgreens have assured us that they are following suit. Give me a break!

I remember columnist Al Lewis in The Denver Post wrote a few Christmases back, “Retailers who say ‘Happy Holidays’ are only trying to be inclusive. They don’t care what religion their customers believe. They just want the money.”

The liturgical season of Advent began yesterday, December 2. Advent kicks off on the fourth Sunday before Christmas Day. This year FPCLG attempted to pack our aisles by offering free Eucharist! I’m still waiting to hear if the freebie helped with offering receipts.

It’s supposed to be a time to prepare our hearts and our lives for the Christ child. The word advent comes from the Latin adventur, which means "arrival." During Advent our services include a short ceremony, the lighting of one candle each of the four Sundays. The Advent wreath is made in a circle representing God's unending love. Evergreen branches around the wreath remind us of everlasting life with Jesus Christ. The wreath consists of four candles, three purple (the color of both mourning and royalty) and one rose (the joy of Mary candle, the purity of white mixed with the violet of sorrow). On Christmas Eve a white candle in the center of the wreath will be lit to represent the birth of Jesus.  

The purpose of this season is to reflect on the end of things and the hope that does not end. Historically, Advent was a season of penance for confession, fasting and prayer in preparation for the glorious news of Christ’s birth. If we lived in a deeply Christian world, Wal-Mart would care less about reactions to greetings and more about their penance supplies. I’ll have to check the fasting aisle at Walgreens or pick up a nice confession tie at Kohl’s. Anyway, I digress.

I would suggest that perhaps capturing the real meaning of the season requires us to turn to the text. I mean, of course, How The Grinch Stole Christmas! Therein, Dr. Seuss writes,

“The Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: ‘How could it be so?’
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store.
‘Maybe Christmas ... perhaps ... means a little bit more!’”

Wishing you a very Happy Holiday [Christmas] Season, with slightly cynical joy, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan B. Krogh
Your Pastor



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Conspiring for Camp

Dear Happy Campers: 

In 1930, Walter Strong, publisher of the Chicago Daily News, constructed his country getaway summer home for his wife Josephine and their five children. Josephine’s brother, architect Maurice Webster, designed the home to resemble a Tudor castle, knowing Strong’s affection for his European travel and the writings of Sir Walter Scott. Quarried from local limestone, the house sits on a perch above the Rock River with sixteen bedrooms, nine baths, eight fireplaces, gargoyles and several playful secret passageways. Strong, however, never fully enjoyed this fanciful retreat house, as he died suddenly in 1931. 

Widow Josephine Strong maintained the home just outside of Oregon, Illinois, splitting her time between The Castle and her residence in Wilmette. When she passed in 1961, her children had scattered beyond the Midwest and did not wish to maintain the eclectic property, selling it to the Blackhawk Presbytery as a camping facility for

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Dear Election Deniers:

Well, another election is in the books, and I am beyond disappointed. I cannot discern the motivation of individual voters, but the collective count seems to be a win for anger and misogyny. Unfortunately I fear had it gone the other way we would have chalked up a win for complacency. You know my preference, but we all must live with the results and determine how to move forward.

Like many post-election executives, my job now is to discern the outcome’s impact on my business. I know the metaphor may feel unseemly, but as a minister I need to evaluate my industry which is religion, my brand which is Christianity and my model which is Presbyterian. Given the election results, I feel like a horse collar manufacturer in 1920s Detroit. 

I don’t think the problem is the quality of the product—it’s whether or not anyone is buying.

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Dear Spam-Call Warriors:

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Dear Subscribers:

Once an organization or association has approved by-laws and built a website, it seems the next project is to create a newsletter or magazine. In addition to collecting dues, the staff, whether volunteer or paid, is tasked with keeping track of the industry’s trends and legislative agendum. Many of these periodicals now exist only online, but who can forget the importance of Potato Chipper Magazine or the National Tire Dealers and Retreaders Association newsletter? (When I was a kid, the latter arrived for my dad at the house each month.)  It matters not your hobby, interest or profession, you can bet there’s a periodical that fits even the narrowest of interest. Some titles explain themselves, like “Private Island Magazine”; others feel a tad more obscure, like “Emu Today and Tomorrow” or “Miniature

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Dear Hangry Diners: 

Having just stepped away from my morning news feed, I’m inclined to observe that the world is a mess. Of course, 24-hour news cycles and constant doom scrolling would lead even the most stable among us to become unmoored, assuming the great apocalypse is only moments away. But that’s how it works when attention is monetized. The financial incentives are out of whack—the purpose of information is not to keep me informed, but to keep me glued, to awaken in me an insatiable hunger for the next screen. I’m ashamed to admit how well it works, because even as I write this I am tempted to click back on the updates of some story, issue, poll or commentary. It all triggers in me a

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Seeking Real Intelligence

Dear Real Intelligence (RI?) Seekers:

Last year my brother Bruce (Prof. Emeritus electrical engineering, Carnegie Mellon University, and Founding Director CMU Africa) was interviewed by CNBC Africa regarding current technological developments on the continent. In the interview, which may be found here, he discussed the importance of context in Artificial Intelligence (AI) learning models. In our conversations, my brother has talked about the vast difference between American and European AI models and African continental models relating to everything from logistics to health care to banking. 

If you were to use models trained with data from legacy countries and inquire as to how developing nations in Africa could improve the delivery of goods and finances, the AI output would most likely commend grand infrastructure projects requiring the construction of massive dams, highway systems and power plants. However, African nations are currently using networks

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One Painting is Not an Exhibition

Dear Art Dealers, 

From 1870 to 1871, impressionist painter Claude Monet lived in London, where he had arrived from Paris in self-imposed exile to avoid conscription in the Franco-Prussian War. That first exposure to London’s smoggy air inspired the young artist, who was fascinated by what the moisture and pollution did to the refraction of light. After returning to Paris, Monet was determined to revisit London, which he did many times over the subsequent decades.

Among his favorite subjects for painting were the Parliament buildings along the River Thames capturing the various angles of light and fog. Throughout his career, Monet captured those

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Don't Try to Be Happy

Dear Happy(?) Campers:

Happiness is a byproduct, not a goal. I heard that quote during a podcast interview last week and it is stuck in my head. 

A little research reveals that Mahatma Gandhi may or may not have said something similar. His abbreviated quote usually reads, “Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.” Except that seems to be a memeification (yes, invented word) of a longer, more verifiable Gandhi quote: “Happiness is a direction, not a place. Happiness

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Leisure, A Sign of Failure?

Dear Busybodies, 

Labor Day—that last gasp of summer as we slip our summer whites into storage and prepare for the seasonal responsibilities of harvest. A day for workers to set aside the drudgery of Mondays for one fleeting glimpse of how life could always be had we been born into the luxury of the leisure class. Except these days we no longer mark success as freedom from responsibility, but rather prove our worth by a flurry of perpetual busyness.

Imagine Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos lingering over one more game of croquet on the lawn while sipping lemonade. Or Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg touring aimlessly down a coastal highway, windblown with

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Wishing It Were True

Dear Seekers:

This past week I attended a required clergy continuing education program hosted by the Presbytery of Chicago. A portion of the day was devoted to helping us understand the importance of monitoring our stress. When we are under pressure, we are more likely to violate the personal boundaries of others; we become less supportive of their needs, and our tolerance for their behavior wears thin. At the same time, the presenters wanted us to appreciate how stress helps us grow, building our resilience, so they offered this illustration...

Biosphere 2 was a research project constructed in the Arizona desert in the late 1980s to determine if it was possible to create a closed ecological system which, in the future, might sustain human life on other planets. It’s a massive domed structure that replicates

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The Gospel of Success

Dear Wealthy Investors:

If you’ve missed the fact that I think a “prosperity gospel” is heresy, then we haven’t talked. Religious hucksters have been around since the beginning of time. Even the early church struggled with that brand of phony. 

In Acts 4.32, we’re told how many people sold property to place the money before the Apostles so they could distribute it to any who were in need. In Acts chapter 5, Ananias and his wife Sapphira wanted in on the action. Christians were digging deep to support the work of the early church. So Ananias and Sapphira sold a piece of property, but they held back

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The Pervasive Power of Patrons

Dear Political Patrons:

I’m not a Chicago native, but I’ve spent nearly three times as many years as a resident of the Windy City as I had in my hometown of Omaha, and all of that time on the South Side (if one counts Hyde Park as the South Side). When I arrived in Hyde Park, Michael Bilandic was Mayor, and the fact that he was Croatian was of little consequence to my newfound awareness of Chicago politics. The Irish were kings of the South Side ever since Mayor Richard J. Daley’s mother, Lillian, announced that she wanted more for her son than being a policeman. Richard J. didn’t disappoint.

Daley (the elder) had a keen sense of optics, making sure that his base constituencies were well represented when handing out credit and meting out power. His was a carefully crafted machine in which the component parts were not

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When Spiritual Misses the Religious

Dear Collective Clergy:

As you may gather from my sermons over the past several weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about community, about interdependence, about sharing. Perhaps because there are few things less independent or self-sufficient than caring for someone who is ill; or perhaps because I am old enough to realize there are some things I will never accomplish in this life. Whatever the reason, I’ve been musing about how spirituality has become a personal responsibility. We’ve privatized it. We are taught that each of us is responsible for working out our own salvation, our prayer life, our meditation, our scriptural devotion, even our emotional health and faith. I’m not so sure that’s right.

Much of this started with the Reformation. The reformers denounced the special position priests held in mediating God’s presence for the people through the

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A Little Love Note to a Church

Dear, Dear Friends:

Letters from the pastor are traditionally epistles of reprimand. Seeing oneself as constrained by a stiff-necked people, the pastor attempts to write the congregation into submission. Confident that the only limit to their ministerial wonderfulness is spiritual stubbornness, they dedicate their pens and preaching to browbeat the very congregation to which they are called. I sometimes wonder how church members tolerate such dismissive paternalism. There must be something irresistible in the friendships, or the choir rehearsals, or the coffee that brings people back to endure their weekly scolding. I have on occasion, submitted my congregations to such smug condescending judgmentalism, and now looking back, I am sorry. My regret arises not only from the absurdity of ‘biting the hands that feed me,’ but

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Is Our Welcome Upside Down?

Dear Welcoming Worshipers:

This may come as a bit of a surprise, but occasionally I muse about things other than political temperament or cultural erosion; sometimes I muse about the church—and not just its niche in society or role in public discourse. I sometimes think about how we ‘do’ church and how we ‘are’ church.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been rolling around in my head our metrics. What we count, how we measure progress, where we look for trends. Most often we consider ‘how many’, as in attendance, and ‘how much’, as in offerings or expenditures. But independent from this annual report data, I’ve been thinking about people, as in those who are not yet part of our fellowship, and I’m beginning to believe our systems of connection may be upside-down.

The centerpiece of our community in both energy and focus is our gathering

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Pointless Performative Posting
Pointless Performative Posting

Dear Fatigued Faithful:

Now that the state of Louisiana has codified posting the Ten Commandments in every public school classroom, attention has been given to commandments 7 (Thou shalt not commit adultery) and 9 (Thou shalt not bear false witness) and whether or not the politicians who endorse the policy live up to these commands. Those who defend the posting of the Decalogue claim it is a bedrock document of American law, and as such a piece of history without religious prejudice. My musing over this issue, and the recent state school superintendent of Oklahoma mandating the teaching of the Bible in schools, has less to do with the documents themselves and more to do with the qualifications of those who will interpret their meaning for young minds.

Of course, the Ten Commandments is a religious document. Let’s start with #1, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” There is nothing secular about that! Of course, moving on, the next three commandments are equally sectarian: #2 Thou shalt not make any graven image, #3 Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain and #4 Remember

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Requiem For The Horde
Requiem For The Horde

Dear Bugged Ones: 

As many as 1.5 million cicadas per acre emerged a few weeks ago in our region of Illinois. With great anticipation, people dreaded the endless sound of their mating screech. It was amazing how finding a single cicada in the house and courting him outside could fill the air with so much noise. While larger than most bugs, it still seemed to emit more sound than its size could resonate. The crunching sound too—of thousands of exoskeletons littering the sidewalks—created its own fascinating cringe.  

Love them or hate them, they’re now nearly gone.

It will be 2041 when our brood emerges again. If I’m still around, I’ll be 80.

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Equipped for Ministry?

Dear Keepers of the Faith:

Last week the Southern Baptist denomination voted to change its constitution in order to fully codify that the office of Pastor could only be held by men. Congregations who deign to use the title Pastor for someone without a Y chromosome will be expelled from the denomination. Closely intertwined with the amendment’s rhetoric was a conservative political pushback related to debates over gender identity. It was not coincidental that former VP Mike Pence addressed the conference in person, and candidate President Trump provided pre-recorded video remarks to the assembly. Affirming the masculine prerequisite for congregational leadership, the vote was seen as a thumb-in-the-eye to political progressives who the Southern Baptists believe

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Cleaning our Plates

Dear Dinner Guests,

Beginning this coming Sunday, June 9, our Adult Education program will feature a series of speakers discussing the lingering spiritual and emotional impact of the COVID-19 pandemic. These presentations will rely on materials and research prepared for the spring conference that didn’t happen due to low enrollment. I reflected on possible reasons for our collective disinterest a few weeks back in an essay linked here, and it is quite possible these Sunday post-worship gatherings will garner the same lackluster participation. But in consultation with our Adult Ministry Moderator Joe Yount, we’ve decided to try anyway, because we believe these conversations will be good for you—think of it as educational broccoli.

A core concern of mine has to do with what I have witnessed as a pastor and counselor when we fail to acknowledge undigested grief. (Yes, I’ll continue the roughage metaphor.) When we individually or collectively experience trauma, loss or disappointment,

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Jesus Our Mother Prays for Us
Jesus Our Mother Prays for Us

Greetings, Praying Parents:

Sunday was Mother’s Day, and the text for the day was from John 17, a passage known as the High Priestly Prayer of Jesus. I’ve always found this record of Jesus’ words to be daunting. John’s language is layered and complex, and I’ve never quite understood what Jesus was praying. But, since it was Mother’s Day, I attempted to reinterpret John 17 as a mother’s prayer. When I started the project in preparation for my sermon, I was surprised how much more meaningful Jesus’ words were when seen through the heart of a mother.

Following worship, a few people asked if I could share the prayer. Since I hadn’t paraphrased the whole chapter, and chunks were truncated to make a point, I decided to undertake a re-reading of the whole

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A Recipe for Reconciliation Has a Starting Point

Dear Non-Conference Non-Attendees:

As you may know, a great deal of effort was put into planning and promoting a post-COVID conference scheduled for the second Saturday in March. Pre-registrations were underwhelming, so the week before the event I decided to cancel it. It’s bad form to have more breakout groups than attendees. I’m grateful for the presenters and preparers who were unable to showcase their no-doubt brilliant work; but discussing the impact of the pandemic four years out was clearly uninteresting to a wider public.

Upon reflection, I realize I shouldn’t be surprised. I conceived of an event designed to address the unprocessed grief we carry regarding what was lost during those dark months of soaring death rates and social isolation. I recognize now that a conference organized to address denial is doomed by its own irony.

Perhaps because I spent so much time thinking about the pandemic’s impact on our social psyche,

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Thoughts and Prayers or Thoughtful Prayer?

Dear Deep Intercessors:

As I’ve mentioned before, when confronted with pain, struggle, deprivation, weakness, etc., we’re not comfortable regulating our helplessness. “Thoughts and prayers” have become a trivializing phrase, hiding passivity in the face of tragedy. But there are times when that’s all we’ve got. Unfortunately, “I’ll pray for you” feels like a last resort when we’ve exhausted all the options of practical assistance. It feels like surrender. ‘I wanted to do something useful, but all the wonderful things I could do have been declined, so I guess I’m stuck with praying instead.’

I understand how quickly feelings of helplessness can degenerate into a self-loathing

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A Taxing Responsibility
A Taxing Responsibility

Dear Taxing Filers:

April 15th, Tax Day! Hopefully you’re not scrambling to finish the filing task on this beautiful Monday; I usually am. Not because I procrastinate, which I do, but because ministers are paid like independent contractors, so the 15.3% self-employment tax on salary and housing allowance usually leaves a little extra needed to top off my quarterly payments from the previous year. Like many, I’m in no rush to hand off that cash. I am grateful for the continued income tax exemption provided to clergy for housing allowance, but am not confident that exemption will last. Implemented to compensate pastors who own their homes rather than live in a church manse, local municipalities like the allowance because it keeps clergy houses on the property tax rolls. Churches do not pay tax for their property, including church-owned pastors' housing. (Strangely enough, continuation of the housing allowance exemption finds its greatest protection from the U.S. military.) All this brings me to today’s musing, a brief history of the religious church tax exemption.

It’s an old allowance. Christian Emperor Constantine (272-337 BCE) famously insulated Christian churches from Roman taxation, a tradition that was continued

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Keep Looking Up, at least until you're tired

Dear Sunward Gazers,

As I write this we are anticipating a solar eclipse, which reminds me of my brief childhood hope of becoming an astronomer. It was the height of the Space Race, and Apollo missions were already in full gear, inching the United States closer to planting the first human feet on the moon. My neighborhood buddies and I were well aware of the tragic Apollo 1 accident on February 21, 1967, in which Command Pilot Gus Grissom, Senior Pilot Ed White and Pilot Roger B. Chaffee perished in an awful fire during a launch rehearsal. An electrical spark ignited nylon insulation, and the conflagration was accelerated by the use of pure, high-pressure oxygen in the cabin. A congressional investigation resulted in several changes to the module’s design, particularly the use of a far less explosive nitrogen/oxygen mixture. They had briefly experimented with an even more inert helium/oxygen blend, but that combination made the astronauts sound like Alvin and the other chipmunks, so it was scuttled in the name of dignity.

Most of my friends aspired to be astronauts, but I was a risk-averse kid. As with the high dive or the zipline, I preferred to be an observer rather than a potential stain on the pool’s bottom or cautionary splat on a camp trail. Astronomy was for me—it was a profession that involved sitting

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You Raise Me Up, Because?

Dear Sitters:

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Pledge Punctuation Changes Allegience

Dear Pledging Patriots:

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Concern over the new arrivals’ ability to assimilate and a fear that they lacked understanding

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Dear Ones:

As you may imagine, today’s Musing doesn’t wander far from Dani’s brain surgery today. Some things overwhelm all other threads of concentration. Counting out Aggi’s (our dog) pills this morning and smooshing them into her favorite gummy candy, I was taken aback, because next to the newly filled pill cup was another pill cup containing the pills, each stuffed into a gummy. Clearly, I had done that task earlier in the morning and had no actual memory of having performed that part of my morning routine. I’m finding myself making sure the keys are in my pocket several times each time I get out of the car. Deep thought clearly takes up a lot of space, crowding out the mundane mental wanderings of an average day…

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Dear Past Pandemic Prospectors,

Four years ago, during the second week of March 2020, the world underwent a profound transformation. Restaurants, schools, libraries, museums, churches, offices, sports arenas—any place where people gathered—shut down for nearly two years. Social connections were reduced to glowing screens, loved ones were glimpsed behind closed windows, learning was confined to laptops, and touch was abandoned. The world functioned at a distance, and remote living seemed safer.

When 'normalcy' returned, there was a rush to resume activities, to gather, to embrace, and to move forward. However, in our haste, we overlooked

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Knowing Everything/Knowing Nothing

Dear God Lovers:

I seldom experience past sermon preparation bleeding over into my Monday brain—by Sunday afternoon I’ve pretty much exhausted all interest in that morning’s texts, and I attempt to create some headspace to welcome the following week’s passages. But yesterday’s epistle reading from 1 Corinthians 8.1-13 has left some spiritual residue about which I have been musing.

For those who were there or who listened online, the focus of my sermon was the conclusion of the first verse of the passage, “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.” These words were convicting enough to wrestle out a full sermon. But verse 2 is equally if not more startling. Paul writes,

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