The Asterisk

I have been living in New York for many years now, and I have to ask, “What is New York without the New York Post or the Daily News?” I know, most of you sophisticated people read the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal – just like I do. But your eyes can’t help but wander to the great covers of the Post or the News while you are buying coffee in the morning. So it was with me this morning (February 10). I was caught by the bold words Body of Lies next to a picture of A-Rod (otherwise known as Alex Rodriguez, the highest-paid baseball player of all times). Alex has his shirt off with a cross hanging around his neck. Pretty dramatic and pretty damning, as the subtitle reads, “Now A-Rod admits he DID take steroids and, yep, he’s sorry”. I love the word “yep” which, of course, is supposed to mean “yes”, but it conveys another message to me. It seems to insinuate that, of course, he’s sorry, he has to be sorry – he’s been caught red-handed with forensic evidence to boot. There is no way out but to say, “I am sorry”. So, while he lied three years ago in an interview with Katie Couric, he now had to come before his fans in public to confess. It’s that “yep” that is unsettling. It suggests that his confession and acknowledgment of his own wrongdoing and lies is forced. In the words of W. C. Fields, “All things considered, he’d rather be in Philadelphia”.

It is an interesting story of shame and scorn of someone who is a celebrity. We tend to feel that the rich and famous should be above reproach, but we love to tear them down. So A-Rod will now have an asterisk by his name and his statistics, suggesting that he has achieved whatever records with the help of drugs. Being a pastor, I always fall on the side of trying to understand those who have proven that we are all flawed and this is part of the human condition. And “yep”, we hide it from ourselves and others. We even run from it.

No matter where we go, we can’t run from the asterisk next to our name. It is that asterisk that tells us we are not in control, we have fallen short of our best intentions, not to mention “the glory of God”. The old-fashioned way is simply to say we are all sinners in need of forgiveness. And so, we have to thank A-Rod for leading us into Lent with such headlines. I noted that he was wearing a cross around his neck, which is the key to understanding our own redemption. It is the cross that saves us, that tells us that God identifies with our pain, and that we are all in search of redemption. It is that love that can erase the asterisk. To me, Lent is the experience of coming to terms with yourself, your faults, sins, and failings. It is moving beyond the “yep” to a willing acknowledgment that we need forgiveness. In the end, Lent tells us not just that we are sinners, but that God erases the asterisk and loves us for who we are. Is there any better good news?

Join me this Lent as we struggle as struggle to confront the asterisk in front of our name.

North African Journal

Marrakesh is a beautiful place. It reminds me a little of Santa Barbara, California, where I did my internship. It has the palm trees, the mountains and the colors—but not the ocean. Nevertheless, it is a feast for the eye with the beauty of its walls, buildings and the friendliness of its people. I could see why Winston Churchill loved this place so much to not only paint it but to insist that Franklin Roosevelt visited it.

After the January 24 press conference in Casablanca in 1943 Churchill talked Roosevelt into going to a place he loves - Marrakech. For them, the trip to Marrakesh was to see the sunset on the snows of the Atlas Mountains. The two leaders relaxed and enjoyed a picnic during the five-hour journey to Marrakech and arrived at about 6 p.m. A six-story sloping tower provided a perfect view of the mountains, but as the narrow, winding stairs couldn’t accommodate Roosevelt’s wheelchair, two Secret Service agents made a cradle of their hands and carried the president to the top of the tower. There, the two world leaders sat for half an hour enjoying the view. On the morning of January 25, when Roosevelt was leaving, Churchill rushed out at the last minute to say goodbye. With his usual disregard for convention, the prime minister appeared wearing a red-dragon dressing gown and black velvet slippers with his initials embroidered on the toes. Churchill refused photographers an opportunity to take a picture. That would never happen now with today’s paparazzi. Later Churchill paints a picture of the view.


Marrakesh is full of romance and interest. After breakfast we get a guide from the concierge. He is friendly and cheap, but not so knowledgeable. He takes us on our first stop to a botanical garden along a side street that seems out of the way. At first we wonder why. It is a place called the Marjorelle Gardens. As we walk through the door, we see one of the most spectacular gardens that I have ever seen. It is manicured and perfect and mostly a cactus garden. There are pots with beautiful plants; blue seems to be the dominating color. There is a wonderful little museum featuring Berber art.


The Berbers are a people who are defined in many ways. They may be seen as mediterraneans or as people west of the Nile. They, of course, are a big part of the Moroccan culture. Before adhering to Islam, most Berbers were Christians; in fact, St. Augustine of Hippo was a Berber. He appears to be the only true Christian Orthodox Berber as the rest of the Berbers have a long line of heresies, beginning with the Donatist schism, and later with Arius, another Christian theologian who became a major heretic. Beyond all this, I am fascinated by their art and food.

But back to the museum – it is filled with Berber and Muslim artifacts, mainly ceramics, jewelry, traditional weapons, garments and uniforms. I love the art; it really is unique. Amid the garden is a monument to Yves Saint Laurent (I am assuming you know who that is).


I remember my first interview when I was a seminarian, and I went to get a suit and picked out a tie. I noticed that the tie I had chosen had little initials on it—YSL. That was my first introduction to Ives Saint Laurent who, I have since learned, was born in Oran, Algeria. He was picked on as a kid, but would later grow up to be famous. He evidently loved this place and had a home nearby. In the shade of the banana trees is what looks like a Roman column on top of an ocher base. He evidently bought these gardens and restored them as a visual paradise. That is saying a lot, when all you have to work with is cacti.

After that we are off again with our guide, and we stop by the large tower of a mosque that dominates our view, the Koutoubia Mosque. We continue on to a very interesting and beautiful hotel which will later become a haunt for us - Les Jardins de la Koutoubia. It is elegant and we have dinner there later. Prices are still good, even in such a nice place.

The souk is huge; you see snake charmers, monkey trainers and handlers, people dressed in bright colors, with women mostly covered—but even that is attractive. You start noticing eyes.

After that the tour sort of ends with him taking us to shops and stores. I am a shopper, so I don’t mind, but I am not sure about Tim and John. First to a carpet place where the owner gives us lessons in Berber carpet and other things. We have been set up and, I am sure our guide gets a kickback. That is the name of the game over here. Next, on to a bigger shop where I get into a huge bargaining episode that ends with no sale. Tim and John cannot believe it. No sale! I can’t believe it either. All I say is,” I guess we have found their margin.” The bargaining continues in the street, but still no deal. In calmer moments I realize I saved myself a lot of money.


Then we are off to an apothecary, a herbal expert, who give us a lecture on herbs, spices and cures. John actually buys something and gets a leg massage for his sciatica that is really bothering him.

In the end, a delightful day in a wonderful, magical and beautiful place.