Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Christian Anarchism: Part Three
When talking about Christian Anarchy the issue of violence inevitably comes up. For many anarchists (not Christian Anarchists though), violence is a necessary means to overthrowing authority, and though it may cost human lives, is worth the outcome. Other anarchists are not as violent, but simply believe in living “off the grid.” For the Christian, the issue becomes a bit more convoluted. It is a known fact that Christians have been involved in some of the bloodiest, most gruesome, violent conflicts in history, backing their political or economic aspirations with the “will of God.” For thousands of years both governments and the institution of the Church have invoked the name of God to slaughter thousands upon thousands of those who are “other.”
However, the Christian Anarchy movement believes first and foremost in nonviolence. For the Christian Anarchist also believes in the brotherhood of humanity, believing that though we may disagree with another group of people who hate us, we must not kill them for they are our brothers and sisters, no matter what race, color, or any government, will say. They take Jesus literally when he says, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Mathew 5:43, 44). And again when Jesus says, “You have heard it said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other one also” (Mathew 5:38, 39).
All of these passages utterly shocked me when I started to really read the New Testament for what it was and not for what other people said it was. Christian Anarchy adamantly denies the “redemptive” violence that saturates our world. The term “Myth of Redemptive Violence,” is commonly used to assert that violence is essentially a circle of “You did me wrong and so now I’ll do you wrong,” and pacifists, non-resisters and Christian Anarchists alike refute the idea that more violence is a solution to the problem of violence.
Shane Claiborne, an activist and writer, quotes Mother Theresa in his book, The Irresistible Revolution as saying, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love. It is not how much you do but how much love you put into doing it” (Shane Claiborne 319). Claiborne is a Christian pacifist and non-violent resister who protested the war in Iraq with a team of Christian peacemakers dedicated to telling the Iraqi people that it was not Christians, but the government of America, who was bombing them. The issue of violence is crucial with regards to comprehending the true nature of how Christians are to take part in society. The Christian call is to change the world not through force or through systems of power and law, but through “Small things, with great love.” In The Kingdom of God is Within You, Tolstoy quotes a man by the name of Tsceh Heltchitsky, a Czech professor, who goes even so far to say he, “denies completely the right to make war and to inflict punishment of death, every soldier, even the ‘knight’ is only a violent evil doer—a murderer” (17). These are harsh words coming from a Christian man whose religion supposedly has God’s endorsement for war. Tolstoy goes on to say that Helchitsky’s fundamental idea, “is that Christianity, by allying itself with temporal power in the days of Constantine and by continuing to develop in such conditions, has become completely distorted and has ceased to be Christian altogether” (17). This is what the Christian Anarchist revolts against: The adoption of Christianity by the State, or the adoption of the State by Christianity, both of them using each other for power. The Christian Anarchist resists (nonviolently of course) the use of force by governments and the endorsement of the government by the church.
The systems and governments of society are based on power. The strong, the wealthy, those with influence, are those who control the earth. And yet Christ’s central announcement of The Beatitudes (the beginning part of Jesus’ famous Sermon on the Mount in Mathew 5) say that the “Meek” will inherit the earth, the “Poor in spirit,” the “Peacemakers.” These are the ones who belong to the Kingdom of God. The Beatitudes are at their core a subversive announcement against the rulers and authorities of the earth. In a brilliant summing up of the true nature of subversive Christianity, Tolstoy says that, “True Christianity puts an end to government. For this reason, Christ was crucified…But no honest, serious-minded person can help seeing the incompatibility of Christ- his teaching of meekness, forgiveness of injuries, and love-with government, with its pomp, acts of violence, executions, and wars” (213).
The incompatibility of the temporal structures, including the government, with Jesus’ teachings, is the central idea behind Christian Anarchism. The government—with its acts of violence and corruption—has no place with the follower of Jesus. There is absolutely no way to reconcile the two. If one is serious about following Jesus, one cannot follow the government simultaneously. The government has for thousands of years, starting with Constantine who first adopted Christianity for the Roman Empire, used the church to sway the masses. And the Church for thousands of years had let it happen for either two reasons, the first being that of the “Church’s” desire for power, wealth, and status (all things, which ironically, Jesus denied). Jacques Ellul, who is one of the world’s foremost thinkers on technology, theology, Christianity, and Anarchy, says in his article “Christianity and Anarchism” that, “Political Authority cannot recognize the true God for what He is. It can only use Him accidentally for its own reinforcement.” (18). Here, Ellul is saying that government could not accept purely and freely the idea of “God” into its system without some foreknowledge of how it would also benefit from its power. The second reason for the alliance between Church and State stems from a pure intent of “Christianizing” the secular government, and therefore propagating Christianity through a place of power to the masses. The “pure” intentions here get lost, as the Church becomes the State and the State becomes the Church, neither of which seems to be Jesus’ intention.
For many years I never noticed this apparent contradiction between Jesus’ teachings and the Christianity that I grew up with. Now it seems terribly ironic for me to see bumper stickers that say “God Bless America,” or to sing nationalistic American hymns in church on the Fourth of July and get asked to “Pray for our Troops.” Not that I don’t believe in “supporting” the troops. But to pray that they would be victorious over America’s enemies (Or God’s as some might even be so bold to say) seems to cross the line.
In the book of Mathew, a story is told in which the religious leaders of the day, known as the Pharisees, try to trap Jesus in his words, asking whether or not it is the duty of the Jewish people to pay taxes to the Roman Empire. Jesus answers them by saying, “Give to Ceasar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s” (22:21). Many Christians use this passage to argue that Christians have a duty to the state, but Jesus really says nothing of the sort. The Jews saw the currency of the emperor as deeply offensive because it was not only egotistical on part of the emperor, but a direct violation against God’s commandment to make graven images (Boyd 5). Boyd says that Jesus was “demonstrating once again, that he hadn’t come to resolve the ambiguous and controversial issues that characterize the issues of the world. He rather came to offer a radical alternative way of doing life, answering a completely different set of questions (5). Boyd says that Jesus was more concerned with the preoccupation of people’s hearts—was it in politics and squabbling over the scraps of the Roman Empire—on letting the beauty and image of God reign in their lives? He essentially adopts an attitude of indifference as if to say, “It doesn’t matter, it’s just money. Jacques Ellul says in his article, “Anarchism and Christianity” that all Jesus is saying is that Ceasar made the money and is therefore is its master. That’s it. (Ellul 18) Caesar may be the master of money, but he is not the master of men.
Christianity will never work set up as a Christian nation. Jacques Ellul says that it is impossible to create a “Christian Society” (135) and that the Christian society will only exist in the Kingdom of God. The two very separate ideas of government and Christianity can never be merged. If the government adopts Christianity as its religion it is impossible to “make” people convert to Christianity because it is ultimately a conversion of the heart, and conversions of the heart do not come through force , but through free will. If there is a government that adopts Christianity it will, according to Ellul, only encourage hypocrisy, in his article, “Propositions concerning the Christian Attitude Towards Law,” he says “They have made non-Christian man adopt a Christian way of life…they have encouraged hypocrisy. From the Biblical point of view, the world ought to be the world, and society should not play the game of being the Church or a Kingdom of God on earth…This way things are honest”(135).
Jesus never seemed concerned with politics. One would think that with only so little time on earth, Jesus would be running around creating social reform and passing bills of righteousness, but he never did. Perhaps he did spend his days picketing prostitution in the pagan temples, or passing legislative bills for prohibition and we just never heard about it, but I don’t think so. For some reason the things Jesus talked about never involved the government. They were all a little more personal. Love your neighbor, forgive others, feed the poor, etc. Jesus proclaimed the Kingdom of Heaven, not the kingdom of Israel, or the kingdom of Rome or the kingdom of America. It was as if the whole world lived in this way there would be no need for government. For the Christian and the Christian Anarchist, it’s about resisting the Empire. And so today I do my best to live in such a way that makes government unnecessary. To not participate in the systems of power and support the greed of corporations that runs our world. Sometimes this means living a little more simply, a little more “off the grid” if you will. And other times it simply means to take matters into my own hands. Taking an active role in loving people and taking care of them, before waiting for the government to do so. I think it’s about real change that starts with our hearts and moves to our hands, loving God and others. But this oftentimes includes a “resistance” or a “separation” from government and Empire, and this is what Christian Anarchism is all about.
However, the Christian Anarchy movement believes first and foremost in nonviolence. For the Christian Anarchist also believes in the brotherhood of humanity, believing that though we may disagree with another group of people who hate us, we must not kill them for they are our brothers and sisters, no matter what race, color, or any government, will say. They take Jesus literally when he says, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Mathew 5:43, 44). And again when Jesus says, “You have heard it said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other one also” (Mathew 5:38, 39).
All of these passages utterly shocked me when I started to really read the New Testament for what it was and not for what other people said it was. Christian Anarchy adamantly denies the “redemptive” violence that saturates our world. The term “Myth of Redemptive Violence,” is commonly used to assert that violence is essentially a circle of “You did me wrong and so now I’ll do you wrong,” and pacifists, non-resisters and Christian Anarchists alike refute the idea that more violence is a solution to the problem of violence.
Shane Claiborne, an activist and writer, quotes Mother Theresa in his book, The Irresistible Revolution as saying, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love. It is not how much you do but how much love you put into doing it” (Shane Claiborne 319). Claiborne is a Christian pacifist and non-violent resister who protested the war in Iraq with a team of Christian peacemakers dedicated to telling the Iraqi people that it was not Christians, but the government of America, who was bombing them. The issue of violence is crucial with regards to comprehending the true nature of how Christians are to take part in society. The Christian call is to change the world not through force or through systems of power and law, but through “Small things, with great love.” In The Kingdom of God is Within You, Tolstoy quotes a man by the name of Tsceh Heltchitsky, a Czech professor, who goes even so far to say he, “denies completely the right to make war and to inflict punishment of death, every soldier, even the ‘knight’ is only a violent evil doer—a murderer” (17). These are harsh words coming from a Christian man whose religion supposedly has God’s endorsement for war. Tolstoy goes on to say that Helchitsky’s fundamental idea, “is that Christianity, by allying itself with temporal power in the days of Constantine and by continuing to develop in such conditions, has become completely distorted and has ceased to be Christian altogether” (17). This is what the Christian Anarchist revolts against: The adoption of Christianity by the State, or the adoption of the State by Christianity, both of them using each other for power. The Christian Anarchist resists (nonviolently of course) the use of force by governments and the endorsement of the government by the church.
The systems and governments of society are based on power. The strong, the wealthy, those with influence, are those who control the earth. And yet Christ’s central announcement of The Beatitudes (the beginning part of Jesus’ famous Sermon on the Mount in Mathew 5) say that the “Meek” will inherit the earth, the “Poor in spirit,” the “Peacemakers.” These are the ones who belong to the Kingdom of God. The Beatitudes are at their core a subversive announcement against the rulers and authorities of the earth. In a brilliant summing up of the true nature of subversive Christianity, Tolstoy says that, “True Christianity puts an end to government. For this reason, Christ was crucified…But no honest, serious-minded person can help seeing the incompatibility of Christ- his teaching of meekness, forgiveness of injuries, and love-with government, with its pomp, acts of violence, executions, and wars” (213).
The incompatibility of the temporal structures, including the government, with Jesus’ teachings, is the central idea behind Christian Anarchism. The government—with its acts of violence and corruption—has no place with the follower of Jesus. There is absolutely no way to reconcile the two. If one is serious about following Jesus, one cannot follow the government simultaneously. The government has for thousands of years, starting with Constantine who first adopted Christianity for the Roman Empire, used the church to sway the masses. And the Church for thousands of years had let it happen for either two reasons, the first being that of the “Church’s” desire for power, wealth, and status (all things, which ironically, Jesus denied). Jacques Ellul, who is one of the world’s foremost thinkers on technology, theology, Christianity, and Anarchy, says in his article “Christianity and Anarchism” that, “Political Authority cannot recognize the true God for what He is. It can only use Him accidentally for its own reinforcement.” (18). Here, Ellul is saying that government could not accept purely and freely the idea of “God” into its system without some foreknowledge of how it would also benefit from its power. The second reason for the alliance between Church and State stems from a pure intent of “Christianizing” the secular government, and therefore propagating Christianity through a place of power to the masses. The “pure” intentions here get lost, as the Church becomes the State and the State becomes the Church, neither of which seems to be Jesus’ intention.
For many years I never noticed this apparent contradiction between Jesus’ teachings and the Christianity that I grew up with. Now it seems terribly ironic for me to see bumper stickers that say “God Bless America,” or to sing nationalistic American hymns in church on the Fourth of July and get asked to “Pray for our Troops.” Not that I don’t believe in “supporting” the troops. But to pray that they would be victorious over America’s enemies (Or God’s as some might even be so bold to say) seems to cross the line.
In the book of Mathew, a story is told in which the religious leaders of the day, known as the Pharisees, try to trap Jesus in his words, asking whether or not it is the duty of the Jewish people to pay taxes to the Roman Empire. Jesus answers them by saying, “Give to Ceasar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s” (22:21). Many Christians use this passage to argue that Christians have a duty to the state, but Jesus really says nothing of the sort. The Jews saw the currency of the emperor as deeply offensive because it was not only egotistical on part of the emperor, but a direct violation against God’s commandment to make graven images (Boyd 5). Boyd says that Jesus was “demonstrating once again, that he hadn’t come to resolve the ambiguous and controversial issues that characterize the issues of the world. He rather came to offer a radical alternative way of doing life, answering a completely different set of questions (5). Boyd says that Jesus was more concerned with the preoccupation of people’s hearts—was it in politics and squabbling over the scraps of the Roman Empire—on letting the beauty and image of God reign in their lives? He essentially adopts an attitude of indifference as if to say, “It doesn’t matter, it’s just money. Jacques Ellul says in his article, “Anarchism and Christianity” that all Jesus is saying is that Ceasar made the money and is therefore is its master. That’s it. (Ellul 18) Caesar may be the master of money, but he is not the master of men.
Christianity will never work set up as a Christian nation. Jacques Ellul says that it is impossible to create a “Christian Society” (135) and that the Christian society will only exist in the Kingdom of God. The two very separate ideas of government and Christianity can never be merged. If the government adopts Christianity as its religion it is impossible to “make” people convert to Christianity because it is ultimately a conversion of the heart, and conversions of the heart do not come through force , but through free will. If there is a government that adopts Christianity it will, according to Ellul, only encourage hypocrisy, in his article, “Propositions concerning the Christian Attitude Towards Law,” he says “They have made non-Christian man adopt a Christian way of life…they have encouraged hypocrisy. From the Biblical point of view, the world ought to be the world, and society should not play the game of being the Church or a Kingdom of God on earth…This way things are honest”(135).
Jesus never seemed concerned with politics. One would think that with only so little time on earth, Jesus would be running around creating social reform and passing bills of righteousness, but he never did. Perhaps he did spend his days picketing prostitution in the pagan temples, or passing legislative bills for prohibition and we just never heard about it, but I don’t think so. For some reason the things Jesus talked about never involved the government. They were all a little more personal. Love your neighbor, forgive others, feed the poor, etc. Jesus proclaimed the Kingdom of Heaven, not the kingdom of Israel, or the kingdom of Rome or the kingdom of America. It was as if the whole world lived in this way there would be no need for government. For the Christian and the Christian Anarchist, it’s about resisting the Empire. And so today I do my best to live in such a way that makes government unnecessary. To not participate in the systems of power and support the greed of corporations that runs our world. Sometimes this means living a little more simply, a little more “off the grid” if you will. And other times it simply means to take matters into my own hands. Taking an active role in loving people and taking care of them, before waiting for the government to do so. I think it’s about real change that starts with our hearts and moves to our hands, loving God and others. But this oftentimes includes a “resistance” or a “separation” from government and Empire, and this is what Christian Anarchism is all about.
Christian Anarchism: Part Two
Essentially the idea of Christian Anarchy begins with a similar slogan to that of the anarchists, only replacing the word “no” with the word “one.” “One God, One master.” The main point of this slogan lies in refusing to be subject to any existing government authority or institution except God himself. Greg Boyd who is a pastor, writer, and philosopher, says in his article, “The Bible, Government, and Christian Anarchy,” that, Christianity is essentially a group of people who belong to the ‘Kingdom of Heaven,’ as Jesus called it (Mathew 4:7) and are therefore called to pledge allegiance to God alone, and not to any nation, government, political party, or ideology (1).
This does not mean Christians can do whatever they want and are free to break the law, because Christians above all are called to live under the “Law of Love” as famous writer and thinker Leo Tolstoy called it (i.e. Jesus’ claim that all of the commandments of scripture are summed up in these two, “Love God, Love others” Mathew 22:36-40). Tolstoy says in his book, The Kingdom of God is Within You, that “The Christian is independent of every human authority by the fact that he regards the divine law of love, implanted in the soul of every man” (186). Therefore it is the Christian duty to abstain from following any law that contradicts the law of love and is imposed upon society from the government. The societal philosophy or unspoken “laws” that impede against the law of love could be the use of force or violence against one’s fellow man, war, a military draft, the death penalty, or the exploitation/abuse of others. Whenever these issues are deemed acceptable by society or given exception, they are to be broken by the follower of Jesus. For instance, if Jesus says that we are to love our enemies, then the government’s call for us to take up arms against an enemy cannot be followed out of adherence and respect for the sanctity of life and the law of love (even for one’s enemies) that the Christian believes in. It is not simply pacifism but non-violent resistance.
The Kingdom of God is Within You was one of the major inspirations for Mahatmas Gandhi and his resistance of the British Empire in India, which is also a great example of the non-resistance and non-violence to resist the empire that Christian Anarchy believes in. It was after a brief introduction to these ideas that I began to reexamine the politics of my faith and the nature of faith in relation to politics in general.
The idea of Christian Anarchy can seem a bit off putting. When I first told my parents I was dabbling in ideas of Christian Anarchy I don’t think they knew what to say. I think to placate me they might have said something like, “Oh, well isn’t that neat,” and then went back to discussing the weather, thinking I was off on another one of my ideological torrents. In general my belief system is not that different from my parents, but I think that they thought me being a Christian Anarchist meant that I would start wearing spiked black leather jackets, and get skull tattoos with yellow flames. You see, I grew up believing in God in a mainstream Christian denomination. My parents would cart my brother, my sister, and I off to church every Sunday, dragging us like reluctant Indie rockers to a Britney Spears concert. Both of my parents came from highly involved Christian households, influenced from a variety of church denominations. Both of them went to Bible College and both were Christian counselors. All of my family was Christian—except for maybe one of my uncles (he drank beer and rode motorcycles). Half of them were pastors of some kind. Being a Christian was a part of life; I knew nothing else.
I also grew up Republican in a small, conservative mountain town of Colorado. Slowly I learned that being a Christian in a Republican context meant you supported gun control, the war on terror, lower taxes and the free market system. Why these were Christian issues I wasn’t quite sure, but I was sure it was important. I knew that if we were not allowed to have guns, the government would take over 1984 style and it was our right to protect ourselves from this (I think this is like the twelfth or thirteenth commandment.) I knew that if taxes were raised we would have less money, and this was a bad thing (no one ever told me that it also meant more money could go to public expenditures like better schools and community programs, but why is that important?) Christianity and the Republican Party were like Starsky and Hutch. All the Christian magazines and articles I read wrote support for Republican candidates, and against the Democratic Party because once the Democrats got in, everyone knew that Christian morality would decay like Bruce Willis at a poetry reading. We would sing nationalistic, patriotic hymns during church and ask for God to “Bless America,” which I always considered strange considering we were the richest country in the world (sort of like asking God to bless Bill Gates).
I watched documentaries about the “Christian” foundation of America and even remember taking a Sunday school class about how the Founding Fathers were Christians and started this country as a Christian nation, but that now it was all going to hell because people were having abortions while watching Comedy Central. I also learned growing up that the government was an authority which God had set up and therefore must be obeyed, and in America’s case, supported 100%. I believed that God was on America’s side and that the other people, terrorists or whoever, were “evil” and we, we were, “good,” of course.
This does not mean Christians can do whatever they want and are free to break the law, because Christians above all are called to live under the “Law of Love” as famous writer and thinker Leo Tolstoy called it (i.e. Jesus’ claim that all of the commandments of scripture are summed up in these two, “Love God, Love others” Mathew 22:36-40). Tolstoy says in his book, The Kingdom of God is Within You, that “The Christian is independent of every human authority by the fact that he regards the divine law of love, implanted in the soul of every man” (186). Therefore it is the Christian duty to abstain from following any law that contradicts the law of love and is imposed upon society from the government. The societal philosophy or unspoken “laws” that impede against the law of love could be the use of force or violence against one’s fellow man, war, a military draft, the death penalty, or the exploitation/abuse of others. Whenever these issues are deemed acceptable by society or given exception, they are to be broken by the follower of Jesus. For instance, if Jesus says that we are to love our enemies, then the government’s call for us to take up arms against an enemy cannot be followed out of adherence and respect for the sanctity of life and the law of love (even for one’s enemies) that the Christian believes in. It is not simply pacifism but non-violent resistance.
The Kingdom of God is Within You was one of the major inspirations for Mahatmas Gandhi and his resistance of the British Empire in India, which is also a great example of the non-resistance and non-violence to resist the empire that Christian Anarchy believes in. It was after a brief introduction to these ideas that I began to reexamine the politics of my faith and the nature of faith in relation to politics in general.
The idea of Christian Anarchy can seem a bit off putting. When I first told my parents I was dabbling in ideas of Christian Anarchy I don’t think they knew what to say. I think to placate me they might have said something like, “Oh, well isn’t that neat,” and then went back to discussing the weather, thinking I was off on another one of my ideological torrents. In general my belief system is not that different from my parents, but I think that they thought me being a Christian Anarchist meant that I would start wearing spiked black leather jackets, and get skull tattoos with yellow flames. You see, I grew up believing in God in a mainstream Christian denomination. My parents would cart my brother, my sister, and I off to church every Sunday, dragging us like reluctant Indie rockers to a Britney Spears concert. Both of my parents came from highly involved Christian households, influenced from a variety of church denominations. Both of them went to Bible College and both were Christian counselors. All of my family was Christian—except for maybe one of my uncles (he drank beer and rode motorcycles). Half of them were pastors of some kind. Being a Christian was a part of life; I knew nothing else.
I also grew up Republican in a small, conservative mountain town of Colorado. Slowly I learned that being a Christian in a Republican context meant you supported gun control, the war on terror, lower taxes and the free market system. Why these were Christian issues I wasn’t quite sure, but I was sure it was important. I knew that if we were not allowed to have guns, the government would take over 1984 style and it was our right to protect ourselves from this (I think this is like the twelfth or thirteenth commandment.) I knew that if taxes were raised we would have less money, and this was a bad thing (no one ever told me that it also meant more money could go to public expenditures like better schools and community programs, but why is that important?) Christianity and the Republican Party were like Starsky and Hutch. All the Christian magazines and articles I read wrote support for Republican candidates, and against the Democratic Party because once the Democrats got in, everyone knew that Christian morality would decay like Bruce Willis at a poetry reading. We would sing nationalistic, patriotic hymns during church and ask for God to “Bless America,” which I always considered strange considering we were the richest country in the world (sort of like asking God to bless Bill Gates).
I watched documentaries about the “Christian” foundation of America and even remember taking a Sunday school class about how the Founding Fathers were Christians and started this country as a Christian nation, but that now it was all going to hell because people were having abortions while watching Comedy Central. I also learned growing up that the government was an authority which God had set up and therefore must be obeyed, and in America’s case, supported 100%. I believed that God was on America’s side and that the other people, terrorists or whoever, were “evil” and we, we were, “good,” of course.
Christian Anarchism
For anyone interested in the links between Chrisitanity and Anarchism, here is the paper i wrote on it. I broke it up into few sections since it's a bit long.
Christian Anarchism: Part One
I am a Christian Anarchist, well somewhat. However, it was not always this way. I grew up as a “normal” Christian who pledged allegiance to both God and country and gave little thought to the connection between the two. For many the very idea of Christian Anarchism seems to be a paradox of drastic proportions. “Surely the Anarchists are all about chaos and the Christians about order,” you might say. In fact it seems near ludicrous to say that there ever could exist such a thing as a, “Christian Anarchist.” Many people—Christians, Secularists, and Anarchists, would say that the two ideologies of the Christian Faith and the Anarchistic movement are simply incompatible. And while this is true to a certain extent, the two ideologies also have a multitude of common ground between them.
Christianity and Anarchy are similar in some ways and yet wholly different. The hardest part about defining the idea of “Christian Anarchism” is semantics. The ideas of Anarchy and Christianity both mean very different things to a large number of people, and even within each of these categories are more subcategories. However, for a common understanding in this essay, a “Christian” will be defined simply as someone who believes in God and does their best to follow Jesus’ teaching, with no emphasis on particular denominations or theologies. The idea of Anarchy on the other hand, takes a bit more defining, because of the many associations and ideas associated with it.
Anarchists are generally known as a group that attempts to overthrow or subvert government authority and society with no intention of restoring order (usually in a violent manner). The Anarchist movement is an attempt to advocate for a state of natural order with no government or ruling authority in place. Anarchists are usually associated with destructive, dangerous behavior (which is not the case for Christian Anarchists) and even viewed as terrorists. The Anarchist revolts against existing laws, orders, and customs that they believe impedes the freedom of the individual. Sometimes the goal is overthrowing government; sometimes it is simply to abstain from government. The central claim or slogan of the Anarchist movement is, “No gods, no masters,” which means a number of different things, but mainly the belief first and foremost in freedom, which lies not in serving the government and religious institutions, but in the fraternity of the human race. These ideas constitute a general understanding of the Anarchist Movement, and while many years ago I would have been incapable of noticing the connections between this ideology and Christianity, today is a different story.
Christian Anarchy is essentially summed up in the call to “resist the empire,” the empire basically meaning the government and the systems of power within it. There are a surprising number of theological and historical figures who have proposed connections between Christianity and Anarchy, with just a few including renowned Russian writer Leo Tolstoy, Dorothy Day of the Catholic Workers movement, Professor Jacques Ellul, and Mennonite John Howard Yoder. They are some of the foremost thinkers on the idea of Christian Anarchy, as well as two contemporary authors and activists, Greg Boyd and Shane Claiborne. The word anarchy comes from “an” meaning, “without,” and “archy”, meaning “human authority” as writer, professor, and philosopher Jacques Ellul says in his article “Christianity and Anarchy,” (14.) So anarchy essentially means “without human authority.” Now, the idea of Christian Anarchy is not a subcategory of Anarchy, but more a subcategory of Christianity, (though it could be a completely different category altogether). The Christian belief in anarchy stems from the definition of “without human authority,” claiming that Christians are without human authority and subject to God alone. There are a few different branches or strands of Christian Anarchy, and the following are some broad generalizations of each. The first of these is the belief in a complete abstaining from all forms of government—living beneath the tax line, not voting, nomadic living arrangements and some even so far as abstaining from the use of currency.
The next form would be that of the Mennonites or Amish, a group of people by and large separate from society and who have their own way of sustainable living apart from any sort of government. The last form would be a more neutral version, where the Christian takes part in some systems of government—voting, taxes, and such things, but by and large still believes in and does their best to live in such a way that government is both unnecessary and contradictory to the systems of power that it represents. I think I am in the last category, but really I don’t like being thrown in categories.
Christian Anarchism: Part One
I am a Christian Anarchist, well somewhat. However, it was not always this way. I grew up as a “normal” Christian who pledged allegiance to both God and country and gave little thought to the connection between the two. For many the very idea of Christian Anarchism seems to be a paradox of drastic proportions. “Surely the Anarchists are all about chaos and the Christians about order,” you might say. In fact it seems near ludicrous to say that there ever could exist such a thing as a, “Christian Anarchist.” Many people—Christians, Secularists, and Anarchists, would say that the two ideologies of the Christian Faith and the Anarchistic movement are simply incompatible. And while this is true to a certain extent, the two ideologies also have a multitude of common ground between them.
Christianity and Anarchy are similar in some ways and yet wholly different. The hardest part about defining the idea of “Christian Anarchism” is semantics. The ideas of Anarchy and Christianity both mean very different things to a large number of people, and even within each of these categories are more subcategories. However, for a common understanding in this essay, a “Christian” will be defined simply as someone who believes in God and does their best to follow Jesus’ teaching, with no emphasis on particular denominations or theologies. The idea of Anarchy on the other hand, takes a bit more defining, because of the many associations and ideas associated with it.
Anarchists are generally known as a group that attempts to overthrow or subvert government authority and society with no intention of restoring order (usually in a violent manner). The Anarchist movement is an attempt to advocate for a state of natural order with no government or ruling authority in place. Anarchists are usually associated with destructive, dangerous behavior (which is not the case for Christian Anarchists) and even viewed as terrorists. The Anarchist revolts against existing laws, orders, and customs that they believe impedes the freedom of the individual. Sometimes the goal is overthrowing government; sometimes it is simply to abstain from government. The central claim or slogan of the Anarchist movement is, “No gods, no masters,” which means a number of different things, but mainly the belief first and foremost in freedom, which lies not in serving the government and religious institutions, but in the fraternity of the human race. These ideas constitute a general understanding of the Anarchist Movement, and while many years ago I would have been incapable of noticing the connections between this ideology and Christianity, today is a different story.
Christian Anarchy is essentially summed up in the call to “resist the empire,” the empire basically meaning the government and the systems of power within it. There are a surprising number of theological and historical figures who have proposed connections between Christianity and Anarchy, with just a few including renowned Russian writer Leo Tolstoy, Dorothy Day of the Catholic Workers movement, Professor Jacques Ellul, and Mennonite John Howard Yoder. They are some of the foremost thinkers on the idea of Christian Anarchy, as well as two contemporary authors and activists, Greg Boyd and Shane Claiborne. The word anarchy comes from “an” meaning, “without,” and “archy”, meaning “human authority” as writer, professor, and philosopher Jacques Ellul says in his article “Christianity and Anarchy,” (14.) So anarchy essentially means “without human authority.” Now, the idea of Christian Anarchy is not a subcategory of Anarchy, but more a subcategory of Christianity, (though it could be a completely different category altogether). The Christian belief in anarchy stems from the definition of “without human authority,” claiming that Christians are without human authority and subject to God alone. There are a few different branches or strands of Christian Anarchy, and the following are some broad generalizations of each. The first of these is the belief in a complete abstaining from all forms of government—living beneath the tax line, not voting, nomadic living arrangements and some even so far as abstaining from the use of currency.
The next form would be that of the Mennonites or Amish, a group of people by and large separate from society and who have their own way of sustainable living apart from any sort of government. The last form would be a more neutral version, where the Christian takes part in some systems of government—voting, taxes, and such things, but by and large still believes in and does their best to live in such a way that government is both unnecessary and contradictory to the systems of power that it represents. I think I am in the last category, but really I don’t like being thrown in categories.
The Sun was Driving Hot nails Through our Underwear: A poem for you
This poem is dedicated to you:
Whoever you are
I am going to try and blog more this year and part of that will be poetry.
So here's the first:
The Sun Was Driving Hot Nails Through Our Underwear
The sun was driving hot nails through our underwear
And we laughed at the thought of
Crying pillows over the beds on our cheeks.
Singing songs of suffering we drank joy like juice
Gyrating the eyes of brilliance
Till you shook like a candle and burned wax down your ear lobes like
cool water
and it—
felt good.
The distances in your eyes is like mars
Multiplying microcosms of moths
Fluttering loneliness like
Plates of Mr. butterscotch
Looking for Mrs. Butterscotch.
Who’s out cheating on him
The Pilates you do in the morning is the
Pitch perfect desperation
Of a middle aged housewife.
And like vases
The vultures circle and grow
As transparent trapeze artists.
Trapping our insides
Suffering at dawn
The circus is all we know
Till the robin rings
I’ll sit in the rocking chair
Plotting his death
And youll know it when you see it
The orange breast
With a clue knife.
Whoever you are
I am going to try and blog more this year and part of that will be poetry.
So here's the first:
The Sun Was Driving Hot Nails Through Our Underwear
The sun was driving hot nails through our underwear
And we laughed at the thought of
Crying pillows over the beds on our cheeks.
Singing songs of suffering we drank joy like juice
Gyrating the eyes of brilliance
Till you shook like a candle and burned wax down your ear lobes like
cool water
and it—
felt good.
The distances in your eyes is like mars
Multiplying microcosms of moths
Fluttering loneliness like
Plates of Mr. butterscotch
Looking for Mrs. Butterscotch.
Who’s out cheating on him
The Pilates you do in the morning is the
Pitch perfect desperation
Of a middle aged housewife.
And like vases
The vultures circle and grow
As transparent trapeze artists.
Trapping our insides
Suffering at dawn
The circus is all we know
Till the robin rings
I’ll sit in the rocking chair
Plotting his death
And youll know it when you see it
The orange breast
With a clue knife.
I'm Moving To Salt Lake City
So for those of you who don't know. I shall be moving this spring to one the snowboard/Mormon/Utah capital, Salt Lake City. It is part of a church plant collaboration between the Orchard Group and Imago Dei Community in Portland, Or. I shall be going with many friends, including my friend Kyle Costello who is heading this thing up, and his wife Joy. Also going is my uncle Kevin who is on stafff with Imago, and his wife Karen and their son Braden, who when i babysat him recently pooped in the bathtub. Also my fellow social justice and simplicty friend Jeremy Cox and his family and lots more people.
Below is the link to a video interview between Rick Mckinley and Kyle and Joy and Kevin and Karen.
Its good stuff. Let me know if you have any questions.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Enough Space
It’s snowing right now in Colorado. That’s right, suck it Portland. You may have great coffee and great beer and an amazing city, but you do not have snow. I think that’s what I miss the most about Colorado. The snow. The last two weeks I have been back in Colorado visiting friends and family before I go back to school in the Northwest. I just got back from this small town called Gunnison—where I went to school for about a year and a half. I have moved around quite a bit these past few years, but I still think some of the greatest people and some of my best friends come out of this town—which is strange because it is a small, cold town in the middle of nowhere with lots of hippies and snowboard bums.
Yesterday my friend Lauren and I drove back through the Western Slope and we drove over Monarch Pass where the aspen leaves were yellow like the sun and orange, like freshly picked oranges from Florida. The sun was setting and streaming through the wispy clouds, bright and illuminated, as if Jesus were coming back.
I was feeling kind of tired because for the past three nights I had stayed up way past my bedtime talking with old friends, catching up until we could practically see the sky get lighter and knew that the sun was approaching.
I thought about my friend Jamie (that’s what we’ll call her) and how she was going through a “crisis of faith” as she called it and she asked me how I got through mine and I said, “I’m still in it.” To which she replied by saying,
“Oh.”
And for a second I realized it was true and that I was still in it, and contemplated banging my head onto the green grass where we were sitting and screaming, “I’m still in it!” because that’s how I felt. But I didn’t, because there was a cute girl sitting next to me, and I didn’t want her to think that I was crazy (I already looked a bit strange, what, with my beard, Mohawk and tattoos.) Instead I got up and smoked a cigarette and I tugged on Jamie’s white jacket and asked her to stand up with me.
I didn’t exactly know what to say to her, but I wanted her to feel alright about life, even though I knew it was barely possible for me to. She asked me a couple questions to which I responded with, “I don’t know.” And I think she might have been a little bit disappointed, but I told her that I thought the best thing she could do was just be honest and that God was big enough for that.
Lauren and I were now heading into South Park and it was one of the most beautiful sights I have seen. South Park is a wide open plateau with mountains all around and at the very tops you could see a light dusting of snow that looked even whiter with the sun shining on it.
And Lauren and I, we were talking about faith and she said this very profound thing to me and it went like this, “There’s a lot of space.” I was kind of freaking out about things and she said that I should relax and not worry because there’s enough space for us to move around and God is not in any hurry.
“Hmm.” I said.
“It’s like at the football game the other day.” She said. “Did you see those tiny girl dancers?”
“Um, well, yeah, some of it.”
“The most interesting girl to watch is the one who has absolutely no clue what is going on. She is sort of paying attention to the adult teacher and the other minuscule girls, but she is really just flailing and falling down and not really sure what’s happening, but she is smiling and dancing her all. It was probably the best part of the entire game.”
The opposite sunset was just as beautiful and a pink-red sky was a backdrop for the blue and green mountains to the right of us.
“And I think God is up there, you know, in the stadium, watching us dance our lives and he is shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes! You are failing so horribly but trying so hard and man are you cute down there failing around with your skinny arms!”
Because there’s enough space and God is not in a hurry.
And I thought that was a beautiful thing, and for the first time in awhile I felt okay about things.
Yesterday my friend Lauren and I drove back through the Western Slope and we drove over Monarch Pass where the aspen leaves were yellow like the sun and orange, like freshly picked oranges from Florida. The sun was setting and streaming through the wispy clouds, bright and illuminated, as if Jesus were coming back.
I was feeling kind of tired because for the past three nights I had stayed up way past my bedtime talking with old friends, catching up until we could practically see the sky get lighter and knew that the sun was approaching.
I thought about my friend Jamie (that’s what we’ll call her) and how she was going through a “crisis of faith” as she called it and she asked me how I got through mine and I said, “I’m still in it.” To which she replied by saying,
“Oh.”
And for a second I realized it was true and that I was still in it, and contemplated banging my head onto the green grass where we were sitting and screaming, “I’m still in it!” because that’s how I felt. But I didn’t, because there was a cute girl sitting next to me, and I didn’t want her to think that I was crazy (I already looked a bit strange, what, with my beard, Mohawk and tattoos.) Instead I got up and smoked a cigarette and I tugged on Jamie’s white jacket and asked her to stand up with me.
I didn’t exactly know what to say to her, but I wanted her to feel alright about life, even though I knew it was barely possible for me to. She asked me a couple questions to which I responded with, “I don’t know.” And I think she might have been a little bit disappointed, but I told her that I thought the best thing she could do was just be honest and that God was big enough for that.
Lauren and I were now heading into South Park and it was one of the most beautiful sights I have seen. South Park is a wide open plateau with mountains all around and at the very tops you could see a light dusting of snow that looked even whiter with the sun shining on it.
And Lauren and I, we were talking about faith and she said this very profound thing to me and it went like this, “There’s a lot of space.” I was kind of freaking out about things and she said that I should relax and not worry because there’s enough space for us to move around and God is not in any hurry.
“Hmm.” I said.
“It’s like at the football game the other day.” She said. “Did you see those tiny girl dancers?”
“Um, well, yeah, some of it.”
“The most interesting girl to watch is the one who has absolutely no clue what is going on. She is sort of paying attention to the adult teacher and the other minuscule girls, but she is really just flailing and falling down and not really sure what’s happening, but she is smiling and dancing her all. It was probably the best part of the entire game.”
The opposite sunset was just as beautiful and a pink-red sky was a backdrop for the blue and green mountains to the right of us.
“And I think God is up there, you know, in the stadium, watching us dance our lives and he is shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes! You are failing so horribly but trying so hard and man are you cute down there failing around with your skinny arms!”
Because there’s enough space and God is not in a hurry.
And I thought that was a beautiful thing, and for the first time in awhile I felt okay about things.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Doubt That Clings
Sometimes I look at my life and am quite surprised that I am still alive. What I mean by this is not that I am some superdaredevil adrenaline junkie who has close encounters with death daily jumping cliffs with motorcycles and base jumping off skyscrapers—It’s more along the lines of I am surprised that I am still kicking. I am surprised that I have not yet given up all hope and given in to the depths of despair, which constantly cling invisible, like spider webs, tangling me.
I have been a disillusioned, cynical Christ-follower for quite some time now and yet, I’m still here. Not sure why, exactly, probably it’s Jesus, but it’s quite surprising. Most days I am still quite depressed and sure that life is meaningless, yet I still wake up in the morning, which may not seem like much to you, but it is to me.
You’d think this doubt would have done me in by now, swift karate kick to the trachea, but I have been able to apathetically dodge this for quite some time. Most days talking to people helps. Like today I talked with my uncle Kevin, who is a pastor at Imago and it didn’t even feel like we talked about much, but I felt better afterwards. And then I got a latte from Bakery Bar and that was good. And tonight I’m going to hang out with this girl, which should also be good.
Something that helped me today was to remember this thought from Ann Lammot which goes something like “Doubt is not the opposite of faith, certainty is the opposite of faith.” Which makes me feel good because I have lots of doubt, but there’s room for it, there’s room for my questions.
So many people my age have been disillusioned for so long. Cynical for so long. And sometimes I wonder if there’s any hope. If any of us are going to find some answers.
I hope so. And I think that that is faith.
That tiny bit of hope that things might get better. That I may not be this way forever. The tiny bit of hope that says that God is good and God is love and he loves me with all my doubt and my questions, even when I don’t feel like talking to him and keep my distance. That is about all the faith I have right now, some days are better than others. And I’m still uncertain about a lot, but I think I was reminded today, that that’s okay.
I have been a disillusioned, cynical Christ-follower for quite some time now and yet, I’m still here. Not sure why, exactly, probably it’s Jesus, but it’s quite surprising. Most days I am still quite depressed and sure that life is meaningless, yet I still wake up in the morning, which may not seem like much to you, but it is to me.
You’d think this doubt would have done me in by now, swift karate kick to the trachea, but I have been able to apathetically dodge this for quite some time. Most days talking to people helps. Like today I talked with my uncle Kevin, who is a pastor at Imago and it didn’t even feel like we talked about much, but I felt better afterwards. And then I got a latte from Bakery Bar and that was good. And tonight I’m going to hang out with this girl, which should also be good.
Something that helped me today was to remember this thought from Ann Lammot which goes something like “Doubt is not the opposite of faith, certainty is the opposite of faith.” Which makes me feel good because I have lots of doubt, but there’s room for it, there’s room for my questions.
So many people my age have been disillusioned for so long. Cynical for so long. And sometimes I wonder if there’s any hope. If any of us are going to find some answers.
I hope so. And I think that that is faith.
That tiny bit of hope that things might get better. That I may not be this way forever. The tiny bit of hope that says that God is good and God is love and he loves me with all my doubt and my questions, even when I don’t feel like talking to him and keep my distance. That is about all the faith I have right now, some days are better than others. And I’m still uncertain about a lot, but I think I was reminded today, that that’s okay.
River white, like elephants
The river was white, like the ivory from elephants, and its bank was lined with fallen trees stretching their branches into the river, like the bones of elephants; the sky was hazy blue and the clouds slightly wispy; there was some sun, bright—especially through the haze, but it was getting late. We were tired from the day of work and drank beer along the rocks. The rocks were black on bottom and white on top—from the river below and the sun above.
“What will you do after this?” she said.
“Work.”
Where?”
“Somewhere. Coffee shop maybe, maintenance.”
“For how long?”
“Don’t know.”
“Will you go back to school?”
“Maybe.”
The river sparkled even brighter white, when the sun shone on it. It was probably minerals of some kind. We stared for a while into empty spaces, and the empty spaces stared back at us, mirroring.
“Why do you think the river is like that?”
“You mean all white?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Minerals maybe, runoff of some kind.”
“There’s not a factory up the river is there?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Hmm.”
“Who knows what causes these things.” I said.
“Well, scientists do.” We opened new bottles, filled with beer. A sunshine ale, because it was still hot.
“You think so? I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone knows about these things. I mean really knows, even about the simplest things.”
“Someone has to know.”
“Why, why does someone always have to know?”
“Because someone has to know.”
“I don’t know if anyone does.”
“There has to be answers. What would you tell people?”
“I don’t know.”
“No really what would you tell them if they asked. If you had to answer.” She took a sip of her beer.
“I don’t know.”
“No! If you had to answer.”
“No that’s just it, I would tell them, ‘I don’t know.’”
She looked at me hard, trying to read me. I took a sip of my beer. We continued staring into empty spaces, and she was nervous.
“Well what do you want to do in the fall?” She was getting slightly perturbed.
I answered, “I don’t know.”
She gave me another look, grittier. The river was still white but the trees began to look black, because the sun was going down.”
“Something of value.” I finally said after a few minutes of silence.
“Like what.”
“I’m going to say the same thing, you know, so please don’t be angry.”
She took another sip of her beer, this time in spite, because she knew the answers. She kept looking at me and I said it again. She got up to leave.
“Are you being honest or are you just being some sad, pathetic creature?”
I said it again.
The birds flew in the air, high, like kites. We continued to sit on the bank, dry from lack of rain. She sat back down.
“It’s not like I want this,” I said. “I don’t. If I could change I would.”
“You can change. It’s not that hard.”
Her face looked irritated, mine tired. She wanted resolution. I didn’t know what I wanted.
“I wish it was that easy. This honesty bleeds into doubt which bleeds into a lack of faith.”
“But if you’re honest you would find the truth… you would find what you’re looking for.”
“You’d think so, right?”
She looked away, into the hills—into the river, white like elephants tusks.
She got up to leave, this time for good I think. I wanted her to stay, I really did. But I also knew that she had to go. And I had to stay. Not that I wanted to. But I had to. I really did.
And she left, for good I think.
I drank the final sips of the beer. The sun was going down fast now. The bright orange was fading to a dark purple haze.
I sat there not really sure what to do. So I drank and I lit a cigarette, slowly, with care. I breathed in deep, inhale.
And I tried to exhale. I really did.
“What will you do after this?” she said.
“Work.”
Where?”
“Somewhere. Coffee shop maybe, maintenance.”
“For how long?”
“Don’t know.”
“Will you go back to school?”
“Maybe.”
The river sparkled even brighter white, when the sun shone on it. It was probably minerals of some kind. We stared for a while into empty spaces, and the empty spaces stared back at us, mirroring.
“Why do you think the river is like that?”
“You mean all white?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Minerals maybe, runoff of some kind.”
“There’s not a factory up the river is there?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Hmm.”
“Who knows what causes these things.” I said.
“Well, scientists do.” We opened new bottles, filled with beer. A sunshine ale, because it was still hot.
“You think so? I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone knows about these things. I mean really knows, even about the simplest things.”
“Someone has to know.”
“Why, why does someone always have to know?”
“Because someone has to know.”
“I don’t know if anyone does.”
“There has to be answers. What would you tell people?”
“I don’t know.”
“No really what would you tell them if they asked. If you had to answer.” She took a sip of her beer.
“I don’t know.”
“No! If you had to answer.”
“No that’s just it, I would tell them, ‘I don’t know.’”
She looked at me hard, trying to read me. I took a sip of my beer. We continued staring into empty spaces, and she was nervous.
“Well what do you want to do in the fall?” She was getting slightly perturbed.
I answered, “I don’t know.”
She gave me another look, grittier. The river was still white but the trees began to look black, because the sun was going down.”
“Something of value.” I finally said after a few minutes of silence.
“Like what.”
“I’m going to say the same thing, you know, so please don’t be angry.”
She took another sip of her beer, this time in spite, because she knew the answers. She kept looking at me and I said it again. She got up to leave.
“Are you being honest or are you just being some sad, pathetic creature?”
I said it again.
The birds flew in the air, high, like kites. We continued to sit on the bank, dry from lack of rain. She sat back down.
“It’s not like I want this,” I said. “I don’t. If I could change I would.”
“You can change. It’s not that hard.”
Her face looked irritated, mine tired. She wanted resolution. I didn’t know what I wanted.
“I wish it was that easy. This honesty bleeds into doubt which bleeds into a lack of faith.”
“But if you’re honest you would find the truth… you would find what you’re looking for.”
“You’d think so, right?”
She looked away, into the hills—into the river, white like elephants tusks.
She got up to leave, this time for good I think. I wanted her to stay, I really did. But I also knew that she had to go. And I had to stay. Not that I wanted to. But I had to. I really did.
And she left, for good I think.
I drank the final sips of the beer. The sun was going down fast now. The bright orange was fading to a dark purple haze.
I sat there not really sure what to do. So I drank and I lit a cigarette, slowly, with care. I breathed in deep, inhale.
And I tried to exhale. I really did.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Sorrow and Joy, Carving
So I have this theory about camp. Because the thing, you see, is that there is a very limited amount of freedom, and when you have no car and are miles away from any sort of public transportation or civilization you start to get a bit stir-crazy sometimes. Cabin Fever as the pirates will tell you. And they will tell you, because contrary to what we all thought, pirates still exist and we all still love them and wish them the best success even though they may be possibly looting our cargo. Every person I talk is completely stoked that pirates still exist. And every single one of them roots for pirates over cargo ships from the U.S. or the U.K. of wherever they are from, every time. Because pirates are awesome and we from post-modern era, miss the swashbuckling, seafaring adventures, of a simpler time not crowded with white collar monotony and a boring 21st century world.
This last week at camp we just got done with a themed “Ninjas vs. Pirates Week.” I think I dressed like a pirate every single day, and it was glorious. At campfire we sang Pirate songs and us counselors pretended that our lives weren’t dull and drab and dresses up like the rogues of the day (just kidding about the dull, drab part but seriously—I wish I was a pirate.)
Anyways, as I was saying about camp you only get so much time. So that little time that you do get off is the best three hours you’ve ever had. Going into Gresham has never been so glorious as it is right now. Especially when you get a night off. Oh! A whole night! I am almost in heaven, right now, so content, sitting and watching some movie in the staff lounge, the slounge as we call it. So content sitting on the corner of a street in Gresham smoking a cigarette (just a metaphor if any of my family is reading this) and watching the sunset. I am actually listening to music. Music! Can you believe it? No, you probably can’t, unless you’ve worked at a camp or similar job. But believe me when I tell you that it is good.
I was reading the Prophet the other day by Kahil Gibran and there’s a section about joy and sorrow. He says that joy and sorrow are inseparable; you can’t have one without the other. The amount of sorrow that carves out your soul simply makes room for the joy. I think it’s like that. The amount of hard work or sorrow or grief just makes the amount of joy or relief you experience just that much better. That’s how it feels at camp at least, and I’m pretty sure that’s how life is as well.
This last week at camp we just got done with a themed “Ninjas vs. Pirates Week.” I think I dressed like a pirate every single day, and it was glorious. At campfire we sang Pirate songs and us counselors pretended that our lives weren’t dull and drab and dresses up like the rogues of the day (just kidding about the dull, drab part but seriously—I wish I was a pirate.)
Anyways, as I was saying about camp you only get so much time. So that little time that you do get off is the best three hours you’ve ever had. Going into Gresham has never been so glorious as it is right now. Especially when you get a night off. Oh! A whole night! I am almost in heaven, right now, so content, sitting and watching some movie in the staff lounge, the slounge as we call it. So content sitting on the corner of a street in Gresham smoking a cigarette (just a metaphor if any of my family is reading this) and watching the sunset. I am actually listening to music. Music! Can you believe it? No, you probably can’t, unless you’ve worked at a camp or similar job. But believe me when I tell you that it is good.
I was reading the Prophet the other day by Kahil Gibran and there’s a section about joy and sorrow. He says that joy and sorrow are inseparable; you can’t have one without the other. The amount of sorrow that carves out your soul simply makes room for the joy. I think it’s like that. The amount of hard work or sorrow or grief just makes the amount of joy or relief you experience just that much better. That’s how it feels at camp at least, and I’m pretty sure that’s how life is as well.
Summer Camp in the Summer
As some of you might know, the past few weeks I have been working at a summer camp in the green trees of Oregon. It is a YMCA camp just outside of Gresham called Camp Collins. My good friend Colin also works there, interestingly enough, and he is also my boss. There is a river (The Sandy River) that runs through the bottom and a horse corral and a giant swing and a climbing tower and such things that make summer camps great.
I am a teen counselor which means I work with the teens, those between the ages of 13-19, with a certain look of angst in their eyes, and a certain amount of hormones in their developing, awkward bodies. I sleep on the front porch of a rustic cabin and there is quite possibly nothing better than spending summer nights sleeping outside (although occasionally I have to yell at my kids to be quiet because they are rambling on about high school things and quoting movies and laughing at fart noises, when I am trying to catch some z’s because I am sleep deprived and borderline drunk with exhaustion other than that it is good.)
We sing lots of camp songs and every second week with the teens, go on either a rafting or rock climbing trip. The last trip I went on we rafted the Deschutes River and one night a rattle snake crawled though our camp, forcing our raft guide to beat it with a paddle (for our safety of course) and then me and the other girl counselor, Caribou, proceeded to skin and eat it. Yes, that’s right. We skinned and ate rattle snake. I know, I am practically Bear Grylls. The worst part was that we cut the head off the snake and yet it’s body still writhed as we tried to peel it’s skin away from its insides. Right now Caribou is tanning the skin and going to make something out of it, perhaps a make-up case (that’s a joke by the way, because Caribou doesn’t wear make-up.)
It is good out here, although long days and hard weeks, and sometimes I feel apathetic and just tired in general. I am doing my best to breathe and unleash myself from the worries and distractions of everyday life and concentrate on the present moment. I am doing my best to be content and not get lost inside my head with all of these worries and philosophical dilemmas of existence. I am doing my best to be like the trees—growing slowly, planted by a river, letting the wind blow through my branches and not trying to be something I am not or rush the end result.
The kingdom of God is Within You
For the past few weeks I have been reading a book called The Kingdom Of God is Within You by Leo Tolstoy. It is one of those books that you read and then later on when you are in conversation say something like “This book changed my life.” It is one of those kinds of books. This book was one Mahatma Gandhi’s biggest inspirations for his peaceful overthrow of the British Empire. Much of it has to do with the doctrine of Non-resistance to evil and the law of love as taught by Christ. It was banned in Russia (although at that time, what wasn’t banned in Russia) and continues to be the sort of book that persons in authority and government cringe at. It is an obscure book that not a lot of people have heard about, probably for good reason. It is also in the anarchists reading list, which may I just say is pretty bad-ass.
The basic point of the book, as best as I’ve come to grasp because there are many, is that true Christianity puts an end to all government. We do not need the government. In fact there are many times when social systems, class hierarchies, religious dogma and so on stand in direct opposition to the teachings of Christ. The two cannot co-exist. Ever since Constantine adopted Christianity as its state religion, we have begun to notice that whenever the Christian faith aligns itself with power structures of the day, things begin to go horribly wrong.
Tolstoy believes that the Kingdom of God will be ushered in by us, as believers, when all men take part in these five commandments of Christ: 1. Live in Peace with all men. 2 Be Pure. 3. Take no oaths. 4. Resist not evil. 5. Renounce national distinctions. He goes on to explain how true Christianity, the true gospel is hindered by church authorities, the government and so on. When we align ourselves with a nation over our fellow Christian brothers in another part of the world, when we kill the innocent simply because our country says it is in our best interest, when we swear allegiance to men rather than to God and when we worship the same idols of wealth, success, fame, power, revenge and so forth, we remove ourselves from the Kingdom of God. Tolstoy says, “The Christian doctrine shows that the essence of his soul is love—that his happiness depends not on loving this or that object, but on loving the principle of the whole—God, whom he recognizes within himself as love, and therefore he loves all things and all men.
This is a great book, and has some of the most accurate ideas and thoughts regarding true Christian living. We do not need governments or worldly possessions, all we need are the brothers around us—true Christian community, Loving God, loving others.
The basic point of the book, as best as I’ve come to grasp because there are many, is that true Christianity puts an end to all government. We do not need the government. In fact there are many times when social systems, class hierarchies, religious dogma and so on stand in direct opposition to the teachings of Christ. The two cannot co-exist. Ever since Constantine adopted Christianity as its state religion, we have begun to notice that whenever the Christian faith aligns itself with power structures of the day, things begin to go horribly wrong.
Tolstoy believes that the Kingdom of God will be ushered in by us, as believers, when all men take part in these five commandments of Christ: 1. Live in Peace with all men. 2 Be Pure. 3. Take no oaths. 4. Resist not evil. 5. Renounce national distinctions. He goes on to explain how true Christianity, the true gospel is hindered by church authorities, the government and so on. When we align ourselves with a nation over our fellow Christian brothers in another part of the world, when we kill the innocent simply because our country says it is in our best interest, when we swear allegiance to men rather than to God and when we worship the same idols of wealth, success, fame, power, revenge and so forth, we remove ourselves from the Kingdom of God. Tolstoy says, “The Christian doctrine shows that the essence of his soul is love—that his happiness depends not on loving this or that object, but on loving the principle of the whole—God, whom he recognizes within himself as love, and therefore he loves all things and all men.
This is a great book, and has some of the most accurate ideas and thoughts regarding true Christian living. We do not need governments or worldly possessions, all we need are the brothers around us—true Christian community, Loving God, loving others.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
The Kingdom of God is Within You
For the past few weeks I have been reading a book called The Kingdom Of God is Within You by Leo Tolstoy. It is one of those books that you read and then later on when you are in conversation say something like “This book changed my life.” It is one of those kinds of books. This book was one Mahatma Gandhi’s biggest inspirations for his peaceful overthrow of the British Empire. Much of it has to do with the doctrine of Non-resistance to evil and the law of love as taught by Christ. It was banned in Russia (although at that time, what wasn’t banned in Russia) and continues to be the sort of book that persons in authority and government cringe at. It is an obscure book that not a lot of people have heard about, probably for good reason. It is also in the anarchists reading list, which may I just say is pretty bad-ass.
The basic point of the book, as best as I’ve come to grasp because there are many, is that true Christianity puts an end to all government. We do not need the government. In fact there are many times when social systems, class hierarchies, religious dogma and so on stand in direct opposition to the teachings of Christ. The two cannot co-exist. Ever since Constantine adopted Christianity as its state religion, we have begun to notice that whenever the Christian faith aligns itself with power structures of the day, things begin to go horribly wrong.
Tolstoy believes that the Kingdom of God will be ushered in by us, as believers, when all men take part in these five commandments of Christ: 1. Live in Peace with all men. 2 Be Pure. 3. Take no oaths. 4. Resist not evil. 5. Renounce national distinctions. He goes on to explain how true Christianity, the true gospel is hindered by church authorities, the government and so on. When we align ourselves with a nation over our fellow Christian brothers in another part of the world, when we kill the innocent simply because our country says it is in our best interest, when we swear allegiance to men rather than to God and when we worship the same idols of wealth, success, fame, power, revenge and so forth, we remove ourselves from the Kingdom of God. Tolstoy says, “The Christina doctrine shows that the essence of his soul is love—that his happiness depends not on loving this or that object, but on loving the principle of the whole—God, whom he recognizes within himself as love, and therefore he loves all things and all men.
This is a great book, and has some of the most accurate ideas and thoughts regarding true Christian living. We do not need governments or worldly possessions, all we need are the brothers around us—true Christian community, Loving God, loving others.
The basic point of the book, as best as I’ve come to grasp because there are many, is that true Christianity puts an end to all government. We do not need the government. In fact there are many times when social systems, class hierarchies, religious dogma and so on stand in direct opposition to the teachings of Christ. The two cannot co-exist. Ever since Constantine adopted Christianity as its state religion, we have begun to notice that whenever the Christian faith aligns itself with power structures of the day, things begin to go horribly wrong.
Tolstoy believes that the Kingdom of God will be ushered in by us, as believers, when all men take part in these five commandments of Christ: 1. Live in Peace with all men. 2 Be Pure. 3. Take no oaths. 4. Resist not evil. 5. Renounce national distinctions. He goes on to explain how true Christianity, the true gospel is hindered by church authorities, the government and so on. When we align ourselves with a nation over our fellow Christian brothers in another part of the world, when we kill the innocent simply because our country says it is in our best interest, when we swear allegiance to men rather than to God and when we worship the same idols of wealth, success, fame, power, revenge and so forth, we remove ourselves from the Kingdom of God. Tolstoy says, “The Christina doctrine shows that the essence of his soul is love—that his happiness depends not on loving this or that object, but on loving the principle of the whole—God, whom he recognizes within himself as love, and therefore he loves all things and all men.
This is a great book, and has some of the most accurate ideas and thoughts regarding true Christian living. We do not need governments or worldly possessions, all we need are the brothers around us—true Christian community, Loving God, loving others.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Wanderlust
I got back from Costa Rica on Sunday. I left for camp on Monday. I had to get out of Portland, I really did. It was starting to get to me, it really was. The only reason I wanted to stay was this girl, but even that wasn’t quite enough. You stay in one place long enough and you start to feel pretty bored, at least I do—and depressed and you get those twinkling’s that life is meaningless and not really worth it. I’m not sure why. Some call it wanderlust.
It was a funny thing though, when I arrived at camp. I like camp, I really do. But after the first day, I couldn’t wait to leave. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It probably has something to do with being content. Wherever I am, I always want to be somewhere else. Not that I don’t like the present, I do, usually. But when I’m here I fell like being there. And when I get there, I want to be back here. I’m getting better, I think. But it’s still there. I swear to God I’m crazy, I really do. A madman. Not really sure what I want in life really, or where I’m going. And sometimes I’m okay with that. And other times I feel that it’s probably all right around me, inside me.
But I feel content now, I really do. Sitting on this bench, with the tall pine trees—like skyscrapers—reaching towards the sky, towering. And these log cabins, and my friend Todd (or Holland at camp.) And it’s good to be in the woods, away from nice things. Normal things. Busy things. Where I can read words on processed trees, turned to yellow pages. And listen—to earthly things. Nature things.
It was a funny thing though, when I arrived at camp. I like camp, I really do. But after the first day, I couldn’t wait to leave. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It probably has something to do with being content. Wherever I am, I always want to be somewhere else. Not that I don’t like the present, I do, usually. But when I’m here I fell like being there. And when I get there, I want to be back here. I’m getting better, I think. But it’s still there. I swear to God I’m crazy, I really do. A madman. Not really sure what I want in life really, or where I’m going. And sometimes I’m okay with that. And other times I feel that it’s probably all right around me, inside me.
But I feel content now, I really do. Sitting on this bench, with the tall pine trees—like skyscrapers—reaching towards the sky, towering. And these log cabins, and my friend Todd (or Holland at camp.) And it’s good to be in the woods, away from nice things. Normal things. Busy things. Where I can read words on processed trees, turned to yellow pages. And listen—to earthly things. Nature things.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Costa Rica
I am in Costa Rica! Well, actually, not right now. Right now I am back in the U.S. But, when I wrote this in my journal, I was in Costa Rica, right then. My friend Robert and I went down there last week and stayed for about ten days. Robert is still down there, I hope he’s all right and hasn’t been sucked out by the gnarly rip tides or been bitten by a colorful frog. We flew into San Jose last Saturday and spent the next two days with my friend Joe who is a kayak guide for Outward Bound. He’s been down there for a whole year, kayaking and surfing—such a hard life. We literally had no idea what we were doing when we got there but I think that’s the best way to do it sometimes. We were planning on having Joe take us around but he had to go on a trip so Robert and I were forced to backpack around the country by ourselves. So we just did that and backpacked around and took long, uncomfortable bus rides. We hung out at the beach in Montezuma—an organic, bohemian town filled with dreadlocks, European budget travelers and hippie expatriates. We drank forties of Imperial(the cerveza of Costa Rica) and watched the sunset.
Heres a poem I wrote:
Rip-tide foamy white
Shell white crash and bright
A fitting metaphor (for You)
To give and take
To habitate and break
A fitting Calm a fitting Fear
And moisture in the air, those
Clouds, flash and illuminate
Bright inkling to bright inkling
Yellow yellow fluttering height.
Pure Vida! (Which means everything is good)
Wild Hope
On Wednesday night sullen skies stretched over the dreary, orange colored bricks of Pioneer Square. We walk—bags on shoulders, past the Max tracks down Yamhill St, looking, searching, and then stopping next to the Pioneer courthouse. Lounging by the eight by four pools of concrete animals are four teenagers. Wearing spiked leather and rolling cigarettes, they lean up against their heavy, worn backpacks. They tell us they have just got in from Seattle. Next they are going to San Diego. Then To New Orleans. Then back to Portland. We ask if they need anything. Sometimes they say yes. “Yes we do,” they say. “Money or booze?”
“Sorry,” we reply. “We do not have these things to offer.”
What we do have to offer though, is socks. Socks and sewing kits. Socks and cigarettes. Socks and q tips. Socks and band-aids. Socks and friendship. Friendship and relationship.
Sometimes they say no. They are happy the way they are.
What we do on Wednesday nights at Wild Hope is classified as outreach. We stick our hands in bags, we pull them out, we pass them goods. We listen to them. We talk with them. We reach out to them. But as we are reaching out, they are reaching in. Reaching into our hearts and giving them a good pump or two. Reminding us that life is about more than 9-5 jobs and conforming to rules society has deemed supreme. They are known by some as the dregs of society, the outcasts, the cracked out scum, the alcoholic rabble. Bums. Hobo’s. Punks. We say they are our brothers, fellow humanity. We no better and they no worse. But if they ask, we tell them. Yes, we tell them. About this Wild Hope that we have. This Wild Hope that there is more beyond this life. That all the struggle, the writhing, the hurting is “just for now.” We tell them that we hope in what is not seen. That it is wild. That it is freedom. That it is peace. We do not pass out tracts. We pass out relationship. Bits and pieces of us.
Some nights are darker than others. Sometimes people die. Sometimes people overdose. Sometimes people get arrested. But other nights are filled with laughter. With the sharing of stories, the exchange of ideas. Sometimes we are humbled when we offer help and they reply that they love their life-hopping trains around the country, playing guitar, peddling for quarters. They have chosen this lifestyle because normal life is way too boring, there is no adventure, no danger. Sometimes we offer to help them get a job and they just shake their head silently, as if we have no idea what we are talking about.
Between the hours of six and nine on Wednesday nights you can find us. Walking. Conversing. We end each night with some prayer and community time because we have come to realize that we are not only valuable because of the things we do for God’s kingdom but because we are God’s children. So we end each night of outreach, reaching into each other’s lives. Reminding ourselves that we are not machines, that we have value simply because God says we do. We pray for each other and then exit. Exit in body, but not in mind. There is simply too much breath on Wednesday nights to forget about.
Monday, June 8, 2009
To Be Free or Happy?
Fyodor Dostoevsky says in his book The Brothers Karamazov that God created man to be free, when all he really wants is to be happy. The other day I sat down and asked myself some hard questions about living in Empire. The first being, is Darth Vader really that great of a leader? Or, is he respected from a purely aesthetic level due to his whole dark, “my voice sounds like a machine and you can’t see my eyes,” façade? And, also can the Death Star really do all that we think it can? Seriously, think about it.
Really I think it comes down to this question: “Do I really want to follow Jesus? Or do I want to kind of follow Jesus and kind of live in the empire?” Sort of like a half in-half out scenario where I hover between these two different worlds, like a Now, there are many ways in which I believe in a Consumer King, that is, a God who will give me what I want, when I want it, American style. I want a god who promises me certain things such as fame, success, and happiness, who will be my tiny little genie, granting me my every wish. I decompose into the mode of the this, then statements. I say God if you don’t do this, then… then I’m not going to do this. God if you don’t make me happy or take away my whatever, or give me blank, then I’m leaving.
What is the this? What are the things in the empire that I think if I just had this…then. Then I would be happy. Then I would have no more problems. Then I would follow you. If everything just made sense. If you were just more like this sort of god. If you would just give me security. Peace. If you would just give me these answers. If you would only stop me from sinning. If you would only take this brown thorn out my pale skin.
Then there are still the things I lust for in the Empire. The areas of life I seek abundance through. A lust to be noticed, to be known. To buy this or that, to make myself feel better. To search for recognition. Identity. A sensual greed—to feel good, to feel happy, to feel intimacy, to feel all right. There is this Faustian desire for knowledge within me leading to a gospel based on rationality, science and the so called wisdom of the world. My failure to really believe that God is the abundance. Trading a gospel of self-sacrifice for feel good spirituality. My failure to abide in that which is the very being of the cosmos, and trusting in the trinkets of the empire.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Maggies Farm (Subverting Empire, Part Deux)
Maggies Farm (Subverting the Empire)
Parte Deux
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.No, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more. Well, I try my bestTo be just like I am,But everybody wants youTo be just like them.They sing while you slave and I just get bored.I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
-Bob Dylan
“I aint gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more.” So sings Bob Dylan and also Rage Against the Machine, depending on your version. But, what would it mean if we really did refuse to work on Maggie’s farm? Kind of like the bumper sticker that says “What if the Hokey pokey is what it’s all about?” What if we refused to take part in the economies, systems and rules of the empire? First we would have to decide what parts of the empire go in direct contrast to the teachings of Jesus. Those could be war, nationalism, greed, lust—for power, fame, sexuality. It could be the worship of Mammon, even in the name of our “financial” security.
However, once I started to think of what ways I am controlled by empire mentality, I realized the lists were endless and to such a drastic level, that I had to eat a whole gallon of ice cream before my head felt well (I also went on a shopping spree.) Even in so called “spiritual aspirations” I can see the empire mentality and the evil within my own heart seethe out. For instance, I want to live a radical lifestyle of following Jesus that includes communal living, activist demonstrations, subversive love and that hopefully, will get me killed one day. But, and there is a big but, at the beginning of this sentence. But, one day I realized that I don’t want to do those things in isolation and out of pure obedience so much as I want people to see me doing all these things. I want people to notice me doing all these great things.
I honestly don’t know if I would do all the things I do if no one was watching. I mean I hope I would. I want to. But I don’t know.
Parte Deux
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.No, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more. Well, I try my bestTo be just like I am,But everybody wants youTo be just like them.They sing while you slave and I just get bored.I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
-Bob Dylan
“I aint gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more.” So sings Bob Dylan and also Rage Against the Machine, depending on your version. But, what would it mean if we really did refuse to work on Maggie’s farm? Kind of like the bumper sticker that says “What if the Hokey pokey is what it’s all about?” What if we refused to take part in the economies, systems and rules of the empire? First we would have to decide what parts of the empire go in direct contrast to the teachings of Jesus. Those could be war, nationalism, greed, lust—for power, fame, sexuality. It could be the worship of Mammon, even in the name of our “financial” security.
However, once I started to think of what ways I am controlled by empire mentality, I realized the lists were endless and to such a drastic level, that I had to eat a whole gallon of ice cream before my head felt well (I also went on a shopping spree.) Even in so called “spiritual aspirations” I can see the empire mentality and the evil within my own heart seethe out. For instance, I want to live a radical lifestyle of following Jesus that includes communal living, activist demonstrations, subversive love and that hopefully, will get me killed one day. But, and there is a big but, at the beginning of this sentence. But, one day I realized that I don’t want to do those things in isolation and out of pure obedience so much as I want people to see me doing all these things. I want people to notice me doing all these great things.
I honestly don’t know if I would do all the things I do if no one was watching. I mean I hope I would. I want to. But I don’t know.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Can it be?
It is May 26th and the clouds have broken. We are starting to feel, smell the air of summer. And it is glorious. It has been dark and dreary for so long, too long. And we are starting to think that we can’t make it any longer. But now, now we just might be able to. Now we are starting to think that life may just work out after all. We are drinking Ice Tea and listening to People under the Stairs. We are going to summer BBQ’s and playing basketball in the park. We are going for bike rides on the East bank Esplanade. We are trading in our dark, drab clothes for brighter ones. We are tilting the corners of our upside down lips. Tilting them up towards joy. We soak it up, the sun, the hope. We tilt up our necks and open our mouths.
Summer evenings make it good. Life, that is. It makes it feasible that I could survive 70 years on this green sphere called earth. It makes it more than feasible. It makes it livable. It makes it full, luminous, shining.
Summer evenings make it good. Life, that is. It makes it feasible that I could survive 70 years on this green sphere called earth. It makes it more than feasible. It makes it livable. It makes it full, luminous, shining.
Hey Everyone,
Mewithoutyou's new cd just came out about a week ago. It's awesome, you should go buy it, right now, go put on your shoes, oh and grab your coat, it could rain.
Also, there is a sweet interview with Aaron Weiss and he tells an amazing story about a horse.
Heres the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZJJtw2DHfY
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Subverting the Empire Part Once
The past few weeks at Imago Dei Community (it’s the church I go to) we have been looking at what it means to leave the Empire—that empire being the system of caesar, the governments, economies and rulers of this world (also America.) The idea of subverting empire is a relatively new concept to me. I grew up in a church that said to submit to the authorities and I always felt like there was something wrong with that, maybe because the authorities were the ones who kicked me out of sweet skate spots. “Come one, it’s just a handrail!” I would yell, and then take off with my middle finger in the air. However, within this system of Christianity was an unspoken, indirect idea to worship ceasar and his system over the way of Jesus. That system includes the myth of redemptive violence, the lust of consumerism and the idea of individual success which, by the way, happens to be killing our communities and souls. So the past year I have been learning what it means to subvert the empire.
My unknowing mentors in this area have been the Jesus Radicals (Jesusradicals.com,) a group of Christian Anarchists, yeah you heard right. The guys at Free Jesus.com, who are a bunch of socialist Christians dedicated to freeing the Jesus from the misconstrued minds of the right wing, as well as the Ordinary Radicals (theordinaryradicals.com,) made up of Shane Claiborne and his fellow cohorts. I love these people and these ideas because it’s so punk-rock and rebellious, and makes me want to wear spiked leather belts and get more tattoos. Who knew Christianity was such a rebels sport? It feels more right to me, I mean if we really are going to take Jesus seriously.
So the next few blogs I would like to talk about what it means to truly follow Jesus, partly because I have no idea. I have always been an all or nothing sort of guy—either I’m going to follow Jesus and sell all my possessions or I’m getting drunk tonight! And having sex with some pretty girl in a yellow sundress.
My unknowing mentors in this area have been the Jesus Radicals (Jesusradicals.com,) a group of Christian Anarchists, yeah you heard right. The guys at Free Jesus.com, who are a bunch of socialist Christians dedicated to freeing the Jesus from the misconstrued minds of the right wing, as well as the Ordinary Radicals (theordinaryradicals.com,) made up of Shane Claiborne and his fellow cohorts. I love these people and these ideas because it’s so punk-rock and rebellious, and makes me want to wear spiked leather belts and get more tattoos. Who knew Christianity was such a rebels sport? It feels more right to me, I mean if we really are going to take Jesus seriously.
So the next few blogs I would like to talk about what it means to truly follow Jesus, partly because I have no idea. I have always been an all or nothing sort of guy—either I’m going to follow Jesus and sell all my possessions or I’m getting drunk tonight! And having sex with some pretty girl in a yellow sundress.
I Did My Best Today And Still They Came
I did my best today and still they came. The devils with their devilish grins. They came in unexpected places and even, unexpectedly, in the expected places. First they start with my brain. They wind it up like a clock, no, not like a clock, like one of those toy cars that you had when you were a kid, you know, where you roll the wheels backward and when you let go they race off across the kitchen floor, careening into the legs of the dining room table. They wound up my brain and sent it racing towards everywhere, anywhere, and eventually it wound up in the dark nooks of the my kitchen floor plan and there it sat, with its wheel spinning, burning rubber, ferociously lunging itself headfirst into an immovable wall. Now that I am in this dark nook, furiously turning my wheels and yet going nowhere, the first part of their plan is complete.
Now for phase two. The heart. With all of its emotions and feelings and nervous impulses which so easily betray. All they have to do is fix my romantic idealism on something, anything, and make it plausible, just plausible enough to make me think it could happen, and then burn to ashes the whole previously blissful ship. Today it was a girl. It is just there and enough to keep me going, enough for me to keep my wheels spinning, and yet it is so far away. This right here is known as the ultimate tease. It was already here once, and here it comes again (I was so naïve to think I’d learned my lesson!) It is coming and there is nothing I can do to stop it, from getting my heart invested and then trampled upon, I can already feel it. I await the slaughtering with anxious ambition.
Phase three is self-destruction. This phase is where I cavitate and give in to the demons these devil’s are orchestrating. This phase involves me doing things, existential things, that will give me some type of momentary pleasure. It is a bad idea, and I know it is a bad idea but I do it anyways.
Now for phase two. The heart. With all of its emotions and feelings and nervous impulses which so easily betray. All they have to do is fix my romantic idealism on something, anything, and make it plausible, just plausible enough to make me think it could happen, and then burn to ashes the whole previously blissful ship. Today it was a girl. It is just there and enough to keep me going, enough for me to keep my wheels spinning, and yet it is so far away. This right here is known as the ultimate tease. It was already here once, and here it comes again (I was so naïve to think I’d learned my lesson!) It is coming and there is nothing I can do to stop it, from getting my heart invested and then trampled upon, I can already feel it. I await the slaughtering with anxious ambition.
Phase three is self-destruction. This phase is where I cavitate and give in to the demons these devil’s are orchestrating. This phase involves me doing things, existential things, that will give me some type of momentary pleasure. It is a bad idea, and I know it is a bad idea but I do it anyways.
I Failed At Lent
I have failed at Lent. There are many excuses I could use as to the why, but all of them are quite vain. This was my first year participating in Lent. Growing up as the good conservative protestant boy I was, I always thought Lent was a cheap religious tradition (Not unlike the Easter Bunny) for Catholics and people who wore red, pointy hats. To my surprise I found out that Lent is actually for anyone and not just people who sit in confession booths and refrain from using contraceptives. The church I belong to talked it up a bunch and to be hones,t I was quite excited about the forthcoming challenge of 40 days of sacrifice. Now, being the good American that I am as well, I resolved to do it all. I was going to give up everything: Coffee, cigarettes, alcohol, masturbation, T.V., murder, bank heists(just kidding) food, all physical touch with those of the female gender, and basically, everything I turn to throughout the day to self-medicate and help me get through life (which, also to my surprise, turns out to be quite a few things. )
I was also going to eat healthy, run, read my bible for three hours a day, pray like a monk for four hours by candlelight vigil, and conclude my day with seven hours of silent meditation. I was sure that by the time Easter rolled around I would be the most spiritual person anyone has ever met. I would be in the best shape of my life and be well on my way learning how to levitate. I was sure that I was going to have miraculous visions throughout the Lenten season through which God would reveal His plan for my life and all His greatest mysteries.
To my surprise, none of this happened. I made it two weeks. I got discouraged. I got depressed. I stopped caring about life. I stopped caring about God. First I drank coffee, because I was tired of having headaches and feeling like a zombie from Dawn of the Dead, then I smoked a cigarette (because coffee and cigarettes just go so well together! ) After a few days of this I eventually gave it all up and was reduced to a near state of suicidal depression. I returned to all my same old vices that give me comfort and help me make it through the day. Lent was done.
Or so I thought. Dun, Dun, Dun!
After failing miserably, I proceeded to recoil into a fetal like position and numb my brain watching Arrested Development. Eventually I gave up my self-pity and picked up The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning. And, nothing that spectacular happened, but I remembered that God loved me. He even likes me.
And I continued reading and almost cried (not really ladies) and continued with Lent. Still with all my same old vices, but with the knowledge that God loves failures, and burn-outs and ragamuffins, like me and that is what the good news of Easter is really all about.
I was also going to eat healthy, run, read my bible for three hours a day, pray like a monk for four hours by candlelight vigil, and conclude my day with seven hours of silent meditation. I was sure that by the time Easter rolled around I would be the most spiritual person anyone has ever met. I would be in the best shape of my life and be well on my way learning how to levitate. I was sure that I was going to have miraculous visions throughout the Lenten season through which God would reveal His plan for my life and all His greatest mysteries.
To my surprise, none of this happened. I made it two weeks. I got discouraged. I got depressed. I stopped caring about life. I stopped caring about God. First I drank coffee, because I was tired of having headaches and feeling like a zombie from Dawn of the Dead, then I smoked a cigarette (because coffee and cigarettes just go so well together! ) After a few days of this I eventually gave it all up and was reduced to a near state of suicidal depression. I returned to all my same old vices that give me comfort and help me make it through the day. Lent was done.
Or so I thought. Dun, Dun, Dun!
After failing miserably, I proceeded to recoil into a fetal like position and numb my brain watching Arrested Development. Eventually I gave up my self-pity and picked up The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning. And, nothing that spectacular happened, but I remembered that God loved me. He even likes me.
And I continued reading and almost cried (not really ladies) and continued with Lent. Still with all my same old vices, but with the knowledge that God loves failures, and burn-outs and ragamuffins, like me and that is what the good news of Easter is really all about.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Photo Stories
Below are three stories I wrote for my friend Sarahs thesis design project. Each story is about the picture, more or less.
The Dishwasher
There was this one time, a long time ago, when I used to be great. I really was great too. You should have seen me—I was an expert at what I did. I sat at Caesars table, dining with the kings and queens of the world. Exquisitely, with ecstasy, eating our refined dining dinner. We would go to balls and orchestras, music halls and Yorkshire. But then one day, it happened. It was slow, and it was most definitely painful. It started with a moan, and then a chattering. The chattering led to shuttering, the shuttering led to gun fighting. The gun fighting led to death, execution style, as they threw me out here, on this green…stuff (I don’t even know what it’s called.) And here it comes. The decay. The iron oxidizing, my privates rusting. My shiny things gone grey. My harbor a polluted bay. I used to be great once, I really did. You should have seen me. And look at me now.
The Shower Cap
She sat on the Max, docile and resolute. She had green scrubs and yellow handbag. The handbag resembled a flower. It only resembled a flower because many things tried to pollinate it, to no avail. It was the single most celibate handbag in the history of humanity, not by choice, it was the cruel fate of the gods really, or some ironic strand of fate. She tried her best every day at work. She really did. And most days she did all right, but not today. No sadly, today was not the nurse’s day. She was hoping for something else when she signed up eight years ago on December 28th, it also was a docile day—the most docile day in the history of Decembers. She was going to save lives you now. Lives! And she does, sometimes. Sometimes (she tries her hardest, she really does.) The max was especially rickety today, a fitting metaphor. The sky was especially red today, some fitting symbolism (do you see where this is going?) There was still blood on her scrubs, just a tiny bit, hardly noticeable. She barely noticed it. The max is now at 42nd and Hollywood. That’s her stop. She gets off. She walks a block north. Then two west. Then one block south. She’s not the same as she once was, when she left the max station 10 minutes ago. She is missing something—her headwear. She threw it off at the Max station, by the newspaper stands that look like robots. Sad day. She accidentally threw it off. It was an accident, a fitting metaphor.
Skateboard
We were some boys on trucks and wheels
With hats and skulls and tats and reels
We left it all to come down here
And sing and dance a song of work
Just look at our garage in there!
It’s huge and big with shiny forks
We built it big we built it huge
Our empires raised with deeds and wealth
But still our dreams in night and stealth
Creep in and beg us to return.
To rebel, and steal and grind
The handrails down on skaters avenue
No! we scream, and shout and curse
We are adults and big and proud
We must amass our wealth in bins
Ignore the past of richer fins.
The Dishwasher
There was this one time, a long time ago, when I used to be great. I really was great too. You should have seen me—I was an expert at what I did. I sat at Caesars table, dining with the kings and queens of the world. Exquisitely, with ecstasy, eating our refined dining dinner. We would go to balls and orchestras, music halls and Yorkshire. But then one day, it happened. It was slow, and it was most definitely painful. It started with a moan, and then a chattering. The chattering led to shuttering, the shuttering led to gun fighting. The gun fighting led to death, execution style, as they threw me out here, on this green…stuff (I don’t even know what it’s called.) And here it comes. The decay. The iron oxidizing, my privates rusting. My shiny things gone grey. My harbor a polluted bay. I used to be great once, I really did. You should have seen me. And look at me now.
The Shower Cap
She sat on the Max, docile and resolute. She had green scrubs and yellow handbag. The handbag resembled a flower. It only resembled a flower because many things tried to pollinate it, to no avail. It was the single most celibate handbag in the history of humanity, not by choice, it was the cruel fate of the gods really, or some ironic strand of fate. She tried her best every day at work. She really did. And most days she did all right, but not today. No sadly, today was not the nurse’s day. She was hoping for something else when she signed up eight years ago on December 28th, it also was a docile day—the most docile day in the history of Decembers. She was going to save lives you now. Lives! And she does, sometimes. Sometimes (she tries her hardest, she really does.) The max was especially rickety today, a fitting metaphor. The sky was especially red today, some fitting symbolism (do you see where this is going?) There was still blood on her scrubs, just a tiny bit, hardly noticeable. She barely noticed it. The max is now at 42nd and Hollywood. That’s her stop. She gets off. She walks a block north. Then two west. Then one block south. She’s not the same as she once was, when she left the max station 10 minutes ago. She is missing something—her headwear. She threw it off at the Max station, by the newspaper stands that look like robots. Sad day. She accidentally threw it off. It was an accident, a fitting metaphor.
Skateboard
We were some boys on trucks and wheels
With hats and skulls and tats and reels
We left it all to come down here
And sing and dance a song of work
Just look at our garage in there!
It’s huge and big with shiny forks
We built it big we built it huge
Our empires raised with deeds and wealth
But still our dreams in night and stealth
Creep in and beg us to return.
To rebel, and steal and grind
The handrails down on skaters avenue
No! we scream, and shout and curse
We are adults and big and proud
We must amass our wealth in bins
Ignore the past of richer fins.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
We Are Legends
The last few days have felt surprising good. My friend Brandon feels it too. Usually, we come home and I say, “How was work?”
He says, “Shitty. How was yours?”
I say, “Shitty.”
“Sweet.”
Then I smoke cigarettes and we watch Arrested Development for the rest of the night and try to forget about life.
Brandon says “I’m pretty sure my girlfriend is cheating on me, except I don’t have a girlfriend. With how good I feel that is.”
That’s how good we feel. Like our girlfriends are cheating on us. Like our bank accounts are being robbed right now and we have no idea. Like our lives are about to be snatched from us. Tomorrow. Tonight even. Like a murderer is about to break into our house and assault us both. There is no way we can feel this good. This secure. This confident about life. It is just not possible. It is infeasible. Unbelievable. Ridiculousness in all its forms. Because usually we feel like killing ourselves. And now we don’t. And we are not quite sure what to do with it. This happiness. We are sure that tomorrow we will wake up and it will be gone. That we will be depressed. Miserable again.
But for now. We are enjoying this. Savoring it. Rolling it around in our mouths like lollipops. Sucking out every last drop. Filling our mouths with what normal people feel everyday. In our heads it is summer and we are on the beach and the breeze is on our faces. We are far, far away from the cold, drizzle, misery of Portland in the winter. We are superheroes. We are legends. We are invincible. We are not sure what to do with ourselves. We feel motivated, inspired, energetic, lively, all the things we used to envy of others. We are unstoppable. Surely no one can stop us. Brandon decides to do some dishes. He actually feels like doing dishes! I decide to write. We cannot waste this inspiration. I am going to write the next Great American Novel. Right now, in the next three hours. That’s how good we feel, and that’s also how quick this could be taken from us. We could conquer the world with this amount of feeling. We could start with Canada. Then move into Greenland and across the Atlantic, taking Iceland and then onto Great Britain. After we take Europe, we divide into two forces, I take mine south to Africa, and Brandon takes his over into Eastern Europe and then to Russia and eventually we will meet in Asia.
I wonder if this is how normal people feel, without medication. I wonder if they always feel this positive, this optimistic about life. If so then I am jealous, very jealous. I could kill with jealousy. You at least. And then some others. For the first time in three months Brandon and I are excited to live. Who knows what has caused this or how long it will last. We are doing our best not to think about it. We could jinx it. We are savoring it, living it. For some reason forgetful of all the things that used to drive us mad, that used to plague our thoughts and fill our heads with grey, give us boils and send tiny yellow frogs jumping around in our living room. We are sucking it in deep, like marijuana and letting it transform our thoughts. We are being. That’s all we are doing. Being. We are fucking being. And it is good.
He says, “Shitty. How was yours?”
I say, “Shitty.”
“Sweet.”
Then I smoke cigarettes and we watch Arrested Development for the rest of the night and try to forget about life.
Brandon says “I’m pretty sure my girlfriend is cheating on me, except I don’t have a girlfriend. With how good I feel that is.”
That’s how good we feel. Like our girlfriends are cheating on us. Like our bank accounts are being robbed right now and we have no idea. Like our lives are about to be snatched from us. Tomorrow. Tonight even. Like a murderer is about to break into our house and assault us both. There is no way we can feel this good. This secure. This confident about life. It is just not possible. It is infeasible. Unbelievable. Ridiculousness in all its forms. Because usually we feel like killing ourselves. And now we don’t. And we are not quite sure what to do with it. This happiness. We are sure that tomorrow we will wake up and it will be gone. That we will be depressed. Miserable again.
But for now. We are enjoying this. Savoring it. Rolling it around in our mouths like lollipops. Sucking out every last drop. Filling our mouths with what normal people feel everyday. In our heads it is summer and we are on the beach and the breeze is on our faces. We are far, far away from the cold, drizzle, misery of Portland in the winter. We are superheroes. We are legends. We are invincible. We are not sure what to do with ourselves. We feel motivated, inspired, energetic, lively, all the things we used to envy of others. We are unstoppable. Surely no one can stop us. Brandon decides to do some dishes. He actually feels like doing dishes! I decide to write. We cannot waste this inspiration. I am going to write the next Great American Novel. Right now, in the next three hours. That’s how good we feel, and that’s also how quick this could be taken from us. We could conquer the world with this amount of feeling. We could start with Canada. Then move into Greenland and across the Atlantic, taking Iceland and then onto Great Britain. After we take Europe, we divide into two forces, I take mine south to Africa, and Brandon takes his over into Eastern Europe and then to Russia and eventually we will meet in Asia.
I wonder if this is how normal people feel, without medication. I wonder if they always feel this positive, this optimistic about life. If so then I am jealous, very jealous. I could kill with jealousy. You at least. And then some others. For the first time in three months Brandon and I are excited to live. Who knows what has caused this or how long it will last. We are doing our best not to think about it. We could jinx it. We are savoring it, living it. For some reason forgetful of all the things that used to drive us mad, that used to plague our thoughts and fill our heads with grey, give us boils and send tiny yellow frogs jumping around in our living room. We are sucking it in deep, like marijuana and letting it transform our thoughts. We are being. That’s all we are doing. Being. We are fucking being. And it is good.
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