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.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
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.
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