Recently I have moved from my cousin’s house in NE Portland to live with some guys I met downtown near the PSU campus. It’s nice to be a little more central to things, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t like riding three miles uphill at one o’ clock in the morning arriving at my cousins place sweatier than a fat guy doing jumping jacks in a sauna, I just don’t have that kind of stamina now that I’m pushing 21 years old and have to beat the whole next level on World of Warcraft before I go to sleep. The guys I live with go by the names Luke and Brandon. These are their Christian names but in the Native American tongue they are called Treefro and Flying Squirrel, don’t ask me why. They both got tattoos recently and that’s when I knew they were legit. I can’t live with un-legit people. I was un-legit once. Now I’m legit. I’m too legit. Too legit to quit. We built another level to their bunk bed so now all three of us live in a three level bunk bed which creaks like an old tree that is about to collapse during a hurricane. The space is a little tight for my taste but they make up for it by giving me foot rubs and rubbing lotion on my body( I have a serious dry skin condition okay!) In the next room there lives a guy named Brian who I don’t see much because he has a girlfriend and he is so whipped it is ridiculous. He can suck on a poopy flavored Popsicle for all I care. He is not really that whipped, I just have to berate him for said relationship because I am secretly jealous and overcompensating for my lack of such a relationship. He is actually a really cool guy and if I was a girl would seriously think about dating him should he ever become single again.
There are always people at our house, which is cool but also tiring. It is a very diverse crowd. L.A. is a homeless Vietnam vet who sleeps on our back porch at night. George is a guy we met form Bulgaria who has hence decided to sleep at our house every night and eat our food but hasn’t really bothered asking permission. Luke and I talked to him once about it but I don’t think he got our American lingo and deep down I feel bad for him because when I think of Bulgaria I think of depressing Russian novels and somehow think that if we do not let George stay with us he will be forced to eat cut-up dog pudding, even though he lives in the U.S. now and has a nicer bike than me. Charles is the next character who comes over and he is possibly the most interesting person I’ve met. He lives at the sketchy motel down the street and gets un-employment checks from the government which he spends on pot, oysters and steak. He told us once that he takes five baths a night while watching made for T.V. movies. He also told us that he saw a dinosaur called a tyranosauraus-raptosaurus and that the government hides oysters in the pillars that support freeways to keep us from learning the truth about our toigel muscle. Sometimes he is on drugs.
There is usually never a dull night and so far I am having more fun than doing mushrooms and riding the teacups at Six flags.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Hardcore is to Christianity What Yelling is to Angry People
I remember what it was like to hear, for the first time, the song Jesus Freak by DC talk. My spine tingled and writhed with adrenaline as I felt my senses being awoken by the sound of rock. I grew up in a moderately conservative Christian background that still subscribed to the definition of rock music as “of the devil” and thought that Marilyn Manson actually was the devil or at least one of his top demon henchman. So when I first learned that I could listen to rock music such as DC talk or Switchfoot and still be a Christian, I was stoked to say the least. From DC Talk my musical pallet morphed from P.O.D. to Project 86 and then to bands such as Demon Hunter, Norma Jean, and Haste the Day, whom I still listen to today. Throughout my fascination with hardcore music I began to notice a disturbing trend. This trend was beautiful at first but, like meat that is left in dumpsters, a sour began to arise. The first thing I noticed was that a) hardcore music was, without exception, the only form of music that Christians were actually good at making, which was the beautiful thing, and b) most young Christian teen men my age were crazy about it, which is the disturbing thing. It is disturbing, more perplexing actually, that good little Christian boys would develop such a taste for such outlandish thrashing. I started wondering one day what the reason for this was. Not that listening to hardcore music is any way bad or wrong, but I began to wonder if there was some aspect of life that Christianity missed giving people like me and hence caused us teenagers to go slightly crazy with aggression and rage. Perhaps it was our way of venting, rather than going out and drinking. Perhaps it was the alternative to being rebels who smoked weed and kicked little kids on swings. Whatever it was, thousands of Christian teenagers everywhere started listening to hardcore, two stepping in mosh pits and picking up loose change. So could it be that somewhere along the line the message of Jesus became safe and that the only alternative to doing “worldly, rebellious” things was listening to hardcore? It was especially appealing to kids like me who really wanted to do the right thing and follow Jesus, but who grew up in churches where it was just so dang boring. It was our form of rebellion which is fine, but, I feel like we might have missed something. That perhaps one day the gospel of radical revolution was transformed to a life of Little House on the Prairie. The sad thing about it is that a lot of Christian men and women see little else in Christianity that is real, exciting and raw. Hardcore is to Christianity what yelling is to angry people. It is a vent, and also a lens through which we see that something in Christianity might be just a tiny bit off. I love listening to hardcore music but, to be cliché for a moment, is that really as “hardcore” as we Christians get? What about following the simple, but dangerous and revolution-esque teachings of Jesus? I am eagerly awaiting a future(and not just for the hover boards and flying cars) where followers of Jesus are known for their “hardcoreness” and “non-conformist” type behavior, not only as a genre, but as lifestyle of revolutionary type love.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Fickle
Every so often there comes a time in one’s life when one realizes, fears, more like it, that one might be completely alone. Sometimes just for the night, the weekend, or perhaps, for life. This can happen for a variety of reasons but more often than not, there is a very simple cause that sets in motion such an averse and disastrous consequence to both your self-esteem and your personal happiness as a human being. Usually it is just as simple as the fact that on a particular night everyone else in the world seems to have plans except for you. I feel like this happens to me often. I realize that this might happen on a particular night because everyone is either a) out of town, or b) has plans or is invited to something you are not/ cannot attend for whatever reason. At a time like this my mind begins to get particularly fluttery and a bat is set loose in my head to wreak havoc by pooping all over the inside of my head as if it were a cave. I begin to freak out because I realize that I could very possibly be a loser and that all my friends were really just my friends out of pity and then I think that no one has ever really wanted to hang out with me, save for my little brother who idolizes me for the simple reason that I am his older brother. Then I think about how I have never really been loved in my life, which by the way is a complete lie, and then I think about how no one gets me and I am the oddball, the loner, the weird guy, who will most likely move to Wyoming to live in a teepee and smoke peyote. None of these thoughts are remotely true but they feel true at the time and that’s the problem with feelings is that they are never rational or scientific and they are very unrealistic but because you feel it, it effects your whole being.
This morning I woke up with that idea firm in my head. Everyone I knew had plans for the weekend or was out of town and I was sure that I was going to be left alone. I was sure that it was going to be a bad day. Depressing, yes, and not a good way to start the day but I figured the sooner I accepted this fact the sooner I would have some morbid satisfaction in it. Yesterday was not a good day. I had an off day at work and it was one of those days where I was sure everything was going to fall apart. It was a day of existential crisis as I went through the day knowing that life was meaningless and cruel and certain I would be wandering sad streets of isolation and desolation for the rest of my days. I went to sleep listening to sad music and raking up as much self pity as I could muster. I knew for sure that no one ever really loved me that I would end up alone with nothing to fill my heart with. I knew that I was never going to “make it” or have what they call a “relationship” and was certainly not going to have it “together.”I had no idea what career path to take or even what my purpose was in this life. I could not muster up any hope at all that life would work out and that I would be fine. I knew that my world was going to slowly crumble around me until I was nothing but a crumb from a once delicious and tasty Peanut Butter cookie. My roommates were out of town for the weekend and I knew that there was no one else I could hang out with.
I planned on going to work, not enjoying it and the spending the rest of the afternoon/evening reading and writing at the Ace hotel while drinking Vanilla Smirnoff vodka from the bottle someone gave us in our fridge. I contemplated whether or not to take the vodka with me and mix it in with my coffee, allowing for the possibility of me to pass out on the second floor of the Ace hotel, or, wait until I got home to start drinking and then pass out to a funny movie in hopes that I would forget how much of a loser I am, drinking by myself with no one to hang out with. I was certain that the day was going to be a disaster. At work I formed a list of all the sad music to buy for the evening to keep me in a constant state of tragedy. I thought about a band I saw last weekend called Bon Iver and how the lead singer/front man wrote the album by taking his heartbroken self to a remote cabin in the woods of Wisconsin. I thought about how I wanted to got to a remote cabin and spend a year in isolation.
Without really thinking about it I was planning how to spend my day of tragedy and self pity by doing all that I could to saturate myself with the feelings of loneliness I knew for certain would haunt me the rest of my relatively short, but nonetheless presently long and hard existence. I knew for sure that it was going to be a bad, lonely weekend. Rather that fighting this idea I figured I would embrace it. But luckily, yet also ironically saddening, this did not happen. It was a relatively good day.
Work was fine. I had quite a few people to hang out with and I think thing with the particular girl I’m interested din may not be completely lost after all. At the end of the day I could honestly say that it was good. I did not wind up getting drunk by myself and embracing loneliness. I ended up having a good night and that feeling of hope I was sure had fled slowly returned.It makes me wonder because some days I have no idea how to process life. Some days are good and some days are bad and it seems that I have absolutely no control over it. Yesterday I was ready to take my own life and today I’m thinking that life is actually a very beautiful and rare thing that I wouldn’t trade for anything. It reminds me once again of how fickle and human I am. I wish that I wasn’t. I wish I was a constant beam of light like the North Star, never moving and always glowing. But some days I have absolutely no self esteem and no confidence or hope in life or humanity at all, and some days I feel confident and alert ready to inject myself at whatever life throws at me.
Some days I have hope that it will all work out and other days I am certain that I will end up alone and become one of those old bitter men with a cane that little kids are scared of. Yesterday I was not vibing life at all and right now I am honestly pretty stoked on it. I have no idea how to process life. I wish that I could file it all away and organize it so that my head would make sense and the bat that is constantly beating and flying around up there would die. But I don’t think I will ever be able to file life away in a nice little boxes and filing cabinets. My files will be all over the place because life is messy and I think you can categorize and label very few parts of it. I guess I am okay with this, it is freeing in a sense. To no longer spend my days trying to make sense of everything and reduce everything to a math equation. It is a freeing thing to rejoice in the complexity and mystery of life, of love, of God. It can be very frustrating otherwise.
This morning I woke up with that idea firm in my head. Everyone I knew had plans for the weekend or was out of town and I was sure that I was going to be left alone. I was sure that it was going to be a bad day. Depressing, yes, and not a good way to start the day but I figured the sooner I accepted this fact the sooner I would have some morbid satisfaction in it. Yesterday was not a good day. I had an off day at work and it was one of those days where I was sure everything was going to fall apart. It was a day of existential crisis as I went through the day knowing that life was meaningless and cruel and certain I would be wandering sad streets of isolation and desolation for the rest of my days. I went to sleep listening to sad music and raking up as much self pity as I could muster. I knew for sure that no one ever really loved me that I would end up alone with nothing to fill my heart with. I knew that I was never going to “make it” or have what they call a “relationship” and was certainly not going to have it “together.”I had no idea what career path to take or even what my purpose was in this life. I could not muster up any hope at all that life would work out and that I would be fine. I knew that my world was going to slowly crumble around me until I was nothing but a crumb from a once delicious and tasty Peanut Butter cookie. My roommates were out of town for the weekend and I knew that there was no one else I could hang out with.
I planned on going to work, not enjoying it and the spending the rest of the afternoon/evening reading and writing at the Ace hotel while drinking Vanilla Smirnoff vodka from the bottle someone gave us in our fridge. I contemplated whether or not to take the vodka with me and mix it in with my coffee, allowing for the possibility of me to pass out on the second floor of the Ace hotel, or, wait until I got home to start drinking and then pass out to a funny movie in hopes that I would forget how much of a loser I am, drinking by myself with no one to hang out with. I was certain that the day was going to be a disaster. At work I formed a list of all the sad music to buy for the evening to keep me in a constant state of tragedy. I thought about a band I saw last weekend called Bon Iver and how the lead singer/front man wrote the album by taking his heartbroken self to a remote cabin in the woods of Wisconsin. I thought about how I wanted to got to a remote cabin and spend a year in isolation.
Without really thinking about it I was planning how to spend my day of tragedy and self pity by doing all that I could to saturate myself with the feelings of loneliness I knew for certain would haunt me the rest of my relatively short, but nonetheless presently long and hard existence. I knew for sure that it was going to be a bad, lonely weekend. Rather that fighting this idea I figured I would embrace it. But luckily, yet also ironically saddening, this did not happen. It was a relatively good day.
Work was fine. I had quite a few people to hang out with and I think thing with the particular girl I’m interested din may not be completely lost after all. At the end of the day I could honestly say that it was good. I did not wind up getting drunk by myself and embracing loneliness. I ended up having a good night and that feeling of hope I was sure had fled slowly returned.It makes me wonder because some days I have no idea how to process life. Some days are good and some days are bad and it seems that I have absolutely no control over it. Yesterday I was ready to take my own life and today I’m thinking that life is actually a very beautiful and rare thing that I wouldn’t trade for anything. It reminds me once again of how fickle and human I am. I wish that I wasn’t. I wish I was a constant beam of light like the North Star, never moving and always glowing. But some days I have absolutely no self esteem and no confidence or hope in life or humanity at all, and some days I feel confident and alert ready to inject myself at whatever life throws at me.
Some days I have hope that it will all work out and other days I am certain that I will end up alone and become one of those old bitter men with a cane that little kids are scared of. Yesterday I was not vibing life at all and right now I am honestly pretty stoked on it. I have no idea how to process life. I wish that I could file it all away and organize it so that my head would make sense and the bat that is constantly beating and flying around up there would die. But I don’t think I will ever be able to file life away in a nice little boxes and filing cabinets. My files will be all over the place because life is messy and I think you can categorize and label very few parts of it. I guess I am okay with this, it is freeing in a sense. To no longer spend my days trying to make sense of everything and reduce everything to a math equation. It is a freeing thing to rejoice in the complexity and mystery of life, of love, of God. It can be very frustrating otherwise.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Protest! Protest!
Yesterday I went to my first protest. It was not necessarily called a protest. I think it was supposed to be referred to as a "celebration" or a demonstration. It was a labor day march for the civil rights of illegal immigrants living in the U.S. Apparently many Mexicans are neither allowed to work nor leave and they cannot provide for their families. Immigration has falsely arrested thousands and split families apart. The march was put on by a bunch of Evangelical Christians to show that they stood in support and solidarity with the migrant workers. Unfortunately many Christians do a bad job of making outsiders feel welcome. The church is often slow to move on social justice issues like this and do a bad job standing up for the oppressed and the marginal, ironically those whom Jesus helped the most.
I rode my bike to 3rd and Madison in front of City Hall. No one was there. I have never been to a protest before and so i just assumed that if you go to the general direction of where the protest is supposed to be you will hear loud bullhorns and see an ocean of signs. But there was no one around. I wandered around for a few minutes before i saw a guy with a guitar and a girl with a drum unloading stuff from the back of the van. The girl had a hippie skirt and the guy had a beard so i figured these people might be able to help me.
I walked over to them and introduced myself rather awkwardly. By introduce myself i mean that i stood there until they noticed me and introduced themselves to me. It turns out they were the people i was looking for except for one thing: there was only about four of them. They assured me more were coming and while i believed them i also had a small panic attack because i realized that i would not be marching in a mass of people obscured, inconspicuously hidden by dozens of picket signs and tye dye shirts.
Slowly about ten more people trickled in. During this time i wrote words with sidewalk chalk. I wrote things such as "Love your neighbor" and "God is Love." Other people wrote bible verses about hospitality and others drew facts about immigration and U.S. policy. After enough people arrived a guy by the name of Brandon said a few opening words about how the Latino families are our brothers and sisters and how we have a chance to help the least of these. He said a prayer and then we began to march. Two people carried a banner of a lamb holding a flag with a cross on it in its mouth. Im pretty sure it is the same design from that book "Jesus for President." I had just read that book so i was stoked on that. The rest of us held signs and wound our way through downtown Portland until we reached the immigration office or "Ice" as it is known. I already knew from an name like "ice" that this place must be cold hearted. I bet they abuse their pets and make their children clean the toilet with toothbrushes just because. They probably also hate things involving the words "party," "ice cream," and "fun." They probably hate Snickers bars.
When we got to the Ice office we set up a prayer vigil and read some bible verses and sang some songs. A lady from the news filmed us and she was shocked to hear that us "evangelicals" cared about these people.
The whole time i was doing this i was trying to figure out whether or not i really believed in the cause or just wanted to go to a protest so i would be trendy and cool and progressive. I also thought about how it would make a good story to tell to girls. "What are you doing tonight?" they would ask. "Oh you know, nothing much. Just going to a protest."
Then they would tell me how passionate i am about my beliefs and how they would want to go out with someone like that.
I didnt really come to a conclusion about whether or not what i was doing was legit or not. I think it was. I mean i really do care about the poor and the marginalized. I really do believe in action over apathy and doing something to ignite.
So I guess it was a good experience. I believe that God was with us and that he heard us. I met some really cool people and i guess did my best to bring love and make the world a better place.
I rode my bike to 3rd and Madison in front of City Hall. No one was there. I have never been to a protest before and so i just assumed that if you go to the general direction of where the protest is supposed to be you will hear loud bullhorns and see an ocean of signs. But there was no one around. I wandered around for a few minutes before i saw a guy with a guitar and a girl with a drum unloading stuff from the back of the van. The girl had a hippie skirt and the guy had a beard so i figured these people might be able to help me.
I walked over to them and introduced myself rather awkwardly. By introduce myself i mean that i stood there until they noticed me and introduced themselves to me. It turns out they were the people i was looking for except for one thing: there was only about four of them. They assured me more were coming and while i believed them i also had a small panic attack because i realized that i would not be marching in a mass of people obscured, inconspicuously hidden by dozens of picket signs and tye dye shirts.
Slowly about ten more people trickled in. During this time i wrote words with sidewalk chalk. I wrote things such as "Love your neighbor" and "God is Love." Other people wrote bible verses about hospitality and others drew facts about immigration and U.S. policy. After enough people arrived a guy by the name of Brandon said a few opening words about how the Latino families are our brothers and sisters and how we have a chance to help the least of these. He said a prayer and then we began to march. Two people carried a banner of a lamb holding a flag with a cross on it in its mouth. Im pretty sure it is the same design from that book "Jesus for President." I had just read that book so i was stoked on that. The rest of us held signs and wound our way through downtown Portland until we reached the immigration office or "Ice" as it is known. I already knew from an name like "ice" that this place must be cold hearted. I bet they abuse their pets and make their children clean the toilet with toothbrushes just because. They probably also hate things involving the words "party," "ice cream," and "fun." They probably hate Snickers bars.
When we got to the Ice office we set up a prayer vigil and read some bible verses and sang some songs. A lady from the news filmed us and she was shocked to hear that us "evangelicals" cared about these people.
The whole time i was doing this i was trying to figure out whether or not i really believed in the cause or just wanted to go to a protest so i would be trendy and cool and progressive. I also thought about how it would make a good story to tell to girls. "What are you doing tonight?" they would ask. "Oh you know, nothing much. Just going to a protest."
Then they would tell me how passionate i am about my beliefs and how they would want to go out with someone like that.
I didnt really come to a conclusion about whether or not what i was doing was legit or not. I think it was. I mean i really do care about the poor and the marginalized. I really do believe in action over apathy and doing something to ignite.
So I guess it was a good experience. I believe that God was with us and that he heard us. I met some really cool people and i guess did my best to bring love and make the world a better place.
Monday, August 11, 2008
3:10 to Nowhere
The other night I was watching the movie 3:10 to Yuma. This movie is not the most amazing movie ever made but it’s good. I realized though when I was watching it why I like it so much. The movie follows Christian Bale (a poor rancher) escorting Russell Crowe (infamous outlaw) to the town of Contention where he will be put on the train to prison. In the meantime Crowe’s gang is chasing after them with the lust of blood in their mouths. At the end of the movie all of the other escorts, Marshalls, lawmen, Pinkerton’s, the whole posse, deserts Crowe because to protect him is worth more than they are willing to give up. Bale is the only one left and the only reason he was guarding him in the first place was money. Crowe offers him five times the amount he was going to get paid if he will just walk away. Bale refuses and I couldn’t really understand why until I realized that to him making sure this infamous outlaw gets on the train to Yuma is the only real thing of substance this rancher has ever done. He is poor, his sons have no respect for him and though he was in the army he was discharged because someone shot him in the foot.
This moment is the only one the rancher has ever had. He has never done anything of bravery, of notice and he needs to fight for something. He tells his son that if he dies to tell the world that he put Ben Wade on the 3:10 to Yuma. This is his claim to fame, not that he even wants to be famous, he just needs to accomplish something, be worth something, know that he mattered in the role of history. And this is the reason I like this movie. Because I am Christian Bale. I have no great battle to fight, no great outlaw to guard. I have no ranch to protect, no stagecoach to rob. And I want to.
I want to blow shit up, and get into gunfights on an old western dusty street. I want to be a Scottish warrior running down the fields of Sterling to face my enemy. I want to be a pirate and search for buried treasure on a tropical island in the Caribbean. It’s not the violence that is the point, its something more, what I’m not sure. But, I will do none of this. What battles are there to fight today? To make the most money? Conquer the most women? Become the most intellectual? Convert the most souls? Become the best Christian, be the biggest kingdom builder? Start the most churches, heal the most people? Drive the fanciest car, be the best in my company? To get the highest degree?
All of these battles sound really lame. They do not sound exciting. The word career especially sounds very unexciting. I guess now we fight for more crap to buy, and more certificates to hang on walls. I wish I had something to fight for, some battle to enlist in, some metaphorical beasts head to cut off.
This moment is the only one the rancher has ever had. He has never done anything of bravery, of notice and he needs to fight for something. He tells his son that if he dies to tell the world that he put Ben Wade on the 3:10 to Yuma. This is his claim to fame, not that he even wants to be famous, he just needs to accomplish something, be worth something, know that he mattered in the role of history. And this is the reason I like this movie. Because I am Christian Bale. I have no great battle to fight, no great outlaw to guard. I have no ranch to protect, no stagecoach to rob. And I want to.
I want to blow shit up, and get into gunfights on an old western dusty street. I want to be a Scottish warrior running down the fields of Sterling to face my enemy. I want to be a pirate and search for buried treasure on a tropical island in the Caribbean. It’s not the violence that is the point, its something more, what I’m not sure. But, I will do none of this. What battles are there to fight today? To make the most money? Conquer the most women? Become the most intellectual? Convert the most souls? Become the best Christian, be the biggest kingdom builder? Start the most churches, heal the most people? Drive the fanciest car, be the best in my company? To get the highest degree?
All of these battles sound really lame. They do not sound exciting. The word career especially sounds very unexciting. I guess now we fight for more crap to buy, and more certificates to hang on walls. I wish I had something to fight for, some battle to enlist in, some metaphorical beasts head to cut off.
How I Love When People Judge me Based on my Age
WARNING: The following is a couple paragraphs of me venting. Sometimes I write to vent and what comes out is not very nice. That being said, there is lots of cussing in the following blog so don't read it if you don't want to. I wasn't even going to post it but I decided to for some reason. Just know that I am not always this angry and in general, love life alot. I wrote this when I moved to Portland and got tired of everyone I knew being 21 and me not, and feeling judged by 3/4 of the peopel I talked to when I told them I was only 20. All of my good friends here don't care, but there was just one day in particular when I got asked this question like 40 times and felt like a five year old and in response I wrote the following.
If there is one thing that I just love it is when people turn to me in mid conversation, usually after they ask me my age, and say “Your only 20!” Yeah, I am only 20. Only 20. As if I am less of a human being because of my age. It brings me such a satisfaction to know that people automatically judge me by my age. Only 20 because I can’t even get into a bar or buy a drink. It is such a compliment to have your ranking and respect washed down the drain like dirty fucking dishwasher. I just love judging. I love it. It brings me so much satisfaction to hear someone else pretend to know my maturity and/or character. They say only 20 but what they are really saying is I thought you were so much better than that. You think this would be a compliment. That I am mature for my age, its better than being asked “How old are you?” with regards to an immature action you just did. It is especially awesome when talking to girls. I love talking to girls and then having them say to me “Oh, your only 20.” So sad. I thought I could be interested in you, but, your only 20 so I guess not. What would I do with him if I couldn’t go to the bars or to the clubs? Go to Dairy Queen and McDonalds? Perhaps if you were older I could have some respect for you but your barely older than a shit faced, pimple covered teenager. Oh man, I just love it, love it. When people judge, when people decide that my worth is age based. Could anything get better? I think not. It puts a smile on my face every time. I just can’t keep smiling as person after person, girl after girl, repeats the same comment. Only 20. And I stand there and take it up the ass like a little prison bitch. “Yes, I say I am only 20.”
“Oh, that’s cool” they all reply. “I thought you were so much older.”
“No,” I say. “Contrary to what you may think I am not as cool or respectable as the “older” men. In fact you should probably spit on me or buy me a fucking lollipop because I can barely tie my own damn shoes. Could you help me ride my bike without training wheels? I just learned and it is very scary. Could you please feel bad and treat me differently now that you know my age? I wouldn’t want you to think that I am someone worth knowing. I am only 20.”
If I’m lucky I’ll have two or three of these conversations in a day. Each time my self-esteem dramatically improving as I get more and more secure with my age and who I am as a human being. It’s so great to know that people treat you as an equal human regardless of your race, gender or age. If for some reason my self-esteem is hovering below average I purposefully bring up my age so that my esteem will go up to +3,234,098. If my self-esteem is hovering around normal I like to go hang out with people who treat me as an equal and don’t judge me based on my age. I like to hang out with these truly caring, indifferent people who could care less about my age. They don’t care if I can’t go to the bars with them or if I am “datable.” They just look beneath all superficiality. These people drive me insane. They make me depressed and boil with rage. Why can’t they treat me like shit like everyone else? Don’t they know that I am less worth knowing? Don’t they know that I am less of a human being because of it?
“Only 20?” Fuck you. I don’t mind though, I wouldn’t really want to hang out with someone who asks me this question with disgust anyways. So fuck you because I am proud of my life and the things that I have done. Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become. So watch me win the gold fuckin medal while you put on aging cream. I’m proud of my life and the things that I have done. I’m proud of who I’ve become. So fuck you if your so insecure that you can’t deal with someone else’s’ age. Fuck you if your friends have to be 21 so they can go to the bar with you. Fuck you if you can only hang out with “people worthy of respect.” Shut up if my confidence and character at a young age makes you insecure about yours. Fuck you if you do not want to date someone younger than you. Fuck you if you want to parade them around the bars and have them buy you drinks, fuck you if you refuse to hang out with someone because they are “young.” Fuck you if you can only hangout with people your age and have no time for someone who is less of a person. Fuck you if you think that judging me by my age is going to make you feel better about your pathetic little existence.
“Oh, I keep forgetting how young you are.”
“Hey were going to the bar, you wanna come? Oh wait I forgot, your only 20.”
“Hey I’m going to the after party with a friend, you can’t come though, because you are young. Its too bad, I would probably date you otherwise, but you are not worth my time.”
“Only 20.” Fuck You.
If there is one thing that I just love it is when people turn to me in mid conversation, usually after they ask me my age, and say “Your only 20!” Yeah, I am only 20. Only 20. As if I am less of a human being because of my age. It brings me such a satisfaction to know that people automatically judge me by my age. Only 20 because I can’t even get into a bar or buy a drink. It is such a compliment to have your ranking and respect washed down the drain like dirty fucking dishwasher. I just love judging. I love it. It brings me so much satisfaction to hear someone else pretend to know my maturity and/or character. They say only 20 but what they are really saying is I thought you were so much better than that. You think this would be a compliment. That I am mature for my age, its better than being asked “How old are you?” with regards to an immature action you just did. It is especially awesome when talking to girls. I love talking to girls and then having them say to me “Oh, your only 20.” So sad. I thought I could be interested in you, but, your only 20 so I guess not. What would I do with him if I couldn’t go to the bars or to the clubs? Go to Dairy Queen and McDonalds? Perhaps if you were older I could have some respect for you but your barely older than a shit faced, pimple covered teenager. Oh man, I just love it, love it. When people judge, when people decide that my worth is age based. Could anything get better? I think not. It puts a smile on my face every time. I just can’t keep smiling as person after person, girl after girl, repeats the same comment. Only 20. And I stand there and take it up the ass like a little prison bitch. “Yes, I say I am only 20.”
“Oh, that’s cool” they all reply. “I thought you were so much older.”
“No,” I say. “Contrary to what you may think I am not as cool or respectable as the “older” men. In fact you should probably spit on me or buy me a fucking lollipop because I can barely tie my own damn shoes. Could you help me ride my bike without training wheels? I just learned and it is very scary. Could you please feel bad and treat me differently now that you know my age? I wouldn’t want you to think that I am someone worth knowing. I am only 20.”
If I’m lucky I’ll have two or three of these conversations in a day. Each time my self-esteem dramatically improving as I get more and more secure with my age and who I am as a human being. It’s so great to know that people treat you as an equal human regardless of your race, gender or age. If for some reason my self-esteem is hovering below average I purposefully bring up my age so that my esteem will go up to +3,234,098. If my self-esteem is hovering around normal I like to go hang out with people who treat me as an equal and don’t judge me based on my age. I like to hang out with these truly caring, indifferent people who could care less about my age. They don’t care if I can’t go to the bars with them or if I am “datable.” They just look beneath all superficiality. These people drive me insane. They make me depressed and boil with rage. Why can’t they treat me like shit like everyone else? Don’t they know that I am less worth knowing? Don’t they know that I am less of a human being because of it?
“Only 20?” Fuck you. I don’t mind though, I wouldn’t really want to hang out with someone who asks me this question with disgust anyways. So fuck you because I am proud of my life and the things that I have done. Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become. So watch me win the gold fuckin medal while you put on aging cream. I’m proud of my life and the things that I have done. I’m proud of who I’ve become. So fuck you if your so insecure that you can’t deal with someone else’s’ age. Fuck you if your friends have to be 21 so they can go to the bar with you. Fuck you if you can only hang out with “people worthy of respect.” Shut up if my confidence and character at a young age makes you insecure about yours. Fuck you if you do not want to date someone younger than you. Fuck you if you want to parade them around the bars and have them buy you drinks, fuck you if you refuse to hang out with someone because they are “young.” Fuck you if you can only hangout with people your age and have no time for someone who is less of a person. Fuck you if you think that judging me by my age is going to make you feel better about your pathetic little existence.
“Oh, I keep forgetting how young you are.”
“Hey were going to the bar, you wanna come? Oh wait I forgot, your only 20.”
“Hey I’m going to the after party with a friend, you can’t come though, because you are young. Its too bad, I would probably date you otherwise, but you are not worth my time.”
“Only 20.” Fuck You.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sadly Grateful
I live in the future. There are not spaceships or talking droids, but it is the future nonetheless.
So much of my life is spent on finishing.
So much of my life is spent trying to get to the end.
It is impossible for me to live in the present. To appreciate the here and now. Appreciate the process of life. I spend my days constantly trying to check things off my list. I am always looking for the end result. i want everything to be instant.
Instant Coffee,
Instant hamburger,
Instant girlfriend,
Instant perfect relationship with God.
I want to fast food flagulate my whole entire life. I don't want to be patient. I want growth, but i want it to happen instantaneously. I don't want to struggle with everyone else.
Clawing. Scraping. struggling.
I want my life to be like a sitcom. A movie.
And i hate that this will never be. That i will never finish. That i will never be finished. I will never be whole. Never have it all together. Frustration. Confusion. Tension. It will never leave.
But here is where i remember one of my favorite authors Brennan Mannings words on Gratefulness. That i have so much to be grateful, thankful for. Sometimes i get tired of riding my bike around the city. I ride no joke at least 6 miles a day and for the most part it is fun, except times like last night when i had to ride almost four miles on a gradual uphill slope to get home at 11:30 at night. Or when my tire went flat and it took me an hour and a half to get a bus back to my place from Hawthorne BLVd. But then i ride past 3o homeless people sleeping on the streets outside of the Salvation Army and suddenly feel like the biggest selfish prick ever.
Yesterday i was at my friend Brandons house. Brandon is a guy who helps run the college minsitry for Imago. I will be helping him and Luke with things because they admit that they have no idea what they are doing. Brandon and Luke live downtown next to the PSU campus and they have this homeless guy named L.A. that sleeps on their back porch. Yesterday he was hanging out with us before we started watching I Heart Huckabees. We were talking about life and he was telling us about how he was a ordained minster and began telling us about the end times and how the world was going to end in 2012. He actually was pretty smart and not that crazy. He was also a vietnam vet and one of our friends(Sarah) accidentally asked him what it was like to be in prison. He began crying and shaking uncontrollably. Brandon put his arm around him and begna praying for him. He kept muttering the words "you don't understand, you don't understand." I jumped up to pray for him as well. Then he began to bang his head into a pole at their house and me and Brandon had to softly restrain him and then kept praying. Finally he calmed down enough and apologized. He spent the rest of the night drinking.
This morning i was checking my e-mail and i got a message from Tim who leads the Wild Hope teen homeless minstry. Apparently a transient kid we met from the street last week had died in from jumping off the Hawthorne bridge. He and a friend were just having some fun but he was not a strong swimmer.
So this morning as i am not really looking forward to starting work or with life in general, i remember thse two stories and have so much to be grateful for.
So much of my life is spent on finishing.
So much of my life is spent trying to get to the end.
It is impossible for me to live in the present. To appreciate the here and now. Appreciate the process of life. I spend my days constantly trying to check things off my list. I am always looking for the end result. i want everything to be instant.
Instant Coffee,
Instant hamburger,
Instant girlfriend,
Instant perfect relationship with God.
I want to fast food flagulate my whole entire life. I don't want to be patient. I want growth, but i want it to happen instantaneously. I don't want to struggle with everyone else.
Clawing. Scraping. struggling.
I want my life to be like a sitcom. A movie.
And i hate that this will never be. That i will never finish. That i will never be finished. I will never be whole. Never have it all together. Frustration. Confusion. Tension. It will never leave.
But here is where i remember one of my favorite authors Brennan Mannings words on Gratefulness. That i have so much to be grateful, thankful for. Sometimes i get tired of riding my bike around the city. I ride no joke at least 6 miles a day and for the most part it is fun, except times like last night when i had to ride almost four miles on a gradual uphill slope to get home at 11:30 at night. Or when my tire went flat and it took me an hour and a half to get a bus back to my place from Hawthorne BLVd. But then i ride past 3o homeless people sleeping on the streets outside of the Salvation Army and suddenly feel like the biggest selfish prick ever.
Yesterday i was at my friend Brandons house. Brandon is a guy who helps run the college minsitry for Imago. I will be helping him and Luke with things because they admit that they have no idea what they are doing. Brandon and Luke live downtown next to the PSU campus and they have this homeless guy named L.A. that sleeps on their back porch. Yesterday he was hanging out with us before we started watching I Heart Huckabees. We were talking about life and he was telling us about how he was a ordained minster and began telling us about the end times and how the world was going to end in 2012. He actually was pretty smart and not that crazy. He was also a vietnam vet and one of our friends(Sarah) accidentally asked him what it was like to be in prison. He began crying and shaking uncontrollably. Brandon put his arm around him and begna praying for him. He kept muttering the words "you don't understand, you don't understand." I jumped up to pray for him as well. Then he began to bang his head into a pole at their house and me and Brandon had to softly restrain him and then kept praying. Finally he calmed down enough and apologized. He spent the rest of the night drinking.
This morning i was checking my e-mail and i got a message from Tim who leads the Wild Hope teen homeless minstry. Apparently a transient kid we met from the street last week had died in from jumping off the Hawthorne bridge. He and a friend were just having some fun but he was not a strong swimmer.
So this morning as i am not really looking forward to starting work or with life in general, i remember thse two stories and have so much to be grateful for.
Deconstruction
Until I was able to deconstruct my faith and get down to the trace of what it means to be love God and love others I was a bored, burnt out Christian who almost threw it all off the bridge and jumped in with it. Many times in deconstruction critics will take an authors work and completely tear it down to show how it accomplishes a purpose opposite of what the author intended. Many times I thought that Christianity was in fact the opposite of what a life of love and truth looked like. I believe Christianity is often the opposite of what God intended the church to be. The problem with religion is that instead of it bringing us to God it usually impedes our progress to have a genuine relationship with him. I believe in God and I believe in Jesus, but a lot of times where those two meet the world is a lot more confusing and grey than people like to admit or even think about it.
Deconstruction is scary work. It will shake the very core of you. But if you make it through the other side you will be stronger than ever before. Deconstructing your faith is a lot of work and freakin messy but I hope that I eventually wind up with a better picture of who God is and what that means in my life. I may never know fully who God is and where exactly He meets this world, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try. It doesn’t mean I can’t spend my life in pursuit of what it means to love God and love others. It is the pursuit, the relationship, that is important.
Deconstruction allows you to look at scripture and celebrate the paradoxes. Rejoice in the chaos of faith. Because I don’t think it is about finding a certain manual to follow. The point is God. I wonder if he doesn’t care more about us pursuing him than about our taking bible classes and theological belief system. I wonder if we miss the point when she offers us relationship and we step past her for book knowledge. Christianity helps me to make more sense of life; it helps me to make more sense of who God is. But making sense is not necessarily the point. Half of the Christian faith makes no sense to me at all. It is completely illogical and irrational. That’s okay though because the point is God, the point is others. Sure it’s nice to have clarity and an organized mind. Sure it’s nice to have some stable ground to walk on. Something solid to believe in, trust in. However, being a Christian is not about living a perfect, nice, little life. I thought it was for a long time. I was confused when life did not turn out perfect. When I did not get the job or the girlfriend, when I had more confusion than belief. I think the point though is not our stability or our perfect life. Whenever my life turns to crap is when I really start praying to God. If my days are getting longer, wetter, and darker, then is when I turn to God. Until this point I am fine as a person, but my relationship with God is not fine. I am closer in my struggles than in my security. I think God cares more about us as people than he does about our individual happiness and security. He cares more about our relationship than our prosperity. So when the shit hits the fan, it is not God’s fault and I believe he really does will the best possible life for us, but he also will use these opportunities to remind us that this life is not about life, it is about Him, it is about others.
Christianity is like donuts. You can spend all day coming up with theories and doctrine surrounding why donuts are the way they are, what they are made of and so forth. There comes a certain point however, when you should just stop and enjoy the donut. You may not have it all figured out, but that’s all right because donuts are for eating, not for textbooks. I don’t even understand the whole theory of deconstruction. I don’t even understand Christianity. But that’s all right because a relationship with God is worth experiencing, not studying. It cannot be structuralized or formalized. It is about living, not examining. This is also why it is hard to articulate to someone what the Christian life is like. It is not just some head knowledge or system of beliefs. It is a relationship, a marriage, an experience that is hard to understand unless you are in it. It is not a religion. It is community, a journey, a story. So how do you sell people an item that can’t fit into a store, won’t fit into a package or stay in a box? People will not accept Jesus like He is a product. You can market it that way, but it doesn’t work. It’s like going to pick up girls.
“Dude were gonna go get some chicks tonight bro! Chicks man! Let’s go pick em up!
“Really? Just like that. We’ll just go to Walgreens and pick up chicks? Go to aisle 5 with the chicks?
It’s not that simple. Following Jesus is hard to articulate.
Deconstruction is scary work. It will shake the very core of you. But if you make it through the other side you will be stronger than ever before. Deconstructing your faith is a lot of work and freakin messy but I hope that I eventually wind up with a better picture of who God is and what that means in my life. I may never know fully who God is and where exactly He meets this world, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try. It doesn’t mean I can’t spend my life in pursuit of what it means to love God and love others. It is the pursuit, the relationship, that is important.
Deconstruction allows you to look at scripture and celebrate the paradoxes. Rejoice in the chaos of faith. Because I don’t think it is about finding a certain manual to follow. The point is God. I wonder if he doesn’t care more about us pursuing him than about our taking bible classes and theological belief system. I wonder if we miss the point when she offers us relationship and we step past her for book knowledge. Christianity helps me to make more sense of life; it helps me to make more sense of who God is. But making sense is not necessarily the point. Half of the Christian faith makes no sense to me at all. It is completely illogical and irrational. That’s okay though because the point is God, the point is others. Sure it’s nice to have clarity and an organized mind. Sure it’s nice to have some stable ground to walk on. Something solid to believe in, trust in. However, being a Christian is not about living a perfect, nice, little life. I thought it was for a long time. I was confused when life did not turn out perfect. When I did not get the job or the girlfriend, when I had more confusion than belief. I think the point though is not our stability or our perfect life. Whenever my life turns to crap is when I really start praying to God. If my days are getting longer, wetter, and darker, then is when I turn to God. Until this point I am fine as a person, but my relationship with God is not fine. I am closer in my struggles than in my security. I think God cares more about us as people than he does about our individual happiness and security. He cares more about our relationship than our prosperity. So when the shit hits the fan, it is not God’s fault and I believe he really does will the best possible life for us, but he also will use these opportunities to remind us that this life is not about life, it is about Him, it is about others.
Christianity is like donuts. You can spend all day coming up with theories and doctrine surrounding why donuts are the way they are, what they are made of and so forth. There comes a certain point however, when you should just stop and enjoy the donut. You may not have it all figured out, but that’s all right because donuts are for eating, not for textbooks. I don’t even understand the whole theory of deconstruction. I don’t even understand Christianity. But that’s all right because a relationship with God is worth experiencing, not studying. It cannot be structuralized or formalized. It is about living, not examining. This is also why it is hard to articulate to someone what the Christian life is like. It is not just some head knowledge or system of beliefs. It is a relationship, a marriage, an experience that is hard to understand unless you are in it. It is not a religion. It is community, a journey, a story. So how do you sell people an item that can’t fit into a store, won’t fit into a package or stay in a box? People will not accept Jesus like He is a product. You can market it that way, but it doesn’t work. It’s like going to pick up girls.
“Dude were gonna go get some chicks tonight bro! Chicks man! Let’s go pick em up!
“Really? Just like that. We’ll just go to Walgreens and pick up chicks? Go to aisle 5 with the chicks?
It’s not that simple. Following Jesus is hard to articulate.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Robots and Rebels
I once was a robot. I was the perfect Christian. I didn’t knock up any girls or buy cigarettes for minors. I didn’t cuss or drink, or smoke, or partake in anything remotely secular. Not to say that today I buy cigarettes for minors or get girls pregnant, but I didn’t do it back in the day either. I was programmed to be a completely functioning moral spiritual being. Much in part thanks to my parents and the religious structure known as the church. I had other fellow robot friends. We were all basically the same person. We believed in the same things, went to the same events, participated in the same activities. We all lived in the Greenhouse. We were the kids who when other parents would complain about how Johnny was smoking crack in the basement, our parents would be like “Well, Levi didn’t make Gold honors this year, but he still got silver, so I guess it’s all right.”
I had some other friends. They were rebels. They most definitely bought cigarettes for minors and occasionally had a pregnancy scare. They most definitely did drink, and cuss and smoke and watch porn. They would go to parties on the weekends and sneak off from their house to go to hookah bars on school nights. They had piercings and listened to secular music. They also went to the religious structure known as the church and had parents that taught Sunday school there. But for some reason, they became rebels. Often times these people would play along with the whole church thing and then go off to college and forget about it. Other times they would pretend that they were following God because they went to church on Sunday but would very rarely be sober enough to have any sort of real conversation with.
Throughout high school I was friends with the robots and the rebels. It seems like almost everyone I meet in Christianity is either a robot or a rebel. They are either a Christian because it is what they are supposed to believe, and they do it for their parents approval or out of political party obligation (the robots).These people do not always think for themselves and believe what everyone else tells them. Then there are the people who go freakin nuts because they are so freaking sheltered their whole life that they don’t know what to do with themselves (the rebels.) The rebels are people of action but are tired of being told “don’t do this and don’t do that” and so they go out and do everything they are not supposed to do because there is nowhere for them to put their energy. They go out on the weekends and go to town like freakin lions that just got off the Adkins diet. They are the Christian version of Britney Spears and Lindsey Lohan. They start off cute and innocent, but before you know it they are throwing up day old organic spinach thanks to a stomach full of Bacardi 151.
Christianity has done an excellent job of manufacturing both robots and rebels. There are few who make it beyond these two camps.
I had some other friends. They were rebels. They most definitely bought cigarettes for minors and occasionally had a pregnancy scare. They most definitely did drink, and cuss and smoke and watch porn. They would go to parties on the weekends and sneak off from their house to go to hookah bars on school nights. They had piercings and listened to secular music. They also went to the religious structure known as the church and had parents that taught Sunday school there. But for some reason, they became rebels. Often times these people would play along with the whole church thing and then go off to college and forget about it. Other times they would pretend that they were following God because they went to church on Sunday but would very rarely be sober enough to have any sort of real conversation with.
Throughout high school I was friends with the robots and the rebels. It seems like almost everyone I meet in Christianity is either a robot or a rebel. They are either a Christian because it is what they are supposed to believe, and they do it for their parents approval or out of political party obligation (the robots).These people do not always think for themselves and believe what everyone else tells them. Then there are the people who go freakin nuts because they are so freaking sheltered their whole life that they don’t know what to do with themselves (the rebels.) The rebels are people of action but are tired of being told “don’t do this and don’t do that” and so they go out and do everything they are not supposed to do because there is nowhere for them to put their energy. They go out on the weekends and go to town like freakin lions that just got off the Adkins diet. They are the Christian version of Britney Spears and Lindsey Lohan. They start off cute and innocent, but before you know it they are throwing up day old organic spinach thanks to a stomach full of Bacardi 151.
Christianity has done an excellent job of manufacturing both robots and rebels. There are few who make it beyond these two camps.
The Greenhouse
Growing up as a Christian was like growing up in a Greenhouse. All of us Christians inhabited our little house of warmth and sunlight where we were firmly planted. Everything was taken care of. We had our food, our sunlight, our water. We were planted in this Greenhouse and here we would live forever. Why would we live here forever? Well it was really quite simple. We could not exist outside the Greenhouse. If we were yanked up by our roots and tossed outside we would shrivel up into raisins. We could not bear the heat, the reality. We could not bear the atmosphere on the outside. The conditions were not right. It was only in this bubble that we could exist. Everywhere outside of this greenhouse we would die a slow, inevitable death.
When I was in middle school and early high school I remember what it meant to be a good Christian. I went on mission trips, went to youth group, sang all the right songs and believed all the right things. I went to church 4 days of the week at least, sometimes more. From the time I exited my mother’s womb till the time I graduated high school I was always at church. First it was Sunday school and Vacation Bible School. Then it was Cornerstone Club-an afternoon elementary program. In Sixth grade I was homeschooled by my own choice and every Friday there was a common co-op homeschooling day at our church. This was a day when all the homeschoolers from the my hometown, Bailey mountain area would join together to go to church together to learn from other moms and play games with other people’s kids. I found it somewhat ironic that homeschoolers met publicly and learned in a public setting. I guess this meant that the real problem was not public schooling, but rather secular public schooling. It also meant that us mountain people were too poor to drive to Faith Christian Academy in Denver where most good Christian parents enroll their spawn. After one year of homeschooling I called it quits. I was bored as hell and wanted to hang out with more than just three people a week. This was one of the best decisions of my life, though I can’t imagine I would ever be a homeschooler forever because that comes with the condition that you must also be socially retarded which I am not. Seriously, have you ever known a normal person who was homeschooled? I have friends that were for a few years and they turned out all right, but the lifers are just weird. They usually wear glasses glasses and read Spider-man comic books. They cannot have a normal conversation with you unless you talk to them like their mom but who wants to do that. If homeschoolers were characters in Star Trek they would be Spok. Really smart, but socially handicapped. From an early age I lived in the Greenhouse. On the weekends I would go to Christian conferences. These conferences had “Christian” skateboarders, football players, rappers and musicians. They spoke to us about standing up for our faith.
They reiterated the fact that being a Christian did not mean we were un-cool, which was a relief because most of us were. Very un-cool in fact. We were so un-cool we made computer nerds look like Brad Pitt. These conferences passed out a cornucopia of Christian material. Christian CD’s, movies, t-shirts, stickers, patches, water bottles, skateboards, hats and Christian literature on how to separate yourself form the world. They handed out information on churches, bookstores and any other Christian store we could hope to go to without leaving the Greenhouse. There was nothing you could not buy in the world that was not Christianized by some location. There were even Christian granola bars and Christian vitamins. There were Christian ties and Christian insurance companies. The only thing that is still missing and we need to get on it, is a Christian grocery store/mall. Here we could go get all of our supplies for the next month and never have to run into any one who wasn’t a Christian or support Atheist companies like Safeway. We have Christian amusement parks and Christian museums, why can’t we get some mall action going on. I don’t want to buy my Strawberries from some pagan at checkout four. Next we could make Christian Wal-Marts and employ only white-middles class Republicans to run our sore for us. That way we wouldn’t have to deal with minorities or liberal either.
When I was in middle school and early high school I remember what it meant to be a good Christian. I went on mission trips, went to youth group, sang all the right songs and believed all the right things. I went to church 4 days of the week at least, sometimes more. From the time I exited my mother’s womb till the time I graduated high school I was always at church. First it was Sunday school and Vacation Bible School. Then it was Cornerstone Club-an afternoon elementary program. In Sixth grade I was homeschooled by my own choice and every Friday there was a common co-op homeschooling day at our church. This was a day when all the homeschoolers from the my hometown, Bailey mountain area would join together to go to church together to learn from other moms and play games with other people’s kids. I found it somewhat ironic that homeschoolers met publicly and learned in a public setting. I guess this meant that the real problem was not public schooling, but rather secular public schooling. It also meant that us mountain people were too poor to drive to Faith Christian Academy in Denver where most good Christian parents enroll their spawn. After one year of homeschooling I called it quits. I was bored as hell and wanted to hang out with more than just three people a week. This was one of the best decisions of my life, though I can’t imagine I would ever be a homeschooler forever because that comes with the condition that you must also be socially retarded which I am not. Seriously, have you ever known a normal person who was homeschooled? I have friends that were for a few years and they turned out all right, but the lifers are just weird. They usually wear glasses glasses and read Spider-man comic books. They cannot have a normal conversation with you unless you talk to them like their mom but who wants to do that. If homeschoolers were characters in Star Trek they would be Spok. Really smart, but socially handicapped. From an early age I lived in the Greenhouse. On the weekends I would go to Christian conferences. These conferences had “Christian” skateboarders, football players, rappers and musicians. They spoke to us about standing up for our faith.
They reiterated the fact that being a Christian did not mean we were un-cool, which was a relief because most of us were. Very un-cool in fact. We were so un-cool we made computer nerds look like Brad Pitt. These conferences passed out a cornucopia of Christian material. Christian CD’s, movies, t-shirts, stickers, patches, water bottles, skateboards, hats and Christian literature on how to separate yourself form the world. They handed out information on churches, bookstores and any other Christian store we could hope to go to without leaving the Greenhouse. There was nothing you could not buy in the world that was not Christianized by some location. There were even Christian granola bars and Christian vitamins. There were Christian ties and Christian insurance companies. The only thing that is still missing and we need to get on it, is a Christian grocery store/mall. Here we could go get all of our supplies for the next month and never have to run into any one who wasn’t a Christian or support Atheist companies like Safeway. We have Christian amusement parks and Christian museums, why can’t we get some mall action going on. I don’t want to buy my Strawberries from some pagan at checkout four. Next we could make Christian Wal-Marts and employ only white-middles class Republicans to run our sore for us. That way we wouldn’t have to deal with minorities or liberal either.
Portland Week 1
I have just finished my first full week in my newly aquired residence of Portland. Right now I am at Stumptown Coffee killing some time before I have to go back and pick up the church signs after the 12:00 service gets out. This morning i helped with setup and put out all the sings for the church. i have been gbetting invovled everywhere i can so as to inject some community in my veins and stop my withdrawals. On Wenesday night i wen to this homeless ministry called Wild Hope where we walk around downtown and tlak to the street kids. Portland has the highest number of street kids of any major U.S. city. There are tons of homeless people here. Part of it is because the coty itself is very friendly to the homeless population and part of it is because there are tons of programs and food distributions. Imago has like 5. Saturday i wen to the 3:00 people which sets up a tabl with drinks and food every saturday at three for people to stop by and get some food. Tommorow night i am going to the newly started college minstry and am going to help lead that. I am also attending a connection group tommorow based ont he idea of Discipleship. It is taught by one of the other itnerns here who is a masters of Divinity at Harvard.
have had no lucks with jobs but have much more peace about the whole situation. I have to be patient and relaize that i have been here only a week. God reminded me that he doesn't care about my job situation or my current purgatorial state as much as he cares about me. I have to remeber that at the end of the day this lif eis not about me. It is not about me getting a good job a good career and a girlfriend. it is about Him. It is about others.
i have been writing alot so i don't waste my time when i have no one ot hang out with and nothing to do.
The setup process at Imago is quite elaborate. 50 people or so are involved. They rent a school and so everything is packed away into 26 foot trailer and has to be set up every week. The childrens church takes up an entire gym and consists of putting up portable walls for every classroom. Today was the service was dedicated to Imago global mission and a band of orphan Rwnada refugees led worship. they are not child orphans, they are college age. I am getting to know the staff and the major players here. All the programs here are very entrepreneurial. Meaning that if you want to start some house group or minstry you just go out and do it. You don't have to be on leadership or staff, you just have to be a member and take a few classes and meet with a few people. It is kinda grassroots in a way. All of the minstries are more or less extensonsions rather than programs instituted by the church. But the church supports and works closely witht he majortiy of them. I am learning alot and doing my best to not go into depression being by myself. I have definentley grown alot jsut in the last week. I know that this is wher ei am supposed to be for this part of my life. I am learnign alot about this church and love it so far. Everyone here is superchill. The whole city is chill. No one is ever angry or stressed.I think there might be THC in the water.
have had no lucks with jobs but have much more peace about the whole situation. I have to be patient and relaize that i have been here only a week. God reminded me that he doesn't care about my job situation or my current purgatorial state as much as he cares about me. I have to remeber that at the end of the day this lif eis not about me. It is not about me getting a good job a good career and a girlfriend. it is about Him. It is about others.
i have been writing alot so i don't waste my time when i have no one ot hang out with and nothing to do.
The setup process at Imago is quite elaborate. 50 people or so are involved. They rent a school and so everything is packed away into 26 foot trailer and has to be set up every week. The childrens church takes up an entire gym and consists of putting up portable walls for every classroom. Today was the service was dedicated to Imago global mission and a band of orphan Rwnada refugees led worship. they are not child orphans, they are college age. I am getting to know the staff and the major players here. All the programs here are very entrepreneurial. Meaning that if you want to start some house group or minstry you just go out and do it. You don't have to be on leadership or staff, you just have to be a member and take a few classes and meet with a few people. It is kinda grassroots in a way. All of the minstries are more or less extensonsions rather than programs instituted by the church. But the church supports and works closely witht he majortiy of them. I am learning alot and doing my best to not go into depression being by myself. I have definentley grown alot jsut in the last week. I know that this is wher ei am supposed to be for this part of my life. I am learnign alot about this church and love it so far. Everyone here is superchill. The whole city is chill. No one is ever angry or stressed.I think there might be THC in the water.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Announcement!
Announcement: There are no jobs in Portland. There are no jobs here. There are no jobs anywhere. Not in a hat or in a mat, not in a house or with a mouse. There are no jobs here. What jobs there are are all taken by highly over qualified college graduates who are still working at Coffee shops because they love this town so much, which is kinda cool but kinda sad at the same time. Last night my cousin Trevor and his wife Sara had some friends over and we were talking about the current job situation. They are all yuppies with college degrees and still work at Starbucks. I never realized how shitty it was to find a job. I have spent the last three days filling out countless applications and walking miles (my bike is in the shop and the bus is expensive) to try to find some openings. All places say the same thing “We are not hiring, but we are accepting resumes.” “
“Oh good,” I respond. “I’m glad I didn’t walk halfway across town just to find out that you might actually be hiring.”
But otherwise life is good. Portland is steadily getting better, last night was fun. I met some chill people who came over to my cousins and we had a few beers and chillaxed. Everyone in this town is superchill. I met Dave, he writes grants for a non-profit; and I met Johnnie who has a screen printer and cool tattoos. I met Jamie who was the old boss of my only other friend here, Sara; while she worked at, guess where? Starbucks. Where I will most likely be working because I guess to get a decent job in this town you need what they call “connections.” My only other hope is a pizza joint downtown. Here I handed my resume to this kid with a Bob Marley t-shirt and dreadlocks that came down to his waist, to which he replied “Were not hiring, but it looks like your really qualified, man.” As he looked at my three page resume. Here was the only place where I felt overqualified and slightly embarrassed to be applying to. I applied at restaurants, and coffee shops, pizza places and book stores. All gave very little hope. At the worst I will be working at Starbucks with my cousin and maybe I can infiltrate it from the inside and bring down the man. Tomorrow I will spend my day filling out more applications, maybe in the Hawthorne or Belmont areas. At first I was really picky about what job I wanted but know I could give a crap. Hopefully I can get a job at this coffee shop called Grendel’s which is right across from the Imago Dei offices so that way I can make an impression on those people and start an internship as soon as possible.
This morning was my first Sunday at Imago. A woman named Heather spoke. She is the Women’s pastor and is from England so she has an English accent which makes me 10 times more interested in what she is saying than if just some normal American bloke was preaching. I plan on getting connected with one of the home communities here as well as with some homeless outreaches. I also might help with the jr. high group cause I forgot how much I miss working with overly hormonal, puberty going through, acne filled teenagers. It is weird not doing ministry full time but I plan on volunteering so much that the staff literally has to tell me to not show up. There are a thousand ways to get plugged in so that’s nice. But I do not have internet so it is frustrating trying to stay connected and get involved.
I really love this city but I also know that it is just a stage of my life. I want to be here for a year or two, learn as much as I can and enjoy life, but one day I will head east and join my friends as they storm the city of Denver.
“Oh good,” I respond. “I’m glad I didn’t walk halfway across town just to find out that you might actually be hiring.”
But otherwise life is good. Portland is steadily getting better, last night was fun. I met some chill people who came over to my cousins and we had a few beers and chillaxed. Everyone in this town is superchill. I met Dave, he writes grants for a non-profit; and I met Johnnie who has a screen printer and cool tattoos. I met Jamie who was the old boss of my only other friend here, Sara; while she worked at, guess where? Starbucks. Where I will most likely be working because I guess to get a decent job in this town you need what they call “connections.” My only other hope is a pizza joint downtown. Here I handed my resume to this kid with a Bob Marley t-shirt and dreadlocks that came down to his waist, to which he replied “Were not hiring, but it looks like your really qualified, man.” As he looked at my three page resume. Here was the only place where I felt overqualified and slightly embarrassed to be applying to. I applied at restaurants, and coffee shops, pizza places and book stores. All gave very little hope. At the worst I will be working at Starbucks with my cousin and maybe I can infiltrate it from the inside and bring down the man. Tomorrow I will spend my day filling out more applications, maybe in the Hawthorne or Belmont areas. At first I was really picky about what job I wanted but know I could give a crap. Hopefully I can get a job at this coffee shop called Grendel’s which is right across from the Imago Dei offices so that way I can make an impression on those people and start an internship as soon as possible.
This morning was my first Sunday at Imago. A woman named Heather spoke. She is the Women’s pastor and is from England so she has an English accent which makes me 10 times more interested in what she is saying than if just some normal American bloke was preaching. I plan on getting connected with one of the home communities here as well as with some homeless outreaches. I also might help with the jr. high group cause I forgot how much I miss working with overly hormonal, puberty going through, acne filled teenagers. It is weird not doing ministry full time but I plan on volunteering so much that the staff literally has to tell me to not show up. There are a thousand ways to get plugged in so that’s nice. But I do not have internet so it is frustrating trying to stay connected and get involved.
I really love this city but I also know that it is just a stage of my life. I want to be here for a year or two, learn as much as I can and enjoy life, but one day I will head east and join my friends as they storm the city of Denver.
Purgatory
I am in purgatory. No I am not catholic, nor do I actually believe in purgatory, but if there was one, it would be my current place of residence. I just moved from Denver to Portland in hopes of pursuing my dreams and finding my niche. I left a church where I was an integral player to a city where no one knows my name but three people. I went from having purpose, vision and meaning in my life to having absolutely no idea where I am or where I am going. I am back at square one. I just got off the phone with my friend Levi and we were talking about how we are both at a crossroads in our life. He is about to graduate college and will soon enter the “workforce.” He feels like he is supposed to do something great with his life but he has no idea what that will be once he graduates. I prematurely and accidentally graduated college yesterday. I can’t go to school here for a year because out of state tuition is too expensive, and I can’t intern at Imago for another year until I prove that I can hold down what they call a “job” and “volunteer” at the church.
So for a whole year I will literally just be working a normal 9-5 full time job. I will be in purgatory. I will not be advancing my career nor will I be building a future. I will be waiting for life to happen, which is why I was going to take a year off school in the first place. I am tired of waiting for my life to begin. I just want to snap my fingers and have my career and life set out before me. I don’t want to work dead end jobs to get there because I am not even sure if I will. I wish I had some sort of direction or path to follow but I am just living. I am thinking so much that I can’t even work on my book or advance myself through my writing. So I am in purgatory. But I have to be careful because as my friend Levi says if I do not settle down somewhere I will always have a year of buildup before I can do anything. Basically it comes down to whether or not I want to stay here for three years(1 year living, 2 years interning) and experience life at Imago Dei or go somewhere else.
But if I go somewhere else I will always be in purgatory because I will never allow enough time for buildup. Part of my problem is that I want so badly to live a great life that I will always be looking around for something that is “better.” I will always be moving around until something “clicks.” I thought that I would step off the plane and I would enter nirvana. I would get to Portland and I would feel at home. People would bring me cookies and pretty girls would run up to me and kiss me on the cheek saying “Welcome to Portland!” “You finally made it home!” Then everything would fall into place and I would have my life established in the magical city of the Northwest. I would never worry about anything and everything would just feel “right.” I realize I am using a lot of “quotes” around words but that is for emphasis. I have this strange feeling that no matter where I go I will always be looking for the next best thing. I will always be looking for greener grass and a land filled with milk and honey. But I also have a strange feeling that I will never find this place. In fact I am almost guaranteed that I will never find this place because moving here is almost proof of it. I am scared of missing out on life. I am scared that I will live never have the perfect adventurous life. I am scared that after all my years on this earth I will look back and not have anything to show for it. Because of this I am frantically trying to save my life. I am anxious and worried running the streets in search of the “perfect” life. The problem with this is that will never commit to anything because I will always be looking for something else.
Portland is not that great. Neither is Denver. Neither is New York City, As long as I look at life through my utopian lens I will never be fulfilled. There will be problems everywhere I go. There will never be a place on this earth where I can hang like floatie toy in the pool, drinking margaritas without a care in the world. Everywhere I search for life I will never find it because life happens. There will always be shitty jobs and crappy bosses. There will always be something that looks better. Nothing will ever be perfect. I hope for life and am always disappointed. My favorite book in the bible is Ecclesiastes. It is by far the most relevant book in the bible. It feels so true. Everything is a circle. You will do nothing that hasn’t been done before. Everything you build has the potential to be destroyed by those who come after you. There is futility in indulgence, in work, in riches. Everything is vanity.
So for a whole year I will literally just be working a normal 9-5 full time job. I will be in purgatory. I will not be advancing my career nor will I be building a future. I will be waiting for life to happen, which is why I was going to take a year off school in the first place. I am tired of waiting for my life to begin. I just want to snap my fingers and have my career and life set out before me. I don’t want to work dead end jobs to get there because I am not even sure if I will. I wish I had some sort of direction or path to follow but I am just living. I am thinking so much that I can’t even work on my book or advance myself through my writing. So I am in purgatory. But I have to be careful because as my friend Levi says if I do not settle down somewhere I will always have a year of buildup before I can do anything. Basically it comes down to whether or not I want to stay here for three years(1 year living, 2 years interning) and experience life at Imago Dei or go somewhere else.
But if I go somewhere else I will always be in purgatory because I will never allow enough time for buildup. Part of my problem is that I want so badly to live a great life that I will always be looking around for something that is “better.” I will always be moving around until something “clicks.” I thought that I would step off the plane and I would enter nirvana. I would get to Portland and I would feel at home. People would bring me cookies and pretty girls would run up to me and kiss me on the cheek saying “Welcome to Portland!” “You finally made it home!” Then everything would fall into place and I would have my life established in the magical city of the Northwest. I would never worry about anything and everything would just feel “right.” I realize I am using a lot of “quotes” around words but that is for emphasis. I have this strange feeling that no matter where I go I will always be looking for the next best thing. I will always be looking for greener grass and a land filled with milk and honey. But I also have a strange feeling that I will never find this place. In fact I am almost guaranteed that I will never find this place because moving here is almost proof of it. I am scared of missing out on life. I am scared that I will live never have the perfect adventurous life. I am scared that after all my years on this earth I will look back and not have anything to show for it. Because of this I am frantically trying to save my life. I am anxious and worried running the streets in search of the “perfect” life. The problem with this is that will never commit to anything because I will always be looking for something else.
Portland is not that great. Neither is Denver. Neither is New York City, As long as I look at life through my utopian lens I will never be fulfilled. There will be problems everywhere I go. There will never be a place on this earth where I can hang like floatie toy in the pool, drinking margaritas without a care in the world. Everywhere I search for life I will never find it because life happens. There will always be shitty jobs and crappy bosses. There will always be something that looks better. Nothing will ever be perfect. I hope for life and am always disappointed. My favorite book in the bible is Ecclesiastes. It is by far the most relevant book in the bible. It feels so true. Everything is a circle. You will do nothing that hasn’t been done before. Everything you build has the potential to be destroyed by those who come after you. There is futility in indulgence, in work, in riches. Everything is vanity.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Portland Day 2
Right now I am sitting at the Portland Coffehouse in downtown Portland. What I am doing here I am not sure. I mean I am writing, but I have no idea why I am in Portland. Yesterday and today I wandered her streets aimlessly looking for something, what I’m not sure. The only three people I know here have their own daily lives and jobs and so right now I am as an apparition that walks the avenues. I looked for a few jobs but the idea of only working full time and neither doing school part time work nor part time ministry sounds horrible. I am suffering from community withdrawal as I move from living with 20 people to talking to myself. The adventure part is fun, not knowing what exactly I am doing, but the whole living with no purpose fuckin sucks. I am honestly questioning my decision to move out here. As of right now I know for sure that I will be back in Denver someday, there is no doubt in my mind. The only thing I am excited about is having money for tattoos. So at the very least I’ll come back to Denver tatted up the Wu tang. It is hard moving somewhere because you have to establish credibility. In Denver I was respected as a person and a leader, but now I have to start all over again. There is no one I can talk honestly with because I do not know anyone well enough to start sharing my feelings with them without them thinking I am overly emotional and in need of serious psychological attention. So that is why I talk to my computer like all the other modern, lonely people out there. Who knows maybe I will find some purpose out here, some reason to live and maybe a few relationships but right now the horizon looks very dim.
It actually isn’t that bad. Last night I went to this thing called Last Thursday and it is a huge street/arts fair that takes up 25 blocks on Alberta street. I have never seen so many hippie crafts and strange looking people. It is sadly disappointing that I do not stand out here, because everyone else here has tattoos and piercings and dyed hair and relatively the same worldview. It was really fun though, I met a lot of really cool people and was very visually stimulated. Everyone here is really nice so that’s always good. I thought I would enjoy having free time and no responsibilities but it more or less just makes me anxious because I am not sure what to do with myself. I’m sure things will improve once I get a job (it will probably be a shitty one though) and start volunteering at Imago. Until then I guess I am just going to write a lot and try to enjoy life.
It actually isn’t that bad. Last night I went to this thing called Last Thursday and it is a huge street/arts fair that takes up 25 blocks on Alberta street. I have never seen so many hippie crafts and strange looking people. It is sadly disappointing that I do not stand out here, because everyone else here has tattoos and piercings and dyed hair and relatively the same worldview. It was really fun though, I met a lot of really cool people and was very visually stimulated. Everyone here is really nice so that’s always good. I thought I would enjoy having free time and no responsibilities but it more or less just makes me anxious because I am not sure what to do with myself. I’m sure things will improve once I get a job (it will probably be a shitty one though) and start volunteering at Imago. Until then I guess I am just going to write a lot and try to enjoy life.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Adieu
Today I depart on flight 3053 from Denver to Portland. My chain-smoking friend Cortland just dropped me off at the airport and we bid adieu. I am leaving my residence of 20 years to find that which I am seeking. What it is I do not know, I only know that I need to find it. Perhaps I am leaving my home here for a new one in the rainy Northwest. Or perhaps I am leaving my home here to return again. I am filled with wanderlust and a restless heart. Sad to leave my friends at the Journey, but excited to set out on the next voyage of my life. My ship sails at 6:40 a.m. and I will arrive in Portland at 9:40 at my new place of habitation. There is a certain something to leaving. Leaving to find what you are looking for. Leaving for vacation, for rest. Leaving in order to appreciate home. I believe it is Ralph Waldo Emerson who says that all of life is about finding your way home, or it could have been someone else but the idea is what matters. Behind are my family and friends. Ahead are my heart and my hope of life. I refuse to be someone who lives his life looking over his shoulder wishing he would have taken risks and not settled for the bare minimum. I refuse to live a static life. But I also know that one day I will have to quit my travels in order to build a life, to start a home. Part of my leaving is geography, but I also know that what I am looking for will always be right here. There will come a time when I will have to “settle down” and stop looking and start building. I will have to decide “here is where I make my stand,” but not today. Today is a day of leaving. I am uncertain about what the future holds, but God has never let me down so far in life and I don’t expect him to in the future. Every scene of my life has been more than blessed and I have no doubt that what awaits me in Portland will be a good thing. The thing about following God is that there is no geography involved, only relationship, and that will never leave.
I honestly have no idea if I will be back or not. I figure it is a 50/50 chance. One year from now I will either be interning at Imago Dei or back in Denver starting a church with my friends. But who knows, maybe I’ll get an offer from Abercrombie and Fitch to be their next model for the 2009 summer calendar. Or maybe I’ll become an astronaut. Who knows. Part of this is about finding out what I want to do. I know who I am. But I’ not sure what I want to do. I know that I want to write and do ministry and that’s about it. I guess I can do that anywhere but I’m still looking for something. Perhaps my friend Mike is right and I am only looking for some Utopia that doesn’t exist. But at least this way ill know for sure that it does not. I have to do this, I’m not sure why. I can’ really explain it. But I need to go. Even if it’s just so I can come back.
I think part of me is scared that I might miss out on living and so I have a tendency to move around and live and see everything.
But I also know that living is less about traveling than it is about relationships. I think it is the curse of modernity. In the past people would stay their whole lives and never leave within three miles of their house and you could not say that they didn’t live a full life. But now we have modern technology, planes, trains and automobiles. There is so much to do and so much information and experience out there that it is a curse for people like me who want to see and do it all. Because I will never be able to. You would think machines and robots would give us less stress and less work but I think it actually creates more anxiety for the modern man. There are too many options, too much out there. It is overwhelming. There are literally a billion paths to take for the Western, modern man. I think others who don’t have these options might actually be happier because they have less freedom. They are forced to make their life good rather than searching for something that will “click.” But my computer is dying as I fly over the Rocky Mountains and I have to pee like a mofo so this goes out to all my friends at the Journey whom I am already missing.
I honestly have no idea if I will be back or not. I figure it is a 50/50 chance. One year from now I will either be interning at Imago Dei or back in Denver starting a church with my friends. But who knows, maybe I’ll get an offer from Abercrombie and Fitch to be their next model for the 2009 summer calendar. Or maybe I’ll become an astronaut. Who knows. Part of this is about finding out what I want to do. I know who I am. But I’ not sure what I want to do. I know that I want to write and do ministry and that’s about it. I guess I can do that anywhere but I’m still looking for something. Perhaps my friend Mike is right and I am only looking for some Utopia that doesn’t exist. But at least this way ill know for sure that it does not. I have to do this, I’m not sure why. I can’ really explain it. But I need to go. Even if it’s just so I can come back.
I think part of me is scared that I might miss out on living and so I have a tendency to move around and live and see everything.
But I also know that living is less about traveling than it is about relationships. I think it is the curse of modernity. In the past people would stay their whole lives and never leave within three miles of their house and you could not say that they didn’t live a full life. But now we have modern technology, planes, trains and automobiles. There is so much to do and so much information and experience out there that it is a curse for people like me who want to see and do it all. Because I will never be able to. You would think machines and robots would give us less stress and less work but I think it actually creates more anxiety for the modern man. There are too many options, too much out there. It is overwhelming. There are literally a billion paths to take for the Western, modern man. I think others who don’t have these options might actually be happier because they have less freedom. They are forced to make their life good rather than searching for something that will “click.” But my computer is dying as I fly over the Rocky Mountains and I have to pee like a mofo so this goes out to all my friends at the Journey whom I am already missing.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Marlboro Fences
Sometimes I bitch too much about being a Christian. Mostly because I have been in the forest for so long that I only see the trees. But every so often, I feel by spirit leaving me and lifting to the sky. I see the great forest, filled with animals, waterfalls, and green vegetation. Today my spirit left me for a bit.
I was trying to make some money so that I could move out to Portland, so I posted on craigslist to try and get some work. I posted this ad: “STUDENT WILL DO ANYTHING FOR $15 AN HOUR,” and hoped that a man named Buffalo Bill would not hire me to rub his feet. This morning I was woken up with a call to come and tamp fence posts. If you have never done this, you should try it some time, you are grossly missing out on some very sore shoulders. You take a hollowed out pole that is about two feet long with handles on both sides. One side is closed and the other is open. You take this tamper and place the open end over the top of a metal fence post. Then, you bring the tamper up and slam it back down on the post, driving it into the dusty earth. The man who hired me was named Bruce and he needed 50 of these slammed into the ground. I was way out towards Bennet, which is basically a small, farming town half an hour from Denver on the eastern plains. I would describe the town in more detail, but that is all there really is to say about it.
I met Bruce and another guy there and they ran a small fencing business, no, not the fencing that involves swords, the fencing that involves hammers and wire and does not require white suits with beekeeper masks. Both of these guys were in their early 50’s, pot bellies and kinda bitter. Every other word they said rhymed with the word duck and started with an f. I listened to them complain about work, traffic, women, employers, employees, the weather and so on. Just a side note, I have to say that I felt pretty bad ass today. Working on a fence out in a flat, dusty, field, listening to southern hardcore while chain smoking Marlboros with my two employers. It was somewhat manly, somewhat redneck, and somewhat cowboyish. I have never met the Marlboro man, but I think he might have looked like one of these guys, maybe a little thinner though and with more teeth. As I listened to them, my spirit left me. It was one of those times when my heart broke for two old ranchers/contractors who lived with little meaning or purpose in their lives, angry at the cards life had dealt to them. Bitter against the government, lonely without wives.
And I saw the forest. I remembered just how terribly dark and dry life can be without this great hope that I have. I may not know all the answers, and I may not be the happiest or most put together person I know, but I have this belief that I am more than just a robot, that life has purpose, life has meaning. I wanted to share this with them. To tell them that there is more to life, that this world is not all there is. I wanted to tell them that they matter to God and they mattered to me, but I wasn’t sure how to pull this off without sounding like the weirdo’s they saw on T.V. Sometimes I struggle with Christianity, but I also know God, and today was one of the few times(sadly) I felt tremendous joy for having the privilege to know God, to have purpose, to have meaning.
I was trying to make some money so that I could move out to Portland, so I posted on craigslist to try and get some work. I posted this ad: “STUDENT WILL DO ANYTHING FOR $15 AN HOUR,” and hoped that a man named Buffalo Bill would not hire me to rub his feet. This morning I was woken up with a call to come and tamp fence posts. If you have never done this, you should try it some time, you are grossly missing out on some very sore shoulders. You take a hollowed out pole that is about two feet long with handles on both sides. One side is closed and the other is open. You take this tamper and place the open end over the top of a metal fence post. Then, you bring the tamper up and slam it back down on the post, driving it into the dusty earth. The man who hired me was named Bruce and he needed 50 of these slammed into the ground. I was way out towards Bennet, which is basically a small, farming town half an hour from Denver on the eastern plains. I would describe the town in more detail, but that is all there really is to say about it.
I met Bruce and another guy there and they ran a small fencing business, no, not the fencing that involves swords, the fencing that involves hammers and wire and does not require white suits with beekeeper masks. Both of these guys were in their early 50’s, pot bellies and kinda bitter. Every other word they said rhymed with the word duck and started with an f. I listened to them complain about work, traffic, women, employers, employees, the weather and so on. Just a side note, I have to say that I felt pretty bad ass today. Working on a fence out in a flat, dusty, field, listening to southern hardcore while chain smoking Marlboros with my two employers. It was somewhat manly, somewhat redneck, and somewhat cowboyish. I have never met the Marlboro man, but I think he might have looked like one of these guys, maybe a little thinner though and with more teeth. As I listened to them, my spirit left me. It was one of those times when my heart broke for two old ranchers/contractors who lived with little meaning or purpose in their lives, angry at the cards life had dealt to them. Bitter against the government, lonely without wives.
And I saw the forest. I remembered just how terribly dark and dry life can be without this great hope that I have. I may not know all the answers, and I may not be the happiest or most put together person I know, but I have this belief that I am more than just a robot, that life has purpose, life has meaning. I wanted to share this with them. To tell them that there is more to life, that this world is not all there is. I wanted to tell them that they matter to God and they mattered to me, but I wasn’t sure how to pull this off without sounding like the weirdo’s they saw on T.V. Sometimes I struggle with Christianity, but I also know God, and today was one of the few times(sadly) I felt tremendous joy for having the privilege to know God, to have purpose, to have meaning.
Weak Part Deux(Im not sure if deux means two or ten but whatever neither do you)
So class after class I would keep thinking to myself, “This is so far from the truth. That is not what it’s about.” The Jesus I know is not the one I learned about in philosophy. The Christianity I know is not just about hell, fire and brimstone. It is not just about moral guidelines and incessant, irrelevant rules. It easy to understand why someone would not want to be a Christian. I wouldn’t want to be one either if all I heard of Christianity was from the people I saw on television and the religion I heard about in class.
As I sat in class I heard about how the people who believed in this God were foolish and ignorant, ascribing their superstition to some deity high up in the sky. Religion was based on men’s fears of the unknown. Spinoza says that men are wavering, weak, and confused and turn to God in the madness and distress of life. Nietzsche claimed that morality was the weak person’s way of enslaving the strong. If you could not beat a strong person through power or strength, than developing a system of morality would be a way to simultaneously praise the weak for their virtuous humility, while chastising the strong for their drive. Morality then was developed from what Nietzsche called the “slave morality” where morals were enforced on the “noble class” or the strong. It was revenge upon the aggressors, the lords, those who held power over the weak. Morality was born out of resentment of the strong and religion as well. It’s kind of like challenging Kobe to chess because you know you can’t beat him in basketball. Nietzsche firmly believed that until we declared the death of God, humanity could not be redeemed. Marx called religion the “opiate of the masses,” it was a drug for the lowly to put their weight on in the cruelty of life.
Christianity was a religion for the weak, a crutch for those who couldn’t do life on their own. It was a way to cope with fear of the unknown, a way to stomach the harshness of life. At first I wanted to refute these statements. But then I stopped, because I think it could be partly true.
It is a hard thing to swallow when others call you weak, when your beliefs are seen as mere coping mechanisms to deal with pain and suffering, but what if it’s true? What if I am only a Christian because I am scared? What if I am scared of a world without order, without meaning? What if I follow religion simply to make me feel better about myself? Maybe I am weak. Maybe I am needy. Maybe I am ignorant. Maybe I am scared.
It is a hard thing to swallow when someone tells you your faith is “Fine, if you need that type of thing.” As if they are doing just fine in life and it’s just too bad that you can’t do it on your own.
It is a very scary thing to think that I could be wrong.
That I could be an ignorant fool. That the faith I have followed for so many years is nothing but superstition. That the God I seek, is no more real than man-bear-pig (which I guess is pretty real if you talk to Al Gore.) That the times I have felt Him are nothing more than chemical impulses, neurons and protons. That this Jesus guy was nothing more than a good teacher, with ideas no more unique than Socrates or Nostradamus. I hope, I pray that this is not true, but what if. What if it is all a lie. What if we humans are nothing more than random particles in an infinite universe, no more unique than algae or Dial soap. What if God is nothing more than a grown up invisible friend? I’m not sure how to deal with these what if’s. I guess that is where faith comes in. A faith that believes in the unbelievable, in the unseen. A faith that believes that I am more than matter and DNA. That I have a soul, a spirit. That yes, I am weak, but aren’t we all? And yes, I do need others. I would rather use God as a crutch with the hope that he is there, than stand on my own, with no hope at all. If Christianity is a drug, than I’d rather smoke it three times a day, than live a life with no purpose or meaning. I figure I have a 50/50 chance that God exists, and I figure I would rather spend my life serving some invisible ghost in the belief that there is something bigger than me, than spend mortal hours worshipping myself. I am okay with the fact that I am weak, that I am not okay, that I need a purpose, a reason to live. I am okay that I may always look like Elmo compared to the independent George Clooney’s( I am not dissing George here, I am merely stating that often times being a Christian earns you about as much respect as Elmo compared to George Clooney. On a side note, George Clooney is one of my friends top man crush’s. No, he’s not gay, but if he was…George Clooney could sail on his Ocean’s Eleven.)
I am okay with not being solely independent, with depending on others and God to help me make it through life without punching toddlers.
As I sat in class I heard about how the people who believed in this God were foolish and ignorant, ascribing their superstition to some deity high up in the sky. Religion was based on men’s fears of the unknown. Spinoza says that men are wavering, weak, and confused and turn to God in the madness and distress of life. Nietzsche claimed that morality was the weak person’s way of enslaving the strong. If you could not beat a strong person through power or strength, than developing a system of morality would be a way to simultaneously praise the weak for their virtuous humility, while chastising the strong for their drive. Morality then was developed from what Nietzsche called the “slave morality” where morals were enforced on the “noble class” or the strong. It was revenge upon the aggressors, the lords, those who held power over the weak. Morality was born out of resentment of the strong and religion as well. It’s kind of like challenging Kobe to chess because you know you can’t beat him in basketball. Nietzsche firmly believed that until we declared the death of God, humanity could not be redeemed. Marx called religion the “opiate of the masses,” it was a drug for the lowly to put their weight on in the cruelty of life.
Christianity was a religion for the weak, a crutch for those who couldn’t do life on their own. It was a way to cope with fear of the unknown, a way to stomach the harshness of life. At first I wanted to refute these statements. But then I stopped, because I think it could be partly true.
It is a hard thing to swallow when others call you weak, when your beliefs are seen as mere coping mechanisms to deal with pain and suffering, but what if it’s true? What if I am only a Christian because I am scared? What if I am scared of a world without order, without meaning? What if I follow religion simply to make me feel better about myself? Maybe I am weak. Maybe I am needy. Maybe I am ignorant. Maybe I am scared.
It is a hard thing to swallow when someone tells you your faith is “Fine, if you need that type of thing.” As if they are doing just fine in life and it’s just too bad that you can’t do it on your own.
It is a very scary thing to think that I could be wrong.
That I could be an ignorant fool. That the faith I have followed for so many years is nothing but superstition. That the God I seek, is no more real than man-bear-pig (which I guess is pretty real if you talk to Al Gore.) That the times I have felt Him are nothing more than chemical impulses, neurons and protons. That this Jesus guy was nothing more than a good teacher, with ideas no more unique than Socrates or Nostradamus. I hope, I pray that this is not true, but what if. What if it is all a lie. What if we humans are nothing more than random particles in an infinite universe, no more unique than algae or Dial soap. What if God is nothing more than a grown up invisible friend? I’m not sure how to deal with these what if’s. I guess that is where faith comes in. A faith that believes in the unbelievable, in the unseen. A faith that believes that I am more than matter and DNA. That I have a soul, a spirit. That yes, I am weak, but aren’t we all? And yes, I do need others. I would rather use God as a crutch with the hope that he is there, than stand on my own, with no hope at all. If Christianity is a drug, than I’d rather smoke it three times a day, than live a life with no purpose or meaning. I figure I have a 50/50 chance that God exists, and I figure I would rather spend my life serving some invisible ghost in the belief that there is something bigger than me, than spend mortal hours worshipping myself. I am okay with the fact that I am weak, that I am not okay, that I need a purpose, a reason to live. I am okay that I may always look like Elmo compared to the independent George Clooney’s( I am not dissing George here, I am merely stating that often times being a Christian earns you about as much respect as Elmo compared to George Clooney. On a side note, George Clooney is one of my friends top man crush’s. No, he’s not gay, but if he was…George Clooney could sail on his Ocean’s Eleven.)
I am okay with not being solely independent, with depending on others and God to help me make it through life without punching toddlers.
Weak
There have been few times where I’ve felt like an absolute idiot for believing what I do. One of these times was in a philosophy class. It was Philosophy of Religion at CU Denver. Cu Denver is located on the metro campus in the heart of downtown Denver right next to the Pepsi center where the Avalanche and Nuggets play. It is the sister of the yuppie, trustafarian CU in Boulder. We were reading Nietzsche at the time and for those of you who haven’t read him, he pretty much claimed the death of God. He held great contempt for Christianity, and wanted to create a new moral world order without the idea of God polluting our thought processes.
I like Nietzsche. I disagree with almost everything he said, but the dude had some balls. Other philosophers sort of hinted at the possibility that maybe we should rethink the God thing but Nietzsche just came right out and threw down the hammer. Now I have to say that even though most philosophy classes supposedly bash Christians and get accused of being secular, liberal and lost by conservative Christians, I agreed with most of their bashing. I never got offended because the gospel they presented as Christianity was not the gospel that I ascribed to.
Whenever a professor went off on a small rant about God, it was not the God I knew. The God I know did not create a religion based on guilt. The God I know does not will for bad things to happen. He is not some cruel, angry parent nor is he an ancient, caveman concept. The God I know willed a perfect world and a relationship with us and it was good…for about a day. Then it all went to hell because this guy named Adam and this girl named Eve had a weird fetish for fruit. Ever since then though, the God I know has been trying to redeem the mess created by us.
The Christians they described in my philosophy class made me sick. It was as if someone was describing an encounter with your crazy uncle and they thought you were similar because you both hailed from the same family, and all you can do is shake your head and try and convince them that you are really nothing like your uncle. The problems they had with Christians were the same problems that I had. Very close-minded people, judgmental, self-righteous and yes, often times very ignorant. Through class after class I would hear about an angry God that only cared about obedience to some ancient, out of date, ritualistic type of morality. I would hear about a God who kept people in cages of rules and morals. A God who cared only about rule following. A Bible that was for the sole purpose of moral instruction. A Jesus who was nothing more than a good teacher. Christianity was shackles to the feet of the intellectual, the free, and the independent. It was a system of symptomatology. Meaning that Christianity was a symptom of an even greater sickness, weakness. A sigh of the oppressed, a coping mechanism. How could the strong buy into such a system of humility, selflessness and powerlessness? How could the intellectual and the scientific but into such a system of mysticism and faith with no rational basis? How could the independent chain themselves to a system of interdependence and dependence on God and others. It was because of these things that Christianity is symptomatology.
I like Nietzsche. I disagree with almost everything he said, but the dude had some balls. Other philosophers sort of hinted at the possibility that maybe we should rethink the God thing but Nietzsche just came right out and threw down the hammer. Now I have to say that even though most philosophy classes supposedly bash Christians and get accused of being secular, liberal and lost by conservative Christians, I agreed with most of their bashing. I never got offended because the gospel they presented as Christianity was not the gospel that I ascribed to.
Whenever a professor went off on a small rant about God, it was not the God I knew. The God I know did not create a religion based on guilt. The God I know does not will for bad things to happen. He is not some cruel, angry parent nor is he an ancient, caveman concept. The God I know willed a perfect world and a relationship with us and it was good…for about a day. Then it all went to hell because this guy named Adam and this girl named Eve had a weird fetish for fruit. Ever since then though, the God I know has been trying to redeem the mess created by us.
The Christians they described in my philosophy class made me sick. It was as if someone was describing an encounter with your crazy uncle and they thought you were similar because you both hailed from the same family, and all you can do is shake your head and try and convince them that you are really nothing like your uncle. The problems they had with Christians were the same problems that I had. Very close-minded people, judgmental, self-righteous and yes, often times very ignorant. Through class after class I would hear about an angry God that only cared about obedience to some ancient, out of date, ritualistic type of morality. I would hear about a God who kept people in cages of rules and morals. A God who cared only about rule following. A Bible that was for the sole purpose of moral instruction. A Jesus who was nothing more than a good teacher. Christianity was shackles to the feet of the intellectual, the free, and the independent. It was a system of symptomatology. Meaning that Christianity was a symptom of an even greater sickness, weakness. A sigh of the oppressed, a coping mechanism. How could the strong buy into such a system of humility, selflessness and powerlessness? How could the intellectual and the scientific but into such a system of mysticism and faith with no rational basis? How could the independent chain themselves to a system of interdependence and dependence on God and others. It was because of these things that Christianity is symptomatology.
Problems
Problems
I have a few problems with Christianity. Not God or Jesus ( although they confuse me on multiple occasions) but the people who claim to follow them. Christians, as they are called in the common tongue. Christianity is their religion and the Bible their handbook. They can be found on Sunday mornings, in some sort of structure, usually built out of wood. Some of these structures are small houses. Others resemble college campus’ complete with waterfalls and escalators. These structures are located all over the world, and contain people of all different races and ages. And I have a few problems with some of them. Before I go any further though, I should let you know that most of my problems stem out of conservative, evangelical, American Christianity. This is what I grew up in and what I know. I am a very judgmental person myself but even so, I will avoid passing judgment on denominations or sects of Christianity I do not know. So most of the time when you hear me referencing the word Christian, know that it is this particular group. If you are a conservative, evangelical, nationalistic American, than you’ll have to forgive me as well for my judgments, but take solace in the fact that I am probably not talking about you. So let us proceed with my problems, my frustrations, and (unfortunately) my judgments.
It is hard to write criticism on something or someone’s flaws because a) I am a hypocrite( I eat organic, all natural food, championing my abstinence from placing chemicals, or preservatives in my body from fast food…all while smoking a cigarette.) And b) I am ironically, inescapably, contradicting myself by judging Christians who judge others. But oh well. Let’s get on with the judgment!
Judgment
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt this, or seen this, but Christians can be very judgmental. Perhaps it was my dyed hair or my sleeping with the church secretary (just kidding ), but I always felt like I was living under a microscope. Every action of mine felt watched by an unseen crowd of silent judges who gave me disapproving glances like I was being too loud in the library. I would hear grunts of disapproval even while I slept and felt a need to please everyone. I still feel this tremendous burden in my life to never disappoint anyone or do anything that could possibly make them angry at me. Most Christians are very passive-aggressive type people, so instead of confronting me about who I was, they would let me know that I didn’t quite measure up to their standard with their silent words and holy eyes. Now, not to be overly dramatic and emo, because the church I grew up in was better than most, but I never felt good enough. I never felt accepted for who I was. It was only an acceptance of my potential to be a good Christian. There was always more to do. More rules and commandments to live by, more notches to add to my spiritual belt of righteousness. There was a huge emphasis on doing. Do this, don’t do that, no, no, no, that’s bad, stay away from those people, don’t drink this, don’t watch that, you are an evil person and so on. In Christianity there is this silent code of judgment, no one talks about it, but it’s there. Like the creatures in M. Night Shymalan’s The Village, those we don’t speak of.
But everyone judges people whether we want to admit it or not. Every time you meet someone for the first time or see someone walk into your circle of friends, you have a thought that usually goes something like this: “Wow, they are really annoying” or “What horrible fashion taste” or “I’m better looking than them.” It’s inescapable in Christianity and in the world, but the problems with a Christians judgment is that it also has ryder bills like “ I don’t appreciate your lifestyle and also you are probably going to go to hell” or “I am better than you because I am a Christian and I am going to heaven and your not so haha,” as they stick their tongue out like girls in the 4th grade. It’s a self-righteous sort of judgment which is the worst kind. But the judgment I experienced within the church was nothing from what judgment I saw between the church and the world.
It was very battle oriented. People used terms such as drawing sides, battling for souls, conquering, war, enemies, fire, taking ground, winning, losing etc. There were us Christians and then there was the world. Supposedly the world was trying to corrupt our youthful minds through MTV, and R-rated movies. The world was evil and we were good. Everyone in the world was considered lesser than those of us who knew the way. The world was filled with homosexuals, abortionists, whores, rockers, and smokers. We were not to associate with them and our mission was to tell them that they were sinners and the judgment of Christ was coming. It was our mission to tell people that they were going to hell if they did not accept Jesus as their personal lord and savior. It was our job as Christians to picket abortion clinics and go to anti-gay rally’s.
Basically it was our job to judge the world. I found it terribly ironic because we were supposed to be the ones who were forgiven, who could also forgive others and pass on this very inclusive, gift of love to everyone. But instead we took God’s grace and became the bouncers to our heavenly, Roxbury style, club. We put up huge billboards condemning the world for its actions, and held our picket signs high.
I have a few problems with Christianity. Not God or Jesus ( although they confuse me on multiple occasions) but the people who claim to follow them. Christians, as they are called in the common tongue. Christianity is their religion and the Bible their handbook. They can be found on Sunday mornings, in some sort of structure, usually built out of wood. Some of these structures are small houses. Others resemble college campus’ complete with waterfalls and escalators. These structures are located all over the world, and contain people of all different races and ages. And I have a few problems with some of them. Before I go any further though, I should let you know that most of my problems stem out of conservative, evangelical, American Christianity. This is what I grew up in and what I know. I am a very judgmental person myself but even so, I will avoid passing judgment on denominations or sects of Christianity I do not know. So most of the time when you hear me referencing the word Christian, know that it is this particular group. If you are a conservative, evangelical, nationalistic American, than you’ll have to forgive me as well for my judgments, but take solace in the fact that I am probably not talking about you. So let us proceed with my problems, my frustrations, and (unfortunately) my judgments.
It is hard to write criticism on something or someone’s flaws because a) I am a hypocrite( I eat organic, all natural food, championing my abstinence from placing chemicals, or preservatives in my body from fast food…all while smoking a cigarette.) And b) I am ironically, inescapably, contradicting myself by judging Christians who judge others. But oh well. Let’s get on with the judgment!
Judgment
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt this, or seen this, but Christians can be very judgmental. Perhaps it was my dyed hair or my sleeping with the church secretary (just kidding ), but I always felt like I was living under a microscope. Every action of mine felt watched by an unseen crowd of silent judges who gave me disapproving glances like I was being too loud in the library. I would hear grunts of disapproval even while I slept and felt a need to please everyone. I still feel this tremendous burden in my life to never disappoint anyone or do anything that could possibly make them angry at me. Most Christians are very passive-aggressive type people, so instead of confronting me about who I was, they would let me know that I didn’t quite measure up to their standard with their silent words and holy eyes. Now, not to be overly dramatic and emo, because the church I grew up in was better than most, but I never felt good enough. I never felt accepted for who I was. It was only an acceptance of my potential to be a good Christian. There was always more to do. More rules and commandments to live by, more notches to add to my spiritual belt of righteousness. There was a huge emphasis on doing. Do this, don’t do that, no, no, no, that’s bad, stay away from those people, don’t drink this, don’t watch that, you are an evil person and so on. In Christianity there is this silent code of judgment, no one talks about it, but it’s there. Like the creatures in M. Night Shymalan’s The Village, those we don’t speak of.
But everyone judges people whether we want to admit it or not. Every time you meet someone for the first time or see someone walk into your circle of friends, you have a thought that usually goes something like this: “Wow, they are really annoying” or “What horrible fashion taste” or “I’m better looking than them.” It’s inescapable in Christianity and in the world, but the problems with a Christians judgment is that it also has ryder bills like “ I don’t appreciate your lifestyle and also you are probably going to go to hell” or “I am better than you because I am a Christian and I am going to heaven and your not so haha,” as they stick their tongue out like girls in the 4th grade. It’s a self-righteous sort of judgment which is the worst kind. But the judgment I experienced within the church was nothing from what judgment I saw between the church and the world.
It was very battle oriented. People used terms such as drawing sides, battling for souls, conquering, war, enemies, fire, taking ground, winning, losing etc. There were us Christians and then there was the world. Supposedly the world was trying to corrupt our youthful minds through MTV, and R-rated movies. The world was evil and we were good. Everyone in the world was considered lesser than those of us who knew the way. The world was filled with homosexuals, abortionists, whores, rockers, and smokers. We were not to associate with them and our mission was to tell them that they were sinners and the judgment of Christ was coming. It was our mission to tell people that they were going to hell if they did not accept Jesus as their personal lord and savior. It was our job as Christians to picket abortion clinics and go to anti-gay rally’s.
Basically it was our job to judge the world. I found it terribly ironic because we were supposed to be the ones who were forgiven, who could also forgive others and pass on this very inclusive, gift of love to everyone. But instead we took God’s grace and became the bouncers to our heavenly, Roxbury style, club. We put up huge billboards condemning the world for its actions, and held our picket signs high.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Spiritually Knocked Up
One of my favorite movies is Knocked Up. The first time I watched a Judd Apatow movie I realized that it was possibly the funniest, most brilliant combination of meaning, truth and crude humour that I had ever seen. Knocked Up is about a one night stand between a lazy, chubby, irresponsible slob and a girl who is a high class T.V. show host. The girl finds out a few weeks later that she is pregnant, thus spurning a unique relationship between two opposite people who band together to do the best for their situation. The movie is all about working through the struggles of relationship. It delves into the ideas of abortion, marriage, kids and growing up; and yes, it has some sex in it, and some crude jokes. It is not the most "Christian" movie you will ever watch. But it has more to say about relationships than watching an hour of Oprah.
So I really liked this movie, but I forget that Christians have this perpetual ban or mental block on appreciation for anything that is "Secular". So when I would tell others about my like of this movie, they could not get past the the coarseness of the content. Yes, there is a lot of it, but why in Christianity, does there have to be this idea that nothing in the secular realm has anything of value, anything worth watching, discussing or dialoging about? This movie has so much to say about what it means to be human, about the human condition and the messiness of relationships in real life. It deals with the real issues of abortion and marriage.
The creators and writers of this movie were also the ones who made The 40 year Old Virgin, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and Superbad. All of these movies are brilliant because they have beautiful meanings hidden behind a superficial context of humour and more often than not, coarse humour. In The 40 Year Old Virgin a guy decides to wait to have sex until he is married. In Knocked Up they decide to keep their mistake. Superbad is all about friendship and th awkwardness of high school. The first time I watched one of these movies I was astounded by the dynamic contrast of great moral messages and the erroneously crude, but funny material. At first I was a bit offended, but as the movie continued I saw that this was not the typical rude, bathroom humour, crude for crudities sake movie. I learned more about life from this movie than any other this year. My friend Cortland honestly says that it changed his life. He says the movies are both funny and heartwarming.
I feel like a lot of Christians dismiss anything that is not overtly religous. If a song or a movie has a cuss word in it, than it probably isn't worth watching. But I see God in these movies. I see God in the broken, fractured lives of the characters in Knocked Up. I see meaning in the friendship of two people struggling to make life work. If you believe in the Kingdom, is there really such a thing as secularism? If you believe in God, than honestly, where is God not?
So I really liked this movie, but I forget that Christians have this perpetual ban or mental block on appreciation for anything that is "Secular". So when I would tell others about my like of this movie, they could not get past the the coarseness of the content. Yes, there is a lot of it, but why in Christianity, does there have to be this idea that nothing in the secular realm has anything of value, anything worth watching, discussing or dialoging about? This movie has so much to say about what it means to be human, about the human condition and the messiness of relationships in real life. It deals with the real issues of abortion and marriage.
The creators and writers of this movie were also the ones who made The 40 year Old Virgin, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and Superbad. All of these movies are brilliant because they have beautiful meanings hidden behind a superficial context of humour and more often than not, coarse humour. In The 40 Year Old Virgin a guy decides to wait to have sex until he is married. In Knocked Up they decide to keep their mistake. Superbad is all about friendship and th awkwardness of high school. The first time I watched one of these movies I was astounded by the dynamic contrast of great moral messages and the erroneously crude, but funny material. At first I was a bit offended, but as the movie continued I saw that this was not the typical rude, bathroom humour, crude for crudities sake movie. I learned more about life from this movie than any other this year. My friend Cortland honestly says that it changed his life. He says the movies are both funny and heartwarming.
I feel like a lot of Christians dismiss anything that is not overtly religous. If a song or a movie has a cuss word in it, than it probably isn't worth watching. But I see God in these movies. I see God in the broken, fractured lives of the characters in Knocked Up. I see meaning in the friendship of two people struggling to make life work. If you believe in the Kingdom, is there really such a thing as secularism? If you believe in God, than honestly, where is God not?
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Whenever I tell Someone About My Life, It Sounds Better Than It Feels
The other day I was having coffee with this girl. I met this girl through a friend of a friend. She was visiting in Colorado for a wedding and so my mutual friend called me to see if I could join them for some coffee. We met at Paris on the Platte and talked for a few hours before she had to go back to Portland. She talked about Portland and I talked about living in Denver. She then proceeded to ask me about my church and the house that I was a part of.
Before this question we had mostly made a lot of small talk, but here was the part where I began to get down to the nitty gritty, the real parts of my life. I described our church-our hopes, dreams and goals, what we had been doing, what we were planning to do. I told her about Habitat for Humanity. I spoke about our bigger, better best contest for Africa and our vision for the city. I told her about our community,living with 19 people- kids, families, married couples, everyone. I told her about how we shared resources, everything from food to automobiles. In the course of our talk I had an epiphany. Not an actual epiphany, but while I was talking, a part of my ear lobe began to hear the words that were coming out of my mouth, and my brain became really confused. It was then that I had a realization, an epiphany. But wait, I am still using the wrong word, I believe the correct word would be something along the lines of a distraught, bewildering realization. Whatever that word is I'm not sure, and I dont feel like looking in the dictionary for two hours so thats the best description I can come up with.
So anyways, as these grand, eloquent words were describing my so called epic, adventurous life, I became distraught. Distraught because I realized that I did not feel anything I was saying. I did not feel, I did not see, what my life was. I mean I was living it, and everything I said was true, but my physical, present life did not seem to match the spoken words. If I could somehow sit down with myself and tell me, to tell me about my life, I would be amazed at the content. But because I am in the middle of living it, nothing seems so epic, so adventurous, or glorious as it does when I tell others. If I was to read a book about everything our church and our house was doing, I would be amazed. But now that I am actually living in the story, it doesn't seem so great at all. It feels very monotonous, plagued with doubts, frustrations and daily events that are far from anything worth writing home about.
Because I am a very idealistic person, I become very depressed when life is not idealistic, when it is realistic and kinda shitty. I am not great living in the plains. I can handle the mountains, I can handle the valleys, but the plains just suck. there is nothing interesting and everything seems so dull. I mean there is the Buffalo, but most of them were wiped out thanks to my greatwhite ancestors from Europe who came to this land to convert and conquer. I do not do good with daily grinds, hourly responsibilities and tasks. They are just so boring; but necessary at the same time, which makes it even more unbearable, like watching Nsync at the Super Bowl; two activities I don't like watching separately, let alone together. Daily life resembles nothing from the movie 300. It doesn't resemble any movie, because to have a movie, you at least need some kinda plot and my life feels like there is no plot at all. As of right now, I am not winning the race, beating the villain, or getting the girl. I am doing yard work and washing dishes. I am waking up with less sleep than insomniacs and hoping that one day this will all be worth it.
Before this question we had mostly made a lot of small talk, but here was the part where I began to get down to the nitty gritty, the real parts of my life. I described our church-our hopes, dreams and goals, what we had been doing, what we were planning to do. I told her about Habitat for Humanity. I spoke about our bigger, better best contest for Africa and our vision for the city. I told her about our community,living with 19 people- kids, families, married couples, everyone. I told her about how we shared resources, everything from food to automobiles. In the course of our talk I had an epiphany. Not an actual epiphany, but while I was talking, a part of my ear lobe began to hear the words that were coming out of my mouth, and my brain became really confused. It was then that I had a realization, an epiphany. But wait, I am still using the wrong word, I believe the correct word would be something along the lines of a distraught, bewildering realization. Whatever that word is I'm not sure, and I dont feel like looking in the dictionary for two hours so thats the best description I can come up with.
So anyways, as these grand, eloquent words were describing my so called epic, adventurous life, I became distraught. Distraught because I realized that I did not feel anything I was saying. I did not feel, I did not see, what my life was. I mean I was living it, and everything I said was true, but my physical, present life did not seem to match the spoken words. If I could somehow sit down with myself and tell me, to tell me about my life, I would be amazed at the content. But because I am in the middle of living it, nothing seems so epic, so adventurous, or glorious as it does when I tell others. If I was to read a book about everything our church and our house was doing, I would be amazed. But now that I am actually living in the story, it doesn't seem so great at all. It feels very monotonous, plagued with doubts, frustrations and daily events that are far from anything worth writing home about.
Because I am a very idealistic person, I become very depressed when life is not idealistic, when it is realistic and kinda shitty. I am not great living in the plains. I can handle the mountains, I can handle the valleys, but the plains just suck. there is nothing interesting and everything seems so dull. I mean there is the Buffalo, but most of them were wiped out thanks to my greatwhite ancestors from Europe who came to this land to convert and conquer. I do not do good with daily grinds, hourly responsibilities and tasks. They are just so boring; but necessary at the same time, which makes it even more unbearable, like watching Nsync at the Super Bowl; two activities I don't like watching separately, let alone together. Daily life resembles nothing from the movie 300. It doesn't resemble any movie, because to have a movie, you at least need some kinda plot and my life feels like there is no plot at all. As of right now, I am not winning the race, beating the villain, or getting the girl. I am doing yard work and washing dishes. I am waking up with less sleep than insomniacs and hoping that one day this will all be worth it.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Pretense: Ivory
I am tired of hipsters. I am tired of people who talk under the pretense of knowledge about art, literature and music with elitist attitudes of arrogance. Yesterday I was hanging out with some of these people. One of them was in a band, the others were students at UCD. I met them through a friend of a friend. They were very snobby. The dude who was in a band wouldn't even look at me when I asked him a question. I guess he was too busy adjusting his black, square framed glasses, and brushing the hair out of his eyes. I watched as they talked of things that I am interested in, but in a way that made me never want to talk about them again. Perhaps if I was in a band, or if I was a great writer or artist, they would talk to me. But I am not any of these, so I guess am not really worth speaking to as a person. Perhaps if I raised my nose up a little more, and closed my eyes when I talked, I would be more accepted. Perhaps if I spent more money on "original" clothing and elegantly disheveled my hair while reading the latest from some current, New York, trendy fashion magazine, then I would have something to say.
I think it is funny how a particular subculture will rebel against a mainstream one, but then create the same sort of hierarchy that exists in the mainstream. There are still "cool" people and "uncool" people. There are still those who exert power, control, and influence over the followers of their "unique" beliefs. Whose intellectual paradigms ultimataely lead to the inevitable conclusion of bullshit no matter how "postmodern" and "right" they are. I am tired of people thinking that because they have a particular knowledge or philosophy of life that somehow this makes them better than the rest of the common people who are too stupid and ignorant to know anything or have taste in anything remotely of value.
These groups of people are all the same and though they may shop at different stores in the mall (one group goes to Pacsun, the other to Hot Topic and the other to Hollister) they all ascribe to the same conformist, high school, system of popularity and fashion. But the real irony lies when someone claims that they are "open minded." Usually these people look down on those who are "close minded" and critique them for having a certain set of beliefs. It is the most amusing thing to me to listen to someone talk about the "close mindedness" of others and how these people just don't see things the "right" way and are very uneducated about religion or culture or whatever it is they know that you don't.
Being a Christian, it is also amusing to me to talk to these people about my beliefs. "Oh, your a Christian" they will say. As if my being so deems me ignorant and uneducated and a southern, right-wing conspirator bigot. I am not these things, as I try to tell people, but they always seem to have the attitude that "Whatever is right for you is fine. Unless your a Christian, then your just wrong." There is very little room for different people or different beliefs in this relativistic type of thinking. I don't think it's wrong, it's just funny.
"When someone says to me "Hey man you shouldn't enforce your beliefs on others," I agree. I say, "Yeah I completely agree." What makes sense to me, may not necessarily make sense to others. I think its just plain idiotic to go around malls preaching at people, trying to convert them to your religion. But at the same time I want to ask the same people who tell me not to preach to others, "Why are you preaching at me?" Why are you enforcing your tolerance on me? Why are you stereotyping me based on the televangelist? Why are you judging me for being a Christian when you are very adamant against not judging people?
I believe in tolerance. I believe in being open minded. I love to talk about art, music, literature, and poetry. I just think its ironic when the so called "open" people are really just as judgmental and close minded as the rest. I think it is ironic when subcultures and originality is really just another facade of mainstream hierarchies and commercialism. So if your going to be an open person, which I try to be, if your going to learn about cultural facets, which I try to, just do it all the way, and try not to be a hypocritical asshole.
I have to laugh just because if someone really believed in extreme tolerance they could not even write a blog about it because they would be telling others what to believe. I am a hypocrite just by telling people not to be pretentious assholes. But we are all hypocrites to some degree so what can you do. I talk about not wanting to put chemicals in my body from Macdonald's, but then I go and smoke a cigarette. So ultimately, it is just a personal preference thing- I am tired of snobby, pretentious people who live in clouds of ivory towers and refuse to walk the earth with the rest of struggling humanity.
I think it is funny how a particular subculture will rebel against a mainstream one, but then create the same sort of hierarchy that exists in the mainstream. There are still "cool" people and "uncool" people. There are still those who exert power, control, and influence over the followers of their "unique" beliefs. Whose intellectual paradigms ultimataely lead to the inevitable conclusion of bullshit no matter how "postmodern" and "right" they are. I am tired of people thinking that because they have a particular knowledge or philosophy of life that somehow this makes them better than the rest of the common people who are too stupid and ignorant to know anything or have taste in anything remotely of value.
These groups of people are all the same and though they may shop at different stores in the mall (one group goes to Pacsun, the other to Hot Topic and the other to Hollister) they all ascribe to the same conformist, high school, system of popularity and fashion. But the real irony lies when someone claims that they are "open minded." Usually these people look down on those who are "close minded" and critique them for having a certain set of beliefs. It is the most amusing thing to me to listen to someone talk about the "close mindedness" of others and how these people just don't see things the "right" way and are very uneducated about religion or culture or whatever it is they know that you don't.
Being a Christian, it is also amusing to me to talk to these people about my beliefs. "Oh, your a Christian" they will say. As if my being so deems me ignorant and uneducated and a southern, right-wing conspirator bigot. I am not these things, as I try to tell people, but they always seem to have the attitude that "Whatever is right for you is fine. Unless your a Christian, then your just wrong." There is very little room for different people or different beliefs in this relativistic type of thinking. I don't think it's wrong, it's just funny.
"When someone says to me "Hey man you shouldn't enforce your beliefs on others," I agree. I say, "Yeah I completely agree." What makes sense to me, may not necessarily make sense to others. I think its just plain idiotic to go around malls preaching at people, trying to convert them to your religion. But at the same time I want to ask the same people who tell me not to preach to others, "Why are you preaching at me?" Why are you enforcing your tolerance on me? Why are you stereotyping me based on the televangelist? Why are you judging me for being a Christian when you are very adamant against not judging people?
I believe in tolerance. I believe in being open minded. I love to talk about art, music, literature, and poetry. I just think its ironic when the so called "open" people are really just as judgmental and close minded as the rest. I think it is ironic when subcultures and originality is really just another facade of mainstream hierarchies and commercialism. So if your going to be an open person, which I try to be, if your going to learn about cultural facets, which I try to, just do it all the way, and try not to be a hypocritical asshole.
I have to laugh just because if someone really believed in extreme tolerance they could not even write a blog about it because they would be telling others what to believe. I am a hypocrite just by telling people not to be pretentious assholes. But we are all hypocrites to some degree so what can you do. I talk about not wanting to put chemicals in my body from Macdonald's, but then I go and smoke a cigarette. So ultimately, it is just a personal preference thing- I am tired of snobby, pretentious people who live in clouds of ivory towers and refuse to walk the earth with the rest of struggling humanity.
The Fallen
Today is Memorial day and so I think about the fallen. Not necessarily those who have fallen in war, but those who have fallen in life. I think about the very nature of what it means to fall, to live with the other fallen, in the fallen. One belief of Christianity that is hard to accept is the belief that this world, as well as the people in it, are depraved. It's not so much that I have trouble believing it, but the fact that I know it to be true. What do you do with the idea that everything is screwed up, that nothing is perfect, that at the root, the base of everything, there is evil, there is depravity? How do you live with the idea that no matter how much good you or anyone else does there will always be more that gets left undone. That in this world, evil will always rival good, selfishness will always rival generosity and darkness will always rival light. It is a depressing thought. I don't want to be one of those apathetic, depressed, emo kids who wears black clothes and listens to sad music complaining about how cruel and unfair the world is to them, but, at the same time, I can't shake the ashes from my feet.
If the world is indeed fallen, than I feel it pressing down upon me, like a heavy weight that clouds my thoughts, leaving little room for happy thoughts of prancing unicorns and strawberry cheesecake. I see it in corrupt governments and political scandals. I see it in broken relationships and throat ripping divorces. I see it in the cracked out girl walking down Colfax, on the sadness of a man whose lover left him. I see it in swelled out stomachs of poverty, and the sunken faces of a child with Aids. I see it in myself. In my selfishness, in my emptiness, in my apathy. I see it in my love for myself over my love for others, in my pride over my humility, and in my constant search for fulfillment, rather than my contentedness.
How do you live in this world when you know that you will never be fully fulfilled, never be wholly healed, and never find home? I know how a lot of people live with it. They distract themselves, they ignore it, and settle for what little does bring them happiness. They suffocate the pain, drink themselves into blackout from it, escape it in lifestyles, orgasm and glass pipes. They buy it with houses, cars and clothes. They achieve it with successful careers and corporate ladders. And yet it is still there.
And what do we as Christians do? Because we are the same. This is not our home, and our lover has been gone for some time. But should we be the same? Don't we have some hope, some light that should help? If this is true than why can't I see it? Why does God seem so elusive and healing so far away? Why do Christians have a higher divorce rate and the same struggles with affairs, alcoholism and escapism?
Where is the salt?
Jesus says that we will have many troubles in this world, but to take heart because he has overcome the world. I believe this, even though it seems completely antithetical to the world I live in. Paul says that while we are here, we will always see as in a mirror dimly lit, but that one day we will have clarity. Until then though, I think there is nothing else worth pursuing other than making the world a better place. In giving rather than taking, and in love rather than hate. In overcoming darkness with light, in pursuing peace in chaos, and hope in the void.
Man, this is kinda depressing, but it is a gray day so it kinda fits. Anyways I'm going to go watch something funny, because life is short and so why not laugh.
If the world is indeed fallen, than I feel it pressing down upon me, like a heavy weight that clouds my thoughts, leaving little room for happy thoughts of prancing unicorns and strawberry cheesecake. I see it in corrupt governments and political scandals. I see it in broken relationships and throat ripping divorces. I see it in the cracked out girl walking down Colfax, on the sadness of a man whose lover left him. I see it in swelled out stomachs of poverty, and the sunken faces of a child with Aids. I see it in myself. In my selfishness, in my emptiness, in my apathy. I see it in my love for myself over my love for others, in my pride over my humility, and in my constant search for fulfillment, rather than my contentedness.
How do you live in this world when you know that you will never be fully fulfilled, never be wholly healed, and never find home? I know how a lot of people live with it. They distract themselves, they ignore it, and settle for what little does bring them happiness. They suffocate the pain, drink themselves into blackout from it, escape it in lifestyles, orgasm and glass pipes. They buy it with houses, cars and clothes. They achieve it with successful careers and corporate ladders. And yet it is still there.
And what do we as Christians do? Because we are the same. This is not our home, and our lover has been gone for some time. But should we be the same? Don't we have some hope, some light that should help? If this is true than why can't I see it? Why does God seem so elusive and healing so far away? Why do Christians have a higher divorce rate and the same struggles with affairs, alcoholism and escapism?
Where is the salt?
Jesus says that we will have many troubles in this world, but to take heart because he has overcome the world. I believe this, even though it seems completely antithetical to the world I live in. Paul says that while we are here, we will always see as in a mirror dimly lit, but that one day we will have clarity. Until then though, I think there is nothing else worth pursuing other than making the world a better place. In giving rather than taking, and in love rather than hate. In overcoming darkness with light, in pursuing peace in chaos, and hope in the void.
Man, this is kinda depressing, but it is a gray day so it kinda fits. Anyways I'm going to go watch something funny, because life is short and so why not laugh.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Mad Hatter Morality
My friend Bartholomew came over last night. His name isn't really Batholomew but I don't feel like telling you his real name, so as far as you know, his name is Batholomew. He was my roommate in college at Western State. This last year we parted ways as he went to Africa to study abroad and I moved to Denver to help start a church. He traveled around Europe for awhile after the semester was over and did all the usual boring stuff like couch surf at Sorority girls' houses in Scotland and party in the streets of Madrid, you know real drab, dull stuff I'm glad I wasn't there for. As our house got back from the new Indian Jones movie, he pulled in our driveway. We hung out for awhile and then he began to describe to me and my friend Mike his relationship with a particular girl. The conversation moved from this to talking about God and church.
Batholomew is a Christian, he believes in God, he believes in Jesus. But he has kept his distance. Why, you may ask? Well, another long story short, he fears God. Not the healthy sort of fear that is born from a legitimate danger like holding a metal pole in a lightning storm, but the sort of fear that turns into ignorance, into misunderstandings and dissonant distance. He felt that God was angry with him. That everything he wanted to do God disapproved of and everything he didn't want to do, God held over his head like a pissed off loan shark. Batholomew had no concept of a loving God, the only God he knew was angry and full of wrath. A God who desired morality over relationship and righteousness over faith.
I think a lot of people have this twisted, gnarled view of who God is. The God I hear about from non-Christians is a scary thing. The God I see on T.V. and on picket signs is a scary thing. I had a a Philosophy of Religion class this last semester and this guy named Spinoza said that the two main purposes of Christianity were Justice and Charity, and for most people, this is what the bible is to them, a book of moral teachings, of do's and do not's. If this is all people know about God, no wonder no one wants to believe in him. I wouldn't either. Why would I follow a religion based on guilt, shame and self-degradation? Why would I follow a set of rules that make absolutely no sense. Why would I follow a system of beliefs that had absolutely nothing to say about who I am as a person or what I am here for, but has everything to say about what I should and shouldn't do. If God is this transcendent being of merciless power and judgment; honestly, what's the point of believing in Christianity at all. If my life is only lived from a fear of incomprehensible eternity, from an obligation, than seriously, why am I a Christian? Why would I want to follow a system that deprives me of my very nature and then demands homage when I indulge in it. This was Bartholomew's question.
I sincerely believe, that like the Catholic church in the 16th century, so is the American church today. A church, a religion, a system gone wrong. An institution that cares more about people's money and behaviors than it does about people themselves. A Christianity that is exterior based, and interior ignorant. We have made God detached, unavailable to the common people, a God who worries more about your sex life and drinking habits than about your soul. The Gospel of good news has become the Gospel of bad news. The teachings of Jesus are boiled down to moral life enhancers and products, indulgences, to be sold.
Was Bartholomew to talk to the average pastor or churchgoer he would face a barrage of criticism and judgment for the choices he has made. He would be told to get things right, to repent of his sin, to live morally and then, only then, would he be acceptable to God, only then would he be "worthy" of grace. However, we at the Journey are not average Christians. I'm barely a Christian myself and most of our group will probably be convicted of heresy someday by some self-righteous zealots. So, Mike, the pastor, but more than that my friend, explained to Bartholomew that more than anything else God cared about him, that he was always there and would always love him no matter what he did. That God, in all reality, cared more about Bartholomew as a person, than He did about how moral Bartholomew was living. Bartholomew had never heard this before, and I was very sad.
I believe that God cares more about knowing us and us knowing him, than he does about our behavior. I believe that the bible has more to teach us than just justice and charity. Christianity has put the cart before the horse and said: "First, morality. Next, God." I believe this is wrong, that it keeps people from knowing God and keeps people obeying a system of religion that has nothing to do with the way of Jesus. I believe in relationship, not religion.
I follow Jesus, not Christianity, not America, not some moral system of religion, but the Nazarene carpenter, who preached that God is love and that He un-encompassingly, limitlessly, unconditionally loves us first. And, if we can accept this, than the other things will soon follow. My friend left that night still confused, but free. Free from the idea of a cruel God, free from a meaningless system of morality, and he left in search of what it meant to honestly, truthfully know God.
Batholomew is a Christian, he believes in God, he believes in Jesus. But he has kept his distance. Why, you may ask? Well, another long story short, he fears God. Not the healthy sort of fear that is born from a legitimate danger like holding a metal pole in a lightning storm, but the sort of fear that turns into ignorance, into misunderstandings and dissonant distance. He felt that God was angry with him. That everything he wanted to do God disapproved of and everything he didn't want to do, God held over his head like a pissed off loan shark. Batholomew had no concept of a loving God, the only God he knew was angry and full of wrath. A God who desired morality over relationship and righteousness over faith.
I think a lot of people have this twisted, gnarled view of who God is. The God I hear about from non-Christians is a scary thing. The God I see on T.V. and on picket signs is a scary thing. I had a a Philosophy of Religion class this last semester and this guy named Spinoza said that the two main purposes of Christianity were Justice and Charity, and for most people, this is what the bible is to them, a book of moral teachings, of do's and do not's. If this is all people know about God, no wonder no one wants to believe in him. I wouldn't either. Why would I follow a religion based on guilt, shame and self-degradation? Why would I follow a set of rules that make absolutely no sense. Why would I follow a system of beliefs that had absolutely nothing to say about who I am as a person or what I am here for, but has everything to say about what I should and shouldn't do. If God is this transcendent being of merciless power and judgment; honestly, what's the point of believing in Christianity at all. If my life is only lived from a fear of incomprehensible eternity, from an obligation, than seriously, why am I a Christian? Why would I want to follow a system that deprives me of my very nature and then demands homage when I indulge in it. This was Bartholomew's question.
I sincerely believe, that like the Catholic church in the 16th century, so is the American church today. A church, a religion, a system gone wrong. An institution that cares more about people's money and behaviors than it does about people themselves. A Christianity that is exterior based, and interior ignorant. We have made God detached, unavailable to the common people, a God who worries more about your sex life and drinking habits than about your soul. The Gospel of good news has become the Gospel of bad news. The teachings of Jesus are boiled down to moral life enhancers and products, indulgences, to be sold.
Was Bartholomew to talk to the average pastor or churchgoer he would face a barrage of criticism and judgment for the choices he has made. He would be told to get things right, to repent of his sin, to live morally and then, only then, would he be acceptable to God, only then would he be "worthy" of grace. However, we at the Journey are not average Christians. I'm barely a Christian myself and most of our group will probably be convicted of heresy someday by some self-righteous zealots. So, Mike, the pastor, but more than that my friend, explained to Bartholomew that more than anything else God cared about him, that he was always there and would always love him no matter what he did. That God, in all reality, cared more about Bartholomew as a person, than He did about how moral Bartholomew was living. Bartholomew had never heard this before, and I was very sad.
I believe that God cares more about knowing us and us knowing him, than he does about our behavior. I believe that the bible has more to teach us than just justice and charity. Christianity has put the cart before the horse and said: "First, morality. Next, God." I believe this is wrong, that it keeps people from knowing God and keeps people obeying a system of religion that has nothing to do with the way of Jesus. I believe in relationship, not religion.
I follow Jesus, not Christianity, not America, not some moral system of religion, but the Nazarene carpenter, who preached that God is love and that He un-encompassingly, limitlessly, unconditionally loves us first. And, if we can accept this, than the other things will soon follow. My friend left that night still confused, but free. Free from the idea of a cruel God, free from a meaningless system of morality, and he left in search of what it meant to honestly, truthfully know God.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Hallo Govnuh!
So this is my first blog. For many years I was adamantly against the idea. Blogging to me was the equivalent of reading Cosmo, cheap writing and a bunch of people writing about their lives with completely unoriginal ideas and uninteresting lives. I would read a blog and it would start off with: So I was going to the store today and blah, blah, blah, blah. Or, the blog would be about someones view on life and again blah,blah,blah, blah, blah. I honestly could care less about so and so's opinion on such and such an issue when in all reality they are regurgitating vomitous material, already published in cheap books or magazines, only they think it is important because it goes on to the internet machine.
But, I have given into the cheap internet equivalent of real conversations and ideas mostly because my computer is broken and I have to write somewhere, so why not here. So I have swallowed my pride and given into the greater good of writing like when I swallow my pride when a girl I'm interested in says she really likes the Green Day or American Eagle and I force myself to smile for the greater good.
Well I guess this is where I write about my life and all of my original ideas on it. Lets see, right now I am listening to the new Death Cab album and I just listened to the a song from the new Coldplay album that is coming out. This morning I had breakfast with the governor of Colorado. I mean, it wasn't just me and him personally, in a small room together. It was rather a larger room with about 200 other people. It was the 5th annual Breakfast for Humanity put on by Habitat for Humanity to present information and give people a chance to donate to the cause. The reason for my presence being that I am the director of Community Involvement for my church (The Journey Community Church) and went because we want to get involved and build some houses for some people. We sat at the "Religious Affiliation" table which meant we sat with all the boring people. I saw another guy with tattoos at another table and I wanted to be at that one. My friend Josh went with me and why, out of everyone else in our group, they sent us I'm not sure. I knew this when Mike said we could go but we both had to dress up and Josh was told not to cuss and I was told to cover up my tattoos. We were about a third of everyone else's age and did not have gray hair.
I realized while I was here that I do not like formal events. Mostly because it involves facades and bullshit. People give long speeches with big words when they could really just say something along the lines of "Look People! Why don't you stop being selfish and build a house for someone!"But I guess it is necessary. I guess I just haven't really gotten into the whole, try to look the part and act important and interested. Perhaps this is because this is the church I grew up in. Where people cared more about how you looked on the exterior than who you were as a person. Perhaps it is because I am tired of being fake and would rather be authentic. So when the governor starts giving speeches I'd rather just have breakfast with him. Maybe this wouldn't be a good thing though, because the whole time he was talking I couldn't get the song, "Umbrella" by Rihanna out of my head and so I would be afraid that if I was talking to him and he asked me a question my only reply would be "You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, ella."
Today was a hard day. After the breakfast we had to do a moving job, clean a house and then hear, yet again, some more demoralizing news from critics about our church. But, what can you do. Sometimes days are shitty, but thats when you stop caring and realize the day is over, take a shower, relax, enjoy some relationships, and then put your head down and keep going. I feel like you could do a lot with this attitude.
But yeah I guess that's it. I guess I could sum up my whole day with the statement that if you know any single girls out there, send them my way.
But, I have given into the cheap internet equivalent of real conversations and ideas mostly because my computer is broken and I have to write somewhere, so why not here. So I have swallowed my pride and given into the greater good of writing like when I swallow my pride when a girl I'm interested in says she really likes the Green Day or American Eagle and I force myself to smile for the greater good.
Well I guess this is where I write about my life and all of my original ideas on it. Lets see, right now I am listening to the new Death Cab album and I just listened to the a song from the new Coldplay album that is coming out. This morning I had breakfast with the governor of Colorado. I mean, it wasn't just me and him personally, in a small room together. It was rather a larger room with about 200 other people. It was the 5th annual Breakfast for Humanity put on by Habitat for Humanity to present information and give people a chance to donate to the cause. The reason for my presence being that I am the director of Community Involvement for my church (The Journey Community Church) and went because we want to get involved and build some houses for some people. We sat at the "Religious Affiliation" table which meant we sat with all the boring people. I saw another guy with tattoos at another table and I wanted to be at that one. My friend Josh went with me and why, out of everyone else in our group, they sent us I'm not sure. I knew this when Mike said we could go but we both had to dress up and Josh was told not to cuss and I was told to cover up my tattoos. We were about a third of everyone else's age and did not have gray hair.
I realized while I was here that I do not like formal events. Mostly because it involves facades and bullshit. People give long speeches with big words when they could really just say something along the lines of "Look People! Why don't you stop being selfish and build a house for someone!"But I guess it is necessary. I guess I just haven't really gotten into the whole, try to look the part and act important and interested. Perhaps this is because this is the church I grew up in. Where people cared more about how you looked on the exterior than who you were as a person. Perhaps it is because I am tired of being fake and would rather be authentic. So when the governor starts giving speeches I'd rather just have breakfast with him. Maybe this wouldn't be a good thing though, because the whole time he was talking I couldn't get the song, "Umbrella" by Rihanna out of my head and so I would be afraid that if I was talking to him and he asked me a question my only reply would be "You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, ella."
Today was a hard day. After the breakfast we had to do a moving job, clean a house and then hear, yet again, some more demoralizing news from critics about our church. But, what can you do. Sometimes days are shitty, but thats when you stop caring and realize the day is over, take a shower, relax, enjoy some relationships, and then put your head down and keep going. I feel like you could do a lot with this attitude.
But yeah I guess that's it. I guess I could sum up my whole day with the statement that if you know any single girls out there, send them my way.
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