1: "Hey, man. You smoking tonight?"
2: "I probably won't be. Possibly tomorrow, or Saturday."
1: "Okay. Let me know! I want to get in on this conversation that I missed last time!"
2: "Wait. Which conversation?"
1: "Oh. Vince told me that I came up in conversation last time you guys smoked."
2: "Who? Oh, that guy. Yeah, we were talking about God, and about how there is no such thing as a real atheist and I brought you up as an example of someone who went through atheism and came out a Christian. 99% of the conversation we have while smoking at the church is about God."
1: "You smoke at a church!? That's hilarious."
2: "Yep. It's a perfect spot, and I think it fits well. It's a safe place, we chill, talk about God, and get high. It doesn't get much better than that."
1: "Sure, sure. I don't specifically remember ever saying I was an atheist, though... More like a philosophical anarchist, in the loosest meaning."
2: "You were very anti-Christian - to say the least - a few weeks ago."
1: "Nope. I wasn't anti-Christian, then."
2: "No?"
1: "No. I've had and still have Christian friends that were and are very dear to me."
2: "Well, I meant anti-Christian in the philosophical sense, not that you hated the people themselves." (Trail off, embarrassed-ish)
1: "There are large differences between one's struggles with faith, one's skirmishes with the faithful, and one's battles with the people who use their faith as a weapon. I've always had battles with faith, and I always will."
2: "That's just part of it. I battle with God all the time!"
1: "I argue points, not positions. When I see a poor argument made, regardless of the position it is for or against, I address it."
2: "Same here, most of the time."
1: "So I wasn't anti-Christian, I was just addressing a poorly made argument. No hard feelings, no personal vendettas, nothing like that at all."
2: "I don't know, man. Some of the stuff you said to me sounded really anti-Christian."
1: "Well, you are a Christian, and when you are attached to a view to the degree you are commanded to be, it's very hard to differentiate a philosophical argument from a personal attack. I don't blame you."
2: "But you said you hated God."
1: "Again, there's a distinction between my battles with faith and my battles with the faithful."
2: "True."
1: "Question. Does someone mean the Christian god everytime they say the word 'God?'"
2: "Not all the time. These days, they don't even mean God when they say it. It seems to be a curse word to most people."
1: "So the word has different meanings?"
2: "Sure. That should be obvious."
1: "Should be. Philosophy doesn't run on shoulds, though. People call whatever the hell they want to God, whether God is a tolerant, everloving hippy or a judgemental overlord hellbent on the destruction of the human spirit. It's what simultaneously gives the name of God power and precludes it, making it meaningless; saltless. People tend to project their own qualities into Christianity's teachings, and call that God."
2: (...)
1: "Just because I know the right words to say does not mean that I believe them. I might have been lying when I said I hated God three weeks ago just as easily as I might have been lying when I said I believed in God three days ago. Ignorance is bliss, because it prevents second guessing. The point is: my beliefs don't get pinned down. Maybe everything I've ever written is a testament to how manipulable religion really is."
2: "Or how sinful our hearts are."
1: (Half acknowledges, but continues.) "Everytime I put something out, part of me cries, and part of me dies. But part of me giggles incessantly, saying 'I can't believe they're buying this shit!' But as for what you said, if sin is defined as 'going against God's will,' or 'what is displeasing to God,' then it's just as vague and manipulable as the concept of God is. In other words, only someone with an agenda of destruction and division uses the word "sin," specifically. There are other words that mean similar things that do far less to divide or alienate people."
2: "If we erase the word 'sin' from our vocabulary, we erase the purpose of Christ, and our identities."
1: (Increasingly sarcastic) "Is that so? Well, maybe. I guess the red letters don't mean much anyway."
2: (Ignores it.) "Yes. One of the first things we hear about Jesus (named Immanuel) in the Bible is that he will be named named Immanuel - God with Us - for he will save his people from their sins. If there is no sin, what did he come here for?"
1: "If I said that Jesus had come to save me from my Izfump, and there happened to be a book that mentioned Izfump, and I said that you were going to hell because of your Izfump, would you say that there is such thing as Izfump, or is it just a meaningless term I like to throw around when I want to condemn someone different than me? Personally, I think if Jesus existed, Matthew 5-7 is a good indication of his primary purpose."
2: "The spelling or pronunciation of a word is arbitrary. It is what the word represents in reality that is important. The wages of sin is death, whether it's called izfump or fun. The fact is we are already condemned that is the purpose of Christ anyway, to take that punishment we deserve. There is no life in the law of God, it is a means of condemnation and death to everything that is sinful and evil. The word God is something we've made in English; in the Bible, the names of God have very specific meanings."
1: "Actually, that's extremely irrelevant to the conversation."
2: "How so? Look at the name Yahweh, it means: I AM. Moses asked God how what to tell the people that God was called and he told him to say that I AM sent him. I think it is a great example of the specificity that language can have."
1: (Somewhat exasperated, and quickly spoken.) "The point is that the words themselves don't mean anything without the transcendental relationship that exists between a word and the object or concept that the word signifies. A dog is not the word 'dog.' So when people use words like 'God,' 'sin,' 'evil,' et cetera, there's really no objective reason to even suggest that they have a grasp on them, because a word is much closer to how it's used than what it represents. That's what simultaneously makes the words powerful in an "oh-my-god-my-head's-a-gun" sense, but also makes them completely meaningless and inaccessible on an objective level. Which leaves subjectivity, which precludes the possibility of absolute truth that you're trying to claim."
2: "Well, the same would go for your very argument and every drop of reasoning in language. If you held to that view it would be impossible to make any affirmative statements."
1: "Not really. I mean, maybe it would, but I'm not exactly giving everyone an ultimatum of "turn or burn," or insisting that my personal beliefs are the final arbiter of absolute truth, which is apparently required of any Christian. But that being said, those words are used to describe the metaphysical, which is something inherently intangible in the world we know. It doesn't invalidate language so much as it invalidates religious vernacular."
2: "I don't think that fallibility of subjective perception is a basis for denying objective truth. Hence, you cannot deny sin or God, because our perception sucks. Those things are objective."
1: "But you also cannot define them, which makes them meaningless."
2: "But if they exist, they define themselves."
1: "If they do, sure. But given what you said, it's not really possible for us to know that, is it? Our perception sucks, remember?"
2: (Slowly opens his mouth to speak.)
1: "Contradiction approaching."
2: (Pause; indignant) "I think it is! Let me try to explain."
1: Try away. But you'll fail, unless you are omniscient or omnipresent. You must become a God in order to define one, by the simple nature of what we say the word "God" signifies. But there is a difference between becoming a God, and becoming a God in mind. Most people never see that difference and never make that distinction. The truth is, it takes an impossibly large amount of pride to be able to make an affirmative statement about God's existence."
2: (Texting the entire time.) "In John 6:63, Jesus says, 'It is the Spirit that gives life, the flesh counts for nothing, the words I have spoken to you are Spirit and they are life." If that is true, and Jeremiah 24:7 is true, then spiritual discernment by the Holy Spirit is the basis upon which we can say with 100% certainty--" ("...that God is who he says he is.")
1: "Circular reasoning. A four year old autistic child sitting in on the first week of Philosophy 101 would pick that up. Again, "Holy Spirit?" Worrrrddss! Man, just say God is subjective and get it over with. I've disproven you. I love you man, but you're embarrassing yourself."
2: (Cell phone rings, very suspiciously. The ringtone is the SlapChop remix!) "Oh, I've gotta take this call! I should really get going. It was good talking to you!" (Leaves.)
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
First Impressions of the MJT - The God Delusion; Emergent Church.
Okay, so I borrowed these Journals (or is it singular - journal?) from Jon Tuesday night. It's the Midwestern Journal of Theology from Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. I was concerned about how accredited a theological journal could be at first, but for some reason or another, my suspicion subsided. I'll be completely honest, I'm ignorant of exactly what this MBTS is, exactly, and if it's accredited, it certainly doesn't smack you in the face with that information. But like I said, I'm honestly not too concerned about it. At least, not as concerned as I thought I would be.
I read a few articles in the Journal(s) from Spring 2007 and Fall 2008. I read a review of The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. I don't really like Richard Dawkins - I find him to be a pompous douche that brings nothing to the table of religious philosophy and does so with a pretentious smirk on his face, but I'll admit I immediately lost a lot of preconceived notions about the naivity of honest-to-goodness Baptists (as opposed to people who attend Baptist churches). I'm pleasantly surprised to say that I saw a level of civility and even respect toward atheism in this review - I'd never seen it before, and I certainly didn't expect it. I quote, from an annotation, "Atheism puts its best foot forward in J. L. Mackie's The Miracle of Theism: Arguments for and against the Existence of God, Michael Martin's Atheism: a Philosophical Justification, and Antony Flew's God and Philosophy, Revised Edition. All three function at a much higher level than GD (God Delusion), because of their willingness to treat theism as having a case to be answered, as opposed to being essentially dismissed as a juvenile fairytale."
So, I'll say I was definitely impressed. The related philosophical content was... well, I don't know really how to gauge that. The review handled the God Delusion fairly well, but then again, Richard Dawkins is a much better biologist than he is a philosopher.
The other articles I read were on the Emerging Church, which caught my eye because I'd heard the term just after I graduated at T.H.E.E. Camp (The Heaven and Earth Experience). I believe that I heard Matt Gibbons talking about it? Might've been Travis Crim? (Oh, gosh, how I wish I could go back to THEE Camp one year. Dang, I miss it!) I could be mistaken on that. It's an approach to Christianity to find footing in an increasingly postmodern world (at least, as I understood it), so of course I was drawn in, and I found some really good tidbits of information and I think I'll be looking more and more into this Emergent Church thing.
However, there were a few spots in there where I got the impression that the gracious, civil approach to these topics was forced, or at least, clearly not what the author had wanted to say. And while I can understand this, there were lines every once in a while that made me cringe, such as when it referred to authentic worship as a "fad." (I can't possibly rationalize that, to be honest. And I've rationalized a ton of B.S. this past year.) Other notable sections include where a writer completely railed on Brian D. McLaren (whom I have read on my own and absolutely loved his book The Secret Message of Jesus) for being too 'slippery.' All in all, I think I can't really blame the writer for being so harsh on him. It is a changing worldview, after all.
The jump from a modern worldview to postmodern one is a hard one to grasp, admittedly. It favors the subjective over the objective, for example. (I, personally, believe that faith is so much more appreciable and inspiring when it is a faith without objectivity and without 'reason,' or in the face of these things, but that's just me.) For most, like the Baptist who openly railed on McLaren, subjectivity in theology is a bad thing. Granted, the modern culture of "Evangelical Christianity" (as the articles put it - I'm trying really hard to not pull out some of the easier names) are very, very specific in what they accept as a 'right' answer that's determined from their interpretation of Scripture (which is by no means the only one out there, nor the only valid one) that when anyone turns up with a vague approach to it, there are sure to be those who are uneasy, to say the least.
For example, Brian is said to "speak extensively about homosexuality with sympathy, but never ventures to state his own theological conclusions about it. He admits that he has those conclusions, but he refuses to share them." There are a lot of cases like this, and Baptists are very clear about this process of reciprocity. It's almost like British spy cliche, with the secret codes and passwords. You walk up to a guy standing near a taxi, and he conversationally says, "In London, April's a Spring month." He's not going to offer you a ride in that taxi unless you say, word-for-word, "Yes, but here in St. Petersburg, we're freezing our butts off!" (Goldeneye, ftw.) Similarly, when a Baptist asks you an 'obvious' question, such as 'if you were to die tonight, do you know for certain you would spend eternity with God in heaven?' you have a very specific answer you are expected to give. The point is, McLaren didn't give those answers, so they see him as 'slippery.'
I'm reading out of Thomas Merton's book "New Seeds of Contemplation." Yes, I know - it's Catholic, but I'd like to kind of regurgitate this passage from it that might explain McLaren's aversion to typical exploratory questions of Baptist lore. (Ignore the topic and focus on the approach TO the topic, by the way.) Father Merton says, "So instead of loving what you think is peace, love other men, and love God above all. And instead of hating the people you think are warmakers, hate the appetites and disorder in your own soul which are the causes of war. If you love peace, then hate injustice, hate tyranny, hate greed - but hate these things in yourself, not in another."
Perhaps McLaren is merely hating all the old familiar topics of Christian discussion in himself, and not in others. Perhaps he feels that to give birth publicly to his own opinion on the matter is only going to serve as a means to separate himself from those he wants to reach out to. In the world of opinions, everything is offensive to someone, and in this matter, by not giving out his own opinion on the matter, he avoids burning bridges with others.
Sometimes I think this is a valid approach to Scripture. There's that theology, yes, but there's also Jesus' teaching - and I think Jesus' teaching is how we should approach others with said Law. I don't know if I'm making ANY sense here at all, honestly. Of course there are "the rules," and "the expectations." Those certain buzzwords and buzz-phrases that most Christians cling to for affirmation of spiritual brethren, but how often do we read Christ's teaching (not the theology behind Christ's sacrifice or resurrection, but what the guy actually said) and think of applying that to how we approach others with the law - if at all? I think there's a lot to be said here about the passage where Jesus draws a line in the sand and says "He who is without sin, cast the first stone."
In this way, I think McLaren did the right thing by not expressing his own personal views. But to continue on with a direct quote that really, really pinned down the obvious cultural differences in the modern vs. postmodern worldviews: "In McLaren's book, The Story We Find Ourselves In, after a discussion of heaven, the ostensible author, Dan Poole, asks about those who reject the grace of God. McLaren's character, Neo, responds, "Why do you always need to ask that question? [...] Isn't what I just described to you enough?"" No, it is not enough, but in this subtle way, McLaren tries to make us feel guilty about even asking him about Hell."
I found that to be very, very telling. Really, who's job is it to say what is or is not an acceptable answer to these sorts of questions, especially after been given an admitted ostensive answer? The baptists in question seem to think it is their job, and not only do they believe this, but they act as if it is the most obvious, most natural thing in the world. Such... "faith?"
In conclusion (ugh - finally!), I was impressed by the level of maturity, intelligence, and civility presented in what I've read so far. Although there are plenty of slips here and there of typical Baptist stereotype that comes out every now and again that has me unable to shake the feeling that the rest of it is disingenuous - but I'm trying my hardest. Admittedly, didn't read a whole lot and probably read too much into it, but I stand by what I said so far on the matter. I'll continue to read more later, but those are just my first impressions. Feel free to clarify / berate / whatever. I'll welcome it all, gladly.
I've been a jerk, lately (as in, the last year or so), and I want to start over again with all of this. With Christ... everything. I want to rediscover it all. I've said it before, but this is the first time I've said it AND done something, too. I don't know if it's going to work this time, but I'm... man, I want to try. I really, really do.
I read a few articles in the Journal(s) from Spring 2007 and Fall 2008. I read a review of The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. I don't really like Richard Dawkins - I find him to be a pompous douche that brings nothing to the table of religious philosophy and does so with a pretentious smirk on his face, but I'll admit I immediately lost a lot of preconceived notions about the naivity of honest-to-goodness Baptists (as opposed to people who attend Baptist churches). I'm pleasantly surprised to say that I saw a level of civility and even respect toward atheism in this review - I'd never seen it before, and I certainly didn't expect it. I quote, from an annotation, "Atheism puts its best foot forward in J. L. Mackie's The Miracle of Theism: Arguments for and against the Existence of God, Michael Martin's Atheism: a Philosophical Justification, and Antony Flew's God and Philosophy, Revised Edition. All three function at a much higher level than GD (God Delusion), because of their willingness to treat theism as having a case to be answered, as opposed to being essentially dismissed as a juvenile fairytale."
So, I'll say I was definitely impressed. The related philosophical content was... well, I don't know really how to gauge that. The review handled the God Delusion fairly well, but then again, Richard Dawkins is a much better biologist than he is a philosopher.
The other articles I read were on the Emerging Church, which caught my eye because I'd heard the term just after I graduated at T.H.E.E. Camp (The Heaven and Earth Experience). I believe that I heard Matt Gibbons talking about it? Might've been Travis Crim? (Oh, gosh, how I wish I could go back to THEE Camp one year. Dang, I miss it!) I could be mistaken on that. It's an approach to Christianity to find footing in an increasingly postmodern world (at least, as I understood it), so of course I was drawn in, and I found some really good tidbits of information and I think I'll be looking more and more into this Emergent Church thing.
However, there were a few spots in there where I got the impression that the gracious, civil approach to these topics was forced, or at least, clearly not what the author had wanted to say. And while I can understand this, there were lines every once in a while that made me cringe, such as when it referred to authentic worship as a "fad." (I can't possibly rationalize that, to be honest. And I've rationalized a ton of B.S. this past year.) Other notable sections include where a writer completely railed on Brian D. McLaren (whom I have read on my own and absolutely loved his book The Secret Message of Jesus) for being too 'slippery.' All in all, I think I can't really blame the writer for being so harsh on him. It is a changing worldview, after all.
The jump from a modern worldview to postmodern one is a hard one to grasp, admittedly. It favors the subjective over the objective, for example. (I, personally, believe that faith is so much more appreciable and inspiring when it is a faith without objectivity and without 'reason,' or in the face of these things, but that's just me.) For most, like the Baptist who openly railed on McLaren, subjectivity in theology is a bad thing. Granted, the modern culture of "Evangelical Christianity" (as the articles put it - I'm trying really hard to not pull out some of the easier names) are very, very specific in what they accept as a 'right' answer that's determined from their interpretation of Scripture (which is by no means the only one out there, nor the only valid one) that when anyone turns up with a vague approach to it, there are sure to be those who are uneasy, to say the least.
For example, Brian is said to "speak extensively about homosexuality with sympathy, but never ventures to state his own theological conclusions about it. He admits that he has those conclusions, but he refuses to share them." There are a lot of cases like this, and Baptists are very clear about this process of reciprocity. It's almost like British spy cliche, with the secret codes and passwords. You walk up to a guy standing near a taxi, and he conversationally says, "In London, April's a Spring month." He's not going to offer you a ride in that taxi unless you say, word-for-word, "Yes, but here in St. Petersburg, we're freezing our butts off!" (Goldeneye, ftw.) Similarly, when a Baptist asks you an 'obvious' question, such as 'if you were to die tonight, do you know for certain you would spend eternity with God in heaven?' you have a very specific answer you are expected to give. The point is, McLaren didn't give those answers, so they see him as 'slippery.'
I'm reading out of Thomas Merton's book "New Seeds of Contemplation." Yes, I know - it's Catholic, but I'd like to kind of regurgitate this passage from it that might explain McLaren's aversion to typical exploratory questions of Baptist lore. (Ignore the topic and focus on the approach TO the topic, by the way.) Father Merton says, "So instead of loving what you think is peace, love other men, and love God above all. And instead of hating the people you think are warmakers, hate the appetites and disorder in your own soul which are the causes of war. If you love peace, then hate injustice, hate tyranny, hate greed - but hate these things in yourself, not in another."
Perhaps McLaren is merely hating all the old familiar topics of Christian discussion in himself, and not in others. Perhaps he feels that to give birth publicly to his own opinion on the matter is only going to serve as a means to separate himself from those he wants to reach out to. In the world of opinions, everything is offensive to someone, and in this matter, by not giving out his own opinion on the matter, he avoids burning bridges with others.
Sometimes I think this is a valid approach to Scripture. There's that theology, yes, but there's also Jesus' teaching - and I think Jesus' teaching is how we should approach others with said Law. I don't know if I'm making ANY sense here at all, honestly. Of course there are "the rules," and "the expectations." Those certain buzzwords and buzz-phrases that most Christians cling to for affirmation of spiritual brethren, but how often do we read Christ's teaching (not the theology behind Christ's sacrifice or resurrection, but what the guy actually said) and think of applying that to how we approach others with the law - if at all? I think there's a lot to be said here about the passage where Jesus draws a line in the sand and says "He who is without sin, cast the first stone."
In this way, I think McLaren did the right thing by not expressing his own personal views. But to continue on with a direct quote that really, really pinned down the obvious cultural differences in the modern vs. postmodern worldviews: "In McLaren's book, The Story We Find Ourselves In, after a discussion of heaven, the ostensible author, Dan Poole, asks about those who reject the grace of God. McLaren's character, Neo, responds, "Why do you always need to ask that question? [...] Isn't what I just described to you enough?"" No, it is not enough, but in this subtle way, McLaren tries to make us feel guilty about even asking him about Hell."
I found that to be very, very telling. Really, who's job is it to say what is or is not an acceptable answer to these sorts of questions, especially after been given an admitted ostensive answer? The baptists in question seem to think it is their job, and not only do they believe this, but they act as if it is the most obvious, most natural thing in the world. Such... "faith?"
In conclusion (ugh - finally!), I was impressed by the level of maturity, intelligence, and civility presented in what I've read so far. Although there are plenty of slips here and there of typical Baptist stereotype that comes out every now and again that has me unable to shake the feeling that the rest of it is disingenuous - but I'm trying my hardest. Admittedly, didn't read a whole lot and probably read too much into it, but I stand by what I said so far on the matter. I'll continue to read more later, but those are just my first impressions. Feel free to clarify / berate / whatever. I'll welcome it all, gladly.
I've been a jerk, lately (as in, the last year or so), and I want to start over again with all of this. With Christ... everything. I want to rediscover it all. I've said it before, but this is the first time I've said it AND done something, too. I don't know if it's going to work this time, but I'm... man, I want to try. I really, really do.
Monday, April 13, 2009
"Love / Hate"
Enemy; familiar Friend. My Beginning and my End.
Broken truth whispering lies... And it hurts again.
What I fear and what I try... The words I say and what I hide
All the pain, I want it to end...
But I want it again
And it finds me; the fight inside is coursing through my veins
And it's raging; the fight inside is breaking me again.
I hate feeling like this. It is at these moments when I feel weakest. Weak compared at least to what I've experienced in retrospect. I hate to pull a Nietzsche quote out so early, but really, he says it best in Beyond Good and Evil, §68: "'I have done that,' says my memory. 'I cannot have done that,' says my pride, and remains inexorable. Eventually, memory yields." Broken truth whispering lies... And it hurts again.
What I fear and what I try... The words I say and what I hide
All the pain, I want it to end...
But I want it again
And it finds me; the fight inside is coursing through my veins
And it's raging; the fight inside is breaking me again.
I guess I feel a little regretful at my behavior as of late. I bitterly remember a time when I was happy, and strong in my faith in Christ - the Christ that I was taught. It stings, really. To know that I was once so in tune with things that seemed to matter at the time. The sense of community, the inner peace, and most painfully, the remembrance of constant personal improvement - if even through Divine mandate. It doesn't matter what it really was - if I really was just talking to shadows on my walls or voices in my head, but the experience of it all, the belief that I really was interfacing with the Creator of the Universe was a peaceful thought to me. And sometimes, I could have sworn it wasn't me that played that once-in-a-lifetime lick or fill in the middle of Blessed Be Your Name or Fields of Grace or Indescribable that I know I couldn't have pulled off in a million years.
It is in these moments that I remember that peace. I look back, past the scarred, immolated terrain of the life I have built with my own two hands, and see a gleaming blue sky of innocence and instinct. Blissful ignorance, without a shred of belligerence. It seems that where I once knew how to build bridges and create ties, I know only know how to burn bridges and distance myself from those I loved. Part of me wants to believe that I'm simply making a change in personality and that nothing is wrong here - that cliques are independent of "Good" or "Evil," no matter what the group is. But still, I regret it, because I know for a fact that I have not merely fallen off the edge, but taken a running leap off of it, with a big "fuck You," to the past and the only peace I'd ever known before all of this.
I chose to walk this path. I chose to let this happen. It was my doing, and no one else's. I cannot point this bitter, crooked finger of blame toward anyone. Nor do I want to. I may be an extremely self-depreciating asshole with very little self-respect or reverence in matters of religion, but I do know when I've overstepped certain lines. (No - not the line of personal comfort; I could honestly care less about that one. I'm talking about the threshold between what can and cannot be tolerated. In admittance, I have toed the line, and peered across. I have intentionally refused to explain my views to most people of faith I know that are significantly younger than I, though. This is the first "proverbial safety net" that I speak of often.) But this is all on me, and that's the point I need to make. I don't give a damn whether it's acceptable to absolve anyone else of responsibility for my actions (thinking of the girl, here, whose apparent vitality showed me what love really was, but it was all a lie). That's what I'm doing, because You don't have a monopoly on forgiveness. I don't care if it has any real power - I would willingly sacrifice myself for someone else that hates me to spare them Your so-called 'wrath.'
I've always had a problem with the line between "healthy skepticism and pernicious cynicism." Always. But I used to be able to keep it in check. I almost wish I hadn't studied - because I do have legitimate problems with Biblical Doctrine. I have legitimate problems with Church History, and numerous theological details that just aren't a concern to people. It's not that they're not important, but obsessive digging isn't an inherent aspect of the Christian walk these days, and is in fact treated with disdain and disgust. (It's as if it doesn't really matter what's true as long as it's comfortable and consistent - that's what I find disgusting.)
My problems with Christianity, however, are akin to "throwing a raincoat in the ocean and gawking and how badly it does what it's supposed to do." (I'll never get over that one, Jesse.) They are crippling to me because I chose to see things from this view. I had a choice between embracing my skepticism or ignoring it and going with what I already believed. So, again, the fault is my own. But my problems with Christianity do not have to be your problems, and I've always, always allowed this. (This is the second "safety net," by the way. I have always allowed the retreat into "faith," but never taken it myself.)
I bitterly find myself in deep longing for the peace I once had (however naïve I would make myself believe it to be now). And I hate feeling this remembrance of love. Perhaps nothing is more compelling than a calm quiet, matter-of-fact offering of forgiveness in the face of a destructive windstorm of rage, anger, and pain. That quiet, matter-of-fact insistence that your truth transcends, over arcs, and encapsulates, and loves even those views that blatantly reject it...that is what is moving about it. And I hate that.
But I don't want Your forgiveness. Forgiveness is a concept alluring to anyone, yes. But I don't believe I deserve it, and I refuse to ask for it. That doesn't mean I am happy with where I am in life, it just means I'm aware that it's my own damn fault - not Yours. I hate that You're so forgiving - it makes my blood boil into venom and it's killing me. Sometimes I wish I could be the one that drove the nails in. In the most literal way possible. I want to watch You bleed - I want to watch You show some weakness. I want You to hate me - I want to be able to turn all of this hatred out on you. But all of this pain, anger, and hatred is just... swallowed up in the idea of You that all it accomplishes is that I grow angrier, more belligerent, and more self-hating because of it.
It destroys my humanity and destroys the person I was. It takes away everything I had going for me. I'm not only good enough for You, but not good enough for her, not good enough for them, not good enough for any of this. And I hate that I want to be. I wish I didn't. We humans are inherently selfish creatures, though, aren't we? And You would know that, regardless. You've taken it all - just because You can. But it's not enough. It'll never be enough. I'm not strong enough to do this forever with you. You try to tell me You can heal me but I'm still bleeding. And you will be the death of me. Whether that's tragically literal or beautifully and prodigally metaphorical, I don't know yet. But You sure as hell do, so why should I even try to fight anymore? Does it even matter? No matter where I end up, someone of Yours is going to be certain that I'm wrong and make every move to make sure I know it.
I hate You.
I hate the very idea of You. I hate the person You've let-- no, made, me become. Because at least You can take every ounce of my rage without even so much as a blink. Right now, I know I can't. And as much as I hate You, I think I accept You. And here I am, talking with You as if we've known and loved each other for years. Is this pathetic or what? The dichotomy of Love and Hate, the balance of Faith and Doubt, the inherent contradiction and Divine paradox. I can almost hear You whisper, "Just because I can," around every corner. The war within me pulls me under, and without You, the fight inside would break. Me.
----
It's a day of rebirth, a day of redemption, a day to "make all things new."
I hope you all had a wonderful Easter.
Friday, March 27, 2009
About Me - updated
I'm a writer, a schemer, a thinker, a dreamer, and most importantly a hopelessly hopeful romantic. Sometimes I spend way too much time thinking about being romantic instead of actually being romantic. And sometimes I spend too much time writing about thinking about being a romantic, instead of being either. To be honest with you, I'm not sure what to think of me, which is just as well, because the idea here isn't to 'sell me' to me, but rather to 'sell me,' to you. Kind of nice that way, isn't it?
I used to believe in God. At least, I think I did. Maybe I never did and just dropped the charade. Maybe it's the other way around, and now I actually do believe in God, and I'm just bitter and telling myself I don't so that I can avoid the pain of being associated with its double standards and its propagated bigotry. The point is, it doesn't really matter - if God is there, then God is there; I, a mere human who can only see things from my own vantage point, am here. And let's face it, religion is neither here nor there. Some birds just aren't meant to be caged. I believe that the phrase "God doesn't exist" says more about the limitations of the word "exist" than "God," and I also believe that faith breeds complacency. Religion is a semantics game - nothing more. A finger pointing at the Moon.
I made the decision to leave Christianity behind so I could be with a girl without guilt. She ended up cheating on me and making me feel guilty about it. The truth is, however, that I didn't do anything wrong at all, and my conscience deserves a Purple Heart. I made myself believe that I was to blame and that I wasn't good enough, but the truth is, if you cheat on someone and lie to them about it, just to suddenly throw them not only out of your heart, but also out of your life, then you just don't deserve forgiveness. You don't deserve respect. You don't deserve friendship.[1] That's that. Lesson learned. I'll pick myself back up and step forward a better man because of it. Vindicated.
I'm a Cancer. I fit it perfectly - right down to the mood swings (as will be obvious to you soon, my dear reader). I used to think astrology was complete bullshit, until someone on the outside of all of this described my previous relationship with immaculate detail. This isn't your daily horoscope, yo. Everything happened exactly as it said, and for the rest of my life, the words "inevitable breakdown," are going to linger in my mind whenever I think of the Capricorn I once loved. I've woken up in a cold sweat thrice since she broke up with me with those words pounding in my head. Further developments on that front, but it's too soon to know where it's going, so there's no use in publically counting my chickens before they hatch (even if the eggs themselves cry out promises and vows of undying devotion - another hard lesson learned from experience with Merica - promises just don't mean fuck to some people).
Sometimes I have a superiority complex, but it's usually only when I talk about philosophy, religion, or some other topic that is necessarily pretentious. Don't pay attention to me, though, unless you want to. My chains are not your chains. My goal is to dig. Not just dig for me, but to inspire you to dig as well. I am less concerned with your views than I am with how you got to those views and how you live them out, whatever they may be. It is scrutiny that is admittedly sometimes rude and unapologetic, but it is also one that I subject myself to, albeit without the proverbial safety nets.
I'm an open book if you can get past the pathetically pretentious cover, but I can also keep a secret if you need someone to confide in. In short, you can trust me. I have a knack for being able to explain complex, multilayered emotional situations in a way that doesn't give away any details and resonates deeply within someone. I'm becoming more reliable than I was before; less complacent, more observant. I've been kicked out of my nest, thrown out of my comfort zone, and I'm finding out that I actually can fly on my own. Plus I'm good with finances, and all that good stuff.
And sometimes I have an inferiority complex. I get depressed during the winter, when it's cold, around the holidays. When I was in sixth grade I thought I was depressed enough to kill myself, but who knows what they want in sixth grade? I'm 20 years old and I don't think I really know what I want yet. For the longest time, I thought all I wanted was to be with Merica. I tried to kill myself after she broke up with me, but my mother called at the last minute and had one of my drumline friends come over. So they did, and we talked for long into the night. Now I'm okay. Like I said: vindicated.
This is all just another step in the journey, you know?
I am an existentialist. There was a time when I thought I was turning back to God, but it turns out that I was just desperate to find meaning in an otherwise meaningless life. But I'm okay with meaningless. It makes me responsible for my own fate. Put my life back into my own hands, and puts the blood back into my veins. I am, and will be, no one's slave. My motivation is my own success, and sometimes even the other way around. I'm a percussion major at Missouri Southern State University - it's not the best school in the world, but the percussion department is absolutely bitching. I wouldn't trade my time here for anything in the world. But the point is, I do things because I want to do them, and not because I have to. I don't have to do anything but stay white and die. (Much as I've tried to see things from outside of my cultural upbringing, that is.) But I believe that when we are obligated to do something, it ruins the inherent value of the act itself. This is (partly) why I abhor religion, politics, and the educational system.
That is why I am a little bit of a social anarchist. I laugh at social standards, expectations, politics, and religion because people take them way too seriously and life is just too short for it - believe me, I would know. I've had 32 surgeries in my life. I understand my own mortality. But the sun comes up - I had a kidney transplant. So I lightened up a bit - took a step toward embracing vanity.
I am only just now coming into a mindset where I somewhat care what people think of me, so I'm really the hypocrite here - I'm the bad guy here. You don't ever have to agree with me, but at least I'm an honest person. After all, I would rather have someone tell me the honest truth than lie to me to spare my emotions. You just end up stepping wrongly when you act on a lie. I'm usually a random person insofar as the attempt that it makes someone smile will allow. I like making people smile, especially at my own expense. When other people smile, it means I don't have to stomach myself, I don't have to put up with my own inhibitions. But don't think of me as an idiot, because I'm not. Not completely, at least. I may know a couple of things, but in the long run, I don't really know anything, do I? Maybe you and I should talk sometime and you can decide for yourself.
There are three references to Morgan Freeman above - all different films. I'll bet you can't find them all.
[1] - Just because someone doesn't deserve something does not mean that they will not receive it,. I'm not a complete asshole, you know. I'm forgiving to a fault, but I will not forgive someone who doesn't give a fuck.
I used to believe in God. At least, I think I did. Maybe I never did and just dropped the charade. Maybe it's the other way around, and now I actually do believe in God, and I'm just bitter and telling myself I don't so that I can avoid the pain of being associated with its double standards and its propagated bigotry. The point is, it doesn't really matter - if God is there, then God is there; I, a mere human who can only see things from my own vantage point, am here. And let's face it, religion is neither here nor there. Some birds just aren't meant to be caged. I believe that the phrase "God doesn't exist" says more about the limitations of the word "exist" than "God," and I also believe that faith breeds complacency. Religion is a semantics game - nothing more. A finger pointing at the Moon.
I made the decision to leave Christianity behind so I could be with a girl without guilt. She ended up cheating on me and making me feel guilty about it. The truth is, however, that I didn't do anything wrong at all, and my conscience deserves a Purple Heart. I made myself believe that I was to blame and that I wasn't good enough, but the truth is, if you cheat on someone and lie to them about it, just to suddenly throw them not only out of your heart, but also out of your life, then you just don't deserve forgiveness. You don't deserve respect. You don't deserve friendship.[1] That's that. Lesson learned. I'll pick myself back up and step forward a better man because of it. Vindicated.
I'm a Cancer. I fit it perfectly - right down to the mood swings (as will be obvious to you soon, my dear reader). I used to think astrology was complete bullshit, until someone on the outside of all of this described my previous relationship with immaculate detail. This isn't your daily horoscope, yo. Everything happened exactly as it said, and for the rest of my life, the words "inevitable breakdown," are going to linger in my mind whenever I think of the Capricorn I once loved. I've woken up in a cold sweat thrice since she broke up with me with those words pounding in my head. Further developments on that front, but it's too soon to know where it's going, so there's no use in publically counting my chickens before they hatch (even if the eggs themselves cry out promises and vows of undying devotion - another hard lesson learned from experience with Merica - promises just don't mean fuck to some people).
Sometimes I have a superiority complex, but it's usually only when I talk about philosophy, religion, or some other topic that is necessarily pretentious. Don't pay attention to me, though, unless you want to. My chains are not your chains. My goal is to dig. Not just dig for me, but to inspire you to dig as well. I am less concerned with your views than I am with how you got to those views and how you live them out, whatever they may be. It is scrutiny that is admittedly sometimes rude and unapologetic, but it is also one that I subject myself to, albeit without the proverbial safety nets.
I'm an open book if you can get past the pathetically pretentious cover, but I can also keep a secret if you need someone to confide in. In short, you can trust me. I have a knack for being able to explain complex, multilayered emotional situations in a way that doesn't give away any details and resonates deeply within someone. I'm becoming more reliable than I was before; less complacent, more observant. I've been kicked out of my nest, thrown out of my comfort zone, and I'm finding out that I actually can fly on my own. Plus I'm good with finances, and all that good stuff.
And sometimes I have an inferiority complex. I get depressed during the winter, when it's cold, around the holidays. When I was in sixth grade I thought I was depressed enough to kill myself, but who knows what they want in sixth grade? I'm 20 years old and I don't think I really know what I want yet. For the longest time, I thought all I wanted was to be with Merica. I tried to kill myself after she broke up with me, but my mother called at the last minute and had one of my drumline friends come over. So they did, and we talked for long into the night. Now I'm okay. Like I said: vindicated.
This is all just another step in the journey, you know?
I am an existentialist. There was a time when I thought I was turning back to God, but it turns out that I was just desperate to find meaning in an otherwise meaningless life. But I'm okay with meaningless. It makes me responsible for my own fate. Put my life back into my own hands, and puts the blood back into my veins. I am, and will be, no one's slave. My motivation is my own success, and sometimes even the other way around. I'm a percussion major at Missouri Southern State University - it's not the best school in the world, but the percussion department is absolutely bitching. I wouldn't trade my time here for anything in the world. But the point is, I do things because I want to do them, and not because I have to. I don't have to do anything but stay white and die. (Much as I've tried to see things from outside of my cultural upbringing, that is.) But I believe that when we are obligated to do something, it ruins the inherent value of the act itself. This is (partly) why I abhor religion, politics, and the educational system.
That is why I am a little bit of a social anarchist. I laugh at social standards, expectations, politics, and religion because people take them way too seriously and life is just too short for it - believe me, I would know. I've had 32 surgeries in my life. I understand my own mortality. But the sun comes up - I had a kidney transplant. So I lightened up a bit - took a step toward embracing vanity.
I am only just now coming into a mindset where I somewhat care what people think of me, so I'm really the hypocrite here - I'm the bad guy here. You don't ever have to agree with me, but at least I'm an honest person. After all, I would rather have someone tell me the honest truth than lie to me to spare my emotions. You just end up stepping wrongly when you act on a lie. I'm usually a random person insofar as the attempt that it makes someone smile will allow. I like making people smile, especially at my own expense. When other people smile, it means I don't have to stomach myself, I don't have to put up with my own inhibitions. But don't think of me as an idiot, because I'm not. Not completely, at least. I may know a couple of things, but in the long run, I don't really know anything, do I? Maybe you and I should talk sometime and you can decide for yourself.
There are three references to Morgan Freeman above - all different films. I'll bet you can't find them all.
[1] - Just because someone doesn't deserve something does not mean that they will not receive it,. I'm not a complete asshole, you know. I'm forgiving to a fault, but I will not forgive someone who doesn't give a fuck.
Friday, March 13, 2009
On the Death of Christianity.
Whether Christianity is dying or not depends on how loosely one defines "Christianity." Not only are there tons of denominations within Christianity, but there are several that some people deem are not really Christian. (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints most readily comes to mind, here. And as I've seen first-hand, even the Catholic Church has been described as being heretical, by some pretty extreme Protestants - which would make those Protestants theological bastards.) More denominations are being created everyday - so while some may say Christianity is dying, what's really going on is that Christianity is changing, stretching, widening and becoming more liberal, more mystical in some cases, more metaphorical in others, and yet more hermetic / analytical in others.
Given the nature of Christian theology, which is highly exclusive with its idea of Hell and the acceptance of Christ's message (which differs with every denomination, though the dichotomy usually remains), every denomination believes another denomination is going to hell. That means that no one is outside of that condemnation, even if Christianity is the "right" religion. Which means that no one's Christianity is certainly correct; they're all interpretations of something that has been lost under the sand (or in this case, blood) of its history.
Adding to that the more philosophical approaches to Christianity, which include postmodern interpretations such as "Christian Atheism," and "Post-Theism," things are just getting too vague to tell if anything is really "Christian" anymore - there certainly isn't a Christian canon anymore. (Not that there ever was, considering the early Gnostic writings, the Apocrypha, etc. that people just dismiss as heresy, (or worse, Satanic) because it's not in the Bible - which was compiled by fallible man.) So, maybe "Christianity" is dying, if there even is a Christianity anymore. I personally believe that what this all came out of was political maneuvering more than anything that Jesus himself taught. Jesus is kind of the spokesperson, the epitome, the poster boy for everything he preached against, especially in his exchanges with the Pharisees.
Not only do you have the Council of Nicea which made the job of deciding what writings are and are not God inspired to fallible man, but then they couldn't agree on it, hence the Great Schism, hence the Reformation, etc. then after that they killed everyone who disagreed. Not to mention that the "canonical" Gospels that we do have are third-hand sources. (The Gospel of Mark was written by a disciple of Peter in 65 C.E. at the earliest, and it has priority as being the source of both Luke and Matthew. The original Gospel of Mark, the source, has no resurrection stories, which explains why the three are so similar up to that point, where they promptly oscillate into WTF-mode like clockwork.) The Gospel of John, which differs from those three, was written as early as 90 C.E., and used rhetoric and Greek that is difficult to translate - what we call "Eternal Life" is closer to "Life of the Ages," for example - and this is where most Christians get their theology.
The Gospel of Thomas, however, was written as early as 50 C.E. by the actual disciple Thomas, and is considered heresy by pretty much everyone, except those with a(n either overt or covert) mystical approach to Christianity. That's what interests me the most.
I kind of see it the way that the post-theists do: "Post-theism is a variant of nontheism that proposes to have not so much rejected theism as rendered it obsolete, that God belongs to a stage of human development now past." Which cites heavily Nietzsche's cry that God is Dead: that "god" is no longer capable of acting as a source of any moral code or teleology (because it's so vague that it's contradictory and there's nothing substantial in it at all except for the fact that it becomes a fabricated authority on which to project our own preconceived prejudices onto).
I believe that "God is dead," in this sense, but I believe that Christianity is not dead - just meaningless. As the famous §125 of Nietzsche's The Gay Science concludes: "Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners: they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern to the ground, and it broke into pieces and went out. "I have come too early," he said then; "my time is not yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering—it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the most distant stars—and yet they have done it themselves!"— It has been related further that on the same day the madman forced his way into several churches and there struck up his requiem aeternam deo. Led out and called to account, he is said always to have replied nothing but: "What after all are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?""
Given the nature of Christian theology, which is highly exclusive with its idea of Hell and the acceptance of Christ's message (which differs with every denomination, though the dichotomy usually remains), every denomination believes another denomination is going to hell. That means that no one is outside of that condemnation, even if Christianity is the "right" religion. Which means that no one's Christianity is certainly correct; they're all interpretations of something that has been lost under the sand (or in this case, blood) of its history.
Adding to that the more philosophical approaches to Christianity, which include postmodern interpretations such as "Christian Atheism," and "Post-Theism," things are just getting too vague to tell if anything is really "Christian" anymore - there certainly isn't a Christian canon anymore. (Not that there ever was, considering the early Gnostic writings, the Apocrypha, etc. that people just dismiss as heresy, (or worse, Satanic) because it's not in the Bible - which was compiled by fallible man.) So, maybe "Christianity" is dying, if there even is a Christianity anymore. I personally believe that what this all came out of was political maneuvering more than anything that Jesus himself taught. Jesus is kind of the spokesperson, the epitome, the poster boy for everything he preached against, especially in his exchanges with the Pharisees.
Not only do you have the Council of Nicea which made the job of deciding what writings are and are not God inspired to fallible man, but then they couldn't agree on it, hence the Great Schism, hence the Reformation, etc. then after that they killed everyone who disagreed. Not to mention that the "canonical" Gospels that we do have are third-hand sources. (The Gospel of Mark was written by a disciple of Peter in 65 C.E. at the earliest, and it has priority as being the source of both Luke and Matthew. The original Gospel of Mark, the source, has no resurrection stories, which explains why the three are so similar up to that point, where they promptly oscillate into WTF-mode like clockwork.) The Gospel of John, which differs from those three, was written as early as 90 C.E., and used rhetoric and Greek that is difficult to translate - what we call "Eternal Life" is closer to "Life of the Ages," for example - and this is where most Christians get their theology.
The Gospel of Thomas, however, was written as early as 50 C.E. by the actual disciple Thomas, and is considered heresy by pretty much everyone, except those with a(n either overt or covert) mystical approach to Christianity. That's what interests me the most.
I kind of see it the way that the post-theists do: "Post-theism is a variant of nontheism that proposes to have not so much rejected theism as rendered it obsolete, that God belongs to a stage of human development now past." Which cites heavily Nietzsche's cry that God is Dead: that "god" is no longer capable of acting as a source of any moral code or teleology (because it's so vague that it's contradictory and there's nothing substantial in it at all except for the fact that it becomes a fabricated authority on which to project our own preconceived prejudices onto).
I believe that "God is dead," in this sense, but I believe that Christianity is not dead - just meaningless. As the famous §125 of Nietzsche's The Gay Science concludes: "Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners: they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern to the ground, and it broke into pieces and went out. "I have come too early," he said then; "my time is not yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering—it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the most distant stars—and yet they have done it themselves!"— It has been related further that on the same day the madman forced his way into several churches and there struck up his requiem aeternam deo. Led out and called to account, he is said always to have replied nothing but: "What after all are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?""
Sunday, March 8, 2009
"That's what she said," a rewrite.
"I just read your note. I don't want you depressed. I want you to be happy; motivated; wanting all of the joy in life."
That's what she said. But in return, I just give her an awkward smile. A simple 'I-don't-know-where-we're-going-with-this' smile. "I'm serious." She says. And when she says it, something inside of me breaks... a million pictures in my head flash at once. Of the last time when I was serious. And she is serious. Right now. With me. She is serious. I try to lighten the mood. The last thing I want is for her to worry about me. It just feels unnecessarily reversed in my head. I'm supposed to worry about her. Not the other way around.
I reply. "I know. I was happy today."
"Yes, but I wish you could be happy everyday. Every moment," she says. And I agree... but still, I'm persistent, because I seriously don't want her to be concerned. "I was happy all day today, at least. I knew I was going to see you. So I was pretty much happy all freakin' day." And now, I try to pull it towards playful again, I put a little zing in my tone. And try for a little bit more confidence. Apparently it's convincing, she comes right back with some more playful. "Wait... you were 'happy?' Like, you know, 'Happy?'" Accompanied by a laugh.
I suddenly decide that maybe playful isn't the right way to go right now. I don't feel playful. And I do not lie to women. I smile as I take her hands in mine, and I say this. "No, dear. A deeper happy. A happy that always sings when you know that the piece of your soul you have left is going to come in contact with the piece of soul that makes everything complete. Because it is perfect, to be as one. To not be apart. Because it hurts so much when you're ripped apart... it's like paper. That kind of happy. The only kind of happy I want." And there are a couple of things about this. One, I'm ad-libbing. Thinking of it as I go... But, secondly, I meant everything I said. I don't lie. Certainly not to her. And what I said couldn't have been more heartfelt. And at that moment, I could breathe again, just a little, because for once I didn't have to censor my tongue from what was in my heart and my mind. I'm not shut away, secluded in some random dark corner of my mind somewhere.
For now, everything of the past two weeks disappears, because in retrospect, it's not even important anyway. When I look into her eyes, I realize that I need to completely leave any and all thought of me behind, because I'm only a piece of a puzzle. And to be selfishly thinking of me completely disregards the whole. It disregards her, and I won't make that mistake again. We're yin and yang. Peanut butter and jelly. And in this infinite moment together, I realize that the word cliche is only a word.
As if romantic cliches like these were invented for the sole purpose of explaining the love between myself and this girl. And they fail. They fall horribly. But I feel it - in this moment.
And here's what she says... "That's... a very sweet kind of happy."
From there the discussion is tapered off into other subjects. You know, the kind of things that people talk about. It's just...conversation. It's not awkward at all: I'm comfortable with this girl. I'm open, but eventually, somehow I get sidetracked... I find that corner of my mind again. Everything is dark around me. Somehow I can't look into her eyes anymore. I want to, but I can't bring myself to do it. Anywhere but her eyes, and I can pass off my behavior as normal, but if I look at her, she pulls it out of me. And she sounds so sad when she's concerned about me; it's heartbreaking, and I don't want to worry her. And before I know it, it's time to go.
"It's that time again..." I noticed: sometimes I swear I can feel the presence of her father behind me - her body language tells me everything. I drop our embrace, almost stoically. "Yeah," I say. I want to say more. I want to say everything. Before I can, she says, "I hate this. I always do." All that I can come up with to reply is, "So do I." Yeah, really original, right? I feel like an idiot.
She says it first. "I love you, James. Like, a whole bunch."
I smile. "I love you too."
"With cherries on top?"
"...Sure."
I sneak a glance, and she catches it easily. It must be written all over my face. Pause. Coming back into reality, she lets out the breath we've both been holding in euphoria for God knows how long.
"Don't be depressed on me. I don't want to leave you like this."
The plea in her voice shakes me. Is it hot all of a sudden, or is it just the back of my neck? My throat, behind my eyes? I can barely say, "I'm trying. But that's how it goes. You leave, and then I'm 'like this.'"
Now she has the look, too. Because I can see that it's true for her just as much as it is for me. Anyone in the world could see that. It's so obvious.
"And that makes me feel like crap," she says. She controls her voice so well. I envy that. But she's trembling. I can feel it. An inch of space between us, and I feel the girl trembling.
I put my hand ever so lightly on her cheek, and look right into her eyes. I'm so taken aback by the immaculately soft skin, that I almost forget the one word I had already picked out to say. It barely comes out.
"...Don't."
I try to comfort her. Like I feel I'm supposed to. I have no idea if I'm really able to, but as long as I'm with her, no matter where I am, I'm going to try to do just that. I continue with a justification, "I'll see you tomorrow." I throw in the "I promise" with my eyes. The tone of my voice. My touch. My body language. Not with my voice. I wouldn't say it if I couldn't make her know it. And right now, she knows that I'm going to see her tomorrow. It's a fact. Simple as that.
"But don't come tomorrow if you feel sick. Okay?" The question at the end makes me feel obligated to give her my word. I don't lie to women. Not if I can help it. But if I have to, I really really hate to. So I leave her with this.
"I will. I don't care how I feel. It would be worth it, just to see you again." And right there, I want to give her a hug--no, a kiss. The one that says everything in the entire world without having to speak a word. The one that can actually stop time to where it's just the two of you and nothing else, forever. But she's already out the door. The opportunity is wasted.
Gone.
And though, I know she's just on the other side of this door, getting into a car, already she feels miles away. So far away. So far away from everything I want to tell her, to show her. To be for her. I would trade everything I have to show her what she means to me, because I'm sure that words can't doing it justice.
But, like everything else in my life, I'm just too afraid to show her. What it could mean if I do. If everything could change. I worry if I'm being too pushy, or too eager to seek a deeper commitment, When love in the world now has been demoted and degraded so much that many guys just want to "Superman that ho."
But I love her. The old way. So much. And I don't know how I'll ever be able to show her.
That's what she said. But in return, I just give her an awkward smile. A simple 'I-don't-know-where-we're-going-with-this' smile. "I'm serious." She says. And when she says it, something inside of me breaks... a million pictures in my head flash at once. Of the last time when I was serious. And she is serious. Right now. With me. She is serious. I try to lighten the mood. The last thing I want is for her to worry about me. It just feels unnecessarily reversed in my head. I'm supposed to worry about her. Not the other way around.
I reply. "I know. I was happy today."
"Yes, but I wish you could be happy everyday. Every moment," she says. And I agree... but still, I'm persistent, because I seriously don't want her to be concerned. "I was happy all day today, at least. I knew I was going to see you. So I was pretty much happy all freakin' day." And now, I try to pull it towards playful again, I put a little zing in my tone. And try for a little bit more confidence. Apparently it's convincing, she comes right back with some more playful. "Wait... you were 'happy?' Like, you know, 'Happy?'" Accompanied by a laugh.
I suddenly decide that maybe playful isn't the right way to go right now. I don't feel playful. And I do not lie to women. I smile as I take her hands in mine, and I say this. "No, dear. A deeper happy. A happy that always sings when you know that the piece of your soul you have left is going to come in contact with the piece of soul that makes everything complete. Because it is perfect, to be as one. To not be apart. Because it hurts so much when you're ripped apart... it's like paper. That kind of happy. The only kind of happy I want." And there are a couple of things about this. One, I'm ad-libbing. Thinking of it as I go... But, secondly, I meant everything I said. I don't lie. Certainly not to her. And what I said couldn't have been more heartfelt. And at that moment, I could breathe again, just a little, because for once I didn't have to censor my tongue from what was in my heart and my mind. I'm not shut away, secluded in some random dark corner of my mind somewhere.
For now, everything of the past two weeks disappears, because in retrospect, it's not even important anyway. When I look into her eyes, I realize that I need to completely leave any and all thought of me behind, because I'm only a piece of a puzzle. And to be selfishly thinking of me completely disregards the whole. It disregards her, and I won't make that mistake again. We're yin and yang. Peanut butter and jelly. And in this infinite moment together, I realize that the word cliche is only a word.
As if romantic cliches like these were invented for the sole purpose of explaining the love between myself and this girl. And they fail. They fall horribly. But I feel it - in this moment.
And here's what she says... "That's... a very sweet kind of happy."
From there the discussion is tapered off into other subjects. You know, the kind of things that people talk about. It's just...conversation. It's not awkward at all: I'm comfortable with this girl. I'm open, but eventually, somehow I get sidetracked... I find that corner of my mind again. Everything is dark around me. Somehow I can't look into her eyes anymore. I want to, but I can't bring myself to do it. Anywhere but her eyes, and I can pass off my behavior as normal, but if I look at her, she pulls it out of me. And she sounds so sad when she's concerned about me; it's heartbreaking, and I don't want to worry her. And before I know it, it's time to go.
"It's that time again..." I noticed: sometimes I swear I can feel the presence of her father behind me - her body language tells me everything. I drop our embrace, almost stoically. "Yeah," I say. I want to say more. I want to say everything. Before I can, she says, "I hate this. I always do." All that I can come up with to reply is, "So do I." Yeah, really original, right? I feel like an idiot.
She says it first. "I love you, James. Like, a whole bunch."
I smile. "I love you too."
"With cherries on top?"
"...Sure."
I sneak a glance, and she catches it easily. It must be written all over my face. Pause. Coming back into reality, she lets out the breath we've both been holding in euphoria for God knows how long.
"Don't be depressed on me. I don't want to leave you like this."
The plea in her voice shakes me. Is it hot all of a sudden, or is it just the back of my neck? My throat, behind my eyes? I can barely say, "I'm trying. But that's how it goes. You leave, and then I'm 'like this.'"
Now she has the look, too. Because I can see that it's true for her just as much as it is for me. Anyone in the world could see that. It's so obvious.
"And that makes me feel like crap," she says. She controls her voice so well. I envy that. But she's trembling. I can feel it. An inch of space between us, and I feel the girl trembling.
I put my hand ever so lightly on her cheek, and look right into her eyes. I'm so taken aback by the immaculately soft skin, that I almost forget the one word I had already picked out to say. It barely comes out.
"...Don't."
I try to comfort her. Like I feel I'm supposed to. I have no idea if I'm really able to, but as long as I'm with her, no matter where I am, I'm going to try to do just that. I continue with a justification, "I'll see you tomorrow." I throw in the "I promise" with my eyes. The tone of my voice. My touch. My body language. Not with my voice. I wouldn't say it if I couldn't make her know it. And right now, she knows that I'm going to see her tomorrow. It's a fact. Simple as that.
"But don't come tomorrow if you feel sick. Okay?" The question at the end makes me feel obligated to give her my word. I don't lie to women. Not if I can help it. But if I have to, I really really hate to. So I leave her with this.
"I will. I don't care how I feel. It would be worth it, just to see you again." And right there, I want to give her a hug--no, a kiss. The one that says everything in the entire world without having to speak a word. The one that can actually stop time to where it's just the two of you and nothing else, forever. But she's already out the door. The opportunity is wasted.
Gone.
And though, I know she's just on the other side of this door, getting into a car, already she feels miles away. So far away. So far away from everything I want to tell her, to show her. To be for her. I would trade everything I have to show her what she means to me, because I'm sure that words can't doing it justice.
But, like everything else in my life, I'm just too afraid to show her. What it could mean if I do. If everything could change. I worry if I'm being too pushy, or too eager to seek a deeper commitment, When love in the world now has been demoted and degraded so much that many guys just want to "Superman that ho."
But I love her. The old way. So much. And I don't know how I'll ever be able to show her.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
An Open Letter to an Evangelical
To whom it may concern,
First of all, my dear, dear friend, understand that I do, seriously, honestly, deeply, and most of all, profoundly, appreciate your concern - I love you dearly for the compassionate, selfless effort spent in taking the time to convey it. And I love you for the admirably unwavering conviction in your beliefs that you will continue to have long after you have finished witnessing my reluctant, but truthfully respectful, betrayal. I would only pray that you would not hurt much more on my behalf. Forgive such a bold suggestion, but perhaps you should pray for that as well. I'm not worth the pain of such a sweet, caring person such as yourself.
The sad truth is, you could pray to anything at all and interpret the outcome as being an answer of "yes, no or wait." Even if it's money, a jug of milk, a celebrity, or even the gods of other religions, to name a few. And from what I was taught and experienced, that's all that Christianity really is. Praying to something that might have been there, and bending over backwards trying to interpret everything as being some sort of 'yes, no, or wait.' Yet, I persisted. I was as passionate as anyone should be. I poured my heart - my soul - into it. Into God. I obsessed, day and night, for Divine acceptance. For Divine truth. I begged for it in every breath, in every step, in every syllable in every word of every thought, every second of every day, for four years. (Though, even in my honest attempts, I never came close to what could be considered anywhere near "perfect," so don't take that as any sort of bragging. It's not.) And what came in apparent response to my ceaseless begging is something that could only be interpreted as a booming, resounding, irrevocable, God-breathed, “No.”
I was told, like you are telling me now, that Christianity is not a "religion," but a "relationship." I was told, that the Bible, the doctrine of Christianity, is not a mere "book of rules," but rather, a "guide to freedom." I was told, so I acted accordingly. I loved, because surely I had been loved first. I found someone who, in the deepest part of my soul, I believed that God Himself had hand-picked out for me; it was the "yes" that I was so desperately hoping and praying for. My heart just sang for her then, as it does now. But this girl was not a Christian. (Nor is she now.) But in my boundless, God-inspired, unconditional love for her, I saw no reason for intolerance. And before either one of us knew what was happening, the delicate, "loving" façade of Christianity started to... slip.
"You can't do that," they told me. "You cannot love her. She is forbidden." I was taken aback, cozened as I was. A small, spider crack of cynicism shot through my world-view in an instant. I numbly, though politely, asked them why. I should have known better. "It's against the rules," they replied simply. And you know what, my dear friend? They were right. It was written, plainly, in the Second Epistle to the Corinthians. In the sixth chapter; the fourteenth verse. However, a friend once told me that when somebody hands you an ultimatum, they've already given you the answer - and they've lost. So, with a polite, but forced smile on my face, I just refused to follow the "rules." I chose to placate the two loves, instead of suffocating them both. Or rather, attempted, as the case may be.
But, as time went on, the pressure continued. What you so fondly call a 'relationship,' had taken it's toll on me. It's every believer I once called a friend was incessantly trying their damnedest to force my “broken” world-view to see things their way, regardless of emotional or ideological casualty. Because to them, tolerance wasn't an option - love wasn't an option; it was either crush the innocent heart that I was entrusted with, or be condemned with mere words; idle threats of burning hell. Such is life. Though, unlike that “relationship” with God that I had previously obsessed over, this other relationship was an experience of refreshingly satisfying vitality; overwhelming conviction. Compared to such truly free love, my religious beliefs naturally paled in comparison.
When the pressure had built up its crescendo, the one person who introduced me to my divine obsession finally labeled me the harshest condemnation that the world-view holds. To him, I was nothing less than the "Antichrist." Now, I've had a long medical history, but none of the many scars on my body could possibly hold a candle to the one that this had left on my heart. Now, my dearly respected friend, as the two had finally come into a clearly hopeless and irreconcilable conflict, I had to make a choice. I absolutely had to - my attempts to stave off the dichotomy were proving futile. And, no, it wasn't easy. Rest assured, it was far from painless. But in retrospect, it was, at the very least, completely and utterly obvious.
Then, I decided that as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.
Because the truth is, I can not live like that; not in a lie. I cannot love like that. I will not associate myself with people who wear their religious views on their sleeves to be shown off. People treat their views as if they were chess pieces. Playing on a chessboard where the darkest, black squares fade into vibrant blood-red with no clear distinction on where they begin. Things like "love," are just words. Pawns to be used in their so-called battle for our souls, while real blood is shed and real people die so they can do it. Christians seem to care more about the fact that they are Christians rather than what it means to be one. And they're the ones with the obligation to be Christ-like. So much for that.
I, for one, replaced my obligation to be Christ-like with the will to be. Whether there is a god or not isn't a priority to me. But if there is one, and he is truly a god of love, then I have nothing to worry about. A god of truly infinite love would find it literally impossible to create a place of eternal torment in the full knowledge before-hand that his own creations would be sent there, and why. And then to precariously balance the lives of his 'beloved' creations over the acceptance of epistemologically abstract vagaries, especially something as brutally morbid as Jesus' sacrifice? Apparently, even God is not powerful enough to make everything unquestionably right in the world. Well, such a thing is not "love." Though, in your well-deserved defense, it is certainly poetic - but what mythos isn't?
But this story of Christianity is ultimately masochistic. In divine proportions, no less. But even so, if that god is "love," as you insist, then I'm afraid, my selfless, caring friend, I don't want to "love," at all. So, again, I deeply appreciate the motivation behind your words. I value your opinion, and I admire your optimistic commitment to your faith. But you really shouldn't hurt anymore because of me. As I said before, I'm sadly not worth your pain. I'm... just fine. And finally, I apologize sincerely for such a verbose, pretentious declination of your highest truth, and I hope you understand the reluctance with which I offer it. As you so aptly suggested, I have “given it up.” And I've never felt better.
Respectfully yours,
James Elliott
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